Can't Stay Away From "Can't Stay Away From You"

Back when a cassette copy of Let It Loose found itself permanently lodged in my family's car stereo, I thought it was da bomb. I was also eight years old, and my school lunches consisted of a packet of fruit snacks, a slice of bologna, and a Capri-Sun - none of which I am convinced contained anything resembling actual food. They say a growing boy should eat a nutritious diet. Whoops! I have to wonder: if I had actually bothered to consume real food during my youth, just how much healthier would I be now?

The point is, at the time, I was a fervent admirer of hits like "1-2-3" and "Anything For You," but now I'd probably rather listen to "anything" other than those two songs faster than you can say "1-2-3." However. There is one sleazy, heavily dated Let It Loose ballad that still gets me where it hurts. I know it's just no use, 'cause I can't stay away from "Can't Stay Away From You."

I'm pretty sure the opening percussive "domp, domp" sound was generated by Gloria and/or the other members of the Sound Machine finding an extremely obese man on the streets of Miami, luring him into the studio, shoving a microphone into his pliable belly, and gently tapping his gelatinous flab from side to side. Give that man a recording contract! Or maybe it was ... a giant vat of water? Let's face it, that "domp, domp" noise is what makes this baby churn. Without it we'd just have a languid stew of treated guitar, gloopy synths, and imitation snare blasts during the chorus that, for me at least, conjure up the image of a truck hitting one of those protective freeway drums filled with sand - it's like you can hear the little bits of bad '80s sound flying through the air with each pound.

Yes, like a grade school lunch, there's hardly any element in the sonic tableau of "Can't Stay Away From You" that stems from actual organic human creation. But there is one, and it's the only one that matters. What violent inner psychological turmoil was Gloria Estefan hiding beneath that placid, Cuban-American surface? Because on this song, the Notorious G.E. lays it all out on the line. You thought "Words Get In the Way" was a downer? Try "Can't Stay Away From You" on for size.

A quick glance at the first few lines of the lyric sheet would suggest a "Conga"-style fiesta: "Time flies/When you're having fun/I heard somebody say." Break out the Cuervo! But this time, master of misdirection that she is, Gloria has a less giddy scenario in mind:

But if all I've been is fun
Then baby let me go
Don't wanna be in your way

And I don't wanna be your second choice
Don't wanna be just your friend
You keep telling me that you're not in love
You wanna throw it all away

Well, hey, not everyone's looking for the same thing in a relationship. Some people want to have a good time, others want the wedding ring and the house with the picket fence and the 2.3 kids. So what's the big deal?

But I can't stay away from you
I don't wanna let you go
And though it's killing me, that's true
There's just some things I can't control

Your love is slipping through my hands
And though I've heard it all before
I know you're telling me the truth
I know it's just no use
But I can't stay away from you

Ohhhh. That's her problem right there. I mean, she should probably just stay away from him. For years I heard the lyrics "Look over your shoulder, I'll be there/You can count on me to stay," and assumed, marginally paying attention to the rest of the content, that Gloria was saying something along the lines of "You can depend on me, baby." Words of reassurance. But no, what she's saying is "You really shouldn't count on me to stay." She should just snap out of it, but she can't, because she feeds off the pain.

I should mention one stellar instrumental touch aside from the obese man's tummy. At the very end of the song, as Gloria repeats the last three lines of the chorus, the forcefully plucked notes from the synthesized zither (?) slow to an agonizing crawl, dragging out the drama until every last drop of Yuppie tears has been squeezed dry. Note on the video: perhaps it should have been titled: "Can't Stay Away From You ... But I Can Afford This Luxury Apartment Chock Full Of Priceless Statues That's Bathed In Overpowering Hues Of Blue."

Frankly, "Can't Stay Away From You" had never been a particular favorite of mine (I was more of a "Rhythm Is Gonna Getcha" kid myself) - until one chance listen on a deserted roadway in the summer of 1996. During that particular summer I found myself dealing with, for the first time, feelings related to, shall we say, girls - and not necessarily the pleasant, comforting kind of feelings. More like the "I don't think these girls feel remotely the same way about me as I do about them, but I can't seem to move on" type of feelings. I suddenly found myself in Lassen National Park, preparing to embark on a nine-day backpacking trip with my scout troop. We were car camping on the very first night, and for some reason there was time to kill and an item or two that someone needed to go pick up from a store - the nearest store being, naturally, 45 minutes away. That is how I found myself riding on a virtually empty stretch of highway, in the vehicle of somebody's dad - a dad I didn't actually know that well - along with another kid in the car (who I didn't know that well either). The dad had the radio on. We were all tired, not talking to each other, merely listening to the music. Now, I don't know what station this was, but it wasn't your typical Bay Area radio station; it was like your kooky Northern Northern California radio station that played Classic Rock and oldies and traditional vocal pop and God knows what else. For instance, on that very same car ride, I ended up receiving my first exposure to Paper Lace's "The Night Chicago Died." At any rate. Suddenly the station played Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine's "Can't Stay Away From You." I instantly had one of those "I haven't heard this song in years" moments.

