Tag Archives: MTV

The Reel World

Television is an entertainment medium. With the exception of ostensible news programs (let’s not overestimate the veracity of them: there is an array of reasons why the networks can be less than forthright in providing the “news” whether it is in a straight-up “news” show or so-called news “magazine”), what is provided by a network is entertainment, not slices of actual life regardless of the way it is presented. And it should be clear to everyone—though it isn’t—that whatever information/opinion you witness on the screen has been carefully packaged prior to distribution: the News Managers are very careful in what is put out there. Although someone might think that this sounds paranoid, that is far from the case. Rather, this manipulation that I am noting is nothing more than good business sense. Those who are in charge simply want to make sure that (1) the advertisers are happy and (2) the audience will keep coming back for more. And then (1) and (2) feed off of one another. And Broadcast (and cable) is all about the Business.

For reasons not entirely clear to me, there is a fascination among many people with so-called “reality” shows. Consider the term: “reality shows.” The notion of production and entertainment are baked right in. Is this reality? Not in any but a show-biz sense. They are nothing more than performances that can be cost-effectively created by production companies. That is, a fundamental characteristic of a “reality show” is that it employs nonprofessional performers. These aren’t actresses and actors, per se. They are real people, or so they are portrayed. They are evidently not people who have selected acting as a profession—or at least they are not actors who have achieved sufficient awareness among a wide-enough public such that they can’t charge the kinds of fees that known performers are able to charge. What their actual motives are, however, isn’t particularly clear: Some of these reality show actors may be wise enough to know that by acting as a “real” person on a “reality” show they may reach their goal of being a “legit” performer.

What is in any of this for the viewer is not particularly clear. While there might be something to be gained in the way of entertainment by watching people debase themselves in order to gain some ill-gotten loot (think of all of those things from Survivor to Fear Factor), this was perhaps best described by the term “jackass,” as cleverly used by the producers of the game show of that name. And I don’t think they were merely describing the participants.

One of the more dubious undertakings in this reality show genre is now in its 11th season: MTV’s “The Real World.” Let’s completely forget that the term “real” relates to authenticity. Let’s completely ignore the fact that this is reality as constructed by a production company that is as careful in determining who gets airtime as the producers on the no-less manipulative “Pop Stars.” Let’s completely buy in to the notion that this is “real” life.

A somewhat amusing revelation of the level of artificiality of “The Real World” appears in the Chicago Tribune Magazine (1/12/02). It is a piece in the Design section by Lisa Skolnik, who describes the “set/apartment” of this year’s model. Skolnik notes, “The bathroom alone was the size of most studio apartments, and admirably equipped with sleek, futuristic pedestal sinks, enormous shower stalls and suitably singular lighting.” Yep. Sounds real to me. One of the more interesting things Skolnik observes is that the sofa really wasn’t much of a place to place one’s posterior. Skolnik writes:

“The sofa looked great, but it was so tiny none of us could fit on it,” says Tonya, 21, a cast member from Walla Walla, Wash., who’s now back at college is Seattle. “It was really just a padded bench, and when you sat on it half your [rear] stuck out,” seconds Kyle, 22, a cast member from Lake Bluff and a recent Princeton graduate.

Sure, we all have bad furniture. But in this case, the furniture was actually designed. Not for the “real” people in the “real world” that the cameras were allegedly capturing, but for those people who apparently lack real lives by watching people who have no more authenticity than the cast members of “Ozzie and Harriet.” But wait a minute, the Nelsons were real—you know, Ricky and all—right?

NAUGHTY BABY DID A NO-NO

The 2001 VMAs Get Boring With the Cheez Whiz

Johnny Loftus

The 2001 MTV Video Music Awards made it perfectly clear that Pop is dead. For a show that has always offered at least a few bright spots, nothing in the performances, appearances, or posturing of the celebrities chosen to appear was remotely controversial, artistic, or even funny. The entire show was like Technicolor Malt-O Meal. And you know what that’ll look like when it comes out the other end. Like watching the final talent show at a summer camp you didn’t go to, the VMAs played out as a series of product placements masquerading as some celebrities playing charades in an elevator where the cable just snapped. Laugh it up, popstars: That was your fourteenth minute.

