The south-west Surrey music scene of the mid to late 1970s reflected a cultural mix of the council estate, the leafiness of suburbia and the background presence of the British Army plus white-boy soul tinged later by the mohair and pins of punk and the walking bass and chunking guitar of ska and reggae. If Paul Weller was the Woking working-class hero, JC, the member of The Members (the line-up once they acquired some fame) who I knew best, was a middle-class magpie of influences, taking from here, taking from there. The Members' "Sound of the Suburbs", replete with the Staines railway station announcement, was a brilliantly anthemic punk to post-punk dissection of the monotony and mundaneness of suburban life. Its reference points were ones with which we were all too familiar.
JC, so the story goes, met Graham Parker in the Three Mariners pub in Bagshot. It's a believable story, as I can believe that I might have been there. Graham was older than everyone else, and his influences reflected a greater worldliness than most of us could boast. It might not have been at the Mariners that he told me who these influences were, but it could well have been. And one of them stood out. An artist who was still relatively unknown but who would soon not be. Bruce Springsteen.
From the distance of years, it can be hard to appreciate how certain artists and bands took popular music by the throat and shook it with ever-increasing rattle and roll intensity. Springsteen was one such artist. Now and then, Messianic performers emerged with barely any warning. Springsteen smashed down walls plastered with posters of pomp and teenybop, but this assault was soon forgotten and the destroyers of the old guard were instead hailed from among the spitters, the rippers, the bin-liners of punk.
Springsteen shone brightly but ultimately, though he had once blinded us all by the light, the light dimmed. Springsteen, forever "Born To Run", was long ago reduced to a middle-aged jog. Like predecessors (and successors) who appeared on tops of mountains and dispensed shibboleths of godlike truths to a music world wallowing in the shallows of irrelevance and self-regard, he became mortal, and mortality, where popular music is concerned, means being consumed by the irrelevance that had once been shattered.
I don't want old rock stars. I want the old rock stars to still be young rock stars. They mean nothing now that they are old. They assume parodical status and appearance. Paul McCartney, dyed hair and lined face with more than a hint of a lift, looking like the queens who would once flounce along Saint Martin's Lane and eye up boys for potential rent. Mick Jagger, his mouth having assumed such a gargantuan size that it has cracked his face into many parts. Keith Richards, plugged into the mains each morning, and volts into the lobe to activate the vocal chords.
Springsteen has been in Mallorca. Sort of. He has been on a yacht, a super yacht. David Geffen's "Rising Sun". It has been cruising around the island, Springsteen materialising from time to time, looking, through the long lens of the paps, as if he could be anyone trying his hand at paddle surf. Geffen has his own place in music history, one alongside Crosby, Stills and Nash and Joni Mitchell, a group and a singer who were once there on the summits calling from the gods with Springsteen and others who are now relics; those who have survived, at any rate.
We hold on to this past, this old celebrity. Or at least, when this past and old celebrity drifts across the Mediterranean into the view of a Mallorcan lens, we recapture it. Well, some may do. Bruce, I hope you have been having a nice time, but I'm really not interested.
And as the "Rising Sun" heads away from Mallorca, the sight of the island fading in the distance in the eyes of a faded rock star, we wonder - I wonder - if this was always as it was going to be. There are few larger motor yachts in the world. Few, therefore, that can be more expensive. "Born To Run" or born to float in luxury.
There are those, if they were perfectly honest, who would do the same. Not all perhaps. Weller has retained a modicum of the real world; more than a modicum probably. But what of others? JC reformed The Members a while back. He has done film music, but the heady days of the Chelsea Nightclub are a dim memory. Graham? He's still playing in the US, having remained true to his musical roots. Still singing along to an acoustic guitar, just as he used to when we were all stoned at some so-called party. I don't know, though. I bet he wishes he had been Springsteen.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Showing posts with label Celebrities. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Celebrities. Show all posts
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Friday, October 19, 2012
Pets Need Holidays, Too
A.A.Gill once wrote of the actor Sam Neill that "he is about as far away from being an actor as it's possible to be and appear on the screen at the same time", from which one has to assume that Sam Neill isn't an actor at all. If he isn't, the question is: what is he?
I think I may have the answer, if only a temporary answer, for Sam Neill is, temporarily, a celebrity tourist. To Mallorca. It just happens that he will be pretending to be an actor while he is on the island. In a few days time, a friend of Sam Neill's will release a video on YouTube (57 views, 8 dislikes after a further few days) showing him and his fellow celebrity tourists doing some Mallorcan things, like boiling a whole goat in a large boiling thing and waiting for it to disintegrate.
Of these other celebrity tourists, one of them is familiar, albeit in a "now which one is he again" way. Despite his having a "ce" instead of an "s", I still manage to confuse Pierce Brosnan with Piers Morgan, which is not a pleasant confusion for anyone to be subjected to, least of all a one-time 007. Others in the Sam Neill party are unknown to me, though I fancy I should know them because they appear to be famous. More celebrity tourists.
It is difficult to tell genuine actors apart from celebrity tourists, especially if they aren't actors at all, like Sam Neill. There are no doubt critics other than A.A.Gill who would maintain that they are actors and actors alone, but when it comes to Mallorca, their sole function in setting foot on Mallorcan soil is far removed from acting. Or at least, this is how their presence is portrayed. Here a Tom Hanks, there a Pierce Brosnan, and it's all about how much they will do for tourism.
This latest group of celebrity tourists will be doing their best to promote Palma airport, where they will be filmed waiting for two hours in a queue for a hire car or having their wallets removed by a Bulgarian disguised in a baseball cap and a "Shagalluf, Lads On Tour 2012" t-shirt.
The way that these celebrity tourists could really help out is by initiating a new wave of tourism - that of celebrities with pets. As the Alternativa party wishes to turn Pollensa's beaches into Crufts, a whole new tourism business opportunity opens up. Does Bradley Wiggins have a dog? A greyhound perhaps that he could let loose on the Tamarells beach? Cameron? A Skye Terrier called Boris? It is a great shame that Barbara Cartland is no longer with us, as the old trout could drape herself across a sun lounger with a Pekinese. Mind you, the Pekinese aside, it would be hard to distinguish her from the rest of the old troutery.
Or forget the celebrities with pets, just have celebrity pets, as in animals which are notable actors, as notable as Sam Neill. "Here's Lassie arriving in Mallorca for two weeks of weeing on a beach in Cala San Vicente." "Rin Tin Tin loves nothing more than having a good howl along to the karaoke at his favourite Puerto Pollensa bar." "Pollensa's fame as a holiday destination for pets has spread as far as Australia. Skippy has announced that he will be bounding into the resort next summer."
Yep, celebrity tourists with celebrity pets. Just don't say anything to Sam Neill in case he goes and books some dinosaurs into a Pollensa hotel for a fortnight.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
I think I may have the answer, if only a temporary answer, for Sam Neill is, temporarily, a celebrity tourist. To Mallorca. It just happens that he will be pretending to be an actor while he is on the island. In a few days time, a friend of Sam Neill's will release a video on YouTube (57 views, 8 dislikes after a further few days) showing him and his fellow celebrity tourists doing some Mallorcan things, like boiling a whole goat in a large boiling thing and waiting for it to disintegrate.
Of these other celebrity tourists, one of them is familiar, albeit in a "now which one is he again" way. Despite his having a "ce" instead of an "s", I still manage to confuse Pierce Brosnan with Piers Morgan, which is not a pleasant confusion for anyone to be subjected to, least of all a one-time 007. Others in the Sam Neill party are unknown to me, though I fancy I should know them because they appear to be famous. More celebrity tourists.
It is difficult to tell genuine actors apart from celebrity tourists, especially if they aren't actors at all, like Sam Neill. There are no doubt critics other than A.A.Gill who would maintain that they are actors and actors alone, but when it comes to Mallorca, their sole function in setting foot on Mallorcan soil is far removed from acting. Or at least, this is how their presence is portrayed. Here a Tom Hanks, there a Pierce Brosnan, and it's all about how much they will do for tourism.
