Accessing the Broxicon

So, you’re thinking of going bro?

Go, bro, go!

As a Kiwi, I’m a big fan of the brocabulary. My blog “Quid Pro Bro” is for the bros and broesses, especially for those with a Latin appreciation (a tip of the corona triumphalis to Mr. Staniland, my KBHS Latin teacher).

Obviously, bro is an abbreviation of brother, a male sibling. Over time the term “brother” has expanded to include those with a group affiliation, or as a term of endearment primarily to other men. My nephew Brian A. uses “my brother” very effectively as an informal greeting when meeting new people.

For Kiwis “bro” is used to address mates, whānau, acquaintances, or total strangers. It establishes an instant warmth and friendliness. My sister Kim is quite the bromeister, and frequently texts me, “Miss you bro.” Miss you, too.

It is used in informal speech; not to be used with the hoity-toity crowd. For example, you’re in the Throne Room as Buckingham Palace being knighted by King Charles III. Not the occasion to drop the “Your Brojesty.”

Yeah, nah.

Let’s stick with “Your Majesty” at all investitures.

The word “bro” is also very amenable to affixation. For example, it’s Lent, and you’re on an office Maccas (McDonalds) run. One of your colleagues has ordered a Filet-O-Fish sandwich. You could ask, “Do you want fries with it, brotato?”

Or with the younger crowd, especially in So Cal, you can go with “brochacho.” My grandson Silas was getting restless on a family car ride. “Chill, brochacho, chill” was advice offered by another passenger.

Or you’re on a summer holiday, cruising the various Greek islands in the Mediterranean. Prior to the trip, you even brushed up the Twelve Olympians, and can name more than just Zeus, Poseidon, Hades…Hera…Hephaestus…Dionysus…et cetera. You look out of the cabin porthole and see a storm is brewing. A celestial plea might be, “Help us, Brosiedon, help us.”

As with all lexicons, words, their pronunciation, spelling evolve and change over time. Just dust off your copy of Geoffrey Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales and wrap your 21^st century tongue around that Middle English. The Knight, of the Prologue, was indeed a “worthy man,” a true “k-neecht.”

And so, changes are afoot (amouth) with “bro,” or should I say “brah.” Vowel flattening requires less effort for our jaw, tongue, and throat. Why? Because we’re linguistically lazy, brah.”

Unlike New Zealand, in California I hear “brah” a lot.

“Sup, brah.”

There has also been a linguistic evolution and meaning from “brah” to “bruh,” the latter now used as an exclamation of total disbelief, or a reaction to something wild or unexpected.

As a sports junkie, I first heard “bruh” used effectively by Shannon Sharpe, the former NFL player, on the sports debate show “Skip and Shannon: Undisputed” in his high-energy, passionate debates with his co-host.

My daughter Genevieve often anchors her texts, up front with “bruh,” setting the emotional tone for what is to follow: “bruh why are they saying….”

So, whether you’re saying bro, brah, or bruh, you’re taking part in a linguistic tradition that’s equal parts friendship, creativity, and good-natured banter. Language changes because people play with it, and few words have been uttered more enthusiastically than this one. Long may the Broxicon expand.

Sweet as, bro!

© 2026

Bro-Dads: Happy Father's Day!

Same Song, Only Different

Several weeks ago, whilst my wife and I were adding our individual “u” and “e” to the ever-increasing queue to get into the Los Darks Festival in Santa Ana, California, I had an epiphany about a song that was playing by Mareux (he was currently on stage):

It’s a cover!

“The Perfect Girl”—his signature darkwave, atmospheric, moody, synthesizer-driven tune—is a cover of The Cure song, first released on their album Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me (1987).

Which got me musing…

We’ve all been at the pub with our dates, mates, and Speight’s, listening (and dancing) to the house band going through their set. Unfortunately, they endeavour to make each song sound like how it was performed by the original artist.

Yeah, nah.

