To simplify brutally, there were really only two kinds of movies in the '80s: (1) Movies in which Judd Nelson might conceivably pump his fist while crossing the football field(2) Movies in which Mickey Rourke sweats a lot and symbolizes something It goes without saying that the first kind remains lingua franca, while the second kind was forgotten by the time the '90s started and seems both hideously dated and joyless now. One of the reasons we remember these movies so clearly is that they were so much more honest than the Hollywood adult movies of the day. There was a feeling of expensive mendacity to all the aging baby-boomer dramas, all those sensitive flicks with William Hurt or Michael Douglas or Melanie Griffith backlit with baby oil all over the lens. The moment that sums it up for me is the truly loathsome opening shot of Top Gun Top Gun, with the caption "Indian Ocean: Present Day." That totally sums up where Hollywood culture was at in 1986: the ruling principle was that the "Present Day" would always look, sound and feel exactly like 1986-too horrible a thought to even contemplate.

There was already a glorious teen movie boom before John Hughes showed up. In 1982 we got Fast Times at Ridgemont High Fast Times at Ridgemont High, which still gets my vote as the decade's best movie. But in the early '80s we also got Cla.s.s, Risky Business, Getting It On, The Last American Virgin, Private School, Paradise, The Legend of Billie Jean, The Beach Girls, Vision Quest, Footloose Cla.s.s, Risky Business, Getting It On, The Last American Virgin, Private School, Paradise, The Legend of Billie Jean, The Beach Girls, Vision Quest, Footloose, Flashdance Flashdance and many more. and many more. Girls Just Want to Have Fun Girls Just Want to Have Fun is one of the all-time best movies about growing up Catholic, with Sarah Jessica Parker as the bespectacled geek girl who longs to go on is one of the all-time best movies about growing up Catholic, with Sarah Jessica Parker as the bespectacled geek girl who longs to go on Dance-TV, Dance-TV, and Helen Hunt as her wisecracking friend ("Hail Mary? Sorry Sister, I thought you meant 'Proud Mary,' but I do a great Tina Turner!"). Even the nuns in this movie get to be cool. and Helen Hunt as her wisecracking friend ("Hail Mary? Sorry Sister, I thought you meant 'Proud Mary,' but I do a great Tina Turner!"). Even the nuns in this movie get to be cool. Dirty Dancing Dirty Dancing was just a big-budget copy of this movie, although an admittedly great one. (Hard to go wrong with Patrick Swayze.) People obsess about the strangest teen movies. When I'm walking around in Greenpoint, my neighborhood in Brooklyn, I always take a loop around McGolrick Park to the side street where one of my neighbors is parked with a license plate that reads WORDMAN. I always think, d.a.m.n, that is one hard-core was just a big-budget copy of this movie, although an admittedly great one. (Hard to go wrong with Patrick Swayze.) People obsess about the strangest teen movies. When I'm walking around in Greenpoint, my neighborhood in Brooklyn, I always take a loop around McGolrick Park to the side street where one of my neighbors is parked with a license plate that reads WORDMAN. I always think, d.a.m.n, that is one hard-core Eddie and the Cruisers Eddie and the Cruisers fan. And who thought that in 2010, there'd be any kind of fan. And who thought that in 2010, there'd be any kind of Eddie and the Cruisers Eddie and the Cruisers fan? fan?

The teen movie explosion was mostly garbage, sure. But as a rebellion against smug Hollywood pap, the garbage meant something. And Phoebe Cates? She really really meant something. meant something.

John Hughes's movies were special because they had the sa.s.siest girls, the cattiest boys, the most relatable boy-girl friendships and b.u.mbling parents and big sisters on muscle relaxants. For those of us who were sullen teenagers, it shocked us how he got the details right, especially the music. "I'd rather be making music than movies," he said in 1985, describing himself as a frustrated guitarist. "Pretty in Pink was written to the Psychedelic Furs, Lou Reed and Mott the Hoople. was written to the Psychedelic Furs, Lou Reed and Mott the Hoople. The Breakfast Club The Breakfast Club was written in my Clash-Elvis Costello period." was written in my Clash-Elvis Costello period."

That's how we got the Pretty in Pink Pretty in Pink soundtrack, one of the defining '80s new-wave alb.u.ms. You could complain that when the Psychedelic Furs did their remake of "Pretty in Pink" for this movie, it was about one-third as good as the original. I would counter that until this movie, girls never listened to the original; once "Pretty in Pink" became a song girls actually liked, it became a totally different song. soundtrack, one of the defining '80s new-wave alb.u.ms. You could complain that when the Psychedelic Furs did their remake of "Pretty in Pink" for this movie, it was about one-third as good as the original. I would counter that until this movie, girls never listened to the original; once "Pretty in Pink" became a song girls actually liked, it became a totally different song.

