(New to the countdown? Catch up here.)

Coming back from the commercial, we see a short clip of Stewart singing “Forever Young” at the MTV Video Music Awards. His drummer has some hexagonal drum pads in the kit; Stewart is wearing a glitzed-up leather jacket and gesturing wildly on the line “be courageous and be brave” (a bit redundant lyrically, isn’t it?).

Kevin Seal, not entirely sincerely, praises Stewart’s valor in performing at the VMAs with a head cold. “He’s maturing as a performer,” he says. “He’s been around long enough–it should be second nature to him.” Seal goes on to say that Stewart is donating all his profits from “Forever Young” to a charity for homeless children, which he praises, almost meaning it. “It’s a very nice thing for him to do and we all agree, quite adult. Rod is shedding that sex-symbol image and out there just trying to be a guy about things.”

Seal doesn’t address the question of whether that charity donation was part of Stewart’s settlement with Bob Dylan for liberally borrowing from Dylan’s own “Forever Young.” It’s one of the more blatant pop-chart ripoffs ever, right up there with Mariah Carey’s “Emotions” rewriting the Emotions’ “Best of My Love.” I believe Stewart fell back on the George Harrison defense of subconscious plagiarism–but it was his second major single that employed wholesale lifting (the first being “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy?”–which swiped the keys to “Taj Mahal” by Jorge Ben Jor and returned it with cigarette burns on the upholstery).

My reaction in 1988 every time I heard “Forever Young” was “Doesn’t anybody remember the Bob Dylan song that is a very obvious rewrite of? Why didn’t he just cover it?” Twenty years later, knowing that there was a negotiated settlement, I can concentrate on the Artistry of Rod.

The most famous line about Rod Stewart’s career belongs to Greil Marcus: “Rarely has a singer had as full and unique a talent as Rod Stewart; rarely has anyone betrayed his talent so completely.” (Marcus continued his essay in The Rolling Stone Illustrated History of Rock & Roll for quite a while in this vein; the next line was “Once the most compassionate presence in music, he has become a bilious self-parody–and sells more records than ever.”) By the time I became aware of Stewart in the late ’70s, though, “Maggie May” was a long way in the rear-view mirror: Stewart was just an omnipresent hack entertainer whose output over the next decade was roughly split between good cheese (“Hot Legs,” “Infatuation,” “Passion”) and bad cheese (“Love Touch,” “Some Guys Have All the Luck,” “My Heart Can’t Tell You No”). This track is firmly in the latter category. I suspect MTV didn’t give Stewart more than one slot in this countdown; I would have preferred his other #12 hit from 1988, “Lost in You”–the video cast him as an aging bartender in a strip club, a role where he seemed completely plausible.

This video is simple–basically, Stewart sings to a child as they drive down a road in the heartland of America–but the record company spared no expense. The film stock is expensive; the light is exquisite; the amber fields are aglow with the smell of money. After a few establishing shots of the (expensive) roadside scenery, we see International Rock Star Rod Stewart. He is sitting on the back of a slow-moving truck. The wind wafts through his rooster haircut, giving it even more volume than it usually has. He is wearing a black jacket and a white t-shirt, and cradling a young redheaded boy.

The kid doesn’t look like he came straight from the central-casting office that supplies moppets for cereal commercials; his hair is a ginger mop and he resembles a chubby homonoculus. That made me wonder whether it’s one of Stewart’s seven children (Sean Stewart, later to star on the reality show Sons of Hollywood, would have been eight in 1988, which is about right, but this boy doesn’t appear to be him–I think Rod actually is emoting to an actor child. In that context, a wish for a child to remain forever young is also known as “The Curse of Gary Coleman.”)

A vintage pickup truck (1940s, probably) slowly comes up behind Stewart on the road before passing him. The driver is a stern-looking man, seemingly not pleased to have rock videos clogging up his local traffic patterns. In the bed of the truck are two people in their Sunday best: a woman in a long patterned dress and a little girl wearing a straw hat. The girl waves happily to the camera. There’s plenty of room for them both in the cab of the truck, and I’m not sure why they’re riding in the back. Is this some weird Mennonite thing, where the womenfolk can’t sit up front?

