R.E.M., Swing Out Sister, Nik Kershaw, Faith No More, The Christians, Kraftwerk, The Jam, Duran Duran, Chris Rea, Arcadia, The Skids, Stan Ridgway & Stewart Copeland
They are the performers of twelve vintage amusing, puzzling and sometimes shocking videos of songs that were ranked in various charts, this week (05/52) BUT … in the Eighties 80s.
Here, they are reunited in one glorious playlist. Enjoy!
For TWENTY FOUR more ‘Vous Avez Dit Bizarre’ – Vintage 80s Music Videos – week 05/52 – click here and here
Tracklist
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1 . R.E.M. – Stand“Stand” from R.E.M.’s 1988 album *Green* serves up an eccentric dose of absurdity wrapped in a pop-rock shell. The track ascends the Billboard Hot 100 to a commendable sixth place, proving the band’s knack for crafting earworms with chart appeal. Its lyrics revolve around the most mundane of life’s quandaries: choosing the right direction—literally—against an upbeat melody that masks the underlying existential undertones. The musical structure leans heavily on phrase modulation, as each repetition of the chorus lifts the song into another key, like a steady climb up a surreal musical staircase. The accompanying video mirrors its playful narrative, showcasing a swirl of gaudy, offbeat choreography that feels as though it belongs in a vintage fitness VHS. A standout from this era, the song later finds its way into cultural memory as the theme for *Get a Life*, a short-lived 1990s sitcom where its quirks fit snugly. Less enduring perhaps is “Weird Al” Yankovic’s parody, “Spam,” though it does nod to the tune’s cultural resonance in its prime. Despite the light-hearted framing, “Stand” manages to poke at the absurdity of making meaningful decisions in a chaotic world while being shamelessly catchy at the same time. Featured on the 1988 album “Green “.
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2 . Swing Out Sister – Surrender“Surrender” by Swing Out Sister delivers an impeccable slice of late ’80s jazz-pop sophistication, wrapped in sleek production and stellar musicianship. The track, pairing Corinne Drewery’s poised, emotive vocals with Andy Connell’s vibrant arrangements, embodies the polished charm of its era. Opening with Drewery’s unexpected laughter, the song immediately sets a mood that feels at once intimate and meticulously orchestrated. John Thirkell’s spirited trumpet solo injects a dash of brassy exuberance, offering a contrast to the track’s otherwise restrained elegance. The lyrics weave a narrative of yielding to vulnerability without descending into melodrama, effortlessly tethering to the universal themes of love and self-discovery. The production remains a standout feature, with Paul Staveley O’Duffy layering textures that never overwhelm, instead complementing each shimmering note. While peaking at #7 on the UK Singles Chart, the song’s air of refinement marked it as distinctive amidst the chaotic pop landscape of 1987. Remixes catered to U.S. audiences, lending “Surrender” a second wind in clubs and climbing dance charts with clever adaptations like the “Stuff Gun Mix.” The visual counterpart, its music video, wraps the song in stylish, understated visuals that accentuate its polished aesthetic without veering into excess. As a cornerstone of Swing Out Sister’s debut, the track continues to exude an air of timelessness, reflecting both the gloss and depth characteristic of its creators. Featured on the 1987 album “It’s Better to Travel”.
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3 . Nik Kershaw – One Step Ahead“One Step Ahead” straddles a fine line between funk-infused pop and introspective lyricism, showcasing Nik Kershaw’s knack for crafting tunes that feel both thoughtful and radio-ready. Released in 1989 as the opening statement for his fourth album, *The Works*, the track embodies the remnants of ’80s synth-pop while introducing a tighter, more polished production style. The song’s origins harken back to Olympic inspiration, though its sprightly rhythm doesn’t scream torch relays or medal podiums; instead, it carves its own lane with Kershaw’s semi-serious delivery and layered instrumentation. The production, co-handled by Kershaw and Julian Mendelsohn, mirrors the late-’80s inclination toward clean, industrial textures, with a touch of playful brass in the mix. Critics at the time noted its craftsmanship, with descriptions ranging from “well-crafted pop with funky overtones” to a “semi-serious funk strut,” acknowledging its polished but restrained energy. Commercially, its impact was modest, peaking at No. 55 on the UK Singles Chart—hardly a chart-topper, but its thoughtful composition lends it a durability that lingers beyond its rankings. The music video, a staple for promotional efforts, leaned into creative concepts to amplify the track’s upbeat nature, while live performances—such as on the Dutch TV show *POP Formule*—gave Kershaw space to highlight his natural charisma. The song’s various releases included alternate versions like the “Industrial Mix” and B-sides such as “When I Grow Up,” reinforcing its adaptability and Kershaw’s willingness to experiment within a pop framework. In the broader timeline of Kershaw’s career, “One Step Ahead” signals a turning point—a closing chapter on his ’80s output and a poignant, albeit understated, farewell to his consistent presence on the UK charts until his ’90s resurgence. Featured on the 1989 album “The Works “.
