Kelly Clarkson – “Stronger (What Doesn’t Kill You)”

  We start off with two different Kellys wearing two different outfits, one of them singing and the other one banging around with some electronic equipment, so maybe they’re in a competition of some kind, with one of them getting a nice fruit basket or another house for doing a better job. Or maybe the wardrobe people just really screwed up and Kelly didn’t want to say anything harsh because the AMA’s were coming up and she didn’t want to piss anybody off until after they voted.

  Anyway, Singing Kelly starts in with the lyrics, mainly because she’s the one with the microphone and the special light behind her that makes her glow as she sings. Diddling Kelly is in what might be a mixing booth, pushing buttons and sliding knobs, sporting a hairdo and outfit that says “Intergalactic Princess with Combat Training”. I’m thinking Diddles got the harder job, but we’ll see how it goes.

  Diddling Kelly also appears to be in charge of various video monitors, and it’s the activities taking place on these monitors that becomes the central motif of this particular Kelly experience. (Oh, wait, Diddles just picked up her own microphone, one that also appears to have an outer-space theme, so somebody on the production team must have watched a marathon on the Sci-Fi Channel.) Diddles sings for a little bit, but then throws the thing back down because she has more knobs to slide and she shouldn’t be playing with Lt. Uhura’s things anyway.

  Then we start visiting the places that the monitors are monitoring, and first up is a trio of businessman in a courtyard in an unnamed city or the parking lot of the recording studio. One of them puts down his expensive wireless phone and, just as the rousing chorus kicks in, he starts dancing to the tune in a self-empowerment way, fist-thrust and all. This move apparently sends a signal to the rest of the world, and spontaneous line-dancing begins to sweep the planet in a Benetton explosion.

  We jump from place to place (and I should probably know these places, but I’m not going to take a stab at guessing because I’ll get one of them wrong and there will be hate mail and dissatisfaction), with large and small groups making a brave attempt at expressing synchronized joy and self-worth. (You can tell that some of the groups studied and practiced hard, maybe even took online courses, and those performances are quite pleasing.  The other groups? Not so much.)

  Eventually the chorus ends and we go back to the quieter lyrics, because that’s how songs work, and we head back into the studio with the special light so we can watch Singing Kelly emote up close and personal. (Diddling Kelly won’t sit still long enough for us to develop a deeper relationship with that particular personality, so we’ll have to wait for her shift to end and then maybe go have coffee.) I do have to say that I’m glad the bad dude in the song lryics is no longer sleeping in Kelly’s bed, because single Singing Sister Girl looks HOT. Mmm hmm. She needs to break off relationships more often.

  More chorus, more dancing, with the locations getting a little unusual. One group is performing underwater, with some of them wearing mermaid outfits. (I’m guessing this might be a reference of some kind, I just didn’t see the right movie or read the right book, which often happens with me.) Another group appears to have been captured by a hidden camera, which means it’s either illegal to be openly rhythmic in that country or people really do suddenly start dancing in the streets for no reason like they tried to teach us in that movie Fame, the one where Irene Cara became a huge star and then we never heard from her again.

  Hold up. I’m starting to realize that most of these groups are doing the same moves, even though they are miles and countries apart. So somebody had to show these people the steps, which means that Kelly has her very own dance to one of her songs. This is very exciting because I’ve always wanted to have a dance to go with one of my songs, even though I don’t sing and I have been arrested for my dancing. (Okay, drinking then dancing is more what it was, and some people did not find the combination to be very attractive or legal.)

  But still, her own dance? Keep watching while I go look this mess up on the web.

  Okay, it seems that Kelly held a competition where you submitted a video of you and your energetic friends copying the dance that she (or her stylist) created. Well, then. So this not the result of “I’m such a super fan of you and this song that I decided to make a video showing my spontaneous joy” and more of a “I don’t have any personal creative skills but I sure am good at following directions, woo hoo!”.

  Knocks a bit of the air out of the balloon, but it’s still a lot of fun. Especially now that I know I can make fun of the dancing styles of some of the folks since it’s not really their fault, it’s Kelly’s. She made them do it. (And that’s what I should have told the police officer. Kelly’s song told me to “breakaway” from being sober and fully-clothed.)

  I get back to the video right as there’s another shot of the underwater mermaids wriggling among the bubbles, and I realize I really can’t blame Kelly for the decisions behind a development like this. These folks clearly have too much time on their hands,  and they apparently have direct access to the Titanic wreckage site, judging by the submerged and twisted metal they are dancing on. And why isn’t the lead singer wearing a mermaid tail like the rest of the clan? Girl, those boots you’re wearing instead are really cute, but you need to stay in character if you want to make it to Hollywood week.