Sure, Britney’s not going anywhere for awhile. She’s too entrenched. Shit, if Virgin gives that old bag Whitney Houston a hundred million dollars for SIX albums, when all we’ve heard out of her for the past 4 years is “It’s not my pot!”, then it’s a good bet that Britney will survive the Poplife shitstorm that’s on the horizon. But what about Dream, Jessica Simpson, Mandy Moore, Willa Ford, Eve’s Crush, or even Christina? Sorry girls. I think Branson’s hiring, though. They should have known when they read the production notes for the VMAs that required the lot of them to arrive on stage at once, en masse, like a police lineup. (“Alright Mr Jenkins, can you pick out the diva that did this to you?”). MTV knows that they need to find a fatter cash cow toot suite, but they probably figured, “Hell, what’s one more awards show where we wring out the last of whatever saleable assets these galoops had in the first place?”

And that’s what happened.

All the popstars, thugs, and moan-rockers threw themselves and their record labels a big party, and hopped around on the platform in silly hats, yapping about their upcoming albums. After all, platinum football fields and wrist ice don’t come cheap. While Macy Gray took the product hawking to QVC-like levels, wearing a dress that proclaimed the release date of her forthcoming LP, no one else was any better, or less subtle. P.Diddy and his crew of Cosby kids opted to arrive at the VMAs not in a limo, but on the flatbed of a Peterbilt, slip-sliding about on the back end, rapping – no, pleading – “We ain’t goin’ nowhere.” I’m sure that Sean Combs/Puffy/P.Diddy/Puff Daddy/Diddy Pop would like to believe that, but nothing in his new material, or that of like-minded NYC rapper Jay-Z makes me think anything other than “Where’s the remote? Maybe I can catch the last few minutes of an old ‘Law & Order’ episode…”

That’s the anthem. Get your damn hands up.

The event began with the inevitable pre-show, which was about as exciting as Kurt Loder’s new haircut. Kid Rock showed up giving props out to the D with his vintage Bob Seger tour shirt. Sitting next to the Detroit player was some west coast pussy, Ms Pam Anderson, who seems to be giving Michael Jackson a run for his money in the surgery department. Poor Pammy looks like a cross between a blow up doll and a ‘Slippery when wet’ road sign. Next to take the stand in the court of Kurt was Britney and – I shit you not – Mick Jagger. While it wasn’t clear whether he was impersonating Austin Powers or vice versa, Jagger was definitely eyeing up Justin’s lady. “Aye Kurt, Oi seemply laawwve Britney’s work. Oi believe she perfawmed one of our sawngs, did she not?”, all the while wishing he had mirrors on the tops of his loafers. While the dichotomy of Jagger and Spears sharing space together was mildly interesting, the effect wore off after the 20th mention of their November album releases. Mick, next time just buy a billboard.

So the nizight went izon, with appearances by Snoop, DMX, Mark Whalberg, and — ? – Tizim Robbins. U2 smiled wanly through their interviews and a performance of “Elevation” that featured more technical glitches than a Soviet Internet café. Pizza Hut pitchman Carson Daly, bestowing upon the bewildered band a “Video Vanguard” award, referred to their work as “a fist in the air, a kick in the balls, and 2 hearts beating as one.” Well, that’s true, but for all that dope and his network know about Rock and Roll, they’ll christen Smashmouth as the progenitors of the “next big thing.” After a series of ill-timed bits and an appearance by Will Ferrell that just made you feel bad for him, the Remaining Ramones were trotted out as icons, and then promptly denied speaking time. J Lo and Ja Rule failed at being sexy. Alicia Keys, a bright spot in the Lauryn Hill Fallout Sweepstakes (Macy Gray, Nikka Costa, Jill Scott, etc.), blew up the arrangement of “Fallin'” into a groaning, teetering beast that devoured the simple pleasure of the song’s studio version. Oh well, I guess she’s just trying to be remembered in the midst of MTV Babylon.

