1981 Part 2
“Moving Pictures” was the title of Rush’s 1981 album, where they captured prog-rock in a tighter, more riff-driven form that later surveys would dub the band’s most focused and influential work. The besteveralbums.com website, which I have used extensively as we have moved through the years, has it as the top ranked album of 1981, so it is only fair that I repeat my review of it from that other thread, those uninterested or who have seen it before can skip the next few paragraphs.
Moving Pictures is an apt title for the record, given the images that it conjures up so majestically. It kicks-off in impressive fashion with perhaps the band’s best known and most loved song: Tom Sawyer.
The track was inspired by the famous Mark Twain novel and features lyrics that were a co-written by drummer Neil Peart and quirky Canadian poet Pye Dubois, who often collaborated with fellow Maple Leaf rockers Max Webster. Peart took Dubois’ poem “Louie the Lawyer” and produced a slightly autobiographical set of deeply philosophical words about personal independence and free thinking. Musically, the song is relatively short but still complex, featuring more time changes than Pep Guardiola makes formation changes in a match. It springs into life with a burst of synthesiser and a distinctive hard-hitting four on the floor drumbeat. The “main” instrumental section commences with Geddy Lee’s memorable synth line, melds into Alex’s face melting guitar solo and crashes out with the most air drummed break in the history of Rock and Roll (sorry Phil).
As much of an FM favourite as it is, Tom Sawyer is not for me the best song on the album: that honour belongs to track two, a widescreen mini epic by the name of Red Barchetta. (So it goes on the playlist).
Introduced by Alex Lifeson’s guitar harmonics, the song starts with a gentle wistful air, suggesting a bucolic calm, but soon goes through the gears like Charles Le Clerc exiting La Rascasse, racing along on an adrenaline surge of turbo charged riffage. This is musical equivalent of a Disney roller-coaster. Inspired by Richard S. Foster’s short story “A Nice Morning Drive” this is a cinematic experience, a perfect fusion of words and music that creates moving pictures in your mind as the futuristic tale comes vividly to life.
Musical mastery is to the fore in YYZ, an instrumental piece inspired by the transmitter code for Toronto's Lester B. Pearson International Airport. The composition uses the morse code for YYZ as a motif and features phenomenal bass playing from Geddy that has more twists and turns than Snake Pass.
Side 1 ends with Limelight, a fairly straight-forward radio friendly rock track about Peart’s difficulties dealing with the glare of stardom into which the band had been thrust. It neatly borrows from Shakespeare’s play “As You Like It” with the lines:
All the world’s indeed a stage
And we are merely players
Performers and portrayers
and nods back to Rush’s utterly brilliant first live album (All the World’s A Stage).
Throughout the album, guitarist Alex Lifeson is in superb form but his solo in Limelight is a highlight as he wrings out every ounce of emotion from his whammy bar to produce a sense of isolation befitting of the songs’ theme – it’s his favourite solo to perform live.
Side 2’s lead off is the last track Rush recorded that was over 10 minutes duration, although it doesn’t feel long and musically has quite a sharp focus. The song has two halves lyrically, which are Peart’s musings about walking around two great cities (albeit not the greatest City): New York and London. Again, he paints beautiful pictures – I always imagine these to be in black and white. Rush left the song out of their setlist for nearly three decades, during which it was often the most requested song for the band to perform.
The sounds of a screaming mob usher in the highly produced track that is Witch Hunt. The rest of the album was put together to be played live but this number even featured the band’s album cover artist Hugh Syme on synthesiser and a host of overdubs. Part III of the Fear trilogy of songs, produced out of sequence across three albums, this is a dark number with a grinding heavy riff that has lyrics of enduring relevance and handles issues that go beyond folk in black pointy hats.
Peart’s commentary on technospeak, Vital Signs closes the album on a more uplifting note and signals what is to come sonically on the group’s next three releases as they deviate from their norm with a Police-like intro and a mix of poppy rock and reggae lite.
And that’s it, seven tightly constructed, superbly produced tracks that have garnered multiple accolades over the past forty years.
The Phil that I apologised to in the above review was the famous (on Blue Moon) zombie drummer / vocalist Phil Collins, who introduced his first solo album “Face Value” to an unsuspecting public in early 1981. The album was a big hit on both sides of the Atlantic, selling millions. Its lead off track "In the Air Tonight", released in January, became known for its drum arrangement and use of gated reverb, which proved highly influential on the sounds of the 80’s.
Collins did return (from the dead) to his day job with Genesis, who released their “Abacab” long player in September, a surprisingly concise rock album with hits like “No Reply at All” (which even had a horn section) and “Keep It Dark.” Musically, it blends art rock, pop, and new wave textures — punchy drum machines, bright synths, and leaner arrangements — while still leaving space for longer, more experimental moments like “Dodo/Lurker”.
Reception at the time was mixed among prog purists but commercially it was a triumph, hitting No. 1 in the UK and breaking into the US Top 10 for the first time. It went double‑platinum in America and set the stage for the even bigger pop success Genesis would enjoy later in the decade.
