Before you dive into this festival of paragraphs, you should know that back in April of this year, I was simply going to limit myself to telling the story of my first encounter—and later reunions—with a song by Susanna Hoffs, performed by her alongside the other members of The Bangles (Michael Steele, Vicki Peterson, and Debbi Peterson).

However, as the weeks went by—and as a series of life experiences and events that began with that song more than two decades ago merged with the present—I found myself inspired to articulate a premise: The Hoffs Effect.

This “Effect” is the most fitting term I could come up with to understand and explain the sublime essence of Susanna Hoffs—an essence so powerful that it has even led me to write about her without ever having seen her in person (not even as part of an audience at one of her shows), and with only a few months of knowing she even existed.

Who is Susanna Hoffs?

To answer that question, I could have easily relied on the information available on Wikipedia or specialized websites I once consulted. Yes, I could have done that. But given the premise of this piece, doing so now would feel like a fraud.

So here it is:

Susanna Hoffs, born in California (United States), is a singer, guitarist, and songwriter, as well as a founding member and lead vocalist of The Bangles.

I’ve known that since April of this year. Before that, not only was I unaware of her existence—let alone her band—but I had also imagined her completely wrong and had no interest in finding out who she was. And yet, by the designs of God, fate, or the stars—depending on one’s beliefs—her name, image, and voice have since become a constant and very special presence in my life.

I would even dare to illustrate it by quoting The Beatles: “Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes.” Yes… just like that.

Susanna Hoffs’ signature appears on one of the limited-edition Rickenbacker guitars.

Over these past months, most of what I’ve learned about the California-born artist has come purely by chance.

Posts related to her solo career and/or The Bangles, anecdotes, dates, concert reviews—content has simply appeared before my eyes on social media. Among those discoveries was the fact that Susanna Hoffs has also appeared in film.

In fact, I vaguely remember once seeing her name associated with the word “actress,” though I can’t recall where. What truly clarified it for me was an interview conducted by Lori Majewski on her show “Fierce: Women In Music” on SiriusXM. That’s where I learned that Hoffs appeared in the Austin Powers trilogy, directed by Jay Roach—who also happens to be her husband (a detail I later confirmed via her tweet from August 21).

There, portraying the character Gillian Shagwell, Susanna Hoffs shared the screen with Mike Myers and Matthew Sweet as part of the band Ming Tea, with whom they had previously performed live.

And since I’ve mentioned Matthew Sweet, it’s impossible not to highlight that he and Susanna Hoffs have recorded outstanding covers together—among them “Different Drum,” “Killer Queen,” “Care Of Cell 44,” and “Run To Me.” I was instantly hooked when I came across them at the beginning of my journey into Hoffs’ music.

When I noticed the “Vol. 2” label on the CD cover shown in the YouTube video for “Killer Queen,” I already suspected there had to be a previous album—and possibly others—but that was as far as my knowledge went at the time.

Then, a few weeks ago on Twitter, Patrick Hemming—host of “Deep Dives” on DailyBoom.net—let me know that there are actually three albums. This came after he replied to my comment on a tweet by Cate Meighan asking: “What are your favorite duets or collaborations?”

I had mentioned two Hoffs & Sweet covers (“Different Drum” and “Killer Queen”), and minutes later, Hemming replied: “They (Hoffs and Sweet) have 3 fabulous duet albums covering the ‘60s, ‘70s, and ‘80s.”

As for Susanna Hoffs’ solo career, before diving deeper, I must confess: I’ve been mesmerized by almost every song I’ve heard so far—especially “Always Enough” (I’ll explain why later).

In addition to that track, songs like “Raining” and “Picture Me,” as well as her covers of “You Were On My Mind” and “Never My Love,” are truly outstanding. About the latter—also very special—I’m not even sure whether it appears on any album; I only discovered it recently through a live performance video that unexpectedly appeared on my YouTube feed.

So yes, I dare say that talking about Susanna Hoffs as part of The Bangles certainly means talking about musical hits—including the song I love, the one that brought me here—along with powerful performances and pure adrenaline.

But referring to her as a solo artist? That’s truly on another level.

Anyway, those are my tastes.

As a solo artist, Susanna Hoffs has a rich and fascinating catalog of songs, including Ragtag versions and captivating acoustic arrangements, among others.

Until recently, I didn’t even know how many albums she had released. But there is one in particular—“Someday”—whose songs I’ve explored one by one, and it is genuinely brilliant… as brilliant as the previous ones and—surely—as the one yet to come.

A new Susanna Hoffs album?

Yes.

I only found out about it a few days ago—and yes, it came with a bit of embarrassment. A literal “please let the ground swallow me whole” moment.

Because last year, specifically on April 27, Susanna Hoffs announced on Twitter that she had started recording her new album. Then, on June 6, she posted a video—also on Twitter—showing part of the creative process behind this new production.

I caught up with all of that thanks to Ethan (@EthanSVG), whom I affectionately began calling “my #JediMaster”—a passionate and incredibly knowledgeable fan of Susanna Hoffs and The Bangles. He is also one of the wonderful members of what I call the “Bangles Super Family,” which I will inevitably talk about later.

This upcoming release would be Susanna Hoffs’ fourth solo album. I deduced that because, on the morning of August 18, I saw Ethan reply to my question about it: “Sue (Susanna Hoffs) has only released three solo albums. Her most recent one was Someday.”

What Else Does Susanna Hoffs Do?

Definitely, if instead of writing I had ventured into illustrating Susanna Hoffs, the result would have been a true box of surprises.

Because beyond believing that Susanna Hoffs works magic through music—because of what happened to me with one of her songs more than 20 years ago and everything I have experienced from then until now—I never imagined that the line “I like to make things” in her social media bios (Twitter and Instagram) was also referring to her gifts in other arts, such as literature, for example.

Twitter: @SusannaHoffs / Instagram: @susannahoffsofficial

And yes, it’s true. Besides being a founding member of a successful band, singing, writing songs, creating and participating in wonderful covers, playing guitar—and surely other instruments—and appearing in film, Susanna Hoffs writes books as well.

I learned this from Ethan’s previously mentioned tweet:
“Sue is also working on an album and a book.”

