Around 1977-78 all of us kids started complaining to our parents about the crappy record player we had and how bad our records sounded on it. Never being one to argue against the obvious, Dad bought us a stereo system complete with an 8-track player. After making that purchase, my sister Renda pointed out that the new stereo should come with some new records to play on it or 8-track tapes to jam in it. That way we could really hear how good the stereo effects were. Dad told her to pick out some, so she selected an assortment of albums that would have a huge impact my musical tastes. Among those she bought were Queen's "A Night at the Opera" and The Eagles first greatest hits compilation that covered the pre-Walsh years (1971-1975). I soon had all the songs memorized, and I became a lifelong fan of both bands.
Our collection of Queen and Eagles albums grew over the years, and when the Eagles released "The Long Run" in 1979, it got so much play on our home stereo that I ended up memorizing all the songs on that album too. Among them is "Those Shoes"--a song tailor-made for those moments when I pondered the question, "What does she see in that guy? He's just a predator after one thing! Doesn't she realize where that's going to lead?"
I loved pretty much everything about this song--the bass-line, the crunchy guitar chords, high-hat cymbals and maracas simmering in the background, the double talk-box guitars, the whisper-singing in the bridge, and the talk-box "butt-outs" at the end. (The talk-box makes it sound like "bud-owp" to me.) These all combined to make it an excellent song for those days when I had an extra-dark mood going.
Bud-owp! Bud-owp!
The Eagles had a lot of hits on The Long Run, including "The Long Run" (obviously!), "I Can't Tell You Why?" (an excellent companion song to "Don't Ask Me Why"), "In the City," and "Heartache Tonight." But my favorites beside "Those Shoes" were "Teenage Jail" and "The Greeks Don't Want No Freaks." The critics claimed that the latter song was only a bit of comic relief from all the dark themes covered on the album. I agree. In fact, I think that "Greeks" is a prime example of good rock 'n' roll comic relief. To show just how good it is, I'll contrast it with the epitome of bad rock 'n' roll comic relief.
Among the albums Renda bought was this 8-track compilation of dance music that included "Macho Man" and "Y.M.C.A" by the Village People, "Brick House" by The Commodores, and "Disco Duck" by Rick Dees and His Cast of Idiots.
That's right. I can sing all the lyrics to "Disco Duck." Including the duck-voice parts.
It's not something I'm proud of.
Now, in order for me to share the shame of that accomplishment, let's go ahead and descend into the fifth circle of music hell and watch Rick perform the song on American Bandstand. I know you're going to be tempted to not watch the entire thing, but you mustn't give into that completely understandable urge. You've got to listen to it all carefully for a particularly excellent question from Dick Clark.
The answer to Dick's question can only be "Fleeing the scene of the crime." It's this kind of television that makes me embarrassed to be an American. You wouldn't see something this ridiculous being shown on a respectable European television network like the BBC.
What?! You've got footage to the contrary? I don't believe it!
And now we know why all ducks should be required to wear pants. No exceptions, Donald!
Okay. I'm sure we can all agree that the only way the two videos above could be bested is with an over-the-top performance featuring Rick Dees in a white Elvis pantsuit and the Solid Gold dancers wearing body-hugging spandex that's been dipped in a vat of French's mustard.
Really?! YOU feel stupid singing it, Rick?! Imagine how WE feel watching it! This is network television, for Pete's sake! And you just HAD to drag Lisa Hartman into this nationally televised debacle, didn't you?! She wouldn't whore out her musical talent in a desperate attempt to bump TV ratings up and--
What? She sang what?! Where?! While wearing what?! Seriously?! You have footage of Lisa Hartman singing "If Love Must Go" on an episode of "Knot's Landing while wearing Lydia's sparkly alien shoulder-pads that she stole off "V" mothership?!"
All aliens prefer to stand with arms akimbo and hands knotted into fists.
HO, BOY! If I can watch Lisa Hartman sing in those shoulder-pads while all of the other Knot's Landing cast members drink booze, I'd definitely want to see that on network television! Do you think her sad face and melancholy lyrics will make any of them cry? I hope so!
