I am someone who enjoys music from all eras. That includes the 1990s, most of which I spent lugging babies around, changing their diapers, and playing Barbies with my girls, rather than paying much attention to popular music.
I've come to appreciate that decade's musical offerings retrospectively.
The point is, I like a lot of music today, I like classical music of 200 years ago, I like Big Band and bebop jazz of the 1940s and 50s, I like a whole bunch of 60s and 70s tunes, and I like music from the 80s.
Actually, I love the music of the 80s. New Wave, "college music" (that's what they used to call bands like REM, Husker Du, The Smiths and U2), heavy metal, whatever. I'm pretty sure not a day goes by when I don't listen to at least one 80s tune in my car, while I'm washing the dishes, or while I'm out walking.
A lot of people make fun of 80s music, and I get why. The associated fashion of the time was, shall we say, often garish. And there are plenty of songs from that era that are indefensible in any way other than to say they're fun.
Which is just fine. Not every song has to be deep and philosophical to be enjoyable.
You might argue that the only reason I'm so attached to 80s music is because that was the decade when I came of age, as they say. I was in high school from 1984 to 1988, and even before that as a middle schooler I bought more than my share of 45s and cassettes from the popular bands of the day.
But I think it goes beyond that. If there wasn't some intrinsic value to the music, it wouldn't be in such heavy rotation on my phone, nor would it populate my playlists like it does.
My favorites are Sting and The Police. My first concert was Sting at Cleveland's Public Hall in February 1988. I attach a lot of sentimental value and core memories to his songs. I think they still hold up very well.
Then there are Men at Work (the first band I really, really got into), Duran Duran, The Fixx, Howard Jones, Billy Joel, Iron Maiden (my favorite metal group), Huey Lewis, and a host of others I'm forgetting. They made music that was full of melody, musicianship and meaning, if you'll pardon the unintentional alliteration.
As I type this post, I'm sitting in a coffee shop in downtown Buffalo waiting to attend a work-related meeting. "Talking In Your Sleep" by the Romantics is playing over the PA system, taking me back in time to 1984. I'm the only one nodding my head and singing along.
And I guarantee I'll still be doing that when I'm 90 years old and an MTV-era song comes on.
I continue to (somewhat shamelessly) post photos of my grandson on this blog.
There was a period in the early 1980s – probably '81 through about '84 – in which the social highlight of any given week for me was sleeping over a friend's house. Or having that friend sleep over my house.
I spent countless nights sleeping in friends' bedrooms and basements, often on the floor. This didn't bother me because I was a teenager, and teenagers can sleep on concrete.
Come to think of it, we did sleep on concrete once. I don't know why, but we spent much of a night sleeping on my friend Kevin's driveway. A couple of people slept in lawn chairs, and a couple of us just laid down where we were and slept for several hours.
Outside. In the middle of summer. In the driveway.
I don't know that I could pull that off now.
Anyway, sleepovers were always a lot of fun. I regularly slept at my friend Mel's house. When I did, I would grab my sleeping bag and literally nothing else, hop on my little BMX bike, and take the 15-minute ride to Mel's place on the north end of Wickliffe.
His mom would have 2-liter plastic bottles of Pepsi for both of us: regular for me and diet for Mel because of his Type 1 diabetes.
The morning after a sleepover, before I went home, Mel would inject himself with insulin. He would ask me where on his body he should do the injection and, if it wasn't someplace crazy like his eyeball or his face, he would jab the needle wherever I asked him to. I was always fascinated by this.
Mel's mom also supplied us with Little Debbie Swiss cake rolls, which now that I think about it, Mel seemed to eat without reservation. Those things weren't exactly sugar-free. Or maybe there was a sugar-free version?
All I know is, we would spent the evening drinking pop, downing those chocolate treats, and listening to the early 80s' New Wave music we both liked...Duran Duran, The Fixx, Flock of Seagulls, Men at Work, etc.
It was wonderful.
Terry and I still engage in sleepovers, only now they're always at our house and they involve my daughter Chloe and our grandson Cal.
