George Thorogood and The Destroyers - “Bad To The Bone”

Note: This one was suggested by a blog visitor. I’m not sure if he was serious or just trying to torture me, but I gave it my best…

We start out with a shot of some folks playing pool, followed by little urchin boys telling secrets on some street, and then we finally cut to George and the guys playing a gig. Almost right away George is shoving his mouth up in the camera, with all those teeth, a signature move that I had mentally blocked since the last time I had seen him perform back in the day.

The lovely ladies in the audience don’t seem to care, rocking to the beat with lust and naughtiness on their minds. And even some of the guys seem to be lost in a frenzy of… well, I’m not sure what. They’re just really happy, let’s leave it at that for now.

Cut to George walking down a street, because no one’s ever done that in a video. We don’t know where he’s going, the only clue being that he’s carrying his guitar case. We also see those urchin boys again, whispering and glancing at George furtively. I think we’re supposed to believe they’re in awe of George’s bad boniness. But they could just as easily be saying things like “Hey, Mikey, that’s the man that’s always asking me if I like comic books in the shower at the YMCA!”

In fact, the whole length of the street seems to be filled with young uns. No adults. Are we trapped in a giant daycare? Is Big Bird going to walk out of an alley and quiz us about letters and numbers?

Back to the pool hall, where George arrives with his instrument, and spies somebody already there, sitting at a table with his own guitar, a man I should probably know but don’t. Whoever he is, he’s apparently the Big Kahuna in this place, with lots of people standing around him and waiting to do his bidding or get him a chili dog.

George doesn’t care. He marches up and flops his guitar case on one of the pool tables. (Guess those people are done playing now.) George opens the case and takes out… a pool stick. (I guess they have a different concept of proper luggage usage in The South.) Big Daddy at the kingly table thinks this is really funny, and reaches for his own stick.

Shots of George powdering his hands and Big Daddy really enjoying wearing his white jacket. They both approach a pool table, with George smoking a cigar the size of a Buick, and they commence to play.

Brief respite as we cut back to the band playing its gig, with George and his teeth and the ovulating sister girls in the audience. We don’t learn anything new or different, so I’m thinking somebody’s already making crap up to fill out the video. Just a guess.

Checking in back at the pool challenge, we learn that Big Daddy is pretty dang good. Which is probably why he gets to wear the fancy jacket and the cowboy hat. George is standing around with an attitude since he can’t even play what with Big Daddy really showing off. The rest of the crowd is mesmerized by Big Daddy and his stick dominance, so they probably don’t get out much.

Then we see some guy nod to another really old guy, and old guy turns and goes into the next room which turns out to be a gym where people are boxing. What the hell? I guess I don’t get out much either, because I’ve never been to a bar that featured both pool tables and boxing rings. Anyway, old guy makes his way to another old guy, who is standing next to a woman with barely-restrained breasts. Old Guy 1 whispers something to Old Guy 2.

The people in the this video are entirely too secretive. Just sayin.

Old Guy 2 and Tramp 1 head on over to the pool room, where Big Daddy has just racked up a new game. OG2 throws a wad of money on the balls (that’s a line I never imagined typing) and then he and Trampolina take a seat. (Well, she can’t really sit down without the emancipation of nipples, so she just sort of leans against the bench.)

Big Daddy and George Daddy do their thing, with nifty images of a clock spinning so us slower folk can understand that a lot of time passes. We also have images of big bills being snatched off the table, so somebody’s got a nice revenue stream. Oh, and there’s shots of some underling sliding those little round discs on a string in that old-timey way they did when people were too drunk to just write numbers down on paper.

This goes on for a long time. People play pool. A lot.

Finally, George Daddy runs the table and wins a game, ending with a shot that knocks his final ball and then the eight-ball into the same pocket. This is nice and all, but really, not that big a deal since it seems that George Daddy lost the 47 games before that. No matter, there’s happiness about, with one of the urchins who has been watching the marathon (do they not ask for ID in this place?) racing outside to slap congratulatory hands with other urchins, all of them wearing trashy and ugly clothes.

Back inside the house of sin and boxing, George Daddy keeps up his winning streak, getting all cocky and prancing around. (But, dude, you lost the first 47... Oh, screw it.) Big Daddy finally goes to sit next to Old Guy 2, all ashamed. George Daddy makes his final shot, with the eight-ball hanging on the edge of a pocket without dropping. No problem. George holds his cigar out over the filthy floor and taps it, and the thudding weight of the heavy ashes causes the eight-ball to commit suicide and leap into the pocket.

Really?

The crowd of homely urchins out on the street roars.

I don’t.


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Kesha - “Blow”

We start out with a disclaimer that “No mythological creatures were harmed in the making of this video.” Really? That doesn’t bode well. I hope she didn’t try to have sex with them, something that’s always a flight-risk in a Kesha video.

Cut to Kesha and some people with unicorn-heads (not kidding) sitting in a room, drinking champagne while Kesha babbles the details of how she was elected to the Parliament in Uzbekistan (still not kidding). Zip over to Kesha somewhere else, and she kicks off the song, bellowing “Dance!” (which comes as a total surprise, because her songs are rarely ever about partying, right?).

Cut back to Champagne Kesha as a unicorn butler presents her with a tiny snacky thing on a tray. Kesha, perhaps not recognizing food when she sees it, looks questioningly at the butler, who points out a man across the room, who turns out to be James Van Der Beek doing a bit of slumming. Apparently the sight of his unshaven face instantly inspires Kesha to shove the miniscule bit of cheese in her mouth in what she assumes is a seductive manner.

Zip over to Singing Kesha, who rap-sings the song while introducing her signature move for this video, which turns out to be holding her fingers in the shape of a gun and then waving that hand about like she’s Jackie Brown. Zip back to the Room of Unicorns, Cheese and Drinking, where James jumps to his feet, causing Kesha to jump to her feet, because ain’t nobody gonna steal the spotlight in her own video. They glare at each other with a mixture of lust, unfinished business, and high-end couture.

Singing Kesha again, who seems about to justify my fear of her having sex with the animals, as she paws one of the Children of the Unicorn in a suggestive manner, then she licks his snout. Oh my. This foreplay is interrupted so we can check on Champagne Kesha and James as they march toward one another, intentions unclear, as a new herd of unicorns arrive to just stand there and distract us.

Quick shot of a unicorn drinking a glass of champagne. I guess he’s heard the rumor that the Kesha in the other room wants to play naughty reindeer games, so he’s building up his courage. Meanwhile, Singing Kesha continues to wave around her fake hand gun and do an intimate inventory of all her body parts, paying special attention to her port authority.

Back to Champagne and James, where he reaches in his jacket and pulls out… a comb, and tends to his hair with the assistance of some fancy video editing. Champagne responds by caressing a nearby unicorn, and then frenching it. (What is up with Kesha and the need for some Dr. Doolittle Bang-Bang?) They even loop this little snippet a few times so we can confirm that, yep, we’ve got tongue action.

A revisit with Singing Kesha (yes, she still believes that her hand is an actual weapon, poor thing), then back to James, who is inexplicably ripping the sleeves off his jacket while glaring at Kesha, then he rips the rest of it in two and throws the mess on the ground. (He couldn’t just… take the jacket off?) Then he challenges Kesha by doing one of his trademark eyebrow-raises. Insert another cameo with Singing Kesha, who yells the line “it’s time to let the crazy out!”. Honey, that done happened when I pushed play on this video.

