Pickled Priest Mixtape: Our Favorite Songs of 1987

When you buy physical records you have a greater connection with them. It's been clinically proven. 1987 is further proof of that concept. Living with an album, sharing an apartment, having it on your shelf, playing it on your own stereo system. It creates a lifelong bond that cannot be broken. Try that with streaming. It’s just not the same. That’s why writing about older records is so much fun. They remind me of my formative years and they remind me of the records that soundtracked them.

SIDE A

26 "Litany (Life Goes On)" | Guadalcanal Diary

The 80s are littered with bands like Guadalcanal Diary. Cult favorites who didn't get their just due. Fellow Georgians R.E.M. may have grabbed the majority of the headlines, but the Diary were damn good in their own right, producing a couple handfuls of memorable tracks with "Litany (Life Goes On)" from 1987's 2X4 LP one of the more enduring singles from the college rock years of my life. If The Lion King ever gets remade with an indie-rock soundtrack (we can dream), "Litany" would be perfect for the opening scene where Simba is presented to the Pride Lands. It has a sense of drama to it that announces its arrival in grand fashion before it resolves into a classic jangly chorus that should be played on the radio regularly to this day. This is one of those bands worth revisiting that you may or my not have forgotten about and I recommend you start right here and cycle through their first four records on your own time. You may have just found your favorite old new band. And thanks to my man Paul for setting me up with vinyl reissues of a couple of their records. They sound even better than ever now!

25 "Give Back My Heart" | Lyle Lovett

In a long ponytail and a pretty, white dress

She said, 'Hi, bull riders do it best'

I said, 'Oh my God, what's your name

My name's Lyle

And so I was introduced for the first time to Lyle Lovett. In 1987, there didn't seem to be much eccentricity within country music. There have always been outlaws and outsiders, of course, but there was nobody quite like Lyle Lovett before (or since). A shy, polite, gentlemanly sort with hair frizzed high, an awkward, slanted smile, quirky disposition (enough to snag Julia Roberts, however), and a penchant for bringing jazz, gospel, soul, and blues into his skewed country songs. He was an amusing anomaly, and a charming one at that. His second solo record (after 1996's self-titled LP) was Pontiac and it was a hodge-podge of everything that made Lovett so endearing to his fans. The album didn't settle in one place for long, which made classification refreshingly difficult. He could be goofy ("She's Hot to Go," "M-O-N-EY"), childlike ("If I Had a Boat"), demented ("L.A. County"), sentimental ("I Loved You Yesterday") and even seriously dark (the devastating combo of "Pontiac" and "Simple Song" on side two). Rarely were his songs completely straightforward and that's what made him a true original. I've always loved "Give Back My Heart" especially because it features some classic Lovett vocal wordplay (I looked at her and she looked at me / And I looked back and she looked back) plus a quick-tongued chorus to sing along with (Ooh ooh, give me back my heart / Chip-kicker, redneck woman). The start of a long and quirky relationship.

24 "Come As You Are" | Peter Wolf

Peter Wolf has always been a rock and roll ambassador, a master of ceremonies full of infectious spirit, boundless energy, a killer sense of humor, and some of the best stage banter you'll ever hear (see the J. Geils Band's Blow Your Face Out for incontrovertible proof). Not many could pull off the bouncy "Come As You Are," complete with its signature whoop whoops, but when you bleed rock and roll like he does, it's hard not to get caught up in his excitement. The video makes for a rigorous workout as well. If you don't love Peter Wolf, I've got nothing for ya. Go back to camp.

23 "She Floated Away" | Hüsker Dü

Every Hüsker Dü record has numerous standout moments, many from Bob Mould, but an almost equal amount from Grant Hart. This time, I must admit to being partial to Grant's portside sea shanty, "She Floated Away," a classic pub singalong that would even make a fine girl like Brandy proud. Yes, Minnesota is not a port city, but it does have 10,000 lakes, so they understand the lure of the water implicitly. The song's meaning is open to debate, but I see it as a yearning for independence, outside of the purview of a man, a traditional family, or conventional society. She's off to find her own wild Sargasso Sea, wherever that may be. That's my take, at least.

