“Hold On to the Nights” by Richard Marx (1988)

One critic’s view:  “I can’t really call ‘Hold On To The Nights’ a power ballad.  That would imply that it has some power.  ‘Hold On To The Nights’ is more of a middle-management ballad.” – Tom Breihan @ Stereogum

The public’s view:  2.24 / 5.00, the third-worst #1 hit of 1988

I bet you were looking forward to the inevitable day that I would write about Richard Marx.  You’ve probably been right here waiting.  Ha.  But his only “bad” #1 is not the song that you thought would be selected for this honor.

I consider Richard Marx to be one of the finest examples of a journeyman songwriter whose music expertly captures the zeitgeist without doing anything to push the boundaries forward.  A good journeyman can write a song based on any idea, no matter how flimsy, and it will fit in seamlessly with all of the other songs of its genre.  It takes a ton of talent to do this without plagiarizing anyone, and Marx is one of the best.  Even when he emulates another singer-songwriter, as with the Kenny Loggins impersonation he does on “Satisfied”, there’s no blatant copying.  In fact, “Satisfied” is the best Kenny Loggins song that K-Log never made.  Give Marx some credit for that one.

If Marx had been at the top of his abilities in 1983, he could have made some spectacular records by reverse engineering the hits of that era and constructing entirely new songs based on the formulas that made them so enjoyable.  Who wouldn’t love to hear more music in the style of Men at Work, the Fixx, or Culture Club?  Unfortunately, Marx peaked in the late ‘80s and the inputs that he used were corporate rock and power ballads.  The output was, unsurprisingly, more of the same:  his music was a perfect reflection of its times.  With that in mind, his songs should all be too close to the median to make it into the “Bad” #1 Hits museum.  So let’s investigate how “Hold On to the Nights” got to be one of the most poorly rated chart-toppers of 1988.

I think it’s because he didn’t follow the formula as exactingly as usual.  A power ballad is supposed to start building up to something no later than the second verse, but “Hold On to the Nights” takes an eternity to get off the ground.  The sheet music describes the opening tempo as “Moderately slow”, which is a breathtaking understatement.  It’s like saying that Marx had “moderately feathery” hair.  Meanwhile, the lead guitarist is outside smoking a cigarette for the first 3 ½ minutes of the 5-minute track while two verses, two choruses, and the bridge come and go without him.  Just how long am I supposed to hold on to these nights for, anyway?  My arms are getting tired.

“Hold On to the Nights” is not the typical b.s. love song that we’ve heard a million times before.  The man is not singing to his girlfriend or wife, but to the other woman who he’s been secretly screwing around with.  There is some depth and craftsmanship to these lyrics, and that’s probably why Marx felt the need to stretch everything out to such an interminable length.  He wanted to let those words sink in.  That decision paid off by giving him a #1 hit, but the song doesn’t fit with today’s busy lifestyles.  The only place I still hear it is the grocery, where it serves as ideal background music.  Like so many men and women before him, Richard Marx has completed the long and bitter voyage from the top of the charts to the P.A. system at Safeway.

It’s fine if “Hold On to the Nights” runs for five whole minutes while I hunt for chicken livers, Reese’s Cups, and a rutabaga as the last three ingredients for the new Jell-O salad recipe I’m trying out.  It’s hard to make a commitment to it in any other context.

“Could’ve Been” by Tiffany (1988)

One person’s view:  “Her vocals are solid on this track.  But that is about it.” – Rocknroll1987 @ Rate Your Music

The public’s view:  2.28 / 5.00, in the bottom 25% of #1 hits from 1988   

In 1987, Debbie Gibson was crowned America’s Favorite Wholesome White Teenager after defeating Donny Osmond in hand-to-hand combat and wresting away the title he had held since 1971.  But very soon there would be a challenger to the throne.  The 16-year-old Tiffany was lauded for her powerful, mature voice, and she benefited from a clever promotional push consisting of concerts at shopping malls.  For younger readers, shopping malls are those large vacant buildings that say ”Sears” in faded letters on one side.  Sears was the place that smelled like tires that you would walk through to get to the part of the mall where people bought things.

