RUSSIAN PRIME MINISTER Vladimir Putin twirled away one of his busy days at the Kremlin as a Dancing Queen, according to the Abba tribute band he allegedly hired, ‘Bjorn Again’.
Everyone at the Kremlin is strenuously denying the suggestion that dearest Vladimir may, in the words of Baccara: yes sir…boogie, boogie woogie, all night long and spend £20,000 hiring some human-clone tunage for a private party just outside of Moscow.
Rod Stephens, band manager, caused the furore when he went and told Sky News : “It was bizarre, out of the ordinary. It doesn’t normally happen that such a famous person would call on Bjorn Again to do a gig.”
“The interaction was quite interesting. We invite people to dance along and to the delight of the band we could see Putin dancing along.”
Woooaaah, hold on there Rod. The band encourages people to dance along, you say? So Rod, does this entail grabbing him by the hands – sorry, this is just too weird to imagine – grabbing Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin, the iron-faced bloke from Russia who dares question the US on its oil monopoly, has serious prejudice towards the LGBT community – the Putin who is believed to be responsible for poisoning Litvinenko; the only man to have managed frightening the living DAYLIGHTS out of both Yeltsin and Human Rights Watch…grabbing this man by the hand with a face full of Fernando smiles asking him dance along to the aforementioned; Waterloo, Gimme Gimme Gimme…?
Rod continues: “He was even heard shouting out ‘Bravo’ after a number of songs. It appeared he had a great time.”
Wow. I want so badly for this to be true.
Unfortunately for Putin, a lorry load of fun has been made out of Putin’s prediliciton for camp pop given his stern, hard-man image. But what exactly is it that the government is worried about? Abba are about as anti-soviet as you can get.
Putin, not that you’re reading this mate but…calm down, there’s nout wrong with a bit of Abba, now, is there? The structures of their pop songs are so tight, the lyrics so geniusly* accessible and Eurovision-friendly, their outfits of satin-white, blue and co-ordinated: they were the closest to reach pop package perfection the 20th century.
But did Putin make a wise purchase in going cheap with B.A. and not ABBA?
He is, after all, head of the KGB and should therefore be able to reunite the real Abba by any and all means, no questions asked (or elz there vill be troubvle and in similar note, Bjorn Again clearly have no idea what they have done to the reputation of Putin and perhaps do not understand the full consequences of opening their mouth so much. Troubvle).
Aileen McLaughlin, whose AKA is Abba’s blonde bombshell Agnetha Faltskog, was quoted in The Times with this classic line: “He [Putin] was dancing along in his seat to Super Trouper and raised his hands in the air during Mamma Mia when we asked the audience to.”
Great! He likes a bit of jazz hands! Putin is hopefully a human then, occasionally a Dancing Queen and not a politico-robot who isn’t vulnerable to having his image ‘corrupted’…maybe.
The construction of public persona is always interesting to look at – even more interesting, however, is the perception of that image.
For example, I would rather have Gordon Brown admitting to preferring disco in the 70s when all the other precocious politicians were claiming to be practising their best dogmatic voices on the punk scene. Instead, Brown, so foolishly, compared himself to Heathcliff from everyone’s favourite psycho-goth-romance novel Wuthering Heights.** It’s a real shame though – Gordon Brown is a tragic figure in the most wistful sense. Brown will probably, in years to come, be the one we’ll miss a bit and probably wish the red-tops didn’t destroy this man daily; a Prime Minister who was forthright and honest about depression and generally avoided shafting the working class. 2010 is going to be hella different.
As for Putin: do you reckon he is desperately trying to retract these stories and silence Bjorn Again?
*Definitely a word.
**I bloody love Wuthering Heights….Emily. Charlotte. Anne. Branwell… All the Brontës.