If I had my way, today would be Groundhog Day, Bill-Murray-style, and I could relive all of it for an eternity (maybe swap out Ned Ryerson for Bono and I'd be set?...)
For my friends who know me personally, they know how much I appreciate all-things 1980s.
And TODAY is the day I can finally geek out in the glory of a 20yrs-younger me....
TODAY is the Roxette concert! (Click here if you don't understand why this is kinda a big deal for me.)
To top it off, one of my favourite bands, the iconic Canadian Glass Tiger will open the show in a setting that perfectly suits my appreciation for their music - I've seen them play the casino shows a few times when they blew through town, but the volume of both crowd and music, combined with the general atmosphere, just isn't LOUD enough for my needs. Alan Frew requires more space to rock it out and jump off barricades and into the crowds to body surf while the masses sing along to Animal Heart with reckless abandon.
(Don't tell Per Gessle and Marie Fredriksson, but I would pay their ticket price JUST to watch Glass Tiger perform their set.)
It's an 80s revival night, and the resurgence of the 80s makes me one VERY happy Cat.
If only I could summon the powers of Sonny & Cher, or bottle the magic of Groundhog Day itself, or find whatever it was that allowed Bill Murray to wake up to the same events every day...sigh...
Whilst waiting for my crimping iron to heat up, I see my hairbrush has once again turned into a microphone. Funny how that happens.... :)
I can still remember the smell of the styrofoam/cardboard aroma that wafted out of the box as I tore into it, revealing my greatest purchase ever: a dual cassette deck with AUTO REVERSE.
I was 15 years old, in the middle of a successful hair-brush-mic-karaoke-in-my-bedroom-mirror career, and now, with this awesomely cool dual cassette ghetto blaster with bass boost, I was COOL.
(Well, coolER. My mom told me I'd ALWAYS been hip....obviously....)
This phenemonal advance in technology allowed the music-lovin' masses the opportunity to enjoy their favourite tapes without the hassle of flipping over to side B once the tuneage on side A ended.
A stellar step up in the world of technology. How on earth could anything beat this? What on earth could they come up with next?
Little did I know, my "greatest purchase ever" was soon to become a primitive piece of audio enjoyment - could any 15yr old really prepare for the flood of fascinating toys that was about to inundate the industry?
In a flurry of evolutions and revolutions, from CDs (super audio and otherwise) to mp3s, discmans (discmen?) and iTunes, studio sound booths to some kid's mom's basement in front of the computer with a mic patched in, the development of the music scene, both production and distribution-wise, has had a more far-reaching effect than it once did just years before.
(Thanks, Internet!)
But, oddly enough, after I sadly recognized the short shelf life of my "greatest purchase ever", and after I'd caved and purchased successors to my beloved boom box (the CD player, the iPod), I couldn't help but find a hint of hilarity (or sense of pride perhaps?) in the sustainability of the cassette's predecessor, the popular LP.
Yep, the good ol' record player. My first music-playing medium. (I had one just like this! Ahh, the memories...)
The hilarity stems from the fact that, after all the creative ways to produce and play music, vinyl - my earliest music-related memory - is making its comeback. Of course records have always been around, but their popularity waned in light of more recent innovations. And now, they're becoming the mainstream medium again. So what the heck? What about mp3s? And all my CDs that have been sitting around, unused for years (with the exception of Hootie & the Blowfish - that disc's propping up a dresser)...is this a case of history repeating itself? Have we just run out of ways to preserve and play tunes? Or has vinyl just been the constant, steadfast formidable force in audio playback, unmatched in quality?
I'm going with the latter.
After wading through a variety of mediums, I find myself back where I began, only putting a modern spin on my classic memory: slowly building up my collection of LPs and enjoying them on my new state-of-the-art turntable (purdy, ain't she?!). Only this time, I've got U2 and Beatles vinyl (a far cry from the Sesame Street and Disney "records" my parents used to buy me).
Of course, with this having come full-circle in my life, I've got complete faith cassette decks will be big again. (They've just GOT to be, right?!) C'mon, Auto Reverse was an amazing breakthrough, I really don't think it got the appreciation it deserved.
So, in the wake of the Turntable Revolution, let's start an Occupy the Ghetto movement to bring back the blaster!
