Kate Sachs     It Came From the Eighties Maybe it's just nostalgia -- a longing for anything that evokes the simpler days of youth and Nintendo, but I think it's more. Like few people of my generation, I have a unique appreciation for eighties music, not merely the legends like Billy Joel and Bruce Springsteen, but especially the hair thrashing cheese-rock that came to define the decade. I'm talking about the likes of Poison and Def Leppard, bands whose musicality may have often tread on the thin ice of talent but whose showmanship more than made up for it. We had Rikki Rocket and Nikki Sixx, artists with names that rivaled those of porn stars. With tattooed arms and painted tongues they licked their guitars and demolished amplifiers. They pranced on stage with sprayed, peroxide-laden hair and expertly applied make-up that makes even even the likes of RuPaul look tame by comparison. Concerts today just don't feature artists who jump and frolic with the freaky flexibility of a cheerleader. But it was more than just the image of ripped jeans and eyeliner that held those musicians in their own hall of fame, it was the music itself. While many still appreciate that eighties groove, the sentiments behind the glamour go surprisingly misunderstood. I had always considered the sounds of the eighties to have captured a mindless happiness that might never be rekindled. Back then music was fun and seemed to carry no message greater than "Nothin' But a Good Time" or "Love Bites." But that was fine, for as our sixth grade bodies thrashed about playing air guitar, profundity did not mean as much as a good riff and a resounding beat. Only years later have I begun to comprehend the real intensity and depth the artists privately envisioned behind that flashy facade. I recently purchased Poison's Greatest Hits, an epic CD spanning the ten tumultuous years of the band's career. Flipping through the CD's cover, I found a heartfelt letter to the listener written by Poison's own lead vocalist Bret Michaels. He writes, "I feel it is very important that in order to understand Poison's music you must first have an understanding of the individuals and the experiences we were going through at the time the songs were written." Michaels then goes on to analyze the personal traumas and lifelong experiences that influenced the band's music. Foolishly, I had always thought "Talk Dirty to Me" seemed pretty self-explanatory, but there was so much more to those ballads. For example, the love anthem "Every Rose Has Its Thorn," written in a Texas laundromat, chronicles the disintegration of a deeply romantic relationship. Tragic inspiration came when Michaels learned that his girlfriend at the time was cheating on him with another musician "because he had more money than me and a nicer car." Thanks to this new glance into Bret Michaels' soul, we can now understand that beneath the spandex and vinyl there was apparently a tortured artist yearning to relate his anguish. While musicians of the nineties may infuse similar personal turmoil into their work, only bands of that earlier decade did it with style. Of course, bands today are not completely void of musical flair. It's just that the eighties captured a sound and an image that can't be duplicated. Each decade will have good music, but sadly, the hair thrashing rock and roll that echoed our youth will not live again. Though radios may shun the heart-shaped guitars and leather bedecked rock stars, the music endures in our memories of that simpler time of parachute pants and leg warmers. I would never return to adolescence, even if it meant a rock star revival. Twenty is certainly a more appealing age than twelve. Still, some things are remarkably missed. But I guess every rose has its thorn.

back to Decweb main