Chart Week: May 15, 1987
Song: “Don’t Dream It’s Over” – Crowded House
Chart Position: #15, 18th week on the chart. Peaked at #2 for one week in April.

A few months ago, as I moved into posts 90-plus in this series, I considered whether I should do something special for number 100. Then I realized that since these entries are pretty sporadic, there was no way to predict where in the calendar we would be until we got to Volume 100.

Amazingly, organically, without any effort on my part – I swear! – it coincides with me hearing a couple countdowns from the spring of 1987. Both of which featured my all-time favorite song at or near its peak.

You may laugh when I reference the Music Gods. They are real, though, and they are mighty.

I’ve written about how much “Don’t Dream It’s Over” means to me several times over the years. A quick refresher: it arrived on the radio shortly after I started classes at my new high school in the Bay Area. I struggled to make friends right away, and I was bummed that all my California dreams had not come true the instant I set foot in the Golden State. As this record climbed the Hot 100 that spring, Neil Finn’s bittersweet lyrics and music resonated with me.

What struck me most was how the song addressed the loneliness and disappointment inside me, while also serving as a guide for climbing out of that depression. Even when Finn is singing about being overwhelmed and let down, there is a strong thread of resilience and even defiance in his music. If you can just hang on through the bad times, he seemed to be saying, better ones are sure to come.

Finn is one of the greatest pop songwriters of any era, and he packs so many wonderful elements into “Don’t Dream It’s Over.” There’s his opening riff, which sets the tone for the bumpy ride that is ahead, descending notes immediately followed by ascending ones. There is the way his vocals convey emotion, sounding weary and resigned in the first two verses, then strong and hopeful in the choruses and final verse. Mitchell Froom’s melancholic organ solo is countered by Finn’s bright, optimistic guitar. There’s the single-beat pause in the final verse, a simple yet brilliant choice. As the tune slowly fades, Finn and the backing vocals are lifting you up while Froom’s organ is again in opposition. Finn is economical, yet loads each lyric with great meaning.

Ironically, for as much as I love “Don’t Dream It’s Over,” and as much as it has meant to me for the last 37 years, I’m having a hard time writing about it. That’s probably for the best. No one needs me breaking it down, line by line, throwing all that accumulated history at each of Finn’s words.

Neil Finn is one of the most important artists in my musical life. I adore so much of what he’s done in his career, from the songs he wrote as a teenager for his big brother Tim’s band Split Enz,[1] to the three eras of Crowded House, then again with Tim as The Finn Brothers, to his excellent solo work, to the 7 Worlds Collide project.[2] My own Neil Finn Greatest Hits collection would stretch for 30 tracks? Forty? More?

In a career filled with magnificent, perfect, pop tunes, this is his crown jewel.

Hey now, hey now, it is a 10/10.

As a bonus, this is the final time the band’s original members performed the song together, closing their Farewell to the World concert in 1996 in front of a quarter million fans at the Sydney Opera House.

Chart Week: April 30, 1983
Song: “Back On The Chain Gang” – The Pretenders
Chart Position: #37, 21st week on the chart. Peaked at #5 for three weeks in March and April.

The Pretenders were on the verge of big things in 1982. They already had a #1 hit in the UK – 1979’s “Brass In Pocket,” which maxed out at #14 in the US – and were generally beloved by critics. They somehow managed to dip a toe in almost every genre of rock without being relegated to a single camp. They had roots in the London punk scene of the late Seventies, but weren’t punk. They were contemporaries of the first generation of post-punkers, New Wavers, and New Romantics, but didn’t fit squarely into any of those schools. They stood next early College Rock bands like R.E.M. but weren’t really college rock. They had a healthy dose of 1960s jangle pop to their sound, and could have fit into the Paisley Underground scene had they come up in LA. But they weren’t from LA. Nor were they true mainstream rockers.

That difficulty in pigeonholing them resulted in broad appeal that was ripe for capitalizing upon when they started making their third LP.

In mid–1982 the band, specifically lead singer and lyricist Chrissie Hynde and guitarist James Honeyman-Scott, began to hash out ideas for new songs. Hynde had one centered on finding a photo of her boyfriend, Kinks lead singer Ray Davies, and the feelings that came with it. The couple had a tumultuous romance, but Hynde was newly pregnant and hoped that would salvage their relationship. Yet she still thought back to how things were better when they had first met.

Hynde and Honeyman-Scott tinkered with the words and arrangement and knew they were onto something. They were excited about recording it with the rest of the band.

One problem. Pretenders bass player Pete Farndon had fallen deep into heroin addiction. He had turned irritable and quarrelsome towards his bandmates. Sensing that the upcoming recording sessions would be brutal and unproductive because of Farndon’s behavior, Honeyman-Scott laid down an ultimatum: either sack Farndon or he would leave.

On July 14, 1982 the band fired Farndon.

As upsetting as that was, something worse came hours later.

On July 16, Honeyman-Scott died of an accidental overdose.

In two days, half of the original Pretenders lineup was gone.

Most people would have retreated from the world to deal with the immense pain they were experiencing. Not Hynde. She leaned on her music.

