Confession: That Phil Collins Memoir I Found ... Was A FAKE!

Ahem.

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.

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:

In The Air Tonight: The Secret Life and Twisted Psyche of Philip D. Collins  ... is a fake.

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.

It would seem that, as they say in the sales business, I've been had.

Gotta admit, it looked like the real deal. I have a nose for these things, can spot a counterfeit when I see one, but this, 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.

It was all a little ... too good to be true.

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? Horse tranquilizer? Honestly, horse tranquilizer? What sort of rock drummer would possibly think of consuming horse tranquilizer?

Of course, this only raises even more questions, such as: if Phil Collins didn't write this compelling and yet utterly spurious memoir, then who did? 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, creo quia adsurdum est, as they say.

Nevertheless, even though it was all a farcical lie, it was a great ride while it lasted.

Which leads me to one final mea culpa. Upon unexpected news of the publication of a competing Phil Collins "memoir," Not Dead Yet, in 2016, I confidently proclaimed that particular work to be bogus, specious, apocryphal, what have you. Today, I now eat my words as I realize that Not Dead Yet is, indeed, the real Phil Collins's real memoir, and not, as I had so egregiously assumed, In The Air Tonight: The Secret Life and Twisted Psyche of Philip D. Collins.

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 Daily Mirror, the memoir is "Jaw-droppingly honest," and when has the Daily Mirror ever been wrong about something like that? In other words: think I'm gonna have to check it out!

That Time Belinda Partied In Ibiza And Swiftly Resumed Her Coke Consumption

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.

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 back 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 Lips Unsealed, 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.

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.

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 Lips Unsealed:

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.

"Singing secretary"? For some reason I'm picturing an unsuccessful spin-off of The Flying Nun.

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.

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?

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.

"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?

Just cram all that emotional turmoil up into a little ball in your mind as you read the following excerpt:

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

What if you'd met your birth father? "How can you love someone you don't know"? I think I have the answer.

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.

Well hey! You're on E, everyone's having a good time ... fortune favors the bold.

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."

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. Hi, honey, it's me. How are you? 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.

Well, Dr. Landy isn't exactly my idea of someone whose diagnosis I would have put much stock in, but ... the point stands.

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.

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.

I felt like I would've died in Ibiza if I had stayed any longer. I didn't want to do coke ever again.

But soon it was like I had never stopped.

Dum-Dum-Dummmmmm.

One Last Post On Madonna (Before I Get Carried Away)

Oh, fine, I guess I better do one more post on Madonna.

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 microscopically dissected by myriad others), accompanied by borderline impenetrable analysis (heh heh ... "borderline") culled from an obscure Australian academic journal. Maybe in my next life.

Loyal readers may recall that I wrote a pair of blog posts on Madonna's first album 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 Like a Virgin and, frankly, although I went on and on about how "Madonna never topped her first album!," I must admit that I enjoy Like a Virgin 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. True Blue, 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 You Can Dance, a frequent presence in my family's automobile cassette player).

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 something. I just wasn't cool with it. So ... here's my half-assed post about Madonna during the Like a Prayer era.

Like millions of other square, unadventurous, asexual Americans whose lives bore not the slightest passing resemblance to Madonna's, my parents purchased Like a Prayer 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:

"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'."

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 still stank to high heaven. At least when the Stones did silly album cover gimmicks (the 3-D photo for Their Satanic Majesties Request, the real-life zipper for Sticky Fingers, the cardboard cut-out for Some Girls), they didn't do it in Smell-O-Vision. Also: Is that what it smells like in a Catholic church? No wonder the attendance numbers have gone down.

Funny thing but, "Like a Prayer," although the most well-known song on Like a Prayer, is also the song I enjoy the most on Like a Prayer. 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 Like a Virgin, but ... I dunno, I kind of wished she'd picked something else. It would be like if Pink Floyd released an album called Dark Side of the Asteroid Belt.

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 grace 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 Who's That Girl soundtrack; if someone played me a copy of Like a Prayer and literally swapped the tracks, I probably wouldn't even do a double-take.

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 little 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.

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 Like a Prayer, I thought "You know what? 'Dear Jessie' isn't the sleeper cut on this album - 'Oh Father' 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 was a hit single, peaking at #20). Well, I wouldn't put it on a "Best of Madonna" mix now, but I will 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.

For decades, AMG has rated Like a Prayer five stars. In a brief review published in my 1997 print edition, and one that the site hasn't expanded on or updated in 25 years, Stephen Thomas Erlewine writes:

Out of all of Madonna's albums, Like a Prayer 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 Like a Prayer 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.

