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Category Archives: Madonna

03
March
2015
Tags: Madonna, Music
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Zephyr in the Sky At Night, I Wonder

On this date way back in 1998 Madonna released what remains her best album to date: ‘Ray of Light.’ It’s my personal favorite as well, thanks to the time in my life when it came out, in addition to its own musical merit. ‘Light’ remade Madonna into the critically-acclaimed artist she has remained through this present day (continuing with next week’s release of ‘Rebel Heart.’)

Whenever winter starts to crumble, when spring is in the night air, I’ll play this album start to finish, and go on the emotional roller-coaster that was 1998 all over again. It’s Madonna’s most fully-realized album, a soundscape held together by William Orbit’s production, grounded in the warmth and resonance of Madonna’s voice, and lifted by the higher concerns of our place in the universe. It’s also a marker of my youth, of a time when I was searching for love, stumbling through my 20’s, and wondering whether I’d always be alone. When music comes out at such personal cross-roads, it becomes part of your soul. That’s what ‘Ray of Light’ is for me, and if you ever want to get closer to me, listen to that work and we’ll talk.

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25
February
2015
Tags: Madonna
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Lifted Me Up & Watched Me Stumble

It looked bad. Very bad. At the top of a tier of stairs, she leaned back and some hapless dancer pulled her cape before it was completely untied. She stumbled backward, down a few steps and fell hard onto the floor. For anyone else, it would have proven disastrous, if not a reason to stop the show. But Madonna’s never been anyone. She is Someone. She is The One – the one who carried on. She caught her breath, got back up, and kept going.

I defy anyone who dares to mock her after that to do the same. You know you wouldn’t. You know you couldn’t. She’s Madonna, and you’re not. (I’m not either, and if I took a spill like that I’d still be lying where I landed.)

As for the aftermath, it feels eerily like the fall-out of similar “disasters” ~ the Playboy photos, the ‘Like A Virgin‘ MTV Awards performance, the ‘Like A Prayer‘ controversy, the ‘Justify My Love‘ brouhaha, the ‘Sex‘ book, the adoptions, the younger boyfriends, and the audacity to continuing to do what she wants to do ~ so think for a moment about how those things turned out. In the end, Madonna’s latest song ‘Living For Love’ (her, ahem, 44th Number One Dance single) is the final word on the matter.

I let down my guard, I fell into your arms
Forgot who I was, I didn’t hear the alarms
Now I’m down on my knees, alone in the dark
I was blind to your game
You fired a shot in my heart

Took me to heaven and let me fall down
Now that it’s over I’m gonna carry on
Lifted me up, and watched me stumble
After the heartache I’m gonna carry on

Living for love
Living for love
I’m not giving up
I’m gonna carry on
Living for love
I’m living for love
Not gonna stop
Love’s gonna lift me up

I could get caught up in bitterness

But I’m not dwelling on this crazy mess
I found freedom in the ugly truth
I deserve the best and it’s not you

You’ve broken my heart, but you can’t bring it down
I’ve fallen apart, I was lost, now I’m found
I picked up my crown, put it back on my head
I can forgive, but I will never forget…

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24
February
2015
Tags: Boston, Madonna, Music
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The Madonna Timeline: Song #111 – ‘Secret’ ~ Fall 1994

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

This post has already been written. When the lead single to Madonna’s 1994 ‘Bedtime Stories’ album was released, I was at the start of my sophomore year at Brandeis. I was also about to kiss the first man I would ever kiss in my life. In others words, a whole lot of crazy shit was about to go down. As such, it’s a period that I remember more clearly than almost any other, and I’ve written about it a number of times. What follows, at least in the first portion, is the recounting of the time period that formed the backdrop to Madonna’s ‘Secret’ song.

 

Things haven’t been the same

Since you came into my life

You found a way to touch my soul

And I’m never, ever, ever gonna let it go

If you’ve only kissed girls all your life, the first time you kiss a man is a shock. A rough shock. Literally. My face feels like it’s being shredded by some ridiculous grade of sandpaper. He holds my head in his hands, and this will not be the only way he hurts me. For now, though, it is completely what I want.

In the afternoon light of September, in an apartment on the steep incline of some side street in Beacon Hill, I am sharing my first kiss with a man. The year is 1994 and it’s the start of my sophomore year at Brandeis University. The room is small, and comprises both the bedroom area and the kitchen. A bathroom is outside off the hall.

The sheets on the bed are white, or the lightest of gray, and he doesn’t seem to have many worldly possessions. I’ve always envied that sparse sort of set-up, and those not bound by attachments or material goods. Even in a few short weeks I manage to accumulate things, my closet over-stuffed and scarce of empty hangers. Here, just a small collection of plates and kitchen utensils dries in a wire dish rack. A lone towel hangs on the doorknob. By the window a cluster of books stands on a table.

He excuses himself to take a quick shower, and I am shocked at his simple, instant trust of me, having only met a few hours before this. Already jaded before I’ve even been hurt – or maybe there’s some sort of hurt that I can’t even remember anymore, a phantom pain from not feeling loved or protected – my suspicion lies hidden like a dagger, hidden but always present, ever-ready to strike, to slash, to slay.

He returns wearing only a white towel, and in the light of the bed my summer-tanned body lies atop of his, the cool bright sheets blocking the slight breeze from the half-cracked window. I wonder what the other people on the street are doing in their apartments on this afternoon.

