#60: "How Can I Fall?" by Breathe (Album: All That Jazz, 1988)
I'm going to get roasted for this pick, but I couldn't care less. This is one of my most beloved love ballads. Highly melodic, with an emphasis on keyboards, the lead vocals are simply beautiful. A one-hit wonder for sure, but one that has stayed with me for three decades and counting.
#59: "Land of Confusion" by Genesis (Album: Invisible Touch, 1986)
Phil Collins has become such a moribund balladeer in the past 20 years that it's easy to forget that Genesis was a great rock band, and Collins was (and probably still is) a terrific drummer. This anti-Cold War protest song, whose bizarre and creepy video lambastes both Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher as bumbling warmongers, is my favorite example of what Collins used to be.
#58: "Fortress Around Your Heart" by Sting (Album: The Dream of the Blue Turtles, 1985)
Sting's first solo album took many different listens before it sunk in for me. I'm not a big fan of jazz, and his solo work was so unlike The Police (which I understand was the point). But once it clicked, this became one of my favorite albums, and this song is by far my favorite track from this landmark work. #57: "Sunglasses at Night" by Corey Hart (Album: First Offense, 1983)
Seriously, is there a better archetype for Eighties pop tunes than this one? Eerie synthesizers, distorted guitars, and earnestly powerful vocals—Canadian singer Hart had a few other songs that charted after this one, but this is the song he'll always be remembered for.
#56: "Red Rain" by Peter Gabriel (Album: So, 1986)
Some albums are so masterful that it becomes difficult to separate tracks in terms of quality, and few instances fit this description better than Gabriel's So album. "Sledgehammer" and "Big Time" are standout singles for both song and video, but this opening track, far more subtle and understated than the bigger hits, has always had a more profound emotional effect upon me. I love this song.
#55: "Synchronicity II" by The Police (Album: Synchronicity, 1983)
A truly angry rock song, this is a venomous indictment of modern suburban/capitalist alienation, with the contrast of Sting's harsh-edged vocals contrasted against the emotional futility of the narrative in the lyrics. I never imagined in 1983 that adult life would align with this song in such a disappointing reality. I always thought the working class would revolt before life got this bad; I underestimated the sinister foresight of the ownership class. It turns out you CAN fool all of the people all of the time.
#54: "Why Can't I Be You?" by The Cure (Album: Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me, 1987)
People who don't really know The Cure might dismiss them as a mopey, depressing band, and while much of their music can be darkly introspective, they also know how to create insanely upbeat melodies like this one. The Cure is far too innovative and artistically brilliant to be pigeon-holed into any particular category other than "genius."
#53: "It's the End of the World As We Know It (and I Feel Fine)" by R.E.M. (Album: Document, 1987)
Karaoke Level: Expert. Part of the fun of this happy little tune about the apocalypse was trying to suss out the lyrics without album liner notes (and years before the Internet made it too easy). My favorite part is Mike Mills singing "Time I had some time alone" in the background of the chorus; it's wickedly ironic and so understated. I don't think I can be accused of hyperbole when I say that R.E.M. is one of the greatest and most important bands in the history of rock music.
#52: "Born to Run" by Bruce Springsteen (Album: Born to Run, 1975)
Sometimes a song is so iconically associated with its artist that the greatness of the song itself can be overlooked. Sure, picking "Born to Run" is easy and obvious, but that's because it's still arguably The Boss's greatest song of all time. It's certainly far and away my favorite of his, and that's saying something about someone who rightly deserves the title of American Icon. #51: "Sympathy for the Devil" by The Rolling Stones (Album: Beggars Banquet, 1968)
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