In this country, we seem to make icons out of fallen stars.
The fallen star par excellence must certainly be Britney Spears. Though it may seem inconceivable, she was once a great pop star. The prepubescent desires of an entire generation of young straight males were pinned on her, as well as the adoration of scads more gay boys like me. She was beautiful, young, happy and sang some songs that, while they might not stand the test of time, surely defined a moment in popular culture.
That moment, from about 1999-2001, will forever be remembered as the time when I became enthralled by the force of the megastar.
On my middle school trip to Washington D.C., I listened exclusively to two albums: Britney's "...Oops, I Did it Again" (2000), and Eminem's "The Marshall Mathers LP" (2000). Around that same time, seminal records were released by Lauryn Hill, Santana, TLC, 'N Sync, Limp Bizkit and even Ricky Martin (crazy, halcyon days). All of these records sold over 10 million copies in 1999, the very same year digital downloading hit the mainstream with Napster. Eight years later, most of these artists have disbanded, disappeared or gone crazy.
What happened to our mega-icons, those artists that could fill stadiums and the hearts of pre-teens with something approaching wonder?
Britney, as one of the biggest stars, fell the hardest and became an almost painful poster child for career suicide. At one point, she was everything to me. I was always well-aware, even at a young age, of her kitsch value and I tried to keep an aesthetic distance and sense of irony. Yet I defended her to friends and enemies, pointing out her amazing dancing skill and her possession of a meek, yet satisfying voice that was not as outright flat as say, Jennifer Lopez.
Go on YouTube and look at some of her old performances. Check out the pinnacle of her poise and self-confidence as a superstar in her first gig on Saturday Night Live. After delivering a self-effacing monologue that poked fun at the then-current controversy over her alleged breast implants (seems almost quaint, doesn't it?), she gave a full-on, non-lip-synched performance of "Oops, I Did It Again" and "Don't Let Me Be the Last to Know."
If you watch the performance of the latter, as she sits calmly on a stool and earnestly wrings the best performance she can of that dismal song, you will see a pop star at the top of her game, one that could captivate entire industries, one filled with promise, charisma, sincerity and just a note of dignity.
Maybe I'm slightly exaggerating, but seriously, Britney was, at one point, an amazing sight to behold. Now, however, "crazy" refers to her mental state instead of one of her biggest pre-accidents/babies hits. Insanity has replaced drugs as the vice du jour, from Mariah Carey to Britney to the aforementioned Ms. Hill.
I, for one, miss the days when music stars seemed larger-than-life; when they were stable; when Britney still had that same spark of pure enjoyment. I prefer to look back and remember her as she was: a shining beacon of blonde-haired, big-boobed, pop confection that represented my youth and the collective suspended aural judgment of my peers. Indeed, you once drove me crazy Britney, but now, your prerogative has simply proven too toxic for everyone to handle.
