‘Vous Avez Dit Bizarre’ N°328 – Vintage 80s Music Videos

1 . Chas and Dave – London Girls

“London Girls,” a single from the 1983 album “Job Lot,” typifies Chas & Dave’s cheeky “rockney” ethos—a blend of rock ‘n’ roll and cockney irreverence that the duo milk with both charm and repetition.

The song’s jaunty rhythm and conversational lyricism aim to celebrate the titular London girls with a sprightly veneer, though the delivery feels like a pub singalong veering into familiarity rather than inspiration. Its chart trajectory, entering at number 99 and peaking at 63 after a nine-week stint, places it among their middling works, a small step up from obscurity rather than a leap toward iconic status. Viewed alongside hits like “Gertcha” or “Ain’t No Pleasing You,” the track plays like a pleasant B-side that never quite finds its punchline.

The song’s origins—a cottage writing session in Ashton, East Northamptonshire in 1980—suggest a pastoral cocoon at odds with its urban subject. Somehow, this dissonance mirrors the melody’s disjointed optimism: lively enough to dance to but lacking the sharper hooks of their better tracks.

Subsequent covers, including Tori Amos’s muted reinterpretation as a “Caught a Lite Sneeze” B-side and De Strangers’ Flemish rewrite “‘n Antwârpse Griet,” underline its adaptability but also the strategic sanding down of Chas & Dave’s regional wit for broader audiences.

As a pair hailed for TV melodies like “*Crackerjack!*” or “*Bangers and Mash*,” Chas & Dave exhibit consistent craftsmanship, but “London Girls” lingers without leaving a remarkable imprint. It’s a fond nod to their trademark banter that, much like their chart position, struggles to rise above its own affability.

Featured on the 1982 album “Job Lot “.

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2 . Dead Or Alive – I’d Do Anything

Dead or Alive’s 1984 single “I’d Do Anything” encapsulates a moment in the band’s formative years where ambition outpaced refinement.

Peaking at number 79 on the UK Singles Chart and lingering for four weeks, the track’s modest commercial performance contrasts sharply with the seismic impact of their later hit “You Spin Me Round (Like a Record).”

Here, Pete Burns’ distinctive vocal tone is a centerpiece, edging between confident and experimental, yet lacking the fully realized dramatic flair that would later define his career.

The band’s lineup at the time—Burns on vocals, Steve Coy handling drums, Mike Percy on bass, and Tim Lever on keyboards—showcases a group caught in the liminal space between post-punk angularity and polished pop aspiration.

“I’d Do Anything” reflects this duality, searching for mainstream resonance but unable to shed the echoes of their earlier, rougher influences.

The track emerges as both a precursor and a warm-up act, carrying hints of the band’s eventual pivot towards a more flamboyant and synthetic soundscape.

Burns’ vocal execution, while commanding, feels restrained compared to the persona that would soon dominate the pop stage, suggesting an artist still testing his limits.

The song itself, despite its zealous title, doesn’t quite muster the staying power it seems to strive for, hovering in a space that neither challenges nor wholly satisfies.

This single is less a triumph and more a historical marker—a fleeting signpost for a band still in rehearsal for their eventual breakthrough.

Featured on the 1984 album “Sophisticated Boom Boom”.

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3 . Frazier Chorus – Dream Kitchen

“Dream Kitchen,” released in 1988 as the first Virgin Records single by Brighton’s Frazier Chorus, feels like an oddly refined relic from an era on the cusp of seismic shifts in British music.

While the Madchester and shoegazing movements began their slow ascent, this track sidesteps those looming trends, opting instead for an idiosyncratic arrangement of clarinet, flute, and percussion.

The absence of traditional guitars isn’t a gimmick here—it slides the song into a peculiar niche, where polished production meets a subdued, homemade charm.

Tim Freeman’s lyrics, centered on life’s quiet minutiae—”cups of coffee or carpets”—are disarmingly domestic, matching the music’s warm intimacy but skirting too close to banality at times.

The airplay “Dream Kitchen” received on FM radio in 1989 hints at broader appeal, but perhaps its understated nature didn’t resonate strongly in a recession-hit Britain, peaking at a modest 57 on the UK Singles Chart.

One can’t ignore the craftsmanship behind the recording, yet it’s equally hard to imagine it cutting through the vibrant noise of the late ’80s pop landscape, where flashier acts were grabbing the spotlight.

Still, as part of Frazier Chorus’s debut album “Sue,” the song stands as an unhurried, meticulously constructed statement, though one that seems content staying in the corners, quietly humming along.

Featured on the 1989 album “Sue”.

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4 . Slade – Run Runaway

“Run Runaway” captures Slade’s knack for reinvention, merging glam rock roots with a distinctly Scottish flair.

The track, from their 1984 album “The Amazing Kamikaze Syndrome,” doubles as the lead single for its American counterpart, “Keep Your Hands Off My Power Supply.”

Calling it “a rocky Scottish jig,” Noddy Holder isn’t far off; Jim Lea’s electric fiddle injects the song with a Celtic vibrance that nods to “There Is a Happy Land,” a 19th-century hymn whose melody it echoes with playful subtlety.

The song came at a pivotal moment in Slade’s career, leaning into RCA’s calculated push to revamp their chart fortunes post-Quiet Riot’s resurrection of “Cum On Feel the Noize.”

The strategy paid dividends, as it reached No. 7 on the UK Singles Chart and cracked the notoriously elusive US market by landing at No. 20 on the Billboard Hot 100.

It also dominated the Billboard Rock Top Tracks Chart, claiming the No. 1 spot.

John Punter’s production leans comfortably into the early ‘80s arena-rock aesthetic, albeit not without a thick sheen of studio polish.

Musically, it’s a curious hybrid: pounding percussion paired with a fiddle as if AC/DC gatecrashed a ceilidh.

The accompanying music video, a staple on MTV, amplified its stateside success, turning Slade’s boisterous energy loose on a new generation.

Yet, for all its exuberance, “Run Runaway” walks a fine line between innovation and pastiche.

The Scottish overtones, while arresting, sometimes risk feeling gimmicky under the weight of the song’s gloss.

Jim Lea’s revelation that the melody emerged during casual conversation speaks to its spontaneity, though whether it earns its place among their best remains debatable.

Featured on the 1983 album “The Amazing Kamikaze Syndrome”.

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5 . Adam and the Ants – Cartrouble

“Cartrouble (Parts 1 & 2)” opens *Dirk Wears White Sox* with a curious blend of ambition and restraint, emblematic of Adam Ant’s early experiments.

Released in 1979, the track leans into themes of self-gratification and impotence, topics that undercut its choppy, angular energy with a sense of personal dissonance.

Adam Ant’s vocal delivery—a layered, overdubbed juggling act—not only marks his fledgling signature style but also reinforces the grating tension in the song’s subject matter. His voice occupies a space between defiance and detachment, slipping in and out of sync like a sputtering engine, mirroring the song’s title.

The fractured structure of “Cartrouble” reflects the band’s tentative approach before Malcolm McLaren’s later impositions of tribal “Burundi Beat” rhythms. It’s as if they’re still testing the limits of their sound, teetering on the edge of chaos while maintaining a skeletal sense of structure.

Though the song failed to chart, its presence is crucial to understanding the band’s transitional identity. As an artifact of *Dirk Wears White Sox*, it showcases Adam Ant before he embraced a broader cultural narrative, functioning both as a starting point and a thematic cul-de-sac.

“Cartrouble” may not be the most accessible or polished offering from Adam and the Ants, but its raw, exploratory edges give it a kind of uneasy weight. There’s a fascination in its awkwardness, a refusal to resolve itself neatly, much like the spluttering car it evokes.

Featured on the 1979 album “Dirk Wears White Sox”.

