A Benefit Concert So Nice, Phil Played It Twice AKA Who Could Have Possibly Conquered Their Crippling Addiction ... On The Concorde?

Like a kid running up a downward-moving escalator (as the whole family watches on with a mixture of mild protestation and grudging admiration), Phil Collins decided to get "cute" with Live Aid. You know why they set up Live Aid on two separate stages, on two separate continents? To make it as easy as possible for as many performers from the U.S. and the U.K. as possible to participate on the same day. The whole point was that no one would have to fly across the ocean in a panic to play both concerts. Because who in their right mind could possibly play two different cities on two different continents on the same day? You'd have to be a maniac. You'd have to be a masochist. You'd have to be a madman.

On July 13, 1985, Phil Collins played at Wembley Stadium in London. Then, just a few hours later, he played at JFK Stadium in Philadelphia. And if they'd asked him to play at a third stadium on a third continent, he would've done that too.

Sure, they were broadcasting both concerts on worldwide television, so in theory, neither audience on either continent was going to be denied their fill of Phil. But what if you'd wanted to see Phil Collins ... in person? I mean, just imagine little Johnny from New Jersey, who had been desperately hoping to see his personal role model and number one favorite singer-drummer in all of Christendom, suddenly learning that Phil was going to be playing at Wembley instead. You would have never seen a child's heart - so pure, so precious - be crushed so cruelly. And imagine little Pete, who lived in West London, hearing that the one and only Chiswick, Middlesex legend himself, Phil Collins, was going to be playing in that refuge of traitors to the Crown, Philadelphia, which was an affront to all that was sacred and Arthurian! But this way, both little Johnny and little Pete were able to receive their utmost wish. Phil was thinking of the children, the children.

First up: London. His shirt suggests a sudden escape from a chain gang, which is fitting, as his music conveys the profound sadness of an ancient Negro spiritual. Those in the crowd who were expecting tom-tom fills and synthesized brass, however, would've been caught completely off-guard. At Live Aid, Phil Collins traveled light. Say hello to Elton Collins. Phil sat at the piano, solamente, and played only two songs, "Against All Odds" and "In the Air Tonight" (apparently because they were the only two songs of his he knew how to play in their entirety on the piano).

This is Phil Collins unplugged, unadorned, unfiltered, uncensored. This is Grade A, Raw, Organic, Locally Sourced Phil - no preservatives, no artificial flavors. This is one man reaching out to the world and giving it a popsicle - not one of those popsicles made from a giant vat of corn syrup, but a popsicle made from real fruit juice. Although there are 72,000 people in the stadium, Phil's performance is so intimate and personal, I'm partially convinced he thought he was merely serenading the glass of water resting on the piano in front of him. The recorded evidence suggests he was quite aware of the size of his audience, however; he appears to be terrified out of his mind, muttering to himself "Let's see if I can get through this" before commencing. The piano slip-up at 1:09 merely reinforces the spontaneous intensity of the occasion. By the end, Phil practically leans into every chord, his shoulders sagging with exaggerated relief as he crosses the finish line.



Curiously, "In the Air Tonight" takes on more of a feathery, regal quality in this piano-and-vocals setting. Intentionally or not, the echo traveling throughout the stadium partially duplicates the eerie atmospherics of the studio original. That said, when he reaches the point where the massive drum fill would normally come in, he pauses, slyly turns to the camera as if to say, "Were you waiting for something?" and then proceeds with his piano-playing. Toward the end he even starts throwing in some fancy fingerwork as he shreds his vocals to their MOR core. You know what Bob Geldof was feeling in the air that night? All the piles and piles of money that were supposedly coming in to supposedly help feed the starving African children, that's what.



Then, the Concorde flight. Not even Charles and Diana's wedding was covered so breathlessly. Here's a clip of the BBC interviewing Phil as he boards:



And yes, here's a clip of the BBC interviewing Phil ... in mid-air. Maybe it's just me, but does the connection sound a bit ... static-y? I mean, if not for the little caption at the bottom saying "PHIL COLLINS TALKING LIVE FROM CONCORDE," I'd honestly have no idea who they were talking to. It could've been Bigfoot for all I can tell. Hell, maybe they faked this whole thing! Just look at that airplane footage and tell me that's the actual footage of Phil's actual flight. At any rate, if Phil was hoping his little stunt would attract significant media attention ... he was right. Maybe it's easy to yawn in retrospect, but here's what I'm thinking: It's just an airplane! They travel fast! Get over it people!



I think Jack Nicholson and Bette Midler, who appear to have been MCs at the Philadelphia concert, might have been feeling the same way I do about this whole deal. Do they strike anyone else as being somewhat less than sincere in their amazement at Phil's feat? Bette sounds like she's being forced to act excited at gunpoint, while Jack sounds like he'd just smoked a spliff backstage and couldn't give a crap who flew in from where:

Bette: Yes, Jack?!

Jack: Do you know that ... uh ... Phil Collins just arrived here from London?

Bette: He did?

Jack: Flew over on the Concorde.

Bette: No ... kidding!

Jack: The only man that's gonna play both sides of the concert.

Bette: That is unbelievable!

Jack: Unbelievable, isn't it? In this day and age.

Bette: Un-be-liev-a-ble!

Jack: Miracles can be wrought.

Bette: It's beyond me. I tell ya, if I didn't know, I would say that that was impossible. But ... the truth is ... everything is possible. We can beat time, we can beat hunger, if we just pull together. Jack Nicholson and I are thrilled to be standing in front of ... PHIL COLLINS!

Yes, Bette. If Phil Collins can perform on both stages of Live Aid, then ... then ... nothing can hold us back as a species.

Although Phil appears to have grabbed a new shirt (possibly from his Wembley co-performer Sting?), he performs the exact same repertoire he performed in London. What's with the cameraman stealing Phil's towel (at 2:50)? Hey, Phil flew all the way across the ocean, all right? Dude's exhausted. He needed that towel! Besides, if you're a cameraman who's going to swipe a towel from Phil Collins's piano, couldn't you at least point the camera in a different direction while you're snatching it?



During this second version of "In the Air Tonight," when Phil pauses at the "drum fill" moment, instead of leaving him in silence, the audience begins singing the drum fill. That's right, singing it. As one YouTube commentator put it, "Wait a second, was certain sections of the crowd actually singing back the iconic drum fill? That is bad ass!" City of Brotherly Love, that's what I'm talkin' about. Way to step up. I love the moment during the broadcast where the producers superimpose Phil's face over the massive crowd (around 2:22), as if to suggest that Phil and the audience have truly become one. You'd also think Phil might have held something back at this point, but the outro might be even more spine-tingling in this version than in the London version. He's like the T-1000 - not even an exploding truck of liquid nitrogen could defeat him.



But seriously ... I enjoy these versions quite a bit. They demonstrate that Phil Collins could actually sing "live," without the "aid" of Auto-Tune, or multi-tracking, or other devious studio tricks. For just a few moments, he is the only person performing on the stage, and yet ... he is utterly compelling. We are in the presence of a true star.

The truth is, Phil couldn't have given a flying (across the Atlantic) fuck about Ethiopian famine, or raising funds for charity, or bringing two continents together, or any of that crap. In the end, the entire purpose of his Live Aid stunt was, once again, just to score some drugs. From In the Air Tonight:

It was four in the morning, July 13, 1985. I was sitting on the john in my London flat, my eyes redder than Satan's testicles. Remember that stash of horse tranquilizer I'd finally tracked down in that Stockholm gym? Gone, all gone. I needed another fix ASAP. I was prepared to do anything necessary to get my hands on some more shit - I mean anything. If I'd needed to suck off every single Taylor in Duran Duran for another batch, by God, I would have done it. I called Julio.

"Senior Collins! Why you awake ahora? What is el tiempo in London?"

"Save me the lecture, I need more shit."

"What about the Swedish stuff?"

"I'm out, I tell you! Had the last bit of it two days ago."

"Felipe, Felipe. I cannot work miracles. Do I look like Santa Claus to you?"

"Ho ho ho, you Cuban cunt. You know where I can find some more. Don't hide out on me."

"Un momento." Julio paused in thought. "Ah! I know a guy in Philadelphia."

"Philadelphia?"

"I can hook you up."

"But ... I'm in London!"

"Take the next flight then."

I called the airport. The first flight to Philadelphia out of Heathrow was leaving in ... twelve hours? And it was going to take six hours in the air? No no no. I simply wasn't going to be able to make it that long. I needed a better plan, and fast. I opened the front door and grabbed the morning paper. Then it came to me. It was right there on the front page:

Live Aid.

I thumbed through my Rolodex and found Bob Geldof's number.

"Phil? It's 5:00 am!"

"I've got an idea."

"Listen, I've got a thousand logistical details to look after, you already said no to the concert, telling me those Ethiopian children could, and I quote, 'choke on a fucking chicken bone for all I care.' What do you want?"

"I changed my mind."

"Really."

"I ... I want to do the concert."

"Uh ... that's great Phil! That's great. I'm not ... uh ... sure where I can fit you in, this is pretty last minute, you know? You're in town, right?"

"Bob."

"Hmm. Sting's doing a set around 3:00pm, maybe I can ... squeeze you in there somewhere?"

"Bob, hear me out."

"You'll have to just sit at a piano or something, we won't have time to rehearse a full band. I don't know if Sting will be up for it, but it can't hurt to ask -"

"Bob!"

