ADVENTURES IN SCAM BAITING PART VII: 
PRICK SPRINGFIELD 

I had so much trouble posting the screenshots from this one. They were really disorganized in my phone, and I think I inadvertently deleted a few of them, while a few others seem to be out of order. I blame my post-COVID brain fog. Whatever. 

This wannabe scammer kept stalking me on Instagram using various accounts, all of them purporting to be the "private" account of Rick Springfield. I got several notifications that accounts with names like therealrickspringfield and rickspringfield456 were now following me, and I'd block and report them every time, but then a day later another new fake Rick Springfield account would pop up and follow me. I mean what the hell, and why me? Creepy fucker.   

Below: notice how he ignores my comment about Nigerian scumbag scammers. Heh.

Below: Okay, this is where I think I must have deleted a screenshot or two, because he's suddenly talking about his "identification card." I asked for proof that he was Rick Springfield, and he sent a shot of a (fake) driver's license, but then he'd quickly delete it from the chat a few seconds later before I had time to scrutinize it. 

But below you can see I was eventually able to take a screenshot before he deleted it again. I blacked out the info, because while I'm sure this is not Rick Springfield's ID, the Los Angeles address on the card no doubt belongs to someone, and I wanted to protect the privacy of whoever it is. I also noticed that the ID lists Rick Springfield as 5'8" tall, weighing in at 120 pounds. Riiiiiiiiight. 

Below: fake Rick Springfield thinks I'm foxy. Funny coincidence, because....

....it's actually a photo of Rick Springfield's wife! 

I think I put my finger on why these scammers irk me so much; they're a special blend 

of stupid and evil, kind of like Donald Trump and his terrible children. 

Above: while I think Rick Springfield looks amazing for being 70+ years old, I don't believe that hair is real. No septuagenarian has hair that lush. It's gotta be a hairpiece--at least in the front--hence my wig comment. Still, as hairpieces go, it's pretty convincing. 

Wouldn't you agree?

Below: after I decline to show him an ID card, the guy vamooses, expressing doubts about my realness. Well, BYE BITCH! Don't let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya! Then I blocked and deleted, natch.

While we're on the subject, I'm posting my favorite Rick Springfield song. The video is a complete mess, but Rick looks smokin' hot and there's no denying his fabulosity here. The song is from the 1984 flick "Hard To Hold," which is a really stinky movie and it should come as no surprise to anyone that I own it on DVD. Can't help it, I love me some '80s cheese. In Rick's memoir Late, Late at Night he wrote about how he knew "Hard To Hold" was a piece of shit and was so disgusted by the script that he threw it across the room after he read it, but then his agent said, "Dude, they want to pay you a million dollars," and then he reconsidered his opinion right quick. By the way, I definitely recommend his book, it's one of the funniest and most honest memoirs I've read. 

RESCUED FROM OBSCURITY 

"And I don't know which end to burn..."

I won't comment on any real world shit going on, because fuck it. We all know 2020 sucks. We all know everything sucks. 

So take a break from the bullshit and escape with me to 1985, a comparatively innocent, COVID-free time when Julian Lennon's debut album Valotte was riding high on the music charts in the US and UK and the first two singles, the title track and Too Late For Goodbyes, were in heavy rotation on MTV with videos directed by.....Sam Peckinpah. (Seriously!)

But the Julian Lennon track I'm most fond of is the less remembered and woefully underrated third single, "Say You're Wrong." It's not groundbreaking or anything, but it's a fun little song and video (this one directed by Tim Pope). The thing I love about this tune is that while Julian's vocals are of course very reminiscent of his father's, the song's melody is quite McCartney-esque, an observation duly noted by someone in the YouTube comments. Incidentally, another commentator remarked on Julian's "nice figure," like he's a contestant in a Star Search spokesmodel competition (hee!), but I kinda know what they mean. Julian is adorable in this and I'm digging the '80s northern English vibe with the hat, boots, and long black coat. What can I say? It's definitely working for him.

Aw hell, let's just stay in the mid-80s. Pretend like 2020 never happened. Sound good? Cool.

Here's "Valotte," my second fave and also a damn fine song.

And also, there's this:

Smash Hits could always be counted on to stick John Taylor on the cover.

Julian was a bonus.

ADVENTURES IN SCAM BAITING PART VI:

HOW CAN WE BE LOVERS IF WE CAN'T BE FRIENDS?

(OR: Love in the Time of COVID-19)

Just a quick one to give us all a few laughs while we wait out the Apocalypse.

This is a guy who contacted me on Instagram yesterday. The thing about this one was that it took me a while to notice that he was claiming to be a celebrity. I guess I wasn't really paying attention, I just accepted his message request and started right in quoting some Kate Bush lyrics at him. 

Heh. I love that crazy ass song.

He's got a lot of chutzpah to call me out on a fake photo. How does he know I'm not Kate Bush?

Okay, below you can see the moment where I realized he was pretending to be Michael Bolton. The '90s balladeer, obviously. Not the character from Office Space.

An aside: I assumed that his bogus Instagram would be set to "Private" like 99% of these scam accounts are, so I was surprised when I checked and saw that the dude actually made an effort to swipe some pics from MB's official social media, like this one of homeboy wearing a scarf and enjoying a matcha. Poor Michael. I bet he had no idea that this very photo would one day be used by some random mouth-breather to try and dupe some unsuspecting soft rock aficionados.   

So once I realized who the dude was claiming to be, I decided to hop on that pony and ride it into the dirt.