On July 20, 1982, she and drummer Martin Chambers entered the AIR Studios in London and recorded “Back On The Chain Gang” with help from several friends, including Big Country’s Tony Butler on bass. What began as an ode to the early days of her romance with Davies turned into an elegy for Honeyman-Scott.

There is an immediate sense of melancholy in Hynde’s opening riff. I think it comes from the languid, contemplative tempo she plays at. You can feel the sadness that must have been overwhelming her at the time. Once I knew the full story behind the song, I always imagined her taking a long, deep breath before she hit the first chord, steeling herself against the emotions that were sure to swell up.

She adds to that mournful vibe with the “Oh oh oh ohs” that are sprinkled through the tune. Hynde is one of the great, badass, female rockers of all time. I wouldn’t say she was ever as vocally aggressive as her contemporary Joan Jett, but she was certainly as assertive. The restraint she used in “Back On The Chain Gang” was wonderful, conveying all the emotions she was going through without over doing it. The real genius of her performance is that it doesn’t sound as though it recorded less than a week after her band seemed to fall apart. It sounds like she is a year or two out, looking back on what happened, and trying to make sense of it all.

The song peaks with an emotional section where the bridge transitions into the final verse.

First, Hynde sings this:

But I’ll die as I stand here today knowing that deep in my heart
They’ll fall to ruin one day for making us part

Her restraint falls momentarily, with her voice breaking as she stretches out the final word.

Then there is that magical line in the next verse. After repeating “I found a picture of you,” she adds:

Those were the happiest days of my life

A truly heart-wrenching, soul-destroying choice of words. You don’t have to know about the state of her partnership with Davies, the health of her band, or the loss of one of her best friends to get all the feels from that line. The “Oh oh oh ohs” hit harder in the final verse, too.

When asked a few years later about how she could record music so soon after experiencing so much pain, Hynde responded, “What else were we going to do? Stay at home and be miserable, or go into the studio and do what we dig and be miserable?” That idea, jumping back into the grind when faced with calamity, was as much the theme of the song as celebrating Honeyman-Scott

Despite everything falling apart around her, Hynde got back on the chain gang. The result was the best song of her career. 9/10

As if all that weren’t enough, as the song was falling from its US chart peak, there was more terrible news. On April 13, Farndon was found dead after overdosing and drowning in a bathtub.

“Back On The Chain Gang” was released as a single in late 1982. Somewhat strangely, the album it was featured on, Learning to Crawl, was not released until early 1984. Included on that LP was another ode to Honeyman-Scott, “2000 Miles.” I wouldn’t say it is a holiday classic; it is far too depressing to get much radio airplay. Coldplay did a version in the early 2000s that revived it a bit. KT Tunstall’s slightly less sad version is in all my Spotify holiday playlists.

How about this amazing rendition of the song from the Covid days. Hynde was nearly 70 and still had it.

Chart Week: April 3, 1982
Song: “I’ve Never Been To Me” – Charlene
Chart Position: #32, 8th week on the chart. Peaked at #3 for three weeks in May/June.

Worst Song Ever. That’s a heavy crown to wear. Were I to sit down and figure out my least favorite songs of the Eighties, Charlene’s sole Top 40 hit would for sure be at the top of that list. Expanding that to all time, I think it would comfortably squeeze into the top five. I’m not alone. I came across two different Worst Songs of All Time lists, one ranked it at #3, the other at #4.

Charlene initially recorded “I’ve Never Been To Me” in 1976 for her debut, self-titled album. The LP didn’t sell, but was re-released in 1977 as Songs of Love. Included on that re-issue was a new version of “I’ve Never Been To Me” that scrapped the spoken word verse. It was pressed as a single, but barely dented the Hot 100, peaking at #97. Frustrated by her lack of success, Charlene quit the music business, moved to England, got married, and took a job in a candy store. As one does.

I do not get it, but something about the song resonated in the music community. Between 1976 and 1979 at least six other artists took a crack at it. There was even a version told from a man’s perspective. Not one of them reached the Top 40.

The Music Gods knew “I’ve Never Been To Me” sucked, and were doing all they could to prevent it from becoming a hit. However, one asshole in Florida torpedoed all their efforts.

Scott Shannon, a DJ at WRBQ in Tampa, began playing Charlene’s original version of the song in the spring of 1982. I’m guessing that Tampa was a pretty sleepy community at the time, because WRBQ’s listeners loved the song, requesting that it be played again-and-again. Shannon had previously worked for Motown. He reached out to Motown president Jay Lasker, letting him know of the record’s success and suggesting the label re-release it. Lasker had to track down Charlene in England to get her approval. She agreed, re-signed with Motown, the single was issued to radio stations, and by May it was sitting at #3 behind Rick Springfield’s “Don’t Talk To Strangers” and the monster #1 “Ebony and Ivory.”

I’m pretty sure I was as confused about why this song was a hit when I was 11 as I am at 52. It is preachy, self-loathing, judgmental, middle-of-the-road garbage. Charlene’s vocals are straight out of the Mary MacGregor/Debbie Boone school. I guarantee my grandmothers loved her.

