Five Early 90s Female Pop Songs You Didn't Realise You Needed to Hear Again

....or indeed for the first time, for the young (re: uneducated) people out there.

The 1990s was a golden era for solo female pop. The Spice Girls, Girls Aloud and Destiny's Child heralded a new era of pop girl bands from the mid-to-late 90s, before the rise of Britney and Christina once again secured pop music for the solo femmes.

Of course, Madonna was doing her thing throughout all of this, but Madonna's just so far ahead of the pack she should comprise every Top X List of Everything Ever.

Here are five tracks that demonstrate what a young girl might be exposed to musically as her teenage years approached.

5. One of Us by Joan Osborne

OK, so its 1995 release date technically puts it out of the early 90s. But in tone, timbre and intent, it belongs in this list. Most people would probably now know this song as the loving duet Dr Evil and Mini-Me sing in Austin Powers 2, or as the theme for the TV show Joan of Arcadia.

But before that it was a massive hit. It was everywhere, you couldn't escape it. That riff, that yearning voice, that nostril ring she wears in the video clip - it all made Joan Osborne a star. For about five minutes.

Songwriter Eric Bazilian supposedly dashed off the song quickly to impress hit future wife, and offered it to Joan Osborne while working on her album. Her raw vocals turned the "wacky" song about faith and Jesus and the saints and all the prophets into an endearing search for meaning. Despite his hopes, Eric didn't win a Grammy, but he's no doubt made a Bazilian dollars in royalties.

4. Boy in the Moon by Margaret Urlich

You've probably sung along to Margaret Urlich dozens of times and never realised it. The New Zealand-born singer provided the backing vocals in Darryl Braithwaite's 1990 mega hit The Horses. Since then, countless karaoke nights have included some tomfool maxing out the reverb with a "Beeeeeee, little darling!" Sometimes it's not even me.

But Urlich chose not to appear in Dazzer's film clip for The Horses, because she was trying to establish herself as a soloist. 1992's The Boy in the Moon was possibly her biggest hit, a cheerful love ballad supported by an artsy video clip that really highlights the importance of the choker to early 90s fashion. My god, the chokers. They were like an albatross around your neck. 

3. Cry by Lisa Edwards

What did I just tell you about chokers?

I remember getting the CD single of this song from my aunt. I think she'd won it or something and didn't want it. I had that CD for years, just sitting in a rack under Madonna's Erotica and Michael Jackson's Dangerous. I can't remember if I even played it much, just that I felt it boosted my meagre collection.

But who was Lisa Edwards? John Farnham's backing singer, that's who. An experienced session and back-up singer, she somehow managed to score a Top 5 hit with this splendidly dramatic ode to heartbreak, before going back on the road with Whispering Jack about eleventy billion times. 

Researching this post has led me to uncover the fact that this song was actually a cover. English duo Godley and Creme wrote Cry in 1985, and the video shows how New Wave-y it originally was. It also starts out with a pudgy dude crying awkwardly, so I think Edwards deserves points for her theatrical glam black-and-white clip. The tradition of pop stars rolling around on beds was not a new one, but 90s femmes really took it to a new level.

2. Love...Thy Will Be Done by Martika

What did I just tell you about rolling around on beds?

This is the tune that inspired this post. It just randomly popped into my head a few days ago, and I was struck by a deep frission of nostalgic energy. I loved this song in 1991. It was soft, melodic, philosophical and it didn't have a chorus. It was more hymn than song and it always took my breath away 

And it was co-written by Prince! The small, purple-wearing musical genius who's pretty much written everything for everyone. Once you know this fact, you can really hear his guiding hand over the orchestration - the random backing cries ("Satisfied!") and the tumbling, cascading way lyrics would run over each other ("Even when there's no peace outside my window there's peace inside and that's why I can not longer run"). It's magic.

