Experience Has Made Me Rich: Madonna's Super Bowl Halftime Show

I know you’ve all been anxiously awaiting my thoughts on Madonna’s performance during the Super Bowl, just like you paid attention to my prediction that the Patriots would implode under their own press and how you should bet the farm on the Giants.

The reality is how the only reason I watched this year’s Super Bowl is for the rematch aspect that sports television kept repeating ad infinitum. Thankfully, the players did manage to deliver an epic game, making it easier for me to palate a game between two teams that I care nothing about.

I didn’t mind the idea of Madonna as the halftime entertainment, and I must confess that I didn’t quite understand why so many others threw a fit about her. I come from a generation where the halftime shows were generally lame-the Up With People kind-so the notion that a real live, fairly modern artist would be performing, then I’m already impressed.

Add to the fact that Madonna was ubiquitous growing up in the 80’s, only adds to the fact that I want to watch her, if anything to see how she’s holding up after 30 years.

It was pretty clear from the get-go that this was a canned affair. There may have been a few live moments during the slow intro to “Like A Prayer” but everything seemed to be on tape and Madonna looked to be made-up so heavily that it only ended up reminding you of how old she really was.

Kicking off with “Vogue,” perhaps the gayest song to ever grace a sporting dome, Madonna began a twelve-minute quest to remind the largest television audience possible that she was still hammering out tunes and-oh, by the way-she has a new record and tour coming out.

The new song, which evidently has people repeating her brand name over and over, wasn’t that bad. The question is: do people care about Madonna anymore?

I’m guessing that they do, but she’s losing them at a quicker step than she’s gaining them. Because as good as her Super Bowl appearance was-and I do think it was good-it’s the nonsense she’s pulling outside of her performance that has me worried.

Firstly, I don’t think her tour show would add to the money-shot performance of the Super Bowl. My money is on the fact that the high points of her performance were already broadcasted, and in a live set, these highlights would just be scattered across a 90-minute show.

Speaking of money, what’s with this shit about high-ticket prices?

Madonna recently remarked that $300 really isn’t that much for tickets and that she’s “worth it.” She drew up some comparisons how people spent this amount on money for frivolous things all the time, using the price of handbags as an example.

As someone who has turned his wife into a handbag connoisseur, I can attest to the actual need of that item. At the same time, my wife has something to show for it afterwards. With Madonna, the only thing I have left is the memory of her lip-synching her hits so that she can afford her extravagant lifestyle.

There are people struggling today, and the cavalier attitude that Madonna presents is inexcusable. “Material Girl” used to be nothing more than social commentary but it now seems to be her retirement package.

Madonna has gained enough from the financial windfall her work has provided her. It’s not her fan’s responsibility to fund her over-extended net worth.

While her Super Bowl performance reminded us all that Madonna still put on an enjoyable show, it was overshadowed by the drama of the event itself and her insensitive comments that showed us how far she’s really gone from her days as a hungry performer.

And no matter how svelte she looked on stage, it’s clear that Madonna’s ego is fatter than ever.

Happy Birthday, Madonna's Sex Book!

Madonna’s book Sex was released on this day in 1992.

My girlfriend at the time bought a used copy of it. The $50 price tag was heavy on our radio “personalities,” but I’m guessing that nowadays, that $50 investment must be worth something in the form of a sealed copy.

Not that we would have left it sealed. The idea of nude pictures of Madonna would have been exciting for both of us.

I may have indeed teased her about the idea of a “book” by Madonna, and the ammunition of having Vanilla Ice in the book was positively deadly.

He was well beyond his shelf-life by that point while Madonna was rejuvenating her career for the third time.

It’s hard to believe that this type of nonsense was considered controversial back then. Then again, now that I’m a parent I can see the restrictive point of view quite clearly. Just a few days ago, I was scolded for channel surfing and stopping on Tosh.0 in front of the children.

Meanwhile, an open copy of Sex lay on the coffee table.

Even though that old girlfriend kept her copy of Sex after we split, it doesn’t mean that I haven’t looked for another copy for myself on eBay.