The song is basically a rebuke of the sexual revolution and any assertion that women should be allowed the same freedoms in life that men enjoyed. The narrator relates a series of adventures and experiences but claims they were pointless because she ended up alone. And maybe she had some abortions? So the unfulfilled housewife listening at home while she complains about her life should realize it is in fact richer than our narrator’s. I’m not sure how that is supposed to inspire anyone other than the bitter, Phyllis Schlaflys of the world, who viewed any drift from traditional gender roles as a sign that godless communism had won.

The worst part of the song is the spoken-word verse. It genuinely might be the worst set of lyrics ever constructed.

Hey, you know what paradise is?
It’s a lie

Damn, coming in hot.

A fantasy we’ve created about people and places as we’d like them to be

I thought pop music was supposed to be about escape and fantasy. Songwriters Ron Miller and Kenneth Hirsch tried to blow all of that up with a healthy dose of Fuck You and Your Dreams.

But you know what the truth is?
It’s that little baby you’re holding.

Yeah, yeah, who doesn’t love babies. Low blow.

And it’s that man you fought with this morning.
The same one you’re going to make love with tonight.

Jesus, I can’t even…

I get that Miller and Hirsch were probably using this as a romantic device, saying that you can fight with your spouse in the morning, realize your relationship is stronger and more important than whatever caused the argument, and then bone in the evening. Within the context of the rest of the song, though, I hear it more as a statement of obligation, that part of a married woman’s duties are to sleep with her husband on his terms.

That’s truth. That’s love

And maybe you could talk me into this song being more about how life is messy, rarely the romantic fairy tale that little girls are told to expect. What matters are the little details, good and bad, of our daily lives. Not fancy vacations or expensive dinners. The rest of the song is so scathingly judgmental, though, that I can’t come around to that point of view.

That section has been bothering me for 42 years. Until this week, though, I did not realize there was a far worse line just a bit later in the song. I guess I never deciphered what Charlene sang just before the final chorus:

I spent my life exploring the subtle whoring that costs too much to be free

What in the actual fuck?!?!

I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise that two men wrote this song.

Miller and Hirsch argue that because the narrator took the worldly path instead of the domestic one, any hopes for marriage and family have been dashed. Despite what sounds like some kick-ass travels and encounters, in their binary, either/or world, she is damaged goods that no man will be interested in and will live the rest of her life as a lonely, regretful spinster.

What does surprise me is that female vocalists would choose to sing these words. They straight-up call themselves whores, suggest every path they took was wrong, and that the only way to find true happiness is by becoming subservient homemakers like their mothers.

You know what else baffles me about this song? It was released by Motown. MOTOWN! The home of Diana Ross and Gladys Knight and Tammi Terrell and Mary Wells and Teena Marie and countless other badass lady singers. Women who were strong and independent. Women who sang about equality between races and genders. Women who didn’t shit on other women and the choices they made.

Maybe I’m a little cranky because of how truly atrocious this song is and thus judging it too harshly. For sure I’m considering it through a 2024 prism rather than a 1976 one. In the bicentennial year it was still a serious societal argument about if it was good for families if mom worked outside the home. I bet the majority of Americans at the time were against the idea of the liberated woman bringing home the bacon. They viewed ladies who chose not to have families as selfish, morally deficient fools destined to end up alone since they were shirking their biological responsibilities.

In 2024 it all seems so very primitive. But I was mostly raised by a single mom, married a super independent woman, and am raising three independent daughters. So what do I know about “truth”?

Not only did “I’ve Never Been To Me” go to #3 in the US, but it hit #1 in England and Ireland. In Australia it topped the chart for six fucking weeks!!! I might have to take back everything I love about the Australian music scene.

This is a terrible song. Lyrically. Musically. Vocally. Thematically. I get physically ill those one or two times a year I accidentally hear it during a 1982 countdown. If there was a tribunal at The Hague for Musical Crimes Against Humanity, this is the song against which all others would be judged. 1/10

Chart Week: February 25, 1984
Song: “Nobody Told Me” – John Lennon
Chart Position: #7, 6th week on the chart. Peaked at #5 the week of March 3.

I’ve been thinking about songs by dead people lately. There’s no mathematical way to quantify it, yet I keep trying to isolate the effect an artist’s death has on new music released after they pass. Do songs get more popular because of our morbid fascination with death, and thus become bigger hits? Or do they perform pretty much the same as if the artist lived?

This has been on my mind because of a couple songs I’ve run across recently.

For the first time in ages I heard “Mighty KC,” a 1995 track by the band For Squirrels. It was about Kurt Cobain – Mighty KC, get it? – so it already had a Dead Artist connection, which may have been enough for it to crack the modern rock chart.[1] Just before For Squirrels released their debut album, the band was involved in an auto accident that took the lives of lead singer Jack Vigliatura and bass player Bill White. The song got a lot of airplay on alt-rock radio, and it seemed like DJs always referenced that double-tracked death angle.

Whether it was the Cobain reference, the band’s own tragedy, or a combination, something propelled this song by an unknown group up to #15 on the alternative rock chart.

After not hearing “Mighty KC” since sometime in the Nineties, I’ve heard it twice in the past month. The Music Gods were pushing me down a path.

I’ve also heard a couple countdowns from early 1984 recently, both of which included the final hit of John Lennon’s solo career.

