Lita Ford, "Kiss Me Deadly"

Spandex and Pleather

THE VIDEO Lita Ford, "Kiss Me Deadly," Lita, 1988, Dreamland

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SAMPLE LYRIC "Come on, kiss me once! / Kiss me twice! / Come on pretty bay-beeee / Kiss me dead-lyyyyyyyyy"

THE VERDICT I want to like Lita Ford. I really, really do. The Runaways kicked so much ass, and deserved so much more than to have their legacy besmirched by a crappy Dakota Fanning vehicle. In the end though, I'm always more drawn to female metal acts that sound, well, more like the Runaways -- think Girlschool, for example.

Lita's just so -- how to put this. Okay. You can either talk about how important it is for women to be taken seriously as musicians, or you can dry-hump your guitar in your videos. But you really can't do both. Lita's a competent vocalist and a talented guitarist, but the ridiculous lengths she goes to in this video to convey some bizarre version of heavy metal sexuality put her on par with an obvious eye-candy group like Femme Fatale.

'Memba them? Like Lita, they also have song called "Falling In And Out of Love," though their female lead singer looks like Carly Simon trying to dress as Like a Virgin-era Madonna.

Anyway. What goes on in this video that I find so unappetizing? Well, really nothing much happens. What does happen is we find Lita playing in I don't even know what. An empty loft space? A parking garage? An enormous meat locker? It's hard to say. Either way, all that's in there are a bunch of large blocks of ice, which in some shots are augmented by a bunch of random small fires. Like I always say, nothing says "this equipment is plugged in" like having the band play in standing water.

It's mostly just Lita singing and playing the song, with frequent clothing changes. When we see a close-up of her face and shoulders, she's wearing a black leather strapless bra top, all the better to show off her shoulder tattoo and half-and-half hair. It's no early George Lynch half-and-half hair, but whatever, it's close enough and it's a good look for her. However, in most of these shots she's making sort of furious porno faces while frantically running her hands through her hair, which is less alluring.



When Lita's furthest away and the rest of her band is there, she puts on more clothes. It's hard to tell because it's not very well-lit (lord knows what the guys are wearing), but she appears to be in a black sleeveless cropped top and very shiny (possibly pleather?) high-waisted black pants.

In her super-close ups, where it's really just her face (though we see the rest of the outfit later), she's really metaled up, notably in a very heavily studded black leather motorcycle jacket. She also puts on a pair of shredded, high-waisted jeans.

Isn't it weird how none of that stuff seemed high-waisted at the time? I mean back in the 80s, no one would have said she was wearing Mom jeans. But to look at her now, it's "omfg mom jeans." They probably come to just below her navel. Toward the end we see some shots of the ripped jeans with the strapless top, so we can assume she's layering.

In the most famous shots though, she's wearing a ridiculous costume that looks like it's straight out of Heavy Metal. She's got on a cropped black tank top, and has layered a very high-waisted black thong over some silver spandex tights. A giant belt with lots of hardware, weird studded kneepads, and black boots further contribute to her sexy-heavy-metal-robot look.

It reminds me of the scene in Wayne's World (I know, I talk about Wayne's World way too much, but whatever) where Wayne goes to find Cassandra at her music video shoot. Wayne complains about how the video is clearly all about showing her in a sexualized light, and when the other members of Crucial Taunt walk by, he says, "Oh, hey guys, didn't see you there." (How could he have missed Marc Ferarri!? Anyway.)

Point is, if Tommy Iommi or Nikki Sixx or Chris Holmes or whoever she was involved with at the time had showed up to this video shoot, the same dialogue could have happened. Yeah, in some of the shots you can see the guys in the band, and sometimes we even see the guitarist or the drummer (who's on a weird moving pedestal) on their own, but barely.

This video is really starring Lita's hair and ass cheeks. I mean I did tell you the other week that I'd help you find the metal videos with side ass, right? It might be covered in spandex here, but this video's got loads of side ass.

And not a lot else, honestly. They backlight the guys so that even when they're on camera, you can only really see their silhouettes. There's more backlighting, plus dry ice fog, when we get close-ups of Lita singing. Occasionally there are random extreme close-ups of the ice -- we see Lita acting like she's going to nuzzle it with her face, then with her butt, and at one point one of the blocks gets hit with a sledgehammer.



