I like listening to the album that came right before an artist’s landmark work. Like The Police’s Ghost in the Machine, covered earlier this week, which preceded Synchronicity. Or Fleetwood Mac, a smash in its own right, but one that lives in the shadow of its follow-up, Rumours.
Everybody knows Def Leppard’s 1983 megahit Pyromania, and 1987’s Hysteria, which pretty much matched it in sales, but you don’t hear much about 1981’s High ‘N’ Dry. At least I haven’t.
[First things first… Happy Birthday to my niece Madison! Loyal readers will remember Madison for her week of guest blogging about the use of songs on TV series.]
The top four best-selling albums of 1981 were released in late 1980 or earlier, so I can’t include them here. The best-selling album of 1981 actually released in 1981 was Styx’s Paradise Theater.
My exposure to Styx pretty much begins and ends with ‘Mr. Roboto,’ the 1983 hit from their rock opera Kilroy Was Here. Also ‘Come Sail Away,’ which I probably first heard on South Park. I’m familiar with other songs as I hear them, but I wouldn’t be able to name any off the top of my head.
Miles Copeland, brother of Police drummer Stewart Copeland, co-founded the indie rock label I.R.S. and in early 1981 signed a Los Angeles-based, all-female New Wave quintet called The Go-Go’s.
The band landed a gig opening for The Police thanks to that connection and within a year their debut album, Beauty and the Beat, topped Billboard’s albums chart, spending a month and a half at #1. It was the first time in the chart’s history that an all-female group who wrote their own music hit the top spot.
From the late 70s to the early 80s, The Police released five albums, every one of which went platinum in multiple countries. When all was said and done, they sold more than 100 million records worldwide.
I’ve always known 1983’s Synchronicity was a monster hit — it went eight times platinum in the U.S. alone and spent 17 weeks at #1 on the Billboard chart. But I underestimated how success of the band’s earlier efforts.
As I look at ten celebrated albums of 1981, I’ll highlight some I don’t know at all and some with which I have passing familiarity.
The Rolling Stones’ Tattoo You falls into the second category. I’ve done my share of dipping into The Stones’ catalog, with most of my focus on the remarkable period between 1966 and 1972 (regardless of your opinion of the band, it’s hard to deny the sustained creative excellence of that stretch). The latest Stones album I know well is 1978’s Some Girls.
Meet Me In Montauk 