Published on September 22nd, 2009 | by Lisa McInerney15
Surreptitiously going through Eminem’s summonses, so you don’t have to.
I have learned that there’s no point in being high-minded about a gossip column.
Originally, I had planned to focus on the goings-on of our more worthy high-profile heroes, rather than on preposterous knobs like Jordan or Kerry Katona. But the problem with such a well-meaning mission statement is that … well, worthy stars don’t make absolute prats of themselves, do they? They don’t court Controversy, or indeed try to talk Scandal in for “a coffee” on the way home from the local disco. You won’t catch George Clooney dogging in the Tesco car park, or all four members of Interpol coked out of their oaks on the set of America’s Next Top Model.
Basically, I’m warning you that while I shall endeavour to provide an environment free from Jordan and her ilk, I cannot always be sure that the odd reality TV star won’t worm their nasty way round the bastions and battlements of Sweary’s Jaw. That’s why this week we have updates from avante-garde musicians, rock legends and indie-flick sweethearts, but we’re also going to have to read about girlbands and … er … David Hasselhoff.
Yup, everyone’s favourite crap icon outside of Chuck Norris is in the news over rumours of a decidedly unentertaining vodka binge. 911 was called when it became apparent to his loved ones that Sir Hoffalot was in physical danger, and he was reportedly hospitalised with alcohol poisoning – and no, ArtsII readers, that’s not cool. “Then why draw attention to it, you hypocritical moo?” I hear you splutter. Well, because David has hit back at such scurrilous reports by claiming that he was, in fact, stricken with an ear infection, and that the medication he was taking messed up the ould balance. Best excuse ever? I don’t know; I’ve heard, and regurgitated, some whoppers in my time. I’d be interested to know how you get on if any of you lot decide to try it out on your mammies. I mean, if it’s good enough for The Hoff…
Another hard-partying (or, as the Hoff might profess, ‘ard of ‘earing?) star having an unbalanced week of it is Ronnie Wood. Ronnie, as everyone who isn’t living in a sealed crate underground knows, recently left wife Jo for some teenage waif he picked up in a pub somewhere. He has reportedly seen the error of his waif ways, but the path to a true break-up never runs smoothly, and it seems Foul Ole Ron is having a hard time detaching his young lover from his coat-tails. Hot on the heels of rumours that he’d ended their relationship came more rumours that he’d changed his mind again, due to the young wan’s tears, tantrums, and threats to tell all to the tabloids. I’m having a hard time feeling sorry for the multi-millionaire rock star, though. It’s like the saying goes, You lie down with random teenagers you meet on benders, you get up with an arse ache and no chance of a hot cooked breakfast. Such is life without a wife, as me mam is fond of whistling.
More turmoil from the world of music as it’s suggested that Amelle may have left Sugababes! “A-who?” you might ask. I don’t know, sure there’s no one can keep track of the personnel changes in the bloody Sugababes; they’ve had more line-ups than Lindsay Lohan in a Vegas nightclub. I think Amelle”s some brunette that joined after the other brunette left. You know who I’m talking about. The dark-haired one. Did a bit of singing. Update: In a shock move, it’s now been confirmed that Keisha is the one hightailing it from Sugababes! You know Keisha, the other original dark-haired one. Reports that she somehow managed to bully herself out of the group have yet to be confirmed, but what’s obvious is that LIFE WILL NEVER BE THE SAME AGAIN. Everyone hold hands!
In the more respectable corner, Patrick Wolf has backed Lily Allen’s recent criticism of illegal downloaders, really throwing a spanner in my works. It’s a natural reaction for me to disagree strongly with anything and everything Lily Allen says, as I think she’s a prize dipstick, but Patrick Wolf is my glittery, overly-sincere hero. Writing on his MySpace blog, Paddy has asked if artists are not entitled to make a living as well as everyone else, which may not be the best choice of words, seeing as everyone else is living on own-brand mushy peas and local mosses these days. Certainly I can’t remember the last time I pranced about Soho in a feather jacket. Soz, Patrick. I think my Lily Allen aversion wins out this time. Will that woman ever tire of turning me into an irrepressible gangster? Let’s hope so, for all our sakes.
And finally, in a dark moment for culch.ie darrens everywhere, but a moment of incandescent hope for lonely, geeky musicians the world over, Zooey Deschanel has married Ben Gibbard from Death Cab for Cutie. Yes, Ben from Death Cab for Cutie. You know what this means, lads? You don’t have to be a sexpot rock-loon to get a Hollywood goddess to marry you anymore! It’s so romantic, in a comforting everyday way, and certainly not scandalous at all, proving my point about how the best celebrities don’t necessarily make the best gossip round-up subjects. Well done to both Zooey and Ben – the Beyonce and Jay-Z for people who aren’t criminally insane.