‘We Are Live’ N°17 – Vintage 90s Music Videos

1 . Mike + The Mechanics – All I Need Is A Miracle

“All I Need Is a Miracle” finds Mike + The Mechanics delivering a polished slice of 1980s pop rock that feels as calculated as it is catchy. A key track from their self-titled 1985 debut album, the song manages to balance the commercial ambitions of guitarist Mike Rutherford and producer Christopher Neil with the soulful vocals of Paul Young, better known for his work with Sad Café.

The arrangement is a study in studio craftsmanship. Rutherford’s electric guitars are layered with just enough bite, while keyboards from Adrian Lee, Dereck Austin, and Ian Wherry shimmer without overwhelming the mix. Peter Van Hooke’s drumming locks the whole track into a steady and safe groove, reinforced by backing vocals from Alan Carvel, Christopher Neil, and Linda Taylor. The song flirts with emotional immediacy but never quite lets loose, preferring an air of controlled exuberance.

Chart-wise, the track’s performance proves its appeal. Its number 5 peak on the Billboard Hot 100 places it firmly in the upper echelons of U.S. radio-friendly hits, while its more modest number 53 finish on the UK’s Official Singles Chart suggests a tempered reception at home. This disparity mirrors the band’s identity—crafted for mass appeal yet often understated in its own origins.

The music video adds another layer, continuing the narrative started in “Silent Running (On Dangerous Ground).” It leans heavily into a comedic subplot involving Roy Kinnear’s beleaguered tour manager. This clever yet somewhat campy storytelling aligns with the track’s polished but risk-averse nature, offering visual levity at the expense of depth.

Despite the song’s Grammy nomination for Best Pop Performance by a Duo or Group in 1987, “All I Need Is a Miracle” remains more a triumph of production than raw artistry. Rutherford’s Genesis pedigree sharpens the edges but doesn’t necessarily break new ground, leaving the song as an artifact of 1980s radio—a hit, yes, but not a revelation.

Featured on the 1985 album “Mike + The Mechanics “.

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2 . The La’s – Feelin’

“Feelin’,” the fourth and final single from The La’s self-titled 1990 debut, captures the tension of a band at odds with its creation. Recorded at Eden Studios under the hand of Steve Lillywhite during a chaotic stretch from December 1989 to February 1990, the track feels like an uneasy compromise—its melodic charm cutting through despite the fraught production process.

The track was unleashed at a moment when Lee Mavers and John Power, the band’s core duo, were locked in an ongoing battle with outside producers who they felt failed to grasp their sonic vision. Lillywhite, whose résumé was as prestigious as it was irrelevant to The La’s needs, brought a polished sheen that seemed to clash with Mavers’ obsessive quest for authenticity. “Feelin’,” like much of the album, bears the scars of this tug-of-war, its jangly guitar lines at once immediate and slightly too tidy, like a sunny day marred by a persistent gray cloud.

The song charted at a modest 43 on the UK Singles Chart, a number that felt more like a footnote than a headline for a track once promoted on “Top of the Pops.” The band’s knack for melody shines through, but the recording feels restrained—a bottled spirit yearning for the raw energy of their live performances.

Ultimately, “Feelin’” is a snapshot of The La’s contradictions: a band more inspired than their circumstances allowed, their craftsmanship unmistakable but their dissatisfaction equally palpable. In hindsight, the song’s inclusion on compilations like “Singles Collection,” released in Japan a decade later, feels less like a triumph and more like a preservation effort—a reminder of a moment in which brilliance and frustration coexisted uneasily.

Featured on the 1990 album “The La’s “.

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3 . Mark Owen – Clementine

“Clementine,” the second single from Mark Owen’s debut solo album, “Green Man,” offers a glimpse into the singer’s post-Take That direction—reaching for depth but often circling familiar territory.

Released on 3 February 1997 and produced by Craig Leon, the track marries Owen’s earnest songwriting with a production that feels more tailored to the contemplative Britpop of the era than a breakout pop solo act. The song peaked at number three on the UK Singles Chart, replicating the success of his debut single, “Child.” While respectable, one might question how much of this success leaned on Owen’s residual star power rather than the song’s own merits.

