It still seems strange that Tears for Fears, two Janov-loving introverts from Bath, were one of the biggest bands of the ’80s. In a decade defined by excess (Motley Crue, Guns ‘n Roses), sex (Madonna), outrageous fashion (Cyndi Lauper), blue-collar values (Springsteen, Mellencamp) and, conversely, fundamentalism (U2), Tears for Fears were the textbook definition of ‘one of these things is not like the others.’ That mantra applied to their albums as well; with the possible exception of Talk Talk, you’d be hard pressed to find a band that evolved over the course of its first three albums at the rate that Tears for Fears did. It stands to reason that they wouldn’t play gloomy synth pop forever, but no one could have predicted that they would trade it in for Beatle-esque grandeur.
The transition would not come easy, though. It would take three years, four producers (Clive Langer, Alan Whitstanley and Chris Hughes would all come and go before the band decided to produce it themselves, with the help of engineer Dave Bacsombe), and wheelbarrows full of cash. And it would all start with a piano player at a Kansas City hotel bar, of all places.
Touring behind their monster hit Songs from the Big Chair (1985) was taking a toll on Roland Orzabal and Curt Smith. They loved their new songs, of course, but the manner in which they were constructed — barring “I Believe,” the album was programmed and sequenced within an inch of its life — was starting to get to them. They felt paralyzed by their music’s lack of flexibility. One night, after a gig, Orzabal and Smith showered and headed down to the hotel bar to unwind, and promptly had their minds blown by a no-nonsense piano/bass/drums trio fronted by one Oleta Adams. Orzabal and Smith knew what they needed to do next: kick out the style, bring back the jam. (It would be almost 20 years before I realized that Orzabal may have been asking Paul Weller to quit his then-current band in favor of his former one with that line.) Their next album would be more organic, the work of men and not machines. And its lead single would be one of those unforgettable, ‘Holy shit I can’t believe what I’m hearing’ moments that simply doesn’t happen anymore.
I still remember the first time I heard “Sowing the Seeds of Love” on the radio. The big hits during the summer of 1989 were, well, there’s just no other way to say it: they were shit (Michael Damien, Martika, Bette Midler, New Kids, Milli Vanilli, “Batdance”). When “Sowing the Seeds” dropped in late August, it positively exploded out of the speakers, and exposed everything the DJ played before and after it for the pap that it was. From Chris Hughes’ spot-on Ringo impression to the mile-wide and sky-high chorus, “Seeds” wasn’t just Tears for Fears attempting to fix themselves; they were out to change the world. Unfortunately, the latter goal didn’t pan out — 1990 still stands as one of the worst years for pop music, in my mind — but with The Seeds of Love, they more than achieved the former. (more…)