Okay I should provide some backstory on my OJ Simpson comment above. Paula Barbieri (C-list model/actress and OJ Simpson's paramour during the time of the infamous murders) wrote a book called The Other Woman: My Years With OJ Simpson. I tracked down a copy around the time of that OJ miniseries--I wrote about the show here BTW--(jeez, was that really four years ago?) and it was a tawdry but enjoyable read. Some of the random stuff from the book I remember is that Paula was with OJ in the early/mid-90s and while he wasn't physically abusive, he was given to throwing tantrums and acting like a petulant asshole if he didn't get his way (big surprise there). He also either cheated on her a lot or she suspected that he did, I can't recall which. OJ was also buddies with a certain pseudo-billionaire hanger-on by the name of Donald Trump, and there was a anecdote where Paula was with OJ at a golf tournament somewhere and Dumpcake creepily put the moves on her as soon as OJ turned his back. Paula told OJ about it later and instead of actually doing something constructive with his psychotic roid rage, OJ just sort of shrugged it off like, "yeah well, that's just Donald being Donald." Ugh. Wastes of oxygen, the both of them.

An image from the book: 

Paula stands between a future murderer

and a future fascist cult leader.

Anyhoo the relevant bit here is that after a lot of on-and-offing with their relationship, Paula finally decided she'd had enough and, during the weekend of the murders, she told OJ sayonara and flew to Las Vegas for a rendezvous with Michael Bolton, as she had recently appeared in one of his music videos and had been digging his chili ever since. The song is called "Completely" by the way, and hoo boy, is this a giant gooey hunk of Velveeta right here.

Sorry, but why does he always sound so constipated? Dude, senna leaf tea. Natural and effective. Just sayin'.

So Paula's in Vegas all set to ride Michael's Bolt-on when news of the murders hits the airwaves, and in a fit of guilt she decides to return (oh gurl NO!) to stand by OJ, a misguided decision I'm sure she still regrets even though her relationship with him went down the toilet for good as soon as his trial was over.

And that brings us up to speed.     

Come on, I don't really think Paula and MB's hookup--whether attempted or successful--had anything to do with OJ killing his ex-wife. I was just being facetious.

As above: I assume "Telegram" (?) is some sort of messaging app currently popular in the scamming community, but I've never heard of it.

So below: The dude kept me hanging for a while and I was itching to just block, report, and forget about him, so this is how I ended it.

It turns out that Michael Bolton is a man of many talents; while doing a search on his name I discovered that he wrote a children's book in 1997. It's available on Amazon, and the description makes the story sound suspiciously similar to that of Siddhartha Guatama:

"An award-winning singer and songwriter pens his first children's title in this charming story of a king's son who, disgusted with the greed that power can bring, leaves his father to travel the kingdom as a commoner."

I want a framed poster of this to hang up in my guest room. 

Seriously. It's awesome.

It has mostly favorable reviews, too. Back in 2012 an Amazon user named Gail rated it five stars and wrote: "I got this for my granddaughter. Michael Bolton did a great job with this story and she loves reading it."

Really does sound like the perfect book to read to a youngster while you wait out the End of Days, doesn't it? And the good news is, you can get a used copy for under 10 bucks! Go for it.

RIC OCASEK 

:-( 

I've said it many times and I'll say it again: one of the things that really blows about getting older is losing idols from your youth. I'm not ready for that. Sure, Ric was 75 (75! That's weird too! My mom is 75 this year. And BTW how is my mom 75?) so you know, it's not like he was 30 years old and passed out with a needle in his arm or whatever, BUT STILL. I'm so not ready for this to keep happening. 

Probably my favorite Cars song ever, and the greatest video they made, IMHO. I love the part with the shoes escaping out the door. 

I know they got a lot of attention for You Might Think, with all the expensive visual effects and whatnot, but that song is so overplayed. And I got sick of seeing the video all the time. "Since You're Gone" is where it's at, man, and don't let anyone tell you different. Nothing compares to early MTV. That channel was golden circa 1981-1983.

Ooh, Heaven is a.....Psychedelic Furs song

You know how sometimes a certain song--in some cases maybe a song you haven't heard in years--just pops into your head and then you have to play it 75 times a day and then you go on YouTube and find the video (whoa, you didn't even know this song had a video, cool!) and you get completely obsessed with the song and you find yourself singing it in your head and out loud everywhere you happen to be....around the house, in the car, at the gym, to your friends and spouse and everyone who comes in contact with you....?

This week, this is the song that's been doing that to me.  

Apparently it's a song about nuclear war. But wasn't every song in 1984 about nuclear war? All the best songs were, anyway. 

"It's about planes flying over ready to drop bombs, nuclear bombs."

Is it me, or is Richard Butler giving off some serious Bowie vibes in this video?
I'm digging it.

Rescued From Obscurity: That OTHER Mariah Carey Christmas song

Okay now, deep breath. You ready for this?

I'm coming out of the closet as a Mariah Carey fan. Not that I was keeping it a deep, dark secret, but I wasn't exactly shouting it from the rooftops either. And we're not talking about, like, huge fandom. I'm a pretty low-level Mariah enthusiast, in that I own a copy of her debut album, as well as her MTV Unplugged CD, (remember back in the nineties when every recording artist who ever cut a fart got their own MTV Unplugged special?) and I have a copy of Rainbow sitting in a box somewhere, but I only bought it for "Heartbreaker," because that song is one of my all-time jams--really, I'm not even being ironic--I adore it unashamedly. I even dig the Jay-Z rap interlude, and I normally can't stand that shit. I'll admit that the video is cringe-y, with all the dialogue and the, ahem, "acting". Mariah is not much of a thespian, as anyone who saw Glitter can attest. Seriously Mimi, when Da Brat out-acts you in your own movie, you might want to rethink your dramatic ambitions. (Although I have to say Glitter is quite an entertaining campfest, and I highly recommend the Rifftrax version, too.)

