Ten Amazing Artists (hoho, an alliteration accomplishment in addition)

The heebie-jeebies and couple of rides on the darned cotton ponies has resulted in a complete psyche-makeover and I apologise to those artists who have been demoted from January’s ‘Ten Amazing Artists and Albums’. For memory’s sake, these were: Martha Wainwright, Franz Ferdinand and Maksim Mrvica. Three out of ten, humph, guess I’ve retained 70% (am I right… maths and I, phewie- we can never get the relationship going) of my I-love-you-you-love personality.

Anyway, badabubbadabow!- let the fanfare cry! To the new Ten Amazing Artists… I LOVE YOU!:

Artists:

1. Rufus Wainwright

Rufus Wainwright smokes and smothers.

What can I say about this shiny billion-in-one package? To spare those unacquainted with Rufus (how dare you!) and those who loathe him (how VERY dare you!) and those who remain indifferent to his milk-of-paradise voice (HOW very, okay you know what, leave this instant. Hatred is frightful enough, but Apathy is the unfaltering phlegm in an all too diseased humanity I can never leave sticking around) from a hundreds-paged discourse on his brilliance, I’ll just say these three words of wisdom: Get. Listen. Love.

Thank you. Gosh, there goes a new line in my CV: Pious missionary in amassing born-again Converts of the I-Love-RW cult. Moving on (in discourse but not in spirit) to…

2. Corinne Bailey Rae

My discerning eyes tell me she is at the Grammy's. They also inform me that she is a picturesque wonder.

3. Madeleine Peyroux

The modern Billie Holiday.

4. Billie Holiday

5. Amy Winehouse

6. Mika

7. Melody Gardot

What can I say... her name's a superb fit. Wish I could say the same about my pair of jeans.

8. John Barrowman

Bang! Went the artery in my heart. Bad onomatopoeia, I know, but one tries .

9. Pink Martini

Nothing goes better with an imaginary martini (thanks a lot, government 'authorities') on a sunny, drizzling day than Pink Martini (not that we get many sunny and drizzling days here so Pink Martini do well in mocktail-cocktail lounge sessions). You do understand that this is all metaphorical? ;P

Presenting the brutally honest and clamorously irreverent Margaret Cho!

What a woman!

Immingle the exorbitance of Sacha Baron Cohen (and his egregious albeit loveable characters) with the sensibilities of the repressed Asian woman… voila!:

Presenting an artistic soul whose canvas is itself.

Imagine my surprise in unearthing this personality on my laptop as I was about to delete my account on samesame.com! As I spent the witching hour watching her stand-up performances, I realised (“omg!”) that she may well be one whose interests lies closest to mine (ahem, well in the deep recesses of my mind). The following is a list of why so many of us (whether un-closeted or closeted) lap her up (doubtlessly with a degree of trepidation). Margaret’s ferociously honest farce covers:

- An unhealthy fag-hag obsession with gay men (to whose culture, bodies and voices I am slave)

- Stereotypes imposed on Asian-Americans (which I am subject to- as would my future children, grandchildren…)

- Bisexuality (if I met the right woman, this would apply)

- Dieting and eating disorders (damn you and your mannequins, Vogue!)

For a taste, here is Margaret Cho tackling the hassles of being a fag-hag (and of our uncredited role of being the backbone of the gay community):

Plus my ultimate dose of hysteria in ‘Asian Chicken Salad’:

xoxo and hooray for Margaret Cho, fag-hags, and Asian chicken salads (and not to mention, a Gollum-esque piece of Tolkien’s legendarium)!

Rufus Wainwright is a God.

And Want Two is my Bible (yes, an honest Bible does exist- no longer limited to being a preached oxymoron)!

I have to write a review for Want Two, for the chef-d’oeuvre which has provided me (and doubtlessly many others) the most transcendental, warmest musical experience one can ever imbibe through a cold, metallic disc. I believe this is Rufus’s most underrated album thus far, and my absolute favourite (this is saying something, considering it comes from one whose ‘cigarettes and chocolate milk’ is Rufus Wainwright)!

Having read so many articles comparing Rufus’s voice to saccharine foods, let me just extend their encomiums with another (less stimulating) metaphor… His songs, mellifluous as they are, embody a unique personal quality to an extent that we listeners will not only be climbing a stairway to a makeshift Shangri-la, but we are rungs closer to understanding the virtuoso himself. He’s my sole remedy in purging myself of the kitschy, oversexed music which the majority of my peers at school listen to! Gay Messiah, This Love Affair and especially The Art Teacher continually make me a loyal Kleenex customer.

