Backup Dancers From Hell: Lady Gaga - “You And I”

  We start out with Gaga marching down a dusty road, decked out in some tribute-to-Skeletor getup, complete with coordinated veils and death mask. Seems girl has been trudging down that road for some time, long enough that her feet are all bloody and she’s got a bit of an attitude. But before we can tell her “honey, if you’d just take those eight-inch heels off it wouldn’t be so bad” we whisk to another.. I’m not sure what it is.

  And then the images and costume changes start flying. Somebody’s hiking up her skirt, some corpses are getting married, something about fingernails, melting ice cream cones, ugly street vendors, possible cattle-prod usage and public tinkling. Gaga goes at it all with gusto, in that amazing knack she has of creating startling but mesmerizing images that may not mean anything but she’s having such a hell of a good time that you’re right there with her.

  Anyway, the song proper starts, and we’re back with the original Gaga character, she of the black veils, now standing in the middle of what passes for an intersection in Podunk, Nebraska. She poses for a while, because her outfit is really striking and we need to study all of it, then she starts prancing around with an attitude, sashaying, while at the same time trying to fix one of her arms that has apparently short-circuited. Then she throws down a black rose and goes stomping toward an ice cream truck, which is exactly where I would go if my arm was making buzzing noises and didn’t have any flesh.

  Cut to another Gaga, this one wearing very little makeup and playing a piano in the middle of a cornfield at night. Sitting on top of said piano is Jo Calderone, the alter ego that Gaga has created as a means to… well, the jury’s still out on that one. But kudos to the special effects person that blended these two into the scene. You really believe that Jo is right there, smoking cigarettes and guzzling beer while Gaga bops her head dangerously close to Jo’s crotch. They look sweet together.

  We spend a little time with them, because when you stumble across a piano from the corn rather than a child, you might as well make the best of it. (We get some jump shots of Black Veil Gaga stomping around on those roads, but she doesn’t seem to know where she’s going so we can check back on her later.) While Gaga tinkles, this time with the piano keys and not herself, Jo does manly things like spit and grab at his crotch and not bathe.

  Hold up, more whirring images again. Some shirtless guy (good costume choice, sayin) is messing around with Gaga dressed as a severe RuPaul angel, another shirtless guy (or maybe the same, we’re just seeing torsos here, fine by me) is kissing a Gaga dressed as a dead nurse, and there’s something about a barn. Then we’re back to the RuPaul angel, and Shirtless is fiddling with chemistry-set looking things while RuPaul tries not to be eaten alive by her costume.

  And the possible barn theme is confirmed when we cut to a Green-Haired Gaga leading a line dance. (It’s just not a Gaga video without one.) Leave it to Gaga to all out hoof it up in a big production number involving horse stalls and haylofts. She and her girl posse flop around for a bit, stirring up dust that probably doesn’t feel good once it’s trapped under those leather outfits they are all barely wearing.

  While the Horsey Hoes pivot and twirl, we drop by one of the other set pieces in the video for a status update. RuPaul appears to be getting her mouth oiled by Shirtless, followed by something to do with an old-timey hypodermic being shoved into RuRu’s neck and causing her to…

  Turn into a mermaid? I think. All that’s certain is that we now have Gaga as FishWoman, reclining in an antique bathtub that would probably run you 25K at Restoration Hardware, while Shirtless is dumping pails of water on her. (He’s a very busy boy.) She’s also managed to lose her top somewhere along the line, testing the patience of censors with the creative use of a tiny strip of mer-flesh that just barely covers her nipples. (What’s the point, at this point, about even bothering to hide the points? Just asking.)

  Back to the Horsey Hoes and their Equus tribute. Everybody’s still hunching the hay with complete professionalism, showing no signs of stopping, so we can just let them be for now, although at some point they’ll need to find another place to dance because the cows are due for milking shortly. Bessie don’t play when it’s pail time.

  And we visit with Mer-Gaga once more, to find that she is hopelessly devoted to her breasts, caressing them with a love that usually only takes place on certain pay-per-view channels. We also have some mess with Shirtless shoving a gas mask at her, but there’s already so much going on that we’ll just let that go for now.

  Oh, look, it’s time for another montage. Black Veil Gaga is still stomping around that dusty intersection, so I’m not sure that she’s being all that productive. Mer-Gaga is splashing around in her tub in a manner that would have had me sent to my room as a youngster. And Jo and Plain Gaga are still mooning at each other under the harvest moon in the cornfield without children.

  Then the pace kicks up even more, and the jump cuts are too numerous to mention. Suffice it to say that, in general, Shirtless is really invested in transforming Gaga into something else. We’re just not sure what that else might be or exactly which Gaga he is working on at any given time, especially since some new Gagas start cropping up, like Black-Haired Gaga who seems to be doing aerobics in front of a giant wooden wheel while wearing a leftover Barbarella outfit.

  Hold-up, soft-porn alert. Shirtless and his tattoos are gettin’ busy with one of the Gagas, probably Mer-Gaga if you base it on breast-identification. But before the loosely-draped towel on his behind slides off like we want it to, we go back to that damn montage. Now we have images of splashing water, Plain Gaga leading a line dance in the cornfield (you knew it was coming), and a shot of Jo spitting off the back of the piano (how nice of him/her).

  Next we have another teasing snippet of that towel sliding lower on Shirtless, then scenes of Black Veil Gaga still not finding what she’s looking for, more cornfield choreography, Plain Gaga playing the piano with her foot, self-loving mermaids, questionable aerobics, religious references involving the signs of the cross and some hair gel, and a very convincing trick shot of Gaga kissing herself via Jo.

  Did I mention that things were a little busy in this video? Yep, they be.

  Oh, I almost forgot about the Horsey Hoes. We check in on them a few times, including a startling scene where Green-Haired Gaga has apparently managed to get herself stuck high up on a really aggressive stripper pole, and the other Hoes race up a convenient staircase to cut her down. Or something like that. It may have just been a political statement of some kind.

  Brief interlude where Shirtless is sitting around in flimsy, soaking-wet pajama bottoms while Mer-Gaga throws more water on him, then the montage fires up again. Barbarella Gaga is having some type of reaction to shellfish, Plain Gaga suddenly decides it would be fun to run a marathon in the cornfield, Dead-Nurse Gaga is still getting married or some such in the most confusing scenario of many confusing scenarios, and the towel finally gives it up and we get a partial booty shot of Shirtless atop Mer-Gaga. (Pause at 5:08, for those who roll that way, sayin.)

  The tilt-a-whirl finally starts to slow down, and we’re back with Black Veil Gaga, still on that road to nowhere, warbling the slower end of the song. The music fades, and we get one last look at Shirtless and Mer-Gaga, all cozy in their bathtub of lust, a glimpse of Dead-Nurse Gaga and her apparent groom, and a lonely, abandoned farmhouse where little boys and girls used to dream of growing up one day and doing whatever the hell they wanted and people would love them anyway…


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Lady Antebellum - “Just A Kiss”

We start off with a young woman finding a seat on what is probably a bus, but could be anything that has rows of seats and lots of windows, like the bedrooms of certain tramps I know. We get a brief glimpse of what might be Hillary sitting a few rows back, watching the woman, the possibility of a knowing smile on her lips. Oh? Is this going to be a stalker thing?

I guess we’ll learn more about that bit later. First, the young woman (let’s call her Katie, she looks like one) has to discover a device that is apparently not hers, tucked into her little backpack. She takes the object out of it’s case, and we realize it’s one of those iPad things. There’s a sticky note with a French phrase scribbled on it, which Katie doesn’t bother to translate for us (rude!) but it does make her smile, so hopefully it has something to do with cooking and not terrorist activities.

Another brief glimpse of Hillary, still staring. Does she need something? Medication?

Katie tears off the note, probably throwing it on the floor because she just has that carefree attitude about her. She activates a video queued up on the device, and we see a cute guy who just wants to show her a sign reading “ne moubliez pas”, which he translates for her, “don’t forget about me”. (Is Katie taking a very intimate online course to learn French? Do they both enjoy Simple Minds?) Then he calls her Julie (so we can drop the Katie angle for now) and the snippet ends.

Cut to what looks like a train-station platform. There’s Charles, sitting on a bench and doing his best to keep his seven-foot legs out of everybody’s way. Quick shot of Dave, sitting at the top of a flight of stairs and staring at his own legs, probably wishing his legs were a little longer or that he at least got to sing more on the newest album. And finally, there’s Hillary, starting off the lyrics of the song while soft lighting confirms that she has indeed changed her hair color once again.

Back to Julie staring at her large mobile device (I’m surprised they aren’t flashing monthly data rates and a phone number), watching images of she and… let’s call him Jean-Luc… cavorting about in some city that might be Paris. They’re smiling at us from a boat, and fiddling with giant menu boards outside restaurants, and Julie is making cute in front of merchandise stalls at open markets. All of the overly-fake things people do when somebody whips out a camera and nobody has to be at work any time soon.

