OMG, I know, this letter is totally late. Looking at my calendar, it’s twenty-seven years late. The thing is, it would have been totally lame if I’d written this in 1985. It would have said, “I love you!” 100 times, written in my loopiest high-school-girl handwriting. I know this because I sent that exact letter to Rick Springfield in 1983 and we all know how that turned out. For Rick, I mean. I’m totally fine.
And let’s be honest. You guys were ridiculously huge in 1985. My fan letter would have made zero impact. After months and months of sold-out monster-domes and groupies galore and ever-flowing-Stoli-fountains, no one would have cared about a heartfelt declaration of adoration from a sixteen-year-old Minnesota girl, no matter how sincerely it may have been written. And my letter would have been off-the-charts sincere.
So let me first say this, regardless of how stunningly adorable any of you may be or how much my still-super-girlie brain cannot resist the oh-so-witty British-isms, the clever interview quips, the penetrating stares into the camera lens, I am proud to say that it’s still about the music.
Back in the day, you were my escape. In my room with the door closed, listening to “Careless Memories” or “My Own Way” or “The Reflex”, it didn’t matter that the boys at my school were lame and didn’t appreciate my punk rock hair. It didn’t matter that I had no idea what to do with my life or that there wasn’t a lot of money or that I may have felt a bit stuck. Music took me to another place, and it was a pretty glamorous kick-ass locale when it was with DD.
There’s no question that DD set me on the more obsessive tangent of my musical path. I’d always been drawn to music, ever a lover if you will, but my early DD fan days taught me to live and breathe it. That led me to the campus radio station in college, which led to my first music industry job, which eventually led me to meet my husband. What if I’d been listening to REO Speedwagon instead? The passion surely would have died. I might be caking on purple sparkly eye shadow, ringing up Big Gulps and Power Ball Tickets, without the most amazing guy ever in my life.
I admit that I fell off the DD wagon for a few years. Little Miss Music Industry Rock Chick gave in to her moments of music snobbery. It wasn’t always a pretty sight. Life changed after I hung up that hat, the hubby and I had kids, and I was sucked into the paradigm shift that parenthood brings. Karma got me back and I spent a few years with stacks of Raffi and The Wiggles CDs in the car. I assure you that my children only like good music now, DD near the top of the list for my thirteen-year-old daughter. The apple does not fall far from the tree.
I road-tripped to see you in DC in October. You probably don’t remember. I was the girl you waited for at the end of the meet-and-greet, whose friend had passed out in the hall. Don’t worry, she’s fine, although I think she’s hoping for a rain check on the photo op. Despite the need for EMTs, the experience was awesome…and the Facebook likes when I posted the photos? Forget about it.
The show was incredible, everything I wanted it to be. The old songs sounded even better than when I saw you in 1985, when they were shiny and new. More importantly, the songs from All You Need Is Now (one of my favorite records of 2011, btw) were busting at the seams. The audience sang every word of every song that night—it wasn’t just nostalgia, it was about here and now, which I suppose is the point of your new record. Funny how that works.
And so now, twenty-seven years later, when I say, “I love you!”, it won’t be 100 times. Not because it would be ridiculous for a grown woman to do. Not because I should be spending my day doing more productive things. It’s just that you surely deserve more.
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