Rihanna stole the show again at the American Music Awards 2009, where she wore that dress and shot out red laser beams as she danced. Moritz Waldemeyer is the head designer behind the outfits that are now worn by all the top stars, including Kanye West and Madonna.
digital swagger
The ambassador of digital fashion design was born in East Germany, trained up in the UK, and is now internationally renowned for collaborating with the most current and popular icons of the commercial entertainment industry.
See an example of how Moritz makes his laser light-show line of clothing:
See the Rated R, RnB royalty in action:
If you ever fancy heading to pick up one of Moritz’s digital designer wears, don’t forget to travel the Waldemeyer way:
Christina Aguilera has dropped back a little bit (out of the spotlight). From a sexy little pop princess, to a MILF. To comming back to our Cd’s & Tv’s & Charts. The future sounds like Christina Aguilera, well at least according to the singer, it does as she gets ready to drop her new album in March (YAY).
In an interview published in Marie Claire (the American version, where the editor still accepts the use of Photoshop and Hawko isn’t on the cover), the pocket-sized poppette with the big pipes says her new album Bionic “is all about the future”. She credits hanging out with her two-year-old son Max as her musical inspiration for just wanting “to play and have fun”.
The new tunes have been described in the mag as a little bit electro, while lead single ‘Glam’ is a “poppy, hip-hop inflected throwback to Madonna’s ‘Vogue’.” Collaborating with Santigold, Sia and Goldfrapp, the future is starting to sound pretty bright for Aguilera.
Just in case the music comeback doesn’t pan out, she always has a blossoming movie career to fall back on. Currently filming Burlesque (a film about, er, a burlesque singer), Xtina is playing make-believe with the likes of Cher and Kristen Bell. Well if Britney can make a movie… In an interview published in Marie Claire (the American version, where the editor still accepts the use of Photoshop and Hawko isn’t on the cover), the pocket-sized poppette with the big pipes says her new album Bionic “is all about the future”. She credits hanging out with her two-year-old son Max as her musical inspiration for just wanting “to play and have fun”.
On August 1, 1980, Mtv launched with the rallying cry “ladies and gentleman, rock and roll!” and made television history with the Buggles Video Killed The Radio Star, followed by You Better Run by Pat Benatar.
Mtv was, at the least, a revolutionary idea. It introduced us to great artists such as The Police, Duran Duran, Madonna, and Billy Idol. The network also broke color and success barriers with the airing of Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean. Jackson would later go on to have massive success with the music video genre right up until his death in June 2009.
According to the BBC, what Mtv did was allow the record companies “to market and package bands to a much greater degree than before.” “MTV was born partly out a backlash by the music industry in an attempt to boost sales” says pop music lecturer Simon Warner.
This push also enabled record companies to push their bands through videos without relying on live performance, which musicians of the past heavily relied on. It also gave the 80’s a fresh start in music by ushering in acts such as the Eurythmics, U2, and Tears For Fears.
With that said, here is some of the best videos that were ever aired on Mtv.
Every man should be born again on the first day of January. Start with a fresh page. Take up one hole more in the buckle if necessary, or let down one, according to circumstances; but on the first of January let every man gird himself once more, with his face to the front, and take no interest in the things that were and are past.
– Henry Ward Beecher
As is fairly obvious by now, I’ve been examing Self for a few days now. Normally I don’t do new year resolutions other than vague notions of ‘losing weigh, looking after health, doing more exercise, save money, travel more’.
This year, however, is a different year. I’ve never been in these circumstances before, never been diagnosed with depression before (even though the past few years it’s clear it was building up). I always thought I felt sad because I was unsatisfied with my lot, that I could be happier if I was more social, lost weight, saved more money etc, hence the vague resolutions.
But those resolutions were never kept. For one, I had no willpower. I was lethargic and felt it was just all too damn hard. I got spurts of determination but spurts aren’t enough, determination needs to be consistent.
This year I’m going to do the following. If I succeed, great. If I fall, I’ll just get up, learn and try again.
Obviously the first thing on my mind is to stop lashing out irrationally at those close to me, who don’t deserve it. If I feel angry, WALK AWAY and ask why I’m feeling angry. Often I’m not angry at anything in particular but my head is such and I’m still trying to come to grips with this new landscape that I feel a sense of “WHY FUCKING ME?!?” It would be so much easier if it all went away, of course, but it’s not going to, it’s here and it’s high time to learn to cope, strategise, deal with it.