The vocal baton is passed to Charles, all stretched out on that bench and singing in that way he has of looking at everything except us. Meanwhile, on the video, Julie and Jean-Luc are clearly falling in love, because he picks out a flower for her and she shoves her nose in it, inhaling deeply and sighing even though the flower in question doesn’t have a smell in real life.

Yep, they really must be in Paris, because now they’re on the banks of the Seine, gazing at one another deeply while the thousands of tourists that are normally there have been shunted off to alternate streets. Quick shot of the band members on a train or some such (why is it so hard to identify transportation in this video?), sharing vocals and harmonizing because they’re artists and have to sing songs about coffee and books right when the moment hits them.

Confusing shot of Julie being silly on what looks like Abbey Road, trying to recreate the famous Beatles scene all by herself and despite the probable fact that someone had to tell her what “Beatles” means. Back to the train, with Charles using his hands in a special form of sign language, then back to the lovers traversing about Paris and managing to look completely adorable in every scene.

Yet another shot of Hillary sitting a few seats behind Julie, keeping tabs. Far more tabs than a supposedly innocent stranger should keep.

Montage of the band singing and playing while Julie and Jean-Luc do all those Paris things you really wish you could do but things like money and responsibility keep getting in the way. (Well, I think I could pass on Julie screwing around with a giant soap bubble on that one street, but sign me up for the rest of it.) And, of course, the happy couple always manage to sit in the exact spot that allows famous landmarks to appear in the background while they make goo-goo eyes at one another. These things happen in Paris. It’s some sort of law.

I do have to say that I’m ready for one of those two to quit smiling so much. You can’t possibly be that happy all the time, even when the sex is really good and there’s a constant alcohol-flow.

Oh, wait, it looks like we might have some tragic sadness after all. It seems Julie has to leave town (is she running from the po-po?), so she and Jean-Luc share a really long goodbye hug at a train station, the kind where the hundreds of other people in the station magically avoid them so the camera can get a really good shot. In real life, J and J would be flattened by a thundering herd of croissant-waving Francophiles hell-bent on getting a good seat at their favorite bistro.

Shot of Julie now crying on the train, presumably sad about her departure, but maybe just really distraught that Jean-Luc has two first names and she doesn’t. Another montage of the band bursting into song in train depots and not getting arrested, then we suddenly see Julie sitting in a completely different train car, with a curious lack of nearby riders. (Has she been placed in time-out for the improper transport of bleu cheese?)

Guess it doesn’t matter why, because her isolation is interrupted by the appearance of Jean-Luc, trotting in and still being cute. They hug and fondle one another while the band continues to give the free concert at the Escargot Station. Hillary seems especially thrilled for the couple, so we can drop the creepy stalker angle that has been troubling us from the start of the video.

Cut to a final scene on the train, with Julie waking up from a dream. Oh? The Paris passion was all in her head? And there’s Jean-Luc, snagging the empty seat beside her and apologizing for waking her up. They’re apparently complete strangers, although Julie does seem to be blushing a bit. (She may not know the man, but she’s definitely slept with him, a sensation felt by anyone who has attended college frat parties.)

They make introductory small talk, then Jean-Luc pulls out an iPad, with the exact same cover that Julie found in her dream. She smiles and sits up straighter in her seat, knowing full well where this is going…


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Kristin Chenoweth - “I Want Somebody (Bitch About)”

We start out with Kristin, in a tight black getup and looking effortlessly cute, marching into what we’ll assume is a hair salon, since people are sitting around getting their hair done and all. She’s a bit noisy and rambunctious, but that’s fine, because we know she’s going to charm us, and the other ladies agree, smiling and waiting for the cuteness.

Kristin and her tiny self take a seat, then she begins to warble the song to her neighbor, a pleasant enough woman with pearl necklaces and a lapdog and the exact same brand of hair color as Kristin. I guess Kristin is offended by the matching, so she turns to her other neighbor, a brunette and therefore less capable of stealing the spotlight. Then Kristin just gives up and sings to everybody, because that’s all she was ever meant to do.

At this point, the back row of girls start doing choreography with their magazines and such, which is really fun, but they keep it low-key to avoid any animosity from their sisters. Turns out Kristin has her own choreography, where she gets to whip her legs around and we get flashes of the sexy red color on the bottom of her shoes.

As we break into the first sample of the chorus, the whole place is bopping and having the best time of their lives. The camera pulls back so we can see that the salon is even larger than we expected, with a whole cadre of women in the throes of a modified Lilith Fair Estrogen Fest. When the folks in that back row do a Busby Berkley bit of mess with their legs, the show instantly goes SRO for the rest of the run.

We finish up this set piece with Kristin petting the lapdog (always a good PR move, any competent actress knows this), Kristin waving those bottom-colored shoes again (when something’s a hit, use it again until they stop buying tickets), and Kristin waving her index finger to the beat (minimalist dancing is the new black, especially when you are already wearing black and you look flawless). End scene.

Next up is Kristin reclining on a couch in a fabulous, modified art-deco hotel lobby, where the other guests have been conveniently whisked away and it’s just she and her trio of devoted gay chorus boys. (Kristin loves her gay-gay’s, yes she does!) While she’s warbling, the boys pretend to want her and she pretends to not want them, and it’s all in good fun because we know the sexual mathematics are so not right in this room.

We have some more choreography, designed to highlight Kristin’s gorgeous gown, along with some polite nods to the peeping chest hair on one of the go-go boys. We get a little carried away with some risky business concerning the boys carrying Kristin along like a gold lamé cigar, but everyone quickly recovers by resorting to the standard “blonde bombshell knocks all the mens off their feet” routine.

With the next segment, we get another nod to Busby, with Kristin cavorting about in front of bodiless hands waving puffy pillows. There’s a quick shot of Kristin being uncertain if her breasts are her own, then we zip back to that faboo couch in the lobby, with Kristin milking it because you can never get enough of classically-sheathed women sprawling on complimentary furniture.

Back to Kristin in the center of all those dancers waving around silicon breast implants, only now the cast is much bigger and leg choreography has been added, creating the image of a morphing, intergalactic plant species. Hopefully somebody got paid some big bucks for this, because it looks mighty fine, in a “tribute to the fertilization of pistils and stamens” kind of way.

Cut to the final act, with Kristin in a modified gold jumper and the entire cast doing something with office chairs and top hats. We have wind fans going, which is always questionable, but Kristen pulls it off, because there’s nothing she can’t pull. (There’s an odd moment when an army of Robert Plant dancers invade, but Kristin calms our nerves by reenacting a Charlie’s Angels hair flip.)

We wind things down with the Robert Plants and Kristin doing a swell drill-team routine. (I’m personally going to take this as a nod to Kristin’s developing days at shared alma mater Broken Arrow High School and the Tigettes, although it’s most likely not. It‘s just important for the Little People to make a connection with their fave stars, even if that link is imaginary and possibly hallucinogenic.)

As the curtain lowers, we get another glimpse of Kristin and the boys polishing the floor of that hotel, check in on Kristin and her bestest buddies at the Hair Salon Where Nobody Frowns, and finally check out with Kristin doing something eyebrow-raising with a hair dryer.

Love. Her.

And killing Pushing Daisies was an absolute crime. Word.


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10 Things I Have Learned Doing Music Video Reviews

1. Actual scripts are unimportant.

Why waste time paying people to come up with an original idea.? All you need is someone that can push the “on” button for the camera, some cool threads from the hottest fashion designer of the last half hour, and enough beer in stock to convince the talent-deprived “lead singer” to come out of his posse wagon for a few minutes. Done.

2. Hire extras with no sense of self-worth.

You must employ at least seven dim-witted, validation-seeking women or men, whichever is the opposite of the “artist” whose name will eventually end up on the CD after all the packaging has been decided. (Actual sexual orientation of the “artist” is not to be considered. Lowest common denominator, people. Live it.) If you discover that any of the seven have more than two syllables in their name, fire them immediately. We don’t have time for them to figure out if they are being called to the shoot.

The dim-wits must be able to perform three duties flawlessly. They must exuberantly paw at any body part proffered by the “artist” every time it is proffered, even if they are relegated to small-toe duty. They must gaze at the “artist” with uncontrollable lust, even if the “artist” is the ugliest damn creature to walk the face of the planet, which they often are. Finally, they must be willing to wear skimpy clothing that people in other professions would call “air”.

3. The “artist” must have a signature move.

It doesn’t matter what the move is, just that they do it often enough that zombified viewers instinctively began to copy the move after repeat airings of the video. If the stars align pleasingly, the move will be turned into a dance craze. When this happens, you must give the move a blatantly-sexual name, preferably including a genital reference. The latest demographic research indicates that the nation is primed for “The Johnson Jump” and “The Vulva Whiplash”, as long as your marketing people can get this craze in action within the next 13 days.

4. The “artist”, if male, must be overly fond of his penis.

He must touch it frequently throughout the video, demonstrably showing his pride and affection, regardless of the statistical merit of the member. Studies have shown that the touching does not have to occur “on the beat” or with any implied choreography. Random touching has proved to be just as much of a driver in positive online voting as structured touching. (Side note: Inform the female dim-wits that they must never get their hair or their breasts in the way of the touching.)

