Welcome!: the boybands' lovin'

Wednesday, 29 July 2009

the boybands' lovin'

I was reading an entertainment blog (the perfect way to reduce stress, cynicism, and a post-Monday's blues. Highly recommended) and there was this news about Backstreet Boys's newly released album.

Okay, so I'm going to make a confession; one you might laugh at, and most probably, mock. But what the hell. I love the Backstreet Boys. In fact, I'll go even further. My name is Tina and I'm a boyband lover.

Hi Tina.

Yeah, there. Now before you cast a harsh judgment on my taste of music, let me just say first, that my adoration for these boybands aren't all me. Shall I entertain you with a little theory I have?

Well, according to my, ehem, intellectual opinion, one's music preference is highly influenced by the kind of music one listened to while growing up. Not necessarily that one wouldn't like the other types of music, but teenagers are more prone and acceptable to the things that were exposed to them during this time.

I grew up in the 90s, the time when our tv screen was filled with pretty boys with no chest hair. I used to think the whole synchronization of wardrobe was quite endearing, and the more people in the band, the better, even though at least 60% of them provided zero function except to just stand there and look pretty.

I listened to Boyzone, Backstreet Boys, NSync, Human Nature, Savage Garden, Take That, and later to the kinds of Blue, BBMak, Trademark, Westlife, OTT, Hanson. Every imaginable combination of alphabets and numbers, we got 'em: 3T, 911, A1. These boys were so cute you wouldn't really care much about whether or not they could sing.

It was the era of cheesy pop songs, and it was awesome. I bought VCD concert of Boyzone in Wembley, which details I can still remember vividly: the order of the songs, the dance routine (if you can call it that), the dialogue they had, the exact moment Ronan smiled and Stephen looking cute. And I cried once because my sister mocked Brian from the Backstreet Boys (who was my favorite. His best-looking appearance? Easy. As Long As You Love Me) for having sunken cheeks and I cried in his defense.

My sister still uses that piece of information against me until now. "Remember when you cried because I made fun of the boyband guy?!! That's so hilariously funny, HA HA HA, I can't believe how lame you were!" I wanted to say "his name is Brian", but I think it's best to shut up. It's a lose-lose situation.

I'm sure I've grown out of that and I will never once again cry over a member of boyband (no matter how cute or hot or gorgeous or dreamy or sexy he is), but to say that I no longer love pop music or boybands isn't right either. In fact, I still do. And I don't think anyone can really grow out of that; out of that music they listened to when they had pimples outbreaks and bad skin problems.

My older sister and I share the same taste of music because we're just 2 years apart, and we grew up technically together. My younger sister is 5 years younger than me, and it was past the 90s by the time she got to secondary school. By then, it was all hiphop and RnB and 50 Cents and Missy Elliott and she made me listen repeatedly to Ludacris until I wanted to smack my head off. She grew up in a (already) totally different era.

I have no scientific explanation, really, except that music is proven to be an important influence on our memories. We associate songs with emotions, people, places, and experience we've had in the past. Maybe the memories we had during our adolescence are the most powerful.

Tell me if this sounds like bollocks. To me though, even though I love different types of music, (and these days Ludacris doesn't sound too ludicrous anymore) I think I will always have that knack for boybands and pop music. And precisely that makes me very excited about the prospect of Backstreet Boys' new album.

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Quotes

There's a hundred million different ways of writing, and it takes you a long time to sort through that stuff. And I think it takes anyone a long time to find a voice.

You must learn to take the good with the bad, the happy with the sad, love what you’ve got and remember what you had. Learn to forgive, but never forget, learn from your mistakes but never regret. People change and things go wrong, but you just have to remember that life goes on.

The day before I’m supposed to be meeting Caroline for a drink, I develop all the textbook symptoms of a crush: nervous stomach, long periods spent daydreaming, an inability to remember what she looks like. I can bring back the dress and the boots, and I can see her bangs, but her face is a blank.