My face and lips feel raw after sliding against his stubble. It tickles and stings and troubles in a dangerous, intoxicating way. He admires me like no one has ever done before, but I’m still uncomfortable as he watches me pull my pants on. It seems odd to just leave, but he mentioned something about his shift, and it’s even stranger to think of staying, so I depart after leaving my phone number.

 

 

Happiness lies in your own hand

It took me much too long

To understand how it could be

Until you shared your secret with me

 

Something’s comin’ over

Mmm, mmm, something’s comin’ over

Mmm, mmm, something’s comin’ over me

My baby’s got a secret

I step out of the stale smell of the old brownstone row, and back on the street I look up to his window. He is there smiling and waving. I wave back and walk down to the bottom of Hancock Street. Across the way is the site of a former Holiday Inn that my mother once stayed in with me and my brother. We saw E.T. in the movie theater there that no longer exists. Part of me still feels like that little boy, but as I board the train I catch my reflection, and, aside from the backpack, it is the visage of a young man.

How to explain the heady giddiness of my heart in those early days of fall? Every phone call with him carried me further away from the campus, away from the silly dorm antics, the childish college pranks. I wanted no part of that carefree fun, looking down on my fellow school-mates and disconnecting from that world irrevocably, in a way that risked future regret and silly behavior long past the point when it should have been out of my system. I was far too serious for my own good, thinking I was setting up my life for happiness at some time far in the future, putting off a good time in the moment and mistakenly eyeing what was to come, what was always ahead. I gave it away for him, as I would do for countless others, but in the beautiful light of that flaming September there was nothing else I could have done.

Somewhere there is an old 35-mm photograph of me, taken while I was on the phone with him, showing a rare unguarded moment where the camera was set up just as he called, the sun was setting, and my face betrayed not happiness, but worry. High in Usen Castle, in our semi-circular dorm room on the top floor, I sat on the bed talking to him. He was squeezing in a conversation just before his shift started at the hotel restaurant, from a pay phone no less, back when there were still pay phones around. He must care, I thought.

Every place he moved through held meaning for me. Across the street from the fancy hotel at which he worked was a park. An unlikely oasis in the midst of downtown Boston, it was quiet there, and workers in business suits and sneakers sat on benches reading books. I spent a lot of time in that park. Even when we weren’t meeting, I sat there, reading or writing or just watching the few people who meandered along its walkways.

Sometimes we did meet, for dessert or dinner, and there was a night when we kissed in the shadows of the Southwest Corridor, before the condo was even a glimmer in my eye.

In his apartment, we spent most of the time in bed. The flickering light from a tiny television glowed on the stark white walls. Night air drifted in from the window, along with some muffled shouts and street noise. I asked him how you could tell if you were truly in love with someone. He told me he once heard it said that if you were really in love with someone, you could envision spending the rest of your life in a tent with them and be perfectly content, never wanting for anything more, and never wanting to leave.

Sometimes I tell people that I could envision the two of us doing just that – other times I express doubt that anyone could be happy in such a situation. I never tell it the same way twice because I still don’t know how I feel about it. How could someone who was capable of being so hurtful possibly know anything about love? I trusted in his years of experience, putting a blind faith in simple human decency, only I never let him know. In my silence was acquiescence and the assumed aloofness that would destroy so many chances. I did not know that then – sometimes I don’t know it now.

You know when you’re not supposed to be with someone. It starts with a pang so small you’re not really sure that the doubt is real, but as the days and weeks pass, the pang becomes a full-fledged throbbing, and every moment you’re with them threatens to suffocate with its worry. When it happens for the first few times, you do not yet have the sensitivity to feel it coming, nor fully experience the hurt it leaves. At least for me, this was the case. I liken it to the first time you’re really hung over. You swallow and swallow as the saliva mounts in your mouth, and you know you don’t feel right but you still don’t know how not right, so you trudge along to work or school and from sheer ignorance or refusal, you do not stop to vomit and end it all quickly.

When his calls stopped and the lingering light and warmth of fall gave way to the harsh chill of October and November, I didn’t know enough to feel the pain of having such affection withdrawn. I also didn’t know how to cling or hang onto someone, to emotionally obsess and hold onto something that was already dead. This may have been what saved me – my ignorance of how to feel that pain, how to access that hurt. It would be the last time I didn’t know.

My parents invite me along for a weekend in Chatham, MA and I gratefully accept. In the air is the misbegotten notion that he might miss me, when my absence would only bring relief at the most, if it registered at all.

The weekend is gray and cold. There is no going back to any hope of summer throwback days – we are too far gone. The first thing I do as my parents settle into the room is to walk to the forlorn, empty beach. It is dark and windy, and the town and beach are deserted. Wind whips wildly around in a savage attack, sparing no bit of shelter or respite. I pull my coat closer around me. In the sky is the promise of an imminent storm, but I don’t care. Dark clouds threaten, the cruel wind stings, and as I arrive at the beach, the sand and salt water shoot stinging pin-pricks into any exposed skin.

Part of me wants to walk into the ocean, numb myself with its cold, be helplessly drawn out with the undertow, and let come what may. What else could a thinking person want on such a dismal, gray day, in such a dismal, sad world? Of course I don’t, deliberately walking up and down the shore instead, dodging the tide and peering behind at footprints that will come to nothing. The weekend passes in a sad blur. I return to Boston alone, and think over the previous weeks.

