
From Bobby Sherman to Bieber, the mixed fortunes of teen idols
It's very likely that news of Bobby Sherman's death on Tuesday was met with pangs of nostalgia among boomers, particularly women, and blank stares among many whose generation contains one of the last three letters of the alphabet.
Sherman's wife, Brigitte Poublon, announced his death at 81, after it had been revealed last year that he had Stage 4 cancer.
By the late 1980s, the singer-actor was largely absent from the spotlight, but the years that followed included serving as an emergency medical technician. Sherman's second act was by all accounts a positive example for any celebrity who once experienced white-hot fame, including the relatively small number considered teen idols — a list that includes Canadian Justin Bieber.
Bieber, 31, does not appear to be enjoying his fairly extended break from his career. In recent months, there have been health issues, social media posts that have hinted at drug use, and reports of financial issues, which he has denied.
A pop phenomenon
How big was Sherman at one point?
In 1972, he had to call a news conference to explain pesky new details previously unknown to his devoted teen audience — that he had wed his first wife 14 months earlier, who at the time of their marriage was about six months' pregnant with their first child.
Also, the marriage licence said he was — gasp! — 28 years old, not 25 as the public had been told.
Coincidentally or not, Sherman released his final album in 1972 and also saw one of his last big television roles end that year — in a Partridge Family spinoff called Getting Together, which lasted 14 episodes. The very last, the short-lived Sanchez of Bel Air i n 1986, was one of USA Network's first scripted shows.
Fellow former teen idol Donny Osmond pays tribute:
But Sherman burned brightly for at least a half-decade, which is why TV Guide ranked him eighth in its 2005 list of the greatest teen idols of all time.
He burst onto the scene with 42 appearances on the music show Shindig between 1964 and 1966, a time in which Flip, Tiger Beat and Teen Beat magazines also emerged.
16 Magazine, which debuted in 1957 with perhaps the original teen idol — Elvis Presley — on its cover, went all-in on the fresh-faced likes of Sherman, David Cassidy and Donny Osmond in the early 1970s, veering sharply away from late-1960s coverage that included bands like the Doors.
Sherman appeared on lunchboxes, cereal boxes and posters, and other products bearing his name.
"I received my Bobby Sherman Love Beads kit just in time to make two groovy necklaces for birthday presents! It saved my life," one girl gushes in an ad for the keepsake.
It was Flip that revealed Sherman's "secret" marriage, sounding crestfallen in the process.
"Over and over again Bobby has sworn to us and to his fans that he would tell the world if and when he got married," per the unnamed writer for the magazine.
For the record, Sherman said at the 1972 newser that he was shielding his wife, Patti, from the spotlight, as an earlier pregnancy had ended in a miscarriage.
"There was never a time when he wasn't open and gracious and, you know, just so excited about his life," Tiger Beat's editor at the time, Ann Moses, told Remind Magazine in comments published this week. "He was always just the most down-to-earth.... I want to say 'non-star.' He never acted like a star, even though he was on the cover of Tiger Beat magazine for two years straight."
Teen idol pivots to service
The work Sherman produced didn't particularly resonate through the ages. There were two seasons and 52 episodes of Here Come the Brides, and while that comedy-western did make it to syndication, it didn't have the staying power in reruns of The Partridge Family or The Brady Bunch.
As well, if you're listening to an oldies station today, you're more likely to hear David Cassidy singing I Think I Love You for the Partridge Family or Donny Osmond covering Paul Anka's Puppy Love than any of Sherman's four top 10 Billboard hits — Little Woman, Julie, Do Ya Love Me, Easy Come, Easy Go and La La La (If I Had You).
Generally speaking, the music of the teen idols of yesteryear is devalued by programmers and tastemakers.
The late music writer Tom Hibbert, writing somewhat cruelly about Cassidy in 1983, could have just as easily been speaking of Sherman.
"The music had been secondary to swoony looks and hints of sex, and while some might remember those alluring eyes glinting from the LP cover or the TV screen, few were likely to recall the vacuous, bland and essentially worthless records Cassidy left behind," Hibbert wrote in the History of Rock.
Cassidy and fellow Tiger Beat heartthrob Leif Garrett are among those who struggled after their stars dimmed.
