For those of you who have yet to enjoy watching me make an ass of myself on stage, you really should swing by the Westside Eclectic Santa Monica this Thursday and check out the latest edition of "Employee of The Month" entitled, "Julie's Sixteenth Birthday."
Please come check it out. To order tickets in advance, click here.
Some of my fondest memories of music videos come from the Urban Box at UGA, where only the most ridiculous of music videos turned up. It was on this channel that I saw my first Outkast music video and was introduced to Mr. Biggs, courtesy of one fabulous Ms. Kelly Price. And now, in no particular order, I present to you, my favorite Kelly Price music videos, one of which is actually in my top five favorite music videos of ALL TIME. Please, enjoy.
Let's start with, "You Should've Told Me."
Kelly is clearly doing her best to keep her man interested, trying on outfit after complicated outfit, weave after weave, various combinations of eyeshadow and lip gloss--all to no avail. And haven't we all been there at one point or another, ladies? I know that if my crazy red hair and green eye make-up isn't making my man want to rip off my clothes immediately, then something in our relationship has clearly died.
Another great moment (I don't want to spoil the video for those of you who haven't yet watched it, because the best parts are at the end and involve the destruction of Kelly's home gym) is when Kelly is singing the chorus in what appears to be a very constricting outfit with cropped pants and cropped boots bathed in a glowing pink light. It's such a wonderful look at Lane Bryant in the late 90's, one that makes me both nostalgic and a little sad that it's over.
Moving on to a video that is not a Kelly Price song per se, but includes her with Faith Evans on Whitney Houston's "Heartbreak Hotel."
This video makes me smile because it's from a time when Whitney still looked great (wigs, clothes, make-up, etc.) her voice was kicking ass and she came out with one of my favorite break-up albums of all time. No wonder Osama bin Laden had the hots for her. She was on fire.
And as much as the other two ladies accompanying Whitney on this track have the vocal chops to keep up with the superstar, it is clearly Whitney's song and they are her guests, which is the only reason I can guess that they were forced to dress like dental hygiengists-cum-cat burglars complete with uncomfortable-looking blue lab coats and black gloves.
Everyone's so bundled up here at the Heartbreak Hotel, which appears to be located in South Beach, (so well-known for its icy winters) with poor Kelly looking especially well-layered. OK, I'm stopping watching the video right here because I can't stand to watch Whitney throw that snow-white fur coat into the ocean. For years, the question of whether or not they used a dummy coat for that long-shot has tortured me and like the mystery of President Kennedy's death, I'm sure we'll never really know for sure.
And now for the cherry on top. I would like to introduce to you my favorite video of the bunch, "Friend of Mine."
More like a melodramatic off-Broadway production than a music video, this gem would not have been possible without the invention of the 3-way phone conversation, just another of many reasons to be grateful for that technological innovation that has so indelibly altered all of our lives.
A big fan of satin and complicated prints, Kelly does not disappoint in this video, which also has her sporting some very dramatic tears--the kind of tears you can only attain when you find a picture of your best friend and husband together in a compromising position immediately after applying lots and lots of non-waterproof eye make-up.
Ron Isley (AKA Mr. Biggs), reprising the role of Kelly's protective godfather, patiently listens to Kelly's plaintitive tale of betrayal and heartbreak (not immune to an occasional rolling of the eyes and a patronizing, "Uh huh."), seems to have stolen his wardrobe from a high school production of "Guys and Dolls," in which the pinstripes themselves had to be painted on when the local Sears didn't have any suits that were otherwise appropriate for a gangster prone to breaking out into song to express his turbulent emotions.
We see a distraught Kelly, angrily packing up her belonging and clearly this is the last straw because she's even got her hat box on the bed full of satiny underthings and you know when the hat box comes out, a woman means business. Her manner of packing (which includes punching her clothes tearfully into her bags) makes me hope that either all of her outfits are made solely of spandex, or that her destination has access to lots and lots of irons. I have a feeling she might be headed toward the "Heartbreak Hotel," which makes me hope that she's packed enough warm clothes because I know it can get cold there.
