Track #18: “Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now” by The Smiths (1984)

Welcome to Track Chatter, where with each post we choose a different song to discuss in depth. This entry is part of an ongoing series in which we approach the 1980s through examinations of Heavy Metal and Indie music. 

Aaron: With this entry, we hop back across the pond to England as we take up the massively influential band The Smiths. The Smiths are a quintessential indie band. Formed in Manchester in 1982, they released four studio albums and three singles compilations - all on indie label Rough Trade Records - before breaking up in 1987 (in the US they were on Sire records, at the time a quasi-indie label with a Warners distribution deal).

Such a huge amount of material in a five-year window is only one indication of the passion, dedication, and artistic exploration that drove the band to become one of the most influential in rock history, indie or otherwise (for a hint of their influence, just check the wide array of artists who have covered their songs, from the expected, like Radiohead or Jeff Buckley, through the more eclectic, like Bobby Bare, Jr., Mojo Nixon, and Skream).

Having said all that, I must admit to a healthy dose of trepidation on preparing this entry. As I’ve detailed elsewhere, I was a late comer to ‘80s indie music for many reasons, the main one being that a lot of it seemed to lack the . . . oomph . . . of the hard rock and classic rock I was listening to. I found my way in via older bands (The Velvet Underground) or the more rock-oriented indie bands of the ‘80s (The Replacements, REM) who could supply that oomph. The Smiths have always been another matter, and I’ve just got to go ahead and admit right up front that for a very long time I pretty much hated them. Definitely throughout the ‘80s and ‘90s. By the ‘00s, as my tastes were broadening and the rigidity with which I’d approached music for so long was mellowing, I began to allow myself to appreciate The Smiths - in theory - while still not being able to say I actually liked them. I’ve had long conversations with fervent (and occasionally surprising) Smiths fans, sometimes aggressive, sometimes pretty even-keeled. I’ve read up on the band, come to love the sounds of guitarist Johnny Marr, and listened to fabulous Smiths covers by performers I really love.

But if I’m honest, it can still be hard for me to sit down, listen to more than 2 or 3 Smiths’ songs, and think, yeah, I get it. I love these guys!

With that in mind, I decided to push myself a bit in choosing the track for this entry. My first instinct was to go for “How Soon Is Now,” a song that even non-fans know. It’s a killer track, with one of rock’s great guitar riffs and some of Morrisey’s sharpest, most effective lyrics. But that seemed too easy a choice (I mean, everybody loves “How Soon Is Now,” right?). My second choice was “There is a Light That Never Goes Out.” This was the first Smiths song I really got to know. I received a fantastic mix tape back in 1990 with tons of indie stuff on it - Echo and the Bunnymen, Bad Brains, old U2, Social Distortion. I played the hell out of that tape in the summer of ‘90. Fast forwarding being a pain in the ass, I ended up hearing “There Is a Light” hundreds of times or more, and it really grew on me. It’s a perfect example of a Smiths track - archly romantic, with lyrics boarding on the maudlin that become transcendent, and great shimmery guitar. But that seemed like an easy choice, too, one driven more by nostalgia than a desire to really get to know and appreciate the band better.

So I landed on “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now,” not only a fabulous title, but a track whose many elements speak to a lot of the problems I’ve personally had with The Smiths over the years, but also highlights, I think, what makes so many people love them.

Before getting into the nitty gritty of the track itself, Lew, any general thoughts you have about The Smiths, your history with the band, how much you dig or don’t dig them?

Track #17: “Knock ‘Em Dead, Kid” by Mötley Crüe (1983)

Welcome to Track Chatter, where with each post we choose a different song to discuss in depth. This entry is part of an ongoing series in which we approach the 1980s through examinations of Heavy Metal and Indie music.

Lew: As we turn our attention back to the heavy metal music of ‘80s, we’re taking a look at one of the more hotly debated eras of metal – the so-called “hair metal” of the 1980s LA scene. In his book, Fargo Rock City, Chuck Klosterman states that he’s not a fan of the term “hair metal,” and prefers the term “glam metal.” I have to admit that I agree. LA bands had big hair for certain, but the look that was commonplace for bands of the scene had plenty of precedent in the glam rock of the ‘70s. Marc Bolan was looking like a Sunset Strip ex-pat well before Bret Michaels ever thought about putting on eyeliner. The relationship of LA metal to ‘70s glam rock and power pop can’t be easily overstated. Also, the term hair metal is applied in such an overwhelmingly pejorative way that it’s not conducive to balanced discussion. When you’ve essentially sided with its harshest critics in your choice of terminology, it’s hard to give the genre a fair shake, which I hope we’ll do here, for better or worse.