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4 . Faith No More – We Care a Lot“We Care a Lot” stomps onto the stage with a riff-heavy swagger, delivering a biting send-up of 1980s pop culture and philanthropy through its sarcastic lens. First appearing on Faith No More’s 1985 debut album, the track fuses funk-metal grooves with Chuck Mosley’s snark-infused vocal delivery, striking a nerve among underground music enthusiasts. The original version name-drops cultural artifacts like the LAPD, Garbage Pail Kids, and Mr. T, offering a sardonic commentary on societal absurdities wrapped in a deceptively catchy package. Its 1987 re-recording provides updated lyrics that subtly adapt to shifting social dynamics while retaining the song’s punchy irreverence. The accompanying video, directed on a minimal budget, mirrors the raw, unpolished energy of the band’s early years, earning a modest foothold on MTV’s rotation and embedding itself in cult circles. Performed live since 1984, it has become a cornerstone of the band’s setlist, with its Brixton Academy recording featuring Mike Patton bringing fresh vitality. Both a tongue-in-cheek critique and a headbanging anthem, “We Care a Lot” seizes the contradictions of its era and frenziedly weaponizes them. Featured on the 1985 album “We Care a Lot”.
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5 . The Christians – Forgotten Town“Forgotten Town” emerges from the gritty streets of 1980s Britain, a poignant commentary on economic decline and societal disparity. Written by Henry Priestman and fronted by Garry Christian’s rich baritone, this debut single captures a period of political strife and regional neglect with haunting clarity. The lyrics, initially scribbled on a dusty mirror in a Liverpool flat, channel a raw immediacy that’s hard to ignore. The blend of sharp narrative and layered instrumentation offers a sharp critique of the struggles endured by towns like Liverpool and Hull. This isn’t just a song; it’s a time capsule, archiving the frustrations of a working class often left to fend for itself. The track’s basslines hum with purpose, while understated background vocals add a slight gospel undertone—providing contrast to the stark themes of marginalization. Released in 1987, it climbed to #22 on the UK Singles Chart, resonating with listeners who recognized themselves in its stories. Its visuals lean into urban ruin and resilience, driving home the message that amid despair, there’s always a flicker of resilience. “Forgotten Town” doesn’t wallow; it observes, critiques, and carves a soulful space for reflection. The Christians, with this track, established a sharp voice that resisted being softened by the polish of commercial pop production. Featured on the 1987 album “The Christians”.
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6 . Kraftwerk – The ModelReleased in 1978 as part of Kraftwerk’s “The Man-Machine” album, “The Model” strides in with an icy confidence that mirrors the glossy veneer of its subject: fashion models. Originally sung in German as “Das Model,” the track cruises effortlessly between languages, adding just enough flair with minor lyrical tweaks, such as the faintly self-satisfied declaration of “Korrekt!” in the original version. Its measured beat and minimalist melody feel as clinical as the catwalks and photo studios it chronicles. The story behind the lyrics is almost suspiciously on-brand. Inspired by Schult’s fascination with the exclusive world of Cologne’s high-class nightlife, the song seems to tap into a paradox: critiquing the superficiality of the modeling industry while reveling in its sleek aesthetic. There’s a cold irony here, one that Kraftwerk exploits with precision. The track glides like a mannequin rolling down a conveyor belt—detached yet calculated, never losing its balance. The 1981 reissue catapulted the track into mainstream consciousness, riding the rising tide of synth-pop and New Wave. It didn’t sneak but stomped its way to the top of the UK charts by 1982, selling over 500,000 copies—a tidy sum for a track that originated during the disco hangover of the late ’70s. The re-release owes as much to EMI’s marketing acumen as it does to the band’s intuitive understanding of their moment in music’s tectonic shifts. The accompanying music videos—plural, because why settle for one—are delightfully disorienting. The official promo splices black-and-white footage of glamour models from yesteryear with clips of the band itself. It’s a weird juxtaposition: human artifice meeting digital precision. Another version opts for a pastiche of Kraftwerk’s own visual milestones, offering a quirky nod to their evolving image as pioneers of robot chic. Covers of “The Model” abound, from the jagged post-punk rendition by Big Black to Robert Fripp’s cerebral interpretation. It’s one of those tracks that seems to invite reinterpretation, proving its versatility even as it clings stubbornly to a singular mood. Paradox dominates the song: it revels in glamour while puncturing its illusion, stays intimate yet distant. Whether you think Kraftwerk are projecting sharp wit or a blank stare is kind of the point. Featured on the 1978 album “The Man-Machine“.
