Mondy
April 17, 2006
arts. michigandaily. com
artsp age@michigandaily.com

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In defense
of Britney

BACK TO THE DmTY D
THE WHITE STRIPES RESTORE OUR FAITH IN MUSIC

f there's no experience in a woman's
life as sacred, fulfilling and life-
affirming as the profound act of giving
birth, then the ubiquitous princess of pop
should be feeling a cozy inner glow this
week. Britney Spears, our culture's prima-
ry source of male fantasy, female adoration
and preteen anorexia brought forth a sweet
little new fragrance this past week. And
she popped out a kid to boot.
On Wednesday afternoon, Us Weekly
was the first to call the pop singer's first
successful step toward overpopulating
the earth (her musical attempts at world
destruction now
foundering).
It's been a
long journey
for Spears, and
America has
walked every
mile by her side:
From media
reports of her
dalliance with
the family man AMANDA
Federline, to ANDRADE
short-lived out-
rage at his desertion of pregnant girlfriend
Shar Jackson, and finally to rabid media
reports of her reported pregnancy. In the
home stretch, we've enough of the bikini-
clad, barefoot, baby mama.
So, Britney, congratulations. We
loved you circa 1999, and we totally
dig that Curious scent. We're just con-
fused at the moment because, for all
the media hype surrounding the birth
of your little progeny, no one is entirely
sure why you're still here.
When Spears first hit airwaves across
America, she was decked out in a naughty
schoolgirl uniform with pink poofs in her
plaited hair, a cheerleader routine and a.
somewhat unorthodox plea for domestic
violence. As fetish novelty acts go, Britney
was a hit and an overnight superstar. The
moral implications of her image were dis-
cussed ad nauseum, with outraged soccer
moms decrying the singer's coy and sub-
versive sexuality.
Then came the hits - "Crazy,""Oops, I
Did it Again," "Stronger" - and they kept
coming. And the schoolgirl that everyone
knew was a fad became a pop-culture icon,
the definitive face, moniker and, for bet-
ter or for worse, voice of a generation. She
sings, she acts, she peddles perfume and an
unattainable image of perfection.
She even remains famous when all the
substance of her empire has crumbled
around her. Britney hasn't headlined a major
hit since "Toxic." Even her overhyped duet
with that other pop-culture diva, Madonna,
did little more than make headlines that
nobody read. With album sales down and
her tantalizing little-girl routine three years
past its prime, Spears did the least logical
thing in the world.
She got married. In fact, she wed her
multimediaempiretojustaboutthescrubbi-
est, scruffiest and all-around skeeziest man
you could imagine into existence. Kevin
Federline, backup dancer and expectant
father, despite all objections of morality,
sanity and basic hygiene, won the heart of
America's most famous pop tart, and the
joyful couple embarked on a career-crush-
ing whirlwind of public adoration.
If that weren't enough, the whole circus
was documented for the UPN reality show,
"Britney & Kevin: Chaotic." The tedious
celebration of love failed in its debut, and
only got worse in subsequent airings.
Combined with sagging album sales and
a nonexistent film career, Britney's only
profitable venture remains herperfume line
- where, as J.Lo so thoroughly proved,
the famemongers go when they've only got
fame left to sell.
So what exactly happened to Spears in
the past few years to reduce her from kit-
tenish sex goddess to public punching bag?
A string of bad songs didn't hurt. But above
this was the simple fact that the illusion of
Britney Spears has been irrevocably shat-

tered. The Britney Spears that headlined
sold-out concerts but demurely proclaimed
her virginity; the Britney Spears who dated
Ken-doll-Justin Timberlake and always
had some excuse to show off those impec-
cable abs - that Britney is gone forever.
Today, Britney Spears is the knocked-
up, Southern-fried has-been who walks
into public bathrooms barefoot and dress-
es like a 13-year-old vying for the atten-
tion of the Steak 'n' Shake waiter. And for
all this, and not in spite of it, I have to say:.
I love Britney.
Because Spears is unique among the
image-obsessed, fame-hoarding universe
of cardboard celebrities. In a world where
Tom Cruise has to brainwash a cookie-
cutter starlet to pose on his arm and where
Brangelina play peek-a-boo with the pub-
lic to plug their umpteenth bad movie
in the honne of mutual career salvation.

