Backup Dancers From Hell: Coldplay - “Christmas Lights”

Preliminary Note: Just before watching this for the first time, I noticed a YouTube comment from somebody claiming “the fish eating the boat is the best part!”. What the hell? What am I getting into with this one?

We start out with the camera focused on an old phonograph, with somebody getting ready to play a record of Cold play’s “Christmas Lights”. Okay, that’s what I’m wanting to hear, so that’s good. A mysterious hand gets things going, and we pan down to a strange piano that is playing by itself. Aside from the paranormal angle, we’re also distracted by all of the keys having been painted different colors back in about 1918. Hmmm.

Camera moves away from the piano and we pan along the band members lying on their backs on old wooden floor. (What, they’re too lazy to actually perform in this video? Was the mayo bad in the tuna salad? Has Gwyneth put them in time-out?) We finally get to lead singer Chris, and he starts singing while still laying there. I spy an “X” on one of the floorboards near his head, and I find myself much more interested in what might be under that floorboard than where the rest of this video is going. I need to focus.

Chris is singing really low on this part of the song, and I’m straining to hear, so it’s kind of a relief when the camera pans away. Sadly, we’re back at the creepy piano that is being played by the Ghost of Christmas Past, or maybe his cousin, the Ghost of Videos Where You’re Not Sure What Is Going On. The camera pulls back, and we see that Chris is still on the floor, but the rest of the band is gone. (I didn’t receive a memo on where they might have went.)

Suddenly, Chris levitates from the floor into a standing position. Oh? There is just something really wrong with this place. Chris isn’t bothered that his body was just transported against his will, and he starts playing this Piano of the Dead. The camera pans again, and we see a nice, billowy red curtain, which is hopefully not possessed. The curtain parts, and hey, there’s the rest of the band. They’re playing their little instruments on an old-timey stage. There a cut-out props shaped like buildings in the background, and for some reason I think of Istanbul. I’m probably supposed to think of something else, but I’m very confused.

The guys jam for a bit as the camera moves backwards so we can get a better gander at this stage thing, and we can see that there are some pretty Chinese lights strung across the stage. Okay, are we supposed to be thinking of Christmas around the world? Not sure. The camera moves back in so we can watch Istanbul slide into the wings, and then we have an apparent ocean and a moon rising out of the water. Suddenly, three drunken Elvis’s zip by while playing violins.

Did anybody talk to Graceland about this?

The camera pulls back again so we can see that the band is still playing, but that wasn’t really necessary since we can hear them the whole time. Then we zoom in on Chris still banging on that piano, and he’s singing to somebody that must be in the balcony because he sure doesn’t want to look at us. In the back of the stage, the Elvis’s zip by again, followed by one of Lisa Marie’s lawyers.

Oh wait, there’s that boat getting eaten by a giant fish. Well, then. I can’t really say it was the most exciting development in this video, filled as it was with carnage and violence, but I’ll agree that it was unexpected.

Chris gives up the piano and moves closer to his mates, allowing for a great photo-op. The camera pulls back from the stage, pretty far, so we can see there’s a little marquee above the stage with the words “Credo Elvem Etiam Vivere”. I’m sure there are scholarly people who can interpret this slogan for us, but I’m going to assume it means some character from “The Lord of the Rings” is now living in Las Vegas and helping Santa deliver presents.

The camera pulls back far enough that we can see buildings in the distance over the top of the theatre. One of them looks like the Capitol Building, but I’m going to assume that it’s not, since we’re dealing with British folk who would prefer that the Pilgrims had just stayed home and sucked it up like everybody else. The camera zooms back in on the band, still doing their thing. Now we’ve got fake snow falling down, but it’s clearly just scraps of shredded newspaper, so the magic is a bit thin. But Chris is wearing a carnation, and that makes everything better.

The fake newspaper falls for a while. Somebody was really invested in this part of the goings on.

Then the camera pans to the left, and we’re looking at what I’m guessing is the River Thames. There’s a triple-decker boat floating about, with tons of people on the top deck releasing balloons at just the right lyrical moment. Fireworks light up the sky, which isn’t really something we do in the Colonies during the Yuletide season, but it’s very festive.

Now we’re zooming back into the old-timey theatre, with the Elvis’s playing their violins with a passion and more fireworks exploding from where the seats should be if there had been an actual audience. Chris is really interested in doing hand movements over his head, so we’ll assume that this part of the song is super important to him.

The curtain closes, the camera gives us another glimpse of the creepy piano, and then pans over the top of the theatre so we can see the cityscape once again. More fireworks explode as the music fades and, presumably, Tiny Tim convinces Scrooge that world peace is possible as long as everyone has enough figgy pudding…

　

Click Here to Watch the Video on YouTube.

Idiot Fondue: Case Study #35

Dear Dr. Brian: “I have so often been asked (by straight boys predominantly) why it is that lesbians indulge in sex toys (for the enjoyment of penetration) when they have so obviously chosen to not include the opposite sex. I have a pat answer I reply with, but I was wondering if you’d even counseled anyone in this regard.

