Published on April 16th, 2006 | by The Beige Baron0
On The Verge #37
The Backstreet Boys’ new single, Incomplete, has debuted at #1. The Backstreet Boys’ new single, Incomplete, has debuted at #1. The Backstreet Boys’ new single, Incomplete, has debuted at #1. It doesn’t matter how many times you say it. It’ll never make sense.
Whether we like it or not, we can expect many anguished yelps of “baby!” and “girl!” to hit the airwaves as the Boys squeeze every ounce of melodrama from their latest over-sung, over-sugared, over-produced sesame-seed bun.
For the statistically minded, these blow-waved bad boys have sold over 73 million albums worldwide, 900,000 of which were in Australia. (Who’d have thought there were that many mental patients in this great southern land?)
In truth, though, you don’t need to be deranged to buy a Backstreet Boys album, just young. Very young. And judging by the success of Incomplete, the Boys are poised to set the hearts a-racing of another generation of 12-year-old girls. Which is surely the best argument ever mounted for cancelling pocket money.
The Backstreet Boys’ latest album, Never Gone, will be “unleashed” – as the press release says with unintended accuracy – in Australia on June 26. Ooh. La. La.
JAWS OF LIFE EMPLOYED TO REMOVE BON JOVI FROM JEANS
Jon Bon Jovi was carried out on a stretcher, seemingly unconscious, from an exclusive Manhattan restaurant yesterday, his groin packed in ice. Fire crews spent three hours separating Bon Jovi from his trademark denims, which one Fire Officer described as “Like, some sort of titanium chain mail with the appearance of denim. Never seen anything like it.”
A source close to Bon Jovi described the ordeal.
“Jon went to the bathroom shortly after we ordered, as his spleen cleansing diet requires he drink eight pints of water per hour. Next thing, there were waiters running back and forth, with kitchen knives, pizza cutters, soufflé crimpers, you name it… the jeans just wouldn’t budge.”
While awaiting the arrival of the fire crew, one quick thinking maitre de inserted a tube running up the left leg of the crushing denims, allowing the 100,000,000-selling artist to relieve himself while still trapped in the jeans, making only a small wet mark at the ankle.
Bon Jovi was said to be “pissed off” that his meal had gone cold, but later issued a statement, expressing his gratitude to “the boys” of NYFD and has vowed to make a tribute album to crews who “saved my ass”.
This news has overshadowed news that Bon Jovi has been confirmed to play as part of the US line-up of Live-8 in Philadelphia on July 2 and is reportedly shopping around for suitable attire for the event, preferably something “billowy”.
Kyle Riabko is a 17-year-old Canadian singer/songwriter supporting Delta on her national tour in July. The press release publicising this starts with a titillating question: “Who is Kyle Riabko and what is he doing with our Delta?”
Not being Women’s Daze or No Idea readers, we really don’t care what Kyle’s doing with Delta. Instead, the salient question is who gets to decide when an entertainer becomes “ours”? When, for example, did Kylie become “our Kylie”? Nicole, “our Nicole”? And at what point did “our Russell Crowe” become “NZ-born Russell Crowe”? (Before or after he used a telephone as a mace?)
Apart from being a PR ploy designed to cajole us into a bogus sense of ownership and affection for said entertainers, this expression is also a manifestation of cultural cringe — anyone who’s successful on an overseas stage becomes “ours”. At least, that’s what the publicists and record companies want us to believe.
Well, given that we never consented to Delta — or Kylie, or Nicole, or anyone — being “ours”, we kindly request that publicists refrain from using the expression “our Delta”. She may be “your Delta”, she may even be Kyle Riabko’s Delta, but she’ll never (ever, ever) be our Delta.
Pop singer Kayne West has surprised the scientific community by claiming his brand of urban rap music is in fact a revolutionary new form of medicine, and has provided a tragic insight into a psyche crushed under the weight of responsibility of saving the world and everything in it.
“It’s hard when people are depending on you to have an album that’s not just good, but inspired,” West modestly told Teen People. “I mean, my music isn’t just music — its medicine. I want my songs to touch people, to give them what they need. Every time I make an album, I’m trying to make a cure for cancer, musically. That stresses me out!”
However, scientists are skeptical about the medical value of his second album, Diamonds From Sierra Leone. “We’re puzzled by Mr West’s claims,” said one research professor. “We’ve tried administering the album aurally, and then as a suppository, but found our test subjects were disinclined to accept it in these forms. We also tried playing the record but apart from having a severe laxative effect, and causing profound discomfort to the subjects, it had no discernable medical value.”
Despite the scientists’ finding the new album to be ineffective at anything beyond giving people the shits, Tom Cruise weighed in by denouncing the record as “another evil plot in an insidious campaign to promote therapeutic drugs”.
“As a movie actor, I feel completely qualified to say that psychiatry is pseudo-science,” he said. “I’ve read books. I know history. Being mentally ill or clinically depressed is simply a case of your internal antenna not being correctly tuned into the transmissions coming from our alien masters on Zarquon IV. In some cases these ‘mentally ill’ people are mistakenly receiving a delayed radio telecast of the Hawthorn—West Coast game spliced with Love Song Dedications. Of course this would be distressing. But drugs won’t help. Drugs are bad. And you know this.”
Cruise then outlined his ideas for treatment of the mentally ill and cancer sufferers. “Based on what I’ve picked up during my Batchelor of Science Fiction, the only way to get better is to become a wealthy celebrity and attend sessions at my church group. We offer full chequebook re-alignments and you’ll be back on L. Ron Hubbard FM in no time flat.”
Placing a finger to his ear and squinting quizzically, the star concluded: “What’s that, Noble Leader? You wish me to leap around on this lounge like Brooke Shields on a Ritalin bender? Now? Well, okay… if you say so…”