With its wistful tone, “Clementine” seems to aim for introspection, yet the lyrical quality teeters between poignant and perfunctory. Owen’s delivery—sincere but somewhat limited in range—conveys emotion, though it occasionally lacks the gravitas to elevate the material. The production, typical of Leon’s polished but understated style, supports Owen well, though it feels restrained when compared to the more adventurous sounds of late-90s solo ventures from comparable artists.

Internationally, the track fared well, peaking at number two in both Japan and Spain and reaching number 10 in Ireland. Its position at number 5 on the European Hit Radio chart and number 28 on the Eurochart Hot 100 signals wider resonance, though it stops short of being a cultural landmark. Owen’s attempt to craft a distinct solo identity is commendable but feels safer than groundbreaking, especially when compared to his later, more eclectic albums like “How the Mighty Fall” and “The Art of Doing Nothing.” “Clementine” is a firmly competent song, but its chart success appears more a reflection of Owen’s enduring fanbase than an indication of the track’s staying power.

Featured on the 1996 album “Green Man”.

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4 . Pearl Jam – Alive

“Alive” unfolds as both a confession and an anthem, walking a tightrope between personal pain and collective catharsis.

Drawn from Pearl Jam’s debut album “Ten,” released in 1991, the track carries Eddie Vedder’s semi-autobiographical reflections. Its lyrics peel back layers of childhood upheaval, revealing a shattering truth: the man Vedder believed to be his father wasn’t, while his biological father had already passed away. Lines like “Your real daddy was dyin’/Sorry you didn’t see him” land with the blunt force of a family secret unearthed too late. Such candor feels raw, almost intrusive, yet it’s what gives the song its emotional core.

Musically, “Alive” builds on its origins as “Dollar Short,” a shelved Mother Love Bone track. With Vedder’s arrival, what could have stayed a relic evolved into a cornerstone of Pearl Jam’s sound. The band, reconstituted after Andrew Wood’s death in 1990, found a voice in Vedder that matched their muscular riffs and sprawling solos. Mike McCready’s guitar work in particular dominates the latter half, his solo resembling a howl for something neither words nor melody can quite name.

Chart positioning—number 3 on the Official Vinyl Singles Chart and 16 on the Official Rock & Metal Singles Chart—speaks to its impact, though the song’s endurance owes more to its live transformations. Initially burdened by the weight of its somber origin, “Alive” has since become a call-and-response spectacle at Pearl Jam concerts. The audience’s jubilant cries of “I’m still alive” reframe Vedder’s heaviness into resilience, a shift Vedder himself noted during an appearance on VH1’s “Storytellers.” What once felt like a curse now roars with defiance.

Yet the track isn’t without its weaknesses. While the sprawling instrumentation bolsters the song’s epic ambitions, it teeters on indulgence, occasionally bordering on overwrought. Still, the mix of personal narrative and arena-rock intensity offers a blueprint that countless bands would imitate but rarely equal.

Featured on the 1991 album “Ten“.

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5 . Ocean Colour Scene – The Riverboat Song

“The Riverboat Song” drips with a swagger borrowed in part from Led Zeppelin’s “Four Sticks,” channeling their signature riff into Britpop’s more tempered terrain, but not without keeping a sharp edge.

The track opens with a riff so instantly familiar it feels both stolen and repurposed—Led Zeppelin’s ghost haunts here, not just melodically but lyrically, as fragments of their influence settle into Simon Fowler’s vocals. Written in 6/8 time, the song plays with a loping, almost drunken rhythm, setting up a hypnotic loop that’s difficult to evade, whether you’re entranced or irritated by its persistence.

Recorded and mixed at Moseley Shoals in Birmingham, England, the track benefits from the warm yet slightly insular production style of Brendan Lynch. Adding to the mix, Paul Weller’s organ contribution sneaks past unnoticed unless you’re tipped off—his involvement feels more decorative than instrumental here, much like glitter on already finished canvas. The mastering by Tim Young sharpens what would otherwise be a hazy affair, but doesn’t elevate the song beyond its influences.

Cultural traction arrived when Chris Evans adopted it for *TFI Friday*, vaulting the song from radio rotation to a UK Singles Chart peak at number 15. It’s easy to see why it worked within the format of a television show introduction—it announces itself boldly, but it’s a blunt weapon, too direct to linger much beyond its moment. In New Zealand, its chart position at number 37 hinted at a broader reach, though one bounded by genre and era.