Why homophobia never seems to dissipate or crunch away is beyond me. To those whose enchridion-based beliefs cause anguish to their ‘victims’, I can only hope that Jesus etc. will descend (in a flowing robe for dramatic effect) and cry “MATTHEW, PETER AND SO & SO, THAT IS SO OUT OF CONTEXT!!!” To expedite empathy with our colourful friends, here is a performance by Rufus Wainwright whose angelic voice really extravasated the raw emotions (i.e. unrequited love) from ‘The Art Teacher’:

Listen to ‘The Art Teacher’ (without video) on my post ‘The Allure of Unrequited Love’ at http://quixoticzephyr.wordpress.com/2010/04/09/the-allure-of-unrequited-love/

5 Stars any day.

Madonna in drag of heavenly Hell. (I hope you recognise that as a pun or literary device of sorts; it was already lame).

Gosh, scrummy in trench coat and drag. That’s Rufus for you!

To the many loyal fans of Rufus, visit http://ktbg.fm/ and search for Rufus Wainwright in the artists box- you’ll find a couple of interviews there (you’ll need iTunes). Alternatively, should troubles arise (as they did for a tech-unsavvy me), go to http://ktbg.fm/artists/rufus.html and save the ’32k’ links which worked for me !

xoxo

p.s. An Easter treat lies in http://quixoticzephyr.wordpress.com/2010/04/09/pictures-of-rufus-wainwright/!

Meet Sammy Davis Jnr. Jnr. and co.

An intense examination period has flitted away, and a fleeting anticipation of all things sweet and saccharine awaits.

Not.

Now, reflecting upon the tediousness of high school life and the warped correlation between the labour input and the output (bloody marks), I must confess (and I am so glad that this blog is unearthed by inquisitive e-prowlers… it’s too fucking embarrassing) that I am extremely disappointed. My dashing hopes can only be vented via a potpourri of sheebus-outlets, viz. genetic undesirability, hereditary procrastinator’s compulsion, possible onsets of catamenia, forgetting to bring along my lucky pen/pencil/bracelet/bra/note etc.

The list goes on.

So you see, I have cause for celebration yet.

After being dismally discharged from an English task concerning Shakespeare and Foer (who used to be my favourite, favourite author to being meh), I’ve decided to relive Foer’s genius again, this time, with the aid of the silver screen. ‘Everthing is Illuminated’ directed by neophyte director Liev Schreiber is an amazing telly experience, though it lacks the multifarious flavours of its original counterpart. Now, I’d love to detail the happenings and I-love-this-hate-thats of the film, but tempting as they are, I’ll pass. Alexander Perchov, also dubbed Alex because it is a ‘more flaccid-to utter version’ of Alexander and an American-Jewish collector with a shocking OCD issue masterly emoted by Elijah Wood bestow the film its well-deserved commendations. That is it. Oh, and I LOVE Sammy Davis Jnr, Jnr., the Michael-Jackson trotting border collie (image inserted below).

NTS: I’ll blog about other films and literary works sometime, including the psychedelic experience of ‘Across the Universe’ directed by Taymor, the 1978 BBC version of ‘As You Like It’ starring the most amazing actress Helen Mirren, and ‘The Diving-Bell and the Butterfly’- a poignant memoir narrated firsthand by Bauby, a man literally trapped in his skin.

It’s been the  most ‘premium’ fun writing for this ‘first-rate’ blog. Now, to ‘manufacturing Z’s’.

In the words of Porky Pig, ‘That’s all, Folks!’

Love,

Vicki.

Greetings from the corner of two walls.

Alas, our friendly (and forever stomping) neighbour is spouting a stream of water onto our fenceless porch, retaliating to the fulgent patterns of the sunlight.

Hello everybody (I’ve a feeling that only a pair of eyes will ever follow the future ramblings of a disgruntled student)! I’m Vicki, hollering all the way from this corner, and I am a fledgling blogger. So excuse the plainness of my blog, ‘tottering in the zephyrs of escapism’. And why the lavishly pretentious title/heading? That, gorgeous… is simply how I roll (much to the dismay of my English teachers). And why a blog? Why now (considering I am one of those masters of procrastination)? My answer is simply this: ‘tottering in the zephyrs of escapism’ is a response to deterring (god knows how) the fucking imminent Mathematics and Economics examinations tomorrow- fingers crossed, the stress will advance stealthily on me in an hour or so- as it always have: “VICKI YOU FREAKING *******! I AM SO GONNA.. YOU WILL SO GONNA…!!!” Or on a more veged out note, the Doctor Who/ Torchwood devotee in me will brush away my transiently pragmatic conscience, instilling in me the more impossible notions of a gorgeously bisexual immortal seizing me away from this temporal world- the corner between two walls.

What am I doing here? Should I really imperil my HSC for a an hour’s worth of futile navigation about wordpress.com, to secretly envy my neighbour’s I-can-do-whatever-and-that-is-pouring-crap-on-your-lawn-no-wait-it’s-also-my-fucking-lawn prowess, or to scroll up-and-down http://www.guitarfactory.net/Folk/Ukuleles.htm wishing, but never attaining?

No, Nein, Tanak (?). Exchange rates and Trading blocs must be conquered, after accompanying my brother in his pursuit of mistimed laughter through ‘Scooby Doo: It’s Mean, It’s Green, It’s the Mystery Machine’.