"What?!"

"I want to play London ... and Philadelphia."

The phone grew silent.

"I want to do both shows."

"Listen, Phil, I know you haven't been thinking too clearly lately, there've been rumors going around that you've got some substance abuse issues, I never pay attention to that kind of talk myself, but ... what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Here's the plan: I play in London, you arrange a flight for me on the Concorde, and then I play in Philadelphia. We'll make a whole big 'thing' out of it."

"Sure, but ... what's the point of that?"

"The point? The point? The point, Bob, is that people will see how much fucking effort I'm going through on behalf of the starving fucking children, that they will fork over their hard-earned money for your stupid fucking cause, all right?"

I barely got to Wembley in one piece. You know that piano flub? I made that flub, not out of nervousness, but out of horse tranquilizer withdrawal. I swear, if I'd had to play more than two songs, I would have slit Sting's throat right there on the stage.

We got to the airport. "Out of my fucking way, everybody! Phil Collins needs to get on the fucking Concorde to save the fucking starving children, all right?" A little old curly-haired lady was waiting to get on board; I sprayed her with a can of mace. Suddenly, we were in the air. It was happening.

I had smuggled on board Rot Rot, my cherished hedgehog friend, who people kept trying to tell me was imaginary, but I never listened to them.

"We're on the fucking Concorde, Rot Rot! Right in the middle of Live Aid! Isn't this fucking crazy?"

"Phillip."

"The BBC's about to interview me! In the air! Tonight!"

My spindly companion looked me directly in the eyes. "Philip. I've held my tongue for a long time. But listen to me carefully. I think you have a problem."

"Problem? What are you talking about? They said it couldn't be done, but I'm doing it! I'm playing both concerts! On the same fucking day! Against all odds, dude!"

"You know why you're really doing this concert. You can't fool me. You need help."

"Help? Help? I can quit any time I want to."

"Oh, Phillip. Listen to yourself."

"Look, just enjoy the fucking flight, all right? I'm going to do the same two songs I just did, and then I'm going to play drums for the Led Zeppelin reunion! Isn't that wild??"

He gazed down longingly at the Atlantic churning beneath us. "Honestly, Phillip, I miss those carefree days of yore."

I let out a sigh. "Me too, Rot Rot, me too." I stared out at the wispy nimbus formations floating by me. "Just this one more score, and then I'll scale it back, all right?" I reached into my bag and gave him a tickle.

Soon as we landed, I took a limo to the stadium, and met Julio's connection in a run-down restroom near the parking kiosk. He gave me a shot right in the butt, and I was good to go. You can see that my second performance was just about mistake-free. That was probably why. Anyway, great concert, Live Aid. Glad I did it.

You Thought Your Mormon Tongan R&B Band Was Hot Stuff?

The Jets, eh? Am I the only one wondering where the hell Bennie is? I mean, the members of this band better have electric boots, or I'm gonna be pissed. At the very least, someone needs to be sporting a mohair suit, or I want my money back. I mean, I read it in a magazine - and would the press ever lie to me? Alternatively, do you think the performers in this particular ensemble snapped their fingers as they strutted down derelict Manhattan alleyways and belted "When you're a Jet, you're a Jet all the way, from your first cigarette to your last dying day" in jazzy syncopation? Or wait, wait, here's a third possibility: maybe they played back-up for Joe Namath!

No, sadly, these particular Jets did none of those things. Here's one thing they did do: become the world's greatest Mormon Tongan R&B band. Now, I know what you're thinking. You're about to tell me, "Little Earl, they were probably the world's only Mormon Tongan R&B band." Which could be true for all I know, but does that really lessen the achievement?

The Wolfgramms, or at least eight out of the seventeen Wolfgramm siblings (seventeen? Better step it up guys), were like the Osmonds, but more ... Tongan. Like Debarge but more ... law-abiding. Like Prince (both artists hailed from Minneapolis), but more ... reserved. Have you ever wondered if it would be possible to make R&B music that is almost entirely devoid of sex? Ladies and gentlemen, I give you ... the Jets.

The Jets were so family friendly that I actually saw them perform at the San Mateo County Fair one year. I couldn't believe that the Jets were actually coming to my very own county fair. In person! Didn't they have, like, stadiums to fill or something? But the Jets didn't care about the fame and the glory. They were in it for the people. For years afterward, I wondered if my mind had simply made the Jets up. No one mentioned them for decades. It turns out that they were real.

Or were they? I kind of feel like this is a band that was invented by a room full of cynical TV execs for the sole purpose of starring in a lucrative after-school program, complete with lunchbox and backpack marketing tie-ins. Sort of like Jem and the Holograms, but more ... Tongan and Mormon. Except, no, I think the Jets were just naturally "jetting." They were a self-made phenomenon, living the cheesy '80s pop dream. Check out the video of their first hit, "Crush On You." Up next: Double Dare! Amusingly enough, I just read their Wikipedia article and discovered that the Jets recorded a full-length version of the theme song for Rescue Rangers.



Apparently their LDS elders had no objection to "Cross My Broken Heart" appearing on the Beverly Hills Cops II soundtrack alongside more risque fare such as "I Want Your Sex." Tossing out those morals in a quest for the almighty dollar, eh Jets?



The Jets may have stolen Prince's cutesy spelling schtick with "Rocket 2 U," but if they'd ever bothered to sit down and listen to an actual Prince song, this family's reaction probably would have been more like "Rocket 2 Ewww." I feel like they deliver the line "Baby I can rock it all night" with about as much libidinal urgency as the neighborhood nun.



Frankly, the uptempo stuff may have satisfied the Jets' Minneapolis club crowd, but that wasn't where their bread and butter truly lay. Where they really brought that Pacific Island heat ... was in the slow jams. First up, "You Got It All," and this one does indeed have it all: sterling compositional pedigree (Rupert Holmes, he of "Escape [The Pina Colada Song]" fame), sweet and smoldering lead vocals from the second-youngest member of the family, 13-year-old Elizabeth Wolfgramm (boy, those Tongan girls sure grow up fast), smooth sax break ... it's a lite rock monster.



See, the Jets' ballads are all about the concept of "less is more." It's not what they do, it's what they don't do. Sure, "You Got It All" and "Make It Real" kind of sound like two eight-year-olds farting around on a Casio keyboard in their living room, but who needs all the bells and whistles when you've got that 13-year-old Mormon Tongan power? Like the punchline in that old Mormon joke says, "Bring 'em, and bring 'em young." Actually, on closer listen, I do detect some gnarly guitar pyrotechnics on "Make It Real" (check out the solo at 3:02 and the little fill at 3:49). Don't tell me the Jets also featured the Mormon Tongan Hendrix? Talk about stacked. Even though "Make It Real" describes a darker romantic scenario than the rosier "You Got It All," which would normally give it a leg up in my book, I might have to give the edge to "You Got It All" and its ultra-smooth Yacht Rock backing vocals. It's like a cross between Vanity 6 and Air Supply.



Final thought: what were the other nine Wolfgramm siblings doing this whole time? Selling Girl Scout cookies?

Al B. Sure! Not To Chuckle Too Hard At "Nite And Day" AKA Where Unibrows And Sexy Karate Collide

I'm not sure! of much in this crazy old world, but I'm sure! of one thing: Al B. Sure! surely had the most impressive unibrow in all of '80s R&B. That thing is like a rug. Did he try to shave it, and just give up? Or was this a look he was actually ... cultivating? He reminds me of Maggie's unibrowed "rival baby" on The Simpsons, except, well, sexier.

"Nite and Day" is, along with "Father Figure" and select other singles, a linchpin of what I have referred to earlier as the Summer of '88's "Egyptian Thing." That opening minor key synth riff could have been hummed by the Pharaoh's courtiers during a ceremonial dance along the shores of the Nile, at least as far as my eight-year-old imagination was concerned. I can just see Tutankhamun now, stepping off his throne, sauntering over to a comely maid, trying out these lines:

Ahhh ... can you feel it baby?
I can
Whoo!
Ah ... excuse me
Do you think that ... that I could ... touch you?

On a lesser single, Sure!'s playful little intro might have been the end of it, but on "Nite and Day," we actually hear from the object of his affections, who responds, with a mixture of confusion and flattery, "Who, me?" No, girl, Frosty the fucking Snowman. Yes, of course, you! Get a clue. Al B. Sure! doesn't make mistakes. His name isn't Al B. Unsure!.

Mr. Sure! then proceeds to sing the entire song in a feathery falsetto that probably sounds more effeminate than either he or co-producer Kyle West intended it to, but hey, I guess this was 1988's idea of "sexy." Honestly, with the sinewy force of that haunting chord progression behind him, even if he'd been the fruitiest of fruitcakes, I'll bet he still could've snagged a lady or two, merely by accident. Listen to the smoldering harmonic blend that coalesces around the word "day." It's like they stretch the word "day" into three separate chords. Al B. and West stitched that dreamy wave of backing vocals together more tightly than the hairs above Sure!'s nose.

Of course, vocal acrobatics are par for the course for '80s R&B, but let me tell you what's not: freaky Hendrix-style guitar runs. You hear that psychedelic shredding in the background? Where the hell did that come from? Surely Al B. Sure! didn't drop acid? Seriously, given the genre, talk about a touch I totally didn't expect, and am totally into. I'm thinking that Sure! and West might have sampled it from a preexisting recording - either that, or some unheralded session guitarist's incredible gift for Prince-style riffage was being squandered on a sleazy New Jack Swing single.