His movies had loads of talk; it's no coincidence that the generation weaned on The Breakfast Club The Breakfast Club was the generation that decided John Ca.s.savetes was the great American filmmaker. I first fell for Molly Ringwald in a movie where she plays John Ca.s.savetes' daughter, Miranda to his Prospero, in the 1982 Shakespeare update was the generation that decided John Ca.s.savetes was the great American filmmaker. I first fell for Molly Ringwald in a movie where she plays John Ca.s.savetes' daughter, Miranda to his Prospero, in the 1982 Shakespeare update Tempest. Tempest. When a cute American boy arrives to rescue her from desert island drudgery, the first thing she asks him is "So is punk still big in the States?" When a cute American boy arrives to rescue her from desert island drudgery, the first thing she asks him is "So is punk still big in the States?"

But John Hughes didn't bother trying to catch how teens "really" talked, which then as now just meant "um" and "you know." Instead, he indulged his genius for invented catchphrases. It's not like any of us actually said things like "So I smell" or "While we're on the topic of the double-breasted party machine," but he had an ear for what we were trying to say.

Here's just one example: it's easy to forget now, but Sixteen Candles Sixteen Candles invented the word "geek" as we know it. Before Anthony Michael Hall played the kid listed in the credits only as "the Geek," geeks were just called "wusses" or other h.o.m.ophobic epithets. The word "geek" was just an arcane reference to the old Dr. Demento novelty "Pencil Neck Geek." (It doesn't come up once in invented the word "geek" as we know it. Before Anthony Michael Hall played the kid listed in the credits only as "the Geek," geeks were just called "wusses" or other h.o.m.ophobic epithets. The word "geek" was just an arcane reference to the old Dr. Demento novelty "Pencil Neck Geek." (It doesn't come up once in Fast Times Fast Times, which goes for "wuss" instead.) The geek as a social category didn't exist before Sixteen Candles Sixteen Candles entered the Anthony Michael Hall of Fame. Now, can you imagine a day without that word? Hughes knew geekdom: he even did a cameo as Hall's dad in entered the Anthony Michael Hall of Fame. Now, can you imagine a day without that word? Hughes knew geekdom: he even did a cameo as Hall's dad in The Breakfast Club, The Breakfast Club, dropping him off with an E MC2 license plate. (This joke helped the geeks in the theater figure out where all the other geeks were sitting, since we were the ones who laughed.) dropping him off with an E MC2 license plate. (This joke helped the geeks in the theater figure out where all the other geeks were sitting, since we were the ones who laughed.) To me, his most famous and beloved creation is Duckie, from Pretty in Pink. Pretty in Pink. It has been suggested in some quarters that Duckie is, in fact, the Messiah. This suggestion is probably correct. The parallels are daunting: Jon Cryer and Jesus Christ? Practically the same name! Both are poor Jewish boys with absent fathers. Both make the ultimate sacrifice so that others may have life-or, if they prefer, Andrew McCarthy. Duckie tells Andie, "I would have died for you!" Both have a very special relationship with Dweezil Zappa. Duck of G.o.d, you take away the sins of the world; grant us peace. It has been suggested in some quarters that Duckie is, in fact, the Messiah. This suggestion is probably correct. The parallels are daunting: Jon Cryer and Jesus Christ? Practically the same name! Both are poor Jewish boys with absent fathers. Both make the ultimate sacrifice so that others may have life-or, if they prefer, Andrew McCarthy. Duckie tells Andie, "I would have died for you!" Both have a very special relationship with Dweezil Zappa. Duck of G.o.d, you take away the sins of the world; grant us peace.

The Duckman is at the heart of the central question of the John Hughes universe: Why, Andie, why? Why does Molly's character go for hot richie Blaine (McCarthy) when she could have the lavishly moussed Duckie? It's amazing how violently people argue over the end of Pretty in Pink Pretty in Pink. To this day, there's a popular legend that the original version of the movie had Andie choosing Duckie, except it supposedly got changed after test screenings. I'll believe this when I see it-but given that this scene has never shown up anywhere, not even in the DVD outtakes, I'm going to keep believing this "lost original" is a myth that just ill.u.s.trates how much people love Duckie.

I love Duckie too, but what makes him Duckie is the selfless way he accepts the ruckus of female desire, and the way he wants her to get what she wants. So he urges Andie to go dance with Blaine, even though Blaine's a jerk, and even though Blaine showed up to the prom wearing an even goofier outfit than Duckie's. And of course, Duckie ends up getting jumped by another girl-Kristy Swanson!-before the song even ends. That's teen utopia for you.

Those final seconds of Pretty in Pink Pretty in Pink will always be controversial-but they sum up why I will always love John Hughes movies. The sullen teenager inside me needs Duckie to set Molly free, and so the sullen teenager inside me will go to his grave defending that final scene. will always be controversial-but they sum up why I will always love John Hughes movies. The sullen teenager inside me needs Duckie to set Molly free, and so the sullen teenager inside me will go to his grave defending that final scene. Pretty in Pink Pretty in Pink shows why sullen teenagers will always exist and will always annoy people. You disagree? Hey-no worries. shows why sullen teenagers will always exist and will always annoy people. You disagree? Hey-no worries.

