MY 70's GIRLS - Shelton Bradshaw live from Balboa Pier

MY 70’S GIRLS
To my beloved greatest musical majesties of the greatest decade of music ever!

I don’t like to overly-explain my lyrics and rob others their own interpretation, (blah blah blah, artsy fartsy I know), but I must keep from potentially offending the eternal angelic spirit of Saint Olivia Newton-John. The lyric, “Cute Olivia, before Physical,” IN NO WAY suggests Olivia Newton-John was less mouth-watering after, “Physical.” The smash certainly ushered in the 80’s Olivia, to her short hair princess-to-cougar evolution, but that’s all—not a drop of diminishment. Clearly from the most talented beautiful gene pool of all time, Olivia was gorgeous and elegant unto death, and her 80’s songs were sexier and much better written than her simpler 70's songs. I only qualify “before Physical” to show off her lengthy career and her countless butterfly-to-butterfly changes.

No other original song moves me more than “My 70’s Girls.” Putting the pictures with it here changed what once were teary-eyes into full tears, as I reflect on what these women mean to me. I hope I can recycle a fraction of that very magic their voices and songs illuminated in my soul as a kid and still today. My only fear was recording a song like this is forgetting an essential like a Dionne Warwick, or heaven forbid Helen Reddy. So allow me a few honorable mentions here.

I still consider tweaking the second chorus to add Rita Coolidge I adore Sheena Easton, Belinda Carlisle, and Juice Newton, and they would have earned a spot easily on merit, but all arrived to me well into the turn of the eighties—perhaps a sequel? Pretender’s first album was January 80', so Chrissie Hynde’s European meanstreet incubation was a must for me here. I respect Donna Summer and Carly Simon, but I've had no sacred moments with either of them, yet. I can’t think of another omission that would warrant a death sentence, but I’m still scared one will awaken me some night.

I hope those honored still with us receive this song and give me a chance to hug them and tell them how much I love them one day There will be tears there too. Don’t get me wrong, I love my male heroes too. In 3rd grade, I walked around for a week as though my jaw were wired shut so I could look like Peter Cetera. To this day I still find myself at cross roads asking, “What would Morrissey say?” and even more often, “What would Roger Daltrey DO? I’ve dreamed of trading places with Steve Perry on his private tour bus with Sherry then and now—meaning I STILL NOW dream of being Steve Perry THEN.
Yet all idealistic heroism aside, no male voice is as universally pleasant and endearing to me as Saint Karen Carpenter’s. Nor did any male rock group explode with more primal sensual melodic ear candy than the entrancing harmonies of ABBA’s princesses. Note for note, song for song, music for music, goosebump for goosebump, no male singers, any genre, any era, can touch “My 70’s Girls.”

MY 70’s GIRLS
Tapestry cutting through the morning dew.
It’s too late but the day’s still so far away.
From the hazy hills sweet Dolly sang.
Latina Linda wore a German name.

Across the Atlantic Lake
Baby Chrissie elbowed her way.
Billy Davis made us, feel famous.
Lucky star man, in Marilyn’s hand.

And cute Olivia, before Physical.
Under Stevie’s spell, we fell.
The queen still moved
While the Wilson sisters played.
My tears so soothed
By Karen on rainy days.

Sister Rose and Gladys had our back.
When our midnight train’s on wrong tracks.
My body grew from Agnetha and Anni-Frid.
Dionne’s deja vu, I believed.

Anne’s shadows dawned the day.
Boys asked Blondie’s real shade.

Diana the boss, to us Ms. Ross.
Helen’s Angie girl,
And her secret lover in her radio world.

Cute Olivia, before Physical.
Under Stevie’s spell, we fell.
The queen still moved
While the Wilson sisters played.
My tears so soothed
By Karen on rainy days.