Back in the Room of Confrontation and Torn Clothing, Champagne Kesha and James have a short dance-off, with her wiggling her non-existent hips and him managing to thrust his crotch and shove his pecs forward at the same time. Then Kesha reaches into the top of her dress and pulls out… her bra, which she tosses to the side while she smirks and her alter-ego in the Uni-Sex Room continues to be inspired by all the horns everywhere.

James, not to be outdone, reaches into his own shirt and whips out a matching bra, although it takes him longer to toss it aside, so he must like his support garments more than Kesha does. Kesha briefly looks confused (we’ll assume that she didn’t have to take acting lessons for that), then decides the business with his bra was really hot so they rush to the middle of the room for further discussion and the possible appearance of additional lingerie.

They proceed to have a mystifying conversation where they taunt each other, make fun of each other’s names, and analyze muenster cheese. This is probably supposed to be erotic and sexy banter, but I’m distracted by the Horn People in the background who don’t really know what they’re doing in this scene and keep shifting about. Kesha ends the wordplay with “Shall we dance?”

But instead of clenching one another and moving to the rhythm, they go to opposite sides of the room, then suddenly turn and start shooting laser bullets at one another. Well, then, didn’t see that coming. So now it’s all about leaping around to avoid death and making snarling faces as they return fire. (Kesha uses one of the unicorns as a body shield, so I’m sure she got a call from PETA during post-production.)

Wait, it seems that quite a few of the unicorns are getting hit by the bad beams and crashing to the ground, so Kesha probably got more than just a phone call. There are also a few other humans that I hadn’t noticed before until they get shot and go flying through the air. And the most shocking thing of all is the destruction of a completely innocent glass of champagne before anybody got to drink it.

The frantic gunplay comes to an end when Kesha finally manages to hit James in the shoulder with one of the magic bullets, knocking his gun out of his hand and allowing her to waltz up and step on his arm so he can’t reach the gun. He asks for a truce, but she decides that she’s really not in the mood for that and kills him anyway. Cut to James’ head mounted on the wall (“James Van Der Dead”), while Kesha and her Pole-Head buddies are sitting around, drinking more bubbly, and laughing hysterically.

Note to Self: Never party with Kesha. Ever. Unless I have spare bras that I don’t care for anymore, can overlook the bestiality, and don’t mind getting shot.


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Britney Spears - “I Wanna Go”

We start out with Britney at a press conference where she is fielding questions while wearing high heels covered with spikes and a t-shirt indicating that something unpleasant may have happened to a famous cartoon rodent. Turns out the reporters are asking some really lame-ass questions, but it takes a while for this to sink in because we’re fascinated with the way Brit’s heavy mascara is making it hard for her to keep her eyes open.

Britney suddenly gets fed up with the stupidity (totally biting my tongue right here), instructs most of the reporters to sexually violate themselves in a rough manner, and then storms out of the room. Luckily she must have passed a changing room before she got to the front door of the building, thus allowing her to switch costumes before she tromps out onto the sidewalk, doing one of those “I’m a supermodel and you’re not” walks.

While the main story plays out, we also get jump shots of Britney performing the song, wearing fingerless leather gloves and unexplained pink streaks in her hair. Back to the sidewalk, where a crazed male fan runs up to her and begs for an autograph. Britney complies happily, first by tonguing a pen that was conveniently tucked between her boobs, then she scribbles her name on a CD, shoves it at the ecstatic adolescent, and grabs a handful of his booty. (I had to replay this bit, because at first it looked she might have gone for the kielbasa.)

Naturally, the boy-man stands there in shock, not really sure how to process this development, which will probably, and sadly, be the most important thing that has ever happened in his life. He finally expresses his excitement by doing a hands-free backflip. (Wow. Just what would he have done if she had sampled the sausage?)

Britney takes off down the street, flirting with a few more males as she does so, including a baby in a carriage. (A nod to K-Fed?) She comes across a policeman writing out a ticket to a man sitting in a strawberry-red Volkswagen Beetle. (I’d give him a ticket for picking that color, too.) Out of sympathy for the plight of the man in the car, or maybe just boredom, Britney rips open her top and reveals her hardware display. (We’re behind her and can’t see much, which is a little sad, but really, has she ever worn a top that didn’t allow us to visualize exactly what she’s got? I think we’re fully aware of her exact dimensions.)

The camera jumps around, letting us see that all of the males in the area are absolutely mesmerized by the mammaries, and then focuses on the reaction of the policeman. He seems to be a bit perturbed at first, but I guess he quickly gets over it, because next thing you know he’s got Britney sprawled over the hood of the strawberry car and is frisking her doggie-style. (This does nothing to stop her from singing, but it does allow her traffic cones to dangle and caress the curves of the hood.)

What The Man is hoping to find lodged somewhere we don’t really know, but he must be worried about something up in that skintight grill because he spends quite a bit of time on the hunt. Then apparently they have some quickie sex, because we cut away for a bit and come back to see Britney walking away, twirling his handcuffs while he buttons his shirt back up. Girl knows how to get things done and then get back to the shopping.

Next up we have Britney encountering some paparazzi guy, something I’m sure she’s familiar with since they hide in her trash cans and bathrooms and such. At first she’s real sweet, posing for him and blowing him kisses, because she loves everybody that will take a picture of her. Then she gets an attitude, snatches away his fancy camera, and hurls it to the sidewalk, shattered bits flying. (Honey, is your bustier a little too tight?)

Apparently this bit of destruction titillates Britney to some degree, and she decides that she needs more of that apple juice. She rushes out into the street, and climbs on top of a taxicab that is stupidly parked there. 4 other paparazzi appear out of nowhere and also hop on top of cars. (Is this a new line-dance craze? To the left, to the left, to the left, climb on a vehicle. Even though there’s no parking on the dance floor.)

Britney stares down the four guys, while we get jump shots of her belly button giving a performance somewhere else. Then she suddenly whips out a microphone on a really long cord. (Wow. Based on her minimal outfit, there’s only one place she could have been storing that.) Kill Bill Britney starts whirling the microphone around her, striking down the Evil People With Cameras, one by one. (Interesting to note: When the mike slams into them, the guys emit sparks before crashing to the ground. Oh?)

Once all the pins have been knocked down, Britney just stands there in a triumphant and saucy manner. Until she spies one of the photogs getting back up, his damaged face looking all Terminator and stuff. And the other dudes are the same way. Whoopsie, we have an issue. Time to dash, Brit. Run like the wind, girl!

Luckily, a guy with a convertible just happens to drive up. (We’ll overlook the fact that this street was entirely blocked off with cars right up to this magical point.) And he even knows her name, beckoning for her to hop in. Yay! They zoom down the street.

And decide to go for a ride in the country, because who wouldn’t want to do that when you’ve just killed four men and then they pulled a Lazarus on you. Anyway, the brisk country air convinces Britney that she needs to abandon even more of her clothing, as well as stand up in the car and wave her arms about like a sorority girl after her first experience with a beer bong.

They travel across the land, me and you and a… carton of milk? The driver whips out a container of the white stuff that he had stashed behind the seat, (what?), and then proceeds to pour the milk all over his face while still clipping along at 80mph. This goes on for a very long time, with Britney and her cleavage encouraging him. Then Brit notices that his cool leather jacket is smoking, so she rips it open and discovers that he’s a machine, too! Egads! Poor thing just can’t get a break.

Cut back to the original press conference, where Britney shakes off her daydream, and is still fielding questions from the asinine reporters. Suddenly, the guy with the milk fetish and the dysfunctional circuitry walks up to Brit, only now he seems normal and dry. Or is he? As he rescues Britney from the Bad People Who Write Stories, dragging her away, he hands her some seashells and then they waltz away. Just before they round a corner, he looks back, and we see the evil red eyes of a robot.

