A Temporary Revival

It's confession time.

Back in my high school days, my friends and I became enamored with butt rock. It all started when we were at Goodwill shopping for some props for a History class skit. We found some old butt rock concert t-shirts for $0.99 (Def Leppard and Judas Priest were the originals). They were threadbare black tshirts, pictured men with leather pants, big hair, and triangular guitars. We bought them and spent the next two years collecting all the shirts we could find, and, even as a joke, listened to the bands' music...

"Why in the *$@# would you do that??" is a perfectly valid -- albeit a little obscene -- question. It wasn't because we actually liked it, or thought they were talented. I think it's for the same reason that shows like "Ripley's Believe it or Not," or people like that less-than-no-talent Asian guy that appeared on "American Idol" a few years back got famous. It was pure fascination that this genre of music, not to mention the associated culture and lifestyle, dominated the music scene and actually sold albums for a decade.

Did it get to the point where I ordered the "Power Ballads" collection from those infomercials?...almost. But high school ended, and butt rock was left by the wayside, neglected and forgotten...and rightfully so.

Until just recently. This past week I got invited to go to an 80's cover band concert: The Legwarmers. My initial motivation was to people-watch -- these kind of activities, much like medieval gatherings, have the tendency to bring the freaks out of the woodwork -- but as the band started playing, a distant echo from high school came back to me. I think it started when they played "99 Red Balloons", Tiffany's "I Think We're Alone Now" (repressed memories of TME shaking his thang in a towel came flashing back), moved to "Thunderstruck" by AC/DC, then topped it off with that Def Leppard classic: "Pour Some Sugar on Me."

Some other highlights: The drummer coming out in a full Storm Trooper uniform, helmet and all, and playing for a good full hour before he took it off; the keyboardist with wispy blonde hair, wind-swept by a conveniently placed fan under her keyboard; the groupies at the front of the crowd looking to sleep with any band member they could get their hands on.

The concert was great. Do I wish the 80s returned? Hell no. In fact, I'm glad that I was too young to remember any of it. But it sure is fun to have a short, temporary revival every once in a while. Special emphasis on short. And temporary.