Plastic Fantastic Lover
Jefferson Airplane
By Natalie Silver
It’s a Tuesday, and I’m at Kingfish. Neon strobing lights permeate my peripheral vision and seize my attention, directing it to the vibrant, electric jukebox standing in the corner—a gawdy ornament completely out of place in this dingy Oakland dive bar.
As if by divine intervention, Eric Clapton’s “Cocaine” fades out and a new acoustic guitar parades into the room, and this time in heat. She’s blaring a stampeding rhythm that matches the the pulse of my agitated being.
And as the electric guitar enters in furious exhale, the full body of Jefferson Airplane’s “Plastic Fantastic Lover” comes raging from the DayGlo mouth of the animated jukebox, delivering the metaphor of the song’s title to me in a beautiful moment of innocent serendipity.
“Plastic Fantastic Lover,” as it turns out, is not about a sex toy, but rather was written by Marty Balin in the late ‘60s about his then-new stereo system.
Balin brilliantly personifies the stereo in a voyeuristic love song that builds into complete hysteria, ultimately delivering a criticism of the music industry and foreshadowing the impending Digital Age.
The marching percussion and vehement vocals by Grace Slick convey the infatuating toxicity of the technology and all that she represents. Her characteristics are odd and futuristic, yet dangerous and infectious. Engaging with her is a consciously haphazard decision; an epic freefall into a precarious love. It’s playing with fire at its finest, and the thrill is phenomenal.
And now it’s 2019, and I’m staring back at this flashy jukebox—a 21st century version of the same symbol behind the song’s name—taking in this classic in a profoundly new way while sipping an Anchor Steam. I smirk at the screen...and I could swear she howls back at me in laughter.