BLOG BATTLE! Off the Wall vs. Thriller

Sure, super-sized Stuck in the '80s stud Steve Spears and I look scarily alike. Two muscle-ripped dudes with fashion-forward hair and prodigious cheez-eating skills. And yes, people think we get along all the time and agree on everything.

But if you look beyond the Funyun crumbs and killer moves with the ladies, you'll see Steve and I are actually worlds apart. For instance, he's a dumbass. Just the other day, as we fed fried shrimp to each other at Long John Silver's, he said "Thriller is Michael Jackson's best album." In response, I (1) recoiled in horror (2) spit tartar sauce in his eye and (3) shouted demonstratively, "What? Are you some kind of monster? I feel like I don't even know you anymore!"

I then proceeded to tell my good buddy why 1979's Off the Wall is actually the better Michael Jackson album. Not that Thriller isn't a classic; it very much is. In fact, when the 25th anniversary of Thriller comes out Tuesday -- complete with full remastering of the original, B-sides and full-length vids of all your faves -- I'll no doubt play Wanna Be Startin' Somethin' 25 times then moonwalk to the bathroom.

But that doesn't make it better than Off the Wall. And this is what I told Steve Spears as he wept softly, nodded his head and bogarted the remaining hush puppies:

THREE REASONS WHY "OFF THE WALL" IS BETTER THAN "THRILLER":

1) Michael Jackson's two best songs are on Off the Wall. It's not even close. There are scant musical moments as life-affirming fun and danceably orgasmic as Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough. Jesus, is that good or what? Plus those echoey fills ("I'm melting now") are the stuff of sugar-smacked goodness. And then there's Rock With You -- are you hearing me? Rock With You, people!!! -- the most perfect 3:23 minutes in the pop music canon. "And when the groove is dead and gone / You know that loooooooove survives / So we can rooooooock forever!" Am I the only one with chills?

2) Off the Wall was the last Michael Jackson album you could listen to without feeling creepy, guilty, icky. He had yet to cross the Michael Jackson Line. He had yet to order the Elephant Man's bones or give Macaulay Culkin curious noogies. By the time he hit Thriller, MJ was on the bullet train to Never Land. Sign No. 1 that his judgment was impaired: The Girl Is Mine.

3) Simply: She's Out of My Life. (Down goes Spears! Down goes Spears!) Not only is it his best ballad, but before he did God knows what to his nose, his face, his soul, MJ could sing like nobody's business. That vocal is the very definition of powerhouse.  "To think for two years she was here / And I took her for granted / I was sooooo cavalier." There is no greater fuel for a Dark Night of the Soul than this song. And yes, finally...the crying at the end, that tear-choked "liiiiiife." Tito, get me a tissue.

If you so desire, you can amble over to Stuck in the '80s and see Steve's rebuttal. But c'mon, we're the party people, night and day, and living crazy, that's the only way. So I think we know who won this Blog Battle.

BLOG BATTLE: 80s Christmas songs

OK, people, Steve Spears from Stuck in the 80s has challenged me to a blog battle! He's waxing poetic on Xmas tunes over on his blog, so check it out and see who you like(coughpleasepickmecough). I know I'm new around these parts, but don’t hold back. I can take your shots. Plus, there’s a really nice place to cry in the third stall of the ladies room.  Here we go!

The top five Christmas Songs of the 80s

5. Santa Baby – Madonna
I’m going to get crap for this, I know.  She sings the whole song in a squeaky Jersey accent. But shortly after releasing this, she squeezed into crushed velvet and got FIERCE as Breathless Mahoney in Dick Tracy. Santa Baby reminds me of the platinum pin-up Madonna, and helps me forget the heavily biceped track suit yogi we have now. And if you can’t have a little fun with, essentially, PROPOSITIONING SANTA to sweep your chimney, you have a stick somewhere indelicate.

