The Strokes were victims of what happens to bands when the perfect storm of hype carries them beyond their allotted 15 minutes of fame. I remember publications calling them the next Nirvana. It was a poignant prophecy in a way, if by being the next Nirvana meant making three really good albums that were raw yet polished at the same time, and then never being heard from again. It’s hard when people anoint you the savior of rock and roll before you’ve actually really done anything. The Strokes unfortunately bought into the idea that they had to change the world, when they should have just kept on making Strokes albums. Their music was better than good enough, and much better than any of the solo records their hiatus has produced. Phrazes for the Young is no exception, though it comes closer than the others.

So what has Casablancas been doing all these years, besides not making an album with the Strokes? Judging from the lyrics, he’s been doing a lot of self-reflection.  He’s been thinking, he’s been growing up, he’s been trying to make sense of the world, and he’s been trying out sobriety. All of this is easily apparent in Phrazes, where he seems to be apologizing at times, and at others, even offering some advice. The album’s title and influence come from Oscar Wilde’s Phrases and Philosophies for the Young, a collection of witty and often tongue-in-cheek bumper sticker-style self-help quotes like “Dullness is the coming of age of seriousness,” and “Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others.”  The eight songs on Phrazes are based on the eight phrases Casablancas adds to the list, often slightly more serious than Wilde ever intended, like “Being nice is most important when others are not,” and “Drunkenness is cowardice, sobriety is loneliness.”

Casablancas is easily one of the most underrated talents in rock, but he only has himself to blame, and he’d probably like you to think that he doesn’t even care. The thing is, you know he does — that’s why his songs don’t suck. He’s got a thing for a hooky melody, and he’s always liked to mix it up stylistically while being extremely proficient at turning his influences into something of his own. Phrazes for the Young continues this tradition. It seems like the logical next step from his last batch of songs with the Strokes. This time, with nary a Strokes guitarist in sight, he ventures into electro-soul and ’80s synth-pop, sounding at its best moments like a young Van Morrison making an album with Erasure. He’s always written and arranged songs predominantly on the keyboard, so the synthesizer-heavy vibe of Phrazes suits Casablancas well.

It’s all a bit retro, yet slightly futuristic. ”11th Dimension” is New Order meets Motown girl group, while a song like “Left and Right in the Dark” makes me think of both Flock of Seagulls and Cyndi Lauper — in the best way possible, mind you. ”4 Chords of the Apocolypse ” is crooner cool with the added bonus of a sweet little solo, and “Ludlow Street” is a waltzy old Irish drinking song if Irish drinking songs featured drum machines. I love “River of Breaklights,” which falls somewhere between the last Strokes record and Thom Yorke’s Eraser, but my favorite is the jumpy opener “Out of the Blue,” where Casablancas is recounting mistakes of his past and only half apologizing for them. He’s learned some things along the way, but it’s not all regret. He wants to keep you from making his mistakes, yet he knows you need to. He’s “going to hell in a leather jacket,” but he’s fine with it, because “he’ll be in another world while you’re pissing on my casket.” I’m sure some people probably hate that line, but I fucking adore it. It’s a classic lyric in a song that is nothing if not classic Casablancas, and it sets the tone for the entire record. It’s not the only lyrical gem you’ll find here, either.

The negatives about this record go back to what I was saying before, and probably have more to do with what I’m used to hearing with Casablancas and the Strokes than anything really to do with Phrazes. Alone, Phrazes is an extremely enjoyable listen as far as I’m concerned, but in the context of the three Strokes albums, there’s a warmth and an attitude that’s sometimes missing, and every now and then it all feels kind of antiseptic and over-thought. That kind of thing can happen when you aren’t able to hide behind or within a band of brothers. The best thing about Casablancas with the Strokes was that they had the ability to craft amazingly good songs that sounded familiar yet fresh, all the while making it seem like they didn’t really give a shit. The Strokes had solid songs, but they also had a feel. Phrazes sounds meticulously crafted and produced, which shouldn’t alone be a negative, but I think Casablancas is just trying too hard and thinking too much, which is probably what inevitably sent the Strokes on hiatus in the first place.