Take heart, Michele Lee. Lisa will eventually find love by marrying country music superstar Clint Black. And after that beautiful song, I now have hope that we'll all find love. Eventually.
You'd probably think that if I'm going to choose a Loverboy song to be on the list, it would be "Working for the Weekend." Why? Because it starts with three glorious clunks on a cowbell! It's also got a driving beat, galloping guitars, and lung-busting screams in the lyrics--"You wanna be in the show-oh? Come on, baby, lets GO!"
Quantum Records--BOTH sides are the A side!
Although, now that I think about it, "Working" doesn't have anything near the lyric-scream ratio found in "The Kid is Hot Tonight."
Musical Law of Thermodynamics--As the entropy of the title increases, so do record sales.
On just WhOA-ohs alone, "The Kid" crushes "Working" when it comes to lyric-scream ratios. But that's partly because Canadian bands measure their ratios on the Metric Scale, which can really only be understood by science nerds who measure everything in Metrics. How tall is it? One Metric. How fast is it? One Metric. How heavy is it? One Metric.
Yes, indeed, scientists love to measure all kinds of stuff. It's 93% (that's in Metric percentages) of what they do. The other 7% is classified. And do you know how often they measure all this stuff? Well, scientists would say "every Metric," but I'd say "a shitload." Because Mr. Brown and Mr. Divesti turned me off to science in junior high, there's no way I'll ever be able to figure out the algorithm to convert Canadian Metric lyric-screams into commonly understood units of measure like Pounds and Gallons and Feet and Seconds and Tablespoons and Pinches and Smidgens and Angles and Watts and Volts and Acres and Dollars and Hands and Horses and Hair Breadths and Football Fields and Olympic Swimming Pools and Grand Canyons and Dog Years and Shakes of Lambs' Tails and New York Minutes and Swedish Miles and Bakers Dozens and Bushels and Pecks and Carrots and Cubits and Firkins and Farthings and Shekels and Talents and Shibloms and Shiblums and Klicks and Jiffies and Drams and Machs and G-forces and Furlongs and Fathoms and Knots and Fortnights and Stones and Proofs and Scovilles and Bauds and Bytes and Parsecs and Star Dates and Kellicams and Kelvins and Roentgens and Langleys and Stokes and Richter Magnitudes and Bortle Classes and Bristol Types*. You know, something SIMPLE for crying out loud!
Anyway, "Working" was probably my favorite Loverboy song until that "Chippendales" skit on SNL--which is near the tippy-top of my Top 200 SNL skits list. See, the problem is that whenever I hear "Working for the Weekend" now, I think of that skit. And then I think of how I look so much, much more like Barney than Adrian. Also, the song does not conjure up Arimo Mafia and junior-senior high school time-period memories like "Queen of the Broken Hearts" does. And obviously, that's a factor that weighs heavily in any selection for this list.
Not to be confused with Queenie Henderson of the Broken Hearts
Since "Queen of the Broken Hearts" was one of the vinyl singles I purchased with my own money to play at the school dances, it got OODLES of play on the home stereo, especially when I lifted weights in my bedroom, which was just the oversized hallway in our basement.
That's right. I lived in the basement hallway.
Why? Because when Randy left the day after he graduated, Mom came to me and said that the twins, who had been sleeping in the hallway, needed more privacy while they were dressing because they were getting older, and so I was now going to be kicked out of the bedroom where I had lived since I was three years old and take up residence in the hallway from that very day until I went to college. Of course, this meant zero privacy for me too. But that was okay, since I didn't care if my sisters saw me in my Fruit-of-the-Looms. After all, they saw me in my swimsuit on a daily basis when I was lifeguarding during the summer. (Mom used to tell me to put a shirt on when I walked around shirtless at home. My retort was that I got paid hundreds of dollars to walk around all day in public with my shirt off, so why couldn't I have it off in the privacy of my own home?) The twins had put up these big bed-sheet curtains in the hallway to try to give themselves some privacy, but I left them open and just dressed in the furnace/fruit room. I had my bed and a little area next to it where I could put the stereo and my weights. I had the stereo speakers on both sides of my bed so I could lay in bed and listen to the stereo effects on records and FM radio stations. And anytime I wanted to work out, I could crank up the music and do a ridiculous number of barbell reps to get my biceps and triceps and pecs and lats all buffed up.