LITA FORD.

"Kiss Me Deadly"

1988.

Let's spend a few minutes on this girl, which in all honesty is more than she spent on me.

Paula was a messed-up Catholic girl I knew. I liked messed-up Catholic girls. Like a good Catholic boy, I was attracted to messes and to messed-up-ness in general. She was a bartender with long greasy black hair and a denim jacket she wore every day, no matter how hot it was. When I think of the summer of 1988, I think of her. Def Leppard was her band. "Pour Some Sugar on Me" was her tune. Screamin' Joe Elliott? Her man. When Joe howled, "You got the peaches, I got the cream," his voice seemed to herald the imminent union of our peaches, our cream and other sundries from the produce-and-dairy aisle of our hearts.

I got to know Paula at the radio station, where she did the Friday night reggae show. I would drop by to file her records and attempt to impress her. Sometimes she wouldn't show up, and I was forced to cover for her by doing a reggae show, which was kind of like the time the Red Sox had to use George "Boomer" Scott as a pinch runner. She got rowdy when she drank; she liked to start scenes in bars with big dudes and leave me to talk my way out of it. She loved fireworks, and she loved to take her boom box up to the roof and set off bottle rockets while blasting Lita Ford and Guns N'Roses. I was invited, as long as I didn't blow off a thumb or anything.

I spent the summer sleeping alone with a big picture of Morrissey over my bed, ripped out from Spin Spin magazine, with an ad for his solo alb.u.m: "MORRISSEY ... ALONE." Every time I crawled into this bed, I was alone, and for some reason I thought that was a surprising coincidence. Paula hated Morrissey, hated the Cure, hated anything that sounded dour or angsty. But there was always something kind of sad about her. She never liked to talk about her hometown or her history. She had a big, croaky laugh, and her eyes were like clear gla.s.s. I could tell she'd come a long way from wherever she was from. magazine, with an ad for his solo alb.u.m: "MORRISSEY ... ALONE." Every time I crawled into this bed, I was alone, and for some reason I thought that was a surprising coincidence. Paula hated Morrissey, hated the Cure, hated anything that sounded dour or angsty. But there was always something kind of sad about her. She never liked to talk about her hometown or her history. She had a big, croaky laugh, and her eyes were like clear gla.s.s. I could tell she'd come a long way from wherever she was from.

In the afternoons, she called me and we watched Dial MTV Dial MTV together over the phone. She kept up a constant motormouth commentary as Adam Curry counted down the top ten viewer requests from 1-900-DIAL-MTV. We sang along with the hits of the summer-"Kiss Me Deadly" and "I Hate Myself for Loving You" and "Sweet Child o' Mine" and "Push It" and "Foolish Beat." Every day, "Pour Some Sugar on Me" was number one. together over the phone. She kept up a constant motormouth commentary as Adam Curry counted down the top ten viewer requests from 1-900-DIAL-MTV. We sang along with the hits of the summer-"Kiss Me Deadly" and "I Hate Myself for Loving You" and "Sweet Child o' Mine" and "Push It" and "Foolish Beat." Every day, "Pour Some Sugar on Me" was number one.

On weekends we'd sit on her floor listening to records, drinking Jagermeister and Connecticut Cola. All over her wall, she had pictures of Johnny Depp, usually torn out from Bop Bop or some other teen fan mag. The show or some other teen fan mag. The show 21 Jump Street 21 Jump Street was brand-new that summer. It's hard to remember there even was a time before Johnny Depp was around to toast the loins of our nation . . . but there was. And it was a cold, cold place. She loved to talk about how Johnny Depp was going to change the world. He was a new ideal of manhood, the dawn of a new golden era. It sounded plausible the way she described it. Anything would have. was brand-new that summer. It's hard to remember there even was a time before Johnny Depp was around to toast the loins of our nation . . . but there was. And it was a cold, cold place. She loved to talk about how Johnny Depp was going to change the world. He was a new ideal of manhood, the dawn of a new golden era. It sounded plausible the way she described it. Anything would have.

Paula also had a sweet tooth for pop-Debbie Gibson, Tiffany, Expose, George Michael-and metal, especially of the a.s.s-kicking girl variety like Lita Ford and Joan Jett. I would come over, bringing her the latest Bop Bop magazine, and we'd listen to her Debbie Gibson twelve-inch single of "Only in My Dreams," all the remixes in a row. I would play her my "Foolish Beat" ca.s.single, with the "Mega Mix" medley of all Debbie's. .h.i.ts. But Paula had big issues with Debbie's video for "Foolish Beat," because she didn't like the boy in the video-too much of a pretty boy. She said, "Debbie should get some bikers in her video." magazine, and we'd listen to her Debbie Gibson twelve-inch single of "Only in My Dreams," all the remixes in a row. I would play her my "Foolish Beat" ca.s.single, with the "Mega Mix" medley of all Debbie's. .h.i.ts. But Paula had big issues with Debbie's video for "Foolish Beat," because she didn't like the boy in the video-too much of a pretty boy. She said, "Debbie should get some bikers in her video."