22 "Here I Go Again" | Whitesnake

lf there's one thing I cannot stand it's hair metal. I just can't do it and I won't do it. So I look at the still from the video above and wonder what happened? Why is Whitesnake in my list of favorite songs from 1987? Did something go wrong? Was I hacked? The obvious answer is that there are exceptions to every rule, even this one. I don't hate every hair metal song ever written, but as a whole I would sacrifice all of it for a single slice of sausage and green pepper pizza. The only reason I'd have to think twice is that I'd have to do without "Here I Go Again," by far my favorite song from the genre. A slow build as David Coverdale walks "down a lonely street of dreams" (not to be confused with the "Boulevard of Broken Dreams") looking for love until the giant chorus kicks in and takes the song into the stadium rafters. The video is everything you'd expect from a hair metal video and, critically, it features a whole lot of Tawny Kitaen, metal's resident sex kitten back then (pre-Celebrity Rehab). The rest of the song is your typical hair flipping histrionics from a guy who desperately wants to be Robert Plant but never will. But give the man his props. He absolutely did the impossible with the undeniable "Here I Go Again."

21 "Can't Feel a Thing" | The Original Sins

One of the sleeper records of the 1980s is the Original Sins’ Big Soul. With songs like "Can't Feel a Thing," a classic garage punk-styled nugget, they injected an energized dose of real rock and roll into a decade known most for its leg warmers, drum machines, and synthesizers. The addition of some well-placed organ fills and a snarling vocal from singer John "J.T." Terlesky puts this squarely in Pickled Priest's wheelhouse. If you're in need of a song that captures the numb feeling that settles in when your shit goes sour, look no further. 

20 "The World's On Fire" | The Housemartins

They only lasted two albums, but the Housemartins still left a string of great pop singles in their wake. Amazingly, "The World's on Fire" wasn't one of them. Well, it is a great pop single; what I meant was, it wasn't chosen as a single from the album, nor has it been included on any subsequent Housemartins compilation. That fact blows my mind. How can one listen to the hook of this song without seeing its potential as a hit single? Perhaps the reason for its repressed status comes from its content, which is based on the band's overt socialist and Christian beliefs. Yeah, that's probably it. Nobody likes to be preached to, but it certainly wasn't the only song with idealist viewpoints in Thatcher's England, and it did make some salient arguments. Greed has blinded people to the plight of the working class and the country's religious foundations were on the wane as a result. Not your usual pop song fluff, to be sure. Of the songs from the era that have lasted for me, this stands out mainly because the world does seem to be on fire right now, both literally and figuratively.

19 "Mandinka" | Sinéad O'Connor

It could be said that Sinead O’Connor inhabits every song she sings. While I think that’s true, it’s also true that she herself is inhabited. By her past, her strengths, her weaknesses, her resilience, her defiance, her spirituality, and, of course, her natural talent. Voices like hers don’t come along very often, but when they do it's like a supernova exploding in space. It may be a little messy in the aftermath, but the brilliance of the moment in time cannot be ignored. Talent is a great privilege and also a great responsibility. Unfortunately, it doesn’t do particularly well when it comes with a lifetime of personal baggage attached. And Sinead had baggage in the cargo-hold, the overhead bins, under her seat, and on her lap. That those things contributed to her impact is undeniable. Even “Mandinka,” which begins as a relatively lightweight pop song, is soon taken over by O’Connor as she takes her performance off the rails into a wailing unforgettable chorus. I don't think anyone in the room had any idea this song would end up sounding quite like this, but I'm sure they were thrilled to have been there watching it go down. Sinead had that affect on people.