You've got to understand. Yes, the difference between 2019 and 1996 is 23 years, and the difference between 1996 and 1988 is only eight years. But. In pop music time, that eight years might as well have been eighty years. Pop music in 1996 had long ceased to sound anything like pop music from 1988. It's funny, but sitting there in that car, hearing this song, I mean ... 1988 seemed like it had been a long time ago. And personally, we're talking the difference between being eight years old and being sixteen years old.

So I'm sitting there listening to this Gloria Estefan song I hadn't heard in eight years, soaking in the desolate, rugged Lassen landscape, with girls on my mind even though I didn't want girls on my mind, wondering how the hell I was going to enjoy myself on this backpacking trip when I used to be able to go on backpacking trips without having girls on my mind, and suddenly I started to hear new wrinkles in the tacky late '80s wallpaper. The emotion in Gloria's vocal that didn't quite register in my younger days now seemed to take on a creepier, harsher resonance. Honestly, I think it was reassuring to recognize that, even back in 1988, relationships could be messy and depressing. There was something about the unexpected entanglement of dated synth, bitter sentiment, recollection of the time when the song was a hit, the exhaustion and heat of that particular afternoon, the dry, barren beauty of the region, and my present-day uncertainty and fear that all somehow meshed together to really hit the spot.

So yeah. I've got to give her this one.

"Land of Confusion": Too Many Puppets, Too Many Caricatures, Not Much Horse Tranquilizer To Go Round

Perspective. Why can't we just pop into the local Trader Joe's, grab a big fat jar of perspective off the shelf, and just stick it in our cart next to the jalapeno limeade? I mean, if people don't have it, why don't they just go out and get it? Perspective, to the modern day internet commentator, is like sex to the average eighteen-year-old male: everybody likes to pretend they have more of it than they really do.

Because really now. Have you been reading too many comments on too many websites claiming that these are "dark times"? That "everything's falling apart and there's no end in sight"? That those who came before us could not have possibly comprehended the dim sense of dread that seems to engulf our global reality? Then do I have an '80s song for you:

I must've dreamed a thousand dreams
Been haunted by a million screams
But I can hear the marching feet
They're moving into the street

Now did you read the news today?
They say the danger's gone away
But I can see the fire's still alight
Burning into the night

Too many men
Too many people
Making too many problems
And not much love to go round
Can't you see
This is a land of confusion

This is the world we live in
And these are the hands we're given
Use them and let's start trying
To make it a place worth living in

Whoa. Clearly we who are stuck in 2019 ... are totally flattering ourselves! After listening to Genesis's "Land of Confusion," I have come to the realization that concern for the fate of humanity is, contrary to what every third New York Times article is telling me, nothing new at all. Don't the sage words of one Mike Rutherford (who I'm told wrote the lyrics, not Phil or Tony) bear more than a passing resemblance to all the verbiage spewed forth hourly by so many vapid talking heads and arrogant opinion columnists of today? And yet ... this is merely a post-No Jacket Required, post-"jump the shark" Genesis single. To paraphrase Paul Simon: "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls, and on the lyric sheets of Invisible Touch."

"Too many men/Too many people/Making too many problems/And not much love to go round." That really hits me right here [pointing to heart, not to groin]. And yet, and yet ... "Land of Confusion" is ... like ... old and stuff! Let this be a lessen to all you budding songwriters out there who wish to write a "topical" song that will still "resonate" years later: keep it vague. Then again, Neil Young got extremely specific on "Ohio," which also still resonates, so there goes that theory. I think the moral of the story is that either life isn't as shitty right now as we think it is, or that life back in 1986 was shittier than we thought it was. I find this verse quite effective as well:

Superman, where are you now?
When everything's gone wrong somehow
The men of steel, men of power
Are losing control by the hour

Get a load of that wordplay - "men of steel" referring not only to Superman, but also to men of "industry," men of corporate greed and lust, if you will. And just where was Superman? Sitting on the couch in the Fortress of Solitude, playing Nintendo and smoking pot with Lois Lane all day? Get your ass in gear, buddy. Then comes the last verse:

I won't be coming home tonight
My generation will put it right
We're not just making promises
That we know we'll never keep

Yeahhhhh. So. About those promises. Obviously the Baby Boomer generation has "put it right" (cough). To be fair, society's long, slow slide toward irreversible decline hasn't exactly been Mike Rutherford's fault. Let me put it this way: if the world is screwed up beyond belief (which, given our lack of perspective, it might not be), I doubt we can blame this state of affairs on a bunch of British rock stars who failed to fulfill the promises they made in their 30-year-old lyrics.

