tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1616948306690992042024-03-19T01:48:06.527-07:00Cosmic American Blogyoggothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00233852251148460524noreply@blogger.comBlogger1259125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-45044689654730120482024-01-15T21:20:00.000-08:002024-01-15T21:23:12.599-08:00Top 10 Favorite Films and Albums Of The '60s: The Countdown Continues ...<p><a href="https://parttimebuddhistpopcultureguru.com/?p=1129" target="_blank"> <span style="font-size: medium;">8. <i>Midnight Cowboy</i> (Schlesinger, 1969)</span></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7RCNaHF_T5iCx0FFBhHX9piOI6hVSzn502bu0GAcr84zaMOTBVAfQ6Uv_IT9Yh79XcZm8NpAlII2GsFx5yvhTMG-qN7eOzcYEZP4ddhLTrCqZim0cAmgUw92yaE88LuqjXmIVnDU3NIds9XvWu-Lac44orp0L_qdOCkJaLCv6fE1cPgs_4tEICF3-wxU/s624/MidnightCowboy7.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="342" data-original-width="624" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7RCNaHF_T5iCx0FFBhHX9piOI6hVSzn502bu0GAcr84zaMOTBVAfQ6Uv_IT9Yh79XcZm8NpAlII2GsFx5yvhTMG-qN7eOzcYEZP4ddhLTrCqZim0cAmgUw92yaE88LuqjXmIVnDU3NIds9XvWu-Lac44orp0L_qdOCkJaLCv6fE1cPgs_4tEICF3-wxU/w393-h215/MidnightCowboy7.jpg" width="393" /></a></div><br />Everybody’s talkin’ about my 8th favorite movie of the ‘60s, but I don’t hear a word they’re saying … because I’m too busy typing out this blog post, and I type pretty loud I guess. Moral of the story: anyone thinking of moving to New York without a solid employment opportunity in place ... should probably view this movie first.<div><br /><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://parttimebuddhistpopcultureguru.com/?p=1181" target="_blank">8. <i>Music From Big Pink</i> (The Band, 1968)</a></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeBA4Cg3ZD3eFr3vR2dQTMkKsrV5dSTlRBkLUjFMfQL_vF83cSL-ynm4UHI_tCTdgFKrNyQ5a17v7ILmnTHEaZ-IDG0Qu_VZwAA5bCWFqniGZLBvpM9KLUbxlXjgLC0cYMeSqClT5XKTguUvJUZFVfXdITx0yQxvTcGFeiAGhkGHfJGFW6Lfk5_QP_IQM/s600/MusicFromBigPink.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeBA4Cg3ZD3eFr3vR2dQTMkKsrV5dSTlRBkLUjFMfQL_vF83cSL-ynm4UHI_tCTdgFKrNyQ5a17v7ILmnTHEaZ-IDG0Qu_VZwAA5bCWFqniGZLBvpM9KLUbxlXjgLC0cYMeSqClT5XKTguUvJUZFVfXdITx0yQxvTcGFeiAGhkGHfJGFW6Lfk5_QP_IQM/w265-h265/MusicFromBigPink.jpg" width="265" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Take a load off, Fanny, we can talk about my 8th favorite album of the ‘60s now, and ponder whether its memory of bygone American folklore has served us well – hopefully before Crazy Chester catches us in the fog. Let’s just say that “Music from Little Pink” wouldn’t have had quite the same ring to it.</div><div><br /><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://parttimebuddhistpopcultureguru.com/?p=1220" target="_blank">7. <i>Doctor Zhivago</i> (Lean, 1965)</a></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyQjmxtYaki95ANKl2N_3EP6SAi14_-zxdfmfEmorOP28wCyh87bdJ0aUsjS26LOKS2SOdWSZC5qlNoMm63riAzJHBCIC_Tx5ho8zzcYyI2Wmcp1YteXNvHn1fFoRnASX32s6swL78ikUcppvCEQJ16zcBhaRB0kBg_2yqvuyCXHuiWCFOJB5q8EEMJlM/s624/Zhivago30.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="624" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyQjmxtYaki95ANKl2N_3EP6SAi14_-zxdfmfEmorOP28wCyh87bdJ0aUsjS26LOKS2SOdWSZC5qlNoMm63riAzJHBCIC_Tx5ho8zzcYyI2Wmcp1YteXNvHn1fFoRnASX32s6swL78ikUcppvCEQJ16zcBhaRB0kBg_2yqvuyCXHuiWCFOJB5q8EEMJlM/w377-h192/Zhivago30.jpg" width="377" /></a></div><div><br /></div>So wait, he’s a doctor AND a poet? Isn’t that kind of … fucked up? Take that fur coat out of the closet and step into the frigid winds of my 7th favorite movie of the ‘60s, hopefully before your hands freeze off from my discussion of, among other topics, its crisp editing, icy antagonists, or the oddly chilly critical reception it’s received (but anybody who’s got a problem with it can take this balalaika and shove it where the sun don’t shine). This could be the rare film that’s almost as epic as my essay about it.</div><div><br /><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://parttimebuddhistpopcultureguru.com/?p=1300" target="_blank">7. <i>The Velvet Underground & Nico</i> (The Velvet Underground; Nico, 1967)</a></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT7P43vltIloOOHdBTUT8-bJ5R-LoBLWw9kM5DyKaGF_ocb91Eze09zVhdtnH7w_ovPQAHbD_mPQssGlfSVa4XdbX-2bA_0nHclvlZC1LEjj90__NM4UhXkn7BG2XiHPxV_2PVcXtzMFWyTes9zrLK1YP2yjTEpcI4DyBpGITes_4cEST34mc1hBupKiw/s820/VelvetUnderground1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="820" data-original-width="820" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT7P43vltIloOOHdBTUT8-bJ5R-LoBLWw9kM5DyKaGF_ocb91Eze09zVhdtnH7w_ovPQAHbD_mPQssGlfSVa4XdbX-2bA_0nHclvlZC1LEjj90__NM4UhXkn7BG2XiHPxV_2PVcXtzMFWyTes9zrLK1YP2yjTEpcI4DyBpGITes_4cEST34mc1hBupKiw/w268-h268/VelvetUnderground1.jpg" width="268" /></a></div><p>Knock knock. Who’s there? Banana. Banana who? Knock knock. Who’s there? Orange. Orange who? Orange you glad you’re not on whatever drugs these guys were on? No need to wait for the man if you’re looking for a fresh perspective on my 7th favorite album of the ‘60s (and all the zany antics and wacky hijinks that went into the making of it). Peel slowly and read.</p></div>Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-9352687226760775442023-09-12T21:53:00.001-07:002023-09-12T21:56:40.675-07:00Meanwhile, Back Over On The New Site ...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGk7K_BudFPNevP6-MNLBgZVKf1ZDylX2vs2ehhWETwZyCXEai2m5VzJKP__qF5hPSYGjGkvZNDrq7O9_gDItvu-V1-BxNQpU7u7hFZclf886IZogMDEtK3Yhyj67NkmnyJS8a0qs48TqYFGx4aUNjM3hCkGRd1ruY5ACiiM18uXmUz01sfRqn5VLKjQA/s1000/10%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGk7K_BudFPNevP6-MNLBgZVKf1ZDylX2vs2ehhWETwZyCXEai2m5VzJKP__qF5hPSYGjGkvZNDrq7O9_gDItvu-V1-BxNQpU7u7hFZclf886IZogMDEtK3Yhyj67NkmnyJS8a0qs48TqYFGx4aUNjM3hCkGRd1ruY5ACiiM18uXmUz01sfRqn5VLKjQA/s320/10%20(1).jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Hey, how about that? Looks like I'm still able to log into Blogspot. Well, before someone at Google unknowingly changes my password and freezes me out, I might as well take advantage of the situation and share a few links to some of the new content that's up over on <a href="https://parttimebuddhistpopcultureguru.com/" target="_blank">The Part-Time Buddhist Pop Culture Guru</a>.<br /><br />I guess I didn't really consider it while I was secretly plotting out my next move behind my readers' backs all those years, but, as several friends and acquaintances concerned about my well-being and/or self-esteem have been pointing out to me, my new essays are kind of ... long? It's probably inappropriate for me to even describe the new site as a "blog"; it's more like an unpublished collection of non-fiction essays, with each "post" acting as more like a chapter in an imaginary book.<div><br /></div><div>I dunno. I like to read long essays. I like to write long essays. Maybe it's not for everybody. Maybe this should be a podcast instead. Maybe my new site is more in the realm of a "personal project" than something that is going to appeal to the TikTok generation. Maybe I'm just exorcizing my "frustrated English professor" demons for all to see on the internet, you know, getting it out of my system. Maybe it's is the thing that I work on while I figure out the thing that I <i>really</i> should be working on (but isn't that what I kept telling myself while spending 10 years posting about '80s music on Cosmic American Blog?).<br /><br />Whatever. Since I already have the drafts of about eight other essays more or less in the can, I might as well spruce those up and throw those online at some point.<div><br /></div><div>A couple of other bits:</div><div><br /></div><div>1) Given that my new essay-publishing rate is roughly every six to eight weeks, instead of the old two to three weeks (hard to believe that, once upon a time, my publishing rate on this blog used to be once every five days!), I've added a "Subscribe" feature at the bottom of the site's home page, so that anyone who subscribes will receive an email notification every time I post a new essay. Look at me with all the technology.</div><div><br /></div><div>(Wait, <a href="https://zrbo.substack.com/" target="_blank">Zrbo's new blog</a> has a "Subscribe" feature too? God damn it.)<br /><br />2) Here's how you know I've truly gone "professional" with this one: behold the Part-Time Buddhist Pop Culture Guru's <a href="https://www.instagram.com/parttimebuddhistpopcultureguru/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/PopBuddhistGuru" target="_blank">Twitter</a> (aka "X" aka "Ex-Lax" aka "Professor X"?) accounts. Nothing like that "circa 2015" social media know-how to send my readership skyrocketing. To paraphrase Genesis, follow me and I'll follow you.</div><div><br /></div><div>The real news, of course, is that the countdown has begun. If you'd prefer to skip the long versions of the essays, here are the short versions - but the short versions might pique your curiosity and induce you to check out the long versions? I've already made it quite a ways past #9 on the countdown already, but ... I'll post those links some other time.</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://parttimebuddhistpopcultureguru.com/?p=861" target="_blank">10. <i>The Wild Bunch</i> (Peckinpah, 1969)</a></span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3TxA8uGOAETanMpA3RlY-E8firnw6TF4Dlih9q-hxZCi16Cocmzd0mHJ-q1SuwCD0N6APi4Mi3OWAbZBY0NqEWtwDr4bzTvfarcxUA8I1xceGysn7VUp0sJkgd9TLylAsgARMkFP2ZLrLKIESX7UA3jkQcEfbaYg10tf8Qz4pYQLYdLGHHfDUpLlZ3p8/s624/WildBunchFeaturedImage.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="334" data-original-width="624" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3TxA8uGOAETanMpA3RlY-E8firnw6TF4Dlih9q-hxZCi16Cocmzd0mHJ-q1SuwCD0N6APi4Mi3OWAbZBY0NqEWtwDr4bzTvfarcxUA8I1xceGysn7VUp0sJkgd9TLylAsgARMkFP2ZLrLKIESX7UA3jkQcEfbaYg10tf8Qz4pYQLYdLGHHfDUpLlZ3p8/s320/WildBunchFeaturedImage.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>Q: Can a western be gory, grisly, rude, crude, barbaric, depraved … and heart-warming?</div><div><div><br /></div><div>A: In the case of <i>The Wild Bunch</i>, my 10th favorite movie of the ‘60s, the answer just might be “Yes.” To paraphrase Pike Bishop: “If they move, rank ‘em!”</div></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://parttimebuddhistpopcultureguru.com/?p=938" target="_blank">10. <i>Sweetheart of the Rodeo</i> (The Byrds, 1969)</a></span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKfNOD9FEgvpOrgB82GHJCvf1lvUA8h0tXkXNFB8SDOBLxNmatxFMHAVJ0_AvbQtTN4J8Q37xnZ7gaSNW9hA4cXjW4FJ24GOtanhr9aL73EcK42fv6weM9qUxqB38z3zPr0F1rzuRNWcCCSw8OxuT0Q6bCiUsiRr3Fpi5m7YhKl_4IBdOYfVvNFOk_BGU/s1500/ByrdsSweetheart.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1500" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKfNOD9FEgvpOrgB82GHJCvf1lvUA8h0tXkXNFB8SDOBLxNmatxFMHAVJ0_AvbQtTN4J8Q37xnZ7gaSNW9hA4cXjW4FJ24GOtanhr9aL73EcK42fv6weM9qUxqB38z3zPr0F1rzuRNWcCCSw8OxuT0Q6bCiUsiRr3Fpi5m7YhKl_4IBdOYfVvNFOk_BGU/w259-h259/ByrdsSweetheart.jpg" width="259" /></a></div><br /><div>Q: What happens when some unknown, drunken pipsqueak from Florida takes over one of the premier American rock bands of its era?</div><div><div><br /></div><div>A: My 10th favorite album of the '60s is what happens.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://parttimebuddhistpopcultureguru.com/?p=966" target="_blank">9. <i>8 1/2</i> (Fellini, 1963)</a></span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0A1ZLKF2fkQCnz4GsAServs2qSB13bBDKgKnppvLu19ed3MH4iKw4p9MzLPhKIKclSl6YERnZAcp0p8gBtNPSg13S8SZMr5iyUcbYJhLJEuaHQriNnROftUS6goFTRrA0XL_bC-fXvNFhMvAhTDMyV7FYa2hRz6Bs5TXjuDh8I99IxQAq_KSRNrBBWvk/s624/8%201-2%2011.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="342" data-original-width="624" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0A1ZLKF2fkQCnz4GsAServs2qSB13bBDKgKnppvLu19ed3MH4iKw4p9MzLPhKIKclSl6YERnZAcp0p8gBtNPSg13S8SZMr5iyUcbYJhLJEuaHQriNnROftUS6goFTRrA0XL_bC-fXvNFhMvAhTDMyV7FYa2hRz6Bs5TXjuDh8I99IxQAq_KSRNrBBWvk/s320/8%201-2%2011.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>Wait, you mean to tell me that this perplexing, fragmented, hallucinatory, self-referential European art film ... is a comedy? Is it possible that my 9th favorite film of the '60s was so named for the number of times one might need to view it in order to fully understand it? Ciao!</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://parttimebuddhistpopcultureguru.com/?p=1088" target="_blank">9. <i>The Doors</i> (The Doors, 1967)</a></span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFNKA_qnghH0_b8iiEMDx1DnPbe9EBL9piINOpMzocDhvWT4tcGSZ98xmpZOIJCyhwb9iXnNuBz0fw5mCLafEnY-LY83f7yEjRYMDIQSdyIxlTkEI4sRhCWasd6ZHm4cj7o6iGb8MzDVLOt95xh2NFlfSJmcj2P_bPtJrQ04IwRFUsQs2ZVL1mC-Zt0m4/s1425/DoorsDebut.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1417" data-original-width="1425" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFNKA_qnghH0_b8iiEMDx1DnPbe9EBL9piINOpMzocDhvWT4tcGSZ98xmpZOIJCyhwb9iXnNuBz0fw5mCLafEnY-LY83f7yEjRYMDIQSdyIxlTkEI4sRhCWasd6ZHm4cj7o6iGb8MzDVLOt95xh2NFlfSJmcj2P_bPtJrQ04IwRFUsQs2ZVL1mC-Zt0m4/w260-h258/DoorsDebut.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><br /><div>"Meet me at the back of the blue bus!" Uh, actually Jim, I'm getting off at the next stop, but thanks anyway. Come on baby take a chance with my 9th favorite album of the '60s, before you slip into unconsciousness, ideally. The indie hipster Millennials don't know, but the ... little girls understand?</div></div>Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-17319480905019266262023-02-10T11:00:00.003-08:002023-07-23T22:36:30.685-07:00 What the World Needs Now, is Blogs, Sweet Blogs...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCvn6YJeIu3YrwZcgPhIRHdFmK9WWZDLxBAPZewKp0tVgjB6LyxgwWN53ivGxiI5CFEH7XVE1xrEyl1oht75D9zd9uh3vRyslHkJQpzIl7fOGE07r5Dre9E93wpHwbMQyKbVuA9qa32vx-dk9SSXWBjrjd9C1pxjdg_qh-TMjBA82YLOIeh0Oli5QIOw/s960/5FSZPOT7WFO2RD4BI2XZIMJ3YY.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="641" data-original-width="960" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCvn6YJeIu3YrwZcgPhIRHdFmK9WWZDLxBAPZewKp0tVgjB6LyxgwWN53ivGxiI5CFEH7XVE1xrEyl1oht75D9zd9uh3vRyslHkJQpzIl7fOGE07r5Dre9E93wpHwbMQyKbVuA9qa32vx-dk9SSXWBjrjd9C1pxjdg_qh-TMjBA82YLOIeh0Oli5QIOw/w410-h274/5FSZPOT7WFO2RD4BI2XZIMJ3YY.jpg" width="410"></a></div><br><div>A door, with hinges long since rusted, creaks loudly as it opens. A sliver of light shines through the now opened portal. A figure walks in, towards a cloth covered object in the middle of the room. Pulling at the cloth reveals an old microphone underneath. The figure steps towards the microphone and grabs it. After adjusting some knobs the squeaky sound of feedback briefly fills the air. The figure approaches the mic and speaks:</div><div><br></div><div>Hey, uh, oh wow, I wasn't really expecting anyone to still be here. I just came here to tell ya... well, to tell ya that I've moved on from here. I mean, I'm still doing the same old blogging thing, just, well, not here anymore. You might have heard that the other part of this duo also recently left to start his own site. I think if you look around on this site you can find a link to it. Something to do with <a href="https://parttimebuddhistpopcultureguru.com/" target="_blank">Buddhists and pop-culture</a>. I dunno, you'll have to go have a look for yourself.</div><div><br></div><div>As for me. Me? Well I started over at one of these modern sites. What do they call it again? Substack? Yeah, that's the fancy name they gave it, "Substack". Actually it's <a href="https://zrbo.substack.com/" target="_blank">zrbo.substack.com</a>. Well, anyway, I'm over there now. Not doing a whole lot, but I think there might be some album reviews coming soon. Maybe I'll see you over there, huh?</div><div><br></div><div>I gotta admit, I didn't expect to find anyone still here. The bar closed a while ago, the chairs are up, and I thought everyone had gone home. Why don't you go find a new home too, ya know? I just gave you two great places to go check out.</div><div><br></div><div>As for me being here? Well, honestly, I just came 'cause I never received my last paycheck. Was kinda hoping to maybe find it around here. Maybe it was left in one of the tills? I dunno, but once I find it I'll be leaving here and I don't got no plans to come back. Anyway, been good knowin' ya and all those great conversations we had... So uh, hopefully we'll cross paths again, and it's been great to getch to know ya. But for now, goodnight and goodbye.</div><div><br></div>Herr Zrbohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728690738360128504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-66945474981466483752022-09-27T19:10:00.001-07:002022-09-27T19:11:34.142-07:00Reminder: New Blog! (Including Five-Part Intro Essay Synopses)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZrPWx2jHSGEAYWL6Kl4JR7Gi35MBDdIF-ihO5khFgeij2sS156_Ak9UDI95WEM0iJ9dm0CwpUsLrc_ALn21izC0zpUux9RaCTC-jRcQK8hYw2iJyh5l7kw9BJQSYLoQxl7M9RQqVvjiPL6av3-JQO8qRTtv0uXeJAAY-3DNiRI7xYo6LV5yhQRtZ0/s511/Logo%20Screenshot.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="363" data-original-width="511" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZrPWx2jHSGEAYWL6Kl4JR7Gi35MBDdIF-ihO5khFgeij2sS156_Ak9UDI95WEM0iJ9dm0CwpUsLrc_ALn21izC0zpUux9RaCTC-jRcQK8hYw2iJyh5l7kw9BJQSYLoQxl7M9RQqVvjiPL6av3-JQO8qRTtv0uXeJAAY-3DNiRI7xYo6LV5yhQRtZ0/w400-h284/Logo%20Screenshot.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div>This sort of feels like <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QRJ38y4Jn6k" target="_blank">the end credits of <i>Ferris Bueller's Day Off</i></a>: "You're still here? It's over. Go home. Go!"</div><div><br /></div><div>I understand. Old habits die hard. I often wake up in the middle of the night, sheets soaking wet, wondering how I'm ever going to be able to compose a blog post sufficiently brilliant enough to do justice to INXS's "Need You Tonight" or Johnny Hates Jazz's "Shattered Dreams." And then ... I wipe my face, take a sip of water, and go back to sleep.</div><div><br /></div><div>Not that I don't miss it, necessarily. Nor could I help breathing an affectionate sigh as I momentarily returned to Blogspot's rudimentary web design (seriously, posting here after dealing with the Rubik's Cube that is WordPress is like putting on a comfy pair of old slippers).</div><div><br /></div><div><i>But</i> ... in case you didn't catch my last post, and in case you're wondering what Little Earl might have been up to for the last six months or so, I thought it wouldn't hurt to try a bit of cross-blog marketing - in other words, to dust off the old blog from the garage and take it for a spin around the block. I believe someone in the comments suggested that I was "taking a break." Break? Sure, if by "break," you mean "generating three times as much content as I used to," then yeah, I'm taking a break. </div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe you were in it for the '80s pop all the way, and you're convinced Little Earl has lost his mind. But maybe you're still wondering what this <a href="https://parttimebuddhistpopcultureguru.com/" target="_blank">whole new business</a> is all about. You took a quick glance back in March, thinking, "Eh, I'll check this out later, you know, when he's filled it out a bit," and then never bothered to do so. (I suspect I'm getting more views on the blog I haven't touched in half a year than the one I've been tinkering with more or less every day.) Then let this post serve, not merely as a reminder, perhaps, but also as a guide.</div><div><br /></div><div>Basically, before I dive headlong into writing about my favorite albums and films from the '60s and '70s, I've decided to post an amusingly lengthy and potentially superfluous five-part introductory essay, in which I explain what exactly part-time Buddhism is and what the goals of a part-time Buddhist blogger should be. It’s the kind of intro essay that people who stumble upon one of my <i>future</i> blog posts would circle their way back toward <i>later</i> – but I had to post it first. Does that make sense?</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://parttimebuddhistpopcultureguru.com/?p=652" target="_blank">Intro Essay (Part 1)</a></div><div><br /></div><div>In which, after clarifying how it can be distinguished from full-time Buddhism, I summarize the core tenets of part-time Buddhism (to the best of my ability).</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://parttimebuddhistpopcultureguru.com/?p=694" target="_blank">Intro Essay (Part 2)</a></div><br />In which I discuss, among other topics, why I decided not to become an English professor, the broader fate of university English departments, and my own idiosyncratic theories on the purpose of an education in the arts.<div><br /></div><div><a href="https://parttimebuddhistpopcultureguru.com/?p=697" target="_blank">Intro Essay (Part 3a)</a><br /><div><br /></div>In which I discuss two examples of prominent and respected film writers who I'm pretty sure weren't part-time Buddhists: 1) Pauline Kael and 2) Robin Wood (the latter's uniquely unfavorable and politically-charged opinion of the original <i>Star Wars</i> trilogy may strike certain readers as particularly amusing.)</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://parttimebuddhistpopcultureguru.com/?p=751" target="_blank">Intro Essay (Part 3b)</a><br /><br />In which I turn my attention toward three examples of prominent music writers who I would not consider part-time Buddhists: Rob Sheffield (of <i>Rolling Stone</i>), Robert Christgau (of the <i>Village Voice</i>), and Pitchfork Media (of ... Pitchfork Media).<div><br />[Given that Part 3 was turning out to be twice as long as the other entries (which were already fairly long to begin with), I decided to split the essay up into Part 3a and Part 3b. "Wait, couldn't you have just called this Part 4 then?" you ask. But Part 4 is really its own separate thing, with its own separate flavor, whereas Part 3b is essentially a continuation of Part 3a. In other words, this is still a five-part intro essay; there are simply two parts to Part 3. Just for the record.]</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://parttimebuddhistpopcultureguru.com/?p=768" target="_blank">Intro Essay (Part 4)</a></div><div><br /></div>In which I turn the tables and highlight certain writers and pop culture commentators who I would like to declare "Honorary Part-Time Buddhists": film critic Roger Ebert, music website the All Music Guide, obscure meditation teacher Dean Sluyter, and random YouTubers I've come across over the last few years. Plus: a hodgepodge bonus section of part-time Buddhist writing "don'ts."</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://parttimebuddhistpopcultureguru.com/?p=810" target="_blank">Intro Essay (Part 5)</a><br /><div><br /></div>In which I announce the unprecedented format my blog is actually going to take (top 10 lists), the decade I plan to focus on first and why (the '60s), the variety of (and purpose of) other "greatest" album and movie lists out there, potential objections to my lists from various quarters that I've attempted to anticipate, Woody Allen's weird taste in music, etc.</div>Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-87344891649891352912022-03-13T20:06:00.001-07:002022-03-13T20:10:06.588-07:00Announcing A New Blog!: The Part-Time Buddhist Pop Culture Guru<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh47sHz0gSxZ2NrjGnoi0TMkZC6BkirZI3IjzdsSRUgxtJ2cQH5wVEBbCvJLhRYKgB1-9VSsUWN4qLP_3p9n3miOGBuzLhTLNMHwt9I3zrOAroB5Hk7qqdxN8cooV3oX5Z8eOyy8f82Nu-ICJLh9WCBsp3YqH_e_ZNlEjLQSA7m0PYCwoKat69FJh9M=s624" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="418" data-original-width="624" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh47sHz0gSxZ2NrjGnoi0TMkZC6BkirZI3IjzdsSRUgxtJ2cQH5wVEBbCvJLhRYKgB1-9VSsUWN4qLP_3p9n3miOGBuzLhTLNMHwt9I3zrOAroB5Hk7qqdxN8cooV3oX5Z8eOyy8f82Nu-ICJLh9WCBsp3YqH_e_ZNlEjLQSA7m0PYCwoKat69FJh9M=w400-h268" width="400" /></a></div>Attention dear readers:</div><div><br /></div><div>If you're one of the many anonymous blobs of matter who has, over the years, sporadically enjoyed perusing this ragtag collection of deranged musings known as Cosmic American Blog, well, the cold hard truth is, you may not be able to enjoy it, or at least any new content from Little Earl, for much longer.</div><div><br /></div><div>But slow down that accelerating heart rate of yours, take a nice breath of fresh air (or whatever gaseous substance you're fond of inhaling), and don't dial that suicide hotline just yet.</div><div><br /></div><div>Quit blogging? Who, me?</div><div><br /></div><div>Fear not, as Little Earl is merely embarking upon a new phase of his dastardly mayhem. Prepare yourself, if you can, for a sleeker, more modern, more groundbreaking, more experimental work of unparalleled blogging brilliance, the likes of which the internet may have never seen before, and may never see again. One adventure ends, as they say, and another begins. </div><div><br /></div><div>Allow me the pleasure of introducing to you: a great humanitarian, a brilliant entertainer, a fellow blogger, and my dear, dear friend of 41 years:</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://parttimebuddhistpopcultureguru.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Part-Time Buddhist Pop Culture Guru.</span></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The Part-Time Buddhist Pop Culture Guru means business, and you know how I can tell? Because he's on <i>WordPress</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>Initially, I was skeptical, but after the Part-Time Buddhist Pop Culture Guru (PTBPCG?) approached me in good faith, pitched me the general concept behind the blog (discussing his favorite albums and films of the '60s and '70s, but with the unique twist of discussing them from a part-time Buddhist point of view), and asked for my input, I have to say, I found the project simply too good to pass up. And so, I've agreed to help out behind the scenes, under terms that I am legally and contractually forbidden to disclose here, but suffice to say, I will most likely need to devote my full energies to the enterprise.</div><div><br /></div><div>The truth is, Cosmic American Blog was never meant to be my "forever blog."</div><div><br /></div><div>A little history. In January 2007, my good friend from college suggested that I start a blog. He said it was a laughably easy thing to do. It was so easy, in fact, that, one night, he created a blog on blogspot, and added a <a href="https://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2007/01/first-post.html" target="_blank">couple</a> of <a href="https://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2007/01/hamlet-cusack.html" target="_blank">posts</a> as a joke. Soon I began adding a few posts of my own. We were essentially "instant messaging" each other that night, through the guise of a blog. There was no grand agenda, no central objective. We were just dicking around.</div><div><br /></div><div>That said, I was a young man with plenty on my mind, and so was he, and after about a week of dicking around between the two of us, we shared the link with friends and family, and began to take the notion of blogging a wee bit more seriously (and I mean a wee bit). That college friend went by the blogger name of Yoggoth. Because we had initially met as DJs at our campus radio station, where my DJ name was Little Earl and where one of my many radio shows was named, I believe, "Cosmic American Music" (another show title: "Nuke the Whales"), he dubbed the blog "Cosmic American Blog" and chose Little Earl as my blogger alter-ego.</div><div><br /></div><div>I feel a slight amount of pity for anyone on Google over the last 15 years who might have been searching for a blog that they were hoping would discuss, in great detail and tremendous affection, late '60s and early '70s country rock, happened to stumble upon something called "Cosmic American Blog," assumed that their prayers were answered, and instead found themselves face-to-face with endless posts about Debbie Gibson, Starship, and Stock Aitken Waterman. I'm sorry. I'm really, truly sorry. Blame Yoggoth.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, for the first five years of the blog's existence (let's call this "Phase One"), it was essentially a "blog about nothing" (<i>a la Seinfeld</i>), without any specific <i>raison d'etre</i>, although we flirted with two large series ("Best Movies of the '80s" and "Best Albums of the '90s"), suggesting both the potential for something more substantial, and the format I partially hope to follow with my upcoming blog. During that very first year, one of my friends from high school (with whom I shared the enterprise) began to follow the blog more closely than almost anyone else, constantly leaving his thoughtful comments on practically every post and expressing great enthusiasm for our magnificent nonsense. Yoggoth and I huddled, and, after much deliberation, decided to grant our biggest fan co-blogging access. That fan ... dubbed himself Herr Zrbo.</div><div><br /></div><div>Phase One continued on into 2010. Yoggoth gradually began posting less and less frequently, claiming to be attending something called "law school" (whatever <i>that</i> was), but I didn't mind that so much as long as he continued to read my posts and Zrbo's posts and add his peerless commentary at the bottom. But soon Yoggoth ceased even <i>reading</i> the damn thing - he stopped reading the blog he had co-founded! Losing a bit of the fire myself, I began to wonder where this beast was headed, even posting an amusingly frank entry titled <a href="https://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2009/10/blog-is-dying.html" target="_blank">"The Blog Is Dying."</a> If I'd been in a more financially and professionally stable period of my life, I might have done then what I've decided to do now: start a brand new blog, with a more clearly defined thematic focus, more legitimate marketing presence, and more modern web design. Imagine if I'd spent the last 10 years writing about the subjects that had truly meant the most to me.</div><div><br /></div><div>But nope! Not what I did.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Instead</i>, in the fall of 2010, I found myself becoming absurdly and irrationally obsessed with '80s music. I knew that Zrbo loved '80s music. I knew that Yoggoth didn't care for it so much (at least not the "Top 40/MTV" side of '80s music), but Yoggoth had stopped reading the blog anyway, so screw him, and Zrbo was still into it. Hence, I made a fateful decision. I decided to blog about my newfound love of '80s music, essentially aiming my writing at Zrbo (to paraphrase a Vonnegut quote, "Try to write with one person in mind; if you open the window and attempt to make love to the world, you will only catch pneumonia."). Did I have any idea of how <i>long</i> I would be blogging about '80s music? Pfft. I just thought I would dive into the deep end and see where the topic took me. Thus began Phase Two.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, eleven years later, I woke up in a dumpster covered in George Michael's leather jacket, Madonna's cone bra, Kate Pierson's beehive hairdo, and Al B. Sure!'s unibrow, wondering what the hell had become of my life.</div><div><br /></div><div>The thing is, although I made it all the way up to 1990, in a sense, I didn't actually "finish." As outlined in my <a href="https://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2011/05/little-earl-loves-music-of-80s_18.html" target="_blank">introductory post</a> (now - Jesus Christ - 11 years old?), my original intention was to cover "both" sides of the '80s AKA spend some time on the aforementioned "Top 40/MTV" side of '80s music, and then eventually transition over to the more "alternative" side of '80s music, which I enjoy almost as much as I do the mainstream side. Picture, if you will, lengthy, in-depth series on alternative acts both American (Husker Du, the Minutemen, the Meat Puppets, R.E.M., the Replacements, the Butthole Surfers, the Pixies, Beat Happening, Bongwater) and British (the Cure, New Order, the Smiths, the Jesus and Mary Chain, the Pet Shop Boys, Depeche Mode, Tears for Fears, the Cocteau Twins, Bauhaus, the Associates, Felt).