Man, she is really man-handling those clothes. Ah, because I know that she finds the incriminating picture in some laundry I am able to surmise that this is some pretty heavy foreshadowing. I can only imagine how many dollar bills will become lint in Kelly's future because of her fear of searching pants pockets lest she find something else that dramatically alters her otherwise peaceful existence.
Oh whew, she walks out in her fur coat. Way not to get so caught up in the emotion of the break-up that you forget to take that fur, girl.
Now we're reminiscing with Kelly about the good times spent with her best friend. Ooh, it's always the skinny bitches, idn't it, Kel? Look at them, so happy, despite what I can only imagine must be an unbearably sweltering temperature under Kelly's enormous leather trenchcoat. Poor Kelly, so blissfully unaware of the infidelity to come.
Then suddenly, shit gets ominous when Mr. Biggs shows up. He's about as terrifying as those cartoon weasels from "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" and the suspense is building. He gets to the concierge at what I think is a hotel, and speaks with the concierge who I can only guess is telling Mr. Isley that he and his posse really aren't allowed to be smoking those cigars indoors.
At this point, Ron, gets Kelly on the phone and instructs her to get her cheating man on the line so Mr. Biggs can read him the riot act. After some weak protestation, "I don't wanna, I don't wanna..." she finally relents and calls after Ron warbles to her, "I know, but it's just the principle of the who-oole thing."
This is where the magic happens. I could transcribe the converation between the offending husband and angered Godfather but it really has to be seen to be believed. And we find out in this exchange the nature of Mr. Biggs and Kelly's relationship in with some soap-opera-like exposition and clunky metaphors: This is my goddaughter and I'm just tryin' to protect her heart. You may have been a moon to her, but to me, she's the sta-a-ars.
It is at this point that Mr. Biggs is so overcome with disgust he tells his goddaughter, "Kelly take this phone!"
And with a final grand gesture, Kelly slides her ring across her grand piano so that it disappears into the corner of the screen--the only way this opus could end, really.
More of these stupid True ads with guys in them who are so boring-looking I can't stand it. Is this really the best they can do to lure women into signing up for their online dating service?
I love how this man is Mr. Everything and they don't even bother to change his shirt -OR- expression. Here's lil' dude at the photo shoot, getting instructions from the art director.
"Okay, now give me mild bemusement...yes, yes, that's GREAT! Now, I want you mildly A-mused. No, I said BE-mused before, this is different. Good, GOOD! You've got it! No, you can keep the same shirt on.
Now, I want you to give me your best O-face. Oh. Really? That's what it looks like? Oh well...now, I'd like the face of someone masking mild discomfort. PERFECT!
Well, I think we're done here. We've nailed it. Another great True ad to send out wide. You're welcome, world."
Allow me to introduce you to my future husband, Lame-O McLamerson.
I love the fact that advertising execs think that giving a 30-something-year old wannabe actor/model frosted tips and spiky hair makes him look "youthful" and "attractive."
I bet when they were trying to cast for this model shoot, they were all:
"Let's go with the guy with the pointy hair. He looks 'edgy' and 'Gen-X,' er, I mean 'Gen-Y,' er I mean...what are we calling them now?"
"Oh, who cares what we call 'em. As long as they keep buying iPods."
"Hmm...can we photoshop a tribal tattoo on his neck...?"
Well, you don't have to look at the whole thing, but his cowboy picture and the fact that he puts his height, weight, eye and hair color on his web page and yet refuses to be naked during your massage session does seem a bit perplexing and warrants at least a quick glance.
However, if you only have a moment to spare, I recommend going straight to the FAQ page. The issues that he feels are necessary to address range from the mundane to wonderfully ridiculous.
Looking at this outfit, I can only surmise that you are openly trying to make me dislike you.
...or does it look like Naomi's packing penis?
Ewwww. 
Ugh.
Allow me to introduce you to my future husband, Lame-O McLamerson.
Then William Gallagher is your man. But bear in mind, he does NOT offer a "safe release." 
