Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Andre Rieu

I'll be the first to admit that I'm not the classiest chick on the block. I like my wine cheap. My hair unbrushed. My humour crude. But one thing I do hold in high esteem is my musical taste. It has been with great care that I have ensured my iPod and the likes of Chingy/Rihanna/Fat Man Scoop never come in contact with each other

Oh yes.

Yet recently, my ears have been abused. And whom is to blame for this abuse? It has a smarmy expression, an enormous cranium and has changed the violin from an instrument of beauty to an instrument of marketing.


It all began in 2007. I was a virgin back then. It was only a few months later that this overpuffed, talentless cretin came into my music radar when my own step-mother contracted Rieu-itis.

And began a fan club.

And then recruited 300 people.

And then single-handedly organized the Get-Andre-Rieu-to-Adelaide petition and was featured in the Advertiser.

And then went to see him for the fourth time in concert.

It was shortly afterwards that this fandom began to pervade into my own life. That following Summer, I suffered hours of Andre Rieu stereo blasting on a houseboat trip with my stepmother and father. Endless hours of Andre Rieu DVD footage. Constant references to Andre's favourite foods during dinner. I survived this horrible ordeal - albeit battered and bruised - but I survived. Until the next time..

Exhibit A: During one of my step-mother's fan club luncheons, I was approached by a guest. The conversation went as thus:

"I'm Lizzie. This is my son who died in the war (points to badge). He didn't really die in the war, he got murdered and pushed out a window. I'm going to find out who those bastards were. But I've got Andre, Andre saved my life."


This was a shaking experience. So some foreigner with an enormous head who artifically ices over Aami Stadium in the middle of December is lifechanging. Well, now I know.

Exhibit B: At Carols by Candlelight, I was sent to retrieve the Eski from the car boot. My step-mothers keys, to my horror, had an Andre Rieu keychain with that one, startling caption written on the back...

"Happy Birthday to Me..."

As you can see, my life is slowly being ruined by Andre Rieu. And for what? I can say this much:
Andre Rieu is, in every sense of the word, a talentless bum.

There are many - many more - that rave about his "musical genius". Look. Andre Rieu is this - a coverband. A coverband, who instead of playing in a shitty pub, has a fuckload of money and a plane that airmails Austrian clydestales to artifically-iced concerts all around the world. That covers classical music.

I youtubed his shit, and all I see is some douchebag with a violin with one giant theatrics set behind him, smiling at the....

OH GOD. And this is what hit me. The smile.

For those of you who are familiar with the works of Maddox, you will understand. For those of you who aren't, please take 3 minutes to indulge in this piece of reading material ->

Observe; the pedo-smile.

To summarize:

From now on, I'm going to live in my closet with a T-lock over the handle until I know the world is safe again from the raping clutches of Andre Rieu.

No comments: