Return of the Bedingfield

The return of a long-forgotten artist is often a fraught affair. Questions about their absence surface: were they in a cult? Was there some weird sex stuff going on? Were they sitting alone in a villa in Ibiza taking pills all day long (hi, James Blunt!)? Once those questions have been answered or batted away, there's the comeback itself – the “new direction” or the stale return to “doing what they do best”. More than anything, though, there’s the potential for no one to give a shit.

Kiwi, white-boy, garage MC turned pop-crooner, Daniel Bedingfield, has been away from music for seven years. Seven long, torturous years. But now he's back and he's brought his entirely naked body with him. His new video is called “Secret Fear” and answers that burning question that's long been on the lips of every member of Western civilisation: "What would Daniel Bedingfield fucking a busty babe in a glass tank look like?"

The video also highlights that other oft-seen feature of the comeback: the singer who is now an artist – a multi-tasking auteur who conceptualises and realises the whole vision for his work. Not only was the video was “conceived” by Bedingfield, but he also acted as director, producer and director of photography. Jean Cocteau, you finally have an heir. Here’s what his latest work looks like:

We are in darkness. The world is without void or form. Something emerges from the black. It carries with it an air of mystery. A comment, perhaps, on Bedingfield’s seven year absence. A reminder that – no, wait – boobs! Large boobs! This can’t be mere titillation, though; Daniel’s conception is surely above that. What we are looking at here is the powerful female other; the woman who haunts Daniel’s dreams, the woman he “secretly fears” will haunt him forever. Although, making a video about this femme fatale doesn’t seem that “secret”.

There he is. Our star. The man who deserted us for seven years. How did we ever get thru them? Look at him pushing his lover up against this glass box, look at his power. God, there’s so much desperation in his power. I hope his PR is doing a good job promoting this.

But wait – what’s she doing now? Is she trying to drown him? Or is she just putting her boobs on his shoulders? I’d like to think the latter, but the look she’s giving the camera suggests otherwise.

Oh my god, she’s got a knife! I'm assuming she got fed up with Daniel’s gormless mouth-breathing.

This is where Bedingfield’s dark new vision really comes to life. Look at that blood – as wine-dark as the water that surrounds it – spray and splash into this glass box; this glass cage. Regard the tortured artist in agony as the life is drained from him. Are we watching an actual killing here? No, we're watching the symbolic destruction of a man – a great man with dark visions; visions of boxes made of glass and women with ample breasts.

A dark, tortured “conceiver” is not afraid to tell the world, “Yes, it’s true; I look like a giant baby”. He’s not afraid to show the world his robust buttocks, his scrappy balls and his partially obscured penis. He is not afraid to present a GCSE drama project as a brave new piece of forward-thinking art.

In the end, we all become babies. We are all alone. All trapped, the air taken from us, our balls sticky, our mouth open, our flesh ample. In the dark, the naked fear is all we have. Did anyone truly show us that before Bedingfield? Well, maybe Natasha Bedingfield, but she’s a Bedingfield, so the answer is “no”.

I don’t think this is how you do a 69, Daniel.

Then the glass tank is obscured, the water gone for now. A match glows in the dark. It is our primal fear. There is a light that never goes out and that light is a passion for chart-topping pop music. There is a flame that burns bright and that is the flame of being invited to parties with the cast of Misfits.

Finally, Daniel is finished. Even if he could get out of the water, there’d be fire. The water, perhaps, is the love that is not returned. The fire, perhaps, is the press – maybe Baz Bamigboye or one of the guys from Heat. Fitzgerald told us that we were borne back ceaselessly into the past, Bedingfield tells us we are borne – stricken and conflicted – into a future that does not exist, but may involve large breasts.

Follow Oscar on Twitter: @oscarrickettnow

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