Going to the NCO Club and Open Mess in the middle of the nineteen eighties, I heard a lot of music I would never otherwise encountered. “You Spin Me Round (Like A Record)” by Dead Or Alive is one of those songs. Now, whenever I hear it, I think, do young people know what’s meant to spin round like a record? It reminds me of expressions like, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” When I was young, I wondered, who’s going to give me a horse, and why shouldn’t I look at it in the mouth? Do horses do something to you if you look them in the mouth?
From nineteen eighty-five, let’s spin this thing. Gotta love the electronic sound. So eighties.
Before there was Starship, there was Jefferson Starship. Before that group, there was Jefferson Airplane. They made some great songs.
This is not one of them.
This song came out in nineteen eighty-five. I didn’t like the song, but it frequently streamed into my head and found an infinite play loop. I didn’t know anyone who claimed to like this song, but it found a lot of airplay, and was proclaimed the number one hit for a period. Since then, it reached number one on several lists of worst songs. I felt better that I was not alone in not liking it.
The song, by Starship, is “We Built This City.” The rest of that line goes, “We built this city on rock and roll.” I used to sing, “We built this city while we were stoned.” I have nothing against Jefferson Airplane and the groups that came after them, nor against people being stoned, in general, or San Francisco. I enjoy San Francisco.
I just dislike this song.
Why, then, is it today’s theme music? Well, I awoke from a weird dream, and there it was, playing in my head. Damn, I gotta get it out.
By the way, today was the first time that I’ve seen the video. Consider it my gift to you.
And what is this age, this technological age of rising alt news, polarization, nationalism, fascism and repression, what is this age? Sure don’t feel like the Age of Aquarius.
Back in nineteen eighty-five, the world was facing many issues, like the famine in Africa. In the U.K., Bob Geldof responded by organizing Band-Aid. In America, a ‘super-group’ was put together to release an album to help. A group, U.S.A. (United Support of Artists), was put together to help the cause. Produced by Quincy Jones, a song, ‘We Are The World,’ was co-written by Michael Jackson and Lionel Ritchie, and arranged by Michael Omartian. Released as part of Live Aid, it helped awaken awareness of the famine in Africa. Other ‘live-aid’ type of events followed as musicians stepped up to help farmers and earthquake victims.
I didn’t particularly like the song, but I appreciate the sentiment and effort. Harry Belafonte was the first spark plug in this effort because he thought something needed to be done, but watch the video and listen to the voices, and see how many artists participated in trying to make a difference. It was a hit; it won awards; it raised money and attracted attention to the problem.
Well, here we are again, with war and terrorism shredding the world. Displaced peoples are seeking the very basics of food, water and shelter, and nations, like America under Trump, want to turn their backs. Insisting, “America First,” he builds walls and bombs other places, because walls and bombs have always been so effective. That’s why the war to end all wars was fought one hundred years ago.
It seems like that was just the opening of a War-apalooza.
Despite the sobering news out of Europe regarding terrorism and the most recent attack, we go full on pop mode streaming today, with a pause to think of those who were died or injured, those who lost someone, and those now distraught by the latest.
It’s part of the world wide web that we can know such news with the immediacy of video and audio recordings and feel others’ grief, but experience a much different reality on a personal level. A legacy of our immediate wired world is that we reach across the connections to offer ourselves and our resources, no matter how meager they are or their nature, because we feel helpless to do much more.
A cold front bulled in here, shooing the rain away and sweeping out the clouds. Except for some high, feathery cloud remnants, the weather is blue sky sunny. ‘Walking On Sunshine’ has already begun streaming in my brain, establishing itself as the song for the day.
I know, like, five things about this song.
It’s by Katrina and the Waves.
It was a hit in 1985, while I was driving around the southeastern quadrant of the continental United States.
It’s the only song by KaTW that I know.
It’s a bouncy melody with easily learned and remembered lyrics.
The song’s properties lends itself to popular culture, so it’s been part of movie soundtracks, television shows, and advertisements.
Today’s song is one of many that suffered from mondegreens. ‘Alive and Kicking’ by Simple Minds came out in 1985. Stationed at Shaw AFB in SC after returning from Okinawa, I was assigned to the 1701 MOBSS.
I lived in Columbia, about twenty-nine miles away, and a straight shot down the highway. The MOB in our unit designation was short for mobility. We went on temporary duty to other locations regularly. Sometimes I drove to those locations, such as Eglin AFB in Florida. Between that and my daily commute between Columbia and Shaw, I listened to a bit of radio.
When the song came out, I swore they were sometimes singing, “I like the chicken.” Naturally, that’s what I walked around singing. Still do when I stream the song in my head.
Here they are. From 1985, Simple Minds with ‘Alive and Kicking’.
Michael Seidel, writer 