But I digress.
"Queen of the Broken Hearts" was also one of the songs I listened to anytime I felt really pissed at being rejected by my high-school crushes because they liked some other boy better. (Prepare yourself. There's a whole Quimby of these songs coming up on this list.) The lyrics are best sung with a scornful tone that says, "Oh, you think you're soooooo special!" Basically, take the attitude you hear on Billy Joel's "Big Shot" and lay it on just as thick with this song.
You were born with it.
And now you got it.
And oooh you flaunt it!
And you don't care,
'Cause nothin's gonna bring you down,
No!
Hey, kids! Do you like playing hide-and-seek with raven-haired Amazonian beauties that are holed up in their secret, high-tech desert-mountain lair and will only emerge in the daylight to sexy-pose and strut on boulders but can be lured out at night to flashdance in a spotlight whenever loud rock music is played on dust-covered instruments by sweaty men that like to point and clench their fists? Does your idea of dressing up for a date in the desert involve leather pants and chest hair? Most importantly--and I can't believe I even have to ask this question--do you like bandanas?
You do?!
Then prepare yourself for eleven score and tensome eyeblinks of sheer rock 'n' roll wonderment!
* No, I'm not making this up. Bristol Types are part of an actual scale that measures the hardness or the softness of human stools. And from the look on Mike Reno's face throughout the above video, I'd say he's holding back a Type 2 and moving light speed towards a Type 1. (I blame it on dehydration.)
Reason #1. I saw this video my freshman year at Ricks in the TV room at Ensign Hall at least a hundred times. (Same TV room where I wasted Saturday afternoons playing Risk.)
Reason #2. Cowbell solo! (The video version of the song is missing two bars of the cowbell solo. Ripoff!)
Reason #3. It's fun to sing like Tina Turner. Why? Because nothing's funnerer than lip pouting while you sing! Isn't that right, Mick?
Wouldn't you agree Billy?
Hey, Freddy, back me up on this one.
Thanks, Freddy. You can go put on some real pants now.
Anyone else want to support me on this point?
Thanks, Derek. Thanks, Hansel. Although you are fictional characters and aren't really singers or models or even actors, your support is noted. Now onto--
Yes, Mick. You've already put in your two--
Yes! Thank you, Mick! Your angry pout is just fine. The snarl-pout combo is fascin--
What the--?! Who the hell are--
Nobody's asking you, Beiber! Don't you have something better to do than annoy us?! Why don't you go join Freddy, and the two of you can strut around the stage with your shirts off!
Okay! Okay! Mick! We got it! You've made your point! Hey, there was some cocaine left over from the "Rapture" video brainstorming session. You might want to go check it--
And Mick's gone.
Okay. Now where was I? Oh, yeah--"You Better Be Good to Me."
This song may very well have the best lip-pouting lyrics ever. The pouting in the first verse alone can cause lip cramps. It's an angry pout too, not one of those trying-to-be-sexy pouts. (Beiber? Are you there? No? Oh, he and Freddy must have gone back to the Blondie entry with Mick. Enjoy it while it lasts, boys!)
Yes, Tina's angry pout is exquisite. Although, I have to say, it is still a little sexy. But in an angry-sexy way. How do you know if you're singing this song right? You'll know if, at the end of the song, you're super-pissed at a past lover that jilted you AND you can't feel your lips anymore.
Reason #4. When it came out, I found the lyrics quite helpful in keeping past torches I had carried completely doused. (Should I be fractured by their lack of devotion? [Pout] Should I? [Pout] Should I?! [Super-pout])
I have a very specific memory of this song. I remember sitting by myself in the truck in the dark in front of my house listening to this song on the radio and thinking to myself, "What is this rap thing she's doing? I like it! I wonder if it will ever become popular?"