18 "Solitude Standing" | Suzanne Vega

When I'm alone

I'm not lonely

-Sam Phillips, "When I'm Alone"

Ironically, Suzanne Vega was never less alone than she was when she put out her 1987 album, Solitude Standing. Along with the album's biggest hits, “Luka” and “Tom’s Diner,” the song "Solitude Standing" put Vega on the map and for a while, mainly thanks to MTV. That level of popularity didn’t really hold mainly because it wasn't really expected to catch on in the first place. I've always treated “Solitude Standing” as a de facto introvert's national anthem, justifying my approach to life as it plays. That said, it's a myth that introverts don't want to be a part of the crowd. We do. But it's easiest when you have an out, too, a place that waits for you when it is time to recharge. That's when things get comfortable. That's when the crowded mind gets a break.

17 "I Could Never Take the Place of Your Man" | Prince

A Prince-ified power-pop song with a guitar solo? Now we're getting somewhere. And don't settle for the radio edit, either. The story begins at 10:35 (not 10:30 or 10:45) on a lonely Friday night, but it doesn't end with a satisfied lover like most Prince songs. Here, he shows a rare moment of restraint, which is appreciated. One of the Little Prince's myriad talents was sensing when a girl had too much emotional baggage in her overhead compartment.

16 "Love Removal Machine" | The Cult

I plan on making a mixtape for every year in rock & roll history by the time this project is done, but there will be only one song (I hope) on any of those mixtapes that was playing when I came the closest to dying for real. I was on the Eisenhower Expressway in Chicago the afternoon of New Year's Eve 1991 and I was driving myself and a friend home from work. Traffic was lighter than usual so I was going about 70 mph into downtown Chicago in my tiny Honda CRX when a car came out of nowhere and cut me off aggressively causing me to brake and spin out across multiple lanes of traffic, finally coming to a stop facing in the wrong direction. We were expecting to get creamed by a car or truck, but when I got my bearings I saw traffic had stopped three lanes across, nobody moving toward me whatsoever. The odds of nobody slamming into us now seems infinitesimal. A lot has to go right for that to happen. I restarted the car and carefully inched the car in the right direction, quickly getting us to a bar where we could order a couple shots of whiskey to calm our rattled nerves. That the Cult's "Love Removal Machine" was cranking when we spun out seemed fitting. It's a frantic, chaotic rock song that a music director of a film might've chosen to soundtrack such a violent event, the title of the song itself also somewhat haunting. From that day forward I have never heard the song in quite the same way. What is the last song you'll ever hear I wonder? Some of you will not get the luxury of choice.

15 "Boom Boom Mancini" | Warren Zevon

Ray “Boom Boom” Mancini might’ve been a lightweight, but this song punches with the power of a brawling heavyweight. It has the conscience of “Who Killed Davey Moore?” and the snarl of “Hurricane,” Bob Dylan’s pugilistic one-two punch. With the exception of "Hurricane," few boxers had a better nickname than "Boom Boom" and his regretful bout against Duk Koo Kim that ended with Kim dead from a hematoma after a time in a coma (his mother and the bout referee soon committed suicide thereafter to compound the tragedy) was by nobody’s account his fault. He was just doing his job, “The name of the game is be hit and hit back.” The song highlights the savagery and risk of the sport in harsh, but strangely forgiving terms. One of Zevon's greatest songs. 

