Since We're Talking About the 80s...the Retirement of a Musical King

I was going to bring you part two of my defense of the 80s this week, but then an 80s icon changed my plans.  On Saturday, musician Phil Collins announced his retirement, which is a funny thing for a musician to do.  It’s not as if there’s a need to make these things official; there wasn’t an impending tour to consider, and as far as I can tell, no one was exactly waiting with bated breath for his next release.  I suspect news of his retirement provoked about the same response as his release of Motown covers last year – a mere shrug of the shoulders.  But there’s no denying his past mastery of the pop music genre.  Even if his song “Susudio” makes you grimace, or if the ballad “A Groovy Kind of Love” makes you cringe, you’ve got to give it up for the man who reigned as Musical King during the 1980s.

One need look no further than Milwaukee’s own US Cellular Arena, known as MECCA back in the 1980s, to get an understanding of just how dominant Collins was back then.  MECCA was the place in Wisconsin for arena rock shows at the time: Kiss, ABBA, Rush, Van Halen, Queen, Billy Joel, Bruce Springsteen – they all came to MECCA back in the day.  And so did Phil Collins.  In fact, in 1983 alone, Collins graced the stage in Milwaukee three times: in February as a solo artist, in August as the drummer for Robert Plant’s first solo tour, and in November as the lead singer and drummer of Genesis – three shows with three different acts in the same calendar year, a mindboggling feat.  I don’t know if this had ever been done before or if it’s ever been done since, but one gets the feeling that Collins’s ex-wives might have had a strong case in their divorce settlements; the guy was clearly not home often.

In the 1980s, when Collins wasn’t recording, he was touring. When he wasn’t singing, he was drumming or producing.  In ten years, Collins gave us five Genesis albums and four solo albums. He recorded drums with Robert Plant, Peter Gabriel, Howard Jones and Paul McCartney, produced records for Phillip Bailey, Eric Clapton and Adam Ant, and contributed to three movie soundtracks, garnering two Oscar nominations.  He even helped to create a “signature sound” that others emulated for years: the now-classic gated-drum popularized in the song, “In the Air Tonight.”  And in 1985, Collins performed at Live Aid on two different continents in one day: first in London, and then – courtesy of the Concorde airliner – in Philadelphia, including a set as drummer for Led Zeppelin. 

In short, Phil Collins ruled the decade. 

His current health woes, which include nerve damage in his hands and a dislocated vertebra, have prompted him to finally leave the stage.  But as Brett Favre has shown us, retirement can be a fickle thing, and no more-so than with musicians.  After all, I attended Elton John’s farewell tour – in 1984.  Two years earlier I watched The Who’s final concert on HBO.  Who knows – Phil may be around again before it’s all over, whether we ask for it or not. 

But in the meantime, I wish Phil Collins a happy retirement, and if it IS indeed a permanent one, here’s hoping that one day Celine Dion does the same.

Winter Storm Essay broadcasted on 89.7 WUWM Milwaukee

Press play to listen to my essay broadcasted on 89.7 WUWM's Lake Effect program on March 1, 2011

In Defense of 80s Music (part one)

Hold on to your seats.  This is a long entry.

When recalling the music of the past six decades, a span that includes rock and roll in all its permutations, certain artists probably come to mind.  The 1950s might conjure up images of Elvis Presley, Buddy Holly, Chuck Berry, The Coasters and Jerry Lee Lewis.  The 1960s would have to include The Beatles and The Rolling Stones, but might also include Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, The Supremes, The Temptations, and the like.  The 1970s – my favorite decade by far – is a bit trickier: sure, it was the decade of Zeppelin and The Who (and the Stones, again), but also Elton John, Billy Joel, Joni Mitchell and James Taylor.  Or was it the decade of Yes, Genesis, ELP and Jethro Tull?  Or maybe all you really need to say is Stevie Wonder.  Or Fleetwood Mac.  And let’s not forget the influx of new talent in the latter part of the decade: The Cars, Elvis Costello, The Clash, The Police, Rickie Lee Jones, Van Halen, Joe Jackson, etc.

But something funny occurs when the 80s is mentioned.  Often, what comes to mind is either synth pop bands like Erasure, Howard Jones, Uh-huh, The Eurythmics, Duran Duran, Madonna, etc., or the big hair bands like Ratt, Motley Crue, Poison and the like.  Of course,  Michael Jackson needs to be included in your 80s recap, and let’s not forget the two blockbuster movies that encapsulate popular music of this time period pretty well: Flashdance and Footloose. 

If you’re a fan of big hair bands and synth pop bands, then you likely rate the 80s as a very good decade for music.  Good for you.  For those that don’t, the 80s might be considered a decade to loathe, invoking images of synthesizers, drum machines, narrow ties, short hair and loads of eye makeup that induce a sort of gag reflex in some people.

But hold on, because I’m here to defend 80s music, and I think I can do so convincingly. 

After reviewing the Billboard hits of the past sixty years, it’s apparent to me that for reasons not entirely understood, our opinion of decades past is skewed unfairly away from the 80s and unjustly toward the 60s and 50s. 

Disagree?  Have you listened to an Oldies station lately?  I have, and what amazes me is just how much crap these early decades had to offer.  Forgettable songs by forgettable bands.  We might remember the cream of the crop, but for every Elvis, The Beatles and Chuck Berry, there was a Pat Boone, Petula Clark and Peter, Paul and Mary (sorry, not a fan).