Which means he must be a music producer, right?


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Lady Gaga - “The Edge Of Glory”

We start out on a wet, urban street somewhere, with pretty pink smoke billowing around a corner, because things like that always happen when Gaga is in town. Cut to a brief shot of someone screwing around with a cheap window curtain, then back to that corner, where Gaga is now standing, looking very Liza Minnelli in “Cabaret” just before things all went to hell in Berlin between the wars.

More of that person in the window, with smoke gushing out of the apartment, so apparently somebody has microwaved the popcorn too long once again. Then we have Gaga standing on the front steps of the apartment building, next to Clarence Clemons, who is playing a saxophone even though there’s obviously something on fire in the near vicinity.

Back to the window, where we can now see that Gaga is peering out said window whilst wearing an outfit that is vaguely Geisha/Egyptian, sporting sunglasses and yet another haggard wig. The vocals kick in on the song, while Geisha Gaga attempts to climb out the window without disrupting her couture. Cut to Streetwalker Gaga as she struts her wares and lets us know that she’s really partial to studded-leather and gold chains. The camera pans down so we can observe Gaga’s unique skill of walking in high-heel boots without tripping.

The camera focuses on her face again, giving us plenty of time to wonder if Gaga’s hairdo is a tribute to some endangered bipolar species. She doesn’t really explain what’s going on, and instead chooses to walk in a manner that would get a normal citizen arrested for public intoxication. To be fair, she probably can’t see where she’s going, what with the tendrils of her raccoon hair falling in her eyes and such.

We check in on Geisha Gaga at the window. She still hasn’t made it out, despite the obvious fire consuming her apartment. (Maybe a stiletto heel is caught on the window sill?) She’s perched in the window frame, artfully pretending to lose her balance in a manner that allows her to thrust her crotch at the camera.

She finally makes it out onto the fire escape, wailing the “Edge of Glory!” line as more smoke pours out of the building. Brief glimpse of Streetwalker Gaga, then we’re back with Geisha Gaga as she takes two steps on the fire escape and then pauses to bellow more of the song, instead of running like hell as most fire victims would do. Cut back to Stoop Gaga with the sax player, where this Gaga has decided it’s really important that she do a back bend over the stair railing so that her crotch is at an equal-opportunity level for all passersby.

We jump cut around for a bit, visiting all the Gagas, then we settle on Geisha Gaga as she does an interpretive dance on the fire escape, one that might have something to do with the disenfranchisement of the Mongolian people, but that’s just a guess. Then Geisha Gaga inexplicably runs up the fire escape stairs instead of down. (Did she not get the memo about how escaping a fire works?)

Apparently it doesn’t matter, because Geisha Gaga has a lot of swell dance moves that she can perform while working her way upwards. The most important move is something about laying down halfway up the flight of stairs so she can arch her back and touch her breasts. Then she hops up and wiggles her fanny to let us know that she’s just fine, although a bit winded.

Jump cuts to the other Gagas, then back to Geisha still taking forever to work her way up that single flight of stairs. (Girl, what part of “the building’s on fire, get the hell out!” do you not understand?) But no, she thinks it’s really important to stop and do squat-thrusts on every step. We re-visit Streetwalker Gaga, who is really invested in doing some twirling, then back to Geisha Gaga, who decides to rip off her lovely silk top and wave it about. Instead of running for her life.

Then Geisha Gaga runs back down the stairs, which is actually the right thing to do, but really, girl just needs to make up her mind. She goes back to that window where the apartment is on fire, grabs both sides of the window frame, and then leans out in yet another attempt to accent her breasts. Really, honey? We all know you have knockers, we see them every day on the TV. Lets put those away for just a bit until the building is safely evacuated.

Another quick visit with Streetwalker Gaga, then back to Geisha Gaga, who is now rubbing her booty on the brick wall of the building. I’m not sure what she’s trying to accomplish here, but someone should let her know that the last thing we need right now is more friction. And those studded panties are sure to strike a spark.

Brief shot of Stoop Gaga carelessly throwing some trash into the street, another of Geisha Gaga trying to tune in Tokyo with her mammary radar, and then… I don’t know. All of the Gagas seem to have simultaneously hit a caffeine-high as we zip from one to the other. Then, luckily, the sax player finally wakes up and remembers how to play his instrument, so we have a slower bit where all the Gagas thrust various body parts in a less frenetic manner.

After a bit, we focus on Geisha Gaga, who now feels it’s important to recreate certain dance moves from 1984, including the raised fist and the head banging. Then she warps into some burlesque business by throwing her leg over the fire escape railing, and a tribute to angels being reborn despite their penchant for leather accessories. Then Geisha Gaga is mysteriously back in front of the burning window, once again giving herself a breast exam.

And here we go with some crazy jump-cutting. I’ll try to catch the highlights. One of the Gagas kisses the sidewalk, so I guess we have a fetish for wet concrete. Geisha Gaga does a nifty side-kick thing that makes my eyes well up with tears over stupid things we did in high school that we should never do again, then she proceeds to do more of that “bang her ass on the brick wall” mess, followed by a mesmerizing stunt involving her humping the iron railings of the fire escape. This girl is very, very busy.

The jump-cutting continues, with Stoop Gaga recreating scenes from “Streets of Fire” mixed with “Flashdance”, Geisha Gaga doing the exact same drill team routine that I witnessed at high-school football games, and Streetwalker Gaga being overly fond of dance steps that make her gold jewelry sparkle in the dewy wetness provided by the odd pink cloud that keeps billowing around that corner.

Special Artistic Mention: Stoop Gaga manages to find the exact pose that makes her hooters look porn-film worthy. You go, girl.

And that’s really how we wind things down. All of the Gagas are prancing and thrusting with a determination that makes one wonder just what might have happened in her childhood, but none of what we’re seeing can adequately justify her penchant for the split-personality hair follicles.

We end with Geisha Gaga going back into the burning building, Streetwalker Gaga defiantly strutting off to a corner that might bring a better offering of clientele, Stoop Gaga completely AWOL, and a general sense that, if this what it means to be On the Edge, I believe I’ll go for Plan B. I don’t want to wear hooker outfits and not understand how to get my ass away from a burning building. Just sayin.


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Outkast - “Hey Ya!”

We start out with the band backstage just before a concert. This is a very long scene, where the duo are supposedly getting advice from their manager or their PR person or just some guy that happened to walk by. Who knows, none of us are formally introduced. Besides, I spend most of my time wondering where in the hell Andre found that green pair of plaid pants. They’re quite startling. Did he have to sign a waiver in order to wear them?

Cut to a British announcer guy introducing Outkast while wearing a vaguely-60’s outfit, interspersed with random shots of a screaming, totally-female, vaguely-60’s audience. I think this is supposed to somehow evoke the image of The Beatles appearing on Sullivan or some such, but something’s a bit off. Like the announcer guy’s hat. Why would you put something like that on your head?

After Alistair Tweed or whatever his name is finally shuts up, we cut to the band on stage, and Andre starts to wail. The set looks like an Irish Festival exploded, in a fun way, but it’s hard to study all the details because we keep cutting away to watch yet another female in the audience scream and clutch at her head, like the gynecologist didn’t bother to warm up any of his instruments.

We soon learn that it’s just Andre playing all of the band members on stage, with trick photography and such. We even have triplet male backup singers off to one side performing hand movements that should bring a tear to the eye of any fan of synchronized flamboyance. All of this is accompanied by rhythmic hand-clapping, festive dance steps, and more women being surprised in the stirrups.

