Sarah Brightman, Elaine Paige, Barbara Dickson, Angry Anderson, Debbie Gibson, Eurythmics, John Parr, Rosie Vela, King Swamp, Shakin’ Stevens, Mike Oldfield, Princess, Diana Ross
They are the performers of twelve vintage love songs that were ranked in various charts, this week (04/52) BUT … in the Eighties 80s.
Here, they are reunited in one glorious playlist. Enjoy!
For TWELVE more ‘L’Amour Toujours’ – Vintage 80s Music Videos – week 04/52 – click here
Tracklist
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![]() 1 . Sarah Brightman – Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again’Sarah Brightman’s rendition of “Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again” occupies a bittersweet corner of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s theatrical empire. Released as part of *The Phantom of the Opera*’s original London cast recording in 1986, it carries an air of sorrowful nostalgia wrapped in crystalline vocals. The song is Christine Daaé’s lament for her father’s absence—a tender moment in a production obsessed with grandiosity and masked melodrama. Brightman’s delivery is ethereal yet precise, a hallmark of her vocal technique, which vacillates between operatic esteem and pop accessibility. Andrew Lloyd Webber’s composition sits comfortably between haunting and mournful—an exercise in restraint for a musical known for throwing chandeliers around like confetti. The lyrics, penned by Charles Hart and Richard Stilgoe, lean heavily into sentimentality without toppling into outright sappiness, which speaks as much to Brightman’s measured performance as it does the writing. The orchestration is predictably lush but avoids overshadowing the vocal line, maintaining focus where it should be—on grief rendered into melody. Charting modestly at No. 7 in the UK Singles Chart, the track’s commercial success as part of a double A-side single with “The Music of the Night” is intriguing given its air of solemn nostalgia. Live performances of this track, particularly during her acclaimed “Harem” and “Symphony” tours, offer a glimpse into Brightman’s ability to straddle pop theatrics with classical discipline. While studio versions are faultlessly polished, the live iterations reveal an artist capable of igniting raw emotion within technical mastery. For those less enamored by musical theatre’s excesses, the track could err on the side of overly earnest, but even skeptics would be hard-pressed to fault the precision of its delivery. Brightman shares credit not just with the songwriters but with a legacy tied directly to her role as Christine Daaé in *Phantom’s* early productions, including its original West End staging at Her Majesty’s Theatre. The ubiquity of this song on her concert setlists is a reminder of how closely Brightman’s success is interwoven with this musical. Michael Crawford’s duet version in early 1987 might have added a touch of variety, but remains overshadowed by Brightman’s singular identity with the piece. Less well-known is Danny Stead’s recording for the obscure 1986 *Phantom of the Opera* film—a footnote in an otherwise robust history of reimaginings and reprises. Culturally, the song functions as more than just a melodic lament; it provides *The Phantom of the Opera* with a rare moment of emotional sincerity, cutting through the extravagance with personal vulnerability. Whether or not one buys into its sentimentality likely depends on an individual’s appetite for lavish Victorian theater filtered through Lloyd Webber’s lens. Brightman’s voice, crystalline and unwavering, acts almost as a lantern guiding the listener through this grief-stricken vignette. For all its melancholy, “Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again” highlights the delicate interplay between intimacy and theatricality—a balance few performers navigate as deftly as the woman whose name has become synonymous with it. Featured on the 1986 album “The Phantom of the Opera “.