Chloe will sometimes come and spend the night when my son-in-law Michael travels for work. Because we are so obsessed with her child, she gets a much-needed break from feeding, changing and generally caring for him. And we get to see our favorite little boy.
Everybody wins.
Unlike my childhood sleepovers, however, there is little to no soda consumed, and our overall sugar intake is considerably lower.
The music is still there, but it's limited to whatever tunes Cal's little infant gym will play.
And our bedtime nowadays is considerably earlier and entirely determined by Cal.
Other than that, the enjoyment factor is just as high, and I look forward to these sleepovers just as much as I looked forward to the ones four decades ago.
Only one of these original members of Men at Work will be onstage this evening at Blossom Music Center.
I have long since passed the age when you fret over the fact that the music you listened to as a teenager is now regularly played on "oldies" stations. That happened years ago.
On the spectrum of musical fandom, I'm at the point where I willingly attend cheesy, nostalgia-laden reunion concerts. I revel in being surrounded by other mid- to late-middle-aged people whose enthusiasm is perhaps muted compared with what it once was but who can still be described as "spirited."
I also make no apologies that the average age of the crowd at the concert I'll be attending tonight (along with my brother Mark and sister Debbie) is likely to be older than 50 and possibly pushing 60.
That's the demographic I expect will turn up at Blossom Music Center in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio, this evening for a triple bill featuring 80s acts Men at Work, Toto and Christopher Cross.
I suspect most in the audience will be there because they're particular fans of one of those three bands. For Mark and me, anyway, the clear headliner is Men at Work.
I have been a pretty ardent MAW fan since 1983, when the first 45 I ever bought was their single "Down Under" and the first cassette I ever purchased was their album "Business as Usual." (Northeast Ohioans will appreciate the fact that I bought both of these items at Zayre's.)
The thing is, as is so often the case when bands tour decades beyond the peak of their popularity, the group performing tonight under the name "Men at Work" only has one original member. That would be lead singer and guitarist Colin Hay.
Mark (along with his son and my nephew Mark) and I have seen Colin perform live several times as a solo artist, and we saw this incarnation of Men at Work play a few years ago. You can say we're fans.
Don't get me wrong, I'm also looking forward to hearing Toto play its hits, notably "Africa" and "Rosanna." And there's no doubting the talent Christopher Cross brings to the stage with his "Sailing," "Ride Like the Wind" and "Arthur's Theme."
But I'm there for the Men, who actually now include two women. One is a wonderful musician named Scheila Gonzalez, who plays saxophone, flute and keyboards in a way that eerily recreates the sound and vibe of the late Greg Ham, Men at Work's original multi-instrumentalist. (NOTE: Since writing this, I've come to find out Scheila won't be there tonight, but is instead touring with Weird Al Yankovic. Darn.)
The other is Cecilia Noël, Colin's wife and a talented singer and performer in her own right.
We'll have a good time, I have no doubt. It will be 2-3 hours of letting the music take me back to when I was much younger and much dumber. And also skinnier. With more hair.
You couldn't pay me to actually go back to that era of my life and live it again, but I don't mind taking a temporary trip back in time. I look forward to the whole thing.
As long as the bands don't play too long, of course. I need to get home and get my sleep, you know.
The list of subjects about which I can confidently say "Oh, I know a lot about that" is exceedingly small.
This comes as no surprise to my friends and family. They'll tell you my knowledge tends to be extremely focused and not altogether useful.
Which I suppose would be OK if I hadn't spent the past 50+ years expecting that at some point, through some unknown process, I would come to understand a wide range of things.
But it hasn't happened. I have very little wisdom and even less common sense. I continue to be mystified by how appliances in my own house work, for example.
It also bothers me that I write every day for both personal and professional reasons, yet I'm not confident I can fully explain the proper use of a comma.
And a semicolon? Forget it.
I am, in short, stunningly ignorant on most topics.
This is one reason I have very few opinions, especially when it comes to politics. Someone will explain their point of view to me on an issue and I'll say, "Well, that sounds right to me." Then another person with an opposing viewpoint will explain their perspective and I'll say, "You know, that sounds right, too."
