Like a loser
I hate eating my own words but that sound you can hear is me, munching on a big bowl of O.P.I.N.I.O.N. Like anything you re-heat this dish is best served fresh. Second day it’s not particularly palatable. A bit dry, a little chalky – I’m washing it down with a large glass of Mea Culpa.
I wrote an open letter to Madonna early this year. In said missive, I emphatically, passionately and resolutely defended the Material Girl and her right to wear leotards, cartwheel across the stage and be sexy dammit. I based my argument on the sole fact that she is Madonna and I’ve loved her forever.
Perhaps I should have used a different measure because my feelings have changed considerably since I wrote that column. I almost want to hand in my lifetime membership to the Madonna Army. I can’t march to her tune anymore. At least not the one she’s currently whistling. Her actions in the last couple of weeks have made me cringe. Sad. Angry. She's forced me to devour past words and it’s not a sandwich - it’s a three course meal.
Entrée: The Boob
Did she really need to pull out her boob? It’s so 1998. For those of you catching up: Madonna exposed her breast whilst on stage in Istanbul. It wasn’t a wardrobe malfunction it was a deliberate “Look at me, Baby!” moment. Leotard and thigh high boots are one thing but revealing your bosom on stage in Turkey?!? What was she trying to achieve exactly? It’s disrespectful to the country and to her kids who are sitting backstage or at-home watching their Mum disrobe on YouTube. What about them? Piers Morgan tweeted: 'Most embarrassing, cringe-worthy, desperate moment in the history of music?' He called it too early because Madge backed up the boob with her bottom. Two nights later she pulled down her pants to reveal a g-string clad behind. There's no denying you could bounce a tennis ball to the moon off those Buns of Steel but it just ain’t sexy. Or necessary. It’s boring and predictable. I felt like I was watching one of those Garfield cats that stick on car windscreens and slowly slip down the glass as the sun melts the suction - an undignified end for a great character.
Main Course: The Gun
This is the part where she really lost me. Really. Lost. Me. The part where she marched onto the stage brandishing a pistol while her back-up singers toted machine guns. She held one to her head, pointed it at the audience, the drummer … Hahahahahaha. Not.
It’s a gun. You’re a mother. You should know better. What makes it worse is that the Scottish police requested that Madonna remove the prop guns from her performance out of respect for the laws and the massacre (Dunblane) that created them. She didn’t.
I’m sure she'd argue civil liberty and some political/tedious/meaning to the act but all I see is an irresponsible and reckless grab for attention. The fact that she still hasn’t removed this element from her show in the wake of the Aurora massacre goes far beyond insensitivity and has zero to do with censorship. Madonna has either truly lost touch or is so obsessed with staying relevant that she’s forgotten all the good her power has achieved.
I’m certain that the young Madonna, the courageous Madonna would be shaking her head at this play.
Dessert: The Snub
She’s not coming to Australia. Again. Can’t be bothered. We’re too far away. We buy her songs, watch her movies and yet, she’s not coming. Off the back of guns and flesh-baring this seems trivial but really it kind of says it all. Madonna has lost sight what her fans truly want - her. Her at 53. The 2012 version. None of us expect a re-boot of Madonna from two decades ago. We’ll support you until you decide you’ve had enough because we love you.
I applaud how she's stopped her own ageing clock and redefined the 'women over 50' stereotypes. I bear no judgment about her right to surgery, fishnets and young men but this recent behaviour is ruining her greatness.
Madonna: you need to give the sexual shtick a rest. Please. Just put your boob and your bottom away. It’s boring now. You pioneered these moves back when it was something that could be pioneered. Now there’s a nipple on every channel on every television in every country. Leave it to The Snookis and rise above it.
With your clothes on.