You wanna rock? Then 1980 has something for you \m/…
Against my better judgment, I’m undertaking a project to determine my top 10 albums of every year since 1960. Instead of just picking my favorite stuff out of my collection, I intend to explore, re-visit and discover. While I can’t promise to leave no stone un-turned, I am going to go deeper than I ever have before. Why would I partake in a journey that will inevitably take many years and that I ultimately may never finish? Most importantly, to uncover great music that I’ve never heard before. Second, to boost my knowledge of music history and get a sense of what was happening at a macro scale in a snapshot of time. Finally, I want to share my passion for music with you and, fingers crossed, generate a dialogue down in the comments. So without further ado, here is #22 in the series. My random number generator tells me that 1991 will be the next year to tackle!
Check out my previous entries here.
The Greatest Albums of 1980
The British Invasion is a pretty well-known term among music fans. No, it doesn’t refer to the Revolutionary War, but rather the mid-60’s phenomenon where young, white, British dudes re-interpreted the rock and blues invented by young, black, American dudes, and American teenagers went apeshit for it. Find virtually any mainstream American music publication, and their list of greatest bands will likely still have the Beatles and the Rolling Stones in the top two slots. No knock against those bands, both tremendously talented and important, but the rock establishment has been a bit myopic ever since. In the late seventies and early eighties, however, there was a second British Invasion. It is generally referred to as the New Wave of British Heavy Metal, but I’m going to cast a slightly wider net and include acts like Ozzy and AC/DC, who don’t typically get included under the NWOBHM banner. As I listened to the music of 1980, I marveled at the sheer volume of high-quality hard rock and metal produced by bands from across the pond. There was plenty of other variety, to be sure, from country to reggae to what may be the first real hip hop album. Yet the preponderance of acts like Maiden and Priest, Saxon, Diamond Head, Angel Witch, Samson, etc. was clearly the lead story for the year. While you could argue that the first invasion proved to be the more influential of the two, these acts were still heavily significant in shaping the rock music of the eighties and beyond. The members of Metallica, arguably the most important heavy metal band of all time, were no doubt taking note of the speed of Motorhead and the intricate song structures of Iron Maiden. Acts like Guns ‘N Roses and Motley Crue would simply not have been the same if AC/DC and Ozzy Osbourne never existed. Even the nineties artists who were supposedly the antithesis of 80’s rock, ala Soundgarden and Alice in Chains, have intractable elements of this music in their DNA.
It isn’t all headbanging, though. Even though the start of a new decade is an arbitrary marker of change when it comes to musical trends, 1980 really does feel like a transitional year. There are some of the last gasps of artists primarily associated with the 70’s (Eagles, Bob Marley) and the end of the “classic period” for certain 70’s artists (Emmylou Harris, Stevie Wonder). You have classic work from artists who straddle the late 70’s and early 80’s (Talking Heads, Prince). Finally, you have a glimpse of the future with Kurtis Blow ushering in hip hop to the mainstream and Peter Gabriel shifting from the 70’s prog rock of Genesis to a sound that predicts music like the Police’s Synchronicity. It’s a turning point that thankfully carries a lot more great music than the similarly transitional 1990.
Remain in Light – Talking Heads
Remain in Light opens with a few random notes of percussion, then David Byrne letting out an exclamation that is half-shout, half-gasp. That utterance is something akin to the sound of a well-shaken bottle of soda being opened, or perhaps the lid of Pandora’s box creaking up, as a half a beat later a deluge of polyrhythmic instrumentation floods our ears. Those first three songs (“Born Under Punches”, “Crosseyed and Painless”, “The Great Curve”) are a marvel. The band seeks to approximate the sounds of Fela Kuti’s 70’s afro-beat, but attacks if from a completely different angle. Kuti’s long form jams are set into motion with a basic framework, and then his brilliant musicians fill in the gaps, extending the songs with subtly shifting chants and rhythms. These three tracks are tightly and impeccably constructed, the band racing through them as if there’s a ticking time bomb in the studio. There are so many sonic elements that the music reaches a weird point where any less going on would be too much, but they have somehow crossed over into a point where all of this funky, jittery, futuristic sound stacks up to a staggering and almost absurdist effect. There is simply nothing like it in the vast collection of music I’ve ever listened to (including the cover of this album that made #3 on my 2018 list). I would say the closest analog it has is the electronic/sound collage work of more modern artists like The Avalanches or Kaytranada, but that’s still a poor comparison because all of this madness is generated by a band with live instrumentation. It simply must be heard to be believed.
