This week In ’80s Throwback’ Videos 06/52

1 . Pink Floyd . Comfortably Numb

“She’s the Woman,” the second single from Van Halen’s twelfth album “A Different Kind of Truth,” is less a product of 2012 than a bridge to 1976, with all the strengths and limitations that time travel implies.

Its lineage is fascinating: written as part of the Gene Simmons-produced demos that landed the band its Warner Bros. deal, the song resurfaced decades later, untouched yet reworked. Credit Wolfgang Van Halen for digging up the tapes at 5150 Studios, prompting revisions where nostalgia met reinvention.

David Lee Roth’s contributions reflect his trademark panache, rewriting the verses while preserving the original title and chorus, a patchwork approach that highlights his charisma but can’t mask the occasional strain in cohesion.

The guitar solo epitomizes Eddie Van Halen’s relentless inventiveness, replacing its original counterpart with something entirely fresh, as the riffs repurposed for “Mean Street” in 1981 left a creative vacuum Eddie was uniquely equipped to fill.

Chart performance was tepid—No. 31 on Billboard’s Rock Songs and scraping No. 100 on Hot Rock Songs—raising the question of whether its retro sensibilities limited broader appeal in a landscape that had long shifted from hard rock dominance.

Wolfgang’s preference for this as the lead single over “Tattoo” underscores generational tensions within the band’s re-emergence, though its mid-tempo swagger feels more like callback than anything challenging or forward-leaning.

The B-side, cheekily titled “Brown M&M’s,” rehashes anecdotes that feel like inside jokes clutching for a punchline, while the music video released via the band’s website on April 13, 2012, anchors it firmly in an era that values every visual supplement over its sonic foundation.

With Eddie’s guitar, Alex Van Halen’s drums, and Wolfgang’s bass weaving in tandem, “She’s the Woman” is undeniably Van Halen, though whether it thrives within or buckles under its historical baggage is up for debate.

Lifted from : Gilmour, Townshend, Lennox et al perform for . volcano victims (1986)

2 . Van Halen . So This Is Love?

“Creeping Death” from Metallica’s 1984 album “Ride the Lightning” manages to infuse biblical storytelling with the band’s signature thrash energy, crafting a song as relentless as its subject matter.

The lyrics, rooted in the tenth plague of Exodus, frame James Hetfield’s growling narration. His retelling of divine vengeance avoids sentimentality, opting instead for a stark, almost cinematic intensity. The content may pull from scripture, but there’s no sermonizing here—it’s all Old Testament fire and brimstone, delivered with clenched teeth and a sense of inevitability as heavy as the riffs.

Kirk Hammett’s contribution is crucial, not just in the searing leads but in the infamous “Die Die Die!” bridge, originally lifted from a piece he wrote with Exodus. This moment, a staple of the band’s live performances, turns every stage into a battlefield. It’s Metallica weaponizing repetition, turning a chant into a deadly mantra that audiences worldwide happily echo. As an idea, it’s simple; as an experience, it’s communal and colossal.

The track’s longevity is evident in its live legacy—performed over 1,637 times since its 1983 debut at Keystone in Palo Alto, CA, it’s second only to “Master of Puppets” in their setlist hierarchy. Yet for all its live dominance, “Creeping Death” didn’t rely on radio play or flashy music videos to reach iconic status. It infiltrated classic rock radio by sheer force, further bolstered by covers from acts like Stone Sour and Bullet For My Valentine, proving its adaptability beyond Metallica’s sonic template.

Alvin Petty’s artwork for the single reflects the song’s grim majesty—a haunting, skull-laden design that visualizes the creeping inevitability of death itself. Like the track, it’s both straightforward and ominous, leaving no room for ambiguity.

Metallica’s performance of the song at “The Night Before” Super Bowl 50 event in 2016 underscores its enduring vitality. Despite decades of shifts in the musical landscape, “Creeping Death” remains an unflinching reminder of thrash metal’s raw narrative power. Its ability to transform ancient tales into timeless anthems is where its true strength lies, though some might argue its thematic bluntness leaves little room for interpretation. Thrash rarely concerns itself with subtlety, and here, Metallica leans all the way in.

Lifted from : Van Halen travel to Argentina (1983)

3 . Eric Clapton . Worried Life Blues

“Warped” opens the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ 1995 album “One Hot Minute” with a tension teetering on the edge of chaos—a quiet intro that whispers before slamming into a crunching, heavy riff, each section starkly juxtaposed like contrasting halves of a jagged mirror.

