The little I know about Brutalist architecture is enough to make me skeptical of Jonathan Meades’ brilliantly spoken claims for it. This school of architecture seems to have been wedded to The State and, as such, to have taken on its foreboding austerity (expensive and ugly). “Governmentally sanctioned Brutalims” is indeed “the architecture of “cultural welfarism.” But a government-spawned “novelty”? Please!
On the 1960s cultural output: “A kaleidoscope of polychromatic vacuity.” “Enjoyably witless hedonism.” “A gluppy soap of mysticism …” “New universities busily inventing new disciplines.” Vatican Two decreeing that new churches should be churches in the round, like theaters in the round.”
Conservative-minded writers are known to cavil about the asinine worship of youth in this country—a thing that makes for a silly society. But why make older, still-lovely looking ladies feel ashamed for maintaining their good looks?
Miss Ann is herself a curious piece of work. She is in her mid-fifties, but on her book jackets looks like a hot babe of twenty-two. Achieving this must require enough makeup to fill a peanut-butter sandwich, and I suspect that she has worked a couple of copies of Photoshop into smoking ruins. Do we have here a narcissistic attention-freak? A reporter might be a better idea. …
Sure, we’d all give a lot to look like we did when younger. But why diss those women who age well (in this scribe’s case, because of genetics and Guinot). My own old face has not had a scratch of work done to it and is holding up quite well. Ann might have had a few minor fixes (fillers and/or an eyelid job), but you can’t fake that glorious hair and the generally good bone structure; it holds it all up.
This is probably the only real Bruce Jenner we’ve ever seen; the rest has been celebrity and reality TV—Mr. Jenner has been embroiled in a vulgar reality show, in which he has been belittled and berated. Jenner’s gender identity is female; his pattern of sexual attraction is to women. The two—gender identity and sexual attraction—are different things. Bruce Jenner felt like a woman trapped in a man’s body. He has, however, always loved women and likely will continue to so do.
That too is a miracle, given the women who surround Mr. Jenner: shallow, plastic, empty, nasty (except the younger girls both of whom were beautiful, until Kylie Jenner, on the right, had plastic surgery. Now only Kendal, on the left, is gorgeous).
The newly deformed Kylie, after alterations, joining her sisters in the practice of self-examination (“selfie” posting):
It’s a beautiful and evocative ad, which explains why you didn’t see it during the ‘Toilet Bowl’ halftime.
Music makes an event, an ad, a movie, even a marriage. Who among us oldies can forget the sound track to the French film “A Man And A Woman,” directed by Claude Lelouch? Not me. This dates me—both as an oldie and an incorrigible romantic.
The fact that I identified the voice and song of Edith Piaf in “The Daring: No Regrets,” a new ad for the 2016 Cadillac CT6, dates me too. The text is good, the sound track beautiful—I can’t believe I used to mock Edith Paif’s overly emotional delivery. I guess it takes decades of Beyonces, Jay-Zs, Madonnas, Iggy Azaleas, Katy Perrys, and Coldplays; a Nicki Minaj, a Kanye West, and a Missy Elliott to make one appreciate a tune, a voice, instrumental proficiency; chord progression and composition, in general, to say nothing of the emotion music is meant to evoke.
Enjoy the music and the message. Steve Wozniak makes an appearance to drive it home. A shame that the slogan, “Dare Greatly,” comes courtesy of statism by FDR. To be expected, I suppose.
As expected, Cadillac has taken the next step in rebuilding its image by releasing a new ad entitled The Daring: No Regrets. First airing during the 87th annual Osca
High-culture has been replaced with low-culture. The great music of the West has made way for a sewer of sound (exhibits are the primal screams/grunts of a Jennifer Hudson or an Iggy Azalia). The beauty of dance has vanished, reduced on stage to the twerk, a genitalia centered grinding, as base as the dance of a primate in estrous.
No wonder Glenn Beck, the over-emotional broadcaster, went overboard for a change, when a young, Caucasian, American singer, with a modicum of talent she labors to conceal, sang the sweet, elevating Sounds of Music in-tune, without screaming, yodeling or simulating sex.
Lady Gaga proved that when she’s not answering the call of the wild—the masses hungering for audial and visual pornography—she can sing sweetly. (Noted here in 2011.)
“To illustrate how African music differs from ‘European’ music, this so-and-so emitted a caterwauling which was supposed to come-off as a cantata. To emphasize the pomposity of the cantata, Wright launched into Brother musical mode, jovial and jolly. Black music was different, not deficient, to white music, said he. But Wright’s contemptuous tone and mimicry implied that the former was filled with joie de vivre, the latter just jejune.”