1986 - The universe is born

A few weeks ago, I made a list of my favorite record for each year I’ve been alive. Making the list was a hefty task that required a few revisions and a heck of a lot of guts. This kind of stuff is much more serious than, say, finding a real job. I mean, can you imagine the night terrors I’ve had ever since I looked deep into my soul and said, “Pinkerton is not my favorite album of 1996?” I can’t sleep. No, really; I’m writing this sentence at 5:30 a.m. on the nose. However, picking my favorite album for 1986, my inaugural year o’ breathing, was a cinch. The slot clearly goes to The Smiths' The Queen is Dead. But when going through the other years (“Blue Album” vs. The Downward Spiral in 1994 was the hardest call), I felt like I should make a top 10. Granted, it’s kind of a cop-out; now I can gush about Weezer and Nine Inch Nails without feeling too guilty.

But the more I thought about it, the more attracted to the idea I became. I’ve been keeping a list of my favorite albums of 2008 so far, which I’ll publish New Year’s Day. And until January 1, 2009 rolls around, I intend to countdown the music from my life lived thus far. Every week (with a few mulligans set aside for impromptu week-long beach stints), I’m going to post a new top 10. It’s a lengthy attempt, what with this being friggin’ July and all, but that gives me time to think, as well as something to focus on other than being unemployed. So here we go.

On January 2, 1986, I was born. I was about two weeks late, and I’ve been making up for that lost time all my life.

10. Queen – A Kind of Magic

Some fools will tell you that the only Queen release you need is a “best of” package. And while it’s true that Greatest Hits I & II fulfills most of the average music fan’s Queen needs, there’s one crucial element missing from that release: “Princes of the Universe.” A.K.A. the Highlander theme (A Kind of Magic doubles as the Highlander soundtrack, by the way), “Princes of the Universe” is the best Queen song. “Bohemian Rhapsody” is numero dos. “Princes” is harder, faster, and more awkwardly sexual. It’s only flaw is when Freddy Mercury drowns out the guitar solo by shouting “Bring on the girls,” which we all know he didn’t mean anyway. But with soaring melodies and an epic, operatic sense of songwriting in place, it doesn’t matter. And when you combine Brian May’s searing, muscular guitar work with Roger Taylor’s powerful drumming, my word. In fact, Taylor’s double snare hits on this track may be one of my favorite percussion performances of all time, but that is a list for another time.

The best of the rest of A Kind of Magic is covered on Greatest Hits I & II, like “Who Wants to Live Forever” and the title track, which go for more of the synthy ’80s Queen sound. But it’s the power metal of “Princes of the Universe” which draws me back to the album. Sadly, the band never gave the tune its just due on the “best of” circuit until Greatest Hits III.

And that is why you need to buy the “platinum collection,” Greatest Hits I, II & III. Or, you know, pick up A Kind of Magic.

9. Paul Simon – Graceland

After steadily declining in sales with One Trick Pony, which “only” went gold, and Hearts and Bones, which never even hit that, Paul Simon needed a hit in ’86. He found inspiration for what would become the five-times platinum Graceland record in an instrumental Boyoyo Boys track entitled “Gumboots.” Inspired by South African music, Simon managed to merge his singer/songwriter style with this exotic form to form a catchy concoction that not only revived his career, but brought attention to all of the problems in South America

Even if it didn’t have socio-political connotations, though, Graceland still would have ended up on this list. The Chevy Chase-assisted video for the massive hit “You Can Call Me Al” always fascinated me as a kid. The song is memorable and nonsensical, and the same could be said for the video. Then there are the Gaza Sisters’ gorgeous backing vocals on “I Know What I Know.” Incredible. My personal favorite, though, is “Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes.” I can remember watching Simon perform that song on an episode of Saturday Night Live in 1986, in rerun form of course. Just as SNL was emerging from a low period, so too did Rhymin’ Simon. Oh, as for “Gumboots,” the song that started this project, Simon opted to write lyrics for it and put it on the record.

