This week In ’80s Throwback’ Videos 07/52

1 . Bob Dylan & Tom Petty . Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door

Bob Dylan’s “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door” operates as both an elegy and a minimalist meditation on mortality, crafted for the 1973 film “Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid.”

Its austere lyrics—”It’s getting dark, too dark to see”—strip away sentimentality, leaving behind a haunting resignation that’s as profound as it is concise.

The song’s stark appeal has earned it a place on live albums like “Before the Flood” and “Dylan & the Dead,” though its true strength lies in its adaptability, with over 150 artists from Eric Clapton to Guns N’ Roses offering their interpretations.

Tom Petty, always a keen interpreter of Dylan’s work and a collaborator during their 1986 tour and the Traveling Wilburys project, uses his live renditions of the song to expand its emotional and contextual range.

His choice to alter the lyrics during a 2016 Mudcrutch show to reflect on the Orlando shooting—changing “Take my guns” to “Take my automatic weapons”—demonstrates the song’s continued relevance.

Recorded at venues like the Fillmore in 1997 and featured on “Live at the Fillmore,” Petty’s performances infuse the song with his characteristic warmth and understated pathos.

Yet, in both Dylan’s skeletal original and Petty’s more textured interpretations, the song retains an emotional gravity, resonating across decades without losing its eerie simplicity or thematic universality.

Lifted from : Bob Dylan . Tom Petty team up in Sydney (1986)

2 . Phil Collins . Sussudio

“Sussudio,” from Phil Collins’ 1985 album “No Jacket Required,” encapsulates the era’s affinity for glossy, synth-driven production while showcasing Collins’ knack for creating infectious pop melodies.

Its title—a completely made-up word—offers the kind of rhythmic hook that’s easier to hum than to define. Collins himself suggested in one breath that it was nonsense and in another half-joked it could be a girl’s name or even a horse his daughter owned. Whatever its meaning, or lack thereof, the ambiguity adds an odd charm, though it may leave some listeners wondering if its vagueness is more gimmick than substance.

Commercially, the track proved unstoppable, shooting to number one on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100 and climbing to number 12 in the U.K. Such success reflects its broad appeal, though “Sussudio” is often framed as a divisive emblem of ’80s pop excess. The song sits comfortably within “No Jacket Required,” an album that is equal parts polished and polarizing, despite Collins later downplaying his affection for this particular record.

The track gained even more notoriety through its inclusion in American Psycho, where Christian Bale’s character extols its virtues with unsettling enthusiasm. Such moments have cemented “Sussudio” as both a pop culture touchstone and an easy target for critique. Love it or cringe at it, the song undeniably captures the synthesizer-heavy zeitgeist of the mid-’80s with a near-clinical precision.

Lifted from : Phil Collins releases ‘No Jacket Required’ featuring ‘Sussudio’ (1984)

3 . Peter Gabriel . Sledgehammer

“Sledgehammer,” the lead single from Peter Gabriel’s 1986 album “So,” is a masterclass in blending polished production with sly, tongue-in-cheek lyricism. Produced by Gabriel himself alongside Daniel Lanois, the track feels meticulously sculpted, yet bursts with an unrestrained, joyous energy. The contributions of Manu Katché on drums—recorded in one seamless take—and Tony Levin’s deft fretless bass lend the song its rhythmic backbone, creating a groove that’s as infectious as it is precise.

Chart performance paints the picture of its success: a single week at No. 1 on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100, four consecutive weeks at the top in Canada, and substantial runs in the UK and South African charts. For an artist often associated with brooding art rock, this breakout commercial hit managed to encapsulate pop sensibilities while still retaining Gabriel’s artistic identity.

The music video, directed by Stephen R. Johnson, deserves almost equal credit for the song’s lasting impact. Combining claymation, pixilation, and stop-motion animation courtesy of Aardman Animations and the Brothers Quay, it transcends mere visual accompaniment to become an essential part of the song’s narrative. Garnering a record nine MTV Video Music Awards and the 1987 Brit Award for Best British Video, it’s heralded more for its playful inventiveness than as an avant-garde piece.

Gabriel’s nod to soul music, inspired by earlier ambitions of assembling a soul-focused record, fuels the song’s vibrant brass arrangement and overt funk influences. Lyrically, “Sledgehammer” winks at the listeners with its loaded innuendos while weaving in themes of self-reinvention, lending depth to its pop veneer. If Kafka influenced personal transformation, Gabriel converted it into a flirtatious yet reflective anthem.