We go on like this for quite a while, with singing and dancing and cloning. There’s an extended bit where they put subtitles under all of the Andre characters, and we learn that the backup singers are named “The Love Haters”, the words appearing just as the trio launches into falsetto and flair-filled flapping.

Of course, we have to have the requisite over-enthused female who leaps out of the audience and charges the stage, straddling one of the Andre’s, her go-go boots flashing seductively before her ass gets dragged off into the wings. We also have females fainting, females jiggling, females wearing hair bigger than some condos, and females who perhaps shouldn’t have been hired for this video, because they have no rhythm or any idea where the camera might be.

We also spend a lot of time on the “Polaroid picture” mess, with all those screaming females whipping out cameras, pointing and clicking, doing a shimmy, and then waving the developing pictures about, an action that is apparently only successful if you use your breasts as propellers. In fact, one startling woman with turboprops that could keep a 747 in the air is called up on the stage so Andre can do a surprise inspection of her fuselage.

And we finally wind down with more of the same. We run through all of the Andre’s on stage, get more reaction shots from the overly-heated audience, “The Love Haters” help nearby planes land with their hand gestures, and a bit where lead-singer Andre is trying to do a moonwalk but can’t quite get out of first gear.

The whole thing is kind of fun. And just a tad bit creepy…


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Maroon 5 - “Makes Me Wonder”

We start out at some airport, where Adam and the gang are busy walking around and looking stylish. They’re either departing or arriving, it’s not really clear and not really important. They’re walking down a gangway, with a woman wearing a tiny dress at the other end. She and her nonexistent hemline are standing under a soft pink light, so this must be Bordello Airlines.

Cut to the band performing somewhere, possibly in a terminal, although I’ve never seen one look like this, where supermodels appear to be the only other humans and all the shops look like stages where ABBA would perform. Then we’re inside an airplane, where a flight attendant wearing another one of those dresses made out of wristbands is serving drinks. I’m not sure that I want to drink something that glows on its own, but I seem to be the only one troubled by this.

I guess this is a private charter, because all the other passengers don’t exist or have been killed and stored safely away in case there’s any turbulence. It’s just the band sitting in the seats, and the traveling tramps serving nibbly bits while wearing enormous, silver-heeled shoes. (By the way, we do keep cutting back to the band performing, but we really don’t care about that angle and can just let it go.)

Adam gets up and struts around the airplane while singing the song, because any time there’s at least one other person in the room, he considers them an audience and therefore he must sing. Sadly, no one seems to be paying any attention to him, so I’m sure there will be harsh words spoken at the next band meeting. We even get a close-up of Adam eyeballing the overhead compartments, with him wondering if there’s anybody trapped in one of them that might want to hear his song.

Next up is Adam standing at the start of this really long moving sidewalk thing. He’s snazzily dressed and the whole area is bathed in dim pink and purple lighting. (Where IS this swanky airport? Is there a cover charge?) The camera pulls back and we can see that slide walk is extra-special long. (Aw, hell, is he going to sing the whole way down it?)

Oh, it looks like he’s going to have some company, because we see some other flight attendants for Bordello Airlines stepping onto the moving sidewalk as well. (They have to do this very carefully in those tiny skirts. Take too big of a step, things will ride up and we’re going to see cooter.)

Cut back to the terminal and the band playing, and we get a brief glimpse of what might be a very chesty female pilot. A few of the band guys eye her hungrily, perhaps hoping that she’s flying their plane. With that much ballast, there’s no way the plane will sink if they crash-land into the ocean.

And Adam is still on that damn walkway. Could be days until he gets to the end, who knows. But at least he has his music and the pretty, alternating pastel lighting to keep him company. Oh, and his fancy umbrella. Because you really need one of those in an airport where you can’t actually go outside.

Brief shots of the supermodels doing mundane things in the terminal, like talking on payphones and gazing lustily at the band members and walking. Why are there no ugly people up in this grill? What happened? (And somebody needs to tell that one extra with the red sash that she doesn’t need to be in every scene. Stop it.)

A plane lands, but nobody does anything about it. I guess the main focus here is that people see you walking around in your designer outfits, not the actual transport of un-pretty civilians.

Now we have Adam going through security (why they are making him do this after he’s already walked all over the airport is anyone’s guess), with three lasses wearing S&M trench coats assigned to inspect Adam and make sure he’s not sporting something that might interest them. They all seem to be carrying very large cattle prods, so they might have wandered over from the dairy farm down the road.

In any case, the three Frisky Friskers leave no molecule of skin untouched on Adam’s body, getting very intimate with their wands and their hands and anything else they can use to check his crevices and special spots. This goes on for quite some time, so we’ll assume that everyone was having a swell time with that mess, and that they all had to smoke a cigarette when they were done.

We head back to the middle of the terminal for an extended sequence of the band playing. Not much new going on here, just people looking pretty and checking to see if other people are noticing them be pretty. Oh, and the keyboardist (and his startling hair) has invented his own line-dance that he’s very invested in performing, probably a flashy bid for attention after all those years of people staring at Adam and not him.

We start getting shots of planes flying off into the sunset, which is our signal that it’s time to wrap things up. The band plays a bit more, the supermodels work it on the terminal runway, and the chesty pilot is still wearing her uniform proudly and sashaying about. Which is kind of sad, because that was her plane we just watched flying off to who knows where. Those people are in for a big surprise, eh?

We close out with Adam asleep on the plane, him and his designer sleep-mask nodding gently while the girls of Bordello Air tidy up the liquor bottles…


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Matt Nathanson - “Come On Get Higher”

Oh my. This is a tough one, with hundreds of random images flying by. I’ll be digging deep to come up with a story for this one…

We start off with morning breaking outside while someone that is probably Matt is having a plumbing issue, with water pouring over his head. The drenching, however, does not stop another Matt from strumming his guitar while wearing a black t-shirt. We also have a third Matt with some striking accessories, one being a nose ring and the other being some girl who loves to squeeze her face into the tight camera frame with Matt.

Brief shot of a skyline. I guess this is the artsy part.

Then we have yet another Matt, this one apparently trapped on the floor between two beds, probably in a hotel. He seems to be happy and all, he just can’t move. In the background, we see that girlfriend woman, just walking around and not trying to help at all, so I’m not sure that Matt should be in a relationship with her.

Right at the thirty-second mark we have an odd mess where it appears that somebody ran out of film, had to switch cameras, and didn’t even try to cover up the snafu. I’m starting to think that the people involved with this video are just really, really lazy, what with the not helping people and the lack of professionalism on the technical side.

No matter, all of the Matts seem quite content to continue wailing the song, no matter where they are, especially the one who appears to be standing on the stage at an X-Files convention. Oh, wait, now that selfish girlfriend is soaking wet as well. What, was it bothering her that Matt might be getting more attention. She is really high-maintenance.

But her hamming it up with the wetness seems to have worked, because now we are seeing much more of her than Matt. She’s everywhere, out on the street, wandering around apartments, appearing as an image in a burnt tortilla. And more of that mess where she shoves her face up against Matt’s when he’s just trying to sing and make a living.

X-Files Matt seems to have lost his guitar at some point, which could prove tragic, so we’ll need to keep an eye on him. Oh wait, it’s back. Then it’s gone again. Okay, even the instruments in this video can’t seem to fulfill their duties. I’m thinking Matt needs to reconsider his whole social network.