Despite this song doing well in the US and hitting number 1 for ages in Australia, it didn't really help Martika in the long run. After starting so promisingly with the brilliant Toy Soliders back in 1988, dropped out of the limelight after the Martika's Kitchen album was released. Naming an album after a room in your house was probably the reason. Even if I was a brilliant singer, I can't imagine anyone forking out the folding stuff for a copy of Natalie's Bathroom.

1. Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover by Sophie B. Hawkins.

I remember dancing so hard to this song at Tanya Packer's 12th birthday party. That was the party we managed to get a bra off another sleeping girl and hang it off a ceiling light. I know, right? Off the hook. Actually, Tanya Packer was really a bully and the "bad girl" of the school and I'd once gotten in trouble after she wrote me and Melita Grace a letter filled with swear words just because she thought it was cool. My peer-pressure-induced reply (yes, I was weak, I remain weak) was discovered by someone (A teacher? My mother?) and it became an Issue With The Principal. I didn't even have Tanya's original letter to show them because I clearly remember riding my red bike out to the bins (we had a long driveway) to personally dispose of it before anyone could see it. But I tell you, I learned a valuable fucking lesson about language after that whole affair. 

Where was I? Oh yes, Tanya Packer. We parted ways at the end of primary school. I assume she hit adulthood, got knocked up several times by different fellas and now lives a flea-bitten existence somewhere on Brisbane's northside with more children than teeth. I realise that's cruel, but let's face it, she was going that way. You don't know what a head job is at age 10 without certain paths drawing you towards them. Yes, that was how I learned what a head job was. I've never recovered.

I'll admit something though - for a good part of the 1990s, I thought Sophie B. Hawkins and Sarah Jessica Parker were the same person. I'm sure you can understand the confusion - big blonde curly hair, pointy faces, unnecessary middle names/initials. It was only really after Sex and the City began that it dawned on me that SJP probably wouldn't be seen dead in grungy flannel, even in the early 90s.

Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover was a proper rock ballad by a bonafide good singer. SBH had a pleasant raspy richness to her voice, which no doubt inspired the dingy basement setting of the video clip. While this song is no doubt entirely of the early 90s, it retains a certain sense of timelessness. Perhaps it's that deep two-note signature riff, or the way Sophie's soft verses build into the explosive "Damn!" of the chorus. Watch the clip, and I'm fairly certain it will get into your head. But unlike so many other earworms, it's not a wholly unpleasant experience.

A Wrap on Felafel

I had planned oh-so-many in-depth, behind-the-scenes, special-extras type of posts about He Died With a Felafel in His Hand.

Then the whole thing sort of sprang up, and before you know it, it was October 6 and the whole bally show was done and dusted.

It wasn't that the production and performance week was a blur; more that it would've been nice to slow time down just a little. Just a smidge. Just a fraction.



The adventure began, of course, about six months ago, when I confirmed production dates with the Brisbane Powerhouse.

It continued throughout the warm winter, rehearsing every Saturday, then ramping it up through September.

On Sunday September 29 we bumped into the beautiful Visy Theatre, following it up with rehearsals all day Monday and Tuesday, before the Tuesday evening preview.

Having an audience was a blessed relief and a joy. Their energy fed us, boosted us, made us work harder and hit our comedic beats even better. The actors revelled in their roles, and I delighted in watching them squeeze every last laugh, giggle, groan, howl and squeal out of their audiences.

We then had wonderful houses all week, including sell-outs on both Friday and Saturday nights.

So many people supported the show by coming along. I'm yet to get all the final figures, but at this stage I'm confident I will make the money I invested back. That makes me so proud: of Brisbane theatre-goers, of the cast and crew, and even of myself.

The experiment has given me some faith that I can apply myself to fairly ambitious projects and, with the help of good people, make them happen. Don't get me wrong - I have many skills still to acquire. I remain too easily stressed and upset when problems arise, and some of my technical and budgeting knowledge needs to be improved.

But still, it all got done in the end. So while I'm not launching into another theatre show straightaway, who knows what the future might hold?

