2020/01/03 • Parallel Lines was the first New Wave album I ever owned, except that my mother bought it because she thought it was a disco album. And it wasn’t, and she didn’t like it, and I played it and played it and played it. Because it is brilliant. It is not a disco album. Heart of Glass is a disco song, if you want it to be. But if you want it to be part of an excellent New Wave album, then it’s the fourth track on side two.
In 1978 I was obsessed with disco and punk, but my hometown of Hatfield had neither. I wore a Blondie t-shirt in high school and I was voted “Class Radical.” I also wore a white French-cut Greenpeace t-shirt, the one with the big seal eyes. It didn’t take much to be a radical in Hatfield. Also, it didn’t hurt that I never wore a bra. Radical! I knew about punk from Time and Newsweek and the New York Times Arts & Leisure section. Same with disco, really, although I remember some paperbacks about Studio 54. I thought Grace Jones had to be an urban legend, or alien royalty. She was incredible, literally and figuratively. I assumed she, Andy Warhol and Truman Capote were neighbors.
We heard a lot of disco in the house for a few years. My mother took all four of us to see Saturday Night Fever - we were 13, 11, 9 and 7. She thought it was a musical, like West Side Story, I guess. Have you seen Saturday Night Fever? My brothers were sent to get popcorn several times. And then it was rereleased with a PG rating, and we all saw that one, too. Mom had the soundtrack, the double-vinyl with John Travolta on the cover. It’s an amazing album. I love disco! There was my mom, in her mid-30s, frosted perm and Frye boots, smoking Kools, and getting us to do the Bus Stop in the dining room. It was weird and embarrassing to have a mother who had a frosted perm and Frye boots and Kools and loved dancing. But even through my veil of adolescent ennui I knew my mother was pretty badass, and a really good dancer.
But Parallel Lines is a New Wave album, Blondie’s third. I would blast One Way Or Another and stare at the cover. I loved the suits and skinny black ties. I loved the sneakers and I thought all the guys were cute in an exotic, New York City way. I loved how one of them looked like my mom’s friend Denne’s boyfriend. But Debbie Harry. My god, Debbie Harry. A white slip dress, white slides and, inexplicably, a white armband. That was it. And that was all. That was everything. She was in charge. She was the boss. She was hot and sexy and beautiful. She didn’t flinch. Just stared right into the camera.
I didn’t know what live music sounded like in a smoky club. I didn’t know what music sounded in a huge arena. I didn’t know what it felt like to dance in white slides. But I knew two things: Debbie Harry was Queen of All Things, and I would never, ever, ever look anything like that.
Now, in 2020, my mother still loves good music and she still loves to dance. I can’t believe how freaking lucky I am to have her as my mother. She is Queen of All Things and I look a little like her, although I'm twice her size. I’m getting my own Queendom together, finally. I have lived entire lifetimes in smoky clubs and huge arenas and I’ve danced in slides, boots, Chucks, Docs, and my grimy bare feet. Debbie Harry still reigns supreme. And Parallel Lines is an excellent New Wave album, and Heart of Glass can be a disco song if you need it to.