You know, from time to time over the years, we here at Video Video headquarters find ourselves entertaining visiting rock dignitaries from all over this fair land of ours—especially Detroit. And, after the obligatory break-theice rockcritspeak formalities (�Do you realize that I actually bought that Prefab Sprout record based on your recommendation?�; �No, I do not think that �Do the Clam� has any redeeming social value�; �Yes, I agree—Roger Whittaker/s God!�) are dispensed with, we often notice that some of our guests begin to fidget in their seats and break into a cold sweat as they nervously eye the videocassette archives housed against the back wall of the complex. Soon these agitated persons are leaning over and whispering in our ear a question we�ve heard many, many times before.

�Hey, er, listen,� they ask, attempting to sound nonchalant, �Would you happen to know of any place around here where a guy might find some good bhujia?� It is upon the utterance of this coded statement that we then know what our friend is really after, and it ain�t no deep-fried vegetable fritter made from carrots and onions, neither. No, what he craves is a private screening of one of our treasured collection of (hubba hubba) international videos. Since the password this time is bhujia, we�re tipped off that our visitor is desirous of audio-visual satisfaction by way of an Indian video (had he said �flan,� it would have meant that Iris Chacon was what he was after, but that�s a whole other story), and that means it�s time for a rare glimpse of that surefire, crowd-pleasing jewel in the crown known as �Mai Rajah, Tu Rani.��

Though it�s impossible to do even semi-justice to this video with mere words, we�ll try: A poor Indian boy (who could pass for Freddie Prinze�s twin brother, if he�d had one) and his poor Indian girlfriend (who could pass for the animal who maketh the sound of moo) are engaged in a double fantasy of what a day in their life would be like if only they�d been born of royal blood. And what an action-packed day it is! There�s an early morning horse and buggy ride through an apparently neverending open field, an aerial view of some palace in the middle of nowhere, a segment devoted to fully clothed bathing hijinks not unlike the synchronized swimming sketch they did once on Saturday Night Live, and an evening fashion show highlighted by her diamond nosepin and his knee-hi sandals with matching belt. On several occasions, the couple almost kisses, but since liplocking is a distinct nono around these parts, the camera cuts away just in the nick of time to shots of birds, trees, and waves breaking against the shore.

And what of the song itself? Nothing less than a Buddy Holly meets Ravi Shankar bake-off which seems to have at least 200 verses but, apparently, the guy in charge of the subtitles was getting a flat rate for his services and decided to just go for the essentials, so that no matter what sounds are emanating from either dueter�s dubbed-in throats, all it ever says on the screen is stuff like �Our love is a symbol of our life� or �Our life is a symbol of our love.� Suffice to say that, at �Mai Rajah, Tu Rani� �s conclusion, anyone within viewing range has become one with his or her cathode ray.

Here at Video Video we get our Indian musical fixes mainly from a fabulous Saturday morning show called Cinema Cinema which turns the MTV idea back on itself by treating musical production numbers from Indian movies (of which there do seem to be an infinite supply, since every single one of the thousands of films made in India each year has to have a full slate of songs in it for no reason at all except that seems to be the only way to break a hit single over there) as regular videos and showing them for an hour each week. Couple this with their amazing trivia spots (Question: In what film did Muhammed Rafi sing playback for Kishore Kumar? Answer: Shararat, you dummies!) and their gossipy news items (�Though Amitah Batshan claims he has quit movies for politics, we�ve learned that he�s just signed for three new films!!� Like, what a scandal!), and you can understand why, when people ask us the future of videos, we just smile and say, �Look to the subtitles! Look to the subtitles!�

SNAP-SHOTS

Beans, Beans, Beans, Beans, Beans: Bob Dylan, �Tight Connection To My Heart�—Zimmy smiles! Zimmy dances! Zimmy puts his arm around a girl! Around two girls! Around two girls who aren�t even Jewish! Can you believe that he�s still wearing that same dumb leather jacket from the �We Are The World� session? Oh, well, as he himself might have put it an incarnation or two ago, the Lord sure does work in mysterious ways. I mean, this thing may make about as little sense as Renaldo and Clara, but it is a lot shorter...! Don�t Want A Pickle, I Just Wanna (Eat 10,000 Hamburgers And Then Try And) Ride My Motorcycle: Meatloaf, �Modern Girl�— Let�s put it this way—next to him, the South Bronx looks good...Huey Lewis, Lend This Boy A Jacket: Bryan Adams, �Heaven�—Isn�t this at least the 10th straight Bryan Adams video in which he�s worn a �trademark� white T-shirt and jeans? In Canada, I guess, they call this dressing for success...Out Of The Water Closet Once And For All: Power Station, �Bang A Gong (Get It On)�—Isn�t this at least the 10th straight Robert Palmer video in which it�s apparent that he, er, likes to watch? In the last one, they had a girt shaving her underarm; in this one, they�ve got a girl flushing cosmetics down a toilet. What do these people do in their spare time? Sneak into girls� dormitories?

We�ve Heard Of Xerox Rock, But This Is Ridiculous: John Catferty & The Beaver Brown Band. �Tough All Over�—It was silly enough when this guy was just trying to sound just like Springsteen. Now the poor man s Boss is wearing the same haircut, the same sleeveless jeans jacket, and has memorized Bruce�s body English from the �Dancing In The Dark� video. And they have the gall to throw in some Hobokenstyle �downtrodden masses� footage right outta �Born In The U.S.A.� to boot. D.L. Byron, come home: all is forgiven...Soon To Be A Major Floorwax Commercial! Katrina & The Waves, �Walking On Sunshine�—Spanky & Our Gang meets the �80s? Josie & The Pussycats get tough?