Brief shot of a sleazy motel somewhere. No idea. But I’m going to assume that the nasty girlfriend knows the exact address. And has her own assigned parking.

Long stretch where we are jumping around the Matts so quickly that I don’t even have time to come up with something clever, then we slow back down for some close-up shots of Girlfriend, all smiley and friendly even though we know she’s lying. Then we have the two of them performing public displays of affection, one of which causes pigeons to fly away in fear.

There’s a startling moment where we watch the shadow of X-Files Matt perform a tribute to hula dancers, one of those secret sci-fi convention rituals that we best not speak further about. More face-shoving from Girlfriend, her nostrils competing with Matt’s to dominate the screen. And an update from that motel. Yep, it’s still sleazy.

We have another Matt trapped between a different set of beds, so you have to wonder exactly what the symbolism might be with this. Is Matt just really, really tired all the time? Is he a big ole slut? Or does he just have issues with matched objects, forcing him to go into a personal timeout and reflect upon why anybody would willingly pick smooth peanut butter when crunchy is way better?

And that’s about it. The rest of the video is more of the same, with the various Matts emoting and Trollop Girl insisting on equal billing. Luckily, somebody finally remembers that this is actually Matt’s video after all, and Tarty Tina gets shoved off the screen for a while, letting us focus on Matt and the sad realization that he apparently can’t afford a razor. Poor guy.

Final shot is of Matt at that sci-fi convention. I’m sure that he was about to share something important with us, but then Klingons attack and the power goes out. We fade to black, our fates unknown…


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Robyn - “Call Your Girlfriend”

Okay, this entire video is one long, interpretive dance that Robyn does in a big-ass vacant warehouse. Sadly, what she’s doing has little to do with the lyrics of the song, so I’ll have to help you out with the real story behind the footwork…

We start out with the camera coming up behind Robyn as she’s standing there in a very shaggy half-shirt (think “woolly mammoth is missing a patch of skin”), with she and her hair looking away from us. She starts singing the song as the camera slowly rolls around to face her, with Robyn initially refusing to look at us and just staring at the ground. (Is she mad at us? Did we forget to empty the dishwasher again?)

Robyn does allow us a quick glance, so we feel a little bit better, but then she completely ignores us again as the beat picks up with the song. She’s been inspired to perform this little strut-walk across the floor, possibly showing us how her people moved to this part of the world centuries ago. Along the way, she does some head-and-shoulder moves that make her look like a chicken, so maybe her ancestors raised poultry.

Robyn suddenly reverses direction and starts slide-stepping backwards, perhaps a statement about the political upheavals in her country, then she twirls a bit with her arms flung out and then makes some retching motions. (She doesn’t care for The Sound of Music? Those chirpy, singing kids CAN be a bit much.) Then Robyn is walking backwards again and punching her firsts, and I’m going to guess that she’s moved on to West Side Story and is recreating ballet dancers in a street rumble.

Robyn pauses, holds her head momentarily to stop the horrifying images of movies where people burst into song for no apparent reason, then she runs to the middle of the giant room, and apparently steps on a special sensor that causes the lights to dim and hippy graffiti images to start flashing around on the walls. (Hey, I want a button like that!) Robyn commences with the twirling again, this time accented with head dips and arm movements that make her woolly-mammoth shirt rise and lower teasingly.

The camera pulls back so that we can fully enjoy looking at her psychedelic, skin-tight leggings and nifty, pink platform tennis shoes. Robyn performs some robotic but rhythmic dance moves, probably telling the sad tale of what happens when caffeine-consumption is not carefully monitored by specialists. The camera pulls back in just as the pretty lights go bye-bye and we get a close-up of Robyn wailing an important part of the song. (She arches her back a few times to confirm the emotional drama of the lyrics.)

Okay, now we’re getting to the really deep part of the story. Robyn suddenly pulls off a backwards somersault thing, a move which may or may not have gone off as intended, because she basically ends up slamming her crotch into the ground. Then she shoves her fanny in the air with startling exuberance, lowers it back down, and begins rolling around on the floor. (In a previous life, she must have been a really bad acrobat who had to turn to prostitution to save the family farm. Or something like that.)

Robyn rolls out of the rolling and into a sitting position, one that inspires her to briefly caress her breasts and stare seductively at the camera. (Maybe she was just making sure all her accessories were still in order after the strenuous gymnastics and fanny-waving.) Robyn gets back on her feet, checks the accessories again, briefly exposes a bit of her bra, and does a very short ballet sequence about the effects of eating peanut butter at an inappropriate time.

Next up is Robyn breaking into an energetic, arm-waving dance routine, cheer-leading for an athletic team that we can’t see. (She’s really good at this, so I hope the team won.) The lights dim again except for some low spotlights way behind her, making it look like an 18-wheeler took a wrong turn somewhere and is about to run her down. Robyn doesn’t care about the potential danger, because she has some special moves for just such a situation. Any decent performer knows how to line-dance their way to safety, and she does just that.

Now Robyn is moving in a perky manner that involves bending over to the beat, a shout-out to the migrant workers of the world who tirelessly harvest the fields so we can have snacky trays while watching music videos. Then Robyn reenacts dance sequences from Saturday Night Fever, only this time nobody gets pregnant in the back seat of a car. (From what we can see, anyway.)

The camera zooms in so we can watch Robyn sing and emote in close-up, then she starts having a reaction to something or other (was there shellfish on the food services cart?), vibrating and jumping, so the camera politely pulls back so she can have her medical issue in semi-privacy. Oh wait, she was just jazzing herself up for the next bit, where she launches into a strenuous dance while strobe-lights spin.

In this segment, she is explaining that cruelty to animals is really, really bad, coal miners deserve better working conditions, gangstas need luv, too, even if they don’t dress like it, shaggy clothing is the new black, war is not the answer, and if you just run up enough steps in Philadelphia you can win any title. It’s some really intense choreography.

The lights come back up as Robyn shows us that hopscotch is really good cardio, especially if you are wearing shoes that are bigger than your head. Robyn slows down a bit and actually messes up her own hair, which is the sign of a true artist and not just some over-hyped rapper chick that has learned how to say the same four words over and over.

Robyn then drops to the floor, putting her ear to the ground. (Is she listening for approaching enemies on horses?) Whatever she hears, it makes her really sad, her face all scrunched-up and tragic as she scrambles back to her feet. But then she recovers, suddenly punching at the camera and ready to take on whatever the world has to offer, even if it means having to do an interview with Ryan Seacrest.

We wind things down with Robyn doing a super-extended twirl (one that would have made Maria von Trapp AND RuPaul really proud) without showing signs of dizziness and ending the spin right on the final beat. Then she grins at the camera and wanders out of range, probably headed for a protest rally about saving the Tibetan Twinkle-Toed Treefrog…

Coolest thing? She did this all in one take. Hay, Gurl, hay.


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Swedish House Mafia - “Save The World”

Note: This video totally surprised me. In a good way.

We start off on some street at night, with two ladies tromping along. They might be tramps or progressive nuns, it’s not really clear. They seem to be happy, which is all that’s really important. Cut to a diner, where business is a bit slow and the young guy at the counter, out of sheer boredom, is refilling the sugar dispensers. But he’s got some mini-headphones on, listening to some tunes about global warming or jock itch, so he’s probably basically happy as well.

Next up is some guy sitting in a car on the street (maybe the same street, maybe not, nobody is standing around with explanatory signs), fiddling with the car stereo. He definitely looks a bit blue, maybe he’s just broken up with his girlfriend or just learned that you don’t get your deposit back on empty bottles in Texas. Lucky for him, he finds this exact song on the radio, so it stands to reason that his life can only get better.