I'll say one thing: they certainly didn't fail due to lack of catchiness. Anyone who hears this song will forever dream a thousand hooks and be haunted by a million synth riffs. I like how the first verse is goosed along by a snapping "hand clap" effect, the second verse is goosed along by some kind of "backwards sucking" effect, and the third verse is goosed along by a demonic hybrid of the two. By the time the insistently rhythmic keyboard, straight out of a Beach Boys song from Mike Love's nightmares, kicks in on the chorus, I imagine any remaining confusion surrounding the song's eventual commercial success in this land should have been cleared up once and for all (it peaked at #4).



So, the video. Genesis could have easily attempted to convey the gravity of the song's themes with a correspondingly dour and preachy video. That is ... um ... not what they did.

There are always certain slices of British pop culture that never quite find their way over to the States. Coronation Street. Boyzone. Knowing Me Knowing You with Alan Patridge. The television show Spitting Image would have fit happily into this tradition if it hadn't been for one small thing: the video for Genesis's "Land of Confusion."

According to Wikipedia, Spitting Image

featured puppet caricatures of celebrities prominent during the 1980s and 1990s, including British Prime Ministers Margaret Thatcher and John Major and other politicians, US president Ronald Reagan, and the British Royal Family; the series was the first to caricature Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother (as an elderly gin-drinker with a Beryl Reid voice).

So British. So, so British.

Inevitably, at one point the program featured a caricature of Phil Collins. Now, Phil could have seen this caricature and taken great umbrage, but give the man credit where credit is due, because instead, a little light bulb went on over his head.

This video. Where do I even start with this video? At the very least I will provide a link to the Wikipedia article, which (more or less) clarifies exactly who is who. For instance: I thought the Madonna puppet was Dolly Parton and that the Pope John Paul II puppet was ... Stevie Wonder? Notice how Tony Banks's puppet resembles Mick Jagger - which is funny because later in the video there is also a puppet of ... Mick Jagger. Also, initially I assumed that the Reagan puppet was drowning in water, but actually, he's drowning in a massive pool of his own sweat. They do say it's a stressful job.

The director seemed to be aware that the best gag in the video, like the shark in Jaws, needed to stay off-screen just long enough for its eventual appearance to have the necessarily powerful effect. Notice that the puppet of Phil doesn't appear until the second verse, at least 45 seconds in, and OH GOD, OH GOD, SOMEBODY KILL IT, PLEASE, JUST KILL IT!!! I mean Jesus Christ, would you look at that thing? It's like some hairy, wrinkly troll-beast. It could have starred in a Child's Play movie. One is tempted to call the rendering "unflattering," but according to Phil, the truth is even more disturbing. From In The Air Tonight:

How bad had things had gotten by 1986? Let me tell you how bad. You know those puppets in the video for "Land of Confusion"? How everyone said they looked like such a weird, creepy likeness of me and the other guys? Well, it's time I finally come clean about something. That puppet of me in the video ... wasn't actually a puppet.

That was me.

Oh, Tony and Mike were puppets, all right. Don't mean to freak you out too much. But that hideous "Phil Collins puppet"? That was just what my face genuinely looked like at the time. If that isn't the best PSA for horse tranquilizer addiction you'll ever see in your life, I don't know what would be. Honestly, I thought I looked OK. Hey, when that's what you see in the mirror every day, you kinda get used to it. Tony told me the next day that certain members of the video crew were quietly crying on the set. In the end, we lied, told everyone I was a puppet like the others.

I've never quite felt right about it. My fans deserve to know the truth - the whole, bitter, wrinkled, flabby truth.

"I Feel Free" To Affectionately Mock Belinda's Random Cream Cover

December 1966. A hot new act has just taken the London psychedelic scene by storm. The group showcases a thundering drummer, versatile bassist/singer, and the most heavily-hyped guitar sensation the British public has ever known. Together they are inventing the concept known as the "power trio." Their second single is an arresting creation overflowing with seemingly disparate elements: overlapping vocal parts, giddy handclaps, tinny piano, fuzz-drenched electric guitar, surreal lyrics, jarring stop-start dynamics. The song, "I Feel Free,' peaks at #11 in the UK and serves as the dynamic lead-off track to the band's US debut album.



