When does pop music begin to feel as though it illustrates our lives?
I’d guess it happens most often when we fall in love, and we start looking for evidence or illustration. Even more so in moments of high drama, which is what made me think of this song today.
It was 1984. I was almost twelve. I’d fallen in love for the second time, and that cad, that rogue, that pubescent bounder, had dashed my hopes without even knowing what he was doing.
Never mind. We were going to different middle schools anyway. I had no thick, brushy mullet, like John Waite. I didn’t possess a charmingly ambiguous ethnicity, like the girls in music videos, who so often left their men so that they could pursue modeling careers. And I couldn’t smash a telephone receiver with my bare hands (nor did I want to–that looked really painful). But my heart could break down a long-distance line as much as the next heart.