Jem and the Holograms in Pop Music, Aliens, and Waterparks

Pop Music, Aliens, and Waterparks

On stage, a Pink Fantasy on thin legs bolstered by high-heels.

She bounces to the beat; her lithe, feminine form wrapped in a short-skirted dress made with fabric dyed the color of cheeks in full-blush. Hair, piled high, flows out and downward in layered-waves. The shoulders twitch. The smile widens. The eyes sparkle, somehow seeming to shift from lavender to blue. Glitter and gold dangle from wrists that extend into long, supple fingers. Fingers that grip a microphone. A microphone that sounds...

...a voice. A voice that hints of the immaturity of her youth, but yet, is strong and powerful and capable of soaring as high as need be. Lips form words, and the voice sings them. It tells tales of love, the burn of jealousy, the warmth of bonding, wet splashes under the sun, and maybe, on occasion, a pang of despair and darkened skies. But always, there is hope. You can hear it in that voice. It sings it, not as a belief, but a truth. And those that hear it find themselves filled with that truth. Even if it is only for a little while. Even if it is only for one song. For that one song, hope can never be a lie.

Behind the singer is arranged a human bouquet. Red-hair that would shame any rose frames a soft face with large, baby-blues that beam wide-eyed innocence. Her fingers move gracefully over the white and black keys of her keyboard, producing synthesized tones and melody. A dark-skinned woman of statuesque stature plucks the thick, nickel-plated steel strings of a bass guitar. Purple-pansy curls bounce over high-cheekbones in tandem with the bass-beat. Behind a drumset sits a smiling carnation with hair wrapped tall, topped with a tail that swings back to her bare shoulders. Golden hoops hang from ears, and hands holding sticks produce a syncopated drum-fill. Yet another flower; one with pale skin and once-in-a-blue moon colored hair, and eyes that always seem to know, but lips that smile kindness. She plays a guitar, a multi tie-dyed blast of colors painted on its body, strumming chords that move and groove.

Each one of these lovely blossoms have names. Kimber, Shana, Raya, and Aja. And circling back to the front, dancing in front of the crowd, an image of fashion, glamour, glitter, and... heart. She has a name, too. And that name is Jem.

The Holograms finished their set. They had come to central-Arizona where nearly three million people were lumped together, surviving the hot desert sun by way of manufactured cool-air and backyard swimming pools; all of them waiting for the soon approaching mild days of winter. Phoenix was holding the Monsoon Thunder Music Festival. Jem and the Holograms had been invited, as well as, The Misfits.

Even now, the Holograms' rival was taking the stage. For a moment, a stray cloud eclipsed the sun, as if a warning. And into the newly-cast shade strutted Pizzazz, a neon-green goddess basking in the adulation of the crowd. She raised her arms, and like magic, the cloud passed, shining golden-tinted white light upon Pizzazz's face. But no matter how bright the sun, it would never burn as hot as the lead singer of The Misfits. She gave it her all, always.

At her side, electric slide in blue, stood Stormer with her keytar slung over her shoulder. Newly-fallen, snow-white hair stood to the other side of Pizzazz as Roxy thumped her bass. With a saxophone in hand and a sneer on her face that only a street-tough Brit could produce, Jetta's lips met the reed and blew a dirty, hot blast through the brass body of her chosen instrument. A unique sight in the Misfit line-up, strong-jawed masculinity backed the band as, at his sister Stormer's request and delight, Craig Phillips sat in on drums for the festival.

As much as Jem hated to admit it, The Misfits were good. She caught a glimpse of them on the stage and could hear their pulsating beat over the cheers of the crowd. If she only had to deal with their music and not them personally, life would be a happier state-of-being. But a smile is always better than a frown, and helping it along was the fact, that so far, Jem had managed to avoid the disdain and jeers of The Misfits.