To this day, I can point out which bench I was sitting on when we first spoke. I want to pretend it doesn’t have that power, that it no longer matters, but the memory won’t let me. It comes back, haunting and pulling me out of whatever momentary happiness I have found. I always return to that moment, and it always starts up again…

 

You gave me back the paradise
That I thought I lost for good
You helped me find the reasons why
It took me by surprise that you understood

You knew all along
What I never wanted to say
Until I learned to love myself
I was never ever lovin’ anybody else

Happiness lies in your own hand
It took me much too long
To understand how it could be
Until you shared your secret with me

Something’s comin’ over
Mmm, mmm, something’s comin’ over
Mmm, mmm, something’s comin’ over me
My baby’s got a secret

In Copley Square, before the rising spires of Trinity Church, there are just a few benches that face each other. I pass them first, and then pass him. His eyes, sparkling and blue, glitter in the September sun, and I can’t do anything but stare into them. And so I turn around and settle on one of those benches, pulling out the book I’m reading, ‘The House of Mirth’ by Edith Wharton.

I was not meant to be in Boston today. I was supposed to be at a school newspaper meeting at Brandeis, but halfway through it I knew I would never like being told what I had to write. I snuck out as they were touring their make-shift office space and got on the commuter rail to the city.

It is a beautiful September day – a little on the warm side but when faced with what is to come, quite welcome. For some reason the city seems quieter, and despite the recent influx of college kids, less crowded. Maybe it’s because I can only focus on him.

I read the same page about three times before I acknowledge him sitting on the bench before me, and he is the one who speaks first. It would always be the other guy who speaks first because I will always be too afraid.

He asks if I want to walk with him, and I nod. We turn toward the river. I had never been this way before, and if there’s one thing that makes an indelible impression and memory, it’s discovering some new part of a city you thought you always knew. We must have meandered along the Esplanade, past the Hatch Shell, in the dappled light of the changing trees. I remember the walk, but it is dim and vague, and the only thing I could focus on at the time was him. We are going back to his place, and while I had never done anything like this before, somehow I knew what to do, what I had to do.

 

At the tender age of nineteen, how could I have been so sure? This was before the ubiquity of the Internet, before ‘Will & Grace’, before Ellen. No one had ever told me it was okay. He was no exception. He told me nothing. To all my questions, he gave out no answers, at one point snapping viciously that he didn’t want anything to do with “this education crap”, that no one had helped him to come out, and he was not about to help anyone else figure it out. But all this had yet to come.

There is no use recounting in detail how our weeks together passed. He was callous and cruel in ways that cut me deeper since it was my first time, and because of that it would take years to thaw the icy boundaries I erected to deal with it. The bigger person I sometimes try to be wants to absolve him of his guilt, but I can’t forgive him for how he treated me.

I am now almost the same age he was when he met me, and I still can’t fathom treating another person like that. At first I thought I might, when I reached this age, but it’s not an age issue. My introduction to the gay world was a cold, cutting, every-man-for-himself attitude that should never have been. There were other atrocities too, darker things that I will never put into words, but I’ve written enough about him already, and it’s not fair to post just one side of the affair – God knows I’ve never been an angel. For now, I am done, and the story ends here.

I wish I could say that it didn’t affect me, and that I was mature and knowledgeable enough to chalk it up to an isolated individual, but I can’t. Even if was just one bad seed, it happened to be the seed I tasted. You can’t get rid of that so easily, no matter how intellectually you understand it shouldn’t matter.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

That was all I wrote about him for some time, until I revisited the scene of that fall in these posts. Some kisses change your life. That was one of them. There was no going back. I had a few more entanglements with women, but my heart had to admit that I was gay, even if I couldn’t express it. I was so young then, so alone, and it was a secret that I couldn’t share. Not at that time. Instead, with a mixture of shame and heartache, I went through it all by myself. I don’t have many regrets, but that may be one of them – not so much that I did it all on my own, but that I felt I had to.

To carry a secret like that can be very damaging. Secrets are by their nature insidious, and one secret always begets another. It would take me a few years before I could come out, and even then some people still wanted me to keep it quiet. When it’s your own family, that hurts a little bit more.

Enter the woman who had just taken the critical and popular beating of her lifetime: Madonna, in the aftermath of the ‘Sex’ book and ‘Erotica‘ album. She had fallen from her lofty perch and faced derision and vile press. Rather than hide away, she did what she had always done best, and released a fantastic album. A mid-tempo acoustic guitar-strummer, ‘Secret’ brought her back near the top of the charts, and is a song about finding the happiness within yourself. For Madonna, ‘Secret’ restored her to herself. The ‘Bedtime Stories’ album got pretty good reviews, and the next single would bring her back to number one with a bullet. She found her way back from a very dark place, and that was the lesson I took from the proceedings.

So heavily-laden is the song with the affiliated time period, I can’t enjoy ‘Secret’ on its own musical merit, no matter how great a song it is. Yet as the years pass, the feeling I get isn’t bitterness or anger or sadness – it’s more of a downtrodden ennui. It makes me exhausted, so I don’t often dwell on it. It exists as a talisman of a time that was powerful and necessary, but one that doesn’t have a place in my current world. I had to go through there to get here, but it’s nowhere I’d like to visit again.