This latest group of celebrity tourists will be doing their best to promote Palma airport, where they will be filmed waiting for two hours in a queue for a hire car or having their wallets removed by a Bulgarian disguised in a baseball cap and a "Shagalluf, Lads On Tour 2012" t-shirt.
The way that these celebrity tourists could really help out is by initiating a new wave of tourism - that of celebrities with pets. As the Alternativa party wishes to turn Pollensa's beaches into Crufts, a whole new tourism business opportunity opens up. Does Bradley Wiggins have a dog? A greyhound perhaps that he could let loose on the Tamarells beach? Cameron? A Skye Terrier called Boris? It is a great shame that Barbara Cartland is no longer with us, as the old trout could drape herself across a sun lounger with a Pekinese. Mind you, the Pekinese aside, it would be hard to distinguish her from the rest of the old troutery.
Or forget the celebrities with pets, just have celebrity pets, as in animals which are notable actors, as notable as Sam Neill. "Here's Lassie arriving in Mallorca for two weeks of weeing on a beach in Cala San Vicente." "Rin Tin Tin loves nothing more than having a good howl along to the karaoke at his favourite Puerto Pollensa bar." "Pollensa's fame as a holiday destination for pets has spread as far as Australia. Skippy has announced that he will be bounding into the resort next summer."
Yep, celebrity tourists with celebrity pets. Just don't say anything to Sam Neill in case he goes and books some dinosaurs into a Pollensa hotel for a fortnight.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Friday, August 31, 2012
The Ultimate Question Of Mallorcan Life: Celebrities
How many celebrities are there in the UK? Tricky question, huh? One of the more astute answers to the question would be 42. As the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything is 42, and as celebrities are - or appear to be - the ultimate meaning of life, then 42 it has to be. And if 42 is correct, then the ultimate question, which Deep Thought said required an even more powerful computer in order to arrive at the question that would make the answer meaningful, would have to be the one I have asked above.
However, I'm not convinced by my own argument. There are surely more than 42 celebrities. What, therefore, does Google have to say on the subject? Not very much. Someone has had a go at the bigger question of how many celebrities there are in the world, admitting that "it is very difficult to count how many celebrities exist in the world". Nevertheless, he or she has had a go: "If I had to guess, I would say (conservative estimate) that there are literally tens of thousands of celebrities around the world".
Why this guess required the use of "literally" I have no idea, but be that as it may. It's not a particularly good guess, as it is somewhat vague, but one should still applaud this contributor to Wiki Answers for at least making an attempt. Not that this helps with the number of celebrities in the UK. Or perhaps it does. Maybe there are (literally) ten thousand celebrities in the UK. Hmm. I'm still not convinced. There are probably more. It does all rather depend of course.
One difficulty in arriving at an answer, as the Wiki Answers contributor was so incisive in pointing out, lies with how one defines a celebrity. Piers Morgan is at least clear when it comes to the British celebrities who really matter. We can be, as we should always be, immensely grateful to anything Piers offers by way of advancing a body of knowledge, and in the "Daily Mail" a couple of years ago, he identified the 100 celebrities who really matter who aren't Piers Morgan. (Incidentally, what was Piers doing writing in the "Mail"? Has this one-time "Mirror" editor no scruples?)
Two years are a long time in the celebrity world. I doubt that Lily Allen would still be at number 30 on the list, and Amy Winehouse would no longer feature at all. But Piers' fortune 100 list is instructive in providing clues to a question that is even more ultimate than that to do with the number of celebrities in the UK. This is the question as to how many celebrities from the UK have a Mallorcan connection and it is a question which deals with the ultimate meaning of Mallorcan life. There is no other.
So, who have we got? Catherine Zeta-Jones, number 78; Andrew Lloyd Webber (61); Robbie Williams (45); Frank Lampard (39); Jeremy Clarkson (14); Richard Branson (13); Kate Moss (8). And at number one, which is where he will be for now and all eternity, Simon Cowell, who only merits a Mallorcan connection because his sister lives on the island and he once gave ESRA some money for some reason, or something like that.
I daresay that there are others from this invaluable Morgan resource who have graced Mallorca with their celebrity, but of ones I know anything about (and knowing about and caring about are two very different things), the ratio of UK celebrities to Mallorca is 8 in 99 (adjusted because of death) or 7.5 in 99, if one discounts Simon Cowell by 50%. On this basis, and given a total number of UK tourists per annum in the region of two million, there are 150,000 UK celebrities who have a Mallorcan connection. Which is an awful lot of celebrities - literally tens of thousands of them. Can't be right.
The 150,000 might though be the answer to the question about the total number of UK celebrities. Other than those who really matter, there are literally tens of thousands of those who don't: one-time "Grange Hill" child actors; a bloke who once stood in on drums for a Showaddywaddy gig; former British prime ministers and so on. Lord alone knows how many of them make it to Mallorca each year. Though I feel we really ought to be told. Like all the aliens from the galaxy who are wandering around, you just never know when you will stumble across someone in a bar who used to pull the strings for Pinky and Perky. And if he tells you the answer is 42, then he's pulling your leg.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Index for August 2012
Abandoned houses - 11 August 2012
All-inclusives - 2 August 2012
Attractions: problems they face - 8 August 2012
August madness - 16 August 2012
British seaside resorts and Mallorca - 23 August 2012
Celebrities - 3 August 2012, 31 August 2012
David Cameron's holiday - 15 August 2012, 26 August 2012
Diversity of British tourism - 17 August 2012
Fiesta posters - 1 August 2012
Gran Scala and Mallorcan projects - 12 August 2012
Holiday let debate - 29 August 2012, 30 August 2012
Hotel conversion - 24 August 2012
Hotel occupancy figures are misleading - 27 August 2012
IVA rise and problems to follow - 10 August 2012
Iván Ramis transfer to Wigan - 5 August 2012
Kitesurfing - 19 August 2012
Presstrips and promotion - 22 August 2012
Problem at Pollensa Bay - 7 August 2012
Rapper and death threats - 14 August 2012
Regatta in Alcúdia - 4 August 2012
Russian tourism - 13 August 2012
Spain and the Olympics - 6 August 2012
Spanish tourism overseas - 20 August 2012
Tourism, marketing and illegal lets - 9 August 2012
Tourism: press treatment - 28 August 2012
Town halls and spending on facilities - 21 August 2012
Trip Advisor and tourist malevolence - 18 August 2012
Waiters - 25 August 2012
However, I'm not convinced by my own argument. There are surely more than 42 celebrities. What, therefore, does Google have to say on the subject? Not very much. Someone has had a go at the bigger question of how many celebrities there are in the world, admitting that "it is very difficult to count how many celebrities exist in the world". Nevertheless, he or she has had a go: "If I had to guess, I would say (conservative estimate) that there are literally tens of thousands of celebrities around the world".
Why this guess required the use of "literally" I have no idea, but be that as it may. It's not a particularly good guess, as it is somewhat vague, but one should still applaud this contributor to Wiki Answers for at least making an attempt. Not that this helps with the number of celebrities in the UK. Or perhaps it does. Maybe there are (literally) ten thousand celebrities in the UK. Hmm. I'm still not convinced. There are probably more. It does all rather depend of course.
One difficulty in arriving at an answer, as the Wiki Answers contributor was so incisive in pointing out, lies with how one defines a celebrity. Piers Morgan is at least clear when it comes to the British celebrities who really matter. We can be, as we should always be, immensely grateful to anything Piers offers by way of advancing a body of knowledge, and in the "Daily Mail" a couple of years ago, he identified the 100 celebrities who really matter who aren't Piers Morgan. (Incidentally, what was Piers doing writing in the "Mail"? Has this one-time "Mirror" editor no scruples?)