One night, I helped her make a sign for a political rally she was going to in New York, demonstrating against the nuclear arms race. She made a sign that said, JOHNNY DEPP DEMANDS WORLD PEACE. I stayed up late helping her cut out pictures of Johnny's eyebrows to decorate her sign. She invited me to crash on her floor. We didn't make out or anything, but spending the night in a girl's room was a very big deal. I lay there in the darkness, hearing her breathe. Johnny Depp's eyebrows watched over us both. I remember thinking, "I'm going to remember this night for the rest of my life." What's stranger: the fact that I remember, or the fact that I had a rest of my life? Was there a connection between one fact and the other?

She had to get up early in the morning, because her ride to the rally was coming at six. The clock radio woke us up to Bob Dylan's "Silvio," and we were both too groggy to talk. She got picked up by a married couple in a Volvo; the husband told her to put out her cigarette because "n.o.body has ever smoked in this car," which for some reason made us giggle. I staggered home to sleep it off, but I was afraid I would wonder later if it had been a dream, so I wrote a note on an index card and thumbtacked it to the wall: 7 A.M. SHE LIKES ME.

I decided I would make a move, sometime that summer, but it seemed like there was plenty of summer left. My roommates and I threw a house party that turned out kind of like the party Lita Ford sang about in "Kiss Me Deadly," with a truly rancid orange punch my roommate and I had brewed by pouring all the alcohol in the house into a bowl and adding Tang. While people danced in the living room, Paula sat in the kitchen and watched MTV-it was a Rock Block Weekend, so we waited for a Def Leppard block. It didn't take very long. Paula marveled to the "Rock of Ages" video, as Joe Elliott walked into the wizard's castle, pulled the sword from the stone, and lifted it to the heavens. "Excalibur!" she proclaimed.

I figured this was my sign to make a move. So when I walked her home, I told her I had a crush on her. She said, "Oh, that's nice," but not in a sarcastic way. Her voice sounded sad. She invited me in and turned on MTV. It was a Cher Rock Block. We both sat quaking on her couch. Cher was wearing a black leather jumpsuit and draping herself around her hot young Italian-stallion boyfriend, belting "I Found Someone." Neither of us said a word. What do I do now? Do I say something? Do I lean in to kiss her? Should I say good night?

The next Cher video was the one called "We All Sleep Alone." I said good night.

The next day, Paula called and invited me to a motorcycle festival. Neither of us mentioned the night before. That was a great Cher video.

The highlight of our summer was the night we went to see Debbie Gibson live at the New Haven Coliseum. Naturally, we made Debbie Gibson a mix tape. We loaded it up with punk rock women-the Slits, the Raincoats, X-Ray Spex, Patti Smith. We figured we would toss the tape onstage so Debbie would hear it later and go punk rock. We had the plan down perfect-we even slid the tape into a gift bag that had a teddy bear, since we knew from reading Bop Bop that Debbie kept a collection of stuffed animals from her fans. We even wrote our phone numbers on the tape in case Debbie had any questions. that Debbie kept a collection of stuffed animals from her fans. We even wrote our phone numbers on the tape in case Debbie had any questions.

Debbie Gibson was great that night, doing all her hits and a few costume changes. She also did a terrible ballad, "Lost in Your Eyes," as a sign of her mature new direction. What is it with disco girls? Why do they always want to grow up to turn into Barbra Streisand instead? Paula and I were up front on the floor, surrounded by screaming little girls, and we decided Johnny Depp was there in spirit. I sneaked up to throw Debbie our gift bag, but the security guards had other ideas. In fact, they got extremely agitated at the sight of an adult male approaching the stage, which was definitely understandable. I tried to explain I had a present for Debbie, but Tiny and Bruno were not so interested in my mix tape for Debbie, and I was lucky to get back to my seat with all of my teeth.

After the show, we were in the crowd heading out of the Coliseum, and Paula elbowed me. "That's the guy."

"What guy?"

"The video guy."

"Holy s.h.i.t."

There he was-Debbie's video guy, the guy who played her love interest in the "Foolish Beat" video. There was no mistaking him, with his blue eyes and lofty cheekbones. He was leaning up against the wall, chatting with another member of the Debbie entourage. I have no idea why the "Foolish Beat" boy was there, or why he was expecting not to get recognized given that MTV was playing the video day and night. Paula and I decided it would be totally cheesy to go talk to him, so it was my job. In one of my all-time low points as a human being, I rushed up and shook his hand. I asked, "Will you give her a present from us?" He rolled his eyes and said, "Uh, surrrrre surrrrre." I gave him the gift bag with our mix tape.