  Now Diddling Kelly is starting to ignore her important button-pushing in the control room, and she’s prancing around and belting the song. (This could lead to complete chaos, so somebody should probably text her.) Singing Kelly is still doing just that, so she understands job assignments better. But I guess who is doing what is not really all that important, because we’re about to kick off the biggest flash mob of the video, and we need to hurry if want to get the best seats.

  And look, Singing Kelly is joining them for this one, so this wasn’t completely staged at all. She’s right in the prominent center of things, with hundreds of people around her, so it’s probably just like another Grammy Awards show for her. But she’s a trooper, and she leads the crowd as they go through the whole dance routine, instead of just the disjointed multicultural snippets we’ve had up to this point.

  This turns out to be a major Hollywood production, with thousands of people bouncing around in their carefully-selected wardrobes chosen by her stylist. Or maybe not. If this part of the video was filmed in California, a strong possibility, there are strict laws about wearing unfashionable attire, even if you are just running to the mailbox, so it’s possible that all these people wandered in off the streets looking like this and already knew all the choreography.

  Anyway, the aerobic empowerment continues for quite some time, because if you can get Kelly and her busy schedule to stay in one place for any length of time you better take advantage of it. Shiny happy people are everywhere, with their energetic smiles indicating that dancing with Kelly is way beyond any sex that they’ve ever had. (There is one questionable moment when all of the folks around Kelly go flying backwards as if there’s been an explosion. Poor Kelly. I’ve tried to warn her about eating spicy Chinese right before a performance but she doesn’t always take my phone calls.)

  We finally get to the end of the flash mob business, and all of these people who supposedly bonded through the miracle of dance just up and walk away without saying goodbye or exchanging email addresses. Well, except for this one small group of people who continue to perform some vaguely ninja-style moves whilst giggling. Perhaps they’re dancing to one of the remix versions and the song isn’t over yet. Or they’re just drunk. It’s really not my place to judge, as long as they are happy. And they avoid the po-po, because you do NOT want to be thrown in the slammer and have to explain to your cellmate, Bubba, that you like to dance and sing. Trust me.

  We get a final shot of Kelly looking super-hot (keep breaking up with those loser boyfriends, girl, it does wonders for your complexion) and then the video fades to black.

  I’m still a little troubled by the mermaid thing, but I’m sure there are medications that I can take…

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Ed Sheeran – “The A Team”

  We start out with one woman crying over what appears to be the dead body of another, so we know right away that there will probably not be bunnies and whimsical lyrics about sunshine in this thing. As the camera pulls back from the apparent body (yep, she looks pretty dead), the image begins to get fuzzy and eventually fade to black, leaving us with lots of questions, the most important of which is “What happened? Did she eat some potato salad that had been left out too long and then go swimming immediately after?”

  Well, Ed is glad you asked, because he has a story to sing and he’s about to get started. Grab a chair.

  We start off again, presumably at some point in the past, with Eventual Dead Girl sleeping on a park bench. (She needs a name, we’ll call her Bree-Anne, because something about the hoodie she is wearing says she probably has two first names.) Bree-Anne doesn’t look like she’s had a very restful night, although she might have had a better time of it if she hadn’t slept with her face mashed into the seat. In any case, it’s time for Bree-Anne to get up, because sooner or later one of those horrid early-morning joggers is going to trot by and do something annoying like scream for help when they see her sitting there all unwashed.

  Bree-Anne gathers her things (a blanket, and we’re done) then wanders around the park for a bit, with a small smile actually appearing as she randomly touches barren branches and stares up at the bleached-out winter sky.  (Bree-Anne must really love nature, or maybe she’s just a little bit simple, not sure.) But she seems to be at least minimally happy, and you have to take your happiness where you can get it, one park bench at a time.

  She even heads toward some nearby birds, as if to claim them as her new best friends or at least pet them, but they all skitter away. (Let’s face it girl, you’re not exactly looking trustworthy at the moment, what with the bench-slat marks on your face and a ratty hairdo that one would normally find in the 99-cent discount weave bucket at Trisha’s Bend and Curl.) But the shrieking birds fleeing in terror doesn’t deter Bree-Anne, and she continues her way through the park to another spot where she can look up at the not-so-pretty sky and smile some more. (We probably shouldn’t put away our notes about the “simple” diagnosis just yet.)