Two years are a long time in the celebrity world. I doubt that Lily Allen would still be at number 30 on the list, and Amy Winehouse would no longer feature at all. But Piers' fortune 100 list is instructive in providing clues to a question that is even more ultimate than that to do with the number of celebrities in the UK. This is the question as to how many celebrities from the UK have a Mallorcan connection and it is a question which deals with the ultimate meaning of Mallorcan life. There is no other.
So, who have we got? Catherine Zeta-Jones, number 78; Andrew Lloyd Webber (61); Robbie Williams (45); Frank Lampard (39); Jeremy Clarkson (14); Richard Branson (13); Kate Moss (8). And at number one, which is where he will be for now and all eternity, Simon Cowell, who only merits a Mallorcan connection because his sister lives on the island and he once gave ESRA some money for some reason, or something like that.
I daresay that there are others from this invaluable Morgan resource who have graced Mallorca with their celebrity, but of ones I know anything about (and knowing about and caring about are two very different things), the ratio of UK celebrities to Mallorca is 8 in 99 (adjusted because of death) or 7.5 in 99, if one discounts Simon Cowell by 50%. On this basis, and given a total number of UK tourists per annum in the region of two million, there are 150,000 UK celebrities who have a Mallorcan connection. Which is an awful lot of celebrities - literally tens of thousands of them. Can't be right.
The 150,000 might though be the answer to the question about the total number of UK celebrities. Other than those who really matter, there are literally tens of thousands of those who don't: one-time "Grange Hill" child actors; a bloke who once stood in on drums for a Showaddywaddy gig; former British prime ministers and so on. Lord alone knows how many of them make it to Mallorca each year. Though I feel we really ought to be told. Like all the aliens from the galaxy who are wandering around, you just never know when you will stumble across someone in a bar who used to pull the strings for Pinky and Perky. And if he tells you the answer is 42, then he's pulling your leg.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Index for August 2012
Abandoned houses - 11 August 2012
All-inclusives - 2 August 2012
Attractions: problems they face - 8 August 2012
August madness - 16 August 2012
British seaside resorts and Mallorca - 23 August 2012
Celebrities - 3 August 2012, 31 August 2012
David Cameron's holiday - 15 August 2012, 26 August 2012
Diversity of British tourism - 17 August 2012
Fiesta posters - 1 August 2012
Gran Scala and Mallorcan projects - 12 August 2012
Holiday let debate - 29 August 2012, 30 August 2012
Hotel conversion - 24 August 2012
Hotel occupancy figures are misleading - 27 August 2012
IVA rise and problems to follow - 10 August 2012
Iván Ramis transfer to Wigan - 5 August 2012
Kitesurfing - 19 August 2012
Presstrips and promotion - 22 August 2012
Problem at Pollensa Bay - 7 August 2012
Rapper and death threats - 14 August 2012
Regatta in Alcúdia - 4 August 2012
Russian tourism - 13 August 2012
Spain and the Olympics - 6 August 2012
Spanish tourism overseas - 20 August 2012
Tourism, marketing and illegal lets - 9 August 2012
Tourism: press treatment - 28 August 2012
Town halls and spending on facilities - 21 August 2012
Trip Advisor and tourist malevolence - 18 August 2012
Waiters - 25 August 2012
Friday, August 03, 2012
Catatonic: Mallorca and celebrity
Kerry Katona has been in Mallorca. Lucky old Mallorca. Natasha Hamilton has also been in Mallorca. Lucky old Mallorca twice over. It is not known if Kerry and Natasha met up to compare reality-show notes whilst on the island, though it is doubtful; Kerry wasn't invited to Natasha's wedding, and one imagines that Natasha hasn't been invited to Kerry's various nuptials and divorce celebrations.
If you have no idea who either of these ladies are, then you clearly do not spend your entire lives attached to a television reality show, dissecting the celebrity pages of magazines and newspapers or having old Atomic Kitten CDs on endless play in the car. They would actually have to be very old CDs where Kerry was concerned. The remarkable thing about her, and there is much that is remarkable, is that she left before the girl group achieved real success; the single most remarkable thing about Kerry is that she acquired celebrityhood through having done absolutely nothing of any note.
Mallorca is especially lucky as Kerry has been saying how much she liked the island. On the principle that all publicity is good publicity, then one supposes this is positive. And as Kerry has been a sage to a generation, then it has to be. Indeed, given Kerry's attributes as a role model, it would be surprising were the tourism ministry not inclined to rope her in as a promotional face of Mallorca. Forget the clean-cut sideburns of an Olympic and Tour de France champion, get someone with four children, two failed marriages, a bankruptcy, a bipolar disorder, a drug and drink habit (no longer of course), and you have almost the perfect image for just the sort of tourist Mallorca craves.
Kerry's one of those easy targets. When you have a surname such as hers and a previous drug habit, then it is a simple leap to arrive at Kerry Catatonic. Less simple, because you have to have made the original leap, is to think that Catatonic is some form of hair restorer for young pussies, by which I do of course mean kittens. Atomic or otherwise.
Kerry may be an easy target, but I have a lot of admiration for her. It's not her fault that she is a product of times that elevate someone to celebrity status for all the wrong reasons. It is also not her fault that, in the pursuit of celebritist vacuity, the local media (and others) should attach themselves to her moments on Mallorca.You go for it, girl. Play it for all it's worth.
It is getting worse, the Mallorcan addiction to celebrity. It has long been an affliction, but it has become an epidemic. Summer brings out the worst of this disease, as there are more names around who can be dropped, but the superficiality of Mallorca's celebritism is now spreading even thinner than it used to. The island is no longer founded on limestone but on the shallow shale of the celebrity, and as such it is an appropriate reflection of much of the shallowness that passes for everyday life.
My old idea of a "Celebritarium" attraction/theme park does need revisiting. I quite overlooked (how could I have?) Kerry's place alongside Lempit Öpik as a regular in the Celebritarium, the concept for which is that celebrities are released back into their natural habitats - well-known clubs and shows on the island, Portals Nous (for the very good reason that Louise Redknapp once considered it "authentic"), various yachts and yacht clubs, anything with five stars appended to it, something for charity naturally enough - while Phillip Schofield and Holly Willoughbooby provide an endless, running commentary and conduct interviews regarding their latest books/drug addiction/new video/Twitter trolling/run with the Olympic torch/charitable foundation, or all of these.
I'm convinced that the Celebritarium would be a huge success. And where better to locate it than on Celebrity Island, home to the vacuous. Indeed, given that that other theme park idea - you'll remember the one - seems to have dropped off the publicity agenda (tourism minister Delgado has suggested that it isn't a dead duck, but there is a distinct lack of quacking going on, which suggests otherwise), then the Celebritarium would fill the void perfectly. And it would be a major boost to winter tourism, too.
Such a good idea is it that people need to move quickly before somewhere else nicks the idea. Somewhere like, for example, Catalonia. Which sounds remarkably similar to catatonia.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
If you have no idea who either of these ladies are, then you clearly do not spend your entire lives attached to a television reality show, dissecting the celebrity pages of magazines and newspapers or having old Atomic Kitten CDs on endless play in the car. They would actually have to be very old CDs where Kerry was concerned. The remarkable thing about her, and there is much that is remarkable, is that she left before the girl group achieved real success; the single most remarkable thing about Kerry is that she acquired celebrityhood through having done absolutely nothing of any note.
Mallorca is especially lucky as Kerry has been saying how much she liked the island. On the principle that all publicity is good publicity, then one supposes this is positive. And as Kerry has been a sage to a generation, then it has to be. Indeed, given Kerry's attributes as a role model, it would be surprising were the tourism ministry not inclined to rope her in as a promotional face of Mallorca. Forget the clean-cut sideburns of an Olympic and Tour de France champion, get someone with four children, two failed marriages, a bankruptcy, a bipolar disorder, a drug and drink habit (no longer of course), and you have almost the perfect image for just the sort of tourist Mallorca craves.
Kerry's one of those easy targets. When you have a surname such as hers and a previous drug habit, then it is a simple leap to arrive at Kerry Catatonic. Less simple, because you have to have made the original leap, is to think that Catatonic is some form of hair restorer for young pussies, by which I do of course mean kittens. Atomic or otherwise.