Sherman appears to have been a nice guy who didn't finish last in that regard. He became an emergency medical technician in 1988 and later an instructor for the Los Angeles Police Department, teaching police recruits first aid and CPR. By 1998, he had helped five women deliver babies in the back seats of cars or other unplanned locations, he told a reporter.
Sherman also co-founded a children's foundation in Ghana with his second wife.
Bieber, an idle idol
Sherman's death comes amid weeks of what US Weekly has characterized as "undeniably chaotic and cryptic" social media posts from Justin Bieber.
"People keep telling me to heal … don't you think if I could have fixed myself I would have already? I know I'm broken," he said in one of more than 20 posts on Father's Day.
Bieber also appeared on Tiger Beat's cover several times (its newsstand publication stopped in 2018), but the comparisons to Sherman only go so far, even aside from the radically different times.
Sherman, by all accounts, came from a stable family background and had no burning ambition to be in showbiz. He went to college and caught his big break singing at a star-studded private party in Hollywood at the ripe old age of 23.
Bieber was born to teen parents who split up, and while not necessarily groomed for the stage, his path to stardom was supercharged when music executive Scooter Braun discovered some of his singing videos uploaded to YouTube. Bieber was barely 13 when he headed to the U.S. to record.
Anka, famous since 1957, when he was 16, once told CBC he shuddered at what young performers contend with in the 21st century, with gossip websites, camera phones and social media.
"Back then, I learned from my failures more than my successes, and I was allowed to do that in a time where they weren't watching you," he said.
It's not clear if Bieber wants his previous level of fame, to be entirely clear of the spotlight, or something in between.
But Sherman and Anka — who happens to be on tour this coming weekend in Virginia — demonstrate that whichever way, life goes on.
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Fans criticize Beyoncé for shirt calling Native Americans ‘the enemies of peace'
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As she prepares to return to the U.S. for performances in her hometown this weekend, fans and Indigenous influencers took to social media to criticize Beyoncé for framing Native Americans and Mexican revolutionaries as anything but the victims of American imperialism and promoting anti-Indigenous language. A publicist for Beyoncé did not respond to requests for comment. Who were the Buffalo Soldiers? The Buffalo Soldiers served in six military units created after the Civil War in 1866. They were comprised formerly enslaved men, freemen, and Black Civil War soldiers and fought in hundreds of conflicts — including in the Spanish-American War, World War I, and World War II — until they were disbanded in 1951. As the quote on Beyoncé's shirt notes, they also fought numerous battles against Indigenous peoples as part of the U.S. Army's campaign of violence and land theft during the country's westward expansion. 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Starting in the early 2000s, Kricfalusi wrote blog posts criticizing a particular style of art and derivative mentality he believed came out of the California Institute of the Arts — an influential arts and animation school founded by Walt Disney and his brother, Roy, in 1961. His criticisms were pointedly about the style championed by Disney, then copied to diminishing returns — including in movies like Treasure Planet and The Iron Giant. Though the animation in those movies looks nothing like what most people today think of as the CalArts style, the name stuck. And as many graduates of the school became associated with shows and movies that shared a similar bean-mouth design — including Elio, which has a pair of CalArts alumni listed as directors — the two names came to describe a common gripe. "That phrase has become a shorthand for a more fair criticism. Which frankly is: 'Animation as innovation rather than animation as imitation,' " Maher said. 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CBC
6 hours ago
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Indigenous-led projects are landing hits and winning awards. How are they making inroads?