The video for this song is what happens when an MTV video producer rents a really big writers' room and invites musicians, DJs, department store mannequin dressers, hookers, graffiti artists, spray paint lobbyists, fashion designers, top hat manufacturers, Uncle Sam, a hissing-shirtless-black-dude wearing white pants and a war bonnet, potted plant sellers, people needing to use a public phone, ballerinas, furriers, goat herders, hopping kilt-makers, stiff-necked police officers, line dancers, coat checkers, homeless dentists, and flashing-red-light-sunglasses wholesalers to all gather at the writer's table and spend the evening snorting cocaine.
Although much different from what Yes had recorded earlier, and much different from a lot of what they would record afterwards, 90125 was still an outstanding album. And the lead song "Owner of a Lonely Heart" just happened to hit the charts at the same time I received my last romantic rejection in high school, which for me turned it into the break-up song that I'd listen to and think, "Yes!"
Because that's the name of the band.
I'd also think, "I agree. The owner of a lonely heart is much better than a owner of a broken heart." And that thought inspired me. I was so convinced of the truthfulness of this idea that I committed myself to bachelorhood, stopped going to dances, stopped dating, and tried to focus on running track, playing in band, hanging out with the Arimo Mafia, and working on the family farm. (And by "working" I mostly mean riding my motorcycle in the 40 acres behind the house.)
In fact, I believe this was one of the last songs I played at a high school dance before I quit DJ-ing and retreated into the emotional monestary of continual angry depression. And what I mostly did while in this mind-cloister was listen to songs that reinforced my new mysogynistic attitude and promoted an extended existential crisis. During this time, this song was comfort food for me. But that's probably because I refused to contemplate the lyrics that said "take your chances win or loser" and that "there's no real reason to be lonely."
But besides the lyrics, there were other positive aspects of the song that made it enjoyable to listen to.
1. Opening rockin' guitar riff
2. Catchy bass line
3. Cowbell!
4. Lots of interesting percussion, synthesizer bits, and sound effects mixed into the music
5. Gunshot after the "eagle in the sky" line
6. Yeow! during the break
7. Interesting new (at the time) guitar solo sound
The video for this song was also interesting. Why not have a gander!
Many people dislike this video, including the band. But to my mind there are a bunch of saving graces.
First, it's all based on a Kafka book, "The Trial." And since it's Kafka, you have to expect the video to be a little freaky. Kafka's story is about a man that is arrested by an unknown authority for an unknown crime and is forced to go to trial in a court system that he can't figure out until he receives the inevitable death sentence. Yep. That pretty much sums up what it feels like be spurned by a lover and have your heart broken.
Second, it's got a fake-out opening that works well into the general theme. You're just watching a traditional music video and then...BLAMMO! You get these strange video snippets of the members of the band you were just watching turning into an eagle...and a snake...and a lizard...and cat in a bathroom. And you don't have a clue what this all means, and you want somebody to explain it to you, but nobody does, so you struggle and struggle to make sense of it, and then...
Fourth, you are suddenly transported into a surreal black-and-white story where this dude is abducted and brought to trial in an office building, where he starts to spaz out to these flashbacks of animals attacking him. And the attacks are in color, so you know there's probably some symbolism in that, and you're trying to think about that really hard because it might explain just what the hell is going on and then...
Banana, the maggot flashbacks begin. Maggots on the hand. Washing the face with maggots. Then more animal attacks. Then a naked lady in bed turns into a frog. Even more animal attacks. Maggots on the eyes (twice!), and then the guy is shoved into a black and white elevator that goes down, down, down to...
Lester, a colorized version of hell, where he gets into a fist fight with Hell's Welder, which he wins by hitting the guy right in the nards with a board or pipe or something else we can't see and then knocking him out with a single punch to the face. And he then runs away and climbs up, up, up to...
Eleventeenth, the roof of a skyscraper, where Yes surrounds him, and the guy realizes these guys are shapeshifters and are the creepy animals that have been attacking him. But Yes doesn't even touch the guy. They just stare at him while wearing black suits and ties, which turns out to be so terrifying that the only choice left to the man is to pitch himself off the skyscraper roof. As he falls, you think he turns into an eagle and flies away, but there he is going to work again (in color!), but he decides it isn't worth it (good point) and turns around and goes back home (in black and white). The end.