I'm not the biggest fan of this song, either. I really like the pre-chorus, which has a great sound, with the guitar motif sort of amping up the vocals ("but I know what I like / I know I like dancing with you"). Most of it though, I can leave. It feels overproduced in a bad way, and very keeping-up-with-the-boys, which is unappetizing. Even though Lita's growls of "it ain't no big thang" have a lovely twang to them, I can't really get past the triteness of most of it.

'Cause like I was saying at the beginning of this post: You can either talk about how important it is for women to be taken seriously as musicians, or you can dry-hump your guitar in your videos. But you really can't do both.

It's hard to be a female musician in any genre, but particularly in male-dominated ones, I know. Hell, it's hard to be a female anything! But to stick with music: It's rough on these gals. People objectify you, people don't think you really play your instruments, people assume you engage in all kinds of sexual debauchery... the list goes on.

I feel like this video is a sort of "Let's get out in front of this" strategy -- in other words, I'm going to be objectified anyway, let me just objectify myself. I don't know how much it works. I mean, if you're in your video mounting your mic stand while dressed as a metal fembot, I don't think viewers (male or female) are going to be thinking to themselves, "My, she's very musically talented." They're probably more likely to, if they think about it, assume the latter ("she must need to distract me from the fact that some male guitarist is really playing this solo", or some BS like that).

And I mean yeah -- it'll get more guys to buy your record. (See Chuck Klosterman's revolting analysis of Lita in his memoir Fargo Rock City -- or don't, it was repulsive enough to convince me to never read another word of his writing regardless of subject.) But here's the thing: Even if in the short term, sexing it up is making it easier for you, it's a) making it harder for other female musicians and b) a crappy strategy in the long run.

Think about it: If you not only play well, but you also tart yourself up a la Femme Fatale, you're basically perpetuating the status quo not only for yourself, but also in that other women musicians are all going to be expected to show a lot of side ass and get freaky with inanimate objects too. And this strategy also entails long-term losses: Watch any history o' metal-type show on Vh-1 or wherever, and you'll find a zillion (male) talking heads reminiscing not about Lita's musical abilities, but about that time she humped an ice cube. SIGH.

The biggest twist to all this: If there's one woman out there who probably doesn't give a shit about all this criticism, it's Lita herself. Read any interview with her. This is a woman who sticks to her guns (sometimes, uh, literally), and has no regrets. While I suppose sticks and stones may break her bones, blog posts like mine definitely won't hurt her.

P.S.: Don't get the title? Come on, sing it! "Spandex, and pleather / brought us all together!"

White Lion, "Little Fighter"

My Opinionation

THE VIDEO White Lion, "Little Fighter," Big Game, 1989, Atlantic

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SAMPLE LYRIC "Rise again, little figh-igh-ter / and let the world know the reason why / shout again, little figh-igh-ter / and don't let it impair the things you do"

THE VERDICT This song is so adorably horrible, just like so many of the things White Lion do (except for "When the Children Cry," which is just regular horrible). The other day I made a new Pandora station because I felt like hearing this song. I asked it to combine White Lion, Winger, and Warrant, and boom! This was the first song it played. Pandora's rather genius when it wants to be.

In any event, I've been in the mood for just this type of song -- poppy, inspirational, but with randomly crunchy guitars and a vaguely froggy-sounding vocalist -- for a while. This whole spring has just been a slog of hard work, and so I've really needed the inspiring stuff to get myself to keep at it (and yeah, the Krokus really wasn't cutting it -- especially since we don't even have crocus here on the west coast!). Hence here we are with "Little Fighter," an inspiring song but unfortunately -- not a very inspiring video.

Bracketed by black and white footage of the band walking moodily along the beach (very reminiscent of the "Faith + 1" album art), "Little Fighter" is mostly just White Lion playing on a stage set with about a zillion colored lights. Someone made the decision that the best way to light the video was to shine the lights directly into the camera, making a lot of the video bleached out and pretty illegible. But since all the shots are pretty damn repetitive, it's not a huge loss.



Mike Tramp is at his most teen idol here. I've said it before and I'll say it again -- this man looks like Joey Russo in a wig. Don't even pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, you remember Blossom. You know who Joey Lawrence is. Heck, you probably even remember his other, less successful brothers. In any event, Tramp is a dead ringer and still is today. They could be in some kind of Parent Trap movie about teen idols who are now adults and uh... want their parents to be reunited, I guess. Anyway Tramp is all over this video in a blur of white teeth, blonde curls, and colorful studded leather jacket.

