Berlin, Baby!

On Saturday I went to see Berlin perform in Springville. It must be noted that this wasn’t truly Berlin, as the only original band member there was the lead singer, Terri Nunn. All the other original band members are now middle-aged, overweight, and definitely not in touring shape. (As seen on VH1’s “Bands Reunited”). Terri Nunn, however, has avoided the pitfalls of old age by living in a cryogenic freezer for the past 20 years. She looks good--almost exactly like she did in the eighties, although her hair is noticeably smaller.

Berlin, as you may or may not know, is the originator of very good songs (“The Metro”) and very bad songs (“Take My Breath Away”). Why Jessica Simpson has decided to revive the latter, I don’t pretend to understand, but I think it has something to do with the fact she likes to sing crappy rock ballads.

Terri’s concert was a nice contrast to other eighties concerts I’ve seen in the not-so-distant past. For example, a couple years ago I saw a concert by Midnight Oil. They’re one of those one-hit-wonders that the eighties were infamous for. Unlike Berlin, everything but that one hit was horrific. And they tortured us by playing all their awful screechings, the lead singer prancing around, his bald head gushing out sweat, for the entire concert. Only after chantings of “Play the song,” did they finally perform their one chart topper. In their defense, they claim they’re a “band with a message,” preaching about the evils of whatnot, so I guess that excuses them somewhat from sucking. That, and the fact the concert was free.

Berlin, on the other hand, was a lot of fun. Highlights of the night included her moving through the crowd on the shoulders of a security guard and her inviting people to come and dance on the stage with her. My sister and I were able to squeeze to the front and dance five feet from Terri to some song I’ve never heard of…but it was catchy!

We hung out like nerdy groupies afterwards to see if she would come out and chat, but only the unknown new band members graced us with their presence. My sister likes men who dress like Boy George for some reason, so she wanted the keyboard player to sign her forehead. He refused, but he did finally agree to sign her arm. One body part is better than none, I suppose.

Thank you Terri. Now it’s back in the freezer with you! I want you around by the time I reach my mid-life crisis. I suspect by then I’ll want to reconnect with some of my teenage music loves, instead of buying a Harley and going to conventions, like most men at that age.