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![]() 2 . Elaine Paige, Barbara Dickson – I Know Him So WellFew songs from musicals manage to capture the mainstream the way “I Know Him So Well” achieves, a polished gem plucked from 1984’s concept album *Chess* and reworked into a chart-topping sensation. Composed by Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus, fresh off their ABBA tenure, alongside lyricist Tim Rice, the track unfolds as an elegant duet between Elaine Paige and Barbara Dickson, tugging at the frayed edges of a love triangle. The premise is simple yet biting: two women—chess champion’s wife and mistress—trade reflections on the same shared man, their tones veering between nostalgia, resignation, and quiet understanding. Musically, the Andersson-Ulvaeus touch is unmistakable: lush melodies, symphonic drama, and a crystalline production that leans into pop accessibility but with sharp theatrical undercurrents. Paige and Dickson, both West End fixtures, give the material its emotional heft, their careful interplay measured without verging into melodrama. Upon its December 1984 release, the single grabbed massive attention, holding the UK’s No. 1 spot for four weeks and becoming a rare case where theatrical origins didn’t hamper mass appeal. Across borders, it resonated in pockets—from Australia’s Top 30 to South Africa’s near peak—in part due to its universal themes of heartbreak mingled with dignity. Its accompanying music video, basic by today’s standards, reflects the era’s conceptual simplicity: emotional close-ups rather than cerebral storytelling. Yet the song’s layered exploration of romantic loss has proved strangely enduring, weathering inevitable covers, including a vocally powerhouse but somehow soulless turn by Whitney and Cissy Houston. Whether it resides better as a pop anthem than a musical cornerstone sparks debate, yet there’s no denying its peculiar achievement: a fusion of introspective narrative and radio-friendly veneer that still lingers, quietly unshaken. Featured on the 1984 album “Chess, The musical”.
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![]() 3 . Angry Anderson – SuddenlyReleased in 1987 as part of the album “Beats from a Single Drum,” Angry Anderson’s “Suddenly” marks a noticeable departure from his trademark rock sound, leaning into heartfelt balladry. The track gained a life of its own after being prominently featured in an Australian soap opera, cementing its association with the wedding episode of “Neighbours” starring Kylie Minogue and Jason Donovan—a pop-cultural moment so syrupy it teeters on saccharine. Its commercial performance was strong but regionally skewed, reaching No. 2 in the UK and charting respectably in Ireland, Australia, and New Zealand, yet barely making a dent in mainland Europe. Musically, the song is steeped in vulnerability, with Anderson’s rough-around-the-edges vocal delivery lending character to what could easily have been a paint-by-numbers ’80s ballad. The accompanying music video, filled with dramatic close-ups of Anderson, feels like a relic of its time, unapologetically earnest yet a bit overcooked by today’s standards. Co-written by Anderson and Andy Cichon, the lyrics meander through themes of love and devotion, toeing the line between emotional resonance and clichéd sentimentality. Its legacy is less about sustained relevance and more about its peculiar role as a pop-cultural bookmark, an unlikely anthem for weddings that thrives on nostalgia rather than innovation. Featured on the 1987 album “Suddenly”.
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![]() 4 . Debbie Gibson – Lost In Your EyesReleased in 1989 as the flagship single from Debbie Gibson’s sophomore album, “Electric Youth,” “Lost In Your Eyes” wastes no time in plunging into sentimentality with its signature piano intro. Written and produced by Gibson herself at the tender age of 18, the ballad’s delicate arrangement stands as a bold counterpoint to the burgeoning pre-grunge clutter of the late ’80s chart landscape. Stateside, it stormed the Billboard Hot 100, hitting No. 42 straight out of the gate before ascending to No. 1, where it perched for three weeks—a respectable reign that mirrored its success in Canada. Internationally, its performance wasn’t without quirks; a No. 7 in Australia felt like an almost reluctant nod, while the UK simply ushered it into the Top 40 with a polite clap. The music video, predictably drenched in VH1 nostalgia, alternates between misty-eyed profiles of Gibson at the piano and brief, awkwardly staged clips of sway-dancing, all directed by James Yukich with minimal flair. But the song itself is unapologetically earnest, teetering between schmaltzy and sincere as Gibson’s lyrics—”If I can’t find my way…”—float over a melody so simple it borders on the embryonic. There’s something oddly refreshing about its unadorned style, even if it occasionally feels like it’s begging you to cry at your high school prom. Culturally, Gibson is a fascinating anomaly—here is an artist owning her songwriting credits entirely in an industry that, even then, relied heavily on production teams and hit factories. Her accolade as ASCAP Songwriter of the Year for 1989, tying with none other than Bruce Springsteen, feels both surprising and logical; Gibson leaned into pop so unironically that it became subversive. The song’s longevity is further cemented in its various re-recordings, including a Hallmark-styled redux in 2018 and a duet with Joey McIntyre in 2021, much to the delight of Gen X diehards who refuse to abandon their Walkmans. In hindsight, “Lost In Your Eyes” doesn’t just flirt with nostalgia—it stares directly into its glossy-eyed abyss, delivering a track that remains unabashedly sentimental, even decades later. Featured on the 1989 album “Electric Youth”.