The decision to foreground Anthony Kiedis’ distorted, echoing vocals feels deliberate, steering away from the rapping style the band previously leaned on in “Blood Sugar Sex Magik.”

What emerges is raw, even unsettling, as Kiedis grapples with dependency, his struggle evident in the vulnerable admission of the opening line, “my tendency/for dependency/is offending me.”

This sonic shift is inseparable from the presence of Dave Navarro, whose background in Jane’s Addiction tilts the track into darker, less familiar terrain for fans craving funk over introspective grit.

Rick Rubin’s production ensures the structure holds, though the weight of Navarro’s influence looms, shaping the song into something uniquely detached from its predecessors.

The music video, directed by Gavin Bowden, courts controversy with its homoerotic imagery, punctuated by a kiss between Kiedis and Navarro—an uncompromising moment that sparked backlash from conservative sections of the band’s fan base, yet was left intact, defiant in its boldness.

Commercially, “Warped” lands modestly, peaking at number 31 on the UK Official Physical Singles Chart, and its omission from the “Greatest Hits” compilation suggests it remains something of an outlier in their catalog.

Still, in live performances, the band weaves in traces of Jane’s Addiction’s “Three Days” at the close, a nod to the song’s lineage and the blurred lines it represents within their evolution.

“One Hot Minute” itself fared better, reaching number 4 on the US Billboard 200 and moving over two million copies, though “Warped” feels less like a commercial anchor and more a manifesto of transition.

It lingers in its contradictions—unsettling but melodic, heavy yet fragile, a sonic experiment ricocheting between past and future.

Lifted from : Eric Clapton starts . RAH residency (1990)

4 . The Smiths . Nowhere Fast

“Danny Nedelko,” the second single from IDLES’ 2018 album “Joy as an Act of Resistance,” is as much a rallying cry as it is a rock song.

Clocking in at 3:24, it wastes no time delivering a punchy critique of nationalism while extolling the virtues of multiculturalism. Dedicated to Danny Nedelko, a Ukrainian immigrant and frontman of Heavy Lungs, the song’s personal connection imbues it with a sincerity that keeps its message from veering into the preachy or saccharine.

The lyrics name-drop figures like Freddie Mercury and Malala, turning them into emblems of immigrant identity and resilience. This broad sweep—from the flamboyant frontman of Queen to a Nobel Prize-winning activist—suggests that the song’s scope is global, yet its chorus is grounded in anthemic simplicity, begging to be shouted back at stadiums. It was no surprise, then, that the song made its way to the Glastonbury 2019 stage, where its message landed with triumphant immediacy.

Its accompanying music video, directed by the band and featuring Nedelko himself, cleverly riffs on Bob Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues.” With its visual centerpiece—a T-shirt emblazoned with “no one is an island”—it’s a cheeky rebuke to isolationism, perfectly aligned with the track’s ethos.

When performed on “Later… with Jools Holland” on September 25, 2018, the band leaned into the energy of the song, presenting it with an urgency that critics rightly hailed as vital. Yet its very straightforwardness can feel overly didactic; there’s no subtlety here, and at times, it feels like preaching to the converted. If the track is a hammer, it hits its target but leaves nuance aside.

Still, for a band like IDLES, that’s the point. “Danny Nedelko” isn’t a whisper; it’s a chant, a fist in the air, and an unapologetic celebration of the diversity nationalism attempts to obscure.

Lifted from : Rough Trade publish The Smiths’ second album . ‘Meat Is Murder’ (1985)

5 . Gary Moore . Empty Rooms

“Rock the Night” by Europe is a distillation of mid-’80s hard rock ambitions, penned by Joey Tempest in 1984 and first road-tested during the “Wings of Tomorrow” tour.

Its dual releases—first as a 1985 single tied to the Swedish film “On the Loose” and later reshaped for 1986’s “The Final Countdown”—highlight both its adaptability and Europe’s evolving aesthetic.

The original version leans into a rawer hard rock edge, while the re-polished 1986 rendition drapes itself in the glossy production synonymous with the era, suggesting a band deliberately positioning itself for international dominance.

The song’s performance on the charts speaks volumes; its Top 10 ascents across France, Germany, and several other European nations demonstrate its pan-European appeal, while modest yet significant placements at #12 on the UK Singles Chart and #30 on the US Billboard Hot 100 offer insight into its broader acceptance.

Two music videos encapsulate its journey—one showcasing the band’s raw stage energy within the context of “On the Loose,” and the other, directed by Nick Morris, inserting new guitarist Kee Marcello into a Stockholm Hard Rock Café setting, with live shots overdubbed by studio polish.