The Lindsey Wagner movie airing opposite the 2001 VMAs on Lifetime was more edgy and controversial than MTV’s big event. In an evening dominated by Hip Hop and R&B, concessions were made to that other fading trend, Nu Metal. Staind moaned about something or other; Linkin Park’s squeaky clean lead singers won’t make anyone wasn’t to stay out past curfew (11:30pm) in Dad’s car. Aren’t these guys supposed to be scary looking? MuDvAyNe, the Eve’s Crush of the Moan-Core world, accepted their award with glittering mohawks and bullethole makeup. Ooh, I’m so scared. Jeez.

MTV won’t change. Its soulless programming of artists it chooses will continue unabated until a pop music movement comes along to either change or destroy it. Though the commemorative articles currently circulating think otherwise, Nirvana and their grunge brethren didn’t change the station. They were absorbed and compromised by it. Maybe Radiohead, Wilco, Ron Sexsmith, Bjork, Superchunk, Edith Frost, Smog, Lucinda Williams, and Ryan Adams will get together, form a summit, and change the musical lives of everyone out there thinking that MTV is a requirement on our cultural radar. But probably not. Britney Spears will release her new album in November, and it will most likely do very well. Even though her performance of “Slave 4 U” resembled a tribute to Scandal’s video for “The Warrior,” even though the song was the biggest piece of trash since her boyfriend’s performance of “Pop” 20 minutes before her, there’s no question that Britney will continue to sell records, at least until she becomes a full time actress. And MTV will be right there to analyze it, package it, and re-broadcast it until it’s time for them to give her a Video Vanguard award down the road in her career. She should be ready for that in about, oh, 3 years?

That’s the deal with this Pop life, and that’s why it’ll fade out.

JTL

Fuck Viacom

Relating to the post directly below this one. . .

“We will do with the Internet what we did with cable”

—Sumner M. Redstone

Chairman of the Board & CEO, Viacom Inc.

Chairman of the Board & CEO, National Amusements Inc.

(In a radio commercial for the New York Stock Exchange)

That’s “Viacom” as in, to quote from its site: “the CBS Network, MTV Networks, BET, Showtime Networks, Infinity Broadcasting, TDI Worldwide and Infinity Outdoor, Paramount Pictures, Paramount Television, Paramount Parks, UPN, Blockbuster, Simon & Schuster, and theatrical exhibition operations in North America and abroad. The company’s Internet businesses include the MTVi Group, the CBS Internet Group, and Nickelodeon Online. Viacom also owns a half-interest in the Comedy Central cable channel.”

The “National Amusements” part is less well known. But as the “official” word has it: “National Amusements, Inc., a closely held corporation which operates approximately 1,300 motion picture screens in the U.S., the U.K., and South America, is the parent company of Viacom.”

Re-read the opening quote.

Watched TV lately?

A real good time

MTV sucks. We all know that. Shows like the Real World keep music videos from being played, and even though MTV rarely ever played good music videos, hey, at least they were showing music videos.

So for that, I hate the Real World. But I have to admit that there’s a side of me that loves it. The darker side. It’s probably actually the same side of me that likes Britney Spears and Hot ‘n Now. Nevertheless, I have spent more than one weekend watching Real World marathons for at least six hours straight. That’s the best way to watch them — all at once. No time to think about how ridiculous and manipulative and evil the show’s producers are. I don’t use words like “evil” lightly either. Evil.

And while the current season of the Real World (back to New York!) is airing on MTV, next year’s season is being taped in Chicago right now. This is the first time the Real World has been taped in Chicago. And it looks like it might just be the last.