You confused? Me too. I've taken advanced courses in literary analysis, but the interpretation of these story elements is so--
Wait a minute!... the guy is walking on a... concrete bridge... over a brown river... and the cars are all driving in the wrong direction because they're in... London?
Oh! Now I get it! What clever symbolism! The whole thing makes complete sense!
Have you ever known one of those families that begins all of their 10 kids' first names with the same letter? My uncle Robert did that. All his kids' names began with the letter D, which meant that whenever we visited, I was the cousin most likely to be able to pass myself off as one of the family. I don't remember all their names, but I do remember David, Darryl, Daniel, Doyle, and Denise. I'm not sure what the other names were now, as it's been so long since I've seen them. But I think I can say with confidence that none of them were named Dabney, Diego, Demetrius, Desdemona, Dagwood, Desiree, Darby, Darrence, Daffodil, Daisy, Dartagnan, Dixie, Darwin, Dearg, Doris, Dharma, Deiphobus, Delbert, Delmar, Delroy, Drucilla, Demodocus, Daphne, Derwent, Derwin, Devereaux, Dillie, Dimas, Dimka, Darlene, Dino, Dmitri, Dolphus, Dawn, Domo, Donahue, Dervla, Donatello, Dontrell, Dorian, Draven, Dee Dee, Dorcus, Dordie, Dusty, or especially Draupnir. I would remember cousin Draupnir.
Now I can understand why families do this, especially families planning on having lots of kids. There's something pleasantly entertaining about hearing a long list of family names rattled off in super-rapid order. I get it.
I also get families that have all the kids names start with the same letter, but then for some really good reason, they decide to give the last kid a name with a different letter. Of course, this makes the whole experience of listing the family names more than anticlimactic letdown. It's a genuine jolt to the ol' brain! It produces a "What the--?!" effect in the listener, and a dozen questions flood the mind simultaneously, causing more than a modicum of cognitive congestion.
Did I hear that wrong?
Did they say it wrong?
Did they find a new way to spell the sound the letter makes?
Did they just try to pull my leg?
Did they run out of names that start with the letter?
Did they adopt?
Did the parents divorce and the new spouse refused to support alphabetically consistent nomenclature?
Did the child reject the name and forced everyone to call him/her by a middle name?
Did the family use the letter so much that they acquired a conditioned letter aversion?
Did they surrender the decision to name the child to a dying grandparent that named the child something else just to exact revenge upon the family for defying their original wishes to NOT start every grandchild's name with the same letter?
Did the parents forget to buckle up the child and then there was some horrible car accident in which the child was thrown through the window and the letter came clean off?
OR
Did the letter Q become unfashionable for first names and people began to mock anyone that had it at the beginning of their signature? That's what happened to the letter Q, you know. Q started out fine with names like Quin and Quinten and Quaid. But then somebody decided to create a TV show about a medical examiner named Quincy, which was a great name that everybody liked, but after seven seasons, people began to catch on that being a "medical examiner" means you poke around in dead people's bodies looking for things that don't usually belong in dead people's bodies. Although the ratings shot down, the show survived for an eight season due to a write-in campaign by Quincy's most loyal viewers. But then it was discovered his most loyal viewers were all necrophiliacs, so the show got cancelled. This association of the Quincy name with dead bodies was so strong that Quincy and all other Q-names began to fall out of general favor. The Australians tried to rescue Q with Quigley, but then somebody in Scandanavia named their kid Quimby, and that sealed Q's fate. There's just no bouncing back from a Quimby.
Yet, even with all of these questions flooding my mind at once, I still get it. As a former English teacher, and as a real bastard with a dark sense of humor, I kind of enjoy the idea of people hearing the family name list rattled off in all its alliterative glory and getting excited to see what name brings the whole thing to a satisfying linguistic climax, only to have their great expectations crushed mercilessly by an out-of-sync grapheme. That's just good clean fun!
But what I don't get--and will NEVER get--is when parents have three or four kids with names with the same first letter, but then they give the next kid in order a name with some other first letter, and then they go BACK to naming the next kid with the same letter as the first three or four kids. It's madness! Madness, I tell you!