5. The “artist”, if female, must have complete disdain for foundation garments.

No bras are allowed on set. Ever. The “artist” must be perfectly willing to flaunt her cleavage with wild abandon, preferably with visible indication that she is indeed aroused by the inane lyrics of the song. If you must hire a professional nipple-fluffer, do so without hesitation. There are websites with trained specialists.

6. Line dances always work, regardless of logic or meaning.

Always. You should have at least two scenes devoted to synchronized maneuvering. It’s beneficial that the “artist” at least minimally participate in these sequences, but not necessary. As long as the backup dancers have an ounce or two of rhythm, you’re golden. Do not worry about plot integrity. No one ever does.

7. Try to arrange for some “featured artist” billing.

This is not always possible, since some “artists” haven’t figured out that they were completely manufactured and will fight you on this issue. But if the main “artist” is willing, such as the “artists” coming off a prison sentence or those facing tax-evasion or morals charges, you need to package this puppy up. It doesn’t matter who they are, hire two or three “guests”. It’s unimportant if their musical style is completely different from the main “artist”.

Trending analysis has shown that consumers become very excited about a song with a “featured” secondary artist, even if they have no idea who that other person is. These consumers, who will hopefully never run for public office, actually think they are getting two songs for the price of one. In actuality, they are getting half a song from the main “artist”, and then some discordant, pointless crap shoved in the middle of it. Rapping is generally involved.

8. Don’t worry about what you actually capture on film.

Leave it to the editors, who are the actual directors, despite the billing. Word.

9. Package the video like a little movie.

Use opening credits, with “starring this” and “featuring that” and a flashy title. Treat the release like an actual movie premiere, with waving spotlights in the sky and hundreds of desperate starlets arriving in rented limos, praising songs and people they’ve never heard or seen. Call Ryan Seacrest. He’ll promo anything for the right amount of money.

It doesn’t matter that your movie will be over while most people are still in line at the concession stand, debating on whether they want the tub or the wheelbarrow of popcorn. Disappointment does not matter in the entertainment world. Quality doesn’t matter. A million re-tweets on Twitter by people with too much time on their hands? Bingo.

10. When all else fails?

Have your “artist” go into re-hab. Throw in some mess about childhood issues and just wanting to be loved, whatever. Wait a few months and then stage the “artist’s” release from treatment as something more important than a presidential election. Which, sadly, it probably will be.

And hire the dim-wits as adulating extras. They’re always just off camera. Yearning, waiting for the marketing people to decide that the nation is ready for a female rapper who claims to have multiple personalities and is willing to guest star on the next single of anyone out there, from Enya to the Dixie Chicks.

Oh wait. Already done. My bad.

Backup Dancers From Hell: Bon Jovi - “It’s My Life”

We start out with some guy named “Tommy” just trying to type at his computer while his mother screams from downstairs that she wants him to take out the garbage. (We’ve all been, there, right?) Phone rings. It’s “Gina”, (played by Shiri Appleby from the excellent series “Roswell”, which vanished from the airwaves just like those UFO‘s), babbling that the band is about to start playing “in the tunnel” (what?) and he has five minutes to get there or else.

Gina’s kind of pushy, even if her hair does look cute.

Tommy slams down the phone and off we go. He races through the house, forced to accept the bag of garbage from his mother as he heads out the door of the apartment. (Moms never give up when they get fixated on something. Once you realize that, life gets much less complicated.) We start seeing snippets of the band playing the song as Tommy runs down some stairs in a manner that indicates he may never have seen such things before. (Dude, why are you walking on the railing?)

Apparently Tommy gets bored using the inside stairs, so he switches to the fire escape and works his way downward. (The editors try to make this sequence fancy by jacking with the video and replaying snippets, but it really only makes it look like a lost scene from “West Side Story”.) Tommy even drops off the end of the escape, using air instead of the sliding ladder, in one of those boldly stupid moves youngsters can get away with, plummeting two stories and not dying. (At my age, opening a stick of gum can lead to bone-breakage.)

Tommy conveniently lands on the ground just as a garbage truck drives by, so naturally Tommy hops on the back of it rather than screw with a taxi. While he settles in for his ride, we cut back to the band, and yep, they really are playing in a traffic tunnel, with fans screaming and Jon’s hair making me think of Carol Brady, which unnerves me a bit. No one else seems bothered by this, so I guess we’ll let it go unless Sam the Butcher shows up with a cleaver.

Checking back in with Tommy, he apparently gets tired of standing near the crushed pulp of things that other people don’t want anymore, so he leaps off the garbage truck (that boy sure likes to jump). Sadly, his timing is a bit off and he rolls into a pack of dogs being walked by Jane Hathaway from “Beverly Hillbillies”. Tommy hops up and runs, with the dogs deciding he’s much more fun than Jane, so they follow him.

We cut away from the Running of the Dogs for a bit, so we can marvel at the band playing and how they’ve managed to remain looking relatively youthful despite all those things that rock bands did in the 80’s. Then we’re back to Tommy and his canine companions, with Tommy making sure to leap over the camera in just the right way so that his crotch is favorably accented. Then he runs into a gaggle of Asian Elvis impersonators.

No idea.

Next up is Tommy and his four-footed gang thundering through a deserted warehouse, for no other reason that it allows Tommy to jump through the air again, making a perfect dismount that should get high scores from the judges but would have killed anybody else. The dogs, wisely, decide that potentially bashing their skulls in is really not that interesting, so they instead go off to watch a “Benji” sequel at the Bowjou Theatre.

Some more footage of the band playing, giving me time to realize that maybe Jon’s hair is more akin to Joni Mitchell, then we zip back to Tommy. Now he’s managed to alter his route so that he’s ended up in the middle of a marathon race. (That happens to me all the time.) Tommy snags one of the free water bottles from those people who stand there and cheer you on at checkpoints, takes only a tiny sip, then throws the bottle on the ground, so he clearly hasn’t learned about things like recycling, water conservation, and just taking the subway.

Then Tommy decides that it would be completely safe to just run down the middle of a very busy street. (Why the hell not? Jumping off the Empire State Building didn’t phase him either.) Quick shot of Gina-Shiri sending Tommy a text, all impatient and stuff because he’s not there to watch her have fun at the tunnel concert. (Girls who have starred in their own TV series can be very high-maintenance. Although you’d think she could afford a better mobile device than the crappy one we see her banging away on.)

No matter, Tommy keeps running, because that’s what he was hired to do. (And it allows the video editor that was hired to come up with artsy shots and images. Everybody wins.) Eventually, Tommy finds himself running on a bridge, and you know he’s going to jump off of it, because that’s just his thing. So he does, plunging downward in both slo-mo and quick-mo courtesy of that editor. (They even stop the song so we can fully appreciate his plunging.)

Big surprise, Tommy lands in a lower road directly in the path of a speeding semi, because Tommy can’t live unless he’s about to die. So we get to enjoy some nifty special effects where Tommy rolls just right so the Tires of Death don’t crush his low-body-fat physique. Then he innocently hops up and dashes away, leaving the truck driver to have a small mental breakdown and turn to a life of drugs and alcohol.

Another montage of the band playing, where everybody is really happy despite the camera whipping around so fast that you really can’t see anything, then we zip back to Tommy’s next stunt. This involves Tommy encountering gridlocked traffic, with none of the cars moving, so Tommy, quick but stupid thinker that he is, decides to just run across the tops of the cars. (That would be your first thought, right?)

This works out jazzily well at first (despite the fact that the apparently overpaid editor didn’t realize he was mixing scenes of both day and night, oopsie), until highly-caffeinated Tommy falls through the moon-roof of a car containing thuggish types that are not interested in skinny geek boys falling from the sky, even if they can run really fast and win medals.

Home boys quickly throw Tommy’s ass out da car so they can continue with their drug deals and denigrating of women, so he wisely decides to hoof it the rest of the way at ground level. This is a good idea, since he’s already in the traffic tunnel where Bon Jovi is inexplicably performing, making it easier for him to run past the security guards who have been specifically hired to stop sweaty boys who run past guards.

Tommy hooks up with Gina-Shiri, and they clutch each other in that limber way you can do things before old age and bill-paying make fervent clutching a risky endeavor. Of course, Gina-Shiri has to whine at him about where he’s been, but then they happily turn to the stage to watch Joni Mitchell Jovi finish up the set.


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Kesha - “Blow”

We start out with a disclaimer that “No mythological creatures were harmed in the making of this video.” Really? That doesn’t bode well. I hope she didn’t try to have sex with them, something that’s always a flight-risk in a Kesha video.

Cut to Kesha and some people with unicorn-heads (not kidding) sitting in a room, drinking champagne while Kesha babbles the details of how she was elected to the Parliament in Uzbekistan (still not kidding). Zip over to Kesha somewhere else, and she kicks off the song, bellowing “Dance!” (which comes as a total surprise, because her songs are rarely ever about partying, right?).

