Woman's work

Four things I love: Kate Bush, covers of Kate Bush, covers of Kate Bush by singers with alternative lifestyle haircuts, cover of Kate Bush by singers with alternative lifestyle haircuts in videos with ladies kissing. So with that, I give you Polish singer Pati Sokol singing “This Woman’s Work” by Kate Bush. I know very little about her because a) I do not speak Polish and b) her website is pretty sparse. But I do know that she is pretty, sings pretty and is kissing a pretty lady. And that is enough for me to have a pretty happy Wednesday.

From lesbians to Kelly

I don’t know much about much. But I know one thing for damn sure. Lesbians love them some Kelly Clarkson. Maybe it’s her feisty independent streak. I mean she sang “Miss Independent” after all. Maybe it’s her cathartic post-breakup song selection. Put on “Since U Been Gone” in a lesbian club and watch everyone – and I mean everyone – sing along. Maybe it’s her relatable everygirlness complete with Texas waitress backstory. That she never seemingly strives to be a size 0 makes me happy about the universe. Maybe it’s those rumors. Whatever, they’re rumors – I have no claim to knowledge about which team she plays on one way or the other. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that the gal can flat-out sing. No egg carriage or papal themes or fireworks tits required to keep our rapt attention. Whatever it is, us gay gals can’t get enough. So here’s to you, Kelly. May your breakup anthems keep gay gals singing to you at top volume in the car for years and years to come.

Stronger


Since U Been Gone


Behind These Hazel Eyes


Miss Independent

And, of course, nothing says you’ve made it with the lesbians like the Troubletones covering your music. Plus it’s five more weeks until “Glee” returns. So we have to pass the time somehow, and how better than with a little Kelly.

Gonna make it after all

While it may be hard to tell from the somewhat downbeat and grumpy nature of recent posts, things aren’t going too poorly for old Ms. Snarker in 2012. No, really, I mean it. No, stop laughing. Hey, now it’s getting rude. Come on, you could at least try to stop snorting uncontrollably. Kidding, kidding. But on the serious, this year has been – aside for standard-issue work stress and inconvenient technological setbacks – kind of lovely. So, for all of you somewhat appalled by my middle finger to the world from yesterday, please consider this a mea culpa of sorts. As the delicious delicious delicious Joan Jett can attest, one can be surly and happy at the same time. See, a gal can turn the world on with a smile and a snarl. Happy Tuesday, kittens. Love is all around.

p.s. Also, just because Joan Jett is hot as fuck, here’s a little something extra to go with today’s theme. Also, since it is a Tuesday, she is wearing a tank top that appears to be made out of black electrical tape. You’re turned on now, alright. Though possibly for another reason.

My Weekend Crush

So, remember when Leisha Hailey and Camila Grey were kicked off a Southwest flight for kissing? And we were all Rage! Indignation! Protest! That’s kinda hot! Because, let’s face it, the leading ladies of Uh Huh Her are kinda hot. All sorts of hot. And talented. And, yeah, hot. I’ve enjoyed Uh Huh Her’s seductive, melodic music from the start. Their sound is, for lack of a better word, sexy. I think “Explode” ranks among my favorite hook-up songs of all time. I’ve been a fan of Leisha’s music since before Alice Pieszecki was even a glimmer in Ilene Chaiken’s eye, when I found a Murmurs CD in the bargain bin and fell in love at first listen. But while Leisha has been out for ages, Camila only recently had an official coming out via Kissgate. So here we have this fantastic queer duo being fantastic together in public. Uh Huh Her made their national TV debut on Jimmy Kimmel this week. So now what we’ve known for years is being shared with the wider world, finally. And one would think they can only fall under their sexy spell as well. Well done, ladies. To celebrate, how about a kiss? What? It never hurts to ask. Happy weekend, all.

