Song of the Week: “Sunday Papers” by Joe Jackson Patrick Mackenzie, OP Contributor By the end of this week's installment, the attentive reader will have noticed that two out of the three songs that I've written about in “Song of the Week” so far were recorded before most of the student population at Douglas College was born. I’m choosing these songs somewhat arbitrarily, hoping for inspiration. But as you Rnow, inspiration is a fickle mistress, and rarely does she hand out her gifts with a mind in accordance with our desires. Presently, inspiration is insistent that I mine the musical vault of late 1970s England. Next week IV try to be more current — but I can't make any promises. Anyhow, as I write this, it is the night before the OP deadline, and it was only today that I was able to settle upon a song to present to you, loyal reader, for your con- sideration. Throughout the week, inspiration was faithless; every song suggestion that came to my mind had nothing, it seemed, to offer in the way of social commentary. With the deadline looming I was getting anxious. Then, this morning while listening to the CBC, I caught a discussion between former Globe and Mail and Toronto Sun columnist Heather Malick, and senior Toronto Sun editor Peter Worthington, on the relative merits (or lack thereof) of the “Sunshine Girl,” or similar manifestations seen within the first three pages of trashy tabloids everywhere. The discussion revolved around whether these tabloid tarts were good for papers in terms of generating advertising revenue, or whether they were just a sexist anachronism. As I drank my coffee, a slow warmth came over me and I felt the anxiety diminish. Newspapers, I suddenly thought. Media. Trash. Sex. Tabloids. And in a second it came to me. Inspired by crap and the lowest common denomina- tor, I give you this week’s song: “Sunday Papers” by Joe Jackson. From the smoking remains of the Sex Pistols came a new style of boundary crumbling music that merged punk rock, reggae, guitar and electronic oriented pop — not all at once mind you. With the emergence of The Police, Elvis Costello, The Clash and Joe Jackson to name a few, a second, highly politicized British Invasion made its presence felt in the world. The music was more sophisti- cated but the underlying aesthetic for these artists was punk; unsurprisingly, left-wing politics and scathing social commentary dominated the subject matter for many of the songs. Possibly reflective of the polarization between the political left and right in England, a diverse group of artists took ostensibly opposing styles and created new music — the influence of which can still be heard 30 years later. These If You Haven't Been... Body Worlds 3 at Science World Angel Dejardais, OP Contributor I saw dead people last weekend. Literally, thanks to Dr. Gunther von Hagens and the Telus World of Science, you can observe exactly what’s going on inside that body of yours. Just like the models, we all have meaty bits, gooey bits, and (of course) naughty bits. Trust me, you'll see them all here. From the miracle of Plastination (that’s replacing the body fluids and fat of dead people with special reactive polymers to keep ‘em real, right down to the microscopic level), you can experience the human body first hand. What you might not expect is the way said bodies are presented (no, it’s not like a medieval dungeon). All the specimens in the Body Worlds exhibition have been treated respectfully, and the emphasis is on the scientific. The bodies are placed to display muscular movement usually in athletic or artistic poses. There are also individual parts demonstrating bones, muscles, and organs from children and adults, both male and female. Don’t worry though, everyone here dedicated their bodies to the cause, and over 4500 volunteers are in line, should the unthink- able happen. While I wouldn’t recommend Body Worlds for the squeamish, we should be reasonably impressed that this kind of thing is even possible. It’s a bit pricey at $17-$21 (evenings/days), for students, but well worth it in my humble opinion. Take the Skytrain so you don’t have to worry about parking, and avoid going on a Saturday night if you possibly can. My final advice: try not to think of smoked salmon while you walk through the exhibit: it’s just a bad idea. For more info visit www.scienceworld.bc.ca/bodyworlds/index.html or cal] 604-443-7443 8 THE OTHER PRESS OCTOBER 5 2006 bands would be captured under the banner of New Wave. More pop than punk, and more rock than reggae, opposing musical influence “Sunday Papers.” The repetitive guitar chords strummed in quick succession are reggae and the bass comes through in a high register above the guitar; and yet th of punk is restrained by the lilt of the music. It is as if reggae and punk are meet and are tempered by each other’s presence. “Sunday Papers” is as visceral as the populist rags it drags over the coals. Driv casm, the lyrics deride the ubiquitous and sensational lowbrow English press. Fot papers like The Daily Mirror, The News of the World and The Sun with their mixture spott, and sex aren’t providing news at all, and to quote contemporary Elvis Cost exist only to “anesthetize the way that you feel.” And what exactly are we, the rez tabloids, given? What numbs and distracts u world outside? For Joe Jackson, what passes the lurid details of the affair between “the b the actress” down to “the stains on the matt it turns out, is entertainment that’s been thir for the masses. However, as much as Joe Jackson tears a tabloid newspapers as platforms for willful disgrace, sin, and sentimentality poorly disgu mate information (Well I got nothing agains press/They wouldn’t print it if it wasn’t true consumers of Sunday papers that are seemit demned the most. Accordingly, “Sunday Papers” is filled wi apathy: “Mother doesn’t go out anymore/ Jt home and rolls her spastic eyes/But every w through the door/come words of wisdom f world outside.” Indeed, mental and physica! ure prominently when Joe Jackson continue: mother’s wheelchair staying “in the hall... /V moves beyond these walls/She’ll know the f Sunday comes along,” But in the end, it is 7 “know about the gay politician/... the new : indeed, the unrestrained details that give us | to walk to the mail slot. It seems then, and t overused phrase, the Sunday papers are only people what they want. So who’s to blame? An equal distributior _ be smeared over the consumers of tabloid “ the people that produce it. But in “Sunday F personal is the political, and like many songs sage, “Sunday Papers” makes heavier deman tener than the institutions it’s criticizing. The sented as an observation, but the listener is « know that the singer is being ironic. Throug we align ourselves with Joe Jackson’s commentary in order to resist powers that v linger too long over images offering empty delight at the checkout.