I forget sometimes how much our girl has changed since her 1990 debut. John and I were recently watching one of those flashback music video shows on VH-1 (a Sunday morning ritual) and I got nostalgic over Mariah's cover of the Jackson 5's "I'll Be There." Remember that one? I love, love, LOVE it.



I was getting all misty-eyed over the song, and I sighed and said to John,
"That was back when she still had her voice."

And John said, "I don't know who she is."

I was like, "Um, that's Mariah Carey."

John was taken aback. "Wow. She looks....different now."

Yep, she does.

I don't mind the plastic surgery--the nose and the implants and whatever else--I ain't mad at her, I think it looks good. But I so wish that she'd ditch the spray tan and the flat-ironed hair extensions and bring back her natural curls, dammit! Her hair circa 1990-1992 was fucking FABULOUS.

Work it, gurl.

And while I prefer her old look, I understand why she ditched the Mary Poppins squeaky-clean image and went all sex-pot in the mid-nineties. She'd just divorced old man Mottola, she was feeling her oats, and she probably saw herself in danger of becoming Celine Dion if she didn't give herself a complete career makeover. I get it. No one wants to be Celine Dion. 

But that's when she sort of lost me musically. I mean, although I love "Heartbreaker," most of Mariah's creative output post-1997 doesn't really speak to me. 

That said, I LOVE that she has fully embraced the inner bitchy drag-queen diva within, because her interviews and public appearances are often hilarious. 

There's that Jennifer Lopez "I don't know her" quote...

via GIPHY

Her batshit insane appearance on MTV around the time she was promoting Glitter, "If you don't have ice cream in your life, sometimes you might go a little bit crazy," which totally sounds like a Tommy Wiseau line....

Her (alleged) "Miss, with all due respect, I have my own problems," response to a fan letter from a little blind girl, which--calm down!--turned out to be a hoax, but it cracks me up because it totally sounds like something she would say. I'm probably a horrible person for finding that funny, but for the record, I'm pretty confident that Mariah didn't write that, number one because I seriously can't see her sitting at a computer, replying to fan emails, and two, I don't think she'd mention her sister's medical issues to a stranger on the internet. In the end she made it up to the little blind girl and called her on the phone and gave her free concert tickets, and all was right with the world again. Still, it makes me laugh. (I'm probably going to hell.)

And then there was that New Year's Eve kerfuffle, where she got "caught" lip-syncing during a supposedly live performance. (Was that really a year ago? Sheesh...)

via GIPHY

Although I wasn't at home watching the ball drop (heh) live on TV, I did see Mariah's lip syncing clips after the fact, and they were pretty embarrassing. If I remember right, I think she ended up blaming (New Year's Eve host) Ryan Seacrest for the whole fiasco. I'm not sure how it was his fault, but since Ryan Seacrest is the one responsible for putting the Kartrashian family on TV, I'm fine with him taking the fall for any and every major disaster that's happened in recent years. While we're at it, let's blame Ryan Seacrest for Hurricane Harvey, the California wildfires, the Trump presidency, and--hell--throw in 9/11 too. Fuck that guy. 

Yeah, Mariah's a bit difficult, but that's part of her charm. She's also an Aries, which makes so much sense. Aries people can be fun, but jeeeez, they're also exhausting.

Okay then, now that I've proclaimed my fondness for Mariah Carey and provided examples of both her awesomeness and her train-wreckery, it's time for the song, the whole reason for this rambling post.

It's called "Miss You Most (At Christmastime)." It's lovely and understated, sweet and heartfelt and sad, and it pretty well encapsulates my feelings for the people that I've lost over the years, particularly my Dad. 

Happy Holidays, y'all.

RESCUED FROM OBSCURITY

Graham Parker and the Shot

"Wake Up (Next To You)"

Recently I watched the Judd Apatow flick This Is 40, his middle-aged crisis comedy from a few years back. It wasn't very good. I didn't have high expectations going in, as Apatow films are pretty hit or miss. He's partly responsible for Freaks and Geeks, a show that I absolutely adored (though I suspect the real brains behind that one was writer/director Paul Feig, who truly is awesome). But I also enjoyed Forgetting Sara Marshall and Pineapple Express, which I seem to recall were Apatow productions. And of course I love Girls, another show he's partly responsible for. But the rest of his cannon....meh. 

The main problem with This Is 40 are the film's central characters; an unlikable yuppie couple and their annoying kids. And I'm usually willing to give unlikable characters a shot, because they are often--if handled right--among the most compelling. But there's unlikable and then there's unwatchable, and the central family of This Is 40 straddles a dangerous line between the two. I had a similar problem with Friends With Kids, which boasted a stellar cast (Jon Hamm, Maya Rudolph, Jennifer Westfeldt, Chris O'Dowd, and Kristen Wiig, among others) but the characters were so grating I literally only got through the first ten minutes of that one before pulling the plug.

