Singularly Absurd

Remembering Billy Idol's "Flesh for Fantasy"

Welcome to a new, possibly recurring, column from The Typing Monkey in which we pick a hit single from the past to dissect, inspect, discuss and analyze. Specifically, we will seek out the hits that sound especially odd to modern ears -- songs that are frozen in time, trapped by the eras that created them. Sometimes these songs became hits despite the standards and expectations of the time. All of them sound, to today's listener, singularly absurd.

Song: "Flesh for Fantasy"
Artist: Billy Idol
Released: 1984
Label: Chrysalis
Highest chart position on Billboard's "Hot 100": 29

Parents in a not-too-distant future may want to let their children know what 1980s pop radio sounded like. This song from the middle of Billy Idol's early '80s winning streak is an ideal example. Many of the wonders and embarrassments of the weird world of Top 40 music from that decade are tidily arranged within the four-and-a-half minutes of "Flesh for Fantasy."

The guitar, bass and drums are so fussed over that even the distortion and other effects sound clean. Not sterile, necessarily, but somebody spent a lot of money on cutting-edge studio gear, and some sound engineer used it a little too well. As an associate of The Typing Monkey put it: "You can just see them in the studio arguing over the synthesized handclaps and bitching how it can sound like Howard Jones no matter what."

Anybody who, at the time, may've held on to a whispy thread of hope that Billy Idol would set aside his glossy Los Angeles pop-rock imitation of punk-rock toughery and return to fronting the English glam/pop/punk outfit Generation X likely let that hope drift away upon hearing "Flesh."

After a short instrumental opening, where it's impossible to tell if the drums are electronic or human, Idol coos in his best bedroom baritone, asking us if we "like good music" and if we "like to dance" then quickly answering for us in the affirmative. He switches from lothario to detached analyst throughout, seducing the listener then stepping back to offer half-finished observations about human behavior.

At least it seems that way. Only Billy knows exactly what these words mean.

The sneer/snarl that made Idol famous arrives just in time for the chorus, which at first recalls Debbie Harry's opening lines from "Rapture" ("Face to face / And back to back") then unleashes this puzzling phrase: "You see and feel / My sex attack."

Begging pardon? What's a "sex attack"? Again, only Billy Idol knows. Sure the listener can speculate, and taken out of context it's more than a little bit off-putting, sounding as if it was lifted from a scandalous tabloid headline.

But then the second half of the chorus comes in and Idol barks the song title, which aces a hat trick by being titillating, ambiguous and completely without substance. That is, it's the kind of phrase that hit songwriters dream about -- it fits in a chorus, sounds dangerous and suggestive, and as a song title, it flashes in the dark like a neon sign.

To the teenage ears that made "Flesh for Fantasy" a hit, the song is clearly about "sex" in the most generic, wildly misunderstood way that adolescent brains can imagine. The music dances noncommittally between the brooding eroticism of goth, pop-metal theatrics, and British synthesized dance music. Now read those previous two sentences again and try to argue that "Flesh" could not have been a hit song in the '80s.

Is it giving Billy Idol and his co-writer/guitarist Steve Stevens too much credit to wonder if there's subtext to the song? These two wrote "Rebel Yell", the title track to the album from which "Flesh" and a subsequent hit "Eyes Without a Face" came. The song "Rebel Yell" is pure, unadulterated PG naughtiness -- a party tune made to be both blatant and coy.

Hold on -- isn't that just what we said about "Flesh for Fantasy"? Hmm.

Listeners too young to have heard "Flesh for Fantasy" in regular rotation will laugh at it and wonder just how much cocaine was dumped into the water supply during the Reagan administration. Those who lived it have only two choices: disavow its existence (and stand guilty of denying the past); or embrace this strange little monster as a product of its time.