The seven strangers are living in a building at 1931 W. North Avenue (aerial photo). That’s in the Wicker Park neighborhood which has a history of artists, noisy bars, serial rapists, and drug-related crime. As with any area that’s rapidly being gentrified, last year’s scenesters don’t want any new scenesters moving in a raising their rents and shutting down their loud clubs. That’s fair. Unfortunately, it’s also unavoidable.

People are protesting. Getting arrested. Going to jail. MTV is threatening journalists. It’s all pretty fucking great, really.

I was in the neighborhood Friday night to see the Blue Ribbon Brothers at Phyllis’ Musical Inn, and afterwards I convinced my friends to try to find the house. I couldn’t remember the address at that point in the evening, so we wandered around for a few blocks until we got bored with the idea and thirsty. Probably a good thing. I don’t need any trouble with the Law.

For more detail into the madness, read Greg Gillam’s article about his brush with the real world. And for all the latest silliness, check out ReadWorldBlows.com. Start getting real.

GLORIOUS NOISE HAS ITS FINGER ON THE PULSE

In a recent GloNo discussion (see the comments on my EX-FL article), I suggested that MTV might look into some sort of reality series combining dopey Americans’ passion for wrestling antics with the lowest-common-denominating tripe of its current hit show “Jackass.”

Well, when you’re right, you’re right. Even if it is about something as moronic as this.

A story on Salon.com details the World Wrestling Federation’s plans for a reality-type show – broadcast on MTV, of course – featuring a house full of wrestling wannabes duking it out for 12 weeks. The payoff? Nah, not a cool million. Instead, the final male and female left standing will receive their hearts’ desire: a pro wrestling contract.

Hear that? It’s the sound of America’s collective consciousness getting dumber.

JTL

Money for Nothin’…and MTV

As Johnny writes below:

“The problem was, I couldn’t locate Simpson on the stage. There was Daly and his bland, olive loaf smile. There were the three galoops vying for her hand. But where was Jessica?”

and:

“But the sad truth is that no one really knows who Jessica Simpson is, beyond those 70s Farrah glasses and white stretch pants. The jackasses jockeying for a slot next to her would probably line dance on rollerskates for any blonde with a figure such as hers, minor celebrity status or not.”

Little did he know how right he is. Check this quote from the 28 March DTW Free Press: David Lovejoy, the guy who “won” the mutant Dating Game, said: “I made a complete fool of myself on national television. I line-danced, answered a few questions and rode a mechanical bull, all to get a dream date with a celebrity I didn’t even know.”

This sounds like the conditions in the Soviet Union, when people used to see a queue forming and simply got in line, not knowing whether they’d get bread or motor oil when they reached the front. But in our Bread-and Circuses Culture, we don’t need to worry about essentials; we just go down to some resort and attempt to “win” whatever is winnable, to hell with the what. It’s all about commodities and about getting them with the least amount of effort. Notice that while there have been game shows essentially since there has been television, game shows have been elevated out of the daytime or pre-prime time right into the center of the mix. MTV, the channel that has done more to create slick packages out of ostensible rebellion than any other outfit, is now saying, in effect, “Sure, the other guys may let you win a million dollars, but we can provide something that’s at a whole different level [smirk, smirk].”

So what is it about: Music?

Style vs. Substance

Warning to all, I’m in a particularly bitter and cynical mood today. But what a great lead-in to my continued rant about the Fourth Estate: “I can’t imagine MTV with all their censorship…”

Remember back when MTV was subversive and anti-corporate, almost like The Stone at its genesis?

I wasn’t even allowed to watch it because it was full of sex, drugs and rock and roll. I used to race home from school as fast as possible for about an hour of view-time, hoping to catch a Twisted Sister video before my mom got home from work. But now that it’s full of corporate-approved sd&rnr: Watch on kids, become better consumers. Is there anything in our lifetime that better exemplifies the commercialization of pop culture and its resulting affect on the world we live in? You want to name names, MTV is the one, The Devil Made Me Do It.