Bouncing bundle of B

And on the seventh day of the year 2012, it was said that a savior was born. A child of such pedigree its very presence could bring peace and prosperity to our planet. For behold and bow before Blue Ivy Carter. OK, fine, I don’t really care that much that Beyoncé and Jay-Z’s über baby has arrived. But I like Beyoncé. And I like Jay-Z. And we all know their baby girl will be President of the United States in 35 years. So, you know, it never hurts to start sucking up early. Also, if little Blue is anywhere near as talented as her mama and papa, well, perhaps the world is truly blessed after all. Welcome, Tiny B. I know no one likes to hear this about a parent, but, damn, your mom is hot like fire. LIKE FIRE.

p.s. Yes, this is the only kind of math I truly like.
p.p.s. And yes, this is yet another song off my mix tape. Apparently I will not stop until I’ve written about every last number.

My Weekend Crush

I have very few stead-fast winter traditions. I don’t put the decorations up on a certain day. I don’t roast chestnuts on an open fire. I don’t rush out to sled at the first fallen snow. But, come on, I live in California so that last one isn’t really my fault. What I do always do is open presents on Christmas morning (not Christmas Eve, that’s just impatient crazytalk). I always watch “The Snowman” with my family (well, when I’m with my family). And I always start playing Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson’s “Winter Song” on an endless loop. Here after a day of much turkey and lying flat, I finally feel ready to admit that winter is well on its way. So now, now I’m ready to press play. Something about this song with its delicate melancholy makes my heart just melt. It’s a harvester of light through cold, dark nights. I fell in love from the first second I heard it. And, once the season changes back, I fall in love all over again. Welcome, winter. Happy weekend, all.

Call your girlfriend, no, really

Remember last week when I was talking about us tiny humans sometimes doing beautiful things. Well, here’s another example. If you know Robyn, you know it’s kind of impossible to listen to her music without moving your body. The Scandinavian dancehall queen’s latest single is the incalculably catchy “Call Your Girlfriend.” I like it more each time I hear it. I also really enjoy her lack of pronouns past those of the eponymous girlfriend. OK, sure, I feel a little bad for said girlfriend. But, hey, the girl can’t help it. It’s different when we kiss. Anyway, the original version is just good, danceable fun. And if you saw this delightful Swede with the perpetually lesbionic hair perform it on Ellen a couple of weeks ago you know exactly what I’m talking about. If not, please enjoy.

Quick question: Is it just me or is Robyn wearing a girdle made entirely out of Calvin Klein underwear waistbands? Just checking.

Now, here is where the tiny human, beautiful thing part really comes into play. So, as us humans are want to do, we like to put our own twist on the original. So while trolling the depths of the series of tubes over the weekend, I happened upon this viral video of fellow Swedish singing group Erato doing a very special cover of “Call Your Girlfriend.” You could call it just an a capella version. But I won’t ruin it for you. Please, press play.

I know, right!? See what we tiny humans can do with beautiful voices, well-timed claps and a few empty cottage cheese tubs? Lovely, simply lovely. Well done, Sweden.

The BOY is mine

I think I’m in love. It’s all very unexpected, as these things often are. It happened suddenly, and took less than four minutes to take hold. But now, woo doggy, am I in deep. And, like any new love, I want to tell the whole wide world how happy I am. Oh, kittens, kittens – I’m in love with a BOY. Wait, wait – stop throwing things at me. It’s not that kind of boy, but BOY, a new female-fronted group from Europe. BOY is Swiss singer Valeska Steiner (above, right) and German bassist/guitarist Sonja Glass (left). The duo just released their debut album last night and I am smitten. Smitten, I say. And it’s not just puppy love. It is the real thing.

Lovely, no? Now, I’m not necessarily a believer in open relationships. But in this case I will made a definite exception. Because when you find something so sweet, how can you not share it with everyone? The ladies have a tender, jubilant sound. Intimate, accessible and with just the right amount of haunted. They remind me a little of Feist, which is never a bad thing. Also, heavens, are these two ladies pretty.

Now, like many relationships, I have someone else to thank for introducing us. So I will be eternally grateful to Emmy from Berlin who sent me an email about BOY. I opened her link in the deep, dark of the night expecting nothing only to discover untold wonders. In fact, this is what I found.

See? Love at first sight, I tell you. Also, notice the pronouns on that first verse? Such a kitten, so smitten.