Paula and I went to the bar and toasted Debbie's punk rock future. The future was incredibly bright. Debbie Gibson was going to go punk rock. Johnny Depp was going to inspire world peace. And there was still enough summer left for me to make a move.

When Paula left town, she left fast. One day I called her house and her housemate told me she was gone. Didn't even know where. I never got to say good-bye, but I would have only said something stupid. The tiny kindnesses that pa.s.sed between us were real. They were the kind of tiny kindnesses that teach you how to imagine bigger ones. But summer was over. And what about the cast of our little Dial MTV Dial MTV soap opera? What happened to the icons who shared our little moment in time? soap opera? What happened to the icons who shared our little moment in time?

Debbie Gibson? She never called. Did she ever hear that tape? Of course not. Her next alb.u.m, Electric Youth Electric Youth, was terrible, which surprised exactly two people. She is now a famous Broadway star named Deborah.

George Michael? He eventually came out. This surprised the same two people.

Def Leppard? Their next alb.u.m was called Adrenalize Adrenalize. It had a great song called "Stand Up (Kick Love into Motion)," but no one cared.

The hot boy from the "Foolish Beat" video? He was also in Debbie's "Lost in Your Eyes" video. I don't know if he ever came out, and not even I care.

Cher? Broke up with the hot young Italian stallion who was in that video. Stayed famous, which surprised everyone.

Lita Ford stayed cool and always will be cool. Tiffany put out a great second alb.u.m that flopped, but I could still sing you most of the songs on it. Axl Rose lost his mojo, Adam Curry cut his hair, and Johnny Depp is still the most important person on the planet every now and then, especially the haircut he had in What's Eating Gilbert Grape What's Eating Gilbert Grape four years later. four years later.

Thanks to all concerned. It was a summer. A year later, there was another one. The world has lots of summers, whether you choose to show up for them or not. This was a huge surprise to both of us.

TONE LOC.

"Funky Cold Medina"

1988.

Why do I love the ca.s.single? As Whitney herself might say, I don't know why I like it . . . I just do!

More and more, my ca.s.singles are the format that rivets this decade into my head. It sums up the Hot Radio explosion of the '80s, all the Latin disco and rap kids coming out of nowhere with 1-900 numbers and a date on Club MTV Club MTV with Downtown Julie Brown. If any objet d'pop lives and dies with this decade, it's this humble little gadget, even though the ca.s.single survived the '80s and carried the news on into the '90s, especially since releasing a ca.s.single always remained a very '80s thing to do. If there was ever a format designed to be played once and then thrown away, it's this one. Which also applies to some of my favorite songs from around this period. with Downtown Julie Brown. If any objet d'pop lives and dies with this decade, it's this humble little gadget, even though the ca.s.single survived the '80s and carried the news on into the '90s, especially since releasing a ca.s.single always remained a very '80s thing to do. If there was ever a format designed to be played once and then thrown away, it's this one. Which also applies to some of my favorite songs from around this period.

The ca.s.single was the pop format of the G.o.ds. They were ninety-nine cents, the same price as a seven-inch single in the 1970s or an iTunes download in the 2000s, the price that somehow people decided was the maximum they would pay for a hit song without feeling clipped. There aren't any hit-song formats I don't love, but this is the best. Little loved, not built to last, encased in flimsy little folded-cardboard cases, ca.s.singles were humble servants of the pop moment, but they were capable of grandeur. They began to show up in the racks in the middle of the 1980s, just as the Walkman and the boom box became the standard playback media; they were gone by the 2000s, when the hard drive took over. But for the years in between, those hardworking little gadgets were the coin of the realm when it came to pop dreams. They were shiny, brittle and cheap, exactly like the songs they delivered.

It's one of those gadgets that gets left behind by history, like the VHS tape, the floppy disk or the rotary phone. But it has its fervent devotees. Like the MP3, it was a push-b.u.t.ton mode of temporary pleasures. As seven-inches disappeared, and twelve-inches became iconic cultural doc.u.ments, ca.s.singles were something that just got stuffed into a s...o...b..x under the bureau. Twelve-inches were for big brothers; ca.s.singles were for little sisters. But the pure no-frills functionality was part of the beauty. It never had the pretensions of the regular CD single, which always seemed like a total waste-one song on a seventy-minute CD?- or the short-lived and just plain stupid three-inch disc, which required a clumsy little adapter to play. The ca.s.single was inherently devoid of any artistic aspirations at all. Like any pop format worth its salt, then or now, it was designed for kids on the go, an impulse purchase to be spun a few times on a banged-up Walkman, then thrown away and ash-canned forever.