Tiffany went to #1 with her first hit, a remake of the ‘60s song “I Think We’re Alone Now”, but that wasn’t enough.  The public didn’t want just breakfast at Tiffany’s – they wanted lunch and dinner too.  Her second hit, “Could’ve Been”, also topped the Hot 100.  Meanwhile, Debbie Gibson was poking around the #3 and #4 positions on the chart like the crusty 17-year-old fuddy-duddy that she was.

It’s easy to understand why “Could’ve Been” was such a success, because it is a somber ballad about a lost love.  People have basked in this type of song for millennia.  Whenever a caveman was stomped by a woolly mammoth, his cavewoman would grunt out a melodic sigh of mourning and the other cavewomen would gather around to listen.  Despite the scarcity of woolly mammoths in the 1980s, emotional end-of-romance dirges were just as popular as ever.  Sadly, “Could’ve Been” has not stood the test of time as well as many of these other ‘80s ballads.  It is our task to figure out why.

One factor is Tiffany herself, through no fault of her own.  “Could’ve Been” suggests a certain level of maturity on the part of the singer, as it describes painfully splitting up with the man who she had expected to spend eternity with.  Tiffany was only 14 when she recorded the track, and its sentiment sounds naïve when coming from a person of that age.  That kid who’s in your geometry class could’ve been your lover for every day of your life?  Really?  She was probably going to lose interest in him in a couple weeks anyway, after he wore a jacket that made him look like a dork and two of her friends laughed at him.  Tiffany tried her best to convince us of the intense emotional trauma of the break-up, but there wasn’t a whole lot of authenticity to the effort.

The production and engineering on the Tiffany LP are also vulnerable to criticism.  There was a period in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s in which many people in the music industry stopped giving a hoot about how their products would sound on a home or car stereo.  Maybe they assumed that everyone was listening on cassettes that were just going to get stretched out or chewed up in a few weeks anyway.  I get the impression that Tiffany’s producer/manager, George Tobin, was more than happy to help usher in this trend.  He was an experienced studio guy but also a sharp businessman who focused on the bottom line.  He could probably record an entire album for $52 and still have cab fare to get his singer to her next shopping mall appearance.

Tobin recycled most of the instrumental portions of “Could’ve Been” from an old demo recording session with the song’s writer, Lois Blaisch.  This gives it a cheap and dated ambience, but the real disappointment on Tiffany’s debut album was the failure to fully emphasize the power in her voice.  She is in a constant battle with her backing musicians and is usually losing.  On the opening track, “Should’ve Been Me”, the sax player is so eager to play his part that I envision him physically shoving Tiffany away from the mike.  Tobin had a talented singer and a collection of decent songs, but when I hear this album I mainly think of what could’ve been and should’ve been.

“The Next Time I Fall” by Peter Cetera & Amy Grant (1986)

One person’s view:  “The only really bright spot of this single was Amy’s vocal performance.  She gave everything she could to this sinking ship.” – Rocknroll1987 @ Rate Your Music

The public’s view:  1.96 / 5.00, the worst #1 hit of 1986 & 1987  

About ten years ago I stumbled across a professionally created website that enumerated all of the ways in which Peter Cetera sucks.  An entire page was devoted to the inadequacies of his acting performance in the video for “Along Comes a Woman”.  That site is not around anymore, but it left an impression on me.  Could you imagine someone investing that much effort to air their petty grievances against Michael McDonald or Bruce Hornsby?  But after reading lots of reviews while working on this blog, I learned that the anti-Cetera opinions on that website are not a fringe viewpoint.  Of all the ‘80s balladeers, he is capable of inspiring a uniquely passionate level of loathing and derision that the Lionels and Phils of the world can only dream about.