Muppet Monday

Why are there so many songs about rainbows? Because rainbows are fucking awesome, that’s why. Now, when I first heard they were making a new Muppet movie, I was skeptical. Messing with beloved childhood memories is always a tricky proposition. But then I heard that Jason Segel was behind the project and I was really, really skeptical. Keep in mind, this news came out the same year as “Saving Forgetting Sarah Marshall.” So pretty much I knew him as that guy whose junk I saw way too much of. But, mostly, it was the beloved childhood memory thing. I cried the day Jim Henson died, I really did.

So then, as the movie developed, I was anxious to see what direction they’d go. The first trailer was perfectly charming. And now, well, their new parody trailer “The Pig with the Froggy Tattoo” has totally won me over. You had me at “Wocka. Wocka,” new Muppet movie.

The new Muppet movie also comes with a brand new Muppet album, which makes sense because music was such a big part of the original movies and show. NPR streamed the whole album last month. (Sadly, the stream is now over.) But, you can hear the very new, very different Muppet theme song by OK GO. When I first heard it, I hated it. Then it grew on me and I kind of dug it. Then I watched the video and I was a little “Nope, hipster nonsense.”

So, judge for yourself. I actually don’t mind the crunky synth wheeze of the new song. But for some reason when paired with the video it’s just not working for me anymore. I think it’s because the dude with the cap and beard looks more Muppety than the actual Muppets.

And, well, it is hard to improve upon something as flat-out sensational, inspirational, celebrational, Muppetationalas this.

OK, new Muppet movie. I’m going to give you a try. Just don’t go breaking my heart. I already have “The Rainbow Connection” to do that. Talk amongst yourselves, kittens. I’ll just be sitting on this log, reliving my childhood until the new movie comes out.

Independence Day

I can’t think of a better way to honor Independence Day than with a little Ani DiFranco and girls kissing. In fact, I feel like it’s our constitutional duty to celebrate the Fourth of July in this fashion. What did our Founding Fathers fight for anyway if not right for us to have a three-day weekend and use those three days to make videos of hot women kissing. At least, I think that’s what I remember learning in my high school history class. Maybe my textbook was different from yours. Anyway, I clearly used my time wisely this weekend and spent it making this. Please be gentle, it is my first (and possibly last) music video compilation. (Also watch it in HD, it’s prettier that way.) No one else had Ani’s “Independence Day” set to anything. So, you know, I kind of had to. Happy birthday, America. And, you know, happy Monday everyone else.

Little folk singer, redux

While researching a post for Tumblr over the weekend (yes, I haven’t even been on Tumblr a week and I’m already breaking my fun, easy, no words rule), I rediscovered the distinct joy that is listening to Ani DiFranco all night. It’s not that I don’t listen to her anymore. I do. It’s just with the advent of shuffle and Pandora and other such music mixologists, I tend not to listen to one artist exclusively anymore. (Well, that is unless I’ve just bought her CD and can’t stop playing it, cough, Adele, cough.) But I popped in Ani in the early evening and one album led to another and another and another. The rawness of “Imperfectly.” The hurt of “Dilate,” The irreverence of “Little Plastic Castles.” The growth of “Evolve.” I (and imagine Robe Lowe’s character from “Parks & Recreation” saying this here) literally have all of her albums. Yes, all of them. I’ve seen her probably a half dozen times. I even got to interview her once. It will remain a high point in my life forever.

While I didn’t really discover Ani until college, she has since been with me through almost all of my major life developments. Graduating. Finding a job. Moving across the country. Breaking up. Hooking up. Watching presidents come and go. Fighting for change. Growing older, growing up. Each record, especially the older ones, plays like a record of a time and place in my life. Sometimes they remind me of a specific person, sometimes they remind me about myself. But it’s always fascinating, like musical archeology. You uncover layers of your life that you thought were long buried. But once dusted off, given a wash and shined up, the emotions rush back like yesterday.

Just a few favorites, out of too many to count.