Kerry may be an easy target, but I have a lot of admiration for her. It's not her fault that she is a product of times that elevate someone to celebrity status for all the wrong reasons. It is also not her fault that, in the pursuit of celebritist vacuity, the local media (and others) should attach themselves to her moments on Mallorca.You go for it, girl. Play it for all it's worth.
It is getting worse, the Mallorcan addiction to celebrity. It has long been an affliction, but it has become an epidemic. Summer brings out the worst of this disease, as there are more names around who can be dropped, but the superficiality of Mallorca's celebritism is now spreading even thinner than it used to. The island is no longer founded on limestone but on the shallow shale of the celebrity, and as such it is an appropriate reflection of much of the shallowness that passes for everyday life.
My old idea of a "Celebritarium" attraction/theme park does need revisiting. I quite overlooked (how could I have?) Kerry's place alongside Lempit Öpik as a regular in the Celebritarium, the concept for which is that celebrities are released back into their natural habitats - well-known clubs and shows on the island, Portals Nous (for the very good reason that Louise Redknapp once considered it "authentic"), various yachts and yacht clubs, anything with five stars appended to it, something for charity naturally enough - while Phillip Schofield and Holly Willoughbooby provide an endless, running commentary and conduct interviews regarding their latest books/drug addiction/new video/Twitter trolling/run with the Olympic torch/charitable foundation, or all of these.
I'm convinced that the Celebritarium would be a huge success. And where better to locate it than on Celebrity Island, home to the vacuous. Indeed, given that that other theme park idea - you'll remember the one - seems to have dropped off the publicity agenda (tourism minister Delgado has suggested that it isn't a dead duck, but there is a distinct lack of quacking going on, which suggests otherwise), then the Celebritarium would fill the void perfectly. And it would be a major boost to winter tourism, too.
Such a good idea is it that people need to move quickly before somewhere else nicks the idea. Somewhere like, for example, Catalonia. Which sounds remarkably similar to catatonia.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
The BAFMAs: Awards for Mallorcan achievement
Yes, it's that time of the year. Time for the BAFMAs, the Blog Awards For Mallorcan Achievement. In no particular order, the following are variously well-known and less well-known or were well-publicised and less well-publicised ...
Politician Of The Year (Shared): Miquel Ensenyat and Carme Garcia
Ensenyat, the PSM Mallorcan socialist mayor of Esporles, stood as candidate for the PSM at the national elections. There was little remarkable about this, except that Ensenyat is an openly gay politician in a land where the Church can issue warnings of the danger of voting for politicians who support gay marriage.
Garcia, the "turncoat" of Alcúdia, was also a PSM politician. "Was" being the operative word. She sided with the Partido Popular after the regional elections, despite the wide gulf in political ideology, leading to her being expelled from the party and to her suffering recriminations led by the previous coalition of PSOE and the Convergència. Though her ex-party and the opposition had a legitimate point and though Garcia secured for herself a role as second-in-command to the new lady mayor, her decision could also be seen as a blow for the chumminess of the previous male-dominated coalition which did not have the moral authority to expect her to support it in denying the PP, which had gained eight out of nine seats required for a majority, the right to govern Alcúdia.
Celebrity Of The Year: Tom Hanks
They sought him here, they sought him there. Through their long lenses, they sought Tom everywhere. There he was, at long distance, speaking into an iPhone, or rather there was the back of Tom's head speaking into an iPhone. There he also was just hanging around and doing very little, assuming you could make out it was Tom behind the security and beneath his headgear.
Business Of The Year: Lidl
Disproving the notion that Mallorca is not open to foreign companies, Lidl, exploiting a relaxation in commercial developments, expanded across Mallorca, bringing jobs as well as competition to the supermarket sector.
Event Of The Year: The Inca bullfight
If campaigners sought more encouragement in banning bullfighting in Mallorca, they got it during the Inca bullfight. The promoter caused outrage by taking to the ring to kill the bull after the bull had effectively excluded itself from the fight when it broke a horn. Rules don't apparently permit non-combatants to enter the ring. The gruesome video of the killing of the bull went viral and the video also highlighted and criticised the fact that minors had been allowed into the arena.
Beach Of The Year: Playa de Muro
The extension of Puerto Alcúdia's beach (which was voted Mallorca's best beach on "Trip Advisor"), the beach in Playa de Muro was the target of efforts by the town hall to improve it even further. These included instituting a fine for urinating on the beach, which drew a response from some who wanted to know where else they were supposed to go to the toilet, and a similar fine for a similar act in the sea. It wasn't entirely clear how Muro town hall proposed policing the latter, but with concerns about rising sea levels, the consequence of climate change, a ban on using the sea was probably a wise precaution.
Website Of The Year: Mallorca Daily Photo Blog
Just going to show that wit, informativeness, striking photography and personal dedication count for far more than huge budgets chucked at websites in promoting Mallorca. It deserves an award very much more prestigious than a BAFMA.
Musician Of The Year: Arnau Reynés
While more celebrated musicians took to stages in Mallorca this year, Reynés, the professor of music from the Universitat de les Illes Balears, who has performed in some of Europe's finest cathedrals, brought a tradition of music in Mallorca that is often overlooked to the small church in Playa de Muro and gave a summer recital, as did other leading Mallorcan organists.
Historian Of The Year: Gabriel Verd Martorell
Thirty-five years is a long time for any one historian to have sought to have proved a point, but Verd was still at it, striving, once and for all, to establish that Christopher Columbus was born in Felanitx. In a "solemn" declaration in the town, he claimed that Columbus was the illegitimate nephew of King Ferdinand and that to have had the title of governor general bestowed on him, which he did, he had to have had royal blood. You can't blame a historian for persistence.
So, these are the BAFMAs. No science behind them, no text voting, purely my own choice. But if you have your own nominations or suggestions, please feel free ... .
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Politician Of The Year (Shared): Miquel Ensenyat and Carme Garcia
Ensenyat, the PSM Mallorcan socialist mayor of Esporles, stood as candidate for the PSM at the national elections. There was little remarkable about this, except that Ensenyat is an openly gay politician in a land where the Church can issue warnings of the danger of voting for politicians who support gay marriage.
Garcia, the "turncoat" of Alcúdia, was also a PSM politician. "Was" being the operative word. She sided with the Partido Popular after the regional elections, despite the wide gulf in political ideology, leading to her being expelled from the party and to her suffering recriminations led by the previous coalition of PSOE and the Convergència. Though her ex-party and the opposition had a legitimate point and though Garcia secured for herself a role as second-in-command to the new lady mayor, her decision could also be seen as a blow for the chumminess of the previous male-dominated coalition which did not have the moral authority to expect her to support it in denying the PP, which had gained eight out of nine seats required for a majority, the right to govern Alcúdia.
Celebrity Of The Year: Tom Hanks
They sought him here, they sought him there. Through their long lenses, they sought Tom everywhere. There he was, at long distance, speaking into an iPhone, or rather there was the back of Tom's head speaking into an iPhone. There he also was just hanging around and doing very little, assuming you could make out it was Tom behind the security and beneath his headgear.
Business Of The Year: Lidl
Disproving the notion that Mallorca is not open to foreign companies, Lidl, exploiting a relaxation in commercial developments, expanded across Mallorca, bringing jobs as well as competition to the supermarket sector.
Event Of The Year: The Inca bullfight
If campaigners sought more encouragement in banning bullfighting in Mallorca, they got it during the Inca bullfight. The promoter caused outrage by taking to the ring to kill the bull after the bull had effectively excluded itself from the fight when it broke a horn. Rules don't apparently permit non-combatants to enter the ring. The gruesome video of the killing of the bull went viral and the video also highlighted and criticised the fact that minors had been allowed into the arena.