(I may or may not still have my El DeBarge cassette ready to rock when that day comes...)
With the influx of reality shows these days, it can be hard to discern which ones are worth watching and which ones are being used as low-grade fillers until something more substantial comes along.
I used to be a reality show junkie. And even then, junkie's a stretch by today's standards. I watch The Bachelor. (Really hate to admit that one.)
And Dog the Bounty Hunter. I loves me some bail-bond-hoppin' criminal take-downs.
And Celebrity Apprentice.
And Hoarders.
And Intervention.
(And I'm a little miffed that they pulled Steven Seagal: Lawman.)
Ok, so we've pretty much determined that I am a semi-junkie when it comes to reality TV. Only I tend to prefer watching circumstances play out that I wouldn't typically witness in everyday life. (Why I would watch Jersey Shore is beyond me - I could just check out my 'hood!) So clearly, I'm not in any position to judge shows of which I've decided my brain cells don't need to be burdened with unnecessary processing. But it would appear to moi, the reality TV quasi-junkie, that the quality of this breed of show seems to have plummeted (Flavor Flav? The Kardashian shenanigans? Really?).
However, in the barrage of this genre of programming, one has come along that has resonated with me.
Long Island Medium entered its second season in March of this year, and unlike other mediums on the tele, charismatic clairvoyant Theresa Caputo invites the audience into her home, giving us a chance to acknowledge this fascinating phenomenon isn't some Morticia-esque el-creepo; rather, she is just your typical (hot) wife and mom. Only her job is a tad unconventional.
She channels the dead and shares their messages with loved ones they left behind.
And her hutzpah adds life to an otherwise grave topic.
And I love it. Everything about the show is magnetic.
(Also, I may or may not have developed a teensy little crush on her motorcycle-lovin' hubby Larry. Eye candy never hurt anyone, right?!)
So, aside from the fact that this show is a refreshing change from the insanity we've been assaulted with as a viewing audience, I especially appreciate it, seeing as how I encountered a similar experience.
Years ago, a girlfriend and I decided, on a whim, to visit a local medium. Neither of us had been before, it was just something fun and different to try.
We booked the appointment with the psychic medium (who admitted she worked under an alias), and showed up at her small, candle-lit dwelling a couple of days later (the street address was 666).
I wasn't going into the session a skeptic per se; I just wasn't expecting much.
No - scratch that - I didn't know what to expect.
The medium (her name - either alias or legal escapes me) was sure not to allow me my usual small talk pleasantries. In fact, she would shut us down when one of us tried to make conversation with her as she prepared the room and explained the intricacies of what she does.
She told us that we were lucky to have come in a pair, that typically a session is so involved, the person being read would be so caught up in it, they wouldn't be able to retain all the info once they left. This way, having arrived as a duo, I could take notes for my friend when she was being read, and she would do the same for me.
Good suggestion, coming as a twosome. This experience was, by far, the most surreal moment of my life. I absolutely required back-up.
It wasn't a Theresa Caputo-style reading, in that none of my dearly departed stepped forward. Nor did anyone from the other side come through for my friend. Instead, the medium said she had a spirit friend, David, who actually did the readings and subsequently conveyed the messages to his medium connection. (David has a story, but I can't recall details - I just remember being more freaked out with the possibility of him following me home. The medium said he might do that if he found someone he liked. Now THERE'S a good way to ensure I didn't get a good night's sleep for the next month or two.)
I'm not going to go into detail about what was said, obviously. But I will say this: she knew things about me and my family that my good friend taking notes for me never knew.
For an hour and a half, she would throw out names, phrases, pleasant and modest visions of my future, and all these little tidbits were scrawled feverishly by my girlfriend on the looseleaf that was provided.
To this day, those 2 full, double-sided papers, written in my friend's handwriting, have been as much a staple in my ever-changing wallet fashions as my credit cards and drivers licence.
I'll admit that there are still a few of those phrases that haven't melded with me (yet) ....(she did mention she saw me on a catamaran, so I'm still holding out hope that THAT'll come true). But I like to, every now and then, pull out those decade-old pages and reflect, reminisce, and attempt to connect the dots that she mysteriously laid out.
I haven't visited a medium since. That's not to say I wouldn't, I just...haven't.