Learn to stand on my own two feet and be independent again. I used to be so independent — emotionally and mentally. Perhaps I isolated myself a bit too much at times, but I was independent. Now I need to distinguish between dependency on someone and independency. I have to remember how to do that and I’m confident I will. At the same time, I must not isolate myself again.
I never really did like talking to a shrink that much. I felt no connection. It was helpful — to a point but I was never fully comfortable because they were complete strangers. I need a connection, know something about the person behind their profession. Unless I can find a shrink who reveals some personal side of her/himself, I may have to seek alternatives such as massages to relieve tension and stress. I’ll keep searching.
It’s no big secret that mental health is closely related to physical health. So, yes, it’s really time to do the whole bloody diet and exercise thing. For real. I eat relatively well (except when hot chips are present) but I lack exercise. Now I’m back in Brisbane, I’ll start swimming again in the communal pool. Start walking again. I used to do a lot of walking but in the past year that died away as parts of me felt like dying.
I know many friends and family are going to laugh at this one but I must get into a better sleeping pattern. With more exercise, I will sleep better — that was always the case with me. Nowadays I lie awake and can’t turn my brain off. I need to do relaxing exercises that the last shrink taught me and switch my brain off. If I’m thinking of something too much, I’ll jot them down in a note book so that I can get it out of my system for the night (it’s incredible how writing down things, even in point form, helps). Earlier nights (except weekends!) and earlier mornings (also except weekends!).
That’s all I’m going to aim for, for now. I don’t want to set such high expectations because they’re unrealistic. Baby steps. Get back on track again. I’ve made one great big change by moving to Brisbane, I can do others too but slowly and surely.
Oh, one more:
Save for trip overseas end of 2011/beginning of 2012, especially road trip in the USA. I’ve long wanted to do that and I had been saving well for it but, like everything else, it got pushed aside. It’s time to start planning for that again. Start focussing on one of the more enjoyable things I like: travelling. After that will come the rest of the world but I need to see my friend in the USA first. (Hi Kel!)
So. Pretty personal stuff because what if I don’t keep these resolutions and it’s all here — all these resolutions in public and I fail?
Oh well. I’m only human. I figure by making it so public and open, important people in my life will see my sincerity and determination to try. I’ve also lost enough time. This is not my year to shrug and say, “whatever”. This is my year to say, “If I fall, I’ll just get up again.” Over and over.
I got home from work this evening and wasn’t ready to tackle the undertakings of homely chores, so instead I made myself some hot chocolate and sat down for a movie night. After a browse through the movie collection, I went with A League of Their Own. A baseball classic (everyone knows the story so I won’t go into details) with a host of stars involved. Madonna has a few great lines and Tom Hanks does a superb job as Jimmy Dugan, the Rockford Peach manager. I don’t think I need to go into my rant about how much I love Tommy, but he’s pretty much awesome in everything he does. It’s a perfect movie to half-heartedly watch on a Tuesday night
Stop the press. Guy Ritchie in New-Film-Not-Crap schocker. Cor Blimey, Guv-nor. Granted, it’s Batman Begins transplanted to 19th century London (plot to destabilise social fabric by chemically terrorising the establishment, reveal of master villain at conclusion to set up a sequel, preternaturally gifted detective whose attendant is more socially capable and reasonable than he is…), but it moves at a good pace and remains just about old-fashioned enough to entertain without “re-imagining” (that noxious neologism beloved of marketing copy-writers eager to play down the shafting they’ve just given to a famous name) the Holmes franchise.
The first thing that you’ll notice is the bitter-chocolate colour palette that makes everything a bit muddy. Publicity stills from the film cover this up, brightening the tone and colourising its murk. Initially, it felt like the dirtiest, ugliest-looking mainstream blockbuster I’d seen in years (I mean that in a good way), but it’s very effective in breaking many associations with other depictions of 19th-century London. Even if it doesn’t convey a strong historical sense through verisimilitude, it manages it through strangeness and the refusal to dress up like a BBC Dickens series or a Tim Burton fantasised tour of London streets. It’s all let down a little by the contractual obligation to end on a famous landmark (the partially built Tower Bridge, which is signposted at various points in the movie), but for the most part there’s an impressive continuity of visual tone.
The plot, alarmingly, concerns a secret religious sect planning to seize the reins of British power by supernatural means. It’s a bit much, when a more intimate bit of murder mystery would have done for starters, but it allows for an interesting clash between Holmes’ extreme, if eccentric rationalism and the spectre of superstitious terror against a backdrop of a newly industrialised England. I wish they’d explored that angle further, but you can’t have everything, right?