Shy


Dilate


Little Plastic Castles


Swan Dive


Evolve

Oh, Ani. You’ll be in my neck of the woods this week and I won’t be able to make it. But I’ll be there in spirit, singing along to every single word. I’m sure many a gal – gay or otherwise – feels the same way. Or perhaps you have another musical time capsule. Well, by all means, don’t be shy – share.

All of these lines across my face

Usually when actresses also sing, I cringe. Do they really have enough talent to stretch across the multi-hyphenate actress-singer? And usually the answer is a resounding no. Some are just exceptionally mediocre at both (cough, J-Lo, cough). Others try admirably with mixed results. (Oh, Gwyneth, I loved “Landslide,” but you’re no Loretta Lynn.) But then there are those who deserve the hyphen and then some. In fact, they’ve got too much talent for a simple hyphen to contain. They’re your Judy Garlands. Your Barbra Streisands. Your Kristin Chenoweths. And then, there is our Sara Ramirez. Heavens, that girl can sing. Like, really, really, really sing. Of course, you knew this already since she got her start on Broadway. She went to Juilliard School. And there’s always that Tony on her mantel in case you still don’t believe.

So it’s only for the sheer power of Sara’s voice that I plan to watch the very special “Grey’s Anatomy” musical episode March 31. I’m not a Grey’s watcher (though no disrespect to those who do – sexy people in scrubs are all good). But I do enjoy the Callie and Arizona coupling and I’ve kept an eye on what’s happening with their impending bundle of joy. The previews for the musical episode look crazy emotional and then there’s Callie ominously singing through the hallways.

Wild guess, but I think something bad happens.

To promote the musical episode, and as a generous gift to the universe, Sara sang a song from the episode at The Grove earlier this week. It was live, unedited, unAuto-Tuned. And it was perfect – flaws and all. She apparently did two takes. I rather prefer the first, especially when her voice breaks.

Though, as a public service, here is the second take shot up close. You know, just in case you want to count Sara’s pores. Those are some gorgeous pores.

I love Brandi Carlile’s music anyway. But to hear the unbridled sexy that is Sara put so much emotion into what is ostensibly a big lesbian anthem is pretty otherworldly.

OK, “Grey’s Anatomy.” I’m in. Bring on the melodrama. Just let Sara sing.

p.s. How do I get this job? I’d apply more than a little gloss to those lips.

[Photo via weltintoweeds Flickr]

Pitch imperfect

Auto-Tune is the Photoshop of music. Just as the perennial picture perfector is ruining our perceptions of beauty, reality and basic human anatomy, Auto-Tune is dismantling our expectations of music. It’s turning the human voice an unrecognizable mishmash of synthesized wails and moans. The voice isn’t a uniform instrument with perfect pitch. It doesn’t modulate mid note. In fact, it’s those very breaks and imperfections that Auto-Tune covers up that can make music so memorable. Instead, Auto-Tune makes it inherently forgettable. We shouldn’t treat voices like disposable instruments, easily interchanged with each other. Imagine Auto-Tuning Billie Holiday? The exquisite grate and slur of her voice makes it sublime. She makes us feel those rough edges, and they take us someplace that a computerized high C never could.

And the thing that’s most infuriating is that many singers don’t even need it. Just as fashion industry overcorrect the already impossibly beautiful (See: Kate Winslet), the music industry is overcorrecting the already impossibly good singers. Yesterday Jezebel pointed out that up-and-coming pop starlet (and out bisexual lady) Jessie J can actually sing. And she can. I saw her on “Saturday Night Live” and thought she was OK. But seeing her in this subway video is even more impressive (partly because the song choice is better).

Now compare that to her Auto-Tuned hit “Do It Like a Dude.”

Um, what? Are those the same singers? Why strip away that voice and turn it into a collection of electronic pops and whistles? Digitally enhanced is an oxymoron in this case, and many others.