Favorite vocal highlight: the little breakdown at 2:39, where Sure!'s voice finally dips into what I assume is his natural range on the word "girl," but not without a comically drawn-out "nnn" sound preceding it. The end product might be rendered thusly: "If you and I were one ... nnn-girl-ah" and "Just take my hand and you'll see ... nnn-girl-ah." Dude is so sex-ay.



Which brings me to the video. Al B. Sure!'s idea of music video dancing strikes me as closer to taekwondo than true choreography, but I'll give him this: at least he's got passion. I keep expecting him to chop a piece of wood between two cinder blocks at some point, but sadly he never does. And what's with all the turtleneck sweaters? Did he have a unibrow on his neck he was trying to hide? One issue that doesn't help is that, somewhere around the middle of the clip, the audio on this particular YouTube upload ceases to sync up with the video properly, making Sure!'s gymnastics seem even more disjointed than they already are. Frankly, the guy wouldn't need to intimidate me with his spastic arm-waving; the unibrow alone would be enough to make me take a few steps back. Favorite YouTube comments (from, one would presume and hope, given liberal use of the "n" word, a mostly black audience):

He just doing too much in this video!!! When he throws his hands up over his head with the ballerina pose, I die laughing every time😂😂😂 classic song tho, he paved the way for light skinned brothas with good hair 👍

Love this song, but I imagine the filming for this video went something like this...
Director : I need more emotion Al
Al : Say no more scowls throughout whole video

when that nigga throw his arms up he must be trying to morph into a Power Ranger or some shit 😂⚡

That stank ass look on his face never ceases to amaze me and crack me up after all these years.

like he was all coked up or sumpin

Dude looks pissed off through the whole damn clip. Maybe he was trying to look hard, but there's no way to look hard while you're singing a song like this.

That was the thing we did back then, made emojis with our face. The emoji he did in this video was the ima get in that ass girl.

Homie is balling out of control with that cardigan Coogi sweater... straight Cosby status, y'all!

looking like Bert from Sesame Street!!! but I still love the New Jack Swing flavor!

its like had to wear protection when he was on stage cuz he was making love to the music

The "B" was for 'brow'. Maybe his name should have been Brow B Sure.

I just watched this shit again...look at that scowl on his face as soon as the video starts! He looks disgusted! This nigga was mad at sunrise! lmao

The Foolish Bleat Of Debbie Gibson's Art

I woke up this morning and thought to myself, "Am I really about to do a blog post on Debbie Gibson?"

Sometimes, a man needs to live on the edge.

Every now and then, I've heard talk about a so-called Debbie Gibson/Tiffany "rivalry." Such chatter, I feel, while well-intentioned, is uninformed and misguided. Debbie Gibson and Tiffany were rivals in about the same sense that, say, the Zombies and Herman's Hermits were rivals. The casual pop music dilettante might not have observed a noticeable demarcation point, but upon closer inspection, one spots a clear difference. The difference being: Debbie Gibson composed her own songs, and Tiffany did not. Granted, one might counter that the songs Debbie Gibson composed may not have been particularly noteworthy songs. But that's not the point. Debbie Gibson carried those little jewels of teen-pop schmaltz in her womb for nine months, suffered morning sickness, took the Lamaze classes, screamed through the agony of labor. What did Tiffany do? Tiffany just drove her pick-up truck to the adoption center. And Gibson was, by the way, about seventeen years old when she composed, produced, and performed said songs. She didn't merely know her target audience; she was her target audience.

You know what? I was sitting here staring at a bunch of Debbie Gibson song titles, and I just had the most shocking realization. I think Debbie Gibson might have been deliberately naming her song titles in a subtle stylistic homage ... to Roxy Music. Seriously. Let's play a little game here. I'm going to throw a few song titles out there, and your job is to try to tell me which songs are by Roxy Music/Bryan Ferry, and which songs are by Debbie Gibson. Ready? Set? Go! (Answers at the bottom of the post):

"Staying Together"
"Let's Stick Together"
"Angel Eyes"
"Lost In Your Eyes"
"Foolish Beat"
"While Me Heart Is Still Beating"
"Only In My Dreams"
"In Every Dream Home A Heartache"
"Don't Stop The Dance"
"Shake Your Love"
"Out Of The Blue"

Damn. Who pegged Debbie Gibson as such a '70s British art-rock aficionado?

But I digress. With her debut single "Only in My Dreams," Gibson attempted to answer the most pressing question of her age: Is generic teen pop more impressive if it's actually been written by the performer? "Probably not" is my answer, but the record-buying public apparently said "Yes," or, perhaps more likely, didn't even notice. Hanson, any thoughts? I would like to point out that when Janis Ian was 14, she wrote "Society's Child (Baby I've Been Thinking)." Just saying.

In the video Gibson finds herself trapped in a Fellini film, waking up in a bed that's been sitting in the middle of a beach (does anyone else really want to know the details of the night she's just had?), surrounded by little girls and a priest. I think I see Marcello Mastroianni in the background playing with a beach ball somewhere. These "dreamlike" black and white shots are interspersed with color footage of Debbie cavorting on a merry-go-round, wearing hoop earrings, a cropped jacket, and ... thigh-length jean shorts? Ah, the '80s. She also copiously moves her hands in front of her face. Maybe it's just me, but this might be the rare instance of a sax solo detracting from the overall power of an '80s song.



While Madonna couldn't abandon her early, fluffy "Minnie Mouse on helium" dance-pop image fast enough, instead quickly pivoting to material about abortion and loathing her father and all that "adult" stuff, Debbie Gibson stormed into the studio clutching her copy of Madonna with all her might and said to the engineer, "I wanna sound like this!" Of course, even in her first incarnation, while her lyrics were more or less dopey, Madonna still used her videos to push boundaries. Based on the contents of the "Shake Your Love" video, I think the only thing Debbie Gibson wanted to push was ... a shoe to her ear (1:24). Favorite YouTube comments:

What brought me here? I am a UPS driver and a lady on my route is named Debbie Gibson. Every time she gets a package I walk in the office and sing " Shake your love!" LOL

Because of Debbie I learned English so well, I'm from Chile. Regards

“shake your love” by debbie gibson was a song she wrote about giving handjobs

Now that would have been boundary-pushing. Well, it turns out Debbie did have a darker, more brooding side. She just needed to be provoked, and nothing provokes a teenage girl like a bad break-up. I mean, we're not talking your run-of-the-mill break-up here. We're talking an End Of The World, Cry of Existential Agony, Lose All Faith In Humanity kind of break-up. If Debbie Gibson has an epic, soul-crushing, legacy-cementing work, that work ... would be "Foolish Beat."



It begins gently, eerily - the feather-light keyboard, acoustic guitar, and lightly-struck bell conjuring the uncertain calm of an autumn sunset. The corresponding images in the video suggest a typical, quotidian evening in New York City. Look at all those people out there, driving home from work, crossing bridges, living in their plush Manhattan digs. You know what all those people have? They have someone. And who does Debbie Gibson have? No one. We catch a quick glimpse of our bereaved at 0:06, lit in silhouette, striking a foreboding pose. She's about to tell us a tale - a heartbreaking tale.

At 0:13, the sax enters. See, this is how you use a saxophone in an '80s song. We see a man walking along a grimy city street, as steam rises up from a manhole. Suddenly, we zoom into a cafe. The narrative commences: "There was a time when/Broken hearts and broken dreams/Were over." Uh ... the grammar needs some work, but I think I get the gist of her intentions: broken hearts and broken dreams were "things of the past." She goes on: "There was a place where/All you could do was/Wish on a four leaf clover." "All you could do"? That's a pretty limited set of options. What about wishing upon a star? Throwing a coin in the well? Did it have to be a clover? The camera pans over and the film stock shifts from color to black and white, clearly giving us a depiction of happier times, as Debbie sits with her paramour while an imposing stack of coffee cups teeters on the table. Seriously, how much coffee did these two drink? No wonder why their relationship didn't work out: they were probably caffeinated up to the gills! They probably couldn't even sit still for five seconds. Talk about "shaking your love."

But then wait, look out, here comes the imitation snare drum: "But now is a new time/There is a new place/Where dreams just can't come true/It started the day when I left you, oh/I could never love again the way that I loved you, oh." Never love again? Like, ever? I don't know, Debbie. Just give it a little more time, you know, watch a movie, get drunk with some friends. He was probably an asshole anyway. He was probably the kind of guy who left the toilet seat up. I can practically hear her shimmying her hips and thrusting her chest when she belts "And WHEN we SAID goodBYE!" as the guitar strums some menacing chords and the keyboard surges. The ache, the longing is so palpable. She's like the cagey little white suburban girl who, for the first time in her sheltered, spotless life, finally discovers her inner tortured R&B diva and decides to let it rip. I love how there's a medium shot of Debbie grieving in her dressing room, and then the camera cuts to a brief close-up at 1:23 just to catch her singing "oh," and then the camera cuts right back out again. That "oh" really needed its own close-up, did it not? At 1:48, she literally wipes a tear away from her eye. Take that, Sinead O'Connor.