</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, since it took me 11 years to blog about the "Top 40/MTV" side of the '80s ... your mental picture of those blog posts might just have to do. 'Twas a beautiful vision, but I think we're going to have to let the second half of that plan slide a bit. I do recall feeling a sting of deep uncertainty as to whether or not I should have included the Pet Shop Boys in my "Summer of '88" series, or R.E.M., the Cure, Depeche Mode, and Tears for Fears in my "Herbert Walker Memories" series, given that the official "plan" was always to include those acts in separate, future blog series, until I realized, "Fuck it, I'm never going to get around to it at this point." But at least I managed to lightly brush those acts' catalogs.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, I could keep going! Is there some secret rule, agreed upon by Mark Zuckerberg, Tim Cook, and Jeff Bezos in a vast underground lair, that a blogger is required to maintain only one blog at a time? The thing is, I have, like, a day job. Sure, I could keep going ... if I were independently wealthy, or possibly retired (give me about ... 20 more years?). The truth is, at the moment, I think I can only handle one blog at a time. And wrapping up the "Top 40/MTV" side seemed like a suitable place to stop the madness. But if I unexpectedly find myself with more time on my hands, then who knows?</div><div><br /></div><div>While the last 11 years' worth of blogging may have suggested otherwise, I should probably mention that the '80s isn't actually my favorite decade of music (!). Which, in a sense, made it easier to write on, given that I didn't have nearly as much to say about it as I had to say about the '60s and '70s. But I always felt a bit uneasy with the notion that my ultimate writing legacy might consist of excerpts from a fake Phil Collins autobiography and microscopically granular analysis of every facet of Belinda Carlisle's entire recording career. Look, it just ... happened. Even less apparent over the course of Cosmic American Blog's run, perhaps, is my deep passion for 20th century cinema.</div><div><br /></div><div>I knew I would have to make the transition someday, but, as a friend of mine recently pointed out, addiction was certainly a pervasive theme of '80s life, and so perhaps it was fitting that I found myself addicted to continuously posting about '80s music and being terrifyingly unable to quit. But I now announce to you, with pride, that I've finally emerged from '80s blogger rehab clean and sober.</div><div><br /></div><div>That said, although I have little intention of adding new posts to Cosmic American Blog going forward, it'll still ... you know ... be here, in all its low-tech, 2007-era glory. Welcome to the magic of the internet. Keeping an old blog online costs me absolutely jack squat. I see no reason to "close" it somehow, or alter the posts as they already exist. It's not like it takes up space on my hard drive.</div><div><br /></div><div>I also suspect that Zrbo may still plan to publish his usual "Favorite Songs of the Year" posts every once in a while, which I imagine might appeal to a slightly different audience, but how he decides to approach that is honestly up to him.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, if you're that rare music and culture aficionado who adores reading about '80s music but has absolutely zero interest in '60s and '70s music, or '60s and '70s film, then perhaps I'm breaking your heart. Otherwise, the Part-Time Buddhist Pop Culture Guru beckons.</div>Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-48306409586005732372022-02-13T21:38:00.004-08:002022-02-13T21:45:29.619-08:00"Sowing The Seeds" Of The '60s Nostalgia That Would Eat '90s Rock Alive?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEje_MUUXkWepKSYMHbX8s0bJ65WtOyhb1l0STRHs4iUgLoH5suTnWITr4-wo94dPtAR1UWhmSfSRVieRGXL4JNgyk5T7rkV4WS_fC-Jj9TBw0-TgwWE-4EdUnXPaR2JewtgTV6-WnDxJ8t2mPp_9XU5jX79RY-rm7pcu0k-qAaBWMccYRb7jcPmSkXv=s599" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="592" data-original-width="599" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEje_MUUXkWepKSYMHbX8s0bJ65WtOyhb1l0STRHs4iUgLoH5suTnWITr4-wo94dPtAR1UWhmSfSRVieRGXL4JNgyk5T7rkV4WS_fC-Jj9TBw0-TgwWE-4EdUnXPaR2JewtgTV6-WnDxJ8t2mPp_9XU5jX79RY-rm7pcu0k-qAaBWMccYRb7jcPmSkXv=s320" width="320" /></a></div>Question: What happens when two depressed British synth-pop sourpusses cheer up just a teeny tiny bit?<div><br /></div><div>Answer: They put away their Joy Division 12-inches and pull out their imported copy of <i>Magical Mystery Tour</i>.<div><br /><div>Given that their very band name was a term originated by psychologist Arthur Janov, the creator of Primal Scream therapy whose brief stint treating John Lennon greatly inspired John's first post-Beatles album (<i>John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band</i>), it shouldn't be a surprise that Tears for Fears were gargantuan Beatle freaks, but when "Sowing the Seeds of Love" came out in 1989, I think it was viewed as, shall we say, a departure.<br /><br />"Sowing the Seeds of Love" wins my vote for greatest Beatles homage of the '80s. It's like the "Beatles" of '80s Beatles homages, if you will. Roland Orzabal and Curt Smith stole an entire jar of Beatles moonshine from the country market and they chugged the whole gallon. A touch of "Rain" here, a smattering of "All You Need is Love" there ... you name it, they nicked it. A dash of McCartney's toenail clippings, a splinter of Ringo's drumstick, a lock of George Martin's hair, a drop of Yoko's urine ... they took it all and went to town.<br /><br />What Tears for Fears did with their Beatles homage that, in my opinion, even ELO or Oasis never quite managed to do, was turn it into its own little six-minute <i>Abbey Road</i> medley. "Sowing the Seeds of Love" has enough mini-sections and unexpected digressions to sow the seeds of eight separate Beatles rip-offs. Let's start at the top:<br /><br />0:13 - The verse melody, which lifts its lyrical rhythm, and siren-like organ riff, from "I am the Walrus" (?)<br />0:40 - I'm fairly certain they simply flipped over the "Walrus" single, played "Hello Goodbye," looked at each other knowingly and declared, "There's our chorus!"<br />1:48 - Dreamy Interlude #1, complete with faint choral singing right out of the <i>Let It Be</i> version of "Across the Universe," topped off by what I'm fairly certain are R2D2 farts<br />2:22 - Roland and his vocoder take center stage ("Feel the pain/Talk about it") in a section that, in a typical '80s pop song, would essentially be the bridge that immediately precedes the final chorus, but <i>whoa-ho-ho </i>my friends, this song isn't even halfway <i>over</i> yet.<br />3:12 - Dreamy Interlude #2, set to the chorus melody, sporting trumpets flown in from the "Penny Lane" Express<br />3:28 - Someone shouts "OK!" in his raunchiest James Brown voice and the track takes a quick detour to Memphis (or perhaps that's Billy Preston on keys?)<br />3:55 - With a hard-panned guitar lick straight out of Harrison's worst meditation-induced nightmares, and a drum fill doctored to the teeth with what sounds like backward masking (?), the adventure swiftly returns to where it all began - the "Walrus"-like verse melody.<br />4:48 - Finally, at nearly the five-minute mark, the last chorus, and the "Hey Jude"-style fade-out. Rejoice, for Odysseus has been reunited with his Penelope.<br /><br />But if the music of "Sowing the Seeds of Love" could be described as delightfully '67, I would describe the lyrics as intensely '89. Seriously, no one could create hummable radio hits that somehow sported stealthily barbed political overtones quite like those '80s British synth-pop groups, I tell ya:</div><div><div></div><blockquote><div>High time we made a stand</div><div>And shook up the views of the common man</div><div>And the love train rides from coast to coast</div><div>DJ is the man we love the most</div><div>Could you be, could you be squeaky clean</div><div>And smash any hope of democracy?</div><div>As the headline says you're free to choose</div><div>There's an egg on your face and mud on your shoes</div><div>One of these days they're gonna call it the blues, yeah</div><div><br /></div><div>Sowing the seeds of love</div><div>(Anything is possible)</div><div>Seeds of love</div><div>(When you're sowing the seeds of love)</div><div>Sowing the seeds</div><div><br /></div><div>I spy tears in their eyes</div><div>They look to the skies for some kind of divine</div><div>Intervention, food goes to waste</div><div>So nice to eat, so nice to taste</div><div>Politician grannie with your high ideals</div><div>Have you no idea how the majority feels?</div><div>So without love and a promised land</div><div>We're fools to the rules of a government plan</div><div>Kick out the style, bring back the jam</div></blockquote><div></div></div><div>The bitter phrases Orzabal peppers the song with are so oblique that I doubt anyone out in Main Street USA would even understand which aspects of world affairs, precisely, he was genuinely objecting to, but at least he sounds like he's got stuff on his mind. "As the headline says you're free to choose/There's egg on your face and mud on your shoes"? "So without love and a promised land/We're fools to the rules of a government plan"? He's talking about somebody <i>else's</i> country, right? "An end to need/And the politics of greed"? I mean hey, who's against <i>that</i>? I'm pretty sure the "Politician grannie with your high ideals" would have been a reference to a certain Iron Lady, who ... my God, was she still in office in 1989? What the hell was wrong with those people? And finally, what's with the implied diss of Paul Weller's Style Council ("Kick out the style, bring back the Jam")? Guess Roland wasn't digging the non-threatening Yuppie affectations of sophisti-pop? Or perhaps Weller forgot to call him on his birthday, I don't know.<br /><br />Although he occasionally inches toward dopiness ("I love a sunflower"?), what I admire about Orzabal's outlook here is that, in the face of relentlessly gloomy news, he is a man who nevertheless advocates positivity. While not suggesting indifference, I wouldn't say he suggests <i>anger</i> either. Could it really be possible to tackle injustice without succumbing to snotty self-righteousness (AKA becoming Jello Biafra)? Perhaps many on the political left today might want to give this 33-year-old chestnut another spin.</div><div><br /><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/VAtGOESO7W8" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><br />And they should give the <i>video</i> another spin while they're at it, only after ingesting the substance of their choice. You know what the video for "Sowing the Seeds of Love" makes me think of? You know the end of <i>Yellow Submarine</i>, where the Blue Meanies suddenly find themselves covered in flowers, and they finally release all the love they'd been repressing inside themselves for thousands upon thousands of years, and they hold hands with Jeremy the Boob and "It's All Too Much" starts blaring out of the speakers and the movie virtually explodes with drug-induced pheromones of peace and sunshine? This video is like <i>that</i>. These two sad sack wallflowers who hardly even seemed capable of getting up in the morning without a healthy dose of antidepressants (see: <a href=""World, Mad"" target="_blank">"World, Mad"</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BUfcT5OoP-8" target="_blank">"Shelter, Pale"</a>) had finally busted out of their funk and were letting the whole human race know it. The word this song and video bring to mind is "opulent." Tears for Fears didn't worry about going too colorful, too dreamy, too silly on this one. They let their imagination run rampant. It's what the moment called for.</div><div><br />Also: I've heard it said that, once upon a time, effects in videos weren't made with computers. This means that they look like effects, but that also means those effects still have a tactile weight and movement to them that later effects arguably would not. I can <i>feel</i> that box spinning in the sky. I can <i>feel</i> that stalk shooting up out of the ground. I can <i>feel</i> that giant stone face opening its doors (which are placed on its forehead?). I can <i>feel</i> that golden orb smashing into the eye of the illuminati. Then there's the part where a flaming ring opens up a portal inside a newspaper, and we find ourselves being sucked into a vortex of spinning fish, Buddha statues, doves, and ... Egyptian ankhs? Then, once an abalone shell gets the hell out of the way, Roland and Curt start marching through a field of ... those see-sawing bird paperweights? Look out for flying violins, umbrellas, and a gravity-defying Brunhilde! Suddenly Roland tosses a book our way, and the video quickly transforms into the video for Tom Tom Club's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCWCF19nUhA" target="_blank">"Genius of Love."</a> Then Roland finds himself literally sowing seeds in what appears to be ... Andrew Wyeth's <i>Christina's World</i>? The final blossoming of the sunflower in outer space (how would it survive in space?) feels appropriately orgiastic. In hindsight, perhaps these two should have saved up at least a couple of drops of all that positive energy for the follow-up album.<br /></div></div></div>Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-1004128330394072912022-01-16T13:26:00.002-08:002022-01-16T13:29:19.903-08:00A Final Note From Professor Horton J. Higglediggle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhk82eYYowr-yg4mQj-KoTSzmgA-t_Tf6mADxNLRyAeXIqgLdls2w8iO5xi4CWdeRKJ4zz1wLq1PU1TGT-BwjU4jSLdCZ6LxpmujDyWj-hJAra0XyBpw7Axz_Axi-gV7tnlCGkj2UMNEJLIkzeXP7I69G2lw8DCOanaFoby6w8Fp-VKfokZVms2jfRJ=s500" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="497" data-original-width="500" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhk82eYYowr-yg4mQj-KoTSzmgA-t_Tf6mADxNLRyAeXIqgLdls2w8iO5xi4CWdeRKJ4zz1wLq1PU1TGT-BwjU4jSLdCZ6LxpmujDyWj-hJAra0XyBpw7Axz_Axi-gV7tnlCGkj2UMNEJLIkzeXP7I69G2lw8DCOanaFoby6w8Fp-VKfokZVms2jfRJ=s320" width="320" /></a></div>Unnerved and alarmed by my shocking failure to recognize the grossly forged nature of the Phil Collins "memoir" which I so eagerly devoured and so frequently quoted over the course of several years, I began to wonder (and fear): could it be at all possible that I'd ... made the same mistake twice?<br /><br />Loyal readers may recall that, only a short while after "discovering" the fraudulent (if highly amusing) Collins work, <a href="https://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2014/11/father-figure-socio-political.html" target="_blank">I came across</a> an equally strange text, <i>Father Figure: The Socio-Political Implications of George Michael in the Post-Modern Landscape</i>, which, unlike the bogus autobiography, was purportedly written not by the artist himself, but by an academic scholar of significant international renown: Professor Horton J. Higglediggle.<div><br /></div><div>But now I began to wonder. Allegedly an instructor at the University of New South-Southwest Wales, perhaps there was something amiss with this imposing-sounding credential. Let us not forget, of course, that <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Music_Man_(1962_film)" target="_blank">Professor Harold Hill</a> never did in fact attend Gary Conservatory and was not, despite his many claims, a member of the Gold Medal class of 1905. Alas, after a quick Google search, a cold sweat enveloped my palms once again.<div><br /></div><div>There <i>is</i> no Australian state known as New South-Southwest Wales.</div><div><br /></div><div>What had I done?</div><div><br /></div><div>Come on, like I know the names of Australian states? Hell, I thought they were called <i>provinces</i>, you know, like in Canada. Give this Yank a break. But mainly, I felt that a scholarly groundbreaking text such as Higglediggle's was too masterful to fake, too insightful to fabricate - as if some random blogger who'd spent a year in grad school could have imitated language so complex, theories so heady. Preposterous!</div><div><br /></div><div>Then it dawned on me: at various times, hadn't I been personally corresponding with Professor Higglediggle - or if not Professor Higglediggle, then at least someone <i>claiming</i> to be Professor Higglediggle? And so, it was time to compose yet another letter. One evening last month, at approximately 2:00am, bottle of Absolut Vodka on my desk (presumably from Russia, but perhaps even <i>that</i> was a lie?), I wrote to this reclusive pseudo-Aussie once more, in a tone arguably a touch too nasty and accusatory for the occasion, but emotions were running high. A week later, I received the following reply:</div></div><div><blockquote>Your inquiries as to the nature of my identity, though possibly not intended as such, do raise salient points about the issue of authorial authenticity in the post-textual media landscape. For if the means of publication are, for lack of a better term, democratized, and if identities can be formed and dissolved without any sense of finite legitimacy, then would there be, in any experientially or ontologically valid meaning of the term, a concrete categorical difference between the work of Professor Higglediggle and, say, an online imposter <i>purporting</i> to be Professor Higglediggle? In other words, if the difference between the "imposter" Higglediggle and the "real" Higglediggle cannot be established, then wouldn't the "imposter" Higglediggle become just as real as the "real" Higglediggle, in the same sense that "misquoted" classic film lines (ex: "Play it again, Sam"; "We don't need no stinking badges") have eventually, if unintentionally, risen to the status of the "real" quotation? In merely asking the question, "Who is Professor Higglediggle?" aren't we elevating the primacy of the "original" Higglediggle to an arbitrary status it may not ultimately merit?</blockquote></div>Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-50102428058064957702021-12-22T11:28:00.021-08:002021-12-27T14:00:25.663-08:00My Favorite Songs of the Past 10 Years<p>Ten years ago, just for the fun of it, I started blogging about my favorite songs of the year. I didn't realize it would grow into an annual tradition, let alone one that would last an entire ten years. But here we are in this cursed year of our lord two thousand twenty one, and to paraphrase (ladies and gentlemen...) Mr. Elton John, "I'm still blogging better than I ever did".</p><p>So here are my favorites of the past ten years. First off, some ground rules. I am only considering songs that made it into my end of the year lists, so that means we had a total of 50 contenders. If I've found another song not on any of my lists that I've now decided I like more - well, that's too bad. That also means no substitutes, so no, I can't swap 2015's entry of Carly Rae Jepson's "All That" with "I Really Like You", even though in retrospect I probably should have.</p><p>Long time readers of this blog might know that I frequently include songs that are not only NOT from that respective year, but are oftentimes 30 or more years old, or are otherwise one-off novelty songs. I tried to limit the number of novelty songs on this list, but be warned, you might encounter a magic carpet ride or more.</p><p>This is a straight list. I did not rank the songs here. That would be too much needless brain work, and I hate to pit such great songs against one another.</p><p>With all that out of the way... the envelope please.</p><p>-------------------------------------</p><p><a href="https://youtu.be/nUNYq0UC9ew" target="_blank"><b>VNV Nation - "Space & Time"</b></a></p><p>Taken from my <a href="http://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2011/12/zrbos-5-favorite-songs-of-year.html" target="_blank">top 5 of 2011</a>, VNV Nation started out the decade strong. With their 2011 album <i>Automatic</i>, VNV tweaked their sound in such a way that it was, as reviewer <a href="https://www.allmusic.com/album/automatic-mw0002220633" target="_blank">Ned Raggett described</a> "an attempt to reconfigure [their sound] going forward." For long time fans such as myself, this was apparent from the get go, with front placed "Space & Time" debuting singer Ronan Harris's punchier vocal delivery alongside electro-harpsichords, and even a hint of something approaching dubstep. The album as a whole seemed more positive and upbeat than previous albums. This was the mood at the time, with Obama in office and the economy on the upswing. Things would change of course, and by the end of the decade VNV would release a much darker album that was also indicative of the mood at the time. We'll come back to that.</p><p>----</p><p><b>Chvrches - "Gun"</b></p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="280" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ktoaj1IpTbw" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><p>Scottish trio Chvrches were the indie synth-revival darlings of the 2010s, but I actually first caught them early in the morning on a channel known for not playing music videos anymore. I instantly gravitated towards their use of big synths coupled with singer Lauren Mayberry's fragile voice. Both the song and the video for "Gun" are a trippy mix of cascading synths and breakbeats. I personally feel that their first album, <i>The Bones of What You Believe</i>, from where "Gun" comes, was their most interesting and experimental, an attribute I feel they've somewhat lost over the years.</p><p>----</p><p><b>Sergio Mendes - "Alibis"</b></p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="280" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/tfXnoi5bKTs" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><p>Fellow writer on this here blog, Little Earl, was the one who originally put this song before me with his <a href="http://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2011/06/80s-tape-tracks-7-12.html" target="_blank">80s mix tape series</a>. At first I loved this song for the accompanying video here. I have vague memories of sitting in front of the TV as a little kid, perhaps with a babysitter, watching episodes of <i>Solid Gold</i>. In short, this whole video gives me a wistful feeling of my childhood. It was a time when artists could wear ridiculous outfits and lip-synch so-so obviously that they weren't even really trying, and there was no irony to any of it.</p><p>But quickly I noticed that it was the song too that I very much liked. Singer Joe Pizzulo's voice is so smooth, and Sergio just bounces there having fun on his keyboard. I love the vintage artifice of it all, the coordinated background dancers in leotards, the solo where they swarm and dance provocatively around the sax player, the presenter who kinda mingles with the band after the performance, and just the way everyone looks like they all just did an 8 ball in the makeup room beforehand. Even the premise of the song is vintage, with it stating that "your telephone service is out again". I very much unironically love this song.</p><p>----</p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Taylor Swift's album <i>1989</i></b></span></span></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I had to give up my goth-industrial membership card when I put this album on my <a href="https://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2015/01/zrbos-favorite-songs-of-2014-all-girl.html" target="_blank">top songs of 2014</a>, and I will stand by my choice. On <i>1989</i> Swift reinvented herself, moving from country to the world of pop (though she was already headed that direction). And this is a very good pop album. Highlights are "Out Of The Woods" and "Style".</span></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">----</span></p><p><b>Within Temptation - "Faster"</b></p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="280" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/iQVei5C2N4E" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><p>Now here's a song that'll get you a speeding ticket if you listen to it while driving. Ten years later and this is still my favorite song to listen to when driving fast down the freeway. When I first saw this video I was surprised, as the last time I had encountered Within Temptation they were doing a <a href="https://youtu.be/reGlno9aUpw" target="_blank">neo-pagan meets symphonic metal thing</a>. Now they looked like a much more mature band. Singer Sharon den Adel looks gorgeous here too (her soul must be residing in a mirror somewhere because she looks virtually the same today<span style="font-family: inherit;">).<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> The inclusion of strings gives the song some needed cinematic bombast. 2011 must have been a very good year, because this is the third song from that list that's made it onto this list.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">----</span></span></p><p><b>Benny Mardones - "Into the Night"</b></p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="280" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Ih23dt_Jyx0" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><p>Oh Benny. When I first heard this song (or really, saw the video for the first time) I loved it because the video was so old and ridiculous. Here's a video featuring Mr. Mardones skulking around, peeping in on a girl who's <i>supposed</i> to be 16 but looks even younger here. Then he woos her through the worst looking magic carpet ride effect you've ever seen, complete with a trip over the Statue of Liberty! And the whole thing looks like they had a budget of... whatever money Benny could find between the cushions of his 1977 Firebird Trans Am. But after not too long the song itself began to grow on me. Mardones' voice is sort of gravely, but in a smooth way (smooth gravel?). Then there's those notes he hits near the end, which, to quote fellow blogger Little Earl, sound like "someone is slowly dipping his toes into a vat of acid".</p><p>----</p><p><a href="https://youtu.be/gB-l1ijtRoo" target="_blank"><b>Jessie Frye feat. Timecop1983 - "I Want You"</b></a></p><p>This rather trite pop song I found last year has managed to make it into my regular rotation. Its simple 80's inspired synths work well with Frye's voice. The whole thing has a hazy dreamy retro feel to it. I still can't figure out who Texas based Jessie Frye is or who's buying her records though (or who's fronting the cash to make all her videos).</p><p>----</p><p><b>Adele's cover of George Michael's "Fastlove"</b></p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="280" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/DOwPlxsD0bY" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><p>As I said when I gave this song <a href="http://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2017/12/zrbos-favorite-songs-of-2017.html" target="_blank">my #1 of 2017</a>, Adele transforms this otherwise silly pop song about George's ability to easily pick up partners for casual sex into a stirring dirge full of pathos and sadness for the late George Michael. But really, for me it's the performance here that's so wonderful. Adele sings as if she were mourning the death of a dear friend, she even restarts the performance when she recognizes she's off key (go to 1:35 for the full performance).</p><p>Big kudos to whoever made the video that backs her. They've designed it in such a way so that at times George is mouthing the same words as Adele, so that when she sings the "wooo hoo baby baby" we see George mimicking the same vocals. Or, my favorite part, right before the final verse at 5:00 after the music swells and she hits the big note, the video maker <i>just knew</i> that everyone would want to clap. In order to shush them they show a brief shot of George literally putting his finger to his mouth to shush the audience. And in that final verse she nearly brings herself to tears. I'm not really an Adele fan, but this performance still gives me the chills.</p><p>----</p><p><b>The Birthday Massacre - "One"</b></p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="280" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/EgFFAeG5BBQ" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><p>I only discovered The Birthday Massacre during that first summer of the pandemic, even though they've been around for 20 years. Ok, I had heard of them since they were on the same industrial music label Metropolis Records as many other bands I'm familiar with. I also had their cover of <i>The Neverending Story</i> theme that I had downloaded way back in the days of Napster, but I had never really paid them any attention. One night the algorithm decided that I might be interested in them so I gave them a listen. I have to thank the algorithmic gods here, as I quickly discovered a band that I have absolutely fallen in love with. By the age of 40 I was content with the music and bands that I knew and loved and never thought another band would come along and grab ahold of me the way that bands or albums I listened to back in high school or college would.</p><p>But wow, for the past 18 months I've pretty much been listening to nothing but The Birthday Massacre. This Toronto based band creates these pop infused goth/metal/synth songs that when combined with lead singer Chibi's Madonna-influenced vocals are just these little confections I can listen to over and over again. The song "One" taken from their 2017 album <i>Under Your Spell</i> is just one example I could easily fill an entire top 10 with.</p><p>----</p><p><a href="https://youtu.be/-wtz4xoSDCw" target="_blank"><b>VNV Nation - "Armour"</b></a></p><p>What began as a decade full of hope and optimism had completely fizzled out near the end of the 2010s. Political strife, the effects of global warming, and the rise of a global pandemic ended the decade on a dour note. VNV's 2018 album <i>Noire</i> reflected that change. Almost an inverse from 2011's fist-pumping <i>Automatic</i>, <i>Noire</i> is much darker (natch) and moodier. The opening track "<a href="https://youtu.be/mEH1NmP31Po" target="_blank">A Million</a>" delivers a bleak opening statement about the future we face, and the final track "<a href="https://youtu.be/AIcGyGdqm4U" target="_blank">All Our Sins</a>" delivers an incredibly bombastic indictment of the human race and our collective fate. However, the track "Armour" provides a bit of something to hold on to, as singer Ronan Harris sings about metaphorical armor (sorry, armour) that shelters and provides comfort from the ravages of the world. The album as a whole is one of VNV's best and I would highly recommend it.</p><p>---------------</p><p>Well that's it! I can't help but wonder what we'll all be listening to 10 years from now? No doubt it will be something we can't even comprehend yet, like an animated meme of Barron Trump doing the cha-cha-cha set to some viral song about artificially intelligent hot dogs. The future awaits!