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Tag: Bronski Beat Smalltown Boy

  • Pet Shop Boys’ Latest Single Dives Into the Pandemic of Our Age: “Loneliness”

    Pet Shop Boys’ Latest Single Dives Into the Pandemic of Our Age: “Loneliness”

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    It’s been four years since the Pet Shop Boys released 2020’s presciently-titled Hotspot (which later felt like a nod to the “hot zones” caused by being in the throes of a pandemic). Ever since 2016, this four-year gap between records has tended to be Neil Tennant and Chris Lowe’s pattern, perhaps slowing down to more thoroughly take in the world around them as they’re simultaneously inspired and disgusted by it. But that has always been the brilliance of the duo: being able to turn the horrors into a catchy, sardonic ditty. “Loneliness,” of course, proves to be no exception to the rule. 

    As the lead single from the oh-so-on-brand-as-a-Pet-Shop-Boys-album-title Nonetheless, it’s clear this electropop duo is making a statement about life’s worsening state in a post-social media, post-pandemic world. Perhaps PSB was inspired by loneliness at the start of 2020, when lockdowns, particularly throughout Europe and the UK (its own “continent,” it wants you to know), put a glaring spotlight on people’s personal lives. Because, at that time, a mirroring pandemic was forming. The one that showed the masses just how empty and meaningless their existence was without the distraction of work, where ersatz social situations could present themselves under the guise of “camaraderie.” Maybe the same type of camaraderie that could be felt in a gulag. 

    Thus, with this massive public health issue (one that is ongoing and will likely remain so), Pet Shop Boys surely must have found their musical muse. And they’re ready to address it, as with all things, head-on. Hence, the accompanying video, directed by Alasdair McLellan. A sumptuous visual featuring a narrative and tone that often reminds one more than slightly of Bronski Beat’s “Smalltown Boy,” itself a specific kind of anthem for loneliness (more to the point, lonely gays who had no one to turn to at a time when being gay was hardly à la mode). And yes, this is PSB’s most overtly gay video. For never before have they been so on-blast with two men kissing, touching, blowing each other, etc. Perhaps it’s because once a person reaches a certain age, “subtlety” is hardly something to be bothered with.

    And, speaking of “a certain age,” some might assume Tennant and Lowe’s seeming absence from the video is tantamount to what Elton John did when he started to feel “too old” to be filmed for music videos by having people like Justin Timberlake and Robert Downey Jr. stand in for him instead. But, just when you’re ready to assume they’ve decided to make this video all about one-off gay hookups (okay, so there’s some straight ones in there too), Tennant and Lowe materialize around the four-minute mark, after a Tilt-a-Whirl scene. These images at the “funfair” continue, with the video finally concluding at a party where all the people previously showcased throughout appear, including the “running boy,” still looking rather lonely among the throng. Which, of course, is the worst loneliness of all—feeling alone in a crowd. 

    It’s not that stark of a thematic contrast to the opening scenes of the video, which focus in on desolate, oppressive structures in Sheffield, with a title card that also mentions we’re supposed to be in the year 1992. A year that, compared to now, hardly seems as lonely. One of those oppressive structures is Sheffield Forgemasters, containing within its walls a number of men doing rugged, lad-oriented things that remind one a lot of Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, de facto Madonna’s “Express Yourself” video. However, just as PSB has us duped into thinking this is a “homos only” video, they’re wont to show us a boy and a girl getting hot and heavy, if you will, as they try to stave off their own loneliness (in addition to their hormones). The main boy we keep seeing throughout the narrative, however, is able to swing both ways in order to accommodate his hunger to feel wanted, desired. Thus, capable of telling himself he’s not lonely—because how can someone who’s never alone possibly feel that way?