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As Podemski has spoken about in the past, Indigenous-led productions often included mentorship programs, designed to train up-and-coming Indigenous creators to be ready to launch their own careers. That, she said, has paired with a shifted lens from decision-makers. Specifically, after the 2020 murder of George Floyd by police in Minneapolis, studios changed how they looked for talent. WATCH | Filmmaker and actor Jennifer Podemski on Indigenous resilience: Filmmaker/Actor Jennifer Podemski on Indigenous resilience 7 months ago Duration 1:46 Filmmaker and veteran actor Jennifer Podemski sat down with Tom Power to discuss her new series, Little Bird, how the story resonates with her own family history and making a production company that tells Indigenous stories with authenticity. "When people are casting for movies, they're more inclined to question ... 'Am I on the right side of history here, or am I perpetuating harmful narratives?'" Podemski said of the shift following Floyd's murder. "People became a little bit more aware of the steps that they were taking, and that's why we were seeing more Indigenous people on screen, maybe, where we wouldn't otherwise have seen them." Centralized source of funding As for the shift behind the camera and north of the border, Podemski credits that more to executive changes — specifically to the Indigenous Screen Office (ISO), which was created in 2017-18. While it began as an advocacy group, in 2021, the ISO began receiving federal funding earmarked for distribution to any Indigenous-led production headed to the screen. Kristy Assu, its director of funding programs, said that outreach has been furthered now that the ISO receives permanent government funding — including about $65 million to be distributed over the next five years. And starting this year, the ISO will administer the Canadian Media Fund's Indigenous Program, which allocates roughly $10 million annually to Indigenous-led productions. That sets up the ISO as a centralized source of funding for Indigenous creators in Canada, which has never happened before, Assu said. As a filmmaker herself, she said the change helps to break down systemic obstacles in the industry: While the Canadian Media Fund's Indigenous Program existed previously, there was "very little to access" — even more so for emerging, unestablished filmmakers, she said. "I think that's why we're seeing this huge surge in [Indigenous] filmmakers," Assu said. "Because there's access to funding now, there's support. People can make a living on being a creative in this industry." As well, with Indigenous people allocating the funding themselves, rather than through an intermediary organization, a more central issue emerges: narrative sovereignty. The term refers to a group able to choose how it's represented — and in a larger sense determine how it's perceived by society at large. That has been an especially entrenched issue in this country; the very concept and word "documentary" was first coined by National Film Board of Canada founder John Grierson in his review of American filmmaker Robert Flaherty's 1926 movie Moana. Both that film and his earlier Inuit-focused Nanook of the North — widely considered to be the first commercially successful documentary — used Indigenous people as their subjects. Particularly in Nanook, Flaherty's work has come under increasing scrutiny for staged scenes and general inaccuracies, with its widespread success continuing to reinforce romanticized and stereotypical aspects of a people who were unable to establish their own identity through film. 'Cost of carelessness' "Because of filmmakers like Flaherty, we've seen the damage wrought by policies built on visual misrepresentation, salvage ethnography, and the lines of ownership that become purposefully blurred by others extracting our own images," Indigenous filmmaker Adam Piron wrote for the International Documentary Association about Nanook. "For Indigenous artists, there's an added weight to engaging with the moving image because we know the cost of carelessness." An entrenched and inaccurate depiction of Indigenous people and their stories, Lightning said, led to decades of period pieces he described as "leathers and feathers" — productions that utilized pop culture ideas of various Indigenous groups, while barring those people from input into how their stories should actually be told. At the same time, there has been consistent pushback, such as Toronto-born Indigenous actor D'Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai, who starred in Reservation Dogs, attending the 2024 Emmy Awards with a red handprint on his face. The makeup was intended to bring attention to missing and murdered Indigenous women, and, according to the organization Native Hope, "the silence of the media and law enforcement in the midst of this crisis." Lightning said that rebellious streak has only increased in recent years. "I want our younger generations in this industry to push boundaries, make people feel a little uncomfortable at times," he said. "That's good. I'm looking forward to that. Those are the filmmakers I wanna see." And while territorial sovereignty — the ability to decide on laws within proscribed borders — is a topic often touched on for Indigenous people in Canada, Podemski said the right and ability to control how, and which, stories are told about them is also of huge importance. As an example, she told the story of how just the day before, a passport agent made an offhand complaint about her getting "stuff for free" after seeing her Indigenous status card — a discriminatory response that a 2022 study by the Union of British Columbia Indian Chiefs found 99 per cent of Indigenous respondents had experienced. The team behind North of North on making TV magic in the Canadian Arctic 5 months ago Duration 2:49 Actor Anna Lambe and the co-creators of the new CBC co-production North of North talk to the CBC's Eli Glasner about how the Iqaluit community came together to bring the heartwarming comedy to life. Podemski said she spent the next 20 minutes speaking about that stereotype to the agent, who said apologetically that she simply hadn't heard the historical context before. "Afterwards I thought, 'You know what? This is why I do what I do,'" Podemski said. "Because if we take up space on the screen, and if we help people to understand a little bit more about who we are in our own communities and in our own experiences, then maybe they won't write us off as easily as they do."