</p>Herr Zrbohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728690738360128504noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-74969988221863775872021-12-07T12:13:00.011-08:002021-12-07T12:26:01.511-08:00Zrbo's Favorite Songs of 2021<p>What a wild year it's been. Thanks to the vaccine, the world began opening up again (somewhat). At the same time, it feels like the world is slipping further into chaos with each passing day. The songs I chose this year as my favorites reflect that chaos. They're a rather eclectic mix. Really I've pretty much been listening to nothing but The Birthday Massacre, but I didn't want to stuff this list with songs from just one band. So instead you get a song from a video game, two novelty songs, and two actual songs - only one of which is actually from 2021. Let's get to it:</p><p>---------------------------------------------</p><p><b>5. Sayonara Wild Hearts - </b><b>"Wild Hearts Never Die"</b></p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="280" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/t54mViYCuCU" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><p>A song from the video game Sayonara Wild Hearts where you play as a young woman coming to terms with her feelings as a lesbian. It's all wonderfully rendered as a trippy pixelated world where your character is constantly moving forward as they navigate obstacles. The whole experience incorporates a magnificent 80s pop-synth soundtrack that pulsates and flows in time with the gameplay so that each level (or song) is like it's own music video that you are participating in. The entire game is like an album and is short enough that it can be completed in one sitting. The track "Wild Hearts Never Die" appears part way through, but is reprised during the finale in a triumphant explosion of pink and purple polygons. I have to admit that the song doesn't quite have the same punch without the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=na3XvGeeQIw" target="_blank">experience of playing the game</a> alongside it, but I wanted to include it as a representation of the entire soundtrack and game, which is very much worth playing.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>4. Chris Ray Gun - </b><b>"We Didn't Stop The Virus"</b></p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="280" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/DE00AYkkYhc" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><p>Just what the world needs, another take on Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start The Fire". I didn't discover this until earlier this year, after 2020 had already come and gone. Yea, it's a bit dated now, but Youtuber Chris Ray Gun uses the Billy Joel song as a template to reference pretty much everything you might remember from 2020, and maybe everything you've forgotten as well. I was somewhat loathe to include two novelty songs on this list, but there wasn't much this to inspire me this year, so once you've finished listening to this, check out number 2 for another novelty.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>3. Czarina - </b><b>"Wonderland"</b></p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="280" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/fUIkdlQX3f8" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><p>Czarina is a conceptual artist/actress/director who works in the dark electronic music sphere. I don't know much about her but it appears she only makes singles, usually accompanied by videos and images highlighting her costume designing skills. In short, she's a very visual artist, kind of like a modern day Bjork. That visual artistry helps lift up "Wonderland", the only song on this list actually from 2021. Using the backdrop of her adopted land of Galicia, she crafts something out of a fantasy novel. Her distinct bellowing voice and the song's driving beat combine with the images of stunning landscapes and harsh architecture to create a video showcases a mystical journey.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>2. Nick Lutsko - </b><b>"Donald Trump's Speeches as an Emo Song"</b></p><p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="280" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/l61nO1LQ3Hg" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></p><p>Oh boy, a song making fun of Trump! It's JUST what everyone wants to hear right now, amiright? Yes, yes, I can hear your collective groans. I only discovered this nearly two year old video earlier this year, and I know you would rather forget the former guy, but believe me when I say - this song isn't just funny, it's actually kinda... <i>good</i>.</p><p>Taking various phrases uttered by everyone's least favorite <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4zrTaBWdqQ" target="_blank">Domino's Pizza spokesperson</a>, Lutsko arranges them into a parody of an emo song. He perfectly captures the overly earnest and heart-on-the-sleeve lyrics of a band like Dashboard Confessional. The line "I never said that I'm a perfect person/nor pretended to be someone that I'm not" is nearly indistinguishable from the real deal. It's surprisingly catchy too. More than once I've found myself singing the lyrics to myself.</p><p>You might have come across Nick Lutsko's work before. He rose to viral fame with his <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=77cMmCVBT3g" target="_blank">Spirit Halloween Theme Song</a>, which I also very much recommend if you haven't heard it before.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>1. Riki - </b><b>"Napoleon"</b></p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="280" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/uq_6cq4AEko" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><p>I discovered this song on another best-of list from last year, approximately five minutes after I posted <a href="http://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2020/12/zrbos-favorite-songs-of-2020.html" target="_blank">last year's favorites</a>. Formerly a member of a California death rock band, vocalist Niff Nawor reinvents herself here with a crafted sound that mixes a myriad of 80s influences from Neue Deutsche Welle, synthpop, and italo disco. With an alluring presence, the slightly NSFW video includes her gyrating along with a nearly shirtless cowboy hatted man (giving off Andrew Eldritch or Ian Astbury vibes). The flowers-and-horses imagery contains whiffs of Frida Kahlo or Georgia O'Keeffe, giving it a distinctly feminine feel, while the song itself features a plucky keyboard rhythm coupled with Nawor's somewhat disaffected voice. I find the song captivating. Riki comes to us from the Dais Records label, which I was not familiar with beforehand. But from what I've listened to I like pretty much everything from the label so far, so I recommend checking them out.</p><p>That's it for 2021, stay tuned for a best of the decade post coming soon!</p><p><br /></p>Herr Zrbohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728690738360128504noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-84383156321504917882021-11-07T15:01:00.019-08:002021-11-07T15:42:37.244-08:00 The Go-Go's' 1990 "One-Off" Reunion That Refused To Die AKA Belinda Slides Back Into Her Cozy, Chaotic Cocoon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgSknsv-Kmt9EcwdyiSIiDdORJOx7g1fk4NJGM8VyMmaPqgsxDFx5rAUn9tbhvg8idpafZLSZa_OaPFaNQYpgJfgjLGWfhWX2T9prfH95Y1KkER_yp49EWpGZ9d5nJlttO7Pes-t8b3Bo/s1200/DrAI_ezU4AAmyld.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1042" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgSknsv-Kmt9EcwdyiSIiDdORJOx7g1fk4NJGM8VyMmaPqgsxDFx5rAUn9tbhvg8idpafZLSZa_OaPFaNQYpgJfgjLGWfhWX2T9prfH95Y1KkER_yp49EWpGZ9d5nJlttO7Pes-t8b3Bo/s320/DrAI_ezU4AAmyld.jpg" width="278" /></a></div>The Rock and Roll Hall of <i>Whuh</i>?<br /><br />Whenever I hear someone complain about the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, I'm inclined to recycle the line I typically use regarding the Oscars: "Whenever I'm tempted to complain about the Oscars, I just look at the Grammys."<div><br /></div><div>Because for me, at least the other two are somewhere in the ballpark, whereas the Grammys have always just seemed inscrutably random. But not everyone's so sanguine about the situation. About fifteen years ago, the comments section of every single article on <i>Rolling Stone</i>'s website that even tangentially mentioned the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was littered with statements along the lines of "The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is a complete joke!!! Look at all the great acts that aren't in!!" And I'd think to myself, "Yeah!" And then these anonymous internet arbiters of taste would go on to explain that the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was a "joke" due to its not yet having inducted ... Rush, Kiss, Chicago, Yes, or Journey. Uh ... not exactly the big exclusions I'd had in mind. I'd been thinking more along the lines of, say, Tom Waits, Roxy Music, T. Rex, or Todd Rundgren. Well, those four are all in now (as are the other five I mentioned), so ... thanks a lot, Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, you've robbed me of my God-given right to complain about you.</div><div><br /></div><div>The thing is, people like to call the Hall of Fame a "joke," but everyone has had their own separate reasons as to <i>why</i> it is a joke. You've got your "classic rock" fans perturbed by the absence of Styx, Kansas, Toto, and REO Speedwagon, and then you've got your '80s alternative scenesters griping about the absence of Black Flag, the Replacements, the Pixies, and Sonic Youth, and each cluster would surely refer to the other cluster's preferences as a "joke." So which joke is it? It can't be a joke both ways, eh? Then you've got the people whose biggest problem with the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is simply its name. "Why are Madonna and Whitney Houston in while Iron Maiden and Judas Priest aren't? What a joke!" Come on guys, we all understand it's basically the Pop Music Hall of Fame, but with a cooler name. Go back to your <i>Magic: The Gathering</i> tournament.</div><div><br /></div><div>But while I caught the Go-Go's bug around ten years ago, and would now defend their greatness even at the risk of lethal harm, I never quite felt they were an egregious exclusion from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. To put it simply, their discography is a little brief. Three albums from the original run, plus a reunion album from 2001, and a few other stray tracks here and there? I mean, bands like Iron Maiden and Judas Priest have accrued these monolithic, bottomless discographies of, you know, 20 to 30 albums, and sure, most people probably couldn't name any of the albums they've released since the '80s, but what I'm saying is, there are groups out there that have left behind some serious recording catalogs. I'm just not sure the Go-Go's' peak was long enough to merit that same level of outrage.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh sure, but what about the Stooges (three albums), or the Sex Pistols (one measly album)? Uh huh. Not that I myself prefer those acts to the Go-Go's, but I don't think I'm going out on a limb here by stating that the Stooges and the Sex Pistols, despite their equally truncated discographies, were more musically influential (and certainly more threatening to the status quo) than the Go-Go's were. In fact, putting on my All Music Guide hat for a moment, I feel like I could rattle off the names of at least ten more acts from the punk/new wave era whom I would say, as a more impartial observer, have proven to be more "musically influential" than the Go-Go's were, and yet have hardly even been mentioned as potential Hall of Fame inductees: the Jam, the Buzzcocks, Wire, the Fall, the Specials, Madness, Joe Jackson, Squeeze, the Soft Boys, XTC ... am I at ten yet? Of course, all of these bands were British, and none of them had a massive US #1 album. I'm not saying that I personally like any one of those artists more than I like the Go-Go's. That's not the point. I am someone who is able to differentiate between my own affection for a band and my sense of where that band might rank in the "I can't believe they're not in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame!" outrage hierarchy. Long story short: I was not appalled by the Go-Go's' exclusion.</div><div><br /></div><div>However, the Go-Go's themselves apparently were. They kept mentioning it in interviews. They kept talking about how it was so freaking obvious that they should have already been inducted that there must have been a secret Skull-and-Bones style conspiracy to keep them out. The All Music Guide had <a href="https://www.allmusic.com/blog/post/rock-doc-roundup-fall-2020" target="_blank">this to say</a> about their recent Showtime documentary: "There's a recent subcategory of music documentary best described as 'Our case for induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame,' and this dash through the history of the Go-Go's clearly falls into that bucket." I guess the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Head_over_Heels_(musical)" target="_blank">Broadway musical</a> wasn't enough of an honor? As a fan of the highest order, I wasn't eager to say it, but ... I'm not sure this was the best look. I might have suggested they gain a little more outside perspective, or perhaps simply not care so ... transparently. (A quick message from Little Earl to every band that's eligible for the Hall of Fame but is not yet in it: as far as I can tell, whether you're in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame or not has absolutely no bearing on the quality, value, or importance of your music.) I also began to wonder if they were playing up the "feminism" angle of their story a little too heavily, now that "the kids these days" are more into that sort of thing. Some of the band members had even suggested they were being kept out of the Hall due to sexism. Yeah, I dunno, I think it probably had more to do with their meager three-album discography, and the fact that only one of the albums within it is generally considered "classic," and not their gender, but hey, that's just me.</div><div><br /></div><div>I also have yet to be convinced that the lack of female artists in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ranks terribly high on the list of modern society's civil rights injustices, just as I could never get too wrapped up in the whole #OscarsSoWhite debate. I mean ... it's the <i>Oscars</i>. Who thinks the Oscars are actually important? (I guess #GrammysSoWhite could have never gained much traction because <i>nobody</i> thinks the Grammys are important.) When I would read articles stating that the Go-Go's should be inducted into the Hall of Fame because, that way, the Hall could instantly add five more women into the Hall of Fame ... like, isn't that a little patronizing? Isn't the whole point that they shouldn't be inducted because of their gender <i>per se</i>, but because they made passionate, heartfelt, playful, well-crafted music and didn't give a fuck about what other people thought of them? Frankly, what I personally love about the Go-Go's isn't so much that they were the first <i>all-female band</i> to suddenly score a #1 album, but that they were the first trash-bag-and-safety-pin-festooned <i>L.A. punk band</i> to suddenly score a #1 album. To me, <i>that's</i> the story. And the Go-Go's are only half the story anyway, because you've got to factor in the unfettered Yuppie zaniness of Belinda's late '80s solo career. Of course, the other four members of the band ... uh ... don't really see that as part of the story.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, at any rate, they're in now! What, you expected me to complain? The nice thing is, they're all still <i>alive</i> - something of a minor miracle, given their various substance abuse "adventures," the general unpredictability of human health after the age of 60, and the fact that they are a band of five, and that many bands of their generation, such as the Pretenders, the Cars, Devo, or the B-52's, can no longer perform as their original lineup. Not to mention, the five of them are currently getting along well enough to attend the damn ceremony together (something that was not true even <i>four years ago</i>). I just hope this means they can finally spend their time talking about something else.</div><div><br /></div><div>But the thing is, the Go-Go's have already spent 30 years talking about the same old things anyway, which I suppose is what happens when a group's heyday only consisted of a blindingly bright four-year supernova, when only the lead singer ever managed to genuinely establish an identity for herself outside the group, and when the other not-so-famous members all need to make a living somehow and yet don't feel like releasing too much more new music under the Go-Go's umbrella. This is probably something only an obsessive fan who has watched way too many post-1980s Go-Go's YouTube clips would even gripe about, but after a while, every interview starts to sound the same and every version of "We Got the Beat" simply bleeds into the others. And given that, aside from "Head Over Heels," they've essentially retired <i>Talk Show</i> from their concert setlist, that's two albums of material they've been milking dry for 30 years now. Just imagine what life must be like for a <i>one hit wonder</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps the most amusing aspect, then, of revisiting the Go-Go's' 1990 reunion (ostensibly the intended subject of this post), is to observe how much of a big freaking deal both the band themselves and the media in general made of it, without anyone involved knowing, of course, that this "reunion" would last five times longer than their original recording career did.</div><div><br /></div><div>So. While Belinda had been busy running around indulging in mermaid cosplay with the Beach Boys, convincing George Harrison to play on her album almost as a dare, unexpectedly flirting with Sammy Davis, Jr. and Dave Mustaine, and generally ascending to her throne as the undisputed Queen of Yuppie Rock, what the hell had the other former Go-Go's been up to? It's sort of like asking what Michael Collins was up to while the other two astronauts were busy walking on the moon: far from your first question, but at some point, it probably crosses your mind.</div><div><br /></div><div>In addition to hitching her wagon to the Belinda solo train, Charlotte formed the Graces, which included a young Meredith Brooks (of future "Bitch" fame - and I mean that in the nicest way), although their lone 1989 album didn't set the charts on fire. At some point, she also married Jeff McDonald of Redd Kross. But basically, yeah, she hitched her wagon to the Belinda solo train.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jane, whom astute readers may recall, actually left the Go-Go's to try her hand at a solo career before the band even officially broke <i>up</i> and stuff, released <i>Jane Wiedlin</i> in 1985 and <i>Fur</i> in 1988, which didn't exactly do Belinda-type numbers either, but her single "Rush Hour" certainly did, hitting #9 in the U.S. and #12 in the U.K. Many are the internet comments I've read expressing great fondness for "Rush Hour," but I don't recall hearing it back in 1988, and it hasn't quite grown on me much since I first heard it roughly ten years ago. Although AMG's Stewart Mason writes that "Jane Wiedlin's 1985 solo debut is probably the best solo album by any ex-member of the Go-Go's" and that "the singles 'Modern Romance' and 'Blue Kiss' really should have been hits (they're certainly better than most of Belinda Carlisle's solo work)," I mean ... I dunno ... I guess I'm just a Carlisle-ophile. For me, listening to Jane Wiedlin solo material is like eating roasted garlic all by itself. Roasted garlic is good <i>in</i> stuff. Adding roasted garlic to a soup? <i>Mmmmm</i>. But eating roasted garlic all by itself? Sure, <i>some</i> people might enjoy that. Probably not most people.</div><div><br /></div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/BlRWUgID8Jw" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><div>Kathy attempted to form a band called the World's Cutest Killers with Kelly Johnson, former guitarist of Girlschool (AKA "the Go-Go's' New Wave of British Heavy Metal counterparts"), but sadly neither it, nor a few other fledgling bands, ever got off the ground.</div><div><br /></div><div>Gina formed the gloriously-named House of Schock with Vance DeGeneres, older brother of Ellen (!), but if you're wondering how well their lone album did, all I need to tell you is that House of Schock doesn't even have its own Wikipedia page. Hey, not every band has a Phil Collins in them, all right?</div><div><br /></div><div>In summary: Charlotte was doing fine, Jane wasn't doing as well as she'd hoped to be doing but could have been doing worse (and let's not forget <i>Clue</i> and <i>Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure</i>), and Kathy and Gina, who were adamantly against the band breaking up to begin with, found their concerns solidly confirmed. I feel like this should put Belinda's griping about stuff like <i>Runaway Horses</i> "only" going gold into a little perspective.</div><div><br /></div><div>But alas, as we all know, despite radiating a surface aura of nonstop success, Belinda felt like shit virtually the entire time, and she <i>definitely</i> felt like shit at the dawn of the '90s, particularly after becoming reacquainted with her old powdery friend in Ibiza. For the first time in five years, perhaps Belinda wasn't quite feeling the solo "magic." Funny how, back in 1985, the band must have seemed like a stifling, suffocating force, but <i>now</i>, given the pressures of maintaining her worldwide solo stardom, a resurgent coke habit, an eating disorder or two, and her marriage to her ever-loyal husband now revolving around a certain degree of untruth ... perhaps reverting back to the warm and protective cocoon of the Go-Go's didn't seem quite so stifling and suffocating after all! From <i>Lips Unsealed</i>:</div><div><blockquote>On the bright side, I crossed paths with Gina one day. After a fun catch-up, the two of us on a whim arranged for a reunion with the other Go-Go's. Without telling anyone, we met for dinner at an Italian restaurant in West Hollywood. It was the first time the five of us had been together since Jane left and our subsequent breakup. All of us were nervous. Jane held up her palms and said, "They're sweaty!"<br /><br />We agreed to one ground rule: none of us would say anything that would piss off someone else. Then we had a great time. We reminisced about the crazy times we'd had in the early days, offered apologies for things said in the latter days, worked through some hard feelings, and, as we told a local reporter who got wind of the reunion, we realized "even the bad times we've gone through didn't seem so bad."<br /><br />I left dinner appreciating the special camaraderie the five of us shared - and that it had survived. But all was not rosy. As I later confessed to Morgan, I felt uncomfortable about having a successful solo career when some of the other girls were struggling in their endeavors. While Jane and Charlotte were both working on albums, Gina's label had dropped her and Kathy didn't have a deal.<br /><br />I realized everyone might benefit from a Go-Go's reunion. I mentioned it to my manager, Danny Goldberg, who had a lengthy background as a political activist ... He loved the idea of a Go-Go's reunion. But it sat a few months until Danny found the right event, a fund-raiser Jane Fonda was spearheading for California's environmental ballot initiative. It sounded good to me. I called the girls. Everyone was game.<br /><br />In January, we announced our reunion show at a press conference with Jane Fonda.</blockquote></div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/A1qahUnmrxM" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><div>"I think we have about ten years, and if we don't do it in ten years, we're in big trouble," she says? Well. Good thing we solved the world's environmental crisis back in 2000, eh?</div><div><br /></div><div>Somehow environmentalism morphed into anti-fur activism, an issue one certainly doesn't hear quite as much about these days, possibly because most furry animals are nearing extinction anyway. The band posed "naked" with a poster declaring "I'd rather Go-Go naked than wear fur!" Funny funny.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQt9YwIkUCe7SYtGUBid1_jjY-gIxzxdf-FO0su-bIPFPrIfwVG9AUt1HXaUMMZONNsyzLsOHMQVRpfCQawrinqjO9yYIKB3jReX3n7v-MRo5kQ1655aKCVghi4mylVOcKlleupCZq4Dw/s620/51a5ce0def78e.image.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="411" data-original-width="620" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQt9YwIkUCe7SYtGUBid1_jjY-gIxzxdf-FO0su-bIPFPrIfwVG9AUt1HXaUMMZONNsyzLsOHMQVRpfCQawrinqjO9yYIKB3jReX3n7v-MRo5kQ1655aKCVghi4mylVOcKlleupCZq4Dw/s320/51a5ce0def78e.image.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Sadly, those expecting actual nudity would have to wait another 10 years for Belinda's appearance in Playboy.</div><div><blockquote>Two and a half months later, we got together for rehearsals at SIR, where I was also in rehearsals for my <i>Runaway Horses</i> tour. I felt self-conscious running back and forth between rehearsals and maybe some resentment from the other girls, who I sensed - and it could have been me being overly sensitive - looked at me as Miss High and Mighty with her rock band, getting ready for her world tour. At the end of the day, I was feeling like I should apologize.</blockquote></div><div>You owe them <i>nothing</i>, Belinda, <i>nothing</i>!<br /><blockquote>But I was able to set that aside and enjoy stepping back into the Go-Go's. It wasn't hard for me to switch gears. The band was part of my DNA. On March 27, we played a surprise warm-up show as the KLAMMS at the Whiskey, a stage that was like a second home in our punk days. We still looked like an odd collection: Jane wore short-shorts, Kathy was in a polka-dot negligee, Charlotte radiated laid-back L.A. rock chic in a long, embroidered shirt, Gina had on her trademark jeans and T-shirt, and I was in a fancy black gown that a girlfriend of mine laughingly said made me look like I had dressed to go to Harry's Bar in London.</blockquote></div><div>If the dress she's describing is the one that she appears to be wearing in almost every single Go-Go's clip from 1990, I'm inclined to describe it more as her "Disney princess" look, but fair enough.<br /><blockquote>The fun we had carried over into the next night at the Universal Amphitheater when we performed a set of the band's hits to a crowd of L.A. politicos and celebrities that included Jodie Foster, Rob Lowe, John McEnroe and Tatum O'Neal, and Sandra Bernhard. Afterward, all of us were agreeable to doing more shows and maybe even a tour later in the year when IRS released a greatest hits package.<br /><br />Since the tales of drug abuse and acrimony had already been told in at least part of the press, the Go-Go's two-month reunion tour in November and December 1990 gave us a chance to focus on the thing that mattered most: the impressive collection of music we had put together before calling it quits six years earlier. With a new greatest-hits package that included a snappy remix of "Cool Jerk," plus a video featuring the five of us looking like a million bucks, everyone agreed we could make a point about our contribution to the eighties. If we also made a profit, no one would complain.</blockquote></div><div><i>Another</i> version of "Cool Jerk"? Hey, why not? As Belinda hints at, I.R.S. decided to take advantage of the reunion to put out a Go-Go's greatest hits album, whether the band wanted one out or not, so a remake of "Cool Jerk" was included as the *cough* new product. Of all the Go-Go's' 438 different versions of "Cool Jerk" (the early demo featured on <i>Return to the Valley of the Go-Go's</i>, the proper studio version released on <i>Vacation</i>, various live versions), I think I'm into this one the most, despite it sounding like their attempt to be the B-52's circa <i>Cosmic Thing</i>. The issue I've always had with the Go-Go's' perennial obsession with covering "Cool Jerk" is that, while it certainly stems from the right era (the Capitols' original came out in 1966), it lacks the angst and turmoil of, say, "Remember (Walking in the Sand)." It's the kind of song a <i>casual</i> Go-Go's fan might think the Go-Go's would cover. Like John Lennon with "Across the Universe," apparently the group kept hoping that just <i>one more</i> version would finally be the "right" one.</div><div><br /></div><div>At any rate, the band milked their 1990 reunion for all it was worth, and trying to view every YouTube clip from this period kind of feels like swatting at flies in a swamp, but allow me to share a few highlights. Notice how, at the 2:00 mark during this interview for E!, while Kathy observes, with touching sincerity, that "the songs really held up over all this time, you know, it wasn't like I felt like we were doing something old, it felt just as current today," Belinda blatantly fiddles with the neckline of her dress for at least ten consecutive seconds, sneakily letting the world know that, yes indeed, "bad" Belinda was back. And get a load of this line: "Their very public break-up and subsequent solo careers have given them a very grounded perspective for this 'Go-Go' a-round." Oy.</div><div><br /></div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/vZavzfU5Oaw" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><div>Plus, every time Belinda tries to say something serious during one of these interviews, someone else in the band quickly makes fun of her. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9-twCiLUlYk&t=322s" target="_blank">For example:</a></div><div></div><blockquote><div>Belinda: Gandhi said, um ...</div><div>Gina: [giggles]</div><div>Belinda: I know, I'm just saying I thought it was a really good quote ...</div><div>Kathy: She can quote Gandhi if she wants.</div><div>Gina: [continues to giggle]</div><div>Belinda: I know, I'm not trying to be intellectual but he said, "The greatness of a nation can be judged by the way it treats its animals" ...</div></blockquote><div></div><div>Also, who can forget this Bugle Boy commercial that apparently aired during Super Bowl XXV?</div><div><br /></div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/cw3XzC0x8Ng" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><div>Sorry Bills, the Go-Go's must have jinxed you.</div><div><blockquote>More important, having already come to terms on past disagreements, we felt like we could get along, and for the most part we did. We preceded a kickoff appearance on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MTDOBYNy72U" target="_blank">David Letterman's late-night talk show</a> with a heavy-duty shopping spree in New York City that reminded me of the fun we used to have together. Onstage, I had a blast singing the old songs and looking to either side and seeing Gina and Kathy in sync and watching Jane and Charlotte trade riffs.</blockquote></div><div>Belinda also apparently had a blast indulging in the kind of naughty stage banter that probably wouldn't have flown at her solo concerts, particularly when introducing the band's re-worked acoustic version of <i>Talk Show</i>'s somewhat overlooked closing track "Mercenary," one riveting version of which appears on <i>Return to the Valley of the Go-Go's</i>. "This next song ... is about a girl who likes to be mean ... I know <i>I</i> like to be mean," she proclaims to immediate applause (sadly the version on <i>Return to the Valley</i> doesn't feature the comment added at other shows, "Charlotte likes to spank her boyfriend"). It should also be mentioned that, whether the band liked it or not, by December of 1990, Belinda's voice was kind of hoarse and shredded and she'd probably had one gin and tonic too many, which might either add or detract a little something, depending on your point of view. Toward the end of "Mercenary," for instance, she really lets it rip like she rarely has before or since, perhaps the cover of being in her "old" band providing her the freedom to let her sound as fucked up as she probably felt.