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7 . The Jam – Town Called Malice“Town Called Malice” steps into the fray with a vivacious energy that briskly collides with the grim realities of early ’80s Britain under Thatcher’s government. Drawing its name from a book Paul Weller hadn’t read, this track juxtaposes its lively Motown-inspired rhythm with biting observations of working-class struggles and urban stagnation. The funky bassline and rapid-fire organ riffs camouflage lyrics rich with despair, boredom, and yearning for something beyond the monotony of council estates and job scarcity. Far from brooding, the track transforms societal frustration into a defiant anthem, wrapping disillusionment in a toe-tapping melody. Both a chart-topping hit and cultural snapshot, it blocked The Stranglers’ “Golden Brown” from reaching number one and secured The Jam’s reputation for insightful, sharp-edged pop. The accompanying music video, minimalist yet arresting, frames the band in a stark black set adorned only with a coat rack, focusing attention on the raw, kinetic performance. Years later, it remains a staple of film soundtracks, from “Billy Elliot” to “Spider-Man: Far From Home,” underscoring its enduring resonance as both a time capsule and a call to arms against complacency. Featured on the 1982 album “The Gift“.
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8 . Duran Duran – New Moon On MondayDuran Duran’s “New Moon on Monday” is drenched in ’80s synth-pop polish, a sleek anthem from their “Seven and the Ragged Tiger” album era. Propelled by shimmering keyboards and buoyant percussion, it captures a yearning sentiment of renewal and shared purpose, a hallmark of the band’s more optimistic undertones. Chart momentum took it to the top 10 in both the U.K. and U.S., a testament to the group’s global pull during their hair-gelled prime. But the real quirk lies in its music video, a curious cinematic ambition set in the quaint French village of Noyers, portraying the band as underground rebels fighting a faceless regime. The kite-flying, fireworks, and oddly choreographed resistance setups feel audacious yet bewilderingly kitschy, a duality that Duran Duran mastered like few others. Backing the single was a remix of “Tiger Tiger,” offering a moody instrumental counterpoint to the brighter A-side. The production, helmed by Alex Sadkin and Ian Little, punctuates the band’s knack for lush, layered atmospheres marked by precision. Yet, the band’s lukewarm regard for the video, with members calling it a low point, casts a shadow of ambivalence over the artistry of their visual storytelling. The song’s legacy endures in its shimmering sonics—a slice of pop-culture that’s both evocative of its era and uniquely resistant to being pinned down. Featured on the 1983 album “Seven and the Ragged Tiger”.
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9 . Chris Rea – Que Sera“Que Sera,” nestled within Chris Rea’s 1988 release of the same name, occupies a curious space in his discography: understated yet essential in texture. Its title nods to philosophical resignation, but the track exudes a grounded simplicity rather than lofty abstractions. The blues-tinged melodies showcase Rea’s signature slide guitar, weaving a steady rhythm that feels reflective rather than resigned. It’s a snapshot of an artist who, in the late ’80s, was producing work with quiet consistency, perched between the soft introspections of “Dancing with Strangers” and the explosive grit of 1989’s “The Road to Hell.” Rea’s voice carries the track with understated conviction—gravelly enough to convey wisdom but never overwrought. While “Que Sera” lacks the commercial clout of “Driving Home for Christmas” or the cinematic flourish of “On the Beach,” it’s a study in restraint, a moment when less becomes more. Thematically tethered to destiny and acceptance, the song’s reflective tone feels more intimate than an anthem, providing a quiet pause amid an era of bombastic power ballads. No flashy accolades or overt cultural milestones mark its journey, yet it solidifies Rea’s steady approach: artistry grounded in subtle emotion over spectacle. Featured on the 1987 album “Dancing with Strangers”.
