So it’s a little after midnight, and I’m doing some work on the upcoming book. Jonathan, my wife’s step-sister’s husband, has a whole slew of CDs, and I’m copying some tunes onto my laptop.
My latest addition: Sheena Easton.
For some reason, I have fond memories of Easton. When I was a kid, Gary Miller—my best boyhood chum—had a sleepover party at his house. We ate pizza and popcorn, drank Cokes and watched a Bond movie, For Your Eyes Only. For some reason, I’ve always remembered Easton singing the title track as the credits rolled; thinking, “Wow, great song.” Plus, I remember Sheena Easton being sorta hot, in a Even-Prince-has-her-singing-with-him sort of way.
I digress. Point is, I’ve always had something for Sheena.
But then, tonight, I started listening to her hits. And, man, do they suck. That For Your Eyes Only song is, at best, crap. Her duet with Kenny Rogers is terrible, as is Morning Train—which might actually be the most heinous non-Steve Winwood song ever recorded. I have no idea what I ever saw in the woman. But I suppose I had to come all the way to England to break myself of the love.