</div><div><br /></div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/tHxwZjh0xBk" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><blockquote>Occasionally the old jealousies reared their head. The girls didn't like it when we pulled up to one venue and the marquee read "Belinda Carlisle and the Go-Go's." Several hotels also gave me a larger room than the others even after we made sure to tell them everyone in the band was equal. I even forced a couple of the girls to see my room before they checked into theirs so they knew I wasn't creating the problem. After a few more times, though, I got fed up with the carping and complaining and had a Neely O'Hara-type moment when I snapped, "I can't help it if I'm a bigger star than you!"</blockquote><div><i>That's</i> the spirit. (I guess if I'd seen <i>Valley of the Dolls</i> instead of <i>Beyond the Valley of the Dolls</i>, I would have picked up on Belinda's "Neely O'Hara" reference, but I had to look it up.)<br /><blockquote>Ironically, I kept myself on the road as much as possible. Without consciously realizing it, I was running from my life. In mid-December, though, the Go-Go's tour ended and I returned home, which meant either facing hard truths about my behavior or lying to Morgan.<br /><br />I chose the latter.</blockquote></div><div>Did we expect anything less?</div>Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-66443757505022470442021-09-26T13:11:00.005-07:002021-09-26T13:37:07.866-07:00Debbie Gibson Collaborated With The Circle Jerks (?!)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFvdbzwrTUfLekWRIhaIrL5DhVfzYx-hfRBLyFHhtXgTrGkfekx92Y1C2kR8Od0J9wD62Rtr6raM5ki0RS1bzTUz2gKSFbJh3HJWfjMC5nWToVf1yLPetjKfIhthkC7U_HmLjD9MWjvA0/s599/DebbieGibsonElectricYouth.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="593" data-original-width="599" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFvdbzwrTUfLekWRIhaIrL5DhVfzYx-hfRBLyFHhtXgTrGkfekx92Y1C2kR8Od0J9wD62Rtr6raM5ki0RS1bzTUz2gKSFbJh3HJWfjMC5nWToVf1yLPetjKfIhthkC7U_HmLjD9MWjvA0/s320/DebbieGibsonElectricYouth.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Let's go back, shall we, to January 2012, toward the tail end of my "Fun New Wave Surprises" series, where loyal readers may remember my post titled <a href="https://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2012/01/belinda-carlisle-was-in-germs.html" target="_blank">"Belinda Carlisle Was In The Germs (?!),"</a> prompted by my discovery of perhaps the most notorious tidbit of rock and roll trivia that has ever come to pass and shall ever come to pass - that Belinda Carlisle, Queen of Yuppie Rock, had (briefly) been a member of seminal LA punk band the Germs. To explain my amazement and bemusement, I wrote the following words: "It would be like someone coming up to me and telling me, 'Hey, did you know that Debbie Gibson used to be in the Circle Jerks?' Why no. No I did not."<p></p><div>Well, about that. Some time later, I found myself, on an otherwise perfectly normal day, reading Debbie Gibson's otherwise perfectly normal Wikipedia page, only to come across this section:<br /><blockquote>In 1995, she signed with EMI's SBK Records division and recorded her only album for the label, <i>Think With Your Heart</i>. It was an Adult contemporary-heavy album consisting of piano and keyboard ballads recorded predominantly with the London Philharmonic Orchestra. The album's producer, Niko Bolas, who was usually Neil Young's co-producer, was producing the reunion album for Circle Jerks (a veteran punk band) and invited Gibson to a recording session for that band's album. She sang background vocals on the song "I Wanna Destroy You", as well as appearing at and participating in the Circle Jerks' performance [at] the punk venue CBGB, wearing one of the band's T-shirts and sharing a microphone with frontman Keith Morris.</blockquote></div><div>OK. All right. Let's get one thing clear.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I wrote about Debbie Gibson being in the Circle Jerks ... I was <i>joking</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was a <i>joke</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>As in, "This is obviously something that would have <i>never happened</i>."</div><div><br /></div><div>And I could have picked any offensive punk band name! I could have picked, say, the Dickies, or the Butthole Surfers, or the Crucifucks. I guess the Circle Jerks just seemed to have the right <i>je ne sais quoa</i>. It was supposed to be funny <i>because it was supposed to be implausible</i>. I had not read about this collaboration before I made the joke. I did not possess some secret insider information.</div><div><br /></div><div>What we might have on our hands here ... is the most incredible coincidence in American history.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yes, even more incredible than John Adams and Thomas Jefferson both dying on July 4, 1826, precisely fifty years after the signing of the Declaration of Independence. I mean, that one is pretty incredible, but me making a joke about Debbie Gibson and the Circle Jerks, only to learn that Debbie Gibson had <i>actually collaborated</i> with the Circle Jerks?</div><div><br /></div><div>That isn't just funny. That's <i>scary</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>This is some supernatural voodoo mysticism right here. Granted, Debbie Gibson was never actually "in" the Circle Jerks, but come on, that's just splitting hairs. She easily could have never been within the same <i>time zone</i> as the Circle Jerks. This is way too close for comfort. The universe must have decided, "What is the most ridiculous, most unlikely musical collaboration that could have ever possibly existed?" And then BAM! It was so ridiculous, and so unlikely, that the universe willed it into being. Think I'm making this up, like the mysterious, unnamed scribe of a certain Phil Collins memoir? We have <i>video</i>:</div><div><br /></div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/vwE5YoKJsFs" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><div>Most surreal exchanges:</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Circle Jerks:</b> I think it was a natural progression for us. We did it to increase our mall sales.</div><div><b>Debbie Gibson:</b> Now that's Tiffany.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Buuuurn.</i></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Circle Jerks:</b> How would you like to stage dive this evening for the first time?</div><div><b>Debbie Gibson:</b> Ugh. Ugh. Thank God my mother didn't come. I knew there was a reason I told her to stay home.<br /><br />But while you're busy processing the impossible, I guess I might as well talk about Debbie Gibson's two big hits from 1989, in that final, delicate moment before teen pop underwent an immediate, dramatic, and well-earned (?) ten year hibernation. After revisiting "Lost In Your Eyes," another US #1 smash for the Notorious Debbie G., I have come to an obvious realization. A couple of years back, I remarked that Martika's <a href="https://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2019/09/martikas-desperate-cry-in-dark-aka.html" target="_blank">"Toy Soldiers"</a> might have been the best Belinda Carlisle solo hit that Belinda never made, but now I might have to eat those words, because as I listen to "Lost In Your Eyes," you know who I think Debbie Gibson's biggest musical influence was? Not Madonna, not Whitney Houston, not George Michael. I think it was Belinda Carlisle! "Lost in your eyes" is totally a lyric from the chorus of "Mad About You," right? And "I get weak" is totally a lyric from the chorus of "I Get Weak," right?</div><div><br /></div><div>My God, everybody.</div><div><br /></div><div>Debbie Gibson was just pilfering Belinda Carlisle's solo hits for her lyrics and tossing them all into one big Belinda lyrical salad. I mean hell, why not just throw in references to "heaven on earth" and "circles in the sand" and call it a day? The funniest thing about all this borrowing, of course, is that Gibson, who actually wrote her own material, was so heavily inspired by the music of a singer who almost exclusively relied on other writers for her material. Hey look, if you're Belinda Carlisle, you'll take your musical legacy wherever you can find it. Be proud, my yuppie queen, be very, very proud.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguSPQp6G3bOONByFlKbEXFWQI_cgKzmKvapb45z2m7-PDNBIt8n6qBaoxjqGJGkmgGUKL8ksG26NTtm0q6dSgMBaPOux-MKLDtcmCedlT4vsEeazR0A-dr2kLI1ID_Pp5yTAf_UkdMFYc/s500/belinda-carlisle03.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="341" data-original-width="500" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguSPQp6G3bOONByFlKbEXFWQI_cgKzmKvapb45z2m7-PDNBIt8n6qBaoxjqGJGkmgGUKL8ksG26NTtm0q6dSgMBaPOux-MKLDtcmCedlT4vsEeazR0A-dr2kLI1ID_Pp5yTAf_UkdMFYc/s320/belinda-carlisle03.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Yes Belinda, we see you there with Debbie Gibson (and Donna Summer)</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Frankly, it's hard for me listen to "Lost In Your Eyes" without feeling a slight resentment toward it, as I get the sense that it desperately wants to serve as the soundtrack to an idyllic teenage romance I never actually, you know, <i>had</i>, but setting that aside for a moment, for what it's trying to be (a shamelessly grand, sentimental, Disney-style ballad), could it realistically be any better? How many songwriters have been attempting to write this sort of cheese over the past 30 years, dreaming of their masterpiece being belted by a horde of Mariah wannabes on <i>American Idol</i>? How many of them ever managed to make their chord progressions sturdy enough, their bridges hauntingly modulated enough, their vocal melodies varied enough? Sure, the opening piano motif lifts a bit from "Imagine," the drums predictably enter at the start of the second verse, the hard-rocking guitar comes in at the halfway point to keep the energy level from flagging, and pointing out the key change here would be like pointing out the pimple on an adolescent's face, but when you watch a horror movie, you expect a few zombies to get their throats slit, do you not? (Video highlight: Debbie deking out mutant blue-eyed but otherwise black and white Zombie Boyfriend on the court before sinking in a perfect shot [at 3:23] - I hear the Knicks have an opening.)</div><div><br /></div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/8Ms3mJFkSeg" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><div>Side note: although my Bangles series petered out after 'Walk Like An Egyptian," I should mention that, for a good many years, I used to mistake "Eternal Flame" for a Debbie Gibson song, which, if you're the Bangles, probably isn't the kind of mental mix-up you'd want people to be making. (They probably also wouldn't want to know that [<i>whispers</i>] I might prefer "Lost In Your Eyes"!)<br /><br />And finally, we come to "Electric Youth," which, as a song, may be no "Lost In Your Eyes," but as a video, is practically an '80s blogger's wet dream. I'm assuming they filmed it inside a "still under construction" ride at Disneyland, complete with fake castle backdrop and imitation bushes. Debbie gets out there and struts her stuff in a light blue button-up blouse that's tied in a knot at the bottom (premonitions of Britney?), a black vest, and jeans that are cut off ... immediately below the knee? Why <i>there</i>? Then during the bridge, she's suddenly swallowed by a cage of neon laser beams (but somehow escapes!). Then, during the synth solo, Debbie, her keytar player, and her other cohorts float awkwardly in front of a green screen, a special effect that, since it serves no clear purpose, I assume was probably stipulated in her contract. I also love the brief shots of A) a little girl turning into a slightly older girl turning into ... Debbie? (at 1:40 and 4:30); B) what appears to be a group of elderly Irish gravediggers in a field attempting to dance to the song (at 2:55); C) Michael Jordan ... in 1989! (oh yes, the '90s were on their way) (at 4:03); D) a fortune teller gazing into a crystal ball, and seeing ... what could it be? Why it's ... it's ... Debbie Gibson! Whose image then turns into the words "Electric Youth" (at 4:16)! "Don't underestimate the power of a lifetime ahead," eh? To paraphrase Jon Landau's infamous statement on Bruce Springsteen, I have seen the future, and, unbeknownst to the participants of this video, its name is not Debbie Gibson.</div><div><br /></div><div>Unless she's singing back-up for the Circle Jerks, that is.</div><div><br /></div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/lqAOB143KqY" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe>Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-59103776551835552021-08-15T12:58:00.004-07:002021-08-15T19:31:13.506-07:00Confession: That Phil Collins Memoir I Found ... Was A FAKE!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF13V-yPkvb9dRa1LfKaSA3MnHACfv3q4WrpGw0YWP-2dmwv2kr7LkClMbG34e15hyphenhyphenU7Mu2Usu5XK0ZsJXhujt8HmNOxM1ZQp8EFlt8UpRpleEXlZ_lpG5y7ELg7Mmi9mLvNmcSLyMo-E/s999/PhilCollinsNotDeadYet.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="999" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF13V-yPkvb9dRa1LfKaSA3MnHACfv3q4WrpGw0YWP-2dmwv2kr7LkClMbG34e15hyphenhyphenU7Mu2Usu5XK0ZsJXhujt8HmNOxM1ZQp8EFlt8UpRpleEXlZ_lpG5y7ELg7Mmi9mLvNmcSLyMo-E/w205-h320/PhilCollinsNotDeadYet.jpg" width="205" /></a></div>Ahem.<br /><br />As most of you know, I take tremendous pride in my professional standing. Being an '80s music blogger of the highest repute, I cherish the trust and confidence that my loyal readers have placed, and continue to place, into my peerlessly accurate work. Each blog post I publish serves as an integral testament to the veracity of my research, the credibility of my sources, the rigor of my analysis.<div><br /></div><div>That said, I also believe this: when an extremely rare error is made, when a minor oversight occurs, I owe it to my public to clarify my mistake, to correct my misstep, to clear up any lingering confusion. It is with these words that I preface an announcement of a remarkable, and yet regrettable, recent discovery:<div><br /></div><div><i><a href="https://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2014/02/in-air-tonight-secret-life-and-twisted.html" target="_blank">In The Air Tonight: The Secret Life and Twisted Psyche of Philip D. Collins</a></i> ... is a fake.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know how else to put it - forged, phony, fabricated. Use the wording of your choice. The brilliant, riveting, bracingly frank Phil Collins memoir that I have been copiously quoting for roughly seven years now ... was not, it appears, actually written by Phil Collins.</div><div><br /></div><div>It would seem that, as they say in the sales business, I've been had.</div><div><br /></div><div>Gotta admit, it looked like the real deal. I have a nose for these things, can spot a counterfeit when I see one, but <i>this</i>, my friends, was no amateur forgery. Sherlock Holmes himself would have needed another healthy sniff of cocaine to lift his sunken spirits after failing to spot, as I am sure he would have, the fraud in his midst. Perhaps its supposed publication by a "small Bulgarian publisher" in a "limited edition" should have given me more pause, or the oddly-phrased subtitle should have set off an alarm bell or two, but in my excitement over the mesmerizing content, I'm afraid I let my guard down, rushed to judgment, and allowed my journalistic ethos to lapse grossly.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was all a little ... too good to be true.</div><div><br /></div><div>In retrospect, the fictional nature of the work should have been obvious. An imaginary hedgehog named Rot Rot? Sex with a one-legged Chilean dancer? Poodlephobia? Putting snails on his dick? Huffing varnish? Hippopotamus urine? <i>Horse tranquilizer?</i> Honestly, horse tranquilizer? What sort of rock drummer would possibly think of <a href="https://groovyhistory.com/who-keith-moon-drummer-scot-halpin#:~:text=According%20to%20rock%20and%20roll,that%20Moon's%20drink%20was%20spiked." target="_blank">consuming horse tranquilizer</a>?</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, this only raises even more questions, such as: if Phil Collins didn't write this compelling and yet utterly spurious memoir, then <i>who did</i>? Although getting to the root of this devilish mystery will take some time, I do have my theories. Mainly, I suspect that one of Phil's former bandmates - perhaps Mike Rutherford, Tony Banks, Steve Hackett, a certain Peter Gabriel, or (quite possibly) a combination of the snickering foursome - concocted the entire ruse in order to have a private laugh at Phil's expense. Well, <i>creo quia adsurdum est</i>, as they say.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nevertheless, even though it was all a farcical lie, it was a great ride while it lasted.</div><div><br /></div><div>Which leads me to one final <i>mea culpa</i>. Upon unexpected news of the publication of a competing Phil Collins "memoir," <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Not-Dead-Yet-Phil-Collins/dp/1101907479" target="_blank">Not Dead Yet</a></i>, in 2016, I <a href="https://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2016/12/where-genesis-and-collins-discographies.html" target="_blank">confidently proclaimed</a> that particular work to be bogus, specious, apocryphal, what have you. Today, I now eat my words as I realize that <i>Not Dead Yet</i> is, indeed, the<i> real</i> Phil Collins's <i>real</i> memoir, and not, as I had so egregiously assumed, <i>In The Air Tonight: The Secret Life and Twisted Psyche of Philip D. Collins</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>However, having spent so much time and effort consuming the false autobiography, I have to admit that my initially casual interest in the subject has grown to a startling degree, and I am more than curious to find out the supposed "truth" behind the life of this hairless music legend. The quote on the back cover is certainly promising: "Hi, I'm Phil Collins and, as you can see from the front cover, I'm not dead yet, but when I do go, I'd prefer my epitaph not be 'He came, he wrote "Sussudio," he left.' That's why I wrote this book." Ah, there's the Phil whimsy we know and love. According to the blurb on the jacket from the <i>Daily Mirror</i>, the memoir is "Jaw-droppingly honest," and when has the <i>Daily Mirror</i> ever been wrong about something like that? In other words: think I'm gonna have to check it out!</div></div>Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-63569858713022140362021-07-18T18:31:00.006-07:002021-07-18T18:49:51.481-07:00 That Time Belinda Partied In Ibiza And Swiftly Resumed Her Coke Consumption<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk4ppPVGRs-YmD9Hdn8sqkuhKtMI8CSmj7Hv077gJP5ZarGSGCVQyKvaNfrrdJeslfw14PNK6nhc3ELksSC0JwaND8W5f_T-ibpK74jIV4OLEPUeos0r7TCFDM_cQmBkGVyIEA2cs90D4/s630/belinda-carlisle-corbis-630-80.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="473" data-original-width="630" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk4ppPVGRs-YmD9Hdn8sqkuhKtMI8CSmj7Hv077gJP5ZarGSGCVQyKvaNfrrdJeslfw14PNK6nhc3ELksSC0JwaND8W5f_T-ibpK74jIV4OLEPUeos0r7TCFDM_cQmBkGVyIEA2cs90D4/s320/belinda-carlisle-corbis-630-80.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Four years. That's a pretty nice chunk of time. We're talking the span of an entire U.S. presidential term, or the length between World Cups or Olympic Games (uh ... usually). One earns a high school degree in four years, or (in theory, at least) a college degree. I guess what I'm saying is, a coke addict going four years without sniffing coke - not even once? That's nothing to sneeze at. But sometimes, old habits die hard.</div><div><br /></div>After she kicked coke sometime around 1985, Belinda Carlisle spent a great deal of time talking to the media about how she had heroically and irrevocably kicked coke. After she got <i>back</i> on coke sometime around 1989, she ... didn't spend as much time talking to the media about that. Matter of fact, she didn't talk about that at all. Yep. According to <i>Lips Unsealed</i>, while the official word in TV interviews and magazine articles was that Belinda's drug addiction days were "in her past," she didn't genuinely kick the habit until 2005 (!), a date which I'm afraid is far out of the range of this blog as currently constituted. So, you know, there were a few bumps in the road, but in the end, it's all good.<div><br /></div><div>I have a hard time picturing people still doing coke in the '90s - even rock stars! It would be like dropping acid in the '80s. Well, it turns out that a drug much more heavily associated with the '90s ended up reintroducing Belinda to her little white-powdered friend.</div><div><br /></div><div>Overall it seems like, four years on, the elements of her life that had initially felt so exciting and liberating (new solo career, new yuppie husband) had gradually become boring and stifling. I guess it was just time for Belinda to shake things up a little. From <i>Lips Unsealed</i>:<div><blockquote>Shortly after the May kickoff of my world tour in the UK, I was in my hotel reading through the latest press clippings. I came across a recent review that described me as looking like a singing secretary onstage. He had taken exception to the Chanel-inspired suits I'd had custom-made for the tour. I took offense, but in retrospect he was right.</blockquote>"Singing secretary"? For some reason I'm picturing an unsuccessful spin-off of <i>The Flying Nun</i>.</div><div><br /></div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/86qaI64AJA8" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><blockquote>I looked like shit. I was way too skinny, wore too much makeup, my bobbed hair was wrong, and the suits - well, they were a different issue. They reflected the trouble I'd had at the outset deciding on a look for the tour. If you have to think too much about those things, it's a sign of confusion and uncertainty - and that was me.<br /><br />One thing I wasn't confused about was my birth father. He had started writing me letters again before I left home and continued sending entreaties through my management after I started my tour. I had spoken to him a few times on the phone out of the guilt I still felt from having not seen him on my Heaven tour, but I had no intention of letting him back in my life at the level he wanted. I also found something slightly creepy about the way he professed such strong affection for me in his letters. How can you love someone you don't know?<br /><br />Finally, I came straight out and told him that I didn't want to have a relationship with him. Considering how much I had adored him as a little girl, I agonized about sending him that message. He responded by sending me letters saying that I was going to burn in hell unless I found forgiveness in my heart. I ignored him, hoping and praying he would go away - and he did for a while.</blockquote>"Burn in hell," eh? Probably not the best strategy to go with if you're trying to convince the daughter you abandoned to resume contact with you again, but what do I know? Frankly, I'm with Belinda on this one. She didn't hear a single peep from the guy until she became famous; if she'd never turned into a celebrity, would he have even given a shit?</div><div><br /></div><div>Just cram all that emotional turmoil up into a little ball in your mind as you read the following excerpt:<br /><blockquote>Although still coke-free, I was drinking more. I also started keeping a secret stash of pills, including Valium, Halcion, and Rohypnol. I never thought I might be traveling back down the road to addiction. As long as I wasn't doing coke, I thought I was fine, no big deal.<br /><br />And it wasn't, I suppose, until I had to perform a promotional show on the same bill as Beach Boys' genius Brian Wilson in Ibiza, an island off Spain. I had never been to this Mediterranean playground, but I knew of its reputation as a decadent, party-hearty getaway for the rich, something that was confirmed when I spotted director Roman Polanski with a pretty young girl at the baggage claim. I thought, Perfect, this is my kind of place.</blockquote>Words I usually don't expect to see anywhere remotely near each other: "Roman Polanski," "pretty young girl," and "Perfect, this is my kind of place." Belinda, you truly march to the beat of your own drum.<br /><blockquote>On the way to the hotel, I got my friends Jeannine and Pearlie to promise we were going to be healthy, jog and hike, lay out in the sun, eat right, and get plenty of sleep. By night, though, I was whooping it up at the giant nightclub Amnesia and enjoying my first time doing ecstasy. It seemed like everyone was on it.<br /><br />We hit all the big ecstasy clubs, including a party in the middle of nowhere - it seemed like a desert - where I watched columns of drag queens go-go dancing. It was a magnificent spectacle. I was both stunned and drawn straight into the unfolding circus. I had never experienced such a night. The whole place was like a Fellini movie. Suddenly, I was drinking tumblers of vodka, smoking cigarettes, dancing, not just listening to but absorbing the music, and having the time of my life. On E, I loved everyone I met.</blockquote>What if you'd met your birth father? "How can you love someone you don't know"? I think I have the answer.<br /><blockquote>At one of the clubs, someone offered me a hit of coke. I did it without thinking; my response was automatic. Right after, though, I knew I shouldn't have done it. I thought, Uh-oh.</blockquote>Well hey! You're on E, everyone's having a good time ... fortune favors the bold.<br /><blockquote>I hadn't done coke in four years. But that one hit triggered a reaction straight out of the drug addict's textbook. I went on a binge and came out of the last club in the morning. Awash in hot sunlight, I said to myself, "I'm a disaster. This is fucked."<br /><br />I had yet to call home to check in with Morgan. I sat in the back of a cab and rehearsed what I was going to say to Morgan. <i>Hi, honey, it's me. How are you?</i> I tried different inflections. I was panicked about how I was going to sound. At the hotel, I got out of the cab and walked straight into Brian Wilson and his twenty-four-hour therapist, Dr. Eugene Landy. I tried to act normal as I said hello, but I wasn't fooling anyone. My hair was twisted and gross, my lipstick was blue, and I was covered in filth. Dr. Landy knew what was going on. He also knew Morgan, which made me fear he might call him. I was fucked.</blockquote>Well, Dr. Landy isn't exactly my idea of someone whose diagnosis I would have put much stock in, but ... the point stands.<br /><blockquote>I went up to my room and paced back and forth with my cigarette, trying to come down from the coke and rehearsing what I was going to say. Finally, I called Morgan and said I had woken up early and was going to the beach for a jog. He believed me.<br /><br />On hanging up, though, I was hit with a one-two of shame and guilt for lying to him and for what I had done. Ibiza wasn't good for me. The place was full of temptation. I wanted to get out of there. I performed that night and let some local friends take me out to a club. But this time I didn't drink or do anything, including enjoy myself. In the morning, I caught the first available plane out of there.<br /><br />I felt like I would've died in Ibiza if I had stayed any longer. I didn't want to do coke ever again.<br /><br />But soon it was like I had never stopped.</blockquote>Dum-Dum-<i>Dummmmmm</i>.<p></p></div>Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-44214641544987650432021-06-13T21:52:00.009-07:002021-06-13T22:30:48.192-07:00One Last Post On Madonna (Before I Get Carried Away)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz_X5jW-TkSC4yOmjOg6m1Y0GPV4U7kOcSdAaM5c3HGfkWwuQweuLwCMI5KKGoLgeX99g1Pu8lmHBgTOru0FSinRha-14-gwva-M12UQ92qbnj8SFBVwFLmA2znW7O9kHp65KY8Fnww6c/s1200/Madonna1989%25283%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1199" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz_X5jW-TkSC4yOmjOg6m1Y0GPV4U7kOcSdAaM5c3HGfkWwuQweuLwCMI5KKGoLgeX99g1Pu8lmHBgTOru0FSinRha-14-gwva-M12UQ92qbnj8SFBVwFLmA2znW7O9kHp65KY8Fnww6c/s320/Madonna1989%25283%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Oh, fine, I guess I better do one more post on Madonna.<div><br /></div><div>You know what? It's OK. I've achieved what I set out to achieve. I've managed to avoid the temptation to embark upon a painstakingly elaborate 26-part series in which I microscopically dissect each and every Madonna single (and video) from the '80s (all of which have been <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Madonna_studies" target="_blank">microscopically dissected by myriad others</a>), accompanied by borderline impenetrable analysis (heh heh ... "borderline") culled from an obscure Australian academic journal. Maybe in my next life.</div><div><div><br />Loyal readers may recall that I wrote a pair of blog posts on <a href="https://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2014/09/the-unrepeatable-brilliance-of-madonnas.html" target="_blank">Madonna's first album</a> because, well, I was doing a series on Aerobic Rock, and given that Madonna's first album is the very primal, crystalline essence of Aerobic Rock ground up and stuffed in tiny vials of pure aerobic goodness, I didn't want to leave myself vulnerable to accusations of '80s blogger negligence. Believe me, the urge was there to continue on and cover her second album with the same degree of thoroughness; shortly afterward, I re-visited <i>Like a Virgin</i> and, frankly, although I went on and on about how "Madonna never topped her first album!," I must admit that I enjoy <i>Like a Virgin</i> only slightly less than the debut. Let me put it this way: I'm pretty "meh" on "Pretender" and "Stay," but those are the very last two songs on the album, and I love everything else, so ... eight great songs out of ten, with the other two tucked neatly away at the end where I can ignore them? Pretty much a five-star listening experience, as far as I'm concerned. <i>True Blue</i>, on the other hand, I wouldn't necessarily call a five-star listening experience: I love me some "Open Your Heart," "La Isla Bonita," and "True Blue," generally love me some "Papa Don't Preach," have always been a bit lukewarm on "Live to Tell" (but it doesn't bother me much), and ... I couldn't even hum any of the non-singles, aside from "Where's the Party" (only due to its inclusion on <i>You Can Dance</i>, a frequent presence in my family's automobile cassette player).<br /><br />My point is this: how could I possibly do a series called Herbert Walker Memories without talking, at least a little teeny tiny bit, about Madonna? Madonna was THE star of the era. Covering the pop music of 1989-1990 without talking about Madonna would be like covering American football from 1989-1990 without talking about the 49ers. I might not have anything new to say, but I'd look stupid if I didn't at least say <i>something</i>. I just wasn't cool with it. So ... here's my half-assed post about Madonna during the <i>Like a Prayer</i> era.<br /><br />Like millions of other square, unadventurous, asexual Americans whose lives bore not the slightest passing resemblance to Madonna's, my parents purchased <i>Like a Prayer</i> on cassette. What those of you raised in the streaming and downloading era might not realize is that the physical album package was doused with an extremely potent perfume or chemical of some kind. From Wikipedia:</div><div><blockquote>"The packaging on the first pressings of the CD, cassette, and LP were scented with patchouli oils to simulate church incense. A publicist for Warner Bros. Records revealed this had been the singer's idea; 'She wanted to create a flavor of the 60's and the church. She wanted to create a sensual feeling you could hear and smell'."