But it didn’t stop there.

Because this other facet of Hoffs genuinely surprised me, I decided to ask Ethan for more information. He replied: “I wish I knew more about Sue’s new book!”—also revealing that it was a novel rather than an autobiography.

I admit it: learning that Susanna Hoffs is also a writer left a small thorn of curiosity in me.

So some time later, I took advantage of another conversation with Ethan to dig a little deeper into the subject.

Honestly, I didn’t ask much—just whether this was her first book.

The wise fan not only told me yes, but also added that the lead voice of The Bangles had written other literary works that had simply not been published.

In the middle of all this, I remembered that Susanna Hoffs’ website had been my launching pad toward her social media.

How did I not realize back then that Hoffs also had writing talent? I asked myself.

Because on that site there is a section called “Thoughts,” where small yet substantial reflections live—on music, art, independence, ageism, and lifestyle.

Those texts are written in the first person, making it obvious that Hoffs herself is the one behind them.

(www.susannahoffs.com) I’m still not entirely sure whether it is Susanna Hoffs’ official portal or a site dedicated to her, but it certainly feels like a direct extension of her artistic mind.

And Speaking of Art…

To capture both the screenshot and the review of the “Thoughts” section on Susanna Hoffs’ website, of course I had to revisit it.

And I confess that, besides being unable to resist the urge to explore it again, I absolutely loved reconnecting with those “thoughts” about art.

That text gave me the chance to intuit that hidden within Hoffs’ “I like to make things” might also be present-day actions such as painting on canvas, drawing, dancing, and perhaps even sculpting.

So yes, it becomes clear that it would be very difficult to imagine Susanna Hoffs ever being bored.

In fact, in addition to everything Hoffs is concretely doing, she must have already been rehearsing—or about to start rehearsing—for her upcoming performance with The Bangles at KAABOO Del Mar 2019, scheduled for September 15 in San Diego.

And regarding that event, it’s impossible not to mention that all four original Bangles would be on stage: Susanna Hoffs, Vicki Petterson, Debbi Peterson y Annette Zilinskas.

I learned that last detail from Hoffs’ own voice during her interview on “Fierce: Women In Music.”

The four original Bangles would be together at KAABOO Del Mar 2019.

What Is Susanna Hoffs Like?

As with the previous questions, the most fitting way to answer this one would have been to research reviews by other writers—or, in the best possible scenario, to find myself face to face with Susanna Hoffs and strike up a conversation.

That last possibility, of course, feels nearly impossible because she doesn’t even know I exist.

And yet, discovering what Susanna Hoffs is like—through the lens of my premise—has become utterly fascinating. It has been a journey in which I have encountered everything from the superficial, the neutral, and the interesting to the genuinely funny and deeply moving, through texts, photos, videos, and audio.

And the best part of all this is that it has happened much like 98% of everything shared here: without actively searching for it.

The material has simply appeared before me. I read it, watch it, listen to it, analyze it, and trust my intuition.

The remaining 2% belongs to what I intentionally researched when I first learned of Susanna Hoffs’ existence, along with the necessary questions I had to ask in order to support the information.

Honestly, it has been wonderful.

For example, there is the experience of perceiving Susanna Hoffs across different eras of fame: as a Bangle in the ‘80s, as a solo artist in the ‘90s, again as a Bangle in the early 2000s, and as both solo artist and Bangle in more recent years up to the present day.

Naturally, like everything else, each of those eras carries its own distinct essence.

But there has been one factor that is definitely charming: how profoundly human Susanna Hoffs comes across.

With the exception of the ‘80s, it has been mesmerizing to perceive her as so simple and grounded, without the dramatic wardrobe displays or striking eccentricities that are often common among music stars and celebrities.

Susanna Hoffs is simply herself—her voice, her guitar, et voilà.

And though I am by no means a human behavior analyst, something about Susanna Hoffs suggests authenticity, restraint, and humility. That last quality is also reflected in how removed she seems from any manifestation of ego that might overshadow the supremacy of her true message: the music.

Even when referring to the ‘80s—the golden decade she shared with the other three Bangles—it is striking to watch a fully punk Susanna Hoffs on stage, electrifying thousands of people and almost bewitching the camera lens.

But the moment the microphones are no longer there for singing and playing guitar, she becomes something entirely different.

I honestly don’t know whether it comes from shyness or from the California-born artist simply not liking to speak much in front of cameras, but it’s one of those details that has made me smile and even pull a “wtf?” face.

Yes, it’s a curious thing, and I truly hope that someday I’ll be able to understand it better—along with other aspects of Hoffs in her Bangle form, across all her eras of fame, that have strengthened my intuition regarding ego, humility, self-control, and tolerance in moments of hostility.

On another note, it is impossible not to mention Hoffs’ activity on social media.

It comes in drops, yes, and through very simple posts, but they are soaked in kindness, charm, and even a delightful sense of wit.

In that sense, certain posts deserve to be remembered—such as that Instagram photo where she wrote, “One must have good posture when one is a head shorter than the rest,” referring to the other Bangles.

Or on Twitter, the image of her first lamp meme.

Or the more recent one featuring her in an outfit overflowing with feathers.

As for that first post, I got a lovely clue directly from Susanna Hoffs herself about her height: she belongs to the club of those of us who are not especially tall.

Still on the subject of social media, another aspect that should never be overlooked is Hoffs’ interaction with her fans and followers.

In my case, up until now, I haven’t received a comment, retweet, or little “heart” from Susanna Hoffs on any of my posts related to her—or on any of my mentions on Twitter or Instagram, which are the platforms I use the most.

And honestly, that hasn’t upset me at all, because I understand that she must receive countless mentions every day, and responding one by one would take forever.

However, I have seen evidence that Susanna Hoffs does interact with her audience on social media.

I would even dare say that her treatment of fans—both online and offline—has remained spotless, because so far I have never read anything negative.

Instead, what I find are accounts that point toward positive qualities and even active defense of her.

For example, in conversations with Christopher (@Christo40822057), another one of the wonderful people who make up the “Super Bangles Family,” I learned that Susanna Hoffs is vegetarian and practices the Jewish faith.