It took me much too long to understand how it could be…

SONG #111: ‘SECRET’ ~ FALL 1994

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09
February
2015
Tags: Madonna
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With a Flash of Booty, and a Breathtaking Performance, Madonna Ruled the Grammys

“This will be a revolution of inquiring further, of not worrying about winning other people’s approval, of not wishing we were someone else but perfectly content to be who you are, someone unique and rare and fearless. I want to start a revolution of love.” ~ Madonna

 

A swirling vortex of minotaur horns forms itself into a marching line leading to the stage of the Grammy Awards, while Madonna’s disembodied voice rings deeply over the majestic intro to the Offer Nissim Living for Drama mix of ‘Living For Love.’ A blood-red curtain disappears into the sky revealing our Queen, standing there in a toreador cape, which she quickly throws off in one powerful gesture (and with such force that one of her epaulets comes partially off.) She’s had wardrobe malfunctions before, but unlike some whose careers have derailed because of them, Madonna just shirks them off and carries on, this time strutting around in that giddiness-inducing ‘Papa Don’t Preach’ prance. 

What’s notable about the performance is her enduring and endearing willingness to bust her ass out there in front of the whole world. She admittedly had butterflies in her stomach, and performing at the Grammys has never been her strongest bit, but she delivered the most electrifying performance of the evening. Annie Lennox may have musically brought the house down, but it was Madonna who got the crowd to its feet and audibly cheering. (Industry crowds aren’t necessarily the most fun.)
She was lifted, twirled and spun by her menacing minotaurs, but it was clear there was but one bull-wrangler here, and she was in supreme charge. She removed her problematic jacket halfway through the show, lied down on a riser for a second, and made a quick nod to her rolling-on-the-floor ‘Like A Virgin’ performance on the inaugural MTV Music Awards, before a choir joined her to get everyone on their feet and clapping along. She disappeared but for a second behind her sea of bulls, and then rose literally to the rafters, lifted by love (and a couple of wires.) All in all, it was a grand return to form from the woman whose own revolution started over three decades ago. 
Now, let’s talk about her entrance to the show, because the red carpet get-up is just as integral a part of the evening as the performance itself. Madonna is nothing if not a living work of art, and her corseted toreador-triumph by Givenchy was a thrilling moment in itself. Better still was her cheeky fuck-off to reporters and press, as she lifted her tiny dress and exposed her fishnets and thong-bound ass while her publicist grinned in the background. That takes balls ~ and that’s Madonna. 
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08
February
2015
Tags: Madonna
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Ritorna, Ritorna Madonna!

Madonna heralds her official return to the pop frontline this evening on the Grammy Awards (she’s been middle-of-the-pack for the last few years). This time the hunger is back, the sparkle in full effect, and the music easily her best in a decade. New album ‘Rebel Heart’ drops in a few weeks (unless the most recent leak impels her to surprise us a little early). The video for lead single ‘Living For Love’ was discussed in a post before this. All in all, it feels like a very exciting moment. That’s always been the case for us die-hard fans, but this time I think the whole world is going to join in the celebration.

It feels similar to the excitement and electricity in the air before the releases of ‘Erotica‘, ‘Ray of Light‘, and ‘Confessions on a Dance Floor.’ In other words, the magic of Madonna is about to take hold. In my life, it turns out I could actually count on very little, but the one woman who has always been there for me still stands tall, and gives me strength. The rebel heart beats faster, the blood pumps harder, and the world rattles with anticipation.

Picked up my crown, put it back on my head,

I can forgive, but I will never forget…

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07
February
2015
Tags: Madonna, Music
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Living for This Video

The last few videos Madonna has made have largely been, gasp, lackluster – and for the woman who practically invented the music video, this was simply unacceptable. Don’t get me wrong, fluffy escapist trifles like ‘Turn Up the Radio‘ and ‘Give Me All Your Luvin‘ provided passing interest, and were devoured by a Madonna-hungry public because of the piss-poor promotional efforts for her last record, MDNA, but they paled in comparison to former glories like ‘Like A Prayer‘ or ‘Bad Girl.’

Her latest video for ‘Living For Love’ doesn’t quite return her to the apex of video artistry, but it comes damn close, and carries with it enough powerful imagery to turn a relatively standard song into something more meaningful, something more galvanizing, something more, well, Madonna. As noted, I found the ‘Living For Love’ song nice enough, but wasn’t convinced it was lead-off single material. Yes, it brought her back to those 90’s-nostalgic house beats and piano chords, and the injection of gospel elements lifted it to a higher ground, but it still felt a bit like a filler track, a throw-away song that could be taken away without leaving a hole in my heart. The video changes things a bit, more succinctly bringing the song into focus as a self-empowerment anthem, as Madonna vanquishes a circle of encroaching minotaurs like so many fallen chess pieces.

As someone who’s been under his fair share of attacks, both deserved and unfounded, I like the metaphors and the dazzling imagery. Most of all, I like the classic Madonna theme of exorcising the ghosts of those who have wronged her in such a cathartic and spellbinding way. We go to battle with our demons every day, be they family or foe (or any combination of the two), ex-lovers or longstanding-obsessions, former flames or future fucks – but rather than indulging in the bitter she exults in the sweet, rising above and leaving the past behind. It’s what Madonna has always done best: never looked back. There’s a cost to it, but you’re not about to see her emotional bank account.