"Foolish Beat," how else do I love thee? I love the forlorn stroll along the New York harbor during the second chorus, I love the heavily choreographed "live concert" dance routine during the bridge, I love the snippet of castanets after the lyrics "without your heart," the little blast of synthesized brass at 3:11 (right before "break my heart"), the shot of Debbie and her former beau attempting to buy roses during the sax solo, where everything is in black and white except the roses - like that scene in Schindler's List with the girl in the red coat, only bleaker - and just as they're about to purchase a bouquet, some brat on a skateboard snatches it from them! I tell ya, it just wasn't in the cards for these two.

OK, fine, I get it. I'm sure her break-up is a bummer of epic proportions and all, but why do I still get the sense that this whole episode is merely a result of Debbie's youthful inexperience? Let me put it this way: When Karen Carpenter sings "I'll say goodbye to love," I really believe that Karen is permanently, irrevocably saying adios to romantic fulfillment. Debbie Gibson just sounds like she's having a bad weekend. Indeed, although in the last shot, her ex tosses roses into a trashcan while waiting in vain outside a Debbie Gibson concert (he really puts some fear and loathing into that toss), the melody concludes on an unexpected major chord, suggesting a sense of ... optimism and renewal? Don't worry Debbie, everything gets better in college - at least that's what they tell me.

A: Debbie Gibson; Roxy Music; Roxy Music; Debbie Gibson; Debbie Gibson; Roxy Music; Debbie Gibson; Roxy Music; Roxy Music; Debbie Gibson; Debbie Gibson and Roxy Music

Belinda Takes Britain (AKA The Belinda Invasion)

While they may have been America's Sweethearts, the Go-Go's never exactly "made it" in the U.K. Despite the Terry Hall connection, their version of "Our Lips are Sealed" peaked at #47, a chart placing which was easily surpassed by that of the Fun Boy Three's own version two years later (#7). Vacation, the album, hit #75, aaaaand ... that was about it. Don't ask me to come up with an explanation. Maybe the nation that had produced the Slits, Siouxsie and the Banshees, and the X-Ray Spex expected their female rockers to be a little more ... rockier? Maybe the Brits had gotten their fill of retro '60s girl group revivalism from Blondie? Maybe, as I partially suspect, I.R.S. Records lacked strong overseas distribution infrastructure? Poor international distribution is, after all, the reason why R.E.M. ultimately left I.R.S. in 1987 to sign with Warner Brothers, and how did that decision go? Hold on, let me take a quick glance at their international discography page on Wikipedia, and ... yup, I'd say that decision worked out fairly well for them.

Perhaps the most amusing aspect of Belinda Carlisle's solo career, then, is that, to Europeans, she seemingly arrived out of "nowhere" in early 1988 with "Heaven is a Place on Earth," and suddenly created an entirely new fan base that possessed virtually no familiarity with her former band, or her former image. Talk to anyone today in the U.S., and they would probably think of Belinda as the lead singer of the Go-Go's, who also happened to have had a few big solo hits in the late '80s, but whose main claim to fame was the band she fronted. Talk to anyone today in the U.K., and they would almost exclusively think of Belinda as a solo singer, and they might be dimly aware of Belinda having once been in some all-girl band, in the sense that most Americans might be dimly aware that Billy Idol had once been in some punk band. I'm serious!

And once Belinda took Britain by storm, she never looked back.

Allow me to demonstrate, if I may, the seismic force that Belinda brought to her invasion of the Commonwealth by showing you this clip of Belinda performing "Heaven is a Place on Earth" at the 1987 Prince's Trust concert. For several years, this clip was the single most-viewed Belinda Carlisle clip on YouTube (since surpassed by the proper, Vevo-endorsed "Heaven" music video itself). The Prince's Trust, according to my sources, is a charity founded by Prince Charles for the purpose of "helping young people." Kind of a vague mission, no? Well, who am I to judge? The Prince's Trust began holding a series of all-star concerts in the late '80s. Now, who better to "help young people" - young men in particular - than Belinda Carlisle in her smokin' hot prime, amirite? The YouTube user who posted the video adds the qualifier, "This is definitely not her best performance because she was sick, but I still think she did a great job :)". So what I want to know is: if this is what she sounded like on a sick day, then how unfathomably rip-roarin'-rockin' would she have sounded if she'd been healthy? Sure, there are a couple of bum notes - her voice cracks awkwardly at both 1:56 and 2:58 ("Baby ey-ah was afraid before") - but ... it's kind of hot! All that means is just that she's too fired up to let smooth technique get her way, you know? I also catch a mic feedback squeal here and there, but I feel this merely adds to the compelling chaos. Belinda wasn't some manufactured studio concoction, my friends. Belinda could walk the walk, and she could talk the talk.

Indeed, one aspect of Belinda as a performing artist that may have gone unnoticed by the casual observer is that she ... hated lip-syncing. Hated it. Couldn't stand it. Tried to avoid doing it whenever possible. It's funny that Belinda pursued a musical style that couldn't have gotten further away from punk if it had hopped on a rocket ship to Mars, and yet, somehow, some way, some stray, leftover bits of punk attitude must have remained behind that Revlon-smothered facade. In other words, no matter how tame the material, she always tried to show up on that stage and give the crowd a performance that was real.

Here in this clip we see a Belinda that's raw, that's sloppy, that's going on feel, rather than meticulous tonal perfection. Not every note's flawless? She doesn't give a damn. That's rock and roll, baby. I have seen more live Belinda Carlisle clips than a reasonable person would care to admit, but I am amazed at how rarely she has phoned it in - no matter how drunk, no matter how high, no matter how disoriented. She would just grab that audience by the throat and say, "Fuck you! I'm a star!" Even if she felt like shit that night, she got up onto that stage and she gave it all she had. Some performers know no other way.



Fashion-wise, the clip finds Belinda in her Geena Davis phase, wearing some type of tight black dress/bodysuit (?), with a light green skirt that she had apparently borrowed from ... Wilma Flintstone? Why would she be wearing the green skirt if she was already wearing the black thing? Because. I wonder if the bass player behind her in polka dot shirt and tight leather pants might be in the wrong band. Astute viewers might also recognize Charlotte Caffey singing backup, alongside the infamous Donna DeLory (the brunette of the three), who would spend a much lengthier stint (20 years?) singing backup in Madonna's touring band. They're barely audible, but Belinda doesn't sound like she needs 'em anyway. I think they were mostly there to keep Belinda entertained; check out the conspiratorial glance she gives them at 3:37. Indeed, "Heaven" seems to rock harder overall in this stripped-down live context, with the keyboard carrying almost the entire melody, and the substitution of actual drums for what I believe was a drum machine on the original adding particular oomph. The muted backing certainly creates a different vibe from the massive wall of ethereal vocal overdubs and assorted Rick Nowels tchotchkes featured on the studio recording. Favorite YouTube comments:

Belinda is off key here a bit and her skirt is ridiculous but I'd still do her.

i like that she is wearing clothes unlike today's popstars! cough miley cough

I love it that by todays (pop star) standards Belinda is FAT here. 

Belinda's career ended way too soon. There were so many more faps to've been had. 

The prince is fapping up in the balcony omg did I just say that ( : o

Watch Belinda Carlisle as she delivers her hit song, while dressed in a black leotard and a kitchen apron.

Belinda - dump the 80s and come to me...

dangity dang belinda

The bass player's using a Steinberger! You don't see that anymore...

Wow... if this is the type of performance that needs a "She was sick" disclaimer that that says a whole lot about the quality of live performers we have these days. Even when she's not at her best, Belinda is lightyears better than most of the live shit I have heard for quite some time now. Rock the fuck on, girl.

I would give my left nut just to jam with Belinda for half an hour.

man känner bara för att sjunga med hela tiden =)

How much did Belinda hate lip-syncing? Belinda hated lip-syncing so much that when she went on Top of the Pops to bask in her British triumph ("Heaven is a Place on Earth" peaked at #1 in the U.K. for two weeks in January 1988), she actually performed the vocals ... live. Live? On Top of the Pops? Talk about a rebel. The thing is, she sounds so effortlessly on top of this particular piece of pop, I'll bet most viewers hardly even noticed - also, they possibly didn't notice because the rest of the instrumentation is not live. Her back-up band certainly seems to be having fun with the prerequisite TOTP miming, particularly the two guitarists at 2:31, right before the key change, who bang their heads as if they were miming to Def Leppard - and perhaps, in a way, they might as well have been. Remarkably (disturbingly?), Belinda somehow looks a bit thinner here than she did at the Prince's Trust concert, even though this clip had ostensibly been filmed only a short while afterward. Here she's rocking some sort of female power suit, complete with blazer, skirt, and bow on the lapel. It's her "Sexy CEO" look. Hey, I'd buy stock in that company, you know what I'm saying? Let us stop, for a moment, if we may, to admire the absolute perfection of her hair. Seriously, that might be the most perfect hair I've ever seen. It's so perfect, it's almost a pity she had to perform in it. Millions of impressionable young Britons must have sat in front of the telly and said to themselves, "Blimey, who's the American bird with the catchy tune? And when does the next clip of her come on, please?" As one viewer put it in the YouTube comments section years ago (I think the comment is long gone by now), "This is back when Belinda was an 11." Yes indeed. To paraphrase Spinal Tap, this Belinda does go up to 11.

George Michael: "Father" Of Incest Pop? (Go "Figure") AKA Sexiest Cab Driver Ever

The pop songs in which a male singer refers to his loved one as "baby" are too numerous to mention, but with "Father Figure," I think George Michael finally took this incestuous notion to its proper, logical conclusion.