And ever since Long Island Medium made it's debut, I've been hooked. I can relate to both sides - the skeptics and the believers, because, well, I guess I was almost kinda there. I did sorta play both roles.
That's why I am so enamoured with this particular brand of reality TV. For all intents and purposes, skeptic or not, the emotions are real. It's not something you'd typically see everyday. It's a beautiful concept of bridging the gap and healing wounds, and, deep down, guaranteed, everyone wishes they could just happen to shop at the same store as Theresa Caputo and encounter one of her random "cold calls".
(Unlike many other reality shows, where no one wishes they were the target of attention of the show's star - who wishes they would be tackled by Dog?....I mean anyone else besides me?)
(And did I mention Theresa's silver fox husband Larry? Yeowza!)
And I don't think David followed me home from my reading so many years ago, but if he did, he's probably the one who made me find Theresa Caputo's show in the first place. (Y'know, he probably likes that sorta programming. In fact, I'll bet David's responsible for me watching The Bachelor, too. Yeah. That's it.)
Long Island Medium: 2 very enthusiastic well-manicured, 4" nail'd thumbs up, and an accompanying jaw-dropping Oh my God!
Jem and the Holograms was, hands down, my favourite cartoon.
Not just because Jem was a hardcore rocker chick who knew how to kill it on stage (and her boyfriend Rio was pretty easy on the eyes, too), but girl had it together.
By day, she's your average, unassuming Jerrica Benton, manager/owner of Starlight Music. By night (or showtime, whatever time of day beckons her performing persona), she is Jem - lead singer, rock group front-woman, and hologram, summoned by commanding Synergy (a holographic computer, of course) via remote micro-projectors in her earrings (obviously).
The 3D projection of Jem can also create fellow holograms around her (by way of her earrings, too - fashion AND functionality!) and together they are a band of musical holographic hotties.
This was back in 1985.
And aside from creating the winning combo of unnatural hair colours + music = success (in case you're wondering why Nicki Minaj makes sense), Jem and the Holograms pioneered what could very well become common practice.
Jerrica Benton's dad was the brainchild behind Synergy (which was designed to be "the ultimate audio-visual entertainment synthesizer"), and I'll bet that never in a million years would he've conceived of the notion that his truly outrageous invention could potentially create a trend in the future of stage shows.
Well guess what, Mr. Benton? It only took 24 years from the time your daughter's group disbanded to the moment your vision was brought to life, in front of millions of eager entertainment-hungry Coachella fans around the world.
Although the technology behind Tupac Shakur's holographic performance at the annual music and arts festival wasn't quite conjured up by a Synergy subsidiary, the result was just as compelling.
Earlier this week the Wall Street Journal reported that the technology used to bring Tupac back is actually based on a 19th century visual effect known as Pepper's Ghost...The back-in-the-day optical optical illusion is pulled off with an angled piece of glass on which an image is reflected. "A piece of glass can be both transparent and reflective at the same time, depending on how it's situated relative to the audience," (illusion designer Jim) Steinmeyer told the Wall Street Journal...In the case of the Dr. Dre-orchestrated 'Pac performance, a Mylar screen was used instead of glass. An HD overhead projector shot a moving computer-generated image of the rapper onto a reflective surface on the stage floor. The moving image was then bounced up onto the Mylar screen, which was angled so the crowd wouldn't notice. -- Rob Markman, rapfix.mtv.com.
The holographic technology used to create Tupac's posthumous concert appearance created such a thrill in concert-goers, and now the potential to build on this momentum seems to be swelling.
Fleeting mentions of a Tupac tour (Tusoon?) have been thrown about. Why stop at the 'Pac?
At first, I thought it seemed borderline hokey. And then I thought, "Damn, I'd cut out one of my own kidneys and hand it over to the underground market myself if I thought I could see all four Beatles play a show*."
What IS the future of the live show then? Forget bigger amps and pinker hair - I'm thinkin' MJ's comeback tour could very well become a "reality".
The future of the industry aside, we should pay our respects to the pioneers of this potential, the true JEM of this exciting "new" direction.
(*disclaimer: I will not be removing any of my organs, nor will I support any other persons or groups in their endeavours to extract it themselves. !!!)
SoundTracking: Fading Like A Flower (Roxette) - yep, bought my tickets during the pre-sale today! September 7th! Just a little stoked!