4. Winter Wonderland – Eurythmics
Annie Lennox is like no other, and her pipes make this song endure. Listen next time you’re getting fat in the food court or slaving over which dancing snowman to pick in Hallmark. You may hear it. The nice thing about this song is, she holds back. It’s like a tease. And you get the feeling she just doesn’t care, cuz dang it, she’s mellow and has cocoa is not leaving this f-n fireplace. It’s singable, it’s fun, and it’s full of echos and synth and clapping and clanking that make it expressly 80s-tastic.

3. Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer – Elmo & Patsy
You hate this song. You’ve heard it a million times. But for me, this song is special. This marks the moment, as a wee small lass freezing my towhead off in Ohio, that I realized I could say things that were weird and twisted and dark, and PEOPLE WOULD LAUGH! It was a stunning discovery. Grandma getting roadkilled by a renegade beast? Sick! I love it!  This song led me down a very snarky path, folks, and for that, I’m grateful.

2. Last Christmas – Wham!
I heart Wham! I love to do the kick-snap dance and sing Wake Me Up Before You Go Go at karaoke. Wham! is cheesy and stupid, and George Michael looked surfer boy hot in the 80s. And I love the bratty lyrics in this song. “Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears, I'll give it to someone special.”  It’s all, NANNY NANNY BOO BOO, pptbbtthh!  Plus, two of my favorite artists remade this song later – Jimmy Eat World, and my one-time crush, Darren Hayes from Savage Garden (who, incidentally, also turned out to like boys. Dang.)

1. Please Come Home For Christmas – Pat Benatar
I love Pat, so much. Her voice is one of my all-time favorites. In 2005, I went to see her and Neil Giraldo in concert at Ruth Eckerd Hall. They looked ready to pick up the kids from soccer. She wore a navy blazer, a permed bob and sensible shoes. Her husband donned track pants and some hot New Balances. But as much as I missed the green eyeliner and lace, Pat came through on the vocals. Her voice is still nearly perfect, and this song is a shining example. You can hear the passion, people! Love IS a battlefield!

BONUS! The worst Christmas song of the 80s

Do They Know It’s Christmas? – Band Aid
Look, I’m all about raising money for starving kids in Ethiopia, or whatever. And no doubt, Bob Geldof assembled some crack artists to wail on this Frankenstein creation. But have you seen the lyrics? This is perhaps the most smug, entitled song ever. “Do they know it’s Christmas?” Around half of Ethiopia practices Islam, so, like, they might not care. “There won't be snow in Africa this Christmastime.” YAY! SNOW BLOWS! And then for the kicker: “And the Christmas bells that ring there are the clanging chimes of doom. Tonight, thank God it’s them instead of you.”  Wow.  That’s the holiday spirit.

BLOG BATTLE! The Boss vs. Bon Jovi!

The Turnpike Takedown!

The Meadowlands Massacre!

The Garden State Grudge Match!

So the other day, my Arby's-scarfing '80s associate Steve Spears bellies up to my desk, points a hairy-knuckle in my maw and says: "Bon Jovi could kick Springsteen's faux-populist, saggy-Levis, prez-bashing butt! Bon Jovi is the true Garden State icon!" If I weren't in horrifically bloated shape, I would have vaulted gymnastically from my swirly seat, grabbed that sweaty blowhard by the lapels of his painfully snug Journey shirt and rebutted with fervor, froth and ferocity.

But alas, Steve and I get winded easily. So we've decided to settle Bruce vs. Bon Jovi in an old-fashioned Blog Battle. (Both acts are hitting Tampa Bay next spring. I'll be at both shows. Spears, on the other hand, will be home watching Meatballs 4 and crying himself to sleep.) Spears hates Springsteen, thinks he's a pinko phony with more money than sense. Me? I don't mind Bon Jovi at all. But I can't just sit here and take this crap about Bruce. After all, playin' blindman's bluff is a little baby's game. So if I must, I'm gonna go out and make that baby run. Or, um, something like that.

