You Can't Beat The Beehive For Glam

When I Started Out As A Music Journalist, At The End Of The 1980s, It Was Generally Assumed That We Were Living Through The Lamest Music Era The World Would Ever See. But Those Were Also The Years When Hip-hop Exploded, Beatbox Disco Soared, Indie Rock Took Off, And New Wave Invented A Language Of Teen Angst.

'american Horror' Goes For A Very Specific Kind Of Seventies Suburban Downer Ambience - 'flowers In The Attic' Paperbacks, Black Sabbath Album Covers And Late-night Flicks Like 'let's Scare Jessica To Death.' It Even Has 'go Ask Alice'-era Urban Legends.

'the Sopranos' Gets Praised As Novelistic, But It Follows The Most Banal Of Life Patterns, Showing The Sheer Tedium Of Being A Mobster. It Has Dead Spots, Boring Plotlines, Weak Episodes. Characters Develop Slowly, Or Don't. Like Viewers, A Gangster Might Get Bored, Fade Out Of The Action, Then Come Back To Find None Of His Debts Forgotten.

Morrissey Was My Mrs. Garrett, The House Mother From The Facts Of Life, A Soothing Adult Figure Giving Me Words Of Wisdom.

God Bless America - What Other Civilization Would Give Patrick Dempsey Another Shot To Rule As A Sex Symbol, Twenty Years After 'meatballs Iii: Summer Job?' His Reign As Dr. Mcdreamy On 'grey's Anatomy' Is Proof That There's Nothing We Love More Than Giving Eighties Celebs A Heartwarming Second Stab At Life.