"DAZZLE" SIOUXSIE & THE BANSHEES (1984)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

Siouxsie & the Banshees may be one of the most criminally underrated bands of all time. In fact, one of the most important bands of the post-punk era was inspired by them. That band, of course, is The Cure. Robert Smith’s stint w/Siouxie & the Banshees gave him a taste of everything he wanted in a band. It’s safe to say, without Siouxie there would be no Cure. The band excelled in recreating classics like “The Passenger” and “Dear Prudence” as well as crafting danceable tracks like “Peek-A-Boo”, “Happy House” and “Cities in Dust”. But they also had a flair for the epic, which is on full display in “Dazzle”.

“Dazzle” is majestic at times and sinister in other moments. It more closely resembles an orchestral movement than a rock song. What I love about “Dazzle” most is the turn from sweeping ballad to gothic explosion at the 1:17 mark. The track feels more like a black and white movie than a song, with the aforementioned explosion its car chase scene. “Dazzle” is a cinematic experience, doing what all great post-punk songs do — creating a scene where our minds can escape to over and over again.

“The stars that shine and the stars that shrink. In the face of stagnation the water runs before your eyes.”

"PLAY FOR TODAY" THE CURE (1980)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

I’ll never forget how Trent Reznor described The Cure at their Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony. He mentioned that the band managed to create a world for their fans to get lost in. I second that. Step into that world and you’re guaranteed to experience and feel things that you haven’t before. Step out of it and suddenly things feel banal. It’s hard for me to listen to other things after listening to a Cure album. Nothing else seems to measure up. One of the early tracks captures the unique musicality of the band. The song is called “Play For Today”.

The song is dark, brooding and urgent. Tolhurst is the one driving it. From the first snare hit, he almost sounds like the Joy Division-era of Stephen Morris. The guitar starts with those beautiful harmonics before falling into Smith’s characteristic strums. Gallup’s bass line is simple and moody, and everything I love about The Cure. It’s less ornate than the bass player before him. And Hartley’s synth just hums along in the background. “Play For Today” was a template for The Cure moving forward. It’s all about creating layers of simple, moody instrumentation. Never in excess. Always just enough.

“It's not a case of aiming to please. You know you're always crying. It's just your part in the play for today.”

"DRIVEN TO TEARS" THE POLICE (1980)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

There’s rock. There’s reggae. And then there’s The Police. No other band blended the two worlds together better than Sting, Summers and Copeland. They took all the best elements of both and bended them into these fantastic forms that were both extremely fun and extremely smart. While trios like Rush and Muse have made a name for themselves with the amount of sound they created from three guys, The Police made a name for themselves by working in space. A perfect example of this is “Driven to Tears”.

It may not be my favorite Police song (that distinction belongs to “Synchronicity II”), but “Driven to Tears” is a song that I have serious respect for structurally and stylistically. Along with reggae-infused sound, it seems to have a jazz mentality with its percussion style and emphasis on giving individual instruments their moment in the spotlight. Summers’ guitar solo at the 1:40 mark feels improvised and hardly on the nose. Copeland plays more like Max Roach than a traditional rock drummer with a heavy emphasis on the cymbals. And Sting wields note repetitions, arpeggios and space on his bass guitar. On “Driven to Tears”, the pregnant pauses further the song along as much as the notes do.

“My comfortable existence is reduced to a shallow meaningless party.”

"BEHIND THE WHEEL" DEPECHE MODE (1987)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

Let the naysayers believe what they will. But one of the greatest stretches of four consecutive studio albums belongs to the often misunderstood, often written-off Depeche Mode. Black Celebration, Music for the Masses, Violator and Songs of Faith and Devotion is the period where it all came together. A darker, edgier balance of endless hooks and eccentric treatises. I have a heart for all of those albums. But one song from Music for the Masses has always stood out to me: “Behind the Wheel”. Like most songs on the album, in defiance it wasn’t written for the masses at all.

Forget the innuendos. And set aside the “Route 66” medley version. When you examine the purity of its mood and instrumentation, few tracks defined the Depeche Mode sound better than the original album version of “Behind the Wheel”. It pulls you in not by being catchy. Rather it grabs you with this unexplainable darkness. Gore’s desolate guitar riffs were the fuel. Fletcher’s menacing keyboard bass line was the engine. Wilder’s eerie synth interludes, the driver. And Gahan’s ominous vocal delivery, the passenger. It was a case of the whole being far greater than the sum of its parts.

“You behind the wheel and me the passenger. Drive, I'm yours to keep.”

