My goal for this afternoon was to clean my apartment.  Which is why, of course, I’m looking at stuff on YouTube.

Paul Gardiner was the bass player in the Tubeway Army, the group that made Gary Numan famous.  After Gary Numan temporarily retired in 1981, Gardiner moved on to a solo career, releasing the single “Stormtrooper In Drag” in 1981.  Numan sang and co-wrote the song, which is why it’s almost always credited to the wrong person; I knew it first via the 1997 cover by Saint Etienne.

Gardiner died at aged 25 of a heroin overdose; his posthumously released second solo single was a cover of the Velvet Underground’s “Venus In Furs.”  It’s cheesy, but I like it, particularly the way it’s all Italo-sounding at the beginning but then ends with a very 1984 saxophone bit.

You can read more about Gardiner here.

For reasons having mainly to do with gender pronouns, I’ve always liked Cyndi’s the best of all, because hers adds a whole other dimension to the “going with another guy” and clothes-borrowing that other pop singers wouldn’t really approach in 1984.  Also her voice is crazy.  Here she is (unembeddably) performing it at the 1985 American Music Awards.

There’s one version of the song that majorly disappoints me, though, and that’s Cristina’s.  I’ve talked about the early eighties singer/Broadway critic here before, citing her ridiculously over-the-top New York attitude as a direct forebear* of the comparatively watered-down Lady GaGa.  She is wonderful.  But her version of When U Were Mine adds a jerkier delivery, though seemingly not for any particular reason, and the song’s production hasn’t aged well.

[nb: This video only has 12 (!) views on Youtube.]

In case you’re unfamiliar with Cristina, there’s more after the jump:

Here’s some of Cristina’s other, better work:

What’s A Girl To Do? is off the same 1984 album as When U Were Mine.  I was introduced to Cristina via this song, which Ladytron were clever enough to include on their Softcore Jukebox mix album.

Here’s the morbid holiday tune Things Fall Apart, which I liked so much despite its murkiness that I even covered it for a Christmas EP a few years ago:

And finally, perhaps best of all, her cover of Lieber & Stoller’s Is That All There Is?  Echoes of this alarmingly frosty interpretation can be heard in the work of Black Box Recorder, though nothing that group did ever involved cuckoo clocks or the word ‘ludes.

The singer only ever recorded two albums, and has been more or less unheard from since 1984, though both were re-released on CD a couple of years ago.

*I actually had to look up whether or not I was using the word forebear right.  Is that bad?  I feel like that’s bad.

She’s featured on the new single Du Kan Inte Lura Mig, the Peter Gustafson song which debuted at #4 on the Swedish charts this week but which doesn’t seem to exist in any form on the internet except in preview form. (Really–Gustafson doesn’t even have a Myspace.)

Bagger’s breakthrough came with her debut album in 1989, which features a cover of Kiss’s I Was Made For Loving You.  After the jump, bagger’s insanely catchy 1989 single Where Were You Last Night. 

It got up to #13 in the Swedish charts.  Be sure to watch until the end, so you can hear a very amazing key change before the last chorus:

I wasn’t going to, but the death of Michael Jackson has occupied enough of my mind this weekend that I figured I’d try to articulate it.  Most of these thoughts have probably been written dozens, if not hundreds, of times by other people with better blogs than this one.  But here goes:

I’m sort of intrigued by the way news of his death spread.  I personally found out via Twitter, originally via (I think) Pete Wentz, and then within seconds from everybody else, celebs and non-celebs alike, nearly all of whom felt the need to write heartfelt eulogies in 140 characters or less.  By the time any paper could have possibly gone to print with anything, the whole world pretty much knew every detail, and had hours and hours to make their own observations, form opinions, and talk to their friends, rendering the whole print news vehicle sort of useless.  Twenty-four hours later, people were over the shock, and pretty much everyone had already moved on to writing thesis-y thought pieces about the (self-proclaimed, lest we forget) King Of Pop.  I’m actually pretty excited about this kind of information transition, if  it’s done right:  newspapers, no longer necessarily the bearers of hard facts, could actually get smarter.  (Of course, that’s assuming things stayed relatively fact-based on the internet; and I guess that’s a lot to expect, as we all know.)