Beach Of The Year: Playa de Muro
The extension of Puerto Alcúdia's beach (which was voted Mallorca's best beach on "Trip Advisor"), the beach in Playa de Muro was the target of efforts by the town hall to improve it even further. These included instituting a fine for urinating on the beach, which drew a response from some who wanted to know where else they were supposed to go to the toilet, and a similar fine for a similar act in the sea. It wasn't entirely clear how Muro town hall proposed policing the latter, but with concerns about rising sea levels, the consequence of climate change, a ban on using the sea was probably a wise precaution.
Website Of The Year: Mallorca Daily Photo Blog
Just going to show that wit, informativeness, striking photography and personal dedication count for far more than huge budgets chucked at websites in promoting Mallorca. It deserves an award very much more prestigious than a BAFMA.
Musician Of The Year: Arnau Reynés
While more celebrated musicians took to stages in Mallorca this year, Reynés, the professor of music from the Universitat de les Illes Balears, who has performed in some of Europe's finest cathedrals, brought a tradition of music in Mallorca that is often overlooked to the small church in Playa de Muro and gave a summer recital, as did other leading Mallorcan organists.
Historian Of The Year: Gabriel Verd Martorell
Thirty-five years is a long time for any one historian to have sought to have proved a point, but Verd was still at it, striving, once and for all, to establish that Christopher Columbus was born in Felanitx. In a "solemn" declaration in the town, he claimed that Columbus was the illegitimate nephew of King Ferdinand and that to have had the title of governor general bestowed on him, which he did, he had to have had royal blood. You can't blame a historian for persistence.
So, these are the BAFMAs. No science behind them, no text voting, purely my own choice. But if you have your own nominations or suggestions, please feel free ... .
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Celebrity Island
The Celebritarium has had its fair share of controversy. There was of course the small matter of levelling much of the Tramuntana mountain range in order to accommodate it. But let's face it, we've always been able to bank on the Partido Popular to side-step the odd environmental objection. More of a problem was the delay caused by the fact that the Tramuntana had been chosen as the location for the remake of "The Sound Of Music", the delay being even greater, thanks to the endless wrangle over whether Katie Price or Cheryl Cole would get the part of Maria.
The critics have, in the end, been generally and thankfully kind to the film. They haven't much cared for Barbara Windsor's Mother Abbess rendition of "Climb Every Mountain" next to some beer pumps in a re-created Queen Vic along Magalluf's strip. They have also been scathing of the intrusiveness of the Balearics Tourism Agency logo appearing in every shot along with its new website name - www.forgodssakecometomallorcaonholiday.com - but otherwise the film has been something of a box-office success and a triumph for Mallorca and for the tourism agency which handed over its entire promotional budget for ten years to the producers by way of an incentive to come and make the film.
We will be able to look forward to "The Sound Of Music" and its stars featuring in the Celebritarium. Personally, I fancy I might eschew the opportunity of partaking in the karaoke "Edelweiss", but then I wasn't convinced, and still am not, that Graham Norton was right for the role of Captain von Trapp; it should have been either Ant or Dec, or possibly both of them.
Other than the questionable attraction of singing along with your favourite celebrities in the Karaoke Pavilion, the Celebritarium does have much to commend it. Of merit is the chance to photograph celebrities in their natural habitats. Whole streets and landscapes of Mallorca have been created inside the Celebritarium and special viewing platforms built at least 200 metres away from them so that you can get the full effect of getting some lousy shots through a zoom lens of the celebs doing nothing in particular.
This is the great thing about the Celebritarium. You can watch as celebrities go for a walk, go shopping, blow their noses, drink a coffee. There are hours of amusement to be had, therefore. Plus, as most of the celebrities will be wearing caps and sunglasses and will be shielded by bodyguards - and this is where it gets really entertaining - you have to try and work out who they are. At the end of your trip to the Celebritarium, you can try your luck in a quiz to see how many celebrities you spotted and where. Fearne Cotton will be on hand to announce the winners.
One issue with the Celebritarium is which celebrities will be in it at any one time. There will, naturally enough, be those in permanent residence - the likes of Philip Schofield, Louise Redknapp and Lulu - but not yet resolved is how the celebrity rotation will work according to the high and low tourism seasons. There is a danger that you pitch up in February and have to make do with Lembit Öpik, Calum Best and the entire original cast of "Grange Hill" minus Todd Carty.
As for peak season, names being tossed around include Madonna and Brad Pitt. Madonna, so it is rumoured, will be reading a book and going for a jog, while Pitt is said to be planning to drive a car. The prospect is certainly enticing.
Critics of the Celebritarium argue that it panders to a vacuous obsession with celebrity and that it represents a dumbing-down of Mallorca. But how you can dumb-down the already dumbed-down isn't entirely clear. Those on the left wing in Mallorca have condemned it for including celebrities who don't speak Catalan and who will not be shown making pa amb oli. However, the Celebritarium is in line with the tourism agency's strategy of celebrity tourism, and for once the agency appears to have got its strategy right.
Moreover, the Celebritarium offers a genuine all-year tourism attraction (despite the possibility of Lembit Öpik). Yes, it may have necessitated much of the Tramuntana being blown up in order that it could be built, but then no one much would ever have taken any notice of all that World Heritage site stuff. Better to get rid of the mountains and forget all the nature and culture malarkey, as the real culture is celebrity. That's what the punter wants, and in the Celebritarium he can have it, 365 days of the year.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
The critics have, in the end, been generally and thankfully kind to the film. They haven't much cared for Barbara Windsor's Mother Abbess rendition of "Climb Every Mountain" next to some beer pumps in a re-created Queen Vic along Magalluf's strip. They have also been scathing of the intrusiveness of the Balearics Tourism Agency logo appearing in every shot along with its new website name - www.forgodssakecometomallorcaonholiday.com - but otherwise the film has been something of a box-office success and a triumph for Mallorca and for the tourism agency which handed over its entire promotional budget for ten years to the producers by way of an incentive to come and make the film.
We will be able to look forward to "The Sound Of Music" and its stars featuring in the Celebritarium. Personally, I fancy I might eschew the opportunity of partaking in the karaoke "Edelweiss", but then I wasn't convinced, and still am not, that Graham Norton was right for the role of Captain von Trapp; it should have been either Ant or Dec, or possibly both of them.
Other than the questionable attraction of singing along with your favourite celebrities in the Karaoke Pavilion, the Celebritarium does have much to commend it. Of merit is the chance to photograph celebrities in their natural habitats. Whole streets and landscapes of Mallorca have been created inside the Celebritarium and special viewing platforms built at least 200 metres away from them so that you can get the full effect of getting some lousy shots through a zoom lens of the celebs doing nothing in particular.
This is the great thing about the Celebritarium. You can watch as celebrities go for a walk, go shopping, blow their noses, drink a coffee. There are hours of amusement to be had, therefore. Plus, as most of the celebrities will be wearing caps and sunglasses and will be shielded by bodyguards - and this is where it gets really entertaining - you have to try and work out who they are. At the end of your trip to the Celebritarium, you can try your luck in a quiz to see how many celebrities you spotted and where. Fearne Cotton will be on hand to announce the winners.
One issue with the Celebritarium is which celebrities will be in it at any one time. There will, naturally enough, be those in permanent residence - the likes of Philip Schofield, Louise Redknapp and Lulu - but not yet resolved is how the celebrity rotation will work according to the high and low tourism seasons. There is a danger that you pitch up in February and have to make do with Lembit Öpik, Calum Best and the entire original cast of "Grange Hill" minus Todd Carty.
As for peak season, names being tossed around include Madonna and Brad Pitt. Madonna, so it is rumoured, will be reading a book and going for a jog, while Pitt is said to be planning to drive a car. The prospect is certainly enticing.
Critics of the Celebritarium argue that it panders to a vacuous obsession with celebrity and that it represents a dumbing-down of Mallorca. But how you can dumb-down the already dumbed-down isn't entirely clear. Those on the left wing in Mallorca have condemned it for including celebrities who don't speak Catalan and who will not be shown making pa amb oli. However, the Celebritarium is in line with the tourism agency's strategy of celebrity tourism, and for once the agency appears to have got its strategy right.
