Sing Blue Silver
It’s true, Way Cooler Big Sister and I were
what the internet folk refer to these days as Duranies. Ask anyone who
knew us then and they’ll tell you our bedroom was peppered with posters and glossy
magazine pages, just the walls though, I drew the line at the ceiling. I still
know all their birthdays; it was that kind of love. Wild Boys always
shine.
In the heyday of our fandom, we lived
for weekends. Early Saturday morning,
Father Mine would drop by the video store across from the food court in Penhorn
Mall and rent us the VHS of Duran Duran’s first eleven videos, swing by and
grab McDonalds – the Big Mac combo with chocolate milkshakes and visit us in
Cow Bay by noonish. And, by visit I mean, pop in the side door, yell for one or
both of us, hand over the goods, peck our cheeks and then was gone again. Way
Cooler Big Sister would grab the greasy brown bags and head straight to the
living room to get everything going. I always lingered inside the door watching
Father Mine pull away. I’d stay put until the taillights disappeared, a little
part of my heart with him every single time. Ever grateful for a sighting and
his treats, always sad to see him go in such a hurry.
This one Saturday, Way Cooler Big Sister,
a creature of habit, was already sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of
our space age TV impatiently waiting for me to press play on the VCR, “Hurry
up, food’s getting cold!” I hustled, threw a semi-cold fry into my mouth,
sat next to her, and performed my McDonald’s ritual – open up the Styrofoam
burger container, pour fries into the empty side, stuff one of the six hundred
napkins from the brown bag into the neck of my shirt and wipe the condensation
off of my milkshake cup. I took too long for her liking, so she reached up and dramatically
pressed play, “They’ll be doing a reunion tour by the time you finish fussing
with your food.” Once the tape was rolling, we started to chow down. Two
seconds into the video, we were half choking in contempt, it was the wrong
tape and were wholeheartedly miffed. She looked at me mid-chew and said,
“What the hell is this shit!? Don’t tell me he rented the wrong one?” I
checked the spine of the VHS case and looked at her wide-eyed, “It says Sing
Blue Silver. Maybe they put the wrong tape in the wrong case?” Fortunately,
in our ire, we spent an inappropriate amount of time being outraged and arguing
about how and why we ended up with the wrong video. It took a few to realize
that our swapped tape was a frickin’ goldmine. Father Mine did rent the
wrong video but it was worth the flub because what he got for us
instead was a brand spanking new documentary of Duran’s 1983/1984 World Tour. We’re
talking never-before-seen-by-us performances, candid shenanigans,
interviews – insight! Forget schlepping the pickles out of my Big Mac, we were
going around the world with Duran Duran.
Needless to say, no one had access to the
TV until the video went back to the store. We logged countless ravenous hours,
memorizing every line, the details in every scene, every note they played, like
it was the last thing we’d ever do. We were, in a word, mesmerized. I
mean it wasn’t without some educational merit. We did learn a lot about how music
tours work, how important it is to obey backstage riders to include Stolichnaya
vodka, things about the FBI, and – what the word contrived means. Contrived:
ADJECTIVE – having unnatural or false appearance or quality, artificial, labored. My fellow
Duranies reading this will understand, they’ve probably already said it aloud.
The best nasally quote of all Nick Rhodes quotes. Ever. Nick, the keyboardist, born
June 8th, 1962, shoulder shimmy wizard of the band in case you’re
not familiar and didn’t believe that even to this day, I know their birth dates
better than about a third of my own family.
Sing Blue Silver, for us fans, was most
quotable. From the opening scene to the bitter end. In that opening scene, the
band are sat behind a long table being blinded by flashing cameras and bombarded
with questions. A reporter asks Andy Taylor, guitar player (was always my least
favorite member but Way Cooler Big Sister dug him), born February 16th,
1961, when he learned an instrument. Uproarious laughter ensured after his
salacious quip. Simon LeBon, singer, born October 27th, 1958, piped
up and said, “I was born with my instrument.” More riotous laugher
erupted. I won’t bore you with all the band details, but the best was when it
came time for Roger Taylor, drummer, born April 26th, 1960, to
answer. Bashful and at a loss for words, he tries but fails. Simon jumps in and
saves the day and says, “Roger needs two hands for his!” And the crowd
goes wild. We keeled over with stitches. And, for days and weeks and years to
come, those few lines were part of our vernacular. Along with another promo gig
the band had with Coca Cola and one of the corporate bigwigs called a very dashing
John Taylor, bassist, born June 20th, 1960, to the podium to speak
on behalf of the band. What does he say after all the fine remarks made about
the band and the soft drink’s partnership? “I prefer Pepsi myself.” I
can’t tell you how many times we uttered that back then, even in recent years. One
of us would be having or see something about Coke and come right out with it.
Funny how that happens, eh?
The band, in the most quotable scene for
us, were preparing for their now famous Francesco Scavullo photoshoot. Simon described
the dangers of undressing with press and cameras around, “Cause if you take
your trousers off in front of people, they’ll say things like, ‘Simon LeBon
wears yellow underwear and they’ll accuse you of having chubby legs and a gut’”
When we folded laundry or any other random reason we’d give it up, “Simon LeBon
wears yellow underwear.”
Father Mine ended up buying the copy from
the video store for us so he didn’t have to keep renting it. It was the right
thing to do. It cut down on the time he spent going to the mall, and the gas.
It was amazing to have it at our disposal day and night. The only drawback was,
since the trips to the video store stopped, we saw Father Mine less and less on
weekends. I found myself many a time, like clockwork, going to the side door to
wait for him then would remember when he didn’t’ come that he wasn’t. I held on
to those weekend days for as long as I could. And, now, I hold on tight to the
memories of sitting on the floor with Way Cooler Big Sister, glued to the
screen, elbowing each other to make sure we don’t miss the good parts when in
fact we were the good parts.
***
Finding the accompanying photo is what prompted
this little piece about Kel and I. It all flooded back. And, maybe it isn’t as
funny as some of the others I wrote, seeing us in my mind’s eye losing our holy
shit because Dad brought down the wrong tape is hilarious. I mean, just
look at us. Who do we think we are?! Ahaha! We thought we were the shit. No
doubt. We bonded so deeply over our love for the band and learned so much. We
discovered fashion and books and art and other music. We found friends we’d
otherwise never met. One more Saturday on the floor gnawing a cold Big Mac would
be a dream come true.
In propinquity,
Nic
No comments:
Post a Comment