Norwegian radio

Shifting perceptions: “Show some class”

Standard

My feeling that Norway is living eternally in the second half of the 1980s is not going to change, even if all the rest of my perceptions shift constantly. Evidence to prove this: every time I get in my car and drive somewhere, Norwegian radio is playing Michael Jackson. Never the same song, but it’s Michael all the time. And when it’s not Michael, it’s Richard Marx, it’s Bryan Adams, it’s Berlin, it’s Billy Ocean or some other thing I don’t want to hear – in the 80s or now.

As a corollary to this everlasting musical 80s timewarp, I have become known as the harbinger of death because I seem to trip over news of celebrity deaths accidentally (am watching or listening to news almost constantly) or just know about past celeb deaths.

I was in the car the other day, and got immediate proof positive of this 1980s assertion: Jermaine Stewart‘s one-hit wonder, “We Don’t Have to Take Our Clothes Off”, blasted from the radio. I listened to the lyrics as if for the first time and could not really figure our why a song like this would exist. And who the bloody hell would drink cherry wine?

My firewall and I spent the whole evening singing it and reveling in the cheesy nostalgia.

But then, being me, I just had to know: what became of Jermaine Stewart? One hit and then gone… well, DEAD is what he is. Apparently he died in 1997 of AIDS-related liver cancer. What? Maybe because he was not really that famous, his death came and went without much fanfare. Or I was just not paying attention.

Whether or not Stewart knew his infection status in 1986 when the song was a hit, knowing this information, I hear the song filtered through that mid-80s terror of AIDS. It is more a safe-sex anthem than anything else (like many songs of the era) but it had never once occurred to me that that song fit such a bill. But listening to it armed with this information, it’s like a completely different song.

But there are new filters and lenses for everything, really. I was listening to Jim Croce the other day, remembering listening to him and looking at an album cover (a close-up of his distinctive face) when I was 4 years old. My mom explained that Croce had died a few years earlier in a plane crash. He was 30. I recall even today what I was thinking when she gave me this background information, “So what? He was old. He did everything he needed to do.” The level of a 4-year-old kid’s reasoning: 30 seemed like a good, full life. Looking at it now, of course, I am taken aback reflecting on his youth, the promising career cut short, the 2-year-old son he left behind.

I admit it. I am feeling nostalgic, contemplative about the shifting filters and perceptions that come with age and time. I am feeling mortal.

God help Norwegian radio: the anti-soundtrack

Standard

On a short drive I discovered the horrors of Norwegian radio. Here on the Swedish side of the border, we still get “treated” to the bad taste of Norwegian music choice.

The first aural delight was the last bit of Eric Clapton’s take on Bob Marley’s “I Shot the Sheriff”. Remind me – what decade are we living in again?

Changed station and heard Nicki Minaj’s “Anaconda” – something I only found out afterwards what it was. Much like my previous blog post about big blind spots in my knowledge, I don’t like or care about stuff like this revisionary “remix” of what is basically “Baby Got Back” with some annoying rapping from Minaj strung throughout. I had seen Minaj’s name all over the internet, but I had no clue about her, erm, work.

After that I heard the nonsensical shit also known as “I’m Gonna Show You Crazy” by Bebe Rexha. (Another one I had to look up after the fact.) The song sounded like a carbon copy of everything else I was hearing and the lyrics about showing you how psycho she is – or whatever – Jesus. It was not the worst thing but upon initial hearing, it was repellent in its relentless sameness. “Girl, you can’t be fixed.”

Then on another station I got the horror of “The Bad Touch” from the Bloodhound Gang (“let’s do it like they do on the Discovery Channel”) followed immediately by Madonna’s “La Isla Bonita”. Once again – what decade is it? Who is programming these stations?

As I pulled into the driveway it was Bonnie Raitt’s “Nick of Time” – check out that hair in the video! – what the hell? And the line “Life gets mighty precious when there’s less of it to waste” seemed apt – if only we could apply it to what plays on the radio.