George's musical achievements are many, but it's time to give credit where credit is due: although it faces stiff competition from the Police's "Don't Stand So Close to Me," Benny Mardones's "Into the Night," and Bruce Springsteen's "I'm On Fire," "Father Figure" may be the statutory rape anthem of the '80s. Despite George's proclamation that he has "had enough of crime," I would surmise that there is one crime he still hasn't quite had enough of. In fact, not only is he willing to be this underage girl's (or boy's?) "father," but also, potentially, her "preacher," her "teacher" - indeed, "anything" she might have in mind. Anything? How about cowboy, construction worker ... maybe a cop?

But don't misunderstand me. The vaguely predatory nature of "Father Figure" is not a bug, but a feature. It gives what could have been a bland ballad a distinctively menacing edge. Take the incestuous jailbait out of "Father Figure," and what have you got? Nothing. Nada. Bupkus. You've got a Whitney Houston album track. It needs its pubescent longing.

Or maybe not, given that the melody is arguably the most hauntingly seductive one that George ever came up with. Indeed, "Father Figure" is George Michael's chief contribution to what my eight-year-old self dubbed the Summer of '88's "Egyptian Thing." No snake charmer from the Arabian Nights could have conjured up a synth riff as beguilingly hypnotic as the one that first appears between 0:09 and 0:18. Hey, you ride that camel, George, that's what I say. You ride that camel all night long. One has to admit, Georgios the Greek sets quite the Mediterranean mood here: gentle "cymbal" taps to start with, then two "bass drum" beats followed by finger snaps and some sort of "sandpaper" percussion effect. The spell is so enchanting that the listener may not even notice the tinkling piano that enters at the start of the second verse, but it's what those in the business call a "nice touch."

The chorus almost shows up without warning, as a gang of female gospel vocalists pop up and make the religious undertones of the words "father" and "preacher" just a tad more explicit. Those random session pros sure have got the jailbait "spirit," all right. They've got it so bad, in fact, that they practically drown out George's "lead" singing. Seriously, just listen closely to that initial chorus. For a #1 hit, this is kind of a ... weird mix, you know? George sort of "whisper-grunts" the phrases "it would make me ... very happy ... please let me" in counterpoint to the back-up singers, as if he's afraid of getting caught with his hands in his teen sexpot's pajama bottoms.

Suddenly, during the bridge, the mood takes a turn for the intense, with the melody shifting dramatically as George really, really tries to convince his underage object of conquest that she should totally, totally trust him: "So when you remember the ones who-have-lied/Who said that they cared but then laughed-as-you cried/Beautiful darling, don't think of meeeeeeee/because all I ever wanted..." And BOOM: the main melody returns reassuringly, along with some smoldering Spanish guitar, and, frankly, if I were this girl, at this point I'd sleep with the guy no matter what our age gap might be.

By the start of the third bridge, the intensity seems to have died down again, as the back-up singers coo "Greet me with the eyes of a child," but then George really lets it rip (with generous application of echo) on "Just hold on! Hold on! And I won't let you go-ohhhhh, mah baby!" This time through the chorus, he is right out in front and not ashamed to hide his taboo inclinations. All that pent-up longing for a Lolita to call his own comes pouring out at 5:03 ("I will be yoah-hooooe!") and 5:06 ("fahhh-thuuuuh!"), culminating in the magnificently shameless and undisguised exhortation "I'll your dadd-ay, whoa!" All the instrumentation recedes as George, alone in the dark, puts one last little flourish on this bad boy: "Till the end of ... tyyyme," pausing before the word "time" as if he's glancing around for the nearest alleyway to duck through. The Egyptian synth riff takes a final bow, and the curtain closes. For one more evening at least, this devious patriarch is safe from society's disapproving censure.



I suppose I'm playing up the predatory nature of the song a bit much, because honestly, "Father Figure," like any classic '80s ballad, can be interpreted in a number of ways, as the video certainly demonstrates. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you ... the sexiest cab driver in the history of film. Imagine if Travis Bickle had been sexy instead of psychotic. Let's see how this sounds: "You talkin' to me ... honey?" Kinda works? George's co-star in this sordid affair was one Tania Coleridge, later known as Tania Harcourt-Cooze. Initially I assumed Tania was just some random supermodel with a boring background, but whoa, was I off. From Wikipedia:

The daughter of Major William Duke Coleridge, 5th Baron Coleridge of Ottery St Mary, a Major in the Coldstream Guards, and his first wife Everild Tania Hambrough, she is directly related to the poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge ... Born in Kenya, she followed her father's British Army career until her parents divorced in 1977 when she was 11 ... Completing a fine arts diploma in London, she joined the punk rock revolution, and would hang out on the Kings Road, Chelsea ... Having met Willie Harcourt-Cooze in her late teens, she married the Venezuelan-based businessman in 1993. Using the funds from the sale of his London flat and his family's money, the couple purchased a 1,000 acres (400 ha) cocoa hacienda in Choroni, and planted more than 50,000 Criollo cocoa trees ... She came to public prominence again in 2008 with the airing of the fly-on-the-wall documentary, Willie's Wonky Chocolate Factory, centred on her husband's efforts to be one of the first Britons since the Cadbury family to grow, import and produce their own chocolate.

Hold on a second. We've got Victorian poet ancestors, Kenyan births (take that Obama!), Venezuelan chocolate magnates, pun-laden British documentary titles ... and that's not even mentioning the video for "Father Figure"! I guess dating a cab driver really would have been slumming it for this girl. I love the moment in the video at 0:27 where the cab comes into view and behind the wheel we see ... George Michael. But not just any George Michael, it's the "iconic" George Michael: sunglasses, stubble, crucifix earrings, leather jacket ... it's the Faith-era George in all his flawless glory, and he's driving a fucking cab. Consider my disbelief ... suspended.

At first it's not really clear if these two know each other. We see George in his bedroom, tacking magazine cuttings of Tania up onto his wall in a shrine-like manner, then we see Tania backstage with her pasty white rivals, prepping for a runway show. Suddenly, BOOM, at 1:53, George starts getting his hetero on, and you realize that these two are in more than just a "driver/passenger relationship" if you know what I mean. Shots of their not-at-all-fictional lovemaking are juxtaposed with shots of Tania strutting her stuff for the paparazzi in some type of business suit with a ... cone bra/corset thingy? Whatever she's wearing, the point is, she's got "it." But you know where she gets her "it" from? Her secret cab driver boyfriend, that's where. At 2:11, the camera pans across her brightly-lit dressing room, where she's being delicately, attentively dressed (or undressed?), and then gradually wanders into the shadows, where George lurks mysteriously, lighting a cigarette, giving her the hidden mojo she needs without dragging her down into his rough-and-tumble milieu.

Later, a charming photographer tries to coax the right "look" from Tania, while George surreptitiously peaks through the door in the back (at 3:00). I mean, the photographer's cute and sensitive and all, but he can't give her the animalistic passion that Mr. Cabbie can. Sometimes the pressure can gnaw at the most poised professional, as the brief "freak out" montage beginning at 4:41 illustrates: Tania slaps George, pushes her photographer, and even tosses her lipstick apparatus onto the table in supremely diva-esque fashion. God, life as a supermodel is so hard, you know? But ultimately, she gets back out there on the runway, as the faceless crowd greets her adoringly. Little do they know about the brutal, private agonies, about the sacrifice it takes for her to get there, but George knows. At 5:07 there's a brief shot of George with his head against the pillow, opening his eyes, as if he's saying, "Don't forget me, baby, I made you who you are." Finally, at 5:18, while she's out on that runway working what God gave her, she spots her lover (ex-lover?) in the audience, standing there anonymously, emotionlessly. But sometimes, nothing need be said. A glance can say it all.

As always, Professor Higglediggle offers a rather opaque take:

Often read as a vigorous embrace of the commodity scientism of patriarchal attachment, "Father Figure" can potentially be (re)read as a denial of the overworked codes of pre-sexualized discourse, albeit from within a heterocentric framework. The singer's rejection of the pre-existing, pseudo-hegemonic order ("Sometimes love can be mistaken for a crime") acts as a post-Nietzschean declaration of liberated ideals ("Anything you have in mind"). The interstitial suggestions of ephebophilia ("put your tiny hand in mine," etc.) sit uneasily against the singer's inequitable occupation (cab driver) and desire to mediate the taboo of underage courtship with filial duty.

Kylie Minogue, Version 1.0: Australia's Answer To ... Rick Astley?

By 1987, Stock Aitken Waterman had everything they could have ever wanted ... except their very own Madonna. I guess Hazell Dean wasn't going to cut it? Putting their mind-numbingly repetitive stamp on established veterans like Bananarama was all well and good, but they needed someone more fresh, more green, more pliable - someone they could mold into their own tacky Hi-NRG image. But where, oh where, were they going to find her?

She came from Down Under.

Kylie Minogue was a star on the Australian soap opera Neighbours, where, per Wikipedia, she played a "schoolgirl turned mechanic." Oh, one of those. After an early version of "The Loco-Motion" (not the better known, re-recorded version) became a #1 Australian hit, she headed to England to seek fame, fortune, and, as fate would have it, Stock Aitken Waterman. Little did the trio anticipate the magnitude of the moment. From Wikipedia:

After the success of her debut single "Locomotion" in Australia, Minogue traveled to London to work with Stock Aitken Waterman, a successful British writing and production team. They knew little of Minogue and had forgotten that she was arriving; as a result, they wrote "I Should Be So Lucky" in forty minutes while she waited outside the recording studio. Mike Stock wrote the lyrics for the song in response to what he had learned about Minogue prior to her arrival. He believed that although she was a successful soap star in Australia and very talented, there must be something wrong with her and figured that she must be unlucky in love.