Side two kicks off with what is likely the Talking Heads’ definitive song. If I can be allowed to crib from myself, here is what I wrote about “Once in a Lifetime” in my last post: “[It] is maybe the most recognizable tune the band ever recorded, having become over the years a sort of stand-in for the suburban ennui that leads people to sleepwalk through life.” It is about as perfect as pop music gets, and as out-there as perfect pop music can be. In this context it feels simpler and more upbeat than it really is, standing as an oasis between the broiling intensity of the first three tracks and the downbeat weirdness of the second half. Following “Once in a Lifetime”, the album starts slowly winding down through “Houses in Motion”, which echoes the funky syncopation and call and response of side one, just in a lower tempo. Also like those tracks, the lyrics are nigh inscrutable, though I suspect were meticulously crafted by Byrne. The next two tracks continue the audible dissolution, though the subject matter couldn’t be any more disparate. “Seen and Not Seen” outlines a man’s strategy to alter his facial appearance through years of concentration and self-control, while “Listening Wind” is about an indigenous man who faces colonization of his village and makes foreboding plans to “drive them away”. I suppose they are both accounts of men who seek to impose their will on forces beyond their control, but I don’t know how intentional that parallel is. The album finally fades into the miasma of “The Overload”, a haunting, nearly formless song that features bleak but opaque lyrics (Opening stanza: “A terrible signal, too weak to even recognize; a gentle collapsing, the removal of the insides.”) The shape of the album recalls a spinning top that slowly winds down, transforming from a whirling dervish into a teetering block of wood, slowly decelerating until it slumps over motionless. It remains one of the most vibrant, bizarre, unexpected spurts of creativity in rock and roll history, and one that does not suffer under the subsequent forty years of musical evolution.
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Dirty Mind – Prince
Prince’s first couple of albums hint at his genius, but it is Dirty Mind that formally announces the fact that he is among the greatest talents of his generation. Of course, by the end of the eighties, that statement would have to be amended to “of all time”, as this is just the opening salvo in a string of brazenly inventive and mercurial records that would cement his legacy no matter how weird or diluted his music would become in the following few decades. The four towering pillars of that eighties output are Dirty Mind, 1999, Purple Rain, and Sign O’ the Times, and no two of them sound remotely the same. In 1980, Prince released the simplest of this classic quartet, but don’t confuse a lack of complexity for a lack of quality. The title track kicks off the album with a jaunty swing that is, yes, simple, but treacherously catchy. If you’ve ever seen the video, you will no doubt find yourself bopping along to it just like young, shirtless Prince whenever it comes on. Nowhere on the album will you encounter the experimentation of 1999 or the pyrotechnics of Purple Rain. This is largely bare bones funk, a testament that insane hooks will carry the day no matter how little adornment they have. That’s what made Prince so obviously an artist on the rise – his preternatural gift for songcraft. Kool & the Gang and the O’Jays and the Bar Kays and the Isleys were capable of crafting perfect songs on occasion, but if they had Mr. Nelson’s capacity to string together a whole album’s worth of perfect songs, then they would be in the rarified funk royalty that includes Monsieurs Clinton, Stone and Wonder. That is where Prince sits comfortably. Maybe he’s not Washington, but he’s definitely on Mount Rushmore.
If Dirty Mind doesn’t hide behind any musical smoke and mirrors, it does rely on some lyrical subterfuge to buoy its reputation. In a move that was no doubt designed to court controversy, a couple of the songs are brazenly kinky. Today, we associate Prince with the weird dichotomy of his Jehovah’s Witness faith and liberal sexual attitudes, but in 1980 a song expressly about fellatio, and another about fellatio and incest, had to be wildly shocking. I find “Head” and “Sister” to be the weakest tracks on the album, far preferring the ambiguous androgyny of “When You Were Mine”, or even the straightforward “Do It All Night”, to what feels like a transparent attempt to rile up some press by challenging social mores. That said, even if it was a calculated ploy to draw attention to the album, it is an album that deserves all the attention that it can get. The scandal might have drawn eyeballs (and earholes), but it’s elements like the incessant groove of “Partyup” and the laid-back bounce of “Uptown” that make the real impression. Simply put, this is music I can put on pretty much any time and it always feels fresh and vibrant. A masterpiece.
