Originally posted by Achilles.

I feel like he was making a statement about how a religious upbringing can poison your mind, not saying that he hates Madonna?

A few days later I was driving to work at the Doolittle Theatre and her single Justify My Love was playing on the radio. It was the perfect song for that sleazy strip of old Hollywood where the Doolittle’s marquee winked sadly at an uninterested world. Hookers in hot pants and halter necks looked vulnerable in the orange glare of the street lights, standing in stilettos on the name of some forgotten star. Car after car drove by; their heads turned to each one with a promising glance glued to their faces. These were the little seeds of desire from which the vast heads on the billboards blossomed. Ambition was the currency in Hollywood although it was justified as love. The song ended and the DJ chimed in with some very disturbing news. ‘If you play that last track backwards, apparently there is a message to Satan,’ he said. ‘Just listen to this.’ A weird noise groaned over the radio as the track babbled backwards and then a deep voice said: ‘I. Love. You. Satan.’ My blood went cold. This was it. Madonna was Satan. I had been sent to kill her. It all made sense. My fascination with her . . . my Catholic background back in England . . . I could hear the abbey bells at Ampleforth, my old school, ringing in my head. The feeling subsided but I was quite shocked by my reaction. I only had to be two or three degrees more bitter and neurotic about my life, and there could have been an explosion. And I suddenly saw Madonna in a different light. Her life was full of people who could turn at any minute. How dangerous it was to tickle the world’s fantasy. And how vulnerable you were at the dizzy summit.