Even some of the most egregious of the current crop of Auto-Tunites simply don’t need the digital enhancement. Like, and stay with me here, Ke$ha. Yes, Ke$ha. She of the Jack Daniels toothpaste. She of the perpetually smeared eyeliner. She of the “Get Sleazy Tour.” (Get Sleazy? Nice. Aspirational.) I have a strange soft spot for Ke$ha, which I have previously admitted much to my continual shame. It’s not her persona, which is intentionally awful. It’s that I think her songs are ridiculously catchy and almost whimsical. It’s like gummy ear worm candy. And whenever I feel particularly ashamed of singing along in my car, I unearth this video of a pre-fame, pre-sleazy Ke$ha.

Dammit, Ke-Dollar Sign- Ha can really sing. Like really, really sing.

Singing is a talent, not a digital experiment. Auto-Tune has made one of our most divine abilities into a boring exercise in perfection. Billie is what the human voice sounds like. This is heartbreak and triumph and our shared humanity. This is music. This is how we know we’re still better than the machines.

Sick sounds

Yesterday I stayed home sick. It wasn’t fun sick, where you throw on your jammies, watch daytime TV and get reindoctrinated into the Oprah cult. It was more like my body’s been hit by a truck, then backed back over, then hit again and then called a friend to come and hit me with another truck. I don’t think it was the flu, just the beginning of allergies. It’s basically spring here and everything has decided to bloom and mold all at once. So I took a bunch of Benadryl and basically was passed out all day. This is fascinating for you, I know. But bear with me. What the day did give me was the chance to listen to a lot of music, because I was too tired to watch TV. I could only handle once sense at a time: sounds or pictures or smells or touch or taste. So I listened, and when I got tired of my CDs I turned on Pandora. And then Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep” came on and I remembered, in an instant, why music could be so exciting. That driving beat, that commanding voice. So I dragged my weary body up from the bed, popped on iTunes and bought her new album “21” on the spot. So good, kittens, so good. So now, I’m passing my find along to you. You shouldn’t have to get hit by a metaphorical truck to enjoy some damn good music. Though, with a voice like that, it’s almost the same thing – though considerably less painful. Enjoy.

Case study

So Neko Case can’t get laid. OK, wait, let me rephrase that. I am sure Neko Case can and does get laid, but she’s not getting laid by groupies at the rate of her male singer counterparts. And, to extrapolate further, it seems no female musicians are getting laid at the rate, frequency and intensity of their male counterparts. There is, apparently, just no such thing as the male groupie. Salon did an interesting piece on Neko’s recent Twitter admission that “ladies in bands don’t get ANY action.” It’s interesting but also kind of a bummer because someone as talented and beautiful and smart and successful as Neko Case should be awash in whatever kind of sexual smorgasbord her heart desires. She is Neko goddamnfucking Case. Take her to bed immediately, men of this planet.

But it also illustrates a broader, equally bummer truth in our society. Most men simply find it easier to get action than most women. And this is especially true when it comes to smart, successful men and women. While men are awash in lady loving, their female counterparts find their options more limited. Why? Well, we could be here for weeks talking about sexual politics and societal patriarchy, power dynamics and gender norms. But let’s just mutually agree that this is a fact, like gravity and the impossibility of eating just one Pringle. Or, now that I think about it, Twizzler.

So here is the obvious follow-up question: Is this true to gay women? Does this mean we doubled down on the inability to get some? Or does this make it total cake? I can tell you from my own totally unscientific empirical observations, lesbians really suck at hitting on each other, even when none of the parties involved are famous. Obviously, someone needs to interview Tegan & Sara on this subject immediately. I have no idea whether lesbian artists have ardent and active fanbases willing to drop and fling their panties at them. I don’t know if they’ve got to hire double security to block the stage door or can saunter out into darkness unnoticed. I know I’ve seen many, many a lesbian performer on stage and have never waited outside of the tour bus to see if I could my own private encore. But then, I’m not really the groupie type. Though, as always, I would wait at the stage door to hell forever and always for just one shot at Tina Fey. (Had to put it out there one more time. You understand, universe.)

