Goonies never die. In the case of Corey Feldman, they simply grow into misunderstood "goons." Goons with bands, even.
Corey and his hopefully named Truth Movement were in town for a Back Booth extravaganza that would rival an ingrown toenail for sheer novelty. He has survived (and I mean that in a breathing sense) childhood celebrity and an attached-at-the-hip phase with the other Corey, Corey Haim. "He still calls," Feldman reveals, "always wanting to restart some kind of revival."
Yikes! Corey Feldman is cresting on his angry young man (30, actually) peak, and lashing out with rock & roll at the world that both made and destroyed him.
So, what does that sound like?
"From what most people tell me," Corey placates, obviously placated, "it's definitely got a sound all its own. It's very unique in the sense that it blends many, many different styles, sounds and variations together in one that becomes the sound that it is."
Oh, genius. So, it's sort of an outside-to-in situation, then. I begin to ramble some psycho-philosophical babble regarding context dictating text in terms of Hollywood malaise, only it comes out as, "So it wouldn't be like a mouse making a scream, but more of a scream making the mouse."
"Right," he sighs. "It's just that I feel that it must be innovative. And I can't really do it any other way. I mean, what I do is what I do."
Sure. Um, remind me exactly what it is you do do.
"It's the way that I interpret things," he continues, oblivious. "And the way I do it may be kind of off, but that's OK because it's the way that I do things."
So you're basically relying on the charisma that has become the Corey Feldman brand?
"There you go."
Everybody feels like they already know you. You're their favorite Goonie.
Short of Chunk that is.
"Right," he coughs, switching subjects. "[My music] has been compared to Frank Zappa, it's been compared to Peter Gabriel, it's been compared to Pink Floyd. For me, it's just what I do."
What you and Rick Springfield do, actually. In some Momentary Lapse of Reason on the Dark Side of the Moon, Messieurs Feldman and Springfield decided to hole up and, um, collaborate. Musically, even.
"We did a film together for the Sci-Fi Channel," he creeps. "I was so excited to work with him because he was one of my childhood heroes. We started talking about the idea of writing a song together. And we both decided that it would only make sense to write about something that we've both been through.
"We have this similar kind of label on both of our lives," he labels on. "Sort of a former teen star, teen icon or whatever you want. [The song] came out as 'Former Child Actor.'"
Only it hasn't come out at all, yet. Which to me, fresh from listening to a "promo only" burning of said reverse-loop-angst-grumble-nightmare, means there's still time to stop it. Please.
Frank Zappa's dissonance was a symphony of antipathy, layered with streams of urban angst and a big nose. Feldman Springfield, as I now like to call them (sort of like Buffalo Springfield, but starring Feldman as the wheezing bison), is more of an itch in a spoiled brat's throat.
"You know, there's tons of criticism," he understates. "But at the same time you walk the balance with that. I mean, there's so many people that are such die-hard fans that so love you ..."
Who? Not Michael Jackson. Corey has written a song called "Megalo Man" to snipe back at his fey-voiced, former strange bedfellow. You'll remember that Corey went through a period where, in fact, he was Michael Jackson, greasing up and going all "Bad" in black leather. They were friends then.
"What happened was, Michael and I had gotten in a large fight on Sept. 10," recounts Feldman about his Sept. 11 feud with the most ridiculous pop star in history. "Which was basically derived from a paranoid delusion."
What's a Michael Jackson fight like?
"It's like that Eddie Murphy skit," he cackles. 'I'm gonna kick you ass!'"
Anyway, Feldman was reportedly refused entrance to the Jackson family Escape From New York bus, and he set about rattling on to the press about how Michael isn't what he seems. Which begs the question, exactly what does he seem?
Still, Corey gets a little hot under the collar on the subject and continues a lengthy diatribe on fallen icons and triumphs of the human spirit.
"I'm not trying to jump down your throat here," he finally wheezes.
"But you're certainly welcome to," I flirt.
"Bring it on," he cats.
It's already brought-on, I cheer to myself and ask about his bad-boy rep.
"I don't know why that is," he spins. "I mean, I slept with strippers, I did drugs, but I never did anything 'bad' to anybody else. If anything, I've only been bad to myself."