And that brings us to the British rock band named after the continent of Asia (not to be confused with the Swedish rock band named after the continent of Europa). Rock bands often give their first album the same name as the band. So it wasn't so unusual for Asia to name their first album "Asia." Then they named their second album "Alpha," which is a somewhat cheeky name for something that comes second. But hey! We like bands with a sense of humor!
After the second album, Asia could still have named their third album pretty much anything they'd like and people wouldn't have scratched their heads over it. But Asia crossed the Rubicon and named their third album "Astra," and that made all Asia fans realize that this isn't just a naming pattern where the first letter is the same. No, no, no! To our amazement, the last letter in each name was also the same! We've got A's in front and A's in back! That's commitment! That's consistency! That's poetic!
After the third album, everyone was convinced that the rest of the band's albums would have names that start and end with the letter A. This belief became cemented in our minds as gospel truth when Asia released in order "Aqua," "Aria," and "Arena."
That's six albums in a row with the double-A pattern! So there's zero chance that the next album name won't begin and end with an A, right?
WRONG! Asia's next release is named "Rare." What the--?!
Did I hear that wrong?
Did they say it wrong?
Did they find a new way to spell the sound the letter A makes?
Did they just try to pull my leg?
Did they run out of names that start and end with the letter A?
Did they adopt?
Did the band split and the new members refused to support alphabetically consistent nomenclature?
Did the album reject its original name and forced everyone to call it by its middle name?
Did the band use the letter so much that they acquired a conditioned letter aversion?
Did they surrender the decision to name the album to a dying manager that named the album something else just to exact revenge upon the band for defying his original wishes to NOT start and end every album name with the letter A?
Did the band forget to buckle up the album and then there was some horrible touring bus accident in which the album was thrown through the window and the letter A came clean off?
OR
Did the English parliament finally accept the will of the non-rhotic English speakers and pass a law that officially establishes the letter R as both a postvocalic consonant AND a prevocalic consonant, thus wiping out the use of the letter R anytime it's next to a vowel?
No?! Really?! None of that happened, huh? They just up and named it "Rare" without anyone in British government intervening?
Bloody hell! Why didn't Asia just throw in the towel and call the album "Quimby?!"
What?! You say that this album is in reality more of a solo album by Geoff Downes and David Payne that they composed for soundtracks (part for a documentary film and part for a video game), so it's purely instrumental and generally makes for good background music? Thank you, Gary Hill of Allmusic.com, for that plagiaristic summary! Thanks for setting us straight on that. Now we can explain away the name "Rare" by recognizing that it was only two members of Asia, not the entire band, that was involved in this heinous crime of alphabetical deviance. Whew! For a moment there, I thought Asia was no longer interested in giving their albums names that begin and end with the letter A.
Oh, goody! The next studio album is titled "Aura!" Oh, frabjous A! The pattern has been reestablished, and all is right with the world. So from now on, it's agreed that Asia will go back to following the double-A naming pattern. And that's exactly what we see happen when the rest of Asia's albums are titled:
Silent Nation
Phoenix
Omega (Which is NOT their last album. Cheeky!)
XXX
Gravitas
Oh, bollucks!
I just don't get it.
We, the fans, made an extensive effort to explain away the "Rare" name so that the pattern could continue. We even considered changing the rules of English so that we could almost entirely do away with the letter R? Hell, as a sign of my own devotion to the double-A naming convention, I will now adopt that exact rule as a lifelong commitment and eliminate all use of that unspeakable symbol!
And in no way do I think this will be an easy task! Do you ealize how had it is to wite wods without the lette ?! Now I wite like Elme Fudd talks!
But this just shows how passionate Asia fans like me can be. I was willing to change the conventions of the English language to help keep up an unboken steak of what would have been the best collection of double-A album names in all of ock 'n' oll histoy! That's how much it means to me! And how do you, Asia, acknowledge that level of love and devotion? You cap all ove me! Do you think I'm just pat of a "Silent Nation?" You tease us with "Omega"--which only ends with an A. And what's with the tiple-X title?! It's ponogaphic! And that's just idiculous and wong!
Okay. I guess I don't have to get it. I just have to accept it.
And acceptance is the final stage of gief, so I guess I'm also done witing.
