30 For 30: Songs From The Big Chair

Like many people, “music is my aeroplane.” I don't watch much television, and movies are great, but music is a whole different media. It's portable, so you can take with you in your car on your way to work, maybe if you're lucky you can listen to it at work, you can take it with you running, you can use it at a party, you can have it in the background. It can take you back in time, it can serve as the title of a chapter of your life, it can pick you up when you most need it to. The music you love is a literal soundtrack to your life. My 30 For 30 looks at some of those things.

Tears for Fears - Songs From The Big Chair

This probably the coolest Tears For Fears have ever looked.  And even then, the headless bass doesn't help any.

I was going to start with a different album, actually a series of albums by a particular band, but my 30 For 30 series is an introspective journey and so I've got to kind of roll with my mood. And I just wasn't in the mood to write about the album I wanted to write about. But I was for this one. At least, when I wrote most of this (for those that know me very well, I wrote 95% of this over a week ago, leaving the finishing touches to very recently, so don't read too much into anything). This isn't an album review so much as it's an album exploration.

I know what you're saying. “Tears For Fears? Really?” Strip away whatever predispositions on 80s music you have or the “OMG I love Head Over Heels because of Donnie Darko!” gut reaction. This is not an album, this is a therapy session. When you get done listening to it, you will feel like the band owes you $300 for the hour. If there isn't a lyric in here that speaks to you, then you are either devoid of personality or too immature to admit that you have dark feelings.

The iconic “Shout” starts off the album. It's almost a bad thing to begin the album with this track, because it sets the bar so high. Every note here is perfectly crafted, from the dark backgrounds during the verse to the high pitched up-tempo bridges. “Shout” could maybe work as a duet between singers Roland Orzabal and Curt Smith if done a little differently, but Orzabal's primal scream therapy carries the song perfectly. If you can't relate to this song, then you live quite the sheltered life. Does primal screaming work? I don't know if it's a long term solution for people but it certainly is a short term one. We've all been to a such a point, which is why it resonates with all of us. Additionally, there comes a point or series of points where we must chose to rid ourselves of certain “things I can do without.” The song really is talking to you. “Shout,“ for me, really picks up with the change in inflection of “these are the things I can do with out, come on” right before the solo, which is piercing and a huge leap forward for the band from their previous album The Hurting. It's not the greatest solo, but it's perfect for this song, and helps establish this record from the get-go as more than just another 80s synth-pop album.

“Shout” could have been a truly great music video. I would have had it alternate between two scenes. In one scene the band is performing the song in shackles, straight jackets, leg irons and what have you. In the other, the members are either in various instruments of torture, such as one of them being water boarded, one carrying a ball and chain or in helpless situations like one of them being covered in concrete, unable to move because he's up to his waist and it's only getting higher and he looks like he's made out of mud because it's all over every inch of his body. And then, during the solo, it is revealed that they were all put into these situations by themselves. Show that the guy being water boarded is pulling a string that empties a bucket onto him, the guy clamping the ball and chain to himself, the guy starting the concrete mixer pouring onto him. And during this reveal, various shots of the guitar solo being performed while the guitarist has his arms locked around a bamboo shaft like you see the prisoners in Rambo movies. I think it would compliment the song perfectly, about the shackles and torture we put ourselves through and how we can rid ourselves of them.

“Shout” is followed by “The Working Hour” and its doctor's office jazz sax and piano intro that thankfully cascades into a nice build up of piano and guitar, really highlighting the outstanding production that went into this album, save for the waiting room sax. As if “Shout” wasn't emotional enough, Roland Orzabal lets you into his own one hour therapy session (hence the title):

These things that I've been told
Can rearrange my world, my doubt
In time but inside out

This is the working hour
We are paid by those who learn by our mistakes

The term “album track” isn't a bad thing, and this is a great album track to compliment the big hits, such as the song it leads into, the well known “Everybody Wants to Rule the World.” It almost feels too upbeat to be on this album. I've never really liked this song that much, but I've come to appreciate it a bit more the more I listen to it. Still, it just doesn't seem like a logical following to “The Working Hour,” there should be another song between them, but such a song is not on this album, the track placement for everything else works well. The lesser radio single “Mothers Talk” flows well as the next song, which is a solid album track as well, although it feels fairly dated. But it's okay that this album feels like it's from the 80s. There's nothing wrong with that. Classic rock albums feel like they're from the 60s and 70s and no one holds that against them. But we have this notion today that things from the 80s were either cheesy good or embarrassingly bad, and that's simply not the case. The 2^nd half of the album begins with the slow, cheesy and near-regrettable “I Believe.” The doctor's office jazzy sax returns for this track, but its somber pace and low key does a good job of setting up the big sound of the next tracks.

The high water mark of Songs For The Big Chair is the “Broken/Head Over Heels” combination. “Broken” is a huge musical intro of ascending and descending guitars, bass and keyboards. It could do without the keyboard tease of “Head Over Heels,” which is understandably necessary but ultimately quite corny and poor. I would have liked to seen it done better, or not at all. It doesn't work itself into the song, it just randomly appears. The song then goes into a full-out frenzy until Roland Orzabal belts out some of my favorite lyrics ever:

Between the searching and the need to work it out,

I stop believing that everything will be alright.

Broken, we are broken.

I'm walking uphill being turned around and round,

Secret in motion when my feet are on the ground.

Broken, we are broken.

In my mind's eye,

One little boy over one little man.

Funny how time flies.

Orzabal's vocals bleed over into “Head Over Heels.” You know this song. You love this song. The music is great and the lyrics have something we can all attach ourselves to, whether it's “you keep your distance via system of touch” or “I'm lost in admiration, could I need you this much? Oh, you're wasting my time, you're just wasting time.” Perhaps it's “I made a fire and watching it burn, thought of your future” or maybe it's the memorable chorus. Whatever it is, like the whole album, there's something for us all, and for different moments. Orzabal's line of “Funny how time flies” from a repeat of the closing lines of “Broken” bleeds into a reprise of “Broken.” They never play that part on the radio, and it's a shame because it's a great final release of emotion to “Head Over Heels.” It's like you ran a few miles and with 100 yards left to go you sprint to leave it all out on the track, not to improve your time but because of the feeling of leaving it all out there. The album finishes with the crawling and mediocre “Listen.” By itself it's a weak track, but after the catharsis that is “Broken/Head Over Heels” it is a welcome cooling off and a fine album closer.

So why did I pick this album?  Simple, every musician writes about their emotions, but not like this. This is opening a door into Orzabal and Smith's psyche and embracing their vulnerabilities. This album is so emotional without being trite, so cathartic but not melodramatic... it's an exploration of the band that makes you explore yourself.  There's no hidden meanings with clever word play, or lamenting about a lost lover, or how Dad was never there for them.  It's like I said earlier: this is a therapy session, put to tightly produced music. An instant classic.