1992: Ooooooohhh... On the TLC Tip, TLC
By Acamea Deadwiler
The Day Supergroup TLC Interrupted Our Apathy
My first concert was an outdoor music festival featuring several acts in my hometown of Gary, Indiana. But the only one I remember seeing that day was TLC. I remember them because I’d never seen anyone like them. The animated bravado, the candor, and the unapologetic nature of their presence captivated every pulse in attendance.
It wasn’t just that T-Boz, Left Eye, and Chilli had the audacity to flaunt neon condoms across their exteriors. It wasn’t only that they were draped in bold, wildly oversized clothing that hung below their waists and seemed to care nothing about being “ladylike.” It was the defiant enthusiasm with which they did so.
This was early TLC, when its members were likely in their most hungry and happy to be here phase. One of the best selling girl groups of all time was introducing themselves to the world with Oooooohhh... On the TLC Tip. The album’s vibrant cover accurately depicts the vitality of their live show.
The way Left Eye unleashed her distinctive flow on “Ain’t 2 Proud 2 Beg” while T-Boz and Chilli sang of sultry unmentionables demonstrated something I wouldn’t have for a long time. Something I’d never witnessed at age 13, certainly not among young women.
Weightlessness.
TLC emitted an aura of absolute liberation. Their whimsical passion overflowed to invigorate a city thirsty for exaltation.
I saw the group perform at Gilroy Stadium in Gary. The football field doubled as an event venue initially designed to hold 10,000 people. It was declared done in 1956 though space was cleared for an eight-lane running track and a parking lot that were both left unpaved. Plans for additional bleachers, restrooms, and concession stands never made it past the blueprints.
Still, the city’s symbol of hope was open for business and hosted everyone who was anyone in our small industrial town. There was a local talent competition in 1965, won by hometown kids, The Jackson 5. Even the great Stevie Wonder came through for a performance a few years later.
By 1993, however, Gary had gone the way of most other Rust Belt cities. Plants shut down. Businesses closed. Well-to-do families abandoned their homes as the region suffered from above average unemployment. Left behind were mostly desperate people motivated to take desperate measures.
Gary’s reputation as treacherous territory ballooned. Soon it would be named murder capital of the United States. We never expected anyone of note to bother with us.
Though what happens between tragedies is often exactly what sustains residents of towns like ours. It is carnivals, block parties and citywide picnics that offer breaks from melancholy under the weight of which we might otherwise crumble. Music festivals and celebrity appearances lift us up. Because if people who matter know we are here, maybe it means we matter, too.
What TLC brought into Gilroy defied ideas I’d developed about life—that it’s hard, dangerous, and everyone is angry. They seemed impossible. Even their rebellious musings during “Hat 2 da Back” appeared all in fun.
A bit of a teenage tomboy, hearing that song lifted me up. I was emboldened. Back home after the show, it made me rush to add Oooooohhh... On the TLC Tip as one of the eight CDs for a penny I would request from Columbia House Music Club.
The group’s choreography was impeccable. It wasn’t all standing on top of speakers and hopping around the stage. When they delivered a routine, each boot stomp and hip swivel happened in sync.
I was too young to know much about peer betrayal and knew nothing of the risqué romance TLC detailed. Yet, it didn’t matter. The music moved me because they moved me.
Even now, when I hear the breakdown before Left Eye’s second set of bars on “What About Your Friends,” my body can’t resist stirring. I see my adolescent self bouncing to the bass and must give the song at least a shoulder shimmy. I wasn’t the greatest dancer, but those three overpowered my inhibitions.
They overpowered many things. Whatever might be occurring outside the event seemed of little relevance. Because inside, there was magic—and we unlucky ones who felt fortunate on this day, got to hold it.
Gilroy also hosted a KKK rally in 2001, just as the decaying, still half-done site was set to be condemned. I suppose even a field of dreams can’t outgrow its environment. The best efforts of upstanding citizens could not derail the destructive train rolling through.
Today, the stadium sits in further ruin.
Overrun by untamed flora and marred by failing infrastructure, it’s even less than the underdeveloped version of the vision it became. Gilroy serves as a quintessential reminder of the lesson our community learned early and often. Most promises go unfulfilled. But if we can make do with what we have, we may steal moments where it feels like enough.
Decades later I can recall breathing careless air that floated about concertgoers the day TLC demonstrated for us joy as a form of resistance. I remember walking across the green grass and planting myself atop unforgiving bleachers—bearing witness to both the performance and those absorbing its energy.
I caught a glimpse of my mother and her sisters daring to be happy. Out loud. They laughed from their bellies and twirled from their souls. They hugged themselves and each other, swaying along to “Baby-Baby-Baby.” These astounding women, figures of resilience forsaken by the fathers of their children, got to be soft. They got to be filled with the self-assurance T-Boz and Chilli instilled in singing “Cause a girl like me / I won't stand for less.”
No one spoke of their overdue light bills or neighborhood nightmares.
Local OGs like my uncle wearing his leather motorcycle vest with no shirt underneath and bootcut jeans bobbed their heads to the rhythm of songs that belonged to a generation they probably didn’t understand. Small children ran around in circles, screaming and giggling with no regard for the racket. Kids remembered they were kids and weary humans laid their burdens down and people got to see how they might look in the light and I thought for a second that maybe dreams do come true because I believe we all saw a waterfall we might wish to chase that night.
Like the stadium that held it on that day, our joy was left unfinished. We would go back to our uninspiring agendas and perpetual challenges. But for at least 20 or so minutes, everything was alright. The old felt young, and the young felt free.
References
https://www.chicagotribune.com/news/ct-xpm-1994-01-03-9401030009-story.html
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gary,_Indiana
Acamea Deadwiler received critical acclaim from Publishers Weekly for her self-published book, Single That. Her work has been featured by KNPR’s Desert Companion Magazine, Cosmopolitan, Bellevue Literary Review, and Beyond Words Literary Magazine. Residing in Nevada, Acamea is an MFA Fellow at Randolph College.