Luckily, it’s a different world now, and no one expects the Strokes to change it anymore. The only people that still care about the band want nothing more than to hear more from them, and it’s just good to hear Casablancas writing songs again. If you liked the Strokes, you probably already own Phrazes, or you should. If you never liked them, this won’t change your mind — but what does become quite apparent with repeated listens is how much the Strokes are, in fact, Casablancas. Phrazes for the Young is in essence a Strokes album without the Strokes. Sure, he’s good enough to hold his own without them, but I can’t help but wonder how great this album would have sounded with the band. Julian Casablancas as a solo artist? I believe it, but I don’t want to. I just want another record from the Strokes, but I’ll take what I can get.

A note to our readers: Former Popdose contributor John Hughes’ departure for bigger and better things has left a rather big hole where his “Lost in the ’70s/’80s/’90s” columns used to be. Fortunately, John gave his blessing for the rest of us to take up his fallen standard, and we’ve pledged to do our best to live up to the brilliance of his work. So without further ado…

When is a rave review also a kiss of death? Perhaps when it’s 1987, and the “critic” is Margaret Thatcher.

It’s pretty well established by now that politics and pop music are uncomfortable bedfellows, at best. Particularly in the three decades since both Great Britain and the United States fell to their respective conservative parties, most attempts to link politicians with pop have been ham-fisted embarrassments – no matter the party or the pop star. As a columnist for the U.K.’s Guardian newspaper put it a few years ago, “Thinking about a politician listening to rock music is like imagining your parents having sex: you not only lose all respect for them, it puts you off the whole concept.”

In that same 2004 article the columnist, Alexis Petridus, bemoaned the attempts of leading Tory politicians to boost their hip factor by variously proclaiming their admiration for the Scissor Sisters, Dido, Jarvis Cocker and even Meat Loaf. Petridus suggested that if history were any guide, those acts might be doomed to suffer what he called “the Curse of the Thrashing Doves.”

The story goes like this: A London-based modern rock outfit, Thrashing Doves emerged from the city’s thriving modern-rock scene in 1986 with a series of chart-ready singles and then an album, Bedrock Vice, that briefly made them the darlings of the New Musical Express/Smash Hits/Melody Maker hype machine. (Even before they got signed to A&M, Melody Maker was singing their praises thusly: “Tonight, the Thrashing Doves played with the assured youthful cockiness of a band that knows every major [label] in town is sniffing round its Cuban heels … [They’ve] already mastered the basic rule of popdom: Get the look right, and the music can catch up later.”) Propelled by the quirky vocals of Ken Foreman and an oversaturated, postmodern video for their debut hit “Matchstick Flotilla,” Thrashing Doves seemed set for major stardom – or at least a good run as Flavors of the Month – by the time they released their third single in early ’87.

“Beautiful Imbalance” had all the earmarks of a mid-’80s U.K. chart-topper: an irresistible hook (brightly rendered with help from producer Jimmy Iovine), vaguely snotty lyrics, and a candy-colored video featuring a literal room of clouds. The single gathered chart momentum through the winter, then earned a featured spot on one of those patently English music programs, Saturday Superstore. The weekend-morning show frequently featured celebrity guests rating the latest singles and videoclips, and for this particular broadcast the show had scored the biggest “get” in its history – Thatcher, who was then leading her party’s re-election efforts. The prime minister watched a series of clips and then gave Thrashing Doves her highest rating – over Pepsi & Shirley, among other competitors. Later in the program, she stumbled a bit during a Q&A section when a girl asked her, “Where will you be if a nuclear war breaks out?”