Fast-forward to late 1987. Freshly-perfumed Belinda Carlisle is recording her second solo album in a state-of-the-art Los Angeles studio, with Rick Nowels in the producer's chair. She needs material. Somebody says, possibly in jest, possibly after having ingested an ill-advised amount of the magic dust, "Guys, guys, I've got it! She can do a cover of ... Cream's 'I Feel Free'! But we'll make it sound, like, all '80s and stuff!" A chorus of eager assent erupts throughout the studio. This suggestion is immediately put into action.



All right. I want a straight answer. No deflections of blame, no convenient claims of ignorance. Whose idea was it to have Belinda record a cover of Cream's "I Feel Free"? Oh I feel free all right - free to ask "What the fuhhhhh?" I mean what was the thought process here? I'm not particularly angry. I'm not particularly bothered. I just want to know. Not only that, but whose idea was it to release it as a single? Heaven On Earth had already managed to produce an impressive string of three top ten hits, but you know what, MCA? That just wasn't enough for you. Oh no. You got greedy. You had visions of True Blue and Whitney dancing around in your heads and you just couldn't leave well enough alone. Well guess how high Belinda's impressively sanitized cover of this psychedelic nugget performed on the charts? Her version of "I Feel Free" peaked at a whopping ... wait for it ... #88.

Whereas Cream's version gallops along like a ... like a brand new Jaguar, Belinda's version seems to lurch forward in fits and starts like, let's say, a broken down VW van. Whereas the original is powered along by the beastly rumble of Ginger Baker in his prime, the re-make is powered along by, I assume, a beat that is less than human. Whereas Clapton's solo sounds like a laser beam tripping on shrooms, the solo in Belinda's version sounds like a ... hive of disgruntled hornets? In short, I want to say that Belinda's cover of "I Feel Free" is kind of ... what's the word? Lacking? But ... oh, come on, who am I kidding? No one else. No one else could have done this - would have done this. This is another Belinda head-scratcher moment for the ages. Listen to how hard she brings it on the second bridge. "You think my Cream cover is a joke? I'll tell you who's the joke, bitch." She even tops it all off with the most unintentionally hilarious 1988 outro-whispering this side of "Man in the Mirror." I'm looking around for even the slightest sign of irony, but nope, there's not a spec on the horizon. I'm fairly certain that when Belinda, Rick, and crew sat around and listened to the playback, they all thought to themselves, "That was awesome!"

I mean, the Go-Go's circa 1981 could have really laid into this with aplomb (arguably it would have been more up the Bangles' alley), but ... Belinda circa 1988? Why not have her do "Purple Haze," or "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" while we're at it? Where's Belinda's trippy rendition of the Yardbirds' "Happenings Ten Years Time Ago," eh? Hey, I've got an idea: how about Belinda doing a cover of "My Generation," but instead of having her smash her instruments to pieces at the end, we'll just have her get a manicure? God knows what Clapton thought of Belinda's interpretation of his former group's work, but I may not be going out on a limb here if I surmise that his sitar-playing buddy came across it and secretly made a note to himself: "You know ... I think that's girl's got something."

[A quick word on the Heaven on Earth album as a whole. Despite the fact that it is her best-selling and most widely-known solo long-player, and that it contains, I think it's fair to say, three of her absolute best singles (not to mention the world's most unexpected Cream cover), when I compare it to her solo debut, I find the album as a whole to be kind of ... boring? Bland? Can you believe I'm saying this? Heaven on Earth was a major global success, peaking at #4 in the UK and in the top ten all over Europe (oddly, just like Belinda, it peaked at #13 in the U.S., but eventually went platinum as opposed to Belinda's mere gold), and I have even seen a few Europeans talk about it online as if it were a "classic" '80s album that belongs on "Greatest '80s Albums" lists and such. Hey listen. I am as big a Carlisle-ophile as they come, but ... I don't know about that. The singles aside, I find it a rather ... disheartening affair. Belinda at least had the shock of the new. It was a career reinvention, which suggested that each of her subsequent albums might also be career reinventions. Psych! It turns out that, actually, this was just what her whole solo career was going to sound like. Singles aside, Heaven On Earth is like a Celine Dion album without the balls. Just listen to these song titles: "World Without You." "Fool For Love." "Love Never Dies." Oh love can die all right - die from boredom. I mean, Belinda always brings the vocal fire, but there's only so much one can do with boilerplate adult contemporary craft. I wouldn't even call the album tracks on Heaven on Earth "failed experiments" or "awkward ideas gone awry." They're just achingly, screamingly ... competent. It's Rick Nowels living out his ultimate Robert John "Mutt" Lange fantasy. At least "Nobody Owns Me" (recalling Lesley Gore's "You Don't Own Me"?) has some roaring, vaguely rebellious verve, and a bratty "no-no-no" refrain lifted from Dylan's "It Ain't Me Babe" (!); perhaps it could have been a Go-Go's track in another life? Anyway. That's all I have to say about that.]