Critically, one could question if the extended remixes and accompanying B-sides—like “Don’t Break This Rhythm”—maintain the track’s succinct charm. Still, this singular U.S. chart-topper solidified the album’s multi-platinum status without succumbing to shallow excess. “Sledgehammer” endures not just as a commercial triumph but as a finely balanced act of implicative artistry and mass appeal.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday Peter Gabriel. ‘Big Timer’

4 . Whitney Houston . Saving All My Love for You

“Saving All My Love for You,” nestled within Whitney Houston’s self-titled debut, operates as both a showcase of technical brilliance and an early hint of the artist’s polarizing thematic choices.

Composed by Michael Masser and Gerry Goffin, the song unfurls in the key of A major, its slow tempo of 84 bpm acting as an ideal vehicle for Houston’s vocal range, spanning from F♯3 to F♯5. Bolstered by the velvety Fender Rhodes courtesy of Robbie Buchanan and a saxophone solo by Tom Scott teetering on the edge of smooth jazz cheesiness, the arrangement radiates a distinctly mid-’80s polish—lush, but perhaps too antiseptic to evoke genuine passion.

Thematically, the song courts controversy, its narrative drawn from Houston’s personal affair with Jermaine Jackson, a married man. It’s not merely the subject matter but the unrepentant sincerity with which it’s delivered that adds an uncomfortable layer of intimacy to the track. Houston’s mother, Cissy, wasn’t wrong to bristle at the storyline, though it’s undeniable that this emotional charge, however questionable in ethics, is part of what propels the song’s impact.

Chart-wise, the track is an undeniable triumph: a number-one single on the Billboard Hot 100 by October 1985 and the first of seven consecutive chart-toppers. Its appeal crossed borders, dominating charts in the UK, Switzerland, and New Zealand. Yet the success feels almost clinical—evidence of a perfectly engineered hit rather than a universally resonant anthem.

While the production, led by Masser and arranged by Gene Page, is impeccably layered, the track exudes a studio-centric sterility that sometimes muffles Houston’s raw, transformative potential. The background vocals (Deborah Thomas, Oren Waters, and others) play it safe, offering competence over experimentation, while Nathan East’s bass guitar grooves fail to push past expectation.

Though “Saving All My Love for You” cemented Houston’s crossover to a broader audience, it’s as much an artifact of its glossy era as it is a harbinger of her mammoth pop dominance to come. Rich in vocal brilliance yet constrained by its own stylistic choices, the song swings between poignant honesty and cautious, polished restraint. B+

Lifted from : Arista publish ‘Whitney Houston,’ her eponymous debut album featuring ‘You Give Good Love,’ ‘Saving All My Love for You’ and ‘How Will . Know’ (1985)

5 . Icehouse . Great Southern Land

“Great Southern Land,” released on August 30, 1982, stands as a hallmark of Icehouse’s sophomore effort, “Primitive Man.”

Written by Iva Davies, the track hinges on its use of then-cutting-edge polyphonic synthesizers like the Prophet 5 and a Linn drum machine, resulting in a sound that feels at once spacious and mechanized, a fitting sonic mirror to Australia’s sprawling, barren interior.

There’s a deliberate minimalism to the composition, evoking a sense of geographical and historical isolation, as though the track itself were reaching back across millennia to grapple with the continent’s fraught timeline, from its Indigenous heritage to the arrival of white settlers.

Despite this conceptual weight, the song’s chart placement—No. 5 in Australia and No. 10 in New Zealand—suggests its appeal didn’t alienate mainstream listeners.

More intriguing is how “Great Southern Land” walks a fine line between cultural insight and pop accessibility, though whether it achieves enough emotional depth amidst its polished production is a question worth pondering.

Davies’ vocals, simultaneously distant and reverent, anchor the song, but the sparse instrumentation risks feeling sterile in places, almost too tied to its early-’80s production methods to transcend its era fully.

Still, whether it’s the song’s inclusion in 1988’s “Young Einstein” or its enduring national resonance, it’s hard to deny its role as a musical reflection of Australia’s striking land and fraught history.

Lifted from : Icehouse play at home (1988)

6 . Midnight Oil . Short Memory

“Short Memory” from Midnight Oil’s 1982 album “10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1” wields a scalpel against the historical fog of amnesia, unveiling a narrative drenched in imperialist critique.

Penned collectively by Martin Rotsey, Peter Gifford, Robert Hirst, Jim Moginie, and Peter Garrett, the song reads like a history lesson set to music, listing atrocities—from the Belgian actions in the Congo to the horrors in Cambodia—as if daring the listener to flinch. The lyrics confront the cyclical forgetting of such violence, a societal flaw too easily exploited by power structures.

