After almost four decades, “High School Confidential” has been recognized for what it is.
A Canadian Classic.
A hit that took on a life of its own!
A lyric that challenged, changed and defied the norms.
A wordplay that helped unzip women’s sexuality.
A song that deified female masturbation.
A message that shattered and exalted the image of “Miss Chatelaine”.
A hit that drove men to distraction, and unleashed a sisterhood that grows stronger by the day.
The Carole Pope, Kevan Staples co-write, included on the album Avoid Freud, produced by Gene Martynec, has achieved over 100,000 spins on Canadian radio and, by definition, has become a Classic.
Signed by Bernie Finkelstein, best known for the Presbyterian-leaning songbooks of early Bruce Cockburn and Murray McLauchlan recordings released on True North Records, “High School Confidential” was and is the song that bulldozed Canada’s Mason-Dixon line of belted sexuality.
Staples and Pope made the Village People look like the Monkees they were, and, perhaps, enabled the k.d. langs, Jann Ardens and Carly Rae Jepsens of this world be who they are.
Thirty-seven years later, Carole Pope has failed to rise and succeed in any meaningful way; but perhaps her defeat is our failure in allowing an extraordinary talent to miss the boat and give a doary full of lesser talents the recognition she so richly deserved.
Ain't that the case?
Ain't that the way?
Ain't that the fcking truth?
Our inability to genuflect is not about her ability to be extraordinary because that she was, and remains so.
Thirty-seven years later, Carole Pope’s dismissed exceptionalness speaks volumes about managers who promote timidity when they can have an artist with balls.
She was, and is Victor, Victoria in reverse.
And don’t say her talent isn’t about sexuality because if you do, you miss the enviable sweet spot.
Pope is, was and forever will be a bellwether of whateverness is in sexual politic; assuming ‘whateverness’ is a real word.
Unlike the Vatican’s Pope-ye, Carole is not a virgin, nor does she believe in immaculate conceptions.
Carole Pope is a marvel.
A superstar with more kick than a case of Red Bull, a toothache of Mars bars, and more bite than a fandango of Dragon’s Den's love marks.