theholyinnocent: (Default)
Whatsamatter you? You no like Serge Gainsbourg and his awesome groove? Well, indulge my nostalgia again:

I played this album TO DEATH in high school. (And it's bittersweet to see James Honeyman-Scott and Pete Farndon...young, alive, having fun.) They don't make songs or women rock stars like this anymore, peoples.

I've decided that making sense of 80s music video is like trying to understand physics theory or reading Sanskrit while hungover. But the intersection of various cultural weirdnesses remains fun to me.

I'm going down to Liverpool to stalk Nimoy, all the days of my life )
theholyinnocent: (Default)
...last summer.

It's 1983. My friend A. and I got a lot of mileage out of this song. We spent an entire summer tacking the phrase "and then suddenly...last summer!" onto everything, sometimes accompanied by a Bacallesque downward head turn and angsty glare, or a mere melodramatic head snap, long hair streaming into our faces as we dissolved into giggles.

And the video! And then're in a cliched dream sequence! And then suddenly...Robert Carradine has his meaty paw on your thigh! And then suddenly...your hair goes all poofy and all your inappropriately dressed, dorky band mates are on the beach with you, giving you the evil eye! And then suddenly...the ice cream truck is rolling by! How in the hell did it get here from the other dream sequence?

However, Martha Davis is even hotter in Only the Lonely. She rocks the 40s-style fashion. There's the hat with the little veil, her gloved fingers touching bright, glossy lips tainted with a kiss from yet another dorky band mate...then the overturned table, the multiple martini shots, the flurry of pages from the band's music stands, the cute little salute from the bartender, the sprawl over the table...all of it setting a new wave standard for beautiful melodrama, bittersweet camp.
theholyinnocent: (Default)
Stick out your can for the garbageman.

I remember seeing the Cramps perform at a club in Jersey (wish I could remember where & what it was called) in the late 80s/early 90s. Despite my efforts to keep out of the most pit I was slammed around a lot; I think wearing a white shirt made me a target. Dumb choice on my part. Lux Interior, the lead singer, wore a one-piece body suit of some kind of shiny, latex-like material. During the course of the concert he would tear at it, gradually exposing a shoulder here, an arm there, a chest, until finally, by the big blowout encore number, he had completely ripped off the suit and stood before us on the the stage in all his naked, sweaty, and stoned glory, thereby entertaining the drunken and equally stoned masses, including the fangirls admiring his artistic integrity for baring it all ("Don't you see? It's like a symbolic stripping away of all pretension!") and me, who became considerably gayer as a result.

Ah, nostalgia!


theholyinnocent: (Default)

May 2013

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