Maybe I just don't understand the nature of opinions. I'm looking for 100% black-and-white clarity when instead I should be looking for the perspective that seems to carry at least a little more weight. You can, I guess, acknowledge that a person brings up some valid points and still overall disagree with them.
Now, I don't want you to think I'm entirely useless as a human being. There are subjects on which I'm a pretty reliable source. Or at least you could do a lot worse than me if you have questions.
Here is the complete list of those subjects:
The Australian band Men at Work's full discography and song lyrics
The 1979 Cleveland Indians
World War I battles on the Western Front, 1917-18
Oatmeal: Is it just for breakfast? (THE EXTENT OF MY KNOWLEDGE HERE: "No.")
Rolling a 300 game in Wii Sports Bowling
Ottawa Senators goaltenders, 1992-present
Choosing the correct container size when cleaning up after dinner and storing leftovers
And that's probably about it.
Oh, I'm also pretty good when it comes to Flintstones trivia. Call me the next time someone asks you what Barney Rubble did for a living.
My first wallet was very much like the one pictured above: an all-fabric, velcro-closing affair with the logo of the Australian band Men at Work prominently displayed on one side.
While Men at Work were a very, very big band in, say, the 1982-85 range, they were never a cool band in any sense. Nor, it must be said, were Velcro wallets ever particularly fashionable.
That wallet was an undeniable (almost defiant) confirmation of my dorkiness.
Yet I loved it. I really did.
Besides the fact that it touted my favorite musical group, it also suggested I was grown-up enough to need a wallet. Which, in fairness, I probably did. I would usually have a few bucks to put in it, thanks in part to my dad's continued generosity and in part to my job as a dishwasher at Tizzano's Restaurant.
That job, my first, paid $2.50 an hour. All under the table. Oh, and the owner of the restaurant, Mike, would make you anything you wanted to eat during your breaks.
I didn't have credit cards at the time, of course. And by the time I got my driver's license in November 1985, I had ditched the Men at Work wallet for something in plain black faux leather (i.e., the kind of folding wallet I still carry around today).
So my Velcro treasure keeper was never especially full.
But it was mine, and it told the world about my favorite band, which was good enough for me.
By the way, I took the image at the top of today's post from eBay, where as of this writing you had two choices if you wanted to buy your own vintage Men at Work Velcro wallet. One was going for a reasonable $19.95, while the other was priced at a somewhat overblown $49.96.
All of which goes to show that you can buy absolutely anything on the Internet...even if, by any standard of good judgment, you probably shouldn't.
When I began listening to popular radio in the early 80s, there was about a 1 in 3 chance that any given song was going to feature a saxophone. Saxophones have long had some presence in pop music, but in the 80s, the sax – if not quite king (that was the guitar) – was royalty.
Nowadays, not so much. I like a lot of today's music, but at best you'll hear a sample of a sax every once in a great while.
This was brought home to me recently when I was listening to Huey Lewis' "80s Radio" show on Apple Music. Huey hosts this hour-long show once a week, and as you might imagine, it focuses solely on songs from the 80s...well, there are a few very late 70s and very early 90s tunes thrown in there, but you get the gist.
Huey will often organize these shows around a theme, and this morning I listed to his saxophone-themed show.
I still have 20 minutes more to go through, but so far I like his selections. Men at Work's "Who Can It Be Now" was in there, as was Hall and Oates' "Maneater." "Harden My Heart" by Quarterflash was a nice surprise, and it was good to hear "Smooth Operator" by Sade.
One selection that baffled me was Rick James' "Super Freak." Great song, but the sax solo at the end is incidental at best. Certainly not an "iconic" 80s saxophone song like the others.
Still, on balance, it's a fun listen, as it hearkens back to my favorite era of pop music AND features the instrument I've played for more than 40 years.
When the saxophone becomes cool again, I'll be ready to lay down some cool licks in the studio. I'll be 90 years old, of course, but when a modern artist comes looking for that 80s sax sound, trust me, I'll be everyone's go-to.