It’d be a hoot to gander through that book now.

And it’d be scary to consider that the people in those images now have a couple of decades added to their flesh.

Lady Gaga's Vanity Fair Cover

The most revealing thing about Lady Gaga is the latest edition of Vanity Fair?

She’s really tiny.

Other than that, you probably already know the rest: outrageous fashion statements, infectious hit singles, and obligatory controversy. For someone my age, it’s déjà-vu all over again, having experienced all of this before a quarter-century ago when the world was focusing the same camera eye on another female singer with a made-for-the-charts name.

But as the article correctly points out, Lady Gaga is no Madonna.

She’s better.

Before you get your corset in a pinch or feel the need to justify your love, you should know that there is nothing that will take away my own love of the Material Girl. She’s from my generation of pop artists, so I will always have an affection towards her and will always rank her higher than Lady Gaga.

Because without Madonna, there would be no Gaga.

And without Grace Jones, there would be no Gaga.

And without David Bowie, there would be no Gaga.

And without Boy George, there would be no Gaga.

You get the picture.

But Lady Gaga is a better vocalist than Madonna, and as much as my affection towards Madonna is strong, I cannot dispute this. What’s striking is how all of the blatant following of Madonna’s blueprint of controversy is still at a fever pitch, with the same old-school conservative dipshits tossing out headline-grabbing threats.

You will go to hell if you touch that disco stick.

One would think that if people had real issues with Gaga, they’d just stop talking about her. In fact, that’s probably the most devastating thing that could be done to her: completely cut off the attention that she so obviously craves.

And I love how after-even in this digital age-people, and I mean people with the luxury of having media work for them-still whine about how Lady Gaga doesn’t conform to their ideals of how a star should act.

Remember when Jerry Seinfeld was all pissed at Lady Gaga for her behavior at a baseball game in New York? Now I love Jerry and I enjoy baseball. I completely understand that there is a particular protocol that one needs to follow when attending a game. It’s that same protocol that prevented me from letting him join a bunch of kids around his age in the grass area next to our seats. It’s an area where people can put down a blanket and watch the game, and a place where the kids all congregate and do anything but watch the game. The old security people come around and hassle the kids when they get to rambunctious-which is exactly what happened to some of the kids that my son wanted to squirrel around with.

The point here is if you don’t want to the kids to misbehave, then you don’t give them free suites, free booze, free access, and then put a bunch of cameras on them to document how they act.

Isn’t Gaga responsible too? Well, sure. But it’s also Gaga’s job to sell as many records as she cans-which she does very well by being talented, acting zany, and getting people to pay attention to her.

What is ironic about all of the coverage on Lady Gaga is that she has taken plenty of notes on Madonna and how to work the media to her advantage. Meanwhile, Gaga’s distracters have seemingly done no homework or just don’t understand that when they use the media to voice their displeasure, they are merely doing her work for her.

