MP3 – “19” by Paul Hardcastle
Lyrics – “19” by Paul Hardcastle

I remember when this song came out. It blew my fucking mind.

It’s 1985, and I am in my suburban Chicago bedroom listening to B96 on my stereo. Though I have a few years of pre-Zinn, grade school history behind me, I am not yet politically aware*, but I have seen quite a few episodes of Family Ties, so I have some sense of the Vietnam War having occurred, and there being some controversy over it. And apparently there were hippies involved.

Anyway, I am minding my own business, waiting for Huey Lewis and The News’ “The Power of Love” to come on the radio so I can unpause the tape that’s sitting in the recorder so I can continue my quest to fill an entire Side 1 with 30 minutes of the song on repeat, when this really weird news report, with a beat that sounds like something I heard in Breakin’ comes on the radio. Or maybe it’s a dance song with lyrics that don’t seem to…exist. In any case, there’s some dude who sounds like Max Headroom telling me over and over that the average age of those serving “I-I-I-I-in Vietnam” was 19, and is sounding very funky fresh about it.

And I’m thinking, “Wow, this is the most serious, amazing thing I have ever heard in my life.”

Obviously, I was 10.

I’m sure at some point someone thought this was a pretty revolutionary record to make: a rap song combining break beats with political commentary about a war not ten years removed from history, released only a year after Reagan’s re-election.

That person was an idiot.

First of all, there’s nothing groundbreaking about a white rap song (let’s face it, that’s what this is) on pop radio in 1985, since “Rapture” came out five years earlier. Also, did I mention Breakin’ came out before this? It’s clear that the music here is as fresh as those TV commercials that would tell you about exciting careers in data processing. Worst moment: where there’s a weird scream that’s followed soon after by the cut-rate backup singers rapping about “De-de-de-de-de-de-de-de-de-destruction.”

Plus, the…what? Creator? Co-conspirator? In any case, the composer of this song, Paul Hardcastle, was later forced to share writing credit with Mike Oldfield, as “19” bore a resemblance to the climactic layered melody of his “Tubular Bells” opus.

And all of the commentary in this song was lifted directly from a ABC documentary that turned out to be inaccurate in some respects, but particularly regarding the average of a Vietnam solider (it was more like 23, not 19). Interestingly, the lyrics above mention some additional lyrics that sound even darker than what precedes it, but I’m pretty sure in context that they suck green eggs, too.

So basically, everything about this song is unoriginal or false, which is why it’s not a surprise that Ol’ Cosby Sweater over there went on to produce some lousy smooth/electronic jazz records. What is a surprise is that this song was #1 in the UK for five (!!!) weeks, sold 4 million copies around the world, and won the Ivor Novello award for best song of 1985. Of course, this prestigious award was also given to the Spice Girls. Hardcastle’s bio says “his early recordings sound as fresh today as they did when he recorded them” and he’ll get no argument from me on that point.

After this and the limpness of “The Politics of Dancing,” I’m looking forward to the string of New Romantic and pop-punk songs ahead.

* This would occur shortly thereafter, due to the Iran-Contra scandal. It’s also possible that this song somehow contributed to my political awakening. This kind of scares me.

MP3 – “The Politics of Dancing” by re-flex
Lyrics – “The Politics of Dancing” by re-flex

This is really depressing.

After blogging five of the arguably best known one-hit wonders of the 80s, I was set to kick off a slew of fairly obscure songs. These little-known tracks would allow me to let my id run free. Like onions, I’d slice off one layer at a time, delving into the minutiae of each, as I unearthed themes, motifs, and heretofore unknown nuggets of wisdom hidden inside these gems, like so many diamonds inside lumps of coal.

And the first track I start with is an incredible disappointment.

I had a passing familiarity with “The Politics of Dancing,” derived mainly from the chorus. Therefore, I was convinced it was some kind of stealth gay rights anthem. That somehow the song suggested there was, in fact, politics – or rather the advancement of a civil rights agenda – in the relatively benign act of dancing.

If there is a political bent to the lyrics, it’s at the high school level of rhetoric: all fire and no lucidity.

Honestly, with a few tweaks, it really could have weight. In fact, just switch two stanzas, and you’ve got a pretty powerful statement. Instead of:

We got the message
I heard it on the airwaves
The politicians
Are now DJs

You swap those last two lines so “the DJs/are now politicians” and you’ve really got something. Otherwise, you’ve got this image of Ted Kennedy behind the wheels of steel saying “Ahd lahke to dehdicate this sahng to Brad Dehlp, who rahcked so successfully as a paht ahf Bahston ahl those yea-ahs.”