THINGS THAT ARE STUCK IN MY BRAIN FOR WHICH I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO USE:
The B-side songs for every Men at Work single on 45
The usual starting lineup for the 1979 Cleveland Indians
Casualty counts for a host of World War I battles
Detailed plotlines for most episodes of The Andy Griffith Show
The quadratic formula
My News-Herald paper route from 1981 (seriously, I could deliver that route today and not miss a house)
The fact that I took the SAT on this date in 1987.
To that last point...who cares? Why would my brain decide this is something worth remembering?
It also likes to point out that, after I finished the test, I drove directly to Solon High School to join my track team at the Solon Relays.
Is there any practical use for this information? Of course not. But this has never deterred my brain, which delights in storing away the most irrelevant of nuggets.
On the other hand, it will not reveal to me such things as where I put my wedding ring, the exact ingredients in my wife's favorite Starbucks drink, and which light switches control which lights in our house (the house where we have lived for nearly 18 years).
Why, brain, why? Why do you do this to me?
Maybe you explained it to me one time and now I'm just forgetting.
There comes a point in the lives of most people when they develop an interest in music, and at first it's generally (but not always) the music that happens to be popular at the time.
The first song I ever bought for myself was the Men at Work hit "Down Under." I bought it in 1982 at Zayre's, a local discount/department store, on a 45 RPM record for something like $1.75. Maybe it was less, I can't remember.
I was in seventh grade at the time and the music of that 1982-84 era really shaped my taste for years to come. I still listen regularly to Men at Work, and particularly to lead singer Colin Hay, who has had a great solo career over the last 35 years. I even met him once.
From Men at Work I quickly branched out to The Police, Steve Miller, Duran Duran, The Fixx, Flock of Seagulls, Billy Joel, and a whole host of other artists whose 45s and cassettes I would regularly purchase. These were songs that had strong melodies, interesting lyrics, and quite often the combination of synthesizers and saxophones that I liked.
What about you? What was the first song or full-length album you bought? When did you buy it, and more important, why did you buy it? Feel free to comment directly here on the blog, or on whatever social media channel you use to access us (Facebook, Twitter, or LinkedIn).
I've carried a wallet since the age of 14. My first wallet was a Velcro job featuring a large logo of the 80s Australian band Men at Work.
As you might imagine, you couldn't keep the chicks off me.
If I had to guess the percentage of time over nearly four decades when there has been cash in my wallet, it would probably be something like 15% to 20%. Seriously, I seldom have actual currency in there.
Even in the mid-80s before I had a credit card, I rarely had cash on me. When I worked at Wendy's in 1986 and would get paid, I would almost immediately spend that money on Terry. It never lasted long.
(This was a great investment, by the way, seeing as how we've been together for nearly 35 years now. Rarely does a bet pay off so well.)
According to at least one website, however, my cash-less approach is not a good one.
To tip more generously (since credit card tips are subject to card company fees)
To tip service providers who aren't directly involved in customer transactions
To discipline your spending habits
To protect your privacy
Still, I'm not running to the bank to grab cash any time soon.
For one thing, every time I have cash, my wife--the chief financial officer of our family--wants to know why I have it. I have to file a report whenever I want to get at my own money. (I'm kidding...sort of.)
Also, I find myself using Apple Pay and other electronic methods of payment more and more frequently.
So I'm good where I am. I should carry at least a little cash, admittedly, even if just for emergencies.
I became interested in popular music sometime in 1982, as I recall. It was a bit of a strange time to be getting into music since we as a society were still holding on to the last vestiges of what passed for rock in the late 70s and very early 80s, and we were just starting to get into the New Wave stuff that I liked.
Then came 1983, which I still consider to be the greatest year for music in my lifetime. Michael Jackson's "Thriller" came out that year and is still the highest-selling album of all time, but '83 also saw The Police's "Synchronicity," Men at Work's "Cargo," Def Leppard's "Pyromania," and a host of others that I convinced my mom to drive me to the mall so I could buy.
And of course I bought them on cassette. That was the medium of choice at the time. I also bought a lot of 45 RPM records. Kids, ask your parents what those were.
