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Wed. Feb 07, 2007

Sometimes A Guitar Is Just A Guitar

It’s now about a half week past Super Bowl XLI, and people are still talking about it. In some cases, just plain mad about it. Or maybe, just plain mad.

Oh, not mad about the game, of course. The main thought I had when it ended was, “can I get a towel, please?” And I never left my own living room. I recall that after Atlanta last hosted the Super Bowl and suffered an ice storm that weekend, it was said the game would never be allowed to come back here. Even though the game itself was in a warm dry dome, and was an exciting one decided on the very last play.

Think Miami now faces the same danger after Super Bowl X-L-I’M-SOAKED? Sure…

Because it’s not about the game itself. It’s about everything but the game, especially since the Super Bowl’s titular moment in 2004, when Janet flashed a boob.

Now, some are apparently trying to gin up another half time controversy:

Prince’s acclaimed performance included a guitar solo during the Purple Rain segment of his medley in which his shadow was projected onto a large, flowing beige sheet. As the 48-year-old rock star let rip, the silhouette cast by his figure and his guitar (shaped like the singer’s symbol) had phallic connotations for some.

A number of bloggers have decried “Malfunction!” — including Sam Anderson at New York magazine’s Daily Intelligencer. Daily News television critic David Bianculli called it “a rude-looking shadow show” that “looked embarrassingly rude, crude and unfortunately placed.”

USA Today: Prince’s halftime imagery questioned

Good Golly, Miss Molly, we once saw Elvis only from the waist up, due to the perceived sexual connotations of that whole lotta shakin’ that was goin’ on below the waist. But that was a half a century ago. And by ten years after Elvis hit the scene, it should have been clear to any astute observer that, indeed, the electric guitar could have “phallic connotations for some.”

And by ten years or so after that, they should have gotten over it. And that still would have been 30 years ago. It’s like complaining because Pete Townshend smashed a guitar on stage last weekend. Sheesh, we should all be thankful if he still has the strength.

As for Prince, I watched his show very closely, with the headphones on. I think he’s one of those performers who has only improved as he’s matured. And every time I’ve seen him perform over the past few years, he’s just been amazing. So here he comes out in the freakin’ pouring rain, and performs live. No lip synching. No faked guitar behind a taped track. And when the medley broke into the song “Purple Rain,” you almost had to wonder if he didn’t order up the downpour himself.

Personally, I thought it was a near flawless poised performance under some pretty severe circumstances. And I never saw him touched even once by any of the other dancers or performers on stage. In other words, an almost pointed attempt to avoid that kind of heated offense.

I thought the flowing sheet and backlit spot light casting his shadow was kinda cool. It reminded me of the opening ceremony of the ’96 Olympics. But for some, their mind went straight to the groin.

Still others are upset about the Snickers bar commercial. I swear, I believe we have become a nation constantly on the verge of being deeply offended. And for this Super Bowl, the motivational pickings were a bit slim. A perceived penile shadow puppet and a bad candy ad will have to do.

Well, here’s the deal you make when you watch the Super Bowl. You are wrapping your lips around a day-long firehose, and at some point you will gag. There will be an interminable pre-game show with things like Phil Simms playing golf and yukking it up with the Geico Caveman, and flag football in Iraq. There will be extra hype and hoo-hah slathered on every square inch within a mile of the game. Companies will wager millions that their overblown ads will be viewed favorably, or viewed at all (and the smart ones will have PR people on standby for things like the unexpected Snickers explosion).

There will be fireworks and bands and fans who’ve painted themselves all kinds of colors, all competing for attention with the latest wiz-bang graphics and technological advances that TV can layer on top. Oh, and these various fractious elements will all find some shred of a reason to be wrapped around a football game. Like a boa constrictor, clamping down on its big meal of the year.

It’s not a football game, it’s a cultural event. And these days, an American cultural event cannot be complete unless someone was naughty. The streaker guy with the casino name on his chest trying to steal the game ball. The cornerback who accepts a Family Man award the afternoon before the Big Game, and then gets busted with a hooker that night (Yay, Atlanta!). Some member of the Jackson family doing their unique thing, whatever that might be.

The point being, it’s a load for an adult to take in. Please hide the children. It’s adult viewing. The purpose of the broadcast is to watch 300 pound men do organized violence to each other under some arcane rules enforced by puny men with whistles. It only gets worse from there.

And if you, as an adult, might take offense to every little shadow that is cast upon your TV screen, please let someone else handle the remote in your home. Or just turn the TV off.

You can watch the naughty parts (or their alleged shadows) on YouTube later.