Something wrong with her? What the hell dude? She was 19! Yeah, I'll tell you what was wrong with her: choosing to work with Stock Aitken Waterman, the guys who brought the world Rick Freaking Astley, had one lousy production formula that they ran into the ground, and who were known to pass brutally harsh judgment on 19-year-old Aussie soap stars they barely even knew! Well, you better believe that after the single became a UK #1 hit, they didn't think there was anything wrong with her then. Although most Americans probably assume that "The Loco-Motion" was Kylie Minogue's only US Top 40 hit until "Can't Get You Out of My Head" crossed over more than twenty years later, "I Should Be So Lucky" actually peaked at #28 over here - which ain't too bad for a single from an entirely unknown quantity that reeked from top to bottom of glitzy Eurotrash. The verses kinda sound like the bridge of Astley's "Together Forever," but I'll be honest, I'd rather stare at Kylie Minogue in a music video than Rick Astley.

The clip features footage of our Aussie ingenue prancing around in a credulity-stretching apartment (Q: Who has a bathtub just ... sitting in the middle of the room like that?), interspersed with shots of Kylie in some sort of strapless prom dress standing in front of several images that appear to have been blown up far beyond the point of quality resolution, their pixels having made me question the YouTube video bit rate until I realized that Kylie's face is perfectly high-res. At 2:51, her poor nail file gets some particularly violent treatment.

Goffin/King's "The Loco-Motion" had already been a hit twice over: first in 1962 for Little Eva at the crest of both the girl group and dance crazes, and then again in 1974 for Grand Funk Railroad under the glam-inflected thumb of producer Todd Rundgren, but clearly Kylie Minogue's version had one thing those other versions didn't:

Stock Aitken Waterman.

Boy, people must have gone for anything in 1988. Its popularity assisted by its appearance in Arthur 2: On the Rocks, this version peaked at #3 in the U.S., which may have seemed to augur a promising stateside career for Minogue, but in retrospect, may have convinced Americans that this was a recording artist whose subsequent work would not be worth following in any way, shape, or form. And who would have blamed them? Kylie spends part of the video dancing in front of what appears to be genuine New York subway graffiti. Yeah, you know Kylie, tagging those Bronx underpasses with her gang signs at 3:00 a.m. These days, she performs the song in a slightly more "adult" fashion.

If the U.S. had seen enough of Kylie, the U.K., Australia, and Europe were settling in for the long haul. "Got to Be Certain" and "Je Ne Sais Pas Porquoi" both hit #2 in Britain, the latter boasting a cinematic, Parisian-flavored video that, in a rare '80s reversal, feels less dated to me than the song it was promoting. C'est la vie, as they say.

Q: Was it possible to be less successful in the U.S. than Kylie Minogue? A: If you were fellow Australian soap star Jason Donovan, it was. While Britain went bonkers over their squeaky-clean duet "Especially For You" (the song being the biggest UK hit of 1989), America was instead treated to one last single from Kylie, "It's No Secret," which petered out at #37, but at least featured a video of Kylie running around the majestic mountains and windswept beaches of her homeland wearing a strapless rainbow top (with some sort of "aborigine" design on it?) that I imagine needed to be peeled off delicately, lest her breasts be accidentally ripped off with it.

"Take Me Home": Can't He Just ... Call An Uber? AKA Phil's Frantic Search For Drugs Turns Into One Expensive Video

Question raised by the opening seconds of "Take Me Home": What's better than one rapidly bleeping pre-programmed synth pattern? How about two rapidly bleeping pre-programmed synth patterns? Good thing I like the sound of those two synth patterns, because that's pretty much this whole song's raison d'etre. Well, gradually some sustained, droning guitar slips into the mix, as well as actual "human" drums from You Know Who, which both serve to ratchet up the claustrophobic tension, but "Take Me Home" is a textbook example of Phil's uncanny ability to do a lot with just a little. It's the kind of song that finds its hypnotic '80s groove right off the bat and could more or less go on forever. You can't help but nod along, like a bleary-eyed junkie. But why does he want to be "taken home" anyway? And what exactly is it that he "doesn't remember"? Maybe he lost Billie's number?

Frankly, I always assumed "Take Me Home" was just another song about Phil's crumbling marriage(s), but apparently it was inspired by One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and is sung from the point of view of a man in a mental institution (!). Let's take a look:

Take that look of worry
I'm an ordinary man
They don't tell me nothing
So I find out what I can
There's a fire that's been burning
Right outside my door
I can't see but I feel it
And it helps to keep me warm
So I, I don't mind
No I, I don't mind

Who lives in a building where a fire would be burning outside one's door? I mean, as long as the door itself doesn't catch fire, and as long as the fire keeps the guy warm, then I guess I don't have a problem with it. Or is Phil trying to make this fairly unreliable narrator sound like an insane man? Honestly, he doesn't sound any more insane than the narrator in "Sussudio" does, but that's just me.

Seems so long I've been waiting
Still don't know what for
There's no point escaping
I don't worry anymore
I can't come out to find you
I don't like to go outside
They can't turn off my feelings
Like they're turning off a light
But I, I don't mind
No I, I don't mind

Hmmmm. "There's no point escaping"? "I don't like to go outside"? This is at least a bit more insane asylum-ish. It's as if Harding, Cheswick, and Billy Babbitt broke into Nurse Ratched's office one night, stole a drum machine, and laid their souls bare in a riveting demo!

So take, take me home
Cause I don't remember
Take, take me home, oh lord
Cause I've been a prisoner all my life
And I can say to you

"Say to you..." what? What?? Finish the sentence Phil! "And I can say to you ... anyone seen my car keys?" What's the thing that he says? That line has always puzzled me.

Take that look of worry, mine's an ordinary life
Working when it's daylight
And sleeping when it's night
I've got no far horizons
I don't wish upon a star
They don't think that I listen
Oh but I know who they are
And I, I don't mind

Well, I'm inclined to think Cuckoo's Nest may have been more of a "starting off" point than a literal source of inspiration, but all I know is, in the words of Randall P. McMurphy, every time I listen to "Take Me Home," my ears light up like a pinball machine and I pay off in silver dollars.

In making the video, Phil demonstrated the kind of artistic patience that only the likes of Richard Linklater, director of Boyhood, would have been able to muster. I guess he thought to himself, "Well, the song's called 'Take Me Home.' I'm about to go on a world tour. I've got it. Every time we stop in a new city, I'll film a little bit of the video, and then when the tour's over, we'll edit all the footage together!" It's like the Around the World in 80 Days of the MTV Generation (with a far less dashing David Niven stand-in - or maybe Phil is Cantinflas in this scenario?). I just have one question for Phil: ever heard of a green screen? In fact, so much time elapsed between the filming of each piece of footage, you can actually see his hair line shifting from shot to shot. The video strikes me as a bit gimmicky, and it certainly doesn't have much to do with the (alleged) insane asylum theme of the song, but I will grudgingly admit that I find it compelling. One thought: The "shark" that attacks Phil in the pool in L.A. - a commentary on the bloodthirsty rapaciousness of the Hollywood entertainment industry?



Of course, that's the official line on the "Take Me Home" clip. The real story, as you might have guessed, is much less flattering. From In the Air Tonight:

It was after a show in Manchester. Our bassist had really been on fire that night. They say the tapes are out there somewhere, but I haven't heard them in years. Anyway, the next morning I woke up, I was twitching like a motherfucker. I thought I could make it through the week without needing my fix of Phil's Best Phriend, AKA horse tranquilizer, but I guess I'd been a bit overconfident. I kicked out two underage Samoan girls from my bed - I like 'em plump and pretty - and stumbled to the payphone in the lobby.

"Julio, it's Phil, I need a new batch."

"Uh ... no can do, Senior Collins."

"No can do? Why the hell not?"

"Market getting tight on jugo del caballo. Running low everywhere."

"Running low? Look, I don't give a shit, just find me some!"

"Felipe, you gonna have to look for yourself."

"Look for myself? Where the fuck do you suggest?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere. Travel el mundo. Big cities your best bet."

"Travel the globe for horse tranquilizer? Aren't people going to wonder what the hell I'm doing? We've gotta think about the optics here."

Julio paused for several seconds. "Ah, I got it!"

"What?"

"You just released that song, how does it ... 'Taaaake, take me home," si?"

"Yeah?"

"How you do this, with song after song, I have no idea. You never stop with the great songs, Felipe."

"Uh huh."

"I love the production, the drums ... muy bueno -"

"Can we cut to the fucking chase here?"

"So ... you have these words in the song, "Take me home.' You travel around to big cities, you look for the jugo, but you also make music video."

"Huh?"

"You show yourself in front of famous things, singing part of words, then come back, cut all the film together, and ... BOOM! New music video for new Phil Collins hit. So you look for drugs, but you tell people you are making music video."

