Bullshit-Proof Vest Recommended: A Warning About Xavier Naidoo
The importation of American culture to Europe continues apace (or its exportation, depending on the continent where your financial interests lie). This year, Halloween, the Americanized (in the sense of commercialized) version of the ancient pagan Celtic feast, started a massive- and successful- assault on German consumers’ pockets and credit cards. The Gullible, who devour with uncritical fervour all morsels thrown them from across the Atlantic Ocean, have no one to blame but themselves for their exploitation, but I suspect that the point does not even occur to them. The one relevant question for them seems to be whether they can afford it. As Girls Against Boys put it in ‘Psychic Know-How’ (to be heard on their brilliant 1994 album, ‘Cruise Yourself’): ‘We need more suckers in our lives/we need more candy’. Well, Germany has a population of about eighty million. That should suffice, for a while at least.
It would interest me to know for certain whether the solidarity felt in this country with the United States in the wake of September 11 played a role in the wholehearted embrace of Halloween this year. Paranoid minds have insinuated that those tragic events were planned by the US Intelligence Establishment, to pave the way for the unelected President’s ignorant and irresponsible international policies (and for the immeasurable profit of the Military-Industrial Complex). That seems rather improbable, but one remembers that said Establishment and Complex have been implicated in a number of operations of a similar nature, with the crucial difference that those were not executed within US borders. There is truth, after all, in ab actu ad posse valet ilatio.
I’m afraid that in the not all too distant future Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July will also be celebrated in Germany. I am, admittedly, quite curious as to how the German public will be sold the idea of the latter, but I have no serious doubt that that feat will be accomplished somehow. My confidence stems in parts from the fact that a feat which at first seems no less improbable has already been accomplished: German Reggae, R&B and Soul are accepted and established parts of the national musical scene.
There are two musical categories in which German bands have attained international reputation and respect in the past four decades and have even defined directions and influenced quite a number of artists elsewhere: Electronic Music and Jazz, both of which can be defined as cerebral, as opposed to visceral.
It is, however, hard to think of anything less compatible with the German soul than, well, Soul (along with R&B and Reggae). Little wonder that one seldom finds true merit or quality in respective German productions, with the possible exception of Reggae (Gentleman, Patrice).
German HipHop and Rap has (with exceptions), in the absence here of Gangstas and Ghettos comparable to their US counterparts, avoided an imitation of the respective genres and defined authentic and indigenous styles, from the hilariously witty to the socially critical.
One of the exceptions mentioned above (certainly the most ludicrous and notorious and the loudest) is Mr Moses Pelham with 3P (Pelham Power Productions). The first of Mr Pelham’s projects to come to public attention was the Rödelheim Hartreim Project. Mr Pelham is the son of a black GI stationed in Rödelheim (part of Frankfurt am Main) and a German mother. There he spent his impressionable years. While Rödelheim does not and will never head the list of the hippest, most pleasant and safest towns to live in, the worst that can be said about it is that it imbues its inhabitants (quite a large number of whom live on alcohol, the dole and talk shows) with a profound sense of depression, despair and lack of future and perspective. I do not mean to belittle these factors, but Rödelheim has very little in common with the Bronx or South Central Los Angeles. Mr Pelhams’s lyrics, however, exaggerated the existent misery and social issues and painted a picture that stretched credulity. Mr Pelham, who works mainly as a producer these days (he threatens to issue a new album, titled ‘Bastard of the Light’ before Christmas this year, because this (Half-)Nigga With Attitude knows quite well that Jingle Bells is the soundtrack to sweet commercial transactions), launched the careers of a number of artists whose success meanwhile surpasses his own. Of these, the two best-known are Sabrina Setlur and the Obnoxious One himself, the sanctimonious Xavier Naidoo, who was a backgroung singer for Mr Pelham.
In the words of the Bible, from which Mr Naidoo claims to derive much inspiration and solace (Bible-thumping is, I believe, the expression), he is a Plague, a Pestilence and a Visitation. Should the Lord still have an ear for this humble sinner’s pleas, I ask him to bring on the Locusts and instead deliver us from Mr Naidoo.
Mr Naidoo (who was born in Mannheim in 1971 to a South African mother and a father of Indian descent), to his credit, has a mellifluous and pleasant voice and truly impressive technique, both of which he utilizes to maximum effect to create an incredible ‘flow’, that of cash from his fans’ pockets to his.
