Russell and Ron Mael really, really enjoyed the 1980’s. When mindlessly chipper pop songs composed of nothing but pre-programmed electronic boops became the norm, it was like a goldmine for the brothers’ satire. It also freed them up from pretending that Sparks were ever anything but a duo. Ron was the sardonic mastermind behind the keyboard and Russ was his manic foil. They got so good at doing impressions of the crappy pop stars all around them that at one point Paul McCartney did an impression of them. (See Coming Up video.) The garish design, the bad fashion, the cocaine-fueled optimism, all of the tropes of 80’s pop are so ripe with comic potential. You can hear all of the hot trends of circa 1984 on Sparks’ classic album Pulling Rabbits Out of A Hat. It’s basically a walk through everything neon-colored and stupid on the Top 40, and it’s one of the best albums of the decade.
Tina Turner owns one of the great reinvention stories in rock music. She’s one of the few 60’s rock stars who managed to turn the 80’s into her decade. In the 60’s Turner performed with her husband Ike, who was a brilliant musician but a piece of shit human being. Turner was then mainly known for her raw and sexual performance style. She was way, way sexier than the buttoned-up ladies churned out by the Motown machine and never quite enjoyed the same degree of mainstream success. But it’s the Tina Turner of the 80’s, with the insane feathered wigs and huge-shouldered dresses, that most of us know best; she’s one of the great divas of the era. It doesn’t overshadow the fact that she was already a legend in the 60’s; her preexisting legacy just makes her later success more meaningful. It is obviously a very appealing story arc, as Hollywood didn’t fail to notice; woman leaves an abusive marriage, establishes herself as an artist in her own right and becomes more successful than ever before, while the former husband sinks into obscurity. The vindication of Turner’s success as a solo artist is strongly felt both in her work and her presentation of herself as a strong, street-wise woman. Of course, the context of her life also gives her work a great degree of pathos. Songs like Private Dancer and What’s Love Got to Do With It? are good songs without any context and the emotion of Turner’s performance needs no explanation. But the knowledge that she sang those songs after leaving a husband who beat her, burned her with cigarettes and forced her to perform when she was so sick she’d been hospitalized…well, that gives a whole new meaning to a song about being a whore who dances for money.
The Smiths are one of those groups that take you into their headspace, and you’d better be prepared for it. In Morrissey’s world even innocuous things like going to the beach are heavy with existential malaise. Morrissey has become almost entirely campy now, but he was serious as a tombstone when he first pined his way into the hearts and minds of the alienated and sexually confused. Shockingly enough, not everyone recognizes themselves in the fantasies of the Top 40, and the 80’s were particularly escapist and divorced from reality in that regard. Songs about people whose main priorities are sex and partying may not say anything relevant to you about your life, not when you’re the kind of person who doesn’t get invited to parties and can barely interact with another person for five minutes. If you’re the kind of person who for the life of you can’t understand how other people manage to form and maintain attachments, how they even manage to find, let alone follow, the prescribed path through life, then the Smiths are for you.
The more silly Sparks get, the more relevant they are. This is relevant to all socially awkward people, obviously. You can’t be the life of the soiree if you aren’t either actually drunk, or acting like it. This also relevant to fans of the 80’s; no other decade in living memory was so juicy with satirical possibilities. One didn’t even need the magic of hindsight to see that. In 1984, Russell and Ron Mael were in full parody mode, enjoying the sheer ridiculousness of the New Wave scene. Being a step above mere parody as they always were, they also happened to make some of the best New Wave music while they were at it. Everything about it is satire, and everything about it is on point, and it’s also better than what it’s satirizing. That’s the height of achievement.
Morrissey himself can’t play this song with a straight face anymore, but if the singer has outgrown his own youthful angst, the sentiment lives on none the less. And frankly, the sensation that the one thing that you really, really, really want is always and forever out of reach may not ever entirely go away. Sure, the world is full of people who know of no reality beyond their own entitlement; they must have happy lives, the same way that some of the less-sentient animals must have happy lives. For the rest of us, there’s the nagging and pervasive sensation that personal satisfaction lies behind a door marked No Admittance. And while lack of access to material indulgences is fairly easy to salve away through zen mindfulness or some other philosophical contortion, the disinterest and rejection we face in the interpersonal realm is wounding. Again and again we bump up against the saddening reality that our feelings count for nothing, and no matter how passionately we may feel, the feelings of others remain untouchable, incomprehensible, completely and utterly beyond influence. So we mope. We mope and we cry and we shake a wan fist at the world. Then we mope some more.
This is appropriate for Saturday morning programming on PBS. (Is that still a thing?) It’s earnest, simple, and well-intentioned enough to initiate a ‘teaching moment’ with your child. I don’t know if Depeche Mode ever appeared on the Muppet Show, but this would very much have been an excellent choice if they had. It’s obviously a bit simplistic for adult fans, but perfectly calibrated to appeal to a fairly hip and sophisticated child. I’m not sure if Depeche Mode intentionally made their plea for inter-human love and understanding as broadly simple as possible as a reaching out gesture geared towards younger minds, or if it’s just the Spinal Tap effect at work. I mean, we all know rock stars are dumb, especially at their most earnest. Either way, if you have offspring, this is a great starter song; you start a conversation about hatred and war, and you can get them started on learning about cool music. And once your child has become a Depeche Mode fan, you can explain to them about BDSM.
It sounds like a reggae party next door is pretty cool happenings even if you’re not invited to it. I mean, if I had Rasta neighbors who threw parties all night, I’d be pretty okay with it. And if you’re throwing your own reggae party, this is your jam, because Black Uhuru is the best party music. When it comes to classic reggae, they are among the very greatest, and about due for a revival, I think.