The Queen of Pop and the National Subconscious

This weekend a whole nation sat glued to the TV screen watching what is arguably one of the largest crowd pullers on prime time TV. This nation loves to think it is at the centre of the known universe and was clearly aware that other nations were peeping in to steal the show. Superbowl XLVI in Indianapolis did not fail to disappoint and the New York Giants took home their fourth trophy – the Americans still kid themselves is a “world” trophy notwithstanding the fact that bar Canada no other country really bothers with the sport.

Having said that, the audience enrapturing effect of the Superbowl is such that the few hours it is on TV are also the hours that attract millions of dollars of advertisement with companies splashing out for a few seconds of “world” viewership. It has long become a ritual to compare the best ads specifically made for the Superbowl breaks and this year’s ads featured such greats as Clint Eastwood. The item that we found was worth most attention though was the half-time show – this year it was up to the Queen of Pop to entertain the general public and oh did she do so.

There she was pulled onto stage by hundreds of muscled men in full Egyptian attire and Madonna sat in the middle of it : a Liz Taylor for the fledgling teenies. Crisis? What Crisis? The Superbowl ad breaks and half time are a celebration of capitalism and its successes. Advertising mingles with pop entertainment and celebrates all its successes. Here was the survivor of Pop’s Royal Couple (thirteen days older than King Michael but boy was she alive and kicking) threatening to unleash musical extravagance as the audience reached for their Bud Lights. The spectacle was grand as it always is and bar the quasi-fall off one bit of the scenery there were no errors or wardrobe malfunctions (Janet style).

What about the music though? Well we might have had LMFAO backing Miss Ciccone for a little while but the repertoire of songs chosen by Madonna Louise (or for her to sing) was a flashback to greater days of economic growth and prosperity. Vogue with all its strutting and parading of fit bodies and flashy names coupled with Like a Prayer when love and hope almost guaranteed that we all had a right to bit of Hollywood. Let’s face it. This was not Lana del Rey’s  depressive Born to Die or Lady Gaga’s celebration of decadence and Judases. Whether consciously or subconsciously a choice to reminisce of brighter days had been made.

Those days are long buried under the reality shattering explosions of the twin towers of 9/11, under the financial disasters from Enron to Madoff and back. We might have wasted a whole decade reeling from the effects of such heavy strikes at the capitalist world. We’d love to relive the dream that began in the 80’s and ran riot in the 90’s though. For now all we have to link to that dream is the voice of the Queen of Pop. And that too… was the Superbowl.

Just like a dream, you are not what you seem
Just like a prayer, no choice,
Your voice can take me there.