I’ve been scratching my head ever since I saw the new Lady Gaga video, great steaming chunks of which were filmed at nearby Hearst Castle.
If you haven’t seen it yet, I’ll wait while you go watch it. You can probably find it pretty easily on the Internet. But be warned: There’s a lot of skin, a lot of gyrating and thrusting. “Straddling” is another word that comes to mind. And “mounting.” I think I caught a glimpse of Michael Jackson during my viewing, too, plus Gandhi and Jesus.
Really.
Between the homage to the late King of Pop, who called the Santa Ynez Valley his home, and the Hearst Castle setting, this is a solidly Central Coast endeavor. Hooray for hometown pride!
Back when the pop phenomenon was filming her video at the California landmark, a lot of folks were fussing about the fact that she was filling the previously drained Neptune Pool while the landscape around her literally withered and died in the midst of a drought. She made amends, somehow—I think she donated about 100 times my annual salary to state parks and other groups and recorded a PSA encouraging people to not waste water.
So was it worth it?
Well, that depends on how happy you are to see a beautiful estate used as window dressing for a singer telling her toned and tanned lover to get on top of her while she notes the phase of the summer moon and “Mars’ warring spirit rams into the atmosphere.” That’s an actual line from the song, at least as I heard it.
Look upon these works, ye thirsty, and despair.
But don’t despair too much. Lady Gaga’s ode to shock and excess fits right in with the Hearst ethos. William Randolph, if you’ll recall, is the man quoted as telling an artist correspondent to furnish the pictures of a nonexistent war he was sent to cover. “I’ll furnish the war,” Hearst supposedly said, which is a good line, even if it might be apocryphal.
What’s not in your face about the castle on the hill, with its collected antiquities and art, roaming zebras, and scandal-touched founder? Come to think of it, I could have been describing Jackson’s Neverland Ranch just now. We Californians love our quirky celebrities, and while we may cluck our tongues at their gross consumption or erratic behavior, we love seeing them in headlines. Plus, they bring in the tourists, who are in awe of this Golden State and its residents, who may have lived here long enough for a little of the crazy to have rubbed off on them, too.
I’d like to muster some sort of feeling of disgust at the whole endeavor, but I can’t. The bulk of my recording-artist rage this week is directed instead at rapper Anthony Murillo, who’s song “Remix for Life” landed him in court facing potential felony charges because of its lyrics, which name two sex-crime victims and end with an admonition to “get the Feds, cuz you’re going to end up dead.”
Santa Barbara County Judge Patricia Kelly dismissed the charges, saying that there wasn’t a valid enough proof of threat. I can’t think of a much more explicitly threatening lyric, which is why I think this situation is far more anger-making than any of Lady Gaga’s semi-nude model humping. That’s an offense to good taste, and maybe the memory of Hearst—but not really, because he’s also known for his affair with Marion Davies and the whole scandal of a death on his yacht.
Anyway.
I hope that the district attorney doesn’t let the Murillo scenario sit as it stands. I heard that the office is discussing what to do now. I’m no legal expert, so I don’t know how they can approach this from a fresh angle, but I hope someone out there—maybe someone who makes just 50 times my annual salary—will figure out a way to firmly show that you can’t get away with making already-shaken victims even more unsure of their safety.
I’ve heard that arguments in Murillo’s favor leaned toward the “he’s young and didn’t realize the full ramifications of his lyrics” side, which bugs me. I’ve heard that he was stunned to find himself in the legal hot water in which he briefly stewed, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that were true. He was proud of his lyrics, and his hardcore rapper persona—at least at first.
But that’s what some hardcore rappers are like, right? At least in the music videos I’ve seen.
Which brings me full circle.
So which do you find more offensive: the pop-shock artist simulating intercourse while singing about sex positions in a beloved state park, or the rapper walking free after saying he was coming for some bitches’ heads?
The Canary is a freak, baby. Send comments, ideas, or tips to canary@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Mar 27 – Apr 3, 2014.