FOUR REASONS WHY SPRINGSTEEN IS THE ULTIMATE BLUE-COLLAR BARD
1. I could pull out the big guns, and talk about how I witnessed Bruce Springsteen buoy the spirits of 40,000 post-Katrina New Orleanians. And I could add that I've never seen a crowd of people -- tears streaming down their faces, hands in the air in swaying communal prayer -- respond to a performer with such a hungry, visceral voice. And I could conclude by mentioning the Crescent City woman who saw me and my reporter's notebook and grabbed my shoulders and sobbed, "Do you know what this means to us? Do you know what this means to our city?" But that would be unfair. Especially since I saw Bon Jovi in concert once, and the most memorable moment was the girl barfing in front of me.

2. So I'm walking around the neighborhood, cranking my iPod, which is on SHUFFLE mode. I'm pissed off about everything in my life being broken, when all of a sudden, I get two Bruce songs in a row. Weird, right? How often does that happen on shuffle? The songs are -- get this -- I'm Goin' Down and Pay Me My Money Down. That second number, which turns into a rowdy Basin Street stomp, manages to put a darkly comic spin on my financial woes. And for that, I was thankful. But still kinda pissed.

3. Jon Bon Jovi is a good-looking dude. There, I said it. It's out there. A great deal of Jon's appeal is that he could bed any man or woman in the Tri-State area. Sure, he can write a hook and growl a chorus and pretend to play a guitar. But it all starts with his looks -- which makes sense seeing as how he started in the '80s. Right hair, right time. As for Springsteen, well, he ain't exactly Clooney. In fact, he's starting to morph into Dylan, the rock version of growing hair in your ears. Bruce has had to conquer the world on sheer talent and mystique alone. Give him the awesome power of feathered locks and a cute face, and Springsteen would have knocked GW off the $1 bill.

So there, that oughta do it. Spears is no doubt slobbering about Bon Jovi over on his site. You can read all that claptrap right here. Not that it's gonna matter. Springsteen vs. Bon Jovi. I think we all know how this is gonna end.

BLOG BATTLE! The Police Show -- Go or No?

"Another industrial ugly morning / Steve Spears belches filth into the sky / He walks pantsless through a blog battle today / He doesn't think to wonder why."

My resoundingly hirsute '80s apologist is sweatin' and gamblin' in Las Vegas this week, but instead of enjoying the 117-degree heat and comped mai tais, Steve Spears has sequestered himself in a hotel room in order to throw down a blog battle: The Police Concert -- Worth the Money or a Waste of Cash? Enraged, incensed, engorged, Steve, a noted Police hater, says his money would be better spent on slot machines and/or hookers ("theoretically," he adds). I say the Police show, coming this Wednesday to the St. Pete Times Forum, is the must-see event of the summer, a pop-cultural moment to be savored by all. Truth be told, I'm not even a rabid Police fan. But you gotta be there, right?

So as Steve lines up for another round at the All-Nude Buffet ("99-cent shrimp cocktail and lap dances!!!"), let us commence blog-battling: The Police Concert: Go or No?

Sean's 3 Reasons to See the Police Show
1. Sting's sweat. Seriously, the man's perspiration is obviously infused with supernatural healing powers. Have you seen him lately? He's hunkier now than he was in 1985. Get spritzed by Sting's sweat, and you're looking at an extra 10 years. I'd say that's worth $226.75. (As a bonus, it also has the power to make you relevant again -- just ask Stew and Andy.)
2. Synchronicity II. I've seen the setlist, and it's packed with crowd-pleasers 25 deep. Let's just say the boys aren't dicking around with obscure album cuts a la Miss Gradenko. And I'm happy to report that Synchronicity II, a ferocious condemnation of suburban malaise (not to mention the interconnectedness of something or other), and arguably the trio's artistic height, should come early in the show, giving the gig unstoppable momentum. Am I the only music geek getting chills?
3. There's great, life-affirming bragging rights in saying YOU WERE THERE. It's as simple as that. Regrets are for people like Steve Spears, the walking cautionary tale, clutching his belly at 3 a.m. Vegas time after all-you-can-eating the prime rib at Bob's Casino.