Sonically, Joey Tempest’s vocals hit their marks, supported by John Norum’s searing guitar work, Mic Michaeli’s synthesizer flourishes, and a steady rhythm section courtesy of John Levén and Ian Haugland.

Still, the divide between its 1985 and 1986 incarnations leaves one pondering whether the song ever settles entirely into its identity, teetering between raw authenticity and MTV-era sheen.

Lifted from : We remember Gary Moore. ‘The Moore’s Law’

6 . Europe . The Final Countdown

“Touch Too Much” from AC/DC’s 1979 album “Highway to Hell” thrives on a slickness that teeters between seductive and overproduced.

Recorded at Roundhouse in London with producer Robert John “Mutt” Lange, it carries a polish befitting its late-’70s arena rock ambitions, yet this sheen dulls some of the raw electricity typically synonymous with Bon Scott-era AC/DC.

Scott’s vocals exude their usual mix of lascivious charm and bawdy swagger, but here they almost sound caged, unable to wreak total havoc against the track’s tightly constructed framework.

As a single, it flirted with success, peaking at number 29 on the UK Singles Chart and achieving a more substantial number 13 in West Germany, where it also ranked 45th on the year-end charts for 1980.

The song’s live rehearsal performance, featured in the “Family Jewels” DVD, showcases a version stripped of Lange’s studio finesse, hinting at the unvarnished power the band brought to their “If You Want Blood Tour” from 1978-1979.

Its broadcast on “Top of the Pops” just 12 days before Bon Scott’s untimely death gives the track an unintended poignancy, marking a fleeting glimpse of an icon whose reign was cut tragically short.

The song’s sporadic post-Scott live performances, including Axl Rose’s first rendition with AC/DC in Prague on May 22, 2016, highlight its role as a curio within the band’s extensive catalog.

Even Serbian hard rock band Cactus Jack found something worth resurrecting when they covered it for their 2002 release, “DisCover.”

The song’s tightly wound mix of sultry themes and regimented production can feel oddly at odds with the unruly spirit that defines AC/DC’s best work, but it remains an intriguing artifact from one of rock’s most pivotal albums.

Lifted from : Europe, the band, are in Chile (1990)

7 . The Beach Boys . Kokomo

“Spoonman” from Soundgarden’s 1994 album “Superunknown” straddles the line between evocative storytelling and experimental rock bravado.

Chris Cornell’s composition integrates Artis the Spoonman, a Seattle street performer with a decades-long career, whose unconventional spoon-playing punctuates the track’s bridge. It’s a rarity to see raw street performance find its way into the high-production world of alternative rock, but here the spoons twist through the song’s intricate grooves with surprisingly organic flair.

Musically, the track showcases the band’s preference for shifting time signatures, layered in a challenging blend of septuple meter, 4/4, and 4/3, all tethered together within the confines of drop D tuning. These rhythmic complexities steer the song away from typical mainstream rock formulas, offering a raw, angular quality that’s both disorienting and engaging.

Lyrically, Cornell presents a duality—examining the life of a street musician while questioning the gaze of those who romanticize or marginalize such artists. The narrative avoids sentimentality, balancing pathos with grit to deliver a grounded perspective.

Commercially, “Spoonman” performed strongly, reaching number three on the Billboard Mainstream Rock chart and number nine on the Modern Rock Tracks chart. That it clinched a Grammy for Best Metal Performance in 1995 feels both fitting and striking, given its subversion of genre norms.

Jeffrey Plansker’s accompanying music video amplifies this connection to Artis, highlighting his presence in a way that underscores his importance to the track rather than mere novelty. Its inclusion in “A-Sides” (1997) and “Telephantasm” (2010) further cements its significance within Soundgarden’s catalog.

Yet, for all its ingenuity, “Spoonman” doesn’t carry the same emotional weight as some of the band’s darker, moodier cuts. The experimental infusion of spoons may feel jarring to traditionalists, even if it’s undeniably a unique sonic choice. Still, its ambition, rhythmic daring, and thematic resonance ensure its relevance nearly three decades later.

Lifted from : We Remember Carl Wilson

8 . XTC . Senses Working Overtime

“Hotel Illness,” a track off The Black Crowes’ 1992 album “The Southern Harmony and Musical Companion,” presents a swampy slice of blues rock that feels both steeped in tradition and firmly tethered to its era.

Recorded during the early ’90s with a refreshed lineup—Marc Ford taking over on lead guitar and Eddie Harsch seasoning the mix with understated keyboards—the song capitalizes on the band’s willingness to lean into their Southern rock identity without overplaying its hand.