Another thing I’m surprised about, though, is that one of the more intriguing trend-piece stories hasn’t been really acknowledged at all:  that Jackson died just a few days after the fortieth anniversary of the passing of Judy Garland. Garland’s 1969 death took place just days before the Stonewall Riots, and many people–seriously and jokingly–have cited her death as the birth of the gay rights movement.

Both were child stars, forced to perform at a young age by crazed show-business parents.  Both had awkward transitions into adulthood.  Both had periods of adult success, but for all the glitz and fame both were also visibly conflicted.  Both had issues with debtors.  There’s also the Kennedy/Lincoln-type parallels:  Garland starred in the Wizard of Oz and Jackson in The Wiz; Garland was Liza Minelli’s mother and Jackson the Best Man at one of Liza’s weddings;  there’s probably more.

(During my sleeplessness Saturday night I searched the internet to see if anyone had written anything about this, and nobody had.  Dan Cirucci brought it up on Sunday, but I’m sure there’s a lengthier essay to be written about these two.)

What strikes me, when comparing the two, is that Jackson never truly channeled his feelings into his songs.  Though she didn’t write any of them, Garland got to sing Over The Rainbow, Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, and The Man That Got Away, three of the most miserable (and wonderful) songs ever recorded.  Jackson never had anything like that, unless you count Ben*.  Though his song titles often awkwardly paralleled his relationship with the media–Leave Me Alone, Black Or White, Smooth Criminal, Scream–the songs themselves, or at least the singles, were never particularly sad.

Billie Jean is about a woman making false accusations about Jackson, though of course paternity wasn’t the worst false allegation slung at the singer.  Still, in retrospect it’s eerie, thinking about how happy that song makes people.  This one Tumblr I follow was talking about it, with the author saying that he hoped this might mark the end of people being killed by their own celebrity.  I’m not quite that optimistic (at all), but I can’t help feeling a twinge of sadness and fear every time I see another shitty tabloid carrying on about Lindsay Lohan or Britney Spears.

(*For what it’s worth, Ben is my favorite  of all his solo songs.  While I’ve recently grown to appreciate the disco-y Off The Wall period, I’m pretty bored by the Thriller/Bad albums and Dangerous/HIStory singles.)

Unrelatedly, I just accidentally typed in yotube instead of youtube and there’s just a holder page.  How have no wealthy ironic white people thought to start YoTube?!?!

(And tomorrow’s list almost definitely will be delayed. I’m helping somebody move in the morning and then working in a holiday craft store thing after that.)

70. Andrew WK, McLaughlin Groove
Sometimes big things come in small packages. In this case, a fifty-one second song made up up things said on the McLaughlin Group. Death comes in the night on little cat’s feet, indeed.

69. Jazmine Sullivan, Bust Your Windows
Okay, so the lyrics are lacking here: “You probably think that it was juvenile/But I think that I deserve to smile.” But whatever, it’s the combination of female-revenge saga mixed with the ballroom music (Hit ‘Em Up Style meets Shirley Bassey’s Get The Party Started) that means this will surely be a big hit on the gay karaoke circuit for years to come.

68. Kalomoira, Secret Combination
While I eventually got to be okay with Armenia’s second-place Qele Qele, I really can not fathom how this song placed third in Eurovision and that ridiculous Russian Timbaland-produced ice skating trainwreck won. I mean sure, this song by Grecian Long Islander Kalomoira sounds like it’s from the year 2000, but then, this is Eurovision, so maybe it was just a little too hip and edgy for people to handle.

67. Chris Brown, Forever
Okay, so it was actually a Wrigley-financed gum commercial disguising itself as a mid-tempo R&B song. But shut up, it was still good. I think Chris Brown’s has a lot more talent than most people give him credit for, and this is just one example of the quality songs he consistently puts out.

