Uploaded July 2019 | Updated September 2026, 4 hours ago
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"Plastic Fantastic Lover" by Jefferson Airplane
Curated by: Natalie Silver
Spotify: bit.ly/PlasticFantasticLoverJA
Genre: #psychedelicrock
I’m five minutes into cooling off period after a brutal shuffleboard loss at Kingfish...my hyper eyesight rapidly shifting from sticker to sticker on the graffitied wall, to the drink in my hands, and then back to that guy who looks just like my uncle--anything to avoid giving attention to the never-ending taunting from my obnoxious friends in their victory.
Neon strobing lights permeate my peripheral vision and my attention is seized by a jocular and vibrant electric jukebox--a gawdy ornament completely out of place in this dingy Oakland dive bar.
And then, 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 coincidence of the delivery hits me in the face and 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.
It is written brilliantly; he 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, sipping an Anchor Steam and briefly forgetting about my shuffleboard loss. I smirk at the screen...and I could swear she howls back at me in laughter.
Rock With This (http://rockwiththis.com) helps you discover your new favorite songs. We deliver the best of what's breaking and uncover the left behind tracks that need to be heard. Subscribe for more music, it's free. ;)
Follow us on:
Instagram: instagram.com/rockwiththismusic
Spotify: bit.ly/SPRockWithThis
SoundCloud: bit.ly/SCRockWithThis
Facebook: facebook.com/rockwiththis
-----------------------------
"Plastic Fantastic Lover" by Jefferson Airplane
Curated by: Natalie Silver
Spotify: bit.ly/PlasticFantasticLoverJA
Genre: #psychedelicrock
I’m five minutes into cooling off period after a brutal shuffleboard loss at Kingfish...my hyper eyesight rapidly shifting from sticker to sticker on the graffitied wall, to the drink in my hands, and then back to that guy who looks just like my uncle--anything to avoid giving attention to the never-ending taunting from my obnoxious friends in their victory.
Neon strobing lights permeate my peripheral vision and my attention is seized by a jocular and vibrant electric jukebox--a gawdy ornament completely out of place in this dingy Oakland dive bar.
And then, 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 coincidence of the delivery hits me in the face and 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.
It is written brilliantly; he 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, sipping an Anchor Steam and briefly forgetting about my shuffleboard loss. I smirk at the screen...and I could swear she howls back at me in laughter.