There was no such thing as a ca.s.singles career. n.o.body wanted to look like they put any kind of effort into their ca.s.singles, so the artwork and packaging was shoddy on purpose. But the ca.s.single could do things with '80s/'90s sonics that neither vinyl nor aluminum singles could do. The glossier, shinier, more treble-driven the production, the more snazzily it adapted to the tight storage capacity. It was designed for flimsy sound, again like the MP3-when you were listening on vinyl or CD, and you heard a hit by Paula Abdul or Fine Young Cannibals, you could hear how screechy and thin the production was. But those beats sounded immense on a cheap little ca.s.single. It was also designed for rickety careers, which is why most of my most cherished ca.s.singles came from one-hit wonders. They were about fun fun fun. The idea of a culturally significant ca.s.single is absurd by definition-that was the point.

The ca.s.single was perfect for teen screams: alb.u.ms were for grown-ups, and the ca.s.single was the most anticredibility music gadget ever devised. If you debased your art to ca.s.singles, grown-up CD-player owners wouldn't touch your alb.u.m. Between 1988 and 1991, the cost of an alb.u.m basically tripled, and never came back down; the ca.s.single was the result.

That's probably why it's been scorned and despised through the years. But it's time to hail the n.o.ble ca.s.single. It gave us so much and asked for so little. The ca.s.single served its technologically appointed purpose in history and then fled into the night. We shall not see its like again.

In honor of the ca.s.single, a brief shrine to thirty historic favorites, the ones that defined that groovy little piece of plastic. Some I stole from my youngest sister, Caroline. Others I bought for her, then "borrowed" like it was last month's Sa.s.sy Sa.s.sy. Some I bought and she stole from me. Who keeps track? They're all scattered around in s...o...b..xes now, most of them in her bas.e.m.e.nt, where her now five-year-old daughter will no doubt dig them up any day now and ask the questions every mother longs to hear: "Mommy, what was a Bobby Brown? What does 'NKOTB' mean? Why was there a Wild Thing?"

Some of these songs have become eternal cla.s.sics; most haven't. But none of them were by respectable adult artists, because they avoided these things like the plague. If you're Sting, and you've just recorded a sensitive, jazzy song that rhymes "Mephistopheles" with "autumn breeze," do you want to see it in a fuchsia-and-lime-striped cardboard box with Bubblicious stuck to it? No! Sting liked money, but he didn't like it that that much. much.

If you released your song on a ca.s.single, it's because you were desperate. But that just meant you were trying harder.

Note, the following list contains relics from both the '80s and '90s, so I could show the love to this format's entire spectrum.

Tone Loc, "Funky Cold Medina" (1988)What the Kingsmen were to the rock-and-roll 45, what Henry Fielding was to the epistolary English novel, what Tim Conway was to the comedy-golf VHS, Tone Loc was to the ca.s.single. If I were taking a ca.s.single to a desert island, which admittedly would be kind of stupid, this is the one I would take.

Tone Loc, "Wild Thing" (1988)Or maybe this one.

Paula Abdul, "Forever Your Girl" (1989)Long before she became America's favorite not-at-all-drug-crazed judge in a TV singing compet.i.tion, and don't those days already seem like a dream too good to be true, she just wanted to sing disco ditties about banging cats and chasing coldhearted snakes.

Debbie Gibson, "Foolish Beat" (1988)There's an actual cover photo: Debbie sitting alone at a restaurant table looking sad because the boy of her dreams stood her up. The flip side has a "Debbie Gibson Mega Mix" medley of "Only in My Dreams," "Shake Your Love" and "Out of the Blue," making this a very special value. I paid three bucks for it, probably the most I ever sh.e.l.led out for a ca.s.single.

George Michael, "Monkey" (1988)I would totally wear that lederhosen ensemble he's rocking in this video. But no way could my calves be as seductive as George Michael's.

Whitney Houston, "So Emotional" (1987)The one where she sings, "When you talk, I just watch your mouth." We know what that's like, Whitney.

Bobby Brown, "Every Little Step" (1989)Every girl wanted to be Bobby B's prerogative in 1989. Every boy wanted to be him.

Fine Young Cannibals, "I'm Not the Man I Used to Be" (1989)If I ever told you that once upon a time, Fine Young Cannibals were cool, you would probably conclude I'd been sipping the angel dust slurpees again, but you'd be wrong. If you were a hipster gal in 1989, you were madly in love with this guy, partly because of his androgynous, post-racial, multicultural looks, but partly also because he sang about girls who drive him crazy (Whoop! Whoop!) and he can't help himself.

Young MC, "Bust a Move" (1989)"You want it, you got it." I loved this one so much, I totally wore out its little cardboard case and relocated it to a full-size plastic ca.s.sette case. Only a handful of ca.s.singles earn that.