Anyhoo, is all leading up to the only positive thing about This Is 40 that stuck with me, and that is Graham Parker, who is the focus of one of the movie's subplots. You see, Paul Rudd's character runs a struggling record label and he's busting his balls trying to promote Parker's latest effort, with little success. It jogged my memory; I hadn't thought about Graham Parker in years, perhaps not since around 1985, when the one song I'm familiar with was a very minor hit. The song is called "Wake Up (Next To You)," and it's a charming, bittersweet tune with a strong Elvis Costello-y vibe, and enough of an earworm that it's stayed with me after thirty years (which is really saying something). 

The video is pretty cool, too. And like I said, the song is something of an earworm. Good luck getting it out of your head--although it's a great song, so as earworms go that's not a bad thing.  

Insomnia...it's a hell of a drug.

Once upon a time Frank Zappa and Borat had a kid together and that kid grew up and he got himself a silver jumpsuit and a Yamaha synth and a key-tar and Lady Gaga and made this video and it was the greatest achievement in the history of the arts and it made everything warm and special and magical and the stars aligned and the angels wept and peace broke out across the land and everyone laughed and hugged and cried and holy shit this really is the greatest thing ever recorded.

You're welcome.

"Thriller"....The Playmobil version

A few words about this video....

This is not an entirely faithful recreation of the Thriller video. In fact, it's a very loose re-telling of the original Michael Jackson feature. It's French, though....what do you expect?

There is, however, a sequence where some Playmobil figures rise (awesomely) from their "graves". 

I have spoken about my love for the wonderful weirdness of Playmobil music videos in the past. Seriously, I can't get enough of this shit. In fact, if every music video was filmed using Playmobil figures, there's a real chance I might never leave the house. 

Enjoy.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY! 

I'm writing this on September 24th (the day before our 1-year wedding anniversary!) but John and I are busy prepping for another cross-country move, so I'm getting this done now!

I can't believe it's been a year! The time has flown by. It's been a great first year. I love being married. Leos can seem quite weird and wild on the surface, but deep down we crave normality (John's words) and stability (mine). We like a good, solid partnership. We like having someone to come home to. And we are in LOVE with love. John and I are on the same page with all of that, and that's why we've had such a great first year together as a married couple. And here's to many more!

As I've mentioned before, we met in January, 2009. There was an immediate attraction straight away, but I think it's fair to say that John and I were both sort of cynical about love when we met. John had been married twice before, and I had just gone through the whole Simon Reid ordeal a mere five months earlier. Talk about dating anxiety! But we soldiered on obviously, and so here we are today. 

**************************

And since I'm relating EVERYTHING these days to my musical memories....John says that in the very beginning of our relationship, he used to listen to the Split Enz song "I Got You." It's a song about, basically, relationship paranoia.

   

I'm on a HUGE Split Enz kick right now, so I've been listening to this song quite a bit. It's a fabulous track, one of my favorites from the New Wave era. Neil does a nice bit of stage acting, particularly from 3:14 to the 3:24 mark (I'm not being facetious--he's really good).

I have a bit of a history with the Finns. Did you know?

Me and Neil after the Crowded House show in Minneapolis, 2007.

Neil signing the photo I took with him at the Guthrie in 2004.

Here's that photo. How meta!

Me with Tim at the Guthrie, 2004 *

*When I met Tim Finn after their show at the Vogue in 2005 (Indianapolis--I went with my friends Marcus and Aggie) Tim gave me a once-over and a smile. Thanks Tim! How YOU doin'?

I'm just a huge fan. The Finns have done such amazing work, as solo artists, as The Finn Brothers, in Crowded House and--of course--in Split Enz.

Here's another of my favorite Split Enz songs, Dirty Creature, (I've blogged about that one before), which also a song about paranoia. SO many Enz songs are about anxiety and paranoia. Tim has said in interviews that he used to suffer from horrible panic attacks, and that definitely reflected in the lyrics he was writing at the time.



So did I cover it all? Love, marriage, anniversary, the Finns, and Split Enz? I think I did.

I'll say it again John.....

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!

Rescued From Obscurity: A Rod Stewart Double Shot

How YOU doin'?

While Rod Stewart definitely isn't obscure--I think by now even his detractors would agree that he's reached "legend" status--the following two songs could definitely be categorized as such. And since I was going to post both videos on here anyway, I figured I might as well use the RFO tag, even though it's just the tracks themselves that are relatively unknown and not the artist.

I get a lot of flak for being a Rod Stewart fan. One reason is because, well, he's Rod Stewart. At best he's seen by non-fans as sort of a campy old relic from the seventies. At worst he's viewed as a musical whore who sold his soul several times over, first by abandoning his "respectable" rock roots and embracing pop in the mid-seventies ("Tonight's the Night"), then from pop to disco in the late seventies ("Do Ya Think I'm Sexy") then synthesizer-infused pop rock in the eighties, ("Young Turks," "Passion") and then from about 1990 on sliding steadily down the adult contemporary slope and straight into old fogey/Vegas territory with his Great American Songbook series. 

It makes me wish that some of Rod's "deep cuts" were in the public consciousness. "In a Broken Dream" is just one of many breathtakingly awesome songs that are pretty much known only to Rod's hardcore fans, and that's a shame. If "In a Broken Dream" had the fame it deserved, I don't see how anyone aware of its existence could sneer at anything else Rod recorded, no matter how cheesey. The song is truly sublime: it manages to be sad and angry and darkly funny all at the same time. It could be argued that while "In a Broken Dream" is great song on its own, the lyrics and music comprise only about 20% of its awesomeness. The remaining 80% is all ROD. It's in his voice and his delivery, and it makes my knees go weak.           