Vito Bratta's also in most of the shots, though he looks way less enthused about being there than the other band members. He's downright subdued through the whole thing, even the solo. I feel like he's just getting the job done. It's especially weird since he doesn't leave the band. In contrast, James LoMenzo -- who is totally about to leave the band -- looks thrilled to be there in his custom Big Game spandex. I'd get started on how much I love custom spandex, but then I'll be back on about wrestling again, and I just dragged readers through a big ol' post on that, so.

Long story short, this video just isn't that interesting. It's really just a lot of shimmying around and making faces at the camera, weirdly (thanks mostly to Vito) minus the usual guitar waving. Why? They could have made such a cooler video for this song. In fact, I have the perfect concept and I can pitch it to you in two words: Baby. Animals.



I mean come on, "rise again, Little Fighter"? I'm sorry, but this just makes me think of baby animals learning to walk. Think about it -- little baby foals and calves and such, trying to stand on their spindly legs, and then toppling over. Or even more exotic animals! Giraffes! Or okapi even! Trying to stand, and falling over, and rolling around on the ground with their disproportionately large heads and eyes. It would be tooooo cute. And it would go with the song. Ohh! And they could feature baby lions, of course.

Then during the most inspirational bits, it could be video of these animals running around! Like "Eff yeah, I figured out how to walk today!!" And running with their moms and stuff. It would be super-inspirational. Plus super-cute. And I mean cute cute, not just Mike Tramp cute. Honestly, if White Lion had made a video extensively featuring baby animals in 1989, people would think they were freakin' visionaries today, and that video would have a gazillion hits on YouTube.

Seriously, try this as an experiment: Find a video of a baby animal (ideally learning to walk, but doing whatever, baby animals always are having troubles with like drinking or eating properly or whatever) on Cute Overload or something, mute whatever audio originally went with it, and play this song. It totally goes, right? I think I've really got something here.

So according to allmusic, this song is about Greenpeace. And yeah, looking at some of the verses in more detail, it totally is. But whatever! I think baby horses are totally also fighters for the earth. Maybe not the sea, but that can be for the baby otters.

P.S.: After all the Joey Lawrence references, don't even pretend you don't get the title of this post.

Kix, "Body Talk"

A Less-Dirty, Live-Action American Apparel Ad

THE VIDEO Kix, "Body Talk", Cool Kids, 1983, Atlantic

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SAMPLE LYRIC "They know that she talks, body talk / pictures I can see / she talks body talk / [body talk body talk]"

THE VERDICT Crab cakes and calisthenics baby, that's what Maryland does! Or so one would come to think from watching this Kix video, unparalleled in its sheer damn-is-that-girl-even-18-oh-no-wait-she's-30-no-omg-that-girl-is-15-max-ness. A group of gals outfitted in their best tights, legwarmers, leotards and high-waisted pants bust into a school gymnasium (which is possibly being decorated for a dance? There are streamers on the walls and at the very beginning, they surprise a girl who seems to be hanging balloons) and begin doing very basic sorts of stretches and aerobic moves. It's basically an indoor version of the gratuitous gym class scene from Private School.

Enter Kix, checking out the girls' butts and looking awesome. (Also no matter what allmusic claims, the band does not work out in this video. They're no Judas Priest.) In eyeliner, black jeans, a red-striped shirt, black vest, and ratty blonde hair the likes of which TV's Jenny Humphrey wishes she could pull off, Steve Whiteman looks the most like Robin Zander he'll ever look, which is saying a lot since he more or less always looks like Robin Zander.



Also deserving of mention is guitarist Brian Forsythe for a killer ensemble of ripped, skinny jeans, a Slade tee, and a patch-covered vest. Also meriting discussion is bassist Donnie Purnell who looks, well, like not the kind of guy you want hanging around your high school gym.

As for the song: Me, I love it. I know some folks don't though, because it's a bit new wave for a rock band (being someone who loves synth and new wave, this isn't a problem). But come on, who doesn't enjoy the occasional Frampton Comes Alive-esque talk box? Seriously people, don't let all this T-Pain autotune crap make you get it twisted -- vocal effects can still sound fresh and different. In this song, added with the random Eastern-inspired elements, it works.