Few listeners had a problem with Peter Cetera when he sang on Chicago records like “25 or 6 to 4” and “Old Days” in the early 1970s.  Even as he marched the band into the unholy realm of soft rock with “If You Leave Me Now” and “Hard to Say I’m Sorry”, he probably had more admirers than detractors.  But when he went solo, he somehow became ten times more irritating to everyone despite not really changing in any obvious way.  Meanwhile, Chicago continued farther down the adult contemporary trail without him and found new singers who embodied much the same qualities as Cetera.  Occasionally there would be a Chicago song and a Peter Cetera song on the charts at the same time.  It was as if a gruesome beast had reproduced by splitting itself down the middle, and there were now two formidable foes to contend with.

Although I was definitely not a soft rock enthusiast, I thought that Peter Cetera had his merits.  His distinctive style injected frivolity into his ballads and made them easier to tolerate.  Consider “Glory of Love”, which receives only slightly better reviews than the Amy Grant duet I am focusing on today.  A line like “I am a man who will fight for your honor” is practically designed to induce vomiting, but Cetera renders it harmless.  His bizarre falsetto creates such a humorous juxtaposition with the macho blustering of the lyrics that it salvages the song.  Nonetheless, I must agree with some of the criticisms that have been leveled against “The Next Time I Fall”.

Amy Grant generated a lot of buzz as a contemporary Christian singer in the first part of the 1980s.  People were excited to finally hear her on a pop record without any vexatious religious themes spoiling the endeavor, but even God couldn’t overshadow her as much as Peter Cetera does on their duet.  It’s not a matter of who gets more singing time.  It’s that Grant’s voice is textured and pleasant, while Cetera’s is powerful and shrill.  If you hear a beautiful lullaby and then someone blows a whistle in your ear five seconds later, it’s easy to forget all about the lullaby.  The duet also stands out, unfavorably, as the only male-female pairing I’ve heard in which the man’s voice is higher than the woman’s.  Well, maybe not the only one.  Peter Cetera also had a hit record with Cher a few years later.

The song itself also doesn’t do Grant and Cetera any favors.  Neither the melody nor the lyrics are very strong for a chart-topping single, and the chorus comes across as a threat:  “The next time I fall in love, it will be with you.”  What if I don’t want Peter Cetera falling in love with me?  Quit sending me flowers, Pete!

“The Next Time I Fall” is an easy choice for a bad #1 hit to spotlight from 1986.  There aren’t any such universally agreed upon bad #1s for 1987, so I’m going to be moving ahead to 1988 and 1989 for my next posts.  Those two years are a target-rich environment.

“There’ll Be Sad Songs (To Make You Cry)” by Billy Ocean (1986)

One person’s view:  “Certainly a strong contender for the title of most lackluster Billboard #1 of the ‘80s.” – thx4noting @ Rate Your Music

The public’s view:  2.36 / 5.00, the worst #1 hit of 1986 that did not involve Peter Cetera  

Billy Ocean occupies a strange space in the history of 1980s pop music.  He had five songs that reached #1 or #2 on the Hot 100 – more than Huey Lewis and Bruce Springsteen combined – yet few people would name him as one of the decade’s big stars.  When he is remembered, it’s for his up-tempo R&B-ish/dance-ish records like “Caribbean Queen” and the impudently bossy “Get Outta My Dreams, Get into My Car”.  His hit ballads, on the other hand, have not withstood the test of time.  Those songs are out of our dreams, they got into a stranger’s car, and now they’re on a milk carton.

The SiriusXM ‘80s channel plays a random “lost” hit at about quarter ‘til each hour.  I can usually identify this obscure song from the first few notes – unless it’s a slice of Billy Ocean soft rock that comes tinkling through the speakers.  All of his ballads sound the same to me.  Is that “Love Is Forever”?  Or “The Colour of Love”?  Or “There’ll Be Sad Songs”?  I never know until he gets to the chorus.

But other than having similar melodies and identical production parameters, there’s nothing that’s really wrong with Billy Ocean’s slower songs.  They have a mature sound to them and are never cheesy, because he saves the embarrassing lyrics for his up-tempo hits.  He usually focuses on the nature of love rather than just fawning over a woman, which I can appreciate after listening to a lot of Lionel Richie for the last entry.  And I didn’t think I’d get a chance to use the word “mellifluous” on this blog, but it’s a good description of Ocean’s voice.  His singing is smoother than the side of Mr. T’s head.  Nonetheless, these records always seemed like they should be confined to my parents’ soft rock radio stations.  They didn’t quite fit with Madonna and Bon Jovi on American Top 40.