Rick Astley, "It Would Take a Strong Strong Man" (1988)Everybody knows Rick Astley because of the phenomenon of "rickrolling." But I remember him fondly because I had a crush on a girl in Boston who looked a lot like him (and was a big fan of his, as so many girls mysteriously were). So each Rick Astley ca.s.single seemed like another chapter in our story. First, there was the giddy crush of "Never Gonna Give You Up," then the deeper longing of "Together Forever." By the time of this song, Rick's starting to realize it's never going to work out with this girl, but he still can't move on because "It Would Take a Strong Strong Man" to ever let her go. Poor dude-his next hit was "Giving Up on Love." n.o.body even noticed when he made an attempted comeback in the '90s with a new haircut and the self-explanatory "Cry for Help." Jesus, I sure hope he met somebody.

Neneh Cherry, "Buffalo Stance" (1989)At the same time as the above crush, I also kind of liked her best friend-it was the by-no-means rare circ.u.mstance of crushing out on two girls who are friends and not being sure which one you want to make a move on, so they both slip away. This song was playing in the bar the night she told me that if you can peel the whole Bud label off in one piece, it means you're a virgin.

Soul II Soul, "Keep on Movin'" (1989)This song is surprisingly obscure today, but it's the ultimate fusion of London hip-hop, Caribbean reggae, Philly soul and California new wave-a cultural event that only could have happened on a ca.s.single.

Blackstreet, "No Diggity" (1996)I stole this one from my mom, who got it as a Christmas gift from one of her students. Note: my mom was teaching first grade at the time! d.a.m.n! I liked my first grade teacher too, but I never gave her a song about a hooker who got game by the pound.

Jellybean with Elisa Fiorillo, "Who Found Who" (1988)This dis...o...b..pper was the first time I noticed that a single had obviously been produced with the ca.s.single consumer in mind-it sounded flat and lifeless as a twelve-inch, but totally perky on tape. Not a huge hit, but a technological pivot point.

Sir Mix-A-Lot, "Baby Got Back" (1992)The only hit song of the ca.s.single era (of my lifetime, actually) that literally everybody can quote at will. As far as I can tell, this is the most famous song on earth. Any English speaker under the age of eighty can rap at least a few lines from this song. My nieces and nephews know it from Shrek Shrek. I am not aware of any Beatles song to achieve this level of cultural saturation.

Sophie B. Hawkins, "d.a.m.n I Wish I Was Your Lover" (1992)This song is still in rotation anywhere music is played, even though it was never on a hit alb.u.m and never got any airplay as a video. It was just pure ca.s.single consciousness, distilled to its essence.

Milli Vanilli, "Blame It on the Rain" (1989)My sister Caroline had this theory that the Milli Vanilli hits were a continuous soap opera. First they meet the girl ("Girl You Know It's True"), then they beg her not to dis them ("Baby Don't Forget My Number"), then they break up ("Girl I'm Gonna Miss You"), until finally accepting their fate ("Blame It on the Rain"). I totally buy this theory. Rob and Fab did this at Ricky Schroeder's birthday party on Silver Spoons Silver Spoons. Personally, I think Milli Vanilli should be honored as a fantastic pop scam instead of demonized over some silly lip-synching scandal. Some blame their producer, some blame the media, but I, like Rob and Fab, prefer to blame it on the rain.

Ralph Tresvant, "Sensitivity" (1990)The only New Edition guy who never became a huge solo star, but the one who made the finest ca.s.single.

Kon Kan, "I Beg Your Pardon" (1989)I defy you to name another era that could produce a Canadian disco group who could rip off New Order, sample a vintage country cla.s.sic, do the rock, do the freak, and then have the decency to disappear as soon as the song is done.

Kris Kross, "Jump" (1992)It's only in the past few years I've noticed the existence of people who are too cool to like this song. They will all wither, blow away in the wind and drift to the sea, where the waves will be singing along with Kris Kross.

Kris Kross, "Warm It Up" (1992)Like The G.o.dfather: Part II The G.o.dfather: Part II, a sequel that tops the original. "Warm it up, Kris! I'm about to! Warm it up, Kris! 'Cause that's what I was born to do!" (Beavis: "What were we we born to do?" b.u.t.t-Head: "Uuuuh . . . I don't know.") born to do?" b.u.t.t-Head: "Uuuuh . . . I don't know.") Corina, "Temptation" (1991)She wears handcuffs on the cover, symbolizing her enslavement by the addictions she sings about, whether it's s.e.x or ca.s.singles. I also bought the twelve-inch and the entire Corina alb.u.m, but it's this item I still play.

Londonbeat, "I've Been Thinking About You" (1991)Fine Young Cannibals took too long to come up with a follow-up, so Londonbeat moved in. You still hear this one sometimes, usually in the supermarket. The ca.s.single cover photo has the members of this band with chins in palms and eyebrows furrowed-they are thinking thinking. Side 2 is a medley of alb.u.m tracks.

Kristine W, "One More Try" (1996)The guy who cuts my hair now is one of her friends, so I get to hear gossip about her all the time now. He is never never surprised I know who she is. surprised I know who she is.