I have selected the tile track for that makes the playlist. This punchy, shape‑shifting piece is built on a sharp guitar riff from Mike Rutherford and Tony Banks’s smooth organ lines, it features Phil Collins’s urgent vocal delivery and an extended synth‑driven coda.
The name itself came from the lettering of the song’s original arrangement sections — “A‑B‑A‑C‑A‑B” — though the final version no longer followed that pattern, leaving the title as an abstract, meaning‑free hook. It is one of my favourite tracks from the band.
Ladies that punch
Following a fabulous summer, it was time for me to start work and one of the first albums I bought with my newly expanded income was Joan Jett & the Blackhearts “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll”. The title track, a cover of an earlier hit for glam rockers Arrow was a strutting declaration that spent several weeks atop the US charts in the following year. I am putting it on this year’s playlist though as it was an instant hit with me.
Another lady that can rock is Stevie Nicks, who gave ample demonstration of that on her debut solo album “Belladonna”, which featured one of her signature songs “Edge of Seventeen” driven by Waddy Wachtel’s chugging guitar riff and inspired by the deaths of John Lennon and her uncle, as well as a conversation with Tom Petty’s wife about how she and Tom met (“at the age of seventeen,” misheard by Stevie as “edge of seventeen”).
My choice for the playlist is a song that was all over the radio when I was in the States and has been a firm favourite ever since as it also features another of my other favourite acts. “Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around” was written by Tom Petty and his lead guitarist Mike Campbell. It was originally intended for the Heartbreakers, but producer Jimmy Iovine suggested Nicks record it as a duet, giving her a gritty, rock‑radio hit.
Another young lady who made a name for herself in 1981 was Kim Wilde, teen daughter of 1960’s star Marty Wilde, who scored a hit with “Kids in America” (No. 23 on UK year-end). She was punkish in leather and eyeshadow, posing like Debbie Harry’s little sister.
Joan Jett had been part of one of the first all-girl rock bands, The Runaways, who had rejected recording “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll”. 1981 saw the release of a debut album from another all-girl rock band. “Beauty and the Beat” is the Go‑Go’s’ sparkling debut and a landmark in pop history: it was the first album written and performed entirely by an all‑female band to hit # 1 on the US Billboard 200, where it stayed for six weeks, although that was eight months after its July 1981 release. It was a blend of new wave, pop rock, and punk energy, polished by producer Richard Gottehrer into something radio‑friendly without losing its edge and went on to go double‑platinum in the US. Hit singles from the l.p. were the jangly, sly, and infectious “Our Lips Are Sealed” and their anthem “We Got the Beat”.
On the rise
Other up and (not necessarily new) comers in 1981 included:
Shakin’ Stevens (a Welsh singer with a Bryan Ferry pompadour) turned out to be Britain’s own Elvis impersonator and scored three of the year’s best sellers: “This Ole House,” “You Drive Me Crazy,” and “Green Door.” All were covers of 1950’s rock’n’roll or novelty songs but polished with modern production, and they took up spots no. 5, no. 11 and no. 20 on the UK year-end chart.
The revival of 50’s style rock was also embodied by Stray Cats, a New York trio of Brian Setzer (guitar), Lee Rocker (upright bass) and Slim Jim Phantom (drums), relocated to London in mid-1980 to immerse themselves in Britain’s interest in Teddy Boy culture. Their self-titled debut reached no. 6 in the UK album chart and generated hits like “Stray Cat Strut” and “Rock This Town,” solidifying rockabilly’s renewed commercial viability. These songs married authentic Gretsch-guitar tones and percussion-slap bass to punk-injected rhythms, reviving the spirit of Sun Records while capturing MTV’s attention with their stylised videos and coiffed quiffs.
Among the plethora of new acts to debut in 1981, several would go on to long-term success. Thomas Dolby’s “She Blinded Me with Science” introduced synthesizer pop’s nerd-chic flair, while Soft Boys, OMD, The Human League and Depeche Mode expanded the UK’s electronic vanguard.
Telegenic Bucks Fizz – assembled for Eurovision glory – captured many British wallets with their winning tune “Making Your Mind Up” (with that infamous skirt rip).
Another soon-to-be star: Prince released his fourth album “Controversy” in October 1981. Prince was still mostly an underground superstar (his style was freaky Minneapolis funk), but he proved black artists could claim the art-rock space too.
Bauhaus (England’s original goth band) released their first full album “Mask” in late ’81.
Punk and new wave goodbye!
Goth in part grew from punk and new wave acts slowing their tempo and deepening the atmosphere of their music.
Siouxsie and the Banshees’ “Juju” with its tribal percussion, spidery guitar, and surreal menace was a landmark in defining goth’s sonic palette. “Faith” from The Cure was sparse, mournful, and steeped in existential dread.
1981 was a turbulent but creatively explosive year for punk, a moment when the original late‑’70s wave was splintering, hardcore was surging, and post‑punk/new wave were pulling some bands in new directions.