I don't know, I think that if I could just accept the fact that my life is supposed to be difficult. You know, that's what to be expected, then I might not get so pissed-off about it and I'll just be glad when something nice happens.

I can see now I never really committed to Laura. I always had one foot out the door, and that prevented me from doing a lot of things, like thinking about my future and... I guess it made more sense to commit to nothing, keep my options open. And that's suicide. By tiny, tiny increments.

There's a big fucking world out there. It's messy, and it's chaotic, and it's never, never ever the thing you'd expect. It is ok to be scared, but you cannot allow your fears to turn you into an asshole, not when it comes to the people that love you, the people that need you.

Maybe what I'm saying is, is the world might be evolving the way a person evolves. Right? Like, I mean, me for example. Am I getting worse? Am I improving? I don't know. When I was younger, I was healthier, but I was, uh, whacked with insecurity, you know? Now I'm older and my problems are deeper, but I'm more equipped to handle them.

I am nothing special; just a common man with common thoughts, and I've led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten. But in one respect I have succeeded as gloriously as anyone who's ever lived: I've loved another with all my heart and soul; and to me, this has always been enough.

Later that day I got to thinking about relationships. There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous.

A woman needs to be held, even, and science has shown this, if its with someone she doesn't care about. Protective hormones are released, and the amount of hormones released depends on the degree to which she is held. The first and best is the complete surround. He wraps you in both arms, whispers how beautiful you are. Second best is the 'arm around.' He is next to you but with one arm around you. Third is he's just next to you on his elbow, but he rests his hand on your stomach and looks at you. Fourth is you snuggling up to him with your head on his chest, while he looks away into space. But when the first best happens, you feel completely, wonderfully like a woman.

So, so what, so fuck off, go home, leave you alone? I'll tell you something Paul, there isn't anything that I've wanted for eighteen years, cause I was a kid eighteen years ago. And if I did still want the same things I'd think I'd gone wrong somewhere, because actually I don't want to marry David Cassidy, I don't want bigger tits, I don't want to do better on my marks. I've stopped worrying about that kind of thing and maybe you should try.

Well maybe there's a big bit of you that's gone missing somewhere, maybe everyone should want something they've always wanted.

Why is it that adults aren't supposed to go mad about anything? You gotta keep a lid on it. And if you don't then people are apparently entitled to say what they like. "You haven't grown up. You're a moron. Your conversation is trivial and boorish. You can't express your emotional needs. You can't relate to your children." And you die, lonely and miserable. But you know, what the hell, every cloud has a silver lining.

I just woke up one morning and didn't feel the same way. Where did it go? It was like there had been a lot of food on a plate in front of us, and we ate it all really quickly, and then there was nothing left. Maybe that's how couples stay together: they're not greedy. They know that what they have in front of them has to last a long time, so they kind of pick at it. I hope it's not like that, though. I hope that when people are happy together, it feels as though someone keeps piling seconds and thirds on their plates.

That is what I have learned: Sex is destructive. Love is nothing to be fooled with. I learned that I was dangerous, not to be trusted. I wondered if my parents were right, with all of their stiff lovelessness. Maybe they knew better. My parents don't dole out love for the deserving or the undeserving. I was learning that love could cost me.

You could say all you liked about reason and logic and common sense and imagination, but when the chips were down, the one skill you needed was the ability to think about absolutely nothing whatsoever.

There is a comfort in never making an effort, but it's a lonely comfort. What keeps you going is the knowledge that you're only playing with only four cards showing. But when you see other people succeeding with their mediocre hands, you have to make a decision. If you turn over that final card you're certain of victory, but it also means you have nothing in reserve.

I’d gone through life believing in the strength and competence of others; never in my own. Now, dazzled, I discovered that my capacities were real. It was like finding a fortune in the lining of an old coat.

Maybe we all live life at too high a pitch, those of us who absorb emotional things all day, and as mere consequence we can never feel merely content: we have to be unhappy, or ecstatically, head-over-heels happy, and those states are difficult to achieve within a stable, solid relationship.