Here's how half-assed the record label's push for "I Feel Free" was: instead of bothering to film a proper video for the single, they simply slapped together some live footage from the Good Heavens! '88 concert video, complete with grainy, gimmicky post-production effects, and put that out instead.



Wait, you mean I haven't told you about the Good Heavens! '88 concert video? It's her best straight-to-video concert movie since Live at the Roxy '86 - hands down. Here we find Belinda in her Jessica Rabbit phase, holding the audience at Philadelphia's Tower Theater in complete and utter rapture. Her high socks emit that "sexy Thanksgiving pilgrim" vibe, and her hands appear to be covered with ... striped socks? Let's call this her "Dr. Seuss" look. Horton Hears a Hottie. The set list contains every track from Heaven on Earth minus three, plus "Mad About You," and five majestically tame versions of Go-Go's chestnuts. She apparently managed to hire Bono as her lead guitarist for the tour, complete with leather vest and ponytail (he somehow grew a few inches as well), and ... wait a second ... is that the same keyboard player from Billy Idol's "Mony Mony" video? Guess Billy groped her one time too many and she finally switched teams. Also, if you're not paying enough attention, you might see the brunette and blonde back-up singers and think you're watching Jane and Charlotte rather than Donna DeLory and Bekka Bramlett. Coincidence? I think not. And whose idea was the Spinal Tap reference? (Odds that Belinda was in on this joke: 6.8/10.) YouTube comment highlights:

love the hair-tossing B...

I was always disappointed that I could never do enough coke for Belinda to be interested in me.

Santa. I've been a good boy. Please send me a collection of Belinda Carlisle's greatest hits on CD and Blue Ray videos of her concerts.

GREAT singing. RIP to the zebra that was killed just so she could wear those gloves and blouse, though...

A shame the Hamburglar had to die for her outfit, but well worth it. ;)

sweet cream in an ice cream sandwich! she was smoking hot!

The California Girl if there ever was one. Her Ann Margaret phase. She pulled it off and then some. Just a beautiful lady and man, did she dress modestly. When you have true talent and natural beauty, you don't have to let it all hang out.

And there are Madonna fans who claim Belinda is as worst a live singer as Madonna is. LOL, as if Madonna could pull this off. And I'm a fan of both!!

When I die.I want to come back as her gynecologist.

are people really makin fun of fuckin belinda carlisle. Really??????? wow! One of the greatest!

Years ago I noticed one particular comment beneath the "I Feel Free" video: "Thumbs up if you're here because you read American Psycho." Notably, the comment garnered no thumbs up, but it certainly piqued my curiosity. Belinda's Yuppie-tastic version of "I Feel Free" is exactly the kind of spotless late '80s multimedia conglomerate product that Patrick Bateman would have smeared all over his deceivingly handsome face. Sure enough, when Bateman enters an empty club on Page 79, he provides the following description:

"New Sensation" becomes "The Devil Inside" and the music is full blast but it feels less loud because there isn't a crowd reacting to it, and the dance floor looks vast when empty. I move away from the bar and decide to check out the club's other areas, expecting Patricia to follow but she doesn't. No one guards the stairs that lead to the basement and as I step down them the music from upstairs changes, melds itself into Belinda Carlisle singing "I Feel Free." The basement has one couple in it who look like Sam and Ilene Sanford but it's darker down here, warmer, and I could be wrong. I move past them as they stand by the bar drinking champagne and head over toward this extremely well-dressed Mexican-looking guy sitting on a couch. He's wearing a double-breasted wool jacket and matching trousers by Mario Valentino, a cotton T-shirt by Agnes B. and leather slip-ons (no socks) by Susan Bennis Warren Edwards, and he's with a good-looking muscular Eurotrash chick - dirty blonde, big tits, tan, no makeup, smoking Merit Ultra Lights - who has on a cotton gown with a zebra print by Patrick Kelly and silk and rhinestone high-heeled pumps.

Yesssss. Bret, Bret, oh Bret. Be still my '80s blogger heart. Belinda's version of "I Feel Free" might have flopped everywhere else, but in Patrick Bateman's world, at least, it was a unequivocal smash.