Oh, yeah! I fogot! That song--"Heat of the Moment"--that's the topic I'm supposed to wite about.
Soy, I somehow got distacted and stated witing about eveything BUT the song. I guess something must have biefly cossed my mind duing a shot peiod of time, and I got caught up in an impulsive uge to say or do something I'd later eget. Of couse, that same behavio petty much sums up evey omantic elationship I attempted in my junio and senio yeas at Mash Valley. And fo some eason, this song has a poweful association with that peiod of my life. It bings back memoies of the stong, tubulent emotions--the euphoia and heatbeak--that I felt duing all those cushes I had on high school gils, especially the ones I danced with in the dak afte football and basketball games, but neve afte the westling matches o tack meets o any gils spots (how disciminatoy!). Yes, I eckon I can tuthfully say my heat was uled by teenage ambition, which I emembe well. I was always tying to catch the peal and ide the dagon's wings. What a Quimby I was!
Yeah. Okay. Back to the song.
I like the song. I think it's good! It eally, eally ocks!
If you listened to the entire 11 minutes and 23 seconds of "Albuquerque"--and why wouldn't you?--toward the end of the song (yes, it does in fact, end) you heard Weird Al describe a fight that he got into with "some big fat hermaphrodite with a Flock-Of-Seagulls haircut and only one nostril." And I bet what you paid attention to in that line had nothing to do hermaphrodites or nostrils. I bet you heard "Flock-of-Seagulls haircut" and instantly remembered the haircut and began to laugh because of how ridiculous it looks. Hey, that's what I did too.
I have a theory about the haircut. It's was both a blessing and a curse for the band. The blessing came in the form of widespread name recognition, something new bands need if they want to survive long enough to get really good and put out lots of albums so they can become old bands. The curse came later in the form of widespread dismissal of their music once the coolness of the haircut wore off and people began to mock it.
But I totally get the reason why the haircut gets mocked. Funny-looking hair is just...funny! And if you want a scene in a movie or a line in a song to evoke laughter, the Flock-of-Seagull haircut is a well that never runs dry. For example, "La La Land" is an academy award-winning film from last year about the importance of following your dreams, especially if those dreams have something to do with playing jazz music and/or looking pretty in movies. When they needed a funny scene, the writers threw in a Flock-of-Seagulls song. And for the most part, the scene worked well because of the mockery. (I admit I'm partial to Emma Stone because of the red hair thing. She also has the kind of eyes that hypnotize me through.)
If the singer had never cut his hair like that, I believe A Flock of Seagulls would have lasted longer as a group and be remembered today in much the same way The Police is remembered--as a group ripped to shreds by Sting's ego. They were actually a pretty good band--even winning a Grammy for Best Rock Instrumental Performance for "D.N.A." in 1983. (The Police won it the year before and Sting won it the following year. What an egotistical bastard!) To my ears, A Flock of Seagulls' sound was full of lots of interesting layers--you know, like the Wall of Sound sound. When this New Wave song came out in 1982, I played it a lot at school dances, and I always liked to hear it at the highest volume allowed by whatever chaperone was there to make sure no one got pregnant while on the dance floor. But I didn't like the band so much that I wanted to have mirrors for walls and tin foil for carpet.
I know it's hard to believe, especially considering the high production values of music videos today, but this video holds the record for the most plays on the MTV. Somebody in charge of the MTV playlist must have really liked merry-go-rounds as a kid.
Shortly after the success of "I Ran," A Flock of Seagulls came out with another song that I really liked--"Space Age Love Song." In many ways, it's a better song than "I Ran." If I could remember dancing with any girls to "Space Age Love Song," it probably would have taken the lead. However, "I Ran" wins out because of its association with school dance DJ-ing and it's ability to do double doody as a running song.
I'm sorry. I can't end this entry here. I simply can't use the phrase "funny-looking hair" and not include a Donald J. Trump hair photo. I was going to try to avoid posting pictures of people with a Flock-of-Seagulls haircut, but oh well.
Run! Run so far away!
See. Funny-looking hair IS funny! And Donald J. Trump's hair is an absolute riot!
No. Seriously. Wherever the hair goes, there's a riot.
