The song was the Bangles' "Going Down to Liverpool," and Nimoy had been drafted into the video by guitarist/vocalist Susanna Hoffs, an old family friend. But while his non sequitur appearance caught my attention, the song kept it. I loved its jangly, wistful air and soon scraped up enough lawn-mowing money to buy the cassette of the Bangles' debut album, All Over the Place. Within days I was a full-blown devotee. While most of my friends were still planning their weddings to Duran Duran's John Taylor, I began scouring the teen-pop mag Star Hits for ways to be more like my jangly girl idols. When guitarist Vicki Peterson praised the Beatles' Rubber Soul, I immediately bought it, unceremoniously chucking the Thompson Twins and Naked Eyes tapes that had been in heavy rotation on my bedroom boombox. (My parents' musical taste stopped at about Julie London and Herb Alpert, so I perceived getting into the Beatles in 1985 as rebellious.)
I also sussed out as much info as I could about the Bangles' neo-psychedelic Paisley Underground scene in L.A., which I imagined as an exotic Technicolor playground where groovy young adults wore go-go boots and danced under swirly lights to cheerful pop music. Somewhere among my suburb's Laura Ashley stores and Wal-Marts, I came across the very '80s innovation of paisley shirts in cornea-burning fluorescent shades. In my high school, where Van Halen tees and pale oxfords were the norm, these prompted pained cries of "Ouch!" as I passed in the halls. I sniffed unrepentantly under my John Lennon sunglasses and walked on.
But even beyond the Bangles' music and style, the budding feminist in me loved that they were women who played instruments. Of course the Go-Go's had made a splash a few years earlier -- and I hadn't yet discovered the femme-punk of the late '70s and early '80s -- but in my mind the Bangles proved that female musicians weren't novelties. Rocking tracks like All Over the Place's "Hero Takes a Fall," which gleefully took the piss out of an egotistical music-scene guy, further fed my confidence. I began needling my parents for a guitar until I got an acoustic for my 15th birthday. With no Bangles songbooks to be found, the first song I learned ended up being Wham's "Careless Whisper." (I tried to make it jangly, to no avail.)
Even as the Bangles became a pop-culture phenomenon in '86 -- particularly with "Manic Monday" and the supremely silly "Walk Like an Egyptian" -- I noted that many of their songs were semi-obscure covers and followed their example of seeking out good music beyond the radio. These days, my Bangles records share shelf space with the albums they led me to discover; "September Gurls" was penned by Big Star's Alex Chilton and "Going Down to Liverpool" was by the Soft Boys' Kimberley Rew. (Even my records by quintessential Paisley Undergrounders the Three O'Clock, who did the Bangles ode "Girl With the Guitar," have retained their fey charm.)
As my high school days drew to a close, I became so immersed in the geeky world of below-the-radar rock that I didn't turn to the Bangles as frequently. That's not to say I won't be first in line if their rumored reunion becomes a reality; I'm pleasantly surprised at how well my old Bangles albums stand up, particularly All Over the Place. Mercifully, however, my fluorescent paisley shirts have long since fallen apart. >> Lisa Gidley