Cut back to Champagne Kesha as a unicorn butler presents her with a tiny snacky thing on a tray. Kesha, perhaps not recognizing food when she sees it, looks questioningly at the butler, who points out a man across the room, who turns out to be James Van Der Beek doing a bit of slumming. Apparently the sight of his unshaven face instantly inspires Kesha to shove the miniscule bit of cheese in her mouth in what she assumes is a seductive manner.

Zip over to Singing Kesha, who rap-sings the song while introducing her signature move for this video, which turns out to be holding her fingers in the shape of a gun and then waving that hand about like she’s Jackie Brown. Zip back to the Room of Unicorns, Cheese and Drinking, where James jumps to his feet, causing Kesha to jump to her feet, because ain’t nobody gonna steal the spotlight in her own video. They glare at each other with a mixture of lust, unfinished business, and high-end couture.

Singing Kesha again, who seems about to justify my fear of her having sex with the animals, as she paws one of the Children of the Unicorn in a suggestive manner, then she licks his snout. Oh my. This foreplay is interrupted so we can check on Champagne Kesha and James as they march toward one another, intentions unclear, as a new herd of unicorns arrive to just stand there and distract us.

Quick shot of a unicorn drinking a glass of champagne. I guess he’s heard the rumor that the Kesha in the other room wants to play naughty reindeer games, so he’s building up his courage. Meanwhile, Singing Kesha continues to wave around her fake hand gun and do an intimate inventory of all her body parts, paying special attention to her port authority.

Back to Champagne and James, where he reaches in his jacket and pulls out… a comb, and tends to his hair with the assistance of some fancy video editing. Champagne responds by caressing a nearby unicorn, and then frenching it. (What is up with Kesha and the need for some Dr. Doolittle Bang-Bang?) They even loop this little snippet a few times so we can confirm that, yep, we’ve got tongue action.

A revisit with Singing Kesha (yes, she still believes that her hand is an actual weapon, poor thing), then back to James, who is inexplicably ripping the sleeves off his jacket while glaring at Kesha, then he rips the rest of it in two and throws the mess on the ground. (He couldn’t just… take the jacket off?) Then he challenges Kesha by doing one of his trademark eyebrow-raises. Insert another cameo with Singing Kesha, who yells the line “it’s time to let the crazy out!”. Honey, that done happened when I pushed play on this video.

Back in the Room of Confrontation and Torn Clothing, Champagne Kesha and James have a short dance-off, with her wiggling her non-existent hips and him managing to thrust his crotch and shove his pecs forward at the same time. Then Kesha reaches into the top of her dress and pulls out… her bra, which she tosses to the side while she smirks and her alter-ego in the Uni-Sex Room continues to be inspired by all the horns everywhere.

James, not to be outdone, reaches into his own shirt and whips out a matching bra, although it takes him longer to toss it aside, so he must like his support garments more than Kesha does. Kesha briefly looks confused (we’ll assume that she didn’t have to take acting lessons for that), then decides the business with his bra was really hot so they rush to the middle of the room for further discussion and the possible appearance of additional lingerie.

They proceed to have a mystifying conversation where they taunt each other, make fun of each other’s names, and analyze muenster cheese. This is probably supposed to be erotic and sexy banter, but I’m distracted by the Horn People in the background who don’t really know what they’re doing in this scene and keep shifting about. Kesha ends the wordplay with “Shall we dance?”

But instead of clenching one another and moving to the rhythm, they go to opposite sides of the room, then suddenly turn and start shooting laser bullets at one another. Well, then, didn’t see that coming. So now it’s all about leaping around to avoid death and making snarling faces as they return fire. (Kesha uses one of the unicorns as a body shield, so I’m sure she got a call from PETA during post-production.)

Wait, it seems that quite a few of the unicorns are getting hit by the bad beams and crashing to the ground, so Kesha probably got more than just a phone call. There are also a few other humans that I hadn’t noticed before until they get shot and go flying through the air. And the most shocking thing of all is the destruction of a completely innocent glass of champagne before anybody got to drink it.

The frantic gunplay comes to an end when Kesha finally manages to hit James in the shoulder with one of the magic bullets, knocking his gun out of his hand and allowing her to waltz up and step on his arm so he can’t reach the gun. He asks for a truce, but she decides that she’s really not in the mood for that and kills him anyway. Cut to James’ head mounted on the wall (“James Van Der Dead”), while Kesha and her Pole-Head buddies are sitting around, drinking more bubbly, and laughing hysterically.

Note to Self: Never party with Kesha. Ever. Unless I have spare bras that I don’t care for anymore, can overlook the bestiality, and don’t mind getting shot.


Click Here to Watch the Video on YouTube.

Backup Dancers From Hell: Dave Matthews Band - “Crash Into Me”

We start out with what looks like some 18th century women on drugs, running through a park so that their billowy dresses twirl and flip. (To be fair, it’s hard to tell exactly what they’re doing, because some “artistic” person has decided to jack with the look and speed of the film, so things are a bit out of whack.) Cut to one of the band members sitting on a bass violin or some such as it floats in a pond, plucking maniacally at the strings.

Perhaps he doesn’t quite understand how that instrument works.

More images of the whacked out women, first staring at the camera with no emotion, and then they’re off again, waving their skirts in a frenzy, then forming a Maypole circle while Dave stands nearby and starts singing the song. Then we see a man wearing nothing but a skirt of violins and a cute little hairdo. He seems to be sad, so we go back to the crazy girls and Dave in that park. The sisters are now doing something absurd with trees, so I guess the drugs haven’t worn off yet.

But at least the image is clearer now, and we can see these women really enjoy the near-flashing of their private bits. For his part, Dave is standing there with an odd, slightly off-kilter expression that makes you wonder if there might be some wanted posters somewhere with his face on them.

Close-up of two of the dancing girls, who seem to be reenacting scenes from a tragic play where family members keep secrets until they all die. Then we get to see some of the other band members, but the Art Major is back to playing with the film stock, so you only see bits and pieces. A quick check of the man sitting on the wet instrument shows that he is reaching out to Jesus for some sort of sign. (I would imagine the sign would read “Get out of the damn water, you idiot.”)

The girls are still dancing, so I’m thinking there are some underlying issues that really need attention. But we really don’t have time to dwell on that, because next up we have people dressed as skeletons while wearing the skulls of horses. That’s nice. What Goth person got a hold of this part of the script? Oh, hey, there’s violin-skirt man, and he seems to be happier now, so let’s focus on him instead of the creepy horse-people.

And I’m happy to report that Jesus, or somebody, has delivered that one guy from the pond. He’s now on solid ground, at least from a physical standpoint. More artsy jacking with the video, showing images of plants and food, then another shot of the violin-skirt man, who is apparently getting arrested for something. This leads to another band member giving us the universal hand symbol for “stop in the name of love”, which doesn’t make sense, but one of the rings he’s wearing on that hand is really cool. (I wonder if there’ll be a “Where to Buy!” section at the end of the video?)

Whoa, now, those dancing girls are getting a little carried away, with one of them nearly knocking herself unconscious with some over-exuberance near a tree trunk. This is followed by more band members, again done by the Art Major so that you’re not really sure what you’re looking at. It could be a fireman playing a saxophone. It could be a baked potato. This confusion apparently causes that one guy to run float on his instrument in the pond again. Poor thing.

Oh, change of scenery, with the introduction of two Geisha ladies while Dave wears an Asian outfit while sitting on a wooden couch in a field. The Geisha girls are being dragged around this field as they ride odd carts with mannequin heads stuck on them. (One of the girls falls off her cart and rolls away. Not sure if this was planned, but I think it’s my favorite part. There’s something amusing about the sudden tumbling of people in kimonos.)

And they bring on the dancing girls once more, with them still doing somewhat neurotic waltzes whilst wearing far more eye-shadow than should be legally allowed. (Were they looking up exhaust pipes for some reason?) More artsy scenes, the main one having something to do with the girls performing a ceremony to bring Bambi’s mother back to life. Oh, and there’s tight shots of Geisha hair, in case you’re looking for something like that.

Right about 2:38 in, a snowstorm wipes out a section of the dancing girls. It’s sad, but we move on, with Violin-Skirt Man playing a tender parting melody for the petticoats that have been lost.

We have a new cast member in the form of a zombie-like woman wearing her backyard fence as couture. (Recycling is good!) She doesn’t do much except look angry, but the image sticks with you, and isn’t that whole point? A brief shot of the Geisha girls lets us know that they might be secret lovers, then Dave launches into the long “hike up your skirt a little more” bit, with images of the Geisha girls sitting on a bench and preparing to show their world to us. This is just a tad too much of a cultural exchange for me.

Luckily, we cut away to Dave riding a wooden horse while looking over his shoulder for tax auditors, the Geisha girls share some more tender moments, and the dancing girls are still at it, although one of them seems to have snagged her drawers on a pesky stump. We get an update on Pond Boy (he’s currently out of the water), Zombie Chick (still mad), Violin-Skirt Man (still can’t find any pants), and a tribute to the victims of the snowstorm (still dead, but they’re really pretty even if they are frozen).