  Then Bree-Anne suddenly holds out her hands to the sky in a wide gesture. This can be taken in a number of ways. Perhaps she is beseeching God for some shampoo. Perhaps she is calling on the clouds to coalesce into a fluffy pair of fresh panties. Or maybe this is how you’re supposed to stand when you’re done with your research on this planet and you’re ready for the scout ship to pick you up so you can start your de-briefing paperwork.)

  None of these intriguing options actually happens, so we may never know the real story behind her playing statues like that. Instead, we cut to Bree-Anne and her tattered stockings traipsing down a sidewalk. She’s got her bankie draped over her in a fashionable way, so she fits right in with the urban crowd and no one asks her disruptive questions like “why do you smell like old French fries and bourbon?”.

  There’s one moment when Bree-Anne stops walking again so she can stare into the sky, this time at the architecture of the buildings around her. Maybe she just likes looking at things that are really high. Or maybe she didn’t pay much attention in class that day when a lowly-paid  but kindly teacher explained where the ground was located. Then Bree-Anne is back on her way to wherever it is.

  Which is apparently to a gig selling magazines. Now, how she actually got hooked up with this particular merchandising opportunity in not really clear, but she has a stack of those things and she’s trying to hawk them. Sadly, none of the passersby seem all that interested. (Sweetie, maybe now would be the time to take off the smelly blanket that makes you look intimidatingly incapable of properly performing a legal retail transaction.)

  A bit later, we have Bree-Anne, looking forlorn and sitting on a windowsill with the magazines that don’t nobody want. Suddenly, a young gentleman comes up to her for a chat, and he eventually buys one of the stupid magazines, and it appears that he just might be giving her a bit more than the cover price. Then the nice Samaritan runs off to help other people or find a cure for the West Nile Virus.

  Next up is Bree-Anne standing in front of a flower stand and gazing at the options with barely concealed desire, but we already know that she doesn’t have any room in her budget for pretty things, especially temporary ones. But the encounter leaves Bree-Anne in a blue mood, and the next time we see her she’s clearly been crying, makeup running. She just stands and stares at the traffic for a very long time, possibly waiting for all that mascara to stop burning so she can see again.

  More shots of Bree-Anne and her blanket sitting on the sidewalk outside of fancy stores filled with things that she can’t afford, doing so for long periods of time while absolutely no one else stops to help her. This brings more tears, but it also apparently brings a decision.

  Cut to Bree-Anne some place at least semi-private where she can adjust her bra in a flattering manner and do something about the wayward makeup, reapplying and fixing her hair. Then she’s out on a darkened street, wobbling in high heels while a lone car pulls up beside her. (I don’t think we have to spell out what she’s doing here, do we? She’s not about to invite this stranger to a bake sale at St. Mary-Catherine’s.) We get to study her anguished face before she takes a deep breath and leans into the open car window, and then eventually opens the door, post-negotiation.

  Zip over to a classy hotel, where Bree-Anne and Mr. Trick make their way to a room and then make their way to a bed after some money has been deftly relocated. A short time later, the man is asleep (I may be mistaken, but he either has cucumber slices on his eyes or he has severe cataracts) and Bree-Anne is quietly crying again. Not good. Maybe that’s why Bree-Anne is always looking up at the sky, so she can’t see what’s happening to her down here.

  Then we get darker as Bree-Anne uses her limited cash to buy drugs. Once this is accomplished, she heads over to an apartment (I’m assuming it’s not hers, unless she really does have two personalities to go with her two names) and unlocks the door. Once inside, Bree-Anne preps her drug materials with increasing desperation, and since we basically know where this is going, the whole sequence gives off a chill. Then she simply lays back on the floor and we’re done.

  Final shot is a huge image of Bree-Anne looking down from the sky, studying something. And then she looks directly at us and smiles.

  I think I wet myself a little bit on that last part. Probably not what the director intended, but it was creepy and made me feel like I’ve been watching a videotape that I shouldn’t have, and seven days from now I’m going to wake up on a park bench sporting an unflattering hairstyle, with Naomi Watts and Sarah Michelle Gellar on either side of me, looking worried about something and warning me not to sell magazines that day…

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Fun – “Some Nights”

  We start out at what might be a farm, with horses, a young couple that enjoys gazing at one another with barely-hidden lust, and an older man who is entertaining himself by eating an apple in a canoe that is parked on the ground and not floating in water. Then we jump to some soldiers in Civil-War era outfits shooting at one another in the middle of the night.

  What the hell? Then we start to think about this helpful hint (how can you not notice gunfire and primitive couture?) and we realize that everything in this video seems to be taking place in the past, back in the day when folks were killing each other over the concept of slavery and then writing folk songs about it. Okay, got it.