The video is notable for the impossible way it manages to reinvent Madonna for the bazillionth time, repositioning her as toreador, and showing off several camera moves and angles and dance moves that she’s never tried out before – that in itself is a pretty substantial accomplishment for a woman who’s done practically everything on video by this point (witness the incredible fall and rise close-up that begins at 0:41 and the stunning jump at 1:48.)

Most thrilling for those of us die-hard fans who notice every subtle nuance, intended or not, are the references that Madonna makes to her own body of work. The matador outfit brings back the days of ‘You Can Dance‘, and the bolero might even have been reclaimed from 1987 itself. She steps into the male bull-fighter role she so elegantly paired off with in ‘Take A Bow’ and ‘You’ll See‘ – and executes a snippet of the ‘Papa Don’t Preach‘ strut that originally ended with the first sanctioned peek-a-boo of nipple back in 1986.

Madonna’s come a long way since that epochal decade in which she rose to the pinnacle of the pop heap. She still hovers in that rarefied air, and really, no one else can quite touch her when it comes to history and legacy and modern-day currency. If she isn’t as pervasive as she once was, she still holds incredible sway and power, and the readily-admitted worship of almost every current pop star, and quite a few who have come and gone over the incredible ongoing span of her career.

“Man is the cruelest animal. At tragedies, bullfights, and crucifixions he has so far felt best on earth; and when he invented hell for himself, behold, that was his very heaven.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche

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31
January
2015
Tags: Madonna, Music
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The Madonna Timeline: Song #110- ‘Into the Groove’ ~ 1985/1987

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

Music can be such a revelation
Dancing around you feel the sweet sensation
We might be lovers if the rhythm’s right
I hope this feeling never ends tonight…

It was a hot and happening Saturday night in my bedroom. The girls from ‘The Facts of Life’ had just departed, leaving me alone in the bright lights of the neon-clad 80’s, and we were headed into the lateness of the nine o’clock hour. Fly 92 was probably playing its Saturday night dance jam, but I had a cassette tape of non-stop Madonna mixes, and I didn’t need Shadoe Stevens clogging up my head with his smoother-than-Black-Velvet voice.

While it was originally released in 1985, I had my head in the sand at that time, as I don’t quite recall the initial chart-storming that Madonna made with ‘Into the Groove’ – instead, my memory is of the re-release it got on 1987’s ‘You Can Dance’ remix EP. On those Saturday nights when I was freed from the chains of school, I found safety and salvation in the meanderings of my bedroom. A childhood bedroom holds wonders that no parent or guardian could ever fully understand.

Yet as much as I wanted safety and security, I yearned for escape. Even then I knew I had to create my own world and forge my own way because the things I thought were secure were about to come tumbling down. And the only constant in any gay boy’s world at the time was Madonna. The rest of the world, and sometimes our own families, wanted to quiet us with shame and silence, but Madonna embraced all – gay, straight, black, white, Catholic, Jewish, Muslim – it did not matter to the Material Girl. Everyone was invited to her party ~ hell, that’s how you made the money. Not by excluding or silencing, but by celebrating. We didn’t know how deep she went then, we only cared that she knew her way around a proper pop song. She was always one step ahead of the rest of us.

And so, on Saturday nights I’d lock the door where no one else could see, and dance my worries away. Escapism was the only way out. They could belt me, they could hate me, they could shame me, but they couldn’t take away what was inside my head. They couldn’t take away what was in my heart. That’s where the groove was. That’s where freedom would be found.

Only when I’m dancing can I feel this free
At night I lock the doors, where no one else can see
I’m tired of dancing here all by myself 
Tonight I wanna dance with someone else…

Regarding ‘Into the Groove’ – The Song – I actually never loved it. It’s sacrilege to say so to certain Madonna fans, but I just never connected to this one, which is odd because so many consider it a seminal piece of the Madonna mythology. The most fun I had with it was her Reinvention incarnation with bagpipes and drums. I was touched that she was making such an overt nod to her then-husband Guy Ritchie. Love makes us do odd things – and it’s always touching to see that. I guess I just needed that incongruous Scottish mash-up – kilts solve a multitude of problems. (Oh, and put this into your blasphemous files: I’ve never seen ‘Desperately Seeking Susan’ in its entirety. Yeah, I know. Kenneth in the 212 can shoot me now.)

SONG #110 – ‘Into the Groove’ ~ 1985/1987

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23
December
2014
Tags: Madonna, Music
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A Madgestic Surprise

When an album’s worth of Madonna demos leaked last week, all eyes were on the woman herself as to how she would handle the mess. (I’m sure someone got the worst rim job of their life if she found the culprit behind the leak.) Some have said it’s all a marketing ploy, but I’m not sure – this was just a little too messy to be more than unintentional. Regardless, the solution that Madonna shrewdly took was to offer six of the finished songs on iTunes, and the EP immediately went to Number One around the world.

The general consensus is that the new music is Madonna’s best in at least a decade. (Personally, I’m still entranced by many of the ‘MDNA’ cuts, but a lot of fans gave up after ‘Hard Candy‘.) Of the new songs, planned single ‘Living For Love’ is getting a lot of talk, but I’m less impressed by that than the shimmering brilliance of ‘Ghosttown’ and the sing-and-clap-along genius of ‘Devil Pray.’