"FOOL'S GOLD" THE STONE ROSES (1989)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

The Stone Roses was one of those bands that made me want to be in a band myself. They didn’t last long, but for a couple of years, it seemed like they were almost larger than life. They paved new musical territory and are considered by many to be the catalysts of the Madchester scene. The debut album is one of my Top Ten albums of all time, and several of the songs are among some of my favorites. At the top of that list is the infectious “Fools Gold”.

Highly unusual, the album version of the song clocked in at nearly ten minutes. It was the last song on the debut album, serving as the coda to a brilliant record. It was all funk, all beats. While many rhythm sections do their thing in the background, Mani and Reni were often thrusted into the foreground — and “Fools Gold” was their song. The bass line cascades down and the trippy snare hits are relentless. John Squire adds the funk with his wah-wah effects while Ian Brown murmurs a story about the unlikely perils of searching for gold with friends. Every song on the band’s debut album seemed to be a brash statement — and on “Fools Gold” the band used the rhythm to deliver it.

“Sometimes you have to try to get along dear. I know the truth and I know what you're thinking.”

"HEAVEN" THE PSYCHEDELIC FURS (1984)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

So many new wave bands, so little time. Decades after the fact, I’m still sorting through which ones were the great ones, and which ones were simple just good. The Psychedelic Furs were one of the great ones. They didn’t sound like anyone else, because Richard Butler gave them a truly unique baritone voice that was rich and raspy. One note and they were instantly recognizable. Robert Smith once said Mirror Moves was one of his top five albums. On it, you could hear a sampling of some of the band’s best songs, including “The Ghost in You”, “Heartbeat” and my personal favorite: “Heaven”.

Like many of the singles over the course of the band’s career (“Pretty in Pink”, “Love My Way”, “Heartbreak Beat”), the hooks are simple here. The slo-mo guitar riff flirts playfully with the mid-tempo synth arpeggios. They form an instrumental bed to showcase Richard Butler’s iconic vocal performance. The melody was made for his voice. And his voice was made for the melody. In an age when many new wave bands sang with either a detached or robotic approach, Butler brought a unique style with his intensity and emotion. It was pure heaven.

“Heaven is the whole of our hearts.”

"I BEG YOUR PARDON" KON KAN (1988)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

The late 80s were an unusual moment in music history. New alt rock forms were birthed, including the beginnings of some of the most influential rock bands: Jane’s Addiction, Smashing Pumpkins, and the Pixies, just to name a few. The latter is often credited with igniting the grunge era. A little, unknown band called Radiohead also got its start during this time. But what made the late 80’s even more unusual was this really late resurgence of synth pop making its way onto the airwaves — through outfits like When in Rome, Anything Box and Kon Kan. “I Beg Your Pardon” is one of the beautiful by-products of this era.

Let’s be honest. This song was immediately addictive, but by the thousandth listen we were all just about ready to give it up. It starts with a phone ring, as if signaling it’s coming to us with an important message. But the message wasn’t important. “I Beg Your Pardon” was simply a fun, almost meaningless little fling. The beats and synth hooks sounded like a blend between Pet Shop Boys and Anything Box. But then it took samples and weaved them in effortlessly into the melody. At times it was hard to tell what was the sample and what was original. Decades later, “I Beg Your Pardon” hasn’t aged nearly quite as well as some of its synth pop peers, but it remains a prime example of pure, fun nostalgic pop.

“I know now's the time that I went to find something new. You know it's your crime that I'm out to find someone, too.”

"CEMETRY GATES" THE SMITHS (1986)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

When I first discovered The Smiths, The Queen is Dead had already been released for about three years. I was late to the party, but it didn’t take long for me to absorb those songs into my brain. I played it nonstop. It’s probably one of my top ten favorite albums of all time. The Queen is Dead rocked with “Bigmouth Strikes Again” and the title track. It mastered mid-tempo with “The Boy With the Thorn in His Side”, “Some Girls are Bigger Than Others” and “Frankly Mr. Shankly”. It wallowed with “I Know It’s Over” and “Never Had No One Ever”. It elevated with “There is a Light That Never Goes Out”. And then there’s “Cemetry Gates”, arguably the quintessential Smiths song.

The song was built on the foundational paradox of The Smiths — this oddball and strangely irresistible juxtaposition between Marr’s bright and cheery riffs and Morrissey’s morbid lyrics. “Cemetry Gates” felt like the ultimate example of this pairing. Marr’s jangle-infused guitar playing netted a riff that lifted Morrissey’s vocals into a frolic through the graveyard. Inspired by a visit to a cemetery in Manchester, Morrissey wrote the song as a reaction to plagiarism. But more than that, “Cemetry Gates” allowed Morrissey to wear sadness, insecurity and bitterness on his sleeve — and do so with a little humor.