I want my house band to go rogue. I want them to make it their own, imbue it with their own creative spark, exercise their musical alchemy. I want my covers to be original, a rendition so unique that when you realize it’s a cover song, you default to your inner Brit and exclaim:

“You’re joking!”

Which got me musing…

In one sense, we’re all cover artists. We are each afforded the opportunity to reflect our unique soul-spark bestowed by our universal Creative Artist. We are all derived from the same Cosmic Source, only different. To repeat the modern aphorism: “You do you; everyone else is already taken.”

So, in the spirit of same song, only different, and a tip of the Jacaru to the Top Ten List format made famous by Mr. David Letterman on his late-night talk show, from the home office in Oban, Rakiura, New Zealand, here are my top ten covers and the reasons why:

1. Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho

"Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho" is a spiritual composed by enslaved African Americans probably in the first half of the nineteenth century.

This song reminds me of my childhood. Sundays often included visiting Nana and Poppa and going to the Salvation Army Church. My poppa played trombone, and during the ride home, we would sing Christian songs—“Jesus Loves Me,” “The Devil Is a Sly Old Fox,” and “Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho” are a few that come to mind.

The singsong tradition has come full circle. I’m now Poppa, and along with Grandma, we sing harmony with our grandson, Silas, as we travel to church. In addition to the songs listed, he also likes “I've Got the Joy, Joy, Joy, Joy Down in My Heart."

Where?

Down in my heart, mate!

Cover by Mahalia Jackson

Paul Robeson and Elvis Presley do excellent covers, but Mahalia Jackson’s is my favourite.

Her voice reverberates throughout the song with such passion, power, and potency that all walls of impediment to human actualization—especially the oppressed—must “come tumbling down.”

2. My Way

The original was a French pop song entitled, “Comme d’habitude,” written by Claude Francois and Jacques Revaux (1967). Paul Anka transformed it into “My Way,” which Frank Sinatra made famous.

Cover by Sid Vicious

My musical coming-of-age was in the late seventies in West Auckland, New Zealand. British music, especially punk music, was a cornerstone of my musical taste, including the Sex Pistols. Sid Vicious was a member of the band (he replaced Glen Matlock,) and his version was more an anti-cover to the classic made by the Chairman of the Board. It spoke to my membership in teenagers-of-the-bored.

3. Mony, Mony

The original was written by Bobby Bloom, Ritchie Cordell, Bo Gentry, and Tommy James and released by Tommy James and the Shondells (1968).

Cover by Billy Idol (live version, 1987)

Growing up, I had never heard the original song, but I loved Billy’s version. He truly “Idolized” it with a British bad-boy energy, a leather jacket and sneer. Mea Culpa: I did practice the sneer in the bathroom mirror while listening to the song on the radio.

4. Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds

The song was released on May 26, 1967, by the Beatles on their album Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.

The Fab Four are and always will be my favourite group of all time. If my life had a soundtrack, it would be composed of songs written and performed by John, Paul, George, and Ringo. The first album—vinyl no less—I ever bought was from The Liverpool Lads, from a secondhand record store on Great North Road in Henderson, West Auckland.

Cover by Sir Elton John

Sir Elton John was knighted by Queen Elizabeth II on February 24, 1998, at Buckingham Palace. It was for “services to music and charitable services.”

From my perspective (the Commonwealth cheap seats), this cover motivates me to add the honorific title “Sir” when referring to Elton Hercules John.

Sir Elton transforms a hazy, mellow, meandering trip “on a boat on a river” into an Icon of the Seas mega-cruise with its own pop anthem and a climactic, energetic refrain:

“Lucy in the sky with diamonds.”

5. I Fought the Law

The song was written by Sonny Curtis and released in 1959 by his band, The Crickets.

Cover by The Clash

The Clash’s cover appeals to my punk-rock sensibilities and is a reminder that I was once a part of the law (Number 94 Recruit Wing, NZPC).

The aggressive energy reminds me of a particular middle-of-the-night scuffle I was involved in on Great North Road, Auckland.

