The late 1990’s was a seminal period of the 20th century, defined as it was by a volcanic upheaval in the established hierarchical structure comprising men, women and everybody else.
During this brief period of time, the world superpowers and Great Britain all experienced unprecedented governmental turmoil. Firstly, Mrs Boris Yeltsin surreptitiously assumed tacit control of Russia while Boris was asleep, then Hilary Clinton obtained power of attorney over her husband’s penis. Finally, Cherie Blair ousted the Conservative party in a momentous General Election which promised much but delivered millions of speed cameras instead.
None of these explosive political events would have been possible if it hadn’t been for the Spice Girls and the genesis of Girl Power. The major policy of Girl Power was to encourage women to raise their arms in the air, shout “Girl Power!” at passers-by and expect everyone else to do likewise. This Stalinesque behaviour soon began to get up peoples’ noses and the movement died when the public told the Girl Power girls to shut up and get on with the ironing.
Disappointed at their diminishing influence on the international political stage, the Spice Girls were left to concentrate on their singing, much to the annoyance of everybody over the age of 12. Their fusion of previously innovative musical genres gradually metamorphosed into an eclectic pot pourri of sound, absorbing the disparate vocal influences of Patti Labelle & The Bluebelles, The Bangles, Dame Nellie Melba, Bananarama and the Singing Nun.
This potent mix of contrasting styles was first evidenced on the hit single Wannabe, released in July 1996 to a wave of hysteria not seen since Demis Roussos fell over during a gig and had to be put back in position by a 7-tonne Iron Fairy crane.
The opening lines of Wannabe encapsulate what the Spice Girls were all about:
Yo, I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want,
So tell me what you want, what you really really want,
I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want,
So tell me what you want, what you really really want.
This lyric goes on for simply ages but the message could not be clearer (I’ll tell you what I want and you tell me what you want). A minor criticism would be that they could have got this message across in two lines rather than forty nine, but they were probably using the musical equivalent of poetic licence in order to extend the song to a playing time suitable for selling to a gullible fan base.
The Spice Girls were equally famous for their complex dance routines, provocative poses and their work for the United Nations under Kofi Annan. I have nothing against dancing or working for the United Nations, but the provocative poses always struck me as blatantly derivative. I was certain I had seen them before but couldn’t recall where.
Then, while watching Pingu (a small penguin who is always getting into scrapes of one kind or another) on the TV yesterday, and simultaneously browsing through Art of the Western World (Guild Publishing 1989) I came across a painting with which I was familiar but which I had never before connected with the Spice Girls. The painting in question is Pablo Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, currently on display in the Museum of Modern Art in New York. The similarities are striking to say the least.
For ease of comparison, here are Les Demoiselles d’Avignon and here are The Spice Girls.
Les Demoiselles d’Avignon was painted in 1907 when Picasso was 26 years old and still learning how to paint properly. The received wisdom about the painting is that it depicts five prostitutes in a brothel, but this is plainly an erroneous interpretation.
Firstly, it is not like any brothel I have ever been in, not that I have ever been in a brothel, and if anybody did see me going into a brothel I was only delivering an urgent package and didn’t stay to enjoy the many and varied services supplied therein.
Secondly, even if I had been in that brothel I would have asked to see who else was available for my pleasure, because quite frankly I do not rate any of the women in the painting, especially the one sitting on the toilet in the bottom right hand corner.
The girl at the top right is wearing one of those face packs women use to improve their complexions (note well the strips of cucumber peel on her visage). I have always found this practice deeply disturbing and I wish women would not appear in paintings in this condition. However, in the interests of balance, I find the eyepatch strangely attractive.
The female on the left has a protruding triangular patella which could prove fatal if aimed at the male genital zone. Furthermore, her only visible foot is inordinately large and lacks the presence of metatarsals. The chick in the centre displays an extremely hairy left armpit whereas her right armpit has clearly been freshly shaved. This lack of symmetry is presumably due to the loss of a razor during mid-shave (it’s probably hidden in all that hair).
Lastly, the one second from the left seems to have but a single nostril, and her bikini line is clearly visible. (Maybe I’m nitpicking with that last one.) Anyway, these are most unlikely ‘ladies of the night’ and it is time for a full reappraisal of the painting in the light of new evidence regarding its provenance, unearthed by me only this morning.
Consequent to my efforts in establishing the truth, it is crystal clear that anyone with a comprehensive knowledge of early 20th century pop music will recognise the true subject of Picasso’s painting as a female musical quintet known as Les Demoiselles. Like many bands of that era, Les Demoiselles went through several incarnations before achieving fame, notoriety and enough money to fund their drug habit.
Originally called the Originals, they changed their name to the New Originals when they discovered there was another band called the Originals on the Avignon club scene. When the original Originals disbanded because of ‘musical differences’, the New Originals reverted to their original name of the Originals.
Fed up with being confused with the original, but now defunct, Originals, the band changed its name to the Mothers of Invention but soon decided this wasn’t very inventive. So, of necessity, they briefly became the Daughters of Necessity before settling on Les Demoiselles. (Please see the book Rock Family Trees
(Avignon Publishing 1908) for a full exposition of the band’s constantly changing nomenclature.)
Les Demoiselles’ vocal style is best described as The Ronettes sing Maria Callas, embracing distinct elements of Tiny Tim, Robert Plant, and Martha from Martha and the Muffins. Although they weren’t much to look at, their singing abilities drew audiences from far and wide, including Picasso. The artist, who had a dangerous obsession with singing nudes, quickly became a groupie and was reputed to have engaged in post-gig carnal activities with the woman on the toilet.
The artist had just finished his Brown period in 1907 and was looking for something to paint, just to keep his hand in before really getting to grips with analytical Cubism. He was knocked out by Les Demoiselles (probably by the woman on the far left kneeing him in the groin) so he decided to immortalise them in oils by painting them exactly as they appeared, warts and all.
Thus did Picasso create the classic girl band pose, the template for all who followed, in which five girls disport themselves shamelessly wearing next to nothing in a manner replicated by countless girl bands since, especially Girls Aloud (originally known as Soft Pawn).
It does seem that, where fine art and music are concerned, what goes around comes around. Girl bands since the 1990’s have tried to convince the public of an originality which, far from being original, put down its roots in the bars and clubs of Avignon and the pavement cafes and artists studios of Montmartre.
Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.