My love affair with The Cult began with, appropriately, the single “Love”, from their 1985 release of the same name. From there, I snapped up all the imports I could find, including a copy of the Death Cult 1988 re-release, picture CDs with remixes, a tape of Electric scored from the Lynwood Fred Myer that I eventually wore out, and spent many hours dancing to "She Sells Sanctuary" at The Underground.

After 5 concerts spent swooning over Ian's voice and wishing that Billy Duffy was my boyfriend, and stomping around in my boots wearing jean shorts with ripped up black tights and Cult concert tees, my fascination admittedly waned after 1991’s Ceremony failed to wow me like their previous albums, and I am barely familiar with the songs on The Cult and Born Into This.

But the release of their new album, Choice of Weapon, has prompted a fresh tour, and because I know someone (Hi, Jenny George!) who is as excited as I am about The Cult, I HAVE TO GO to the show at The Neptune next Tuesday night (8/21). And you should too.

{The Cult with Murder of Crows | Neptune Theatre | Tuesday, 8/21 | Doors at 7pm, Show at 8pm | Tix $38.50 online, before fees | All Ages, bar with valid ID}

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“Do you have Some Girls?” I asked the guy at Bop Street, fingers crossed.

“Yup! Got it right up here. Oh look, we even have the uncensored cover.”

And this is how I bought my first vinyl since the 80s.

My boyfriend and I had recently decided that we definitely needed a turntable—me, after many years of hemming and hawing about getting one, him, swayed by the release of Tomahawk’s Eponymous to Anonymous—and what better day to set out to do it than Record Store Day 2012?

But what vinyl would I buy? What would be my first purchase? I thumbed through the bins at Sonic Boom, stopping on The Cure Entreat, a collection of Morrissey records, and gazing fondly at the GIGANTIC Joy Division and Smiths sets I couldn’t possibly afford—when I found it: The Rolling Stones Some Girls. But wait—this was the reissue, and the reissue didn’t have the pull out cover with the band’s faces and the wigs that I remember so fondly from my youth.

As soon as my hands touched the copy from Bop Street, I was back in my parents' house leafing through my dad’s record collection and carefully sliding the cover back and forth, counting how many different face and wig combos I could make, gazing at Marilyn and Lucy and admiring the rainbow colors.

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Oh 80s, how I love and hate that I grew up in your giant bang/legwarmer/off-the-shoulder culture. Some things never go out of style (especially according to Urban Outfitters)—even though they probably should—but even though my fashion sense evolved, my taste in music has stayed pretty much the same. Sure, I find bands I like now, but for the most part it’s because they all remind me of the bands I loved when I was a teenager.

Lace up your Docs and dive into a pile of nostalgia as I run through three albums that helped get me through the confusion and terror of my high school years, and which I still play on repeat 20-something years later.

The Cure: Disintegration
Affectionately (?!) titled  “the wrist-slitting album” by my group of constantly black-clad Goth-y friends, Disintegration is a depressing tearjerker of an album, meant for playing just after you’ve been dumped while you write long tomes of terrible poetry, burning that candle you shoved into a cheap Chianti bottle, next to the dead rose you still keep in a vase decorated by torn black lace.

The first strains of the opener, “Plainsong” tinkles in quietly, gradually building to an explosion of gorgeous notes that fall slowly, which make it the perfect sad movie song (major props to Sophia Coppola of sticking it into Marie Antoinette at just the right moment). And then Robert starts in with his mantra of heartbreak, and any hope you have of keeping it together totally crumbles. And that’s how the rest of the album goes: 12 songs of beautiful, amazing tunes focusing on love gone wrong, obsession, and pain. Even the strange “Lullaby”, about a frightening nightmare, is really about having your hopes dashed and your heart torn asunder. And everyone remembers sobbing through “Pictures of You”—while actually looking at photos of their exes, right? "I've been living so long with my pictures of you, that I almost believe that the pictures are all I can feel..." Oh Robert Smith. You get me. You really, really get me.

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I recently picked up the blu-Ray of Heathers, a film I quoted enough during my Senior year to end up in the Principal's office several times for a hand-slap re: using foul language and being disrespectful to teachers (the hallmark of my teenage career). Anyway. My point is, I was reminded after re-watching it for the 50th time that this movie is INCREDIBLY clever while at the same time extremely dark. AWESOME.

Veronica (Winona Ryder, who wears a freakin' monocle while writing in her diary!) is the fourth in a group of notoriously bitchy Heather-named friends ("It's like they're people I work with, and our job is being popular and shit."). She kind of hates them, but you know, that's the price you pay for ruling the school: terrible friends. A new student, mysterious and dark trenchcoated rebel J.D. (Christian Slater at his smirky, adorable best) peaks her romantic interest, and the two start making out, and then jokingly making plans to murder the popular kids - but uh, J.D.'s not really joking, and it's not long before Veronica joins him in systematically assassinating Westerberg High's all-stars (Yes, that HS is named after Paul W.).

Basically, it's like the best mash-up film ever: murder, comedy, romance, and teen angst -- with raunchy jokes and lots of swearing. You should go see it on Friday, March 23 at SIFF Cinema at the Film Center, so you'll know what I'm talking about when I say things like, "Well f*ck me gently with a chainsaw!", "Our love is god. Let's go get a slushie.", "Regular of BQ?" and "Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast?" 

{SIFF Cinema at the Film Center | March 23| 9:30pm | $10 | $5 Youth (22 & under) | $5 SIFF Members}