That sort of accusatory query, grounded in a widespread fear of the ’80s arms race as well as a growing distaste for Thatcher’s perceived let-them-eat-cake elitism, reflected the disconnect between the conservative government and the nation’s popular culture by 1987 – a gulf about as broad as the chasm that separated George W. Bush from the U.S. culture during the 2004 campaign. Thatcher, like Bush, was popular enough to hold off the depleted Labour Party in that year’s election, but her endorsement was hardly the boost Thrashing Doves were looking for at the time – particularly when the chorus of their Maggie-approved single went, “I know the world is flat / Don’t try to tell me that it’s round,” and that candy-colored video happened to feature group members holding what looked like nuclear missiles.

Indeed, the connection between Thatcher and “Beautiful Imbalance” became indelible in the U.K. – and that link ended any chance Thrashing Doves had of achieving massive success on either side of the Atlantic. The single stalled at #50 on the British singles chart, and failed to make much of an impact in America despite being given a decent shot by A&M. It probably didn’t help that Rolling Stone’s (generally positive) review of Bedrock Vice led off with a Thatcher reference and even mentioned those cruise missiles. Despite the quick disappearance of “Beautiful Imbalance,” Thrashing Doves did get a Top 20 single on the U.S. dance chart later in ’87 with “Jesus on the Payroll” – and two years later the band scored a Top 15 hit on the Billboard modern rock chart with “Angel Visit,” from their follow-up album Trouble in the Home.

Still, that album did little business in the U.S. and hardly more back home in the U.K., where the pop scene had been swamped by Madchester acts like the Happy Mondays and the Charlatans. When the Doves returned for one last album in 1991, they were no longer Thrashing – and the album, Affinity, predictably laid an egg. The band’s MySpace page notes that the original lineup reunited in 2006 to play a few songs during guitarist Ian Button’s birthday party. The mini-bio says it all: “It was the first time they had all been on stage together in 15 years. There are currently no plans to do it again.”

“Beautiful Imbalance” did not chart.

Fields of the Nephilim were the gothedelic deathrock cowboys of the apocalypse – dressed in cobwebby dusters, cowboy hats, and spurs – they delivered a string of singles and three solid albums before riding off into the sunset. (Sorry!)

To achieve their trail-worn appearance, the Nephs famously rolled around in piles of flour. To dust their dusters, as it were. According to legend, they were late for a gig when a local constable raised an eyebrow at their suspicious sack of King Arthur all-purpose.

After a pair of well-received EPs (collected on CD in 2001 as From Gehenna To Here), they sacked their saxophone player (presumably, all that flour clogged the reed), and released Dawnrazor – a stomping, galloping, Ennio Morricone-influenced album. The accompanying single “Preacher Man” featured frontman Carl McCoy’s baritone growl over brothers Nod and Paul Wright’s frenzied drums and hypnotic guitar squalls, along with Tony Pettitt’s serpentine basslines. “Preacher Man” became a goth club standard and was made into an amazing video – featuring chainsaws, fire, and mutant zombies.

The band’s next two singles made it to the top of the UK indie charts in 1988 – the malefic “Blue Water” and the Aleister Crowley influenced “Moonchild.” Carl McCoy’s lyrical content began to include references to everything from H.P. Lovecraft to Ancient Sumerian mysticism to the Great Beast Crowley himself. The cover of their second album, 1988′s The Nephilim, itself looks like some ancient tome of forbidden thought.

The Nephilim found the band working with a multi-layered palette of sound. Songs like “Phobia” and “Shiva” rock with metallic intensity. Side two, with the moribund “Celebrate” and “Love Under Will” made for essential 3 a.m. on a school night listening with candles and incense. The album’s finale, “Last Exit For the Lost,” is an absolute epic, gaining intensity and building to a soaring and brilliant climax. One can’t help but draw a comparison to “The End,” but where Jim Morrison wanted to fuck his mother and kill his father, Carl McCoy wants to warn us that indeed, “Cthulhu calls…”

1990′s Elizium was produced by Pink Floyd sound engineer Andy Jackson. The single “Sumerland” found the band working their mojo over a shimmering “Run Like Hell” rhythmic backdrop. Elizium is a dense, conceptual affair, transcending the “gothic rock” of their peers (the Cult, the Mission) and developing into a progressive maturity without straying too far from the original formula – big guitars and scorched earth, and references to Chaos magic and Crowley.