In that old book edition, Like a Prayer and The Immaculate Collection were the only Madonna "albums" to receive five stars, but AMG has since bumped up her debut to five stars, and Erlewine's much lengthier and seemingly more enthusiastic review of that album suggests that he would no longer consider Like a Prayer to be her "best" album. You know what I think.

In the summer of 1990, few movie releases were treated like a bigger "event" than the release of Dick Tracy, 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 saw 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 Dick Tracy was swiftly and collectively erased from the minds of all humanity, Men In Black-style, in his peerless series "CINEMADONNA." That said, while technically released on I'm Breathless: Music from and Inspired by the Film Dick Tracy, I've always considered "Vogue" to be almost a Like a Prayer 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 all 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 The Postman Always Rings Twice and Imitation of Life? 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?

In my mind, Like a Prayer 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 singles discography 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 Erotica came out, peaked at #2, featured several high-charting singles, then Bedtime Stories 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 yeahhhhh. Ma-donnnnn-a. She's back." Back? Back?! Two: after 1991, I think dance-pop, while still riding high on the Billboard Hot 100, lost its cultural 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.

"Vision Of Love": All The Mariah I Ever Needed (But If I Want More, I Know Where To Find It)

Perhaps a year or so ago, my former co-blogger Yoggoth posed a quick pop music game to me, via random text:

"Name a song you really like which is the only song by that artist you actually like."

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 Making Movies, 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 Making Movies." 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!"

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."

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-hah. There may be hope yet.

Hard to say why I haven't taken the Mariah Carey catalog to heart. I don't have an intense dislike 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 super double extra 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 prefers Brenda K. Starr's version of "I Still Believe" to Mariah Carey's. But I'll tell you what. Sometimes, there's nothing quite like your first.

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.

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?

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 came true!" type of ballad, which I don't find quite as interesting, although Wikipedia does a nice job of making it seem potentially more interesting:

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."

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!

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 sound? Just as you're trying to wrap your head around that, 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 beeeeeeeee." Phew, she made it back to safety.

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 private, 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?"

David Letterman And Belinda Carlisle: A Love Story, In Nine Acts

Sailing through the Seven Seas of YouTube, one can find clips of Belinda Carlisle on every conceivable interview program known to man, from The View and The Joy Behar Show to BBC Breakfast and Good Morning Australia. 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."

Dave vs. Belinda, Round 1:

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 expertly witty summary, composed without the aid of the clip at my disposal, truly was.

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.

Dave vs. Belinda, Round 2:

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:

Dave: Was it one decision or did everybody collectively make it?

Belinda: No, it was sort of, uh, two people's decision. (giggles)

Dave: And who were those two people?

Belinda: Charlotte and myself.

Dave: Oh. (chuckles) Oh, I see, so you guys just kind of ... you walked.

Belinda: We just kinda, yeah, we said, "See ya later."

Another exchange features Belinda's typically self-censored responses:

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?
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)
Dave: And what exactly was that? (audience chuckles)
Belinda: Well you know, underwear, and uh ... undershirts, and that kind of thing. (more giggles)
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 ...

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).

Dave vs. Belinda, Round 3:

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 Prince's Trust Concert. 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 The Let's All Gawk At How Attractive Belinda Carlisle Is Hour. Samples:

Dave: How you doin'?
Belinda: I'm all right.
Dave: Well you look great. (mile-wide gap-toothed grin on his face) You do, you really, I mean you really look great.
Belinda: Thank you.
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?
Belinda: Um ... I run about 25 miles a week ... and I ... (shrugs her shoulders) I dunno, I eat healthy...
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?

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"):

Dave: Do you have it in the house with you?
Belinda: Yeah, it's a house pig.
Dave: You know, I was accused of that once in a divorce settlement, but that's a uh ... Do you have other animals?
Belinda: I have four dogs and a parrot.
Dave: And what is the interaction like between the dogs and the pig?
Belinda: Uh ... they all seem to get along all right. And the parrot likes the pig too.

Seriously, who comes off weirder here, Dave or Belinda? Finally, Dave returns to the theme of the evening:

Dave: I just can't get over it, you are stunning.
Belinda: Well God that's ... thank you.
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.

Dave vs. Belinda, Round 4:

Despite Dave's suggestion, Belinda did not, in fact, come back the next night. Rather, she came back two nights later - possibly without intending to. Apparently, at the start of the show (which was to feature Buck Henry, screenwriter of The Graduate 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."

