“The eighties almost killed me; let’s not recall them quite so fondly.” –The Hold Steady

Sure, it was fun at first. The anthology CDs with jellybeans on the covers, followed by an infinite number of mix-tape variations. The skin-tight vintage t-shirts, followed by the polo shirts. The “flashback” lunchtime radio shows, followed by the 80’s dance nights at every bar in town. The aviator sunglasses. The electro-pop resurgence. Reunion tours by the Cure and the Pixies. But every movement must inevitably come to an end. And it’s time, long past time, for this one to get there. Why, you ask? It so happens I have a list:

- I would be remiss if I didn’t address the obvious reason right up front: I was doing it first, and I hate all of you for jumping on my own personal bandwagon. It started for me with 45s for a quarter at Cheapo Records, and that was well over a decade ago. Being in my early thirties, I suppose it’s natural to feel all nostalgic for my innocent youth, before mortgage payments and 401(k)s started harshing my gig. But it was my specific experiences that I was nostalgic for – playing T-ball at Quincy Park, hanging out in my older neighbor’s AC/DC-adorned clubhouse, dropping action figures into the Sarlacc pit in my sandbox – not some kitschy fascination. So when I walked into Target and saw MY Beatles T-shirt – the cool one with the Revolver cover on it – in their stack of vintage 80’s t-shirts, it was like anyone could buy my memory of the one day I felt like the coolest guy ever in high school the first time I wore it. “But wait,” you say, “The Beatles? I thought we were discussing 1980’s nostalgia?” Which leads me to point two:

- It is perhaps that most postmodern of conundrums: how does a culture adopt as “retro” a period that was itself “retro”? Sure, 80’s retro never hit the dizzying heights of the mid-90s full blown 70s revival. But where do you think those skinny ties came from? My favorite places to eat in junior and senior high were all 50’s-style malt shops. Back to the Future was the highest grossing film of 1985. When I knot my skinny tie, am I recalling Elvis Costello, Buddy Holly, or the guy at the bar who is recalling Elvis Costello? Or the Beatles? Or the Romantics? Or the Killers? I suppose it doesn’t matter. Flipping up the collar of my polo shirt doesn’t have to be a statement, it’s just funny. Right? But somehow it seems that by declaring a pro-80s stance, you are forced by default to take the whole damn decade, which leads me to point three:

- A lot of bad shit went down in the 1980s. Anyone who doesn’t believe me should read Hunter S Thompson’s Generation of Swine. George H.W. Bush was arming Osama bin Laden when he wasn’t trading arms for hostages. Nuclear weapons proliferated. Millions were spent on a failed “war on drugs”. Greed was taken off the list of deadly sins. AIDS flourished. Televangelists began their takeover of the Republican Party.

Maybe it’s too much to say that when you pull on your pink leg warmers, you’re saying mental patients should be put out into the streets. After all, the lyric referenced at the beginning of this article is from a band trying to sound like the Replacements. The art world has been in an identity crisis since Duchamp put his urinal on the wall almost 90 years ago, and I suppose it’s inevitable that pop culture is being dragged around in circles with it. Original ideas are few and far between under the best of circumstances, and it’s unrealistic to expect the whole of American culture to constantly reinvent itself when what we really want is comfort and reassurance. So I’ll just put on my aviator sunglasses, put up the collar on my polo shirt and go see Dukes of Hazzard. Not to remember the days spent feigning ill so I could watch reruns in my family’s living room, with one wall completely mirrored and the others clad in fake wood paneling, but because it’s fun to watch guys take jumps in an orange, souped-up car.

--Mark Kalar