14 "Girlfriend in a Coma" | The Smiths

Perhaps the most obvious trend I’ve seen in my lists of favorite songs is a slant toward the pleasant-sounding song with a lyrical dark side. I love the contrast created when one thing is incongruous with another. The Smiths (and Morrissey solo) were masters of this dichotomy. Not only does “Girlfriend in a Coma” have a pretty, lilting melody, it also has layers upon layers of subverted narcissism to an almost sociopathic degree. First, we discover the girlfriend in a coma. Simple enough concept. Tragic, really. Immediately after, we find Morrissey reminding himself that “It’s serious,” like any kind of coma wouldn’t be. He doesn’t seem particularly disturbed by the thought, however. Later he reveals there were times he imagined murdering her outright, but, of course, he wants her to be OK now. His claim is not entirely convincing. Later, Morrissey asks “Do you really think she’ll pull through?” and the undertone, at least to my ears, is that he kind of doesn’t want her to. Imagine all the pity he could soak up as the boyfriend tragically left behind? The narcissist surely would luxuriate in the attention. As he requests to “whisper my last goodbyes” you wonder if that too is a ploy, for use later when he tells the tearful story to a rapt audience.      

SIDE B

13 "Somewhere Down the Crazy River" | Robbie Robertson

Man, can Robbie Robertson spin a yarn. He could read my grocery list and I’d be hanging on his every word. His voice is the sound of the after after-hours, when the rats come out to play. It's also a time where likeminded drifters and creeps move throughout the city looking for trouble (You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here). "Somewhere Down the Crazy River" captures that feeling, but here there's an almost romantic quality to his late-night musings. When I first heard the album, it was about 2:00 am, a buzz still in my head after a night out. The record brought me into an alternate reality, with Robbie guiding me through the dark streets of New Orleans looking for action. With the BoDeans Sammy Llanas providing haunting, distant counterpoint vocals behind Robbie's deep baritone the song took on an almost mythical quality for me which I liked. And as the song says, "If you like it now, you'll learn to love it later." And I did.

12 "Nimrod's Son | Pixies

My sister held me close and whispered to my bleeding head

You are the son of a motherfucker

When I first started working officially, I had a co-worker who informed me her wedding was imminent. Knowing her current last name was quite a burden, a nonsensical jumble of about fifteen high-scoring Scrabble letters without an AEIOU in sight, I was delighted for her. I asked what her new last name was going to be and she didn’t seem pleased to share it: when she responded with “Nimrod” I was at a loss for words, so I blurted out, “If you ever have a boy, he has a song named for him already, citing the Pixies first EP, Come On Pilgrim, specifically the song “Nimrod’s Son,” which generated a blank stare from her. Which was a good thing, too, because, infamously, Nimrod’s son was the product of Nimrod marrying his own mother. So Nimrod’s son is both a son and a grandson simultaneously. And we can’t have that.

11 "Ghost on the Beach" | Insiders

If you lived in Chicago in the 80s, certain bands were fixtures on the local scene. If you didn’t stumble into an Insiders show at some point you weren’t trying hard enough. They were a great local rock band that even managed to have a brief major label moment in 1987 with their record and song, “Ghost on the Beach,” to this day one of my favorite songs by any Chicago outfit. (Just as good: "Love Like Candy" from the same record.) They quickly got knocked back to reality, but the world's loss was our gain. They continued to play local clubs for years after, one killer gig after the next. But they never lost their spark, which I always respected.

10 "Dreams" | BoDeans

The list of great rock bands from Wisconsin is a short one, but Waukesha's BoDeans are right near the top, a place or two behind the Violent Femmes perhaps but no more than that. Two singers—one tall, thin and smooth, the other short, oversexed, and gritty—was the secret sauce, but they also had a stack of heartland rock songs that sidled just right next door to timeless. They rang true with people and they were beloved for them—the perfect blend of accessibility and originality. I made a mixtape of my favorite BoDeans songs a year or so ago and it ended up 39 songs deep. Not many bands from their era come anywhere close to that number.

09 "Check it Out" | John Mellencamp

I can think of just a few things more Midwestern than John Mellencamp, the consummate heartland rocker. I’m not sure of it, but it seems like Mellencamp has slipped a little from his perch in people’s memory banks. Residing off the grid in Indiana (the worst state) will do that to you, I suppose. If you’ve forgotten why he was elected to the Rock Hall of Fame, revisit 1987’s The Lonesome Jubilee, his finest record, which will be all you need to remind yourself what he meant to the 1980s. Today, his music seems ripe for a resurrection. It seems more relevant than ever to my ears.