For all its glorious heights and accompanying tour (the highlights were captured on 1991′s Earth Inferno), Elizium would be the band’s final “true” release. Carl McCoy, in typical frontman style, left the band in search of a new musical trail to blaze.

Fields of the Nephilim has garnered a fiercely loyal fan base over the years. Neo-pagans, Sandman readers, and “Weird Western” fans continue to discover their music through the endless reissues and compilations of singles, greatest hits and live discs.

In Carl McCoy started an entirely new band called “The Nefilim.” They released one album in 1996, the metal-influenced Zoon, but he reverted back to the Fields of the Nephilim name for 2005′s Mourning Sun. The album received some favorable press, but it is lacking in that classic Nephilim sound. A sound which his grumbly and growly intonations were merely one part of.

“And they told us what they wanted was a sound that could kill someone from a distance …”

In 1986, after years of trying to break Kate Bush in the States with only the minor Top 40 hit “Running Up That Hill” to show for it, EMI decided to capitalize on Kate’s recent success with Hounds of Love in the UK by releasing a best-of, which could also serve as a catch-up primer for the US.  The Whole Story collected various tracks from Bush’s first five albums, along with a newly recorded version of her first single, “Wuthering Heights,” and one new track which was issued as a single to promote the disc.

“Experiment IV” (download) was a creepy tune that told the story of a top secret military operation where scientists were attempting to create a weapon using only sound. Unfortunately for them, they succeed. The single was accompanied by an equally spooky video that was banned from Top of the Pops, but got plenty of MTV play Stateside.  It also featured Dawn French of French & Saunders and a relative unknown by the name of Hugh Laurie:

While “Experiment IV” did not repeat Bush’s Top 40 success in the States, it did chart nicely in the UK and The Whole Story went on to become her biggest selling album. But can you believe The Whole Story is currently out of print?  Neither can I, but that’s what Amazon tells us, although there are plenty of used copies to go around.  Highly recommended, even if it’s in serious need of a remastering.

“Experiment IV” did not chart.

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If you’ve been reading this column for the past four years or so, you may remember me calling out certain songs as one of “the top blahblah new-wave songs ever.” I’ve done it a few times, as I recall — most recently last Tuesday, in fact — and good commenter Pete stated:

“John, I’d be curious to know what your other top 5 new wave songs are …”

Well, Pete my friend, because you asked for it, here are not only my top 5, but my top 15! Who says it’s a waste of time to comment on Popdose?

First off, some ground rules:

• While acts such as Roxy Music, Sparks and David Bowie certainly laid the groundwork, if not the entire friggin’ blueprints for what we call new wave, this list is limited to artists who came of age and were active during the classic new-wave period from 1979 through 1984, give or take as I feel like.
• And what the heck is new wave, anyway? While we can argue it was just an umbrella term coined by Seymour Stein to cover any of his acts that weren’t overtly commercial, let’s agree for our purposes that we know it when we hear it.
• It would be easy to rattle off ten or twenty songs that really should be on this list, like for example, New Order’s “Blue Monday.” But this is Popdose: we assume you’ve seen obvious lists like that a million times and the average Popdose reader is more knowledgeable and likes to be challenged. So, while we’re not gonna go all Pitchfork-y on you and rattle off names like Pylon or the Plastics, you may seem some less obvious choices.
• This list will be from a very American point of view, since I sort of grew up in America and stuff. Don’t worry though – it’s probably the most Anglo-centric Americanized list you’ll ever read.
• And last, but not least, this is my list, my opinions, my decisions. It is by no ways meant to be comprehensive, complete or the final word on anything. That’s why you’re going to leave comments after you read it, so I can either praise you for bringing up an act I forgot, or ridicule you for suggesting I left out the Bongos and how dare I.

And with that, let’s begin!