Aside from “There’ll Be Sad Songs”, the year 1986 saw at least seven or eight other unmemorable ballads in the #1 spot on the Hot 100.  My guess is that “Separate Lives” had inoculated listeners somewhat and allowed this type of music to proliferate.  (After you’ve survived a case of smallpox, the mumps doesn’t seem so bad.)  “There’ll Be Sad Songs” is no worse than, say, “On My Own” or “Sara”, but its reputation suffers from Billy Ocean’s saturation of pop radio with so many records that were hard to distinguish from one another.  I won’t say that his lite rock songs were too much of a good thing, but they were probably too much of an adequate thing.

“Say You, Say Me” by Lionel Richie (1985)

One critic’s view:  “I like [the bridge].  This demented little part wakes the song up.  ‘Say You, Say Me’ is still a bad song, but it’s at least bad in some interesting ways.” – Tom Breihan @ Stereogum

The public’s view:  2.51 / 5.00, the fourth-worst #1 hit of 1985

I was not a Lionel Richie fan in the 1980s, but his songs never antagonized me in the way that “Separate Lives” did.  Richie was just an omnipresent and inevitable fact of life, extremely overplayed but completely harmless.  Based on the truckloads of trophies that he hauled home from every awards ceremony, I assumed that his music was beyond reproach and that it was my fault if I didn’t fully appreciate it.  In researching this project, however, I have learned that critics and listeners are not universally fond of his legacy.  And thus “Say You, Say Me” earns a spot in our museum of bad #1 hits.

“Say You, Say Me” is not the most poorly regarded of Richie’s #1s.  That would be “Truly”, whose Rate Your Music score is so low that it beats “Ebony and Ivory” as the worst chart-topper of 1982.  However, “Truly” is merely an ordinary, boring love ballad that is almost interchangeable with several other songs that Richie has written.  “Say You, Say Me” stands apart from the rest of his oeuvre, both lyrically and musically and in both positive and negative ways.  Its main selling point is an unusual up-tempo bridge that sounds like it was transplanted from a different song.  For a brief moment, Richie defies all of the rules of the adult contemporary genre.  Clive Davis probably called the police when he heard this on the radio the first time.

The lyrics of “Say You, Say Me” are cryptic, but Richie had already written another chart-topping single that left everyone bewildered:  “Three Times a Lady”.  What did he mean by that title, anyway?  As a kid, that song made no sense to me but I didn’t feel I could question it.  It reminded me of my religion lessons about the mysterious Holy Trinity consisting of God the Father, Jesus the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Surprisingly, no one ever reworked Richie’s song into a Christian version called “Three Times a Deity”.  Amy Grant left some money on the table there.

Some fans knew that Richie had based “Three Times a Lady” on his dad’s emotional tribute to Lionel’s mom:  she was a great wife, mother, and friend.  But looking for similar meaning in “Say You, Say Me” is as futile as analyzing “I Am the Walrus”.  People have tried and have been driven mad.  The song contains a few lines about friendship and self-worth that are nice on their own, but there’s no cohesive message other than that Lionel can now buy a fourth yacht.  He had an awesome dream, indeed.

I find most of Richie’s songs to be uninspired (except for the touching origin of “Three Times a Lady”), but at least they are competently assembled.  “Say You, Say Me” is the complete opposite.  It’s as if Lionel’s head was suddenly bursting with ideas other than just telling a woman how great she is for the 17th time, and he tried to jam those unrelated thoughts into one song as quickly as he could.  It’s a blend of creativity and sloppiness from a man who isn’t usually known for either.

