Kim Wilde, 4.12, CCH 9pm

Recently seen something on TV again: on the third channel, Anita Ekberg’s atomic busses ran. In the worst show of the year, another blonde with a noncommittal smile crowned two ugly German suburbs to Beauty Queens for one night in the first program (Remember her own fate?). Here the unbearable German rockism (here: Alan Bangs and the unbearable Michael Braun) can celebrate itself at the worst time. In addition, the blonde presented a trash skirt piece of infinite fatigue and seemed to feel comfortable in the role that I have always hated: that of the rock lady.

Kim Wilde, said blonde one, once looked really hyper-invulnerable, crazy, horny, crazy. That was on the cover of their first LP, which contained the super teenie hit “Kids in America” ​​and won all hearts (of course mine too) with their stupid, pounding ultra-glitter noise. Super pop. On the second record, which sounded almost the same, just a little chunkier and more tiring (and that is deadly for enthusiastic teenagers), it wasn’t quite as hot anymore, but you could still safely like it, of course, and my second absolute Kim – Favorite piece was the great pop hit “View From A Bridge”. Here she made the first mistake when she exchanged her small, cuddly, sharp, daring-looking teen monster band (real glitter idols) for a few lame, old, rock-sack bags that she went on to watch on TV. She also looked pretty sick on the LP cover, a little mean, stupid, as if she had been standing in the rain.

After that, life became difficult for her in Germany, where she was always loved more and more deeply than in England. Only the loyal admirers bought their next records. Basically, Kim is no longer interesting. Being a pop star means if it is to be real and good, have puberty problems and then go out and want to show it to everyone. This was more true of her brother Ricky (who records the music almost alone in the studio). As a child star he was already dissatisfied with himself and the world and hated school. Kim’s teething problems stemmed primarily from her plumpness and the resulting problem of finding hot boyfriends. But that was not that wild either, she says, and she would prefer to be the nice, simple girl who is patted on the shoulder for his good voice/singing performance and otherwise lets it have a say in the world’s problems. The intellectuals/critics like that.
Kim was really great for a year or two. In addition to pure entertainment, she was the best living proof of the blessings of these “before / after” beauty contests, in which every girl learns to do more with her type. To strain the inevitable blonde comparison with Marilyn: the final stage of classic pop or Monroe in the final stages.