More interesting and compelling yet may be tracks like ‘Illuminati’ and ‘Unapologetic Bitch.’ Whether or not she intended to make it an early Christmas, Madonna’s given us a glorious glimpse of the new sonic territory she’s staking out for a triumphant return to the pop fold next year. As always I’m chomping at the bit to hear more.

“When it all falls, when it all falls down, We’ll be two souls in a ghost town…”

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03
December
2014
Tags: Madonna
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Waiting & Anticipating

Madonna has been on my mind of late, even more-so than usual. Further stoking those fires is this latest set of stills from Interview magazine. Colorful, engaging, and still somehow different from what she’s done before (a miraculous challenge in itself if you think about it), these are a bright harbinger of the return of the one woman who has never let me down.

With that in mind, here is a look at some of her highlights while we wait the long wait for the new album to drop sometime next year:

With her ‘Erotica’ album (still a fan favorite) Madonna took sexy anticipation to a whole new level – and she taught us how to f–k.

Back in 1990 she wasn’t the only one who was breathless, especially after this good spanking.

Speculation and adulation, two things she still conjures after all these years.

Like the seasons, Madonna is constant, and Madonna is change.

The lady knows how to rock a hat.

She is a Masterpiece.

She is a Mother.

She is a Sinner.

She is Crazy.

She is everything, and she is more.

Best of all, she’s coming back…

 

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30
November
2014
Tags: Madonna
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Madonna: The Original Rebel Heart

While Madonna was with her family in Malawi (doing silly stuff like meeting with political leaders and overseeing the schools she’s opened there) two of the songs from her upcoming album were leaked. ‘Rebel Heart’ and ‘Wash All Over Me’ are the first we’ve heard from Our Lady since the glorious days of the ‘MDNA’ album in 2012. It ended a rather lengthy drought of Madonna music, even if not quite intended yet. While the new tunes have been getting largely positive reviews, there will always be heaters who are gonna hate. (Right Taylor?) Though this isn’t going to be another defense of Madonna, it’s worth noting that if ‘Like A Prayer‘ was released today it would get the same mix of reactions. That’s the problem with giving social media idiots like myself a platform like this.

What about ‘Rebel Heart’? I do love it. It’s a gorgeous return to a strong pop melody, but it’s got a retrospective wisdom that only Madonna could so convincingly espouse at this point in her career. Say what you will about her, she’s still standing, three decades into an unprecedentedly-successful run. And if you’re saying something bad about her, you’re the one who’s sort of stuck in the 80’s.

I lived my life like a masochist
Hearing my father say, “Told you so, told you so – Why can’t you be like the other girls?”
I said, “Oh no, that’s not me,
And I don’t think that it’ll ever be.”

Madonna was the original outsider. Disrespected by the music industry despite her enormous success, dismissed by the Hollywood film industry despite her compelling videos, and derided by would-be-hipsters bitterly jealous of her mainstream success, she forged her way in the face of all the haters. What appealed to some of us from the very beginning was this very defiant stance. She would do it her way. She would will herself into stardom with hard work and determination, and she would stay there for over thirty years (and counting).

Thought I belonged to a different tribe
Walking alone, never satisfied, satisfied
Tried to fit in, but it wasn’t me
I said, “Oh no, I want more, That’s not what I’m looking for.”
So I took the road less-traveled-by, And I barely made it out alive
Through the darkness somehow I survived
Tough love, I knew it from the start, Deep down in the depths of my rebel heart.

For little girls, and a few little gay boys, Madonna’s initial ostracism from critical acclaim gave her an under-dog edge that made her our perpetual heroine. In certain circles it will always be uncool to like Madonna, even more-so to publicly declare that love, but like the woman herself, some of us will not be shamed into silence. “The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.” Besides, if you have to do the talking, chances are you’re not the one being talked about.

I’ve spent some time as a narcissist
Hearing the others say, “Look at you, look at you!”
Trying to be so provocative
I said, “Oh yeah, that was me.
All the things I did, just to be seen.”

This straddles ‘Ray of Light‘ and ‘American Life’ territory, but it reads more genuinely than the latter did. This is more than a simple ‘Woe is fame’ moment – this is a woman looking back over her choices, and her life,  owning up to some of it, but letting most of it go. It’s serious in a disguised way, with an accessible pop chorus that masks the weight of some of the words.

Outgrown my past and I’ve shed my skin
Letting it go and I start again, start again
Never look back, it’s a waste of time
I said, “Oh yeah, this is me, and I’m right where I wanna be.”
I said, “Hell yeah, this is me, right where I’m supposed to be.”

It took her 56 years to realize this, and though something tells me she’s far from where she wants to go, I’m going to be there every step of the way.

So I took the road less-traveled-by, And I barely made it out alive
Through the darkness somehow I survived
Tough love, I knew it from the start, Deep down in the depths of my rebel heart.
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25
November
2014
Tags: Madonna
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The Party in My Pants (You’re Invited!)

For all of my life, I’ve had an image problem. It seems that I come across as way too serious and mean than I actually am. Mostly, it has served me well, keeping otherwise annoying bits of humanity away from my vicinity. Yet it doesn’t really offer a window into my soul, which is sort of the point of this whole blog. To that end, I let my hair down here as much as possible, throwing out superficial, if sexy, hunks with wild abandon, and posting lengthy diatribes on Tom Ford Private Blends and Madonna as if they were tenets of the Pillars of Life. (I totally just made that last part up – I don’t even think there is such a thing. See, I’m a freaking hoot and a half!)