There was one day when I joked with him that Hoffs might end up hating me because I am not at all veggie and because my mentions to her are full of magic and crazy things.

Christopher’s response completely destroyed that possibility:

“Susanna Hoffs is very respectful and doesn’t get offended by different beliefs.”

Thanks to an image of a magazine page Christopher shared with me, I learned not only that Susanna Hoffs is vegetarian, but also other fascinating facts about The Bangles.

And on another occasion, precisely involving Hoffs’ tweet with the feather-heavy outfit, Christopher had commented with a photo in which the protagonist of this story appears with a cigarette in her mouth.

I replied to Christopher with a little piece of “advice” aimed at her:

“Please, don’t smoke.”

Later, it was wonderful to read the responses:

“What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s just a prop, so relax, okay?”

…along with clarifications explaining that Susanna Hoffs doesn’t smoke, has never smoked, and was simply joking in that photo.

Susanna Hoffs’ fans don’t just defend her. They truly know her. And that makes them wonderful fans.

On the other hand, it would be impossible not to mention another of the traits that characterizes Susanna Hoffs: her sensitivity.

Together with everything else already described, I have felt this very strongly in two of the most recent interviews she has given.

I’m referring to the interview by Samantha Balaban for NPR (How Prince Worked His Magic on The Bangles’ “Manic Monday”) and the already mentioned conversation with Lori Majewski for SiriusXM.

In the first one, around the 6:13 mark, there is a moment when Hoffs’ voice begins to crack. She pushes through, but several seconds later, another break inevitably turns into tears.

As for the second interview, it moves at a very different rhythm, yes—but with an emotional charge that is equally mesmerizing.

It becomes evident through her voice: a fluid discourse that, on several occasions, is interrupted not only by stammers, repeated words, and laughter, but also by breaths drawn through the mouth that suggest an honest, almost childlike joy.

Because of all this, I would dare affirm that Susanna Hoffs is a woman who fuses talent and professionalism with exceptional human warmth.

Of course, I understand that Hoffs is not the only artist in the world with that kind of profile.

And I certainly haven’t been writing about her while pretending to be her number one fan, because the truth is—I’m not.

I genuinely cannot consider myself a fan of Susanna Hoffs.

And the reason is that the word fan reminds me of myself, for example, in the middle of a crowd screaming and singing along at Alanis Morissette’s first concert in Venezuela in 1999…

Or crying inconsolably because I couldn’t attend Michael Jackson’s 1993 concert in Venezuela, which in the end was canceled.

And yes, I cried over that too.

With Susanna Hoffs, it is something completely different.

Something, in fact, higher—grounded in respect and admiration.

It’s not that I didn’t feel something similar for Morissette and Jackson.

But with Susanna Hoffs, it is definitely something else—something I have dared to translate as The Hoffs Effect.

What Is the Hoffs Effect?

As I explained in the opening paragraphs of this piece, the Hoffs Effect is the most fitting term I could conceive to understand and explain the sublime essence of Susanna Hoffs—that presence that slipped into the 1980s amid so much punk rock, continues to do so, and goes far beyond her physical beauty, performance, or even her wonderful voice.

I mean energy, magic, something mystical present in Susanna Hoffs’ songs that not only makes you instantly connect with them, but also somehow infiltrates your soul and remains there in silence, like a rogue slipping through the shadows of the night, yet in the end, still there and doing something.

In that sense—and from the standpoint of objectivity—this makes me quote a phrase my mother regularly says:

“It’s not the quantity, but the quality.”

Proof of that is how, in just a few minutes more than twenty years ago, one of Susanna Hoffs’ songs marked my life forever.

At the time, I had no idea it was Susanna Hoffs. Truthfully, I knew nothing about her—not her name, much less that she even existed, or that she had co-written the song that once made me question my own sanity.

Only a few months ago—specifically in April—not only did I have the chance to reunite with that song and remember how deeply I love it, but I also discovered that the person who made it possible has created many more songs capable of producing emotions and sensations as indescribable as the one I first heard in the mid-1990s.

And so, the Hoffs Effect was born.

If it sounds somewhat like the Mozart Effect, it is because the word effect indeed came to mind after recalling the studies that affirm the many benefits of listening to classical pieces composed by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

I’m aware that this may sound irrational, but in the end, I am not comparing Mozart’s classical compositions with Susanna Hoffs’ songs. Even more so because—as Ethan informed me—Hoffs enjoys working with co-writers.

As for that, it is public knowledge. One only needs to search for any of Hoffs’ songs online and go to the credits to see that her name indeed shares a line with one or more other people.

All of this could even tear down my theory, especially taking into account the song that brought me here. But no.

The reason is that even though Susanna Hoffs does not write her songs alone—which would imply a shared magic—and it is not always clear whether she is the original spark behind every lyric, each of her songs, including the covers, contains something supra-special.

Thus, Hoffs’ musical pieces go far beyond being hits and/or simply another one of those “beautiful songs” that move people, or another “wonderfully catchy tune.”

What the California artist has done—and continues to do—with music could even be considered a mystical experience.

I have been able to confirm this not only through my own personal case, but also through online reviews from users around the world, and even more validly, through the answers I received from several relatives and friends to support this publication.

But before I get to that, it is time to reveal what initially made my fingers dance across my laptop keyboard—and even over the strings of my guitar.

What Happened to Me with One of Susanna Hoffs’ Songs

Without a doubt, the series of events framed by confusion, emotion, frustration, and countless I-don’t-know-whats that I began experiencing more than two decades ago with one of Susanna Hoffs’ songs brings to mind one of the passages from On Heroes and Tombs by Argentine writer Ernesto Sabato.

And it’s no wonder.

In previous paragraphs, I not only revealed that I didn’t know of Susanna Hoffs’ existence, but also that I had imagined her incorrectly, had no interest in knowing who she was, and much less thought I might ever come face to face with her work.

Yet by divine will, fate, or the stars—depending on one’s beliefs—since one night in April of this year, her name, image, and voice have remained specially present in my life.

I – The Genesis

I first heard that song sometime between 1995 and 1996, while waiting for my mother in her car.

I remember it was an afternoon on the way home from my mother’s office when we stopped at a courthouse because she had an errand there. She is a criminal lawyer.