And for all the bally-hooed Internet Revolution (revulsion), I don’t see much going on that’s at all subversive to the prevailing society, government, corporate music industry, or anything else. Oh, we all read the Web sites about Lisl and get our alt.news and then go back to farting around at work, making jack for The Man to buy our crap at Ikea so that we can sit around and bitch about the sorry state of the world in comfort. And don’t give me “Napster, dude,” which was only sort of subversive, because the Old White Men put a stop to that right quick. Besides, when you really think about it, was a bunch of stoners trading unpaidfor copies 70’s disco tunes and bootlegged versions of ICP’s “Slim Anus” really revolutionary?

No. Because the Real Rock Revolution, historically, was about telling The Man to go fuck himself. You had something better, more Real, more Alive, and more fun than anything that He could dream up. You were smarter than He was and you didn’t buy His Pat Boone records. Rock and roll was a lifestyle, a way of thinking, a belief system. “Rock and roll can change your life.”

Rolling Stone changed lives. MTV changed mine and most of my friends’. But to that I say, “Yeah, so what?” We all know that these days. It did change our lives but it didn’t change much else. We told The Man to Take This Job and Shove It and we went out and got another J-O-B. We even got one where we, under the guise of being cool, decided to sell off a part of what rock and roll stood for. “Hey, I can make money marketing cool!?!?”

So we just continue to draw finer lines of cool, to absolutely no end. I do it all the time: “Britney sucks because she’s a corporate drone.” But why can’t Britney “change your life” too? She can, and does. And since no one really ever threw the Man off his or her back, it don’t matter, just don’t mind. Think about it for a second, does it really make a difference if you listen to Public Enemy instead of Backstreet Boys? In this day and age, not in the least, because you’re still lining up at Starbucks regardless.

So what’s next?

The appeal of rock has always been rebellion, but who are we rebelling against when a guy like Ronald Reagan drapes his presidential campaign with a Springsteen song that’s not even about the patriotic furor that the Elephants thought it was? (Or maybe they were smart enough to know that the American public would buy it anyway. Who really cares as long as I can pump my fist and shout, just don’t spill my beer.) And this was over 15 years ago; people haven’t been getting much smarter since.

But we have been getting cooler. We’re all hip to the Rock ethos. We’ve substituted this phony rebellion for anything real in the world. There is no rock and roll left, just marketing campaigns. There is no truth, no honesty, no nothing: All style, cool, no substance.

But why?

Blame falls on only one set of shoulders here, and yes, it is this thing, formerly known as The Press, currently known as The Media. But let’s just call it what it is: the corporate infotainment industry. To bring this entire rant full circle, remember the Lester Bangs character’s statement in Almost Famous, the crucial thing that he tells Crowe on the phone about journalists? “We’re not cool,” he admits. Funny how, in a world where everything has to be cool, the media shouldn’t be. But it is. Increasingly more so, every day.

This is wrong, absolutely wrong. Our job as a member of the Fourth Estate isn’t to make friends with the world, it isn’t to be a nice guy. It’s to be suspicious, critical, and keep these mofo’s in line. To keep society from being ignorant and stupid and liking shit music, shit culture, shit politicians, shit everything. We’ve been doing a really fucking good job, haven’t we? We suck.

And that, my friends, is the great crime of the turn of the century, that the media has substituted Rock and Roll cool for honesty. And thus, rock, in its conquering and all-powerful moment has come to destroy itself. Or rather, we have destroyed it. Part of the bargain that we made with rock in the 60s was that we’d die before we get old, that we’d have sympathy for the devil, that we would teach the fucking world to sing. But we didn’t. We didn’t change the world, we didn’t even really change ourselves.

Except we all got cool. Great. Enjoy that new mass-produced single and your 60-hour-a-week job and your closet full of Gap crap and your boring life that’s only punctuated by a few fleeting moments of greatness in anything before it becomes recycled and corporatized. And we’re really sorry, but we’re too busy sucking down free cocktails to care. Party like a rock star, dude. Or if you’re a journalist, just party with one.