"ALIVE AND KICKING" SIMPLE MINDS (1985)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

Simple Minds was one of the steadiest rock bands of the 80s with a late bloom presence in the U.S. Songs like “Waterfront”, “All the Things She Said”, “Promised You a Miracle”, “Up on the Catwalk” and “Sanctify Yourself” had that special beauty of being truly distinct from each other, but all still assuredly part of the Simple Minds sound. For a band that was great at writing rock songs that we’re slightly left of center, it’s ironic that their biggest hit wasn’t even penned by them: the breakthrough anthem “Don’t You (Forget About Me)”. Which is why I think “Alive and Kicking” is actually the true breakthrough Simple Minds track.

“Alive and Kicking” is, by far, my favorite song from the band. Simple Minds’ strength has always been in the composition. With a remarkable consistency, they’ve been just really solid at melding Kerr’s vocals with each instrumental layer. Mel Gaynor’s drums were an underrated rhythmic force to be reckoned with in the 80’s. Never particularly complex, but always powerful and present in the right moments. Michael MacNeil’s synth arrangements shimmered with this unexplainable sense of optimism and hope. On “Alive and Kicking”, those riffs felt like a baptism. But the thing that made the track shine more than other great Simple Minds songs were the crushing guest vocals from Robin Clark, who could also be heard on David Bowie’s “Young Americans”. She brought such a powerful, soulful voice to the table and seemed to blend so naturally with the band’s rock agenda.

“What's it gonna take to make a dream survive?”

"WHAT I AM" EDIE BRICKELL & NEW BOHEMIANS (1988)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

Shooting Rubberbands at the Stars was a breath of fresh air when it arrived on the scene. The sound was this unusual, quirky mix of folk, jangle pop and Jerry Garcia-like guitar playing. The album artwork was also a statement, looking like no other album cover before it. I realize the album was a bit polarizing, but it just made it so easy for me to love at the time. Songs like “Little Miss S.”, “Air of December”, and “Circle” would lure me into a daydream state. And none of it would’ve been possible without the breakthrough single “What I Am”.

“What I Am” was this weird bohemian anomaly. I thought it was catchy, but, more than anything, its oddball eccentricity is what attracted me to it. There was nothing else like it on the radio. It didn’t sound current. But it also didn’t sound like something out of the past either. In many ways, I’m surprised that it was so successful and so well-known beyond the alt rock music fans that first discovered it on stations like Long Island’s WDRE, Boston’s WFNX and L.A.’s KROQ. I could sense that it was a gift in a brief moment in time — and that moment was gone just like that.

“Philosophy is the talk on a cereal box. Religion is the smile on a dog.”

"THIS MUST BE THE PLACE (NAIVE MELODY)" TALKING HEADS (1983)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

Talking Heads is one of the quintessential music acts of the decade. They helped round out the new wave genre with songs that dared to mingle in the universe of world music. No else did this. Songs like “I Zimbra”, “Slippery People”, “Born Under Punches” and “(Nothing But) Flowers” were global in scope. No one else could’ve made those songs. Their recording studios and concert stages were strewn with instruments most bands have never touched. But, if I’m honest, my favorite Talking Heads anthem is almost the antithesis of what made them so unique. The song is called “This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)”.

It lacked funk. There was not a single polyrhythm to be heard. No djembe. No congas. No surdo. It was almost all synthesizers, with Weymouth switching to guitar while Harrison played the bass lines off a Prophet synthesizer. And here’s the kicker. It was repetitive as hell. Almost monotonous. Which is the brilliance of the song. Truly a naive melody, the song hypnotizes you with its sameness. It always puts me in a good space. It always gets me good. Locks me in its groove. After hearing it, I know. This truly must be the place.

“Home, is where I want to be. But I guess I'm already there.”

"TIME (CLOCK OF THE HEART)" CULTURE CLUB (1982)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

In the early 80s, Culture Club was churning out monster hit singles as fast and furiously as Wham! and Duran Duran. “I’ll Tumble 4 Ya”, “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me”, “Karma Chameleon”, “It’s a Miracle”, “Church of the Poison Mind”, the hits kept coming. And none grabbed me more than “Time (Clock of the Heart)”, which had this musical arrangement that seemed to be a near-perfect statement of the times.

One could argue that “Time (Clock of the Heart)” was the least Culture Club of all the aforementioned singles. And it’s probably true. But the beauty of the song is that lyrically it was recounting the preciousness of time in a romantic relationship, while musically it reflected all these elements of the song’s own time. Shimmery keyboard arpeggios. Soaring string arrangements. Fluttering sax solo. And that simple, yet unforgettable bass line played on a keytar of all instruments. The track was like a time capsule of 1982.

