The Pop Music Tableaux Circa 1984-1993

The dinner party got off to an awkward start, what with everyone trying to arrive fashionably late. Once in the door, however, they all headed to the bar. Said bar was simply an alcove carved out of the living room wall and decorated with strips of mirrored glass and stained cork paneling. Foreshadowing his role in years to come, Andy Rourke acted as DJ, offering the assembled group choice cuts of Delta Blues and authentic rockabilly. Lloyd Cole held court in a shadowed corner, his blue eyes artfully covered by the hanging strands of his lightly tousled hair. Emma Anderson listened to him expound on Ezra Pound and what keys he favored when playing acoustic guitar. She nodded respectfully, her cigarette smoke rising in slow swirls toward the textured ceiling. Morrissey, as was often the case, hid himself away in the kitchen, where he and Miki Berenyi shared stories of rabid fans over glasses of an imported rosé. The assembled members of New Order mingled throughout the crowd, but when last I looked Bernard Sumner and Johnny Marr were having a friendly debate on their favorite brand of guitar strings. Speaking of guitars, Dave Wakeling brought one along in case anyone wanted to play a song or two; this was all for naught though, as no one wanted to raise the specter of competition in this accomplished yet fragile group.

Shaun Ryder and Bez slipped off to the bathroom for a bit of E, and bumped into Neil Tennant. Neil wanted to talk about the latest reviews from NME, but the Mondays had different plans. Some time later Neil found himself counseling Peter Hook about the art of keeping the band together.

Drinking pints on the servants’ porch were Paul Heaton and Billy Bragg. They agreed that socialism went best with lager. John Lydon had to disagree, and by disagree I mean he tossed his can through the neighbor’s window and stormed off into the night. Behind the house in a yard thick with shrubs Boy George and a rent boy were frolicking on the swing, or at least that is how it looked as I passed a window on my way out the door. Clare Grogan and David Stewart sat cross-legged on the lawn and waved me a quick goodbye as they went on chatting about who-knows-what. “What a pity,” said Stewart Copeland as I unlocked my car. He was leaving too and I didn’t even notice him parked behind me. “This was a really great party before everyone else knew about it,” he intoned. “But isn’t that always the case? By the time people realize something is blowing up the next new thing is always taking form on the horizon.” I nodded and shut the car door. Stewart always impressed me with his ability to keep time and find a different beat. Behind me in the mirror I saw a crowd starting to form on the sidewalk, but then I looked forward and lost sight of it all.