Madonna's Immaculate Reception

One of the things I like about The Lefsetz Letter is how it’s primarily in black and white. At work, I typically have about five or six windows up on my monitor, in varying sizes, efficiently switching between the panes as I do my fairly mundane job.
Which is why I try to surf the net as much as possible.
Now writing blog topics is a little tricky because I have to start and stop repeatedly, which doesn’t bode well for stream of thought composition. I’ll usually wait until a break or lunch, but even then, I’m too wrapped up in work related bullshit to think about music.
So in varying lulls, I’ll check my favorite sites and keep a sharp look out for supervisors who may be walking by and notice my surfing during company hours. There are those who don’t give a shit; I noticed one peer blatantly shopping for watches online, but she’s in a less traveled area.
The Leftsetz Letter’s format is perfect as it can actually look like the rest of my screens, meaning, it gives the appearance of me actually doing work as I’m reading it.
In a recent topic, Bob Leftsetz talks about Madonna.
I got the latest edition of Vanity Fair and immediately noticed how airbrushed, how artificial, how unusual Madonna looks now.
It bothers me.
I was one of those infatuated with her during that “chubby” phase in the 80’s, but this post has nothing with how I felt about Madonna back in 1985.
Leftsetz tackles many points regarding Madonna in a recent post. He speaks about the aforementioned appeal of that chubby girl next door whose drive to success was indeed part of the allure.
The God’s honest truth: it wasn’t until I got that copy of Vanity Fair until I considered Madonna had indeed gotten a few “enhancements” to stay youthful. I mean, doesn’t that defeat the entire foundation on what helped fuel her success? The idea that with a ton of drive, even that plain looking girl next door with an arguable amount of talent could become the crown princess of pop music? Yes, I said it: the majority of Madonna’s talent lays in her determination, not in her songwriting, vocal abilities, dance skills, etc. This doesn’t suggest that she doesn’t have talent, she has plenty, but it’s her drive that trumps everything else she was born with or achieved through osmosis or assimilation.
The biggest point of Bob’s original point for me was the fact that Madonna apparently has a top five single out.
Yes, Madonna’s “4 Minutes” was the number 3 song in the country last week, and I have never heard it.
I will admit to not being an active Top 40 listener. Who listens to radio, anyway? But it’s not lost on me, Bob Leftsetz, and I’m sure a lot of others out there at how irrelevant the Billboard charts are these days.
It wasn’t too long ago when I still knew the songs she did that didn’t even crack the top ten, but nowadays, she can have a certifiable hit and I wouldn’t be able to identify it.
I gotta believe, and Leftsetz confirms, I’m not the only one who hasn’t heard it. Hell, it even has Justin Timberlake on it! That fucker should be everywhere.
This reminds me of Mariah Carey’s “We Belong Together,” one of the most successful singles ever, topping the Billboard charts for fourteen…FOURTEEN…consecutive weeks. When I learned this, I was flabbergasted that a song that spent over three months as the top song in the country could go by me unnoticed. When I looked to see what some of the longest running number one singles were, I could identify the majority of them, but one of the largest ever, the longest running number one single by any female artist, I couldn’t name at all.
My wife, who’s twelve years younger than me and still listens to commercial radio, couldn’t either, but then again she hates Mariah Carey.
Not that I lose any sleep over this, but I don’t think I’m entirely sheltered to the point where I should be able to recognize the number one song in the country. I mean, shouldn’t I be hearing in through some form of stimuli. The point is (again) how irrelevant these antiquated charts are and how fragmented the industry has become. The hits seem to be fueled by commercials themselves rather than commercial radio. It’s a time when my own parents could easily identify Fiest’s “1-2-3-4” over Mariah Carey’s “We Belong Together” even when the charting system should prove otherwise.
Again, I don’t lose sleep over this and one of the main reasons is that, before I go to sleep tonight, I’ve got to check out the new Madonna single.
Why I have to actively seek it out when it should be all over my head at this point is another topic entirely.

Open Letter To Iggy Pop

Dear Iggy:
I got a chance to see you and the rest of the Stooges the other night on the 2008 Rock & Roll Hall of Fame ceremonies. You looked good, I mean you always look good, but you looked better than usual for some reason. Did they put some make up on you? I’m just asking.
Anyway, I originally thought the idea of Madonna inviting you, a fellow Michigan badass, to perform on stage instead of her was kind of cool. It was like she was acknowledging that you should have been inducted before her, which I totally agree with.
But I started to feel differently. She lives in England, which shouldn’t mean anything I know, but I get this incredible feeling of pretentiousness when I see Madge lately. And when I placed that feeling with the vision of you on stage singing her songs, it looked like she was pleased with her selection of white trash minstrels, punking up the festivities like it was somehow relevant.
It isn’t anymore, and you above anyone else should understand this.
So I’m not sure of the motivation here, because Madonna’s past has been littered with people who have served her well before getting disposed of after they’ve served their purpose.
I’m not suggesting that she’s some kind of succubus and, having read I Need More, I’m confident that you can handle yourself around the ladies. I just think the idea was a poor one and the performance itself was shitty.
I’m starting to worry about you.
It started with that album that you did with Good Charlotte or whoever, and then it really magnified itself with that piece of shit Stooges reunion album that shouldn’t have gone beyond the drawing boards or at the very least, the obligatory reunion tour.
The last few years have started to feel like that incredibly awful dry spell that was most of the 80’s with you and I’m concerned that you’re thinking about calling up Don Was again for another round. With that being said, even that album is better than The Weirdness.
So if you need some free career advice Jimmy, I’m your man. Let’s face it: you’re not getting younger and there is a shelf life to all of this as I’m sure your body is beginning to tell you. It is critical that you start exiting with a keen eye on your legacy instead of potentially ruining it with ill-advised reunions, frighteningly bad late-period albums, and just plain silly cameos for institutions that haven’t even acknowledged your greatness yet.
It’s only a matter of time, probably this year in fact, when you’ll finally make the cut. But really, who gives a shit at this point? Fuck Jann Wenner! Get your head out of the Carnival Cruise Line and back into the trailer!
Your pal,
Todd Totale