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Uprising – Bob Marley
Keith Richards once made an interesting comment about Bob Marley. Basically, he said that the real tragedy of Marley’s passing was that he was so huge that interest in reggae died with him. I’ve been struggling with Marley’s importance in this series. He is so great and so prolific that he absolutely overshadows every other name in his field. Even on this list, he inadvertently elbowed out another reggae artist by putting out an amazing collection of tunes. My eleventh best album of the year was likely Black Uhuru’s groovy and trippy Sensemilla, so had Uprising not made the list, it would have. Technically, Bob’s excellence doesn’t preclude me from featuring other reggae musicians. Cee Lo Green, for example, is no Otis Redding, but he’s popped up on my lists twice. I think what sets Marley apart from other legendary performers is that he doesn’t have any peers within his genre. Otis can be roughly equated with Aretha Franklin or Sam Cooke (or in a modern context, perhaps Frank Ocean or Erykah Badu), but there is just too much daylight between Marley’s body of work and any potential contender like Jimmy Cliff or Toots & the Maytals.
Uprising is a lean 36 minutes, and Marley makes use of all of them. The floor for the songs is “very good”, while individual moments reach for transcendence. Album closer “Redemption Song” is one of Bob’s finest achievements, and it showcases his ability to marry profoundly political and philosophical material with the most ear-pleasing tunes. That is such a tightrope to walk, yet he pulls it off again and again throughout his catalog. Take “Real Situation”, which is perhaps the most pleasant and cheery-sounding tune on the album. That breezy aesthetic masks such rosy lyrics as “It seems the only solution is total destruction. It ain’t no use, no one can stop them now.” Never has such apocalyptic soothsaying sounded so appropriate for your summer barbecue. Marley balances his frequently dour view of humanity with another theme that he doesn’t seem to get associated with enough, which is his faith in a higher power. Stevie Wonder and Willie Nelson, among others, have never been shy about letting their faith come through in their work, but I don’t think any secular artist has been as overtly spiritual as Bob Marley. He is constantly quoting scripture in his lyrics and recorded countless praise songs (such as Uprising’s “Forever Loving Jah”) across his career. The religious and socio-political depth of his lyrics continues to astound me, and those aspects are heavily worked out on Uprising. The only missing element is a real love song (“Could You Be Loved” is about love for humanity, not a specific woman), which is a shame because he’s great at that too. For this point in his career, though, this is a perfect piece of work. His voice is carrying a bit more grit and world weariness than it had in the previous decade, and he has updated his sound quite a bit as well. There are hardly any acoustic elements, a sharp contrast to an early album like Catch a Fire, but a choice that reflects the direction of rock and soul music at the time. That aesthetic pays off at the end, as well, with the spare instrumentation of “Redemption Song” standing out in sharp relief to the prior nine songs, and providing a soulful, stirring coda to one of the finest reggae albums of all time.
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Back in Black – AC/DC
Rock music has a storied history of lead singers defecting, getting fired, firing their bands, or in the case of former AC/DC front-man Bon Scott, coming to a premature demise. When it comes to the new blood, results are mixed. We’ll look at a case later in the list where both the estranged singer and his replacement fared remarkably well after the split, but I could argue that there has never been a more successful swap in history than Brian Johnson taking over for Scott. Bruce Dickenson was an upgrade over Paul Di’Anno, and his first album with the band is similarly the band’s best, but Di’Anno didn’t carry the legendary cache of Bon Scott. The fact that Johnson could come in, sing in such a similar style that the band’s sound remained fully intact, yet not come off as a karaoke copycat is a tremendous feat. Johnson fully embodies his inaugural lyric with the band: “I’m rolling thunder, power and rain; I’m coming on like a hurricane!” His energy fully invigorates his bandmates, and even the filler tracks are so spirited and rowdy that you can’t deduct points for them. And the non-filler tracks? Unimpeachable. After the one-two punch of “Hells Bells” and “Shoot to Thrill” I’m ready to chug one bottle of Jack Daniels and smash a second one over somebody’s head. Later, the back-to-back title track and “You Shook Me All Night Long” offer two of the most iconic songs in the history of rock and roll. I was asked to create a wedding reception playlist several years ago and included music of all stripes with the express intention of enticing people to party and have a good time. The only song that packed the dance floor across generations was “You Shook Me All Night Long”, which wouldn’t have been in my top twenty guesses, but seemed obvious as I watched the jubilation among attendees. While the singing and playing warrant no criticism, the lyrics range from vapid but fun to outright putrid. It’s pretty rough when song titles like “Givin’ the Dog a Bone” and “What Do You Do for Money Honey” barely hint at the misogyny on the album. That’s largely the price you pay for most 70’s and 80’s rock, though, and probably even well before that (“Under My Thumb” and “Long Tall Sally” are hardly paragons of progressive gender politics.) The album closes with “Rock and Roll Ain’t No Noise Pollution”, where the band downshifts for a dirty blues number that puts an exclamation point on the album and AC/DC’s overarching mission statement. Sure, they have no greater ambition than making music that’s bigger, louder and dumber than the next guy. So what? Back in Black makes the case that no further justification is needed when you kick this much ass.