It was a no-brainer. Sure, I told everybody I was on tour, filming little snippets of the video between gigs, but as they say in Texas, "Never trust a balding English drummer." So I scavenged the globe: London, New York, Tokyo, LA, Chicago, Paris, San Francisco ... you name it. Unfortunately, everywhere I went, I was coming up with jack squat. Felipe wasn't kidding around! There are certain shots where you can see how bad I was doing - like Memphis, for example. People think I was just bopping my head to the music, but that was actually me suffering from withdrawal. Had a good lead in Sydney, but it turned out to be just a bag of sunflower oil. A bartender lost an eye as a result. Sorry, but if you give Phil Collins a false lead, you're gonna pay the fucking price.

Eventually I tracked some down in a derelict Stockholm gym. Two Irish bartenders led me to the storage room, gave me a ziplock bag of the stuff. I headed into the bathroom, plunged the syringe straight into my chest, Pulp Fiction-style, and felt that sweet, sweet rush once again. The next thing I knew, I was half-conscious, lying in a tub of anti-freeze.

"Is he up yet?"

"I think he's comin' 'round."

"Phil! Hey Phil! Where's the money you said you were gonna give us?"

"Uhn?"

"Phil! We hooked you up, now it's time you pay."

"Uh ... it's ... shit I know where-ih-is," I mumbled incoherently. "It's nnnn mah shoe."

"We looked in your shoe."

"Uh ... it's in uh ..drum kit."

"That's not an answer." The two beefy leprechauns looked at each other and sighed. "He's out of it."

"Yeah."

"What do we do with him?"

"I don't know. You know what I say? Just take ... take him home. 'Cause he don't remember."

I Think We're A Random Confluence Of Two Tommy James & The Shondells Covers Now

I once had a conversation with a co-worker about Tommy James and the Shondells. As one often does. I assumed that he, like many people, was familiar with their long string of eminently hummable late '60s hits, but might not have been aware that each of those hits had been performed by Tommy James and the Shondells (I've also had variations of this exact conversation regarding the collected works of Three Dog Night). After I listed several song titles, he nodded sagely and grinned in recognition, before pausing in thought. "You know," he said, "Those are all songs that are kind of about sex, but not quite." I hadn't ever looked at the TJ&S catalog from that angle. "Hanky Panky." "Do Something to Me." "Crystal Blue Persuasion." Hmmm. A fine legacy for an artist. I can almost see the inscription on James's tombstone now: "Master of Songs That Were Sort of About Sex, But Not Quite."

By 1987, James wasn't master of anything other than the oldies revival circuit (although Joan Jett's 1982 cover of "Crimson and Clover" was perhaps a sign of royalty payments to come), but he was in luck: after a period in which pop songs had become more blatant on the subject of fornication, there was suddenly a desperate thirst, once more, for songs that were sort of about sex, but not quite. To paraphrase Huey Lewis, it was hip to be coy. James's time had come.

Fame came much more quickly to one Tiffany Darwish of Norwalk, California (originally of - hold on a second - Irish, Native American, Syrian, and Lebanese descent?). After touring Alaska when she was eleven years old, she appeared on Star Search, finishing in second place (just as she would in her rivalry with Debbie Gibson - burn!). Svengali manager George Tobin, sensing a bloodthirsty appetite for faceless pop among the teens and pre-teens of the world, set Tiffany out on a tour of shopping malls and dubbed it "The Beautiful You: Celebrating The Good Life Shopping Mall Tour '87." Who wouldn't want to head down to the local shopping mall and see that? Never heard of the performer? Who cares, this show's not about the performer, it's about you - the beautiful you. Well in that case. According to Wikipedia, Ms. Darwish initially hated the idea of covering "I Think We're Alone Now," deeming it "neither modern enough nor hip enough." Ironically, in 2018, Tommy James's version may sound both more modern and more hip than Tiffany's version does, but in 1987, at any rate, her instincts couldn't have been more off than if she'd tried to, I don't know, record Irish-Lebanese teen-pop for Alaskans.

There are two moments in the bridge that reveal Tiffany's arguable limitations as a vocalist: 1) When she hits the word "night" on "Trying to get away into the night," she attempts this pseudo-rocker growl that, to these ears at least, sounds amusingly contrived; 2) She tries to string together the words in the line "And then we tumble to the ground and then you say" really sloppily and bluesily, like she's Mick Jagger or Jim Morrison or somebody much raunchier than her. Every time the bridge appears in the song, she delivers these lines with the same exact affectation. It's not a complete wash: the little overdubbed harmony she performs with herself on the line "anyone around" is a nice touch. She definitely sounds like a sad little teen whose parents just won't let her run away with her equally sad little boyfriend. The key to the song's success, of course, was that her target audience (including yours truly) was living in complete ignorance of the original. Here were my eight-year-old thoughts: "Wow! Where did Tiffany come up with this great new song? And if she could come up with a song this great, how many more great songs is she going to come up with?"



Do you think Weird Al intended "I Think I'm a Clone Now" to be a comment on the manufactured and pre-packaged nature of teen-pop sensations such as Tiffany? Or am I reading too much into things? It's funny how the quality of the musical backing on Weird Al's version is easily on par with Tiffany's; the budget for his version might have actually been higher than hers. Most groan-inducing puns: "I guess you could say/I'm really beside myself" and "Cause every pair of genes is a hand-me-down." Humor that sharp could never be ... duplicated.

Like Tiffany, William Michael Albert Broad is better known to the world by a much shorter name. And like Sweet or Kiss before him, he managed to cultivate an image of being a total hard-rocking badass while essentially making radio-friendly pop singles. Lest anyone accuse Billy Idol of jumping on some sort of "Tommy James Revival Train," it should be noted that he originally covered "Mony Mony" in 1981. However, to promote his excellently named 1987 remix collection Vital Idol, he released a live cover of "Mony Mony," which, in one of those Billboard chart oddities that one might be tempted to imbue with some grand meaning, but is probably about as random as the weather, eventually bumped "I Think We're Alone Now" off the top of the charts. Or maybe Tommy James was secretly plotting to take over the world THE WHOLE TIME. If that was indeed the plan, using Tiffany and Billy Idol as his agents of doom was certainly an unexpected strategy. Although I think the live version of "Mony Mony" is strong (as live versions go), I'm ultimately partial to the studio version; both somehow manage to out-sleaze the already-sleazy original. And even though the live version is what officially hit #1, the odd thing is, I feel like I remember Top 40 radio playing both versions. It's been a long time since I've come across the live version on the dial, let's just say that.



I love performers whose hair is whiter than their skin. Also: At first I thought it was amazing how Idol's leather jacket mysteriously managed to fly off his chest at some point between the first and second verse, but then I noticed the little jacket twirl at 1:28, and breathed a continuity sigh of relief. I should also mention the part where he starts to grope the keyboardist in the slinky red dress and she gets a look on her face that seems to say, "Erm, not now Billy, we're on stage!"

So I guess Weird Al figured that, if he was going to parody one recent Tommy James cover on Even Worse, he might as well parody the other, right? Which brings me to, in my humble opinion, one of the unheralded gems in the Yankovic catalog: "Alimony." Al turns James's/Idol's paean to lust into a bitter lament over the unseemly financial fine print of a marriage gone wrong. It's hard to say what Billy Idol was so worked up about in his version, but this guy? No wonder he sounds so sweaty. She took his toothbrush too? Show the poor schlub some mercy. At least no one could accuse Weird Al's take as being a song that's sort of about sex, but not quite; this couple clearly hasn't slept together for decades. Amusingly, "Alimony" is a parody of the live version, complete with fake audience ambiance and the whole works. I'll say this: if Tommy James ever happened to find himself staring down any ugly alimony payments in the late '80s, let's hope he received some nice financial assistance from all this malarkey.

"Heaven Is A Place On Earth" (Video): Diane Keaton + Creepy Globe Children + Wall Fondling ... What More Could You Want?

Music videos can be many things, but one thing that even the best of them cannot be is "catchy." It was therefore inevitable that the music video for "Heaven Is a Place on Earth" - which I have deemed, after rigorous analysis, to be the "Catchiest Song of All Time" - would fall short of the title "Catchiest Music Video of All Time." Nevertheless, while the song may have been (as I have so irrefutably established) written by God himself, the video was quite obviously created by decidedly more ... mortal forces. From Lips Unsealed:

Through Morgan's best friend, John Burnham, I was fortunate enough to get Academy Award-winning actress Diane Keaton to direct the videos for "Heaven Is a Place on Earth" and "I Get Weak." I was almost intimidated to meet her, but she was utterly charming and thoroughly inspirational in her approach to work. I only had to look at her body of work or the way she dressed (beautifully and with style) to know she had great taste, so I said, "Just do what you want."

And, by the looks of it, that is exactly what Keaton did. At first blush, the phrase, "Directed by Academy Award winner Diane Keaton" would suggest a video of supreme quality, and then one steps back and realizes, "Wait a minute. Diane Keaton is an Academy Award-winning actress, not a Academy Award-winning director." I'm guessing most of the participants involved were not sober enough to know the difference. Well, as music videos go, this one's more First Wives Club than The Godfather, but everyone had a great time making it, so who cares? I'm also not sure that Belinda was aware of the low relevancy level between Keaton's fashion gifts and her video-making prowess, but, hey ... she got Diane Keaton to direct her video! It's the '80s! Here's some coke! Let's do it!