  Then we’re back at the farm, presumably in the barn, based on the hay bales scattered about. Then again, these people might just be really poor and the hay bales double as furniture, since the lusty couple is perched on one of them and pawing at each other like they’re checking for fleas. Another shot of Apple Man, this time in what we’ll assume is his room, smoking in bed (which is a no-no, hand-rolled or not). Then we see the young couple dancing around in the attic of the barn, which is what most people do after they’ve had sex on top of baling wire.

  Suddenly, Apple Man sits up in his bed, hauls out one of those old-school rifles with the “I mean business” death dagger on the end of it, and he shoots a soldier way off in a field somewhere. (Pretty good shot, eh? Especially since Apple apparently shot through the wall of his house, presumably some livestock, and possibly the barn, where Gidget and Jacob are still dancing because they’re young and stupid, albeit sexually satisfied. Apple pulls on his uniform, followed by Jacob, so I guess he’s been paying attention after all.

  Cut to lead singer Nate as he belts out the opening lyrics of the song, wearing a slightly-military getup that has both blue and grey in it, so at least he’s not taking sides. (Or he’s just confused.) He appears to be singing to a formation of soldiers that includes Jacob, but the video keeps jumping around all over the place so anybody could be doing anything at this point. The confusion does not keep Nate from singing, of course, because there’s nothing like an inspirational song to get groups of men all riled up so they can march in formation and shoot things.

  Then we roll into the first round of that controversial chorus, the one that appears to have been directly lifted from Simon and Garfunkel’s “Cecilia”. To distract us from the similarity, the director gives us shots of the soldiers singing along, an American flag being waved, and the band performing on a clever little stage that someone has helpfully constructed in the middle of a field just in case someone wanted to give a concert. None of this part was in the original Simon and Garfunkel video, mainly because they didn’t even make videos back in that day.

  Turns out that Nate really likes this little stage, hopping about with enthusiasm as he sings. (Or maybe he’s just avoiding stray bullets, a skill he might have picked up when they toured Compton.) In any case, the perky drumming in the song apparently inspires soldiers on both sides to start shooting the hell out of each other, and they do so for quite some time because this is a really long song and we need lots of things to look at to get through it all.

  The song finally calms down a bit, and we cut to Jacob bathing in a metal tub while still wearing his undershirt. (Perhaps he was home-schooled and doesn’t fully understand how to get properly clean.) He’s writing a letter, presumably to his beloved since his scribbling is accompanied by images of Gidget looking mournful but sun-dappled back at the farm, but he could just as easily be applying for the first credit card ever invented.

  Then the drums kick in again and we’re back to the killing fields, with the band playing at the first Woodstock while the folks all around them are trying to take lives instead of take acid. Once again, the carnage goes on for a while, with the soldiers alternately satisfying their blood lust and belting out the “Cecelia” chorus, making the whole thing look a bit like a Broadway show that is trying to make a political statement that rhymes.

  We get to another slow part in the song, so we kick off a montage of Jacob still in that tub, somebody’s hand running along a wooden fence, Gidget holding Jacob’s letter just like she’s apparently held everything else of his, Apple Man standing in a field and looking for other places to eat fruit, and the soldiers gearing up for the signal to make another charge against the enemy.

  That signal turns out to be Nate hitting those incredible high notes during that one bit, a sound that would inspire anyone to start running and shooting. And we’re off again, with drumming and mayhem and a lack of women in the military forces that won’t be rectified for another century or so. This round of fighting gets pretty intense, with all of that confusion where you can’t really tell who is doing what to whom, which is what war is really all about, right?

  Slow part of the song again, with Nate getting wistful about his relatives and Apple Man doing something with a horse, then the drums are back because the fighting is still going on, even today, despite the supposed progress of modern society, which I think is the message Fun is trying to send here. Or maybe they just really, really like The History Channel.

  No matter, the battles continue and soldiers fall, something that starts to weigh on Jacob and his still-wet undershirt. As the band moves their concert venue to the top of a hill where they can see the spectacle a little better and create a nice visual image against the smoky sky, Jacob watches the insanity around him and slowly stops marching. Or at least he seems to do so, probably because that’s what I would want him to do. Maybe I’ve listened to too many Simon and Garfunkel songs.

  The song fades out while we cut to Gidget reading Jacob’s letter, a tear running down her cheek, then we’re back on the battlefield for the last few skirmishes, with Jacob shattering our illusion of his growing pacifism by firing the last shot in the video. Then Scarlet O’Hara runs onto the set and throws herself on the ground, wallering around in the turnips and babbling about how she will not go hungry again and how hard it is to find a good facial scrub when the Yankees have burned down the local Bath and Body Works…

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