The White Peril 白禍

Shinzo Abe is now Prime Minister of Japan and has appointed his cabinet and blah-blah-blah...but more importantly, Kylie says she's back on track after he breast cancer treatments (via the Flea (who heard from some other people):

The 38-year-old singer--who was given the all-clear by doctors at the start of the year--was a surprise guest at the Red Square concert, where she introduced the Scissor Sisters. [Sorry I missed that!--SRK]

She enthusiastically urged the crowd to cheer louder, and was even seen 'spinning around' as she danced along to the music in the wings.

...

She said: "My energy's coming back now. I am so revved up. I can't wait to get back to my day job."

I know I've said this before, but how is it possible not to love Kylie? I will adore Madonna until the day I die, but you just know that if she'd gotten breast cancer, she'd have been all over the media by now talking about the battle to survive and attendant profound spiritual transformation--as if she'd been the first cancer patient in human history. (At least, she would if the way she handled first-time motherhood is anything to go by.)

In any case, good for Kylie. Can't wait for the album.

James McGreevey isn't the only controversial public figure offering "confessions" of dubitable religious sincerity this week.

If you live in a major Asian city and have spent the last few days wondering where all the fags got to, I have your answer. It's still warm enough to sit outside at night, so a few buddies and I were having a drink when one of us noticed all the men around speaking Chinese. Gucci trainees off the chain after a day of workshops? Traveling dance or drama company? Nope. "We're here for Madonna!"

Of course. You could see gaggles of them in Shibuya Wednesday and yesterday, too. And at the last show last night (a friend and I went).

I wasn't sure how I'd like the show, but I loved it to pieces. The political and religious [ahem] commentary was predictably witless...or I guess "directionless" is a better way to put it. The mirror-tiled crucifix from which she sang "Live to Tell" has become the most notorious part of the show, but it was way less thrilling than the big mirrorball that was lowered to the stage and opened like a flower from outer space to disgorge her and her dancers at the start of the show. And while it was clear that Madge was repeatedly addressing us as "motherf*@ers!" as a gesture of inclusiveness--we in the audience were part of her in-group of fearless, super-transgressive free spirits, you know?--the effect was lame compared with the pleasurably shocked sense she could produce so reliably twenty years ago.

Madonna's a better live singer than you'd expect. I know she has plenty of gizmos to help her with power and pitch; but there were enough blue notes and cracks to convince you that she was mostly going au naturel, and she projected lots of personality and charm. And there's no faking that amount of energy. Toward the end, she was obviously kind of tired from having been flinging her limbs around for two hours, but it didn't come off as the Tired of someone frantically pushing herself beyond the physical limitations of age. Though I think she'd look sexier if she settled into having just a little body fat, it's hard to deny that her healthfulness obsession is paying dividends in the long term. (The party of hopped-up dykes in the row in front of us paid frequent and voluble notice.)

And my two favorite songs from the latest album ("Jump" and "Forbidden Love") were spectacular--high points even in a show full of crowd-pleasers. A good time all around.

Dear Jessica Simpson,

Please go away. Please.

Yr. most humble and faithful servant,

Sean K.