Simon Fowler’s performance merges competence with vagueness; his vocals carry the rhythm but lack a distinct emotional anchor, a common critique of Ocean Colour Scene’s broader output. Guitarist Steve Cradock fares better, weaving piano and vocal contributions into a more capable tapestry, though the overall arrangement feels more workshop-exercise than true inspiration.

The success of “The Riverboat Song” paved paths for subsequent singles off *Moseley Shoals*—titles like “You’ve Got It Bad” and “The Day We Caught the Train” owed much of their spotlight to the momentum this single generated. Nevertheless, for all the technical craft on display, its Gold certification by the BPI speaks as much to timing and exposure as it does to artistry. The song, much like the riverboat of its title, meanders but rarely astonishes.

Featured on the 1996 album “Moseley Shoals”.

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6 . The Godfathers – Unreal World

“Unreal World” feels like a brash snapshot of 1991, its core radiating the raw defiance that The Godfathers had perfected over years of lineup shifts and gritty live performances.

Peter Coyne’s vocals punch through the mix with a kind of seething clarity, channeling disillusionment and governmental critique in a way that feels both timely and timeless.

The interplay between Chris Burrows’ aggressive guitar lines and Chris Coyne’s solid bass work reinforces the song’s muscular rock identity, while Ali Byworth’s drumming provides a taut, almost militaristic backbone—an interesting turn after George Mazur’s departure post-recording.

If The Godfathers carved their name with albums like “Birth, School, Work, Death,” then “Unreal World” sharpens the chisel, capturing the social malaise of its era without lapsing into melodrama.

The track, lifted as the title centerpiece of the album recorded in the spring and summer of 1990, reached notable heights on the US Modern Rock Chart, peaking at #6—their highest position in North America.

The production, stamped by Epic Records, leans into the band’s characteristic no-frills approach, allowing the inherent tension in the lyrics and instrumentation to take center stage.

Still, the abrasive rock sound, while undeniably visceral, risks crowding out the nuances of its message; the aggression sometimes edges towards monotony, leaving less space for introspection within its driving structure.

It’s a track built for its moment, and its resonance depends on one’s affinity for straight-ahead urgency over layered complexity.

As part of a discography that later included 2022’s “Alpha Beta Gamma Delta,” the song’s legacy endures less as a revolution and more as a tightly wound burst of fervor from a band unwilling to back down.

Featured on the 1991 album “Unreal World”.

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7 . Siouxsie And The Banshees – Stargazer

“Stargazer” exists as a shimmering artifact within the rich tapestry of Siouxsie and the Banshees’ career, a final movement in the artful melodrama they orchestrated since their 1976 inception.

By the time the band landed here, they had already solidified their place as architects of post-punk and gothic rock, genres they didn’t just inhabit but shaped alongside collaborators like John McGeoch, whose shimmering guitar work on *Kaleidoscope* redefined their sonic palette. But “Stargazer” feels less tethered to that earlier exploratory spirit and more like a carefully polished relic—its edges refined but its intent more diffuse.

Siouxsie Sioux’s unmistakable vocals glide and weave, commanding as always, yet here they seem to orbit lyrical themes that don’t quite anchor themselves. Where the still-feral power of “Hong Kong Garden” cut sharply into the post-punk consciousness in 1978, landing in the Top 10 of the UK charts, “Stargazer” opts instead for ethereal drift, less incendiary and more celestial. The choice feels intentional yet comes with trade-offs, as the track doesn’t quite punch with the immediate clarity of their *The Scream*-era ambitions.

Siouxsie herself, ever the enigmatic frontwoman—whether shaking up the 100 Club Punk Festival or sparring with British TV decorum alongside the Sex Pistols—delivers as she always does, her voice a peculiar blend of warmth and hauteur. But the song’s grandeur risks being subsumed by its own polish. While it nods at legacy, it glances past revolution.

Siouxsie and the Banshees have always influenced the architects of new sound—Massive Attack, Radiohead, and even modern luminaries like The Weeknd. Yet “Stargazer,” rather than a map forward, reveals a constellation of influences looking inward. The stars are there; you just wish the light were sharper. B+

Featured on the 1995 album “The Rapture”.

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8 . Metallica – Sad But True

“Sad But True,” from Metallica’s 1991 self-titled “Black Album,” is as much a statement of sonic intent as it is a manifesto for reimagined metal heaviness.