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6 . The Police – So Lonely

“So Lonely,” the third single from The Police’s debut album *Outlandos d’Amour* (1978), is an exercise in self-aware borrowing blended with the band’s prototypical punk-reggae hybrid.

Sting openly admits the track leans heavily on Bob Marley’s “No Woman, No Cry,” a nod so blatant it’s almost defiant. The fingerprints of reggae are all over this, but instead of Marley’s soulful resolve, Sting works through heartbreak with an almost playful level of angst—a mood that’s gripping yet occasionally borders on performative indulgence.

The song’s initial UK chart failure, followed by its successful 1980 re-release peaking at No. 6, mirrors its thematic inconsistency: it’s both desperate and tongue-in-cheek, fully committed yet a bit too self-aware. That paradox extends to the music video, filmed in Hong Kong and Tokyo, where Stewart Copeland takes his drum fills to subway poles and random street objects, underscoring the band’s punk irreverence.

Its lyrical roots in Sting’s earlier “Fool in Love” carry a sense of recycled introspection, though the shift from Last Exit to The Police lends it more edge. Notably, the track’s signature phrase, often mistaken as “Sue Lawley” in an amusing mondegreen, captures pop culture’s tendency to mishear vulnerability as humor.

Musically, Andy Summers’ guitar supports Sting’s plaintive yelps while Copeland’s percussive precision shines, though one wonders if the song’s desperate repetition of “so lonely” stretches its appeal too thin. That said, the nearly 2-million album-equivalent sales to date suggest its lonely refrain found plenty of companionship over time.

Featured on the 1978 album “Outlandos d’Amour“.

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7 . David Bowie & Pat Metheny Group – This Is Not America

“This Is Not America,” a 1985 collaboration between David Bowie and the Pat Metheny Group, serves as the unlikely offspring of jazz-inflected smoothness and Bowie’s enigmatic songwriting instincts.

Crafted for the espionage film *The Falcon and the Snowman*, the song borrows its title and thematic essence from a line in the movie—“This is not America,” uttered by a guard in a Mexican setting. The phrase anchors the track’s melancholic ambivalence, an understated critique wrapped in glossy introspection. Where the Pat Metheny Group’s penchant for fluid jazz textures sets the tone, Bowie’s wistful vocals pierce through like subdued neon in an overcast cityscape. His “Sha-la-la-la-la” backing vocal, devised in a Montreux recording session, functions less as filler and more as a haunting refrain echoing unresolved tensions.

Chart-wise, its modest success spans continents, reaching the top 3 in Scandinavia, charting at #20 in the UK, and securing a #32 spot in the U.S. But calling it an introduction to smooth jazz misses the mark; this is less an invitation and more a free, fleeting sample, one that leaves many pondering the chasm between genre conventions and Bowie’s own boundaryless universe.

Posthumously repurposed on P. Diddy’s “American Dream” for *Training Day* in 2001, the song’s afterlife mutates yet again, emphasizing its malleability more than its permanence. If nothing else, Metheny’s sparse guitar framework paired with Bowie’s spectral performance underscores a singular tension—this is America, and yet not quite.

Featured on the 1985 album “The Falcon and the Snowman: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack”.

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8 . Madness – [My Name Is] Michael Caine

“Michael Caine,” released in 1984 as the lead single from Madness’s fifth studio album, “Keep Moving,” teeters between intrigue and restraint, much like its cinematic inspiration, *The Ipcress File.*

Penned by Carl Smyth and Daniel Woodgate, the track departs from the band’s usual formula, with Smyth stepping into the lead vocalist role, leaving Suggs temporarily sidelined. Smyth channels a “Bowie-ish vocal” style, infusing a subdued yet penetrating edge into the song’s narrative of an informant ensnared in the moral murk of the Troubles in Northern Ireland. The thematic darkness, while compelling, feels oddly juxtaposed against the band’s ska pedigree, creating a tonal tension that is both engaging and alienating.

