Elt goes political all too late for Sun City....
Mention the words ‘Sun City’ to any adult over the age of 30 and watch them shrink away in revulsion as they remember the injustice, the pain and the stigma attached to owning that record, written by Silvio Dante from The Sopranos. But Sun City was also a resort, built in ‘Bophuthatswana’, a made up country which was named as an independent state in order to strip black tribespeople of their South African citizenship, and force them to work in the lucrative platinum mines, and the new Sun City casino.
Sun City was a nauseating example of white cultural and economical supremacy in South Africa. Apartheid was at its most healthy and the ban on gambling under the National Party drew thousands upon thousands of rich, white South Africans from Jo’burg and Pretoria to Sun City, where gambling was legal and blacks were banned. In a country where virtually every business and institution stank of corruption and apartheid, Sun City excelled itself. And what better way to draw the rich, racist and ignorant than to stage huge concerts, with some of the world’s headline acts. Acts like Queen, Rod Stewart and Elton John. Ah yes….Elton John.
Elton’s been back in the news lately. He’s turned 60, he’s caused controversy in Tobago as local church leaders have warned he may ‘unduly influence’ the youngsters (presumably they mean dressing like Benny Hill after a date with Trinny and Susannah), and he’s taken on a new role as a crusader for equal rights.
Oozing sanctimony like a giant lefty slug, Elton tells the New Statesman that he is very concerned over bigotry and tells is “We should all stand up for basic human rights.” Right on Elton, except you’ve changed your tune since 1983 when the basic human rights of black people to be treated better than dogs in South Africa were the subject of much consternation to many. Elton crossed the picket line of all cultural picket lines when he agreed to take the Sun City dollar and stick two fingers up to the UN boycott. Of course, when questioned about this sanction break he simply replied that he did not see Sun City as being the real South Africa. Roberta Flack turned down $2 million to perform at Sun City. You can bet she thought it was the real South Africa.
Mind you, it would be easy for Elton to forget he ever visited Sun City, the world wide web holds little information about the show or the surrounding controversy : it’s like the event never happened. In the 1908s he UK Musician’s Union refused to support visas for many artists, including noted anti-apartheid singer Johnny Clegg who had ‘broken’ the UN boycott by playing with Zulu tribespeople, but had nothing to say about Elton’s transgressions. The Union had initiated the boycott itself in 1961, years before the UN, but strangely failed to take action or make comment on any British or American artists, concentrating instead on those from other countries looking for approval to tour Britain.
John’s constant whining about gay rights in the UK is sickening when you contrast this cause with that of the black South Africans he so quickly pissed on to be able to thrust his fat spangled arse into the foulest of all money troughs. Gay people in the UK may have it tough, but they can vote, they can employ straight people, they can ride on the same buses with straight people, they can have passports. Elton’s personal political battle – for the right to have a wedding as tacky as Jordan’s and to have bigger tits – is a transparent act of selfishness. In fact, all of his political leanings show a distinct lack of empathy with anyone dissimilar to Elton John. ‘It Could Have Been Me’ is the title of his New Statesman whine. God, just imagine….
Tuesday 27 March 2007
Monday 26 March 2007
Wage To The Slave
This idea of white folks paying reparations to the ancestors of black slaves got me rather worried. I’ll be honest, I have never checked whether the ancient Walkers were slave owners, it’s not something that tends to come up at Family History coffee mornings. In an effort to investigate possible atrocities in my distant past I talked to my eldest relatives who couldn’t ever recall family pictures with Africans in chains, but did show a liking for a former Black Panther turned comedian by the name of Charlie Williams. Undeterred, I typed ‘Walker slaves’ into Google, whereupon I found the story of Quock Walker, who was bought as an infant by a Massachusetts landowner and sued him when he wasn’t set free at 25 as promised. Quock was given his freedom and fifty pounds, which to be truthful is all I’ve ever wanted out of life.
It got me to thinking about what reparations I might be due, and so, in the absence of any claim on my estate by previously owned people, I am launching my own reparations suit.
Stephen Volk (£500,000 in hurt feelings and a new Trev and Simon DVD)
You may not recognise the name, but this vicious bastard wrote the one-off BBC drama Ghostwatch, which starred lovable Going Live! presenter Sarah Greene. In this drama, staged as a spoof live feed from a supposedly haunted house in London, Sarah Greene played herself, reporting on the ground from the spook house, and eventually being shown crawling into an understairs cupboard where an evil, murdering ghost called Mr Pipes was waiting to kill her and allow her corpse to be slowly eaten by starving cats. Being an aficionado of Going Live! I was horrified and had nightmares for nearly five years. I now own possibly the only signed photo of Sarah Greene which includes the dedication ‘To Kirsty, See, I’m alive!’.
