I don’t really know who other young girls in the eighties held high on the Music Pedestal. In fact, most of the music I listened to came straight from my little square lilac colored boom box. So I, to this day, am dreadfully ignorant of the names of all those rad vocalists who graced the airwaves.
In our double wide, we had a few records. You know; round, vinyl, black with ridges? And we had a few cassette tapes that piqued my interest for many a year. One of them had a song called “Sail Away” which I later learned was done by a band named Styx. I must have listened to that song hundreds of times, always wondering where those guys hoped to sail to and if maybe they would ever consider taking me from East Texas Hell.
Another cassette I found laying around and became totally enamored with was Lynyrd Skynyrd. Especially that one about giving him three steps, Mister and how he spun a tale of a place called The Jug where he found a girl named Linda Lou, who consequently could really cut a rug. For some reason I always pictured them dancing on this round blue and white area rug. I thought on these particular lyrics for hours at a time. Deep and profound.
Then there was our record of The Judds and I really got off on that one because they sang low enough for me to sing along and belt it out. I learned how to sing harmony with those two red heads that were so young and pretty I could hardly tell which one was the mother and which one was the daughter. I dreamed about what a girl’s night out would be like, ’cause Honey there ain’t no doubt, that I would dance every dance until the boys went home.
Then there was the album called The Doobie Brothers, and I didn’t listen to that one much, because on the inside cover there was a picture of the whole band plus some girls, naked with cowboy hats over most of their privates. It freaked me out a little to say the least.
But hands down, the album I listened to and obsessed over the most was My Precious. My crazy, eccentric pretend best friend, Cyndi Lauper. I don’t know how it started. Maybe I got that album as a Christmas gift or something. It was the one with Cyndi laying almost face down on a mirror with her multicolored hair all swept up. True Colors was the name of it. And it didn’t even include the all too famous “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” I got that later on an old cassette someone gave me.
I don’t know if other girls were as obsessed with her as I was, but she just spoke to my oddities in a way no one else ever had. The way she sang with that high baby voice that I would never be able to blend with. The way she wore mismatched clothing and danced around like a mad woman. If only there were girls like that at my school. Then we could’ve hung out in our funky black and white skirts paired with purple leather jackets and thumbed our noses at those preppies!
Then, at the height of my adoration, my mother did the impossible. She got tickets to The Concert in nearby Tyler. My stomach did flip flops. My throat dried out. My hair frizzed more than normal. We were going to see Cyndi Lauper in person. And she would sing all the songs on my album and she might even call me up on stage to dance the funky dance with her. Then she would take me to her fav salon the next day and pay to have my hair colored black, blue, red and maybe even a streak of purple.
But when we got there and she started doing her thang, a little something I like to call Concert Shock happened. You know, when the singer sounds nothing like they do on the record, and they sing off key a little, and you’re like, “Whoa! I can totally sing better than them!”
Then she went a step further and sang a whole slew of songs I didn’t even know. I only had that one album. We were poor. No more albums in sight. I didn’t like any of her new stuff anyway and was saddened that I wouldn’t be making that hair appointment the next day.
I still liked the old gal. I still listened to “Change of Heart” and “Iko, Iko” over and over. I still held her fashion choices up on a pedestal. And she shaped me to this day. Because of Cyndi Lauper, I don’t feel like such a freak.
Thanks, Cynd’s. Give me a call sometime, we could still make that hair appointment and I’d let you wear my orange and red striped capri’s.
copyright 2007 carrielouise
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