Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Wave Your Hands In The Air

Joy and I were talking earlier this evening about the monstrosity that is Scarlett Johansson's new album full of Tom Waits covers (And no, I'm not linking it. That insufferable snot doesn't need any more help selling her whore-tastic idea, plus there's an entire blog-rant I'm publishing on its release day, so just you wait.)

I won't go into it, but we stumbled across this lovely gem:



Yup, remember Mr Mister? Ooooh, the deliciousness of it all. It's like part of a time capsule from junior high for me. Everything in there - everything - reeks of cliche. Only this was, I don't know, 1987? So back then, this stuff wasn't ironic. Witness:

Backstage hijinks!

Limo goofyness! (did the lead singer just lean out the window and eat sushi while the car is in motion? Oh yes he did!)

Random acts of tap dancing!

Over-the-head hand clapping at the "breakin' it down" mark!

Slo-mo jump in the air with the guitar!

Slo-mo spin with the guitar!

Entire band walking down the beach, lead singer stops to skip a rock into the ocean!

Running in place in front of the mic!

Oh! Oh! Oh my God! Did the limo break down, thus forcing the very band inside to push it from behind to help? Oh those guyyyyyyys!

High five hit on the beat!

Old guy playing the accordion on the boardwalk!

...and other casual snippets of their lives off-stage.

I had a crush on the lead singer for about two weeks, and looking at this again reminds me that he was kind of foxy. I wasn't wrong about that one.

Anyway, watch for yourselves. You'll thank me later.

2 comments:

thptpth said...

I normally don't go for blondes, but he does have a kind of knowing smirk that's a bit sexy. He probably has no hair left now.

And hey! If you changed their shirts, those tight skinny jeans would totally be in style, like, today!

Let us never speak of the Scarlett Johansson debacle again.

Dissident Sister said...

I had the biggest crush on that guy, too. I'm not ashamed! I mean, I was THEN, but not NOW.

Take these broken wings and kiss me right on my mouth, you tight jeans-wearing bastard