Musically, “Short Memory” drifts between rock and post-punk, its instrumentation both bleak and urgent. Moginie’s keyboard work acts like a ghostly narrator, while Rotsey’s guitar veers into a jazzy dissonance during the instrumental break—less a flourish and more a sonic underlining of the song’s disquiet.

Although the track didn’t conquer the charts, with “10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1” peaking at number 3 in Australia and 98 in Canada, its thematic weight positions it as a cornerstone of the album. The fiery live renditions, like the 1983 Sydney Entertainment Centre performance included in the “20,000 Watt R.S.L.” DVD, amplify its rawness for a crowd as much outraged as entertained.

Intriguingly, the song gained a new layer of irony in 2010, when Garrett, then an Australian political figure, supported the US-Australia military alliance. Critics were quick to weaponize the very title “Short Memory” against him, a reminder of how Midnight Oil’s past strikes still reverberate politically.

As both historical indictment and rallying cry, the track solidifies its position as a polemical artifact within Midnight Oil’s repertoire, even as its chart impact falls behind its message’s uncompromising clarity.

Lifted from : INXS . Midnight Oil play against the bomb (1983)

7 . Joe Jackson . Friday

“Steppin’ Out,” a standout track from Joe Jackson’s 1982 album “Night and Day,” encapsulates the restless energy and pulsating allure of New York City nightlife with a meticulous, almost surgical precision.

The recording, shaped in the confines of Blue Rock Studio in the city itself, uses a curious blend of synthetic and organic elements. Jackson’s reliance on the 1979 Korg KR-55 drum machine effectively anchors the rhythm, yet Larry Tolfree’s live snare and cymbal work inject a necessary human element into the otherwise mechanical beat. It’s an atmospheric experiment that somehow avoids veering into cold detachment, thanks largely to Jackson’s careful layering of instrumentation—including piano, Hammond organ, and Minimoog, all handled by the man himself with a craftsman’s touch.

Lyrically, “Steppin’ Out” thrives on a mix of optimism and understated melancholy, capturing the transient glamour of the city’s nocturnal landscapes. Its narrative feels both universal and rooted in specific cultural moments, the excitement of a night out undercut by the specter of urban isolation. Yet, it’s arguably Jackson’s subdued vocal delivery that defines the track’s tone—appropriately restrained, his voice feels like it’s observing the chaos rather than participating in it.

Commercially, the track’s success is undisputed—it climbed to number 6 on both the Billboard Hot 100 in the United States and the UK Singles Chart, a rare feat that solidified its cross-continental appeal. At the same time, it carved out space on Billboard’s Adult Contemporary and Album Rock Tracks charts, appealing broadly without diluting its sophistication.

The music video, directed by Steve Barron and set in the faded luxury of the St. Regis Hotel, adds another dimension to the song’s narrative. Featuring a Cinderella-like maid imagining her escape into the glamorous unknown, it embodies both the dreams and the inherent limitations imposed by reality. Jackson’s personal disdain for the format is apparent in his absence of artistic investment, turning the visual accompaniment into a somewhat functional rather than transformative piece of work.

For all its accolades, including Grammy nominations for Record of the Year and Best Male Pop Vocal Performance, it’s debatable whether “Steppin’ Out” truly embraces the spontaneity suggested in its title. The production is polished to the point of sterility, and while Jackson’s clarity of intent remains impressive, the track’s calculated precision may leave some listeners yearning for a touch of chaos. Regardless, its place as a quintessential documentation of early ’80s metropolitan chic remains unchallenged, a microcosm of an era when the night promised infinite possibilities, even if they were rarely fulfilled. A-

Lifted from : Joe Jackson visits New Jersey (1980)

8 . Michael McDonald . I Keep Forgettin’ (Every Time You’re Near)

“I Keep Forgettin’ (Every Time You’re Near)” by Michael McDonald operates at a fascinating intersection of R&B smoothness and 1980s radio pop sheen, solidifying its status as both a hit and a lesson in studio precision.

Released in August 1982 as part of McDonald’s debut solo effort, “If That’s What It Takes,” the song captures the tension between emotional vulnerability and sonic control. Co-written with Ed Sanford, the track leans heavily on McDonald’s signature vocal depth, which hovers somewhere between restrained anguish and understated confidence. The lyrics riff on heartbreak with a resigned repetition, mirroring the motif of memory that loops back like its meticulously layered hooks.

Instrumentally, the track is a masterclass in collaboration. Jeff Porcaro and Steve Lukather of Toto inject it with crisp drumming and silky guitar lines, while Louis Johnson underscores the groove with an elastic bassline. Greg Phillinganes’ keyboard work gives the song its expansive texture, adding an ambient backdrop that softens the sharpness of the heartfelt theme. On backing vocals, McDonald’s sister, Maureen McDonald, creates an emotionally resonant counterpoint, elevating the song’s interplay of intimacy and distance.