66. Marianne Faithfull, Black Coffee
Marianne Faithfull’s new album, which may or may not be out right now, is a rather stirring collection of dirges featuring a variety of celebrity guest musicians.  It’s available in 10 and 18-song versions, and the latter’s the way to go since that’s where the Jarvis Cocker duet is, as well as Faithfull’s great versions of Morrissey’s Dear God Please Help Me and this song, which sounds perfect coming from her can opener-like voice.

65. Vivian Girls, Tell The World
Since Saturday Looks Good to Me went down the crapper and I’m not actually sure what the Aislers Set are up to these days, the Vivian Girls officially now fill the void in my life where dubbed Girls In The Garage cassettes used to be.

64. Duffy, Rain On Your Parade
I hate deluxe editions of albums. A lot. But, annoyingly, at least three songs on the countdown were singles tacked-on to albums fading from the spotlight. (See also #67 and one yet to come.)  Rain On Your Parade, Duffy’s James Bond homage, was slick and calculated (and a million times better than that Jack White/Alicia Keys mess), and it ended up being (by far) Duffy’s best single.

63. Dengue Fever, Mr. Orange
I wasn’t as into Dengue Fever’s Venus On Earth album as much as I thought I would be, considering how often I played 2005′s Escape From Dragon House; the newer record drags a little, and there’s not enough of singer Chhom Nimol’s Khmer-language freak-outs. Luckily there’s the lively Mr Orange, the last (and best) song on the album, to make up for some of the slower numbers in the middle.

62. Malcolm Middleton, Stay
Madonna covers can be an iffy thing; if you’re not Ciccone Youth, there’s a very good chance that the song is going to be horrible.  (See: Kelly Osbourne’s Papa Don’t Preach, andthing by Mad’house, etc.) Luckily, mopey Scottish troubadour Malcolm Middleton covered Stay, a 1984 album track, rather than one of her better-known songs. It’s surprisingly moving, coming from half of the over-sexed Arab Strap.  His version’s all folksy and contemplative where Madonna’s is produced within an inch of its life.

61. Britney Spears, Womanizer
I was revolted the first time I heard Bloc Party’s Mercury. The chorus was soooooooo repetitive, and the whole pitch-shifting thing annoyed the hell out of me. Little did I expect that just two months later Britney Spears would do pretty much the same thing and I would love it. It’s not her best song by any means, but it’s still  insanely catchy.

[Sorry this dragged out so long...]

In 1980, pop radio was terrible. The charts were ruled by stuffy old farts like Kenny Rogers and Air Supply and Styx and effing Dan Fogelberg. Disco was on its way out, mainstream America wasn’t interested in punk, and that just left a lot of adult-oriented soft-rock trash.

Luckily, by about 1984 most of the old fogeys had been swept away to make room for a new breed of pop stars, ones who could sing and dance and who often came in different sizes and shapes and even colors. Some had elements of new wave, some the new post-disco dance music, and some were rooted in R&B. America was suddenly ruled by Bruce Sprinsteen and Madonna and Michael Jackson and Prince, icons who exuded creativity, independence, and sex despite the fact that they all had their flaws–Madonna’s teeth, Jackson’s then-unacknowledged lack of independence, Springsteen’s dark side, and Prince’s general toadiness, say. But they were all sexy, anyway, in a way that American pop audiences hadn’t experienced in some time.

In the UK, however, things were a little bit different. Gayer, really, would be the word. While there was no questioning the heterosexuality of Springsteen, the UK provided American audiences with George Michael, Boy George, a still-standing Elton John, and even groups like Soft Cell and Dead or Alive, none of whom could ever make the top 40 today. They existed in a flamboyant world of hairspray and bright colors. That style appealed to us Americans, too, but in an exotic sort of way. Sort of like how we really like unusual fruits, but only when they’re blended into juices or mixed into yogurt for us. Fear of becoming too familiar with the queer English might explain why most of those British artists of the era weren’t really successful for more than one album.

There were exceptions–super-straight Def Leppard had a long run, and the Human League made the top 40 for longer than most people probably remember; there was also Phil Collins, who I’d rather not think about and who was more or less asexual, anyway, despite the fact that he sold millions and millions of records.

But the real British star on the pop charts in the 80s was George Michael. He had youth and virility; he had a brain, and a cute ass, too.