Moreover, the Celebritarium offers a genuine all-year tourism attraction (despite the possibility of Lembit Öpik). Yes, it may have necessitated much of the Tramuntana being blown up in order that it could be built, but then no one much would ever have taken any notice of all that World Heritage site stuff. Better to get rid of the mountains and forget all the nature and culture malarkey, as the real culture is celebrity. That's what the punter wants, and in the Celebritarium he can have it, 365 days of the year.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
All I Want Is A Photograph Of You
Robert Cornelius has a niche in history. An early pioneer of photographic technology, a self-portrait of Cornelius was one of the first, if not the first, photo taken of a person. The year was 1839; the place, Philadelphia.
Cornelius, and other early-movers in the art and science of photography, would have had no idea what they were unleashing. Almost two centuries on, and the human race and its environment has become a continuum of incessant snapping. We are photography. Homo Kodakiens.
The camera is arguably the greatest invention ever. The technology has formed the basis for record and for revision, no more so than nowadays; digital photography makes images two-a-penny and photographic software can alter images in a way that Stalin's airbrushers could never have imagined.
In Mallorca, where would we be without the camera? It has benefited from the same brilliant light in capturing land- and seascapes as that which inspired the post-impressionist school of art in Pollensa in the early twentieth century. It has been the medium for thousands, millions of the photographic cliché: the view to and from the Calvari oratory in Pollensa town; the pine tree hanging off-centre of frame as the lens scans the sweep of Puerto Pollensa's pine walk; the shadow thrown onto the horse promontory of Cala San Vicente's "Cavall Bernat". The cliché of image is as repetitious as the superlatives of adjectives that describe the scenes with the unthinking rote-speak of brochures and websites.
As focused on and clicked as the scenery are the reproduced descendants of Robert Cornelius. People. Mallorcan society, in its widest sense, appears at times to exist for one purpose - to have its picture taken. Little of this is what you might call photo-journalism; it is imagery for the sake of imagery. Its repetitiousness, its pose-style is as loaded with déjà vu as the tourist snap of the pine walk or other so-called "iconic" landscapes.
One such is the photo of long tables, disappearing into the distance, at which are seated any number of uninteresting people with dreary expressions who have gathered together to eat something. There is a recent good example of the art; a Partido Popular lunch in Campos, with, in the foreground, María Salom and José Bauzá. It is the same shot as is regurgitated from the memory cards of suppers at annual fiestas. Who on earth cares?
Politicians are, naturally, the worst when it comes to muscling into frame. The default politician photo comprises several of them, standing shoulder to shoulder, inaugurating something, standing on a platform, making some declaration or other. Just one problem with these photos is that many of the subjects, the blokes especially, are so badly dressed. Jeans really aren't politician attire, but they are in Mallorca. And the wearers look as though they've just walked in from the fields or the building site, which is probably because they have.
No more idiotic in the formulaic, side-by-side, on-stage photo is one from Artà the other day. It looks as though the whole town is in it, celebrating the almost completely unnewsworthy fact that the town has finally got round to having a tourism website. I exaggerate the numbers. They are not the whole of Artà, but they are that great that they equate to a World Cup football squad. It is so supremely old-fashioned and silly, you half expect them to launch into a chorus of "Back Home". This is photography by parish newsletter, which just about sums up the level of local politics and the sophistication that it attracts and displays.
But worse, far worse, are the photos of alleged VIPs and celebrities. They form a constant collage of the dicky-bow, the low-slung, the suntan, the champagne flute and the expensive trip to the hairdressers. These are the snaps of the faux-"Hello", misguided notion that anyone is actually interested. They are interested, if the subjects happen to be famous, but not when they are the famous unfamous or the simply unfamous. Most you have neither heard of nor care about, and if you have heard of them, you would probably prefer not to have. It is these images, though, which speak more, far more about Mallorca than the landscape clichés. Well, about a Mallorca, at any rate.
In 1839, Robert Cornelius conducted an experiment. One would doubt that he had in mind his own vanity. But what he unleashed, other than merely matters of record, was the vanity of others. One does have to distinguish between the photographing of Mallorcan society and of society Mallorca. The latter is the domain of the vain and the vaininglorious. The act of the photographer is not to inform an audience but to bow to the bows and frills of the subject. But most of this act is irrelevant, superficial and shallow; as shallow as the subjects through the lens and with even less depth of focus.
All I want is a photograph of you, something to remind me. Actually, I don't.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Cornelius, and other early-movers in the art and science of photography, would have had no idea what they were unleashing. Almost two centuries on, and the human race and its environment has become a continuum of incessant snapping. We are photography. Homo Kodakiens.
The camera is arguably the greatest invention ever. The technology has formed the basis for record and for revision, no more so than nowadays; digital photography makes images two-a-penny and photographic software can alter images in a way that Stalin's airbrushers could never have imagined.
In Mallorca, where would we be without the camera? It has benefited from the same brilliant light in capturing land- and seascapes as that which inspired the post-impressionist school of art in Pollensa in the early twentieth century. It has been the medium for thousands, millions of the photographic cliché: the view to and from the Calvari oratory in Pollensa town; the pine tree hanging off-centre of frame as the lens scans the sweep of Puerto Pollensa's pine walk; the shadow thrown onto the horse promontory of Cala San Vicente's "Cavall Bernat". The cliché of image is as repetitious as the superlatives of adjectives that describe the scenes with the unthinking rote-speak of brochures and websites.
As focused on and clicked as the scenery are the reproduced descendants of Robert Cornelius. People. Mallorcan society, in its widest sense, appears at times to exist for one purpose - to have its picture taken. Little of this is what you might call photo-journalism; it is imagery for the sake of imagery. Its repetitiousness, its pose-style is as loaded with déjà vu as the tourist snap of the pine walk or other so-called "iconic" landscapes.
One such is the photo of long tables, disappearing into the distance, at which are seated any number of uninteresting people with dreary expressions who have gathered together to eat something. There is a recent good example of the art; a Partido Popular lunch in Campos, with, in the foreground, María Salom and José Bauzá. It is the same shot as is regurgitated from the memory cards of suppers at annual fiestas. Who on earth cares?
Politicians are, naturally, the worst when it comes to muscling into frame. The default politician photo comprises several of them, standing shoulder to shoulder, inaugurating something, standing on a platform, making some declaration or other. Just one problem with these photos is that many of the subjects, the blokes especially, are so badly dressed. Jeans really aren't politician attire, but they are in Mallorca. And the wearers look as though they've just walked in from the fields or the building site, which is probably because they have.
No more idiotic in the formulaic, side-by-side, on-stage photo is one from Artà the other day. It looks as though the whole town is in it, celebrating the almost completely unnewsworthy fact that the town has finally got round to having a tourism website. I exaggerate the numbers. They are not the whole of Artà, but they are that great that they equate to a World Cup football squad. It is so supremely old-fashioned and silly, you half expect them to launch into a chorus of "Back Home". This is photography by parish newsletter, which just about sums up the level of local politics and the sophistication that it attracts and displays.
But worse, far worse, are the photos of alleged VIPs and celebrities. They form a constant collage of the dicky-bow, the low-slung, the suntan, the champagne flute and the expensive trip to the hairdressers. These are the snaps of the faux-"Hello", misguided notion that anyone is actually interested. They are interested, if the subjects happen to be famous, but not when they are the famous unfamous or the simply unfamous. Most you have neither heard of nor care about, and if you have heard of them, you would probably prefer not to have. It is these images, though, which speak more, far more about Mallorca than the landscape clichés. Well, about a Mallorca, at any rate.
In 1839, Robert Cornelius conducted an experiment. One would doubt that he had in mind his own vanity. But what he unleashed, other than merely matters of record, was the vanity of others. One does have to distinguish between the photographing of Mallorcan society and of society Mallorca. The latter is the domain of the vain and the vaininglorious. The act of the photographer is not to inform an audience but to bow to the bows and frills of the subject. But most of this act is irrelevant, superficial and shallow; as shallow as the subjects through the lens and with even less depth of focus.