In all fairness to my point of view, it appears that I’m not the only one to consider it. According to Wikipedia, there’s a film called Edge of Seventeen that includes this song on its soundtrack. The film is about “a gay teenager finds out who he is and what he wants, who his friends are, and who loves him.” Take out the word “gay” and that’s pretty much every John Hughes film ever made. But whatever. Someone else feels this song has resonance as a gay rights anthem. We are an army of two.

Here’s what’s really sad though: this song was the band’s only hit. In fact, they recorded another album, but it was never actually released. I can’t even find a picture of the band to post here. Little surprise since the band didn’t think enough of itself to capitalize its name.

Plus, they got beat out by Shalamar’s “Dancing in the Sheets” for a spot on the Footloose soundtrack. If there was ever a film that begged for a song that spoke of a crossroads between politics and dancing, this was it. But no dice.

There’s probably some notion of sexual politics at play here, but I’m too irritated to even consider it at this point. On the other hand, if I somehow found myself at Roscoe’s and this song came on, I would totally dance to it. It’s got that beat that even white people can groove to. So if nothing else, it’s got that going for it.

MP3 – “Turning Japanese” by The Vapors
Lyrics – “Turning Japanese” by The Vapors

There is one other well-known song on this volume of Living in Oblivion, but this closes out the compilation’s opening five-song salvo of hits, and it’s a doozy. This is the third song of this collection to clock in around 3:42, and I’m starting to think that’s the perfect length for a pop song.

The phrase “one hit wonders” gets overused at times, as the minor achievements in a band’s history get lost to time, and it becomes easier to tell their story with a slur. But in the case of The Vapors, it’s apt. The album that followed the single was not well-received, and the second album even less so.

But the single goes down like a caramel of the perfect consistency. VH1 logged it at #36, which is a shame. It’s a damn sight better than “Stumblin’ In’” by Suzi Quatro. I feel pretty confident in saying this even though I haven’t ever heard “Stumblin’ In’” or even heard of it. Not to mention that I can name two other Suzi Quatro songs, both of which were hits in England, which ought to eliminate her from the list, even though they weren’t hits here.

ANYWAY, there’s not much to say about the song in totality. On its face, the song is about a guy who misses his girlfriend, but somehow gets by on a very evocative piece of photography, and well-developed forearms. The chorus is merely a twist on the old warning that abusing oneself might cause blindness (or conversely, the warning most mothers gave that if you made a certain face long enough, it would freeze that way). But if you dig a little, some interesting bits emerge.

First, “Turning Japanese” is yet another example of the “racism can be funny” school of the 80s. I’m not going to get all ranty here, because I think it’s kind of funny, in a way. Look at the following examples:

* The song “Turning Japanese” wherein a English pop band compares the squinty look one supposedly gets when masturbating to the facial features of Japan.

* The movie Soul Man wherein a white guy pretends to be black in order to get access to scholarship money, intended for an African-American student.

* The song “Illegal Alien” by Genesis wherein Phil Collins puts on the worst accent this side of Speedy Gonzales and sings of the difficulties of getting a green card.

And nobody batted an eye. It’s just amazing what people were getting away with in popular culture at the time.

On matters less serious, there’s this often misheard lyric:

Everyone around me is a total stranger
Everyone avoids me like a cyclone ranger

Several sites on the Internet will try and tell you that line is “psyched Lone Ranger,” but they’re wrong. Think about it: that line makes no sense. First, why would the Lone Ranger be “psyched?” And even if he was, why would this cause people to avoid him?

“Aw shit, Lone Ranger totally wants to go down to the Hitching Post and check out this sale on masks and kerchiefs. He will not shut up about it. Just avoid him, if you can. He’ll get distracted and then go back to trying to convince you that Zorro’s a pussy.”

Also, there’s an old movie called The Cyclone Rangers, about a bunch of cattle rustlers, who try to put their thieving ways behind them. So it makes more sense that the song would be referring to mistrustful horse thieves, though I’ll grant you it’s a bit confusing as to why a band from Surrey would be referencing an obscure American western.

Finally, has anyone else ever realized this song is totally a letter from some creepy serial killer-type guy in prison? The lyric where he mentions putting up a million of his beloved’s picture in “his cell?” The bit about photographing her from the inside? The references to cattle rustling and self-love? Come on!

In any case, I still enjoy it so long as I can keep the Buffalo Bill images out of my head.

MP3 – “Kids in America” by Kim Wilde
Lyrics – “Kids in America” by Kim Wilde

About as rock-oriented as any female singer was allowed to get in 1981 unless her last name Harry or Benatar, Kim Wilde’s performance here is something akin to Che Guevara with hairspray.