I guess, in a way, I’m a little glad that female musicians don’t partake in the bedroom buffet line that many of their male counterparts do, where they open the door and point. Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing wrong with sex for sex’s sake between two consenting adults. Sex is natural, sex is fun. Sex is usually best when it’s one-on-one. But mostly this is just because any more than one other person and the experience becomes a complicated timing exercise of how much and how well one spends attending to each separate partner – or so I’ve, um, heard. Right, where was I? Ever the ERA backer, I think her refusal to board this particular sexual gravy train should be entirely the female artist’s choice. As Neko tweeted after her groupie lament: “I realize for myself, I didn’t want to be hit on BY lots of men so much as I wanted to be hit on AS MUCH as men. Competitive inferior complex.”

Neko, darling, if you’re interested in testing your theory with the other team, I am more than willing to help. Point me to your stage door. I’ll be happily waiting.

Really, men aren’t lining up for that? God, they can be such idiots.

It Gets Awesome

This video made the rounds last month, yet somehow I managed to not watch it until just recently. It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested, it’s just at that point I was a tad It Gets Bettered out. (And, again, not that I have anything at all against the campaign – it’s wonderful and amazing and should go on forever and ever). But, you know, I know it gets better so I wasn’t sure I needed to hear it again. But then, out of my normal mix of insomnia and procrastination, I finally clicked the link I’d favorite for a rainy day. And, boy, was I thrilled I did. Not only is Rebecca Drysdale’s “It Gets Better” music video the funniest and cleverest (and danciest) of all the It Gets Better campaign, it’s also one of the most unexpectedly encouraging. So if you, like me, were suffering from a little inspirational burn out, please fight through the doldrums and hit play instead. I promise you, this video is the better we’ve been getting at – and then some. (Note: Mild NSFW language, so just wear headphones.)

Like I was saying, awesome. So awesome it’s been in my head for days – and I’m happy about it. Some of you might be familiar with delightfully naughty comedian Rebecca Drysdale already. But if it was your first introduction, my, wasn’t that a treat? Others of you will remember Beck D from her equally hilarious “The L Word Serenade” music video from a few years back. Not ringing a bell? How about a refresher. (Same NSFW language, so keep those headphones on.)

Damn, now that’s stuck in my head. And by “damn,” I mean “awesome.”

p.s. Obscure, but cool fact: “30 Rock” writer and fellow comedian Kay Cannon was a producer for this “It Gets Better” video. Everyone involved with that show is just continually high fiving a million angels.

Shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen

You know when you first hear a song and think, “OK, that’s dumb.” Then you hear it again and go, “OK, that’s dumb, but it has a good beat.” And then by the third time you hear it you’re singing the chorus at the top of your lungs in the car? Yeah, it’s like that.

So right now that song for me is “Whip My Hair.” There really isn’t anything to it. The title is two-thirds of the lyrics. In fact, on its surface the song’s pedigree is its most interesting attribute. You see, the insanely precocious half-pint whipping her hair back-and-forth like a pro is none other than Willow Smith, the 9-year-old daughter of Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith. Yes, that’s right, another one. The couple’s son Jaden was in “The Karate Kid” remake this summer and now Willow has a hit single. I swear, at this rate I’m pretty sure one of the Pinkett-Smith offspring will run for president in 2012.

What makes the whole hair whipping phenomena more interesting is its juxtaposition with the also just-released “I Love My Hair” video by Sesame Street. The cherry little number is an ode to African-American hair and, well, adorable. So damn cute.

So, well, you can see where this is all going? Yes, kittens, the inevitable “Whip My Hair”/“I Love My Hair” mash-up. Please, by all means, enjoy.

Not to over-intellectualize the reasons for one’s possible enjoyment for any or all of these videos, but - um, you know – sometimes a gal just wants her hair to look good.

My Weekend Crush

Few things stay beautiful forever. Photos fade. Paintings crack. Books yellow with time. Most music feels out-of-date a few weeks after it falls off of heavy rotation. But some songs stay beautiful. Some songs never age, always enchant. Yesterday my friend Lesley tweeted that “Fade Into You” was quite possibly the perfect song. And it is, it really is. For 4 minutes and 28 seconds Mazzy Star and the also forever beautiful Hope Sandoval take you someplace not of this Earth. Dreamy, moody, melancholy, achingly gorgeous. You don’t hear the song as much as it melts slowly into your body. Plus we could talk for hours about that tiny, downcast slip of a thing hiding behind her hair. And darn it, if that isn't the prettiest, saddest tambourine in all the world. While the song is 16 years old, its emotions are ageless. Whenever I hear “Fade Into You,” I just can't help it. I fall in love all over again. Happy weekend, all.