I was 13 yrs old. At the zenith of my hair-brush-mic, lip-sync-in-the-mirror performances.
I had already nailed Mariah Carey's Vision of Love, and thanks to MuchMusic (Canada's answer to MTV), I knew, visually, how to successfully incorporate the nuances that made a performer a performer - the smiles and glances to acknowledge your back-up singers, the head nod to the guitarist when he busts out a killer riff. Heck, I even came up with a few of my own extraordinary moves (the "flip-and-whip-your-mic-in-the-air-and-catch-it-on-the-beat-and-keep-singing-without-mishap").
That one took lots of practice.
I even had a scenario: it would be the end of the lunch hour in the school gymnasium, which would be packed with students who were wrapping up with intramurals. And as they were putting away the sporting equipment, I would climb up on stage, grab a mic and just start singing. Or it would be a Talent Show at some Sunday afternoon tea (in the school gymnasium). Some students would do lame magic tricks for the parents and staff, some kids would play an instrument. But I would take the mic, despite the perplexed look of my peers ("What? Is Cat gonna sing?").
Or a school dance (in the gym).
Or an assembly.
It didn't matter - it was always the gymnasium, and no matter the scenario, there was always - ALWAYS - a talent scout there. (WHY NOT.)
And I would blow everyone away with my Whitney Houston-esque vocal abilities.
After the initial shock of the crowd hearing moi singing subsided, they would uproariously cheer and clamour for more, and I would be signed on the spot by the fedora-wearing talent scout and whisked away in the limo that was waiting outside the gym, taking me straight to the recording studio to begin my lifelong singing career (this is pre-Idol days here, folks - I was clearly way ahead of my time).
But I grew tired of Mariah's octave-jumping and trying to pull off Bryan Adams' tunes. I needed some new inspiration.
And then, it happened.
Roxette's Joyride album was released.
And NOW I instantly had an imaginary partner - I WAS PART OF A DUO.
But this was different - this music, the blending of harmonies, their unique look and distinct sound - this was special.
This took the whole fictional-gymnasium-singing experience to an entirely new level. Now I found myself incorporating the air guitar and air keyboards. And I was good.
I developed an instant love affair with this Swedish sensation and their poppy brand of ear candy. Of course I'd heard their music before. My brother (though he may now deny it) owned Look Sharp! (which housed such hits as The Look, Dangerous, and Dressed for Success, and which I inevitably "borrowed without intent of returning"). But now, with Joyride, I was a bonafide fan. Hooked.
Next thing ya know, my hair brush became replaced with shampoo bottles (suddenly I was on tour - got some confidence, wasn't just singing in my room anymore), remote controls, bottles of salad dressing - whatever was in reach when Roxette came on the radio.
I bought all their cassette singles. I religiously played nothing but their music. Per and I were an absolute HIT when I'd bring him up on stage in the school gymnasium. And when I was outta line, and my parents had to enforce discipline, they knew how to really put a stranglehold on my independence: "Hand over your Roxette tapes." My dad was ruthless, I thought. I always kept one or two singles behind to listen to quietly at night.
And then, something happened - something so unexpected and unfathomable and wonderful and sleepless-night-inducing: Roxette announced a worldwide tour, including Winnipeg! February 22, 1992!
My very first concert (well, technically this would have been my second concert, but I'm not counting Roy Orbison - I was 4 or 5yrs old when my parents brought me along to that show). For weeks leading up to this momentous event, my diary was FULL of newspaper clippings about the upcoming show, pictures of Per Gessle (the Rox in Roxette), lyrics to my favourite Roxette songs that I felt were relevant to the day I'd had at school - anything that would have/could have been related to the show. I recall my dad waking me up on the morning of concert day, opening my bedroom door and doing his rendition of Joyride with his infamous shoulder-shrugging, finger gunpoint dance.
I'm pretty sure I didn't eat all day. Was too excited. Not knowing what to expect, not being able to fully comprehend the fact that, in just a few short hours, I would be witnessing a show of such magnitude that I would be forever changed. My music idols would be breathing the same air as me. Mind = blown.