Because everything about this song is random. If you want a song named "Body Talk" that lives up to its scintillating title, go listen to Ratt (actually regardless, let me make that recommendation. Ratt rules). But if you want a bunch of girls who look like Mary Anne Spier gussied up in eyeliner and a leotard, this is the video for you. Always felt like Kelly Kapowski was "too pretty" and thus wouldn't talk to you? Again, let me recommend this clip. There's even one gal rocking kind of a Freddie Mercury black-and-white look. This video's got it all.



It's hard to choose a favorite scene, but I am going to have to vote for the breakdown at the end ("talk, TALK, talk to me, body talk, talk") where they give up on shooting additional footage and just show still photos of the band (lit so their instruments look extra shiny -- ew that sounded bad) mixed with still photos of the aerobics girls posing for the camera. Not since Ratt's "I Want a Woman" have so many average-looking women been put on a pedestal in a heavy metal video. Gosh, I know I am trying to talk about Kix here but somehow I keep winding up focused on Ratt.

Long story short, this video rules. But also, between the awkwardness of the women, the voyeurism (e.g. the shots of one of the women primping before a mirror), and the extensive collection of layered, colorful lycra spandex on display, I can't believe this video isn't playing 24/7 in American Apparel stores. I mean really, how can they not know about this? Clearly they get their ideas for bringing back splatterpaint spandex from somewhere. Oh wait, that was from Enuff Z'nuff.

Poison, "Talk Dirty to Me"

My Theory of Metal Bands' Hair Colors

THE VIDEO Poison, "Talk Dirty to Me," Look What the Cat Dragged In, 1986, EMI

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SAMPLE LYRIC "'Cause baby we'll be! / at the dri-ive in / in the old man's Ford / behind them buu-shes / till I'm screamin' for more / down the ba-ase-ment / lock! the! cellar door / and baay-aaay-by / talk dirty to me!"

EXCESSIVELY DETAILED DESCRIPTION The phone rings in a suburban home, where an older couple -- CC DEVILLE'S PARENTS!!! -- are watching the video for "Cry Tough" on one of those old TVs that are sort of like built into a wooden cabinet. The woman answers the phone, then yells "Cindy, it's for you!" She turns to her pipe-smoking husband and says, "That Bret sounds like such a nice boy." And of course, she totally sounds just like CC. Or rather I suppose, CC sounds like her.

Cut to Bret Michaels, wearing shades and red leather gloves, leaning against speakers and swinging a phone by its cord. A female voice (heard as if over the phone) intones, "Oh Bret, I can't wait to get my hands all over you." Bret catches the phone in his hand, smiles, and says, "Hit it, C.C.!" thus setting the stage for another three minutes of gleeful debauchery done Poison style.



As C.C. DeVille indeed "hits it," we follow the camera through a hallway lined with guitars before quickly finding ourselves beside Bret and Rikki Rockett, who are exuberantly high-fiving over Rikki's drum kit. C.C., Bret, and Bobby Dall, all kick their legs in sync with the drum beats, then we see Rikki pounding away. Bret jumps off the drum riser onto a stage covered with dry ice fog as C.C. and Bobby run forward. Bobby then leaps off a much higher riser over Bret, and C.C. tosses a guitar over his shoulder, smiling afterward in a very Bobcat Goldthwait-esque manner. How does this all happen so fast? Because, like nearly all Poison videos, "Talk Dirty to Me" is non-stop fast edits (the kind MTV used to be famous for, remember?).

Bobby slides down a long pink tongue coming out of a hot pink lipstick-print mouth, and Rikki drums standing up (all of his drums are painted with his name, weird faces, etc., in red, black, and white). Bret is on his knees as he begins singing, ogling the legs of two women who walk by in stilettos (all we see are their glorious gams). Then Bret's wearing a red and black captain's hat (a la David Lee Roth). Bobby bops around and Rikki continues to drum while standing, though now his drums are each momentarily being held aloft by blondes. Bret dances around with his mic stand, then rolls around on the floor for the camera.



Rikki's wearing a purple pleather biker jacket, and Bobby's guitar is acid green (Poison's signature hue, lest we forget), as is Bret's mic. Bret tosses a pirate flag to Rikki, who catches it. Rikki is then shown making a kissy-face at the camera while drumming, a moment later to be immortalized in every stupid VH1 montage where the narrator is saying something about "the excess of an era that would soon come crashing to an end."