And that’s basically how we wind things down. The dancing girls show no signs of wearing out, flitting about and humping random trees (with a cameo by Sarah Jessica Parker kneeling by one of said trees), additional close-ups of Dave, both riding his lifeless horse and making that creepy expression, and more messing around by the Art Major, with images of leaves and jockstraps.

One of the final shots is of a ball and chain rolling along a creek bed (did Dave just get out of a bad relationship?), and we end with the dancing girls continuing their rave while cute little forest creatures plot their annihilation if they don’t stop soon…


Click Here to Watch the Video on YouTube.

Backup Dancers From Hell: Brad Paisley - “Water”

Okay, folks. This is another one of those videos with random clips slammed together, mostly of dumb-asses doing things in or near water, so we’ll have to do the time stamp thing…

0:03 Brad’s guitar floats by in a swimming pool. A script does not.

0:11 Brad swims by underwater, with the guitar now on his back. Did he rescue it? Will there be mouth-to-mouth?

0:14 Lusty people touching each other while water pours over them.

0:16 Brad appears out of a wall of water, wailing and strumming and proving that you can indeed look mighty fine when soaking wet.

0:21 Grainy footage of a man having sex with a giant donut. Fairly certain it’s not Brad, but we all have our secrets.

0:24 Is this how Menudo started?

0:27 First appearance of giant, barely-clad breasts. I’m assuming there will be multiple encores.

0:33 Brad and his entire band jump into a pool, all of them clutching their instruments and appearing to be very excited about doing so.

0:37 Mystifying crotch shot of the drummer playing his drums. Underwater. We’ll just assume that there are going to be rust issues.

0:44 Idiot #1 fails miserably at attempt to swing over water on a rope.

0:48 Idiot #2 learns about erosion and gravity.

0:54 Idiots 3 and 4 are either very clumsy or shot by out-of-season deer hunters with bad eyesight.

0:59 Idiot #5, his inbred cousin operating heavy machinery, and a little thing known as centrifugal force. Good time not had by anybody.

1:04 Overhead shot of three pairs of ginormous hooters. Those things are apparently multiplying. Must be something in the…

1:12 Improper use of a motor vehicle. And a floppy hat.

1:21 Black-and-white footage of women playing musical chairs but not understanding that you should actually HAVE chairs to make this work.

1:31 Alarming documentary footage that The Succubus Woman of Antwerp really exists.

1:38 Idiot #6 totally getting that baptism thing wrong.

1:58 Alarming documentary footage that Fruit-Salad-Head People walk the earth.

2:07 Secret male lovers perform erotic dance back in the day. Don’t ask, don’t shimmy.

2:12 Idiot #7 drives truck into swamp. In certain areas of Georgia, this is considered an official rite of manhood.

2:17 More knockers.

2:30 Horrifying footage of a man inadvertently exposing his special crack. The critical bit is blurred, but the pain is real.

2:37 Startling shot of Brad sporting a neon-orange codpiece.

2:46 More tragic examples of beer and motor vehicles not meshing well.

2:58 The real story of what happened on Gilligan’s Island.

3:02 Idiot #8 is introduced to the concept of looking before you leap.

3:18 Idiot #9 discovers why people wear helmets in the Tour de France. And that boat docks are not necessarily your friend.

3:34 That poor piece of plastic. It will be in therapy for years.

3:48 Codpiece again.

3:58 Dude, those macho boots SO don’t go with your lack of balance and blatant attempt to fall between your buddy’s legs. Points for trying, though.

4:05 Idiot #10 realizes that the “Road Ends” sign was not a vicious lie from the corrupt government.

4:11 Oddly-dressed people sail away in a boat, waving happily at us and not understanding that this will turn into much more than a three-hour tour. And the boat’s name is “Felice”. That’s not a name for a real boat. These people are doomed….


Click Here to Watch the Video on YouTube.

Backup Dancers From Hell: Katy Perry - “Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F.)”

Well, now. Katy and the gang have put together a little mini-movie for your viewing pleasure, packed with colorful characters, little plot and surprising guest stars. (It’s just like The Love Boat. Only totally not.) Here goes…

We start out with some paper boy doing his thing, on his bike and hurling his wares in a quaint little neighborhood that most of us can’t afford. We zoom in on one house, and travel to Katy’s bedroom, where she’s just waking up to find things are a bit amiss. The room is totally trashed, and rude people have passed out hither and yon. There’s even an actual chicken who is really perturbed about something.

Katy, who has glammed up her name by adding an “H” and is now known as Kathy, is sporting one of those torture-chamber headgear devices that many of us survived in our teeth-straightening years, as well as an outfit that can only be described as “victim of home-schooling”. She proceeds to not-so-subtly freak out about the condition of her room and what might have led to live poultry and a possibly-naked stud sharing the bed with her.

The door flies open, and “Aaron” sticks his head in, played by one Darren Criss, who has apparently done quite well on a tiny little show called Glee. Anyway, Aaron overlooks Kathy’s freaking, just wanting to thank her for a party well done, then he splits. Typical party guest. They break things and then they leave.

While geeky Kathy ganders at the devastation about her, she decides to sing about her life at the moment, as we all do when confronting unusual circumstances. She warbles about some shindig gone bad, then checks her online account to see a posted video of her licking the stomach of some guy named Steve, proclaiming her a goddess for her tongue work. How nice of him.

Kathy begins to recall the hazy details, and it seems that it all started with her innocently sitting in her little-girl-geek room, minding her own business and being unattractive. Her self-loathing awkwardness is interrupted by the strains of a major blowout coming from next door, where obnoxious people are drinking and doing stupid things only because there’s an audience and party streamers. You know, like your entire college experience.

Socially-inept but defiant, Kathy stomps to the offending house, where the door is answered by “Rebecca Black”, played by, um, Rebecca Black, she of the infamous mother-financed “Friday” music video that went viral earlier this year and has apparently been seen by the entire world. Except me. I guess she and Katy/Kathy got tight somewhere along the line.

Rebecca graciously invites Kathy into her dwelling, where tons of people are having a blast, guzzling anything liquid, and doing gymnastics. While Kathy takes this all in, spazzing geekily but excitedly, she is spotted by a fellow geek cadet (“Everett”, played by Kevin McHale, also from Glee.) He and his braces swoon over Kathy, and he briefly imagines them as Knight and Fair Lady back in Medieval times, rubbing teeth metal and wearing ugly, heavy clothes while standing in front of a fake castle.

Up comes a typical high-school jock, all full of attitude and testosterone. (This would be Steve, he who eventually gets the lint removed from his belly button by Kathy. But that’s later.) He blows off our heroine Kathy and instead tries to cozy up to some slut in denim, showing off is washboard abs as a sign of introduction. Kathy is a little blue about not being immediately bedded by the jock, so her new bestie Rebecca drags her upstairs for a makeover, because that’s what good friends do, try to completely change one another as soon as they meet.

We now have a nice sequence of fashion sprucing, including the replacing of tragic clothing with racy little snippets of stretchy material, the execution of lip hair via wax-enhanced ripping, and some breast redesign accomplished with structural enhancements. Oh, and they lose the headgear, an operation which nearly decapitates Rebecca when the tension is released on the steel hardware.

Cut to Kathy tottering down the stairs in purposely mis-matched high heels, breasts that could easily be floating around Jupiter, and enough jacked-up hair to wipe out a small town. (She’s still got her braces, natch, because you can only do so much dental work in a typical teen bedroom.) Of course, this immediately gets the attention of Jock Steve, who instantly ditches Denim Tramp and races to bask in the light reflecting off Kathy’s teeth.

So now the party has really started, and we get shots of Kathy and her hair having the time of their lives, playing video party games, drinking, and imagining that grown-up life is going to be just like this. There’s an extended dance-off sequence, where people are doing the robot, and even the geeks get to join in, letting us know that these folks are really inclusive and not Republican at all. (Well, maybe those shifty people in the corner might be, lying into their cell phones about where they really are, but we’ll ignore them for now.)

We also have a bit where Kathy and her jupiters leading the crowd as they chant the “T.G.I.F” bit of the song, with her being the center of attention because you can’t wear an outfit like that and not be the center of something. We transition to the backyard for the first of two startling surprises. First, it appears that Hanson is the band performing at the festivities. (Mmmm-what?) And then they are joined by Kenny G, blasting out a solo on his instrument.

Kenny G, people. (I know. It scared me, too.)

Everybody jams for a while, probably because with all of Kathy and Kenny’s hair blocking the exits, ain’t nobody going nowhere just yet. Then Kathy picks out her bestest new friends and leads them over to her house, where they can party in her room and admire her science fair ribbons. (There’s a brief shot of Kenny being crowd-surfed to somewhere else, but no explanation is given. It’s probably best that we don’t know.)

Eventually, as always happens with any good party, things start to go awry. Poor Kathy, not accustomed to alcohol and tight clothing, throws up in one of her pretty little roller skates. Then Jock Steve decides to grab him some Kathy butt, which offends Geeky Everett, who is still pining for Kathy. So Everett, fueled by another Medieval vision wherein he slays evil Stevie while a volcano erupts in the background, punches Steve, who promptly passes out on Kathy’s bed.