Back then, I was already in the habit of drawing abstract things in a notebook especially dedicated to “my art,” which I always carried with me.

That day—while waiting in the car—I took out the notebook, the pencil, and immersed myself in my thing.

In the middle of it, I turned on the radio and kept drawing.

But it didn’t take long before I stopped my pencil, turned my gaze toward the radio, and became completely hooked.

It feels as if it were yesterday.

~Orchestration + voices~
“Say my name sometimes to the rain”
—that was what I understood because my English was at extremely basic levels.

I turned up the volume.

And there I stayed, eyes closed, trying to follow the lyrics while the melody, the voice, the singer’s high notes, the choir, the piano, the violins, the guitar entrances, and the POMP-POMP of the percussion felt as though they were strangling my heart.

The song ended, and I turned off the radio.

I quickly flipped to the last pages of my notebook to write down what had stayed with me from the song:

“Close your eyes keep me your hand darling”
“Do you feel my heart piren”

…plus the line above.

I was exhausted, as if I had just finished a session of roller skating in the street.

I closed the notebook with the pencil inside, placed my hands over its cover, settled back into the car seat, and stayed watching people walk by while inside me there reigned an enormous I-don’t-know-what, something I could translate as deep unrest.

I confess something similar had happened to me as a child with Canon in D by Johann Pachelbel and Carmina Burana by Carl Orff, but never had I experienced something so suffocating—and certainly not from a small song that intuition told me was a love song.

II – The Odyssey with “Close Your Eyes”

Failed Attempts

I don’t know how much time passed, but I returned to reality when my mother opened the car door.

And whatever my face or expression looked like, before starting the car she stared at me with concern and asked what was wrong.

Truthfully, I don’t remember what I answered, but I do remember hiding from her that I was like this because of a song on the radio.

Even though I have always hated lying and have always felt the need to tell my mother everything, that time I chose to make the song something of my own—my secret.

So much so that I didn’t even tell my father, who was a musician.

Throughout the ride home, the song would not stop echoing in my head.

And I began devising ways to hear it again.

For some reason, I mentally placed that song among the classics of the 1960s or 1970s.

I assumed it was by The Carpenters, ABBA, or Olivia Newton-John—someone from those decades.

And as if that were not enough, I was certain the title of the song was “Close Your Eyes.”

So when I got home, I searched through my parents’ cassettes and vinyl records from the ’60s and ’70s to see if “Close Your Eyes” was among them.

Nothing.

No trace of it.

It was frustrating, truly.

So I thought of “a safe route”: calling radio stations to request the song.

I must have done that two or three times because whenever I asked them to please play the song “Close Your Eyes,” the person on the other end of the line would immediately ask in confusion:

“Which one?”
followed by
“By whom?”

Obviously, I would go blank because I didn’t know.

I even requested it from live retro bands at restaurants and nightspots.

Nothing.

I confess I even came to think the song had been a product of my imagination.

Time passed.

“I Wasn’t Crazy”

One day between 1998 and 1999, I was trying to catch Torn by Natalie Imbruglia on the radio.

Yes—trying to catch it—with a cassette already inside the stereo, waiting for me to press Play + Rec together to work the magic of recording it.

I was tuned to my favorite radio station in Maracay.

While waiting for that Natalie masterpiece, every time a song I didn’t particularly like began, I would move the dial to hear something else.

And then, in one of those moments—BOOM!

The unexpected happened.

“Close Your Eyes” was playing.

I immediately hit Play + Rec.

I could not believe it.

The song did exist, and therefore I was not crazy.

Obviously, I had not recorded the full song, but it had already been immortalized on a cassette. What joy!

I have no idea how many times I listened to it that day because I even re-recorded it several times onto another cassette.

I also decided to transcribe the song the way my English “decoded” it, with things like:

“do you feel my heart piren”
“Ema only dreaming”
“I believe ismins to be darling”
“Awashuwen you aslipin”
“Say ma name sunshines to the rain nojo life sonlonly”

Yes, exactly that terrible, I know.

But at that point, nothing else mattered anymore.

I had finally managed to have the song, and it became the main feature of “my concerts” in the bedroom and living room of my home.

Time passed once again.

When the Longing and Frustration Were Rekindled

By the time I was in college, my fandom for Alanis Morissette had evolved to higher levels, as had my admiration for other singers and bands, while “Close Your Eyes” lay forgotten in those cassettes I never listened to again.

However, in the early years of the new millennium, one day a group of friends and I gathered at one of their houses. After a while, as CDs were being swapped in and out, one with English-language songs started playing.

A few tracks went by and—BOOM!
“Close Your Eyes” started playing.

I remember turning toward the sound system. I may have even blurted out something like—“Damn!”

I immediately asked Giampiero Partipilo, my friend and host that night, which CD that was. He walked over to the stereo with me, took out the disc, and showed it to me.

The CD had “Baladas Pop Rock” (Pop Rock Ballads) written on it, and it was a burned copy—one of those pirated CDs sold on the street.

Some time later, when I went downtown with my mom and remembered that CD, we stopped at one of those street vendors who sold burned discs. I asked the man if he had one called “Baladas Pop Rock” He said yes, we bought it, and continued on our way.

That CD didn’t include a tracklist, so on the way home, a sense of anticipation took over me.

When I got home, I put the CD into my stereo, went through every track… and “Close Your Eyes” never played.

What a disaster!

In the end, the CD wasn’t bad at all—I still have it. I imagine it must have been a different edition of the one I heard at Giampiero’s house.

Time kept passing. And once again, I heard nothing of “Close Your Eyes”.

The Odyssey Almost Came to an End

Between 2009 and 2010, during a work trip by bus, and after watching the movie Twilight—also in a burned-disc version, by the way—one of my coworkers put on a DVD of music videos.

The disc started playing, but as always, there are people who want to talk, I like talking too, and so, to immerse myself in the conversation, I turned my body around and stopped looking at the screen located at the front of the bus aisle.

After a while, BOOM! “Close Your Eyes.”

It was obvious: the video for the song.

But not only did I have to swallow my excitement, I also had to stay attentive to the conversation because it was work-related. Damn!