Bobby, C.C., and Bret frolic around and do synchronized leaping somersaults while more fog pours onto the stage. C.C. spins in circles constantly, and at one point Bret appears to be riding around on Bobby's bass, which is kind of just weird. They link arms and spin around each other (a little like square dancing), then there's the obligatory everyone-bending-over-at-once shot.

C.C. spins with all his might, and Bret tries to hop on top of him, and even I have trouble keeping up as we tumble into the chorus. Have I mentioned yet that the stage's only decorations are the group's logo writ large behind Rikki and then a bunch of big... I think of them as speaker cabinets, but I don't know what they are... big boxes with pop art style images of the band members and the words "Talk Dirty to Me" and "Look What the Cat Dragged In" written on them. I would pay pretty much anything to have one of those (especially a Bobby Dall one) but they are probably, you know, pretty much priceless.

Anyway, other than that it's just colored lights. Everyone sings along, and at the end of the chorus we see C.C. holding a mic and then Bret running over pretending to play guitar. Bret and Rikki put their heads together and exclaim "Talk dirty to me!", then Bret's hopping around onstage again. Bret mimes a telephone with his hand while he sings, "I call you on the telephone," and all band members twitch rhythmically. Bret does a hip-shimmying sideways dance, then rolls on the floor, while Bobby spins his head as quickly as physically possible.

For the second chorus, the band members keep trying to outdo one another with making crazy faces at the camera. Bret finally sort of wins it by pretending to make a sexy face, then pretending to make an obscene gesture, then really making an obscene gesture. He should be proud. Bobby then gets to say, "Talk dirty to me," and Rikki, wearing a police hat, salutes. Bret waggles his tongue obscenely for the umpteenth time, then yells, "C.C., pick up that guitar and ah, drop the beat-ah!"



C.C.'s dropping of said beat involves much throwing of guitars, many leaping kicks, and much pinwheeling around on the floor. In the meantime, Bret and Bobby do a synchronized kicking dance across the stage. Bret then jumps onto the drum riser, smacks a cymbal with his hand, then high-fives Bobby.

Poison kind of fall apart as they reprise the chorus. Bret tries to knock over C.C. and Bobby, and their kicks and jumps are no longer quite in unison. Rikki falls backward off of the drum riser. Everyone sings along, leans on each other, and spends some time crawling around on the ground.

Each band member mugs for the camera one last time, then as Bret goes, "woooooh!" we see the video's crew et al. rush the stage as confetti begins to stream down from the ceiling. Two guys pick up Bret, and streamers fall everywhere as mayhem (or at least, silliness) ensues. Rikki sprays the camera's lens liberally with silly string, then the band jump off the drum riser as a shower of sparks fall to close out the video.

THE VERDICT Poison are, indeed the clown princes of heavy metal. (Then again, possibly it's Enuff Z'nuff). They always look like they're having so much fun, and by all indications, they were. I mean, just look at them in the greatest movie ever made, The Decline of Western Civilization Part II: The Metal Years! They are just the nicest, funniest guys you could ever hope to meet.

And yes, there was a darker side to all this: C.C.'s lengthy stint in rehab, Bobby's contrite "we probably saw a lot of things that people actually shouldn't see," my inability to contribute much at all to the Poison lore via this blog (I am so damn unmotivated lately!).

But on the whole, Poison are a fun band. You can't take them too seriously. I remember when I was in sixth grade I was in this after-school art club that was pitifully pathetic, like six girls, our skanky, disinterested junior high art teacher (she was always wearing stonewashed denim overalls over crop tops and listening to the radio), and then two guys who basically look like the fat kid at the beginning of Twisted Sister's "I Wanna Rock." The two guys were basically there to better learn how to deface textbooks, so far as I could tell. When she couldn't muster up a semi-legit assignment ("draw portraits of each other"), she would give us crap like, "make a big drawing of the letters of your name, then fill in the letters with stuff that reflects your interests." I bet I have one of those stupid things from every year of grade school, so I wasn't like, really enthused about doodling horses and rainbows and crap in letters once again. I probably wouldn't even remember this incident at all, except that the two guys skipped out on the name project and decided to collaborate on creating an enormous, elaborate rendition of the Poison logo. This, for me, was the millionth affirmation that Poison were not a "serious" band.

