You used to not run from the winter blues, scanning bright screens all the livelong day, watching TV show after TV show at your leisure and not that of the head of A/N/BC/CBS.
No, you got right down IN it, trudging through it. But a haunting soundtrack, synth songs without resolution got you through it.
Doldrums of February 86, good grief, what moody, white-sky, lachrymose glories! Nos. 15-18 alone could wrap you in pensive cashmere as you trudge, snow bits pricking your face between the tears. February 86, the shoulder-padded and Roland-ed evolutionary phase of rock bands that had once straddled, stages with guitars--Erectus. 86: Big Neanderthalic sounds, hair, sadness!
Not these guys, who eased from soft rock bubbling-under into that BIG sound and pallets of hair gel and a dorky new name.
Do I care about any of that now?
No. I just need this butter on top of my winter blues.
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