15.  M, “Pop Muzik” (1979)
So much for avoiding the obvious choices, eh? But it would be unconscionable of me to leave this off the list, the first new-wave song to hit number one in the U.S. From the ominous opening synth chords to the robotic “pop, pop, pop music” background vocals, Robin Scott’s sole charting single stood out like a sore thumb in the disco and Journey-filled radio landscape of 1979. American radio may not have wanted to play this song, but they couldn’t deny it, no matter how hard they tried.

14.  Human League, “Don’t You Want Me?” (1982)
Another obvious but essential selection. Holds the distinction of being the first number one single to feature all synthesized instrumentation, right down to Phil Oakey’s robotic vocals. Okay, so maybe Oakey and Susan Sulley’s voices were real, but everything else about it was synthetic, which was really new wave. Oakey hated the song so much after it was recorded, he insisted it be placed last on the album Dare, and he fought against its release as a single. Being dead wrong never paid off so well.

13.  Adam & the Ants, “Car Trouble” (1979)
And here’s probably the first big “What th–!” moment of the list. How can I pick a minor single off the Ants’ first album and not a true new-wave classic like “Antmusic,” “Prince Charming,” or even “Goody Two Shoes,” for Goddard’s sake? Because “Car Trouble” is notable for introducing the Ants beat to new wave, a rockabilly meets burundi beat picked up by other acts like Bow Wow Wow. Plus, it nicely bridges punk as it morphed into its more commercial and accessible cousin new wave. Totally different head – totally.

12.  Depeche Mode, “People Are People” (1985)
I’m not as big a fan as I used to be (I honestly have, like, maybe three Depeche Mode songs on my iTunes, despite owning their entire catalog, including singles), but I had to include this song, their breakthrough hit in America. It also does triple duty by representing Yaz and Erasure on the list, even though Vince Clarke was long gone by this point. It was here the group left behind a sunny boy band image and started on its path to inspiring countless trenchcoat-clad, depressed teens to start blasphemous rumors.

11.  New Order, “The Perfect Kiss” (1985)
“Blue Monday” be damned, “The Perfect Kiss” took the gloom and doom of Joy Division and put it to an undeniably new-wave dance beat. Add in some obtuse lyrics about a firearm, a night ending in death, and whacking off (“Tonight I should have stayed at home / playing with my pleasure zone”), top it off with samples of croaking frogs and you have something completely new and familiar at once. Plus, cowbell!

10. Re-Flex, “The Politics of Dancing” (1983)
What’s a new-wave list without a one-hit wonder? Well, there are a few here, but Re-flex is a special case, since they were one of the first of the British new-wave bands to cross over to mainstream US radio, alongside Duran Duran, Eurythmics, and Culture Club. Plus, it’s goddamn catchy.

9. Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, “Enola Gay” (1980)
While never really crossing over to the mainstream in the States (MTV wouldn’t even touch their videos at this point),”Enola Gay” still marks the first time many of us heard OMD. Whether it was in a club or from an older friend’s record collection (hello!), it would be our first taste of the synthpop duo that no one expected to go Top Ten in the States five short years later with a song from a major motion picture.

8. Echo & the Bunnymen, “The Cutter” (1983)
Another “what the hell” moment on the countdown. Echo & the Bunnymen made the cut because they were the first new-wave act to draw inspiration from bands that new wavers despised with a passion, most notably the Doors, and still sound cool. Plus, nothing made you look more new wave than having an Echo & the Bunnymen pin on your jacket – it let everyone at school  know they could bum clove cigarettes from you between classes.

7. Buggles, “Video Killed the Radio Star” (1979)
Obviously here because of its distinction of being the first video played on MTV, sparking off a video revolution that was central to new wave. Also here, because it, along with the aforementioned “Pop Muzik” and another song to come later on down the page, were the only new-wave songs my local Top 40 radio station in Cleveland, Ohio, had the guts to come near.

6. Blondie, “Dreaming” (1979)
They weren’t punk, even though they were spawned by CBGB. Blondie were informed by Sixties girl groups, New York City streets, and disco, fusing it into some unique, yet recognizable. Harry does her best to soar, while Clem Burke has a minor stroke on the drums. And hey, how about that 1979? Seems like a banner year for new wave.