More scenery, more gauzy close-ups of Stewart, and then another car comes up behind him. This one’s a baby-blue convertible, 1950s vintage, with four young women in it: three blowzy blondes in sundresses and one tough-girl brunette in a leather jacket and jeans. The tough girl (let’s call her Jo) is wearing a Kangol and perched up on the trunk, letting her feet dangle onto the backseat.

Stewart drives by three farmers walking through a field; they seem to have been dressed by Ralph Lauren. Two of them are carrying large shovels. The redheaded kid is now clutching Stewart’s lapel and gazing up into Stewart’s nostrils, clearly not having as much fun as he had hoped for.

Next traffic to pass: five bad-ass guys on motorcycles. They don’t give Stewart a second look. As they roll by, we reach the song’s guitar solo, which I only mention because improbably enough, it’s played by Andy Taylor of Duran Duran (who also produced this track). Who knew Taylor had any sort of post-“Reflex” career?

The bikers are followed by the three farmers, now standing in the back of another 1940s orange pickup truck with a few bales of hay. The metaphor of “follow the passage of time by the age of the vehicles” has fallen apart; this truck should really be from the ’70s. I suppose they didn’t want to put the farmers in a VW micro-bus.

New setting: hazy blue background, Stewart down one knee, singing to the ginger boy–who is attempting to beat out a rhythm on his leg, without much success. Cut to Stewart sitting on a bale of hay, cradling the kid. Cut to Stewart standing up with the kid: he’s back on the road now, and we can see that his vehicle is a modern steel-blue pickup truck. As the camera pans by, the kid tweaks Stewart’s nose, which is actually very cute. When the camera reaches the truck’s cab, we see that nobody’s driving. Oooh, spooky.

We end with Stewart standing in a field, doing Bono’s patented “reach for the sky” gesture–and slow-motion shots of many of the people we met in the last few minutes. Farmers, bikers, Mennonites–but no Jo. Poor, doomed Jo. She should have worn her seatbelt.

“Forever Young” hit #12 on the Billboard pop charts. You can watch it here.

posted 18 June 2009 in 1988. 2 comments

Trolling through my hard disk yesterday, I stumbled on this short but thoroughly entertaining interview I did with Keira Knightley four years ago. It was pegged to the forgettable Domino movie, but we touched on a variety of other topics (Pirates of the Caribbean, the drinking age, detention slips) and she was much funnier than I had any reason to expect. Bonus: the image of Knightley wielding nunchuks as Elizabeth Bennett totally anticipates Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.

posted 15 June 2009 in Archives, Articles. no comments yet

Taken last month, on an extended L.A. stroll.

posted 12 June 2009 in Photos. no comments yet

(If you’re new to the countdown, you can click here to catch up.)

We kick off this commercial break with the spot for MTV’s “Big Bang ’89” broadcast that we’ve seen three times before. A lot of big hair among the featured acts: Poison, Winger, Daryl Hall, Escape Club, Vixen. But even at age 40, Robert Plant has the mightiest hair of all and his tresses lay waste to all pretenders.

Next up: the third airing of the Coca-Cola Classic commercial where the suburban parents go out for the evening, warning “no parties,” and come home to find their teenage daughters have thrown them a surprise anniversary party. Some period indicators in this ad: the haircuts, a VCR, teenagers using a landline telephone.

A new ad (woohoo!) for a Toyota pickup truck. The ad shows a big black truck going over sand dunes and other rough terrain, and notably lacks the “professional driver” screen disclaimer. The background music is icy synths: very Giorgio Moroder. The agency’s odd choice in voiceover artist is somebody raspy and vaguely British. At the end, we get a testimonial from a guy with a white sweater and a receding hairline; he looks like a low-rent John Tesh. “It’s everything I ever wanted,” he says, leaning against the hood of the truck. Then he jumps in the air, pumping his fist, and we see a freezeframe of him at the apex of his leap, because that’s what happened in Toyota ads in the ’80s. “Toyota Quality: Who Could Ask for Anything More?” the tag reads.