Take a look at the top 10 Billboard songs for 1961 (according to the website xerraire.com):

1. Tossin' And Turnin' - Bobby Lewis
2. Big Bad John - Jimmy Dean
3. Runway - Del Shannon
4. Wonderland By Night - Bert Kaempfert
5. Pony Time - Chubby Checker
6. The Lion Sleep Tonight - the Tokens
7. Blue Moon - the Marcels
8. Take Good Care of my Baby - Bobby Vee
9. Calcutta - Lawrence Welk
10. Runaround Sue – Dion

Not exactly a resounding endorsement of the 60s, is it? 

“Now wait a minute,” you might say.  “Fast forward a few years and let’s see what the 60s REALLY has to offer.” 

That’s a fair point.  Let’s look at 1967: 

1. To Sir With Love – Lulu
2. Daydream Believer - the Monkees
3. Windy - the Association
4. Ode To Billie Joe - Bobbie Gentry
5. Somethin' Stupid - Nancy & Frank Sinatra
6. Groovin' - Young Rascals
7. The Letter - the Box Tops
8. Light My Fire – Doors
9. Happy Together - the Turtles
10. Hello Goodbye - the Beatles

A little better list, I think, but not exactly stellar.   Where’s the Hendrix?  Cream?  The Stones? 

How about 1969?

1. Aquarious/Let The Sunshine In - 5th Dimension
2. In The Year 2525 (Exordium & Terminus) - Zager & Evans
3. Get Back - the Beatles
4. Sugar, Sugar - the Archies
5. Hony Tonk Women - Rolling Stones
6. Everyday People - Sly and the Family Stone
7. Dizzy - Tommy Roe
8. Wedding Bell Blues - 5th Dimension
9. I Can't Get Next To You – Temptations
10. Crimson And Clover - Tommy James and the Shondells

Okay, now we’re getting somewhere, but still…this is 1969!  The year of Woodstock.  The year of Tommy, CSN’s debut album, Abbey Road, Let It Bleed. 

I think the bottom line is this: when we recall the great music of decades past, we don’t necessarily recall the hits (or at least the really big hits); we recall the songs that still resonate today, and by that definition, many of the greatest songs ever written end up rising to the top regardless of their Billboard chart performance.  That’s as it should be.

But with the 80s, I think just the opposite occurs.  It seems that we remember ONLY the hits, and if you’re not a fan of Michael Jackson, George Michael, Madonna and Lionel Richie, then you might cringe or wince at the music from the Reagan years.

But you needn’t.  There was so much more to the decade that began with the US Hockey gold medal and ended with the fall of the Berlin Wall.  Next week, I’ll offer a defense to the decade of my teens: the 80s.  I think you’ll be convinced that very often, it was something to revere, not revile.

Missing the Storm

Weather-related incidents can mark the mental timeline we use to navigate our past.  As one ages, and milestones become fewer and further between, the catastrophes of Mother Nature can help anchor us the way, say, an important national calamity can (do you remember the year of the Challenger explosion or the year the Iran Hostage Crisis began?  I bet you do.  1986 and 1979, respectively, for those of you playing along at home).  I still fondly remember the snow storm of ’79, less fondly the heat wave of ’95, and in Elmhurst where I currently live, people still talk about the flood of ’87.  Unfortunately, they’ll probably also be talking about the flood of 2010 for years to come, the Storm of the Century apparently occurring now every twenty-five years or so.

Floods are particularly harsh disasters to look back on with any kind of nostalgia, but other storms can foster warm memories or inspire animated yarns.  We may not be able to change the weather, and we may lean on the weather for small talk far too often, but living through a natural disaster makes for some good storytelling.   My grandfather used to regale me with stories about the weather, including the blizzard of 1947 in Milwaukee, when he had to abandon the city bus he drove for a living and head for a stranger’s home for shelter.  My son and I like to talk about the storm of August 2007, when we had to flee the highway in favor of Fry’s Electronics, and how it took us an hour to drive the five miles home due to fallen trees at every turn.

Storms can also bring us together, igniting a sense of community that’s so often absent from our lives, especially during the fleeting daylight of winter, when days seem to last no longer than an episode of The Office.  When my wife and I were living in New York in 1995, we knew no one in our apartment complex until the day it snowed.  Suddenly, every abled body was outside with a shovel, unearthing their cars like ancient artifacts.  The forty plus inches of snow in Chicago during December of 2000 helped acclimate my family to our new home as we met neighbors almost daily while we hoisted shovels of snow from our driveways and sidewalks.

As for 2011, I’ll never recall the great snow of two weeks ago when we were hit with twenty-plus inches the way I do past blizzards, because my wife and I happened to be in Las Vegas that week, the first time we’d been away from home without the kids for more than two nights since 1998.  And wouldn’t you know it?  We missed the biggest snow fall since 1967.  Vegas was great, but while we watched the Weather Channel for images of driving snow and the sounds of the very bizarre and, to me, heretofore unheard of “thundersnow,” I wished we could be experiencing it firsthand with the kids.  They’ll forever remember 2011 as the year of the blizzard.  I’ll remember it as the year my wife and I broke even.

At least, that’s what I thought until four days later.  Now we’ll all remember 2011 as the year the Packers won Super Bowl 45.  Fortunately, not all events that anchor our memories are weather-related.

Packer Essay broadcasted on 89.7, WUWM Milwaukee

Press play to listen to my essay broadcasted on 89.7 WUWM's Lake Effect program on Feb 9, 2011.