His career–at least on this side of the Atlantic–started with Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go and Careless Whisper, back when he was still in Wham!. Then there was the Aretha Franklin duet I Knew You Were Waiting For Me, followed by four number ones from Faith, the best-selling album of 1988 and Grammy winner for Album of the Year in 1988.

Faith sold ten-million copies in the US. The video for the first single, I Want Your Sex, featured Michael writing in lipstick on models’ backs while a hairy torso (not his, it turned out) got hosed down with water. Then came Faith, with the tight jeans and the jukebox. But the third single, the gothic Father Figure, is the one I think is the best on the album and, if you haven’t guessed yet, my vote for best pop hit of the decade.

It’s five-and-a-half minutes long and starts with a cathedral organ. When the chorus finally hits two minutes in it’s not Michael’s voice we hear, but some female back-up singers. There’s gently strummed guitars and whispered verses; he doesn’t really get emotional until the last thirty seconds of the song. He doesn’t even use the word father himself until after the five-minute mark.

The song’s greatness comes from the interplay between the romantic-sounding music and ambiguously kinky lyrics, which I’ll go review in case you’ve forgotten it (or don’t sing it at karaoke as often as I do.) George finds a lover, and things are going okay but he feels misunderstood. He wants to play daddy, but can’t bring himself to say it out loud.

But what does he mean, exactly? Does he want just be the dom? Or is it something more deeply psychological than that? Does he want someone crying on his shoulder? And how are we meant to take that line about how love can be mistaken for a crime? Is that a hint that his loafers might be a little on the light side, or does he mean that he’s after someone who might be a little too young? By the end of the song, when he finally wails the word father (once) and then sort of dirtily yells out that he’ll be your daddy, I have complete sympathy for him. There’s real longing there, and I don’t think it’s pedophilia or anything creepy. And it seems really sincere when he says he’s going to love you till the end of time, when just moments ago he knew you didn’t even understand him. Hell, by the end of the song I’m ready to write him a letter and tell him that he can be my daddy if he wants to. (Which is funny, by the way, since he was only twenty-four when the song was released.)

The video for Father Figure is a good one; there’s a model, a runway show, Michael in a wifebeater, some slapping, and it all ends sort of badly. Alternating between black and white and shadowy blues, it captures the mood of the song without interpreting it too literally. And like all the Faith videos, it features Michael with aviators, some scruff on his face, and that godforsaken cross earring, all of which now seem like secret gay code. He might not have come out until a decade later, but the emphasis on his body and fascination with high-fashion models is just at least as queer as the daddy metaphor.

(As a post-script, I just want to note that after Michael and Prince and Madonna lost a little bit of popular steam in the early-nineties, they were replaced on the pop charts by children. Another Bad Creation, Immature, and Shanice were just a couple of young singers who found success in the early nineties; it was almost as if pop reached its apex with songs like this, and people needed to recover. That could also explain why the best-selling pop artists of the nineties, among them Ace of Base and Hootie and the Blowfish and Celine Dion, lacked any kind of drama; they were safe choices in a decade of over-seriousness.)

1. The Beach Boys, Kokomo

Believe it or not, Don’t Worry Be Happy wasn’t the worst song on the Cocktail soundtrack.

2. Murray Head, One Night In Bangkok

I used to be really upset that this song had anything to do with Benny & Bjorn, two of my favorite pop songwriters ever. But it turns out they just did the music and assy Tim Rice wrote the lyrics. God. One time at my birthday party somebody put this song on and I had to walk out. It’s like being sodomized with railroad ties every time I hear it.

3. Brenda K Starr, I Still Believe

Whiny!

4. Stray Cats, Sexy & 17

50 different kinds of ick!

5. Georgia Satellites, Keep Your Hands To Yourself

I used to have nightmares about southern people, thanks to the creepy video for this dumb song.

6. Michael Jackson, Dirty Diana

Terrible! [He was almost on this list four times, by the way, but only because when I had lunch today some kind of his greatest hits was on and I had to hear this AND Man In The Mirror AND Smooth Criminal.]

