Twitter (or “X”, if you prefer) informs me that Shout, the highly successful album from the British new wave/synth-pop group Tears for Fears, was released this week in 1985. Thirty-nine years ago.
A teen of that era, I liked lots of music from the 1980s. One of the wonderful things about that decade was the sheer diversity of the music scene.
And I mean “diversity” in the best sense of that word. There were plenty of nonwhite and female artists. That was the decade of Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, Pat Benatar, and Billy Ocean. But there was also a lot of stylistic diversity.
(This is one of the many aspects in which I pity the youth of today, who must face a nonstop barrage of coverage surrounding that overrated mediocrity, Taylor Swift.)
Everyone could find something that they liked in the 1980s. I liked Def Leppard, Triumph, AC/DC, Journey, and Rush.
British new wave/synth-pop? Not so much. I remember groaning when the eponymous single of Tears for Fears’s 1985 album came on the radio for what seemed like the zillionth time. (And “Shout” got a ton of FM radio airplay in the late summer of 1985, let me tell you.)
But time changes our perspectives in myriad ways. I’m still not a fan of 1980s British new wave/synth-pop. But it was so much a part of an era for which I am now hopelessly nostalgic. I find—somewhat to my chagrin—that this formerly groan-inducing music is now a trigger for scores of happy memories.
Ditto for a hit song from another ‘80s British new wave/synth-pop group called Soft Cell.
In 1981 and 1982, Soft Cell’s “Tainted Love” was on FM radio nonstop. I literally cannot hear it today without being transported 40-odd years into the past. But there is one memory in particular that stands out.
For me, the summer of 1982 was the summer between the eighth grade and the first year of high school. That summer, I accompanied my parents on a trip to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.
I was thirteen years old, not quite fourteen. I was bursting with the hormonal energy that made me constantly preoccupied with all female humans falling between my age and about thirty.
But all of this was very new. Alas, I often found myself tongue-tied when it came time to talk to one of those female humans. And so it was on that trip to Myrtle Beach.
One afternoon, I walked out of the condo my parents had rented and headed for the beach. Little did I know, when I set out, that I would remember that walk for 40 years, though not for any reasons worth bragging about.
Directly in my path was a girl in a dark blue one-piece swimsuit. She was lying on a towel in the sand, facing my direction. I remember that she had shoulder-length brunette hair, and she was deeply tanned. She was wearing sunglasses.
She had an FM radio on her beach towel. What song was playing? Soft Cell’s “Tainted Love”. I distinctly remember that.
As I drew closer, I saw that she was probably a year or two older than me. Maybe an incoming high school sophomore. A junior? Possibly.
And then, the impossible happened. She smiled and said, “Hi”. But not in a dismissive way. She removed her sunglasses.
That was my cue to talk, to strike up a conversation.
What did I do, though? I uttered some guttural response that roughly approximated American English. “Haa-augh!” would be a close transliteration, I think.
Then I kept walking. And walking. When I returned an hour later, she was gone. I looked for her later in the week (having prepared a dozen cool conversation openers), but I didn’t see her.
***
What would have come of it, if I’d had a bit more game in the summer of ’82?
Probably nothing. We were both very young, and we were both on vacation. Our homes were likely hundreds of miles apart. And that was long before email, texting, or FaceTime.
But hey, you never know.
That’s an embarrassing memory, but also a good one. As anticlimactic as that incident was, the summer of 1982 was the portal to many happy times. I had a pleasant teenage experience, as teenage experiences go.
I’m still not a fan of British new wave/synth-pop. But I no longer groan when I happen to hear it.
-ET