In part one of our rundown of forgotten 1980s albums, we looked at the decade’s early years. Today, we move into the middle – from 1983 to 1985. It was a time of extraordinary eclecticism across a wide swath of popular music.
We’re going to pick a dozen albums – four from each year under consideration – that give just a taste of that variety. I can’t promise you will like them all. But I guarantee that depending on your personal tastes, there will be several in here that you will love discovering – or perhaps rediscovering.
I run into this type of comment all the time from my contemporaries. “Music after 1979 sucks.” We came of age in the ‘70s and have an understandable bias toward rock and roll from the 1960s and ‘70s. The opinion is usually greeted by some pejorative reference to boomers, and then both sides dig their heels in and the whole thing gets ugly.
Mid-1980s albums that should have never been forgotten
So even though I may be a victim of my times, I intend to praise the 1980s for what I think it did very well. It broadened the scope of popular music. It moved music forward in all directions. If old-school rock & roll was growing stale, countless sub-genres were taking the energy engendered by the ‘60s and ‘70s, and applying it to styles of music as old as bluegrass to as new as … well, new wave. The albums we will look at from the middle of the decade highlight that expansiveness.
There will be punk and pop and art and blues and folk – a little something for everyone. There will even be a nod back to the early days of rock for those who need your ‘60s/’70s fix. With a few exceptions, this may be the most obscure collection of albums I have done as part of this series. But that seems fitting for an overlooked decade. There was a lot more going on beyond Thriller and True Blue.
1983
High Land, Hard Rain by Aztec Camera
The impossibly catchy jangle of “Oblivious,” which opens High Land, Hard Rain, comes courtesy of Roddy Frame, who had just turned 19 when his band’s debut studio album was released in February, ’83. Aztec Camera was part of a new group of acts coming from the UK – the Smiths were another – that seemed both new and classical at the same time. None may have had the diversity of Frame and Aztec Camera.
The gorgeous soul of “Walk Out to Winter,” the Motown-inspired “Pillar to Post,” the dramatic ‘60s-style rock of “The Boy Wonders” – those and more never fail to deliver pristine pop melodies regardless of the influences Frame might be exploring at the moment. Those songs – especially “Oblivious” achieved some degree of success as singles.
But the deeper cuts maintain that gorgeous pop-soul blend right through to the end. “Lost Outside the Tunnel” and “Back on Board” might have been hits had they been released at a different time.
Suicidal Tendencies by Suicidal Tendencies
Mike Muir was about the same age as Roddy Frame when his band released their first album a few months after Aztec Camera. But their musical approach could not have been more different. Whereas the Scotsman Frame begins his first album with infectious pop, Muir opens with maniacal laughter and a cacophony of guitar from Grant Estes and drums from Amery Smith.
The track is called “Suicide’s an Alternative/You’ll Be Sorry” and it established ST’s thrash speed punk perfectly. In machine-gun fashion, Muir reels off a litany of complaints – one of them being “Sick of music – Top 40 sucks.”
The rest of the album – 12 tracks in a lean 28 minutes – never lets up. From the blues grunge of “Subliminal” to the mind-boggling hyper-whine of “Institutionalized,” Muir and company apply wry, juvenile humor to serious topics and create something rather amazing. They serve up hardcore horror with “I Saw Your Mommy” and political agitprop with “Fascist Pig.”
Suicidal Tendencies stirred up passions enough back in the day to get themselves banned from playing gigs in L.A. until the end of the decade. But I think you can probably give the album a listen today without being driven to violence.
Soul Mining by The The
In an era of experimentation, Matt Johnson may have gone farther than anyone in the guise of a supposed pop band. Soul Mining was Johnson’s second full album as The The – a loose collection of revolving musicians. And what a collection of players he brought in.
Zeke Manyika, the percussionist who brought world beats to fellow band Orange Juice, pounds away on the opening track “I’ve Been Waiting for Tomorrow (All My Life).” Squeeze’s Jules Holland adds his piano to the lush soul of “Uncertain Smile.” And that’s New York Dolls’ David Johansen blowing harmonica on the closing track “Perfect” (though Johnson never intended it to even be included on the album). Fiddle and accordion show on the spacy “This is The Day,” and Johnson goes even further on “Three Orange Kisses From Kazan” with melodica, flute, and saxophone.
That was apparently a little too far afield for audiences in the USA. The song was only available on the continental releases. Most of all, there is always a synthesizer, cementing punk to new wave, and helping build a new post-punk ethos.
Better Days by Guy Clark
Guy Clark’s songs were covered by virtually everyone in the Americana and Outlaw Country music fields at one time or another. Clark never had anything more than modest success with his own solo career, but as a songwriter, he was as respected as they come. His fifth album, Better Days, shows him in fine voice. No one did the simple joy of “Homegrown Tomatoes” better, and the only person who topped his heartfelt letter to his late father, “The Randall Knife,” was Clark himself, when he released a new version 12 years later.
Rodney Crowell produced Better Days, and Vince Gill plays guitar, while legendary fiddler Johnny Gimble is also on hand. The man who was covered by everyone does one cover himself here – doing a spry swing version of Townes Van Zandt’s hilarious “No Deal,” which featured Clark’s instantly recognizable talking delivery. Clark had better-known albums including his debut, Old No. 1, and his haunting The Dark in 2002.
At the end of the 1980s, Old Friends showed off how many major Nashville stars felt indebted to Clark. But Better Days may be Clark at his most easy-going, with comfort songs like “The Carpenter” and “Uncertain Texas” (with vocal support from Corwell). The entire album is a joy.
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