Welcome back to the second part of my post about the strangeness of time and story in the realm of music video. In the second part of my assignment for the Concepts paper I continued:
The early days of music video are also curious since when considering that it’s a practically new genre – quite a number of these videos are oriented towards nostalgia or just having their limited narratives set in the past instead of being “up to the moment” or more futuristically oriented. This becomes apparent with some of the video creations of major league female artists of the 1980s like Pat Benatar, Olivia Newton-John and Stevie Nicks. “Strangers Touch” (1981) from Olivia Newton-John is an outstanding case of music video where two concepts of time or eras comprise a sense of story, but unlike “Video Killed The Radio Star”, not necessarily within a single frame. What Newton-John is singing of is not exactly a specific nostalgia for a past time, but indulges in a romantic suspense fantasy. When the song opens, a Humphrey Bogart-type private eye reminiscent of classic 1940s detective films like The Maltese Falcon enters a nightclub or roadhouse which looks like a blend of contemporary and old school, decor giving “Stranger’s Touch” an ambiguous start since the dancers on the floor and the band in the background are dressed in 80s clothing designs and then the cafe chanteuse (Newton-John) appears – and her cool observation of the detective sliding up to the bar for a drink opens up her imagination to a romantic adventure with him. The video quickly switches from color and the present, to the past and the black & white of her lively fantasy world.
While the video is a satisfying representation of two time concepts, it’s additionally important to note that “Stranger’s Touch” also presents another astute notion that Vernallis brings forth when she says that “the contrasting footage against a consistent musical background helps us become aware that lives are experienced in pockets of time, that our attention can shift quickly.” (Pg. 129) The constant, even musical background of “Stranger’s Touch” and the scene changes that occur clearly show that lives are not only experienced in pockets of time, but they can race ahead of the music as we watch the 1940s femme fatale version of Newton-John’s daydream completely outpace the “real” Newton-John as cafe singer at a marginal venue. “Stranger’s Touch” leads to another related point tying “lives into pockets of time” that Vernallis draws a viewer to when she says that “music videos can heighten our awareness to the fact that lived time can be personal and subjective…” (Pg. 129) Newton-John is not the only artist who does well in giving that impression. Pat Benatar’s “Shadows Of The Night” (1982) also fulfills the Vernallis discussion points mentioned above, and like all the videos being analyzed here is “different from the rhythms of the environment and that of other people” that she also speaks of. (Pg. 129)
Once again, in “Shadows Of The Night” we have another World War Two era fantasy realm and dual time concepts that promise Benatar so much more than a “real” character is able to have as the video opens – much like what Newton-John gleans from her musical video showcase. However, a viewer definitely gets the impression that Newton-John’s dreamscape moves along at a snappier pace compared to the Benatar video. As “Shadows Of The Night” begins she has this glum, tedious factory job making parts for military aircraft. However, this opening is not a modern setting but also starts during World War Two as the “Rosie The Riveter” hair and clothing styles of Benatar and the other female workers indicates. To relieve the stultifying monotony of her position Benatar slowly drifts into her escape mode – which will include some daring heroics (such as performing acts of sabotage on a Nazi fortress) but that could carry on and off throughout a long, drab shift. Newton-John’s double life by comparison seems as though it all occurred in roughly five minutes – just enough time for a patron to walk into a bar, order a drink, consume it quickly and then stride out.
Along with Olivia Newton-John and Pat Benatar, Stevie Nicks joins this elite group of high-wattage female music stars who adeptly portray enticing, seductive women with two versions of “Stand Back” (1983). However, while the aforementioned begin as fairly ordinary women who emerge as heroines through lively imaginations, Nicks is a more distinctive video vixen who is always some ephemeral, out-of-the-ordinary creature existing in a time warp. Her persona as a singer and video incarnation seem calculated to take us back through history to a distant period when knighthood and mysticism was in flower. Particularly, when viewing both variations of “Stand Back” and some of Nick’s other videos from the 80s like “If Anyone Falls” (1983) and “I Can’t Wait” (1985) we are drawn to another thought provoking observation that Vernallis makes when she says: Music resembles a carpet unfurling before us, and rolling up afterward: in any instance, sounds have already passed us by, and the rest of the music is yet to appear, and this aspect of music, more than for any other medium, draws our attention to the transitory nature of time.” (Pg. 136) This proves to be quite apt in the first “Scarlett O’Hara” video version (which never initially aired, but appeared on her Crystal Visions: The Very Best Of Stevie Nicks (2007) compilation) of Nick’s double-platinum hit “Stand Back”.