I was six when the song was originally released, but at some point in my pre-adolescent life, it drifted into my consciousness. Whoever this Kim Wilde was, she was the girl for me. At turns both sexy and gentle, she seemed like the kind of trouble that would have been acceptable to my parents. She was a pied piper of youth empowerment, destined to lead me out of my put-upon existence of cartoon-watching and riding bikes.

“YES! We ARE the kids in America! We live for the music-go-round! Whatever that is!”

But until I started writing this post, I had no idea what she looked like, which is mostly attributable to living in a cable-free (and therefore MTV-less) household. But I was pretty sure she wore day-glo bangle bracelets, a sweatshirt with the collar ripped off a la Flashdance, and legwarmers. Possibly tights. Tights and legwarmers.

“Kids In America” suggested that it was a sociological imperative that Kim and her intended have sex, since there was a wave of change approaching. Oddly enough this sort of reminds me of that scene from Grease II with DiMucci and his girlfriend Sharon in the air raid bunker.

Unfortunately for Kim, his interest in revolution was fleeting. The boy she found in clubland had commitment issues and would later keep her hanging on.* Unfortunately, the listener is also left hanging by three unresolved questions:

1. What was it about the “new wave” that was going to prevent it from spreading to the western portions of California?
2. If kind hearts alone aren’t enough to grab any glory, does the addition of coronets change the equation at all?
3. Did Kim Wilde have dual citizenship in the U.S. that allowed her claim to be one of the kids in America?

Without looking it up, how many albums would you say Kim Wilde recorded between her debut, and her 2006 comeback album, Never Say Never? Eight, for a total of ten in her career. Much like Hasselhoff and Lowenbrau, Kim Wilde is apparently still big in Germany though she does not sell very well here. So apparently the kids here in America have stopped listening, which is a shame as Ms. Wilde still has a lot to say.

Confidential to Avril: Sweetie, it’s not too late to get Kim’s people to put something like this together for you.

Final crazy fact about Kim Wilde: She is a professional gardener. This is amazing to me. Next thing you know, Stacey Q is going to turn out to be a champion shuffleboard player.

* I know it’s a cover. Shut up. You like to tell people the endings of movies before they’ve seen them, don’t you?

This is the third entry chronicling the first two volumes of the now out-of-print 80s music collection, Living in Oblivion, which will proceed in track order. Sadly, the third time is not at all the charm.

MP3 – “Talk Talk” by Talk Talk
Lyrics – “Talk Talk” by Talk Talk

Yet another case of a song by a band who’s done much better (in this case “It’s My Life”), Talk Talk (the band, not the song) distinguishes itself by performing an even less interesting Duran Duran imitation than Kajagoogoo. I don’t think I’ve ever said anything so insulting.

A quick by-the-numbers on Talk Talk (the song, not the band):

Time spent on verses: 53 seconds
(14 seconds of which are sort of a gimme since the first half of the third verse sounds a little like it’s supposed to be a bridge but the band wasn’t imaginative to come up with different chords)

Time spent on choruses: 1:42

Number of times the word “talk” is said in the song not counting the weird echo-y voice in the background during the third chorus that kinda sounds like it’s saying “talk talk” but after several repetitions sounds more like the Swedish Chef saying “nog”: 86

Those 53 seconds of lyrics aren’t much to write home about. It’s the usual grab bag of loss of identity ascribed to possible romantic infidelity, inflamed by resulting paranoia and a smattering of manic depression right at the end. Or as I like to call it, high school.

As initially sympathetic as the singer sounds here, if you give this a solid listen, you have to end up siding with the unheard from partner on this one. If you engender the ire of your beloved merely for crying when he or she is sad or laughing when he or she is happy, you have to know you’re in a damned if you do/don’t scenario. Congrats to Talk Talk for flipping the script, I suppose, but the end result means you’re looking at the least sympathetic protagonist since Lolita or, more recently, My Best Friend’s Wedding.

Other than the moment at about 1:50 when the drums are actually so loud in the mix that they completely overwhelm the lyrics (which in light of the above isn’t such a bad thing), the only other notable thing I can say about this work is that it completes a trilogy of songs appearing on albums of the same name, and named after the bands that performed them, thereby following in the footsteps of Bad Company’s “Bad Company” off of Bad Company and Living in a Box’s “Living In A Box” off of Living in a Box*, which coincidentally shows up on Volume 2 of the Living in Oblivion series, so I’ll end up getting to it and it’s New-Jack-Swing-by-way-of-Rick-Astley grooves sometime around Thanksgiving.