Anyway, the point is that, to me, that music was wonderful. It had melody, it had style, and I still listen to it. But to others, the early to mid-80s were probably a terrible time for music, either because they had come of age in the 60s or 70s (or earlier), or because they were too young at the time to appreciate it.
Not for a second would I claim that "my" music – or anyone else's – is the "best" music ever. The Beatles are great. I love them. But there are other artists whose music I enjoy just as much. I like a lot of the modern stuff my kids listen to now. And my car is always stocked with classical music CDs, because I have a long drive to work and nothing occupies it better than a Beethoven symphony, you know?
Some music we like because we connect it to a specific period in our lives. But for the most part, I like a piece of music simply because it's enjoyable. Because it moves me. Because I like the experience of listening to it. Doesn't matter if it came out in the 1950s or the 2010s or the 16th century, because I enjoy what I enjoy.
So you'll excuse me if I cringe the next time one of the old fogeys of my generation or earlier says, "This crap today is horrible! Our music was the best!" Or better yet, I'm going to hit them over the head with their own cane. That should teach them.
Do you know the last time I looked at the Hot 100? It had to have been 1988 or so. And I saw it in glossy print format, rather than finding it on the Internet like I did 30 seconds ago.
This, you understand, was back when I read Billboard. I think I had a subscription for awhile.
A subscription to a print publication. How cute!
Back then, I knew every artist and every song on the charts. Perhaps stunningly, I just realized I'm familiar with nine of the 10 songs on the current chart, and I'm actually rather proud of myself for that.
Of course, the only reason I know any of these modern groups is because I have teen-aged children. We listen to "their" music when we're in the car, which is why I'm acquainted with Imagine Dragons and can confidently say that Selena Gomez is famous for something other than being on the Disney Channel.
My interest in pop music waned quickly in the early 90s when grunge burst onto the scene. In retrospect, I actually like grunge. But at the time it seemed like a wild departure from the 80s New Wave music I had loved for so long.
And as far as I was concerned, the 90s didn't get much better as the decade progressed, musically speaking. After awhile it all sounded like the same four distorted guitar chords and/or tired R&B artists over and over, so I tuned out.
Only when my kids started getting old enough to have an interest in pop culture did I return to the modern music scene, and I have to tell you it's not that bad.
There's a lot of stuff being played on Top 40 radio today that interests me. (NOTE: I have no idea whether "Top 40 radio" means anything anymore, but it's a phrase I understand so I'm going to use it.)
There's also a lot of stuff I think is just rhythmic noise, but that's only because I'm middle-aged and I'm required by law to complain at least a bit about these darned kids and their loud music.
The music that totally lost me by the late 80s was rap. I liked a lot of rap in the 80s, or at least as much rap as a pasty white suburban kid was supposed to like.
I liked Run DMC the best. They were talented. And they were funny. And they didn't rap about shooting policemen in the head. That seemed pretty non-threatening to white people like me.
Even more Caucasian-friendly was D.J. Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince. Jeff, incidentally, became the Andrew Ridgeley of the rap scene when Will Smith emerged as a star. I felt bad for him.
But I enjoyed the hits he and Will cranked out for awhile, including "Parents Just Don't Understand" and "I Think I Can Beat Mike Tyson." Again, no cop-killing, no N-word, no angry bass-thumping and screaming. I could semi-relate.
But then came NWA and Ice-T and Ice Cube and Iced Coffee and whatnot, and the whole genre just flew off in a direction that didn't interest me in the least. So I stopped paying attention.
Nowadays two or three pop songs come out every year that intrigue me enough to download them from iTunes, and that's about it. The rest of the stuff on the radio is OK and no more than that for me, so I listen to a lot of Duran Duran and Men at Work and Paul Simon and The Fixx and whatever else comes up on my "Pathetic Old Guy" iPod playlist.
At one time or another, all of those groups were played regularly on Top 40 radio. And that, as far as you kids know, is saying something.
Before we jump into yet another five-item list here on the ol' blog, let me point out something.
The title of this post is "Five quintessentially 80s songs." Not "THE five quintessentially 80s songs." Just five of them from what is presumably a much longer list.