8. Depeche Mode – Black Celebration

Boasting some of Depeche Mode’s darkest material (it’s right there in the title, man), Black Celebration continued the band’s mind-blowingly thorough sonic experimentation and sociopolitical lyrics of Construction Time Again and Some Great Reward. One of the things that always impressed me about Depeche Mode was the lengths they went to get certain sounds, recording just about every cry, collision, and cough they could find in order to craft their dancefloor tunes.

The lyrics are much smarter than most ’80s synthpop releases as well. Take for example “New Dress.” While David Gahan and Martin Gore can be pretty heavy handed at times, there’s no denying the sweetness of the duo’s sarcasm when they juxtapose the lines “Sex jibe husband murders wife / Bomb blast victim fights for life / Girl thirteen attacked with knife” with “Princess Di is wearing a new dress.” Made all the more powerful by the fact that the media led to Princess Diana’s death, “New Dress” makes the pettiness of celebrity news so apparent. In 2008, it’s a welcome anti-celebreality anthem.

7. The Church – Heyday

Australia gets flagged for delivering us derivative bullshit like Jet, so how in the hell did they also give us the psychedelic pop of The Church? In a haunting league of pop brilliance with R.E.M., U2, Modern English, and my beloved Smiths, The Church feel kind of like the The Kinks of ’80s alternative to me. That is, they never got their due, even though The Kinks clearly got theirs eventually. Now, I have no illusions about my music taste; I know I’m not the only one who loves Jawbreaker or My Bloody Valentine. But even with the great reach of the Internets at my disposal, I’ve been hard-pressed to find fellow Church fans, aside from music critics like Noel Murray. It’s a shame. Heyday is a fine record that’s aged far better than most ’80s albums.

6. Big Black – Hammer Party

The grandpappy of industrial, electroclash, and whatever the hell Nine Inch Nails qualifies as, Big Black is angry, and occasionally funny. I’m drawn to the dichotomy between the computer-programmed steadiness of the beats, all stops and starts with no soul, and the man-made guitar thrash. And when the band fucks with the formula, like on the horn-skronking “Live in a Hole,” all the better. Here’s a hardcore records that breaks almost every rule.

Frontman Steve Albini is notoriously misogynistic and cantankerous, and listening to Hammer Party makes that second quality most apparent. I try to separate the artist from the art, though, in order to fully embrace this curb stomp of a record. So far that’s worked out OK.

5. Bruce Springsteen and The E Street Band – Live/1975-85

Here’s one of several instances in this feature where I’m going to fudge the numbers. It might be unfair toss in a live record when I’m supposed to be exalting studio efforts, but the width and breadth of Live/1975-85 is too great to ignore. Originally released as five LPs, it was the first box set to debut at #1. It’s no small wonder. At the time, Bruce was still hot off of his Born in the U.S.A. record. But the hype behind Live probably would have been warranted regardless. Collected among popular hits like “Thunder Road” and “Hungry Heart” are stunning rarities – “Because the Night,” Bruce’s gift to Patti Smith; a raucous cover of “War;” and a touching take on Tom Waits’ “Jersey Girl.” Bruce truly makes it his own, so much so that some folks forget he didn’t write it. Of course, the originals are just as staggering. The rage burning through Side One’s version of “Adam Raised a Cain” stirs me every time.

Spread between the tracks are anecdotes about Bruce’s childhood and his attempts at songwriting, something I’d finally experience first hand when I saw the Boss live for the first time on his Devils & Dust tour in 2005. He’s still one of the best performers in the world, but those who can’t make it out can always get the same chills from Live/1975-85.

4. Metallica – Master of Puppets

I experimented with metal en route to punk salvation as a disposable income-laden youth. As a musician, I appreciated the technicality of metal bands, but I often found myself put off by the lyrics. Now, dragons are cool. Songs about dragons, though, tend to suck, and so I’ve never had more than a passing fancy in fantasy/power metal. I was never much for Satanism, so black metal is out too. Metallica, though, came from more of a punk (i.e. – shit is fucked) mentality, and so I’ve held on to them through the years, along with Tool and Megadeth.