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Iron Maiden – Iron Maiden
Iron Maiden’s debut is a little rough around the edges. They hadn’t yet connected with the best heavy metal vocalist of all time, and there is a palpable sense of a band finding their way. A song like “Remember Tomorrow” is fantastic, but with the benefit of hindsight we can imagine how much better it would be after the band really came into its own a few years later. Yet, this may be my second favorite Maiden album – in my top five at least. There is something beautiful about hearing a band forming their identity in real time, and the slightly unmoored feeling only adds to the power when they lock onto something as potent as “Strange World” or the album-closing title track. Paul Di’Anno may not have the chops of his replacement, but his performance here ensures that he’s more than a heavy metal footnote. In fact, his more subdued, vulnerable singing gives the album a haunting tone that recalls early Black Sabbath more than even the release from the self-same band in 1980. A lot of metal to follow this would abandon such a rich atmosphere for virtuosic technique and break-neck speed, Maiden included. Those are things we love about 80’s thrash, but hearing Iron Maiden I’m reminded of a broader palette available to those musicians. The real driving force of the album, however is the guitar attack of Dave Murray and Dennis Stratton, and especially bassist Steve Harris. Sure, Adrian Smith was right around the corner, but these gentlemen acquitted themselves incredibly well on the band’s first record. That’s what makes Iron Maiden so special: Even without what many consider the band’s two most important members, the spirit of adventurousness and excitement that defines the outfit is just as evident as it ever would be.
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Roses in the Snow – Emmylou Harris
In my opinion (and the opinion of many others who have opinions on such things), the best country song of all time was released in 1980. It is not on this album, but bear with me for a moment. George Jones’ “He Stopped Loving Her Today” is a masterpiece that deserves my recommendation just as much as anything else in the top ten. The accompanying album, I Am What I Am, is a good one, hence its inclusion in my honorable mentions. Yet, it represents a subtle shift towards a slicker, more polished country sound that would come to characterize the genre in the coming decade. I’ve softened in regards to that aesthetic in recent years, but my favorite type of country will always be grittier, less produced, more “authentic” (whatever that means). I can’t call Roses in the Snow gritty, per say, but it is super stripped down, pure version of one of my favorite country artists. In many ways, it’s a culmination of what I love about Emmylou Harris’ catalog. It is a short album, just over 30 minutes, and very straight forward. So much of the joy lies in lovely harmonies and classy finger-picking. Harris has a voice of crystalline beauty, one that rivals Dolly Parton for pure vulnerability and is perhaps unrivaled in terms of integrity – you simply believe every word and emotion that she puts forth. She has been remarkably sought-after throughout her career to provide backing vocals, and boasts several excellent collaborations on her own albums. Here, she outdoes herself in that regard, partnering with Parton, Linda Ronstadt, Ricky Skaggs and Johnny Cash across the album. Cash, in particular, stands out on the highlight “Jordan”. Harris is also known for covering artists as wide-ranging as Chuck Berry and the Louvin Brothers, but her version of Simon & Garfunkel’s “The Boxer” may be her most fitting choice. I’m not prepared to call this my favorite of Emmylou’s albums just yet, but it absolutely rivals 1976’s Luxury Liner for that spot.