</blockquote></div><div>Well, fun gimmick and all, but let me tell ya, that scent never faded. I remember opening the cassette ten years later and, man, it <i>still</i> stank to high heaven. At least when the Stones did silly album cover gimmicks (the 3-D photo for <i>Their Satanic Majesties Request</i>, the real-life zipper for <i>Sticky Fingers</i>, the cardboard cut-out for <i>Some Girls</i>), they didn't do it in Smell-O-Vision. Also: Is <i>that</i> what it smells like in a Catholic church? No wonder the attendance numbers have gone down.<br /><br />Funny thing but, "Like a Prayer," although the most well-known song on <i>Like a Prayer</i>, is also the song I enjoy the most on <i>Like a Prayer</i>. Sometimes you've got to hand it to the cultural consensus, folks. I don't know if it would make my Madonna Top 10, but it would probably make my Madonna Top 20. Also: I get that she was trying to make a wry, self-referential commentary on her own catalogue by choosing a song and album title so similar to <i>Like a Virgin</i>, but ... I dunno, I kind of wished she'd picked something else. It would be like if Pink Floyd released an album called <i>Dark Side of the Asteroid Belt</i>.</div><div><br /></div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/79fzeNUqQbQ" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><div><br /></div><div>I was totally into "Express Yourself" back in the day, but I'm not as fond of it now, for reasons unknown. I guess I wouldn't say that it possesses the effortless <i>grace</i> of the best Madonna singles. Too many horns, not enough salsa-flavored piano solos (also, once upon a time, I was unfamiliar with the Staple Singers' "Respect Yourself.") "Love Song" is a Prince collaboration, and sounds like one too; I might have enjoyed a Sinead O'Connor cover version of it a little better. "Cherish" falls somewhere in between "Like a Prayer" and "Express Yourself" for me: it's sort of the album's attempt at an "early Madonna, cute cyber-girl next door" track, but I still detect more than a hint of artifice and calculation to it. Whereas Madonna used to poop out these kinds of songs once a morning without even breaking a sweat, here it sounds like she's taken a laxative and she's huffing and squeezing and twenty minutes later it finally plops into the bowl. Sure, in the end, it landed in the bowl, but not like in the olden days. I always get "Keep It Together" mixed up with "Causing a Commotion" from the <i>Who's That Girl</i> soundtrack; if someone played me a copy of <i>Like a Prayer</i> and literally swapped the tracks, I probably wouldn't even do a double-take.</div><div><br />One day, back when my family would cruise around listening to the album in the car, we suddenly and unanimously decided that "Dear Jessie" was the greatest thing since sliced bread. It was loopy and odd and didn't seem to owe much to dance-pop at all. For exactly one week, we played it on repeat incessantly. Suffice to say, at that age I was not the least bit familiar with late '60s psychedelic pop. Having become a <i>little</i> more familiar with psychedelic pop in the intervening years, I can see that "Dear Jessie" is what one might call a psychedelic "pastiche." Now that I know what Madonna was up to, I can't say I dislike it, but these days I'd just prefer the real thing (or the Dukes of Stratosphear). The spell hath been broken.</div><div><br /><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/EGYmN-1UQzI" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><br /><br /></div><div>Then one day in the late '90s, my current co-blogger Zrbo confessed to me that he was suddenly in a Madonna-listening mood, and so I made him a Madonna mixtape out of all the long-since-untouched Madonna cassettes that we had lying around the house. For whatever reason, when I revisited <i>Like a Prayer</i>, I thought "You know what? 'Dear Jessie' isn't the sleeper cut on this album - '<i>Oh Father</i>' is the sleeper cut!" And so, I added "Oh Father" to his "Best of Madonna" mixtape. As I recall, Zrbo commented that it was an "interesting" and "unexpected" selection, pressing me on my thought process in picking that song as opposed to a number of other potential candidates. It was just a split-second decision! Yeesh. (In my defense, it <i>was</i> a hit single, peaking at #20). Well, I wouldn't put it on a "Best of Madonna" mix now, but I <i>will</i> say that my late '90s instincts with "Oh Father" were sharper than my late '80s instincts were with "Dear Jessie." Here Madonna whines about her daddy issues over a disorienting time signature and a soaring orchestral arrangement. If every song on the album were about how much her old man stank, that would be one thing, but a quick little jab? Go for it.</div><div><br /><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/qvVvN0QvzTk" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><br /><br /></div><div>For decades, AMG has rated <i>Like a Prayer</i> five stars. In a brief review published in my 1997 print edition, and <a href="https://www.allmusic.com/album/like-a-prayer-mw0000198738" target="_blank">one that the site hasn't expanded on or updated in 25 years</a>, Stephen Thomas Erlewine writes:<br /><blockquote>Out of all of Madonna's albums, <i>Like a Prayer</i> is her most explicit attempt at a major artistic statement. Even though it is apparent that she is trying to make a "serious" album, the kaleidoscopic variety of pop styles on <i>Like a Prayer</i> is quite dazzling. Ranging from the deep funk of "Express Yourself" and "Keep It Together" to the haunting "Oh Father" and "Like a Prayer," Madonna displays a commanding sense of songcraft, making this her best and most consistent album.</blockquote>In that old book edition, <i>Like a Prayer</i> and <i>The Immaculate Collection</i> were the only Madonna "albums" to receive five stars, but AMG has since bumped up her debut to five stars, and Erlewine's <a href="https://www.allmusic.com/album/madonna-mw0000268192" target="_blank">much lengthier and seemingly more enthusiastic review</a> of that album suggests that he would no longer consider <i>Like a Prayer</i> to be her "best" album. You know what <i>I</i> think.<br /><br />In the summer of 1990, few movie releases were treated like a bigger "event" than the release of <i>Dick Tracy</i>, and 10-year-old me bought the hype hook, line, and sinker; I remember drawing sketches of strange characters like Flattop, Pruneface, and Mumbles in a little scrapbook - before I even <i>saw</i> the damn thing! Haven't watched it since, of course. Todd in the Shadows does a superlative job of discussing the manner in which, only months after it came out, the mere existence of <i>Dick Tracy</i> was swiftly and collectively erased from the minds of all humanity, <i>Men In Black</i>-style, in his peerless series <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z2Af8RA9oWc" target="_blank">"CINEMADONNA."</a> That said, while technically released on <i>I'm Breathless: Music from and Inspired by the Film Dick Tracy</i>, I've always considered "Vogue" to be almost a <i>Like a Prayer</i> bonus track. And I have always taken great pride in being able to recite Madonna's infamous litany of golden age Hollywood stars word for word. Back in 1990, I don't think I had seen a single movie starring any one of these actors, but now I'm proud to say that I have seen at least one movie starring <i>all</i> of them, if not more than one (except .... uh ... Joe DiMaggio?). Wait, have I seen more than one movie starring Lana Turner? Wasn't she in both <i>The Postman Always Rings Twice</i> and <i>Imitation of Life</i>? Never mind. What I really want to know is this: How did Madonna transition so quickly from the positivity and inclusivity of a song like "Vogue" to ... whatever the hell "Justify My Love" is?</div><div><br /><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/GuJQSAiODqI" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><br /><br /></div><div>In my mind, <i>Like a Prayer</i> and "Vogue" represented the last time that Madonna was really the Head Honcho, the Big Cheese, Grand Poohbah of Pop Music. Which is funny, because, looking at her <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Madonna_singles_discography" target="_blank">singles discography</a> on Wikipedia, I'm a bit surprised to notice that she really didn't have any sort of chart slump after 1991 at all. "This Used to Be My Playground" came out in 1992 and hit #1, then <i>Erotica</i> came out, peaked at #2, featured several high-charting singles, then <i>Bedtime Stories</i> came out and essentially kept the train rolling. I think two things happened here. One: as I mentioned in my intro to this series, in early 1991, I lost virtually all interest in contemporary pop music for about two years or more. This might be why, in the summer of 1993, I suddenly heard "Rain" and "Deeper and Deeper" on the radio and thought, "Oh <i>yeahhhhh</i>. Ma-<i>donnnnn</i>-a. She's <i>back</i>." Back? Back?! Two: after 1991, I think dance-pop, while still riding high on the Billboard Hot 100, lost its <i>cultural</i> potency to alternative rock and hip-hop. I mean, when the most popular rock band in the world is releasing a song titled "Rape Me," and the most popular hip-hop artist of the day is gleefully rapping about fucking his enemies up the ass ("Fuck wit Dre Day"), singing about plain old vanilla consensual sex just ain't that shocking anymore.</div></div>Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-48129830603616769142021-05-09T20:28:00.007-07:002021-05-10T21:00:47.359-07:00"Vision Of Love": All The Mariah I Ever Needed (But If I Want More, I Know Where To Find It)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQA1aZjk3BOdZrpCJjFukvmAcx82BfnrcA-5C5vuU7815LtEjQrzOD8fVUwu8uA5MxeXvG51eksuIjKQrE3GDWltAY-FyXx2CdHgFdD3AIwEPsmYKABochnwRUS_55mFQBQ6PUK8n57mY/s800/MariahCareyVision.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQA1aZjk3BOdZrpCJjFukvmAcx82BfnrcA-5C5vuU7815LtEjQrzOD8fVUwu8uA5MxeXvG51eksuIjKQrE3GDWltAY-FyXx2CdHgFdD3AIwEPsmYKABochnwRUS_55mFQBQ6PUK8n57mY/s320/MariahCareyVision.jpg" /></a></div>Perhaps a year or so ago, my former co-blogger Yoggoth posed a quick pop music game to me, via random text:<br /><br />"Name a song you really like which is the only song by that artist you actually like."<br /><br />His choice, Dire Straits' "Sultans of Swing," left me scratching my head a bit, I have to say. I promptly asked him if he'd ever heard the album <i><a href="https://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2014/08/making-movies-yuppie-heartbreak-never.html" target="_blank">Making Movies</a></i>, to which he said no, to which I said, "You can't claim you don't like any other Dire Straits songs if you've never heard <i>Making Movies</i>." Whether he eventually gave that album a spin is unknown to me, but he did tell me that later on he gave Dire Straits' debut album (the one with "Sultans of Swing" on it) a spin: "Actually, the whole album is pretty good. Sure, he's kind of just doing a Dylan imitation ... but it's a pretty good Dylan imitation!"<div><br /></div><div>At any rate. My choice? It was a bit of a toss-up between A) Echo & the Bunnymen's "The Killing Moon"; B) Soundgarden's "Black Hole Sun"; or C) Mariah Carey's "Vision of Love."<br /><br />She sure ain't lacking for hits, I can tell you that. If Mariah ever ends up breaking the Beatles' record for most US Billboard #1 hits (she currently sits one song behind), I feel like that record should carry a nice, thick Roger Maris-style asterisk next to it. I'm sorry, but having a #1 hit in the 2010's does not mean the same thing as having a #1 hit in the '60s. Didn't that freaking 25-year-old Christmas song recently become a "new" #1 hit? Balderdash and malarkey, I say. Frankly, I wish her well in every other career endeavor she decides to undertake, but I hope she never breaks that record. Or how about this: maybe the Beatles could simply top the charts again with some random album track that never topped the charts before? Maybe some hip new TV show features "The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill" in a climactic, meme-worthy scene, and suddenly it sets streaming services on fire? Ah-<i>hah</i>. There may be hope yet.<br /><br />Hard to say why I haven't taken the Mariah Carey catalog to heart. I don't have an intense <i>dislike</i> for Mariah Carey. That "Fantasy" song ain't bad, but wasn't that mostly built around a sample of the Tom Tom Club's "Genius of Love"? I always chuckle when I think about how insanely popular "One Sweet Day" became. Take the insanely popular Mariah Carey, team her up with the insanely popular Boyz II Men, and what do you get? The <i>super double extra </i>insanely popular "One Sweet Day." It was like Coke and Pepsi teaming up to make a new soft drink, or Nike and Adidas teaming up to make a shoe. You couldn't lose. But I thought it was ... I dunno, Mariah's just not my style. I'm the kind of guy who <a href="https://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2019/05/brenda-k-starrs-i-still-believe-final.html" target="_blank">prefers Brenda K. Starr's version of "I Still Believe"</a> to Mariah Carey's. But I'll tell you what. Sometimes, there's nothing quite like your first.<br /><br />When I revisited "Vision of Love" a few years ago, I heard the opening seconds and thought, "Hmm, why did I used to like this song again?" It sports the questionable one-two punch of synthesized gong followed by several seconds of sparkly keyboard dust and ambient vocal droning, placing it squarely in the realm of late '80s MJ/Quincy Jones production snafus that, in my opinion, probably didn't help improve "Man in the Mirror," "I Just Can't Stop Loving You," or "We Are the World." Well let me say this about "Vision of Love": what it lacks at its opening, it sure as hell makes up for with its ending.<br /><br />See, when Mariah Carey made "Vision of Love," she didn't yet know she was "Mariah Carey." She was unformed, raw, inchoate. And although the song introduced her unparalleled set of pipes to the masses, in retrospect, it hardly set the template for the overall musical style she would generally follow. Despite launching the career of the most popular singer of the '90s, I feel like "Vision of Love" is actually a stylistic throwback to a more gospel-influenced type of R&B. Cheesy production aside, in its bones "Vision of Love" resembles the kind of church-heavy number that could have been recorded by, say, Aretha Franklin, Etta James, Irma Thomas, or Candi Staton. The finger snaps give it a street corner doo-wop quality. No one thinks of early Mariah Carey as being "retro," but "Vision of Love" is ... retro?<br /><br />Based on the use of past tense ("I had a vision of love") and given that the melody and arrangement isn't particularly upbeat, I used to assume the song was a "My man dumped me" type of ballad, but instead, it's more like an "I had a vision of love, and that vision <i>came true!</i>" type of ballad, which I don't find quite as interesting, although Wikipedia does a nice job of making it seem potentially more interesting:<br /><blockquote>Some have noted the relationship between Carey and God, while others point out one with a lover. Carey has yielded to both, while claiming them to have a connection to her childhood and to obstacles encountered while growing up. Michael Slezak wrote "Though it's not clear if she's celebrating a secular love or her relationship with a higher power, this exuberant ballad is a near-religious listening experience."</blockquote>Amen sister! I'll take the religious interpretation. "Prayed through the nights/Felt so alone/Suffered from alienation/Carried the weight on my own/Had to be strong/So I believed/And now I know I've succeeded/In finding the place I conceived"? "Feel so alive/I'm so thankful that I've received/The answer that heaven/Has sent down to me"? I mean, if it smells like God, and if it tastes like God, then it's a song about God. "Vision of Love" is like the "Let It Be" of the '90s - with melisma!<br /><br />OK. So. The song doesn't get too crazy until the third verse, where Mariah's "You treated me kind" is answered by Mariah's evil twin, who chimes in with a lusty "Yeahhhh," and thus commences the Attack of the Multiple Mariahs. She duets a fiery duet with her bad self for about 30 seconds, until suddenly, after the first line of the chorus, the Evil Twin Mariah transforms into ... a bird? A dolphin? A smoke detector? Jesus Christ, what is that <i>sound</i>? Just as you're trying to wrap your head around <i>that</i>, she belts out an "all," and then holds it, and holds it, and holds it, and then all the other instruments fade out, and then ... well, personally, I like to imagine Mariah tip-toeing along the roof of a 40-story building in high heels, and then suddenly losing her balance, waving her arms frantically, as if in an old silent movie, while she sings "Alll-uhh-allllllll-uh-oh-uh-ah-oh-uh-ahhhh-l-l-l-oh-all that you..." Somebody call the fire department! A big breath, and then ... "turned out to <i>beeeeeeeee</i>." Phew, she made it back to safety.</div><div><br /><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/tov22NtCMC4" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><br /><br /></div><div>Right then and there, apparently every female singer on Earth decided they needed to sound exactly like Mariah's roof ledge balancing act, and I guess that's when Little Earl checked out, but I doubt I was the only one who wasn't too excited about it. I'm sure Whitney Houston was quite complimentary to Mariah Carey in the press, but in <i>private</i>, I've always imagined her, in June 1990, sitting on her couch, perhaps in a ratty old bathrobe, remote control in hand, Bobby slicing up some sausages or perhaps grounding up hamburger meat in the kitchen, feeling like the queen of the R&B universe, suddenly catching this video on MTV, making it all the way to its conclusion, turning to Bobby and shouting, "Who the hell does that little canary-imitating bitch think she is?"</div>Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-52778381677097542882021-04-11T12:41:00.014-07:002021-04-11T22:34:03.349-07:00David Letterman And Belinda Carlisle: A Love Story, In Nine Acts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV5llxBEmJNSWUhYPKu8cio1-5DUulONN92ciOL9ZZfJH3WOBx3noVujGtTO-n7VoM58-wX0wo8QgluzUf9KTuz04NU5DQ1A8-uhMWMqvTCTAPsWVQSynFkgWAyxoTDxpBxSMwLFwwyTk/s750/DavidLetterman2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="750" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV5llxBEmJNSWUhYPKu8cio1-5DUulONN92ciOL9ZZfJH3WOBx3noVujGtTO-n7VoM58-wX0wo8QgluzUf9KTuz04NU5DQ1A8-uhMWMqvTCTAPsWVQSynFkgWAyxoTDxpBxSMwLFwwyTk/w400-h266/DavidLetterman2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Sailing through the Seven Seas of YouTube, one can find clips of Belinda Carlisle on every conceivable interview program known to man, from <i>The View</i> and <i>The Joy Behar Show</i> to <i>BBC Breakfast</i> and <i>Good Morning Australia</i>. But boy, either she couldn't get enough of David Letterman, or David Letterman couldn't get enough of her. Two '80s screwballs met in the potent New York night, and awkward television romance blossomed. How blessed we are, decades later, in that the residue of their torrid affair is here to see in all its grainy VHS glory. Join me, if you will, on a detailed retrospective I would like to call "David Letterman and Belinda Carlisle: A Love Story, In Nine Acts."<div><br /></div><div><b>Dave vs. Belinda, Round 1:</b><div><br />Belinda's first encounter with Letterman, as far as I am aware, was in 1984, when she was still the lead singer of the Go-Go's, and when he was still a gap-toothed comedic curiosity, and it only gave the merest hint of the passion that would soon engulf them (and us). A few years back, I had hoped to embed the clip in a previous blog post discussing Belinda's affair with Michael Hutchence; however, I was forced to write the following: "It looks like somebody took the clip down from YouTube, but despite that obstacle, I have to say I watched it so many times, I can probably recall the entire interview from memory." Lo and behold, the clip has miraculously resurfaced, which means that the internet can see for itself just how accurate my <a href="https://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2014/04/the-unsurprisingly-brief-affair-between.html" target="_blank">expertly witty summary</a>, composed without the aid of the clip at my disposal, truly was.</div><div><br /></div><div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/RJnRNv9uE9s" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>For our purposes today, what I'll say is this: 1) Although Dave and Belinda seem to develop a nice rapport here, he essentially treats her no differently from how he might have treated the majority of his guests (an attitude that was not destined to last); 2) Belinda is still in her coked-out Rue McClanahan phase and has not yet become, shall we say, "late '80s Belinda" in physical appearance.</div><div><br /><b>Dave vs. Belinda, Round 2:</b><br /><br />Two years was a lifetime for our freshly-minted Mrs. Mason AKA Queen of Yuppie Rock, and by the time Belinda returned to Letterman in May of 1986, she was in full-blown blonde bombshell mode and promoting her first solo album. Practically the first words out of Dave's mouth are "Boy, you look great!" Not having been privy to the details of their breakup, he asks what the hell happened to the Go-Go's ("I know it's none of our business, but..."), and her initial answer, while grossly oversimplified and rather uninformative, perhaps contains a kernel of truth to it: "It just got to be real boring." He sticks at it:</div><div></div><blockquote><div>Dave: Was it one decision or did everybody collectively make it?</div><div>Belinda: No, it was sort of, uh, two people's decision. (giggles)</div><div>Dave: And who were those two people?</div><div>Belinda: Charlotte and myself.</div><div>Dave: Oh. (chuckles) Oh, I see, so you guys just kind of ... you walked.</div><div>Belinda: We just kinda, yeah, we said, "See ya later."</div></blockquote><div></div><div>Another exchange features Belinda's typically self-censored responses:<br /><blockquote>Dave: So how is it different now travelling because, for eight years, you were an all-female organization and now you're with, uh, men and women in the group, is it a big difference for you?<br />Belinda: Well, um ... it's kind of weird like on the bus, we can't exactly parade around in, uh ... you know ... what we used to. (giggles)<br />Dave: And what exactly was that? (audience chuckles)<br />Belinda: Well you know, underwear, and uh ... undershirts, and that kind of thing. (more giggles)<br />Dave: So when the Go-Go's were out touring ... (audience hoots and hollers) I just want to make sure I have the proper mental image of this ...</blockquote>As Belinda/Dave interviews go, this one is fairly tame, for reasons unbeknownst to me, Belinda, or Dave. However, feel free to check out the sultry version of "Mad About You" featuring Paul Shaffer on back-up vocals (at 32:47).</div><div><br /></div><div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/LELdtNJV7W8?start=1310" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Dave vs. Belinda, Round 3:</b><br /><br />And now let's cut to October 1987, with Belinda promoting "Heaven Is a Place on Earth," sporting the Wilma Flintstone black dress/green skirt outfit as seen at the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ngmakCXGe7M" target="_blank">Prince's Trust Concert</a>. Apparently either Letterman hadn't been paying much attention the year prior, or he is particularly horny on this night, but let's just say that Dave has finally seen the light. The realization has hit him like a diamond bullet in the brain: Belinda Carlisle has become laughably gorgeous. Dave has essentially decided to rename his show <i>The Let's All Gawk At How Attractive Belinda Carlisle Is Hour</i>. Samples:<br /><blockquote>Dave: How you doin'?<br />Belinda: I'm all right.<br />Dave: Well you look great. (mile-wide gap-toothed grin on his face) You do, you really, I mean you <i>really</i> look great.<br />Belinda: Thank you.<br />Dave: Yeah, uh ... well how is it (possibly pivoting to a new subject, but finding himself unable to do so) ... that you look this great?<br />Belinda: Um ... I run about 25 miles a week ... and I ... (shrugs her shoulders) I dunno, I eat healthy...<br />Dave: Now when you were with the Go-Go's you didn't ... I mean you looked great then. But now ... Paul what am I lookin' for here?</blockquote>Dave then proceeds, like Johnny Carson before him, to ask Belinda about her new pet pig (Belinda clarifies, "It's a suede-back potbellied Asian pig"):<br /><blockquote>Dave: Do you have it in the house with you?<br />Belinda: Yeah, it's a house pig.<br />Dave: You know, I was accused of that once in a divorce settlement, but that's a uh ... Do you have other animals?<br />Belinda: I have four dogs and a parrot.<br />Dave: And what is the interaction like between the dogs and the pig?<br />Belinda: Uh ... they all seem to get along all right. And the parrot likes the pig too.</blockquote>Seriously, who comes off weirder here, Dave or Belinda? Finally, Dave returns to the theme of the evening:<br /><blockquote>Dave: I just can't get over it, you are stunning.<br />Belinda: Well God that's ... thank you.<br />Dave: Well you're certainly welcome, I mean, you deserve it, I mean, why not? ... Well you come back as often as you like, come back tomorrow night as a matter of fact.</blockquote><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ieK0ScoPXo4" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Dave vs. Belinda, Round 4:</b><br /><br />Despite Dave's suggestion, Belinda did not, in fact, come back the next night. Rather, she came back <i>two nights</i> later - possibly without intending to. Apparently, at the start of the show (which was to feature Buck Henry, screenwriter of <i>The Graduate</i> and other films, as well as noted character actor), Dave and Paul got wind that Belinda Carlisle was coincidentally in the building, and they decided to track her down "just say hello to her" because, as Dave put it, "she looks great."</div><div><br /></div><div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/zHnz1YAbEKA" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div></div><div><br /></div><div>With cameraman in tow, they accost her in the hallway:<br /><blockquote>Paul: Belinda you really, you really ...<br />Belinda: Is it tomorrow yet?<br />Paul: Nice to see you.<br />Dave: We wanted to to tell you that you just look great and ...<br />Paul: You look fabulous.<br />Dave: You want to spend the rest of the evening with us? Would you like to ... it's hard for you to say what you're really thinking right now which is, you'd like us to leave you alone, I'm guessing. Do you have plans, where are you going now?<br />Belinda: Um ... I have to go do an interview.<br />Dave: Yeah, with who?<br />Belinda: <i>Slice Magazine</i>. (giggles)<br />Dave: <i>Slice Magazine</i>. Oh it's the prestigious ... <i>Slice Magazine</i>.<br />Paul: Blow that off, babe, and come spend the rest of the evening with us.</blockquote>And so, with a roar of approval from the studio audience, Belinda walks onto the set and takes a seat. He asks her if she knows Buck Henry, and, hilariously, her eyes grow wide with surprise as she exclaims, "Yeah I <i>do</i> know Buck Henry!" Apparently Buck, Belinda, and Morgan had spent some time together at the beach in LA. When Buck comes out, he explains to Dave, "I have a photograph I took of her a few weeks ago in a wetsuit that I'll be glad to send you - for a reasonable fee," before adding, "I know Belinda, I know her husband - he'll be pretty angry when he sees this mess." Dave proceeds to interview Buck for five minutes, while Belinda sits there and says absolutely nothing. After the commercial break, Dave welcomes everyone back with "All right, Buck Henry is here and Belinda Carlisle is here and," turning to Belinda, adds "you're hating every minute of this, aren't you?" After Dave and Paul proceed with one more round of "You look great" and "She hates us all," Dave asks, "But you'll come back eventually, won't you?" Belinda responds with a nakedly sincere, slightly clueless, "Well yeah, definitely."</div><div><br /><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/yOqNLflYYHY?start=1" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><br /><br /></div><div><b>Dave vs. Belinda, Round 5:</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Clearly, she meant what she said. Now in her leather biker chick phase, Belinda returned to the program in March 1988, riding high on "I Get Weak." Dave mentions that she's been nominated for a Grammy and asks her if it means anything to her, to which she replies, with a typical hint of self-loathing, "No, not really." He then asks her about her wardrobe plans:<br /><blockquote>Dave: What kind of dress did you get?<br />Belinda: It's just sort of a ... uh ... strapless ... kind of ...<br />(Several audience members whistle and holler)<br />Dave: (To the audience) Oh <i>please</i>.<br />Belinda: Just, you know, sort of like a showgirl-type dress.<br />Dave: Oh a <i>showgirl</i>-type dress!<br />Belinda: Well it's not like that - it's like a partygirl-type dress.<br />Dave: A showgirl/partygirl-type dress. Where does one go for these accoutrements? ... And do you have things prepared to say if your are a trophy winner?<br />Belinda: No, I don't think I'm going to win, so I'm not preparing anything. (Audience groans with disbelief and sadness.) I know I should have a better attitude, but ...</blockquote>To be fair, I believe she was up against Whitney Houston, so, she probably possessed a clear-eyed view of her chances. He asks her how her pet pig is doing, and when she responds, "I don't have it anymore," the audience once again groans with sadness, prompting Dave to ask the audience, "Now wait a minute, whose show is this?" It goes on:<br /><blockquote>Dave: What happened to your pig?<br />Audience member: Breakfast!<br />Belinda: No I didn't eat it. Um ... it was, um, it sort of was kind of messy in the house.<br />Dave: Well I don't think you should be keeping the pig in the house anyway.<br />Belinda: Well it was sort of messy outdoors too.</blockquote><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/UdzwejTlN_w" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Dave vs. Belinda, Round 6:</b><br /><br />She returned for more punishment in 1989, knee-deep in her Nicole Kidman circa <i>Days of Thunder</i> phase, to promote "Leave a Light On." Dave asks her why she recorded a bulk of <i>Runaway Horses</i> in France, and she responds, "Just to get away from it all, and get away from distractions." "What kind of distractions were you trying to get away from?..." "Well, we were trying to get away from phone calls, and ... um ... distractions! I don't know." One might consider this a prelude to what follows:<br /><blockquote>Dave: And you worked in Monaco for ... you did a TV show or an awards presentation, what was that?<br />Belinda: The Monte Carlo Music Awards. I was up for an award, but I got there and found out I was hosting it (giggles), so ... yeah.<br />Dave: Now see, if you'd been near a phone, there wouldn't have been this mix-up.</blockquote>Wrapping things up, Dave says, "Boy you smell terrific," which inspires Belinda to quickly sniff her own wrist in an attempt to establish precisely what she smells like. Whether she succeeded or not is difficult to discern.