I realize this project is still in its infancy, but this one was tough to get through. I even did laundry while I was writing it. Let me make this clear: I procrastinated writing a blog post about music by DOING LAUNDRY. It was especially tough since there’s a good spate of songs after this one, which made writing this entry something akin to being told “You can’t have dessert until you eat three more bites of those beets on your plate.”

I never had a problem with this song before, but man I sure as hell do now.

* Are these the only three examples of this? If not, drop some knowledge in comments.

UPDATE: Immediately after writing this, I realized if I put the other two songs into a Google search, I’d come up with others. Sure enough, I found this site and this one which clued me into a few examples, some of which are so obvious that I am ashamed of myself. Only metal can top 80s music for self-referentiality. And I should have expected the inevitable Wikipedia entry, which lists so many examples that I’m actually ashamed of music.

This is the second in a series of musings on the first two volumes of the now out-of-print 80s music collection, Living in Oblivion, which will proceed in track order.

MP3 – “(There’s) Always Something There To Remind Me” by Naked Eyes
Lyrics – “(There’s) Always Something There To Remind Me” by Naked Eyes

While not the greatest song in the Naked Eyes canon (that honor goes to “Promises, Promises”), “(There’s) Always Something There To Remind Me” still impresses thanks to quality source material courtesy of Mr. Burt Bacharach, who’s written some of the greatest pop standards of the last fifty years. It clocks in at 3:40, which is about the same length as “Too Shy” but unlike that opus, it somehow manages to leave the listener wanting more.

Bacharach said he preferred to write for female voices, so the duo of Naked Eyes is good enough in a pinch. Frankly, Sadie Shaw’s original version in 1964 did the song only rough justice. She sings as if she’s in a hurry, and her voice reminds me a bit too much of Michael Jackson’s early works. Plus, the background vocalists make Benny Hill’s Ladybirds* sound like classically-trained vocalists, by comparison.

Pete Byrne isn’t quite the crooner the song needs here, but what he lacks in phrasing, he makes up for in longing. It’s almost as if you can hear him creating the template for Colin Meloy’s timorous mewling about sailor’s wives crying about their husbands being eaten by sea monsters or whatever.

Wikipedia says Naked Eyes was “the very first band to make significant use of the Fairlight CMI on a pop recording,” before contradicting itself by saying Kate Bush and Peter Gabriel used it a couple years before. This is one of the things I love about Wikipedia: no fact is not fungible. If you didn’t know it was used primarily in the 80s, you’d have only to have heard the words “light pen interface” to get a clue. In any case, much like key parties, the Fairlight CMI’s time has come and gone though I bet it was secretly used on that one Andrew WK album that’s only available as a Japanese-import.

To capture the proper amount of bombast, the song sounds as if it was recorded in a studio on the same block as a Catholic church. Each verse after an instrumental break is preceded by more (synthesized) pealing bells than your average Easter celebration in Rome.

Oddly enough, that church must be on the industrial end of town. The sounds of those faux hammers in the second verse make me think of that one Simpsons episode where the steel mill turns into a gay disco called The Anvil, and I’m pretty sure this song breaks the record for “most drum fills.”

Outside of a few Elvis Costello songs, “Always” might be the best example of a song whose music is in direct conflict with its lyrics. Though what Fisher’s intoning is really depressing, heartbreak never sounded so happy. Everywhere he goes, he’s reminded of this woman he was “born to love,” as he pines for her while walking the streets. He “will never be free” from thoughts of her. All this over someone with whom he didn’t even get to first base (note the lack of kissing or holding tight at the cafe with the nighttime dancing). God, no wonder everyone I went to junior high with still loves this song.

So all that having been said, it rightly stands as the definitive version of the song, even if the drum intro always makes me picture Adam Sandler in The Wedding Singer.

Naked Eyes would revisit parenthetical titles with its single “(What) In The Name of Love” off its second, and last, album though Byrne is apparently still making noise about a third, even though keyboardist Rob Fisher died in 1999. If he had a sense of humor, Fisher would bill himself as “Naked Eye” even though people might mistake him for a Luscious Jackson cover band.

* After writing this, I discovered via IMDB that The Ladybirds actually sang on one of Shaw’s later hits. So apparently, I’m not the only one to think this.

In an effort to get myself back on track with blogging, I’ve decided to create a few regularly occurring features here. This is the first: a series of musings on the first two volumes of the now out-of-print 80s music collection, Living in Oblivion, which will proceed in track order. Some will be short, serious and contemplative. Others, like the one below, will be overblown magnum opuses, befitting the pompous majesty of the songs themselves.