All I want is a photograph of you, something to remind me. Actually, I don't.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Saturday, March 06, 2010
Celebrity Love Island: Faces in Mallorca
Imagine the excitement. True celebrity comes to Alcúdia. Has photos taken. Appears in newspapers. Who can it be? Who is that ageing and wasted figure? Maybe it was rather apt that Ekaterina dubbed him an "evil goblin king". There is more than a touch of the folklore grotesque, after all, though an Ent from "Lord of the Rings" might be more appropriate. "The Ents ate only liquid food. They were not immortal but they were very old." Did The Ents do a bottle of spirits a day before entering rehab one more time? A tree, especially an old tree, seems right for a Wood. A face of bark.
Ronnie Wood was in town. Possibly still is. With his Brazilian polo coach. Some liaisons just seem very strange. Don't whatever you do, Ana, let Ron near a local establishment that may or may not be frequented with leggy Russian blondes. He was ok at Satyricon. Only a name for Bacchanalian. That's all. Restaurant to the stars; oh, and me. What a shame. A week or so later and one could have got an autograph. It could have had pride of place alongside my Don Van Vliet signature (and that's Captain Beefheart for those of you who may not know).
I like Ronnie Wood. Yes, he may have done the dirty on a wife who had tried nobly to keep his life together, but there is something satisfyingly reprobate about a 60+ year-old behaving badly, even if he is now on the wagon - again. Maybe. Ronnie, before he joined The Stones and morphed into his friend Keef, was in The Faces with Rod. At a time when Rod was worth listening to, i.e. before he turned into a cabaret act. The Faces put on one of the greatest live shows I have ever seen.
Ron's brief sojourn in Alcúdia proves that A-listers can even find their way to those parts of Mallorca which are not the Redknapped "authentic" celebrity-lunch land of Portals Nous. An A-lister of character, to boot. One can only but hope that he does not suddenly announce that he has found a love for the island. It is hugely disappointing when those of admirable controversy appear to mellow and are quoted thus. "Admits to having spent an increasing amount of time on the island and has fallen in love with the place. The 'Notting Hill' star admits to having fallen in love with the holiday hotspot many years ago." Fell so in love, it had to be admitted twice - in succeeding sentences ... in so many words. All hail good subbing or indeed original copy. Whatever. But thus overboarded "The Bulletin" in gushingly celeb tones as it splashed Rhys Ifans over the front page and said he would be living in Mallorca. All this love, and he runs the risk of being made a promotional "face" or, worse still, playing charity golf tournaments in Santa Ponsa. No, Rhys, we don't want you, or Ron, professing enduring love. Just say, it's alright, I suppose (preferably in Welsh), give a shrug and scuttle off the front pages. What Mallorca needs are not vacuous statements or air-head It-girls. Offensive charm offences. Altogether more interesting and entertaining.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Ronnie Wood was in town. Possibly still is. With his Brazilian polo coach. Some liaisons just seem very strange. Don't whatever you do, Ana, let Ron near a local establishment that may or may not be frequented with leggy Russian blondes. He was ok at Satyricon. Only a name for Bacchanalian. That's all. Restaurant to the stars; oh, and me. What a shame. A week or so later and one could have got an autograph. It could have had pride of place alongside my Don Van Vliet signature (and that's Captain Beefheart for those of you who may not know).
I like Ronnie Wood. Yes, he may have done the dirty on a wife who had tried nobly to keep his life together, but there is something satisfyingly reprobate about a 60+ year-old behaving badly, even if he is now on the wagon - again. Maybe. Ronnie, before he joined The Stones and morphed into his friend Keef, was in The Faces with Rod. At a time when Rod was worth listening to, i.e. before he turned into a cabaret act. The Faces put on one of the greatest live shows I have ever seen.
Ron's brief sojourn in Alcúdia proves that A-listers can even find their way to those parts of Mallorca which are not the Redknapped "authentic" celebrity-lunch land of Portals Nous. An A-lister of character, to boot. One can only but hope that he does not suddenly announce that he has found a love for the island. It is hugely disappointing when those of admirable controversy appear to mellow and are quoted thus. "Admits to having spent an increasing amount of time on the island and has fallen in love with the place. The 'Notting Hill' star admits to having fallen in love with the holiday hotspot many years ago." Fell so in love, it had to be admitted twice - in succeeding sentences ... in so many words. All hail good subbing or indeed original copy. Whatever. But thus overboarded "The Bulletin" in gushingly celeb tones as it splashed Rhys Ifans over the front page and said he would be living in Mallorca. All this love, and he runs the risk of being made a promotional "face" or, worse still, playing charity golf tournaments in Santa Ponsa. No, Rhys, we don't want you, or Ron, professing enduring love. Just say, it's alright, I suppose (preferably in Welsh), give a shrug and scuttle off the front pages. What Mallorca needs are not vacuous statements or air-head It-girls. Offensive charm offences. Altogether more interesting and entertaining.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Remember My Name
Are you a celebritist? I'm not sure if I am using the word as it is meant to be, but as it is a word of recent invention (indeed I thought I had invented it until I googled it and found that I hadn't) it can probably mean what you want it to mean. I'm going for this meaning: one who has a fascination with celebrities. It sounds better than a celebrophile, the reverse of which would be celebrophobe. I guess I'm one of the latter. There must be grounds for there being such a state as "celebridiction". "Celebridict", one with an addiction to celebrities (Oxford English Dictionary); and before you go and check I have indeed made that up. At least I think I have.
Someone should start celebritist tourism. In Mallorca. Come to the island and see the celebrities at play. There are thousands of them, seemingly. Great hordes of them at charity golf days or shopping for donkeys with sombreros. How many have I ever personally seen? Er. I did once see who I thought was Pauline Quirke in the old Tango, but maybe it wasn't her or was a Pauline tribute act out for a chicken supper. The perils of being Pauline, or not as the case may be. I quite like Pauline Quirke, in a quirky way. Had I been a celebritist, though, I would have rushed up with a paper Tango place mat and insisted on an autograph and bored her rigid by reeling off my favourite episodes of "Birds Of A Feather". I might even have been a Pauline celebridict, convinced of Pauline's part in my past life. Remember that Little Britain character? The one David Walliams played who was obsessed with the late, lamented Mollie Sugden and who ended up killing Mollie with a knife hurled across a restaurant? I wouldn't wish that on Pauline.
The name of the Quirke-meistress has cropped up - once again - in our favourite local newspaper. Her academy hosted a couple of celebrities. Who they? No idea. But they are celebrities because it said they were. And then there were some others, one of whom was Steve Wright. Steve Wright? Sid the Manager and Voiceover Man in tow? Em, well no, because it wasn't that Steve Wright. Indeed it wasn't any Steve Wright. It was a Steve wrong. From his photo I wouldn't have had a clue. That was given by the text. "Steve, a drummer with Style Council." Steve White, not Wright. Such is the fame of celebrity that no-one gets your name right. Or wright. Or wrong. But I still wouldn't have known who it was, not from the face anyway. Paul Weller yes, a twenty-odd-years-removed Mick Talbot possibly, but the bloke who played the drums? Not a chance. Maybe it wasn't him at all. He just said he was, and got his name wrong, or wright.
All these soap stars (so-called), all these children's show presenter stars (so-called), all the never-were pop stars (so-called). Do I care? What do you think? Now Clarkson, that was a different matter. He's funny and he's interesting. Unlike some totty from "Hollyoaks" who might pitch up at some Calvia-based charity thrash, he is someone you might wish to pay attention to. (Actually you may wish to pay attention to the Hollyoaker, but for different reasons.) James May as well. I could of course say that I went to university with James May, which would be rather economical with the truth. He went to the same university as me - at a different time. I had no knowledge of the chap until he started tagging along with Jezza. At university I had a mate who used to do tricks on his moped, like riding through hoops of fire. He was the son of a celebrity, but I'm not telling you who.