The law won.

6. A Forest

The song was released on April 8, 1980, by The Cure on their second album, Seventeen Seconds (see previous blog, “Seventeen Seconds).

Cover by Bat for Lashes

English auteur Natasha Khan is the creative energy behind the moniker.

I hear her voice

Calling my name

The sound is deep

In the dark

Her haunting voice, hypnotic synth chord, and electronic drum machine invite me to transcend the rings-pass-not limits of passive listening into a mystical soundscape “running towards nothing, again and again and again.”

7. Smells Like Teen Spirit

The original song was released on September 10, 1991, on Nirvana’s second studio album, Nevermind, and was the sonic herald of Grunge music, its epicenter being Seattle, Washington.

On its release, I was in my late twenties, living in the U.S., but with sufficient teen angst samskaras (and un-Met Gala-esque wardrobe) to appreciate what the song expressed. And I do aspire “to be worst at what I do best.”

Cover by The Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain

Sometimes the best antidote to angst, lyric paradoxes, and the stench of melancholy is to have a good laugh, nay, guffaw. This orchestral cover delivers!

Pip, pip, cheerio!

8. (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction

For those living under a large stone that has never rolled, shifted, moved, or been displaced, the original is by the English rock band the Rolling Stones. It was released as a single in the United States in June 1965.

Cover by Devo

If rockstars Mick, Keith, and the lads “can’t get no satisfaction,” what hope is there for the rest of us yobbos? And how does anyone cover and reimagine Keith Richards’ three-note opening guitar riff.

Welcome Devo.

In their 1978 debut album, Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo, the band “de-evolves” and subverts the sexy, virile frustration of the original into a corporate, frantic, high-pitched repressed mantra:

I can’t get no satisfaction

I can’t get no satisfaction

Cause I try, and I try, and I try, and I try

I can’t get no, I can’t get no

So come on, slip on your yellow radiation suit and don your red energy dome hat and let’s while away another lifetime on the commercial and sensory treadmill:

No satisfaction

No satisfaction

9. Personal Jesus

The original is a song by the English band Depeche Mode and appeared on their seventh album, Violator, released March 19, 1990.

Cover by Johnny Cash

As a Kiwi, I am drawn to all things black—All Blacks, Black Caps, Ice Blacks, and Tall Blacks. I also like wearing the colour and listening to The Man in Black.

I am all for having a personal relationship with Christ Jesus, and Cash’s version speaks to that in a somber and intimate tone, more so than the high-energy, synthesizer-driven original.

The original reminds me of a house band at some megachurch where the minster has poofed-up hair and perfect teeth, and wears Nike Air Yeezy 2 sneakers.

Cash’s cover reminds me of a world-weary singer with a guitar slung over his shoulder, walking a country road in the sweltering midday sun to Damascus, Maryland, for a church social.

When Cash sings: 

“Your own personal Jesus

someone to hear your prayers

someone who cares,”

I sense he is recounting the sentiment from personal experience. It resonates with me.

10. Don’t Dream It’s Over

For the last track—you knew I was going there—it had to be southern hemispherical. The original was the fourth track on Crowded House’s debut album, Crowded House, released in June 1986. Cheers to Neil Finn, Nick Seymour, and Paul Hester (RIP, mate).

Cover by Sixpence None the Richer

The cover doesn’t completely meet the criteria I list above, but I love the feminine energy Leigh Nash, the lead singer, brings to the song. I am also enamored by the name of the band (I’ll let you C. S. Lewis aficionados dig out the “sixpence” reference to that literary Christmas pudding).

I am also pleased to report that both the original and the cover have received a lot of playing time at the grocery stores I visit in SoCal. I have had a few “hey now” encounters while manhandling my avocadoes, apples, and apricots in the produce department.

Maybe that’s why great covers resonate so deeply—they remind us that originality isn’t about inventing a new song but singing it in our own voice.

What cover song made you say, “You’re joking!”—and why?