The synthesized sounds of the song literally, rapidly unfurl before us as the circa-1860 “Scarlett O’Hara” type incarnation of Nicks appears on horseback galloping fiercely down the country lane – and though she glances apprehensively backwards – we are never able to determine what she’s fleeing from. As her horse reaches the landing of the columned, antebellum mansion the music continues apace, but the activity in the house becomes strangely sluggish and then quickly picks up with more mad dashes through the countryside to a town ravaged by recent fighting. The song is relentless, but the action is choppy and without clear purpose. Once again, with a limited, sketchy narrative which is so typical of music video, this is hardly surprising – but completely validates the transitory, fleeting nature of time that Vernallis talks about in Experiencing Music Video. During “Stand Back” as the song passes us by and quickly rolls up just as the visuals do, and neither is capable of providing us with a satisfying start or ending to what seems to be the interrupted romance that Nicks has with a Confederate soldier, although we do not see any obvious reason for this such as his death in battle.
Perhaps the only thing that can be gleaned from the first video version is that there is an unconsummated romance without clear reason, like a dream that is unfinished or does not make sense. Considering the general, murky nature of time in music video, “Stand Back” is much like many others in the sense of it being hard to tell if the “story” takes place in one afternoon, an entire day, or even a whole week. As described previously, the video seems to work in the sense of a historical-type character totally representing the Stevie Nicks professional persona. Again Vernallis’ assertion that “life is lived in pockets of time” proves fully applicable to “Stand Back” just as to “Stranger’s Touch” and “Shadows Of The Night”. However, there is one element of strangeness unique to “A Stranger’s Touch” that is not shared with the other two videos – or even with “Lies” or “Video Killed The Radio Star” for that matter. The Olivia Newton-John showcase begins oddly because we see the circa-1941 detective entering the nightclub, but the music does not start for what seems like a full thirty seconds or more. The feeling is that someone forgot to put the needle arm to the record and caused the first “act” for lack of a better way to describe it – to be out of sync…suggesting that someone was umm…not keeping track of time!
Where “Stand Back” is concerned, it was not surprising to learn that Nicks disapproved of the original “Scarlett O’Hara” interpretation video and liked the second, official version much more. In the second more gauzy and mystical version (Nicks favors the dreamy and supernatural aura that brings to mind crystal balls, tarot cards, and casting of spells. Nicks’ own solo performing segments, her partner ballet sequences and even the back-up dancers seem to complement the total rhythm and her vocals better. Everything just grooves more in sync with the re-done version, whereas the original seems choppy, and disjointed even by music video standards. Then again, as Vernallis correctly calls it again: “The viewer’s relation to music video can be…vexed” (Pg. 136) The majority of people would be inclined to agree with her, especially when attempting a comparison of video time frames to any narrative film. While Vernallis speaks a great deal about the transitory nature and incomprehensibility of music video, she also acknowledges that “the music track is both a priori and a stern master unto which the image must bend.” (Pg. 136) This would suggest more organization to music videos than we might otherwise give them credit for.
However, making such a determination can be a slippery slope which really depends on what video is being critiqued. The study of music video is not an exact science, and there can be many differing points of view. When Vernallis says that “the image…at some level must subject itself to the steadfastness of the track” a compelling example of this would be “La Bel Age” (1986) one of Pat Benatar’s lesser known video offerings from her prolific output. The setting for this appears to be a slightly seedy, bohemian (“Beatnik” maybe?) 1960s nightclub that could be at Greenwich Village, The Sunset Strip, or Baltimore, Maryland as far as we can tell. In any case, the immediate and only setting of the video is this club where chanteuse Benatar sings of lost love and innocence, yearning for and rediscovering ideals to believe in again. Most of the footage naturally focuses on Benatar first and the band second, with occasional glimpses of bar patrons. In any event, the main point of “La Bel Age” in relation to what Vernallis mentions is that: “The listener can gauge the scale of the song – how long it will be until the phrase ends and the verse closes…and the song as a whole will drive to a close.” (Pg. 136) Benatar’s relatively sedate and then more bombastic style are easy cues to support the Vernallis statement about phrasing and verse closure while Benatar’s body language as the performer is important for “the process of closing sections” of the song as Vernallis continues.
In summary, the concepts of nostalgia and time in the realm of music video is fascinating and fun to explore from these offbeat creations of the 1980s – especially as this era is slipping further away from us due to the relentless march of time and this decade now has a considerable amount sentimental value attached to it. Nonetheless, the more valuable aspect of this study refers to time in the sense of a viewer being able to (or attempting to) comprehend the unusual world of music video in relation to narrative film/television media which is more realistic and viable to ordinary lived time that human experience is accustomed to. To wrap up here, the most striking statement that Vernallis makes about trying to grasp a coherent sense of “time” in music video is this: “With such a small scale, but such grand themes, a video often seems like a miniature, a memento forever encased and out of reach in amber, a lively overpopulated flea circus forever locked under glass.” Time in music video is indeed tricky and can largely depend on the frame of mind and perception of the viewer, and this can always change.