“Separate Lives” by Phil Collins & Marilyn Martin (1985)

One person’s view:  “‘Separate Lives’ isn’t a heartbreaking song about moving apart from one’s former lover:  it’s a song about wallowing in self-pity and martyrdom all while blaming others for one’s problems.  Awful, awful, awful, awful, awful.” – dagwood525 @ Rate Your Music

The public’s view:  2.29 / 5.00, the third-worst #1 hit of 1985

Because of all the attention devoted to “We Built This City” and “We Are the World” in the music press, most young people probably assume that those two records were always considered the worst #1 hits of the mid 1980s.  However, that’s a revisionist view that became fashionable only long after the fact.  Those of us who were alive at the time remember a far less listenable song that topped the Hot 100 in the same year as those other two.

You know how sometimes a song you dislike will start up, and you will – through either laziness or inattention – allow it to play to completion while you miss something better on a different station?  No one ever had that problem with “Separate Lives”.  The track begins with a 45-second near-spoken intro by Phil Collins before most of the instruments kick in.  This dull-as-dirt monologue serves as a powerful warning that the next few minutes are not going to be a pleasant experience.  I haven’t unearthed the data to prove this, but I am sure there was a spike in dislocated shoulders in the autumn of ‘85 from people frantically reaching toward their radio tuning dials whenever this came on.

After the dreaded intro is over, “Separate Lives” starts to have a melody for a moment before meandering off into blandness.  Its lyrics tell a gloomy tale of the animosity surrounding a bitter break-up, and Collins has a grimness in his voice that fits the material well.  Without the star power and momentum that he had in 1985, there is no way this depressing record gets anywhere near #1.

Marilyn Martin is a top-notch singer, and I like her solo hit “Night Moves”.  On “Separate Lives”, she meshes with Collins about as well as a porcupine and a waterbed.  Many of her lines consist of repeating whatever Phil just said, but with an overly dramatic warble.  Could you imagine your spouse constantly mimicking you like this?  “Honey, are we running low on toilet paper?”  “Toilet pay-ay-ay-ay-per!”  No wonder this couple split up.

Anyone who can relate to “Separate Lives” is going to be turned off by it.  I guess the song is intended for people who are in the middle of a divorce, but it isn’t the type of diversion that will brighten their moods.  It’s as if Stephen Bishop wrote it to intentionally make everyone miserable.  It even made Phil Collins feel bad.  When his second marriage was on the rocks due to his philandering, his estranged wife would sometimes stand in the aisle and glare icily at him while he performed it at his concerts.  Hey Phil, why not pull it from the set list?  Replace it with a random Genesis track like “Jesus He Knows Me”.  No one will be upset.

Despite all that I’ve just written, there is one cultural relic from the fall of 1985 that was more unbearable than the “Separate Lives” single.  I am, of course, referring to the “Separate Lives” video.  It features all the fun of the song, plus slow-moving scenes from the White Nights movie added at the beginning and end.  The only thing missing from this multi-sensory entertainment experience is Gregory Hines and Mikhail Baryshnikov coming to your house and kicking you in the gonads whenever the video is on.  I bet this would have happened too if they’d had the budget.

OK, I feel better now that I got this off my chest after almost 40 years.  I’m glad I never have to think about White Nights again.  On to the next bad #1 hit.  Wait, what the hell?  Another song from White Nights??

“We Built This City” by Starship (1985)

One critic’s view:  “It purports to be anti-commercial but reeks of ‘80s corporate-rock commercialism.  It’s a real reflection of what practically killed rock music in the ‘80s.” – Craig Marks @ Blender, as quoted in USA Today

The public’s view:  2.05 / 5.00, the second-worst #1 hit of 1985

With so many articles, books, and doctoral dissertations written about why “We Built This City” is the worst thing that has happened since the Visigoths sacked Rome, there is little I can add to the discussion.  I will keep this post brief.

Is “We Built This City” really that awful?  No, not compared to so many of the other hits that have been featured here, but it does have a fundamental incongruity at its core.  The song was conceived as a protest against greedy corporations that were buying out popular venues and ruining the live music scene in Los Angeles.  This was an amazing germ of a song idea, but too many people got involved in the writing and production.  The track was reworked into something so corporate that it should have featured a calculator solo by Grace Slick’s stockbroker.  Meanwhile, it kept enough of the original theme – and a few nonsense lyrics – to come across as hypocritical.  The last thing that critics want to hear in a rock song is hypocrisy.