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![]() 5 . Eurythmics – Miracle of Love“The Miracle of Love” arrives as a tender ballad nestled within Eurythmics’ 1986 album, “Revenge.” Far from their more synthesized staples like “Sweet Dreams,” this track leans soft, with prominent piano flourishes and lush strings threading Lennox’s powerhouse delivery. Its lyrics—a meditation on resilience and compassion—reach beyond saccharine notions, offering something weightier in their embrace of vulnerability. The song peaked at #23 on the UK Singles Chart, a modest showing by Eurythmics’ hit-making standards. In Sweden, it fared slightly better, landing at #12, but American audiences remained unmoved, leaving it absent from Billboard’s Hot 100. The accompanying black-and-white visual layers theatrical flair onto Lennox’s momentous vocal performance, with stark cinematography lending gravitas to her dramatic presence. Stewart, ever the understated partner, lends his guitar work a quiet dignity, contrasting the song’s soaring crescendos. While not a career-defining single, “The Miracle of Love” underscores the duo’s ability to craft ballads with substance, even when lacking the instant-memorability of their Top 10 hits. Like much of “Revenge,” it remains an artifact of its time—earnest, polished, and distinctly mid-’80s—yet its humanistic core earns a lasting place on compilation albums and in fans’ hearts. Featured on the 1986 album “Revenge “.
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![]() 6 . John Parr – Naughty NaughtyReleased in November 1984, “Naughty Naughty” by John Parr emerges as a vibrant entry into the rock-pop fusion of its time. Featuring on his self-titled album, it charted modestly, climbing to No. 23 on the US Billboard Hot 100, with greater traction on rock tracks, hitting No. 6. The production, helmed by Pete Solley under Atlantic Records, bears a polished yet rebellious edge, nodding to the vivacious energy of the era. The song’s risqué lyrics carry a cheeky defiance, a hallmark of Parr’s early work, while blending hard rock elements with accessible pop undertones. Its music video is a colorful romp, with Parr quitting his job, navigating a chaotic car ride across San Francisco, and reconciling with his girlfriend atop the Golden Gate Bridge, all in exaggerated ’80s flair. This playful, semi-irreverent narrative gave the track an extra push, aided by regular MTV airplay. Though it lacks the cinematic grandeur of Parr’s later hit “St. Elmo’s Fire (Man in Motion),” this song’s infectious spirit solidified his foothold within 1980s rock culture. Featured on the 1984 album “John Parr”.
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![]() 7 . Rosie Vela – Magic SmileRosie Vela’s “Magic Smile,” a 1986 single from her debut album *Zazu*, evokes a curious blend of synth-pop polish and jazz-inflected pop rock, courtesy of her unlikely collaborators, Steely Dan’s Donald Fagen and Walter Becker. Produced by Gary Katz under A&M Records, the track combines a cool exterior with lyrical introspection that feels distinctly mid-‘80s yet oddly timeless. Chart performance may not have set the world alight stateside—earning a modest spot on the US Billboard Adult Contemporary list—but the single found firmer footing in the UK, where it hit No. 29 and helped boost the album, which went Silver according to BPI certifications. The album as a whole fared better commercially overseas than in Rosie’s home country, a reflection, perhaps, of her affinity for a more European sensibility in melody and arrangement. What makes “Magic Smile” an interesting artifact isn’t just its sound but its context. Vela, a former model, caught attention for seamlessly pivoting into music, a field where style and substance are hard to balance, let alone master. Her collaboration with Fagen and Becker sets the track apart, their characteristically tight yet understated arrangements lending the song a sense of restrained sophistication. The piano and guitar parts hint at the musical DNA of Steely Dan, but Vela’s airy, somewhat detached delivery keeps the song circling in its own orbit. The accompanying music video, which played sporadically on MTV, boasts the kind of gauzy, softly-lit aesthetic that defined the era. It captures a certain magic, even in its overprocessed cliché, offering a visual analogue to Vela’s quiet allure and enigmatic presence. Not groundbreaking by any means, but thoughtfully produced, which might summarize both this track and the album it hails from. “Magic Smile” didn’t rewrite the rules of pop or rock, nor does it seem to try. Its charm lies in its contradictions: a model turned musician; a jazz-pop hybrid that slid into synth-pop’s slicker territory; and a collaboration with Steely Dan alumni that somehow feels understated. While Rosie Vela didn’t linger long on the airwaves, this track remains a snapshot of music at its most carefully curated and commercially cautious. Featured on the 1986 album “Zazu”.
