You’re just a singer

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I have a friend who loves Madonna. I can’t explain this, but—again—she loves Madonna. Loves her, loves her, loves her.

Hence, when the Material Girl came to Yankee Stadium a few years ago, my friend bought tickets. They were painfully expensive, and not that close to the stage. But, hey, she loves Madonna.

My friend was excited.

My friend was euphoric.

My friend … sat in the stands and waited for Madonna—who began her show two hours late.

I only bring this up because, earlier this week, Mariah Carey was scheduled to sing a couple of holiday tunes at the Rockefeller Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony … and arrived THREE hours late.

This wasn’t a first for Carey, just as it wasn’t a first for Madonna. Clearly, they view it as part of the gig. They’re divas, and divas don’t do timeliness. Or, apparently, consideration. No matter how much your fans love you, no matter how many dollars they paid—to hell with them. There’s an image to uphold. A standard.

It’s nonsense. Ever since hearing the Madonna story, I’ve lost all interest. The same now goes for Carey. We’re all people. We all eat and walk and poop and sleep.

A good voice (or, in the case of Madonna, a so-so voice) doesn’t change that.

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