While it's hard to imagine "In A Broken Dream" being a commercial success in any decade, I feel like "Leave Virginia Alone" could have been a hit had it existed five years earlier. As luck would have it, Rod Stewart's seventeenth studio album A Spanner in the Works was launched into the world in May 1995, smack in the middle of a musical period where watered-down grunge and Top 40-approved gangsta rap ruled, leaving no room for anything that fell outside those two dismal categories. No surprise then that "Leave Virginia Alone" barely got any love at all, peaking at #52 in the US charts. It shouldn't have been that way, dammit, because it's an amazing song. It was written by Tom Petty, who (to my knowledge) never recorded it himself. I like Tom Petty, but there's no way his voice could do justice to the song's whimsical, melancholy lyrics. No one does whimsy or melancholy like Rod Stewart--see "Maggie May," "You Wear It Well," "Some Guys Have All the Luck," and pretty much every hit he's ever had. The video is beautifully shot, too (by director Zack Snyder, who I guess is a big deal these days) and it fits the track perfectly. I love the vintage shabby chic New Orleans-y feel of this clip, particularly the giant papier mache heads that look like something out of a Mardi Gras parade (and the throwaway shot of that one head breaking into dance at the 3:29 mark is fabulous). 



And because I'm such a fan of Rod the God, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention his new album--his first one of original material in several years--just dropped last month . I got my copy the day it was released, and it's fantastic. I'm so glad that Rod is back in the game and that he has (for now) gotten away from the old standard covers he kept cranking out over the last decade. I mean, I loved hearing his voice on songs like "My Funny Valentine" and "That's All," but seriously, it was time for him to move on from all that.

It was "time" for him to move on....get it?

My Special Brew

Today marks four years since I met my husband John. A look back on that day, way back in 2009 when we were all younger...

It was a typical ass-blisteringly cold night in Minneapolis. We were supposed to meet for tea at Common Roots, one of my favorite Uptown haunts. I got there early (I lived only a few blocks away) and chose a table in the middle of the cafe. I sat so I was facing the front door in order to spot John when he came in. I nursed a soy latte and read my book--I don't remember what book I had with me that night--whatever it was, I hope it was something that made me look smart (or at least interesting). After about ten minutes, the front door opened and John walked in. I recognized him right away and broke into a big wide grin. He caught my eye, waved and smiled. I just kept smiling and giggling, feeling really excited for some reason. Maybe deep down I knew this was the beginning of something great. John got a cup of English Breakfast at the counter and then headed over to where I was sitting. He was still grinning, too. It turned out to be a good night. 

Four years later, here I am sitting in bed with "the Common Roots guy" in our own apartment, typing up a post to mark this auspicious date. I love that we've become one of those couples. You know, the type that celebrates two anniversaries a year: the date when we met, and (now) our wedding anniversary (in eight months). The funny thing is, I never thought I'd be part of "one of those couples." But here we are now and I couldn't be happier. So, in honor of four years, I'm posting a song to mark the occasion. It's not your garden variety love song. It's debatable whether it could even be called a love song. I'm posting it because it's the song John sings to me every morning. It's the song that gets stuck in my head at least once a day, and it's a song that always makes me smile. I guess it's "our song", or one of them anyway (we have a few). 

Without further ado, here's Bad Manners.

 

Happy anniversary Johnny! 

Now the world knows what you sing to me in the morning. 

xoxoxo

PA-RA-NOIA THA DE-STROY-AHHH...

Um...Happy Halloween?

In honor of the holiday, I'm celebrating one of my favorite Halloween-ish songs. I saw it posted on my friend Kevin Kelly's "Eighties Greaties" Facebook group recently and remembered how much I loved it.

Rockwell's "Somebody's Watching Me" was a big hit in 1984, but it wasn't released at Halloween. I'm guessing that with Michael Jackson's "Thriller" (the song + video) being so huge in late '83 and screening about once an hour on MTV, this song would've probably gone completely unnoticed (even though Rockwell turned out to be Berry Gordy's son...and Michael Jackson sings the chorus!).

My big memory of "Somebody's Watching Me," was at horse camp in the spring of '84 (horse camp was always during spring break) when I was 10, and I remember some of the cool "older" (14- to 15-year-old) girls reciting the spoken parts of the song in goofy voices as we saddled up our horses in the stable. Those cool older girls got the best deal at horse camp, dammit. They got to sleep out in the RV at night and stay up as late as they wanted, while us youngsters had to be in bed at 9pm and sleep all crammed together in sleeping bags on the floor of my riding instructor's living room. Yeah, I'm still bitter about it. But I digress...

As an adult, I really dig the song's whole "paranoid" vibe. The video is effectively freaky too, particularly the heads peering in the windows and the pig/boar/armadillo-looking thing that chases Rockwell down the hallway (spoiler--it turns out to be a dog). 

MTV Turned 30 Today

Yep, the big three-oh. And since I’m an oldster, I remember the launch of MTV. I remember the cool promos with the rocket blasting off into the stratosphere, the little astronaut dudes planting the badass MTV flag on the moon and the DUH, duh-duh, duh-duh-dah-nah…DUH, nah-nah-nah, nah-nah-nah-nah, nah-nah-nah-nah guitar theme music. The TV spots with the Police, Billy Idol, Cyndi Lauper, and David Bowie shouting into the camera, “I WANT MY MTV!” I also remember when the word “veejay” wasn’t urban dictionary slang for the female nether regions. You see kids, in 1981 veejays were a quintet of hip-yet-relatable twentysomethings consisting of Nina Blackwood, Alan Hunter, Mark Goodman, Martha Quinn (who I totally wanted for a big sister), and JJ Jackson.