The inclusion of vocal samples from English actor Michael Caine, known for his 1965 role as Harry Palmer, is a sly touch. His succinct delivery of “My name is Michael Caine” anchors the song’s hook, a clever nod to the spy’s internal struggle in maintaining composure under duress.

Musically, the song breaks character from Madness’s earlier, more buoyant fare. A haunting saxophone vamp weaves through the composition, lending a noir-like quality that underscores its somber narrative. Yet, while the arrangement is polished, it lacks a certain dynamism, leaving the listener hovering between admiration and disengagement.

The accompanying music video is a marked shift for the band, opting for a more serious tone in lieu of their signature playfulness. This decision mirrors the song’s broader attempt to carve out thematic depth, though whether it fully succeeds is debatable.

Peaking at number 11 on the UK Singles Chart and residing there for eight weeks, “Michael Caine” is both an experiment in narrative complexity and a measured step away from commercial ska tropes. While its ambition is commendable, the track ultimately exists in a liminal space—neither fully embracing its potential gravitas nor retreating into Madness’s familiar exuberance.

Featured on the 1984 album “Keep Moving”.

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9 . Shakin’ Stevens – Jezebel

“Jezebel,” released as a single in 1989, occupies a curious spot within Shakin’ Stevens’ extensive career—a discography sprawling over twenty studio albums and sixty-nine singles.

Its position at number 58 on the UK Singles Chart, where it lingered for just two weeks, suggests it failed to capture the cultural moment in the way Stevens’ earlier smashes like “Merry Christmas Everyone” had done.

While Shakin’ Stevens, born Michael Barratt, was synonymous with the 1980s rock and roll revival, “Jezebel” feels more like a footnote than a headline in his decades-long career.

The song itself, detached from any specific studio album that would provide it with thematic context, seems to float adrift in Stevens’ otherwise accomplished catalog.

Vocally, Stevens stays true to the energy-laden rock and roll stylings that fueled his meteoric rise in the ’80s, though the track lacks the hooky immediacy of his chart-topping material.

It’s neither a reinvention nor a continuation of his core successes, landing instead in a space of competent yet forgettable middle-ground.

For a performer whose career often leaned heavily on nostalgia and lively charm, “Jezebel” holds an almost utilitarian quality—like a cog in a machine that no longer spins with its former vigor.

That said, Stevens’ enduring popularity and ability to craft hits across six decades might afford even his lesser works a second life in the hands of enthusiasts and collectors, but “Jezebel” likely won’t be leading that retrospective parade.

Featured on the 1988 album “A Whole Lotta Shaky”.

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10 . The Style Council – My Ever Changing Moods

Released in February 1984, “My Ever Changing Moods” stands as one of The Style Council’s most definitive statements, both musically and thematically.

Composed by Paul Weller and recorded at Solid Bond Studios in London, the track offers a sophisticated blend of Latin percussion and a bright, brassy horn section, drawing clear inspiration from Classics IV’s “Stormy” through its ii7-I-M7 chord progressions.

While the polished instrumentation gives the single version (4:02) its buoyant, almost cinematic flair, the stripped-down album version (3:37)—featuring Weller’s vocals accompanied solely by an acoustic piano—grounds the song in an introspective minimalism, effectively reshaping its emotional impact.

The extended 12” version (5:44), meanwhile, stretches the arrangement without overstaying its welcome, further showcasing the contributions of Mick Talbot’s electric piano and organ work, Steve White’s intricate percussion, and a brass section led by Hilary Seabrook and Barbara Snow on saxophone and trumpet, respectively.

Chart-wise, “My Ever Changing Moods” was both ambitious and effective, peaking at No. 29 on the *Billboard* Hot 100—Paul Weller’s highest US achievement across his career—and hitting No. 5 in the UK, where it stayed in the top ten for seven weeks.

The music video, filmed at Kentwell Hall in Suffolk and directed by Tim Pope, provides a playful visual counterpoint to the song’s reflective tone without overshadowing its substance.

