Song: “Ain’t No Other Man”
Christina Aguilera must be exhausted.
Dan and I were discussing how Christina has been replicating Madonna’s career at such breakneck speed that we barely remember her Dick Tracy period. Dan then envisioned a ride at Disneyland where you went on the Madonna-Rama, something not unlike the Haunted Mansion, where you’d start at the Borderline, and then move through the life of Madonna — your car pausing briefly for a Mamet play; different colored wigs plopping on your head; the religious tilt-a-whirl; the black-and-white Truth-or-Dare room; the mirror where you look really, really, skinny; the star-studded Kaballah-Bot — and then you leave the ride feeling completely fulfilled and slightly British.
But it must be difficult for Christina to find a comfortable place in this world, because Britney swooped in early and took over where Christina started, only to become the best at White Trash tomfoolery, so there’s no way Christina could get back in there. We seem to have become unimpressed with the Latin Explosion, as I heard a Ricky Martin song last night and got nostalgic. I always feel weird when I’m nostalgic for something that has barely left our daily life. It’s why I don’t watch Best Week Ever. It reminds me how quickly time passes, how nothing will ever be permanent, and reminds me of Ralph Macchio’s dead, hazy face preaching to Ponyboy that nothing gold can stay.
Everybody pushed Christina out of the way. Madonna herself did it when she kissed Britney instead of her. All those Moulin Rouge girls danced right past her, so Christina can’t compare herself to Pink, Lil’ Kim or Mya, which means she can’t be badass, super badass, or… forgotten. It’s too late for Christina to seem new or shiny or multi-talented. And with the Pussycat Dolls taking over the Whore Pop slot (And yes, I am proud I worked “whore” and “slot” into the same sentence), Christina has nothing left to do but go back to being Christina, the fun one who can actually sing, the one who’s going to stick her toes in your crotch while you’re eating your Caesar salad.
I haven’t liked a Christina Aguilera song in a while. This one gets me shaking it, even when I do not want to shake it in the slightest, even when I want to sit very still and feel sorry for myself. This song starts, and my arm goes up in the air. This is how I know a song lives inside of me. It happens when I’m driving. One arm will involuntarily swing up to cheer, usually right when some horns kick in, or it’s going to the chorus. It happened during “Crazy In Love,” it happens during “Shake Your Rump“, and I can’t not do it (and I’ve tried), during “The Good Life.” I’m not saying this song is up there in importance. This is more along the lines of a really good Destiny’s Child song. Like when we couldn’t stop singing “Survivor,” (It’s been years since I read that page, and those lyrics still crack me up) or “Independent Women (Part One).”
I hope this song makes Paris Hilton cry.