By Alexandra Jones
Daily Arts Editor
CONCERT REV Ew
The block-long line that stretched outside down-
town Detroit's Masonic Temple Theatre Saturday
evening hummed with the
anticipation of Jack White's The White
homecoming. A cross-sec- Stripes
tion of the fans who'd contrib-
uted to the Stripes' success at At the Masonic Temple
home and abroad was there to
welcome them: MTV viewers and Clear Channel lis-
teners of all ages who caught on with "Seven Nation
Army"; chaperoned 14-year-old girls who helped
their latest album, Get Behind Me Satan, debut at
No. 4 on the Billboard charts; Detroit music fans and
indie kids who helped start a candy-colored phenom-
enon half a decade ago.
You're Gonna Need a Bigger Room
Some remember a time when nobody knew who
The White Stripes were. This was before hipsters, this
was before good music had become a trend, irrevoca-
bly associated with white belts and bad haircuts. But
that was bullshit, of course; really good music doesn't
stay under the radar for long, and all it took to get in
on the secret was $14 and a pair of open ears. White
Blood Cells is such a brilliant album that we should've
known we couldn't keep it to ourselves. But most us
weren't old enough to remember when David Geffen
bought grunge, and Modest Mouse wouldn't lend their
music to a minivan commercial for afew years.
Everyone files into the imposing, labyrinthine
hall. Fans drift in to the sound of pop up-and-comer
Brendan Benson. Sure, he's another Detroiter, but
Benson's performance is a clean and tight; his set of
easy-to-like songs goes by quickly. Two trim-suited
stagehands, faces hidden under black fedoras, strike
the set, and the Stripes' tableau begins to take shape.
Dichromatic silhouettes of palm fronds cover cloth-
draped columns; a backdrop depicts the band's lat-

est symbol, a white apple, rising over a body of
water. Red-and-white timpani, organ and marimba
appear; Jack's three guitars lean up against the three
red-and-white cabinets the way miniatures might sit
in a room of a dollhouse. White-painted palms, the
kind you'd place in a corner of your living room,
flank the stage.
Everybody's Reaction Is Changing You
So when Elephant - an album we had salivated at
the thought of, an album that had the dual misfortune
of being White's first misstep and spawning "Seven
Nation Army," the band's first mainstream single
- hit stores, we tried to be happy. We were glad, we
told ourselves, that people had finally caught on to
this awesome band, that they were getting credit for
giving us three fantastic albums. But it sounded like
something was missing: The blues infusion that had
fueled White's songwriting identity so well seemed
to outgrow its inspirational role to become shtick,
to substitute for the kind of innovation that marked
White Blood Cells and De Stijl. And then I noticed
that none of my friends really listened to their White
Stripes records any more, and the next thing we knew,
Jack was getting into car accidents with Bridget
fucking Jones. Fans can be fickle, demanding and
judgmental - but I think a lot of young music aficio-
nados felt as though the band's albums were being
made for someone else.
All the lights drop. We're prepped for the perfor-
mance with a few seconds of dark - and then, wear-
ing what looks like full Knights of Columbus regalia,
Jack emerges. Meg follows; she's got on the same
Captain Hook-style hat but wears her usual hot-girl
leather pants and tight t-shirt. Their eyes lock.
Same Boy You've Always Known
As if to reach out to his hometown audience,
which welcomes the band onstage with a roar that
momentarily blocks out their music, White launches
into the simple, dirty "Let's Shake Hands," a single
originally released in his Detroit days. "Let's Shake
Hands" becomes Get Behind Me Satan's opener,

Jack White and Meg White perform at Detroit's Masonic Temple Theatre on Oct. 1, 2006.