5. Devo, “Freedom of Choice” (1980)
Devo makes the cut because, well, they’re Devo, and “Freedom of Choice” is the choice over “Whip It” because Devo showed us new wave could be more than just about the clothes and synths. It could also be political, especially in a subtle, sneaky way that a million Jackson Brownes could never match. I’m sure you correct your friends when they miss the line, “Freedom from choice is what you want,” too.

4. Kim Wilde, “Kids In America”
Ah, the song that sparked this list. New wave, while not exclusively white, was very suburban. It mostly dealt with very suburban issues (Love! Romance! Boredom!), so it of course appealed to suburban kids. So here’s a song about love, romance, and boredom in suburbia. That, and “East California” still never fails to crack me up.  And that last 30 seconds when the synths build to a climax and the guitars slice through … heaven in suburbia.

3. Gary Numan, “Cars”
New wave that even rockers could like. Gary Numan’s “Cars” sat comfortably on radio playlists right next to Queen and Boston and nobody blinked an eye. They did clap their hands at the appropriate moment, of course. Numan’s only US hit because it was both accessible and strange. New wave in a nutshell, that Gary.

2. Duran Duran, “Planet Earth”
They often spoke of how their goal was to fuse the Sex Pistols with Chic, and here’s the closest they got. New Romanticism in full effect, all frilly pirate shirts, sash belts, and gelled hair, Duran Duran were the faves of the super hip kids. That is, until they went to Sri Lanka, got their suits tailored, and sailed along the Rio Grande. But for a while, they were truly underground and new wave. Bop bop bop.

1. Missing Persons, “Words”
Why #1? Because Missing Persons, along with maybe A Flock of Seagulls, just personify new wave. The hair, the sci-fi fashion, the angular, hiccupy-ness of it all. But Missing Persons had the secret weapon, unlike the Flock, of actually being able to play, and play well. Missing Persons held their own against any live band of the moment, as the live clip below proves. Sure, Dale was annoying, but her presence is still felt in pop today (Hi, Lady Gaga! Hi, Gwen Stefani!). Not bad for a band whose debut got two stars in Rolling Stone (money quote: “And if this is the revolution, give me Pat Benatar.“)

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I have a soft spot in my heart for Ms. Wilde. After all, she was the very first artist to be featured on Lost in the ’80s back in … what was it — more than four years ago? Yikes. I maintain that “Kids in America” is one of the top-five new-wave songs of all time, and while Kim never really reached the heights of her 1981 self-titled debut again (artistically, at least — she did top the charts here in the U.S. in ’87 with the limp Stock/Aiken/Waterman-lite remake of the Supremes’ “You Keep Me Hangin’ On”), it wasn’t for lack of trying.

Kim’s second album, Select (1982), was pretty much in the same vein as her debut, with her brother Ricky and father, Marty, handling all of the songwriting and production (both had had brief success as singers in the UK in earlier decades). In the liner notes for the album’s recent rerelease (thank you once again, Cherry Pop Records!), Ricky recalls being inspired enough by Ultravox’s success to move away from the more guitar-oriented sound of Kim’s debut to the colder, programmable-synth soundscapes of Select.

The Ultravox influence was readily apparent on Select‘s first single, “Cambodia” (download), a downbeat, atmospheric song about an air force pilot who goes missing during a top-secret mission. Not exactly the stuff number-one singles are made of, but it topped the charts in several European countries, including France and Sweden. And my my, a lot of Kim’s videos tended to feature her rolling around in bed, fully clothed …

Things got even more depressing on the album’s follow-up single, “View From a Bridge” (download), with its lyric about a young girl’s suicide. While it was another big European smash, it failed to do anything for Wilde stateside, as the kids in America weren’t quite ready to take the leap, as it were.