08 "Finest Worksong" | R.E.M.

My favorite quality of REM songs is that they are open to interpretation and even open to not being interpreted at all. The former is a full time job, the latter lets you focus on the toughness of songs like “Finest Worksong,” which features some absolutely killer Peter Buck riffs throughout. The song has a vaguely triumphant feeling, but what exactly are we celebrating? The common man? The dignity of hard work? What?

07 "4th of July" | X

A song that unfolds like a three-act play, complete with stage directions. It sets the scene, it provides a conflict, it proposes a resolution. All in three verses and one catchy hope-filled chorus. In short order, songwriter Dave Alvin (of the Blasters) vividly puts us in the room with a troubled couple, relationship on the rocks, a palpable sense of despair looming over a bright and bangy celebration going on in the city streets below. The big moment, made more dramatic thanks to a hitch in singer John Doe’s vocal, comes near the end… “Whatever happened [gulp]…I apologize.” It feels sincere; it feels like a chance to make things new again. It feels like the fireworks may still be there if we just go outside and get out of this dingy apartment for a walk together. Let's see if our love still has some sparks left in it. This song makes me feel like a rapt audience member sitting in the darkness with a playbill in hand. 

06 "One Time One Night" | Los Lobos

I’ve commented before that Los Lobos, one of the most underrated American bands of all-time, has been a lifetime band for me. Other than Springsteen, I’ve probably seen them live more than any other band. I saw them touring the college circuit with How Will the Wolf Survive? and forty years later I saw them in my hometown, two blocks from my front door, where they obliged me by signing my vinyl copy of 1987’s By the Light of the Moon. All original members intact, no less! It’s a cherished piece of memorabilia that has hung on my office wall ever since. As I look at that album of signatures now, I marvel at how relevant their music, even from way back in the 80s, sounds right now. They’ve always written about the people who have crossed the border looking to be a part of the American dream only to be betrayed by that belief in a better life. “One Time One Night” has a buoyant melody, driven by David Hidalgo’s crisp guitar leads, belying the content of the song, which tells of one broken promise after the next. Yet somehow there is still a feeling of hope in the song, like the promise might be delivered to others someday, somewhere. It's worth holding on to that dream despite it all. Los Lobos has been capturing this feeling for their entire career and it’s been one of the great blessings of my life to share it with them. If only everybody would listen. 

05 "Hey Jack Kerouac" | 10,000 Maniacs

In My Tribe, the breakthrough record for Natalie Merchant and her 10,000 Maniacs, pulled off a trick I had not yet seen in 1987 and it took me a couple listens before I oriented myself to its approach, which featured a peculiar blend of the ambitious and the pretentious without diverting my attention elsewhere. What exactly am I listening to?, I wondered. Taking heavy themes and housing them within lightweight, often fragile melodies—an audio chocolate mousse if you will—Natalie was singing about things others were not: child abuse, seasonal affective disorder, alcoholism, greed, our loss of humanity, opera, and even, on “Hey Jack Kerouac,” a love letter to the Beat poets who inspired her own writing style. Like everyone else, I was immediately drawn to her singular voice, the unexpected lyrical content, and those counterintuitive melodies, but it was the sheer easiness on the ear that really impressed me. To this day, I'm amazed they pulled it off.