I've never been to Six Flags Magic Mountain in Santa Clarita (I feel like I've driven past it a couple of times), and I've certainly never been on the Spin Out ride, but I may have to make a pilgrimage one day to see the prime location featured in this riveting video. Quite what the Spin Out ride, or an army of children wearing identical black Zorro masks and cloaks, has to do with the lyrics of "Heaven Is a Place on Earth" is unclear, and I'm reckoning it was unclear to Keaton too, but the song has the word "Earth" in it, and the children are all clutching glowing plastic globes, so that's relevant I guess? We don't even catch a glimpse of Belinda for the first twenty seconds; it's just marching bat kids hoisting their spheres in a fashion slightly reminiscent of a Nazi rally. I feel like this could be footage from a pilot episode of a rejected Nickelodeon game show called "Globe Reload!" or something of that nature. Up to this point, the video is pretty meh; I'm basically thinking to myself, in the words of the director herself, "Well la-di-da. La-di-da."

Finally, at 0:20, She appears, and Holy Blindfolded Pre-teen Choir Batman, this video just got a whole lot better. It turns out that heaven is a place on Earth after all, and that place ... is Belinda Carlisle's smokin' hot bod. I think this is where Diane Keaton's directorial genius truly reached its apex. She understood that the key to making a great music video ... was to have Belinda Carlisle in it. A masterstroke! A touch of divine inspiration! With one simple casting decision, Keaton entered the realm of a Scorsese or a Bergman. By liberally sprinkling her work with the aesthetic perfection of prime 1987 Belinda, she instantly elevated her video into the upper echelons of modern telegraphic achievement.

But what's this? Is it just me or ... has the former Dottie Danger done something ... new with her hair? Where's the beach blonde babe of "Mad About You" fame? Well, she probably figured, new record label, new producer, time for a new look. And so we have the debut of yet another hair color from the Big C. This one is sort of a brownish-red, but not quite red and not quite brown. I've read some describe it as "auburn." This finally raises a question that has been on my mind for longer than I'd care to admit: just what is Belinda Carlisle's "natural" hair color? I'm serious. I have seen it colored: brown, red, blonde, dirty blonde, green ... even purple. These days her hair is generally black, but I assume she dyes it. I've seen photos of her from high school where her hair appears to be blonde, but she could have been dyeing it even then. I honestly have no idea. Ultimately ... [throws hands in the air despondently] does it even matter? Like the fate of the Roanoke Colony, or the location of Amelia Earhart's plane, it is one of those questions that is destined to remain an eternal mystery.

Frankly, her hair could be beige for all I care and she'd still probably make it work. Belinda can wave her six flags over my magic mountain any day, you know what I'm sayin'? The accompanying garments are equally mesmerizing. At first she opts for a black sleeveless dress that's sporting some kind of white dangling ball design on the front, and she pairs it with a fluffy, unbuttoned pink sweater (perhaps a nod to her prior cheerleader days?). And then in the second verse she rocks some sort of black off-the-shoulder dress and belt, with flowers in her lapel. Flowers! The woman exudes sheer fecundity and potency, I tell you.

But, hold on a second. What's she doing to that wall? Honey, put the kids to bed, Belinda's ... humping a wall. Yes, for several seconds in this video, we are treated to the sight of Belinda Carlisle rubbing herself sensually against an unusually narrow corner of a nondescript wall. I mean, she's having a really good time with that wall. I hope that wall's wearing protection. What were the directions here? "Just shake it Belinda, fondle the wall, let it all out!" You rub that wall, Belinda. You rub that wall nice and good.

Other observations:

1. At 0:30, Belinda tilts her head back teasingly, and then Keaton simply hits the "repeat" button and plays the same exact shot over again. I'm thinking maybe Keaton had a preliminary cut and thought she'd covered the full length of the audio, but realized she was half a second short, so then she just decided to ... fill in the gap with a pointlessly repeated shot?
2. Why is there suddenly a narrow slit of light shining across Belinda's face? Is she in a prison cell? Is it time to feed Belinda?

3. Personally, Belinda is at her hottest in this video at about 1:13, and then later at 1:21, where she's leaning behind a fence, now wearing some kind of coat. She's got that sexy, captured, helpless, "Stockholm Syndrome" look. Ooh yeah.
4. I love the shot that starts at the second verse (1:32), where Belinda, in Outfit #2, sort of twirls away from the camera merrily, then arrives at the end of the room, realizes "Hey, crap, another wall is there!" and calmly turns around and retraces her steps. Couldn't they have just found a ... larger room? Or at least planned out the shot better? Were they under a deadline? Something fishy goin' on here. And then there's this horribly awkward edit at 1:42, where (I assume) Keaton spliced together two slightly different takes of Belinda twirling back from whence she came, perhaps hoping no one would notice? Why not just do another take?? Or maybe it's all for "effect"? Diane Keaton was fucking with us!
5. At 1:47, Belinda is back in her corner, and ... allow me to pause for a moment and state: What an exceptional corner. It's like the walls are at a 20 degree angle. They could have called this video "Heaven Is a Place in the Cabinet of Dr. Caligari." This shot also, I should add, gives us an impressive view of Belinda's cleavage.
6. And why are the bat children jogging in place all the time? Is that how they're powering the globes? What sickening underworld dystopia was Belinda living in here?
7. Perhaps running out of ideas, Keaton looked behind her and said, "Hey Morgan, just get in there and stand in that pool of water and start ... making out with Belinda or something. This'll be great!" Sometimes, to quote Annie Hall, a music video is like a shark. It has to keep moving, or it dies. And what Keaton had on her hands here ... was a dead shark. Then she covered the happy couple in a ... satin sheet? My guess as to the thought process here: "I dunno, I saw it in a Maybelline commercial one time." By the end, they migrate over to Belinda's favorite wall, as the children keep spinning, and spinning, and SPINNING ... I mean, if heaven is really a place on earth, that place would be pretty nauseous by now.

YouTube comments for the "Heaven Is a Place on Earth" video generally fall into four categories:

Category #1: Belinda's Affection for the Wall:

Haha. She really likes that wall. ;)

I think she'd addicted to dancing with walls.

is she having sex with the wall?

i want to be reincarnated as a wall

Dedicated to all the guys who so wanted to be the wall...

Something tells me that wall thoroughly enjoyed itself.

That wall... I just want to roll around against it.

Thats one lucky corner.

Nobody puts Belinda in a corner....

What is she doing to the poor wall lol

this has a lot more wall humping than i remember.

Category #2: Belinda's Hotness:

Thats an "A" Class redhead meat !!!

the day this video was shot....Belinda Carlisle was THE most beautiful woman on the planet...................

Oh Heaven is a place in her pants

Thats a lucky guy who got to maul her in this video. Damn, i would've stepped up and did his job.

I love her vibrato. And her jugs.

I certainly would not miss a day of school if she were my teacher . HOT HOT !

Without sounding shallow, B. Carlisle is STILL damn HOTT!

boy would I have drank her bathwater back in 87-90. now a days I think I would let that bathwater stagnate in the hopes that the algae and mold along with the flakes of dead skin and fecal matter (from her playfully farting in the water) would mutate in to a new and soon to be young Belinda Carlisle.

Damn, Belinda Carlisle just gave me a serious Woodrow

Belinda, if you're ever down south, I'd love to take you to lunch, St Augustine area. I'll treat your bodyguard too. open invitation.

Category #3: What Does It Mean?

This vid is WHACK! I mean, is Heaven really supposed to look like a torture chamber from the Saw saga?

apparently in heaven everyone wears black eye masks.

So is this video about gnosticism?

Great song, but DAMN they had some of the worst music videos back then. What's with the jogging in place with the globe and the Green Hornet Kato masks??? And who's idea was it to stick Belinda in the corner where she almost whips her head into the wall...it's not even a right angle, it's, like, a wedge or something. Great song, though. :D

Belinda is Gaia, the earth mother, and she's fallen in love with the male mask of the apocalypse, one of many it wears. It's unclear if she knows his true nature, destroyer of worlds, or if like so many other naive women, she's under his spell and won't realize it until his violent love overcomes her and throws her body into the ditch of unbeing. In any case, at the end of the video she's obviously dead, added to his collection of little worlds, but did she want it this way, and why? Why?!

The message of this video is that accepting a one world government would bring about heavon on earth. It is Illuminati programming. Very little analysis is required to come to this conclusion.

Category #4: Miscellaneous:

"Ooo" is not a word.

Damn this whole time I thought it was "blueberry heaven was a place on earth"

Belinda and the Globe Trotters.

Best. Pop song. Ever. And I'm a thrash metal freak...

I'd have like to done lines with Belinda!!!!!!!!!!!!

Watching this video makes me realize there's a lot of us that graduated from the Belinda Carlisle school of dance.

heaven would be a place on earth if people would stop making comments about justin bieber on every music video i go on. 

Belinda Carlisle, the William Blake of the 1980s
'Until we have built Jerusalem in England's green and pleasant land'

I remember when I was young, this was my favorite song the year it came out. My brother knew this, so he changed the channel when it came on. :- ( He's now married to a horrible woman who looks like the Penguin. Karma.

Love does NOT come first. First comes introducing yourself, then comes "Nice meeting you", then comes getting to know, then comes like, then comes talking about your likes and dislikes, then comes love, then comes "Will you marry me?", then comes marriage, and then comes a family of your own.

I listened to this song on repeat before my colonoscopy because I thought I might die. Spoiler alert, I did not die.

Heaven is A Place On Earth. Hell is A Place In My Marriage.