As the title suggests, this series on Dubsism is about how we all have songs inextricably linked in our minds to certain memories. Among advanced-theory psychologists, molecular neurobiologists, and other extreme brainiacs, the prevailing opinion has been the nose is the most common trigger of memories. But what do they know?
Brainiac that out all you want; this is all about memories being a vector for story-telling. Instead of taking the nasal route to the brain, I’m using music as the means for getting to the memories. If that doesn’t explain my cribbing a bad line from a Barbra Streisand ear-worm to make that point, so be it. After all, don’t even try to lie. We all have those memories; the difference is I’m willing to share mine.
In today’s tale, the death of the “M” in “MTV” is yet another reminder the song that is my life is headed into the third verse. That’s fine; there’s been plenty of music in my life. If this is your first experience with this series, it’s loaded with a theme running throughout…discovery. No need to imagine the “Alanis Morrissette”-level “irony” in your discovery of my tales of discovery; we’re already there..
When the powers-that-be shuttered MTV’s last all-music networks at the end of 2025, a big part of my teen-age exposure to music got tossed into the time capsule. Don’t forget in the days between dinosaurs and the internet, radio ruled the world.
On the opposite end, when MTV brought the music video to the forefront, those three-minute snippets would eventually become time-capsules of the early 1980s; they are the ideal window into the ethos of the era. Of all those videos, there’s one which stands out as being the ultimate video-tape buffet tray, it’s got a scoop of just about everything that had an expiration date of 1982.
With that, I give you my recent discovery of the ironically historically prescient genius of The Waitresses eye-worm “I Know What Boys Like.”
The day every kid in my junior high school was talking about this song, it wasn’t on any radio station. In fact they weren’t even calling it a song; they called it a “video.” Most of those “videos” only became songs on the radio when sales pushed them onto the Billboard charts, which in turn pushed them on the weekly hours-long commercial for “Pop” music brought to you by Casey Kasem.
There’s so much 1982 just dripping from this three-minute chuck of VHS gold despite it’s rudimentary production values and the fact it was shot in a warehouse for not a dime more than $600. That’s why wardrobe was left entirely up to the members of the band…which is the first indicator this band was born in a mall food food court.
If you weren’t around that near half-century ago, the mall food court was veritable “Petri dish” of 1980s suburban culture. In southern California, it was even worse; every one of those mall stores were staffed with aspiring musicians who considered folding sweater for minimum wage to be superior to the drudgery of waiting tables. That’s why MTV was full of bands of similar genesis.
This isn’t necessarily aimed at The Waitresses; they just happened to be ones who won the video lottery. That victory combined with their painfully stereotypical combination of looks is what makes this video one for the ages.
But before any of this can hit “critical mass,” multiple members of any such band must work at the same mall. That’s the first step on this journey through the early 1980s; it’s all starts with the personalities.
First, there’s “Eddie” the drummer. When “Eddie” wasn’t playing drums, he was the electronics guy at Sears. But when “Eddie” wasn’t selling cheap, foreign-made boom boxes, he moon-lighted as a low-grade drug dealer.
His services as a recreational pharmacist explain his knowing the sax-blowing “Brad” from Chess King. “Brad’s” job explains his wardrobe awash in flashy colors, leather ties, and Members Only jackets. It also explains his burgeoning interest in cocaine and his tumultuous relationship with “Claire,” a brooding junior-college “singer/performance artist” and part-time WaldenBooks weirdo.
Most young women like “Claire” have issues; happy people don’t immerse themselves in cheap wine and the works of Sylvia Plath. But every fucked-up mall chick has a “good girl” friend. If this were the 90s, I could demonstrate this with the girls from Saved By The Bell. Merge cock-maven Kelly Kapowski with pill-head Jesse Spano, and that girl’s “bestie” still would be Lisa Turtle. But since we’re talking about the 80s, logic dictates referring to the bass player as the “Cosby Kid.”
The food court is the culture media of the aforementioned “Petri dish;” so much so it can’t help but provide the perfect environment for such cross-pollination. At some point, these four bees orbiting this giant concrete and glass hive got the idea to pool their non-mall talents.
