COLUMNS

So, yeah, every twenty-something male's junior-high fantasy was realized at the Super Bowl when Justin Timberlake let loose the shock and awe of Janet Jackson's right breast. Everyone else on earth is weighing in on this momentous occasion, from the typing pool to the FCC. Luckily, you've got the Country Sad Super Bowl Analysis to guide you through these startling events.

My quick notes for your consumption:

Justin Timberlake: JT is currently a favorite guilty pleasure of hipsters everywhere, and with good reason. His album is as good (if not better than) Michael Jackson's solo debut, he records with the Neptunes, and he's been approved by the Flaming Lips. Now it can be said: Justin, quit apologizing. Everyone in our age bracket has prayed for the day when they would see Janet's boobies. Take some rock and roll responsibility, my friend. At that, dudes of the world: bow before our new king.

MTV: The dream is dead. MTV brought us a half-time show in which the most shocking moment wasn't the showing of a Jackson mammary, but the gross deception of a mass audience. We were promised a spectacle for the ages, and instead got lip-synched versions of warmed-over hits. "Bawitaba" dates from 1999. "Hot In Herre" is hardly new. "Mo' Money, Mo' Problems?" "Rhythm Nation"? These are songs which have been largely co-opted for beer commercials. For all the hype and flash and pyro and breasts, this year's show didn't pack a tenth of the heart, energy, and sheer entertainment value of U2's stripped-down performance a couple of years ago. By the way, the NFL turned Bono down this year. He offered, and the suits chose crap.

The Marching Bands: What was up with this? A couple of marching bands began half-time by cranking out OutKast's "The Way You Move," and I started thinking, "All right! Big Boi and Ice Cold are the special guests!" Boy, was I wrong. No OutKast. Not even an appearance by the Love Haters. It was a little thing we call "bait and switch," and it ticked me off.

The FCC: CSBM is an apolitical column intended for the discussion of music, pop culture, and related issues. That said, this fall, please vote for someone who will remove Michael Powell from his position as the FCC's chairman. We live in a culture where it's perfectly fine to show violence- the number one show in the country, CSI, is a show built around violent crime- but anything related to sex is taboo. In addition to that, it is perfectly acceptable to call someone a "son of a bitch" or "a**hole" on NYPD Blue, but when Bono lets a "f*ck" slip out in a moment of joy when accepting an award at the Golden Globes (Diane Keaton had a similar slip this year), Powell cries foul. There is material which should be regulated on television, true enough, but the FCC's "get tough on f*ck" campaign is nothing more than a smokescreen to distract the public from the fact that they're letting Clear Channel monopolize the airwaves. It's a cheap ploy.

So, yeah. Here's hoping that next year's half-time is headlined by the Flaming Lips and that Wayne will be allowed to say whatever he wants. A boy can dream, right?

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