My Weekend Crush

This week’s earlier confession of my love for late 80s pop brought with it an unexpected bout of collective nostalgia. For many of you reached out in solidarity, confessing your own similar totally tubular tastes. Fine, not for Debbie Gibson. But definitely for The Bangles. Gay women, it seems, love The Bangles. As well they should.

In the late 80s girls who loved girl bands had pretty much two choices: The Bangles or The Go-Gos. I was a Bangles kind of gal. Sure, I liked the Go-Gos. But I loved the Bangles. No judgment, I danced in my PJs to both in my bedroom. But it was The Bangles with Susanna Hoffs’ enormous eyes, Vicki Peterson’s enormous riffs, Debbi Peterson’s enormous beats and Michael Steele’s enormous bangs that spoke to me. They, quite simply, rocked my little world. And they never relied just on sex (though, of course, they were sexy) to sell records. Instead it was all killer hooks and catchy melodies and smart harmonies. I still love their powerful, driving version of “Hazy Shade of Winter” more than the original. And, yes, I still know every word of ‘Eternal Flame” by heart.

I couple of years ago I was lucky to enough to catch them live at the briefly rekindled Lilith Fair. They, of course, rocked. And I sang every song with them, as loud as my little lungs would let me. And it was like I was a girl again, jamming out in my bedroom playing air guitar and dreaming of being a rock and roll star. Happy weekend, all.