So don't get your panties in a bunch complaining about my choices, which by the way are exquisite. If you have additions, please, add them in the comments.
I suppose I mean at least three things by the phrase "quintessentially 80s":
These are songs that define or really capture some part of the decade's vibe and feel.
They are songs that may still be listened to and enjoyed by many, but that I submit could only have been hits in the 80s.
And they're songs that I like. As I always say, I'm pushing the keys here, so I make the rules.
Anyway, in no particular order, here are five quintessentially 80s songs:
I Ran - Flock of Seagulls
I have this belief that no discussion of 80s music or culture is complete without at least a passing mention of Flock of Seagulls. They weren't especially huge, as New Wave bands go, but lead singer Mike Score's hair and their overall sound were very much representative of what was going on in one segment of pop music in, say, 1982 and '83.
My friend Mel was a huge Flock of Seagulls fan and had all of their music on cassette. This was before the CD era, of course, but long after vinyl had stopped being cool. Ironically, vinyl is ultra-hip and cool today, which just goes to prove what Mark Twain said about history not necessarily repeating itself, but it sure does rhyme a lot.
Down Under - Men at Work
There are probably few people in the U.S. (or even the world) who still listen to Men at Work as frequently and as enthusiastically as I do. Their sound is dated in many ways, but I guess that's why I like it. "Business As Usual," the album on which "Down Under" appeared, could only have clicked on a global scale as it did in the early 80s, largely as a reaction to much of the blandness that proceeded it on the pop charts in 1979 and '80.
This particular tune resonated with millions partly because it helped bring about a massive wave of interest in Australia, a continent we had all sort of collectively forgotten about for several decades prior. Suddenly it was like, "Hey, remember Australia? They're all so cool down there! And how about that Crocodile Dundee?"
Greg Ham's flute riff defines this song for many, but it doesn't work without Colin Hay's voice and phrasing. The original version of this song, as Colin likes to point out, was much darker than the pop version that swept the world. But no one was really interested in dark and dreary at that point in history, so the cheery remix prevailed.
Come On, Eileen - Dexy's Midnight Runners
If someone brings up the topic of 80s one-hit wonders, this is your go-to band. I never quite got the whole overalls-and-bandanna ragamuffin look they were going for, but that's OK because this tune is one I can listen to again and again.
By the way, lots of misheard lyrics in this song, including the very garbled first stanza. For the record, it goes like this:
Poor old Johnnie Ray Sounded sad upon the radio Moved a million hearts in mono Our mothers cried, sang along Who would blame them?
Not Shakespeare, I guess, but better than, say, Vanilla Ice.
99 Luftballoons - Nena
We're talking about the German version here, not that weak English-translated "99 Red Balloons." Nena is Nena only when she's speaking der Deutsch and showing off her hairy armpits. (And for what it's worth, the English translation wasn't a direct translation, so it's not even the same song, really.)
I guess this was designed to be an anti-war song of sorts, which would make sense from a German band working in the early 80s. They lived in a place where the Cold War was being waged on a daily basis.
But what everyone really liked was the beat of the song, and specifically the synthesized bass line. The song could have been about floor wax for all it mattered, and none of us knew what Nena's German lyrics meant anyway. A worthy addition to any list of great 80s songs.
Video Killed the Radio Star - The Buggles
Nowadays, this songs only gets mentioned as the answer to a trivia question: namely, what video was the first one ever played on MTV?
But it's a good tune in its own right and it gets heavy rotation on my iPod (to which you're probably responding, "Of COURSE it does.")
Technically, "Video Killed the Radio Star" doesn't even belong on this list because it was officially released in 1979. But because of the MTV connection, and because of what it represented, it deserves a place here. It tells the story of the passing of one era and the dawn of another, which reminds me that there really was a kind of collective anticipation as the 70s were ending and the 80s began.
Of course, by the time the 90s rolled around, all we had to show for the decade were crates of unsold parachute pants and a hole in the ozone layer caused by the use of millions of metric tons of Aquanet hairspray, so I'm not exactly sure what everyone was so jazzed about.
