Reviews
 Keep It Simple
Van Morrison
Roger McGuinn @ the Huntington IMAC, Long Island, NY - April 4, 2008
Emily Saxe @ the Allen Room/Jazz at Lincoln Center - April 5, 2008
Another Country
Tift Merritt
Be Your Own Pet
Get Awkward
Paul McCartney – The McCartney Years (DVD)
Juno – Music from the Motion Picture
Various Artists
Yes - Their Definitive Story
Day and Night Driving
Seven Mary Three
InterMedia Arts Center 2/2/08
Huntington, NY
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B-52's
“Glove slap! I don’t take crap!”
- modified lyrics to “Love Shack,” as it appeared in an episode of The Simpsons
Why were the eighties so damned serious? Maybe it’s sour grapes on my part, but any decade that starts with the momentum of punk rock only to end with Phil Collins whining his way through “Another Day in Paradise” (the biggest hit of 1989, by the way) certainly deserves some criticism. The eighties had a way of squeezing the fun out of everything. While the 60’s had Woodstock (pure bacchanalia) and the seventies had the ‘US’ festivals (which should have been called the ‘ME’ festivals), the eighties had Live Aid. Don’t get me wrong, it was a great cause and its implementation was incredible, but comparably, it was very, very serious. New Wave music started in 1980 as ‘Punk-Lite’, a commercial variation of punk with less attitude, but eventually it too grew serious, co-opted by U2, Sting and Tears For Fears. Smiling became unfashionable. Even the most ludicrous pop rockers of the time, Milli Vanilli, were dour-faced posers. It was as if the whole universe decided to act grown up at the exact same time. After the ridiculous indulgences of the past twenty years, a compelling need to take responsibility for our actions was long overdue, but there was no need for an entire generation to sport worry lines and furrowed brows as if they were a fashion statement.
In a decade that was so mired in social concerns, it was nice to have a band provide us with a little bit of fun. The B-52’s appeared on the horizon in 1979, and they were like a Day-Glo band in a black and white world. They first surfed their way into our consciousness with “Rock Lobster,” a totally freaky piece of strangeness that suggested a space-aged science fiction beach movie. Compared to everything else on the radio, it stood out like Bermuda shorts at a wedding. Maybe the people who missed punk rock and were still listening to the Doobie Brothers or Donna Summer didn’t get it, but everyone else thought it was hilarious. What I remember most is how everyone turned the radio way up loud whenever “Rock Lobster” came over the airwaves. Granted, there were other acts that succeeded at establishing a similar good-time vibe – Cyndi Lauper and the Go-Gos, for instance, and Madness - but most of them either turned serious or petered out before the decade ended. Even the B-52’s flirted with ‘serious’ music on their mid-eighties album Mesopotamia, but the overall negative reaction of their audience indicated that people had come to rely on the B-52’s as a form of escapism from the doldrums. By decade’s end, they reverted back to their old ways, and were rewarded with the most successful album of their career.
The B-52’s were the first band to put Athens, Georgia on the musical map, the same town that eventually spawned R.E.M., Let’s Active, and a few dozen other lesser-known alternative bands. Ricky and Cindy Wilson grew up in Athens along with Keith Strickland, while Fred Schneider and Kate Pierson were New Jersey natives who re-located to the college town. The five friends fancied themselves as cultural outsiders, but it was a distinction they were proud of. One night, while getting loaded on flaming-style Polynesian drinks, they concocted the idea of forming a band that would celebrate their uniqueness. By exaggerating their thrift-shop sense of style and cranking up the kitsch, they hit upon a formula that suited their personalities perfectly. They weren’t posing, or being post-modern ironic, they were simply having some fun by letting their outrageous tendencies take the lead. They were perfectly comfortable in their crazy little world, so they decided to have some fun and let it all hang out. The girls wore mile-high bouffant wigs (called ‘B-52’s’) with upside-down purses balanced precariously on top. They shamelessly lifted musical ideas from the silliest of places, but added an offbeat edge to render them totally unique. After playing at a few local parties for friends, they jumped at an opportunity to play at Max’s Kansas City in New York, the esteemed club that gave Patti Smith her start, among others. If you were lucky enough to see them, the B-52’s were not a band that you would soon forget. It didn’t happen overnight, but eventually, the band cornered a niche that would remain exclusively theirs throughout the eighties.
Despite outward appearances, though, the eighties were not all fun and games for the band. In 1985, guitarist/songwriter Ricky Wilson, brother of singer Cindy Wilson, succumbed to an AIDS-related illness, and the band was devastated by the loss. His musical acumen was crucial to the band, but even more important was his kinship. Since their inception, the B-52’s were purely democratic, maintaining their mutual friendship as the most important ingredient for their success. The death of Ricky Wilson left a void that seemed insurmountable, especially for a band whose philosophy hinged on pure, unadulterated fun. The B-52’s took a two-year hiatus, recovering from the shock of his loss, while slowly recognizing the importance and value of what the band stood for. The very fact that they survived the decade intact is a testament to their friendship and a very strong sense of purpose. Two years after his death, the band reconvened, determined to continue at what they did best, but suffused with an underlying awareness and sense of maturity.
The last great party of the eighties took place at the Love Shack, and it was a blast. True fans who were aware of the band’s trials and tribulations were totally amazed by their recovery, while newcomers flocked to the party in droves. “Love Shack” became the B-52’s biggest hit, peaking at #3. Without any direct acknowledgment of the underlying circumstances, the B-52’s turned their celebratory aesthetic into a statement of purpose, a testament to the need for camaraderie and good times in the face of the inevitable. Like anyone else might have, they could have indulged in their sadness, but they didn’t. Instead, they partied with a purpose, showing us that fun and friends are good enough reason to carry on. In a decade where such sentiments were at a premium, it was a statement worth noting.
 
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