Dressing room wig shenanigans.

Finally, I'd like to throw up some links to people who helped along the way:

Author John Birmingham, obviously - his Cheeseburger Gothic website now also comes complete with a podcast.

My friends Dan and Aurelie Beeston let me abuse their talents in the way of graphic design and photography. Do check them out at CivicNet and Elysee Photography. Their level of talent should be illegal.

Heath Carney generously took fantastic production shots of the show; you can see them and more at his website.

Despite my renovations being finished, my builder Craig generously donated his time and expertise to help build our set pieces. I would highly recommend Corella Construction.

The lovely Heena from The Blue Lotus Retreat came and gave the cast massages and professional make-up on our final day. She is just a gorgeous lady, and I can recommend her if you're looking for a beauty treat.

Ben Tantari is a local Brisbane filmmaker who put together our teaser trailer.

One of our actors, Michael Fitzhywel, is a talented artist who has cool designs for sale on Red Bubble.

Another actor, Elizabeth Best, runs a great movie review site called Super Quick Reviews.

Thank you, once again, to everyone who supported the show. Thank you so much.

Lying on the Visy Theatre stage.
Didn't want to leave.

Lost in Translation, or, Chinese Whispers

I have thousands of pictures in my iPhone's camera roll. Occasionally I try to go through and delete batches of them, but still they mount up.

During one such attempted clean-out while standing in a queue this weekend, I found shots from my trip to China earlier this year, which I had always intended to form into a hopefully-interesting-sort-of-post.

One of my favourite things about visiting China is seeking out odd products, and even better, the mistranslation of product descriptions into English. I think it's because Chinese is a very visual, descriptive language, and the transplanting of those concepts into English is either innately pretty or hilariously off-putting.

For example: These wax strips are described as "Depilate Sacrificial Paper", and when you think about, that kind of makes sense. You are, after all, offering up your unwanted body hair to the temple of beauty. Note: these strips work best on human body limbs, so forget about waxing your ... cat.

Here's a helpful product to stop the waste plastic bags create. My favourite is the pleading catchphrase at the bottom of the pack.

This one was for some sort of music festival. I've got no idea what's going on.

A still picture doesn't really do justice to the "Shrilling Chicken". When you squeezed this toy, it let off a sound that can only be described as a busty soprano being steamrolled by a boiling kettle.

I'm pretty certain the "There are no ugly women only lazy women" line is credited to Coco Chanel. But who came up with "Clothes is women's face job", Buffalo Bill?

If memory serves, these didn't taste half bad.

And then there was this one. Again, no idea.  I almost bought this one, because I wanted to try to work out exactly what it was. My best guess was an ice-block mould in the shape of the dog turd. But I chickened out of forking over my hard-earned yuan for it because of the SWASTIKA EYEBALLS. I just didn't want to answer odd questions at Customs on the way back into Australia.

These next ones were my favourite. We took a day trip out to the Mutianyu section of the Great Wall, and our driver decided the best way to entertain us on the hour-long commute would be to whack on his pirated copy of noted singer Sarah Brightman's 2008 opus A Winter Symphony.

I can say that it was pirated because - beyond the obvious joke - the English lyrics to the songs were fantastically wrong. As in, I could sit here for days and not come up with a funnier match of song title and actual lyrics.

That's the lyrics of Jumpin' Jack Flash by the Rolling Stones, NOT Ave Maria. And it's followed by I Believe in Father Christmas, which bears a striking resemblance to Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves. As I said, comic fricking genius.

But the best was this one - and sadly I don't know the name of the song, but Canto Della Terra sure got a lot fruitier than Ms Brightman probably intended.

Have you got any good examples of strange products and crazy translations?

Queensland Police Pay Lip(ton) Service to Equality

The Queensland Police Service has denied allegations of sexism in its ranks, describing its female officers as a vitally important and attractive part of the force.

A review of the state’s emergency services by former AFP commissioner Mick Keelty highlighted examples of senior policewomen being asked to make tea at meetings.