</div><div><br /></div><div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/YHfdMkKCqCo" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Dave vs. Belinda, Round 7:</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Here she is in her proto-Lauren Holly phase, and it feels like the love affair might have grown just a touch more lethargic at this stage of the game, with Dave more preoccupied by some gag revolving around the construction of wooden shelves, as well as the next night's guest, three-year-old golfer Brent Palladino, and yet, a few sparks still remain. When she explains that she's been touring all summer, he asks her which place was the best and which place was the worst:</div><div></div><blockquote><div>Belinda: The worst place was ...</div><div>Dave: Not <i>here</i>, don't tell me <i>here</i>.</div><div>Belinda: Uh ... Malaysia. It was kinda scary.</div><div>Dave: People nice? Food not good?</div><div>Belinda: Mmm, no, no, I got food poisoning.</div><div>Dave: Really, what were you eating there?</div><div>Belinda: Curried something.</div><div>Dave: Curried something. See, you need more information on the menu, before you order. "I'll have the curried something."</div></blockquote><div></div><div>Speaking of meals: he comes right out and asks her, "What are you doing tonight?" She explains that she plans to have dinner with a few friends somewhere in Little Italy:</div><div></div><blockquote><div>Dave: Could I stop by?</div><div>Belinda: Sure, come on over.</div><div>Dave: Would that kill you if I stopped by?</div><div>Belinda: No you can come on by.</div><div>Dave: You'd <i>die</i> if I walked in the restaurant, it would be like one of these (proceeds to pull his sport coat over his face), "Oh geez, oh my God."</div><div>Belinda: (unconvincingly) No I wouldn't do that.</div></blockquote><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/lD42JwWI3co" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><b>Dave vs. Belinda, Round 8:</b><br /><br />Now it's 1991 and Belinda is in her "Jackie Kennedy on November 22" phase, promoting what she and Dave do not know will be her (US) flop single, "Do You Feel Like I Feel?" In retrospect, this renders their seemingly innocuous banter slightly more tragic:<br /><blockquote>Dave: Yeah! That sounded great. Now will that, will that ... that sounded so good here, you know, that's got, like "hit" written all over it, don't you think?<br />Belinda: Well <i>I</i> think so.<br />Dave: And that's the one that's gonna sell the album, and it's gonna be a huge hit.<br />Belinda: I hope so.<br />Dave: And also, I understand congratulations are in order, because you're, uh, you're pregnant ... And are we far enough along now to know much about it, do we know if it's a boy, do we know if it's a girl, do we <i>want</i> to know?<br />Belinda: No, we call it The Blob.</blockquote>Let me note that, while the audience does not even emit the slightest hint of laughter at Belinda 's answer, I, for one, find it magnificent.<br /><blockquote><div>Belinda: 'Cause that's what it looks like.<br />Dave: Good parenting. But do you want to know, ultimately ...?<br />Belinda: Yeah, yeah, I do want to know. Um ... my husband doesn't want to know, but I'll ... figure it out. (giggles)</div><div>Dave: Are you just ... <i>wild</i> with excitement about this?</div><div>Belinda: Well I'm kind of horrified actually, but, um ... yeah I mean I get more excited about it every day, I'm getting used to the idea. I guess I'm not 15 anymore.</div><div>Dave: No. Uh ... how old are you?</div><div>Belinda: I'm 33.</div><div>Dave: Are you - 33? Wow, that's, that's great. How old do you think <i>I</i> am?</div><div>Belinda: 25.</div><div>Dave: Aww, bless your little heart (kisses her hand). And what do you think I <i>weigh</i>?</div></blockquote><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/T3HhCBA-Gw4" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><b>Dave vs. Belinda, Round 9:</b><br /><br />By the time of 1993's single "Big Scary Animal," perhaps Belinda's US standing had fallen so low that she didn't even merit an interview segment? (Looks like Letterman had moved to CBS at this point; maybe that extra airtime would have cost her record label more money than they were willing to shell out.) Let's call this round a draw. Hell, let's call <i>every</i> round a draw.<div><br /></div><div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/RQBa98VzRTU" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><div><br /></div><div>Please note that I am also excluding three (!) appearances by the reunited Go-Go's in 1990, 1994, and 2001, respectively, none of which feature interview segments with either Belinda or the rest of the band.<br /><br />Postscript: Lord knows where I saw it, but I recall reading, in one of many numerous interviews with our fetching heroine, the interviewer asking her what qualities she found attractive in men, and her answer was something along the lines of, "A great sense of humor, you know, like Howard Stern or David Letterman." Two thoughts: 1) What, precisely, would become of David Letterman's brain if word of this ever got around to him? 2) A great sense of humor? Am I crazy to think I would've had a chance?</div></div></div></div>Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-72371795300165516802021-03-07T13:42:00.005-08:002021-03-11T11:38:17.193-08:00How Many Days In Paradise Are We Talking About Here? AKA David Crosby, Vegas Bad Luck Charm<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Ucm-xbRdK82vEulApWEpuL2TwUCUIJk1obauxnN3gySdYNJEu6iDh6i02aVXq4LrAiKJRR-jlKGElx7jL75yH1sohx8FeGfzJTRc8jpORQjyiS7tZyEQ7FyDAmgrZ6hhLsnluBhvMPg/s600/PhilCollinsAnotherDay.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Ucm-xbRdK82vEulApWEpuL2TwUCUIJk1obauxnN3gySdYNJEu6iDh6i02aVXq4LrAiKJRR-jlKGElx7jL75yH1sohx8FeGfzJTRc8jpORQjyiS7tZyEQ7FyDAmgrZ6hhLsnluBhvMPg/s320/PhilCollinsAnotherDay.jpg" /></a></div>But it's <i>not</i> just another day in paradise at <i>all</i>. Because there are <i>homeless people!</i> Oh <i>man</i>. Feel the <i>burn</i>. Irony so thick you could stick a fork in it.<p></p>In the long and lengthy history of sappy charity rock, perhaps the easiest target for critical scorn that has ever been produced - easier than "Ebony and Ivory," "We Are the World," even Elton's "Princess Diana" remake of "Candle in the Wind," for crying out loud - would be "Another Day In Paradise." You want to know why? I'll tell you why:<div><br /></div><div>It's because PHIL FUCKING COLLINS IS TRYING TO TELL EVERYBODY HOW HORRIBLE THEY ARE FOR IGNORING HOMELESS PEOPLE, WHEN HE'S PROBABLY SPENT HIS ENTIRE LIFE DOING THE SAME EXACT FUCKING THING.<br /><br />There, I said it. I feel better now. OK. Take a breath.<br /><br />Here's how I'm guessing this went down: One festive evening, in between caviar dinners and red carpet ceremonies, Phil happened to notice some scraggly-looking ruffian living in a box and eating out of a leftover Chinese take-out container, and thought to himself, "Oh, this is <i>terrible</i>. Hasn't anybody noticed all these <i>homeless</i> people around? You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to write a <i>song</i> about it. And then I'm going to bring in David Crosby, patron saint of old hippies who love telling everybody how badly they should feel about stuff (even though he's probably just a couple of late royalty payments away from being homeless himself), to sing backing vocals." Cloying. Obnoxious. Sanctimonious.<br /><br />And yet.<br /><br />Do you know how many views the video for "Another Day in Paradise" has on YouTube? 370 million. Sweet Jesus. "In the Air Tonight" only has 219 million. Do you know why so many people, including your humble '80s blogger, enjoy listening to the hypocritical guilt-fest known as "Another Day in Paradise"? Because the man ... just had a gift.</div><div><br /></div><div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/eaFlJQGtBeM" width="420"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>That keyboard hook. Whoa nelly. It's gentle, but insistent. At this point Phil was farting out keyboard hooks like a man who'd eaten five "keyboard hook" burritos the night before. And the chorus - so hypnotic, so <i>relaxing</i>. Phil and David's harmonizing really lulls your ears into that sweet, arrogant, middle-class complacency the lyrics are apparently trying to warn you against. Reclining in your Cape Cod hammock, you slip into a sedate, comforting junkie nod as you think to yourself, "Yes, Phil, it <i>is </i>another day in paradise ... wait, what's this song about again?" It's like a soft, velvetty pillow of shame. Select instrumental highlights:</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Throughout the first half, the entirety of the track's percussion appears to be supplied by a drum machine (thwacking slightly louder during the keyboard hook than during either the verse or the chorus) until the 2:47 mark, when His Gated-Reverbed Majesty makes his grand entrance on the skins. Sometimes the best tricks ... are the oldest tricks.</li><li>Phil lays off the drums during the third verse, giving ample room for a tasty flamenco guitar flourish to steal the spotlight at 3:45, only to come crashing back in on the final chorus, his anger at the cosmic injustice he's been forced to witness between limo rides clearly boiling over.</li><li>I feel like the outro goes on <i>just</i> long enough; with Phil now inventively singing the chorus lyric over the previously unaccompanied keyboard hook, you really get a chance to wallow in your privileged indifference for a good extra minute or so.</li></ul></div><div>But here's the funniest part. I don't merely admire the song on its musical merits alone. I think some twisted, confused portion of me actually likes the lyrics. They're just so ... <i>unapologetically sarcastic</i>. He's really throwing your apathy in your face, gleefully getting off while watching you squirm. And the details are spot-on - give or take a bit of dramatic embellishment. For instance, anyone else find it pretty convenient that the homeless lady in the first verse happens to speak in rhyme? Also, "Starts to whistle as he crosses the street"? How many businessmen whistled as they crossed the street ... in 1989? Plus, Phil left out the most important detail: <i>what was the man whistling?</i> I'm going to go with <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lbnClCGpTzs" target="_blank">"The Colonel Bogey March."</a></div><div><br /></div><div>At least Phil doesn't pretend to have a solution. It's not like the lyrics are, "If we all just worked together, we could end homelessness forever, la la la la." Instead, he's merely painting the scene, then offering a wry joke about how "wonderful" everything is. "No answers <i>here</i>, folks." In fact, on the bridge, he outright asks, "Oh Lord, is there nothing more that anybody can do?," before adding desperately, "Oh Lord, there must be something you can say." But God doesn't seem to be telling Phil Collins jack squat. Besides, I don't think "Another Day in Paradise" is asking the listener to "solve" homelessness anyway; it's just asking the listener to "think about it." And, you know what? For five minutes and twenty-three seconds of my precious existence, I think I can do that.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's still the cheesiest piece of cheese that any Yuppie Rocker ever cheesed, of course. I like how the video features shocking "facts," rendered in big bold letters, such as "ONE BILLION PEOPLE HAVE INADEQUATE SHELTER." Define "inadequate." I mean, you should see some of the apartments I've lived in. I also like the shot of the homeless guy wearing a "Don't Worry Be Happy" beanie. Take <i>that</i>, Bobby McFerrin.</div><div><br /></div><div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Qt2mbGP6vFI" width="420"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>Surprisingly, at least according to Phil, the initial inspiration for the track stemmed from an incident far removed from the plight of the street dweller. From <i>In The Air Tonight</i>:<br /></div><blockquote><div>Common misconception: I can understand why people thought I was talking about "paradise," you know, like an ironic reference to heaven or something in relation to the whole homelessness issue, but actually, when I wrote the demo back in the mid-'80s, I was talking about Paradise,<i> Nevada</i>. See, when you think of "Las Vegas," what do you think of? You think of the Las Vegas Strip, right? But what most people don't realize is that the majority of the Las Vegas Strip technically resides in the unincorporated census-designated community of Paradise, Nevada, and that Las Vegas <i>proper</i> is to the north. For demographic purposes, it's probably best to think of Vegas as the Las Vegas Metropolitan Statistical Area.<br /><br />Anyway. So it was about 1986, fresh off <i>No Jacket Required</i>, and I'd just gotten back to my room at Harrah's at 3:00am, returning from my favorite Vegas strip club, Cutie Pie's, when the phone rings. <i>Crosby's in town.</i> You know shit's about to get crazy.</div><div><br /></div><div>So we meet over at Caesar's and head to the blackjack table. He's high on a mixture of ... I want to say PCP and Robitussin? Given that he'd just gotten out of Texas State Prison for drugs and weapons possession charges, you'd think he would've been taking it a bit easy, but then you don't know Croz. And of course I'd just injected a couple of kilos of horsie juice laced with some WD-40 (for that extra kick).<div><br /></div><div>So we're in a pretty good mood. I get on a bit of a roll, and suddenly I'm dealt a 10 and a 6. "I think I'm gonna go for it."</div><div><br /></div><div>Crosby looks at me, with a clarity belying his mental state. "You sure about that Phil? Think twice."</div><div><br /></div><div>So I respond, just off the cuff, you know, "Cause it's another day for you and me in Paradise." And we both emit these enormous, Cheshire Cat grins. Anyway, I go for it. "Hit me!" I get a 7. I tell you, Crosby's energy is just unlucky all around, that's what I think. I guess I probably saw some homeless bloke standing on the corner as I stumbled back to Harrah's but ... didn't really feel that bad about it, honestly.</div></div></blockquote><div><div></div></div>Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-77857624643930938172021-02-07T12:44:00.013-08:002022-03-25T18:07:18.351-07:00"I've Got The Power" To Guffaw At Three Anonymous Early '90s Jock Jams<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmxETW24zw2WizYLemlcNCIPYVn-FO9Dr8ShFlP3jTi4YArinz7IjBgTdlRo_02cVqWEH3ZnTULRybCfLMvlcW1OSeuKHIoOYohvR9mbN0GLqkmLVzk_74y6xXu-stsSGx-nhIIKfmpGg/s1500/Snap%2521The+Power.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1467" data-original-width="1500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmxETW24zw2WizYLemlcNCIPYVn-FO9Dr8ShFlP3jTi4YArinz7IjBgTdlRo_02cVqWEH3ZnTULRybCfLMvlcW1OSeuKHIoOYohvR9mbN0GLqkmLVzk_74y6xXu-stsSGx-nhIIKfmpGg/s320/Snap%2521The+Power.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ner-Nn ... Nn ... Nn ... Nn-Nn-Ner-Nn ... Nn ... Nn ... I've got the powah! (-owah, -owah ...)</div><br />And so, at the dawn of the '90s, a strange new genre arose: Eurodance songs featuring American R&B singers and American rappers where nobody knew who the hell any of these people were and nobody really cared, with the odds that the singers appearing in the music videos had anything to do with the sounds being generated on the recordings standing at about 17.5%. Wikipedia attempts to call it "hip house," but I'm skeptical. The official artist credits gave little indication as to who were the genuine brains behind the operations, or even which <i>countries</i> the artists originated from. The producers of these singles could have been international spies, for all we know. "Snap!" "Technotronic." "C+C Music Factory." Even a name like The Beach Boys, unrevealing as it was, at least hinted that young males were somehow involved in the creation of the music one was purchasing. These group names conjured up images of kitchen appliance brands.<br /><br />Let me say this about "The Power," by Snap!: I love the synthesizer riff that sounds like an extremely shy and hesitant table saw. Credit must also go to the guy in the background continuously smacking the hell out of the wind chime he probably lifted off his neighbor's porch that morning. And kudos to the brains behind Snap! for recognizing that they could not showcase the lyric "I've got the power!" without using a vocalist who truly demonstrated said power. According to Wikipedia, the singer on the recording is Penny Ford, the singer in the video is Jackie Harris, and ... honestly I stopped caring about five seconds ago. She's got the power! Who gives a fuck who the real singer is?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I wonder how much street cred rapper Turbo B generated for himself back in his hometown of Pittsburgh with his appearance on "The Power." I want to make fun of his rap, but hell, he's probably got better flow than MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice combined. (His moment of crowning glory: "Of the mic... rophone ... that I ... am holdin/Copywritten-lyrics-so-they-can't-be-stolen.'") I mean, for 1990, he sounds pretty tough! He is, after all, the lyrical "Jesse James," which means that he, a black man from Pittsburgh, is the lyrical "unrepentant ex-Confederate train-robber," but whatever, it sounds menacing. Another nice touch: the trilling saxophone that calls to mind the opening of the <i>Mission: Impossible</i> Theme. What I'm trying to say is that "The Power" is one of those seemingly tossed-off dance singles where any of the individual elements, taken in isolation, would sound kind of stupid, but when put together, do they not add up to an unstoppable jock jam of the highest order? I mean, this song has really got the ... energy? No, that's not the right word. Wattage? No, not quite it. Centrifugal force? It'll come to me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The video apparently takes place in a terrifying post-modern future where black people give press conferences. Admit it, breakdancers with flat-top haircuts gyrating in the background is exactly the kind of choreographic touch our new VP's speeches need.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/nm6DO_7px1I" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A couple of elements of Technotronic's "Pump Up the Jam" that I've always found mildly annoying: 1) The rapper sounds like the second cousin once removed of either Salt or Pepa (sorry, I never figured out which was which), with a grotesquely thick New York accent and a delivery that lags more egregiously behind the beat than the lead singer of Cake's; 2) The opening lyrics of the chorus. What the hell is she singing? It sounds like "Ow-oh-wah, a place to stay." It's irritated me for <i>years</i>. According to various YouTube comments, she is singing "I don't want a place to stay." Come on now, does it really sound like "I don't want" to you? Look, I don't need Cary Grant-level pronunciation here, but when the lyrics are this repetitive, it wouldn't hurt. Some of the vocalist's awkward affectations might be explained by the fact that, according to Wikipedia, she was Congolese-Belgian recording artist Ya Kid K (birth name Manuela Barbara Kamosi Moaso Djogi), and probably grew up on a street corner in Kinshasa, not Brooklyn. Could've fooled me. Those who watched the video were also fooled, but in a different way: they were fooled into believing that the vocalist was actually Congolese model Felly Kilingi instead. I can see what the producers were thinking here: "Well, as long as the girl in the video is <i>also</i> Congolese, it's all good, right?" Here's what <i>I'm</i> thinking: "Pump Up the Jam"? How about "Pump Up the Video Budget"? This thing looks like it was filmed inside a Game Boy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/9EcjWd-O4jI" width="420"></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Surprisingly, the powers-that-be behind C+C Music Factory were more or less American, although, unsurprisingly, they were not actually a factory. Talk about things that make me go "hmmmm." At least they got one key piece of the formula right: the rather heavy-set <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martha_Wash" target="_blank">Martha Wash</a>'s vocals for "Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now)" were mimed in the video by strikingly less heavy-set Liberian "model-turned-singer" Zelma Davis. Apparently Zelma <i>could</i> sing, and she did perform on the aforementioned "Things" and "Here We Go (Let's Rock & Rock)," but after Martha raised such a fuss about "Gonna Make You Sweat," everyone assumed Zelma was just another Milli Vanilla and was promptly stigmatized accordingly, so, it's hard to say who the biggest victims in this terrible saga truly were.<br /><br />In retrospect, it's funny how much "Gonna Make You Sweat" comes across to my ears as "The Power" Lite. If Turbo B and Frederick Brandon "Freedom" Williams ever faced off in the street, my bet would be on Turbo B. "Make the twirl, it's your world, and I'm just a squirrel/Tryin' to get a nut to move your butt"? "I paid the price to control the dice/I'm all precise, to the point, I'm nice"? Oh Snap!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/LaTGrV58wec" width="420"></iframe></div>Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-82004898765565923142021-01-10T15:26:00.004-08:002021-01-10T17:30:32.920-08:00Runaway Belinda Interviews From The Runaway Horses Era<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZPqTxLTcEtou7SyNOZEKleop5z9KIDuZLfb4qlbGKbJIuJlx-nWwSUbbMo6zV5lUXqPGqke_1z_XkUL4UUYZl197wx96DRtjATeXBxC_d1JyT3iHlJL-u0ZQsoURIM0YTEtVPJa3o_0Q/s647/2b574258e31925ceeb42b8e64b9e85b1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="647" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZPqTxLTcEtou7SyNOZEKleop5z9KIDuZLfb4qlbGKbJIuJlx-nWwSUbbMo6zV5lUXqPGqke_1z_XkUL4UUYZl197wx96DRtjATeXBxC_d1JyT3iHlJL-u0ZQsoURIM0YTEtVPJa3o_0Q/w309-h400/2b574258e31925ceeb42b8e64b9e85b1.jpg" width="309" /></a></div><p></p>Like a novice equestrian riding an untamed stallion, any interviewer of Belinda Carlisle circa 1989/1990 might have found themselves treading a thin line between galloping majestically through the unspoiled countryside and being violently catapulted into the gooey mud. Maybe she'd stay the course, maybe she'd end up kicking the jockey in the balls - who could say?<br /><br />I've always been familiar with <i>USA Today</i> as a newspaper (one which ... still exists?), but I've been unaware of its existence as any sort of television entity; until being asked to do this interview, my guess is that Belinda would have been equally ignorant. Regardless, just prior to the release of <i>Runaway Horses</i> in late 1989, here she finds herself reclining in the passenger seat of an old Cadillac across from a Universal City Nissan dealership, alongside an interviewer armed with a camcorder, a boom box, and hokey narration. I have to say, somehow this ends up being more substantial than it had any right to be. Highlights:<br /><b></b><blockquote><b>Interviewer:</b> When you went out on the road with the Go-Go's, you had this clean-cut, wholesome image. Did that bother you at the time?<div><br /></div><div><b>Belinda:</b> Yeah, it was sort of, you know, I think people feel comfortable with labels, and they just happened to slap the "cute, bubbly, and effervescent" label on us, which was fine, it was really annoying, and uh ...<br /><br /><b>Interviewer:</b> At the time, were you rebelling against that?<br /><br /><b>Belinda:</b> Oh yeah, definitely. Definitely privately, not publicly, but privately we were definitely rebelling.</div></blockquote><div></div><div>Details? Not safe for <i>USA Today</i>? Saving those up for the book, I suppose. The interviewer plays "Leave a Light On" from a tiny little boom box and asks Belinda if she likes it. "Oh yeah, I love it," she responds between giggles. "It's good. I better like it, I did it!"<div><b></b><blockquote><b>Interviewer:</b> Is it hard for you to listen to your own music?<br /><br /><b>Belinda:</b> Yes it is. Especially after I just got through singing that song at least 200 times. Yeah, it is. You know, I love hearing it on the radio though, I remember the very first time I heard my voice on the radio, it was really ... thrilling and it still is, I have to admit when my song comes on I do turn it up.<br /><br /><b>Interviewer [in voiceover]:</b> When she goes this long between performances, does the thought of a live audience make Belinda nervous?<br /><br /><b>Belinda:</b> Even when I'm used to it, it freaks me out if I think about it, so I just try not to think about it, and I pretend that they're there to see somebody else. 'Cause it is kind of ... a couple times I've been on stage and I've sort of looked out and you could see profiles from way in the back going like this [waves arms] and you start thinking about, well they've actually paid money to see me, and then it starts, uh, playing tricks on your mind a little bit.</blockquote>Impostor Syndrome, thy name is Belinda Carlisle.</div><div><br /></div><div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/aCpFXUw2yE0" width="420"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>Here we have a solid performance of "Summer Rain" from the <i>Arsenio Hall Show</i> (featuring at least a few live strings?), followed by a typically amusing interview. (Apologies for the audio that only plays on the left channel; there is a clip of simply the interview portion that features better audio, but I wanted include the performance as well, so, deal with it.) The surely neon-and-spandex-clad audience appears to approve of both the song and Belinda's majestically lengthy fake eyelashes, as I detect a few patented "Whoot! Whoot!" chants among the gathered throng.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've forgotten how nice Arsenio's couches were. He really didn't skimp on the couches. I've also forgotten how perceptive and empathetic of an interviewer he could be. After Belinda confirms an upcoming Go-Go's reunion (to be discussed by yours truly in a future post?), Arsenio remarks, "You look good. And when I say 'good' I mean, not, yeah, you know..." The audience inevitably hollers. "I mean not in the sense of 'Why don't you come on back to my place later' ... I don't mean it like that, I mean, I'm looking into your eyes and I know you <i>did</i> have some problems and you've gotten 'em together and you look real healthy and happy and I'm happy for you." Belinda smiles, nods, and responds "Thank you, I am happy." Yeahhhh. According to <i>Lips Unsealed</i>, she was <i>just</i> keeping things together at this point and was merely a few months away from hitting an even rougher patch, but, you know ... it was probably wisest just to smile, nod, and say "Thank you, I am happy." The next exchange is a keeper:<br /><b></b><blockquote><b>Arsenio:</b> Let's talk music. AMA's this past week?<br /><br /><b>Belinda:</b> (giggles)<br /><br /><b>Arsenio:</b> What'd you think, did you go?<br /><br /><b>Belinda:</b> No. Uh-uh. I was in Vegas.<br /><br /><b>Arsenio:</b> What do you think about, like, the direction of music, Milli Vanilli being the hottest thing in music? (laughs gleefully)<br /><br /><b>Belinda:</b> (mangles her words but essentially says, "Mother always taught me, 'If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.'") They're not my favorite. But I know they're not your favorite either.<br /><br /><b>Arsenio:</b> I'm just amazed by it.<br /><br /><b>Belinda:</b> I am too. I am too! What can I say?<br /><br /><b>Arsenio:</b> I mean, some place, Tom Petty, and Paul McCartney, and great writers like Luther Vandross and Elton John, they're sittin' around and sayin' "What the hell is goin' on?!"</blockquote>Well how 'bout them apples? I guess even at the time, before their terrible "secret" trickled out, many in the entertainment business were already rather unimpressed with Milli Vanilli. <a href="https://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2019/07/earl-you-know-its-true-you-still-like.html" target="_blank">Catchy tunes though.</a> Later, Belinda goes into detail about her process for picking her material, something she hardly ever talked about:<br /><b></b><blockquote><b>Arsenio:</b> How do you choose your material, I mean, what do you look for? 'Cause I think, people sing your songs constantly.<br /><br /><b>Belinda:</b> Well I know lyrically, you know, by looking at it, whether it's right for me or not and, um, I have a good sense of what I do, and uh, I just know really basically within 30 seconds whether the song is right for me or not, doesn't really take me that long to figure it out.</blockquote>This might help explain her glorious demo of "Waiting For a Star to Fall," although it certainly lasted longer than 30 seconds. He asks her if she writes a lot, and she replies, without too much exaggeration, "I'm starting to write, I have a credit on the Graces album [one of Charlotte Caffey's projects] and I have a <i>half</i>-a-credit on my album, so I'm tryin'." When Arsenio repeats, "Half a credit," she responds, playfully, "That's better than no credit." He asks her which song she co-wrote, she answers "Shades of Michaelangelo," and when she hears crickets, Belinda raises her arms and shouts, "Yeah!" like a girl in school who just ran for class president, failed to receive a single vote, and is attempting to laugh it off.</div><div><br /></div><div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/kTQS5V6LMnU" width="420"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>Just when I thought I'd seen it all, here's Belinda on what appears to be a UK children's TV show called <i>Going Live!</i> The host begins by handing Belinda a Platinum award for <i>Runaway Horses</i> (or rather, forcing young Hayden and Genevieve to do the dirty work), which she pretends to appreciate but ultimately seems to understand she has no real use for. Then, upon being prompted, she shares the following story: "I was jogging in the park in Australia, and I love dogs, and I stopped to pet a great dane, and he liked me a lot and he attacked me in the park." She proceeds to raise her eyebrows with sardonic glee.</div><div><br /></div><div>Next comes a segment in which children across the British Isles call in and ask Belinda questions, which she is supposed to be able to hear through a giant 1990-era cell phone, but her phone seems to malfunction and she can't make out a damn thing. Utilizing that quick British problem-solving know-how of his, the host simply repeats the questions for Belinda, but she is obviously wondering why the program doesn't just pipe the caller audio into large studio speakers like a normal TV program would. A technician speedily pops up and hands Belinda a new cell phone, but this doesn't necessarily make the cell phone gimmick seem any more justifiable. After a pair of softball questions from Claire Chisholm and Zoe Lawrence about fear of live performance and animal rights activism, respectively, Nicholas Payne asks what <i>should</i> be a softball question, but gives Belinda the chance to puncture the magical veneer of pop stardom:<br /><b></b><blockquote><b>Nicholas Payne:</b> Why did you choose the ... musical career?<br /><br /><b>Belinda:</b> Why did I? Umm ... well I sort of fell into it accidentally. I was with a bunch of friends one night at a party, four of the girls, and everybody we knew was in a band and they were terrible, so we thought, that we could be in a band and be terrible too.<br /><br /><b>Host:</b> This is the Go-Go's.<br /><br /><b>Belinda:</b> Yeah, uh-huh. But that was the great thing about the punk days, you know, you didn't really have to know how to play your instruments.<br /><br /><b>Host:</b> Would you say that you've now changed, and maybe changed your singing and vocals?<br /><br /><b>Belinda:</b> Oh I've since, about four or five years into my, you know, singing career, I started taking vocal lessons.<br /><br /><b>Host:</b> Right, right, did they make any difference? I mean, did you think halfway through, "Oh this is a waste of time"?<br /><br /><b>Belinda:</b> Oh it makes a big difference, I still go to vocal lessons, yeah, yeah.