Page 3 of 4
"You know, Christine, that's weird, because I need my trim banged."
Ba-dum ching. Indeed, Electroclash is all about sexual innuendo. Peaches, the self-proclaimed "Queen of Electro-Trash," comes onstage wearing an elbow-length blond wig, pink fishnet pantyhose, and hot pants. She busts a few riffs on her hot-red, rectangular guitar and follows with a slew of come-on moves, pretending to fellate the microphone and feigning cunnilingus with a dancer. For "Shake Your Dicks, Shake Your Tits," she strips down to a purple bra and black shorts that have a large red dildo attached, pretends to vomit blood, crowd-surfs, and smashes a piñata full of candy. She is a strange combination of Madonna and Ozzy Osbourne.
As we leave the club, Libby makes it clear she's had a great time; I say I did, too. "If you liked that, you'll love Fischerspooner," she says. "And Ladytron. I'll burn you a CD."
I'm almost ready to admit defeat. It seems that nearly everyone is celebrating the '80s revival -- and has been for a couple of years now. But why? Can't anyone see the '80s for what they really were, a gluttonous, cynical, corporate ode to the popular kids in the class? And some of us were nerds back then! Some of us are still nerds!
I have one last trick up my sleeve. Some friends will stand up to this trend. They will have no interest in it, for a simple reason: They were barely born during the decade in question. Matthew and Ross are 15. The last time I checked they were really into Britney Spears and *NSYNC. Nothing could be less retro than that.
Or could it? Is *NSYNC retro?
I don't even know anymore.
Matthew Valencia and Ross Millar are ninth-graders at Albany High School. I met Matthew when his family lived in my San Francisco neighborhood and I worked at a local bookstore. His family moved to Albany a few years ago, and there he met Ross, a 5-foot-9 counterpart with an impressive experimental mustache.
I take BART to visit them after school one day, and we check out the new El Cerrito Plaza. We suck on 1-liter bottles of Dr Pepper from Albertsons, and their energy is overwhelming. But it is fun to hang out with them; it reminds me what it was like to be a kid. And I can rest easy knowing that their childhood is an entire decade removed from mine.
"Hey Ben, do you like Harold Ramis?" Ross asks suddenly.
I stare at the ground. He is referring to the director of National Lampoon's Vacation and the co-star of Ghostbusters, both classic '80s movies. I fidget, but play it cool. After all, Ramis directed lots of non-'80s hits, too.
"Oh, you mean the director of Analyze This?" I say. "Yeah, I loved that movie."
"That one was OK," says Ross, "but I'm talking about Caddyshack. Have you seen that? With Rodney Dangerfield and Bill Murray and Chevy Chase? It's so funny, especially the part where Bill Murray tries to dynamite out the gophers ..."
He is laughing too hard to finish the sentence.
"No, haven't seen it," I lie.
Next come unmistakable signs that my young friends are true '80s aficionados. They love the Cars, Foreigner, Journey, the Fine Young Cannibals, and the synthesizer sound.
"You guys," I say, getting deadly serious. "I hate to break it to you, but the '80s was a terrible time. You weren't alive then, so you don't know, but there was a lot of bad stuff going on. Like Reagan. Man. If you think George W. Bush is evil, that guy was way worse. He was building up nuclear weapons, cutting down trees ..."
"Aww, leave him alone," interrupts Matthew. "I'm a Democrat, but I feel bad for him. I have sympathy that he's sick, for what he's going through."
So that's that. I finish my soda and take account of the situation. I know three things:
1) This '80s trend has been raging on for years now, and shows no signs of abating.
2) It cuts across boundaries of nationality, hipness, and age.
3) By not liking the '80s, it's me who's weird.
I say goodbye to my friends and have a few moments of reflection on the BART ride home. Were the '80s really as bad as I remember, or am I exaggerating? Come to think of it, I really did enjoy ALF. Maybe I should stop being such a curmudgeon.
And that's how I wound up at the Cat Club. I figured I might as well check out the party that is arguably the epitome of the San Francisco retro-'80s scene.
Since opening four years ago, the Thursday night "1984" show has outlasted countless '80s nights at other clubs. According to Cat Club General Manager Randy Maupin, "1984" draws people from all over the city, from blue collar to white collar, from jelly-braceleted Marina girls to Mission punks in tapered jeans. And of course he mentions Deb and Tiff, a "'1984' phenomenon."
Oh yeah, speaking of Deb and Tiff: They don't care about the evils of Ronald Reagan, either. "I think Reagan's a cool guy," Deb says. "Alzheimer's -- that's pretty weird, and the fact that he was an actor is cool."
"Walk This Way" is playing as they leave, and I remember what I was doing when I heard this Aerosmith/Run-D.M.C. synthesis for the first time. I was winning at ski ball in a St. Paul, Minn., arcade.
Those were happy times. I can't really remember what prize I won; was it a cheap tape Walkman? Or a cool He-Man or Transformer imitation toy? You know what? It doesn't matter. If I've learned anything from my retro-'80s explorations, it is that happiness means making up your memories as you go along. Embellish the fun times, flush the bad.