Then things turn a little dark.

Back to the happy ladies prancing along and chattering, and some dude runs up and snatches the one with the ugly coat, covering her mouth and dragging her backwards while her little friend whirls around in a slow motion, her expression indicating that she’s not really pleased that she didn’t get to finish her story about the burrito. At the same time, another dude approaches the parked car with the radio man inside, and the dude smashes in the window with a crowbar. (Some people in this town are just RUDE, know what I’m sayin?)

Oh, and the fun times continue, with some masked guys charging into the diner, one of them swinging a baseball bat and grimacing in a way that lets us know he’s not here for the blue-plate special. Then we start jumping to all three crimes, with the one lady still being dragged, the song-loving driver being thrown into the road while his car is stolen, and the diner attendant really not happy about having to push pause on his MP3 player so he can avoid the now-swinging bat.

The camera cuts to a dog sitting on a street corner, witnessing that dragging of the lady. Fido throws his head back and starts wailing, kicking off the really cool part of the video. We see jump shots with dogs of varying shapes and sizes hearing the distress signal and responding. Next thing you know, we have a posse of pooches racing down the street, apparently headed to the scenes of the crimes.

One dog slowly approaches the lady who has been mugged and is now crying on the sidewalk, and he gently nuzzles her hands. A trio of the dogs barges into the diner and starts going after the jerk with the baseball bat. (The little dog pulling on the pant-leg is cute, but the money shot is the bulldog flying through the air, teeth bared.) And a golden retriever chases down the guy who stole the lady’s purse, going all Jet Li and shoving the jerk through the glass wall of a bus stop.

These doggies don’t play. No sir.

And the guy who stole the car? He glances in the rearview to see a pack of four-legged pursuants gaining on him. Then he looks out the front window and spies two little puppies standing in the middle of the road in the moonlight. (Canine Children of the Corn?) The driver swerves to miss them and the car flips. Yay!

Back at the diner, the bulldog manages to slam the no-longer-bat-wielding thug’s head onto the counter, knocking him out. More yay! We jump around the scenes again as we see that all of the bad guys are now in a bad way, and the one dog is licking the face of the now-smiling lady. (Awww.) Justice has been served, and we end the video with a quick run-through of all the hero pooches.

Excuse me while I go love on my pets. You should, too.


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Beyonce - “Run The World (Girls)”

We start out with Beyonce riding on horseback, cantering through some dusty place with hills in the distance. (Beverly?) Then we get shots of tragic things like burning trashcans and discarded satellite equipment. Oh, and some vaguely-liberationist banners with angry women looking unsettled. Beyonce rides through this mess, while we get shots of more angry women beating the roofs of abandoned cars and mobs of disgruntled people running amok.

I’m thinking this is not going to be a happy video.

Quick shot of Beyonce showing that her horse is really special, then shots of military men running about in an aggressive manner. We also have scantily-clad women in wooden cages waving their crotches at the camera, one woman lounging on a giant wooden cross, and nasty desert winds blowing sand in everybody’s cracks. Still with the “not happy place”.

Cut to some confrontational area, where lots of bizarrely-dressed woman are standing defiantly. (“Roman gladiators on estrogen” comes to mind.) Zoom in on a tight shot of Beyonce sporting harem-gear and looking at us intensely. This goes on for a few frames so we can carefully study her lip gloss and place orders online. Back to the confrontational women, more of them this time, and now they look like Gestapo Yakuza members.

It seems these colorfully-dressed women are facing off against the military men, and the showdown starts with Beyonce marching up to them in short-shorts that can’t possibly be comfortable. Then, and I’m not sure how to describe this, but Beyonce goes into the most bizarre dance I have ever seen. Something about bouncing her shoulders in a violent manner and whipping her hair around. I’m sure somebody, somewhere thought that this choreography might be hot and inspiring. That person was wrong.

Beyonce insists on doing this mess for quite some time. Trying to make the best of things, her posse of defiant women raise their arms in solidarity to the beat. This doesn’t really help, so various members of the posse run out from time to time and try to make the whole thing a perky line dance. But it’s not working. I try to get into it, but somebody done made a wrong turn.

This goes on for a long time. A very long time.

Cut to Beyonce wandering around among the mens and trying to steal their cell phones and such, mixed in with images of Beyonce somewhere else, her hair jacked to Jesus and doing something with what I think are hyenas. Then the dancing Beyonce crawls between the legs of one of the men and flips us off. Really?

Next up is Beyonce doing some mess with water cannons, and then stomping around near burning cars while wearing shoes that can’t possibly be comfortable. Then we cut to Beyonce wearing an anorexic jumpsuit and fondling her breasts. (Not making this up.) The we zip back to B and her posse doing another line dance in the confrontational area, this one involving them spreading their thighs as wide as possible so that we can see their tiny panties.

What the hell am I watching here?

This dance also goes on for a while, including a segment where the ladies get on all fours and wave their fannies in the air. Then all hell breaks lose when the tarts and the troops rush at one another. While these people pounce on one another in an unexplained war of whatever, we have side shots of Beyonce doing sexual things with sand.

Well, dang, the girls are dancing again, so I guess the war is on hold while the pissed-off sisters undulate and high-kick. The vision for this scene is that Beyonce wears an oddly-cut green dress, all her hundreds of girlfriends wear garter belts and little else, and they all do a routine where they slowly flip their hair from side to side. The military men, apparently enthralled with the heaving bosoms and lack of modesty, just stand there and watch.

Really?

As has become typical in this video, the sequence goes on for far too long. I understand that when you’ve paid for this many extras in a video, you should try to use them all and get your money’s worth. But come on. How many gyrating crotches can you see before it all becomes a blur?

No matter, it’s Beyonce’s vision, we’re just the observers here. So we watch as she and her posse reach the point where they raise their fists in the air in what they think is total domination of the male species. The girls advance on the still-stunned men (None of whom have raised a weapon or tried to fight back. That’s real, right?), and Beyonce, lead dancing tramp, reaches up and rips something off the chest (Medal? Medic Alert bracelet?) of one of the men.

At which point all of the women salute the men and the video ends.

What the hell, Beyonce? Seriously.


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Lady Gaga - “Judas”

We start out with a motorcycle gang tooling along some highway, a road that is clearly not anywhere in California because there aren’t very many cars around, allowing the motorcycles to stay in formation like a high-school flag corps that can move really, really fast. We don’t know where we’re going, but this is a Gaga video, and she probably doesn’t know either. It’s all about the ride, yes?

Speaking of Gaga, there she is, perched behind the driver of the lead motorcycle (Gaga doesn’t follow anybody, sayin’), her psychedelic hair blowing in the wind as she looks around to make sure everybody is looking at her. One of the bikers has “Judas” spelled out in studs on the back of his jacket. We don’t know if that’s actually him or if he’s just a fan.

Just as we’re about to get bored (because how long can you watch motorcycles going nowhere, even if they are synchronized?), Gaga shoves her well-insured fist in the air and the song starts. The dudes are still driving, but at least we get to start seeing several side-stories being played out. There are a ton of these sidebar dance-offs, and I’ll try to keep track, but Gaga is a very busy girl.

Okay, first we’ve got the tale of how Gaga is absolutely enthralled with this guy wearing a gold-encrusted crown of thorns. Her deep devotion requires that she wear a crown of her own and constantly paw at Thorn-Baby so that we can confirm he does indeed have pectoral muscles. Gaga bounces all around on the back of that cycle, probably doing an intricate dance, but possibly just trying to keep one of those pretty thorns from putting her eye out. (It’s all fun and games until somebody gets disabled by headgear.)

