music videos

I feel as if I climbed into a stranger’s attic and discovered a whole new world. I saw my first music video in 1983. I fell asleep breastfeeding my son. He continued feeding until the projectile vomit hit my mother-in-law’s new sofa, furniture, and walls. I turned on the TV while cleaning up and Video Jukebox was on. I was fascinated.

The 1980s were a complete musical learning experience—watching music. And so, the 80s became my favorite music decade.

While writing Black in the 80s, I listen to the familiar music and visualize what I was doing, where I was, with whom. Well, the music is getting ahead of my writing so I searched for 1979 music videos, expecting nothing. I’ve always been told music videos began in 1980 with Madonna. When VH1 did their 3 day special in 1996, they said it began in 1980 with Herbie Hancock’s Rockit.

After 1975, I spent my time in clubs being a disco diva, creating dances with Lionel, dancing in the French Quarter with Andrew, and going to Lautrec’s on Toulouse Street after work with Charles. Never thought about watching TV, was clueless as to what was on, and didn’t miss it until now.

Curious, I watched what YouTube called 1978 music videos. They were not like ’79. These were mostly clips from live and studio performances, but I enjoyed the music, pictured myself in various clubs in NOLA. Remembered what I wore. Many of my favorite outfits had been evening gowns worn to carnival balls. I could only wear those once, so I cut them and discoed in them.

The previous year, 1977, is more of the same. Right now Debby Boone is singing and that made me remember the Lost and Found Department, the youth group for which Gerard, Kathleen, and I were counselors. I had a chance to practice my Spanish. Carlos was from Mexico, Luz and Marta from Colombia, Reynaldo and Miguel from Cuba, Norma from Honduras. She was trilingual because she’d worked for a Greek family since childhood. I learned that those Latin languages were all different. One of the Cuban ice creams was a profanity in Mexico.

I got to wait outside of a séance, because I wasn’t stupid enough to join the circle. Reynaldo’s mother, a Santeria priestess told him not to do it, but he wanted to show off things he may or may not have witnessed at home. When something wacked him in the back of the head and sent him sprawling over the table during the séance, the house emptied quickly. We didn’t see him or his brother for a while after that. But I digress. I certainly enjoyed the 1970s.