The album itself made a significant splash, achieving a Billboard 200 chart-topping position and earning a 2× Platinum certification from the RIAA, yet “Hotel Illness” largely sidesteps the bombast one might expect from such commercial success. Instead, it centers its weight on Chris Robinson’s vocal drawl, effortlessly carrying a lyricism that suggests weariness without full surrender.

Rich Robinson and Marc Ford’s twin-guitar interplay provides the song’s backbone, coating the track in a tone thick enough to border on oppressive but never quite tipping into indulgence. Eddie Harsch’s keyboard contributions, while not overly pronounced, add a necessary texture, filing down some of the heavier edges.

As expected from an album featuring multiple album rock number-one hits, the production choices feel cohesive, leaving little room for surprises but just enough to hold attention. Compared to the bolder tracks on “The Southern Harmony and Musical Companion,” “Hotel Illness” appears less concerned with reinvention and more invested in affirming the group’s stronghold on what they do best: blues rock, infused with measured swagger.

The accompanying music video and frequent live renditions certainly broaden the song’s visibility, yet neither medium elevates it beyond its context. Where contemporaries of the time might dabble in reinvigorating the genre, The Black Crowes opt for a slower burn, relying on tradition as both a crutch and a compass.

In the grander scope of the album—acclaimed with glowing reviews, such as a 5/5 from Kerrang and a 9/10 from NME—this track feels somewhat like filler cut from quality cloth. It’s competent and steeped in talent but stops short of being memorable, relying on the collective soundscape to do much of its heavy lifting.

Lifted from : ‘Rockpalast’ tapes XTC (1982)

9 . Roberta Flack . Feel Like Makin’ Love

“Civil War” by Guns N’ Roses presents itself as a layered critique of humanity’s penchant for conflict, encapsulating the band’s discontent with the recurring cycles of violence and the paradoxical nature of war itself. It doesn’t shy away from applying irony, branding all warfare as inherently “civil,” a semantic jab that aims to dismantle the false dichotomy between good and bad wars.

The song’s construction is unconventional, opening with Strother Martin’s grim monologue from *Cool Hand Luke*, a fitting preface for its cynicism-laden narrative. Axl Rose’s haunting whistle of “When Johnny Comes Marching Home” further primes the atmosphere, marrying historical Americana with contemporary skepticism—a contrast that underscores the timelessness of the subject matter.

While its inclusion on the 1990 charity album “Nobody’s Child: Romanian Angel Appeal” seems noble, the piece’s full impact unfolds on 1991’s “Use Your Illusion II.” By then, the track not only gestures toward Slash’s personal involvement in a peace march for Martin Luther King but also expands into the global arena with a Shining Path guerrilla officer’s chilling words. These elements resist easy categorization, balancing personal recollections with political statements without collapsing into preachiness.

Steven Adler’s final recording with the band adds another layer of poignancy, as his looming dismissal shadows the track’s larger dissolution motifs. Yet, the composition remains sharp, charting at number four on the US Album Rock Tracks chart in 1990 and subsequently climbing international ladders—number one in Poland, number two in Spain—indicative of its far-reaching resonance.

Musically, “Civil War” avoids overindulgence, letting the lyrics carry much of the weight while still holding onto the disciplined chaos that defines Guns N’ Roses’ better work. Its ability to stand as both an anthem and an elegy earns it a polarized reception, landing at 14th place on *Kerrang!*’s list of the band’s best tracks. For all its ambition, though, the track occasionally teeters on the edge of over-earnestness, with its sprawling runtime testing the balance between catharsis and repetition.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday Roberta Flack. ‘Sophisticated Lady’

10 . Bobby Brown . My Prerogative

“King of Dreams” from Deep Purple’s 1990 album “Slaves and Masters” captures a moment of transition for the band, marked by Joe Lynn Turner’s brief tenure as vocalist, replacing Ian Gillan.

The song centers itself in a moody, polished aesthetic, leaning heavily on Turner’s velvety delivery—a far cry from the raw energy of Gillan’s earlier work.

The accompanying video frames the band in a spartan black backdrop, a visual choice that starkly contrasts with the surreal imagery of a couple on an amusement park’s merry-go-round—perhaps an unintentional metaphor for the cohesion and direction of Deep Purple at this juncture.

Chart placements for “Slaves and Masters” reflect a lukewarm reception: number 45 in the UK, 72 in the US, and a slightly higher number 28 in Germany. These numbers suggest the album was caught somewhere between fans’ expectations and the group’s experimental shift.

