Guilty.
by Your Diva, Robin Pastorio-Newman

We all have our guilty pleasures. You know, the ones you'd rather not admit to before a subcommittee and a court stenographer. Your Darling, Your Diva, Your One True Love allows as how she'll indulge her love of a truly good story under some pretty odd circumstances. Witness:
 
Coworker: You don't believe a word she says, do you? The girl's a terrible liar!
 
Moi: Oh, no! She's a tremendous liar, and I can't wait to hear how this story ends.
 
So it goes, Your Italian Ice is reading a delightful book, Wicked, the Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire, and can't wait to get back to it. The story is full of humanizing elements and fascinating plot twists. So exciting! This rapture does not mean Your Creamsicle has failed to notice an interesting story in pop music, starting with a curious event.
 
One day, something truly unexpected happened. Your Gelato was tooling about town in her green jalopy when she heard a song on the radio. And she liked it. The song turned out to be by the Ravonettes, someone new to the local ether. The next day, the same band was on Letterman. So we tuned in. The Raveonettes are three men and one statuesque blonde woman, and as we listened we noticed something familiar about the music. It sounded like ...
 
... it sounded like ...
 
... Like X, frankly.
 
And we didn't mind, which was surprising because generally, when people pilfer other people's things, that's called stealing, and it's supposed to be very bad for your musical karma. Like, you're supposed to reincarnate as an RIAA flatfoot or something.
 
Anyway, an unscientific poll of five twenty-somethings found that none of them had ever heard of X or any of its members, but all of the music-buyers in this sample thought the Raveonettes were "kind of catchy."
 
In the context of this poll, Your Tofutti also heard the words, "You know what band I sort of like? I'm a little embarrassed. The White Stripes." Since then, everyone Your Frozen Cheesecake has asked about the White Stripes - a good healthy number of persons, she assures you - has uttered a similar opinion. People are embarrassed, but they like the White Stripes. And each mortified music fan has a different idea of what the band sounds like, anywhere from Sparks to The Stranglers, and everything in between. It's as if each unwilling listener hears something completely different in the songs. Weird, eh? It's as if music executives found a magic wand, waved it, and we all pogo to a different tune.
 
It's an odd story, and Your Klondike Bar can't write the ending. That's for you to script. Meanwhile, back to the book, the ruby slippers and one righteous green babe on a broomstick. We know how it ends, sort of, so there's nothing left to tell but the story itself.
 

©2003 Robin Pastorio-Newman