The MTV veejays were well-versed in rock, new wave, synth-pop, R&B, metal, and even seventies stuff like Fleetwood Mac, Rod Stewart and the Rolling Stones. Veejays interviewed bands, answered letters from viewers, and joked around with one other like real friends.

And then, there were the music videos.

Back in the dark ages, MTV used to play bona fide music videos. Yes Virginia, a long, long time ago, when the jailbait rednecks of Teen Mom were mere twinkles in the glassy eyes of their redneck jailbait parents, MTV was seriously playing music videos. Strange, wonderful, exciting and legendary clips like Video Killed The Radio Star by the Buggles, the Police’s Don’t Stand So Close To Me, and Duran Duran’s Girls On Film. In fact, this wild and wonderful all-day, all-night, all-music, all-the-time channel played so many videos that they also had time to play some really cool shit you wouldn’t hear on your typical Midwestern radio station. In addition to the hits, MTV would bring you lesser-known gems like Up All Night by the Boomtown Rats, Roxy Music's ethereal More Than This and Squeeze’s excellent Black Coffee In Bed.*

And then there was the queen of early MTV, Pat Benatar**. Who could forget her four-minute slices of awesomeness; clips like You Better Run, Promises in the Dark, and Precious Time. I especially like that last video, where Pat—after pensively tooling around the grounds of her obscenely luxurious zillion-dollar estate in an old-timey Rolls—gets so cheesed off at her layabout boyfriend that she not only shoves him fully clothed into a swimming pool, but also dumps his ass out of a hammock in slow motion—twice! It’s all very Dynasty, and Pat was supremely cool.

I loved her for being so feminine and yet so tough; you got the feeling that no matter what kind of man trouble she was having—and she never seemed to have a shortage of douchebags giving her grief (remember Love Is a Battlefield?)—she was definitely a chick who could handle her own (all five feet, tall 95 lbs. of her!) and still look super-foxy doing it.

So tonight, if you’re an aging Gen-Xer like me, raise a glass of your beverage of choice (mine is club soda because…well, that’s another, much darker story) and toast to The Way We Were. And remember that really, it’s no use lamenting the death of the music video. It belongs to our generation. Our music videos will live on in eternity through the magic of YouTube, and that’s almost better than our precious old-school MTV. Seriously, how cool is it to punch in a few words on a laptop and be able to watch Haircut 100’s “Love Plus One” whenever we choose, as many times as we please?

Pretty fucking rad, as we used to say.

*But it wasn’t all fun new wavy-ness and cool and exotic Europeans in skinny ties. There was also some spooky shit happening in some of those early videos, as I explained a while back. Especially that Split Enz clip. God love ‘em, but that video still freaks me right the fuck out.

**Isn’t it funny that once upon a time, a sexy pop star could be named Pat? Seriously, her name was Pat. Not even Patti or Tricia…just Pat. No dumb dollar sign in her name like Ke$ha, no gimmicky Gaga-esque moniker. Another funny thing? Merely by typing that sentence—just like that—I’ve entered middle-age. And that’s okay; I’ve had more than enough time to prepare. I’m already at peace with that realization. Don’t worry.

Awwwww YEAH!!!!

Had to post this in honor of my most favorite-est band in the whole entire universe. Yes, these men have the power to turn a 37-year-old woman into a squealing hysterical 13-year-old. Can I say how much I love this song? They sound better than they have in 20+ years. They sound like themselves again, and I'm sooooo glad they've stopped trying to force hip-hop and R&B elements into their songs in order to appeal to the youngsters. Everyone who loves Duran Duran (youngsters, oldsters, etc.) love them because of their unique sound--as heard on Rio, Seven and the Ragged Tiger, Notorious, etc.--and NOT evidenced since 1990. (Okay, The Wedding Album was successful but not one of their stronger efforts, IMHO.)

Whatever. These are the men I know and love. I'm glad they're back.

Here they are.

Music videos That Scared the Shit Out of Me

A companion article to the popular feature
Shit That I Didn't Get (1980's Kid Edition)

Greetings, modern 8-year-olds! Does Lady GaGa frighten you? With the whole alien-hooker image, buttloads of space glitter and upsetting shoulder pads, I can see how she may creep out the average second-grader.


Let me tell you something though, kids: I came up in the seventies and eighties. You don't know from creepy.

Take a look at what I had to deal with:

Split Enz
"Dirty Creature"

I love Split Enz. Not as much as I love Crowded House, mind you, but as far as I'm concerned, early-80's quirky new wave kiwi pop doesn't get any better than these guys. They were awesome. "Message To My Girl" is one of my favorite sorta-love songs ever. And when I saw The Finn Brothers for the first time in 2004, Tim's goofy, spastic rendition of "I See Red" gave me a new appreciation for a song that until then was my least favorite of the Enz tunes. And speaking of Tim, I've met him. Yes I have. Twice! In fact, the second time I met him (after the Finn Brothers show at the Vogue, the one I attended with the great Marcus Waye), Tim gave even gave me a once-over and an approving "how you doin'?" smile and nod. Okay, it doesn't sound that impressive on paper. But trust me, we shared a moment. You had to be there.