If you want to read Steve's reasons to skip the Police how -- or offer your condolences to his colon -- go here.

BEATLES WEEK: BLOG BATTLE!

TRAVELING WILBURYS VS. ASIA!!!

Can you say mismatch? That besotted brainiac Steve Spears is irate about the Traveling Wilburys being called the greatest "supergroup" of all time. That hairy-knuckled '80s apologist is convinced that the prog-pop dream teamers in Asia are the supreme supergroup. The Wilburys vs. Asia in a Blog Battle? That's ridiculous. That's insane. That's like me vs. a six-pack of Chalupas. It's unfair and it's unhealthy. But Steve wants to battle, so we'll battle.

So here are 7 Reasons Why the Traveling Wilburys Are a Superior Supergroup to Those "Don't Cry" Dopes:

Reasons No. 1 thru No. 5: Bob Dylan, George Harrison, Tom Petty, Roy Orbison, Jeff Lynne. If I swapped John Wetton or Steve Howe for any of those guys, it'd be like replacing Babe Ruth with Corey Hart or a cardboard cutout of Morey Amsterdam.

Reason No. 6: Asia tinkered and overthought several albums and came up with -- what? -- five or six great songs. The Wilburys made two albums in a ridiculously short amount of time, screwing around and shouting out lyrics and probably smoking Rhode Island-sized bundles of marijuana, and managed to record 15 near-classics. Now that's talent.

Reason No. 7: You can't spell "sad, prematurely balding sex-averse dorks" without p-r-o-g. Seriously, cueing up an Asia album on a date is a sex repellant on par with a massive bobblehead collection and/or doing a Leonard Nimoy impression.

There, that oughta do it. You can click here for Steve's rebuttal, but really now, we all know the battle is over.

BLOG BATTLE! The Police vs. Sting

My chunky-but-funky co-host on "Stuck in the '80s" has been smoking in the shower again. Steve Spears insists that (1) the Police are overrated and come mighty close to sucking (2) Sting's solo output is better than the Police's output, and (3) that he, Steve Spears, has three nipples. I'm with him on (3) 'cause I've boated with Steve. But (1) and (2) are just PLAIN ridiculous, right? Can you believe this guy? (To see Steve's asinine argument, GO HERE.)

So guess what? We're gonna have an ol'-fashioned BLOG BATTLE!!!

Thus, here are three reasons why three Police are better than one Sting:

(1) Stewart Copeland never bragged about having eight-hour nookie. Neither did Andy Summers. And back when Sting was still in the Police, he was too tired rocking out fat jams a la Invisible Sun to tantrically hump half the day away. But check it out, yo: Sting's solo output is so WEAK AND WUSSY, he had plenty of time to pleasure his wife for a fortnight. That's a tell-tale sign. It was either the band or the bone. Sting chose his wife over rock 'n' roll. That's traitorious in my book. ROUND ONE? DALY!!!

(2) "Another suburban family morning / Grandmother screaming at the wall / We have to shout above the din of our Rice Crispies / We can't hear anything at all." Holy crap, how good is Synchronicity II? Only the Police -- the steady machine-gun beat of Copeland, the prickly siren wail of Summers, the encyclopedic paranoia of Sting, all merging as one anti-establishment battle cry -- could paint the 'burbs as so heinously horrific. I've been stuck in suburban hell for a few years now, and I mainstream this flat-out rocker every week just to get through the day. ROUND TWO? DALY!!! 

(3) The Police are the best adult-education teachers in rock history. And I do mean adult. And education. And pervs. Is there an aging hetero schlub out there who hasn't taken solace in the Lolitan discomfort of Don't Stand So Close to Me? Hey, if the Police get randy for wanton coeds but are strong enough to say no, then I can, too. Thank you, Stewart, Andy and Sting. And thank you, too, blonde intern whose name I can't remember. ROUND THREE? DALY!!!!!!

