When we last left Bob Lefsetz, he was complaining about companies he’s done business with direct marketing to him via e-mail. Presumably he cleaned out his Inbox enough to have time to watch the Super Bowl, or (since he didn’t talk about the game) at least, the halftime show starring Beyonce. Naturally, he hated it and immediately ran to his computer to tell everybody what was wrong with it in as offensive a manner as possible.
However, I must offer this caveat: you may find some of the imagery below disturbing. But I felt necessary to comment because it gave me the opportunity to bring to this column something it’s desperately needed since its inception: dick jokes.
And you wonder why Adele is the biggest musical star in the world.
Already Bob’s starting off with a strawman. Everybody knows why Adele’s popular: because she writes good songs and sings them well.
No dancing, just singing, what a concept!
God forbid anybody ever display versatility as a performer. That died with the Rat Pack.
Damn, now I miss Sammy Davis, Jr. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t do.
I wasn’t sure what to do after Beyonce’s appearance, join a gym or masturbate.
Two images I never wanted to see — Bob Lefsetz working out, and Bob Lefsetz jerking off — are now indelibly planted into my brain.
Fuck you, Bob Lefsetz.
It was spectacle befitting the game, one could argue strongly it was more dynamic and exciting than the game.
Obviously Bob was too busy spanking it during the fourth quarter because he missed a helluva good ending. Why didn’t he just whack off during the power failure? Or he did and he recovery powers are that good.
You had no desire to check your Twitter feed, all you could do was pay attention.
Wait, you were so captivated during the halftime show that you neither changed channels nor looked at Twitter? Sounds like the NFL did its job. I’m sure its sponsors are very happy to hear that.
And why the hell is the world’s biggest misanthrope — who has no concern for what anybody says – even allowed on Twitter?
But how much did this have to do with music?
Who cares? You just said it held your attention while you held your — oh, Christ. I’m even starting to nauseate myself.
Fuck you, Bob Lefsetz.
Who do we blame?
For what? Your inability to keep it in your pants whenever a sexy woman is on TV.
Well, you may have a point there.
Who invented a new paradigm and then went for a victory lap wherein she dieted down to nothing and spent hours a day working out? Do you think Adele works out? Ha!
Now we know why Bob likes Adele so much. Not for her songs, but because, like him, she also doesn’t work out.
On the other hand, he can’t beat off to “Chasing Pavements.”
Beyonce made Madge look old.
No. Madonna made Madonna look old last year. On the other hand, Nicky Minaj made Madonna look normal, and M.I.A. flipped the bird and made Madonna look respectable by comparison, so at least she had that going for her.
And stop calling her “Madge.” You’re not a British tabloid hack. You’re a fat, lecherous, misogynistic creep.
She proudly strutted her luscious thighs, in one fell swoop making a whole swath of America’s women feel good about themselves.
Well, except for those who developed body issues because they watched Beyonce after spending the entire first half stuffing their face at the spread at their Super Bowl party.
Yes, there was nothing wrong with Beyonce’s appearance.
Then why the fuck are you complaining? Instead of writing this, you should be going back to the DVR and watching it again and again with the sound, and your pants, down.
But what was right?
If nothing was wrong, then it was the right decision to have her do the show, particularly after the last three years (Madonna, The Who, The Black-Eyed Peas) were universally panned.
Do we even care if she lip-synched?
No. You try singing live while dancing with hundreds of millions of people watching on TV.
This is pure commerce.
OH, MY GOD, THE SUPER BOWL HAS BEEN TAINTED BY CORPORATE MONEY!! WHY HASN’T ANYBODY REPORTED THIS???
Sponsored by Pepsi, as if Ms. Knowles has sipped the sugar water in years.
You have no personal knowledge of what Beyonce drinks.
The thought of her drinking Pepsi is akin to believing Alicia Keys uses a BlackBerry!
You have no personal knowledge of what mobile device Alicia Keys uses.
The show was an assault.
You just said there was nothing wrong with it, now it’s an “assault?” Please, the only assault that took place during the show was you going to town on a box of Kleenex.
Blame the CD, where subtlety doesn’t sound good.
Bob leads with talking about his desire to jack it, then lectures the rest of the world about subtlety.
Blame hip-hop, which is laden with attitude.
Translation: black people still scare me.
But tonight’s performance was one big step back for music itself.
Since Bob just says that without giving any explanation, we can presume that he doesn’t even believe it.
Then again, the Lumineers are bigger than Alicia Keys, and maybe even than Beyonce.
Let’s see, two African American women who have both sold millions of records and been A-listers for more than 10 years aren’t “big,” but “that band who has that nice song on that Bing commercial” are?
Fuck you, Bob Lefsetz.
And Mumford & Sons sold more records than both of them.
I’ve got no issues with Mumford & Sons, but they — or any indie neo-folk band, for that matter — are one of the last bands that should play the Super Bowl halftime show. Plus, their hit has the F-word in the chorus. Good luck getting that past the FCC.
The major labels still haven’t gotten the memo. They believe if they just throw enough production at the public, people will be overwhelmed.
“It was spectacle befitting the game…You had no desire to check your Twitter feed, all you could do was pay attention… Yes, there was nothing wrong with Beyonce’s appearance.”
But what people want most is music. When done right, you need no dancing, no production other than amplification.
But when you get a great production to go with great music, the result can be pretty fucking amazing.
If you watched Beyonce tonight and thought about the music, you’re blind.
You pounded it all night long to Beyonce but those who thought about the music went blind?
But credit the NFL. It finally entered the twenty first century.
“It was spectacle befitting the game,” “You had no desire to check your Twitter feed, all you could do was pay attention,” “Yes, there was nothing wrong with Beyonce’s appearance,” “Credit the NFL.”
As with the Springsteen concert last year, Bob really enjoyed the halftime (perhaps too much) but to suggest otherwise would be toeing the line. So he makes up reasons to hate it so he can convince people he’s telling truth to power.
But if you truly want to triumph at this sporting extravaganza…
“Sporting extravaganza.” Can somebody please break into Bob’s house and burn his thesaurus?
Seriously, reading Lefsetz is like that episode of M*A*S*H when Radar took that correspondence course on how to be a good writer and began peppering his daily reports with flowery adjectives. Ethel Hemingway would be proud.
…watch Prince’s performance He knew the music came first. Lead with the tunes, dazzle with your personality.
Prince was awesome, without a doubt.
Tonight’s performance had it backwards.
OK, so on the last line he finally says what was so wrong with it, and apparently it’s that Beyonce’s songs aren’t as good as Prince’s. That’s hardly a crime to come up short when compared with one of the greatest musicians of the past 50 years.
But here we’ve seen the real reason Bob is freaking out, because he can’t handle the idea of a woman (and especially a black woman) being sexy as hell and talented. So rather than focus on the music, he’d rather criticize Beyonce (and blindside Keys, because why not take out both of them?) for being herself, even though he got his rocks off to it.
Tell me, Bob. Did you think the 49ers got jobbed with that non-call at the end? Was it karma for the Ravens getting similarly screwed in the AFC Championship the year before? If you can’t answer those, don’t watch the Super Bowl — and don’t comment on anything that takes place during the broadcast — ever again.