RIP: Olivia Newton-John

All the eulogies lead with Grease, as is only right, but I was there four years earlier.

I owned If You Love Me Let Me Know (1974) and Have You Never Been Mellow ('75). I know that the first album I bought for myself was Kiss Destroyer (so very butch, or is it?), which didn't come out until '76. That means I included the ONJ albums on a Christmas or birthday list, and someone bought them for me. Why and why? No idea.

Of all the incarnations to come, I have most revered these covers. On If You Love Me, she stands, arms crossed, staring directly at the camera, not smiling. There's a sadness and a resolution that belie the ingenue and the sex kitten images she'd later be asked to inhabit. She seemed to communicate that she recognized my wish to be her, and the heartache that wish entailed.

In the corner of the basement that was my bedroom, I sang along to the cornball country title track and to her first #1 hit in the US, I Honestly Love You. Truth to tell, I inhabited and acted out the latter, hoping no one would come down to use the laundry room mid-performance.

The swirly, girly font on her name on Mellow echoed the virginal white blouse she wore. Her expression is much the same as on the previous album, though. These are songs of loss and melancholy. And, yes, cheese, like the plaintive Please Mr., Please. Her cover of John Denver's Goodbye Again and the Hollies' The Air That I Breathe sank deep as I tried to imitate her every intonation.

Then came Grease, and I had to share my my muse with the universe. I hadn't noticed an accent on the albums. Her voice was what I wanted to be: pretty.

I paid full price to see Xanadu on opening weekend. The less said about that, the better. But a high school friend who was a talented sketch artist gave me a pencil portrait of Olivia he'd made from the Xanadu one-sheet. Feathered hair alive in the breeze. Wide eyes, with makeup I studied for future reference. An expression that saw my queer soul.

I tacked it up over my bed. I'm certain anyone who gave it a thought assumed it was there for the same reason other guys had the Farrah Fawcett poster. But I'd sooner wank at the foot of Pallas Athena's statue than demean the image of my inspiration, my goddess, my muse.

I tuned out after that. I found the Let's Get Physical and Totally Hot phase of her career tawdry and beneath her. Gal's gotta earn a living though, so fair play to her.

And today, 48 years after I prayed to those album covers for a metamorphosis, I say goodbye to Olivia Newton-John.

You don't have to answer.
I see it in your eyes.
Maybe it was better left unsaid.
But this is pure and simple
And you must realize
That it's coming from my heart and not my head.