Brian Boonehttp://amzn.to/1c1OHNsFrom the middle of nowhere in the Pacific Northwest, I contribute to the Retroist, write for trivia publications, and blog about music in a humorous fashion. I feel about "Back to the Future" the way you feel about "Star Wars." Also, I'm married and have a child (sorry ladies, orphans).
Ask your significant other who their favorite Go-Go is. If they say Belinda Carlisle, dump them. That’s a boring answer and so are they. If they pick out the delightful, way more fun, Jane Wiedlin, marry the heck out of them. Belinda Carlisle may know the location of heaven, but Jane Wiedlin is close personal friends with a dolphin.
There’s something charming about early music videos. Before record labels realized they could use them to make art in line with their artists’ music, or great short films in their own right, they weren’t quite sure what they’d be used for, or where they’d be seen, so they didn’t put money or time into them. At all. The result was that they tended to employ very little camera movements and they would be very, very literal. Josie Cotton couldn’t really be too literal in 1981 with a song about having a boyfriend she thinks might be a homosexual, so instead of doing anything that telegraphs as gay, Johnny is just, like, a stereotypical ’80s nerd.
I don’t sleep very well. It’s mostly because I ironically have an ’80s jingle for sleeping pills stuck in my head most of the time. There is something incredibly comforting, though, about a Nytol N, falling over, as if to sleep, and converting itself into a sleepy Z (as in ZZZZ).
Synths. Aloof model ladies. Guys who hope you notice how much they look like a Duran Duran guy. Keytars. Monitors. Sideways monitors. This thing is more delightfully ‘80s than Ronald Reagan asking Max Headroom the whereabouts of the beef.
Fun fact: I just listened to this 100 times in a row and I turned into a robot. Bleep bloop.
When you’re a little kid, your parents will sometimes let you stay up late, and you’re willing to endure whatever lame, boring adult TV your parents watch, simply to get to stay up until the ungodly hour of 10:00, feeling like you’re getting away with something. For me, that meant sitting quietly through something like Scarecrow and Mrs. King or The NBC Sunday Night Movie. The highlight, however, the thing that made it all worthwhile: a Met Life commercial with Snoopy in it. I didn’t care that it was a bunch of children’s characters incongruously advertising insurance to people even older than my parents—because I was up late, it was Snoopy, and thereby I was the king of the universe.