The point is, the humor and fun in my life is largely lost here at times (as a wise woman once said, ‘What’s the point of sitting down and notating your happiness?‘) but every now and then I get painfully silly, because if you can’t poke fun at yourself, or enjoy when others take the piss out of you, then there’s not much point in going on, and now we’re back to suicidal tendencies and losing the point of this whole post … [Sigh] To get us back in focus, I offer this delectable bit from Julie Brown’s parody of Madonna’s ‘Truth or Dare’ entitled ‘Dare to Be Truthful.’ It came out at the height of my obsession with the original, and as such I watched it almost as much as the OG, rocking out to ‘Party in My Pants/Vague’ like, well, like a prayer.

If anyone takes herself too seriously sometimes, it’s Madonna, but rumor has it that she enjoyed Ms. Brown’s skewering. Some of us have to take the punches. After all, if you’ve never gotten punched, how do you know you matter? There, a tear to go with your laughter. Salty buns, baby.

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16
November
2014
Tags: Madonna
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Have I Said Too Much?

There’s nothing more I can think of to say to you…
But all you have to do is look at me to know that every word is true.

Thus ends the most famous song in ‘Evita’ – and possibly the most famous song in the entire Andrew Lloyd Webber oeuvre. The month of November and the soundtrack to the movie version of ‘Evita’ always brings me back to Boston in 1996, and at that formative time in my young life the pain of unrequited love, the loneliness of living in a city on one’s own, and the process of coming out as gay collided in the span of a few frightening and thrilling months. Backing it all up was Madonna as Eva Peron, singing Sir Andrew’s lush score and sounding better than she ever had.

On the day the soundtrack was released, I stayed in Boston. There was no class for me, so I didn’t need to commute to Brandeis. The condo had long since been furnished, and home, albeit a little lonely, was still a solace. I walked to Tower Records on Newbury Street and picked up the double CD. (This was how music was purchased in the old days, youngsters.) Back in the condo, I played it from start to finish, contemplating how a girl who came from nothing could so fantastically make herself into something, into someone. It seemed I was lucky enough to have more than a head-start compared to where she began. The problem with that is that sometimes it’s harder to go up when you’re fortunate to begin in such comfort. First-world problems, some are probably sighing. Perhaps, but until I live in the third-world, most of my problems will be first-world problems.

I digress in bitterness. Back to the topic at hand. Madonna. Evita. November. This is where it all began, and this is how it all went down. Time is best tracked on the Madonna Timeline, so I’ll bring you through by way of Lloyd Webber.

Lead-off single ‘You Must Love Me‘ was written specifically for the film, and this startlingly simple ballad exemplified the demand I so badly wanted to make.

Next came the Big One. ‘Don’t Cry For Me Argentina‘ – a song that we all know so well, but given a richness and sadness when it comes after ‘You Must Love Me.’ I had to let it happen, I had to change…

But before that, a bit of madness and joy and that heady rush of any new Madonna project, that lent movement to my feet and a fearless song to my lips. What’s new, ‘Buenos Aires‘? Perhaps it was a question better left unasked.

Delusions and make-believe ,when practiced to such an extent, can sometimes become their own sort of reality. It is possible to will things into being, and I did everything in my power to fly ‘Rainbow High.’

Hubris and lack of humility – a misguided notion of one’s own fabulousness, and the nagging question of the reality of one’s worth, especially to those who mattered. I wanted to believe. I wanted to be surprisingly good for you.

Sometimes, though, one needs a little help, especially if it’s coming from Antonio Banderas. He and Madonna danced their way around meat lockers and such for ‘Waltz for Eva & Che.’

In the end, that fall was just a stop on a greater journey – and I’d traverse the globe soon enough trying to find myself and lose myself at once. ‘Another Suitcase in Another Hall…’

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15
November
2014
Tags: Madonna, Music
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A Thirty-Year-Old Virgin

Yes, they do exist – in this case it’s Madonna’s ‘Like A Virgin’ album, which was released three decades ago this week. Hard to believe that such a long time has gone by since she first preened a la Marilyn in ‘Material Girl’ or acted anything-but-like-a-virgin in the titular track, but time waits for no woman, virgin or not. ‘Like A Virgin’ was the first Madonna album that entered our home, and for all the supposedly titillating fodder, it made for harmless background music as we went on family vacations. Clearly my brother and I didn’t know what ‘virgin’ even meant, but we knew a good hook and a catchy pop song, and that’s all that mattered to my ears at the time. Here’s a quick look back at those LAV songs that have made it onto the Madonna Timeline.

We’ll begin with lead-off track ‘Material Girl’ – since this is where it all started for me. I loved it. I could dance to it all night long (and often did). Fueling the greed-obsessed 80s, the materialistic song was turned on its head with Madonna’s video for the single. In the end, she chooses love over material possessions – something everyone seemed to miss.

‘Angel‘ was a fluffy bit of day-dreamy swooning, as Madonna literally sighs and laughs over someone who’d caught her fancy. Harmless, escapist pop at its best, it was sugar for the ears, and nothing sounded sweeter.

Title track ‘Like A Virgin‘ is arguably her best-known and most classic work. Whereas ‘Like A Prayer’ was spectacular in a different way, ‘Virgin’ was Madonna’s first entry into the pop stratosphere – and you never forget your first time. The numerous subsequent interpretations she’s given the song are a testament to its staying power and eternal themes.

