Move Like Jagger

So last night, a friend was performing in Gemaizeh to launch his new album - he's an up and coming rockstar - and we went to cheer him on! Okay, so maybe rock is not exactly his genre, but he certainly has the pipes to make it big. While listening to him croon on the guitar, Nickleback's 'Rockstar' was playing in my head, and since the whole directing thing didn't work out quite as I expected, I thought, what if I were rockstar instead?' I mean, I have good taste in music (what? no, I did not download ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ by One Direction. Really. What, this song? The one labeled 'What Makes You Beautiful' by One Direction? How did that get on my iPod, you ask? Um, I plead the Fifth.) Anyway, the point is, I really love music.

I’ll tell you another thing that no one else knows: I also love to dance. This is kind of a secret because I never do – in public anyway. I make exceptions, like my sisters’ weddings and such, but that’s it. When I’m out with my friends, I’m usually the one sitting. Sometimes, if a song I really love comes on, I stand up and do the dancing-for-dummies two-step. If I’m feeling really frisky, I’ll add a shimmy, but only a little one, otherwise I look like I’m having a seizure.

It’s kind of tragic that I’m so completely talentless in both categories. It’s like God said, “I’m going to create this really awesome person (yes, me!), make her absolutely passionate about everything from Mozart to Coldplay, but make her sound like a dying cat when she sings and a flailing fish when she dances.” Thus, Anissa was created.

To me, it’s a big cosmic joke that I can do neither to save my life. I mean, I would do it to save my life, but you know, it would be a definite struggle for anyone who had to listen or watch. Still, anytime I see one of my favorite bands rock it out, I think, if only I could do what they do. Then I go into a sort of trance and start daydreaming about what my life would be like if I were a rockstar. Hmmm, I feel a reverie coming…

… if I were a rockstar, I would be cool like Joan Jett, have the pipes of Billie Holiday and – to borrow a line from Maroon 5 – move like Jagger, but with better hair and cuter outfits.  My concerts would be legendary, and I’d go on tour with The Rolling Stones and have Aerosmith open for me. In fact, I’d become such good friends with the band members that they’d put me in one of their videos, where I’d be the hot girl who can dance.

… if I were a rockstar, I would live out my childhood fantasy of marrying Morten Harket from A-ha and then Simon Le Bon from Duran Duran (luckily, I let go of my George Michael crush a long time ago). I would totally bitch slap Justin Bieber just because his stupid hair annoys me and tell Katy Perry that, no, blue locks are not a good look for anyone, unless you’re a Smurf. I would advise Madonna that it’s time to retire her leotard and maybe start hanging out with guys who’ve hit puberty.

… if I were a rockstar, Lady Gaga and I would be BFFs – we’d record at least one duet together and do a video where I’d be the one wearing the outfit not made out of meat. I’d hang out with Bono. We’d wear sunglasses all the time, even indoors, and he’d think my idea of recruiting Christian Louboutin to his Buy RED campaign was absolutely brilliant. Then U2 would write a song about me and I’d be in the video, where I’d be the hot girl who can dance... again.

Yeah, if I were a rockstar, I would be able to sing, I would be able to dance and life would be just grand! 

Lebanese Don't Love Rock N' Roll

What is with Lebanese and their non-existent taste in music? I would say god awful, but that would be just a tad arrogant, no? Allow me to explain …. As this week has consisted of one holiday after the other, I have been stepping out on the town quite a bit with the usual suspects, give or take a new addition or two. As is usually the case, I get really bored with the going out scene mainly because the music at most places (with the exception of my favorite haunt in Monot) is so bloody terrible. It’s like people in this country can only like one song at a time, and they obsess over it for an entire season, so that it’s played over and over and over – you get the picture? – again until the mere opening bars start to make your ears bleed. But no matter how over-played the tune is, when it comes on at whatever club you happen to be at, Bimbo Barbie jumps on the table, ‘whooing’ until her shrieks break glass while Macho Man waves his hands up and down in his best ‘gangsta’ impersonation, with cigarette in one hand and whiskey in the other. Yes, tres cool. Ask them what this song is called or the name of the singer, though, and you will be met with blank stares.

Now, I’m not saying I have superior taste in music or anything - actually most people here hate my music, which is fine - but at least I have my own individual taste. I know the names of the songs I like and who sings them. I even have favorite bands – shocker! Okay, so I know this country has major problems that go way beyond no real music knowledge, but it would be nice to mention a singer and have the other person know who you’re talking about. There are a few exceptions, like Mr. B, for example. We don't have the same taste, but at least we can have discussions about different bands and genres. We argue a lot - he thinks British Pop is a genre on its own, I insist it's part of the Alternative group; he thinks The Clash rock, I think they suck; I think Moonlight Mile is the best track off the Rolling Stones' Sticky Fingers, he thinks it's the worst, etc. But at least I can have a conversation about the Rolling Stones with him ....

Which is totally not the case with MadGlam, who was at a club in London where a Rolling Stone - identity still unknown - was partying and she didn't even know who it was!! An actual Rolling Stone!! Can you believe it?
"Oh, I was at a club with someone from that band you like," she brought up nonchalantly.
"What band?" I asked.
"I don't know, the one on that t-shirt you wear."
"The Rolling Stones?? Was it Mick Jagger?" I asked, excitedly.
"Yeah, the Rolling Stones. No, no, not Mick Jagger," she answered, "it was the other one." Hmmm, very helpful.
"Was it Keith Richards?" She had no clue who that was, of course, and trying to get any further information out of her was about as effective as getting water from a stone - no pun intended - not surprising considering that she wandered onto the set of the latest Pirates of the Carribbean movie and thought it was a Halloween party ... where everyone was wearing the same costume, but that’s another story entirely.

I guess, then, that I'm only to blame when, on discovering that one of my all-time favorite bands Guns N' Roses will be playing in nearby Abu Dhabi, I asked her to go with me. (In my defense, I did ask Mr. US first, but he replied, "I only like two of their songs." Hmph!) MadGlam's reply? "Isn't that a clothing brand?"

I guess Huey Lewis was wrong - the heart of rock and roll is not still beating ... not in Beirut anyway!