That doesn't mean I didn't think they were a good band. It just means I didn't think they were very serious about umm... metal, I guess. They were all about frothy lyrics and having a good time, unlike more serious bands (as perceived by me) such as Iron Maiden (hell-o, they had a scary corpse-thing on all their album covers -- yeah, I was scared of Eddie, whatever) and W.A.S.P. (I remember the first time I read that their latest album would be called "The Headless Children" I was like whoa! Well, shit.). But the easiest way to gauge how "seriously" a band rocked was via this theory I developed (Remember, this was at a tender age... I think the first time I thought this whole thing out I was like seven, and no, this reflects in no way my parents' permissiveness but rather my desperate thirst to get out there and find more information about one of the many areas of popular culture they deemed worthless).

Anyway, here's the theory: The more brunettes you have in your band, the more serious you are about rock. So for example, Poison had three blondes and a brunette (also with the brunette in a weaker position within the band, as the bassist - a band with the same ratio but a brunette lead singer would have a slight edge). Whereas Motley Crue, who of course dabbled in satanism etc., had three brunettes and a blonde. This versus say, Def Leppard -- at that juncture, four blondes and one I guess brunette (Rick Allen, whose hair isn't really that dark, but still is technically not blonde). DL were one of my favorite bands back then, but even at that point it was pretty clear to me that a lot of falsetto harmonizing was, you know, pretty accessible to most people. Some bands were kind of on the fence -- Ratt kept going from four brunettes and one blonde to three brunettes and two blondes, depending on Bobby Blotzer's hair -- so yes, there is some ambiguity in the system. But it's still holding up for me, almost (jeez) 20 years later. Yikes.

David Lee Roth, "Yankee Rose"

Gimme a Bottle of Anything, and a Glazed Doughnut

THE VIDEO David Lee Roth, "Yankee Rose," Eat 'Em and Smile, 1986, Warner Brothers

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SAMPLE LYRIC "Show me those / (bright lights!) / and those / (city lights!) / all right! / I'm talkin' bout a Yankee Rose"

EXCESSIVELY DETAILED DESCRIPTION And so the adventure begins! Okay, just kidding. But seriously, that's what it says when this video begins, and Diamond Dave indulges his penchant for theatre... of the bizarre. Following this text screen, the video begins with a shot of the entryway to a... well, I always think of it as a bodega, but I guess it's run by an Arab dude. Anyway. The walls are decorated with a painting of those sort of onion-top looking towers (I promise, this will get better). Otherwise, it's pretty much full of, you know, small grocery stuff. In the 80s there was a small grocery in the West 70s that totally looked just like this (I remember freaking out thinking that it was this grocery, but it's probably just a set in L.A. somewhere). Anyway. I'm not off to a strong start.

Pseudo-arabic sounding music plays as the door swings open. The first people to enter are a couple. The woman is wearing a wedding gown and is extremely pregnant, giving her the appearance of an obscene, lace encrusted parade float. The man has the build of Captain Lou Albano and is wearing a stained wifebeater, suspenders, and some sort of pants. She has long hair and frightening makeup, and she tosses her veil and bouquet around a bunch. He's balding but has shoulder-length hair and a heavy beard.

He picks up a basket as she begins throwing candy bars into it and berating him in heavily accented (Spanish, I think) English: "I cahn't beleeve eet okay, my cchhhhoneymoon night okay! I weeell probably only have tree or four more of dees in my whole entire lifetime! And chu, chu check me into dat dump your brothhhherr calls a motail!" He finally intervenes: "But Consuela, I gave him two dollars extra for the fantasy suite!" She mocks him: "Tooo bad hhhoney, tooo bad! Becos I veeell not sleep there so tonight you veell have to fantasize that you have a wife, okay?" And she pats him roughly on his paunch. He trails after her past the counter saying, "But Consuela, mi amor..." and we finally see the store's proprietor.

He's very skinny, with a greasy sort of pompadour thing, and he's smoking a cigarette and standing but resting one leg on the counter. He has on a dirty brown shirt knotted at the waist (the better for us to see the wifebeater and large gold medallion beneath) and gray pants. He leans forward, leering, and says, "Can I help you?" as another customer approaches.