"Blue Orchid," which slides into the anthemic riff of
the haunting "Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground."
Meg smacks the skins with her usual joyful toughness
while the intensity with which Jack plays knocks off
his admiral's headgear. His costume spoiled, he takes
a lap around the back of the stage and removes the
coat of his uniform, whips it offstage and out of sight
and charges up the center of the stage with the defi-
ance and determination of a bullfighter.
After banging out "St. James Infirmary Blues"
on piano and singing with all the earthy elegance of
a '30s cabaret singer, White thrashed through the
rough beats of "Little Bird," returned to the organ
bench still wearing his guitar and played both parts to
"I Want to Be the Boy."
A tense, disjunct "Instinct Blues" opens the impos-
sibly long encore, but the performance has yet to

come to its true climax: White belts out the "Citizen
Kane"-inspired "The Union Forever."
Finally, White takes up mallets and begins the
exotic, floating marimba intro to "The Nurse." Meg
makes loud splashes on her cymbals for the hits while
Jack stomps a strategically placed pedal that releases
feedback from his electric guitar. After "We're Going
to Be Friends," "Red Rain," "Forever for Her Is over
for Me" and a version of "Hotel Yorba" that has fans
on the main floor dancing and clapping, White asks
us to sing along with a line in "Boll Weevil" - "He's
lookin' for a home." White has made it clear that he
knows just where - and who - his home is.

- Oct. 4, 2005
Jones is a former Associate Arts Editor
and Weekend Magazine editor.

Buffy' laid to rest in
final season DVD set

By Adam Rottenberg
Daily Arts Editor

After seven seasons of vampire slay-
ing, "Buffy" came to its bittersweet end
in 2003. Though
the series still
maintained its cre-
ative edge, signs of Buffy the
decay were begin- Vampire
ning to show. Slayer: The
Now the critically Complete
lauded and fanati- Seventh
cally beloved cult Season
series' last season 20th Century Fox
has arrived on
DVD, enabling
fans to relive the slayer's final apoca-
lypse-averting battle.
Those not in the cult often have dif-
ficulty understanding how a seemingly
inane concept could correlate to such
brilliant television. The show's seventh
season demonstrates the series' unique
abilities of combining genres, creating
suspense and most of all, providing com-
pelling, three-dimensional characters.
Fans of the series are provided with a
season-long story arc that wraps up lin-
gering plot threads, reunites old favorites
- including Angel (David Boreanaz) -
and provides plenty of action and drama.
Season six was heralded by many as dis-
turbingly dark for Buffy and her friends.
From murder and rape to fear and loneli-
ness, season six tackled the more morose
topics of life. In response, the last season
attempts to bring back some of the fun
that was lost, yet it still maintains plenty
of melancholy throughout.
The big bad, the archnemesis for sea-
son seven, also appears to be a response
to the poorly received nerd trio of season
six. The First Evil looms over Sunnydale,
threatening to end the world. To best pre-
serve the continued existence of human-
ity, Buffy enlists the help of the potential
slayers - young girls who may be the
next chosen one when Buffy dies. While
the arrival of a number of new characters
helps breathe some life into the status
quo, they more often than not are mun-
dane and whiny, detracting from the core
group of characters that the audience
holds dear. Not all of the new editions to
the cast are drab holdovers from season
six. Andrew (Tom Lenk), one of the vil-

lainous nerds, adds some much-needed
comic relief to the mix, especially since
Xander (Nicholas Brendan) and Anya
(Emma Caulfield) take secondary roles
in the final episodes.
Season seven is not the show's
best, but it's far from its worst.
Continuing its strong cinematic
aesthetic and keeping abreast with
the pop-culture-laden dialogue, the
series shows little signs of decline.
The final battle is appropriately epic
and there are even a few unexpected
casualties along the way.
The "Buffy" discs feel like a well-
oiled machine. Fans will already be
well aware that there is one com-
mentary track per disc as well as
assorted featurettes on the season
and actors. It would have been nice
for 20th Century Fox to add some-
thing extra for the final set, but it is
still a sufficient amount for a TV-
on-DVD release.
"Buffy: Season 7" is a fitting conclu-
sion to a seminal series. While the final
stake may have been plunged into the
heart of the series, there is still the hope
that the Buffy-verse will go on. Few
series dared to create a world as vivid and
deep as "Buffy;' and the final season ties
together most of the loose ends.
Show: ****I
Special Features: ***I
- Dec. 12, 2004
Rottenberg is a former Managing
Arts Editor.

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