Also in this category :
Kerry Stevenson’s mum, who allowed me to watch Nightmare on Elm Street 3 at her 8th birthday party.
My Dad (A signed confession and 80% in the will)
For the following atrocities:
Telling me as a child that when the ice cream van played its chimes it meant it had run out of ice cream.
Not buying me a Poochie for Christmas 1990, believing instead that I would prefer a full size snooker table.
Insisting on us catching a local Spanish bus to visit ‘El Parc Dinosaurio’, which resulted in us riding right past said park and spending four hours in a backwater town trying to find the bus back to Palma Nova whilst being accosted by gypsies selling lucky herbs.
Telling me that the Easter Bunny turned evil if you were still awake when he came.
Massimo Taibi (£250,000 and a free shot at his groin with a medicine ball)
In May 1999 United finished off a glorious treble, so why, when I recall that footballing year can I only focus on the farcical efforts of Italy’s answer to Mr Bean. When Alex Ferguson assured us that Taibi would have no trouble filling Schmeichel’s shoes, we had no idea it was because he was used to wearing oversized clown clogs at the weekends. A snake would have done better against the marshmallow shots of Chelsea on that miserable Saturday in October, when they trounced us 5-0 and all of it down to the lunacy of Taibi. He let in 11 goals in four games before he was finally laid low by way of a tranquiliser dart and put in a crate stamped ‘Reggina’.
And in brief:
Suede – £12.99 back for ‘A New Morning’, that piece of shit masquerading as their fifth album.
My Mum - £1,000 for telling me that when she thought the Russians were going to drop the bomb in 1982 she planned to crush up on overdose of paracetamol into my Horlicks to spare me the horrors of fallout.
(By the way, I have done some further checks into the possibility of my family owning slaves, and in looking through my Dad’s record collection I found one by Kool and the Gang. Case closed, free of guilt!)
It got me to thinking about what reparations I might be due, and so, in the absence of any claim on my estate by previously owned people, I am launching my own reparations suit.
Stephen Volk (£500,000 in hurt feelings and a new Trev and Simon DVD)
You may not recognise the name, but this vicious bastard wrote the one-off BBC drama Ghostwatch, which starred lovable Going Live! presenter Sarah Greene. In this drama, staged as a spoof live feed from a supposedly haunted house in London, Sarah Greene played herself, reporting on the ground from the spook house, and eventually being shown crawling into an understairs cupboard where an evil, murdering ghost called Mr Pipes was waiting to kill her and allow her corpse to be slowly eaten by starving cats. Being an aficionado of Going Live! I was horrified and had nightmares for nearly five years. I now own possibly the only signed photo of Sarah Greene which includes the dedication ‘To Kirsty, See, I’m alive!’.
Also in this category :
Kerry Stevenson’s mum, who allowed me to watch Nightmare on Elm Street 3 at her 8th birthday party.
My Dad (A signed confession and 80% in the will)
For the following atrocities:
Telling me as a child that when the ice cream van played its chimes it meant it had run out of ice cream.
Not buying me a Poochie for Christmas 1990, believing instead that I would prefer a full size snooker table.
Insisting on us catching a local Spanish bus to visit ‘El Parc Dinosaurio’, which resulted in us riding right past said park and spending four hours in a backwater town trying to find the bus back to Palma Nova whilst being accosted by gypsies selling lucky herbs.
Telling me that the Easter Bunny turned evil if you were still awake when he came.
Massimo Taibi (£250,000 and a free shot at his groin with a medicine ball)
In May 1999 United finished off a glorious treble, so why, when I recall that footballing year can I only focus on the farcical efforts of Italy’s answer to Mr Bean. When Alex Ferguson assured us that Taibi would have no trouble filling Schmeichel’s shoes, we had no idea it was because he was used to wearing oversized clown clogs at the weekends. A snake would have done better against the marshmallow shots of Chelsea on that miserable Saturday in October, when they trounced us 5-0 and all of it down to the lunacy of Taibi. He let in 11 goals in four games before he was finally laid low by way of a tranquiliser dart and put in a crate stamped ‘Reggina’.
And in brief:
Suede – £12.99 back for ‘A New Morning’, that piece of shit masquerading as their fifth album.
My Mum - £1,000 for telling me that when she thought the Russians were going to drop the bomb in 1982 she planned to crush up on overdose of paracetamol into my Horlicks to spare me the horrors of fallout.
(By the way, I have done some further checks into the possibility of my family owning slaves, and in looking through my Dad’s record collection I found one by Kool and the Gang. Case closed, free of guilt!)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