Chomp on that, Tri-Nips.

BLOG BATTLE! Spandau Ballet Blows!

...but Steve Spears, that girthy New Romantic apologist over at Stuck in the '80s, just looooves those dopes in Spandau Ballet.

So to settle our brouhaha, we shall blog battle, just like in ye olden days. To our mounts!

HEREWITH, ONE (1) LONG, VITRIOLIC REASON WHY SPANDAU BALLET'S TRUE IS THE WORST SONG OF ALL TIME...

1.) 'Cause it is. Really. I've been calling True the worst song of all time ever since that pungent turd floated to the top of the punchbowl in 1983. My pals will routinely break into a wobbly, warbly True just for the knee-slapping thrill of watching my ears bleed. The ballad, the sonic equivalent of getting to third base with a wet British robot, is dull, and grating, and so incredibly wussy, especially that tru-hoo! torture at crapfest's end. Why do you "find it hard to write the next line"? 'CAUSE YOUR SONG SUCKS!

Speaking of limp-wristed dreck: Tony Hadley, the frontman for this quartet of Islington mopes, is so insincere and turgid in his tender-coo delivery, he was surely responsible for turning myriad young men, once so strong, so independent, into flimsy, female-fearing wrecks. The whole thing makes me wanna eat a steak and watch a women-in-prison marathon.

Speaking of women in prison: Steve Spears has you fooled. He cherishes True for all the wrong, dastardly reasons, the main one being that the song reminds him of his days as a high-school hound and his hairy-knuckled pursuit of wide-eyed freshman coeds. During those tru-hoo!s, NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU SCREAM!!!!

Yes, those fine young studs in Duran Duran were also New Romantics, but they were true to their shallow, shagging selves. They were in it for the money, the fame, the girls on film. "Lipstick cherry all over the lens as she's falling!" Hell, yeah, Simon!! But what nebby-poet shite does Spandau Ballet unload on the poor, spineless masses: "This is the sooound of my soul." No, no, Tony, this is the sound of Steve Spears losing yet another blog battle.

True blows. Case closed.

BLOG BATTLE: The Go-Go's vs. the Bangles

After a suggestion from loyal blogger Sparky, Steve Spears at the Stuck in the '80s blog and I have decided to wage an ol'-fashioned BLOG BATTLE:

HIS lame-ass Bangles vs. MY incandescent Go-Go's

Herewith, FIVE reasons why the Go-Go's are easily the far better band:

1.) BELINDA CARLISLE MAKES ME FEEL FUNNY INSIDE: Chunky but funky. That's my style. Plus Carlisle's delectable combo platter of her little-girl coo vocal + her curvaceous stage shimmy is enough to make her the greatest girl-group frontwoman of all time. The Bangles' Susanna Hoffs was too thin. Plus with the exception of that weird eye thing in the Walk Like an Egyptian video, she had zero stage presence.

2.) FEMALE EMPOWERMENT THRU SNAPSHOTS OF MALE NAUGHTY BITS: During their rise to superstardom in the early and mid-'80s, the Go-Go's had a notorious hobby of seducing their male groupies into post-show parties and taking pictures of the boys' genitalia. They were turning the tables on male-dominated backstage practices one schwantz at a time. The Bangles, on the other hand, were either good girls and/or vaguely Sasquatchian.

3.) BAD GIRLS: When they weren't Polaroiding peni, several of the Go-Go's were partying themselves into rehab. I like that in a rock star. Hoffs, on the other hand, hung out with her mom a lot.

4.) IN JUST A COUPLE OF YEARS, THE GO-GO'S CHARTED WITH: Our Lips Are Sealed, We Got the Beat, Head Over Heels, Get Up and Go, Vacation and Turn to You...

5.) BUT THEY WERE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR: Eternal Flame, one of most ear-bleedingly-awful hits in pop history. Come to think of it, Walk Like an Egyptian hasn't aged too well, either.

To read Spears' weak rebuttal, go here.