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![]() 8 . King Swamp – Is This Love?King Swamp’s “Is This Love?” comes from their self-titled debut album released in 1989 under Virgin Records, a work that hovers between bluesy swagger and rock grit. The song carves out a space where love metaphorically morphs into an intoxicating substance, blurring the lines between passion and dependency. Sonically, it leans into throaty vocals from Walter Wray and slinky guitar lines by Dominic Miller, both bolstering the chemistry of a band that aimed high but hit a modest ceiling on the charts. The track landed at #21 on the Billboard Album Rock chart, and while the band didn’t exactly spark a revolution, they did manage a passing radio breeze during the late ’80s. The accompanying music video, a time capsule of the era—uploaded on YouTube much later—performs its function with enough moody lighting and camera angles to keep viewers mildly entertained. King Swamp rose out of the ashes of Shriekback-related endeavors, with Dave Allen and Steve Halliwell shaking a synthesizer-laden past in favor of mud-rolling rock. Their brief arc ultimately fizzled post-“Wiseblood,” a murky sophomore follow-up that drowned the band rather than saving it. Post-breakup trajectories saw Miller hitching his guitar to Sting’s wagon and Allen indulging in the more cerebral Low Pop Suicide, but the shadow of King Swamp looms like the flickering image of a great idea that just didn’t pack enough punch to last. Featured on the 1989 album “King Swamp”.
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![]() 9 . Shakin’ Stevens – Oh JulieShakin’ Stevens’ “Oh Julie,” released in January 1982, is one of those tracks that drags you back to a bygone era without asking for permission. Infused with the spirit of ’50s rock and roll, it struts along with a jaunty Cajun flair, thanks in part to Geraint Watkins’ accordion that lends its squeezebox swagger. The song didn’t settle for just charming the UK, where it sat atop the Singles Chart for a respectable week—that accordion worked its magic across Ireland, Austria, Sweden, and even Australia, where presumably kangaroos were tapping along. Stevens’ vocal delivery leans into retro earnestness, embodying the kind of wholesome nostalgia that’s paradoxically impossible to hate and a little hard to take seriously. Oddly enough, this wasn’t the song’s first outing—Matchbox originally recorded it in 1980, but it never caught fire until Stevens cleaned it up and made it his own. The single’s success isn’t just measured in charts and sales; it comes with peculiar footnotes, like its Gold certification in the UK or Barry Manilow’s attempt to make it work stateside, where it peaked at a modest #38. There’s a music video that loiters on YouTube, showcasing Stevens’ exuberant, hip-shimmying energy, a glimpse of a man seemingly unburdened by self-consciousness, radiating the ethos of “If it ain’t broke, add more sequins.” Performed on *Top of the Pops’ Christmas Party* in 1982, “Oh Julie” hit the stage and played its part in Stevens’ broader narrative as the jukebox hero of early-’80s Britain. Even its B-side, “I’m Knockin’,” carries a certain charm, also attributed to Stevens’ own songwriting—a rarity in an era when performers often leaned heavy on the works of seasoned ghostwriters. For a track so joyously simple, its ripples are global, as Swedish dansband Lasse Stefanz’s 1982 cover nudged its way to #16 in Sweden, proving that retro isn’t a local phenomenon but a universal itch we all like to scratch occasionally. Featured on the 1982 album “Give Me Your Heart Tonight”.