Best to you,
The Bexx


Dearest The,

“I truly appreciate your frankness, and I am nearly vibrating with joy at the fact that you have chosen me for your consultation. I greatly relish the opportunity to discuss in detail the situation you describe, but please allow me one moment while I gather my notes on the matter. Please hold.”

Dr. Brian calmly punches a button on his phone, then viciously jabs a button on another device, one that should open a line of communication directly with his assistant, Lanae, but this did not always prove to be the case. “Lanae!”

No immediate response, but there were subtle sounds of what might be a queen bee ingesting one of her slow-ass workers who had irritated her for the final time.

“Lanae, I know you’re there. I can hear what sounds like chewing. Are you eating again? You know I don’t care for you doing that when I need you assistance.”

Now the soundtrack changed to that of a loud, laborious gulp, followed by a belch that was far from delicate. “How was I supposed to know that you were going to call me right as I was biting into a pastry? It’s from Boudreaux’s Bakery. Chocolate cherry. I was overcome, okay?”

Dr. Brian sighed. “Of course you should have expected me to ring. You just sent me a very direct and graphic woman without any warning. We have discussed this. I was completely caught off guard, nearly spilling my carefully-prepared chicory coffee when she launched into some mess about vaginal penetration. I need to know if something like that is on the horizon.”

Lanae audibly sucked at her teeth, not willing to miss a single gram of sugared decadence. “I didn’t know that she was one of those. She didn’t seem like it to me. To be fair, I was already licking the wax paper I had unwrapped off my pastry, but I do believe I still would have caught a phrase like that. She must be one of those stealth lesbians that are all sweet until they get in the door.”

“So you knew she was a lesbian? You could have at least mentioned that to me. One has to be very careful these days about word-slippage. You didn’t ask her what lesbian issues she might have?”

Now Lanae sighed. “Dr. Brian, I’m not a lesbian. How would I even know what questions to ask? Is there a brochure? You’re the doctor.”

“There’s absolutely no reason to be snippy.”

Lanae, empowered by the violent amounts of sugar now racing through her bloodstream, begged to differ. “I’m not the one getting all heated and calling people just as they are contemplating a cherry, something this girl hasn’t known intimately for forty years. Besides, I’m fairly certain you can handle this. After all, I’m not the one who was arrested for nudity and possible bestiality in Paris. Shall we talk about that?”

Dr. Brian did not have an immediate response at hand.

“Thought so. I believe I have won this round. Now, I’m going to try eating another pastry without interruption, and you can go determine how you can assist Miss Penetration. We have bills that need to be paid.”

Click.

Dr. Brian sighed once more, then punched at the hold button on his phone. “Miss Bexx?”

Now a third person was sighing, indicating general dissatisfaction for all. “Doctor, I don’t care for that ‘Miss’ title. It’s offensive on two levels, underscoring the fact that I remain unmarried and am therefore unworthy, which is crap, and further irritates me since lesbians cannot get married in most places. It’s belittling. I’m sure you understand.”

“What term or appellation would you prefer?”

“Well, I’m known as ‘Sheba’ in certain circles, for reasons that probably won’t interest you, and for a time I was known as ‘Ovaria’ when I stupidly joined that cult, and one of my exes came up with a few choice labels, post-breakup, that were supposed to be derogatory, but I actually found rather amusing and started using them as screen names. I go by many titles, Dr. Brian, but I suppose for today you can simply address me as ‘Goddess’. Unless you must refrain for spiritual or religious reasons.”

Dr. Brian responded immediately. “I shall be delighted to refer to you as a goddess.”

“Great. That pleases me. Perhaps I’ll pay the bill for your services after all. Now, let’s get back to my original question. This plane will be taking off shortly, and this political grand-standing can be tiresome at the wrong moments. This is one of them.”

Dr. Brian was mystified. “You’re at the airport? On a plane?”

“Lesbians are still allowed to fly, Dr. Brian. Except in certain backwoods countries, where folks fully expect God or Allah or Glenn Beck to smack the plane down if the muff divers get on board.”

Dr. Brian was now intrigued. “So the people around you can hear everything you’re saying?”

“They could hear me, until they all asked to be relocated after I started talking to you. Even the flight attendant won’t come near me, but eventually she won’t have a choice. I’m using the abandoned beverage cart to chill my vodka, and these people are going to get thirsty at some point. Now, once again, let’s get back to my original question.”

“Why is it that straight people are so mystified with lesbians who use lusty equipment to plunge, prod and find Jesus?”

Bexx guffawed. “Very good, Doctor. We’re approaching the same level. Carry on.”

“Well, this does remind me of a story-”

“I’m not interested in fairy tales. Some bitch loses a shoe and gets to marry a prince? Not in my book.”

“I think you’ll like this one. It’s served me well in the past.”

“I don’t know.” (Sudden sounds of a garbled public announcement being broadcast through the plane.) “Well, damn,” uttered Bexx.