This time it's a black woman wearing an outfit (shorts and some kind of bustier) made entirely of red, yellow, purple, and pink fake flowers. She also has on multiple neon wristbands, bright sunglasses with funky 80s frames, large green earrings, and bright makeup. Her hair is the ever popular teased on top and rat-tail in back, and she's swinging a straw bag as she approaches the counter, snapping gum and carrying with both hands a huge amount of the dark green Tic Tacs which she unceremoniously drops on the counter.

The clerk looks at her and says, "Oh! Breath meent!" opening a box and shoving several into his mouth. He leans toward her and says, "Our leeps, they are so close," while wiggling his eyebrows. She makes a horrified face and whips off her sunglasses, exclaiming. "Ewwwwwww-eeeee! Not if you was the last immigrant grocer on earth, honey" and puts her glasses back on and strides out of the store.



The grocer says something like "son of a biscuit, my ancestors spit on your haircut" and spits on the ground to his right. We then see the store from his point of view, and coming down the aisle toward him an immense woman screams in a Sam Kinison-like voice, causing him to become very alert: "Can you help me? My doctor says I have to take a laxative!" while swinging and knocking boxes off of the shelves. She's wearing green sunglasses, a silvery brocade housedress with a matching hat covered in bows, and some kind of furry shrug. She slides on the boxes she knocked down while she comes toward him.

He yells, "Not een my store you don't!" but just as quickly he is distracted by the arrival of a man with a teased, salt-and-pepper mullet wearing sunglasses, a plaid, pastel-colored jacket, khakis, and a pink shirt. Why is this man so distracting? Because on one hand he has an especially pneumatic blonde in a purple and pink bikini and on the other an equally absurd specimen wearing a white bikini bottom with an extremely highly cropped t-shirt on top. They've both got on headphones, sunglasses, and white heels.

The girls kind of bop along beside him as the man tells the clerk, who's making googly eyes at them, "Ooooh my friend, I always hang out with two of 'em 'cause it's better for conversation. See if there winds up bein' any, I don't have to be involved! Fuhgedaboutit." As he exits, he comments, "it's humid in here tonight, isn't it girls?" while adjusting his pants. On a side note, this man is Dave's real life business partner at the time, the other half of the Picasso Brothers.

The clerk stares adoringly after them resting his chin in his hand, when suddenly a spear comes down beside him. Uhoh! It's Dave, dressed in the makeup from the Eat 'Em and Smile album cover. He announces, "Give me a bottle of anything. (pause, look around) And a glazed doughnut. To GOOOOOOOOOOOOOO." (Sorry, trying to type the "to go" as echoing).

Now, this particular part, I must say I try to reference all the time and no one, but no one, gets it. I've never seen this video shown without this completely irrelevant prologue so... I guess everyone else just hasn't seen this video. But Beavis and Butthead watch it! Sigh... I just don't know.

Anyway, ninety-jillion words later, the video begins in earnest. But ohhh, lest we forget: this song actually opens with still more dialogue, as Dave talks to Steve Vai's guitar. It basically sounds like he's talking to Scooby Doo, only kind of digital sounding. Dave does a spread-eagle leap from the drum risers, and Steve's guitar says (loosely translated), "Ri Rave."



Dave says, "What?" as he strides across the stage in medallion-festooned chaps, an assless metallic leotard, and a purple spandex off-the-shoulder top. Steve's guitar says uhhh...something unintelligible (no, it's not "roar rooby racks"). But Dave leans toward the camera and says, "Wellll let me roll up to the sidewalk and take a look...Whoa! [Steve: "Ro!"] She is beautiful! [Steve: (wolf-whistle)] Ah'mmmmm talkin' about a Yankee Rose!" etc, etc, as the song finally begins.

During all of this, Dave has changed his spandex ensemble three times, first pairing the metallic leotard thing (which I can't figure out-it has a thong aspect to it, and it covers him entirely in front, but thong aside it's utterly backless) with yellow and black striped spandex, then pairing a different leotard thing with red and black pants. During this we do see Steve Vai, Billy Sheehan, and Gregg Bissonette (who's drumming standing up while wearing what look like post-op shades), but their outfits don't change.

The only other notable outfit in this vid is Steve Vai's. He's pairing white boots, magenta sequined pants, and a painted jacket worn with no shirt beneath, and his entire stage presence seems to be based around convincing the audience that at any moment he might go down on... his guitar. He's such a weirdo, I find. Anyway.