Robert Downey Jr was a wholly logical choice for Holmes, the fictional character more frequently portrayed onscreen than any other (IMDB lists more than 200 portrayals); he’s a distinctive, charismatic presence enough to distinguish himself fearlessly from all the other Holmeses, giving the detective an obsessive compulsive energy that serves as an explanation for his brilliance: he just can’t help trying to explain unresolved phenomena that pass before his sensorium, sorting them into stories that make sense. Arthur Conan Doyle’s books eulogise Holmes as an intellectual genius; this version reclaims his abilities as closer to other movie superpowers – useful, but accursed. An early scene shows him alone in a restaurant, struggling to still his twitching impulses to study the people around him, fighting his compulsion to examine the sounds and gestures that assail his eyes and ears. It’s a highly efficient way of getting to the nub of the character and describing his need to surround himself with people who “get” him, even if it compromises his integrity. Downey Jr seems to have been channeling his energy away from substance abuse and self-destruction and into these kinds of nervy, big-gesture acting jobs, so there was always a danger that he wouldn’t inhabit the role of Holmes, but rather straddle it like Slim Pickens on a nuke, kicking it to giddy-up. Thankfully, he pitches it just right, staying charmingly unhinged, believably driven, without tipping over into Jack Sparrow panto-damery (although they share a puzzling penchant for guyliner).
One of the few traces of Guy Ritchie’s previous form (the others being a number of mockney thugs and a slow-fast-slow-fast camera during action scenes) is the complete lack of interest in the agency of women. Poor Rachel McAdams, made up to look uncannily like Kylie Minogue on the promotional poster, and a bit more like Brooke Adams in Days of Heaven in the film. Her Irene Adler is meant to be a feisty, brilliant match for Holmes, her former lover, but she is used mainly to prove his heterosexuality in the face of an obvious dependency on Watson that might otherwise have spilled over adventurously into sexual ambiguity, and finally as a bargaining chip between enemies. Similarly, Kelly Reilly (who I’m told is a fabulous, acclaimed stage actress yet to find a role to adequately show off her talents) is used only as a pivot point for the Holmes/Watson relationship.
I can’t be the only one who was surprised to see Hans Zimmer’s name on the soundtrack album, because it’s mostly excellent folky jigs that keep step with the lo-tech approach to the story, but there are some excesses of rhythm and synths towards the end, in sympathy with the visuals’ inevitable slide into ropey CGI and vertiginously placed showdowns. That the film survives these compromises without too much stink is a sign of Ritchie’s grasp of the material – there is still way too much brawling for my taste, when the real pleasure of Holmes stories was always the baroque mental intricacy of his deductions, but at least it is built not on franchise frameworks of conventional plot developments but on the steady banter of two lead actors (I still can’t muster the enthusiasm to say a lot about Jude Law, but he’s perfectly solid here, unstretched and all the better for avoiding any grandstanding attempts to bring Watson to the fore or even give him a strong personality – he knows enough to let Holmes play the star attraction). It’s not a great film, more of a trial run for a possible series of more interesting sequels (acknowledged in the way they save the big reveal of the obvious star villain for the follow-up…), but could it be that Ritchie has deliberately spent the last decade knocking out worthless, parasitic movies in order to soften up audience expectations for his mainstream breakthrough? No. But it’s a thought. Certainly, it would be nice to think that his separation from Madonna freed his mind and allowed him to … Hey! We don’t do celebrity gossip here at Spectacular Attractions. Let’s just say that Guy Ritchie no longer being a stooge for the Kabbalah cult makes it newly OK for him to make a film in which a religious con artist and his secret sect attempts to take power in London and gets his ass kicked by a bit of rational inquiry.
Wow! Divorcing Madonna has had a salutary effect on Guy Richie’s film-making. This steam-punk version of the famous detective has Holmes and Watson as a pair of sexually charged crime-fighters. Clever camera angles, jump cuts, forward-reverse and slow-motion scenes help build dramatic tension and accelerate the pace but the deus in machina is seamless and slick, never self-consciously arty.
The industrial revolution settings bring to life the “dark satanic mills” as awesome scenes for high-octane action, until the machinery and machinations therein become a character themselves. For the first film in years, Jude Law seems awake and fully engaged by his role as Watson, while Robert Downey junior is deranged and disheveled – yet physically, pumped and ripped to perfection – claiming the brilliant yet tormented Holmes as his character by right of brilliant acting. While I’m hanging out for the sequel, I’ll curb my cravings by seeing this one again and again.
Can;t wait to see it again – and totally forgive him for Swept Away. Hope that clunker was taken into account in the divorce settlement. She owes Guy more than one for that.
