I was mad about Lone Justice‘s debut album in 1985. Maria McKee had the voice and the band a sound that was often described as cowpunk. I went to see them live at The Park West in October of 1986. I still remember that as one of the best concerts I’ve ever been to. I didn’t quite remember that she was about the same age as I was at the time. She sounded so much wiser than her 21 years.
‘Ways to be wicked,” “Don’t toss us away” and “East of Eden” were three of the album’s standout cuts, which were produced by current “American Idol” mentor Jimmy Iovine. I turn 47 on the 9th, and sometimes, late at night, I suspect that perhaps I still I know so many ways to be wicked but I don’t know a single thing about love. I definitely felt that way at 21.
They appeared on “SNL” on December of 1986. They opened for Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers and U2 and performed at Farm Aid.
Maria McKee was one of the most underrated talents to come out of the 80’s. “East of Eden” puts to shame anything by any woman on the charts in 2011. Listen to how pointedly offhanded she can invoke more sexual innuendo in one line in “Ways to be Wicked” than Rihanna can invoke in a whole CD. In 1989, Maria released her first solo album “Gotta Sin to Get Saved”, which contains one of my favorite song titles of all time: “I’ve forgotten what it was in you that put the need in me.” (It’s only rivaled by Dinah Washington’s “My new man is an undertaker and he’s got a coffin just your size,” which appears on one of my favorite albums of all time “The Late, Late Show.”)
Listen to the title track on “Gotta sin…” and hear how much Miranda Lambert, for instance, might owe to Maria McKee. The current crop of country tough love girls should be indebted to Maria’s songwriting–even when it’s been stripped of every ounce of authenticity by the likes of Carrie Underwood (Undo It, Last Name, Before He Cheats) and the unbearably cloying Taylor Swift (see recent ACM performance. Miss Swift, YOU TALKING TO ME? Why you got to be so meaningless?)
Lone Justice on iTunes
The dude to whom they could justifiably be referring is Senator Saxby Chambliss of Georgia who, despite the recommendation of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Admiral Mike Mullen that the military’s “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy should be eliminated, opposes allowing gays to serve openly in the military. Senator Chamblis thinks that eliminating the military’s restriction on homosexuality as a condition of service in the 21st century could put us but steps away from a brave new world of “alcohol use, adultery, fraternization and body art.”
Really? This from a member of the party of Bush who spent 8 years with a guy named Dick on his ass. Sure, you might expect a more sophisticated world view from a guy in the US Senate than from the guys on ” Jersey Shore” but the situation reveals that Saxby may know more about Snooky than he knows about nookie.
Not that the Senator needs my help, but here’s a more comprehensive but still incomplete list of social undoings that could result from repealing don’t ask, don’t tell:
Your Toyota could suddenly accelerate for no reason
A black man could become president
Taylor Swift could win a Grammy
John McCain could marry an heiress to an alcohol distribution fortune
John Edwards could make a sex tape of himself making love to his pregnant mistress before he repeatedly denies to his terminally ill cancer stricken wife that he was the father of the baby
Men who have posed naked as a centerfold for Cosmopolitan magazine could be elected to the US Senate
Sandra Bullock could win an acting award
Sarah Palin may become John McCain’s running mate after being found on You Tube and vetted on Google, all in the span of two weeks
Women who look like they didn’t make the cut to be onstage as The Pussycat Dolls could find themselves in consort with Tiger Woods
John Edwards could take the word of a woman, who is unproblematically willing to have sex with a married millionaire, that he doesn’t have to use a condom because she’s incapable of getting pregnant
John Mayer could complain that he is not getting enough sex and extol the theraputic powers of masturbation while posing on various magazine covers showcasing his tattoos
Timothy Geithner , Larry Summers and Ben Bernake could actually be in bed with the financial institutions they are supposed to be regulating
Rihanna could suffer a brutal beating from Chris Brown, leave him, go back to him, leave him for good because she wants to be a role model for young girls, pose naked for the cover of GQ, get a few more tattoos and then release the single “So Hard,” the video for which looks like a trailer to Chi Chi La Rue high concept porn
The Northern Ireland brokered peace agreement, decades in the making, could be at peril because the 61 year old wife of of one of the political leaders may have a torrid seven month affair with a dead family friend’s 19 year old son and then fail to report that she and her husband funneled about $80,000 to the young man to open a coffee shop/internet cafe
ABC financial news correspondent Bianna Golodryga could become at least the third woman with poor judgment to jump into the bed of Peter Orszag, the Director of the Office of Management and Budget, who is being sued by his first wife for non payment of the divorce settlement as he simultaneously becomes engaged to Ms Golodryga before the pregnant ex girlfriend he promised to marry gives birth to his fourth child
Sarah Palin’s new curly updo hairstyle could resemble that of Jethrine on “The Beverly Hillbilies”
Your Toyota could make other Toyota owners very uncomfortable especially if you’re in such close proximity that they can see yours coming up the rear
US Senators who pretend to shower the masses with the naked truth could be more careful about bending over to pick up the soapbox they want to stand on
There were many costumes but few great dresses. These were my favorites.