You Might Be My Lucky Star

Back when I was a high school, a few friends of mine introduced me to Saint Mary’s Academy. It seemed that Saint Mary’s was the place to go on Friday nights as it was an all-girls school and they held weekly dances there. The great thing about Saint Mary’s was that the girls could mainly be described as “troubled” as the general population consisted in large part of girls from Chicago sent to this remote location on the other side of the state when they became too wild for the parent’s to maintain.
Their loss was our gain.
Saint Mary’s incorporated a strict Catholic curriculum and the nuns that lead the school were fairly used to (and ready for) any teenage boy shenanigans. Nevertheless, we would make the fifteen-mile trek upriver to the dormitory on Friday nights to scope out these worldly ladies and introduce them to our corn-fed charm. Looking back now, I’m sure that they knew we looked like dorks, but their hormones were to a point where they really didn’t give a shit.
To be fair: neither did we. The only time we really devoted attention to this school was when we were sans girlfriends at our own school. Guys have hormones too, which is a polite way of saying we were looking for some easy trim.
That’s not to suggest that we ever got any. Getting a girl past the nuns was extremely difficult and just getting to second base with one of the chicks was equal to getting contraband into a prison. Seriously, you had to secure a lookout in the rec area (or outside in the courtyard if it was nice enough) in order to hustle your dangerous liaison behind the upright cafeteria tables just to make sure you weren’t caught by the ladies of Christ.
After a while (meaning after a year of trying) it got to be a bit too much. I mean, you really only got about five hours a week with your special someone and it was hardly ever alone. The girls never had long distance phone privileges, which meant you never got to talk to them unless you were willing to foot the bill yourself and call during the allotted hours.
Of interest is the fact that this Catholic girl’s school was located in one of the Mormon church’s most revered stopping points: Nauvoo, Illinois. Now, the Mormons have since bought the property that Saint Mary’s was housed on, effectively running the Catholics out the same way that they were run out (somewhat) nearly a century prior. In other words, don’t go looking for some Saint Mary’s poontang now because it ain’t there.
How does this story relate to anything remotely musical you may ask? The irony here isn’t on the push-and-pull of various religious entities; it’s with the irony that this is the place where I first heard Madonna.
In the fall of ’83, the lone boom box in the rec room at Saint Mary’s Academy incessantly played, thanks to the aid of the auto-reverse feature, the debut album of Madonna over and over. On one Sunday afternoon (you could visit the girls between lunch and Sunday dinner), I counted at least six consecutive spins of this album. As the synthesizer arc of “Lucky Star” announced the arrival of the seventh play, a sassy black girl marched over to the boombox and yelled “If I hear this “Lucky Star” shit one more time, I’m gonna break that tape in half.”
I love the Catholic imagery of Saint Mary’s combined with the Catholic imagery of Madge and, I must confess, that I’ve been a fan ever since. It’s weird how Madonna is still able to make hits while Saint Mary’s isn’t around to save souls like it used to, if it was even able to while it was up an running. To be honest, I don’t think there was a lot of hope for the girls of Saint Mary’s Academy to begin with.
Or maybe it was the endless subliminal messages of Madonna’s first album that ended up tearing down the walls of that curious institution.