... so begins this reworking of the late Robert Palmer's signature song - reworked in praise of an Irish sausage brand.
Most of us, perhaps, recognise the ideas referenced in Palmer's lyrics. Standard stuff. The notion of romantic love at times causing us feelings of dependency leading to what seem like physical symptoms. Tightness of throat, lack of sleep etc. Palmer's metaphor of addiction to some intoxicating drug was not novel when this old favourite was selling like crazy back in 1986, and it will doubtless be endlessly reworked by future songwriters. Applying all of this in a paean to processed meat, though, just sits at the silly end of what goes on in the world of advertising. But, as is observed on one website usually dedicated to debunking the pomposity, dishonesty and smugness of advertising, this is just unpretentious fun. Much more fun than just paying a few Z-listers of dubious brand relevance to say "this product is good", which is an approach not unknown down at the low-rent end of consumer advertising.
What's more, it's quite well done:
Perhaps McWhinney's sausages are as delicious as their makers would have us believe. What definitely is delicious though, is the way in which this Palmer parody (homage?) falls short of a very faithful aping of the original. It's about the girls. Palmer's models maintain the icy hauteur of the catwalk when asked to do something that is essentially pretty silly. So they do an obviously bad job miming job with those instruments. But they never quite look ridiculous because the poise is that of the professional high fashion clotheshorse. The models are robotic, distant and immaculately styled.
Perhaps McWhinney's sausages are as delicious as their makers would have us believe. What definitely is delicious though, is the way in which this Palmer parody (homage?) falls short of a very faithful aping of the original. It's about the girls. Palmer's models maintain the icy hauteur of the catwalk when asked to do something that is essentially pretty silly. So they do an obviously bad job miming job with those instruments. But they never quite look ridiculous because the poise is that of the professional high fashion clotheshorse. The models are robotic, distant and immaculately styled.
The expressions on the faces of the sausage band, though? Not quite in the same league. Especially the keyboard player. But this just adds to the charm of this bit of nonsense for me. Right, how about a sausage sarnie...?
No comments:
Post a Comment