04 "Tennessee Fire" | The Silos

The Silos were a band made up of familiar parts (drums, vocals, guitars, violin) that still somehow defied convention in just about every way possible. Their lyrics, song structures, rhythmic cadence, vocal stylings, subject matter, you name it, sounded unlike any other band I'd heard before. They were left of center without being intentional about it. This is just how they sounded naturally. When they released Cuba in 1987 it quickly became one of my favorite albums of all-time. It's the album that put the band on the map briefly when Rolling Stone writers named them the Best New American Band of the year. Each track has etched a permanent place in my heart; each in a completely different way. There are punk rippers and cracked ballads, road songs and ragged rockers. Opener "Tennessee Fire" is everything unique about the band in a nutshell. Songwriter Walter Salas-Humara was not afraid to let his songs unfold, or not unfold, as he saw fit. As the longest song on the record, it has an almost lazy beginning, giving the feeling you are joining the record in progress, but somehow it draws you in despite having lyrics that only provide a vague outline of an attempt to rekindle a past love affair.

03 "Have a Little Faith in Me" | John Hiatt

John Hiatt's Bring the Family was a raw nerve of an album that detailed the aftermath of a harrowing journey through alcoholism and the personal reckoning that follows when you are trying to heal yourself and your relationships with others. Crawling twelve steps from the wreckage was his earnest, heartfelt plea, "Have a Little Faith in Me," a song asking for a second (third? fourth? tenth?) chance. How do you convince someone you're for real this time after countless disappointments? The answer plays out in real time during this song, one of the most powerful love songs ever written. You could forgive someone for being skeptical—how do you convince someone to reconsider after all the pain you've caused? It often comes down to believability and there are few songs more believable than this one. The coda, when John goes freeform on bended knee for one last soliloquy, is high drama. It makes me choke up every single time.

02 "Tunnel of Love" | Bruce Springsteen

I have to admit, I'd never considered wearing a bolo tie until Bruce rocked one on the cover of Tunnel of Love, his first album after dropping the nuclear bomb that was Born in the U.S.A. But there I am in several incriminating photos doing just that. Not my finest hour, but my rationale was, if it was good enough for Bruce, it was good enough for me. After the blue jeans and baseball cap cover (more my style) of Born in the U.S.A., the photo on the cover of Tunnel of Love was its polar opposite. Knowing Bruce, I should've expected something completely different this time around. The creative chess moves made by Springsteen in the 1980s intentionally messed with your expectations. The River broke a bankable future superstar wide open and his record label licked their chops. Nebraska followed. Born in the U.S.A. officially delivered on that superstar status once and for all. His record label licked their everything twice. Tunnel of Love followed. He could've easily opted to ride his tidal wave of fame even longer, but instead we got an album filled with nuanced love songs covering everything from infatuation to separation. Real adult stuff, in other words. The title-track encapsulates the entire process of falling in and out of love in one convenient package. They enter as innocent, playful kids, mirrored by the light carnival ride intro sequence, but the song soon downshifts into the cold reality of real life (It's easy for two people to lose each other / In this tunnel of love). You almost don't realize what's happening until that ominous turning point. With a masterful final verse, one of his all-time greatest, Bruce brings his extended analogy home.

Well, it ought to be easy, ought to be simple enough

Man meets a woman and they fall in love

But this house is haunted and the ride gets rough

You've got to learn to live with what you can't rise above

If you want to ride on down, down in through this tunnel of love

How romantic.

01 "Alex Chilton" | The Replacements

"Alex Chilton" is a love song written about a song, which is as meta as creatively possible. It's also one of primary reasons for Pickled Priest's existence. As you have likely figured out by now, we thrive on the pursuit of the next great song and the thrill of the chase is worth all the time and effort that goes into it. When the Replacements, and specifically Paul Westerberg, first met Alex Chilton at Ardent Studios in Memphis while recording 1987's Pleased to Meet Me, he embarrassingly (in his opinion) gushed clumsily about Big Star's classic song, "Watch the Sunrise" (see our 1972 mixtape). I have to think Chilton was just fine with that. He also loved the song inspired by the meeting, which became a classic in its own right over the years, "Alex Chilton," which captures the elation of discovering a new favorite song better than any low-budget music blog ever could.

________________________

If I could stay in 1987 for longer, I would. But back to the future I go.

Cheers,

The Priest