7. Ambrosia, Biggest Part of Me

Everything that’s wrong with old people!

8. Tiffany, I Saw Him Standing There

I got a mention in a local newspaper lately for my complaining about Tiffany, so I won’t do it any more.

9. Lionel Richie, Say You Say Me

Terrible!

10. Bruce Willis, Respect Yourself

I’ve always thought Bruce Willis was kind of hot, so I tend to forgive him some of his errors. But not the error of trying to sound like a Huey Lewis knockoff.

11. Baltimora, Tarzan Boy

They’re Scottish and faggy, so I know I should like this, but it drives me crazy. I think its appearance in Listerine commercials simultaneously made it better and worse.

12. Paul McCartney & Stevie Wonder, Ebony & Ivory

The musical equivalent of your least favorite box of Kashi.

13. Phil Collins, Groovy Kind of Love

Least groovy song ever.

14. Zapp and Roger, I Want To Be Your Man

Thank God most people seem to have forgotten this very long and terrible song.

15. David Bowie & Mick Jagger, Dancing In The Street

Awful!

16. Bryan Adams, Heaven

There are few things I hate more than Summer of ’69, but this is one of them.

17. Chicago, You’re The Inspiration

Chicago had a lot of other songs that might have been better for this list, but I was afraid to listen to them.

18. Dan Fogelberg, Same Auld Lang Syne

Kiki and Herb do something nice with this one, though.

19. Klymaxx, I Miss You

I love Klymaxx because a) there are like 24 girls in the group for no reason whatsoever, b) they all look like drag queens, and c) they have really drag queeny song titles like The Men All Pause and Meeting In The Ladies Room. However, none of that can make up for a song this drecky.

20. White Lion, When The Children Cry

I had to include at least one overwrought power ballad.  Although that means I don’t have space to include a dreary adult contemporary duet, of which there were SO MANY to choose from.

2. Janet Jackson, Miss You Much [#1, 1989]

Recently, Fluxblog creator Matthew Perpetua suggested that maybe new indie bands should spend less time aping My Bloody Valentine and more time listening to this, the first single off Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation 1814 album. While I’m not sure I agree with some of his arguments–especially the stance against anti-intellectualism, which I don’t particularly feel like getting into here–I think that pretty much anybody could benefit from listening to this song regularly. (And that’s especially true for all the negative nellies that responded to his post, because boy did that feel like people reading Youtube comments.)

Like most of the songs on Jackson’s Control and Rhythm Nation albums, Miss You Much is propelled by a really insistent beat, one which I discussed the last time I tried to make one of these godforsaken lists. Janet was serious about her rhythm nation, and had the fiercest drum machines in Minneapolis to back it up.

It was the first of the album’s seven singles, all of which made the top five in the US, a record that still hasn’t been surpassed. While the album centers (at least theoretically) around songs about drugs and crime and illiteracy, the lead single is about liking somebody. And missing them a lot when they’re not around. Or, you know, missing them much.

Sure, her sentiments aren’t conveyed in the kind of syntax that any real person would ever use–there’s also that part where she says she’ll tell anyone whose heart can comprehend–it’s easy enough to overlook. Partly because she sounds so happy, and partly because it’s hard to think about the lyrics when you’re too busy dancing your patootie off.

In the song’s video, a bunch of attractive people are hanging out, playing pool and generally behaving in a better mood than most real people ever would. It looks sort of like something Calvin Klein might have put together, but without the frowning. Then Janet comes in and leads everybody in some crazy dance moves, culminating in a minute-long chair dance that hearkens back to the Pleasure Principle video but goes a little bit further than that in terms of choreography.

The dancing might seem out of touch with the song–calling one’s mama and friends doesn’t immediately bring to mind “weird asexual dancing in a warehouse while wearing lots of zippers.” Especially because Janet’s lamenting her loneliness in the song, but is surrounded by a million or so attractive and groovy people in the video. But whatever. Rhythm Nation is about bringing people together, and there’s really no better way to do that than through dancing. So thank you Janet (and Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis) for giving the whole world an excuse to get up and party.