“In time it could have been so much more. The time has nothing to show.”

"JOHNNY COME HOME" FINE YOUNG CANNIBALS (1985)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

When Fine Young Cannibals first came onto the scene, they had a short, glorious underground era. It was the days before Top 40 stardom, late night show appearances and platinum sales. Two songs really helped drive this vibrant, creative period: “Johnny Come Home” and “Suspicious Minds”. The latter was a modern rockabilly interpretation of the Elvis classic. It was an FYC twist. But “Johnny Come Home” was FYC at its core. When you dissect the recording, it becomes clear that this is the quintessential FYC track, not “She Drives Me Crazy” or anything else.

Most bands create their identity based on the melody and riffs of their songs. But FYC’s identity hinged on other factors. “Johnny Come Home” is a song whose verses barely resemble a melody of any sort. It’s a song that showcases the highly unusual and unique voice of Roland Gift. Its identity is largely based on its infectious rhythms. And it’s elevated with the most unusual of instruments for a modern rock track: the trumpet. When you put it all together, we have ourselves the unique FYC formula. All the elements that made them so addictive, so unusual and, ultimately, so successful.

“Nobody knows the trouble you feel. Nobody cares, the feeling is real.”

"TWO HEARTS BEAT AS ONE" U2 (1983)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

From their inception through the 90s, much of U2’s catalog was dominated by Bono’s belting vocals and The Edge’s chiming timbres. For most bands, that would’ve been far more than enough. But U2 has always seemed to have to live up to impossibly higher expectations. Say what you will about them, but few bands have been as prolific as they’ve been. There have been a few misses, but the overall output is impressive. And on a couple of occasions it seemed like all four band members were firing on all cylinders. A true force to be reckoned with. It didn’t happen often, but when it did it was beautiful. Like on “Two Hearts Beat As One”.

One of the first instruments that I notice on any song is the bass. But for decades, many have said Adam Clayton was the weak link in the band. Musically, the bass often drives a song. But on many U2 tracks, he seems to take a back seat. Larry’s drums guide what he plays and The Edge’s chords tell him where to go. But on War, we saw some of his most ambitious playing, most notably on “New Year’s Day” and on “Two Hearts”, where he drives the songs with this muscular aggression and urgency. Next, factor in Larry’s relentless barrage on the snares, The Edge’s signature sixteenth-note grating and Bono being, well, Bono. And there we have one of the most powerful ensemble performances in the band’s history.

“I don't know my right from left. Or my right from wrong.”

"THERE MUST BE AN ANGEL (PLAYING WITH MY HEART)" EURYTHMICS (1985)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

One of the most talented and versatile voices of our time is Annie Lennox. Throughout her time with the Eurythmics, her vocals spanned all kinds of genres, including rock, new wave, motown and soul. VH-1 once went so far as to name her "The Greatest White Soul Singer Alive”. A natural contralto, Lennox pushed up to the upper octaves with this falsetto that seemed to come down from heaven. She made good singers seem mediocre, most evident in vocal range-stretching tracks like “There Must Be An Angel”.

Be Yourself Tonight, as a full body of work, was quite different from the earlier Eurythmics synth-heavy aesthetic. It had much more rock, much more soul, even some Motown. I liked those songs, but “There Must Be An Angel” is still my favorite track off the album because of Dave Stewart’s production mastery and synth hooks. A second movement to the song begins about halfway through the track with this soul-infused approach that culminates in a mind blowing harmonica solo by Stevie Wonder.

“This must be a strange deception. By celestial intervention. Leaving me the recollection. Of your Heavenly connection.”

"THE STAND" THE ALARM (1983)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

A band somewhat easily forgotten, The Alarm would sound off every couple of years during the 80s with a killer track in between a few long snoozes. They weren’t constantly on my radar, but occasionally they would put out these incredible rock songs that would floor me. They reminded me that hard rock and new wave could indeed coexist. They did it with songs like “Sold Me Down the River”, “Rescue Me” and “Rain in the Summertime”. But it all started with “The Stand”, a confident track that appeared on the band’s debut EP and got some fair airplay on MTV.

Throughout rock history, the harmonica has reared its head for better and for worse. Dylan. Petty. Neil Young. Zeppelin. Springsteen. Cash, The Doors. The list goes on. Even still, The Alarm kept it fresh. Their harmonica interludes were aggressive, playing the role normally handed off to the lead guitar without a thought. On “The Stand”, the harmonica was also a catalyst. Listen in on the 1:50 mark to see how it revved up everything else, including the stormy guitar riff, the drum barrage and the chorus reprise. Like The Clash, Waterboys and a pub band on a beautiful collision course.