The former Beatle retreated from the public eye in the mid-Seventies, and spent several years in semi-seclusion. He was cleaning himself up from heroin, rededicating himself to his wife Yoko Ono, and delighting in being a father to his son Sean.

By 1980 he was ready to start making music and show his face to the world again. Late in the year he released the Double Fantasy album. The week of December 6 his comeback single, “(Just Like) Starting Over,” was #6 in just its sixth week on the Billboard Hot 100.[2]

On the evening of December 8, 1980, Mark David Chapman, a mentally ill fan, shot and killed Lennon outside his New York apartment.

Three weeks later, “(Just Like) Starting Over” began a five-week stay at #1.

If we could have somehow skipped over December 8, or if Chapman had been arrested, or if his addled brain had just told him to be satisfied with the autograph he got from Lennon earlier that day, would the song still have hit #1? Based on its trajectory and the fact it was the first new Lennon song in five years, the answer is pretty clearly yes. Would it have spent as long at the top of chart? No tidy formula can answer that for us.

While Lennon was recording Double Fantasy, he dug up a demo made in 1976 called “Everybody’s Talkin’, Nobody’s Talkin’.” He brushed it up a bit, changing the piano to guitar. He also renamed it “Nobody Told Me.” However, he didn’t think it was a fit for Double Fantasy. Instead, he decided to pass it along to Ringo Starr for his next solo album. With that in mind, Lennon recorded a proper demo to use as a guide when he and Ringo got together. They had booked studio time on January 14, 1981 to take a run at it.

In the wake of Lennon’s death, Starr was too devastated to attempt to sing his friend’s composition. Thus “Nobody Told Me” sat unused until 1983 when Ono sifted through the music her husband left behind. The track was finished with studio musicians and became the lead single for the Milk and Honey album, which included six tracks written by Lennon.

The single did pretty well, peaking at #5 during a 12-week run on the Hot 100. Again it is impossible to know how much of its success was because listeners figured it might be the final, new John Lennon song.

I hear a looseness in the track that is consistent with other unfinished songs released by the estates of dead artists. There is also a roughness that feels as though it would have been tightened and smoothed with more attention. Had Lennon lived and gone into the studio with Starr, I think the final product would have been much more polished. I doubt it would have been as good, though, as Ringo wasn’t near the singer that John was.

Lennon sounds relaxed and playful on his version. When I listen to “Nobody Told Me,” I always imagine him singing with a smile on his face, happily swaying from side-to-side as he strummed his guitar. I can see him winking at the people around him during the line about UFOs over New York. I love the little “Three, four…” count in to begin the song, and the “Most peculiar mamma, roll…” ad lib near the end. I hear him shrugging off everything he went through during the Seventies and realizing that life shouldn’t be taken so seriously. I hear the joy making music again brought him.

Lennon did not leave behind a massive trove of completed or in-process songs, so there’s never been a slow trickle of “new” posthumous music like there was with Tupac, Prince, or others. After Milk and Honey was released, there were just bits of a few songs left on a collection of cassette tapes, more sketches than proper demos.[3] Rather than giving them the “Nobody Told Me” treatment, Ono passed them along to the surviving Beatles. They were turned into “Free As A Bird” and “Real Love,” released as part of the 1995 The Beatles Anthology collection, and “Now and Then,” released last fall.

I like “Nobody Told Me” far more than those “Beatles” tracks. It wasn’t shoehorned into some Beatles Nostalgia motif. No matter how respectful Paul McCartney was of Lennon’s lyrics and intent, John did not get an equal say in how those songs turned out. In “Nobody “Told Me,” the true spirit of John Lennon lives on. 7/10

Chart Week: January 5, 1985
Song: “Centipede” – Rebbie Jackson
Chart Position: #24, 14th week on the chart. This was its peak.

This is at least the third entry in the RFTS series that is as much about the massive cultural impact of Michael Jackson as the highlighted song or artist.[1] This time we will see how Michael helped pull the least known of his siblings into the spotlight.

By 1984, eight of the nine surviving children of Joe and Katherine Jackson had achieved some measure of stardom. The boys had all been in The Jackson 5/The Jacksons, ruling the charts in the early Seventies. Jermaine had split off to build a solid solo career. Tito would become a key part of a famous Eddie Murphy bit. LaToya tried hard to make a name for herself as a singer, but was better known as tabloid fodder. Janet, the youngest, had a budding acting career and a couple albums to her name, with much more soon to come. Michael was the biggest musical star in the world.

The only outlier was the eldest child, 34-year-old Rebbie. Although she had appeared on The Jacksons’ variety show and served as a studio backup singer in the late Seventies, she was content to be a wife and mother rather than follow her siblings’ show business leads.

Once her daughters had all started school, Rebbie finally took the plunge, releasing her debut album in late 1984. Five of her brothers helped her record it. Marlon, Randy, Tito, and Jackie all helped write and produce several cuts.

It was the title track, though, that got the biggest assist.

Michael wrote, arranged, produced, and joined The Weather Girls on background vocals for “Centipede.” It was the obvious lead single and only Top 40 hit from the Centipede album.