Again, a short spot for the videocassette of Willow. The fire-breathing dragon looks particularly fake.

Another variation of the “What Dry Is” series for Michelob Dry: we still see lots of crashing waves, but this time, instead of sexy girls, we get lingering shots of empty glass beer steins. “No Aftertaste,” the ad promises–was a nasty aftertaste supposed to be one of the problems with regular Michelob?

“Can one shampoo and conditioner give more body?” asks Victoria Principal, reclining on a couch in a sun-dappled room. Oh, I want to believe it can, Victoria, but I’ve been burned so many times before. Please, please, give me hope again. “When women with fine hair compared Jhirmack Nutri-Body to their regular brand, they preferred it by more than two to one for body and fullness.” Victoria touches her own hair, which suddenly looks like the platonic ideal of brunette, and smiles. (Improbably enough, this ad is available on YouTube; you can watch it here.)

We close out with an MTV spot hyping the videos they’re playing: we see short clips of Michael Jackson’s “Smooth Criminal” (white suit!), Bon Jovi’s “Bad Medicine” (shaky cameras!), U2’s “Desire” (cowboy hat!), Guns N’ Roses “Welcome to the Jungle” (shock therapy!), INXS’s “Never Tear Us Apart (moody cinematography!). “Your Favorite Music and More,” the ad concludes. We’ll be seeing all those videos later in the countdown, so I’ll reserve detailed commentary until then, but I will note one odd choice: while four out of five are late-1988 releases, the GN’R pick is from the very beginning of the year. Did the editor misplace his copy of “Paradise City”?

posted 10 June 2009 in 1988. 1 comment

Back in 2005, before The Colbert Report started, I was lucky enough to spend several days trailing Stephen Colbert as he put together the show with his staff. Colbert’s in the news this week–well, he’s always in the news, but this week he’s broadcasting from Iraq–and since the show is now a pillar of late-night comedy, it seemed like a good time to revisit the days when it was a tentative experiment. I’ve added my article on Colbert to the archives (expanded from its original publication, when it was truncated so as to make more space for Jann Wenner’s epic Q&A with Bono).

After four years, I still laugh every time Colbert races over to the interview desk, arms triumphantly in the air, stealing the audience’s applause for his guest.

posted 8 June 2009 in Archives, Articles. no comments yet

Sports fans are crazy everywhere. But since moving to Los Angeles a couple of years ago, I’ve noticed that Laker mania expresses itself in an unusual fashion: during the playoffs, Angelenos mount Lakers flags to their cars. I’ve never seen this in any other city, and other L.A. sports teams don’t seem to get the same treatment. I was telling friends in New York about this phenomenon and they were skeptical, so this morning, I went to a local street corner and took a few pictures:

Note how the fan in that last picture has raised the stakes with two Lakers flags.

posted 5 June 2009 in Photos. no comments yet

Consulting the Midnight Oil entry in my ever-handy Encyclopedia of Australian Rock and Pop, I learn (1) “underneath the radical politics and lean, driving guitar rock, Midnight Oil remained an honest and compassionate group of optimists with a strong pride in their own country” (2) it only takes 35,000 units sold to certify a record gold in Australia.

A rusty windmill creaks in the desert. Trees grow out of a lake. The moon rises over a craggy bit of rock. Then the music starts: a good, propulsive rock tune owing more than a little to “Peter Gunn.” We see white aboriginal masks against a black background, and the camera pans over to Peter Garrett, on the red-dirt banks of a lake. He’s got a rancher’s hat on, and he’s crouching down by the water (since he’s six-foot-four, maybe he’s just trying to fit into the camera frame). In the background, we see the trees growing out of the water (this means that most of the year, it’s dry, but the video was filmed during the rainy season). A small black dog splashes around in the water.

Garrett’s vocals sound like some Australian mad scientist producer installed a tremolo knob on his throat and then cranked it up as high as it would go. He’s not quite as quavery as Donna DeLory and Niki Harris in Truth or Dare, singing Belinda Carlisle’s “Heaven Is a Place on Earth” while beating on their breastbones, but it’s a closer contest than it should be. The camera keeps panning around Garrett; in the background, we can see more dogs and, fighting for screentime with the canines, other members of Midnight Oil. Garrett is all twitches and bulging veins: he’s either worked himself to a fine lather for this video, or he’s the most overcaffeinated man in the antipodes.

A fire burns in the background as Garrett sings “forty-five degrees.” He’s not actually singing about a nippy autumn day when you first see frost on the ground: no, he’s employing Celsius in his lyrics! (45 degrees Celsius is 113 degrees Fahrenheit, so he’s saying things have gotten a bit warmish.)

We reach the chorus: “The time has come / to say fair’s fair / to pay the rent / to pay our share.” The band is now in a beige pickup truck, painted on the side with black birds in flight. Garrett’s driving (it’s an Australian vehicle, so he’s on the right-hand side). Next to him is a guy who apparently got the shotgun seat by winning the band’s annual bushiest-beard contest. The other band members, plus dogs, are in the back of the truck, shielded from the sun by a little tin roof. They drive through the Australian outback, singing and playing acoustic guitars. The drummer uses a dangling coffeepot as his ride cymbal. The band speeds down a dirt road, kicking up red clouds behind them–and then we get an aerial shot! Did the Australian record company really pay for a helicopter?

(I spent a day driving through the outback, nine years ago, and it remains one of my most vivid memories. Long expanses of red-dirt landscape with stubby bushes, punctuated once an hour by wild kangaroos or a car going the other direction. It’s the closest I’ll ever come to taking a road trip on Mars.)

As the chorus ends, the band enters a city: lots of traffic and (in the best use of a jumbo jet in a rock video until U2’s “Beautiful Day”) an airliner taxis at high speed directly over them on an overpass. That was either very difficult to set up or an incredibly lucky documentary moment, but either way it’s a great shot. The contrast between the outback and the city is further emphasized by an unsubtle change in filters: warm red light changes over to an icy-cold blue glow.

The band drives through the city, intercut with girls dancing. Apparently those clips come from Midnight Oil hanging out at an aboriginal community; some little kids have climbed on top of their pickup truck and are beating on it with sticks.

Garrett finally takes his hat off for some lip-synching in the desert, revealing his shining bald dome. I sure hope he slapped some sunscreen on that. He hugs his chest and flails around, still working off that double espresso, so the director mercifully pulls back to show the rest of the band, and then quickly cuts back to the aboriginal community, so we can see people tentatively dancing to the song. More high-tech effects: the band in black silhouette over various Australian landscapes. They keep driving: everyone’s napping except Garrett, who’s got the wheel and is lip-synching his heart out. Not that I can understand a single word of the verse, mind you–and not that it matters much.

In Australia, this song was an anthem for reparations from the Australian government to the aboriginal people. It came from a long-established band (Midnight Oil had been around since 1976 or so) making their Big Statement. In the States it was just a chugging rock song with a catchy chorus, made distinctive by Garrett’s strangled vocals. I suppose some Americans had their consciousnesses raised, in a vague way. Garrett went on to a political career, and is currently a member of the Australian House of Representatives and the Minister for Environment, Heritage, and the Arts. (Is there really just one Australian minister for those three things? Are they suffering from a severe minister shortage?)

More silhouettes of Garrett, the director (one Andrew de Groot) having decided that silhouettes look extra-cool when you’re bald. In one shot, Garrett stands almost as tall as a blood-red moon, suggesting that he is a musical colossus blotting out the night sky.

We head to the fade, cutting between more silhouettes and Midnight Oil playing at the aboriginal community, where they seem to be getting a curious but lukewarm reception. The aboriginals offer no opinion on whether they are being used as props signifying authenticity, like the Native Americans in the Steve Winwood video. In fairness, without their presence, I think most Americans wouldn’t have known what this song was about, and may have believed it was a tribute to Farrah Fawcett’s epochal 1984 TV movie, The Burning Bed.

Midnight Oil, by the way, marks our first true one-hit wonder in this countdown (defined for our purposes as “an act that had exactly one top-40 hit on the Billboard charts”). Even Henry Lee Summer and Johnny Hates Jazz had moderately successful follow-up singles: “Hey Baby” and “I Don’t Want to Be a Hero,” respectively. (We have also seen two acts that never placed in the top 40, but had lots of success in other incarnations: Keith Richards and the Traveling Wilburys.)

So in the United States, Midnight Oil were destined to take their places in chart history right next to other one-hit wonders such as Midnight Star (who hit #18 with “Operator” in 1985). This stands in delightful counterpoint to their thirty-year run in Australia, where devoted fans not only bought many albums and attended various live performances, but gave the band a nickname. Sure, it was a pedestrian one (“the Oils”) that doesn’t compare to the way all Australians refer to AC/DC as “Acca-Dacca,” but you take what you can get.

“Beds Are Burning” hit #17 on the Billboard pop charts. You can watch it here.

posted 3 June 2009 in 1988. 5 comments

I have an embarrassing number of friends who are also talented authors. No fewer than four of them have books out right now. You should, of course, spend all your free time doing nothing but reading them. I would prefer that you did this blindly on my say-so, but in case you want to know a little more about the books in question:

I’ve known James Hannaham for over half my life, starting around the time he gave me a discount on a Talking Heads record at Crazy Eddie’s; in all that time, he’s been one of the smartest, funniest people I’ve had the pleasure to meet. You might be familiar with his high-snark arts criticism for The Village Voice and other venues, but his debut novel, God Says No, is something very different: scenes from the life of Gary Gray, a (adjectives here in alphabetical order) black Christian homosexual married overweight man. James carves out scenes of Gary’s messy life with exquisite precision, whether the results are tragic or farcical (or often, both). “Confusion and fear came over me. Joe stared at me like a puzzle he didn’t feel like solving.” Go buy the book now. Here’s an Amazon link; or you can get it directly from the good people at McSweeney’s, who published it.

“I thought he was handsome in his dark green uniform, certainly, with a stern Italianite visage reminiscent of a Sopranos thug crossed with Sam the Eagle from The Muppet Show.” That’s Lily Burana‘s description of her future husband, “Major Mike,” and having met him, I can say it’s spot-on. I Love a Man in Uniform tells the story of their unlikely marriage (former stripper/gifted author meets military man) and Lily’s entry into the world of military wives at West Point; it’s funny, moving, and revealing. Go buy it now.

Mary Elizabeth Williams, bon vivant and troublemaker, recently published Gimme Shelter, the hugely entertaining story of her epic quest to buy an apartment in New York City at the very top of the housing market. Spoiler alert: things don’t work out the way she planned. “The McLoft also has enormous windows and imposing silver columns. Henry James has collided with the Enterprise.” Go buy it now.

I have to confess I haven’t yet read Farai Chideya‘s debut novel, Kiss the Sky, and yet I am excited about it. You may know Farai’s voice from various NPR programs; she says the book is “about the battle of a black rock star to overcome her demons.” I’m so there. Go buy it now.

posted 1 June 2009 in Links. no comments yet

If I told you where I took the picture, would that spoil the fun?

posted 29 May 2009 in Photos. no comments yet

Another Warhol diary entry starring Bianca Jagger, this time featuring Jade, her daughter with Mick. At the time of this entry, Jade was five years old.

Thursday, April 21, 1977
Went with Bob to pick up Bianca to take her to a dinner that Sandy Milliken was giving at his loft in Soho and Jade came downstairs and said, “Andy Warhol, you never come to see me anymore.” Jade asked us if we wanted something to drink and we said, “Two vodkas on the rocks,” and she said to the Spanish maid, “Dos vodkas con heil.” I wanted her to sing, and so she did “Frere Jacques,” and I asked her to sing “Satisfaction,” and she’d never heard of it.

posted 26 May 2009 in Excerpts. 1 comment