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Apr. 30th, 2009

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I found a pair of headphones in a cupboard yesterday- and- on a whim- tried plugging them them into the tower- and now I'm wired for music for the first time in months. I told myself I didn't miss the music- but clearly I did because I'm more than happy to have it back. This morning I've been listening to a clip of K D Lang singing Hallelujah (posted by my friend [livejournal.com profile] wyrmwwd ) and it's stiffened my spine for the day.

The reason I didn't have music is a strange reason. We moved the computer from one corner of the room to another and the speakers became detatched and I couldn't work out which of the many combinations of jacks I should plug them back into. And since the business of plugging them in involved lying on a hardwood floor in bad light and hurt a good deal I just gave up.  Feeble, eh?

The headphones plug into the front of the tower. Easy.

Not having music meant I missed out on the Sarah Boyle affair, which I now see is turning sour. She's had a makeover and dyed her hair and Simon Cowell is reportedly angry because he can't patronise her any more. Or something like that. I never saw why I should care in the first place. She doesn't sing my kind of music. Divorced from its sentimental backstory her act is just something I'd hastily flip past if I came across it while channel-surfing. And I hate Simon Cowell with his manipulative ways and his kitsch.  Bread and circuses, people, bread and circuses.

But now I've got the music back I have watched the archive clip where she's singing for Michael Barrymore and he's lying on the floor trying to look up her skirt. Barrymore was the ur-Cowell- even more disgusting but considerably less canny.

Also he should have stood trial for murder.....

Talking about kitsch, I read a good article about it here.

Kitsch... is a heartless world. It directs emotion away from its proper target towards sugary stereotypes, permitting us to pay passing tribute to love and sorrow without truly feeling them. "It is no accident that the arrival of kitsch on the stage of history coincided with the hitherto unimaginable horrors of trench warfare, of the Holocaust and the Gulag -- all of them fulfilling the prophecy that kitsch proclaims, which is the transformation of the human being into a doll, which in one moment we cover with kisses, and in the next tear to shreds." Leni Riefenstahl's Triumph of the Will is kitsch's most exultant moment, its massed Nazis both adored and turned into statues.

Sorry, I'm feeling a little waspish this morning. We've had a hard few days and my hallelujah is cold and broken.

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