As I was driving home from work, Christopher Cross's 1981 smash hit "Sailing" came up on my iPod's "Classic Jams" playlist. I resisted the urge to skip to the next song. Below is a live version of the song, as I'm sure that not too many people (my age, at least) are aware of the short-lived glory that was Christopher Cross in 1980-81. Cross was propelled into the sweaty spotlight by none other than Michael McDonald (which should give you an idea about his musical style, slow jams with real instruments. Songs meant to be sung with eyes closed. Icky). In 1981, he swept the Grammys, winning three awards for "Sailing" and his debut self-titled album. But 1982 came and Christopher Cross was forgotten. With his "Best New Artist" Grammy, Cross started a trend, a curse really. Because no one who wins that awards every does anything awesome ever again. Just ask Christina Aguilera.
So, with all this context rattling around in my brain, I burst out laughing in my car, looking like a complete loon to passersby, I'm sure. This is what my brain saw:
Because, let's be real. This song is sort of terrible. It's a guilty pleasure. Something you sing with your eyes closed in the shower, hoping that doing such a sappy action won't result in a slip-and-fall with paramedics crouching over your dead, naked and pruney body saying, Damn, that Chris Cross is a killer.
Also, I love to make comics about jerks and assclowns. We'll see these boys again (or they could be bald girls. I rarely give anyone hair). Maybe they'll have a run-in with Cross's mentor, the maestro of white dude soul, Michael McDonald. Just maybe. ;)
Michael McDonald = lame sauce.
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