"Don't Tell Me": No Country for Old Menopause

Curse me for reviewing two videos in a row from the same album, but come on: How could I pass up revisiting Madonna's most credible, authentic persona yet? Face the facts, Jethro, when you think of Madonna, you never (ever) recall whorish gondola antics, or cross-burning, or material girliness, or the saliva Olympics with Britney Spears. Perish those limiting labels. Don't put this artiste in a box. We're talking about a Billboard Music Award winner here, you chauvinist.

Now sit back. Close your eyes. Demand honesty from yourself. Breathe. Think. Let the Light guide you. When you allow yourself to accept Madonna without the burden of the media's malignant snipes and liberal agenda, you begin to understand the craftswoman, the performance artist, the soul at work here. Two specific, powerful words spring to mind when you think of Madonna's true essence...

Folk hero.

Many casual fans forget that Madonna was born in the whispering prairies of Crumbling Fence, Nebraska, the daughter of a devoted ranch-hand and steadfast Sunday school instructor. She lamented the plight of the downtrodden farmer, vowing never to forsake her beloved terra firma. She clasped her first banjo down south at the crossroads, where the local black boys hollered call-and-response standards about the delta, the bottle, and the hurt. From there she set out for life along the rutted road, just she and her most trustworthy companion -- her six-stringed darling, Baby Annette. Or just Baby 'Nette, when you consider Lil Nonnie's harsh Dust Bowl twang.

Obviously the path from lonesome guitar vagabond to the Madonna we know in 2008 becomes refreshingly clear. Since she is A PAMPERED, BRAT-ASS MIDDLE CHILD WHO OBTAINED A TRILLION DOLLARS AND WOULD FUCKING POOP ON A FOLK ARTIST IF HE EVER DARED TO GLANCE HIS SHIT-STAINY EYES AT HER.

Let's start harmonizing several shouts of "WTF" for this effing video. We all know Madonna cops different personas for cheeky, half-provocative reasons. But country troubadour? It's just such blatant artifice, totally divorced from meaning and only justified by "Don't Tell Me"s somewhat folksy lyrics. The get-up feels as bizarre as the patent-leather Geisha from "Nothing Really Matters," but God, can we just not talk about that right now?

"Don't Tell Me" is the second video off Madonna's 2000 album Music, and according to Rock on the Net, it's her second biggest radio success ever. That's kind of redemptive, since "Don't Tell Me" ranks as a pretty tasteful, even emotional song from Magina's catalog. I can get behind its popularity. The video? Well, the video's a chore to swallow in some parts, but I do detect a modicum of wit behind the rodeo. Mind you, I also detect some funky manure in the form of Loretta Lynn's performance here. But ahh, one step at a time, pilgrim.

The video commences with Madonna strolling nonchalantly, if super-seriously, on what appears to be a marathon western road where Javier Bardem will own you. The camera pans back, revealing that Madonna is actually just walking on a treadmill in front of a staged, "long-country-road" backdrop. This theatrical unmasking alerts us that Madonna's in on the joke of her Bob Dylan shtick, but that doesn't stop her from mugging hard like a saloon owner's tobacky-hackin' battle axe. She means it, y'all. We're witnessing a conscientious songwriter here, so strap on yer grandpappy's bandanna and yank back the tears.

But while Madonna goes on hammering in the morning, or whatever, the rest of us need to rewind and observe the wardrobe (non-)choices:

Charlotte Russe? I didn't know you were invited.

I don't hate any part of the outfit (not even the dirt-dazzled jeans, courtesy of a top-tier douchebag at Guess), but just... blah. Mall clothes. Nothing memorable to write about here. In fact, enough already, onto the HAWT MEN.

I guess cowboys really enjoy throwing dirt, bounding into handstands, and two-stepping around their buddies, because I tell you these johns are positively ebullient. They also might be named Jack and Ennis, if you catch my definitely necessary drift. They clearly wish they knew how to quit you, Madonna. But they also wish they knew how to quit the adult film industry, Ecstasy, and checking themselves out in public, so maybe they're just impetuous people and you shouldn't really be flattered.

I'll hand Madonna her dues, though, because she pivots, swirls, and passionately rains dirt on herself with swell bravado. The melodrama of the kneeling-and-masturbating almost teeters into a full-fledged queef, but luckily we are saved by THIS:

YEE HAW! There's father's little psychiatry bill! You tease those boys with your coon pelt, Bonnie!

The outfit is hilarious or downright strumpety, depending on how fucking tired you are. The blue denim crotch is, quoth Aunt Michael Kors, "insane." I would've toned the attire down by roughly seven pegs. Fortunately, and I don't know if you all can see this from your computer, but THOSE MEN ARE SO HOT I'M CRYING. Please, more thrusting upward towards the hip-popping granny, lads! The choreography here, by the way, actually appears very rigorous, cool, and appropriately themed without venturing into gimmicks. It's just too bad our protagonist busies herself with dubious extracurriculars like shoving her boobs up to Venus, playing "Peekaboo Midriff" with the locals, and doing Dallas.

And it all culminates in some enlightened, Brahman level of flagrant poon imagery with Madonna conquering a mechanical bull and eventually strangling it with her Kagel muscles. I really applaud the juxtaposition of this majestic, almost maudlin instrumental with the bronco and billboard soundstages. Instead of becoming too precious and actually showing Madonna saddling up a real Appaloosa, we're treated to these clever, apparent facades. And yet the contemplative, cerebral vibe sticks. In a way this exemplifies Madonna: The culling of unexpected images and raiments for the viewer's surface enjoyment that are imbued with urgency, vitality, and wit. That triumvirate remains her signature.

Plus humping. She really gets a kick out of humping.