Controlling Your Soapier Tendencies
by Your Diva, Robin Pastorio-Newman

Yesterday, ALTROK's Fearless Leader Sean Carolan discussed the music business' evil new copyright protection strategy (Cactus Data Shield) and its monsterhead experimental form (Natalie Imbruglia's new album). Mr. Carolan's arguments are cogent, carefully composed, largely free of stealth attacks. Like the ones you expect from me, Your Darling, Your Diva, Your One True Love. And Al Franken, but his Tutu Of Invisibility's at the cleaners.

Let's be silly. Let's be serious. Let's raise our pinkies and declare Natalie Imbruglia gold medal winner in the 100 meter dash from the money. What savant prevents fans from listening to her music? Comparison shoppers, let's get allegorical:

Ugbagug: Look, I've invented fire. It's very hot.
Bekod: We could use that! We're surrounded by icy cold things and people!
Ugbagug: Sorry! Gift for the volcano people, who're toasty and scantily clad. They'll never use it!
Bekod: Your loss! I look great in blue!

Maybe Your Night-Blooming Jasmine's wrong and you need expensive coasters. For twenty bucks, you can stimulate the economy by hiring someone to hold your drink, rather than reward music conglomerates for cheating you. On the other hand, if you're buying a Natalie Imbruglia CD, you have a bigger problem: soap opera stars make records, and you buy them!

Let's set aside the megaultrasupercute Rick Springfield: consumers bought his records before he starred on General Hospital. How can we be sure he deserves exemption? In the eighties, Rick had his own cartoon, and made records before, during and after that. Yep, on vinyl and everything. So let's hike over him and stomp some weaker fronds: have we learned nothing from that Kylie Minogue "Locomotion" debacle? Can anyone say "Jack Wagner" without blanching? Your Fragrant Honeysuckle prays Shemar Moore refrains from recording a teen anthem, a lush and pointless love song, or a seemingly endless cover tune. What higher power will save us from this glamourless doom?

Your Tranquil Lotus Blossom would love to point out what's so fabulously right with music. It'd be far easier on the binding diva wardrobe if its wearer less frequently bolted from the chaise lounge in alarm. Amusement, but mostly alarm (the breathtakingly bad becomes the barkingly funny with just the spit-take of one's companion) - alas, here we are. In one conclusion: blame the soap connection, refrain from purchasing repackaged daytime stars' glossy dreck, refuse to cheat yourself. And in another: about cartoon lives, our Fearless Leader's is more exciting than a Viagra drip in Cardiac Care. That's one way to be the rock star one genuinely is without being a musician one authentically is not.

©2002 Robin Pastorio-Newman