Kathy, maturing socially rather quickly, realizes it’s important to catch on to the latest trends as soon as possible, and she promptly passes out beside Steve. (Smart girl.) Everett, tenderly removing the glasses of his slumbering beloved, has another King Arthur vision wherein he and Kath and their amazing teeth-hydraulics live happily ever after.

Cut back to the present, where morning-after Kathy is still reeling from the shambles of her room and the snoring of her apparently new roommates. The door opens again (anybody in this place knock?) and this time it’s Corey Feldman and Debbie Gibson playing Kathy’s parents. (They look just as surprised to be together as we are to see them.)

They want Little Missy to explain things, like why is Kenny G sleeping on the couch and who framed Roger Rabbit? Kathy has a total geek-plosion in trying to explain that she somehow magically became an alcoholic tramp overnight. This eventually leads to Corey and Debbie fessing up that they used to have their own Friday-night fun back in the day, an image that we instantly hope is not about to be shown to us.

Luckily, Kathy decides that the best thing to do is just go back to bed, and the parents decide to go downstairs where we can’t see them, Debbie’s hair has more room to get comfortable, and Corey can stop acting like he’s channeling Charlie Sheen. Kathy leans back, grinning to herself, and lays her hand on Jock Steve’s abdomen, breathing nerdily as her fingers inch their way toward the blanket adorning his waist.

Careful, girl. No telling who you might find down there. (We haven’t seen Rebecca, Everett OR the chicken in quite a while. Sayin.)


Click Here to Watch the Video on YouTube.

Backup Dancers From Hell: George Thorogood and The Destroyers - “Bad To The Bone”

Note: This one was suggested by a blog visitor. I’m not sure if he was serious or just trying to torture me, but I gave it my best…

We start out with a shot of some folks playing pool, followed by little urchin boys telling secrets on some street, and then we finally cut to George and the guys playing a gig. Almost right away George is shoving his mouth up in the camera, with all those teeth, a signature move that I had mentally blocked since the last time I had seen him perform back in the day.

The lovely ladies in the audience don’t seem to care, rocking to the beat with lust and naughtiness on their minds. And even some of the guys seem to be lost in a frenzy of… well, I’m not sure what. They’re just really happy, let’s leave it at that for now.

Cut to George walking down a street, because no one’s ever done that in a video. We don’t know where he’s going, the only clue being that he’s carrying his guitar case. We also see those urchin boys again, whispering and glancing at George furtively. I think we’re supposed to believe they’re in awe of George’s bad boniness. But they could just as easily be saying things like “Hey, Mikey, that’s the man that’s always asking me if I like comic books in the shower at the YMCA!”

In fact, the whole length of the street seems to be filled with young uns. No adults. Are we trapped in a giant daycare? Is Big Bird going to walk out of an alley and quiz us about letters and numbers?

Back to the pool hall, where George arrives with his instrument, and spies somebody already there, sitting at a table with his own guitar, a man I should probably know but don’t. Whoever he is, he’s apparently the Big Kahuna in this place, with lots of people standing around him and waiting to do his bidding or get him a chili dog.

George doesn’t care. He marches up and flops his guitar case on one of the pool tables. (Guess those people are done playing now.) George opens the case and takes out… a pool stick. (I guess they have a different concept of proper luggage usage in The South.) Big Daddy at the kingly table thinks this is really funny, and reaches for his own stick.

Shots of George powdering his hands and Big Daddy really enjoying wearing his white jacket. They both approach a pool table, with George smoking a cigar the size of a Buick, and they commence to play.

Brief respite as we cut back to the band playing its gig, with George and his teeth and the ovulating sister girls in the audience. We don’t learn anything new or different, so I’m thinking somebody’s already making crap up to fill out the video. Just a guess.

Checking in back at the pool challenge, we learn that Big Daddy is pretty dang good. Which is probably why he gets to wear the fancy jacket and the cowboy hat. George is standing around with an attitude since he can’t even play what with Big Daddy really showing off. The rest of the crowd is mesmerized by Big Daddy and his stick dominance, so they probably don’t get out much.

Then we see some guy nod to another really old guy, and old guy turns and goes into the next room which turns out to be a gym where people are boxing. What the hell? I guess I don’t get out much either, because I’ve never been to a bar that featured both pool tables and boxing rings. Anyway, old guy makes his way to another old guy, who is standing next to a woman with barely-restrained breasts. Old Guy 1 whispers something to Old Guy 2.

The people in the this video are entirely too secretive. Just sayin.

Old Guy 2 and Tramp 1 head on over to the pool room, where Big Daddy has just racked up a new game. OG2 throws a wad of money on the balls (that’s a line I never imagined typing) and then he and Trampolina take a seat. (Well, she can’t really sit down without the emancipation of nipples, so she just sort of leans against the bench.)

Big Daddy and George Daddy do their thing, with nifty images of a clock spinning so us slower folk can understand that a lot of time passes. We also have images of big bills being snatched off the table, so somebody’s got a nice revenue stream. Oh, and there’s shots of some underling sliding those little round discs on a string in that old-timey way they did when people were too drunk to just write numbers down on paper.

This goes on for a long time. People play pool. A lot.

Finally, George Daddy runs the table and wins a game, ending with a shot that knocks his final ball and then the eight-ball into the same pocket. This is nice and all, but really, not that big a deal since it seems that George Daddy lost the 47 games before that. No matter, there’s happiness about, with one of the urchins who has been watching the marathon (do they not ask for ID in this place?) racing outside to slap congratulatory hands with other urchins, all of them wearing trashy and ugly clothes.

Back inside the house of sin and boxing, George Daddy keeps up his winning streak, getting all cocky and prancing around. (But, dude, you lost the first 47... Oh, screw it.) Big Daddy finally goes to sit next to Old Guy 2, all ashamed. George Daddy makes his final shot, with the eight-ball hanging on the edge of a pocket without dropping. No problem. George holds his cigar out over the filthy floor and taps it, and the thudding weight of the heavy ashes causes the eight-ball to commit suicide and leap into the pocket.

Really?

The crowd of homely urchins out on the street roars.

I don’t.


Click Here to Watch the Video on YouTube.

Backup Dancers From Hell: Britney Spears - “I Wanna Go”

We start out with Britney at a press conference where she is fielding questions while wearing high heels covered with spikes and a t-shirt indicating that something unpleasant may have happened to a famous cartoon rodent. Turns out the reporters are asking some really lame-ass questions, but it takes a while for this to sink in because we’re fascinated with the way Brit’s heavy mascara is making it hard for her to keep her eyes open.

Britney suddenly gets fed up with the stupidity (totally biting my tongue right here), instructs most of the reporters to sexually violate themselves in a rough manner, and then storms out of the room. Luckily she must have passed a changing room before she got to the front door of the building, thus allowing her to switch costumes before she tromps out onto the sidewalk, doing one of those “I’m a supermodel and you’re not” walks.

While the main story plays out, we also get jump shots of Britney performing the song, wearing fingerless leather gloves and unexplained pink streaks in her hair. Back to the sidewalk, where a crazed male fan runs up to her and begs for an autograph. Britney complies happily, first by tonguing a pen that was conveniently tucked between her boobs, then she scribbles her name on a CD, shoves it at the ecstatic adolescent, and grabs a handful of his booty. (I had to replay this bit, because at first it looked she might have gone for the kielbasa.)

Naturally, the boy-man stands there in shock, not really sure how to process this development, which will probably, and sadly, be the most important thing that has ever happened in his life. He finally expresses his excitement by doing a hands-free backflip. (Wow. Just what would he have done if she had sampled the sausage?)

Britney takes off down the street, flirting with a few more males as she does so, including a baby in a carriage. (A nod to K-Fed?) She comes across a policeman writing out a ticket to a man sitting in a strawberry-red Volkswagen Beetle. (I’d give him a ticket for picking that color, too.) Out of sympathy for the plight of the man in the car, or maybe just boredom, Britney rips open her top and reveals her hardware display. (We’re behind her and can’t see much, which is a little sad, but really, has she ever worn a top that didn’t allow us to visualize exactly what she’s got? I think we’re fully aware of her exact dimensions.)

The camera jumps around, letting us see that all of the males in the area are absolutely mesmerized by the mammaries, and then focuses on the reaction of the policeman. He seems to be a bit perturbed at first, but I guess he quickly gets over it, because next thing you know he’s got Britney sprawled over the hood of the strawberry car and is frisking her doggie-style. (This does nothing to stop her from singing, but it does allow her traffic cones to dangle and caress the curves of the hood.)

What The Man is hoping to find lodged somewhere we don’t really know, but he must be worried about something up in that skintight grill because he spends quite a bit of time on the hunt. Then apparently they have some quickie sex, because we cut away for a bit and come back to see Britney walking away, twirling his handcuffs while he buttons his shirt back up. Girl knows how to get things done and then get back to the shopping.