Mr Naidoo likes to speak about (to orate and to preach are also accurate verbs) about Divine Inspiration. It appears to be bestowed upon him in rather prolific measure (and befits the venues he plays, which can be described as stadium-sized): so prolific, in fact, that the seventy minutes available on one CD did not suffice the last time and he issued an album with two CDs, titled ‘Alles für den Herrn’ (All for the Lord) and ‘Zwischenspiel’ (Interlude), about thirty songs in all! The former consists of ‘prayers set to music’ (vertonte Gebete), the latter of more commercial stuff. He also contributed a track to the French film, ‘Asterix and Obelix’, based on the brillant comic by André Uderzo and Rene Goscinny. A torch song of sorts, in which Obelix, a Gallic peasant of impressive proportions with a predilection for devouring whole roasted boar by the half-dozen, played by Gérard Depardieu, tears his hair at his unrequited love for Falbala, played by Laetitia Casta. Saccharine squared is a mild description of the song- music and lyrics. In other words, an instant and immense commercial success.
His latest musical venture is as part of ‘Söhne Mannheims’ (Sons of Mannheim), a posse based in, well, Mannheim.
In interviews Mr Naidoo states with unmistakable pride that he is arrogant. One would assume that enlightenment and proximity to the Lord would lead to humility and modesty. In one televised interview he volunteered the information that he smoked grass (upon which, small wonder, the police paid him a visit. It is rather hard to understand his subsequent (loudly proclaimed, as expected) indignation and his accusations of harassment). To mention such a ‘feat’ is not evidence of a mature mind and more the sort of boast one would expect from acned adolescents trying on a cool and defiant pose. Even Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston did not stoop to cannabis when they decided to boost their careers with a little drug scandal.
On photographs Mr Naidoo is invariably seen in ‘serious’ dress (his version, at least: suits in sombre hues, but with t-shirts instead of shirts and gold chains. It’s sad- all that money and neither style nor taste. Further evidence of this is that he drives a Porsche, in Germany the epitome of ostentation. I suggest that he perform one act of authentic Christian generosity: sell it and donate the proceeds, without publicity, to the truly devout and necessitous Indian women who grace the cover of his last album) and in affectated poses- head bowed, lost in contemplation, hands pressed together in supplication (he seems to know his Albrecht Dürer well) or a direct look into the camera’s lens with an expression in his eyes that is intended to be pensive, sad, sensitive and vulnerable. He probably thinks of the amount of his income tax payment in preparation for this particular expression.
In conclusion I suggest, no, pray, that Mr Naidoo emigrate to the United States and embark on a career as singing televangelist. Even better, let him take his fans (or is ‘acolytes’, or ‘disciples’, a more appropriate term?) with him. I even believe that the idea will appeal to Mr Naidoo: Moses leading his people out of Pharao’s land (this Pharao will be only too glad to let the Porsche-driving prophet and his people go). I am not at all certain that the arrival of these masses will be met with a universal welcome in the New World, but there is justice in it: we have to put up with Halloween, let them put up with the Obnoxious One. Fair trade.
It would interest me to know for certain whether the solidarity felt in this country with the United States in the wake of September 11 played a role in the wholehearted embrace of Halloween this year. Paranoid minds have insinuated that those tragic events were planned by the US Intelligence Establishment, to pave the way for the unelected President’s ignorant and irresponsible international policies (and for the immeasurable profit of the Military-Industrial Complex). That seems rather improbable, but one remembers that said Establishment and Complex have been implicated in a number of operations of a similar nature, with the crucial difference that those were not executed within US borders. There is truth, after all, in ab actu ad posse valet ilatio.
I’m afraid that in the not all too distant future Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July will also be celebrated in Germany. I am, admittedly, quite curious as to how the German public will be sold the idea of the latter, but I have no serious doubt that that feat will be accomplished somehow. My confidence stems in parts from the fact that a feat which at first seems no less improbable has already been accomplished: German Reggae, R&B and Soul are accepted and established parts of the national musical scene.
There are two musical categories in which German bands have attained international reputation and respect in the past four decades and have even defined directions and influenced quite a number of artists elsewhere: Electronic Music and Jazz, both of which can be defined as cerebral, as opposed to visceral.
It is, however, hard to think of anything less compatible with the German soul than, well, Soul (along with R&B and Reggae). Little wonder that one seldom finds true merit or quality in respective German productions, with the possible exception of Reggae (Gentleman, Patrice).
German HipHop and Rap has (with exceptions), in the absence here of Gangstas and Ghettos comparable to their US counterparts, avoided an imitation of the respective genres and defined authentic and indigenous styles, from the hilariously witty to the socially critical.