Metallica put out an unholy trinity of metal albums in the ’80s, consisting of Ride the Lightning, Master of Puppets, and …And Justice For All. Master of Puppets is by far the most brutal. There was a better balance of tunefulness and rocking on Lightning, and more refined technical craftsmanship on Justice. But Puppets, a few classical interludes aside, is the one that will kick the shit out of you for a full hour without much relief or apology. The tempos are quick enough to cover up the band’s weakness: Lars Frederickson is not a good drummer, but at these speeds all he has to do is play hard and fast. The band’s synthesis of Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath, and Misfits, however, is perfect.

3. Prince – Parade

What was up with bands releasing soundtracks to films under different names? Just as Queen’s A Kind of Magic was attached to Highlander, so too was Parade to the Prince vehicle Under the Cherry Moon. In my mind, Prince was nearly untouchable in the ’80s, “Batdance” aside. Parade, while not as solid as his massive Purple Rain album, still serves up sexy funk with tunes like “New Position” and, of course, the hit single “Kiss.” In a way, I kind of prefer the latter Prince albums like Parade and Sign “O” the Times because they catch Prince at a moment when his palate was becoming broader and more eclectic, but before he completely lost his vision in the ’90s. Whereas Around the World was singularly a psychedelic record and Purple Rain a rock/R&B hybrid, Parade has a gleeful pop playfulness to it. There’s some audio experimentation here, some traditional piano bar there. It’s mashed together; however abrupt it gets, it’s always beautiful. And really, how could you possibly hate “Kiss?”

2. The Jesus and Mary Chain – Psychocandy

Here I go again with the liberal interpretations of time. Psychocandy originally came out in 1985, but it didn’t drop in the states until ’86. And that is how it got to the #2 slot. Opening with the best JAMC song of all time (“Just Like Honey”), Psychocandy is ethereal, distorting, emotionally affecting, and, above all else, damn hummable. The male/female vocals interspersed at the end of “Just Like Honey” are so perfect that I’m fairly certain this record would have ended up here for that song alone. That the rest of the album can meet that level of quality is astounding. JAMC eventually dropped the hazy guitar noise of Psychocandy for their follow-up, Darklands, but for one LP, they were masters of the domain that exists between pop and noise. My Bloody Valentine would officially pick up the torch a few years later, but if you’re looking for vocal hooks to stand by, Psychocandy is where it’s at.

1. The Smiths – The Queen is Dead

As a music addict, I’ve loved many bands and many albums. But I only list a handful that saved my life. The Queen is Dead is one of them. I was a fairly miserable bastard in high school, perhaps partially perpetuated by my love of The Smiths, but it was tunes like “I Know It’s Over” and “There is a Light That Never Goes Out” that kept me alive and feeling and raw. “I Know It’s Over” was my anthem for loss. I’m not what you would call a “smooth operator,” so I spent a lot of time listening to this song and being bitter over unrequited love, pretty much up until the moment I started dating my current girlfriend of two years. Unsurprisingly, I also stopped listening to The Smiths for a bit as well, because I was finally happy in a complete way.

But there’s more to The Queen is Dead than the misery. The pounding drums behind the politically charged title track opened the first Smiths song I ever heard, and instantly smashed all pretensions I had about what a band should sound like. I expected indie pop and what I got was something every bit as punk as a Clash record. Morrissey’s sharp barbs weren’t just directed at himself; in the first track, he takes on the Royal Family full-force, something he’d touch on again on the perfect late period single, “Irish Blood, English Heart.”

Then there’s the playful rhyme scheme behind the angry “Frankly Mr. Shankly,” making a “fuck you” into a nursery rhyme. Or the goofy yet somehow fitting duet between Moz and Moz. That second vocal technique, sped up to Chipmunk rpms, has never been better utilized.

Political. Humorous. Emotional. But mostly open. The Queen is Dead is the shining pinnacle of The Smiths catalog, and unquestionably my favorite record of 1986.

NEXT WEEK: Redemption, something to prove, 1987.