Twisted Sister at their glammiest

With that said, I should say that I don’t intend to provide an apotheosis for glam metal, and I’m not sure that it’s possible to do so (if Appetite for Destruction didn’t manage it, I don’t think that I can!) However, in the early 1980s, when I first became aware of glam metal, there was no need for an apotheosis, because I was pretty sure it was the greatest thing the human race had produced. As I noted earlier, my first exposure to metal in the ‘80s was “We’re Not Gonna Take It” by Twisted Sister, which became my favorite song almost instantly – so much so, that the music that I’d heard up to that point seemed bland by comparison. It was a pretty great three-and-a-half minutes! (I didn’t realize it at the time, but Twisted Sister, for all their drag queen affectations, were more of a ‘70s band than an ‘80s glam metal band. If anything they were “glam metal” in the truest sense of the word; much more indebted to T.Rex, Mott the Hoople and so on than any of their peers, excepting Quiet Riot.)

My exposure to “glam metal proper” came the following year, when I acquired a copy of Mötley Crüe’s Theater of Pain. The difference between Twisted Sister and Mötley Crüe was immediately apparent, and almost as quickly as the bands they had replaced earlier, Twisted Sister seemed square, and a little goofy. Mötley Crüe sang about sex and street crime, had better production quality on their albums, and looked cooler on the album cover. Beyond that, Mötley Crüe created an awareness of Sunset Strip, not just as a location, but as an idea – a sort of beautiful decadence that transcended societal rules; a place that was simultaneously more fantastic and more real than anything I’d ever experienced.

For this entry, we’re going to be listening to a track from Mötley Crüe’s second album, Shout at the Devil. As blown away as I’d been by Theater of Pain, I loved “Shout at the Devil” that much more. It was meaner, and more streamlined (not that I’d have used those words at the time). Even thrash metal fans dug it, if you could get them to admit it. The track we’ll be talking about is “Knock ‘Em Dead, Kid,” which is definitely a high point on the album.






Aaron, I realize that I’ve just started this discussion with what is, for intents and purposes, a significant digression, but I thought maybe you could talk a little about your time spent as an ‘80s metal fan, since I can only assume that Mötley Crüe must have figured into it somewhere.

Track #16: “I Will Dare” by The Replacements (1984)

Welcome to Track Chatter, where with each post we choose a different song to discuss in depth. This entry is part of an ongoing series in which we approach the 1980s through examinations of Heavy Metal and Indie music.

Aaron: With this entry we jump across the pond for our first look at an American contribution to the 1980s scenes we’ve been discussing – that seminal, rag-tag, punk/power-pop band from Minneapolis, The Replacements. And we’ve got a very special treat this time around – joining us for the discussion is my old friend Chris Dall, himself a resident of Minneapolis. More importantly, it was Chris more than anybody else who switched me on to the great indie music that had been coming out in the 1980s. And it was Chris, most definitely, who turned me into the ‘Mats fan that I remain today.

Lew and I will both take part in the conversation, but since Chris is our guest, we’ve asked him to choose the track up for discussion and to give it a brief introduction. So, Chris, what can you tell us about the song we’ll be talking about?

Chris: For my contribution to this blog and its examination of ‘80s musical genres, I’ve chosen the song “I Will Dare” by The Replacements, the band that, along with REM, introduced me to what was at the time called “Indie Rock.” I first became aware of The Replacements in 1986, when they released their first major label album, “Tim,” made a drunken appearance on Saturday Night Live, and by some accounts had already sold out. Knowing nothing about them but what was on that album, I immediately fell in love with their music. By the end of 1986 my cassette of “Tim” was pretty well worn, and I wanted to explore what had come before.

“I Will Dare” is a song from The Replacements’ 1984 album Let It Be, the third full album by the band’s original lineup: lead singer and songwriter Paul Westerberg, guitarist Bob Stinson, bassist Tommy Stinson, and drummer Chris Mars. Let It Be was the band’s last album on Twin/Tone records, a Minneapolis-based label that helped launch the Twin Cities music scene to national prominence. Many ‘Mats fans will tell you this is their best album, not simply because of the great songs it contains, but because it captures everything that their fans loved about them: their attitude, their sense of humor (they named the album Let It Be for gods sake), their sloppiness, and their ragged imperfection. Whether or not it’s their best album is a question for another day, but to me it is the album that truly encapsulates them. It’s a ragged, glorious, shambling mess, a musical stew of rockabilly, Clash-inspired punk, hardcore, metal, piano balladry, and even folk rock. It’s the sound of a band that had imbibed more than 30 years of American and English pop music history was hurling it back in the face of the MTV generation.  It’s kind of like a Replacements show, minus the alcohol.