Its chart success—peaking at #4 on the Billboard Hot 100 and making waves on the R&B (#7) and Adult Contemporary (#8) charts—confirms its broad appeal, yet the song never panders to the lowest common denominator. It’s a careful balance of feeling accessible yet impeccably crafted.

The song’s visual counterpart, the official music video uploaded by Rhino in 2021, is predictably rooted in the early 80s, with understated visuals that prioritize mood over narrative complexity. Yet its enduring relevance is undeniable, thanks in part to Warren G’s iconic sampling in “Regulate,” proof that this song transcends its initial era to resonate with new audiences decades later. Where McDonald’s earnest delivery shines, the risk lies in the track sometimes feeling too polished, almost to the point of detachment. But perhaps that tension is the point—McDonald’s immortalized refrain captures the disorienting sting of a love that simultaneously compels and confounds.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday Michael McDonald. ‘On His Own’

9 . Al Jarreau . Trouble in Paradise

“Trouble in Paradise” from Al Jarreau’s 1983 album “Jarreau” sits at the intersection of accessible pop sheen and sophisticated jazz sensibilities, though not without a touch of gloss that occasionally veers into the overly polished.

Positioned within an album that secured Jarreau his third consecutive Billboard Jazz chart-topping spot, the track reflects the commercial ambitions of the era. Despite its radio-friendly hooks, it only managed to climb to number 63 on the US Pop charts, faring better on the Adult Contemporary charts, where it peaked at number 10. This duality underscores the track’s play for both mainstream appeal and a more niche, easy-listening audience.

Crafted by the trio of Greg Mathieson, Jay Graydon, and Trevor Veitch, the track benefits from Graydon’s multifaceted involvement as producer, guitarist, synthesizer player, and rhythm arranger. His touch brings a glossy, mid-80s sonic palette, though the layering of production occasionally risks smothering the organic energy that Jarreau is capable of delivering.

While “Trouble in Paradise” does not showcase Jarreau’s hallmark scat singing or vocal percussion, it does align with the album’s overall thematic elegance. Yet, in comparison to the critical acclaim of its predecessor, “Breakin’ Away,” which won Jarreau a Grammy in 1982, this effort feels somewhat restrained. The song’s lyrical and melodic framework leans towards the safe and predictable, lacking the dynamic spontaneity that often distinguished his best work.

Still, the album secured notable accolades, including four Grammy nominations, signaling Jarreau’s stature during the early ’80s. “Trouble in Paradise,” while not the most striking aspect of his discography, is emblematic of his collaborative efforts with figures like Graydon, whose production style reflects the sleek professionalism of the period.

Lifted from : We remember Al Jarreau. ‘Al Is For Always’

10 . Elvis Costello & The Attractions . High Fidelity

On “High Fidelity,” Elvis Costello refashions anguish into a sharp, brisk tune that neatly sidesteps melodrama in favor of Motown-induced flair.

Lifted from the Attractions’ 1980 album “Get Happy!!,” the track emerges as an emblem of Costello’s stylistic pivot. Nick Lowe’s production enhances the punchy rhythm while leaning into the song’s influences—an unmistakable nod to the Supremes in the opening line, “Some things you never get used to,” frames its reverence without veering into parody. The tension resides in its juxtaposition of a jaunty beat and lyrics saturated in disillusionment, reflecting the melancholy of an unraveling affair.

Originally crafted in the measured tempo of David Bowie’s “Station to Station” during the 1979 Armed Funk tour, its evolution into this Holland-recorded, Motown-inflected arrangement showcases Costello’s agility in refitting his material to astonish rather than comfort. This nimble adaptation, layered by a “tense, martial beat,” as noted by *Rolling Stone*, underscores how the Attractions pivot effortlessly without losing their bite.

Though it reached a modest number 30 on the UK Singles Chart and lingered for five weeks, the song’s artful mutation from personal turmoil into pop artifact mitigates its commercial plateau. The accompanying music video, described by Costello himself as containing a “nice dance routine,” underscores the bitter irony that runs through the track’s core, even as it projects surface joviality.

The B-side’s inclusion of Betty Everett’s “Getting Mighty Crowded” alongside a slowed-down iteration of “Clowntime Is Over” tempers “High Fidelity’s” vibrant sheen with a contrasting palette, deepening the single’s resonance as a document of emotional fray cloaked in sonic buoyancy.