With cameraman in tow, they accost her in the hallway:

Paul: Belinda you really, you really ...
Belinda: Is it tomorrow yet?
Paul: Nice to see you.
Dave: We wanted to to tell you that you just look great and ...
Paul: You look fabulous.
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?
Belinda: Um ... I have to go do an interview.
Dave: Yeah, with who?
Belinda: Slice Magazine. (giggles)
Dave: Slice Magazine. Oh it's the prestigious ... Slice Magazine.
Paul: Blow that off, babe, and come spend the rest of the evening with us.

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 do 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."

Dave vs. Belinda, Round 5:

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:

Dave: What kind of dress did you get?
Belinda: It's just sort of a ... uh ... strapless ... kind of ...
(Several audience members whistle and holler)
Dave: (To the audience) Oh please.
Belinda: Just, you know, sort of like a showgirl-type dress.
Dave: Oh a showgirl-type dress!
Belinda: Well it's not like that - it's like a partygirl-type dress.
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?
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 ...

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:

Dave: What happened to your pig?
Audience member: Breakfast!
Belinda: No I didn't eat it. Um ... it was, um, it sort of was kind of messy in the house.
Dave: Well I don't think you should be keeping the pig in the house anyway.
Belinda: Well it was sort of messy outdoors too.

Dave vs. Belinda, Round 6:

She returned for more punishment in 1989, knee-deep in her Nicole Kidman circa Days of Thunder phase, to promote "Leave a Light On." Dave asks her why she recorded a bulk of Runaway Horses 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:

Dave: And you worked in Monaco for ... you did a TV show or an awards presentation, what was that?
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.
Dave: Now see, if you'd been near a phone, there wouldn't have been this mix-up.

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.

Dave vs. Belinda, Round 7:

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:

Belinda: The worst place was ...

Dave: Not here, don't tell me here.

Belinda: Uh ... Malaysia. It was kinda scary.

Dave: People nice? Food not good?

Belinda: Mmm, no, no, I got food poisoning.

Dave: Really, what were you eating there?

Belinda: Curried something.

Dave: Curried something. See, you need more information on the menu, before you order. "I'll have the curried something."

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:

Dave: Could I stop by?

Belinda: Sure, come on over.

Dave: Would that kill you if I stopped by?

Belinda: No you can come on by.

Dave: You'd die 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."

Belinda: (unconvincingly) No I wouldn't do that.

Dave vs. Belinda, Round 8:

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:

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?
Belinda: Well I think so.
Dave: And that's the one that's gonna sell the album, and it's gonna be a huge hit.
Belinda: I hope so.
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 want to know?
Belinda: No, we call it The Blob.

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.

Belinda: 'Cause that's what it looks like.
Dave: Good parenting. But do you want to know, ultimately ...?
Belinda: Yeah, yeah, I do want to know. Um ... my husband doesn't want to know, but I'll ... figure it out. (giggles)

Dave: Are you just ... wild with excitement about this?

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.

Dave: No. Uh ... how old are you?

Belinda: I'm 33.

Dave: Are you - 33? Wow, that's, that's great. How old do you think I am?

Belinda: 25.

Dave: Aww, bless your little heart (kisses her hand). And what do you think I weigh?

Dave vs. Belinda, Round 9:

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 every round a draw.

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.

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?

How Many Days In Paradise Are We Talking About Here? AKA David Crosby, Vegas Bad Luck Charm

But it's not just another day in paradise at all. Because there are homeless people! Oh man. Feel the burn. Irony so thick you could stick a fork in it.

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:

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.

There, I said it. I feel better now. OK. Take a breath.

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 terrible. Hasn't anybody noticed all these homeless people around? You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to write a song 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.

And yet.

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.

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 relaxing. 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 is another day in paradise ... wait, what's this song about again?" It's like a soft, velvetty pillow of shame. Select instrumental highlights:

• 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.
• 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.
• I feel like the outro goes on just 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.

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 ... unapologetically sarcastic. 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: what was the man whistling? I'm going to go with "The Colonel Bogey March."

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 here, 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.

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 that, Bobby McFerrin.

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 In The Air Tonight:

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, Nevada. 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 proper is to the north. For demographic purposes, it's probably best to think of Vegas as the Las Vegas Metropolitan Statistical Area.

Anyway. So it was about 1986, fresh off No Jacket Required, 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. Crosby's in town. You know shit's about to get crazy.

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).

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."