© 2026

Ever The Bride: Reanimated, Reimagined, Reclaimed

“You must create a female for me, with whom I can live in the interchange of those sympathies necessary for my being.”

Sound familiar?

Such elevated dialogue is from Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel Frankenstein, spoken by the Monster to his creator, Victor Frankenstein.

In today’s eyes-glued-to-the-cellphone world, that request could be texted or posted on X as, “I’m lonely; I want a mate!”

Whatever the mode of communication, the yearning for companionship is part of our “human” DNA. Even God Almighty noted that “It is not good that the man shall be alone” (Genesis 2:18).

From that primal request in Mary Shelley’s original novel to modern cinematic reinterpretations, the figure of the Bride of Frankenstein has evolved from a constructed companion into a symbol of female autonomy and agency.

Origins: Shelley’s Vision

One can empathize with the Monster (put yourself in his size twenty shoes). Hardly a looker. In Volume I, Chapter IV, the novel notes that “no mortal could support the horror of that countenance.” In the Georgian era, your dating options were limited. No swipe-right apps for the Ugly and Deformed. No mail-order brides from Vietnam, Russia, or wherever they come from.

But there was the possibility of a made-to-order companion.

On the remote Orkney Islands in Scotland, Victor Frankenstein does commence the task but has a change of heart. "I thought with a sensation of madness on my promise of creating another like to him, and trembling with passion, tore to pieces the thing on which I was engaged."

He then put the mangled body parts into a basket weighted with stones, rowed out on the sea, and dumped it. “I listened to the gurgling sound as it sank, and then sailed away from the spot."

Order cancelled; request denied. The Monster’s female was now fish food.

Obviously, Mary Shelley did not write a sequel to Frankenstein. I do not know if she ever documented any desire to regalvanize this character. She certainly was a prolific writer throughout her life in a variety of genres. Included in her canon are the novels Valperga, The Last Man, and Lodore. She also wrote short stories, travel narratives, poems, and articles, and journaled extensively about her life.

However, the idea of a sequel, specifically about a female, was not lost at sea. That creative endeavour was picked up after Ms. Shelley’s death. The potential narrative of her life was a creative void that needed to be filled. And you know what our Latin-versed mates say (including my KBHS Latin teacher, Mr. Staniland): “Natura abhorret vacuum.”

Reanimation Through Culture

Remnants of the fish food have washed ashore on the creative mindscape of some very talented people. Firstly, a huge tip of the Jacaru sea cap should first be credited to James Whale. He directed the 1935 Universal Pictures Bride of Frankenstein. Mary Shelley’s female was now upgraded to a bride, specifically built for the monster[.

The movie also introduced the meta-narrative of having the same actress, Elsa Lanchester, play both Mary Shelley (in the prologue) and the monster’s mate at the end! And, of course, forever hair-sprayed into our collective consciousness is the bride’s Nefertiti Hair with the white lightning-bolt patterns on the sides.

Despite being the titular character, the bride’s screen time was only five minutes toward the end of the film. Still, as the Hollywood expression goes, “There are no small parts, only small actors.” And Ms. Lanchester gave a towering performance (I’m guessing seven feet tall). In her brief performance she hisses, screams, and, with drop-dead body language, rejects the monster.

In a poignant response, the monster replies: “We belong dead.”

Yeah, nah: In a story meme that deals with reanimation, there is no end to how many artistic ways the bride of Frankenstein and the monster can be regalvanized; there’s still flesh on those narrative bones. And over the past ninety-plus years, there has been a smorgasbord of options for whatever your bridal appetite.

Some other notable cinematic brides of Frankenstein: Jane Seymour (Frankenstein: The True Story, 1973); Jennifer Beals (The Bride, 1985); Madeline Kahn (Young Frankenstein, 1974); Fran Drescher (The Hotel Transylvania Franchise, 2012–2022); Phyllis Diller (Mad Monster Party, 1967).