The only thing I was able to see—and that remained in my mind—was a sepia tone on the screen.

Still, thank goodness the owner of the DVD was Israel Figueroa, a friend from that job, and I had the chance to ask him the favor of copying the disc for me.

A few days later, he handed me the copy.

What excitement!

But there was one detail that filled me with doubt: on the disc I saw the words “80s and 90s Videos.”

Huh? And where are the 60s and 70s? Could it be that Isra made a mistake?

Something like that must have been what my inner voice said.

When he left my office, and even though I was in the middle of my “work show,” I inserted the DVD into the computer to take a quick look, and in none of the titles did I see “Close Your Eyes.”

What a tragedy!

I have kept that DVD Israel gave me as if it were a gem—and now, with even more reason, of course.

Time passed once again.

And once more, there was no trace of “Close Your Eyes”.

III – It Wasn’t “Close Your Eyes” After All

A decade later—specifically during the first days of April this year—I was working one of my online jobs from home late at night.

In the middle of that session, I urgently needed to activate a mini music therapy session.

I put on the emoji headphones my mother gave me, opened YouTube, and the first thing that came to mind was “if i could change the world.”

I typed it in.

Eric Clapton started playing.

And in the middle of that festival of hits—BOOM!

“Close Your Eyes” began.

But this reunion was unlike all the previous ones.

The music started, but I didn’t realize anything until I heard:

“Close your eeeeyyyyyesss…”

My right hand let go of the mouse.

My left lifted from the keyboard.

For a few seconds I stared above the laptop screen while once again feeling that I-don’t-know-what in my chest extending into my head—and even making me want to cry.

I pressed the magical Alt + Tab.

And there it was.

At last.

I was face to face with the song—and with the people who had made it.

But it wasn’t easy to digest.

First, because I saw the song was not called “Close Your Eyes” but Eternal Flame.

Second, because since I had sworn it belonged to The Carpenters, ABBA, Olivia, or someone from the ’60s or ’70s, seeing four modern-looking women made me think it was a cover.

So, I typed “close your eyes eternal flame” into the YouTube search bar.

The result: “The Bangles – Eternal Flame.”

I clicked, and yes—it was indeed the song that had captivated me in the mid-’90s.

And yet, despite the sepia hue already immortalized in my memory, I initially thought the video was some kind of satire set to the song because—again—in my mind, the imagery had always belonged to people from the ’60s or ’70s, never anything from the ’80s.

Damn.

The video’s aesthetic, the unmistakable eighties melodrama, the hairstyles.

What is this?!

It was time to ask “my great friend” Google for help.

So I opened another window.

In the browser bar, I typed “eternal flame the bangles,” and after pressing Enter—BOOM!

Yes, that was the band—whose existence I had been completely unaware of until that very moment—and there were the song’s lyrics.

Back on YouTube, I watched the gloriously eighties music video once again, followed by the more colorful one—the version I had stumbled upon at first—which I later learned came from Return to Bangleonia, a Bangles performance from the 2000s.

I lost count of how many times I hit replay while tears soaked my face.

So yes, it is a fact that that April night was utterly magnificent.

That April night became the atmosphere of my odyssey’s happy ending, complete with an unexpected dose of cultural discovery.

That April night made me remember—and confirm—just how deeply I love that song, the one I had called “Close Your Eyes” for so many years.

That April night handed me a treasure map leading toward something even more wonderful.

IV — The Sublime Essence of Susanna Hoffs

First impression: “She’s an Eternal Punk Girl!”

Over the following days, I obviously couldn’t stop listening to Eternal Flame.

The moment I sat down at my computer to work, I would open YouTube and hit play. Eventually, I no longer even needed the search bar because among the YouTube Mix videos, the Return to Bangleonia performance had already risen to the top of the list.

At the time of writing this section, that was exactly what my YouTube home screen looked like. These days, however, I already have my own playlists: one devoted to Hoffs—Susanna Hoffs (Solo – The Bangles – Matthew Sweet – Prince)—and another dedicated to the band: The Bangles “Return to Bangleonia” (the full concert, plus each song individually).

Whenever the song ended—and I didn’t hit replay, of course—other The Bangles tracks would follow. And there I was, going about my things, headphones on, listening to the band that had truly hooked me.

Even more so when I would pause to glance at the screen and reassure myself that yes, I was still with the same women—the rockers of The Bangles.

Among the songs I went through, I became fascinated with Ride the Ride, If She Knew What She Wants, Manic Monday, I Will Take Care of You, and Walk Like an Egyptian, which led me to look up the lyrics so I could stay better in tune with these “new songs” and avoid another “Close Your Eyes” situation.

The journalist in me did not limit herself to simply following the lyrics while the video played in another browser tab; I would even scroll down to the song credits to find out who had written them—something I had, unbelievably, not done with Eternal Flame.

What a horror.

From that first list of songs, I was astonished to discover that Manic Monday had been written by Prince.

In the rest, I saw names unfamiliar to me. The only ones that rang a bell were Susanna Lee Hoffs and two women with the last name Peterson, because I assumed they were the same band members I had already read about—Susanna Hoffs, Vicki Peterson, and Debbi Peterson.

Still, I did not yet know who was who specifically.

And what about Eternal Flame?

I Googled the song, and there again—right at the top—was the name Susanna Hoffs, alongside two men: Thomas F. Kelly and Billy Steinberg.

But who is Susanna Lee Hoffs?

Once again, I turned to my friend Google, and it invited me to pay a visit to the wise Wikipedia.

Indeed, she was one of the members of The Bangles.

But I didn’t stop there. Something told me I had to keep digging.

And through further reading, I discovered not only that Susanna Hoffs had co-written Eternal Flame, that she was the driving force behind The Bangles, and that she was the one singing and playing guitar.

I also learned that she has many more songs of her own, solo albums and collaborative records, that she is now in her sixties, and that she is still rocking.

Oh, my God.

What an absolute powerhouse this woman is.

She is a living legend.

She is an Eternal Punk Girl.

But that was not all.

A Battle Between the Mystical and the Rational

What I experienced this year with Eternal Flame—and learning about the existence of Susanna Hoffs and The Bangles—has unquestionably marked a before and after in my life.