“We don’t believe sexism is rampant in the QPS,” said Deputy Commissioner Russ McSweeney, sipping on a Twinings Earl Grey.

“Our female officers are treated with respect and dignity, nothing to do with cuppas or cup sizes,” he said. 

Deputy Commissioner McSweeney cited a recent case in which 29-year-old Constable Sheryl Jones was celebrated for her efforts in arresting a suspected shoplifter in the Queen Street Mall.

“She held the bloke down during a struggle, during which time buttons were ripped off her uniform issue shirtfront, exposing her lace bra,” he said.

“The boys made sure they took photographic evidence on their smartphones so Constable Jones could be appropriately honoured that Friday night at the pub.”

Deputy Commissioner McSweeney said the incident proved that highly skilled female officers were part of a well-rounded police service.

“Some of them are very well-rounded indeed,” he said.

Detective Inspector Maureen Srakowski said the service was a more positive place for women officers than when she first joined up.

“It was common in the early 1990s to receive a lot of abuse on call outs,” she said.

“It made sense - we were invading someone’s space and forcing them to improve their behaviour to a standard acceptable to the community.

Constable Mavis Duncan was poached by
the Academy while working at Starbucks.

“But still, it made it hard to actually get out of the paddywagon and arrest some bad guys.”

DI Srakowski, now a widely recognised expert in organised crime and drug trafficking, said anti-discrimination and workplace safety training had come along in leaps and bounds.

“Now I can go days without hearing a single ‘Remember your gun, sugartits?’”

Deputy Commissioner McSweeney said the key to building confidence and respect for female recruits lay in providing a variety of challenging opportunities.

“For example, C.I.B just purchased a new Nespresso machine, so we’ll have a range of coffee options for upcoming meetings as well,” he said.

“If they can make that cream frothing thing work, I say go the femmos.”

Felafel on Film

Today marks three weeks - three weeks! - until the curtains come up on He Died With a Felafel in His Hand at the Brisbane Powerhouse.

Of course we're in the Visy Theatre, which is a thrust stage, so there are no curtains, but you get the general idea.

I must admit this date makes the situation quite stark - while I'm happy with our progress so far there is a metric truckload of work still to be done.

In the meantime, please enjoy this wonderful Felafel taster film, courtesy of the very talented and very generous Ben Tantari.

You can book tickets to He Died With a Felafel in His Hand online now, or check out the backstory of how it all came about.

Thunderclap

My father retired recently. He's still working the odd job as a marine pilot, but he now finds himself with a whole lot more spare time to spend at the pokies beating The Man at his own game.

I am being cheeky here of course; my Dad is the eminently sensible kind of person who insists I put extra money into my superannuation, and so I'm sure his trips to the Kedron-Wavell Services Club are kept entirely within affordable means.

One of his retirement gifts was an Apple TV which, being a gadget nut, he had set up within 24 hours of receiving it.

I popped over this evening for dinner and to welcome my Gran, the esteemed Queen Pat herself, into town on her latest visit. She assures me that her arrival from Vanuatu was all about seeing family, and absolutely nothing to do with the recent seizure of 750kg of cocaine in Port Vila.

Après le dîner, my Dad busted out the YouTube app on the Apple TV.

"Oh! I have the YouTube," said my Gran cheerfully, still impressed with her recently installed broadband WiFi connection. "I've been watching Yes, Minister, and The Two Ronnies."

Gran picked at her cuticles as she told me about the YouTube - that's Yoo Tyoob in her English accent, not the ocker Yew Chube - and I picked at my cuticles as I listened.

The family resemblance is strong.

Dad found the clip he was looking for, and it started playing.

"The Grom!" he yelled triumphantly.

"The what? Your Daddy was on the Grom," said Gran.

"Yes, look, here it is!"

My grandfather, Maciej, was an officer in the Polish Navy, part of the section that escaped after the German invasion and put themselves under Allied command.