You can always get a feel for a country and what ‘makes it’ or ‘is making it’ tick, there being a subtle difference in these parts, by a little channel surfing. Romania is awash with musical entertainments aside from local versions of ‘Who wants to be a Millionaire’ (the Oppenheimer of TV – one big idea that causes cultural destruction wherever it’s deployed). There’s one channel called Etno which is back-to-back gypsy singing and is mesmerisingly bad.
Ever wondered what happened to your Granny’s frilly ‘doyle’ tea tablecloths? Well, I’ve found them. They’ve been chopped into dresses into which squeeze busty dusky women wailing and waving/flailing their arms all the while struggling to remember to smile. The genre requires that the backing singers smile/lip sync/flail too… and hold hands in the way new born Christians do it in the Mid West…and worry as if to say ‘are we still on camera?’ While the women do most of the singing part, the men do a sort of macho gangster thing with ivory topped canes and saxophones. Think of an aged, rheumatic Fred Astaire, irritable and unshaven. Combine that with a traumatized Nana Miskouri and then gyrate the mixture. I suspect the Turks are responsible.
Ever wondered what happened to your Granny’s frilly ‘doyle’ tea tablecloths? Well, I’ve found them. They’ve been chopped into dresses into which squeeze busty dusky women wailing and waving/flailing their arms all the while struggling to remember to smile. The genre requires that the backing singers smile/lip sync/flail too… and hold hands in the way new born Christians do it in the Mid West…and worry as if to say ‘are we still on camera?’ While the women do most of the singing part, the men do a sort of macho gangster thing with ivory topped canes and saxophones. Think of an aged, rheumatic Fred Astaire, irritable and unshaven. Combine that with a traumatized Nana Miskouri and then gyrate the mixture. I suspect the Turks are responsible.
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