And this goes beyond that happy ending on that April night, or the way I have been steadily enriching “my musical wisdom.”

It also lies in the sheer number of emotional elements and lived experiences that, even to the least skeptical, would seem almost unbelievable—even if viewed merely as coincidences.

Take, for example, that June 4, when Eternal Flame was playing through my headphones.

I opened Twitter, and my timeline was—quite literally—flooded with retweets featuring videos of that very song.

For a moment, I even thought it must have been the song’s official day.

What made it special was that what I was listening to was actually the demo version of Eternal Flame, through the YouTube channel Susanna Hoffs Released & Unreleased Music, during yet another one of my work sessions.

I remember that, because of the intro, I did not immediately realize it was Eternal Flame.

And yet it stopped me in my tracks, because the arrangement and orchestration instantly evoked my father’s style.

It felt as though he himself had created it.

(Left: Susanna Hoffs / Right: Gastón Vitanza.)
This collage is unrelated to the story itself. I simply came across this photo of Hoffs on July 13 through Christopher, and it struck me—among other astonishing reasons from that day—because of how similar the design of her guitar was to my father’s bass.

And not to mention Tuesday, July 9.

That day, for reasons that are beside the point, I had decided—once again—to walk away from everything: what I am passionate about, including this very piece and everything connected to it.

I opened Twitter, and there it was in front of me—a tweet from Ethan, featuring a snippet and the title of one of Susanna Hoffs’ songs that I had already heard in a live performance video at Eddie’s Attic back in 2012.

Because of my “limited-edition English,” and the less-than-clear audio in the video, I hadn’t fully understood the lyrics—but musically, the song had already become one of my favorites.

It was Always Enough.

Ethan shared the studio version link with me. And when I sat down again in front of my laptop, I looked up the lyrics.

With that fusion of reading while Always Enough played, I truly felt as though Susanna Hoffs was speaking directly to me.

Naturally, both that moment and the one before were filled with tears and smiles—but the most recent one has undoubtedly taken its place among the most unsettling.

I’m referring to what happened on August 11, with the song Never My Love.

Just minutes earlier, I had written a paragraph—for this very piece—in which I noted: *(“…I hope these feelings are not the result of a passing emotion that might one day make me grow tired of her…”)—*the full passage appears later—and then I moved over to the YouTube tab where I had been playing music by the central figure of this story.

There, in the column of suggested videos, I saw one with an image from the Eddie’s Attic performance and a song title I didn’t recognize.

So I clicked.

And shortly after the music began, I searched for the lyrics.

Good Lord.

I confess that, more than smiles and tears, what followed was laughter and tears.

At that point, it was almost too much for me.

Of course, I’m not in love with Susanna Hoffs, nor did I feel—as I had before—that she was speaking directly to me.

But just from the opening line—

“You ask me if there’ll come a time when I grow tired of you…”

—I found myself thinking something like:

No, Hoffs… I will never grow tired of you. Never.

~laughter~

Now then, continuing with those unsettling episodes, one I simply could not leave out was the one that led me to quote Ernesto Sábato in earlier paragraphs.

It happened on June 20.

I was working on this piece—specifically on one of the earliest life experiences tied to the sublime essence of Susanna Hoffs.

I took a brief pause, opened Twitter, and there among the posts was a tweet by Verónica Coello M. (@verocoellom): “Nothing is accidental; everything is the product of causality,” accompanied by an image featuring an excerpt from a text by Sábato, including this passage:

“How many times in life I have been astonished by the way that, among the multitudes of people who exist in the world, we cross paths with those who somehow hold the blueprints of our destiny, as though we had belonged to the same secret organization, or to the chapters of the same book.”

It was completely connected to what I explore much later on.

A similar case unfolded on July 27, when I took a break while sitting in front of my laptop, surrounded by the festival of Word files and Notepad documents I had been creating for this article.

I picked up my phone and opened Twitter.

In addition to a mention from Léa (@LTaylorHaimACMK) telling me, “I listened to my music and guess who showed up”—obviously referring to a Susanna Hoffs song—I also came across a tweet from Patrick Hemming (@Littleelvis40) referencing Torn by Natalie Imbruglia, complete with the album artwork.

Both tweets moved me deeply, of course.

On one hand, Léa was mentioning me through something connected to Hoffs.

And on the other, Patrick was referring to Torn—the very song through which I realized I was not crazy during my “Close Your Eyes” odyssey.

Another anecdote that simply had to be included is the one I have considered the craziest of them all, because it ventures into the realm of superstition—and even psychoanalysis.

Yet it is deeply significant, especially because it is tied to my favorite color: green.

It all began on the morning of July 3, when I posted on Twitter: “…I’m remembering that I dreamed I tweeted something like this”—a composition of several green hearts with the word GREEN at the center.

A little later, my longtime friend Daylins García (@DaylinsG) replied with her own InstaStory from that day: a photograph revealing trees, mountains, and lush vegetation.

Some time after that, user Ash Hensley (@RayleneH) posted an image of a series of Rickenbacker bass guitar bass guitars lined up on a stand—the first six of them green.

But it didn’t stop there.

Later, I opened Instagram and was greeted by Susanna Hoffs’ post from that very day: a photo of her surrounded by vegetation—so much green.

That, one would think, should have been the perfect golden ending.

But no.

The matter stretched into the following day with a tweet from Jesús Tärre (@jesustarre), accompanied by an image of a coffee cup decorated with Yoda latte art, placed outdoors where some vegetation could also be seen, with green as the cup’s predominant color.

Naturally, I dedicated that tweet to Ethan—my #JediMaster.

Then I realized it had become the fourth thing filled with “so much green.”

After that, on July 5, came a tweet from petterkidder (@petterkidder) alongside a photo of The Bangles with several green plants, Hoffs wearing a green scarf, and, in the background, an open door revealing even more vegetation.

More green.

As if that were not enough, in the early hours of July 6—and by then I was already embarrassed to keep returning to the whole “so much green” theme—while searching through my phone, I came across what I believe is the cover art of a Bangles CD bearing the words Eternal Flame.