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Carrie Ann Inaba of “Dancing with the Stars.” The LBD of the night.
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Nominee for Best New Artist Keri Hilson. Let’s face it, if Dolce and Gabbana comes around with something this elegant and pretty, it knocks you out.
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Pink. Only she can make this Tony Ward Haute Couture a show stopper.
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Taylor Swift. Fearless and modern perfection in yet another Kaufmanfranco stunner.
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Jennifer Nettles of Sugarland looks better than ever in this Victoria Beckham gown.
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Sheryl Crow is pitch perfect in this minimalist Bottega Veneta gown that looks simple head on but is amazing from the back and billows beautifully when in motion. Click here to see it on the runway.
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I hardly ever like what Heidi Klum wears. I love her in this Pucci beaded mini.
Last night’s American Music Awards was such a train wreck of unfulfilled expectations that you could hardly blame one for thinking that the Obama administration, not Dick Clark Productions, must have been responsible for it.
I say that (only partly) because I’m not exactly sure that Dick Clark is even still alive. But when dead people who released no music this year win 5 awards (Michael Jackson), being alive was kinda beside the point at this spectacle.
So, for the most part, was singing live.
Things got off to an ominous start when Paula Abdul welcomed the audience into a dead microphone.
Then out came Janet Jackson who is apparently so grief stricken over Michael’s death that she was inspired/used it as an opportunity to revive her decade long moribund career by dropping 20 pounds and a new greatest hits CD so she could lip synch and show off dance moves so dated that they’re in clear danger of being eligible for a revival.
Later in the show Jeniffer Lopez took pretty much the same route considering her career has been on life support since “Waiting for Tonight,” which in 1999 turned out to be the anthem for ushering in the new Millennium. Last night she sang about leaving an uncooperative lover as she puts on impossibly expensive and vertiginous red soled killer heels (Louboutins). Only problem: she fell flat on her fabled asset while attempting her Katie Holmes-like dance moves and this morning she’s suffering from a bruised ego (if not also a hip).
The highly cloying Taylor Swift who won 4 awards last night was on hand only via satelite from London where she was rehearsing for a concert at Wembley Arena. Keeping her off stage was perhaps the smartest move the producers could have made, considering she undeservedly (again) won the evening’s biggest award. Now the smartest thing she should do is call Debbie Gibson for career advice. And swiftly, as she’s at about minute 13 on her fame trajectory.
In the battle of the country divas, Keith Urban won handily over Carrie Underwood because he’s prettier and he showed more cleavage. But he also fared better because he didn’t scream his trite lyrics and his performance didn’t look as if someone had shaken a snow globe so that the awkward moving Ms Underwood could appear as if she was engaging/engaged in some sort of dance number.
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And herein lies the problem with much of last night’s telecast. Most of the performers were overreaching for visual images instead of connecting to an audience– as if the overwrought visuals could possibly make up for poorly written songs, the inability to carry a tune or just sheer lack of stage presence.
That’s what music videos are for.
The performers who acquitted themselves with any dignity were the ones who actually sang. By that I mean live and into their working microphones, most notably Kelly Clarkson, Jay Z with Alicia Keys and Whitney Houston.
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Coincidentally these were the 3 performances which brought down the house before the kitchy and already overexposed Adam Lambert failed and, let’s be very clear, failed miserably to blow the roof off the place, as had been hyped.
Ms Clarkson got a much deserved standing ovation for her performance of “Already Gone,” a song essentially about knowing when to cut your losses. And boy does she. She came, she sang, she conquered. How a singer this good and this smart wasn’t the big winner last night is beyond me. Although she didn’t sound as perfectly heartbreaking as she did on VH1 Divas 2009 , she performed early enough in the show that by the time Jay Z came on to imperially command the room with “Empire State of Mind,” an ode to New York City as much as to his own undeniable artistic empire, she had already set the standard for the evening.
And by the time Whitney Houston came out in a glorious Kaufman Franco white gown, with beatific white stage lighting and a bad wig, it was a good thing Ms Clarkson was already gone. There’s just no denying that Ms Houston has irreparably damaged her voice with years and years of drug abuse but last night in a gut wrenching confessional that lasted a few fleeting minutes she managed to use the detritus to her advantage in “I Didn’t Know My Own Strength,” a song about hard won lessons from your own resurrection.
That performance, at once delusional and pathetic but emotionally raw and brutally honest, brought to mind both Billie Holiday and Marianne Faithfull, women with drug ravaged voices which remain powerfully alive because they wear their heart on their sleeve and not because they wear us down with visual pyrotechnics.