MP3 – “Too Shy” by Kajagoogoo
Lyrics – “Too Shy” by Kajagoogoo

Somehow, “Too Shy” manages to wring three minutes and forty-five seconds out of what amounts to no more than six lines of lyrics, two lines of non-ad-libbed ad libs, a chorus of five words that’s really only four since one of them is a homonym, and a series of come-hither “doo doo doos” stolen from Lou Reed, who promptly told them he could keep them, don’t bother giving them back, consider them a gift. How exactly did such a thing get composed. I have a few ideas.

This was Kajagoogoo’s debut single off their debut album. Already hampered with a name that sounds like the first words most infants hear from an elderly aunt, this was its chance to make its mark on a world that already had a Brit synth-pop band that it liked very much, thank you, so it could just take its flouncy hair and rude manners elsewhere.

But oh no, Kajagoogoo would not be denied. No, the world’s initial coyness only increased its desire to make the world its own. And so, Kajagoogoo began to seduce the world.

To do so, they’d need someone special, who personified style, charm, and sophistication, but with a playful insouciance. Limahl – whose looks suggested that genetic scientists in the early 1990s were attempting to recombine the DNA of John Cusack, Richard Grieco, and Billy Ray Cyrus’ old haircut when suddenly a rabid cockatiel burst in through the window and perched upon the large beaker in the center of the room for just a split second before lightning struck, bringing about disastrous results, as the scientists felt their hearts seize with fear at what they had done, and agreed amongst themselves that they would send the resultant man – dressed only in a denim boilermaker’s outfit – back in time to 1982 where he might be given a chance to live in peace – was that man.

Yes, “Too Shy” is a song of seduction, but it’s subtle in its intent. In fact, it’s so damn subtle that it’s limp, suggesting that any woman with earshot of the song has as much chance of being seduced by the singer as she did by the art teacher she had in junior high, who was often joined in the classroom by his “teacher’s assistant,” a strapping Cuban with shoulder-length curly hair named Estanislo.

The song begins with some synth noodling and bass work that together approximates the underwater sounds of whales communicating after swallowing Wookies. Limahl, already nervous over the immense responsibility resting on his narrow shoulders, starts singing Culture Club’s “Time (Clock of the Heart)” at 0:39 seconds in, before realizing his mistake after getting the stink-eye from bassist Nick Beggs, who lets him know that he’s still doing the whale/Wookie bass thing for six more seconds before drummer Stuart Neale stops ripping off Queen’s “Another One Bites The Dust,” and presses the button for the fill. Then and only then is he supposed to start singing.

Chastened, Limahl experiences a brief moment of schizophrenia, and turns the carefully constructed lyrical bedroom sonnet into a fractured dialogue between hunter and prey.

At about 0:54, keyboardist Stuart Crawford lets his niece practice the scales on an electic piano in the corner, and the song begins to build toward its climax. Shortly after, Limahl immediately regrets purchasing cut-rate synthesizers from a notoriously sketchy outdoor market in Lancashire, when they begin to malfunction at 1:07, causing him to completely forget the rest of the lyrics, which he had assured everyone else he had committed to memory, and are now impotently lying next to the producer’s console.

Barreling into the chorus several measures early, Limahl attempts to buy himself some time by repeating each word twice. Failing this, he skips over the instrumental bridge, earning another stink-eye from Beggs, and begins to recite highlights of his sister’s recent trip to the gynecologist, which had been told to him in excruciating detail the day before, and had obstinately lodged in his brain.

At 1:51, the synth begins malfunctioning again and Limahl muscles his way back into the chorus, but the rest of the group has had enough. Guitarist Steve Askew, the group instructs the recording engineer to remove Limahl from the room and the musicians begin a 35-second free-jazz interlude complete with scatting around 2:35.

Shortly after, Limahl bursts back into the room, seeking to save the song’s pop potential. He begins belting out the limited chorus, over the efforts of Crawford’s niece who has begun playing a slide whistle at 3:05, which she continues to play until the song ends.

It’s at this moment that bassist Beggs realizes that his instrument, which – despite its whale/Wookie tendencies – has, until now, kept the song from completely going off the rails, is completely turned down in the mix, thanks to a quick bribe by Limahl to the recording engineer. Throwing the stink-eye himself, Limahl mocks Beggs by continuing to repeat the five word chorus before the disturbed bassist leaves the studio in disgust, as the rest of the musicians turn up the treble on their respective instruments, and play their parts in-the-round style (the way they used to sing “Row, Row, Row Your Boat”) with each playing two measures behind the other until the fade-out.