I remember having saved that artwork—with all that green—during one of my internet deep dives while searching for the Eternal Flame demo in MP3 format to download.

To be sure, I kept seeing—and still keep seeing—things “with so much green,” but when the CD cover appeared, I concluded that the message had reached its endpoint there.

I confess I never imagined that that dream—and that July 3 tweet—would trigger all of this.

Even with the green bass guitars, I only knew they were Rickenbackers because of a comment from Pablo Crudo (@PabloCrudo).

I remember that after reading it, I went back to the original tweet, opened the image, and confirmed it.

Oh, that was scary.

And finally, there is a very recent—and truly astonishing—anecdote: the one from August 12.

I was sitting in front of my laptop, continuing this festival of paragraphs, when I opened a parenthesis on Twitter and was welcomed by a post featuring a video of Susanna Hoffs.

In it, she appears performing Eternal Flame, alongside the caption:

“I sang this at a dear friend’s birthday celebration, but if anyone could use a little song about love, here you go.”

Naturally, I was stunned on a whole other level—and not only because it was Eternal Flame, but because of what she wrote at the end:

“a little song about love.”

I was left speechless.

Mouth open, literally.

Even now, as I write about it, I still can hardly believe it:

“a little song about love.”

And it is worth remembering that in earlier paragraphs I revealed that this was precisely how I had perceived—and instinctively understood—Eternal Flame when I first heard it and still believed it was called “Close Your Eyes.”

“I confess that something similar had happened to me as a child with the classical works Canon in D by Johann Pachelbel and Carmina Burana by Carl Orff, but never had I experienced anything so overwhelming—and certainly not with a little song that I instinctively felt was a love song.”

That paragraph—without a single modification—had been written since April, traveling from one Word document to another back when my only plan was simply to tell the story of my first encounter, and later reunions, with Eternal Flame.

When the effects of that emotional jolt finally subsided, the only thing that occurred to me was to search for the paragraph, copy it, and paste it into my reply to Hoffs. A little later, I came back and did the same again—this time translated into English.

There are, truthfully, so many anecdotes.

But writing down every single one of them would be madness—especially because everything I’ve described so far has, in reality, been an aftermath.

Those coincidences, that magic, had already begun to manifest long before; and I am not even referring to everything that had been happening to me with Eternal Flame since the ’90s.

What I mean is that, toward the end of March this year, I began to envision a project that could serve as an escape route, a form of protection, and at the same time a reconciliation with one of my greatest passions.

That project included a blog and my return to social media.

In short, it would become my own space, my bunker.

But I never imagined that from that atmosphere an entire universe would be forged—one that would allow me to once again enjoy that part of myself I had left aside: to let myself be surprised by things that made me marvel, smile, and even continue believing.

And I mention all of this because it was precisely that project—this blog and my social networks—that strengthened the presence of Susanna Hoffs in my life after that April night.

Not only by adding astonishing experiences to my story, but also by helping me understand things.

It would be enough to begin with, for example, the moment I was deciding what the very first piece of information published on this blog would be.

I came across—and ultimately chose—the date on which the 34th Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony would become available on HBO.

And who did I see listed among the presenters?

Why, Susanna Hoffs herself, there to induct The Zombies—a band I also knew nothing about, by the way.

What’s more, through this Hall of Fame moment, I got to hear Hoffs explaining how she became a fan of The Zombies: through elements strikingly similar to my own story with her song—her mother, the car, her first impression— only in a version far less theatrical, without all the drama and suspense of a movie scene.

On the other hand, it would be impossible to overlook the moments in which I have been gathering my own material—my recorded songs, as well as those that still exist only on paper, whether fully formed or as fragments of ideas.

Among other discoveries, I have come to realize that in several of my own musical adventures, that song I used to call “Close Your Eyes” had influenced me to an extraordinary degree.

I have found lyrical structures, slow tempos, vocal interplay, and countless other details that clearly spring from everything that ballad had quietly accumulated within me.

Its presence is all the more striking because it is scarcely—if at all—present in what I have traditionally considered my musical influences.

I mean, for example, the music my father created in the 1970s, which certainly leans toward the spirit of The Beatles and other styles I deeply love, yet is barely reflected in what I myself have made.

The same goes for Bee Gees or Bobby Vinton through my mother, as well as Alanis Morissette, Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, Queen, Nirvana, No Doubt, Limp Bizkit, Spice Girls, Marilyn Manson, Pink, Avril Lavigne, Ace of Base, The Black Eyed Peas, Pet Shop Boys, and The Cranberries, among so many other North American, Latin American, Iberian, Italian, and French singers and groups.

And—obviously, as if that were not enough—in everything I have continued discovering about Susanna Hoffs’ musical trajectory, it has become undeniable that I feel deeply identified with her styles of composition, performance, and storytelling.

So, in truth, since the mid-’90s, Susanna Hoffs has been my musical reference point without my ever knowing it.

In that sense, I have often found myself wondering: How many singer-songwriters, singers, and arrangers—famous or unknown—might there be in the world, just like me?

I remember posing a similar question within the Super Bangles Family—yes, that very one I referenced in earlier paragraphs.

The Super Bangles Family—whether it may seem so or not—is also part of that tumult of experiences tied to the sublime essence of Susanna Hoffs.

And it is, without question, another profoundly important element that has given life to this story.

On June 14, I was welcomed into this family of wise and wonderful The Bangles fans, thanks to the introduction of one of its special members, Serge (@SergeVeilleux5).

I confess that I felt deeply honored from the very first moment, though later I even felt embarrassed by my lack of knowledge regarding matters related to the band, to Susanna Hoffs herself, and even to other ’80s groups and performers I had never once heard before.

And yet, with kindness and warmth, these people have been steadily nourishing me with wisdom.

In fact, even without knowing one another in person, wonderful bonds of friendship have begun to form.

In many of our conversations—whether in the group or one-on-one—there is always at least a photo, a video, a fact, or a memory that, taken together, has become evidence supporting my premise and, in turn, muses urging me forward in this adventure.

Though I must admit that on several occasions I hesitated to make this entire story public.

“Where would my objectivity as a journalist remain?” I asked myself.

And as if that were not enough, the sheer volume of life experiences and information about Susanna Hoffs and The Bangles that kept landing before my eyes simply would not stop.