It has always blown my mind that this was a Michael song. It sounds way closer to music Prince was making at the time than anything from MJ’s catalog. Or, rather, it sounded like a record Prince would write and produce for another artist.[2] “Centipede” is in the ballpark of what Prince-controlled groups like Vanity 6 were releasing in the mid-Eighties. Just as with Vanity (Or Apollonia. Or Sheena Easton. Or Sheila E. Or…), the slinky sexuality embedded in “Centipede” hides the fact that Rebbie did not have off-the-charts vocal talent.

Rebbie wasn’t parading around in lingerie like Prince’s many female protégés, and Michael’s lyrics weren’t nearly as overt as Prince’s. Still, there’s no mistaking that “Centipede” is about sex.

The percussion seems more of Paisley Park than the Quincy Jones camp. They might be different drum machines than Prince’s beloved Linn LM–1, but their staccato sharpness recalls his preferred sound.

The pre-chorus – “In the quiet of the night…” – is all Michael, though. It sounds straight off of Thriller, especially with the soft horns in the background.

I also have to give attention to those brittle keyboard runs throughout the song. Maybe it’s just me, but I think of Toto’s “Africa” every time I hear them.

If you dive into the lyrics they are truly baffling. There is a snake, which is clearly a phallic reference. I guess the titular arthropod is supposed to represent female sexuality? Which seems like an odd choice. Especially when Rebbie sings, “Like a centipede you’ve got, a lot of lovin’ to touch.” That comes across as pretty phallic to me. And I don’t get why the person Rebbie is singing about is going to be crying so many tears after a visit from the snake and/or centipede. Are they tears of joy? Is something very wrong going on in this relationship? Some of the other lyrics are so clumsy that they seem written by a person with no actual sexual experience. I keep thinking of Steve Carell in The 40 Year Old Virgin. Insert your own Michael Jackson joke here.

Michael dedicated “Centipede” to his “mannequin friends,” which doesn’t make the lyrics any clearer, but might help the listener understand why they are so odd.

The video is a delightful mess. There’s an animatronic snake. A fluorescent centipede. And a tiger.[3] Where the fuck does the tiger come from??? None of the visuals clear up any of the bizarre lyrics.

I’ve always thought that “Centipede” was a bit of a jam. It does still sound cool. Rebbie could have done far worse than this for her one mainstream hit. It was an interesting writing exercise for Michael, both in penning lyrics for someone else and taking a different approach from his previous songs. I don’t know whether he intentionally followed Prince’s sound or it was an accident, something that was in the air when he was writing. Once you get that connection in your head, you can’t shake it, and the record suffers for it. 6/10

Chart Week: December 16, 2023
Song: “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” – Darlene Love
Chart Position: #21. Current all-time high is #15 the week of January 7, 2023.

I heard the wonderful tidbit this post is built around earlier this year on an AT40 from December 1984. It was one of Casey’s “Special Reports,” music trivia blurbs not related to the current countdown that were occasionally inserted between songs. I copied down the details, wondering if there was some way I could work it into an RFTS post. When this holiday season rolled around I realized that thanks to the updated Billboard rules, I could write about it while using a modern chart.

In that 1984 Special Report, Casey shared the story of the now legendary holiday album, A Christmas Gift For You From Phil Spector. As strange as it may sound today, in the final month of the greatest year in pop music history, that album had largely been forgotten.

Casey said that project was Spector’s “white elephant.” He spent an insane amount of time and money making it, recording every track countless times until they met his mental image of the perfect sound. He wanted to make THE classic Christmas album, one that every American would know for generations to come.

However, history got in the way of Spector’s dreams for the album. It was released on November 22, 1963, the day that President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, Texas. In the nation’s season of mourning, record buyers were not in the mood for bright, happy Christmas songs. The album bombed. “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” was the single sent to radio stations, and it had the same fate, disappearing quickly from the airwaves.

By 1984 the album was essentially out of print, according to Casey. I’ve learned that wasn’t exactly true. It had been re-released several times, including in both 1983 and 1984, but never generated much sales. Casey said that finding a copy in 1984 was extremely difficult, and they were highly prized among a small group of collectors. Again, I don’t think this represents reality, but it does to speak to how little of a cultural impact the album had made to this point.

Times were about to change, though.

Earlier in 1984, “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” was the soundtrack for the opening scene of Steven Spielberg’s Gremlins, the fourth-biggest grossing movie of that terrific box office year.

In 1986 Darlene Love performed the song on Late Night with David Letterman, a tradition that would continue for 29 years.[1]

A year later, A Christmas Gift For You From Phil Spector was released on compact disc. This was perfect timing, as the 1990s brought a dramatic increase in the number of radio stations that played holiday music between Thanksgiving and Christmas. By the turn of the millennium, Love, The Ronettes, and The Crystals all had tracks from Spector’s album that had become December radio mainstays.

Also in 1987, a U2 cover of “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” was included on the A Very Special Christmas album that raised funds for Special Olympics. That helped (re)introduce the song to my generation. It is also the only cover of Love’s original that is worth listening to.[2]

All these developments turned a nearly forgotten track on a buried album into a holiday classic.

