What The F*** Is Up With Miley Cyrus?
by Bubbernator, October 29, 2020
If you were to walk up to me earlier this year and ask me “Bubba, what musical performer has orbited the farthest off of your personal radar screen in the last decade or so?”, my reply would probably have been Marvin Hamlisch. A very close second place would go to Miley Cyrus.
Now, nothing against old Marvin (may he rest in peace) but right off of the top of my head the only piece of music I can confidently say that I know he wrote (out of a career that lasted decades and garnered about every award available) is the theme song from “The Sting”. You know it. Nice little ragtime number.
Miley Cyrus?
I come up empty. Total blank. The only thing I know for sure is that her daddy sang that “Achy Breaky Heart” travesty a long time ago and that she was called Hannah Fontana at some point in her young life. Or something.
So imagine my confusion this week when I clicked on a linky-thing embedded in an online article I was reading and it took me to a YouTube video of Miley absolutely crushing The Cranberries “Zombie” at the Whiskey-A-Go-Go. Whaaaaaat?!?!?
This was no lame re-reading of Dolores O’Riordan’s epic lament to The Troubles. This was loud. This was pissed off. This was fucking ROCK and she didn’t hold back one achy-breaky bit. She prowled the stage and then sang straight into her (unmasked) guitarist’s face with a level of intensity that made my tummy go all a-flutter. This dame has chops! No vocal gymnastics, just straight powerlifting.
Whoof.
The accompanying graphic illustration is my well-researched interpretation of the arc of Miley’s career to date. If you’re a true fan and I’ve left out any important details please feel free to contact the landlord of this here Rock’n’Roll bordello and set the record straight. I’ll be here waiting for my next colonoscopy. Leave a message.
Until then, here goes:
The Beginning.
Billy Ray Cyrus sends his honky-tonk DNA down his urethra towards a fallopian tube that has recently discharged a potential Miley. The two get together, trade chromosomes and Kapowie! Hannah Fontana is born.
Post-Adolescence.
Walt Disney offers Miley money, fame and a concert tour under an assumed name. No wonder she was confused.
Twenty-something.
“Jolene”. Huh?
A Harlot Is Born.
Doing her damned best to shed the wholesomeness of Disney like a dried out snake skin, Hannah transmogrificates into Miley The Slut and dons an outfit that must have scared the shit out of all the mommies in attendance at the show when they realized that their daughters had hoodwinked them into buying tickets for a concert by Marilyn Manson’s little sister.
This is also the photo that got me thrown into Facebook Jail for the one and only time in my life.
Today.
Rock Goddess doing a benefit show for live-music venues that are having to close their doors due to Coronavirus. Which is actually pretty cool. We need places like the The Whiskey far more than we need another strip mall. We also need women that are strong and confident enough to continually challenge themselves and their audience.
Miz Cyrus has certainly got some big ovaries (or O-berries, as one of my grandkids called them). Refusing to be pigeon-holed is a good thing. Knocking the socks off of an old jaded punk rocker is even better.
Well done, Miley.