Next up we have Britney encountering some paparazzi guy, something I’m sure she’s familiar with since they hide in her trash cans and bathrooms and such. At first she’s real sweet, posing for him and blowing him kisses, because she loves everybody that will take a picture of her. Then she gets an attitude, snatches away his fancy camera, and hurls it to the sidewalk, shattered bits flying. (Honey, is your bustier a little too tight?)

Apparently this bit of destruction titillates Britney to some degree, and she decides that she needs more of that apple juice. She rushes out into the street, and climbs on top of a taxicab that is stupidly parked there. 4 other paparazzi appear out of nowhere and also hop on top of cars. (Is this a new line-dance craze? To the left, to the left, to the left, climb on a vehicle. Even though there’s no parking on the dance floor.)

Britney stares down the four guys, while we get jump shots of her belly button giving a performance somewhere else. Then she suddenly whips out a microphone on a really long cord. (Wow. Based on her minimal outfit, there’s only one place she could have been storing that.) Kill Bill Britney starts whirling the microphone around her, striking down the Evil People With Cameras, one by one. (Interesting to note: When the mike slams into them, the guys emit sparks before crashing to the ground. Oh?)

Once all the pins have been knocked down, Britney just stands there in a triumphant and saucy manner. Until she spies one of the photogs getting back up, his damaged face looking all Terminator and stuff. And the other dudes are the same way. Whoopsie, we have an issue. Time to dash, Brit. Run like the wind, girl!

Luckily, a guy with a convertible just happens to drive up. (We’ll overlook the fact that this street was entirely blocked off with cars right up to this magical point.) And he even knows her name, beckoning for her to hop in. Yay! They zoom down the street.

And decide to go for a ride in the country, because who wouldn’t want to do that when you’ve just killed four men and then they pulled a Lazarus on you. Anyway, the brisk country air convinces Britney that she needs to abandon even more of her clothing, as well as stand up in the car and wave her arms about like a sorority girl after her first experience with a beer bong.

They travel across the land, me and you and a… carton of milk? The driver whips out a container of the white stuff that he had stashed behind the seat, (what?), and then proceeds to pour the milk all over his face while still clipping along at 80mph. This goes on for a very long time, with Britney and her cleavage encouraging him. Then Brit notices that his cool leather jacket is smoking, so she rips it open and discovers that he’s a machine, too! Egads! Poor thing just can’t get a break.

Cut back to the original press conference, where Britney shakes off her daydream, and is still fielding questions from the asinine reporters. Suddenly, the guy with the milk fetish and the dysfunctional circuitry walks up to Brit, only now he seems normal and dry. Or is he? As he rescues Britney from the Bad People Who Write Stories, dragging her away, he hands her some seashells and then they waltz away. Just before they round a corner, he looks back, and we see the evil red eyes of a robot.

Which means he must be a music producer, right?


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Beyonce - “Run The World (Girls)”

We start out with Beyonce riding on horseback, cantering through some dusty place with hills in the distance. (Beverly?) Then we get shots of tragic things like burning trashcans and discarded satellite equipment. Oh, and some vaguely-liberationist banners with angry women looking unsettled. Beyonce rides through this mess, while we get shots of more angry women beating the roofs of abandoned cars and mobs of disgruntled people running amok.

I’m thinking this is not going to be a happy video.

Quick shot of Beyonce showing that her horse is really special, then shots of military men running about in an aggressive manner. We also have scantily-clad women in wooden cages waving their crotches at the camera, one woman lounging on a giant wooden cross, and nasty desert winds blowing sand in everybody’s cracks. Still with the “not happy place”.

Cut to some confrontational area, where lots of bizarrely-dressed woman are standing defiantly. (“Roman gladiators on estrogen” comes to mind.) Zoom in on a tight shot of Beyonce sporting harem-gear and looking at us intensely. This goes on for a few frames so we can carefully study her lip gloss and place orders online. Back to the confrontational women, more of them this time, and now they look like Gestapo Yakuza members.

It seems these colorfully-dressed women are facing off against the military men, and the showdown starts with Beyonce marching up to them in short-shorts that can’t possibly be comfortable. Then, and I’m not sure how to describe this, but Beyonce goes into the most bizarre dance I have ever seen. Something about bouncing her shoulders in a violent manner and whipping her hair around. I’m sure somebody, somewhere thought that this choreography might be hot and inspiring. That person was wrong.

Beyonce insists on doing this mess for quite some time. Trying to make the best of things, her posse of defiant women raise their arms in solidarity to the beat. This doesn’t really help, so various members of the posse run out from time to time and try to make the whole thing a perky line dance. But it’s not working. I try to get into it, but somebody done made a wrong turn.

This goes on for a long time. A very long time.

Cut to Beyonce wandering around among the mens and trying to steal their cell phones and such, mixed in with images of Beyonce somewhere else, her hair jacked to Jesus and doing something with what I think are hyenas. Then the dancing Beyonce crawls between the legs of one of the men and flips us off. Really?

Next up is Beyonce doing some mess with water cannons, and then stomping around near burning cars while wearing shoes that can’t possibly be comfortable. Then we cut to Beyonce wearing an anorexic jumpsuit and fondling her breasts. (Not making this up.) The we zip back to B and her posse doing another line dance in the confrontational area, this one involving them spreading their thighs as wide as possible so that we can see their tiny panties.

What the hell am I watching here?

This dance also goes on for a while, including a segment where the ladies get on all fours and wave their fannies in the air. Then all hell breaks lose when the tarts and the troops rush at one another. While these people pounce on one another in an unexplained war of whatever, we have side shots of Beyonce doing sexual things with sand.

Well, dang, the girls are dancing again, so I guess the war is on hold while the pissed-off sisters undulate and high-kick. The vision for this scene is that Beyonce wears an oddly-cut green dress, all her hundreds of girlfriends wear garter belts and little else, and they all do a routine where they slowly flip their hair from side to side. The military men, apparently enthralled with the heaving bosoms and lack of modesty, just stand there and watch.

Really?

As has become typical in this video, the sequence goes on for far too long. I understand that when you’ve paid for this many extras in a video, you should try to use them all and get your money’s worth. But come on. How many gyrating crotches can you see before it all becomes a blur?

No matter, it’s Beyonce’s vision, we’re just the observers here. So we watch as she and her posse reach the point where they raise their fists in the air in what they think is total domination of the male species. The girls advance on the still-stunned men (None of whom have raised a weapon or tried to fight back. That’s real, right?), and Beyonce, lead dancing tramp, reaches up and rips something off the chest (Medal? Medic Alert bracelet?) of one of the men.

At which point all of the women salute the men and the video ends.

What the hell, Beyonce? Seriously.


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Lady Gaga - “The Edge Of Glory”

We start out on a wet, urban street somewhere, with pretty pink smoke billowing around a corner, because things like that always happen when Gaga is in town. Cut to a brief shot of someone screwing around with a cheap window curtain, then back to that corner, where Gaga is now standing, looking very Liza Minnelli in “Cabaret” just before things all went to hell in Berlin between the wars.

More of that person in the window, with smoke gushing out of the apartment, so apparently somebody has microwaved the popcorn too long once again. Then we have Gaga standing on the front steps of the apartment building, next to Clarence Clemons, who is playing a saxophone even though there’s obviously something on fire in the near vicinity.

Back to the window, where we can now see that Gaga is peering out said window whilst wearing an outfit that is vaguely Geisha/Egyptian, sporting sunglasses and yet another haggard wig. The vocals kick in on the song, while Geisha Gaga attempts to climb out the window without disrupting her couture. Cut to Streetwalker Gaga as she struts her wares and lets us know that she’s really partial to studded-leather and gold chains. The camera pans down so we can observe Gaga’s unique skill of walking in high-heel boots without tripping.

The camera focuses on her face again, giving us plenty of time to wonder if Gaga’s hairdo is a tribute to some endangered bipolar species. She doesn’t really explain what’s going on, and instead chooses to walk in a manner that would get a normal citizen arrested for public intoxication. To be fair, she probably can’t see where she’s going, what with the tendrils of her raccoon hair falling in her eyes and such.

We check in on Geisha Gaga at the window. She still hasn’t made it out, despite the obvious fire consuming her apartment. (Maybe a stiletto heel is caught on the window sill?) She’s perched in the window frame, artfully pretending to lose her balance in a manner that allows her to thrust her crotch at the camera.

She finally makes it out onto the fire escape, wailing the “Edge of Glory!” line as more smoke pours out of the building. Brief glimpse of Streetwalker Gaga, then we’re back with Geisha Gaga as she takes two steps on the fire escape and then pauses to bellow more of the song, instead of running like hell as most fire victims would do. Cut back to Stoop Gaga with the sax player, where this Gaga has decided it’s really important that she do a back bend over the stair railing so that her crotch is at an equal-opportunity level for all passersby.

We jump cut around for a bit, visiting all the Gagas, then we settle on Geisha Gaga as she does an interpretive dance on the fire escape, one that might have something to do with the disenfranchisement of the Mongolian people, but that’s just a guess. Then Geisha Gaga inexplicably runs up the fire escape stairs instead of down. (Did she not get the memo about how escaping a fire works?)