It's funny now to think that back in 1982, when I was an impressionable 8-year-old watching MTV with my older sister in the basement of our beloved house on Sherman Drive, I wasn't at all charmed by Tim and the boys. Honestly, their video for "Dirty Creature" scared the holy hell out of me. The whole clip is creepy, but the worst part happens around the 2:35 mark, when the titular dirty creature leaps out of the water and beheads Tim with a giant sword. Yep, lops his melon right off. Sure, now it looks like a cheap editing trick in a low-budget music video. But to a sheltered 8-year-old who was severely spooked by the jerky stop-motion special effects in Clash of the Titans, the sight of some poor guy being decapitated by a cloaked figure (and Tim's eyes are still open when his head hits the ground! TIM'S EYES ARE STILL OPEN!), it was the most disturbing thing I'd ever witnessed.



My 8-year-old self would never have guessed that over twenty years later, I would one day flirt with this man. She also would have been surprised to learn that I didn't marry Ricky Schroder and go on to become a world famous horse trainer.

Rainbow
"Stone Cold"

This was another video that conjures memories of hanging with my older sister. I remember parking myself next to her on the basement couch, watching MTV, munching potato chips and drinking Welch's grape juice (no soda in our house!) while she gabbed on the phone to her friends. Then this video by Rainbow--one of Ronnie James Dio's many bands, as it turns out--came on. I remember staring at the chick in the video. Something about her wasn't quite right. I turned to my sister and asked "What's wrong with that lady's face?" My sister looked up, squinted at the TV screen, and replied, "Nothing, she's just ugly." She then went back to her phone conversation, which was probably with her friend Kathy K. from down the street, and was probably about the new Police album or one of the bitchy cheerleaders at her high school.

Luckily this video was on heavy rotation on MTV, so I had another chance to study the ugly girl's face a few days later. That's when I realized that it wasn't her face that was so revolting: she was wearing a clear plastic mask, the kind bad guys in cop shows use to rob banks. The mask was made even more hideous by the make-up artist's decision to paint mascara-ed eyes and pink lips on the mask to crank up the creepiness factor. Ew.

From then on, I hauled ass out of the room any time that video came on. I still find it fairly icky. I mean, what is up with that fucking mask?



Meat Loaf
"You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth"

In fourth grade, I had an insane teacher. Her name was Ms. Beard and she was a neurotic basket case who had no business being anywhere near children. The bitch was nuts.

One time during indoor recess, this girl Shonda got sick and barfed into the trash can. Typical fourth-grade barfing kid chaos ensued: children plugged their noses and made retching sounds, the janitor was called to haul away the trash can and Shonda was quickly ushered down to the nurse's office. When the smoke cleared, Ms. Beard made us sit down at our desks and called the class to order.

She paced in front of the classroom, all pinched-faced and fuming.

"What just happened with Shonda?" she asked us.

We sat in confused silence for a few moments. Then a kid named Kevin raised his hand.

"Um, she puked?" Kevin offered timidly.

Ms. Beard turned the full force of her fury on him.

"NO!" she howled, eyes blazing. "We do NOT use that filthy word." She scanned the rest of the class. "Who knows the right word to use when someone gets sick?"

Another kid raised his hand.

"Uh, is it upchuck?"

Ms. Beard hurled a chalkboard eraser to the floor in disgust.

"NO!" she spat. "That's disgusting, filthy language!"

We cowered in our chairs, hoping she wasn't going to start systematically beating us one by one. You never knew what was going to set her off. The woman was extrordinarily high strung, perpetually angry, and (probably) very sexually frustrated. It was a fucked up class.

Ms. Beard took a deep breath. "When someone is sick," she began, folding her arms, "they do NOT 'throw up.' They do NOT 'puke.' They do NOT 'upchuck.' The word we use," she paused, staring us down, "is regurgitate. That is the only acceptable word. Re-gur-gi-tate."

Really, she actually sounded it out like that.

Then Ms. Beard then launched into a half-hour long rant, raging against TV shows, movies, comic books, video games--pretty much anything that she felt to be filling our heads with perverted, satanic "filth." These included (but were not limited to): Michael Jackson, "Diff'rent Strokes," Casey Kasem's Top 40, break dancing, "moonwalking," parachute pants, "Star Wars," Cyndi Lauper, "The A-Team," the band KISS, Batman, Spiderman, cable TV, MTV, Pac-Man, Centipede, and--for some damn reason--the C.S. Lewis "Narnia" books.

I'm guessing that most of us blew her off. I know I sure as hell did. As scary as Ms. Beard was, she was still just another clueless, deeply uncool authority figure. Plus, I couldn't trust someone hated everything that made being a kid in 1984 enjoyable. I mean, come on, what did she have against Casey Kasem? Sure, he was a bit weird looking, but perverted? And how could MTV be satanic? Was Martha Quinn satanic? Was Alan Hunter satanic? They were about as satanic as Ms. Beard's twisted self-righteousness.

Fuck Ms. Beard, I thought. I was an impressionable kid, but I still knew bullshit when I smelled it. And she was full of it.

A few weeks later I was at home, sick with the flu (probably a bug I caught from that puking, upchucking Shonda kid!). I lie on the couch with a tray of 7-up and Saltines, watching MTV, thankful to have a day off school.

Then this video came on.

I didn't know who the hell Meatloaf was. If I'd known he was just some harmless seventies holdover with a tendency toward campy, overblown love ballads, this wouldn't have fazed me. But I was still just a kid, a kid who frequently endured bizarre rants about satanism from a bi-polar 45-year-old vigin who clearly hated children.