Watch:

We pause now to bring you this important message:

"She Said Yeah, Yeah, Yeah"

Creepshow

TROST
Trust Me
(Minty Fresh)

Annika Line Trost employs classic dance rhythms including waltzes and tangos for a few tracks on her second solo CD. But given the chilly atmosphere of Trust Me, the dancers in these songs fumble through the dark, finding unsure footing amongst the muddy double-bass, shadowy percussion and queasy melodic passages that rise up like the tension building before a cathartic scare that never arrives.

"Man On the Box" is the creepy little sister to Nick Cave's "Red Right Hand." A similar Bad Seeds tenor gives "The Scales and the Score" the lurching pace of a shackled walk to the gallows. (Longtime Bad Seeds drummer Thomas Wydler guests on Trust Me.)

Trost's frequent use of big, reverbed guitar lines recall American slingers such as Duane Eddy and Link Wray. But in her hands, the twang has dried to a husk -- the greasy sleaze sopped up dabbed away by Trost's undeniably German aesthetic.

So we know now which half of Cobra Killer -- Trost's other musical outlet with her musical partner Gina V. D'Orio -- supplies that duo's frequent nods to early rock & roll menace.

To that end, one of the key ingredients to the intimidating appeal of Cobra Killer is the duo's clear, matter-of-fact singing. That effect carries over with Trost. She's not emoting the way a torch singer, or some trip-hop wailer would. Trost finds the notes, hits them and moves on, providing an open, inviting element to Trust Me.

The contrast works to enhance the album's dark mood and hints of unwelcome things lurking out of sight. Trost is both omniscient narrator and active participant in her own thrill ride.

Reference materials: If you know of Trost, you are already a fan of Cobra Killer and a big fan of Gudrun Gut. Right?

Self-Titled

THE LADY TIGRA
Please Mr. BoomBox
(High Score)
Never dismiss a one-hit wonder. Tigra enjoyed Top-40 success in 1988 as half of L'Trimm, the duo who rapped "Cars With the Boom" -- a repetitive, maddeningly catchy single either monumentally annoying or charged with happy nostalgia, depending on the listener's age mostly.

The woman known to her parents as Rachel de Rougemont, calls herself The Lady Tigra now. She has returned to music with a producer/beatmaker called Mr. Sandwiches (aka Jacob Bercovici) and a debut solo record on a small independent label.

Boombox achieves a good balance between picking up where L'Trimm left off and acknowledging that the worlds of hip-hop and party music have kept moving, though not necessarily forward. "I'm Back" opens the record with enough schoolyard sass to make Fannypack -- the heiresses to the L'Trimm legacy -- step aside like the Pink Ladies when Rizzo walks in.

"Bass on the Bottom" is a fun recreation of the Miami-bass style Tigra grew up on. She also tosses off a couple electro numbers ("Swithblade Kitty" and "The Fall of Tchitchi from (So High)") and pulls off a convincing mid-1980s r&b jam ("DNA/Love to Me").

But amongst the kicky dance numbers are a couple tracks that show Tigra's been taking notes on modern music. "They Stole My Radio," her duet with the underrated pioneer of women in hip-hop, MC Lyte, has the deceptively downbeat vibe of a Gnarls Barkley number. It's the catchiest chorus on the record, but the two icons (and they are icons) aren't thinking happy thoughts about the state of radio, rap and music in general. Plus, Lyte name-checks her own brilliant single "Paper Thin" as a told-you-so reference point.

Then when The Lady Tigra shows off her fluency in French on the baroque-lifting "Cauchemars" -- all harpsichord samples and cheerleader shouts -- it's clear that Boombox came from genuine inspiration, collaboration and enthusiasm. What more could you want?

Reference materials: Want to know who helped make Fannypack and MIA possible? Her name is The Lady Tigra.

[Please note that Fannypack is essentially defunct, which their site reflects, and MIA's MySpace page could induce seizures. The Typing Monkey apologizes.]