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Heaven and Hell – Black Sabbath
Black Sabbath’s first four albums will always be their most iconic, but its not unfair to say that the back half of the Ozzy era took a nosedive in terms of quality. Fresh off of their estrangement, Sabbath came roaring back with acrobatic new singer, Ronnie James Dio, and the result rivals the band’s best output. Dio is such a different singer than Osbourne – more technically skilled, certainly, and more theatrical. The rest of the band really plays to Dio’s strengths, to the end that this barely feels like a Sabbath album. Tony Iommi trades in his signature sludge and distortion riffs for more spritely, sophisticated playing. The rhythm section of Geezer Butler and Bill Ward also comes across more fiery than in their original incarnation, more closely resembling what metal would sound like in the eighties than the seventies. The dynamic range of Dio opens up a realm of possibilities for the group, leading to tracks like “Die Young”, which features some interesting changes, and “Lonely is the Word” which echoes the bridge of “Stairway to Heaven” in a way that must have been deliberate. There is even some straightforward rock, like “Walk Away”, which I am a little torn on. On one hand, I appreciate the diversity of sound and accessibility that more traditional rock music brings, but it also robs the band of some ineffable mystery to play a four-on-the-floor tune about somebody’s ex-girlfriend. Along with the bland “Lady Evil”, it is my least favorite song on the album. Luckily, the rest of the material is stellar, particularly the opening stretch of “Neon Knights and “Children of the Sea”, along with the epic title track. It’s “Heaven and Hell” that really predicts the complex song structures and drama that would become the trademark of metal’s most popular acts in the coming decade. Ozzy would go on to have the stronger career as a solo artist, but in terms of their initial efforts, his former band just edges him out on quality.
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Blizzard of Ozz – Ozzy Osbourne
Every time I hear “Crazy Train” on the radio or at a hockey game, I keep thinking “This is going to be the time that this song becomes insufferable to me…” But that riff, oh man, that riff, gets me every time. Much like his former band moved from one iconic singer to the next after he departed, Ozzy pulled off the guitarist equivalent of the Packers replacing Brett Favre with Aaron Rogers by scoring Quiet Riot gunslinger, Randy Rhoads, following decade-long collaboration with Tony Iommi. Rhoads’ finest effort would come the following year, but there is no dismissing his monstrous sound on Blizzard of Oz. He combined loud chunky riffs with absurd precision in a way that was uniquely his own. Listen to the lyrical solo at the end of “Revelation (Mother Earth)” kick immediately into the blustery opening riff of “Steal Away (The Night)”. That’s a masterful transition, and one that shows off Rhoads’ insane versatility. Osbourne sounds rejuvenated with his new band, and we would come to find out that the slightly poppier hard rock of his solo career fit his style even better than Sabbath. This is a good collection of songs, not without its weaker moments (sorry, “No Bone Movies”), but engaging throughout. I had a hard time ranking the four rock/metal albums in the middle of this list. Blizzard has the most quintessential individual tracks after Back in Black, but lacks the complexity and consistency of either Maiden or Sabbath. I ended up bumping Ozzy down the list a little, but I’m just as liable to throw this one on as any of the rest. Considering the gang of classic heavy albums in my honorable mentions (Ace of Spades; Wheels of Steel; Drama), it’s still high praise, and one of the most successful instances of a singer going solo in the history of rock and roll.
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Peter Gabriel (Melt) – Peter Gabriel
Psychedelic drug users are familiar with the term “set and setting”, which means the mind-frame you happen to be in (set) and the environment you happen to be in (setting) have an outsized impact on your enjoyment of the trip. Music operates in much the same way. Yes, there are very special and personal recordings that may improve your mood no matter what, but the fact is that most music for most people is largely dependent on context. Peter Gabriel’s third self-titled album demands to be heard at night, in the dark, with headphones on (psychedelic drugs may also help). This is not indicative of the artist who wrote “Sledgehammer” or “In Your Eyes”. Its intense and sinister-sounding, often unsettling. That profile is probably not for everyone, but it engenders a visceral reaction that I find a bit thrilling under the right circumstances. Gabriel makes a lot of choices to keep the listener on edge, from introducing sounds we generally associate with suspense in film scores, to withholding the “correct” notes that we expect to resolve the musical phrases he is using. The lyrics consistently address themes of disassociation and paranoia. Take this description of a starry evening, a topic that is the subject of countless ballads: “Lights go out, stars come down like a swarm of bees.” Thankfully, things let up a bit on the back half of the album. Though in keeping with the overall themes, standout track “Games Without Frontiers” has a bit of a funky new wave vibe that leavens the intensity a bit. The final two songs, “Lead a Normal Life” and “Biko”, also turn ever so slightly from the disconcerting nature of the preceding material, and hint at the music that would make Gabriel a pop sensation in the coming decade. Taken as a whole, Melt is an incredible tonal experiment, and an unforgettable experience when heard under the right circumstances.
