Top Of The Nonces

Last week I was watching Venessa Paradis perform ‘Joe Le Taxi’ on Top Of The Pops 2 and remarked to my wife that her hip swaying, pouty performance seemed deliberately designed to appeal to paedophiles. At the time she was only 14 years old (and looked it) yet no doubt because she was French and looked like a pubescent Brigitte Bardot it was OK for producers and camermen to treat her like she was ten years older.

Looking back at TOTP now it seems obvious that the array of zany middle aged deeeejays were obviously noncing up the gaggle of mini-skirted star struck young nubiles who gathered around them as they introduced Lieutenant Pigeon and Smokey. This was the 70s (and 80s) remember before the word ‘paedophile’ had replaced ‘dirty old man’ as the acceptable term for men who liked to look at and touch up young girls and boys.

This was the era when Benny Hill chased suspender clad girls around parks and the On The Busses/Are You Being Served brand of titillating comedy featured ugly, middle aged men making endless single entrendres to ditzy blonds who appeared to enjoy being treated as vacuous sex objects. No doubt this was the script writers own fantasy wish fulfilment but it also sent a message out to young lads like me; women were all ‘nymphos’ gagging for sex with men, ANY man, even ones that looked like Reg fucking Varney.

Or Jimmy Saville for that matter. What a strange breed of duck ‘Sir’ Jimmy was. Of all the weirdos and cranks that have populated the world of ‘pop’ Jimmy’s up there with the Michael Jacksons and Phil Spectors. His shtick wasn’t contrived, he was a genuine 100% off his rocker, no lumps of fat and gristle freak. Quite apart from his leering and sleazy chat ups of grinning groupies there was an aura of threat about Saville, the suspicion that he inhabited the pop world entirely for his own perverse gratifications. Although you could argue the same for other creeps such as DLT and Diddy David Hamilton I suppose. They didn’t seem to be in it for the music that’s for sure.

The cameramen were in on it too ofcourse, swooping up skirts from low vantage points and clocking all the attractive young dancers in amongst the goofs and goonballs looking up at the overhead camera or whatever the fuck it is that makes them all look to the heavens like Frank Lampard searching for his ma in the clouds. As for Pan’s People and Legs & Co, well that was described as ‘something for the dads’ a quick wank montage for the toilet later.

Pop is made for paedos. It’s bread and butter is young, dumb ‘guys n’ galls’ desperate for fame who’ll do just about anything to get a foothold in the world of ‘showbiz.’ As such every two bit huckster from Larry Parnes to Louis Walsh has used their position as ‘impressarios’ to gather around them a stable of attractive and compliant young lads who will get down on one or two knees to break into the glamorous world of Top of The Pops and tours of Belgium.

The Lolita theme runs away from Chuck Berry’s ‘Sweet Little Sixteen’, through Gary Puckett’s ‘Young Girl’ to the Police’s ‘Don’t Stand Too Close To Me’ the unifying theme that sexy underage temptresses are luring grown men into lust and, by implication, that all men are incapable of self-control. Maybe that’s what Serge Gainsbourg’s duet with his 12 year old daughter, Charlotte ‘Lemon Incest’ was hinting at, but then again Serge was French after all and what do you expect from Frogs and hillbillies like Jerry Lee Lewis but under age, incestuous relationships?

Which brings us back to Vanessa. There she was on TOTP2 thrusting her hips provocatively and acting all demure as if she didn’t know exactly what’s going on. She ended up married to Hollywood heart throb, Johnny Depp so no doubt she had a game plan even when she was 14 going on 34. Or perhaps her parents did because there’s no doubt that some parents are only too willing to pimp their sons and daughters out to anyone in the showbiz industry whether that’s pop stars, managers, film directors, television producers, business moguls and gargoyles of every description as long as there’s a contract to be signed.

In this world sordid ‘womanisers’ like Bill Wyman, Roman Polanski and Silvio Berlusconi get excused or even admired for their under-age exploits despite their physical and moral ugliness. Where else could short-arse, self-obsessed freaks like Phil Spector and Simon Cowell get a crack at stunners like Ronny and Leona? I’ll leave the last words to Mr. Puckett (can he Puck it? Yes he can!)

Beneath your perfume and your make-up
You’re just a baby in disguise
And though you know that it’s wrong to be
Alone with me
That come on look is in your eyes

Young girl, get out my mind
My love for you is way out of line
Better run girl
You’re much too young girl

So hurry home to your mama
I’m sure she wonders where you are
Get out of here
Before I have the time
To change my mind
‘Cause I’m afraid we’ll go too far

OK, I’ll have the last word, as per fucking usual. Quite how stuff like this was ever allowed to be released never mind bought by millions of ‘innocent’ music fans only underlines just how acceptable noncing was back in the good old days of comedy rape telly shows and pervy pantomime villains presenting mainstream pop programmes. Then again it wasn’t so long ago that Channel 4’s noncefest, ‘Minipops’ was deemed suitable early evening viewing for all the family ‘especially the beasts’ and The Sun ran its countdown calender to celebrate the day Charlotte Church finally became ‘legal.’