“Flight delay?” asked Dr. Brian.

“Well, not really. Sort of. Apparently they have an issue with odd sounds coming from a set of luggage. Probably mine.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Who else on this plane would have a set of designer Martina Navratilova luggage, with the tennis racket zipper pulls? It’s not like this plane is going to Palm Springs.” (More sighing.) “I hope I‘m not gonna get arrested again. I’ll have to call you back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Click.

Dr. Brian stabbed at the intercom again. “Lanae, do we still have that Merlot that Madonna sent us after the incident in Malawi?”

Lanae, not consuming anything at the moment, responded instantly. “One bottle or two?”

“Everything we’ve got.”
　

Click Here to Read the Next Entry in This Series…

Backup Dancers From Hell: Reba McEntire - “Turn On The Radio”

We start out with Reba somewhere at night, looking kind of shady with dark sunglasses and a designer, all-black outfit covering her from head to toe. (She makes sure that a lock of her trademark red hair is showing, so we don’t get confused and wonder where she’s at.) Reba is staring at a train-crossing signal that is currently activated, with the gates down. She seems to be waiting for said train to cross, and when it rolls through, she scurries across the street. Apparently Miss Reba is about to do something that needs a loud and rumbling distraction.

Reba and her high heels enter some building, and as she works her way through the hallways, she keeps glancing around furtively so you know she’s not here to sing in a gospel choir. The music starts just as Reba rounds a corner while ripping off her outerwear, and she looks smoking hot, so even if she’s up to no good the tabloid photos of her arrest will probably land on the cover.

Reba enters some room with a variety of boom boxes lining some metal shelves, stacked all over the place. Even though this seems like plenty of equipment to do whatever she needs to do, Reba is not satisfied and takes a fancy knife out of her satchel so she can open cartons with even more sound ware. (While doing this, she makes sure that we see her interesting designer bracelets. Reba is always a professional, even when banging around in an unknown warehouse.)

Reba fiddles with a few knobs, then turns to an old-timey microphone stand and starts belting out the song. It seems that her audience consists of just one man in a chair, and based on the way she’s spitting the lyrics at him, he done her wrong in some way. But he’s super cute, so she really needs to prove her case or we’ll just have to forgive him, based on his beard stubble alone.

Reba gets to her prosecution, slowly walking around the man while warbling, and managing to tie him to the chair with the microphone cord as she does so. (She does caress his face a few times, which seems to dispute her anger, but we can forgive her for that.) She does this for a while, looping the cord around him several times, although she does pause back near the microphone stand when she gets to really interesting parts of the song that require her to make flamboyant country diva hand gestures.

After she sings the rousing chorus, Reba scampers over to some of the boom boxes and turns up the volume, but this isn’t really necessary because we can hear the song just fine. (Maybe she’s still being a professional and is keeping in mind the fans with crappy seats.) Then Reba gets back to taunting Stud Boy in his little prison chair, doing some more arm choreography and jewelry-waving. She also likes to smirk at Stud like he’s in really big trouble now, but I believe he may already have the message.

More shots of Reba caressing various body parts on Stud, because she is a woman with needs after all, but now that Stud has figured out he might be late for dinner, he seems a bit standoffish with his response to the physicality, turning his head to the side so we can learn that his profile is just as appealing as the front view. (This is one prop that Reba better keep for her own after the video shoot is done.)

Reba circles Stud some more, wrapping him in more loops, so that must be one really long microphone cord. (I guess Reba is not really invested in those new-fangled wireless microphones, probably because you can’t tie people up with something that doesn’t exist.) Oh, and Reba continually flounces over to the boom boxes and jacks up the sound, probably not realizing that the dang train out there is not going to do its crime-covering work if she doesn’t settle down.)

During the “oh oh OH” part of the song, Reba performs a nifty high kick toward Stud, but he doesn’t even flinch, since it’s really hard to do so when you can’t move. Reba is proud of her footwork, and seems to be waiting on a compliment from Stud, but chances are that he’s not really going to be supportive of her athleticism at this point in time. Dissatisfied with his response, Reba loops some more cord around Stud (singing the whole time, because that’s her first love and no cheatin’ man can take that away from her), then she tosses the old-timey microphone into his lap.

Done with her performance and her kidnapping, Reba takes Stud’s keys and then gathers up all of her couture (that stuff is too expensive to just leave lying around a warehouse). Once properly covered to venture into the seamy night, Reba marches back down one of the hallways, doing a flippant diva wave as she rounds a corner. (For his part, Stud Boy squirms around in his chair and looks distraught.)

We close it out with Reba scampering back across the street, her signature red hair glowing lovingly despite the darkness of the night. She gets distracted when she spies what is apparently Stud Boy’s SUV parked nearby, marching toward it while whipping out a smart phone of some kind. Apparently Reba does have a soft spot for new technology after all, because she uses her toy to program her song into Stud Boy’s radio so that it will play over and over. And over.

But she’s not bitter…

　

Click Here to Watch the Video on YouTube.