You're Soaking In It, and It Is Us
Part 1
by Your Diva, Robin Pastorio-Newman

We know from Law & Order indoctrination that propriety is never as important as the appearance of propriety, and bad behavior is in the eye of the beholder. Likewise, a moment in musical history is not what it was, but what we think it was. Nostalgia's weak; few breakdowns ever nauseated Your Darling, Your Diva, Your One True Love like that puke-inspiring fifties craze in the seventies. It was a common, puerile desire for an idyllic epsiode after a decade and a half of war and civil rights struggle - but let's face it, the fifties weren't what we think they were. Careful examination of documentary evidence (newspapers, magazines, Daddy's high school yearbook) reveals sexual repression, polite violence and social backwardness. Hmm. The glossy coat of Bill Haley and the Comets obscures a rough go? You betcha. For Heaven's sake, then, what horror's concealed by A Flock of Seagulls?

Yes, you're soaking in the eighties. Pink and blue eyeshadow, Sting selling Jaguars, teens humming Michael Jackson cover songs. It's all very light-hearted and lacks substance beneath the filmy residue, right? Your Diva, once again ready to hurl, objects to the omnipresent idea of bobblehead post-grunge nodding as "dancing." What? In the early eighties, when some of the silliest music ever was club-popular, if not radio-popular, a recession bore down on pop music's target demo, resulting in topographically enhanced hairdos and shoulder pads that would've launched Sister Betrille into orbit. Times were tough. Business was bad. No matter what one's musical taste, one went out and danced that mess around. While eyewitness testimony is available, Law & Order taught us this is unreliable evidence. Maybe that's just what I think happened.

Let's not even discuss the late eighties, when music went from weird fun to wallowriffic superband boredom. Let's all take a deep breath and mutter, "I meant to do that…"

Skipping to the present, since August, New Brunswick's Court Tavern celebrates twenty years of live music. The schedule's full of bands Your Darling loved, loathed and must've seen sober at least once. Maybe. In next week's verbal diorama: pictures of music seen and felt and danced to, some of which has been breathtaking, some lamentable. Next week, we come face to face with the enemy, and he is the biological clock on bar time.

©2001 Robin Pastorio-Newman