Burn, baby, burn

“I love the smell of napalm in the morning, it smells like victory.” Violence has always been a part of our popular culture. It’s as much an American pastime as baseball, apple pie and scurrilous Wall Street money grubbing. But when the lines blur so easily, so seductively between entertainment and anger, sex and violence, perhaps it’s time for a new hobby.

I’ve been bothered by Eminem and Rihanna’s “Love the Way You Lie” video since it debuted last week. Actually, I’d been bothered by the song since it came out several weeks ago. Is her rapping about, wait, yes, he’s rapping about how he and his wife used to beat the shit out of each other. All righty then. Now, granted, it’s unmistakably catchy. Eminem has always had a way with a hook. Still the song also follows the musical gimmick du jour of having a pretty female vocalist sing a few pretty verses in between all the hip hop. (p.s. “Ghetto Supastar” called and wants its idea back. Oh, and then “Rapture” called and said, “Not so fast with the ‘your idea’ stuff, Pras and Mya.”) But that’s all peripheral when it comes to the video. This video.

The video with Eminem and Rihanna in front of a burning house and Megan Fox and Dominic Monaghan burning said house down – metaphorically and plain old literally. The video that features two of the biggest celebrities with high-profile, highly volatile run-ins with domestic violence. The video that shows both Megan and Dominic hitting each other, making out with each other and, yes, catching ablaze with the passionate, crazy, angry intensity of their love for each other. Or is it hate? Whatever, have I mentioned it’s sexy?

The problem with “Love the Way You Lie” is not so much that it glorifies domestic violence as it wallows in the beauty of its rage. The video is pretty. It has Megan Fox and Rihanna, it can’t help but be pretty. The violence is, well, violence. But it’s also all-consuming, yearning and, yes, kind of beautiful. And therein lies the problem. Because through all the punched walls and tonsil hockey, Eminem also raps “If she ever tries to fucking leave again I’m going to tie her to the bed and set this house on fire.”

Which, I think we can all agree, is in no way beautiful. There’s too much sex in my violence. Love that burns the house down, that is the real lie.

Tank Top Tuesday: Lilith Edition

So yesterday I partied like it was 1999. Meaning, of course, I went to Lilith Fair. The show was great. The artists were great. There was such a great number of lesbians I thought maybe I got my dates wrong and stumbled on the Dyke March again instead. But no, it was just a bunch of amazing, amazing female performers who also happen to look amazing, amazing in tank tops. That is what I call a twofer. Though the one thing I did learn, I can’t bounce back from partying like it’s 1999 like I used to be able to in 1999. Hence, the lateness of my post. Please forgive me and my tired little brain.

Sarah McLachlanOh, Sarah. Even though every time you sing these days I have to fight the urge to adopt a stray puppy, I still love you. You, in your tank top, is better than ice cream.

The BanglesAs a teen I wasn’t sure who it liked more – delicate, doe-eyed Susanna Hoffs or tough, guitar-slinging Vicki Peterson? Now, as an adult, I know – why choose?

Miranda LambertFYI, country music girls do not look bad in a tank top. Not at all.

Colbie CaillatWell, something starts in my toes when I look at Colbie.

HeartSo, um, Fergie is wearing the tank top here. Proximity counts.

A Fine FrenzyRed hair, everywhere.

And here are a few I wish were in my lineup.

Brandi Carlile
Metric
Janelle MonaeYeah, I know this isn’t a tank top. But it’s only two days until Thursday. So consider Janelle a preview.

p.s. I think bikini tops should count as quasi tank tops. So now it’s a rule.
[Look for my full review of the show tomorrow this week on AfterEllen.com.]