Produced by Bob Rock, whose past work with Bon Jovi and Aerosmith hardly hinted at the weight he’d bring here, the track represents a deliberate pivot.

Slowing the original tempo to a sludge-like crawl and detuning the guitars to a Sabbath-inspired D gave the song an oppressive thickness, a blueprint Metallica would carry into “Load,” “Reload,” and “St. Anger.”

The detuned riffs don’t just chug—they linger, looming like a shadow that refuses to dissipate, reinforcing the track’s themes of dependency and betrayal.

James Hetfield’s lyrics—“I’m your life, I’m the one who takes you there”—ooze with menace, yet avoid one-dimensional angst by doubling down on ambiguity.

The delivery feels less like a scream of rebellion and more like an uneasy confession, sidestepping melodrama in favor of controlled confrontation.

Peaking at number 20 on the UK Official Singles Chart and lasting three weeks in early 1993, the song’s mainstream success highlights the band’s knack for marrying abyssal heaviness to radio-friendly structure.

Still, the very elements that made “Sad But True” a standout—its slower grind, its titanic weight—might test listeners who crave thrash-era ferocity.

As part of a catalog that includes classics like “Enter Sandman” and “Master of Puppets,” this track demonstrates Metallica’s willingness to shift formulas without entirely breaking them, for better or worse.

Featured on the 1991 album “Metallica“.

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9 . Genesis – Tell Me Why

The song “Tell Me Why” by Genesis occupies an interesting, if understated, spot in the band’s sizable later discography. Released as a single in 1993 and featured on their “We Can’t Dance” album, it lacks the memorable immediacy of the album’s more iconic tracks like “I Can’t Dance” or “Jesus He Knows Me,” and its modest chart positions—peaking at number 40 in the UK and missing the Australian top 100—reflect this.

While commercially overshadowed, the song fits neatly within Genesis’ pop-rock period helmed by Phil Collins, whose vocal presence lends a predictably clean, emotive tenor. This isn’t groundbreaking Genesis—there’s no mystery-shrouded prog experimentation here—but rather a stripped-down approach that plays it safe. The track resists the grand theatricality of their ’70s output and settles into a somewhat routine mode of earnest rock balladry.

Its performance on global charts further underscores its middling status; peaking at number 51 in Germany and number 37 in the Netherlands is the type of lukewarm reception that typifies late-era material by a once-progressive band easing into a more mainstream, less provocative identity. It’s all the more perplexing that, despite being part of the commercially successful “We Can’t Dance” album and associated tour, “Tell Me Why” occupies no unique moment within Genesis’ performance history.

One could argue that its inclusion in the band’s setlist, or absence from any notable awards recognition, reinforces its role as filler rather than centerpiece. The track feels competently crafted but lacks the bite to leave an enduring mark, offering Genesis in autopilot mode rather than innovator mode—a quiet echo of what once roared. C+

Featured on the 1991 album “We Can’t Dance“.

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10 . Living Colour – Leave It Alone

“Leave It Alone,” from Living Colour’s 1993 album *Stain,* is a jagged manifesto of defiance that revels in its own unruliness.

Written collaboratively by Corey Glover, Vernon Reid, and Doug Wimbish, the track dissects the trappings of conformist pressures with a snarling urgency. Its abrasive edges are amplified by Ron Saint Germain’s co-production with the band, crafting a sonic backdrop that oscillates between raw grit and meticulous control—a fitting paradox for a song about rejecting mainstream molds.

Chartwise, “Leave It Alone” enjoyed moderate success, claiming the number 4 spot on the US Alternative Airplay chart and slotting in at number 14 on the US Mainstream Rock chart. Meanwhile, its international reach felt solid but not seismic, briefly entering the public ear with peaks at number 20 in New Zealand, 28 on the Dutch Top 40, and 34 in the UK Singles Chart.

Lyrically, it channels the frustration and alienation of not fitting conventional expectations, a theme woven into Living Colour’s DNA since their early days. Yet, the song falls short of the transcendence achieved on their earlier anthem “Cult of Personality,” partly because its aggression feels more blunt instrument than scalpel.

The band’s lineup—Corey Glover’s tensile vocals, Vernon Reid’s searing guitar work, Doug Wimbish’s rumbling bass, and Will Calhoun’s thrashing precision on drums—remains a powerhouse. Still, the track struggles to extend their signature blend of rock, funk, and alternative beyond the confines of its immediate energy.