And after watching this weird intro where a guy in sillhouette shrieks at a frightened looking girl: "ON A HOT SUMMER NIGHT WILL YOU OFFER YOUR THROAT TO THE WOLF WITH THE RED ROSES?" I have to admit, it made me re-think the whole MTV = Satanic debate.

But then the next video came on, and it was something completely benign by Phil Collins. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Seriously though, what is up with this intro?

Shit I Didn’t Get (1980’s kid edition)

The video for Foreigner’s “I Want To Know What Love Is”.

It was 1985, and radio-friendly rockers Foreigner were starting to wear out their welcome. It was an era dominated by comparatively edgier artists like Madonna, Billy Idol, and Prince, so Foreigner was getting in touch with their softer side, probably to attract more female fans (for a similar example, see REO Speedwagon and “Can’t Fight This Feeling”). Foreigner pulled out all the stops with this power ballad, complete with lots of keyboards, croon-y vocals, and super sensitive lyrics: “Now this mountain I must climb/Feels like the world upon my shoulders/Through the clouds I see love shine/It keeps me warm as life grows colder”. The capper was the gospel choir they trotted out to belt the chorus mid-way through the song, as Lou Gramm lets loose with “I wanna feel what love is, I know you can show me…” (um—no thanks, dude).

I was 11 years old when this song and video were in heavy rotation. While 11-year-olds in post-Britney 2010 are considerably more advanced than we were back then, I was pretty naïve, even for the time. Although I was officially a pre-teen—-the annoying term “tween” hadn’t yet been coined—-I was a very young pre-teen. Most of the other girls in my fifth grade class had discovered eye shadow, curling irons, and boys, but I was still a horse-crazy tomboy, climbing trees, running around barefoot outside, and obsessing over reruns of “The Adventures of Black Beauty” on Nickelodeon. In other words, I had quite a ways to go before I caught up with my peers. My emotional immaturity probably had a lot to do with my complete misinterpretation of this video’s storyline, making all the nuances about singer Lou Gramm’s romantic woes (as you’ll see) fly right over my head.



The video starts off with a very constipated-looking Lou Gramm in a recording studio, laying down some vocals. We also get shots of Mick Jones, the band’s guitarist, rubbing his face a lot and appearing vaguely concerned. Then comes footage of some city folk going about their day, including a black construction worker who lifts a beam onto his shoulder in slow motion. Then, in a dark room somewhere, a girl wakes up, gets out of bed, and takes a shower. Cut to a black woman working in a restaurant or a dry cleaners (can’t tell which, but it’s a very steamy room). Lou Gramm sits at a desk and talks on the phone with the aforementioned girl, who is now all blow-dried and dressed and silhouetted in a dimly-lit room. They appear to be having an argument. Then Lou Gramm rides in a car and stares gloomily out the window. An apathetic looking Mick Jones is sitting next to him, staring out the window on his side. A lot of black people—-including the construction worker from before and the woman from the steamy room-—board some bus and greet one another warmly. (Note: the black working-class people in this video are a lot livelier and seem way happier than the rich white rock stars. I think that’s intentional.) The glum white musicians and the cheery urban people from the bus converge at another recording studio somewhere. There are hugs and handshakes all around, and the white musicians’ moods all seem to lighten as they get down to the business of recording the chorus of their sensitive hit single. Cut to the girl from before, who is dressed like Mary Tyler Moore for some reason. She walks—-then runs—-down a city sidewalk. At the studio, the white rockers seem much happier now as they play their instruments and Lou Gramm sings along with the assembled choir. Everybody's feeling it. The girl appears at the top of the stairway and gazes down at the recording session. She spots Lou Gramm, who also notices her. The song continues and the girl runs down the stairs towards Lou, who’s suddenly so into the song that he doesn’t see her coming. She runs over and throws her arms around Lou, literally shoving him away from the microphone. He seems surprised but not irritated that his girlfriend has interrupted this important recording session. He hugs her tightly, and then…freeze frame.

My interpretation of the video now—-one that I think is pretty much in line with the director’s vision—-is that Lou Gramm and the guys are getting bogged down with all the stress that comes along with being rich white musicians. Lou Gramm seems to be experiencing some additional emotional turmoil, what with arguing over the phone with his lady, who probably doesn’t understand the pressures of being in a famous rock band. The band’s troubles are forgotten when they start jamming with the upbeat working-class gospel choir, proving that music—-as Madonna would later sing—-makes the people come together. Then Lou’s girlfriend comes to her senses and forgives him for whatever they were arguing about earlier. The End.

My interpretation as an 11 year old: Lou Gramm’s girlfriend is prejudiced against black people. (I thought “prejudiced,” by the way, because the term “racist” wasn’t thrown about as freely as it is now and I don’t think I'd even heard that word at the time.) Prejudiced people are icky, which is why Lou Gramm looks so upset about spending time with black people while the mean woman he loves hangs around the house being mad at him for it. The band goes to the studio to record with the black people, who turn out to be really nice. The girlfriend walks the streets and thinks about things for a while, then she comes to the studio and sees how cool the black choir is. She runs down the stairs and hugs Lou Gramm, because she isn’t prejudiced anymore. The End.

Fun Fact: Foreigner guitarist Mick Jones is the stepfather of Samantha Ronson, the popular club DJ best known as Lindsay Lohan’s lesbian squeeze.

Next time: More shit from my childhood that I didn’t get. Check back soon, my memory is long and I’m feeling inspired.