The gang finally stops off at some odd little town square where the buildings are ugly and no one is dressed properly. Gaga immediately hops off her ride while waving about a purple cape, and then proceeds to lead many of the villagers in a line dance. While these energetic folks flit and gyrate, we get quick shots of the remaining villagers that indicate we might have interrupted a primitive religious ceremony wherein sad people ponder their sins while a disco beat plays.

Whoopsie, Gaga seems to have suddenly lost most of her clothing, but something tells me that’s probably a stipulation in her contract for every video. No matter, everybody still has the rhythm in them, and they all magically know the same exact dance steps. We start seeing another sidebar, where Gaga is trying to tell us something while clutching at her hair, but I’m thoroughly distracted by the fact that Gaga has discovered yet another interesting way to apply eyeliner. Perhaps someday someone will tell her that the stuff should actually go NEAR her eyes.

The main story has moved inside one of the buildings, some sort of tavern-slash-boudoir where people look a little more angry than they really should when alcohol is available. (Maybe the service is bad.) Luckily, the people in this place also know the steps to any dance that Gaga might break into, so a bunch of them go at it for a bit. (In case you’re tracking the wardrobe, Gaga has changed her panties and replaced that crown with a nice bandana, transitioning to a delightful biker/pole-dancer look.)

(Side note: For extra credit, try counting how many times that one guy with the Fred Flintstone wardrobe mysteriously disappears and then reappears from the dance troupe.)

We cut back to the guy with the spiky hat, and he’s watching some other guy be really rough and naughty with some random wenches. Spike seems to be a bit unimpressed with this other guy’s behavior, but I’m not sure why. After all, his own girlfriend is currently shoving her woman bits at all four corners of the room at the same time. Perhaps we’ll learn more later. Or not.

Quick scene with some meaty guys stomping their feet on the ground outside, then Gaga appears in another outfit, this one involving a blue veil, a different bandana, and a posse of men who have apparently all lost their shirts in a tragic couture mishap. Doesn’t matter, without restrictive clothing they can now dance with even more abandon, and they proceed to do so. Gaga leads them in an extended interpretive dance that tells the shocking story of what can happen if you touch an electrical outlet with wet hands.

We have another sidebar mess involving a bejeweled mace, more sad people in the midst of some religious something or other, and Gaga making out with what I think is a piece of rope. I have no idea what’s going on, so I’m glad when a brawl breaks out and diverts our attention. Big-haired harlots race in to separate the shoving and yelling thugs, sending them into time-out.

Back to Gaga and her troupe, now dancing out the story of what can happen if a thermonuclear reactor is not treated with respect. While they are doing that, we see that the one Mean Guy who roughly tongued a tart a few scenes back is still being an ass to the women. Of course, maybe if those girls wore more than a paper clip and a rubber band, they might get a little more respect.

A string of crazed jump shots, then we have Gaga dressed in an aggressive getup that might have been inspired by nuns on acid. She doesn’t appear to be very happy, probably because the hat she’s sporting is bigger than the rest of her body and it must be a bitch to hold her head up. Oh, and she has a gun, which she is pointing at Mean Guy while Spike gazes on benevolently and shirtlessly. Uh oh.

Gaga shoves the gun in Mean Guy’s face and pulls the trigger. But instead of a bullet, we have lipstick growing out of the business end of the gun. (To be honest, that little action looked a bit more horny-canine than I think people intended.) Gaga smears the lipstick all over Mean’s face, and then drops to the ground in anguish, apparently having just spied a vision of Mary Magdalene in her impromptu facial artwork.

Suddenly, the music stops, and we branch into two stories. One involves Gaga standing on a rocky beach in Elizabethan attire while a wave approaches, and the other has Gaga apparently giving herself an erotic rinse in a giant birdbath. The first story is a bit predictable (yep, the wave eventually knocks her ass in the water), so we’ll go into more detail with the second thread. (Basically, will she get clean or won’t she?)

The camera pulls back, and we see that the giant birdbath also contains Spike and Mean Guy, both of them looking slightly anxious but neither of them hightailing it out of there. (There’s also a third story with Spike working his way through a crowd of trampy yet devotional people, but we’ve already got too much going on to wonder what the hell that’s all about.)

Birdbath Gaga washes the feet of her aqua men in tight close-up. (Mean Guy has some really ugly-ass toes, which might explain his bitter attitude toward life.) Then Gaga abruptly flings water into the air and the music kicks in again. Quick, unexplained shot of Mean kissing the cheeks of Spike before a crowd of bored and nameless extras, then we have Enraged Nun Gaga dropping to her knees in front of Spike, followed by Tammy Wynette Gaga still clutching her face and showing us her overly-detailed nail polish.

No idea.

We revisit the birdbath, and we watch as Mean pours a can of beer on Gaga’s quivering fanny while she’s on all fours and salivating all over Spike’s knee. Then Mean tosses the empty can over his shoulder as Beer Foam Gaga lunges toward Spike in a frenzy of release and clanking, oversized jewelry.

Back outside, Peace Train Gaga is dancing with yet another lineup of oddly-clad townsfolk, joyously celebrating who knows what (the potential Immaculate Conception in the birdbath?) and proving that they have an excellent body fat ratio. This is followed by the appearance of yet another Gaga, this one requiring that she sport black-and-white striped tresses while wearing a sparkly wedding gown.

It seems that the crowd milling around Zebra Gaga is not appreciative of her sartorial selection, and they seem to be throwing telekinetic punches at her, causing her to stagger and grasp at her midsection like she’s regretting her menu choice at the Mexican restaurant. She eventually crashes facedown in a flurry of anguish and ruined finery.

Quick shot of a Gaga with shredded wheat cakes on her head, crying, and then we close with a final glimpse of Dead-Bride Gaga on the ground, with one leg sticking out of her poofy attire, the foot encased in a shoe that mystifyingly makes me wonder if a surprised clown is trapped under there somewhere…


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No Doubt - “Just A Girl”

We start out at somebody’s house, where the band members are packing instruments and suitcases in to a car, possibly preparing for a road trip or reacting to the latest threat that the Resurrection is Nigh. Then we get shots of Gwen, obviously not interested in helping the others pack, and more concerned with showing us her latest slightly-crazed outfit and ability to look sexy while standing in front of a nearby wrecked car.

We finally get on the road, and Gwen is in the back seat with her homies, warbling away and making really big, violent hand gestures. (You clearly don’t want to ride in a car with Gwen for very long because you’ll probably end up an unintentional victim of domestic violence.) We get brief glimpses of highway signage, but it’s too fast to figure if we’re going to Anaheim, El Paso, or Canada.

The gang arrives at some building with split personalities. The guys are shuffled into a nasty, rundown public men’s room, lugging their gear and avoiding wet spots. Gwen and her exposed belly waltz in the Ladies’ Room, where everything is all sunshine and pretty flowers in a vaguely Art Deco motif. While the guys busily set up their equipment and discreetly write down phone numbers that they spy on the stained stall walls, Gwen bounces around her designer digs and bats her eyelashes in time to the beat of the song.

And that’s our basic premise, folks. We don’t deviate much from that. The guys are pounding on their instruments in the dirty bathroom (ah hem), while Gwen is an energetic, one-woman cheerleading squad over in the Lovely Loo. (Who knows where she managed to find that microphone. She certainly wasn’t carrying it when she and her blinding hair arrived. Maybe bathrooms in L.A. just naturally come with sound equipment.)