But maybe I just move in the wrong circles. The chances of encountering Michael Winner are remote, about as remote as him ordering a full English at the likes of The Foxes Arms or Yummy Yummy. "The fried egg was historic." Nevertheless, celebrity tourism would be a winner, with or without Michael. They could gather all the celebs in a Celebritarium and run excursions. Watch the stars eating a three-course meal. See them sitting around. Be amazed at them having a drink and going for a slash. And there would be musical accompaniment to this spectacular of the celebrity mundane. The drummer would of course be Steve Wright, or even White.
Fame? They're going to live forever at the new Mallorca Celebritarium.
QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Eric Clapton (Cream), Stevie Winwood (Traffic), Ginger Baker (Cream) and Ric Grech (Family). Today's title - this is a line from what? The last line above gives it away.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Someone should start celebritist tourism. In Mallorca. Come to the island and see the celebrities at play. There are thousands of them, seemingly. Great hordes of them at charity golf days or shopping for donkeys with sombreros. How many have I ever personally seen? Er. I did once see who I thought was Pauline Quirke in the old Tango, but maybe it wasn't her or was a Pauline tribute act out for a chicken supper. The perils of being Pauline, or not as the case may be. I quite like Pauline Quirke, in a quirky way. Had I been a celebritist, though, I would have rushed up with a paper Tango place mat and insisted on an autograph and bored her rigid by reeling off my favourite episodes of "Birds Of A Feather". I might even have been a Pauline celebridict, convinced of Pauline's part in my past life. Remember that Little Britain character? The one David Walliams played who was obsessed with the late, lamented Mollie Sugden and who ended up killing Mollie with a knife hurled across a restaurant? I wouldn't wish that on Pauline.
The name of the Quirke-meistress has cropped up - once again - in our favourite local newspaper. Her academy hosted a couple of celebrities. Who they? No idea. But they are celebrities because it said they were. And then there were some others, one of whom was Steve Wright. Steve Wright? Sid the Manager and Voiceover Man in tow? Em, well no, because it wasn't that Steve Wright. Indeed it wasn't any Steve Wright. It was a Steve wrong. From his photo I wouldn't have had a clue. That was given by the text. "Steve, a drummer with Style Council." Steve White, not Wright. Such is the fame of celebrity that no-one gets your name right. Or wright. Or wrong. But I still wouldn't have known who it was, not from the face anyway. Paul Weller yes, a twenty-odd-years-removed Mick Talbot possibly, but the bloke who played the drums? Not a chance. Maybe it wasn't him at all. He just said he was, and got his name wrong, or wright.
All these soap stars (so-called), all these children's show presenter stars (so-called), all the never-were pop stars (so-called). Do I care? What do you think? Now Clarkson, that was a different matter. He's funny and he's interesting. Unlike some totty from "Hollyoaks" who might pitch up at some Calvia-based charity thrash, he is someone you might wish to pay attention to. (Actually you may wish to pay attention to the Hollyoaker, but for different reasons.) James May as well. I could of course say that I went to university with James May, which would be rather economical with the truth. He went to the same university as me - at a different time. I had no knowledge of the chap until he started tagging along with Jezza. At university I had a mate who used to do tricks on his moped, like riding through hoops of fire. He was the son of a celebrity, but I'm not telling you who.
But maybe I just move in the wrong circles. The chances of encountering Michael Winner are remote, about as remote as him ordering a full English at the likes of The Foxes Arms or Yummy Yummy. "The fried egg was historic." Nevertheless, celebrity tourism would be a winner, with or without Michael. They could gather all the celebs in a Celebritarium and run excursions. Watch the stars eating a three-course meal. See them sitting around. Be amazed at them having a drink and going for a slash. And there would be musical accompaniment to this spectacular of the celebrity mundane. The drummer would of course be Steve Wright, or even White.
Fame? They're going to live forever at the new Mallorca Celebritarium.
QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Eric Clapton (Cream), Stevie Winwood (Traffic), Ginger Baker (Cream) and Ric Grech (Family). Today's title - this is a line from what? The last line above gives it away.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Friday, March 14, 2008
Celebrity Squares
"I'm a celebrity, look at me." There is little sadder than the celebrity who insists on shouting his or her celebrity from the rooftops or from the newspaper and magazine pages than the media themselves that fuel the whole phenomenon or those that the media insist are fascinated by all this stuff - the reader.
Mallorca's media, the mags and papers, love all this stuff. Why? Who gives a damn? This weekend, we are told, a bunch of knights are pitching up in Deia: Sir Andrew Lloyd-Webber has invited the likes of Sirs Roger Moore and Michael Caine to his 60th birthday thrash. Good for him. I, for one, couldn't care less. The only thing one could say is that at least these are A-listers, which is more than can normally be said for the Mallorcan celebrity.
Some of these celebs are not so much obscure as totally in the dark. They tend to be entertainers who may or may not have made it beyond a cabaret evening somewhere on the island. I haven't a clue who they are and have nil interest in knowing who they are. Then there are those celebs with some claim to fame, usually prehistoric. Take Tom O'Connor for instance. He's the turn at a "celebrity lunch" taking place at the end of the month and will doubtless provide the local press the opportunity of filling some copy with a gushing report. When you can't think of something better to write, then find a celeb, any old celeb, and hammer out a page or two. When Ron Atkinson was here for a charity do last summer, he got three pages (or was it four?).
Mallorca has of course been helped by the real celebs. The house buying of German super models and tennis players and of the likes of Michael Douglas all conspired to give Mallorca a more up-market image, but the C-listers and those who do not even make a letter of the alphabet are just frippery. Their celebrity is shallow, as is the interest in them.
Well I was looking for an excuse for this, and yesterday's quiz question sort of gives me it. Apropos of very little, other than as a continuation of a theme earlier in the week, namely socialist politics, Alastair has told me that the chair of the Dutch socialist parliamentary party is called Martinus Kox. Nothing exceptional about this, but apparently he insists on being known by a diminutive of his Christian name ... Tiny. Tiny Kox. And diminutive would be about right. Just as well he 's not a celeb.
QUIZ
Yesterday - Alistair. Today's title - who was the presenter?
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Mallorca's media, the mags and papers, love all this stuff. Why? Who gives a damn? This weekend, we are told, a bunch of knights are pitching up in Deia: Sir Andrew Lloyd-Webber has invited the likes of Sirs Roger Moore and Michael Caine to his 60th birthday thrash. Good for him. I, for one, couldn't care less. The only thing one could say is that at least these are A-listers, which is more than can normally be said for the Mallorcan celebrity.
Some of these celebs are not so much obscure as totally in the dark. They tend to be entertainers who may or may not have made it beyond a cabaret evening somewhere on the island. I haven't a clue who they are and have nil interest in knowing who they are. Then there are those celebs with some claim to fame, usually prehistoric. Take Tom O'Connor for instance. He's the turn at a "celebrity lunch" taking place at the end of the month and will doubtless provide the local press the opportunity of filling some copy with a gushing report. When you can't think of something better to write, then find a celeb, any old celeb, and hammer out a page or two. When Ron Atkinson was here for a charity do last summer, he got three pages (or was it four?).
Mallorca has of course been helped by the real celebs. The house buying of German super models and tennis players and of the likes of Michael Douglas all conspired to give Mallorca a more up-market image, but the C-listers and those who do not even make a letter of the alphabet are just frippery. Their celebrity is shallow, as is the interest in them.
Well I was looking for an excuse for this, and yesterday's quiz question sort of gives me it. Apropos of very little, other than as a continuation of a theme earlier in the week, namely socialist politics, Alastair has told me that the chair of the Dutch socialist parliamentary party is called Martinus Kox. Nothing exceptional about this, but apparently he insists on being known by a diminutive of his Christian name ... Tiny. Tiny Kox. And diminutive would be about right. Just as well he 's not a celeb.
QUIZ
Yesterday - Alistair. Today's title - who was the presenter?
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
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