Steve Perry – Oh Sherrie

Starting in June 1979, when the ridiculously titled “Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’” (a perfect stripper song musically, though lyrically problematic if a patron tried to test that invitation) began its climb up the charts, to the late spring/early summer  of 1987, when “Why Can’t This Night Go On Forever” sputtered to its peak at #60, there were few voices that we heard coming out of our radios more often than that of Journey frontman Steve Perry. 

Despite owning two of their albums thanks to Columbia House, I was never much of a Journey fan. They certainly sounded pleasant enough, a sort of mushy guitar-forward AOR. They were making power ballads before those were really a thing: I slow danced with a succession of failed hoped-for romantic partners to hits like “Open Arms” (a childhood friend told me she lost her virginity to this song, so at least it worked out for someone) and “Faithfully” (which, listening to it now for the first time in years, is quite a lovely tune – it gave me chills). And their rockers, like “Any Way You Want It” and “Don’t Stop Believin’” (which remains a damned good song despite becoming a pop culture cliche), were made for being blasted from a car stereo by restless teens on the make on a warm summer night.

I had stopped paying attention to the band before its run came to an end, so while I have a hazy familiarity with their 1986 hit “Be Good to Yourself”, the last of their singles that I clearly remember hearing in real time is late 1983’s “Send Her My Love”. It was at that point that Perry decided he needed to spread his wings and make a solo record. Working primarily with songwriter Randy Goodrum, in April 1984 he released “Street Talk”, which showed enough new tricks that you can get why Perry wanted to play in a different sandbox for a bit. But it was preceded a month earlier by the lead single “Oh Sherrie”, and that had to have caused some doubt: why go solo if you’re just going to make a record that sounds like the band you’re already in?

I have a fixation with what I like to call “good bad songs”. That is, songs that are, well, not bad, because I don’t really believe there is such a thing, but not good, in the sense that if you looked at them on sheet music, you would shrug or worse. “Oh Sherrie” is such a song. There isn’t a single quote-worthy lyric, and that it sounds so much like a Journey record shows that no boundaries were being broken with the music either. Yet, I loved this song from the first time I heard it, and still do almost 40 years later. What’s up with that?

The song opens (and eventually closes) with a synthetic baroque vibe, leading into Perry singing the first few lines a capella. It’s basically about a couple who keep hurting each other, but they have a love that always comes back stronger after those wounds heal. It’s a nice sentiment, the idea that bad times can preserve a love rather than destroy it. But I have listened to this song over and over and over while writing this, and I still really have no clear idea why I love it so. It has a nice backbeat that gets my foot tapping, but nothing else really stands out, and the guitar bits are nothing that anyone (other than Perry in the video) even once considered air guitar worthy. The thing I keep coming back to is the chorus: every time my interest starts to lag, the chorus kicks in, and, almost against my will, I find myself singing along – “Oh Sherrie, our love / holds on, holds on” – making rockstar faces (you know the ones) at this affirmation of commitment. I’ve always been a cheap romantic, and music that pushes those buttons will usually have its way with me. (I just did a test on this point, and, yes, “My Heart Will Go On” still guts me.)

It’s hard to separate the song from its ridiculous music video. The ridiculousness is initially intentional, with the opening two minutes a prick to the bubble of the video excesses of the era, with hip British directors, often from the world of commercials – John Self, the loathsome hedonist at the centre of Martin Amis’ 1984 novel “Money”, is maybe the worst case scenario of the brand – turning simple pop songs into treatises on contemporary society and culture. Perry wanders off to get his bearings amidst the set’s turmoil, and then we get other bits of ridiculousness – air guitar with a broom, an awkward walk down some stairs – mixed with neat bits like the shot of a young actress in Elizabethan garb puffing away on a cigarette. The stuff with Sherrie (a real person who plays herself in the video) is confusing: she’s initially happy to see him, then seems sheepish, then laughing, then sheepish again. (Hmm, maybe she’s the problem in this relationship – give poor Steve some clearer signals, lady.) In the end, the couple united, Perry blows off the video shoot, leading to off-camera recriminations and possibly litigation, while the director goes on to become an even bigger dick who makes every set a horror show until he finally returns to England and takes his rightful place in the House of Lords.

In a way, songs like “Oh Sherrie” are the most fun, because they don’t need context to be appreciated. I can’t remember the last time I encountered it in the wild, but if I heard it in a retail setting or a bar or even from a car driving by, I would be happier for the encounter, and would absolutely sing along for a moment before moving on to the next thing. Just a little blast of endorphins to give you a lift as you go about your day, like all the best pop music does. The “why” is never less important than in such moments.