|
This years brit awards passed without any interesting events. It was just the usual record company back patting ceremony. Last year, however, something rather special happened...
In the corner, the emperor stood firm - clad in white and wearing open toed sandals whilst sipping grape wine from a golden chalice. Cocker entered from behind a pillar and swiftly descended silently behind the unaware posing ruler. Cocker drew closer down the marble stairs of the temple. From behind his back he pulled a microphone stand and as the emperor preened indulgently Cocker thrust the stand into his back. Guards appeared drawn by the emperor's indignant cries of dying horror. They rallied round the smirking Cocker, but their swords stayed down. "The emperor is dead, long live the emperor!" they all roared, "All hail Cocker the triumphant." Jarvis Cocker emerged a national hero for his part in the Jackson / Brit Awards chaos - His drunken and bored dancing and the ensuing chase finally shattering the myth of stardom and fame, and it must have really narked the hideous egotist Michael Jackson to have his mythical persona interrupted by some lanky, Northern upstart who he had probably never heard of (I mean, could you imagine the Jackson residence being blasted by the joyous pop of 'Babies' or 'Sheffield Sex City'.) It was this act of hedonistic pleasure which demonstrated the difference between the idols view of the stars and the stars own perception of themselves. Jackson appears to have become his own myth, stuck in ever changing media images and unable to relate to society due to the status he has created and the perpetual status and icon building images he invents for himself. His performanceat the Brits was the final case - when he came on as a mixture of saint/healer and even god-like figure. It could be argued that at least he attempts to use his position to educate people about the problems within the world, but this display seemed a more screwed up perverse need to be his own press cuttings and to transcend the whole superstar iconography to an even more inflated level than before. Jarvis Cocker, on the other hand, although possessed of the inspiring charisma and natural star presence, appears to lack the same distortions of vision as Jackson. Cocker is related to us because he still celebrates through his songs the parts of life which affect everyone - the flawed beauty in everything, the ordinariness away from the MTV sponsored hallucinations of Peter Andre / Boyzone / Whitney Houston etc's perception of life as some fluid mass of perfect sexual encounters and happiness. One can imagine someone like Mariah Carey sitting on a gold lame couch in her home watching herself screeching her music-lite whilst she belches and swears at her husband, who sits next to her trying to combat his brewers droop. Cocker writes for the everyday, he dives deeper into the everyday, he draws out all the little details normally passed over, and puts them to the forefront thus exposing them into something larger. All the hidden depths of people and their activities are spied on like he's a detective - brought to the forefront and analysed with the detached charm and wit that Cocker is so reviled for. Jarvis Cocker is the star who has touched and appealed to all the class system in Britain, as his eccentricity is held at an equal balance by his humanness and attention to life away from the airbrushed greed and stereotyped false mendacity of a world comprised of half-truths, misconceptions and perfect relationships. And with that, Cocker claimed his crown and basked in the adoration of his followers as the stranger lurked behind in the shadows, biding time, waiting for the moment which might happen soon. Simon Brown, Exmouth |