Put Those Shoes Back Under the Bed

THE HEAVY
Great Vengance and Furious Fire
(Counter)
In a live setting, this English quintet probably throws a good party, and inspires many embarrassing dirty dance moves. But their debut album is meticulously ragged and slightly confusing once the band sets aside the er, heavy blooze-trash in favor of a Brit-rap effort ("Girl" which is not without its charms); dirgey psychedelia ("Who Needs Sunshine?"); or just flat-out apes influences ("Dazed and Confused" and "Gimme Some Lovin'" both make a showing). Singer Swaby boasts a respectable falsetto, and the band's done all the right homework. Yet Vengance is only serviceable, not remarkable -- neither as silly as Jon Spencer's limited efforts (thankfully), nor as authentic-sounding as The White Stripes. And no, The Typing Monkey never thought we'd have to type that.

Reference materials: Give The Heavy a chance, this is only The Typing Monkey's opinion after all. But if you like modern junkyard funk and trash-blues, Chow Nasty deserves your attention.

Bonus links!
For a quick history lesson on a rock & roll colossus, read this short essay on Bo Diddley's Black Gladiator. Then click here and hear it for yourself. The Heavy is just one of many standing on Mr. Diddley's shoulders.

The Secret Ingredient Is French

FREDDA
Toutes Mes Aventures
(Le Pop)

Fredda's not as consciously groovy or detachedly cool as some of the more familiar French musical exports from the past decade. The singer/songwriter recorded Aventures on a limited budget with husband and fellow nouvelle chanson musician, Pascal Parisot -- making smart use of minimal strings, spare drums and some well-placed horns, banjo and Fredda's casual but confident vocals. Aventures goes for restraint over melodrama, veering from the 20th century standard of French pop. The result is more like a collection of short stories worth repeat readings. While the bit-crunched disco of Justice makes waves from across the pond, and American acts such as Bitter:Sweet make over-calculated attempts at sultry continental pop, Fredda and many of her Le Pop contemporaries carry on virtually unnoticed in the United States.

Reference materials: Fredda will delight devotees of Saints both Etienne and Privat.

Music to Watch Videos By

VARIOUS ARTISTS
In Living the True Gods: Stones Throw 102
(Stones Throw)

A spendthrift could find most, maybe all, of the videos in this splendid DVD collection by carefully hunting through YouTube. But sometimes it's better for all involved to just put down a few dollars and own an object. After all, why watch these on a grainy computer monitor when you can play them on your television?

As a compendium of music videos made for and by Stones Throw’s slowly expanding roster, True Gods reflects the indie hip-hop label’s aesthetic quite well. Med’s “Push” emulates the standard mainstream rap video: cocktails in the club with Med and J Dilla buttressed by smiling ladies. The budgetary limits wedge it firmly between cable access and MTV, resulting in a slightly more believable scene that finally charms when Med raps solo in an entirely uncinematic back alley.

“Do a Couple Things” tracks a man’s Ferris Bueller-like sprint to see his favorite DJ, with James Pants’ trashy garage-funk as a soundtrack. (Bonus points to label chief Peanut Butter Wolf for his cameo in the band scenes, in wig and baseball cap, tapping away on the electronic drum pads.)

True Gods captivates most when there’s animation involved. Quasimoto’s “Bullyshit” recalls the the old PBS show Vegetable Soup and storyboards from The Wiz. “Monkey Suite” by Madvillain marches out the computer animation to hint at simplified Fritz Lang moods, with appropriately bleak, compelling effect. And Madlib leaps into the back seat of Quasimoto’s iconic pink Cadillac for an inner-city cruise in “Take It Back” -- with View-Master depth and child-like simplicity.

The bonus features include a solid interview with J Dilla that’s fascinating, but probably only to fans. More interesting is the archive footage of Peanut Butter Wolf and his late musical cohort Charizma, working and goofing off in the studio during a 1992 recording session. Rap will never be that playful again, or have so much hope behind it.

Reference materials: In Living the True Gods will appeal to Adult Swim viewers in the mood for more late-night eye candy and hip-hop curious Gorillaz fans.

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In the unlikely event The Typing Monkey has not convinced you, please enjoy "Nothing Like This" by J Dilla, which is included in the DVD: