I’m cheating this month by exploiting three previously released videos. In my defense, the one at the bottom is my wife’s favorite LSotM so far (probably because she didn’t have cable TV until she was a teenager and so she wasn’t appropriately moved by my run of TV theme songs). Moreover, we can also consider this month’s repurposing a setup for the future…
Last month + This month = Next month’s LSotM
But first, here is a (very long) story that touches on my love of, shall we say, less-than-aggressive music. The following narrative clocks in at over 20 minutes so unless you’re really looking for a reason to avoid work I’ll sum it up for you: it is a tale of humiliation and air guitar (which can actually be mutually exclusive from time to time), and also cover bands and keyboard bunkers and my friend, Rick.
This is the particular cover band to which I am referring:
You are expected to snicker at that photo above but know that I got paid handsomely to wear those clothes and to play Stray Cats and Culture Club songs to some of the best hotel bars this side of Interstate 680. If I’m being honest, I probably could have been talked into doing it for free (especially since I already owned those clothes before joining the band).
Years before he invited me to be part of this dramatically-dressed cash cow I met the devilishly-talented Rick when he was bouncing around the San Jose underground and playing in bands like The Kindred and Betty’s Love Child. It was clear early on that his talent as a musician stretched far beyond the margins of Punk music. (It could be argued that his abilities surpassed even listenable music, what with him being able to switch effortlessly from power pop to showtunes to Free Jazz to Frank Zappa.)
To illustrate both his proficiency and his efficiency, I was once engineering a record for a band that needed a flaming cock rock guitar solo. I emailed Rick, asking if he would be interested in playing it. A day later he recorded and sent me three separate tracks to chose from which he aptly titled “Slash” and “EVH” and “Reb Beach,” respectively. (You can hear the song here.)
Rick and I have collaborated numerous times over the years on all sorts of projects, including this well-spent afternoon whittling our seventy-five favorite Cure songs down to just nine:
More recently, though, Rick and I indulged our roots even deeper with this straight-up Thatcher-era Brit-Pop dance song. The celebrated artist is King, a definitive ’80s alternative band from England. They didn’t chart many stateside hits besides this absolute banger but if you’re looking for some full blown ’80s new wave jams to play whilst you clean the house then King is a worthy soundtrack.
In addition to his musical prowess, Rick is also an accomplished yoga practitioner (of course he is – what doesn’t this man do?). Ergo, it was only appropriate that whomever I got to play bass on this song also be both a musical maven and a fitness savant. Enter The Love Songs‘ very own exercise consultant (and bass player), Salem.
DENIZENS OF THE INTERNET,
YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE, AS I INTRODUCE TONIGHT’S MAIN EVENT:
IN THE LEFT CORNER
THUMB MODEL FOR “EVEN COWGIRLS GET THE BLUES“
THE MAN WITH ARMS THAT EVEN MADONNA IS JEALOUS OF
PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR
IN THE RIGHT CORNER
WEIGHING IN AT JUST UNDER THAT OF HIS CELLO
GIVE IT UP FOR THE SHAVASANA SHREDDER
THE WARRIOR POSE WAILER
THE DOWNWARD FACING DIVEBOMBER
LET’S GET READY TO RUMBLE!