    Alternating between scenes of color and black and white, a continuous thread throughout is the image of the boy running along a pathway in his wifebeater…usually as Tennant is singing, “Where you gonna run to now from loneliness?/Who you gonna turn to out of loneliness?” The implication being that “going both ways” doesn’t always mean one is doing it out of “sexual fluidity,” so much as a desperation to feel connected to someone, anyone—no matter how ephemerally. Which is why, inevitably, a glory hole is bound to appear sooner or later in this video. One that gets desexualized when somebody slips a note through it that reads, “Are you lonely?” Elvis, too, once essentially asked the same question with, “Are you lonesome tonight?” Indeed, the subject of loneliness has often been explored by some of music’s major icons. For example, in 1993, the year after “Loneliness” is meant to be taking place in, Madonna released her “Bad Girl” video, yet another homage to how sex can dilute feelings of loneliness (in addition to being an homage to Looking For Mr. Goodbar).

    As “Louise Oriole” a.k.a. Madonna keeps going to bed with strangers, the thrill of doing so becomes increasingly dulled and the loneliness starts to become impossible to stave off, particularly after one encounter where a stranger leaves her an unsettling note. Not one that asks, “Are you lonely?,” but rather, states, “Thank you whoever you are.” Talk about making a girl feel cheap. And soon, she’ll have to pay the price of her life for this method of attempting to keep the loneliness at bay. 

    Which ties into PSB riffing on the old chestnut, “Wherever you go, there you are” when Tennant ominously reminds, “Wherever you go, you take yourself with you/There’s nowhere you can hide…” Tennant then adds, “From the loneliness that’s haunting your life/The sense of wounded pride/Everybody needs time to think/Nobody can live without love.” Well, that’s not entirely true. It’s just that those who do live without love tend to turn into people like Trump and Putin. And yes, Pet Shop Boys acknowledge the isolating nature of power on the single for “Loneliness,” which also features “Party in the Blitz” and “Through You (Extended Mix).” The cover itself provides a familiar pose and image, one that can be characterized as Twin Peaks meets Actually (the cover art itself, not the album). 

    The surrealism that’s synonymous with Twin Peaks also applies to the feeling of loneliness. And perhaps no country knows loneliness as well as Britain right now. Except that it’s a self-imposed kind after so many decades spent pushing the EU away, which speaks to the lyrics, “When you gonna not say ‘no’ and make the answer ‘yes’?/Who is here to help you out?/Oh, tell me/Can’t you guess?” The answer, we’d like to believe is: “ourselves.” That self-help mumbo-jumbo about how you are the only person who can change your situation. Pull yourself up out of the hole of loneliness, the pit of despair, etc. For Britain, however, that seems to be an impossible task.

    As bona fide Brits themselves, the Pet Shop Boys make a highly specific reference to A Hard Day’s Night, when Tennant sings, “Like Ringo walking by the canal/Downcast and alone/You’re taking time to play that part/A man who skims a stone.” But while some are only “playing the part” of loneliness for dramatic cachet, others are one botched name pronunciation away from suicide.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • “Love Is A Battlefield” As Forerunner to “Papa Don’t Preach”

    “Love Is A Battlefield” As Forerunner to “Papa Don’t Preach”

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    It’s slightly uncanny that, in the early pre-fame days of Madonna’s career, her first manager, Camille Barbone, was grooming her to look and sound more like Pat Benatar rather than the “disco dolly” she would get accused of being once her first record came out. But while Barbone was sinking all of her cash into the manufacturing of this “rocker chick” persona for Madonna, the latter was instead perfecting her recording of a club-oriented dance track called “Everybody” with Stephen Bray. Never mind that Bray would soon after be betrayed by Madonna when she instead handed the track over to Mark Kamins for a producer credit, as he was the one who got the demo into the hands of Sire Records’ Seymour Stein. So it was that Madonna’s musical path was officially set apart from Benatar’s, with “Everybody” released as a single in October of 1982. A year later, Benatar would come out with “Love Is A Battlefield.”

    Although the song bears no auditory similarities to “Papa Don’t Preach” (a 1986 single of Madonna’s that would prove to be one of her most controversial, therefore best-selling), the video concept behind it certainly does. Commencing with intercut shots of Benatar on a bus traveling from Clinton, New Jersey to New York City with shots of her roaming the then big, bad streets of Times Square, the motif established is that she feels somehow safer in the dangerous wilds of NY than she does amid the judgments thrust upon her at home. Singing, “We are young/Heartache to heartache we stand/No promises, no demands,” Benatar means what she says—and aims to stand by it no matter the cost. Even getting kicked out of her father’s house as her mother and brother watch it happen in helpless silence.