“High Fidelity” is a balancing act—simultaneously aching and propulsive. While tipping its hat to Motown grooves, it refrains from outright mimicking its exuberance, creating instead a pocket of hurt concealed behind a tap of the foot. Though not without its air of derivation, the song brims with craft, easily solidifying its spot as one of the more sophisticated standout gems on “Get Happy!!”.

Lifted from : Elvis Costello . The Attractions release their third album together ‘Get Happy!!’ (1980)

11 . U2 . 11 O’Clock Tick Tock

“11 O’Clock Tick Tock” captures U2 in a liminal space—caught between the wide-eyed urgency of their pre-fame days and the sonic ambition that would later define them. Recorded in April 1980 at Dublin’s Windmill Lane Studios under the brooding production of Martin Hannett, the track offers a glimpse into a band eager to etch their sound into something distinctive. Hannett, who sharpened his tools working with Joy Division and OMD, adds an icy, atmospheric layer that contrasts intriguingly with U2’s raw energy.

The song’s title stems from a personal moment: Bono’s friend Gavin Friday leaving a note after a missed phone call. A mundane detail, yet the song transcends its origin, soaking in the existential restlessness Bono reportedly felt while observing a lifeless crowd at a Cramps concert in London. Lyrically, it walks the line between simplicity and impressionism, capturing the tension of time slipping away. Yet, compared to their later work, the words stumble toward profundity without fully achieving it.

Released as a single in May 1980, “11 O’Clock Tick Tock” didn’t chart in Ireland at the time—a telling sign of its embryonic place in U2’s catalog. Its modest legacy is bolstered by live performances, notably an electrifying version on 1983’s live LP “Under a Blood Red Sky” and the iconic “Live at Red Rocks” concert film. During their formative years, the track pulsated through setlists, sometimes played twice in one night, which speaks less to its grandeur and more to U2’s need to fill time.

The B-side, “Touch,” offers a glimpse of scrappiness, reworking an older track, “Trevor,” with varying success. Meanwhile, “11 O’Clock Tick Tock” itself underwent its own transformation, being re-recorded for 2023’s “Songs of Surrender.” Yet it’s the original that endures—a snapshot of a band still finding its identity, blessed with infectious ambition but not immune to missteps.

When performed on the BBC’s “The Old Grey Whistle Test” in early 1981, the song demonstrated the group’s compelling live energy, even if the studio version fails to fully encapsulate it. While not the monolith of their later hits, “11 O’Clock Tick Tock” remains an artifact of transition: neither wholly groundbreaking nor disposable, but resting in the cracks between the raw and the regal.

Lifted from : U2 go to The Hague (1981)

12 . Laurie Anderson . Sharkey’s Day

“Sharkey’s Day,” the opening track of Laurie Anderson’s “Mister Heartbreak,” released on February 14, 1984, signals a dramatic shift from her earlier work on “Big Science.”

Here, Anderson trades the detached minimalism of her debut for a layered, rock-inflected soundscape created in collaboration with producer Bill Laswell and a lineup of distinctly skilled musicians. Adrian Belew’s guitar bites and churns with the help of a Foxx Tone Machine pedal, a choice that scrambles the pastoral “hoedown” feel Anderson initially envisioned, injecting the track with a jagged, almost industrial aggression.

The percussion by Daniel Ponce and Anton Fier adds to the song’s flickering unease, driving the track forward without ever settling into rhythmic complacency. Bill Laswell’s bass acts like a narrative anchor, holding things together as Anderson’s spoken-word delivery glides through fragmented dream imagery. Lines like “Sun’s coming up…like a big bald head poking over the grocery store” demand attention, equal parts absurd and poetic, while her refrain—“I turn around, it’s fear / I turn around again, and it’s love!”—suggests the thematic tug-of-war running beneath the surface.

The backing vocals from November (Michelle Cobbs, Dolette McDonald, Brenda Nelson) provide a surprising warmth, softening the mechanized edges while amplifying the song’s human undertones. Yet for all its ambition, “Sharkey’s Day” can feel overloaded at times, its cacophony of elements risking incoherence. Moments of brilliance are occasionally drowned in their own density.

Accompanied by a music video rooted in Anderson’s archival style and later immortalized in her concert film “Home of the Brave,” the track remains a defining artifact of her experimental ethos. Both dreamlike and abrasive, “Sharkey’s Day” challenges as much as it intrigues, capturing Anderson’s shift toward a rock-drenched surrealism while refusing the comfort of easy listening.

Lifted from : Warner Bros. publish Laurie Anderson’s second album . ‘Mister Heartbreak’ (1984)