I can’t be unbiased about this song. As I’ve said in past holiday seasons, it is my favorite modern Christmas record. Everything about it is perfect. Love’s vocals are a volcanic surge of emotion. She sings as if she can bridge the gap to her lost love with her voice alone. Countering Love are the backing vocalists – including Cher! – who sing so causally that they almost seem bored. Every note is filled with sadness and yearning, yet also with happiness and hope. That is the true genius of this song, how it takes that mix of joy and pain that is present during the holidays and turns it into a glorious, three-minute pop tune.

As Billboard revised its rules over the years, Christmas music began hitting the mainstream singles chart regularly in the mid–2010s. December 13, 2014 was the first week “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” registered on the pop chart. It is now a perennial entry on the Hot 100, reaching #15 earlier this year. Given the rise of Brenda Lee’s “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” to number one this year, there’s an excellent chance that Love’s track has a higher peak ahead as well.

Rolling Stone magazine rated “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” as the greatest rock ’n’ roll Christmas song of all time in 2010. They weren’t wrong. Spector got his wish. It took nearly 30 years, but eventually A Christmas Gift For You From Phil Spector became a bonafide classic. 10/10

I was going to share Love’s first appearance on Late Night With David Letterman to close this post. But, in a true Christmas miracle, earlier this week Letterman posted a video of Love reuniting with him. The piece ends with her 29th rendition of the song with Paul Shaffer.

Merry Christmas everybody!

Chart Week: November 14, 1981
Song: “Never Too Much” – Luther Vandross
Chart Position: #37, 6th week on the chart, first week in the Top 40. Peaked at #33 for two weeks.

Happy Thanksgiving week to you all! A quick entry based on a Casey anecdote about how a pop artist paid the bills before he started making hits of his own.

The Voice of a Generation. The Velvet Voice. Soundtrack to more babies being made than any artist of his era.

Those are a few of the nicknames Luther Ronzoni Vandross Jr. picked up over his career.[1] That last one is unofficial, of course.

“Never Too Much” was indeed the first single of his solo career. But Luther had been on the charts before. He was a highly valued backup singer to some of the biggest stars of the Seventies, lending vocals to tracks by Donna Summer, Roberta Flack and Donnie Hathaway, Bette Midler, Barbra Streisand, Carly Simon, and Chaka Khan. For my readers, the song you probably heard his voice on first was David Bowie’s “Young Americans.”

Luther did more than sing backup to other stars, though. He wrote and sang advertising jingles for a variety of major companies, including Pepsi, Juicy Fruit gum, Miller beer, and NBC. As I was looking into his jingle career, I found this amazing ad for Gino’s pizza. Which, unfortunately, will not embed in this post. Please, click the link.

There’s an equally amazing video on Facebook where Luther talks about the making of that ad.

In this countdown, Casey mentioned some of those ads Luther’s voice appeared on, and suggested all that work had made him both famous and very comfortable financially, an assertion the Facebook video seems to confirm. That wasn’t enough, though.

“The money is fine,” Casey quoted Luther as saying, “but sometimes I want to sing a whole song!”

Luther got his chance and capitalized on it, becoming one of the most successful soul singers of the next two decades.

He wrote, composed, arranged, and produced this track, along with most of his debut album. From the first notes, Luther carved out a unique space in music. “Never Too Much” is a cool mashup of contemporary soul and yacht rock, largely thanks to its impeccable production. Every sound is polished for maximum shininess. There’s a jazzy quality to how Luther sings the verses. The song is not too far off from the music George Benson was making around the same time. Luther is always in the pocket with his vocals, never showing off or pushing too far, which was his great strength. His voice was warm, comforting, sophisticated, and smooth as silk.

“Never Too Much” was #1 on the soul chart for two weeks, the first of his seven Soul/R&B number ones.[2] There were bigger things to come for Luther on the pop chart later in his career. This was fine way to introduce himself to the world as a singer capable of carrying an entire song on his own. 7/10

Chart Week: November 5, 1983
Song: “Automatic Man” – Michael Sembello
Chart Position: #34, 7th week on the chart. This was the song’s peak.

A quick RFTS to fill the place of the Friday Playlist as we are taking an adult fall break for the next few days.

The 100th entry in this series is getting very close. I’ve been reading through most of the previous posts, both to refresh my memory and to look for trends. When we hit the century mark, I’ll pull together some stats and observations to share.

For this week’s edition, we hit a familiar topic: a forgotten song by an artist generally assumed to be a One Hit Wonder.

Michael Sembello was a musical prodigy.[1] By his mid-teens he was already serving as a session guitarist for established stars. When he was 17, Stevie Wonder invited him to contribute to two songs on Fulfillingness’ First Finale. Two years later Sembello was a featured artist on Wonder’s mega-classic Songs in the Key of Life, playing on every track and earning a songwriting credit for “Saturn.” He continued to work with Wonder through the remainder of the Seventies. He also wrote and produced for other artists, including Diana Ross and Michael Jackson.

In 1983, he recorded his first solo album, Bossa Nova Hotel. Through a series of industry connections one of its cuts, “Maniac,” was added to the soundtrack for Flashdance. You may have heard it.