While I don’t think it would have fared any better as a single here, I do quite love Select‘s opener, “Ego” (download), which really piles on the drum machines and Ultravox-y sequencers. Also, the fun chorus and kiss-off lyric might have connected better with U.S. ears than “Cambodia” and “View From a Bridge” had Select not died a quick death in the States, as did the first phase of Kim’s career on this side of the pond — EMI America dropped her after Select.

Her third album, Catch as Catch Can (1983), wasn’t even released here, and it took a new deal with MCA and that Supremes remake to finally really break Kim in America. Was it as substantial as her early work? That’s debatable, but it was fun nonetheless. Cherry Pop has rereleased Wilde’s first three albums in expanded editions with plenty of B-sides and bonuses, and all three are worth the import prices.

Neither single charted.

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It was feast and famine in 1986 for former New Romantics turned MOR balladeers Spandau Ballet. While the previous two years saw the group score more chart hits in the UK with their Parade album, plus a triumphant performance at Live Aid, the quintet’s fortunes in the States were less impressive. Their last US hit, “Only When You Leave,” peaked at a paltry #34 and none of the follow-ups even charted. It was another example of a group huge in Europe, but ignored in the States.

The band tried to change their luck by leaving longtime label Chrysalis and moving over to Epic Records (although both were distributed by CBS Records).  Spandau also began talk of refining their sound a bit, moving away from the smooth-jazz crooning to a more rock direction — at least as rock as Spandau Ballet could muster.  The results of this shift were hardly evident in Through the Barricades‘ first UK single, “Fight for Ourselves,” a limp attempt at a fist-raising anthem hampered by rinky-dink production from Art of Noise co-conspirator Gary Langan. Don’t believe me?  See and hear for yourself:

Meanwhile, the States lucked out by getting a superior track, “How Many Lies?” (download) as the lead single. A ballad in the classic “True” sense, “How Many Lies?” actually benefited from Langan’s production, as the background “ooo’s” were reminiscent of the Art of Noise’s “Moments In Love,” not a bad thing at all.  And Tony Hadley’s hammy voice was well-suited for this material, as opposed to wanna-be mullet rock. But Epic dropped the ball on this single, failing to get MTV even remotely interested in the video, much less getting American radio to take the Spandau plunge again.

Things may have gone better for the band had Epic released the title track, “Through the Barricades,” (download) as the first single here. It was the album’s second single in the UK and became a Top Ten smash, the band’s best showing there in more than two years. The acoustic tune and restrained performance from Hadley may have struck a chord with American audiences had it been the lead single here, even if the lyrics about Northern Ireland’s struggle were lost on us.

The big Spandau Ballet geek I was, I remember having to special order this album from my local Camelot Music to get it, since no stores in Northeast Ohio stocked it.  That’s how persona non grata the band were in the States at that point. It would be another three years until the group released their final studio album, Heart Like A Sky, and Epic failed to even pick up their US option and release it Stateside.

But 2009 is a banner year for the group, as the original lineup has reunited after many years of bitter lawsuits, infighting, and attempts at acting by the Kemp brothers (Look!  It’s Gary Kemp in The Bodyguard!). The band is currently selling out arenas in Europe for their autumn tour, but of course, no US dates are planned.

Can you blame them?

Neither single charted.

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It must have sucked to be a non-Boy George member of Culture Club.  Well, except for Jon Moss, who was actually sucking a member of Culture Club.  Okay, cheap shot.  But seriously, here you are, finally realizing your dreams of being in a hugely popular rock band and, to paraphrase Roy Hay in the group’s Behind the Music special, you’re stuck in the middle of a gay soap opera.

Besides the lead singer and drummer having screaming fits in hotel hallways, you’d also have to deal with the pressure of your label demanding a third album of original material in as many years.  And to top it all off, your singer and visual focal point of the band has become a raging coke head.  Is it any wonder your third album was a comparative failure to the first two?

Culture Club’s Waking up with the House on Fire was aptly named, since the band was in a shambling mess of an emergency.  After their first two multi-platinum smashes and several hit singles, expectations were extremely high for the third and the only place to go was down.  The album’s first single really set the tone, as “The War Song” was a simplistic, jingoistic, embarrassing attempt by Boy to be political.  “War, war is stupid” – shock!  Thanks to the chart momentum from the last two years, it still made the Top 20.