It was on ‘Kids Incorporated’ when I first heard ‘Over and Over‘ – as rendered by a Madonna-wanna-be Martika. In spite of that, I still loved the song.

As far as my favorite ‘Virgin’ cut goes, I’d have to give the edge to ‘Dress You Up‘ – this is the song that had me jumping up and down on my brothers bed and squealing with absolute excitement at how good a song could sound at ear-throttling volume.

The album closed with a plea to ‘Stay‘ – a request I would not understand for a few more years, but something called out to me even back then – a longing, a wish, a prayer – and Madonna gave it all a voice.

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30
October
2014
Tags: Madonna, Music
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The Madonna Timeline: Song #109 – ‘Lucky Star’ ~ 1984

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

With the last few Madonna Timeline entries – ‘Like a Virgin‘ and ‘Burning Up‘ and ‘Dress You Up‘  – we’ve delved deep into the early days of M’s musical career. We stay in the 80’s with the latest, ‘Lucky Star.’ Now brace yourself, because I have to say something rather blasphemous to die-hard fans, and many casual fans of that heady early era as well I suppose: I’m not a fan of ‘Lucky Star.’ And you know what? It’s ok to say that. If Matthew Rettenmund can have issues with ‘Take A Bow’ and ‘Crazy For You‘ then surely I can scoff at ‘Lucky Star!’

Come on, Shine your heavenly body tonight
Cause I know you’re gonna make everything all right

I also don’t have any fond or not-so-fond memories of when the song came out. My first Madonna memory was a short while later – when ‘Material Girl‘ marched onto the scene. Prior to that I was too young to listen to the radio.

That said, I understand that ‘Lucky Star’ is a highlight in her catalog, particularly to many who were bopping to the early MTV beat back then, so I will not discount its importance. For her video career, it was crucial in establishing her style (and it’s historic in the back-up dancing by her own brother, Christopher, who would prove to have a crucial presence in the first half of her career) and her soon-to-be dominance of MTV. Yet for some reason, and it’s a personal preference more than anything else, I never connected to the song or the video.

So you see, I don’t like absolutely everything Madonna does. I’m a sick fan, but I’m not a sycophant.

You may be my lucky star, but I’m the luckiest by far.

SONG #109 – ‘Lucky Star’ ~ 1985

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21
October
2014
Tags: Madonna, Music
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I’ll Teach You How to F@&k…

Yesterday marked the day, way back in 1992, when Madonna released her ‘Erotica’ album. It was the fall of my senior year in high school, and I was in a very dismal place. The prospect of leaving home in less than a year was a frightening light at the end of a tunnel from which I wasn’t sure I could escape. The last days of October ripped the leaves from the trees. Summer had long since surrendered. In the moments that led up to the release of ‘Erotica’ I felt like those leaves. Torn. Shredded. Fallen. Falling…

It was a dark time, and ‘Erotica’ was one of Madonna’s darker albums, which makes it one of her best. There were scorching spots like ‘Fever’ and ‘Thief of Hearts.’ There were softer stretches like ‘Bad Girl’ and ‘Rain.’ There were even funny bits like ‘Bye Bye Baby‘ along with under-rated, overlooked gems like ‘Words.’ And there were classic tracks like ‘Deeper and Deeper’ and ‘Erotica‘ itself.

To be honest, I wasn’t sure I would ever hear the album. At that time, I wasn’t sure I’d need my math homework the next day. I felt on the verge of self-annihilation. In the backyard, I stood lonely sentry by piles of oak leaves, after raking the expanse of dying lawn behind the house. From my hands, cold and wet clumps of leaves and twigs dropped into black garbage bags. In the folds of plastic that was the shade of clear night sky, I looked at molten-like reflections of clouds and pine trees and the bare branches of deciduous nudity.

Sometimes I feel emotionally naked on this blog. This is one of those times. It’s always easier to take your clothes off than show your heart and share your secrets. Suddenly I want to clam up and stop the telling of this story – and since this is my blog, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. For now, at least. I don’t feel like talking about it. But it’s already been said, and written about, and if you delve deep enough here it’s not difficult to piece it together. Tricksters don’t like to be caught, but sometimes we do get trapped.

In a similar way, ‘Erotica’ was the trap that Madonna set for herself. We all do it at some point. We design situations to test, to try, to risk, and, yes, to die. Bound by the ropes we weave, tied up in chains of self-construction, she exorcised her demons publicly, brazenly baring her body in her ‘Sex’ book and aurally releasing herself in the ‘Erotica’ album. It was a piece of pop art that pissed people off, because it raised a mirror to the world. No matter how vain we secretly (or not-so-secretly) are, the world despises anyone who points that mirror at it uninvited. I did not understand that then. I don’t think Madonna did either.

Whenever someone questions me about my love and adoration for Madonna, I think back to the fall that ‘Erotica’ came out, and how she was partly responsible for saving my life. It would be foolish to attribute my survival solely to her, but she most certainly played an integral role in getting me through the rough times.

She still does.

Madonna would make it past the critical and commercial downturn that the ‘Erotica’ period became, and I would make it past that frightening fall. Sometimes, though, on rainy nights late in October, I remember when the leaves fell in 1992, and I marvel that we escaped.

Surrender to me, to love…

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