Guilty Pleasures

We gave you some options for dressing up involving some of pop’s most aesthetically creative characters currently reigning this here world, so in the spirit of fairness and equality it’s only right we look at those who once did reign put no longer do due to death. Yes, it’s not Hallowe’en quite yet, but some of pop’s brighter stars should be brought back to life for the Pop Stars Party this Saturday 29th September to shine brightly once more.

Jackson. So many looks. It’s all a result of us watching him grow up in public and his face maturing. Nothing to do with him chopping it up / trying a new nose out every six months etc. Nothing at all. Choose whichever Jackson you want to be – the key elements, depending which Jackson era you’re channeling – are a selection of the following:
Afro;
Spangly glove;
Fedora;
Dances that focused heavily on a crotch grab;
White socks and loafers;
Kicky-out leg;
Vajazzled military jackets;
Small boy(s);
Jesus Juice.

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Whitney. Taken from us too soon. She burst into our lives in the early 80s with a whippet-thin figure, a beaming smile of splendid teeth and a belting voice that could knock you sideways. She had hit after hit after mega hit and wailed her way to everyone’s hearts. Then she met Bobby Brown, got into crack, sported adult nappies and was sadly taken from us. Let’s not dwell on that bit, especially the nappies. Soils the memory in so many ways. Here she is in happier times. Oh Whitney!

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Freddie. The Queen front man and possibly the greatest ever front man the world of pop and rock has ever seen. Brilliantly pompous, unafraid of dressing up or acting the clown, supremely entertaining and a command of the microphone stand to it’s full phallic connotations – his charisma, energy and sheer star quality was never less than 100%. Can you tell we like him a bit? Sorry Adam Lambert, but there really is no contest. Queen sans la Mercury should just STOP NOW PLEASE. We miss him the most probably out of this parade of the dead. SIGH

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Winehouse. She had some voice, but by heck she didn’t half have a troubled time of it. Being followed about by paps all day probably didn’t help much when you’re a bit lacking in the self-esteem department and only nipped out for some milk. But what she lacked in self-worth, she made up in soulful, melodic, honest-pop, whacking great big hair, myriad of tats, boosted sales of RImmel’s eye liner and impressive fag smoking. You can imagine she would have aged brilliantly, wise cracking about young pop upstarts as she got older. Like Elton, but with her own hair. Her own MASSIVE hair.

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Having joined the 27 club like Amy and a host of other dead musicians, Kurt Cobain enraptured a legion of angry teens sulking in their bedrooms with his angst-punk-pop, creating grunge, donning cardigans, making an anthem for a generation and then departing from this world via violent methods. He hair never looked that clean and he probably never washed his jeans, but then he was the accidental focal point of “grunge” therefore dressing like a slick city gent probably wouldn’t have lent it that much cred, so full marks for the commitment. His bedsheets probably could’ve walked to the washing machine themselves.

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