In the US, bands like Black Flag (Damaged), D.O.A. (Hardcore ’81), Adolescents, T.S.O.L., and Dead Kennedys pushed faster, heavier, and more aggressive sounds.
While in the UK, The Exploited (Punk’s Not Dead), Discharge (Why), and Crass (Penis Envy) defined the raw, politically charged edge of the British scene.
Hair today gone tomorrow
Punk was famous for its spiky hairdos. Naturally, I never indulged in such a coiffure and 1981 was a year of hair loss in more ways than one on a personal front. My longish hair had begun to prematurely thin and needed to be cut much shorter anyway as I had to don suit and tie to start work – how times change: I now don’t own a lounge suit, and my head is kept shaved – just as whole genre of metal with bouffant hairdos was about to emerge.
In November 1981, a young LA band self‑released their debut album “Too Fast for Love” on Leathür Records. The band was Mötley Crüe, featuring a core lineup: Vince Neil, Nikki Sixx, Mick Mars and Tommy Lee. Only 900 discs were initially pressed and although I do not own one of those, the vinyl copy I own is the most valuable record in my collection as it is a Leathür pressing. The album was quickly picked up by Elektra Records, who re-released it in August 1982, remixed by Roy Thomas Baker and partially re‑recorded, with a revised track order. They surely did grab a Piece of the Action.
For all the musical trends that were witnessed, and diverse acts emerged, in 1981, it was the Sunset Strip metal merchants that ultimately had the career longevity, global sales, superstardom and enduring name recognition to give them a serious claim on 1981’s rookies of the year title.
Legendary bands like Queen enlisted help (their partnership with David Bowie on “Under Pressure” landed at #39 on the UK year-end best-sellers list).
Ironically, only one pure metal album showed up on Britain’s official 1981 year-end charts: Rainbow’s, ranking around #45. This Ritchie Blackmore–led guitar extravaganza represented the older generation’s idea of metal, whereas the new kids (Maiden, Saxon, Tiger, etc.) were all on indie labels until ‘82. Still, diehard fans in places like Sheffield and Birmingham made rock shops richer that year, and Kerrang! magazine was launched in June 1981 (with Angus Young of AC/DC on the cover but Barton wanted it to be Silverwing and was overruled by the editor -in-chief, T’ Wing do get a full page photo inside) to chronicle the chaos of axe-worshipping youth.
Objects in the rear-view mirror
So, looking back how does one summarise 1981? If 1979 and 1980 were punk’s wild adolescence, 1981 was pop’s awkward teenage phase: self-conscious, experimenting with style, but not far from maturity. Synthpop was no longer a fad, increasing use of tech was an established trend. New romantic and two-tone scenes signified a yearning for both glamour and groove against a troubled socioeconomic backdrop. Hardcore and goth quietly took note of punk’s anger and turned it into something else. Traditional rock and metal still ruled many rosters, even as some of its pioneers either reinvented themselves (e.g. Genesis) or took a hiatus (Thin Lizzy, Pink Floyd).
One could say 1981 planted seeds. In the UK, the stage was being set for the second British Invasion of the US (just a couple years down the line) fuelled by camera-ready, synth-laden bands. Across the Atlantic, MTV’s birth changed the game for how music was consumed; soon videos would make or break a hit in America (Bon Jovi got a massive boost from MTV a few years later, for instance). Of course, none of that had fully bloomed in 1981 but the shoots were there.
People who lived through it might remember the fashion best: hair teased higher than a dope fiend, skinny ties knotted below the navel, safety pins mingling with sequins. The sound was similarly extreme: from the sugar rush of “Tainted Love” to the thunderclap of “In the Air Tonight”, all dialled up to 11. We had diva ballads and deadpan synth tracks side by side on the radio. We had Bruce Springsteen playing sweaty rock clubs while The Human League performed in matching silver suits and Simon & Garfunkel reunited for a free concert in New York’s Central Park, an event so vast (half a million attendees) but so out of step with what was going on around it. It was, in a word, eclectic.
For the football fans on our forum assembling the 1981 playlist, expect this: plenty of basslines (real or programmed), anthems for the discos and pubs alike, and just enough guitar solos to keep macho male rock fans nodding. Laugh if you want at the big video-haired bands or the kid dancing like a funky chicken to the “Birdie Song”, but 1981 worked. It held a mirror to both its punk past and the looming MTV future.
In the end, 1981’s music scene wasn’t just about one “major event” (though MTV’s launch is hard to top), but about an atmosphere of change. By Christmas, Americans had discovered (or rediscovered) heartland rock and moody synth ballads, while the British had their own crop of chart-toppers and underground tremors. The charts on both sides were crowded with new sounds and old voices.
If you closed your eyes to listen in December 1981, you might have heard Phil Collins’ reverberating drum solo, the last gasp of a two-tone sax line, and the distant whoosh of a video satellite heading skyward. And above it all, blasting through your car radio or transistor, the simple answer to “Don’t you want me?”: an emphatic YES.
So, here’s to 1981, a year in rock and pop that knew where it had been and was already nudging toward everywhere it could go next.