Brief montage comparing the two bathrooms, just in case you hadn’t noticed that one of them completely sucks and the other one has diamond-accented toilet paper. Then Gwen is singing some more, with the camera at just the right angles to accent her facial jewelry, choice of lip color, and high-kicking. (The two primly-uniformed bathroom attendants sitting in the background are starting to get on my nerves, in a Stephen King / Stanley Kubrick kind of way. They can leave at any time, thanks.)

Back in the Trashy Toilet, the drummer whips off his shirt in a frenzy of drumstick euphoria. I’m not sure that I would recommend such a maneuver in a place where unspeakable things have obviously happened in the past, but to each his own. At least they all seem to be happy over there, bouncing with almost as much enthusiasm as Gwen. Or maybe they’re just trying to avoid the roaches.

Wait, do we seem to have even more people in the Boys’ Room now? Just where are those extra folks coming from? Are people seriously choosing to come into this place and watch a band perform on questionably-slippery ugly tile?

Checking in with Gwen, we see that she must be really tired, because now she’s wallering around on the floor of her Boutique Boudoir. This attempt at a nap doesn’t stop her from singing, though. I don’t think anything can.

We start getting shots of lots of women putting on makeup. I suppose this might have some charms for certain people, but I don’t derive any rapturous pleasure from it. (And I’ve never understood that business with licking your finger and then smoothing out your eyebrows. Really? You want spit on your face? Okay.)

The makeup montage goes on for quite a while, interspersed with shots of the shirtless drummer, urinals, odd Victorian bongs, and Gwen doing a modified form of yoga that might possibly be good for natural breast enhancement.

And then Gwen gets back to singing, starting in again with those two creepy Donna Reed attendants hovering over her shoulders. Gwen snatches up a flower and starts waving it around like it’s her best friend in the entire world while a giant fan blows her locks around, then she quickly tosses it aside, because you sometimes have focus issues when you can constantly feel the wind on your belly button. She finishes up this bit by doing another high kick and then shaking her head back and forth like Pebbles Flintstone on acid.

Next thing you know, both bathrooms are crammed full of worshipful people dancing frantically to the song. But the guys yearn for something better in life, so they bust into Gwen’s Palatial Potty. (Okay, “bust in” is a little strong, since they basically walk around the fake wall of the set, but still, there’s a brief moment of potential destruction, which is exciting.)

And now we got into overdrive, with Gwen bouncing with more enthusiasm than ever, her whirling ponytail becoming a dangerous weapon in the now-close quarters. But no one cares about possible death by rock-star hair, with folks laughing and running and forming one of those conga lines to snake through the maze of people and toilets. It’s all very festive. Unless you just came in here to actually use the facilities, in which case the impromptu parade might get on your nerves a wee bit. Not a time to be pee shy, sayin.

Finally, all these people that we don’t know go away, and it’s just Gwen. She flops on the floor a little more, does a few pushups because she’s health-conscious that way, gives us yet another opportunity to see her midriff, and confirms that mascara is a really important part of her life. Then she ends by looking really sad and helpless, staring at the camera forlornly…

What, did she just realize that she doesn’t have any spare cash to tip the Attendants From Hell and might not make it out of the bathroom alive? Uh oh. This could get very serious very quickly. People who wear orthopedic shoes do NOT play…


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Kris Allen - “Live Like We’re Dying”

We start out with Kris (presumably) driving a beat-up truck down a lonely country road at night, and then turning into the darkened entrance lane of a questionable establishment, a murky-looking place that makes me think “inbred serial killers on the loose”. As Kris drives further along, it turns out that we might be at the town dump or a coal mine or the remains of Mel Gibson’s career. Wherever we aware, they have enough electricity to spell out Kris’ name in giant letters, so it’s all good.

While Driver Kris finds a nice place to park, we have Singer Kris suddenly appearing, hollering into the microphone in a place where there are dirty sheets blowing in the wind. Then we’re back to Driver Kris still… driving. (Is he one of those people that will circle the lot until they can get one slot closer to the door?) While he makes up his mind, we head back to Singer Kris in the middle of the wafting laundry.

Finally, Driver Kris makes a decision and gets out of the pickup. (Since he’s now exited the vehicle, we’ll have to call him Wandering Kris.) He moseys around the place for a little bit, then he either sets off a flare or has an unfortunate experience with one of those cheap lighters you impulse-buy when purchasing beer. He then proceeds to saunter around the junkyard, waving the flare in the air. (Like he just don’t care?)

Meanwhile, we can see a little more of where Singer Kris is standing, and it seems to be an unfinished structure that involves lots of metal beams and unsteady flooring. (Is this where the Republicans are building those jobs they keep promising but never seem to produce?) Singer Kris isn’t saying, probably more invested in keeping the billowing and dirty undergarments from whacking him in the head.

Flare Kris is still wandering and looking for whatever. We’re just about to get bored with that mess when he manages to stagger into an area with those breaker boxes that typically control electricity. These look big enough that they could probably unleash deadly bolts of sizzle, so I wouldn’t be all that interested in flipping things. But Flare Kris is not afraid (he faced repeated judgment from Simon Cowell, after all) so he goes for it.

This bit of risk-taking manages to start turning on the rest of the lights in that weird structure where Singer Kris has been warbling. Turns out those lights are very special, and they start fluctuating on and off to spell out numbers. Hey, we’re in a giant digital clock! Didn’t see that coming. I guess Singer Kris didn’t see it coming, either, and he has now been replaced by Guitar Kris, who proceeds to strum and wail.

Flare Kris isn’t done with changing our perceptions of the universe, so he heads over to… well, we don’t learn just yet. We instead cut back to Guitar Kris so he can finish playing the bridge to the next part of the song. Then we’re presented with Kris (maybe it’s Flair, maybe it’s a new one) sitting at a big-ass piano plopped in the sand in front of the giant clock thing. This Kris bangs on the keyboard for a while, allowing us to realize that the clock in the background seems to be counting down to some fateful event. Or maybe we’re just waiting for popcorn to be done in the microwave.

Oh look, there’s Singer Kris again, so I guess he survived whatever knocked him out of the picture for a while. He and the bed sheets sing for a while as the clock continues to flash numbers. Quick shot of another Kris staring forlornly at some parking-lot lights. Did they have a bad breakup?

Piano Kris again, having a swell time with the keys. (I wonder if anybody has told him that you really shouldn’t drag a piano out into the desert. That blowing sand and crap is going to do a number on the strings, pronto. He better get this song done in one take.)

Now we’re cycling through all the Kris personalities. Singer Kris seems to be involved in a modified pole dance, so I guess he’s keeping all his career options open in case the next album tanks. Guitar Kris doesn’t care about all that, because he’s got the music in him. Piano Kris is still doing the heavy-petting with his instrument. And Flare Kris? No word. There might have been a tragic accident. Like forgetting to throw down the flare when it got to a certain point. Happens to us all.

As the numbers on the clock dwindle, we roll toward the end of the video. We now are mainly seeing Piano Kris, so I guess he got the most votes from the viewers. Singer Kris, obviously not going to win the competition, knocks over his microphone stand as the sun rises behind him. (The sun? Wow, I didn’t realize this song was so long.)

Singer Kris runs out the back of the structure and just stands there, watching the dawn break, contemplating what he’s going to do for next week’s performance. Fade out…

Better ending for the video? A giant hand reaches out of the sky and slaps the snooze button on the enormous clock thing. THAT would get people talking…


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