By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
By Alice Laussade
By Scott Reitz
Want to know why I really like Cyndi Lauper? Because no one else does. Come on, guys, haven't you ever bopped your head to "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun"? Thought that "True Colors" really captured a mood? Masturbated to "She Bop"? No? Then screw me. I'm a novelty. With stained sheets.
Lauper's opening for Cher this weekend, and I'll be there, standing alongside the 10,000 drag queens mourning Cher's promised retirement. This marks the second time Lauper and Cher have toured together, and Cher swears it will be their last; sadly, Rocky Dennis' mom is retiring from road life, ostensibly to concentrate more on rib removal.
In case you had stashed Lauper in the whatever-happened-to category, I'll tell you: She's been releasing albums all these years, seven since her 1984 debut She's So Unusual. She's even had some minor hits, including "I Drove All Night" and "World is Stone." Laugh if you must, but she and Alphaville are big in Japan. So are scat films. Her latest EP, Shine, is not spectacular, but would you really go see anyone from the 1980s to hear the new stuff? She has a great voice--it's grating and pleasing, like cheddar--and enough good songs to keep the drag queens from giving me the reach-around. That's all I need.
Although Lauper now appeals mainly to thirtysomething housewives reliving their youth, her recent concert on Good Morning America so electrified Charlie Gibson it made his hairpiece bounce like the flap on an 18-wheeler's smokestack. Then again, it was really windy that day.
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