Apparently it doesn’t matter, because Geisha Gaga has a lot of swell dance moves that she can perform while working her way upwards. The most important move is something about laying down halfway up the flight of stairs so she can arch her back and touch her breasts. Then she hops up and wiggles her fanny to let us know that she’s just fine, although a bit winded.

Jump cuts to the other Gagas, then back to Geisha still taking forever to work her way up that single flight of stairs. (Girl, what part of “the building’s on fire, get the hell out!” do you not understand?) But no, she thinks it’s really important to stop and do squat-thrusts on every step. We re-visit Streetwalker Gaga, who is really invested in doing some twirling, then back to Geisha Gaga, who decides to rip off her lovely silk top and wave it about. Instead of running for her life.

Then Geisha Gaga runs back down the stairs, which is actually the right thing to do, but really, girl just needs to make up her mind. She goes back to that window where the apartment is on fire, grabs both sides of the window frame, and then leans out in yet another attempt to accent her breasts. Really, honey? We all know you have knockers, we see them every day on the TV. Lets put those away for just a bit until the building is safely evacuated.

Another quick visit with Streetwalker Gaga, then back to Geisha Gaga, who is now rubbing her booty on the brick wall of the building. I’m not sure what she’s trying to accomplish here, but someone should let her know that the last thing we need right now is more friction. And those studded panties are sure to strike a spark.

Brief shot of Stoop Gaga carelessly throwing some trash into the street, another of Geisha Gaga trying to tune in Tokyo with her mammary radar, and then… I don’t know. All of the Gagas seem to have simultaneously hit a caffeine-high as we zip from one to the other. Then, luckily, the sax player finally wakes up and remembers how to play his instrument, so we have a slower bit where all the Gagas thrust various body parts in a less frenetic manner.

After a bit, we focus on Geisha Gaga, who now feels it’s important to recreate certain dance moves from 1984, including the raised fist and the head banging. Then she warps into some burlesque business by throwing her leg over the fire escape railing, and a tribute to angels being reborn despite their penchant for leather accessories. Then Geisha Gaga is mysteriously back in front of the burning window, once again giving herself a breast exam.

And here we go with some crazy jump-cutting. I’ll try to catch the highlights. One of the Gagas kisses the sidewalk, so I guess we have a fetish for wet concrete. Geisha Gaga does a nifty side-kick thing that makes my eyes well up with tears over stupid things we did in high school that we should never do again, then she proceeds to do more of that “bang her ass on the brick wall” mess, followed by a mesmerizing stunt involving her humping the iron railings of the fire escape. This girl is very, very busy.

The jump-cutting continues, with Stoop Gaga recreating scenes from “Streets of Fire” mixed with “Flashdance”, Geisha Gaga doing the exact same drill team routine that I witnessed at high-school football games, and Streetwalker Gaga being overly fond of dance steps that make her gold jewelry sparkle in the dewy wetness provided by the odd pink cloud that keeps billowing around that corner.

Special Artistic Mention: Stoop Gaga manages to find the exact pose that makes her hooters look porn-film worthy. You go, girl.

And that’s really how we wind things down. All of the Gagas are prancing and thrusting with a determination that makes one wonder just what might have happened in her childhood, but none of what we’re seeing can adequately justify her penchant for the split-personality hair follicles.

We end with Geisha Gaga going back into the burning building, Streetwalker Gaga defiantly strutting off to a corner that might bring a better offering of clientele, Stoop Gaga completely AWOL, and a general sense that, if this what it means to be On the Edge, I believe I’ll go for Plan B. I don’t want to wear hooker outfits and not understand how to get my ass away from a burning building. Just sayin.


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Backup Dancers From Hell: Robyn - “Call Your Girlfriend”

Okay, this entire video is one long, interpretive dance that Robyn does in a big-ass vacant warehouse. Sadly, what she’s doing has little to do with the lyrics of the song, so I’ll have to help you out with the real story behind the footwork…

We start out with the camera coming up behind Robyn as she’s standing there in a very shaggy half-shirt (think “woolly mammoth is missing a patch of skin”), with she and her hair looking away from us. She starts singing the song as the camera slowly rolls around to face her, with Robyn initially refusing to look at us and just staring at the ground. (Is she mad at us? Did we forget to empty the dishwasher again?)

Robyn does allow us a quick glance, so we feel a little bit better, but then she completely ignores us again as the beat picks up with the song. She’s been inspired to perform this little strut-walk across the floor, possibly showing us how her people moved to this part of the world centuries ago. Along the way, she does some head-and-shoulder moves that make her look like a chicken, so maybe her ancestors raised poultry.

Robyn suddenly reverses direction and starts slide-stepping backwards, perhaps a statement about the political upheavals in her country, then she twirls a bit with her arms flung out and then makes some retching motions. (She doesn’t care for The Sound of Music? Those chirpy, singing kids CAN be a bit much.) Then Robyn is walking backwards again and punching her firsts, and I’m going to guess that she’s moved on to West Side Story and is recreating ballet dancers in a street rumble.

Robyn pauses, holds her head momentarily to stop the horrifying images of movies where people burst into song for no apparent reason, then she runs to the middle of the giant room, and apparently steps on a special sensor that causes the lights to dim and hippy graffiti images to start flashing around on the walls. (Hey, I want a button like that!) Robyn commences with the twirling again, this time accented with head dips and arm movements that make her woolly-mammoth shirt rise and lower teasingly.

The camera pulls back so that we can fully enjoy looking at her psychedelic, skin-tight leggings and nifty, pink platform tennis shoes. Robyn performs some robotic but rhythmic dance moves, probably telling the sad tale of what happens when caffeine-consumption is not carefully monitored by specialists. The camera pulls back in just as the pretty lights go bye-bye and we get a close-up of Robyn wailing an important part of the song. (She arches her back a few times to confirm the emotional drama of the lyrics.)

Okay, now we’re getting to the really deep part of the story. Robyn suddenly pulls off a backwards somersault thing, a move which may or may not have gone off as intended, because she basically ends up slamming her crotch into the ground. Then she shoves her fanny in the air with startling exuberance, lowers it back down, and begins rolling around on the floor. (In a previous life, she must have been a really bad acrobat who had to turn to prostitution to save the family farm. Or something like that.)

Robyn rolls out of the rolling and into a sitting position, one that inspires her to briefly caress her breasts and stare seductively at the camera. (Maybe she was just making sure all her accessories were still in order after the strenuous gymnastics and fanny-waving.) Robyn gets back on her feet, checks the accessories again, briefly exposes a bit of her bra, and does a very short ballet sequence about the effects of eating peanut butter at an inappropriate time.

Next up is Robyn breaking into an energetic, arm-waving dance routine, cheer-leading for an athletic team that we can’t see. (She’s really good at this, so I hope the team won.) The lights dim again except for some low spotlights way behind her, making it look like an 18-wheeler took a wrong turn somewhere and is about to run her down. Robyn doesn’t care about the potential danger, because she has some special moves for just such a situation. Any decent performer knows how to line-dance their way to safety, and she does just that.

Now Robyn is moving in a perky manner that involves bending over to the beat, a shout-out to the migrant workers of the world who tirelessly harvest the fields so we can have snacky trays while watching music videos. Then Robyn reenacts dance sequences from Saturday Night Fever, only this time nobody gets pregnant in the back seat of a car. (From what we can see, anyway.)

The camera zooms in so we can watch Robyn sing and emote in close-up, then she starts having a reaction to something or other (was there shellfish on the food services cart?), vibrating and jumping, so the camera politely pulls back so she can have her medical issue in semi-privacy. Oh wait, she was just jazzing herself up for the next bit, where she launches into a strenuous dance while strobe-lights spin.

In this segment, she is explaining that cruelty to animals is really, really bad, coal miners deserve better working conditions, gangstas need luv, too, even if they don’t dress like it, shaggy clothing is the new black, war is not the answer, and if you just run up enough steps in Philadelphia you can win any title. It’s some really intense choreography.

The lights come back up as Robyn shows us that hopscotch is really good cardio, especially if you are wearing shoes that are bigger than your head. Robyn slows down a bit and actually messes up her own hair, which is the sign of a true artist and not just some over-hyped rapper chick that has learned how to say the same four words over and over.

Robyn then drops to the floor, putting her ear to the ground. (Is she listening for approaching enemies on horses?) Whatever she hears, it makes her really sad, her face all scrunched-up and tragic as she scrambles back to her feet. But then she recovers, suddenly punching at the camera and ready to take on whatever the world has to offer, even if it means having to do an interview with Ryan Seacrest.

We wind things down with Robyn doing a super-extended twirl (one that would have made Maria von Trapp AND RuPaul really proud) without showing signs of dizziness and ending the spin right on the final beat. Then she grins at the camera and wanders out of range, probably headed for a protest rally about saving the Tibetan Twinkle-Toed Treefrog…

Coolest thing? She did this all in one take. Hay, Gurl, hay.


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