Across other creative genres, the Bride has appeared in numerous reinterpretations—from theatre to modern animated franchises, theme parks, fashions shows—each reshaping her identity to reflect cultural attitudes toward women and autonomy.

And who hasn’t channeled their own inner monster…

The Modern Bride: Agency and Identity

 

While these earlier portrayals shaped the Bride as an object of creation, Maggie Gyllenhaal’s 2026 film The Bride! challenges that narrative entirely.

The meta-mantle is again picked up as author Mary Shelley breaks the fourth wall and rhetorically asks at the beginning of the film if the story to follow is to be a ghost story, a horror story, or a love story.

Categorically all three, but most saliently: The bride’s story! Exclamation point!

The dictionary tells us that a bride “is a woman about to be married.” The title of Gyllenhaal’s film insinuates “to whom” is a matter of the bride’s choice. Her marriage, should it happen, will be one of choice, not construct.

The film opens in 1930s Chicago. True to his identity, Frankenstein’s monster, who calls himself “Frank,” contacts rogue scientist Dr. Cornelia Euphronious with his unceasing request: He wants a companion. Dr. Euphronious perfunctorily refuses. But this is not Frank’s first reanimation rodeo. He knows that people with this creative ability also have egos.

“I thought you were a mad scientist?”

A flash of hubris animates the doctor’s eyes.

CUT TO: Frank and Dr. Euphronious digging up Ida’s body, formerly a gangster’s moll, from a potter’s field. She had been killed by henchmen of crime boss Lupino for speaking out about his malefactions.

Ida’s subsequent animation, in fact the entire narrative, is sustained by feminine energy. From Mary Shelley’s book to Gyllenhaal’s script, the main characters—Ida/The Bride/Mary Shelley (played by Irish actress Jessie Buckley), Dr. Cornelia Euphronious (Annette Bening), Detective Myrna Mallow (Penélope Cruz), crusty maid Greta (Jeannie Berlin)—all contribute.

Jessie Buckley in particular is riveting in all three of her roles and gives an Oscar-winning, nay, Oscarette-winning performance (who needs another male stiff to validate your rendition?).

Unlike the Monster, Ida/The Bride is not a mishmash of female body parts. She is her own woman, with her own body and agency, but suffers from amnesia upon her awakening (Frank lies to her that her name is Penny). But she is no yes-woman and does exercise her ability to say “nay,” or more poetically, “I would prefer not to.”

This iconic line comes from Herman Melville's famous 1853 short story "Bartleby, the Scrivener." Ida/The Bride clarifies the correct author during the breakfast scene where Dr. Euphronious and her maid Greta are debating whether it was penned by George Eliot or Nathaniel Hawthorne.

Authorship and voice are themes that permeate the film. As an artistic creator, Ms. Gyllenhaal is a student of classic cinema, literature, pop culture, and the issues du jour. Part of the enjoyment of watching the film (I have seen it three times and counting…) was recognizing the homages paid to authors and their art. Some associated with cinema include Ida Lupino, The Bride of Frankenstein (1935), Young Frankenstein (1974), Bonnie and Clyde (1967), and Top Hat (1935). And in terms of headlines making current social media streams, the bride even utters the words “Me too.”     

The phantom Mary Shelley possesses Ida/The Bride’s character and often engages in rhythmic outbursts in a British accent, using the reanimated body as a vocal channel for her bridled aspirations. 

However—Lo! This is not your great-great-great-grandma’s Mary Shelley (or even my English nana’s either) or her fictional characters. Ida/The Bride’s language pole-vaults the entire spectrum of language and posture—from the poetic to the profane (the film is rated R). In one carnal request the bride makes to Frank, even my toes curled!

Of course, a woman who speaks her mind, speaks truth to patriarchal power, and, as memories of her murder begin to flood back to her, increasingly vents her rage against those who abused her, she and Frank soon run afoul of both the law and the lawless. A classic cinematic showdown ensues.

And the ending—you must see in person—oh, the ending…what can I say?

I would prefer not to.

© 2026

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