One curious theory surrounding the track is its rumored response to Gillan’s “Smooth Dancer,” a previously veiled critique of Ritchie Blackmore. While intriguing, this angle remains speculative and far from universally accepted.

The band’s 1991 stop in Budapest speaks more to their relentless touring than any direct link to promoting this particular song, solidifying the sense that “King of Dreams” was less a rallying cry and more a passing thought in their sprawling catalog.

Ultimately, the song feels like a carefully measured gamble, one in which the dice never fully roll in its favor.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday Bobby Brown

11 . Whitney Houston . How Will I Know

“Walk This Way” from Aerosmith’s 1975 album “Toys in the Attic” showcases a peculiar blend of muscular riffs and playful storytelling that has aged better than most of its contemporaries.

The track begins with Joey Kramer’s crisp staccato drumming, laying down a foundation as sharp and unyielding as concrete, before Joe Perry’s distinctive guitar riff sweeps in—a riff that feels like it’s swaggering all on its own.

Steven Tyler’s rapid-fire lyrical delivery tells the tale of a high schooler’s awkward first sexual encounter, carrying an edge of mischief while dancing dangerously close to self-parody with its exaggerated rhymes and wordplay.

Originally released as the second single after “Sweet Emotion,” its initial failure to chart hints at an audience perhaps unprepared for its brazenness, though by 1977, its reissue pushed it to #10 on the Billboard Hot 100, vindicating its idiosyncratic charm.

A lengthy guitar solo devours the latter half of the track, walking the line between indulgence and skill, ensuring its place in the pantheon of live rock moments where audience participation in the repeating “talk this way” chorus seals the communal energy.

The 1986 collaboration with Run-DMC recontextualized the song entirely, catapulting it to #4 on the Billboard singles chart and giving “Walk This Way” a second life by bridging rock’s abrasiveness with hip-hop’s rhythmic confidence, a fusion that resonated with MTV’s emergent format.

That music video, a face-off between Tyler, Perry, and the hip-hop icons, became a hallmark moment for both genres, uniting contrasting subcultures with a shared love of boundary-pushing irreverence.

While inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame and holding the eighth spot in VH1’s 2009 greatest hard rock songs, the track’s real legacy lies in its ability to adapt without losing its brash, almost cartoonish edge.

If the song stumbles, it’s in the repetitiveness of its structure, where even its charm risks overstaying its welcome, but Aerosmith’s bravado ensures the track never takes itself too seriously.

Lifted from : We remember Whitney Houston. ‘Without Whitney’

12 . Sérgio Mendes . Alibis

“Walk” by Pantera drills itself deep into the bedrock of heavy metal with a cautionary swagger that dares listeners to challenge its intent. Anchored in the 1992 album “Vulgar Display of Power,” this track pitches a venomous riff, crafted in a 12/8 time signature by Dimebag Darrell. Conceived during a soundcheck on their “Cowboys From Hell” tour, the riff seems less like a product of improvisation and more like a war cry deliberately honed for sonic combat.

Phil Anselmo’s lyrics operate with measured hostility, calling out insincere friends who shifted their attitudes post-tour. His refrain, “Take your fucking attitude and take a fuckin’ walk with that,” brooks no ambiguity: it’s a well-aimed verbal shove for anyone brazen enough to challenge the band’s authenticity. The bluntness suits the ethos of “Vulgar Display of Power,” an album both unapologetic and uncompromising in tone.

The music video, shot at Chicago’s Riviera Theatre, feels appropriately gritty and stripped of pretense, encapsulating the band’s blue-collar heaviness without artifice. In a rare moment of mainstream intrusion, the song nudged its way to number 35 on the UK Singles Chart, marking Pantera’s begrudging flirtation with commercial metrics. While not their defining chart moment, it underscores the track’s universal appeal without dulling its edge.

Historically, “Walk” seeps beyond Pantera’s catalog into cultural moments like wrestler Rob Van Dam’s ECW entrance or big-screen appearances in “Triple Frontier” and even “Sonic the Hedgehog 2.” Such adaptations speak less of compromise and more of the track’s relentless adaptability, a metal anthem refusing to be boxed in by traditional constraints.

Cutting deep into the pantheon of metal greatness, “Walk” sees its solo ranked 57th by *Guitar World,* while Rolling Stone and VH1 both anoint it among the strongest in metal’s history—positions earned through audacity rather than ornamentation. Jerry Cantrell rubbing elbows with Pantera in 2001 may be a peripheral anecdote, but the song keeps its focus unswervingly on craft and confrontation, cementing its place as a dissonant roar against conformity.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday Sergio Mendes. ‘Parabens para Sérgio’