Sarah’s Celebrity Makeover
Canada’s charming chanteuse gets some image advice
Sarah McLaugh-in records are not made with me in mind. I do not relate to the Haligonian waif’s pastoral perspectives. My side of the street is much more dusty; it has curbs and is lined with parked cars. Sarah’s side is Eden, all green with brooks and fruit trees; naked lovers and sad-eyed angels; worn collections of obscure poets are scattered amongst the tall grass. My side of the street the trashcans are overflowing with empty Starbucks cups. Over here people buy Details magazine and read it in public. In Klassenville folks put their CD collections in alphabetical order, purchase ergonomic mouses, talk about F. Lee Bailey, get lost at IKEA, couldn’t find Brunei on a map, would kill the asshole in the Twix chocolate bar ad in a second, clip coupons and cut others off with their cars.
In Sarahland there are no cars.
I feel Vancouver is largely to blame for Sarah’s melancholy bliss. If she had stayed in her east coast stomping grounds, she might be singing about the “nose and tail” of the Grand Banks now, looking for words that rhyme with Estai, Turbot and Fisheries Minister. The west coast has that effect on people, I guess. We’re much more likely to produce a Judy Collins than an Elastica or P.J. Harvey. Can’t be the weather – look at Seattle. A change in real estate might work. Move out of The Manhattan apartments or South Granville. Opt for a pad in Mount Pleasant where your neighbour grows hydroponic dope and fights a lot with his hooker girlfriend. This will definitely put an edge into anyone’s work.
Now when I mean makeover I’m not suggesting that Madonna crap – dye your hair and change your underwear. I’m suggesting something more profound. First of all, the whole Earth Mother thing goes. No more flower print sun dresses and cowboy boots. Try leather head-to-toe. 80’s retro is hot, hot, hot. Go for that Julie Newmar-video vamp look.
You’ve put out the “Freedom Sessions.” Now record some songs hungover, call them the “Tylenol Sessions.” Get Steve Albini to record it, Bob Rock to mix it and get Dave Grohl to overdub the drum tracks.
Fire a member of your band every 2 weeks. Get a hot New York publicist so when the paparazzi catch you rotten drunk spilling out of Johnny Depp‘s L.A. club on Kevin Bacon‘s arm, that it makes it into Rolling Stone‘s Random Notes page.
Do not play hackysack with your band between sets. Stay in your private trailer barking at your road manager about the lack of Evian water. Hang with your band only to play the monthly game of strip poker. Have someone record it on a video camera.
Watch much more hockey. Date Pavel Bure. Dump him.
Discuss your career plans with no one – except the producers of Entertainment Tonight and Access Hollywood. Wash and dry all your dirty laundry in public, because the people do care.
The CD art of any forthcoming recordings will not have any organic colours or motif. Leaves or earth tones are verboten. I suggest a shot of her sitting at the picnic table at Wally burgers hacking on a Deluxe Chuckwagon basket and a strawberry shake. The only green in the shot would be the shoots of crab grass poking up through a crack in the parking lot pavement.
Endorse no politician, but speak approvingly of the Reform Party’s platform during interviews.
Snub all Canadian award shows, and if that isn’t possible, work a few swear words into your acceptance speech at the Junos. Dis’ Rita MacNeil by grabbing her hat and dashing around Massey Theatre with it on…
This urbanized, contemporary Sarah would be a hit, if a bit of a shock to hard core fans. There might be a bit of a backlash from the chamomile crowd, similar to when Dylan went electric, but everyone bought Blonde On Blonde, didn’t they?
Do it, Sarah. Do it for yourself, the fans, and the west coast. We’ve got to shake this Lotusland image and Art Bergmann clearly can’t do it on his own.
Art Bergmann photo by Diyah Pera from “Euphony”