Steve makes the guitar "laugh" as Dave finds a novel use for a large, inflatable microphone (just try to guess what he does with it). Dave does a final flying kick and then starts dancing like crazy as he sings. He's wearing eyeliner in this video, which I hate on him, and his hair is a bit shorter than in the Van Halen days and has heavy bangs. Yes, I hate to say it, but this video is definitely the beginning of the Decline of Dave. It is a slippery slope from here to "Just Like Paradise."

Did I mention he's wearing little white gloves with this whole ensemble? He turns and shakes his black and yellow spandex-clad ass (bisected by the thong on that damn leotard) for the camera, creating a shot for VH1 to put in all of the montages they play right before the voiceover starts talking about how everything was about to end and "Smells Like Teen Spirit" was about to come out. If that doesn't put it in perspective for you, I don't know what will.

Anyway. Most of this video is performance, and though some shots show there being a crowd there, they don't try to convince us this is a real concert, and most of the time they definitely seem like they're just dancing around on a set with tons of colorful lights on it (a la Poison). However, unlike Poison, they don't seem effortlessly happy doing so. One gets the impression certain people were kind of, you know, waiting for the check to clear on this one. Dave goes through more costume changes than even I can keep track of, though they all consist of layering spandex in different ways (pants, leotard-thong-things, and off-the-shoulder crop tops) and include some or all of the following colors: turquoise, purple, yellow, black, pink, and more turquoise.



With the second verse, they start adding crowd noise into the song, which is kind of weird. Dave can't stop running, dancing, and kicking, nor can Steve or Billy stop swinging their guitars around and catching them (maybe they were trying to challenge Eric Brittingham for the world record?). The best moment of the video comes before the bridge, when Dave slides up the microphone all sexy and if I squint I can pretend he is not wearing all of that spandex and he's still in Van Halen and everything's still good in the world.

But no. During the bridge itself, everyone hams it up to the extreme. Gregg tosses his sticks in the air and (surprise) catches them again, Billy gets intimate with his bass while Dave lies down on the stage, and Steve Vai holds his guitar in one outstretched arm, staring at it like he's about to ...ugh, I don't even want to think about it. This only intensifies as we head into the solo. Anyone who doesn't get the whole guitar prowess as symbolic phallus thing has never seen Steve Vai play. As he reaches his frantic zenith, he repeatedly shoves the guitar between his spread legs. You know, when the video started I kind of wished I had those pants, but now I'm glad I don't. Anyway, shortly after, Dave wraps it up by kicking a large balloon, which bursts to reveal... lots of other balloons. Okay. As we fade out, Steve's still thrusting that guitar. Sigh.

THE VERDICT While, unfortunately for me, I said most of what I was going to say in my excessively detailed description, so yes, this will probably be mostly rehash. Let me say that I do indeed love this song. It's no "Runnin' with the Devil" or "Jamie's Crying" or even "Hot for Teacher," but it's still rather excellent. If one only heard the song, one's prognosis for Mr. Roth's career would have been rather excellent as well.

However, seeing the video, and the fact that a man who played such a crucial role in my psychosexual development (not only is he one of the hottest men ever, he's also my personal celebrity - we share the same birthday!!!) and who was at this point still in the prime of his life is already wearing makeup (and not in a Mötley Crüe pseudo-kabuki way) and falling victim to the whims of a demented stylist (who may be him himself) is just... well, it's a bit depressing. Especially when you consider that circa the same time, Van Hagar were putting out songs like "When It's Love" and "Dreams," both of which are great enough songs to penetrate my deep, deep loathing for Sammy Hagar.

I just feel bad for him! He's David Lee Roth, for pete's sake. He is the most endearing man ever. If you've never had the pleasure of reading Crazy from the Heat (his autobiography), I strongly suggest you pick it up. If you're looking for stories of out-and-out debauchery, it's no The Dirt, but if you just want insight into what DLR was thinking when he made decisions like this, what the constant kicking is all about, and, of course, what a tool Eddie Van Halen is (utterly destroying the little part of you that acknowledged both his hotness and his talent) this is the book for you. Geez, I'm sorry. This is reading like one of those especially strained Paula Abdul, "You took a risk. I'm really proud of you," assessments. And now, ashamed that I made an American Idol reference, I must quietly scurry out the door.