<br /><br /><b>Host:</b> And what is that, stretching your ...<br /><br /><b>Belinda:</b> It's learning how to sing properly and not singing through your throat, singing through your diaphragm, your stomach, and it's, umm, you know, they sort of stretch your vocal abilities out a little bit.<br /><br /><b>Host:</b> Sounds very painful to me.</blockquote>So there you go Nicholas, you could be a pop star too - with or without vocal lessons. James Gilbert then asks Belinda if she has ever been to Marseilles, given that the town is mentioned in the lyrics to "La Luna," and Belinda spends about thirty seconds uninformatively repeating that her time in Marseilles was "interesting," leading one to conclude that whatever <i>did</i> happen to Belinda in Marseilles was probably very interesting indeed, and probably NSF-<i>Going Live!</i> She and the host then show off the glorious package of <i>Runaway Horses</i> paraphernalia that lucky viewers could win if they correctly answer the question, "What is the term used to describe the height of a horse?"<br /><br />The show finally switches to an awkward segment where the host and Belinda grab postcards out of a giant basket, read out questions and answers, and then announce the winners of various prizes, with Belinda essentially acting as Vannah White. She attempts to be a good sport (and she somehow knows how many colors there are in a rainbow!), but clearly has a look on her face that all but says, "When I finally get out of here, I'm going to have a talk with my agent about this."</div><div><br /></div><div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/6jYrQOenVQQ" width="420"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>Last but not least, here's another interview from, I presume, only a short while later during the same tour of Britain, and this poor UK TV station appears to have caught Belinda on a ... less-than-optimal day. If Belinda isn't high on coke here, she certainly appears to be high on <i>something</i> (in <i>Lips Unsealed</i> she mentions lugging around a tasty cocktail of Valium, Halcion, and Rohypnol at this time). Either she'd been singing herself hoarse the entire week prior, or she'd been drinking one pint of lighter fluid too many, but her speaking voice has been reduced to a craggy ball of razors. Notice, also, how her speech is extremely rushed and tense, with hardly any pauses. She barely looks at the interviewer, and she only laughs when she recounts the depressing details of her drug use. The answers all sound slightly rehearsed and canned. Basically, she looks kind of ... fucked up. Which makes this clip utterly mesmerizing and turns all the talk about her "past struggles with addiction" into something alternately sad and hilarious. It's as if the station had prepared a segment based on a bunch of marketing info they'd received from Belinda's record label, and then Belinda walked into the studio almost certainly under the influence of one chemical or another and completely undercut the narrative, but the anchors pretended not to notice and simply stuck to the script. It's gold, baby! Best segment:<br /><b></b><blockquote><b>Interviewer:</b> Well how did you decide to stop then?<br /><br /><b>Belinda:</b> I met my husband, and I knew that I couldn't carry on with a relationship with him, um, if I continued the way I was going. He had no idea that I was a drug addict when he got involved with me. And, um, he didn't give me any ultimatum, I just decided that, if I was to, you know, I wanted to marry him.<br /><br /><b>Interviewer:</b> When did you tell him that you had this problem, when did he guess?<br /><br /><b>Belinda:</b> No, I think he figured it out when he found all the coke underneath the sofa. (Laughs uncontrollably.) I think that's ... I think that's ... (can't seem to stop laughing) when he figured out, "I've gotten involved with a drug addict." Um, but, I mean, I could hide it pretty well. You know. I'll never forget that morning when he found ... (bursts into uncontrollable laughter again) ... he dumps it over the balcony and I was like, "Oh no! My drugs!" But um, I realized then that I had a choice, that I had to either get my act together or, you know, I wouldn't be where I am now.</blockquote>And where, exactly, are you now, Belinda? Props for her skillful re-enactment of Morgan tossing her coke; I feel like she really took us into the moment. The zaniness continues:<br /><b></b><blockquote><b>Interviewer:</b> So what did you do then, Belinda, what route did you go then to stop it?<br /><br /><b>Belinda:</b> I had a friend that just got clean, and I called her and she took me to a meeting. I'm not a program person because I still drink occasionally, it was never a problem with me, um, you know, drugs were a problem with me. Um, so, for a while I was going to support groups, and now I'm in, um, sort of an offspring of a support group that deals with a different addiction which is food. And so now I'm working my steps through the drugs too. Um, but if it's not one thing it's the other.<br /><br /><b>Interviewer:</b> Can I talk to you a bit about your music?</blockquote></div><div>Oh that's right, her <i>music</i>. I'd forgotten about that. Once it's all over, the camera cuts back to the studio set, where the two unflappable anchors do their best to ignore what they'd <i>seen</i> and mostly focus on what they'd <i>heard</i>. "She's been very honest about all that." "But it's brilliant what she's been through, to come out of it like that, and to have a wonderful career." Oh yes, to "come out of it" like that. Totally the impression I got.</div><div><br /></div><div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/sMjcxYC05dE" width="420"></iframe></div></div>Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-4490346613867081482020-12-16T00:04:00.019-08:002020-12-18T00:43:08.107-08:00Zrbo's Favorite Songs of 2020<div>Hey, remember last year how <a href="http://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2019/12/zrbos-favorite-songs-of-2019.html" target="_blank">I began my Top 5</a> with a sarcastic jab at the craziness of that year? Yeah, little did I know that whatever craziness happened in 2019 (does anyone even remember anymore?) was like an amuse-bouche of what was to come in 2020. But look, here we are, and if you're reading this, you survived! So while you're here and still living, sit back and take in Zrbo's favorite songs of 2020.</div><div><br></div><div><b>5. Pet Shop Boys - "What Have I Done to Deserve This"</b></div><div><br></div><div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="280" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Wn9E5i7l-Eg" width="420"></iframe></div><div>Let's begin with a 2020 confession: I kind of enjoyed staying put at home this year. As the pandemic reared its head and we were forced into our homes, I was somewhat grateful. I had only recently begun working a swing shift job that required me to work late into the evenings and I was missing my family and social life. Suddenly I'm being told to go home and work normal hours with almost zero oversight and not much to actually do. That, and I was doing financially well for the first time in a long while. I was kinda, actually, enjoying myself. I looked around at my situation and found myself asking: "What have I done to deserve this?"</div><div><br></div><div>Yes, this song is 33 years old, and yes, I've had it on CD for 20 years and knew it well, but damn if this song didn't get stuck in my head this past spring. And I feel somewhat embarrassed that I didn't even realize until this year that the backing vocals were done by Dusty Springfield. The MP3s that I ripped from that CD didn't convey that there was anything special about this song. I had just presumed that the backing vocalist was some studio vocalist the Pet Shop Boys had pulled out of nowhere, like a performer from <i>20 Feet From Stardom</i>. Hell, even the official Youtube video doesn't communicate that she's anyone of importance. But holy hell, did this song ever lodge itself into my brain in the early days of lockdown and it stuck there until sometime in the summer. What did I do to deserve this song?</div><div><br></div><div><b>4. KMFDM - "Bumaye" (dub)</b></div><div><br></div><div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="280" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/17O0Kxs3b68" width="420"></iframe></div><div>What do you do when you've been putting out industrial music for 36 years and you're stuck in lockdown? Why, you make a dub album of course! Yes, in the year of our lord two thousand and twenty, industrial music stalwarts KMFDM put out a reggae album. Okay, it's dub actually, but I went and read up on the difference between reggae and dub, and frankly, I'm still not quite sure I fully understand the distinction.</div><div><br></div><div>Okay, actually this whole situation isn't *quite* that strange. KMFDM have put out a few dub remixes occasionally throughout their career, and one of their biggest early hits, "<a href="https://youtu.be/ho_WeNKhgxk" target="_blank">Godlike</a>", features what sounds like a Jamaican man repeating the refrain "Black man/white man/rip the system".</div><div><br></div><div>It's a chilled out take on KMFDM, and that little bit of background radio at the outset lets you know this was created under the doldrums of lockdown. Ideal for lounging around the house on another day where nothing ever happens. Personally, I think this dub version is better <a href="https://youtu.be/Uo1d4ccQzzg" target="_blank">than the original</a>.</div><div><br></div><div><b>3. Jessie Frye feat. Timecop1983 - "Faded Memory"</b></div><div><br></div><div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="280" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/gB-l1ijtRoo" width="420"></iframe></div><div>Who the heck is Jessie Frye? I can barely find anything about this Dallas based artist outside of a small handful of interviews from some hometown outlets. I know that though "Faded Memory" came out in 2018, the album it's featured on only came out this summer. It's also a bit strange that her videos on Youtube have a nice, professional look to them, but outside of this song, they all have a meager number of views. Is she like some sort of regional-based pop artist or something? Do those exist? Someone's throwing a lot of money at Jessie and not getting much in return it seems.</div><div><br></div><div>Anyhoo, "Faded Memory" belongs to the niche musical genre of 'synthwave', which tries to capture the sparkly magic of 80s synth-pop, but tends to all end up sounding the same to my ears. "Faded Memory" is what you might imagine listening to in 1987 as you drove around in a convertible corvette with your girlfriend, the wind in your hair, on your way to the make-out spot on the hill overlooking the city. It's easy, it's breezy, and it's incredibly easy to digest (the chorus is simply the same three words repeated). But in a year full of stress and anxiety, I found it simple and kind of relaxing.</div><div><br></div><div><b>2. The Eternal Afflict - "San Diego"</b></div><div><br></div><div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="280" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/-7DJmqHMWRU" width="420"></iframe></div><div>I've probably heard this song while dancing in a club before, but it didn't capture my attention until this year. There's so much to love about this song. First, it begins with these synthesized strings and a piano that give the false impression that this is going to be some sort of electronic chamber music piece. Then, the unmistakably German accented announcer pleasingly announces the name of the band, sounding like he's about to introduce some delightful Von Trapp Family cover group that you would take your grandma to see. Finally the song proper begins and the, uh, "singer" starts, ahem, "singing" in a way that sounds like they're being delivered by some barely comprehensible slurring German recovering from a massive hangover after a weekend of binge drinking. I mean, this guy had such a terribly memorable night (or more?) in San Diego that he wrote a whole damn song moaning about it. It's a great piece of early 90s industrial dance. All I'm saying is that if I were a club DJ in San Diego, at the end of the night I would end my set with this song, with the final yell at the end of the song serving as perfect punctuation for the night.</div><div><br></div><div><b>1. The Birthday Massacre - "One"</b></div><div><br></div><div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="280" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/EgFFAeG5BBQ" width="420"></iframe></div><div>If you've been keeping up with this blog you might remember <a href="http://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2020/07/how-did-i-miss-birthday-massacre.html" target="_blank">how I wrote</a> that I discovered Canadian goth rockers The Birthday Massacre this summer. I immediately became entranced by their easily digestible take on pop infused goth rock, and I've continued to explore their nearly two decades worth of output.</div><div><br></div><div>I stumbled upon the song "One" fairly soon after I discovered the band in early July, and I quickly fell in love with it. Here's a song about the slow inevitability of death, and when combined with a video featuring the band performing to an empty music venue, provides a perfect summary of the year 2020.</div><div><br></div><div>The song opens with a twinkly synth and then just slams into the soaring main riff, the one I cannot get out of my head. I like lead singer Chibi's deeper, more mature sounding voice she debuts here. I don't know where she found it, because her typical voice usually oscillates between creepy-little-girl and teenage emo punk rocker. I also dig the guitar bridge after the second chorus. It's short but powerful. I also appreciate how, after the bridge, the song just effortlessly slides back into the chorus one more time.</div><div><br></div><div>Meanwhile, the video features the male band members dressed up like some sort of lounge act, the men's vests giving them the appearance like they might also be the ones bringing your car around after the show too. Then there's Chibi's look. From the dress, the shoes, the tattoos, to the hair and makeup, she has achieved the look of apex goth-punk princess. Seriously, I am just completely infatuated with this dress she's wearing (where does her dress actually end?). If I am ever reincarnated as a woman, I swear I want to look as magnificent as Chibi does in this video.</div><div><br></div><div>And that's it. My favorite song of this long, awful year of 2020. See you again next year.</div><div><br></div>Herr Zrbohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728690738360128504noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-10842349796191323672020-11-25T17:32:00.003-08:002020-11-25T18:54:28.577-08:00Blogging Without Prejudice, Vol. 1,483<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF6gX6d_VwdCeeGDdHWMKIZOgXHGyUYGF_VSu_S6CIymbWCFeYEgjCmySRbxVaykaOEOjlAljLj9ky2JvyrhTY5q0PDB4n6hNjacXT794X5EHF_hI5EOBrrgIj_dW5VbPAef8A40ZaLcA/s1200/GeorgeMichaelListen.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF6gX6d_VwdCeeGDdHWMKIZOgXHGyUYGF_VSu_S6CIymbWCFeYEgjCmySRbxVaykaOEOjlAljLj9ky2JvyrhTY5q0PDB4n6hNjacXT794X5EHF_hI5EOBrrgIj_dW5VbPAef8A40ZaLcA/s320/GeorgeMichaelListen.jpg" /></a></div><div>Listen ... <i>without extreme prejudice</i>. (Any <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GjB8z0Bvi14" target="_blank">Apocalypse Now</a></i> fans in the house?)</div><div><br /></div>Toward the tail end of high school, back in the dark ages of human existence (AKA before the internet), I used to spend long, desperate nights staring at my computer screen perusing a CD-ROM created by Microsoft called Music Central, which featured, among other bits of rock journalism, several reviews from <i>Q</i> magazine (a UK publication, I believe?). Let me just say that it's always amusing to read album reviews that were written immediately upon those albums' release, without the benefit of even the slightest hindsight. For instance, <i>Q</i> magazine gave five stars to Dire Straits' long-awaited <i>On Every Street</i>, which currently sports a cool <a href="https://www.allmusic.com/album/on-every-street-mw0000675218">two stars from AMG</a>, and they also had a hilarious habit of giving five stars to every single new Lou Reed and Van Morrison album of the '80s.<div><br /></div><div>At any rate. I was only dimly aware of George Michael's <i>Listen Without Prejudice, Vol. 1</i> at the time, but when I read <i>Q</i> magazine's five star rave review, I admit it: I got pumped. I glanced at my recently-purchased print edition of the All Music Guide, which merely gave <i>Listen Without Prejudice</i> four stars to <i>Faith</i>'s five, but ... man, you should have read this <i>review</i>. It really whetted my appetite. So, long before I ever experienced the majesty known as "I Want Your Sex, Parts I, II, & III," I checked out a copy of <i>Listen Without Prejudice, Vol. 1</i> from my local library. Upon listening (without prejudice, I assure you), I concluded that ... this particular <i>Q</i> magazine reviewer might have gotten a little too excited.<div><br /></div><div>The tendency for arguable over-excitement can work in the opposite direction as well, such as when a performer passes on and it's suddenly "hip" and "trendy" to re-evaluate his work, as this BBC Culture article by Nick Levine titled <a href="https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20200908-how-george-michael-transformed-pop">"How George Michael Transformed Pop"</a> demonstrates. The blurb at the top reads "Thirty years ago, the star released the commercially disappointing <i>Listen Without Prejudice Vol 1</i>. Now, it is rightly recognised as a groundbreaking masterpiece..." Well, maybe it's deserving of a second look, but "groundbreaking masterpiece" is one of those phrases that music journalists should only whip out on birthdays and anniversaries. "... It is seen in retrospect as the album that successfully cemented his position as a pop maestro, not a mere pop puppet." Yeah, uh, wouldn't you say that <i>Faith</i> is generally seen as that album? "[Paul] Flynn calls the album Michael’s 'grand apologia for being in the closet' as well as 'the album where he turns his back on fame'. 'It’s the album where he realises where his hollow ambitions have led him to, and the compromises they have involved, which have so much to do with his sexuality,' Flynn says." Well, cool story bro, but I'm not sure if George himself ever described the album in that way, even <i>after</i> he came out. Levine continues:</div><blockquote>Written by a closeted gay man at the height of the epidemic, <i>Listen without Prejudice Vol. 1</i> is an album steeped in the grief and confusion of the HIV/Aids era. Michael acknowledged in a 2007 Desert Island Discs interview that “Aids was the predominant feature of being gay in the 1980s and early 90s as far as any parent was concerned” and a major factor in his decision not to come out to his own family sooner. It’s little wonder that, as he became more emotionally honest in his music, he no longer sounded ready to party.</blockquote><div><div>Wouldn't argue with that too much, I guess. I do like this narrative that the <i>Q</i> magazine and BBC Culture writers were aiming for, sort of suggesting that <i>Faith</i> was George Michael's <i>Revolver</i> and <i>Listen Without Prejudice</i> was his <i>Sgt. Pepper</i>; I'd like it more if I didn't think it was just a bit off. Let's try this one instead, using a different British George: <i>Faith</i> was his <i>All Things Must Pass</i> and <i>Listen Without Prejudice</i> was his <i>Living in the Material World</i>. In other words, the follow-up album would have been seen as a huge success, if not for the even larger success of its predecessor. Looking back, that "disappointing" follow-up album can sound pretty damn good - but would you recommend it as a starting point for the curious instead of recommending the previous album? Questionable.</div><div><br />I've never listened to George Michael's third solo album, <i>Older</i>, but I <i>have</i> read Stephen Thomas Erlewine's AMG review of it, which basically amounts to the same thing, and a couple of lines of his have always stuck with me: "It is one thing to be mature and another to be boring. Too often, Michael mistakes slight melodies for mature craftsmanship and <i>Older</i> never quite recovers." This more or less sums up how I feel about roughly 50% of <i>Listen Without Prejudice, Vol. 1</i>. Look, I'm completely on board with George "getting himself happy" and "taking these lies and making them true" and all that self-actualizing mumbo-jumbo; I just wished I felt the songs did all that while employing instantly hummable melodies and energetic production flourishes. "Something To Save," "Waiting For That Day," "Mother's Pride," "Heal The Pain" ... I find them pleasant, pretty, sincere, somber ... and a bit flavorless. Where the hooks, G.?</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, I wouldn't normally get my knickers in a twist over an album that contains some tracks I love and some tracks I meh, but what gets me about <i>Listen Without Prejudice, Vol. 1</i> is that I can imagine there being a version of this album that I like as much as I think George intended me to. You know what the ballads on that imaginary album all sound like? They all sound like ... "Praying For Time"! That song was serious, yeah, but seriously catchy. I feel like "Praying For Time" demonstrated that George could pull off the impossible, ie. shift his lyrical concerns while still making melodically gripping pop music. But what about the follow-through? It's like he caught the ball at the five yard line, but only scored a field goal. Sure, field goals are still points, but after the one-two punch of "Praying For Time" and "Freedom '90," I was kind of expecting a touchdown.<div><br />If there is one style George Michael thought he could pull off that Little Earl would say he really could not, that would be acoustic-based rock. I've read reviews that call "Heal the Pain" "McCartney-esque," probably because, with its synthesized conga percussion, it somewhat resembles <i>The White Album</i>'s "I Will." But even '80s-era McCartney doesn't sound as dry and stilted to me as "Heal the Pain" does. To these ears, "Heal the Pain" is stiffer than piece of matzoh. Remember when I wrote that "Faith" didn't really <i>rock</i> enough? This song is like "Faith" after being left out in the sun for two weeks. Then there's "Something To Save," which I'm tempted to dub "proto-Lilith Fair." I'm convinced George found these chord changes in the back of a Sears catalog. "Waiting For the Day" comes a little closer to dance-pop by utilizing a then-ubiquitous "Funky Drummer" sample, but too bad the rest of the arrangement only utilizes two chords! I mean, "Freedom '90" <i>also</i> utilized a "Funky Drummer" sample, but it altered and contorted that sample so creatively that I didn't even realize the track had utilized "Funky Drummer" until a few months ago, when I wrote my blog post about "Freedom '90." Finally, "Mother's Pride" utilizes an "Asian flute" synth sound that, personally speaking, reeks of Dire Straits circa 1985. What I'm saying is that there are oodles of songs in George's catalog where I feel like he really made all the right moves and all the smartest choices. I wouldn't say that these are those songs.<br /><br />Caught somewhat in between is his cover of Stevie Wonder's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oata-ksmxjg" target="_blank">"They Won't Go When I Go."</a> I remember playing the album, arriving at this track, and thinking, "Wow, what a great undiscovered George Michael song!" And then I looked at the songwriting credits and realized, "Oh, hold on a minute, it's a Stevie Wonder cover." Granted, it's an <i>enjoyable</i> Stevie Wonder cover. But eventually I heard the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cdTKdm8hZZY" target="_blank">Stevie Wonder version</a>, and, well, I don't think I'm going out on a limb by stating that improving on a Stevie Wonder track is a tall order. I give George points for picking a relatively obscure Stevie Wonder track to cover, and not screwing it up. But <i>Faith</i> didn't have any covers on it. <i>Faith</i> didn't <i>need</i> any covers on it. I think George simultaneously thought he could demonstrate his newfound artistic credibility <i>and</i> add another top-drawer composition to the album in one fell swoop. These days, I'm slightly resentful of George's cover, because, however strong it is, I simply wish I'd heard Stevie's version first. I find myself unable to listen to George's version without being ... prejudiced.<br /><br />However. There are two tracks on the album that I've never tired of and would place right up there with "Praying For Time" and "Freedom '90" as Giorgios essentials. In other words, if I had found at least a couple of the other tracks discussed above as enjoyable as I find these two, I might be more inclined to support the views expressed by my friends at <i>Q</i> magazine and BBC Culture.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Cowboys and Angels" is like the smoky prog rock sequel to "Kissing a Fool" (sophisti-prog?). It's supper club George, but this time with an evil film noir breeze blowing in through the slightly ajar window. Despite being seven minutes long, I find it hypnotic instead of boring, because I'm fairly certain that, wherever the hell George found these tasty chord changes, he did not find them in the back of a Sears catalog. "Cowboys and Angels" is a black and white crime film starring George Bogart, who saunters into a dimly-lit bar wearing a fedora and trench coat (and probably nothing else), sits down at the counter, and barks, "Gimme the hardest stuff ya <i>got</i>." And do I detect the haunted ghost of "Careless Whisper" in the sax outro? Someone decidedly, wisely I think, that the song was single material, and yet it only made it to #45 in the UK, and didn't do squat in the US. Hogwash, I say. At least George managed to sneak it onto <i>Ladies and Gentlemen: The Best Of</i>, which hopefully gave it the wider exposure I would say it deserved the first time around.</div><div><br /><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Ve-rxwKuqtI" width="420"></iframe><br /><br /></div><div>Finally, for those hoping that <i>Listen Without Prejudice, Vol. 1</i> would offer at least one more irresistibly hook-tastic butt shaker aside from "Freedom '90," I give you "Soul Free." "Soul Free" is like the Miami Sound Machine-influenced sequel to "Monkey." It's a sultry stew of flute, congas, horns, and lusty falsetto come-ons. Maybe it's just me, but I need my Serious George leavened with campy cries like "<i>When</i> ya touch me bay-uh-bayyyy/<i>Ahh</i> don't have no choice, ooooh!" Leave that acoustic guitar in the den, George. Your head may be saying, "I'm a folksy balladeer!," but your groin is saying, "I need to hit the gay clubs, pronto."</div><div><br /><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/PrUWE4-eB48" width="420"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>Professor Higglediggle writes, somewhat incomprehensibly (even for him):<br /><blockquote>The lapsed modernity within the twin axes of expression presented by "Heal the Pain" and "Waiting for the Day" is only mediated by the invocation and realization of disjunctions and cohesions expressed by an interpretation of a Stevie Wonder composition, which essentializes and racializes Michael's grab-bag primitivism under a rubric of co-optation and Africanist reification. The Latin groove of "Soul Free" doubles as an amatory assemblage of tonic-dominant sonorities and a neologistic re-reading of Cuban revolutionary rhetoric, which is only undercut by the static harmonic polysemy of "Cowboys and Angels," Michael's declaration "You're not the same/Everyone's to blame" forcing us to interpret his semiotic slippage through the lens of queer theory and ethnomusicological nihilism.</blockquote></div></div></div></div>Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-11210938643396445132020-11-01T19:57:00.003-08:002020-11-02T22:05:09.291-08:00"Poison": A Femme Fatale So Duplicitous, She Induces Vomiting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3pnLFTA4LzkOEwVAjLi1_gGhVhzQKxDIEisR3EBM2UN0j9SIcIkBDqi5W3IsiPUs5lm5dwEysTP4e9Pm3Dr0crOcYPjXW7UfLZCJiudMgG_f4snRBcJ2RPKeTgxyetzGQL4aODIWKwxA/s500/BellBivDevoe.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3pnLFTA4LzkOEwVAjLi1_gGhVhzQKxDIEisR3EBM2UN0j9SIcIkBDqi5W3IsiPUs5lm5dwEysTP4e9Pm3Dr0crOcYPjXW7UfLZCJiudMgG_f4snRBcJ2RPKeTgxyetzGQL4aODIWKwxA/s320/BellBivDevoe.jpg" /></a></div><br />Have you guys thought about, you know ... calling the Poison Control Center? Maybe taking a quick trip to the emergency room? Rinsing gently with water for 15-20 minutes? Am I the only one concerned that, by being so preoccupied with warning the other members of their gender about the toxic nature of this particular female, Bell Biv DeVoe are ignoring the necessary first aid precautions?<div><br /></div><div>New Edition. Forgive me if I've lost track of who the exact members of this '80s teen act were, or exactly when each member was in the group, or exactly which hits they had. I've been busy focusing on more important things, like the juicy details behind Phil Collins's decades-long horse tranquilizer addiction. Suffice to say, in 1990, perhaps following the lead of their erstwhile colleague Bobby Brown, New Edition alums Ricky Bell, Michael Bivins, and Ronnie DeVoe decided to shed that sacred "boy band" image and drag their music into the darkest recesses of the modern American experience.</div><div><br />Here's a thought. Didn't <i>Dick Tracy</i> come out right around the same time as "Poison"? With its "rat-a-tat" percussion and snappy horn blasts, I'm thinking "Poison" might have fit more handily onto the <i>Dick Tracy</i> soundtrack than Madonna's attempts at lounge crooning that make up the majority of <i>I'm Breathless</i>. According to Wikipedia, the song's writer and producer, Elliot Straite AKA Dr. Freeze (possibly a villain from the <i>Dick Tracy</i> comics?), "cited German electronic group Kraftwerk and Latin musicians Tito Puente and Mongo Santamaria as influences on the song's sound and production," which I suppose is where the track gets its "Miami Sound Machine stuck inside a malfunctioning Apple IIe" vibe from. It's like Lou Bega's "Mambo No. 5," but more evil.<br /><br />"Never trust a big butt and a smile"? So can I trust a big butt and a <i>frown</i>? A <i>small</i> butt and a smile? What are the rules here? So much early '90s R&B crossover has no teeth, but "Poison" spits out a nice fat wad of misogyny. Which, honestly, is sort of what I like about it. It's not emanating from the same early '90s wellspring of misogyny as, say, N.W.A. or Guns 'n' Roses; it's more like a throwback to the Coasters' "Poison Ivy" or Dion's "Runaround Sue," with a brief nod to Hall & Oates's "Maneater." It's retro-misogyny. (Speaking of N.W.A., I've always chuckled at this lyric from Ice Cube's "The Wrong N**** to Fuck Wit": "It ain't no pop 'cause that sucks/And you can new jack <i>swing</i> on my nuts.") How do they know she's a loser? "Cause me and the crew used to do her." "Do her"? Like "date" her? "Sleep" with her? Beat her ass with a rusty pipe in the alleyway outside the studio? You see, that line is really the key to Bell Biv DeVoe's true source of anger: their own culpability. As much as they'd like to deny it,<i> they're</i> part of the poison.