In general, I don’t like talking about things so topical they literally expire in a day. I don’t. But since I’ve got some time to kill before tickets go on sale, I’m going to give it a shot.
If you know me, even a little bit, you’ll know that I’m a huge fan of Bruno Mars, back to the days of Nothin’ on You. His voice bewitched me immediately and has yet to let me go. Let’s also say that, since then, I’ve attained groupie status.
I’m basically in love with him, and nothing will ever change that.
When I heard he was playing the Super Bowl Halftime Show, I was, of course, beyond ecstatic. I woke up every morning, in my Bruno Mars t-shirt, to my Bruno Mars alarm, and ticked off the days on my Bruno Mars calendar.
And then, like a record scratching violently in a crowded club, I heard the Red Hot Chili Peppers were joining him.
I felt betrayed. I even considered not watching.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I have a healthy level of respect for the Chili Peppers. They were part of the soundtrack of my youth. I just don’t like them. Never did. And I couldn’t conceptualize a successful pairing of the two artists. Instead of peanut butter and jelly, Bruno Mars and The Red Hot Chili papers were more like oil and water. No amount of shaking would ever make it work.
I’ve seen pairings more successful in the past, namely Madonna and Britney, Madonna and Justin, Madonna and Miley Cyrus. Though I’m convinced she has her people set up these duets so she can suck out their life force during those awkward onstage kisses. That’s how she stays alive, you see.
Most of Mars’ performance was solo, but I cringed internally for that awkward moment the Chili Peppers would blast onstage. Funny thing was, they didn’t so much blast as they did lumber, but, boy, was it cringeworthy.
After the first few notes of Give it Away, I was covering my eyes. Anthony Kiedis has aged. Yet, through what could have been a graceful transition, he ultimately decided to present himself in the same getup he sported in 1995. That was issue number one. Issue number two was the obvious awkwardness between he and Mars, as Mars stood in the background, trying to find a way to bang his head in a manner that wouldn’t rustle his Pompadour.
And let’s talk facial hair. Whoever is responsible for bringing back the early-80′s porn ‘stache should be shot. Repeatedly. Maybe with a paintball gun. I’m sorry, but it needed to be said. So on top of the obvious awkwardness between Mars and Kiedis, Kiedis’ choice of, well, shorts, and the porn ‘stache, things had gone very wrong.
Flea (whom, I fancy, continues to go by the name Flea) rocked his guitar, as there’s really no expiration on a guitarist, shirtless or otherwise.
And after a few more blinks and some jumping, that portion of the show was over, quickly eclipsed by a montage of military folk sending well-wishes to their families.
It was a blip. A moment in time. And now it’s over. Thankfully.
But why did it happen? Were they trying to capture the pop and rock crowds? Did they feel Mars couldn’t do it alone? Because, let me tell you, that boy can hold his own, all day long and into tomorrow. Was it a curiosity? Did they want us to wonder whether Kiedis could still command a crowd wearing only shorts and shitkickers?
Here’s my feeling: If you’ve already been inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, you’ve paid your dues. Aside from some really high-paying engagements and a few ‘unplugged’ performances, you’re good. We wouldn’t even care if you retired to your house in The Hills. You’ve been acknowledged. You’ve no more need to drag yourself out onto an Astroturf proving ground.
That said, Bruno Mars is my hero. He’s what music has been missing since the world lost Michael Jackson, and, I imagine, after last night, he may just have a few new fans. Luckily, though, by the end of the performance, I had completely forgotten the Chili Peppers had even performed. I reckon you did, too.
So, friends, old fans and new, I’ve only one thing left to say: Back off. Bruno’s mine.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with Ticketmaster in nine minutes.