Show time. I would have peed my pants with excitement - heck, I probably did - and wouldn't have even cared. I was at a concert. A Roxette concert. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. Beyond anything I could have ever dreamed up. Giant beach balls were crowd surfing the masses at the Winnipeg Arena, skimming the fingertips of cheering fans as colours, lights and sounds swirled around me. My favourite songs were being played out in front of me, filling my eardrums with such bass never before experienced, on a sound system that was a bajillion times louder than the little ghetto blaster that sat on top of my dresser back home.
That sound would leave my ears ringing for days, and my emotions soaring high for weeks.
Marie came out on stage wearing a Winnipeg Jets jersey for Dressed For Success. I still didn't care about hockey, but at least now I wouldn't be so dismissive of it going forward. (Marie Fredriksson wore a Jets jersey! Cool!)
I was getting pushed by the people behind me as they danced and threw their arms up in excitement. I probably pushed people in front of me for the same reason.
It was surreal. Pure unadulterated ecstasy.
And then the show ended. And us Joyriders went home and tried to sleep that night, still reeling from excitement. And then days and weeks came and went, and with the passage of time came new loves (Bono, for one).
As the years passed, the Joyride posters were replaced with certificates and awards. I pushed Roxette aside, but never forgetting what they were to me - what they did for me.
Fast forward 20 years - my former obsession has resurfaced.
Roxette is touring - and after 20 years, they are coming back to Winnipeg.
I find myself cautiously giddy; as my first ever concert experience, and remembering the frenzied bliss it brought, I am reluctant to taint the memory with a Roxette show I may not appreciate as much. They've released albums since Tourism (the follow-up to Joyride) that I neglected to check out. The 33yr old Cat is a bit more frugal - I would put money down in a heartbeat for a Roxette show that is guaranteed to mimic the experience I had 2 decades ago. What if I don't know half the songs they perform? Won't it be a disappointment? Maybe I should just leave my Roxette-ness to revel in the memory of what used to be.
It's been YEARS since I've listened to their songs.
But as I sit here, revisiting Roxette with YouTube clips, I notice my fingers finding the familiar staccato of the notes as I play the imaginary keyboard that was, just moments ago, my kitchen table.
I can still sing along, word for word, without missing a beat. I realize this music is just like an old friend, we can pick up right where we left off. It's as though no time has passed between us.
The 33yr old Cat may be reluctant.
But the 13yr old Cat is looking for the nearest hair brush - time to play Marie again...
I don't sing at karaoke (unaided by alcohol, anyway). I barely sing in my car.
But I sing to Roo every night.
And she always requests the same lullaby - Golden Slumbers. That's my girl.
She's at a point now where she could just sing it to me, but instead, she lines up all her "babies" (her stuffed animals) so that everyone can hear the "show".
Last night, she interrupted the song because Bobs needed a ticket for some popcorn (?!). And then Baby Kitty Cat needed to stretch. Once Golden Slumbers is finished, Bingo (as per usual) requested Hey Jude, and Purpy needed to hear Let It Be before she went to sleep.
After the performance, I kissed Roo (and all her babies) good night, closed her door halfway (at Baby Jaguar's request), and hunkered down around the corner on the couch in the living room, waiting for what usually follows: about 20 minutes of her climbing out of bed and sneaking out of her room to peek around the corner at me, waiting for me to catch a glimpse of her, smile (which I typically do, and she knows this, because it's just s'darn adorable), and taking advantage of this free pass to meander into the living room and climb up on the couch beside me.
And, as expected, last night was no exception.
Only this time, I managed to keep the camera poised and ready to capture the slumber-less slumber my lullaby was supposed to induce.
And, as expected, today us girls are utter zombies.
But the memory has been made.
And now, caffeine ain't doing the trick.
Did The Beatles record a song about afternoon naps?
ADDENDUM: It has been brought to my attention that The Beatles HAVE, in fact, recorded a song that most appropriately reflects my current state of mind (thanks Chris!)
SoundTracking: I'm So Tired (The Beatles) (on REPEAT) ;)
To top it off, one of my favourite bands, the iconic Canadian Glass Tiger will open the show in a setting that perfectly suits my appreciation for their music - I've seen them play the casino shows a few times when they blew through town, but the volume of both crowd and music, combined with the general atmosphere, just isn't LOUD enough for my needs. Alan Frew requires more space to rock it out and jump off barricades and into the crowds to body surf while the masses sing along to Animal Heart with reckless abandon.
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