“I’m going to end up writing a book,” I told my mother and several people around me while I was in the process of creating this piece.

In fact, during the final days I devoted to refining, updating, and writing these texts, I even hesitated to log into Twitter, Instagram, and YouTube out of fear of stumbling across something new that might unsettle me—or force me to alter the content yet again.

Some of the posts that appeared before me whenever I logged into social media during my writing sessions.

But to give this whole matter a “logical touch,” from June until just a few days ago I decided to carry out a small, informal survey among family members and friends about The Bangles and Eternal Flame, because I simply could not believe that I had never known the band and had lived through such chaos with the song’s title.

The questions were:

Does the band The Bangles ring a bell?
Does this song sound familiar?
(At this point, I would sing: “Close your eyes / Give me your hand, darling…”)
Do you know who sang this song?

My study population consisted of people of my own generation and with musical tastes similar to mine.

-1- María M. Castillo (IG:mamilagrocast) -2- José Manuel Gomes (IG:josegomeslira) -3- Mayra Cerró (IG:malycerro) -4- Lilian Gruber (IG:lilian.gruber) -5- Juan Giraldo y Humberto Salmaso -6- Mariangélica Machado (IG:mary_machado14) -7- Gerardo Alberto Rojas -8- Adairis Antúnez (IG:adairisantunez) -9- Richard Silva (IG:richie.rey.1)

Among the nine people surveyed, only one—Richard Silva—remembered knowing that the band was The Bangles and that the song was called Eternal Flame.

The other eight had all heard the song—responding even enthusiastically with “Of course!” and “Absolutely!”—but had not the faintest idea what it was called or who sang it.

In the case of José Manuel Gomes, with whom I later stayed talking about the band and some of their other songs, Manic Monday and Walk Like an Egyptian also sounded familiar.

Among the most curious responses, it is impossible not to mention María M. Castillo, as well as Juan Giraldo and Humberto Salmaso, when asked “Do you know who sang this song?”

All three were almost certain it was Michael Jackson.

On the other hand, there was Gerardo Rojas.

When I sang the Eternal Flame excerpt for the question “Does this song sound familiar?” he smiled and showed me his arm, his skin covered in goosebumps.

But my study did not end there.

At the same time, I decided to rely on the musical wisdom of Venezuelan singer Emiro Delgado, who, while born well before the ’80s, lived his musical life during that decade as the lead voice of the group Pentágono.

Emiro Delgado remains active in music today, performing in the Iberian Peninsula. In 2014, when this photo was taken in my home, Emiro was on a musical tour through Venezuela.

I asked Emiro the very same questions.

He, of course, knew all about it, including the band’s level of fame.

He referred to Eternal Flame as “a beautiful ballad” and even alluded—complete with humming—to Walk Like an Egyptian, telling me it had also been one of the band’s major hits.

The result of all this was a breath of relief for me.

I am not the only person in the world who had no idea The Bangles existed, nor was up to date on the details surrounding Eternal Flame.

And Gerardo’s reaction, in addition to what I have read from other users online, made it clear to me that I am not the only person in the world who is mesmerized by that Susanna Hoffs song.

And my conversation with Emiro made me understand that I simply could not have known The Bangles back then because it was not my era.

In the ’80s, I was still a very small child; and by the ’90s, my musical tastes already had a name and a surname.

Even so, and despite the fact that my degrees of skepticism are almost nonexistent, I found myself obliged to keep betting on the rational, on the logical.

At times, I have even felt like a lab rat, suspecting that all of this may have been one of those macabre psychological games—especially considering that an internet test once determined my mental age to be somewhere between thirteen and sixteen.

Thus, “those coincidences” on social media could simply be the product of algorithms, for example, or of my own emotional sensitivity.

Although, when it came to the demo version of Eternal Flame, I played it for my brother, and he too connected it with my father’s style.

But even worse would be the possibility that all of “those coincidences” had fed me inaccurate information about Susanna Hoffs and The Bangles.

And more regrettable still—that the portrait of Hoffs suggested by “those coincidences” and by my intuition might be completely detached from reality.

I mean, for instance, that the interview in which her voice broke and she eventually cried might have been nothing more than a scripted performance, or that her spontaneous moments on Twitter and Instagram are in fact carefully prepared by social media professionals.

But in the end, I have chosen to believe—as a way of honoring and giving thanks.

I have chosen to remain attentive to that dictation of my heart that has pushed me forward and led me to ask myself:

How many people—famous or not—might there be in the world, just like me, who have experienced or are experiencing things like this in any field of art or beyond, and never speak of them out of embarrassment or fear of being thought insane?

V — Honor to Whom Honor Is Due

Surely, for The Bangles fans, it may seem unfair that I have been giving all the credit to Susanna Hoffs because, of course, the Eternal Flame that captivated me in the ’90s came through her as a member of the band.

But in the end, Hoffs was not only the one who performed and co-wrote that song.

She was the one who planted the very first seed for The Bangles to exist at all: that ad she designed to call for musicians interested in forming a band.

I insist—how could I not believe in the existence of the Hoffs Effect?

So, although the chances of Susanna Hoffs ever reading these lines are one in a million, this would be yet another way of expressing how deeply grateful I am for that song that has made me marvel for so many years, as well as for everything else she has done through music.

And for all these experiences, which I hope are not the result of a passing emotion that might one day make me grow tired of her, but rather that they truly are a kind of magic that remains lit like an eternal flame.

Images in This Article

Collages: created by me using screenshots and images downloaded from the official websites of The Bangles and Susanna Hoffs, as well as materials shared by users and websites.

Photos of interview participants taken by me: Emiro Delgado, José Manuel Gomes, Humberto Salmaso, and Juan Giraldo.

Photos of interview participants sent by them: Lilian Gruber and Adairis Antúnez.

Photos of interview participants downloaded from their Instagram accounts: Mayra Cerró, María M. Castillo, and Richard Silva.

Photo of an interview participant downloaded from his Facebook account: Gerardo Alberto Rojas.

Susanna Hoffs, the ‘Eternal Punk Girl’ with a Sublime Essence (The Hoffs Effect)