Think about the weirdest combinations you can think of:
A peanut butter and mustard sandwich, tequila and peppermint schnapps, Oprah and Stedman. As crazy as these may be, they can't hold a candle to the decision to combine Bruno Mars and the Red Hot Chili Peppers as the halftime entertainment during Super Bowl XLVlll.
Granted, 99 times out of 100 the halftime show is usually one big "Up with People" clusterf#ck, anyway. Turning even the most respected artists into lip-syncing, overly-choreographed cartoons of themselves. It is everything true "artists" rail against their entire careers- until they, themselves, get the call asking them to be part of it and if they'd prefer to be paid in cash or bitcoins?
Personally, I could care less who performs during the half-time show, as I'm usually in the bathroom flushing my betting pool tickets down the toilet, anyway. And, aside from the feeling that Bruno Mars reminds me of a low-calorie Lenny kravitz (and that he has to be the bastard son of comedian Paul Rodriguez), I think it's great that a young, relatively new, chart-topping artist gets a chance to perform on the world stage.
But, alas, as is usually the case, as soon as the criticism begins to fly, instead of standing their ground and letting the kid do what he does best for the duration, the stuffy, insecure suits on the 59th floor feel the need to acquiesce to their critics and immediately backtrack by adding a second act - just in case - who can "guarantee," if the kid bites it and breaks into an Ashley Simpson SNL "river dance," they'll get let off the hook. And who do they come up with for the "credibility" portion of the evening? You guessed it. RHCP.
R.H.C.P. used to stand for Red Hot Chili Peppers. Now, it stands for Retired Hipsters Clinging to the Past.
Don't get me wrong. I completely respect the Chilis body of work, but there had to have been a more cohesive and suitable act available. How on earth did the NFL come to that weird combination in the first place?
I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall in that conference room:
Nervous Old NFL Exec.: Have you seen the papers?! They're crucifying our choice to use that inexperienced Mars kid as the halftime headliner! I knew I shouldn't have let you convince me to use your daughter's favorite flavor-of-the-month for this. Especially since the median age for viewers is 43! Now what are we gonna do?!!
Calm Young NFL Exec: Relax, Uncle Bill. I'll make a call to my buddy at William Morris. He's pals with Dr. Drew, who's pals with all the rehab'd rockers with serious street cred. Have no fear, by tomorrow I'll have us an old-yet-rockin', grungy-but-corporate, dangerous-yet-manageable legendary act on the bill. Maybe even one with Hall of Fame credits. And, by the way, what's a "paper?"
Nervous Old NFL Exec: You do that, my brilliant little nephew, and when it's over you can take my jet to Maui.
At the drop of a hat, the Super Bowl halftime show has gone from iconic, mainstream powerhouses like Prince, Madonna, Springsteen, and McCartney, to some mish-mash of the epitome of Corporate Pop-meets-CBGB's.
However, it's not all bad. The best part is, all the old money big shots in attendance who paid $30k for a ticket will have to turn to their 20-something "nieces" for a hint as to who these people are?
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