Biz Markie, "Just a Friend" (1989)One of the truly cla.s.sic ca.s.single covers: Biz is holding a handkerchief to wipe away his tears, although he makes sure his handkerchief doesn't cover up his gold dookie rope. And that's why he's the Biz.

Tiffany, "All This Time" (1988)I bought this at a flea market a couple years ago, from a grizzled b.a.s.t.a.r.d with Dewar's breath who was selling ca.s.singles out of a s...o...b..x for three bucks. I was aghast-ninety-nine cents max! But I really wanted this, and unlike doves, ca.s.single fans have no pride, so I talked him down to two bucks. But every time I play this, I still get mad about it.

Caroline and Kerry, "Twist and Shout" (1989)My sister and one of her girlfriends recorded this at the make-your-own-tape booth at the mall. What ever happened to those make-your-own-tape booths? They didn't last long, but they were such a big deal at the time-for fifty cents, you could record your own karaoke ca.s.single. As far as I know, Sonic Youth's Kim Gordon was the only rock star to release one of these on an alb.u.m ("Addicted to Love"), but naturally, I prefer the sound of two screamy Irish girls.

Usher, "You Make Me Wanna" (1997)One Sat.u.r.day morning, I heard this song on MTV and immediately drove to the mall to buy it. The girl at the counter sang it as she rang it up. Usher's alb.u.m didn't even exist yet-he may be the last historic example of an artist who broke via tape.

Somethin' for the People, "My Love Is the Shhh!" (1997)I first heard this on MTV the same day as "You Make Me Wanna," and bought it at the same time, but Usher's the one who got famous. Sorry, Somethin' for the People! Three months after this R & B slow jam dominated the airwaves, it was gone and forgotten permanently, and I haven't heard it on the radio once since. But it was d.a.m.n good, and if it weren't for my ca.s.single copy, it basically wouldn't even exist in my world. I guess it's the People's loss!

Billie Ray Martin, "Your Loving Arms" (1995)Late in the game, purchased with love and ardor from the used-tape rack at Plan 9 Records. It cost me a quarter. It was 1999, four years after the song came and went and long after the rest of the world had forgotten it, and I was grateful to find proof it ever existed. I also found Alison Krauss's huge 1995 country hit "Baby, Now That I've Found You," and on the drive home, I gave them both elegiac spins in the car. It sounded like ca.s.singles were saying good-bye, and indeed they were-they had entered their pity-retail phase.

But the glory of these songs summed up why the ca.s.single was solid gold, in that plastic kind of way.

NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK.

"Hangin' Tough"

1989.

In the spring of 1989, I was the stacks manager at Harvard's Cabot Library. In librarian jargon, a stacks manager is a tall guy who puts heavy books in high places. The word "manager" doesn't mean that I had anyone under me. (In fact, the lack of anybody under me was a problem all year, but that's another issue.) I loved my work at the library. It was a long winter and a cold spring and I spent most of my hours in the underground stacks shelving books about biology in the HQ section, grooving to my Walkman. I was in the second year of what turned out to be a longer year of celibacy than I'd planned. You remember the George Michael song about s.e.x, the one that goes, "s.e.x is natural, s.e.x is fun, s.e.x is best when it's one on one"? I wondered if maybe George Michael was only half right: s.e.x is best when it's one.

At this time I was heavily involved in trading tapes with my little sister Caroline, whose Catholic middle school cla.s.s had just voted her "Most Daring" and "Most Awesome." For her thirteenth birthday party, she had the whole bas.e.m.e.nt packed with the girls in her cla.s.s, and led them all in a chant: "We hate boys! Except the New Kids! On the Block!" She meant it too. Caroline was heavily involved in stalking the New Kids on the Block, who were still mainly a local Boston phenomenon. She wrote an essay for school on the topic of the "Person I Most Admire," and picked Joey McIntyre.

Unfortunately, I no longer have my copy of this essay, since I made the mistake of giving it to her husband as a gift, whereupon Caroline grabbed it and ripped it to shreds. She has informed all her siblings that none of her four adorable children are ever allowed to know how much their mom loved the New Kids on the Block. This has something to do with the fact that it violates the fourth commandment against worshipping graven images (and that Donnie Wahlberg sure was graven). So my lips are sealed. Sydney, if you're reading, put this book down now! Dora Dora's on! Go!

Caroline was the ultimate bada.s.s baby sister. She did not really have the neuroses that afflicted her big brother. In fact, she wasn't frightened of anything. We big kids never stayed out all night or raised h.e.l.l or stalked pop stars. We had no idea being bada.s.s was even an option. Our parents were infuriatingly trusting, so we never got to outrage them. They never gave us any curfew, so we never stayed out late. They never locked up their liquor, so it never occurred to us to sneak any of it. If we felt like cutting school, they'd just shrug and say "fine," so what was the point? It drove us crazy.