Though rightly celebrated for its genre-spanning craftsmanship, one could argue that the track’s clean production and careful construction, while impressive, tread a little too carefully, muting some of the raw spontaneity Weller achieved with earlier projects like The Jam.

Included in compilations such as *The Singular Adventures of The Style Council*, *The Complete Adventures of The Style Council*, and *Greatest Hits*, the song continues to hold a particular resonance, serving as an artifact of both personal and cultural evolution across an era of ever-changing moods.

Featured on the 1984 album “Café Bleu“.

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11 . Chris Rea – Working on it

“Working on It,” featured in Chris Rea’s 1988 compilation album “New Light Through Old Windows,” carries the weighty ambition of reinvention but doesn’t entirely escape the pitfalls of its era’s mainstream tropes.

The track’s placement as part of an album filled with re-worked earlier singles suggests an artist striving for clarity in presentation, though the result feels more polished than poignant. Despite this, it managed to top the U.S. Mainstream Rock chart—a notable achievement for a British singer in an American landscape that often demanded louder declarations of intent.

On the Billboard Hot 100, its modest peak at No. 73 reveals this was no crossover juggernaut, while in the UK, a No. 53 placement on the Official Singles Chart gives a sense of regional familiarity rather than burgeoning influence. The track found its extended life on an accompanying international tour comprising over 45 dates, proving its utility more as part of a robust live repertoire than as a standalone anthem.

Musically, “Working on It” gestures toward Rea’s blues-rock sensibilities but stops just short of capturing the storytelling depth he fully realized in later albums such as “The Road to Hell.” While its construction is solid, there’s an undeniable sense that it could have pushed further, perhaps restrained by the glossy production traps of late-’80s rock.

This song stands as a transitional marker in Rea’s long-spanning career, one that mirrors his ability to navigate commercial success with bouts of introspection. Yet, beneath its professional sheen, it lacks the jagged intimacy of tracks like “On the Beach” or “Driving Home for Christmas,” where his bluesy core shines brighter. Among over 40 million global record sales, “Working on It” plays the role of a capable middle child in Rea’s extensive family of tracks—not the most rebellious, not the most beloved, but unquestionably present.

Featured on the 1988 album “New Light Through Old Windows”.

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12 . Age Of Chance – Kiss

“Kiss” by Age of Chance turns Prince’s minimalist funk hit into a dense, throbbing industrial rock statement, recorded in the wake of its predecessor’s chart dominance.

This 1986 cover, born from a John Peel session, resembles The Fire Engines’ approach to “(We Don’t Need This) Fascist Groove Thang,” layering aggression over an already iconic track.

Recorded at Sheffield’s Fon Studios, its sharp edges and genre-blurring production caught enough attention to reach No. 50 on the UK Singles Chart and perform surprisingly well overseas, including No. 1 standings in New Zealand and Spain.

Yet, its real charm lies not in chart positions but in its peculiar detour from Prince’s sensual sparseness to an almost mechanical energy.

The alternating tempos—rock urgency colliding with half-speed quiet storm passages—betray a fascination with rhythm as much as melody.

Instrumentally, its mid-track guitar and horn flourishes nod toward Art of Noise-like deconstructionism, more homage than theft.

The band’s rewriting of lyrics, using *Smash Hits* as a springboard for their textual improvisation, mirrors the irreverent nature of the music itself.

The single’s bold visual aesthetic, courtesy of The Designers Republic, matched the sound’s audacious vision, extending into a music video that crossed over to MTV in the U.S., unusual for a UK-based alt-industrial group.

The Leeds collective, known for their punk and Northern soul-infused industrial rock, found a fitting arena for their abrasive yet oddly celebratory style in this cover.

Whether it’s an essential reinterpretation or a dated experiment depends on your patience for jagged, overtly referential pastiche.

Featured on the 1986 album “Kiss Crush Collision”.

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