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Eagles Live – Eagles
Live albums deploy innumerable tricks and techniques to sweeten the pot, so to speak. With a few notable exceptions, what is presented as a single continuous performance is inevitably culled from multiple nights in multiple cities. False starts, flubs and down time are surreptitiously excised in the studio, and sometimes crowd noise is piped in. James Brown and Guns ‘N Roses have entire sides of albums that were recorded in the studio and then engineered to sound like live recordings. Sometimes, this deception can be disheartening – I still remember being somewhat crestfallen upon learning that Allman Brothers’ epic, 20+ minute version of “Whipping Post” from At Filmore East was itself compiled together from multiple nights. There is something romantic about the idea that we are listening to the exact same thing that the audience heard on some magical night that demanded to be documented for posterity. Yet, I find myself becoming ever more pragmatic in my approach to music (an inevitable side affect from devoting so much time researching and analyzing it). If it sounds good, why should we care precisely how it came to sound good? From what I’ve read over the years, Eagles Live is one of the live albums that is least representative of an actual performance. The band, barely talking to each other anymore, sent overdubs and re-records via FedEx to cobble together the best version of the album they could manage. It was largely ignored critically, but I’d like to offer that it represents maybe the best option for an entry point (or only point) into the band’s catalog.
I’ve alluded to this in previous posts, but I sometimes feel like the Eagles’ last apologist. Despite breaking up shortly after I was born, they remained hugely popular while I was growing up, not just among my parents’ generation, but with all the kids my age who weren’t hip enough to eschew classic rock for Sonic Youth or the Pixies. I think their dire “Hell Freezes Over” tour, album and television special in the mid-90’s marks the turning point in their public perception. Anyone who recalls that soulless, transparently capitalistic spectacle of the band barely swallowing their palpable contempt for each other while cranking out technically proficient but hollow versions of their hits may rightly treat the prospect of a live Eagles album with skepticism. This is not that, though. Pulled from performances as early as 1976, Eagles Live finds the band at the height of their powers. Stalwart radio staples like “Hotel California”, “Life in the Fast Lane” and “Take It Easy” all get a little juice from the live setting, and some tunes like “Take It to the Limit” completely transcend their studio roots with show-stopping performances. The harmonies on “Heartache Tonight” and “Seven Bridges Road”, no matter how lab-manufactured they may be, are breathtaking. Mostly, it captures the strength of the band’s songbook and the charming sprawl of their style in a (sort of) concise package. It may not be enough to convert all you Lebowski disciples out there, but it holds up as a great listen for the rest of us.
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Honorable Mentions
Metal: Wheels of Steel – Saxon; Ace of Spades – Motorhead; Strong Arm of the Law – Saxon; Lightning to the Nations – Diamond Head; Angel Witch – Angel Witch; Head On – Samson
Soul/Funk: Hotter than July – Stevie Wonder; Garden of Love – Rick James; Mr. Hands – Herbie Hancock
Afrobeat/Juju/African Pop: Ori Mi Ja Fun Mi – King Sunny Ade; Gone Clear – Manu Dibango; Body & Soul – William Onyeabor; Music of Many Colors – Fela Kuti & Roy Ayers
Country: Honeysuckle Rose – Willie Nelson; Music Man – Waylon Jennings; I Am What I Am – George Jones
Rock: Making Movies – Dire Straits; Drama – Yes; End of the Century – Ramones; Freedom of Choice – Devo; The Concert – Creedence Clearwater Revival; Departure – Journey; Bebe le Strange – Heart; Malice in Wonderland – Nazareth; Women and Children First – Van Halen
Reggae: Sinsemilla – Black Uhuru
Hip Hop: Kurtis Blow – Kurtis Blow
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