The installment on A Flock of Seagulls -- 1982's "I Ran (So Far Away)" -- is one of my favorites. The oft-maligned new wavers arguably are remembered better for their hysterical hairdos than for any of the songs they recorded. Frontman (and then professional beautician) Mike Score may have been the most femmed-out figure in the history of popular music. He made Little Richard look like Ike Turner.

Which is why it's so funny to watch him in his present incarnation. The guy's positively burly! I mean it. He has to be closing in on 300 pounds and dresses like a Hells Angel. One of the show's most entertaining features, a split screen in which you see the band as they were in their early MTV videos and performing the same songs today, is used to particularly cruel and hilarious effect with A Flock of Seagulls. In fact, if these guys decide to stay together, they should change their name to A Flock of Meat Loafs.

The episode's highlights? Hearing members of the group speak gravely about how they were driven apart by "artistic differences." And before that, at the beginning of the show, watching the one-time demigods ask their bosses for permission to miss a few days of work.

In the episodes I've seen, ensembles from this side of the pond have tended to take themselves and their moment in the spotlight less seriously than their colleagues from the U.K. Remember Romeo Void (1981's "Never Say Never")? Perhaps having learned a lesson from its encounter with Huffy Holly, the show's crew tracked down full-figured vocalist Debora Iyall first and secured a commitment before rounding up the rest of the retired post-punkers.

All five reacted to the ambush with good spirits and a sense of fun. Members of RV were clearly excited by the prospect of playing together again. The group has even managed to remain one of the few in the world that's apparently 100 percent feud-free. Nonetheless, a true reunion wasn't meant to be. Just when it looked as though nothing could possibly spoil the party, Haleem tracked down reclusive saxophonist Benjamin Bossi and listened in horror as the withered musician ticked off a laundry list of personal tragedies. On top of serious problems with drug and alcohol addictions, the highly regarded sax player revealed that he's been taken out of the game by an incurable case of tinnitus, the same form of hearing damage that afflicts Pete Townsend.

To hear Bossi tell it, the toll taken by years of playing in front of blasting amplifiers was exacerbated by his substance abuse. The worse the ringing in his head got, the more booze and pills he used in an attempt to mask the condition's symptoms. The bottom line: The poor guy can't afford to risk losing what little hearing he has left. So he joined his old friends on the day of the reunion and gave them all a big hug but had to excuse himself when it came time for everyone to pick up their instruments. The group soldiered on with the help of a session player but, sadly, one member of Romeo Void had to say "never" after all.

You see what I mean. "Bands Reunited" is a basic-cable bonanza for music fans, reality fans, and anyone who's ever stumbled across a long-forgotten eight-track or cassette and wondered what happened to the group that recorded it. Similarly fascinating sagas are already in the can detailing the rise and fall of Extreme, Berlin, Squeeze and the Alarm. Of course, plenty of shows (VH1's own "Behind the Music," for example) already chronicle the rise of famous bands. A show documenting their fall is long overdue. When people make the journey from world tours to working day jobs, there's guaranteed to be drama, wreckage, lessons learned, and human interest in spades. And, with so many expired acts awaiting postmortem, it looks like this is a show that will go on. And on.

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