One thing that I’ve noticed lately in regard to the quickly-becoming-not-so-revolutionary-anymore world of rock videos is that a major factor contributing to the medium’s recent tedium (by which I mean that we’ve dropped down from one of out every 20 videos being interesting to a figure closer to one in 40) seems to be the fact that most performers are utterly reluctant to present themselves in any context that could even remotely be construed as unhip. Now certainly the way in which most people choose to answer a question like “what is hip?” speaks the proverbial volumes about where they’re coming from. (Example: In the late ’60s, drugs were considered hip, while drinking was considered totally unhip; Here, as we near the late ’80s, the exact reverse is true.) But it seems to me that all too many of the videos I’ve seen-recently have been reflecting (as in “art” mirroring society) an apparently widespread belief that dull is hip.

Now I’m not at all sure where this whole thing started; I do know that Richard Hell’s vision of the “Blank Generation” back in the punk heydays of the mid70s certainly was not one wholly populated by the Pet Shop Boys, Wang Chungs and Mr. Misters (or is that Misters Misters?) of the world—or the Iron Maidens, Scorpions or Megadeths, either.

I mean, get the Osterizer out, already; that’s how utterly homogenized and nondescript things look on the video circuit right now. No artist or band on earth wants to be caught dead with either the wrong haircut (and that cuts both ways, metalkidz) or the wrong clothes or the wrong sneer. What little creativity there is around seems to mainly be stemming from filming or editing techniques (Peter Gabriel’s “Sledgehammer,” say, or ZZ Top’s “Rough Boy”). Not a good sign.

Still, one takes one’s pleasures where one finds them, and at least there are two artists with new videos out at present who don’t mind if they look dumb, or silly, or just plain unhip. The artists are David Lee Roth and Cyndi Lauper, and although “Goin’ Crazy” and “True Colors,” the respective videos, are literally as different as night and day, they share a sense of individuality, and of reaching for something, that is to be admired, most particularly because of the nap-inducing company they’re keeping. “Goin’ Crazy,” with Roth mugging his way through the role of the rotund record executive Picasso Brother, is four-plus minutes of sheer unadult-erated insanity. It’s grotesque, lewd, nonsensical, gross, and funny—just like him. And he doesn’t care if you think he’s a buffoon or not. Which is precisely why I love it.

Likewise for Ms. Lauper, whose “True Colors” somehow manages to be both absurdly overblown and disarmingly simple at the same time. I’m sure it cost a fortune to create all the imaginative sets and striking images that are strung together somewhat uncomfortably here. But this is a video which basically says, here are the people I care about most in the world, and here is my vision of a happy life. So there are shots of little kids playing in the sand, and some of Lauper’s mother, and some lengthy embraces with Dave Wolff, her manager and soon-to-be husband, and it is, to be sure, somewhat embarrassingly hokey from start to finish. But it’s also much more real— i.e. human—than most of these bad ads for bad records, and it is exactly that courage of selfexposure that makes “True Colors” so effective. Thank you Mr. Roth, and thank you, Ms. Lauper. Hope springs eternal.

SNAP SHOTS

Warm Leatherette Redux: Eurythmics, “Thorn In My Side”—Yeah, and heat lamp unto my naked foot. Part of the reason why Dave and Annie are such a neat team is that there always seems to be a little more than meets the orb to their videos (Remember Lennox picking herself up at the night club via split screen in “Who’s That Girl?”) and this one’s no exception. “Thorn In My Side” is basically a performance clip, but it’s streaked by some nice, nottoo-subtle S&M touches, such as an overabundance of shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather and a full cache of whiplash girlchildren in the night roaming through the camera field. But you know what I like best about this video? Finding out that exBlondie drummer Clem Burke is a dead ringer for Desi Arnaz, Jr!

Drainage A Trois: Human League, “Human”—In the category of best videos to feature downpours, we’ll have to rate this one somewhere between the Stevie Ray Vaughan clip in which the whole band played through a monsoon and Diana Ross in Central Park in which Ms. Ross re-defined the word frizz. The song sure is lovely, but Phil, baby, lighten up, y’know? I didn’t know having your first hit song in three years would make you look that depressed. What’s that you say? Pouting is such sweet sorrow? Right—and the next record’s gonna be called “League,” I bet.

Tonight I’m Mine: Rod Stewart, “Another Heartache”—What’s good for the GoGo is good for the rooster, I guess. We made fun of Belinda Carlisle a while back for her ode to Narcissus in “Mad About You,” and here’s Rod the Mod demo’ing numerous indoor sport activities (mostly of the horizontal variety) with his honey, Kelly Emberg, with such, er, vigor, that I half expect this thing to someday be used as a Solgar vitamin E commercial. I dunno, I’m not sure I want to be in the shower with the two of them— what if the Miss Clairol starts washing out all over us?