How can a song so bright you need sunglasses to listen to it have a video this London foggedup?...Hard to Believe: Mick Jag* ger, ��Lucky In Love�—You know, if you look quickly at Mick with his hair tied back and sporting shades, he bears an almost striking resemblance to...David Letterman???

A MESS OF HELP

THE BEACH BOYS The Beach Boys:

An American Band (Vestron video)

by

Dave DiMartino

The saga of Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys—and a saga it is—is one of the most fascinating in all of rock �n� roll�s history.

There are those who perceive the band as an early �60s soundtrack to their own lives, who grew up with �Surfin� U.S.A.� and �Shutdown� and attach special significance to those very early songs—people who perhaps lost interest in the Beach Boys when they stopped having hits in the late �60s. To them, this videotape will be a quickie reminder of the good times they once had, something to be enjoyed once and then disregarded, as all nostalgia tends to be when it wears thin.

To others, who might�ve grown up listening to Led Zeppelin and perceived the Beach Boys as a dated, hopelessly inane nostalgia act—and who would be fully justified in doing so on several occasions—this tape won�t be changing any minds.

But to those who managed to grow up with the Beach Boys at precisely the right time, who perhaps bought �I Get Around� in 1964 because they thought it catchy, whose first album purchase ever was All Summer Long, who once for no special reason flipped that �I Get Around� 45 over and heard and loved �Don�t Worry, Baby,� this tape will be enormously significant.

It is, essentially, a history of the Beach Boys. Various Beach Boys narrate the story from beginning to end: what begins with cheap and shoddy home movies of the young Wilson brothers ends with professional footage of a press conference held after Dennis Wilson�s death. It isn�t a very happy tale, obviously, and the beauty of the band�s music is ultimately the only constant throughout—but the tape brings home, once and for all, that the story of the Beach Boys may well be America�s ultimate rock �n� roll parable. They had it, they lost it, they had it, they lost it lira they�re losing it still...but for a few brief years, they produced the best rock music there ever was.

Because An American Band encapsulates 20 years of history, and because the Beach Boys produced stunning and essential music for maybe five of those years, there�s a lot on display here that needn�t be. Too much of Lome Michaels�s 1976 Beach Boys TV special for NBC is used, and not necessarily the good stuff: John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd, dressed as the Surf Police, come to Brian Wilson�s house and force the man to finally go surfing—great concept, poor execution; Van Dyke Parks in front of Tower Records in L.A., obnoxious about his own lyrical contributions to the band and very subtly making it sound as if he co-wrote Pet Sounds with Wilson; much more as well.

But the newer footage is entirely welcome.

There are early television appearances, skits with Bob Hope and Jack Benny, the group dressed in suits, in a den singing �In My Room,� and clips from The Girls On The Beach. There are promotional films circa Pet Sounds that will likely chill the many who consider that album a very personal statement about their own lives. And there�s footage of the band in the studio recording Smile, wearing their firehats and looking wasted indeed. �I was able to get ahold of all these drugs,� Brian Wilson explains while the studio clip plays on, �and they messed me up. They messed my mind up. I took the LSD and it just totally tore my head off.�

The dramatic changes in the band�s appearance through the years is one of the most interesting aspects of the tape. Carl Wilson gains and loses tremendous amounts of weight randomly; Brian, likewise—though ironically he looked his best when he sounded his best, during Pet Sounds; Mike Love changes from jock to hippie to guru to Liberace, though never for a second being anything less than utterly obnoxious, as he is prone; Al Jardine, the least visible bandmember, changes appropriately with the times—though his one-time replacement, David Marks, can only be seen briefly in a home movie and doesn�t even rate a mention.

But it is Dennis Wilson, always the best-looking Beach Boy and probably the most fascinating, who emerges as the band�s most curious figure. The only surfin� Beach Boy, his evolution from a carefree ladies� man to a figure of considerable talent remains the most unexplored aspect of the Beach Boys; the few clips from his exceptional solo album, Pacific Ocean Blue, are fascinating and too brief, and his vocal contributions to The Beach Boys Love You, their last great album since the �60s, aren�t even acknowledged. What is acknowledged, however, is his decline in health and heavy usage of drugs and alcohol. Wilson�s final Fourth of July appearance is the most depressing thing I�ve viewed in months: Dennis, during his �You Are So Beautiful� solo, can barely croak, let aiohe sing—and as he cuts it short and walks offstage, the Camera shows brother Carl�s face to be a mixture of despair and disgust. Behind him, an anonymous keyboard player gestures offstage—either asking for more monitor or mimicking a drunk drinking from an unseen bottle. Dennis, walking right by him, lifts up his hand and gives him the finger.

I don�t think we were supposed to see that.

In all, that mixture of tragedy and sublime talent stands as representative of the Beach Boys as anything ever could. The Beach Boys: An American Band is hardly a masterpiece; there�re lots of flaws, too many. Seeing them perform Buffalo Springfield�s �Rock And Roll Women� in Europe—who really needs it? But the Beach Boys cooperated in the making of this video, and had final say in what would and wouldn�t he shown. Or said. That it�s being released. to coincide with the band�s first new album in five years is hardly an accident.

But for those who care about the music—who tingle while watching Brian singing �Please Let Me Wonder� somewhere in the tape�s first half-hour, anticipating the glorious music to come—it�s more than enough. The Beach Boys weren�t made for these t: mes, and they always knew it.