“Maniac” hit #1 for two weeks, was nominated for both Grammy and Academy awards, and landed at #9 on the final Hot 100 of 1983. For better or worse, depending on your perspective, it is one of the most recognizable and unforgettable songs of the decade.

“Maniac” was officially a single from the Flashdance LP, as Bossa Nova Hotel did not hit record stores until September 1983. Sembello warned people that he was not going to release another song that sounded like it. He wanted listeners to forget about his big hit and instead focus on his wide-ranging talent.

That should have been a clue that his next single would be a dud.

This song…oooof. It is cheesy as all get-out. At the same time, it is so blandly anonymous its cheese almost doesn’t register. I’ve listened to it several times this week, and each time my brain thinks it is hearing “Number One” by Chaz Jankel, one of the featured songs in the movie Real Genius. Sembello’s voice is less processed here than “Maniac,” and it comes across slighter because of it. Whether you liked “Maniac” or not, it was a song that grabbed you and forced its way into your head. Nothing about it is compelling enough to register and create long-term memories. It didn’t help that “Automatic Man” lacked the connection to the visuals of Jennifer Beals’ (and her dance double) scenes in Flashdance that “Maniac” had.[2]

The video, though? It is amazing! I had never seen it before this week. I’m am prepared to say it is one of the greatest videos ever made. There is just so much confusing and bizarre stuff going on that you can’t look away. Kind of the total opposite of the song.

This was the final charting single of Sembello’s solo career, and it dropped out of the Top 40 after just two weeks. He continued to work with other artists, most notably Chaka Khan and New Edition. But he never re-captured that magic from the summer of 1983. One critic called Sembello “…Michael McDonald with a rhythm machine, but that would be unnecessarily cruel to McDonald. And the rhythm machine." Well, I think that was unnecessarily cruel. Sembello did some cool things in his career. This song was not one of them. 3/10

Chart Week: October 30, 1982
Song: “I.G.Y. (What A Beautiful World)” – Donald Fagen
Chart Position: #36, 4th week on the chart, debut week in the Top 40. Peaked at #26 for three weeks in November and December.

Pop music tends to be pretty limited thematically. Amongst the bazillion or so songs about love, lust, and heartbreak, occasionally one will emerge from left field about a topic that makes no sense as the basis for a radio hit.

The first single of Donald Fagen’s solo career, “I.G.Y. (What A Beautiful World)” was inspired by the International Geophysical Year, an 18-month event that stretched across 1957–58. It brought together scientists from both sides of the Cold War divide with the hope of leading the world forward to a more connected and peaceful future.

Nothing says rock ’n’ roll like scientific discovery, amiright?

When “I.G.Y.” was released, my limited knowledge of the Fifties was based solely upon watching Leave It To Beaver re-runs and old sci-fi flicks on late-night TV, hardly a comprehensive source of Eisenhower-era knowledge. Whatever view I had of that decade, the images this song inspired fit right into it.

I suppose my attraction to “I.G.Y.” was because it is full of bright-eyed optimism about the prospect of an amazing, space-age future. Since I was into computers and other cool Eighties electronic stuff, I, too, envisioned an improved world thanks to technological advancement. In my 11-year-old mind, if Atari ran the world there would be no Cold War. And what a beautiful world it would be if my mom somehow scraped together the money to buy me an Apple II computer!

Listening to the song as an adult, I wonder if I got it all wrong.

In 1982 I didn’t know a thing about Donald Fagen. Certainly not that the songs he wrote with Walter Becker for Steely Dan were noted for their ironic, cynical lyrics. An approach that was the exact opposite of the warm, nostalgic trip I assumed “I.G.Y.” to be.

For a moment I wondered if this song wasn’t, instead, taking a shot at the late Fifties. Was Fagen mocking the naive belief that science could solve all our problems? Was he pointing out all the ways that the best intentions of that time had failed? Was he critiquing the view that the world would be a better place if everyone just followed America’s twin pillars of Christianity and Capitalism?

I was leaning that way until I listened to the song a few more times. I was again struck by the music. Those clear tones in the horns. The whimsical qualities of the keyboards and harmonica. The little blips and blurps sprinkled throughout. Those elements combine to build a futuristic soundscape that wouldn’t be out of place in one of those Fifties sci-fi movies.

Yes, there are some scathing lyrics, mostly aimed at the American First viewpoint that was prominent at the time. Fagen has said that he discovered pretty quickly that the idillic depiction of the Fifties was a sham, crafted to hide things like racism, sexism, inequality, and fear of nuclear war.

Still, I do think that Fagen was looking back fondly to his childhood. It was an opportunity for him to recall the days before his cynical gene presented itself, when he viewed the world around him, and the future, with wonder rather than skepticism.

I would liken that to our generation looking back to the early days of the Internet, when there seemed to be limitless possibilities for how it would enhance our lives. A computer and modem in every home was the 2000s version of Fagen’s spandex jackets for everyone. A quarter-century down the road we see how the Internet has been as destructive as additive to our lives. But it is still fun to recall the excitement of your first time dialing up and logging on.

