WE ARE ALL MARCUCCI
In the bad old good old days, looks were everything. If your name were Fabian, for instance, and you looked every inch the pubescent dreamboat, it mattered not a whit to Bob Marcucci, later to inspire the major motion picture The Idolmaker, that you hadn’t the most exiguous trace of musical ability.
WE ARE ALL MARCUCCI
ELEGANZA
by
John Mendelssohn
In the bad old good old days, looks were everything. If your name were Fabian, for instance, and you looked every inch the pubescent dreamboat, it mattered not a whit to Bob Marcucci, later to inspire the major motion picture The Idolmaker, that you hadn’t the most exiguous trace of musical ability.
In all but the youngest reader’s lifetime, an album by plump, hairy, and famously balding Elton John entered the charts at number one, but we are still all Bob Marcucci at heart. We would much sooner see Duran Duran or Deborah Harry in our minds’ eyes than Molly Hatchet, say, or Phoebe Snow.
Don’t take Eleganza’s word for it, though. Take the Go-Go’s. When they were horrible porcine eyesores in flat-heeled shoes, only other horrible porcine eyesores in flatheeled shoes came to see them. But when they slimmed down and Belinda kicked off her dreadful go-go boots in favor of excellent spike heels, everyone from sea to shining sea suddenly agreed that they were the most fabulous thing to hit the airwaves since spray Velveeta.