Crosby looks at me, with a clarity belying his mental state. "You sure about that Phil? Think twice."

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.

"I've Got The Power" To Guffaw At Three Anonymous Early '90s Jock Jams

Ner-Nn ... Nn ... Nn ... Nn-Nn-Ner-Nn ... Nn ... Nn ... I've got the powah! (-owah, -owah ...)

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 countries 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.

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?

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 Mission: Impossible 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.

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.

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 years. 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 also Congolese, it's all good, right?" Here's what I'm thinking: "Pump Up the Jam"? How about "Pump Up the Video Budget"? This thing looks like it was filmed inside a Game Boy.

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 Martha Wash'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 could 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.

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!

Runaway Belinda Interviews From The Runaway Horses Era

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?

I've always been familiar with USA Today 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 Runaway Horses 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:

Interviewer: 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?

Belinda: 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 ...

Interviewer: At the time, were you rebelling against that?

Belinda: Oh yeah, definitely. Definitely privately, not publicly, but privately we were definitely rebelling.

Details? Not safe for USA Today? 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!"

Interviewer: Is it hard for you to listen to your own music?

Belinda: 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.

Interviewer [in voiceover]: When she goes this long between performances, does the thought of a live audience make Belinda nervous?

Belinda: 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.

Impostor Syndrome, thy name is Belinda Carlisle.

Here we have a solid performance of "Summer Rain" from the Arsenio Hall Show (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.

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 did 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 Lips Unsealed, she was just 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:

Arsenio: Let's talk music. AMA's this past week?

Belinda: (giggles)

Arsenio: What'd you think, did you go?

Belinda: No. Uh-uh. I was in Vegas.

Arsenio: What do you think about, like, the direction of music, Milli Vanilli being the hottest thing in music? (laughs gleefully)

Belinda: (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.

Arsenio: I'm just amazed by it.

Belinda: I am too. I am too! What can I say?

Arsenio: 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?!"

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. Catchy tunes though. Later, Belinda goes into detail about her process for picking her material, something she hardly ever talked about:

Arsenio: How do you choose your material, I mean, what do you look for? 'Cause I think, people sing your songs constantly.

Belinda: 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.

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 half-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.

Just when I thought I'd seen it all, here's Belinda on what appears to be a UK children's TV show called Going Live! The host begins by handing Belinda a Platinum award for Runaway Horses (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.

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 should be a softball question, but gives Belinda the chance to puncture the magical veneer of pop stardom:

Nicholas Payne: Why did you choose the ... musical career?

Belinda: 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.

Host: This is the Go-Go's.

Belinda: 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.

Host: Would you say that you've now changed, and maybe changed your singing and vocals?

Belinda: Oh I've since, about four or five years into my, you know, singing career, I started taking vocal lessons.

Host: Right, right, did they make any difference? I mean, did you think halfway through, "Oh this is a waste of time"?

Belinda: Oh it makes a big difference, I still go to vocal lessons, yeah, yeah.

Host: And what is that, stretching your ...

Belinda: 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.

Host: Sounds very painful to me.

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 did happen to Belinda in Marseilles was probably very interesting indeed, and probably NSF-Going Live! She and the host then show off the glorious package of Runaway Horses paraphernalia that lucky viewers could win if they correctly answer the question, "What is the term used to describe the height of a horse?"

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."

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 something (in Lips Unsealed 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:

Interviewer: Well how did you decide to stop then?

Belinda: 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.

Interviewer: When did you tell him that you had this problem, when did he guess?

Belinda: 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.

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:

Interviewer: So what did you do then, Belinda, what route did you go then to stop it?

Belinda: 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.

Interviewer: Can I talk to you a bit about your music?

Oh that's right, her music. 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 seen and mostly focus on what they'd heard. "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.

Zrbo's Favorite Songs of 2020

Hey, remember last year how I began my Top 5 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.

5. Pet Shop Boys - "What Have I Done to Deserve This"

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?"

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 20 Feet From Stardom. 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?

4. KMFDM - "Bumaye" (dub)

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.

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, "Godlike", features what sounds like a Jamaican man repeating the refrain "Black man/white man/rip the system".

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 than the original.

3. Jessie Frye feat. Timecop1983 - "Faded Memory"

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.

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.

2. The Eternal Afflict - "San Diego"

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.

1. The Birthday Massacre - "One"

If you've been keeping up with this blog you might remember how I wrote 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.

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.

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.

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.

And that's it. My favorite song of this long, awful year of 2020. See you again next year.