THIS doesn’t even hurt. What’s worse we suppose it should do. They’re nothing now, they haven’t the wit to be Bon Jovi or skin thick enough to be Guns N’ Roses. Instead they hang uselessly in that limbo reserved for the sinless, faithless likes of Poison. And they’re so obviously there, they’re just deadweight swinging on a sequin-studded gallows of their own making. Their single achievement was to erase any memories of ever having liked them at all. 

They swanned about, these aging twins, Michael behaving like Danny La Rue on a chain gang, Jay at least having the sensitivity to keep his shirt on. They acted like spoilt 11 year-olds at their own birthday party, cooing and whooping, any previous androgyny lost in preening peacockery. 

And the music, god the music. Clean, confident stodgy, a pedantically musical music, the aural equivalent of being force-fed cream crackers and a half-hundredweight of cottage cheese. And they smile about it. Not, we think, because they enjoy this anymore. It’s just a convulsion, a distortion of the features, a reflex response to mindless adulation. 

It’s ugly. It’s all so f***ing ugly. But we really don’t care anymore.

THE STUD BROTHERS Melody 
 
 

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