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![]() 10 . Mike Oldfield – Crime Of Passion (w/ Barry Palmer)“Crime of Passion” by Mike Oldfield, with Barry Palmer on vocals, is a peculiar snapshot of 1984 pop-rock, wedged between Oldfield’s “Crises” and “Discovery” eras. The track leans heavily into synthesizer-driven arrangements, layered with Palmer’s piercing falsetto, creating the kind of juxtaposition that feels equally dramatic and slightly overstated. Released as a standalone single, it performed better internationally than domestically, topping charts in Denmark and landing a less conspicuous #61 in the UK. The accompanying music video deserves mention, mostly for its bizarre children’s playroom setting, where Oldfield looks more like a robotic mannequin than a musician, while Palmer sings from atop a box—a visual choice both unsettling and fascinating in its surrealism. Thematically, the track resonates on a personal level, reportedly connected to Oldfield’s late mother, Maureen, her photo gracing the single’s cover art. Its B-side, the instrumental “Jungle Gardenia,” is almost meditative, providing a calmer counterpart to the melodramatic A-side. The single exists in an interesting limbo—neither part of Oldfield’s main album canon nor entirely forgotten, thanks to its inclusion in compilations like “The Complete Mike Oldfield.” It reflects the transitional period of Oldfield’s career, blending his instrumental roots with a more pop-oriented trajectory, albeit with uneven results. Whether “Crime of Passion” thrives as an experiment or lingers as an oddity depends on how much you appreciate theatrical falsettos and synth-heavy production typical of its time.
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![]() 11 . Princess – After The Love Has GoneReleased in 1985, “After The Love Has Gone” is a product of the hit-making machine that was Stock Aitken Waterman, crafted for Princess’s self-titled debut album. The song carries a slick, commercial sound typical of the mid-’80s—a polished mix of pop and disco elements tailored for crowded dance floors and radio playlists alike. Despite not replicating the Top 10 success of her earlier single “Say I’m Your Number One,” it managed a respectable peak at No. 28 on the UK Singles Chart, outstaying its predecessor on the charts for sheer longevity. What sets it apart from the generic pop churn of the era is Princess’s vocal delivery: smoother than a freshly laminated vinyl record yet carrying just enough emotional weight to keep it from drifting into sterile territory. The production leans heavily on the ultra-synthesized approach SAW perfected, from the punchy drum machine beats to the crystalline keyboard flourishes that feel engineered for an imaginary Miami Vice sequence. Thematically, it’s a breakup song dressed in dance attire—a walking contradiction that lets you cry about heartache while keeping step-perfect on the club floor. Whether it stands the test of time might depend on how nostalgic you feel for the Reagan-Thatcher years, but it’s undeniably an artifact of its creators and their penchant for pop alchemy in an era dominated by neon and shoulder pads. Featured on the 1986 album “Princess”. |
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![]() 12 . Diana Ross – Why Do Fools Fall in LoveDiana Ross’s 1981 revival of “Why Do Fools Fall in Love” transforms Frankie Lymon and The Teenagers’ 1956 doo-wop classic into a brash pop-R&B hybrid, brimming with glossy brass, relentless drum patterns, and a searing guitar solo courtesy of Robert Kulick. As the title track of her first post-Motown album under RCA, it’s less an homage to Lymon than a declaration of independence, embracing an era of exuberant production and radio-friendly polish. The nostalgic heft of the original gives way to Ross’s polished vocal delivery, trading teenage yearning for a grown-up’s playful sophistication. The music video, filmed against the neon backdrop of Las Vegas’s Fremont Street, amplifies this with a mix of razzle-dazzle spectacle and calculated charm, perfectly tailored for the “Soul Train” crowd. Charting high across multiple genres, including No. 2 on the Adult Contemporary chart, the track showcased Ross’s ability to bridge pop accessibility with remnants of her Motown grandeur. Critics often point to this hit as a standout moment in her career reboot, acknowledging Ross’s knack for reimagining old-school charm through an ’80s gloss that feels both nostalgic and forward-looking. Yet, its legacy extends beyond the charts: the song earned a British Phonographic Industry silver disc and inspired decades of legal battles over Frankie Lymon’s convoluted estate—events later immortalized in the 1998 film of the same name. While somewhat derivative, the song’s success lies in Ross’s ability to appropriate sparkling pop sentimentality into a shrewd, career-defining pivot, signaling her resilience in an industry prone to chewing up its legends. Featured on the 1981 album “Why Do Fools Fall in Love“.
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