We start off with the band onstage in what looks like a cross between a fancy nightclub, a Chinese Buffet and a bordello. There are lots of people off to one side, lounging around in the V.I.P. area of the buffet, with the women all dressed like unfocused hookers. (So much for not objectifying women, eh? Oh wait, just look at the album cover.) There’s one woman in particular that we are supposed to pay attention to, because the camera keeps doing so. She’s got pale-white, baby-doll skin and enough frizzy white hair to fuel Amsterdam for a month.

Hold up, was that Eric Roberts sitting in a throne-like chair and wearing a bathrobe? That can’t be good.

Lead singer Brandon finally starts singing, and he makes sure that we can see his snazzy threads, a mix of Willy Wonka and David Bowie going to church. Then we have another shot of Eric, and a shot of Frizzy Hair looking bored because she doesn’t have a gentleman that she can straddle while all of her little slut friends do such. Suddenly, Eric throws her an apple, which she happily snatches out of the air with uncontrolled lust.

Frizzy is now inspired to start pawing on a few of the gentleman callers, which in turn inspires her little slut friends to up the ante with their provocative poses and thigh-exposure. It’s suddenly very hot in there as people yearn and stretch and wiggle their tongues. Brandon keeps singing about not wanting to see all this mess, but it doesn’t stop him from looking. He might have some unresolved personal demons.

Eric throws another apple at Frizzy (did he bring a basket of them?), since she apparently isn’t being trashy enough. Frizzy gets back to work with her latching on to old men while Eric sweats and smiles. (Like he’s not creepy enough when he’s dry.) I’m just guessing here, but there appears to be an overall vibe that Brandon is not impressed with Frizzy humping everything in sight. Why he’s not impressed is unclear, what with this being a vintage bordello and all, but perhaps Brandon misunderstood the mechanics of an establishment where rich men plunk down disposable income with the intent of sub-leasing an orifice or two.

Oh wait, Frizzy and Brandon have now run behind a convenient curtain, and they seem to have reunited and it feels so good, so I don’t know why Brandon is still even singing this song. Hmm. We’ll have to figure that out later because, based on some signal that I must have missed, all the slut girls dismount from their aging partners and head out to the dance floor.

Once there, the harlots start doing some choreography that mostly involves twirling without letting their massive hairdos unravel or their body paint to start flaking off in a rude manner. (Patrons of Red-Light Emporiums generally do not care for airborne effluvia, unless they purchased the “Jazz Hands” package.) Whoops, the Ladies of the Evening just lifted their tawdry dresses so we can see their barely-clad crotches. Then they do the same with their hind quarters. Apparently you don’t really have any status in this place unless you advertise your accessibility.

We get a quick shot of the patiently-waiting but as yet unattended gentleman callers in the V.I.P. lounge, with their angst at not being immediately serviced clearly evident. (Most of these men are old and decaying, which would explain the Hesitance of the Harlots, but there is one dewy youngster among the waiting cavalcade. He looks exactly like LeAnn Rimes, which is perhaps the oddest thing about this odd video.)

Anyway, while the Slut Dancers finish up waving their love boxes, we cut to an outside balcony where Brandon hooks up with Frizzy again. They clench hands romantically for 3 seconds, and then Frizzy runs back inside and hops on Eric’s lap. Frizzy really needs to make up her mind. To be fair, maybe she can’t see with all that hair, so she’s sleeping with everybody just to make sure she gets around to her real boyfriend at some point.

Well, it seems Frizzy can’t keep her eyes off Brandon even while she’s riding Eric, a distracting element that Eric really can’t ignore, so he throws her to the ground in a rather dramatic dismount. (Don’t worry, her hair cushioned her fall and she’s just fine.) The director throws in a pointless montage of debauchery to lengthen the running time of the video, but a few scenes later we have Frizzy meeting up with Brandon in yet another secluded area of this apparently mammoth bordello. They fondle each other with unregulated (and unpaid for) lust, possibly rekindling whatever fire they once had, but we have some serious trust issues with Frizzy and her wantonness. There are still a few men hanging around that she hasn’t sampled.

And there she goes, snagging up yet another beau so they can do a sexual tango in some ballroom, which quickly morphs into Frizzy and Brandon dancing, then back to Frizzy and Alejandro, then Frizzy and Eric, then back to… oh, who cares. Lots of people are dancing, that’s all you really need to know.

The Waltz of the Multiple Personalities goes on for a bit, with absolutely no resolution so I’m not sure what the point was, then we’re once again on that outside balcony, where it’s now daylight and Brandon is clutching Frizzy, who has managed to find another outfit, probably borrowed from that odd LeAnn Rimes boygirl.

Aw hell, here come the Slut Dancers again, hooking it out to the dance floor even though you know they’ve got to be tired by now. This time they are even more invested in showing us their personal jewelry collections and flashing their underwear at the Peanut Gallery. Some of them even hold one foot over their heads while belching the words of the chorus with their hoo-hoos. It’s really inspiring.

Cut to Eric and Brandon playing chess, because that’s exactly what I would do in the middle of a Chinese Bordello Buffet. I guess Brandon’s not a really good sport, because when he realizes that he’s going to lose he knocks the table over and stomps away in a little snit, while Eric licks his lips and sweats some more.

We end the song with a whirl of images. We have gauzy scenes of a couple getting married but we really can’t see their faces. (If any of the guys are marrying any of the girls up in this place, they better get a pre-nup.) Shots of Brandon and Frizzy having a tender moment, even though we know she’s only resting before she couples with the next man who walks into the place, even if he just needs directions to Wal-Mart. She’ll offer him the bonus plan.

Final shot is of Brandon walking away and leaving little Frizzy, bereft and all alone with just her raging libido and insatiable hair to keep her company. Poor thing. Oh wait, someone else just came through the door. Yay!

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Originally posted in Backup Dancers From Hell.