In my novel, the narrator Vivian describes a field trip she once took with her son’s middle school rock band. They went to see a Mötley Crüe concert. The entourage consisted of her, a couple of tattooed, balding, ponytailed dads, plus the boys in the band:
“It was in Madison Square Garden. Somebody had snagged a skybox for our party. I tried to chitchat with the ponytailed dads. A guy brought in giant cups of soda for us, and potato chips, on the house. You know how rock concerts are. We were very far from the stage, but they have those huge video projections on the side. There were some women dancers with enormous, buoyant boobs making snarling faces at the audience. Tommy Lee rode onto the stage on a motorcycle and the crowd went wild. The biggest hit, which got the most enthusiastic reception, was their classic, ‘Girls, Girls, Girls.’
“Perhaps you know the lyrics to that one. They start out extolling the virtues of leggy, red-lipped beauties from the West Coast and the Northeast; then they reminisce tenderly about a certain sexual escapade in Paris, France. They manage to rhyme ‘ménage à trois’ with ‘breaking those Frenchies’ laws.’
“Their rendition of this little chestnut was accompanied by much snarling and gyration from the dancers. The dads drank their sodas and ate chips. So did the kids. So did I. I was wondering what we were doing there but thinking it was an educational experience for Sandro and me.”
Vivian also mentions this concert in an e-mail to Djeli. I think he understood the irony of her citing this particular song. Recently he posted an instrumental cover of it to his YouTube page:
I thought that was pretty sweet. At least Djeli has a sense of humor about himself.
I’d kind of hoped, though, that he would record the song with the words. It would be very pretty, really, in that haunting falsetto of his.
Filles, filles, filles
Les lèvres rouges, les bouts des doigts…
Raconte-moi une histoire
Tu sais laquelle…
Le Crazy Horse, Paris, France
J’ai oublié les noms, mais je me souviens de la romance…