I can’t think of any other hits that followed a similar tortuous path from inception to hypocrisy, so I’ll make up an example of what this was like.  Imagine that a third songwriter had barged in on Lionel Richie and Michael Jackson while they were working on “We Are the World”.  Let’s call this fictional person “Bryan Adams”.  Now suppose that after Lionel finishes writing two heart-rending verses about the famine in Africa, “Bryan” adds a powerful chorus urging everyone to go to Sizzler, gorge themselves on the all-you-can-eat buffet, and leave a pile of wasted food on their plate when they’re done.  Also, in a nod to Michael’s pet snake, he inserts the line “Balboa played the boa.”  And then – despite some initial misgivings – the all-star celebrity choir sings these lyrics with sincerity and conviction.  Bruce Springsteen screams “Eat at Sizzler!”, and it becomes one of the iconic moments of the decade.

Now we have a charity fundraising single with the same problems as “We Built This City”.  Actually, I think this would be pretty cool.

“We Are the World” by USA for Africa (1985)

One person’s view:  “Every copy of this single ever made should be ritually burned.” – rushomancy @ Rate Your Music

The public’s view:  1.83 / 5.00, the worst #1 hit of 1983 through 1985

After exiting the doldrums, pop music and the Hot 100 had a couple of magnificent years in 1983 and 1984.  For a moment it looked like I would be permanently out of fodder for this blog.  However, there comes a time when we heed a certain call to skewer yet another song.

“We Are the World” presents me with the same type of conundrum as “Everything Is Beautiful”.  It’s one of the most well-intentioned chart-toppers ever, and I don’t have any kind of personal beef with it.  However, the retrospective reviews of it are horrendous.  If I don’t write at least a brief post about it, I can’t call my blog “The Bad #1 Hits”.

The complaints about “We Are the World” could fill a room the size of the egos that were famously checked at the door at the recording session.  The project is derided as a performative bit of “hey look at me” do-goodism which accomplished nothing that couldn’t have been achieved by less irksome means – like having each person in attendance write a check for $1 million.  The lyrics are simplistic and focus on the do-gooders rather than the people who need help.  The vocalists all sound like parodies of themselves.  The tune drags on for nearly twice as long as necessary, turning a plea for money into an especially aggravating plea for money.

All of this is essentially true.  However, it’s hard to imagine a lofty endeavor like this turning out much better than it did.  Put yourself in Lionel Richie’s shoes:  you have a very limited time to write a song that must become a multimillion-selling anthem.  Worse still, you have to work on it with Michael Jackson at his house, and he has a pet boa constrictor that doesn’t always stay in its cage.  You’d get one verse written, hear a noise behind you, and then have to take a break to change into a clean pair of trousers.  I’ll give Lionel credit just for finishing the song under these circumstances.

The real problem with “We Are the World” and its sibling “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” is that they led to a period in which rock stars thought they could solve any worry with a sing-along.  This was especially the case in the U.K., where charity anthems became a frequent occurrence.  If you stubbed your toe on the streets of Ipswich, there would soon be thirty people gathered in a studio to call attention to your plight.

In the U.S., the main legacy of “We Are the World” was the even more ambitious project Hands Across America.  This event was like if the Underpants Gnomes from South Park got into the charitable fundraising business.  Step 1:  Ask millions of people to form a human chain stretching from New York to L.A.  Step 2:  ???  Step 3:  Hunger and poverty have been eradicated.

By some measures, Hands Across America was a huge success.  None of the participants got run over by a car or a train, nobody got struck by lightning, and there weren’t any fistfights over who had to hold hands with that kid who was picking his nose outside of Albuquerque.  However, by this time the charity craze was about over.  Today, whenever you hear anyone mention raising money to fight world hunger, it brings back memories of other fads of that era like Cabbage Patch dolls, shoulder pads, and Dynasty.  People sure did some weird things back in the ‘80s.