votw ii.4: All Your Desperate Jokes Put Your Love On Hold

The eye trick is neat-o.

You can start, but you cannot stop. You give in, but you caaan‘t give up.

Mere words, or something otherworldly? No one really knows, but night she left the city, Lauren dreamt of a wolf.

*Synth, synth!*

But what does it mean to “cry wolf,” really? To yell out that a creature that will devour your whole flock is coming, when in reality you’re just a dirty, dirty fibber? And then when the creature is about to gnaw on your groin, and you yell out for help, no one is there because everyone thinks you’re a stinky liar and you’re just playing the boredom game? Well, guh.

What about when your government says that evil’s a-brewin’, so you all rush out to quell the vacuous threat to civilization? Oh, that hasn’t happened in the past fifty years at all (I’m looking at you, Phantom Menace).

But let’s look at the macrocosm of our own microscopic lives. When I was about five years old (circa1992, I reckon), I cried wolf, and time to hurry, it was. I had just learned of the wonders of 911 in Kindergarten — golly, emergency reinforcements will come to my aid at the ringing of a phone, huh? There was a party at my hazizouse, and tried as I might, I could not get my younger cousin to dial M for murder. Ever the one to take the initiative, I yelled into the receiver, “We have a fire!” and hung up. After a couple of times, I heard the wails of a once-awesome firetruck. When the bomberos appeared on my doorstep, a dozen quizzical faces found me hiding under my baby brother’s crib.

So remember, kids, never cry wolf, especially if the wolf is fiery and you’re doing the crying on an emergency phone line. You’ll be the shame of your flock, and your papa will have to pay a hefty fine.

So today’s video is “I’ve Been Losing You,” obviously.

I think the video for “Cry Wolf” is visually compelling, perhaps even more intricate than the music it’s selling. You have Morten getting gobsmacked in the middle of “Hunting High And Low,” much to the ire of the crowd, only to be transported to a vision of an a-ha child-groupie. I don’t know if there has ever been an a-ha pop-up book — I’ve never owned The Swing Of Things (wouldn’t that be novel?) — but that’s one cash cow that they sorely missed the boat on. So while the kid splashes around the hay, he’s gawking at (fawning over?) the a-ha trio as they sing along to their UK Top Ten hit.

Ahem:

 

 

I for one believe the utter lie myth that Morten took a little tumble off the castle, which is the cause for utterly wrong mumbled lyrics during live shows. “You’ll end up crying with your mother’s sharks.” Oh, Morty, you handicapped crooner, you.

The kid sees a wolf in his book, so he rallies up a posse a la Frankenstein to off the menace? Better yet, why didn’t he get them all tickets to the a-ha show, since everything in that NeverEnding Story of his is obviously a mirror of his own humdrum life.

The musvid is there — live your lives and cast your score at your favorite ice cream parlor, Cold Stone. You’re going to need me, Cher.

 

“I heart Music For The Masses.”

Que mentiroso.

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~ by Alfredeus on February 5, 2008.

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