I was too young to understand that battle between cynicism and optimism when this song was climbing the chart. Perhaps it is that juxtaposition that has made it stand up over the years to me. It is a reminder that miracle cures sometimes have unintended consequences. And also to never forget the innocence and hopefulness that characterized our younger days. 7/10

Chart Week: September 29, 1984
Song: “On the Dark Side” – John Cafferty & The Beaver Brown Band
Chart Position: #24, 19th week on the chart (charted twice, see below). Peaked at #7 for two weeks in October/November.

The history of pop music is filled with opportunists. If an artist or musical style makes a big splash, you can be sure that soundalikes (or lookalikes) will soon follow.

At first glance that seems to be the case with “On the Dark Side.” I bet almost everyone who has ever heard it assumed, upon first listen, that it was Bruce Springsteen. From vocal tone and style to the sound of the band, almost everything about this track recalls Springsteen, specifically his song “She’s the One.”[1]

In the fall of 1984 it made sense for a record like this to become a hit. Bruce was in the midst of his leap from critical darling with a cult following to becoming one of the biggest stars in music. “Dancing in the Dark,” which peaked at #2 earlier in the summer, had just dropped from the Hot 100. “Cover Me,” the second single off of Born in the USA, moved into the top 10 this week. It was the perfect moment for record companies to push Springsteen soundalikes.

No one sounded more like The Boss than John Cafferty. Springsteen and Cafferty have eerily similar deep, gruff, raspy voices. Their bands both played classic, good-time, barroom rock ’n’ roll. You were as likely to hear a sax as a guitar in each band’s solo breaks. Hell, both were predominantly white groups with Black sax players. The acts were even named alike: Bruce Springsteen and the E. Street Band vs. John Cafferty & the Beaver Brown Band.

Ironically all those similarities kept Cafferty from earning a recording deal for years, as labels thought he and his band sounded too much like Bruce. But once Springsteen broke through, that became an advantage rather than a hindrance.

However, in this week’s countdown, Casey would have you believe that it was a forgotten movie getting a second life on cable TV that propelled this song onto the charts.

“On the Dark Side” was first released in 1983 as the featured single from Eddie and the Cruisers, a film about a fictional band with a mysterious lead singer. While John Cafferty & the Beaver Brown Band sang every word and played every note, the record was credited to the imaginary Eddie and the Cruisers.

The movie was a box office disaster, garnering poor reviews and lasting just three weeks in theaters. “On the Dark Side” did better, grinding out nine weeks on the chart, but it never got higher than #64.

The film soon wound up on HBO, where something about it connected with the audience and it got good ratings. Its VHS tape was doing decent business as well.

Scotti Bros., the label that published the soundtrack, noticed this ripple of popularity and re-released “On the Dark Side,” this time giving John Cafferty and his pals proper credit. Two months after entering the Hot 100 for the second time, it peaked at #7 for two weeks.

That HBO/home video traction combined with the success of the single led Embassy Pictures to send the movie back to theaters in the fall of 1984. But, again, no one watched, and it was yanked after one week.[2]

I thought it was interesting that Casey suggested that the single’s success was due more to those folks who were watching the movie at home than to Cafferty’s uncanny vocal resemblance to Bruce Springsteen. I suppose that’s the angle Scotti Bros. and the band’s representation wanted to push. Americans love a good second chance story, so it made sense to play up that angle of this song’s unlikely path to popularity rather than acknowledge the elephant in the room.

I was just becoming a Springsteen fan in 1984, so while I heard the obvious common elements, I didn’t get all fired up about Cafferty ripping Bruce off. Years later, when I heard the entire Born to Run album for the first time, and that opening section of “She’s the One” came on, I was floored. “HOLY SHIT!” I thought. “PEOPLE WERE RIGHT, THEY TOTALLY RIPPED OFF BRUCE!”

It’s probably not fair to call this a complete rip off. After its opening section it takes a different path than “She’s the One.” But everything else about it remains firmly within the Springsteen tent. While the lyrics might lack the specific literary details that The Boss was famous for, they still bump up against his territory. There’s a big, honkin’ sax solo. The drums sound much like Max Weinberg’s style of play.[3] If anything, “On the Dark Side” sounds like Springsteen cranked to 11, with every aspect taken it its absolute max.

The question I ask myself today is, if you eliminate those Springsteen connections, forget about whether this is a ripoff or a cynical marketing exercise, pretend that you’ve never heard the insanely incredible experience that is “She’s the One,” is this still a good record? I say yes.

Those opening piano notes immediately grab your attention. The bass and jangling guitar coming in together build terrific tension, which is broken by the first snap of the snare. Then it turns into a pretty straight forward banger. It’s easy to sing along with Cafferty. It’s hard not to clap your hands, tap your toes, or bang your steering wheel along to the rhythm.[4] As the track fades, I don’t think it leaves you with any great emotional release or epiphany. I do know that your heart should be beating a little faster. Which is the ultimate goal of most rock stars, whether they are Bruce Springsteen or opportunists chasing a trend. 7/10

As it was such a big part of this piece, it seems a shame not to include a video for “She’s the One,” too. While this live performance has a different intro, which subtracts from the commonalities between songs, I’ve always thought this performance was unreal. You see a band that is totally locked in. It’s no surprise that other bar bands on the east coast were chasing what Bruce and his band were doing.