“Come on down and meet your maker. Come on down and make the stand.”

"UNION OF THE SNAKE" DURAN DURAN (1983)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

Duran Duran had to live with the pretty boy image for far too long. That image has prevented many critics and music listeners from taking them more seriously and appreciating what they have to offer. But that original lineup was something. Simon Le Bon is a vastly underrated singer and songwriter. John Taylor practically invented his own rhythmic, often frenetic stylings on bass that could be heard decades later in Carlos D’s muscular bass lines with Interpol. And Nick Rhodes, Andy Taylor and Roger Taylor are talented musicians and arrangers in their own right. It all came together — and they all shined — on one of my favorite Duran Duran anthems growing up: “Union of the Snake”.

I still remember seeing the video on MTV and being reeled in by the images and the music. Every band member had his moment to shine on the track, yet none of the instrumentation feels excessive. The breakdown and musical arrangement at the 2:16 mark, in particular, is one of Duran Duran’s finest studio moments and one of the most imaginative musical expressions of the decade. On it, you’ll hear each member playing off of each other in a call-and-response structure, culminating in a sax solo by session player Andy Hamilton. While all the band members seemed to create a unified sonic boom on anthems like “Rio” and “The Reflex”, “Union of the Snake” marched to a different beat by thrusting each member into the spotlight at different points in time.

“There's a fine line drawing my senses together, and I think it's about to break.”

"SOUVENIR" OMD (1981)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

OMD will forever be known as a John Hughes-era music staple. They penned one of the most famous 80s movie soundtrack songs, “If You Leave”, and topped it off with plenty more standout tracks like “Dreaming”, “Forever (Live and Die)” and “Secret”. But I think all that Brat Pack-fueled success almost did a disservice to the band. It overshadowed what they accomplished artistically in their first three albums, including Architecture & Morality, a vastly underrated album which contains a fantastic single called “Souvenir”.

Some of the best songs are the ones that envelope us into the ether. They transport us. Anywhere, but where our physical bodies may be. While few people would classify OMD as a post punk band, what they were doing on “Souvenir” was very post-punk in their mentality. The instrumentation was much more nuanced and layered in various synth sounds. And the song conjured up multiple emotional states, including euphoria, indifference and sadness, all in under four minutes. Structurally, it was anything but obvious, substituting a vocal chorus with the signature synth hook.

“My obsession. It's my creation. You'll understand. It's not important now.”

"THE WORKING HOUR" TEARS FOR FEARS (1985)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

Songs from the Big Chair contained absolutely massive hits. Songs that defined an era, including “Shout”, “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” and “Head Over Heels”. But the album also showed us the band’s penchant for creating beyond the four-minute pop single. TFF could do new wave and straight-ahead pop in their sleep. But I think some of their more impressive work are those grander explorations where they saunter along the edges of jazz and classical. One of the best examples of this is “The Working Hour”.

It may not be the song that grabs you right away off that album, but, for me, it has the most staying power of any track on Songs from the Big Chair. The saxophone — and the grand piano to a lesser extent — were instruments that certainly thrived in the 80s. But TFF was using them in arrangements and executions that were uniquely their own. “The Working Hour” doles out sweeping soundscapes, key changes and instrumental jazz solos. It’s delightful. Grand. And timeless.

“Find out, find out, what this fear is about.”

"RAIN" THE CULT (1985)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

The Cult is one of the most intriguing post-punk bands to come out of England. Though they cite Joy Division and Siouxsie & the Banshees as major influences, I don’t think they sound anything like them. Their contemporaries were the likes of The Cure and The Smiths. But, again, they don’t sound like them, either. And while many other outfits went knee-deep in synthesizers, The Cult went all in with the guitars. There was this interesting thing going on with their sound. Like a blend of hard rock, gothic rock and post-punk new wave. It sounded unlike anything else. “She Sells Sanctuary” was a true 80’s anthem. And right there behind it was a lesser heralded single off the same album, called “Rain”.

Ian Astbury once said that The Cult’s sound is all about the melodies and the guitars. Sounds simple, and it’s true. Those are the key elements of “Rain” and many other Cult classics. On “Rain”, Billy Duffy’s guitar riffs have this muscular structure to them, like something out of Jimmy Page’s almanac of riffs. And, as for the melody, those verses are like choruses — these lyrics that you can really sing along to. But Astbury sings it like he’s part Steven Tyler, part Jim Morrison, part indigenous tribal chief.

“Open the sky and let her come down.”