</div><div><br /><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/l80yV7QwCWw" width="420"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway. I'm always looking for ways to fill gaps in my otherwise vast knowledge of late 20th century popular music. One day I was perusing Wikipedia, found myself staring at a list of Billboard R&B #1 hits, and was amazed at how many of the tracks I did not recognize. So, I downloaded them all and listened to them in order. Let me tell you something: this might be the Forgotten Kingdom of '80s music. Herein lies songs that have not been played on any radio station since 1989 - or at least not on any radio station in <i>my</i> neighborhood. To paraphrase Paul Simon, "Where have you gone, Freddie Jackson, LeVert, Surface, The Boys, Troop, and Angela Winbush? An '80s blogger turns his lonely eyes to you." I feel like this was music that was meant to satisfy a certain audience at a certain time, but not surprise or innovate, even in minor ways.<br /><br />However, I think "Poison" managed to crawl out of this late '80s/early '90s sewer with some dignity and appeal intact because, setting aside Dr. Freeze's arsenal of new jack production tricks, let's face it, melodically it's as smooth as buttah. No Freddie Jackson song ever piled on the tasty, soaring vocals that dominate the pre-chorus. Check out the section following the command, "Yo Slick, blow," where the beat drops out, and Ricky (?) busts out with "<i>It's drivin' me outta my myyynd</i>" accompanied only by the bouncy bass line and a gauzy "imitation choir" synth part that sounds, shall we say, more '90s than '80s. This is some poison worthy of the martyred lips of Socrates.<br /></div><div><br /></div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/RcbMW2-Goog" width="420"></iframe>Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-72111541287127506172020-10-11T16:07:00.005-07:002020-12-07T20:35:26.698-08:00"Come Back To Me": The Futile Words Uttered By Fans Of This Kind Of R&B Ever Since 1990<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdFzY_J7Z2vYWXbqAvi8AFXcEpRXSVa7Xk0Ij3SVkQsxOWSZrMBx91N-hiyF8fuk5wP2q36e24K0XaJDsviO8S5ddx2MHqufMl4sBGb5PZR56w9jdFx82C_4Bs2UmiFcR1PPP70czh83s/s300/JanetComeBack1.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdFzY_J7Z2vYWXbqAvi8AFXcEpRXSVa7Xk0Ij3SVkQsxOWSZrMBx91N-hiyF8fuk5wP2q36e24K0XaJDsviO8S5ddx2MHqufMl4sBGb5PZR56w9jdFx82C_4Bs2UmiFcR1PPP70czh83s/w320-h320/JanetComeBack1.png" width="320" /></a></div><p></p>So much '90s R&B makes me want to reach for the hand sanitizer. When I listen to "Come Back To Me," here's what I'm wondering: why didn't R&B move more in <i>this</i> direction? Lush, classy, soft, hypnotic, melancholy ... could've happened, but I guess it just wasn't in the cards. A few artists might have picked up on this sweet, autumnal sensitivity, like P.M. Dawn and ... well, P.M. Dawn. You know, R&B that I might want to listen to in my bedroom as I fall asleep at night? I feel like even the ballads in '90s R&B mostly ended up being about fucking. It was R&B you'd listen to in your bedroom as you fell asleep at night ... after having fucked somebody. And Janet went right along with it!<div><br /></div><div>I like to think of "Come Back To Me" as<i> Rhythm Nation 1814</i>'s <a href="https://cosmicamericanblog.blogspot.com/2017/06/lets-wait-awhile-like-next-album.html" target="_blank">"Let's Wait Awhile."</a> Both songs are (essentially, if one ignores <i>Rhythm Nation</i>'s "Interlude: Livin' ... In Complete Darkness") the second-to-last songs on their respective albums, both songs are the gentler, more downbeat, G-rated counterparts to the raunchier, more sexually fulfilling tracks that follow them, both songs wrap Janet's lead vocals in a dreamy, scintillating mass of background Janets, both songs peaked at #2 on the Hot 100, and both songs sound, to these ears at least, like they were recorded and released much later than they actually were. For years I thought "Come Back To Me" might have been a track from <i>janet.</i>, or hell, even one of those new tracks from <i>Design of a Decade</i>. "Come Back to Me" sounds like a song from 1995, not 1989. Anita Baker's "Giving You the Best That I Got" - now <i>that's</i> an R&B song that sounds like it's from 1989. Wait a minute, wasn't I just saying that '90s R&B <i>didn't</i> sound like "Come Back to Me"? I guess what I'm saying is that a lot of R&B-<i>adjacent</i> mid-'90s balladry sounded like "Come Back to Me": think Madonna's "Take a Bow," or Toni Braxton's "Breathe Again." But those songs sort of plodded along. They didn't carry the same air of<i> mystery</i>, of evocative <i>atmosphere</i>, that this one does. "Come Back to Me" is like the Perrier of R&B ballads.<br /><br />Those mainly familiar with the single mix ought to get their hands on the album mix, even though the end of the previous track, "Lonely," lingers a half-second too long on the CD edit (in true "listening to the <i>Abbey Road</i> medley on shuffle" fashion). Because, for my money, as with "Escapade," the most melodically haunting section of "Come Back to Me" is the bridge, and like "Escapade," the album mix of "Come Back to Me" opens with that sweet, sweet bridge. Remember that quasi-trend on several hits from the Summer of '88 I attempted to describe as "the Egyptian thing"? The bridge on "Come Back to Me" is so damn Egyptian, I can practically hear Omar Sharif on backing vocals.<br /><br />But there's another element besides the chord progression or the vocal overdubs that provides "Come Back to Me" with its stately grandeur. Only after reading the Wikipedia article did I hone in on what might separate the song so thoroughly from its late '80s peers: the<i> strings</i>. Per Jimmy Jam:<br /><blockquote>"At the time we did it, it was one of my favorite songs. I loved the lyrics and the vocal on it ... the interesting thing [...] was the live strings ... I never heard the strings when we were doing it. We'd kept it simple, and Janet said, "It'd be great to get some strings on this." There was a guy in Minneapolis [arranger Lee Blaske] who was an incredible string guy. He arranged a lot of our string stuff. I said, "Hey, Lee, come up with a string thing for this," and he did. We loved it so much that the end of the song, it basically fades out with just the strings as the last thing you hear.</blockquote>Yeah. Oh yeah. And the ambient rain sound effect doesn't hurt either. Also, when I learned on Wikipedia that Janet recorded a Spanish language version of "Come Back to Me" titled "Vuelve a Mi," my brain initially read that as "Vulva and Me," which perhaps could have been a track from her more explicit <i>Velvet Rope</i> era, but probably would have been out of place on <i>Rhythm Nation 1814</i>.</div><div><br /></div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/-5ecZWwO_hQ" width="420"></iframe><div><br /></div><div>Even the video (featuring the album mix) feels more like a 1995 video than a 1990 video. This wasn't some low-budget, "splice together a bunch of live footage in a panic" hack job. Oh no. This was filmed in a little city called "Paris," and it's littered with shots of sexy Parisian statues and sexy Parisian rail cars and sexy Parisian apartment buildings (one of which, I'm guessing, the key dangling from Janet's ear supposedly unlocks?) and sexy Parisian lovers' spats on a staircase involving a hurdled shoe. This video's got class up the wazoo. I haven't done the research, but I'm fairly certain this is the last time Janet appeared in a video wearing an overcoat. I hope she donated it to a good cause.</div>Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-35466127491293375052020-09-20T20:16:00.012-07:002020-12-07T20:41:39.905-08:00Waiting For An Embarrassing Belinda Demo To Fall (Into Bootleggers' Arms)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-xbHQYmsWzi-k3uhvp7soeONxXsX3uZepa1X9093VZY3vTCuK7aDUPhWEwbcUZSK2GqIiVa5v2RqBNSeEWjDbskb3Yvi0xF59pYhYJ-1vI9nvhkAUYFfk8nfd8zhKHdPAmknoSAZqo7w/s599/BoyMeetsGirlWaiting.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="587" data-original-width="599" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-xbHQYmsWzi-k3uhvp7soeONxXsX3uZepa1X9093VZY3vTCuK7aDUPhWEwbcUZSK2GqIiVa5v2RqBNSeEWjDbskb3Yvi0xF59pYhYJ-1vI9nvhkAUYFfk8nfd8zhKHdPAmknoSAZqo7w/s320/BoyMeetsGirlWaiting.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>So, my favorite singers. It's funny who might make the list. Not necessarily the singers who would normally appear high on perennial "Greatest Singer" lists - Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, Barbra Streisand, Tony Bennett, Aretha Franklin, Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson, Mariah Carey - although some of them might. Not even necessarily the singers who I would count among my favorite musical artists: Paul McCartney, Elton John, Mick Jagger, Robert Plant, David Byrne, Morrissey, Liam Gallagher. I mean, I'm sure I enjoy those voices on <i>some</i> level, but it's not precisely the <i>voices</i> that I connect with. No, my list of favorite singers is even more random than that.<div><br />Here's what makes a singer's voice qualify as a "favorite" for me: when I feel like I can hear a part of my own personality in that voice - be it sadness, rage, uncertainty, steadiness, etc. It's when I hear certain voices and they feel like a warm hug being wrapped around my soul. These are the voices that make me feel ever-so-slightly more connected to the human race - a connection that, at times, can feel rather tenuous. Some of my favorite singers are quite highly regarded as singers: Stevie Wonder, Elvis, George Jones, Karen Carpenter, John Lennon, Etta James, Brian Wilson, Ray Charles, Brenda Lee, Bobby "Blue" Bland. Some of my favorite singers have often been called outright "bad" singers: Neil Young, Tom Waits, Johnny Cash, Roger Waters, Donald Fagen, Joe Jackson, Leon Russell. Sometimes, I just plain like the sound of that singer's voice, even when the song they're singing stinks. But the one quality that I think all my favorite voices share - for me at least - is a sense of <i>directness</i>. When I am listening to these people sing, I feel like there is nothing standing between their being and my being. There's no artifice. Even when they're phoning it in, I feel like I am always getting the full "them." Also, I can pick out their voices in about five seconds flat. They may have had their influences, but somehow, someway, I always know that it's them.<div><br />I think it's accurate to say that, in her youth, Belinda Carlisle didn't possess a conventionally "strong" voice. She wasn't what you might have called "versatile." She probably wouldn't have cut it in any scene other than the punk/new wave scene. So why is it that the mere sound of her voice makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside? It's the kind of voice that I had always subconsciously liked, but I had never really given much thought to until I went on my unexpected Go-Go's binge roughly ten years ago. Even on the earliest Go-Go's songs, Belinda's voice always had that little vibrato, or "quiver" or "tremble" to it. In wondering where that vibrato might have come from, I think back to the terror she might have experienced as a child wondering whether her drunken stepfather was about to beat the living shit out of her or not. That could have had something to do with it. All those childhood fears may have become embedded deeply into her bones. To paraphrase Pete Townshend (another "favorite" singer of mine whose voice probably wouldn't be considered conventionally "good"), "sickness can surely take the voice where voices can't usually go."</div><div><br /></div><div>This anonymous person who commented on an old <i>AV Club</i> article about <i>Beauty and the Beat</i> that was published several years back knows what I'm talkin' 'bout:<br /><blockquote>Carlisle is obviously my favourite Go-Go (because Wilma vs. Betty is not even a choice since you're obviously gonna go with Wilma every time). I love her voice. I have a thing for raspy female voices that sill sound feminine (listen to the choruses in "Runaway Horses", the song). Her voice is a mix of Bonnie Tyler, Janis Joplin, Stevie Nicks, Siouxsie Sioux, Chrissie Hynde, Debbie Harry, and Dolly Parton. The thing about her voice is, it's not a pop voice, it's a raspy rock and roll voice (listen to the Go-Gos' version of "I Wanna Be Sedated" from the 2001 concert in Central Park). But it's not as harsh as most female rock voices, so you do buy her as a pop singer in the same way you buy Pink as a pop singer. Or I guess a better way to put it would be that Carlisle straddles the fence between pop (solo) and rock (with the Go-Go's) and is a bit too rock for pop music and bit too pop for rock music. But yeah, Carlisle rocks. She may be one of the only women in music who came close to matching Keith Richards' level of drug abuse/partying and came out the other side with her sense of humor (and everything else) intact.</blockquote>Yes, like Keith, she is truly a modern miracle of science and biology.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sure, her singing style is not everyone's cup of tea. I can understand someone actively disliking her voice (her detractors have not been shy to make their presence known on YouTube). She's not a "properly trained" vocalist ... but that's a good thing! The great ones either got it or they don't. Witness Madonna after about 1986, who has tried so incredibly hard to train her voice and to become a "conventionally great" vocalist, and yet ... I don't get the warm fuzzies from just the <i>sheer sound of her voice</i> like I do from Belinda's. That voice is like a trusty friend - and it might have been a trusty friend to Belinda too. One aspect of her career (out of many) I find highly amusing is that, while she went through about sixteen different physical transformations, eighteen different hairstyles, and fourteen different hair colors, whenever she opened her mouth, no matter what phase she happened to be in, that <i>same fucking voice</i> would come out. It was her North Star, her Big Mac. (Another irony is that, at the peak of her recording career, she didn't think much of herself as a singer, but now, in her later years, I've noticed that she has finally discovered her singing "self-esteem" and that she puts a lot more thought and effort into her singing ... even though her voice has aged and doesn't sound like it once did. But, them's the breaks.)<br /><br />I write all these observations as a prelude to a discussion of Belinda's less-than-impressive vocal performance on a demo of the song "Waiting for a Star to Fall."</div><div><br />Flying in straight from a rejected sitcom pilot near you, allow me to present Boy Meets Girl's "Waiting for a Star to Fall," a 1989 #5 hit that I didn't care for much at the time, which, considering I had the taste of a nine-year-old, was a fairly harsh verdict. Yes, even back then, the tune struck me as an over-calculated piece of radio product, utilizing a corny metaphor (stars are actually massive bodies of gas that burn out over the course of billions of years, and don't technically "fall" anywhere), self-consciously dramatic pauses, and a TUKC at the start of the sax solo (to be fair, the key change usually comes <i>after</i> the solo, so I guess they were trying to shake things up a little?). I just find something so artificially "sloppy" about the chorus: "Carry your <i>heart</i> into my arms, <i>that's</i> where you belong, in my <i>arms</i>, baby, yeah!" with the whole "arms, baby, yeah!" bit coming off to me like a freeze-dried, pre-packaged Robert Plant ad lib - tacked on for a touch of "spontaneous" flavor, but ending up tasting like undercooked microwaved Swanson's pot pie? And they apply this little "delay" effect to the lead singer's last "yeah" so that he appears to sing it twice, as if he's so smitten by this overpowering crush of his that he can't even deliver his words on time. I can see why the song was a hit, and I can also see why the radio quickly banished it to Siberia right around, say, February of 1991, presumably for all eternity, only for the mutant robot remnants of the track to return with a vengeance in the UK circa 2005 as <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EWs4abqdwZ0&ab_channel=EmbassyOne">"Star2Fall"</a> by Cabin Crew, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iZdCuulzbGI&ab_channel=sunsetstrippersVEVO">"Falling Stars"</a> by Sunset Strippers, and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zqyJxz-lzHM&ab_channel=TMRWMusic">"In My Arms"</a> by Mylo. Moral of the story: you can try sweeping those '80s ghouls under the carpet, but eventually, their dusty remains will morph, shift, coagulate, and re-emerge to terrorize the world once again in kitschy electronica form.</div><div><div><br /><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/RhxF9Qg5mOU" width="420"></iframe></div><div><br /></div>But let's go back to the original culprit. If you're listening to "Waiting for a Star to Fall" and thinking, "You know, this kind of sounds like a Whitney Houston reject," well ... from Wikipedia:<br /><blockquote>Boy Meets Girl is an American pop-music duo consisting of keyboardist and vocalist George Merrill and singer Shannon Rubicam. They are perhaps best known for their hit song "Waiting for a Star to Fall" from 1988 and for writing two of Whitney Houston's number one hits: "How Will I Know" and "I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me)."</blockquote>Oh. I've heard of those. Wikipedia goes on to mention that "Waiting for a Star to Fall" was "inspired by an actual falling star that Rubicam had seen during a Whitney Houston concert at the Greek Theatre in Los Angeles." Well there you have it, the stars were <i>literally aligning</i> for Merrill, Rubicam, and Houston to score their third #1 single, and then ... Houston's manager, the one and only Clive Davis ... didn't like it. He said that it "didn't suit her." Why the hell not? It sounded just like the other two songs. Guy was nuts, but anyway. We're not here to talk about Whitney Houston. Oh no. We're here to talk about the <i>next</i> singer to whom the song was offered.<br /><br />According to Wikipedia: "The song was then offered to and recorded by Belinda Carlisle for her 1987 release <i>Heaven on Earth</i>, at the insistence of her label, but Carlisle disliked it and refused to include it on the album. This version has, however, circulated on an unofficial compilation of that album's outtakes."<br /><br />[<i>twirling mustache</i>] Oh reeeeeally. All right, YouTube, I know you're going to come through for me here.</div><div><br /></div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/RbIHpzrYTsc" width="420"></iframe><div><br /></div><div>That's what I'm talking about. Let me guess how this went down:</div><div><br />"Belinda, we've got a hot new song, it's from Whitney's people, but she doesn't want to do it, come on, it'll be huge!"<br /><br />"Uhh, I dunno guys, it's pretty cheesy."</div><div><br /></div><div>"So were all the songs on your <i>last</i> album, like 'I Feel the Magic' and 'Shot in the Dark,' I mean, why stop now?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Well, if <i>Whitney</i> didn't want to do it, then why would <i>I</i> want to do it?"<br /><br />"Belinda, baby, we're your record label! Have we ever let you down?"<br /><br />"Look, I don't think it's for me. Can we just pass here?"<br /><br />"Tell you what. At least do a demo of it, all right? One lousy demo. Let's just see what we've got here, see what it sounds like. Do a demo and then we'll talk. <i>Capice</i>?"<br /><br />"OK, fine. If I do a half-assed demo version that's totally fucking terrible, then we can move on to something else?"<br /><br />"Deal!"<br /><br />And so, somewhere beneath 200 tons of tape hiss, we have Belinda's demo version of "Waiting for a Star to Fall." You know Plato's concept of the Cave, which posits that most of what human beings actually perceive is merely a shadow of reality being projected onto the wall of a cave? Well, this demo's backing track sounds like the shadow of an actual recording, projected onto the wall of the recording studio's cave. And then we have Belinda's vocal performance, which I presume was given at gunpoint, as she sounds like a woman undergoing extreme discomfort and duress. Your mother singing "Waiting for a Star to Fall" in the shower would have probably sounded more confident than this. Bottom line: she <i>just</i> ... <i>wasn't</i> ... <i>into it</i>.<br /><br />And yet! Several YouTube commentators have taken this less-than-stellar outtake as evidence that Belinda couldn't actually sing, but I think it might prove the exact opposite. For someone recording a practice vocal of a song she didn't like over a Casio-generated musical backing ... she sounds pretty good to me! Choice excerpts from the debate:</div><blockquote>Belinda, go home. You're drunk.<br /><br />Yikes! It's like a birthday cake with a big spider on it.<br /><br />Waiting for this song to end.<br /><br />1:43 is where I stopped hoping for a good part and just laughed my way through the demo.<br /><br />It sounds like a cow being run over.<br /><br />Hey Belinda, I love ya, you've got allotta my money in your pocket but thanks for turning this song down.<br /><br />To be fair it's a demo but Belinda cannot hit the notes very well. Boy Meets Girl did it with passion on vocals and instruments.<br /><br />This gives me hope that, being a total lay singer, my own singing isn't thaaaat bad after all. It's interesting how weak Belinda's vocals sound without fancy sound effects.<br /><br />Belinda's vocals get cut a lot of slack due to her looks.<br /><br />This needs like 500% more sax.<br /><br />c'mon all!! This isn't that bad! It's pretty good!<br /><br />Unpopular Opinion: I think this is good.<br /><br />amazing what happens when you have to actually sing before all the editing to make you sound good is added in. I never knew she was actually a terrible live singer omg lol she''s all over the place, way out of tune<br /><br />She's a very strong live singer, this song just doesn't suit her. Bear in mind too that this is a demo and could be 1 of many takes, check out some of her live video's she can really nail it.<br /><br />I'm sorry but those making fun of her voice; she's by far better then any 'teen' singing now. <br /><br />This was probably a scratch take rather than anything that was meant to sound decent. I mean, the backing music is just as bad as the vocal. If you watch videos of her live performances you can see she can actually sing. If she had done a version with a serious vocal and full-on instrumentation, I'm sure it would sound good.<br /><br />This sounds like a practice recording while she's trying to learn the song.I wonder who released this,it appears they don't like Belinda.<br /><br />There are so many negative comments. It's obvious she was just going through the motions seeing if she liked the song. I mean their are no real instruments even. It's all synthesized/drum machine junk. I love Belinda. Even with no auto tune or real musicians she sounds better than most, even good I will venture to say.<br /><br />This was way too far from the finished product. Even if she had recorded it, it would have sounded much better than this. I do think it was more a Whitney song than Belinda. Having said that Merrill and Rubicam own it.<br /><br />Belinda's lovely voice is the best thing about this recording. The musicians were farther off of their marks on this spiritless arrangement. Had they drafted a serious producer/arranger and put in some positive rehearsal time, they would have come away with the best version ever recorded. A sweet, yet tragic, orphan of the muse.<br /><br />Do people not know what a "demo" is? It's a rough cut of a song before you go in the studio to fully record, polish and produce it. This song was thrown at her and she didn't want to record at all. For those comparing it to Boy Meet Girl, that's comparing apples to oranges - the original songwriters version of the song with full production (as everyone knows and loves) compared to a demo of someone who never wanted it. And thank God. This song has no place on "Heaven on Earth" at all and would've killed the album. Boy Meets Girl should be glad they got to keep it for themselves and have success with it. It's just the industry.<br /><br />What a delightful little find! These days they auto tune the demos so it's kinda nice hearing a good old traditional slightly off key in parts grass roots demo - 80's style!<br /><br />I pose that my demo from 1988 is better than Belinda’s version of this song...but barely</blockquote><div>Here's the deal: as crappy as this demo is ... somehow, someway, I still feel the magic. I still feel the warm and fuzzies. That's the deal with your favorite singers: even when they're terrible, you love them regardless. It's like a marriage: for better or worse, for richer or poorer. If Belinda's voice is like a warm hug wrapping itself around my soul, this demo is more like a sweaty, gross hug after she's just come back from the gym. But I'll <i>take</i> it.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the end, "Waiting for a Star to Fall" was simply "waiting to fall" into the hands of the duo who wrote it, providing them with the glory and status that they so richly deserved, and allowing Belinda to dodge a cheesy '80s bullet. Apparently, she just couldn't stoop so low as to record a peppy Whitney Houston reject. The woman had <i>standards</i>. I mean, it's not like she was filming Christmas ads for L.A. Gear or something. Oh, wait:</div></div><div><br /></div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/-Ae_Iq1gpds" width="420"></iframe>Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161694830669099204.post-87289380552199052882020-08-30T15:08:00.000-07:002020-09-07T22:14:24.366-07:00"My Prerogative": Get Off Bobby Brown And His Trusty Thesaurus's Back, All Right?<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIl8PufaEj1KpfiAJyZL08PTAIhigOczpgR9yogC3sBE4dheRpHZOJ-bJymU75snxJTwKazb0oUukIfdRJNjQMik9Zl8L_p8OlSIFV8GJhXps9LyOfnxipl3tXDgNAZVtPev3jSfCqC_4/s1600/BobbyBrownMyPrerogative.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="316" data-original-width="316" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIl8PufaEj1KpfiAJyZL08PTAIhigOczpgR9yogC3sBE4dheRpHZOJ-bJymU75snxJTwKazb0oUukIfdRJNjQMik9Zl8L_p8OlSIFV8GJhXps9LyOfnxipl3tXDgNAZVtPev3jSfCqC_4/s320/BobbyBrownMyPrerogative.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
From dictionary.com:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">prerogative</span></b> [pri-<b>rog</b>-<i>uh</i>-tiv, p<i>uh</i>-<b>rog</b>-]<br />
<br />
noun<br />
<br />
an exclusive right, privilege, etc., exercised by virtue of rank, office, or the like:<br />
<i>the prerogatives of a senator.</i><br />
a right, privilege, etc., limited to a specific person or to persons of a particular category:<br />
<i>It was the teacher's prerogative to stop the discussion.</i><br />
a power, immunity, or the like restricted to a sovereign government or its representative:<br />
<i>The royal prerogative exempts the king from taxation.</i></blockquote>
"His <i>what</i>-ative?" No matter what any hot-shot Grammy-winning record producer might say while sitting behind a recording console in a VH1 documentary, let me tell you a surefire way to churn out a smash R&B hit: use a ten-dollar word that nobody else has ever dared to shoehorn into a pop lyric. Although the track's merits are many, I feel - when all is said and done - that this is the alpha and the omega of the majesty that is Bobby Brown's "My Prerogative." Janet Jackson and her little "Escapade" can go kiss Bobby's big fat linguistically-gifted ass.</div>
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As a discerning nine-year-old music listener, I knew a winner when I heard one. It was pretty simple. Guess how many other pop songs in 1989 featured the word "prerogative." Yeah, that's right, that would be ZERO. What in God's name was a "prerogative"? Was that like some kind of marsupial? An advanced branch of mathematics? But see, herein lies the genius of "My Prerogative": after one listen, anyone who didn't know beforehand what "prerogative" meant would have learned <i>exactly</i> what "prerogative" meant. What it means, in layman's terms, is that Bobby Brown can "dew what he wantsta <i>dewww</i>."<br />
<br />
Given Mr. Brown's subsequent altercations with the law, I feel like "My Prerogative" has taken on a more sinister and disturbing air than it would have carried back in 1989. I pulled up Brown's <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bobby_Brown" target="_blank">Wikipedia page</a>, looking for a quick refresher on the man's less than savory deeds, and I was confronted with a neatly bullet-pointed list than appears to be longer than the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway. What I'm saying is this: In 1989, I think Bobby was well within his rights to claim that things like "leaving New Edition," "sleeping around," "keeping the money he'd earned," and "making the kind of records he wanted to make" were certainly his prerogative. However, I'm not sure if it was truly Bobby's prerogative to:<br />
<ul>
<li>Beat a nightclub patron in Orlando</li>
<li>Kick a hotel security guard</li>
<li>Crash into a condominium sign while driving drunk</li>
<li>Strike his spouse (a certain Whitney Houston) and threaten to "beat her ass"</li>
<li>Miss three months of child-support payments</li>
</ul>
And that's just a <i>sample</i>. In other words, what might have been seen at the time as "harmless and playful bragging" now has the whiff of "crippling personality flaw" to it. But whatever - it still slams!<br />
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With its minor key sax and/or synth riff, "My Prerogative" sounds like a hard-hitting new jack swing update of the <i>Inspector Gadget</i> theme - and let it be noted that co-producer Teddy Riley also co-produced Doug E. Fresh's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bDkqz5C62SM" target="_blank">"The Show,"</a> which explicitly interpolated said theme. Other R&B artists were inspired by James Brown, Marvin Gaye, Al Green; Teddy Riley heard the <i>Inspector Gadget</i> theme and knew where his destiny resided. At least "My Prerogative" is mercifully light on the quasi-rapping that, in my opinion, has not worn too well on other Brown hits of the era such as <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pd7dCbEfTs4" target="_blank">"Don't Be Cruel"</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e2sLeruRZio" target="_blank">"On Our Own"</a> (AKA "That Bobby Brown song from <i>Ghostbusters II</i> that I thought was unbelievably awesome at the time but, you know, I was nine years old"). No, "My Prerogative" has something even better: Bobby's gloriously bratty rant about how he "can't have money in my pocket and people not talk about me ... got <i>this</i> person over here talkin' 'bout me, <i>this</i> person ... I made this money, you didn't - right Ted?" Like many a legendary rapper to follow, I fear that Bobby greatly overestimated how much other people cared about all the hassles that resulted from his massive success. "What is this, a blizzard?" No, more like a persecution complex.<br />
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<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/5cDLZqe735k" width="420"></iframe><br />
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The video treats us to a sampling of the Bobby Brown concert experience, where he's flanked by a female sax player and a female keytar player, both sporting halter tops and hot pants, and both probably having signed contracts to keep any complaints to arbitration only. At 2:58 Bobby thrusts his body against Ms. Keytar and attempts to play a few notes, until she ducks and he <i>swings</i> his leg over her head to coincide with the line "Yo Teddy! Kick it like this!" I'm thinking that, ten years later, Bobby wouldn't have even tried to miss her.</div>
Little Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03415022026000282965noreply@blogger.com0