One of the exceptions mentioned above (certainly the most ludicrous and notorious and the loudest) is Mr Moses Pelham with 3P (Pelham Power Productions). The first of Mr Pelham’s projects to come to public attention was the Rödelheim Hartreim Project. Mr Pelham is the son of a black GI stationed in Rödelheim (part of Frankfurt am Main) and a German mother. There he spent his impressionable years. While Rödelheim does not and will never head the list of the hippest, most pleasant and safest towns to live in, the worst that can be said about it is that it imbues its inhabitants (quite a large number of whom live on alcohol, the dole and talk shows) with a profound sense of depression, despair and lack of future and perspective. I do not mean to belittle these factors, but Rödelheim has very little in common with the Bronx or South Central Los Angeles. Mr Pelhams’s lyrics, however, exaggerated the existent misery and social issues and painted a picture that stretched credulity. Mr Pelham, who works mainly as a producer these days (he threatens to issue a new album, titled ‘Bastard of the Light’ before Christmas this year, because this (Half-)Nigga With Attitude knows quite well that Jingle Bells is the soundtrack to sweet commercial transactions), launched the careers of a number of artists whose success meanwhile surpasses his own. Of these, the two best-known are Sabrina Setlur and the Obnoxious One himself, the sanctimonious Xavier Naidoo, who was a backgroung singer for Mr Pelham.
In the words of the Bible, from which Mr Naidoo claims to derive much inspiration and solace (Bible-thumping is, I believe, the expression), he is a Plague, a Pestilence and a Visitation. Should the Lord still have an ear for this humble sinner’s pleas, I ask him to bring on the Locusts and instead deliver us from Mr Naidoo.
Mr Naidoo (who was born in Mannheim in 1971 to a South African mother and a father of Indian descent), to his credit, has a mellifluous and pleasant voice and truly impressive technique, both of which he utilizes to maximum effect to create an incredible ‘flow’, that of cash from his fans’ pockets to his.
Mr Naidoo likes to speak about (to orate and to preach are also accurate verbs) about Divine Inspiration. It appears to be bestowed upon him in rather prolific measure (and befits the venues he plays, which can be described as stadium-sized): so prolific, in fact, that the seventy minutes available on one CD did not suffice the last time and he issued an album with two CDs, titled ‘Alles für den Herrn’ (All for the Lord) and ‘Zwischenspiel’ (Interlude), about thirty songs in all! The former consists of ‘prayers set to music’ (vertonte Gebete), the latter of more commercial stuff. He also contributed a track to the French film, ‘Asterix and Obelix’, based on the brillant comic by André Uderzo and Rene Goscinny. A torch song of sorts, in which Obelix, a Gallic peasant of impressive proportions with a predilection for devouring whole roasted boar by the half-dozen, played by Gérard Depardieu, tears his hair at his unrequited love for Falbala, played by Laetitia Casta. Saccharine squared is a mild description of the song- music and lyrics. In other words, an instant and immense commercial success.
His latest musical venture is as part of ‘Söhne Mannheims’ (Sons of Mannheim), a posse based in, well, Mannheim.
In interviews Mr Naidoo states with unmistakable pride that he is arrogant. One would assume that enlightenment and proximity to the Lord would lead to humility and modesty. In one televised interview he volunteered the information that he smoked grass (upon which, small wonder, the police paid him a visit. It is rather hard to understand his subsequent (loudly proclaimed, as expected) indignation and his accusations of harassment). To mention such a ‘feat’ is not evidence of a mature mind and more the sort of boast one would expect from acned adolescents trying on a cool and defiant pose. Even Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston did not stoop to cannabis when they decided to boost their careers with a little drug scandal.
On photographs Mr Naidoo is invariably seen in ‘serious’ dress (his version, at least: suits in sombre hues, but with t-shirts instead of shirts and gold chains. It’s sad- all that money and neither style nor taste. Further evidence of this is that he drives a Porsche, in Germany the epitome of ostentation. I suggest that he perform one act of authentic Christian generosity: sell it and donate the proceeds, without publicity, to the truly devout and necessitous Indian women who grace the cover of his last album) and in affectated poses- head bowed, lost in contemplation, hands pressed together in supplication (he seems to know his Albrecht Dürer well) or a direct look into the camera’s lens with an expression in his eyes that is intended to be pensive, sad, sensitive and vulnerable. He probably thinks of the amount of his income tax payment in preparation for this particular expression.
In conclusion I suggest, no, pray, that Mr Naidoo emigrate to the United States and embark on a career as singing televangelist. Even better, let him take his fans (or is ‘acolytes’, or ‘disciples’, a more appropriate term?) with him. I even believe that the idea will appeal to Mr Naidoo: Moses leading his people out of Pharao’s land (this Pharao will be only too glad to let the Porsche-driving prophet and his people go). I am not at all certain that the arrival of these masses will be met with a universal welcome in the New World, but there is justice in it: we have to put up with Halloween, let them put up with the Obnoxious One. Fair trade.
This text was written in autumn 2002.
posted by Arta Buneta at 10:50 AM
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