Once they realized the sound of this four was incomplete, it became six once two more souls were discovered yearning to use music to escape the drudgery of their lives. See, the “Cosby Kid” played bass in her church group next to “David” the guitar-pickin’ music teacher on guitar…and as luck would have it “David’s” cousin is a keyboard-playing guy working at an accounting firm.
This eclectic mix is also the foundation of this band’s odd mélange of sounds.
Let’s start this part with the band’s link from the mall to the outside world. The “Cosby Kid’s” professional and over-achieving parents made her take violin lessons, and exposure to the classic four-string world made the transition easy (also parentally mandated) from teen-ager in the school orchestra to the college girl in the church band. It also created her own journey of rebellion taking the electric bass to the decidedly 70’s funk sound she lent to this track.
Maybe not so coincidentally, “David” was her companion on that rebellious trip. Perhaps he was also shaking off the shackles of boring religious tunes; monotony only sharpened by teaching John Phillip Sousa to 8th graders. That riff says his route of escape runs right through some punky “new wave” stuff. He’s got no groove whatsoever, but he still knows about 900 chords, and can actually pull most of them off.
However, “David’s” real appeal is he comes as a matched set with “Doug, who fancies himself as a “Daryl Hall” type. In reality, he’s just another soulless white guy. To be fair, he’s a fair-to-middlin’ player, but he has the personality of a styrofoam cup. More importantly, he’s a guy with good job and a solid income…which means he’s willing to bankroll “the dream.” Keep that part in mind; it’s going to be a big deal later.
“Claire” honed her “singer/performance artist” into the “cock-teasing Valley Girl chanteuse” this band needed up front. Unfortunately, these ways will come in handy when she sinks from this most fleeting glory down through the Sunset Strip scene to do whatever only God and somebody with $20 will know to support her new habit “side-effect” of her relationship with “Brad.”
Speaking of “Brad,” given the expense of cocaine, the fact that it fuels 40% of his talent and 100% of his persona, and because mall retail pays somewhere between fast food and being the “big man on chamois” at the car-detailing place, he’s the definition of “squeezed.” Low-end musicians don’t make any money either, which makes trying to stay alive while supporting his own habit AND “Claire’s” increased “sampling” is getting to be more than he can bear. Luckily, “Claire’s” vocal exercises give her a unique range of skills with her his lips, tongue, and those “Bangkok” throat muscles have already given “Eddie” an idea how “Claire” can stretch “Brad’s” cocaine dollar.
Of course, this makes “Eddie” the happiest guy in the band because all he has to do is toke up a bit and find a way to be a thread of rhythm connecting this bunch of stray buttons. Not to mention, “Claire” isn’t the only “cock-aine girl” in his life.
Now they’ve got the band and they’ve got the sound. All that’s left is a little bit of luck. In this case, lightning strikes because “Eddie” also has cash-paying customers, including a guy who is doing some sort of film editing/video sorcery at Whatever Junior College. “Eddie” arranges a “Petri dish/food court” meeting with “Video Stuff Guy” and the rest of the stray buttons. Turns out Captain Video has contacts at some production house, and “Doug” from the accounting firm has access to all sorts of people in “the Biz.” Nothing opened doors in 1982 Los Angeles quite like cocaine, so “Doug” greases the wheels with his access to Colombia’s finest. As a result, “Eddie” gets even happier; business is booming and he’s getting so many blowjobs he starts giving them away as Christmas gifts.
Somehow in that white-out, this video got made. Somehow, it found it’s way to the right person in “the Biz.” Somehow, it ends up on MTV’s “heavy rotation” schedule… and a “one-hit wonder” was born. The sad part is beside enterprising “Eddie’s” haul, “Doug” got all the money because he bank-rolled everything in the first place and made sure through his buddies at the record company he got his off the top.
At the end, “Doug” bought a house in Brentwood with a BMW in the garage, “Eddie” ran into some legal issues, the “Cosby Kid” ended up going to (yawn) law school, “David” never left teaching, which is exactly where “Brad” ended up after some well-earned rehab.
Ssdly, nobody has heard from “Claire” in quite some time.
Don’t even try to tell me that isn’t a “straight., no chaser” shot of the 1980’s.
You can see all the Misty Water-Color Memories here.
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