While the U.K. and other territories got “The Medal Song” as the album’s second single, Epic made the wise choice of picking “Mistake No. 3″ (download) to be the follow-up single in the States.  I’ve read that the song was about Boy George warning young couples against marriage, that being the titular mistake number three.  I’m not quite sure what the first two mistakes are supposed to be.  Shagging your drummer and snorting coke, perhaps?

Speaking of Bolivian marching powder, check out the video, featuring Boy George as the huge bride on an even huger wedding cake:

Despite a desperately raspy vocal from George, which actually helped rather than hinder the song, the single barely scraped the Top 40 and Waking up with the House on Fire died a swift death.  Culture Club made a comeback of sorts in 1986 with “Move Away,” then split for quite a while before reuniting twice since.  These days, when he’s not chaining escorts to his bedroom wall, Boy George is a tremendously popular club DJ and rampant Tweeter.

“Mistake No. 3″ peaked at #33 on the Billboard Hot 100 Chart and at #61 on the Hot R&B Singles Chart in 1984.

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The late ’80s and early ’90s saw a strange trend of UK power-pop bands fronted by blond bombshells:  Transvision Vamp, the Primitives, and one of the more criminally ignored, the Darling Buds.  Fronted by drop-dead knockout Andrea Lewis, the Darling Buds drew upon influences from Blondie to the Smiths and packed them all into manic, three-minutes-or-under, hook-filled gems.  It was dangerous to drive to their debut Pop Said – you were sure to get ticketed for speeding.

MTV and Modern Rock radio made a minor sensation of their debut single, “Let’s Go Round There,” (download) with its vague similarity to the Manchester sound recently made popular by the Stone Roses and Happy Mondays.  The Buds were much more accessible, however, and if they had held out a few more years, they would have definitely been swept up by the alternative nation movement ushered in by Nirvana.

The freewheeling fun continued with the second single, “Burst,” (download) which barrels through the speakers like an ice cream truck with the brakes cut.  Unfortunately, MTV and radio didn’t shine much to this single, and I’d never seen the video until the magic of YouTube:

The Darling Buds toned down the velocity a bit for their second album, Crawdaddy, as their sound matured.  The Buds were really out of luck when they released their third album in 1992, just a few weeks before the latest from Madonna.  Why did that matter?  Both albums were named Erotica.  Frustrated by lack of success, the band called it a day soon after that, but I definitely plan to feature both of their ’90s albums on future installments of Lost in the ’90s.

“Let’s Go Round There” peaked at #27 on the Billboard Modern Rock Chart in 1989.

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By 1984 the partnership had borne two gold albums, one platinum album, three Top 40 hits, and a few AOR staples. In fact the Fixx and Hine were producing material at such a quick clip that one of their better songs ended up as a cut on the Streets of Fire soundtrack (which was discussed here) as well as the B-side on Phantoms’s first single, “Are We Ourselves?”

“Deeper and Deeper” was an oddity on that 1984 film’s soundtrack alongside overwrought Jim Steinman productions and Dan Hartman’s schlocky “I Can Dream About You.” A sinister mix of snakelike synths, discordant guitar, and less-goofy-than-usual lyrics from vocalist Cy Curnin, the original version (download) was too long to be a hit, but it still garnered plenty of AOR and club airplay. It also became a staple of the band’s live show.

“Deeper and Deeper” got enough love to be included in a few of the Fixx’s greatest-hits compilations over the years, including my favorite, the nearly complete Ultimate Collection. They continue to tour, and the song is still part of every set. I’m sort of bummed that I won’t get to see them during my trip to Hawaii in late July — they hit our 50th state for three shows in August, according to their website.

“Deeper and Deeper” peaked at #3 on the Billboard Album Rock Tracks chart and at #47 on the Billboard Hot Dance Music/Club Play chart in 1984.

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