Recognition for this effort came in the form of a 1994 Grammy nomination for Best Hard Rock Performance, a nod that seems as much about the band’s staying power as the song itself. While it vibrates with intensity, it ultimately settles for being a confrontational outburst rather than a lasting statement.

Featured on the 1993 album “Stain“.

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11 . Manic Street Preachers – You Love Us

“You Love Us” by Manic Street Preachers occupies a curious space between defiance and self-awareness, a collision of inspirations that seem to dare the listener to figure out who’s really being loved here.

The song’s first release, the 1991 “Heavenly Version,” sets a theatrical stage by sampling Krzysztof Penderecki’s “Threnody to the Victims of Hiroshima” before spiraling into glam-infused chaos. It closes with a drum sample from Iggy Pop’s “Lust for Life,” as if reaching out to two poles of avant-garde anguish and raw hedonism. The B-side, “Spectators of Suicide,” lends some weightier political subtext with a Bobby Seale speech sample, though the message feels murkier amidst the surrounding stylistic spectacle.

A year later, the re-recorded 1992 version under Columbia Records swaps out the lusty coda for an extended guitar solo and leans harder into its rock framework. Here, the pretense is stripped back in favor of volume—a choice that arguably aligns better with the brash ethos of *Generation Terrorists*. At 4:18 on the album but trimmed to 3:14 for the single, the edit feels designed for punch over lingering impact.

Chart performance reflects the escalating confidence: number 62 in 1991, then soaring to number 16 in 1992. Its cultural footprint is etched further by a poignant live performance just weeks before guitarist and lyricist Richey Edwards’ disappearance in 1995, a moment retrospectively charged with melancholy.

Critically, the song secures its place in the band’s canon, ranking sixth in *NME*’s 2011 top ten Manic Street Preachers songs and fifth in *The Guardian*’s 2022 expanded list. *Generation Terrorists* might blur lines between homage and excess, but “You Love Us” encapsulates that tension, reveling as much in its provocations as in its unevenness.

Featured on the 1992 album “Generation Terrorists”.

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12 . Scorpions – Wind Of Change

“Wind of Change” by the Scorpions feels less like a power ballad and more like a time capsule set to music, with Klaus Meine’s lyrics mapping the geopolitical thaw of the late 1980s.

Written after the band’s appearance at the Moscow Music Peace Festival in 1989, the song reflects the optimism sparked by perestroika and glasnost, captured against the backdrop of Lenin Stadium and 300,000 attendees—a crowd that must have resembled a human sea, moving and shifting like the winds it invokes.

As the third single from the album “Crazy World,” released in January 1991, the track did what few German rock songs had done before: it stormed the charts worldwide, peaking at number four in the U.S. and number two in the UK while dominating European rankings. It even achieved the improbable distinction of becoming the best-selling single by a German artist, a fact that might raise eyebrows considering the country’s rich artistic pedigree.

The song thrives on simplicity. Matthias Jabs’ clean guitar introduction, paired with Meine’s now-iconic whistling, creates a meditative calm before Rudolf Schenker’s solo adds a layer of restrained emotion. Yet, for all its melodic accessibility, the lyrics lean heavier on cultural signposting—mentioning Gorky Park, the Moskva River, and even a balalaika—as metaphors of newfound unity, rather than venturing into deeply personal terrain.

Its historical resonance is undeniable, from its connection to the fall of the Berlin Wall to being performed at the Brandenburg Gate’s 10th-anniversary commemoration in 1999. Yet, there’s an irony in how a song born from 1989’s optimism now stands re-edited; Meine altered lines in solidarity with Ukraine amidst the complexities of 2022’s geopolitical climate—proof that hope, like history, rarely runs on a straight path.

While the official music video surpassing one billion views on YouTube in February 2023 adds digital-era clout, the song’s inclusion in films like “Gentlemen Broncos” or video games like *SingStar Rocks* underlines its ubiquity to the point of near-commercial saturation.

If “Wind of Change” isn’t exactly subtle, it seldom pretends to be. It’s not Klaus Meine’s sharpest lyrical effort but functions as an anthem for its moment—a hymn to change, polished and accessible, even when its edges occasionally feel dulled by sentimentality.

Featured on the 1990 album “Crazy World”.

Lyrics >> Review >> More by the same : Official Site