That fact that Let It Be has no one song that really captures its essence makes it hard to select one song to write about, but I ultimately decided on the one that begins the album. What strikes me about “I Will Dare” is that on an album marked by shambling, unfocused sprawl, it is perhaps the most concise and complete song ever written by Paul Westerberg. At its core it’s really a simple song. There’s no bridge, just verses and chorus interrupted by a guitar solo (and a slightly off-key mandolin solo by none other than Peter Buck of REM), with a great shuffle beat driven by the drumming of Chris Mars and the bassline of Tommy Stinson. On first listen, the song sounds deceptively upbeat and jangly, but what comes through on repeated listens is the hard, punk edge of the bass and drums, with the driving overlay of the lead guitar mimicking the bass line. It’s punk rockabilly, raw and pure and vibrant. And lyrically, it has all the classic Westerberg themes: inadequacy masked by bravado. “How smart are you?/How dumb am I?/Don’t count any/of my advice.” And what makes this song great is that it sounds just as fresh today as it did when I first heard it.



But now to the question that this blog is taking up: where does it fit on the musical spectrum? It’s raw yet not completely unrefined, stripped down but not primitive, rough-edged but melodic. It’s not punk, nor is it New Wave. The Replacements were never either of those things, but they incorporated elements of those genres into their sound, both stylistically and attitudinally, and essentially grafted them onto what was a “classic rock” template. And to me that’s what Indie rock was essentially all about. Taking a lot of the musical influences of the past and creating something new by stripping the music down to guitar, bass, and drums and then layering on melody, spirit, and emotion. And it seemed then, as it still does today, to be a reaction to the musical excess of the MTV era.

So I’ll toss it now to Aaron and Lew: what do you guys make of “I Will Dare”?

Track #15: "Wrathchild" by Iron Maiden (1981)

Welcome to Track Chatter, where with each post we choose a different song to discuss in depth. This entry is part of an ongoing series in which we approach the 1980s through examinations of Heavy Metal and Indie music.

Lew: Iron Maiden released their second album, Killers, in February of 1981. In the spirit of Aaron’s observations about his musical taste at the time The Cure released “A Forest,” I should say that I was not aware of Iron Maiden at the time, or even aware that rock music could sound like Iron Maiden. My family was essentially radio-centered – it wouldn’t be until a couple of years later that we would join Columbia House  and start listening to more albums as a family – so my experience of music was pretty well limited to the kind of light rock that one could hear on the radio in Washington County in 1981. I think the heaviest contemporary song that I knew of was probably “Start Me Up” by The Rolling Stones. Also like Aaron, I was a pretty big fan of “Take It on the Run,” which, along with “Kiss On My List” by Hall & Oates, was probably my favorite song. So, with that said, it’s probably unnecessary to note that the New Wave of British Heavy Metal would have been a very unfamiliar concept to me at the time.

As a brief introduction, The New Wave of British Heavy Metal (or NWOBHM, as it’s often abbreviated) was a movement that formed in reaction to two conditions: One, the seminal metal bands of the 1970s, such as Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath, had generally abandoned their original sound or deteriorated in other ways. Two, the punk movement, which had dominated British rock in the mid-late ‘70s had declined and begun to give way to New Wave and post-punk. NWOBHM bands looked to the original metal bands for inspiration, but filtered those influences through the faster, more urban sounding punk. Where Zeppelin and Sabbath looked to the blues for the foundation of their early sound, NWOBHM bands found a more rock-centered urgency to draw on.

Killers was Iron Maiden’s second album, and their last with original singer, Paul Di’Anno. While Maiden is much better known for their work with Di’Anno’s replacement, Bruce Dickinson, it’s worth noting that the Di’Anno-fronted iteration of the band has several qualities to recommend it. Killers is a rawer conception of the band, and is more related to the punk bands that preceded it, than the band that would record Dickinson’s debut, Number of the Beast, two years later. At the same time, the hallmark Maiden qualifiers were already in place – namely, aggressive bass playing, dual guitar solos, and songs based on literary works and historical figures. The song we’ll be discussing for this entry, “Wrathchild,” sounds distinctively like Iron Maiden, but is a fairly aggressive, concise statement by their standards.




Aaron, a good deal has been made of Iron Maiden’s original incarnation with Di’Anno as being “punkier” than the Dickinson years. As someone who has listened to a fair amount of punk music, how do you feel about that? Do you see any alignment between “Wrathchild” and the punk music of the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, or is that comparison exaggerated?