Finally, A New Musical Genre—Foundry Rock! ELP, “Touch and Go”—Talk about sweating the details; this video would have to be speeded up to double time just to qualify for the category of plodding. What I want to know is, did their ad in NME for a new drummer last year specify the special “initial” requirement and, if so, does that mean that Mitch Mitchell could launch a class action discrimination suit?

HOT | LOVEDOLL SUPERSTAR I AU-GO-GO! I

LOVEDOLLS SUPERSTAR I (SST Video)

John Kordosh

by

Have you ever wished you I could live without money? I Quite a dream, eh, bubs and I bubesses? To actually stroll I through this world with so I much as a halfpenny, should I you live in the United Kingdom, or a red cent, should you be a citizen of the United States, and a communist as well.

What’s all this got to do with Lovedolls Superstar? Damned if I know. I watched it last night through the bottom of a glass of Coors, so I’m hungover. Quite possibly, it serves me right.

Wait a minute—it does have something to do with this truly conceptual film. I do believe this movie was made with no budget at all. Zero dollars. Somebody obviously had a Super-8 camera to shoot it, and maybe they stole some film or something, but believe me, I’m quite serious... this thing bears every sign of having been made sans financial backing.

And it shows. It’s great! The camera actually shakes, and often. Jarring close-ups—make that too-close-ups—are thrown in for no reason I can advance. And, of course, there’s plenty of the treasured “camera far distant from the action” technique, equally gratuitous and therefore a splendid contribution to modern film.

But enough of this technical chit-chat; let’s look at the story here. It revolves around the Lovedolls—in fact, it’s the sequel to Desperate Teen-Age Lovedolls, which I haven’t seen, but you can bet a buck I will—a rockin’ trio of chicks who just want to sleep around, whine, get messed up on drugs, play their scorching brand of rock, whine some more and be the idols of millions. In other words, just the kind of girls I’d certainly want to spend time with, were I a single gentleman.

As the “story” unfolds, the Lovedolls have broken up— guitarist Bunny was evidently killed in the first film—and bassist Kitty is on skid row, where she belongs, and drummer Patch has converted their fans to aTeligion that seems to revolve abound Jesus and Patch herself. I can dig it.

Well, meandering along, all manner of interesting—hell, masterful—things happen. The Lovedolls decide to reform with new guitarist Alexandria. (In one touching scene, while Kitty and Patch are visiting Bunny’s grave, Patch quite correctly points out that “guitarists are a dime a dozen.” It’s real life in a big way!) Alas, their record company —in the person of “Mr. Crowley,” an effiminate guy who looks to be a yuppie dopester— tells ’em they’re washed up. “But we won three Grammies!” protests one ’doll. “And the CREEM magazine reader’s poll!” adds another.

Face it, they’ve got a point. Excuse me for a second while I wipe away these tears of laughter. Where’s that squeegee?

OK, I’ve recovered. Listen, it gets better. Some fumbling dude (Steve McDonald of Red Kross) leaves a hippie commune (why not?) for the city, looking for his brother, who evidently had something to do with that first movie, too. He gets attacked by a six-inch Gene Simmons doll (sounds about right to me) and wakes up in full Kiss make-up. Then he goes out to kill “Brews Springstein,” since the Lovedolls commanded him to. (Although this was evidently a dream sequence or dopeinduced hallucination or a logical part of the plot. I can’t tell.)

Now this is really one great scene: Brews is up there onstage, singing to the tune of “Dancing In The Dark,” only he’s singing stuff like “Wish someone would shoot me/So I could die in the U.S.A.” and “Wanna start a fire/So I could burn the children in the park.” Indeed, it’s Brews as you’ve always wanted to see him. In any case, he gets blown away.

All of a sudden, Jello Biafra (who’s the President of the United States) books the Lovedolls on a tour of outer space\ Listen, I don’t think it mattered all that much that I was getting soused. The gals don’t want their fans here on Earth to miss ’em, though, so they kill the whole bunch with Jim Jonesish Kool-Aid. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty for everybody!” they assure the happy bunch. And the fans die en masse, leaving our heroines to board a spaceship that looks exactly like the jungle gym spaceship my young boys like to play on in a local park. I mean, the highest of high-tech.

Suffice it to say that this is one video worth seeing—and probably owning outright. A zesty soundtrack by Redd Kross, Black Flag, Dead Kennedys, Sonic Youth, Meat Puppets, Painted Willie and a couple other L. A.-type bands who surely don’t care what type of film their music is associated with makes Lovedolls Superstar almost as great to listen to as it is to watch.

So get behind the Lovedolls. Get drunk. Do it now and believe this world can be a better place.