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10 . Arcadia – The Promise‘The Promise’ by Arcadia lands squarely in the mid-’80s, where synth-driven ballads reigned and collaborations were often surprising. The track features Sting on a backing vocal that’s uncredited but unmistakable, his voice mingling intriguingly with Simon Le Bon’s. This unexpected pairing, first heard on Band Aid’s ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas?,’ finds its formal development here, adding a layer of emotional tension. The guitar work from Pink Floyd’s David Gilmour and fretless bass lines by Mark Egan elevate the production’s sophistication, lending more gravity to its spacious arrangement. The track spans 7:28 on the album but was trimmed to 4:45 for its single release, though its extended remix slightly tempers the urgency with a 7:06 runtime. Thematically, it grapples with loyalty and faith, abstract yet evocative, leaning on enigmatic phrasing and layered production aesthetics for its storytelling. The music video mirrors the song’s atmospheric tone, unfurling surreal visuals that often feel more cryptic than clarifying, yet compelling enough to linger in memory. While it didn’t storm the charts, peaking modestly at 37 in the UK, the track’s multi-layered lineup and moody undertones cement its intrigue within Arcadia’s discography. Featured on the 1985 album “So Red the Rose”.
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11 . The Skids – Working For The Yankee Dollar“Working for the Yankee Dollar” finds The Skids sharpening their post-punk edge to deliver a politically charged narrative. Part of their 1979 album “Days in Europa,” the track manages to weave a biting critique of global politics with angular guitar riffs and a kinetic rhythm section. The contrast between Stuart Adamson’s sharp, urgent guitar and Richard Jobson’s almost theatrical vocal delivery creates an arresting tension that sets the band apart from their contemporaries. The production by Bill Nelson, known for his work with Be-Bop Deluxe, lends the song a sleek yet slightly experimental polish, though the collaboration was reportedly a compromise amidst clashing creative directions within the band. Beyond its studio finesse, the song also became a live favorite, maintaining its vitality during the band’s reunion tours decades later. A performance on the “Old Grey Whistle Test” in 1979 encapsulates their peak-era energy, offering a visual complement to their audacious sound. This isn’t just a standard post-punk anthem; it’s a snapshot of a band navigating its ambitions while embedded in the socio-political climate of the era. Neither sanctimonious nor cynical, the track balances its critique with an infectious, defiant energy, making it equal parts rallying cry and earworm. Featured on the 1980 album “Days in Europa”. |
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12 . Stan Ridgway & Stewart Copeland – Don’t Box Me InStan Ridgway and Stewart Copeland’s “Don’t Box Me In” stakes its ground in the curious junction of rock, jazz, and cinematic soundscapes. The track, composed for Francis Ford Coppola’s “Rumble Fish” in 1983, resists easy categorization, much like the movie itself. Ridgway’s distinct vocals evoke an outsider’s restlessness, pairing organically with Copeland’s eccentric instrumental choices—including an almost manic intertwining of drums, bass, and keyboard. The lyrics seem to advocate a life unhindered by conformity, though they tread a fine line between rebellious and vaguely cryptic. What could have been simple soundtrack fodder steps into its own limelight, largely thanks to an almost alchemical synergy between the artists. The accompanying music video—black-and-white studio clips juxtaposed with scenes from the movie—leans hard into art-house aesthetics but never feels pretentious, likely helped by Ridgway’s raw charisma and Copeland’s percussive flair. Though the song landed modestly at 91 on the UK Singles Chart, its enduring appeal lies in its defiance of neat musical packaging, navigating between enigmatic and overproduced without tipping too far. It’s a track that sticks out like a jagged edge, for better or worse, capturing its creators’ mutual determination to carve a singular artistic space. Featured on the 1983 album “Rumble Fish: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack”.
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