    Directed by Bob Giraldi, the video was also known for being among the first to use dialogue, even if minimally. It starts as Benatar sings her lyrics, “We are strong!” to which her father warns, “You leave this house now…” Benatar keeps singing, “No one can tell us we’re wrong.” But her father concludes, “…you can just forget about comin’ back!” Thus, Benatar flees the white-picket prison in favor of seedier pastures, landing a job as a taxi dancer at one of the dance halls she happens upon (presumably during her nighttime street wanderings). The defiance in Benatar’s actions is reminiscent not only of Madonna’s real-life rebellion against her own father, Silvio “Tony” Ciccone, but the one that occurs in “Papa Don’t Preach,” with Danny Aiello portraying her stern Italian-American patriarch. Like “Love Is A Battlefield,” “Papa Don’t Preach” was also shot in New York, specifically Staten Island (which many consider to be a separate entity from NYC, but anyway…). Addressing the Electra complex nature of father-daughter relationships more glaringly, the crux of the conflict in “Papa Don’t Preach” isn’t just that Madonna has gotten knocked up by her hot mechanic boyfriend (played by Alex McArthur), but that she’s moved away entirely from seeing her father as “the world,” instead gravitating toward another man. One of many who will try to take his place as the years go by and “teenage” Madonna continues to grow up. In Benatar’s scenario, the rebellion is less about breaking away to bone some guy, and more about leaning into the identity she wants to carve out for herself, independent of paternal input.

    As part of that independence, Benatar sees fit to spread her message of defiance to the other taxi dancers she befriends at the club. This isn’t done so much with words, but rather, standing up with a death stare to the club’s owner (played by Philip Cruise), which then, naturally, leads into a one-sided dance-off from Benatar and her allegiant followers. In true unapologetic 80s fashion. Apparently, the moves are so disarming that the owner decides to back off, clutching to the bar in terror. For what could be scarier than women declaring their autonomy through bodily movement? Their escalating choreo bombast sends the owner into submission, except for that moment when Benatar screams, “We are young!” and he appears especially disgusted by the statement. Chalk it up to “youth panic” perhaps, as he feels himself outnumbered by all these unruly “children.” And although he briefly tries to surrender by joining in with their dance, Benatar isn’t having it, dousing his face with a glass of water and liberating the dancers all the more by leading them outside. Into the light.

    In contrast, Madonna’s character in “Papa Don’t Preach” is more quietly uncontrollable, her upbringing decidedly more repressed (if you can believe it) than Benatar’s in “Love Is A Battlefield.” Which is why it takes her so long to build up the courage to confess her pregnancy to “Papa,” wandering the dilapidated environs of Staten Island (captured with “working-class fetish” brilliance by director James Foley) before finally returning home to tell him she’s “with child.” When she does, the reaction is just as she feared: hostile silent treatment. Better known as: a Catholic father superpower. After an unspecified amount of time has passed, with father and daughter retreating to their respective “corners of the ring” (emphasized by them being on opposite sides of a dividing wall), her dad finally accepts the news and embraces her both literally and figuratively.

    Benatar, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be as lucky. For, at the end of “Love Is A Battlefield,” although she’s on a bus again, it’s not necessarily certain that she’s capitulated to returning home, but rather, she’s probably headed to another place where she can disappear into the crowd, free of her disapproving father, who told her not to ever come back anyway. In this regard, the video’s premise is also reminiscent of Bronski Beat’s “Smalltown Boy,” which was released in 1984. So something was definitely in the air with disappointed, disavowing fathers during this decade.

    While the connection between Madonna and Benatar isn’t always acknowledged via these two videos, it’s undeniably there. And, considering Madonna had spent plenty of time practicing how to “be” Benatar under Gotham Management, maybe the influence kept lingering subtly in her 80s-era subconscious. To further tie the two together, Madonna’s erstwhile boyfriend, Jellybean Benitez, even produced a dance mix version of “Love Is A Battlefield.” By the time “Papa Don’t Preach” was released, however, he would no longer be Madonna’s “boy toy”—for she decided not to keep his particular baby.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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