Musical Messages Through Time
The goal of this series is simple: go back through the years and figure out what popular music was actually saying at the time. For each year, I take a group of notable albums and “shuffle the deck,” letting a handful of songs reveal themselves. From there, I organize them into three acts and break down what they’re communicating…individually and as a whole.
In 1985, my horizons expanded, whether I was ready for that expansion or not. The Navy, in its infinite wisdom and impeccable sense of irony, assigned me to what would become my one and only overseas destination: Italy. Naples, specifically. Not a bad landing spot for someone who had previously measured cultural exposure by how many channels came in clearly on a living-room television.
Before taking that cross-Atlantic leap, I returned home for a brief intermission and spent an unhealthy amount of time watching MTV, as if I were trying to absorb several years’ worth of pop culture in a single sitting. In hindsight, this was less preparation and more of a farewell tour, because the next five years would unfold inside a kind of military-curated reality, where culture didn’t flow freely so much as trickle in through official channels.
I believe it was called AFRTS…the Armed Forces Radio and Television Service (FARTS?), which sounds less like entertainment and more like something designed to gently remind you who was in charge of your entertainment. Media, at that point, was not yet the global, on-demand buffet it would become. It was more like a carefully portioned meal served at regular intervals by the Department of Defense. At one point, I genuinely had no idea what The Cosby Show was, or why everyone back home seemed so invested in it. This felt less like missing a television program and more like being excluded from a national conversation I didn’t know was happening.
Even going to the movies required a small ritual. Before the feature began, everyone was expected to stand, place a hand over their heart, and observe the National Anthem. Now, I understand the intention, but something about being asked to perform patriotism immediately before a screening created a strange emotional whiplash…especially if the film in question involved explosions, car chases, or Prince in a purple trench coat.
Speaking of which, during a base screening of Purple Rain, I experienced my first-ever earthquake, right in the middle of the final guitar solo. Panels began falling from the walls, people rushed toward the exits, and for a brief moment I stood up, took stock of the situation, and made a decision that felt perfectly logical at the time: I sat back down.
If the building was going to collapse, it might as well do so after the solo. There are worse ways to go than being carried out on a wave of distorted guitar and emotional resolution. Fortunately, both the building and I survived, though I can’t say the same for my reputation as someone with strong survival instincts.
Once settled in Italy, it didn’t take long to realize that the United States might not have a monopoly on the concept of freedom…despite what the brochures suggested. The Italians, in many ways, seemed far less concerned with the rigid structures that defined our daily routines. For example, they would routinely shut down in the middle of the day for multi-hour breaks. No apology. No explanation. Just…gone. This struck me initially as heresy. Over time, it began to feel like they might be onto something.
Access to music was limited, but something else was happening beneath the surface. Being removed from my familiar environment, and surrounded by different cultures, even within the military itself, began to shift my perspective. My tastes started to widen, not because I had unlimited options, but because I had just enough exposure to realize there were other ways of thinking, living, and creating. Looking back, I think some part of me understood that expansion wasn’t optional…it was necessary. And to my credit, I didn’t resist it completely. I opened myself up, however imperfectly, to whatever influences I could access at the time.
I can say now, with the benefit of hindsight, that 1985 marked a transition point. Not a dramatic reinvention. Not a sudden awakening. Just a gradual shift toward something broader, more aware, and slightly less certain of the assumptions I had carried with me up to that point.
The songs that emerged from this year reflect that same movement. Not a collapse of identity, but a loosening of it. A recognition that the systems we navigate, whether cultural, emotional, or personal, are not as fixed as they once appeared. And once that realization begins…it doesn’t really stop.
ACT I – Contradiction & Emotional Confusion
1. “Would I Lie to You?” – Eurythmics
2. “Like to Get to Know You Well” – Howard Jones
3. “Head Over Heels” – Tears for Fears
Act I opens with “Would I Lie to You?”, and Annie Lennox immediately puts the question on the table. It’s direct, almost disarmingly so. “Would I lie to you, honey?”
Now, in her defense, she hasn’t exactly deployed any obvious tricks or theatrical manipulation up to this point, so on the surface, trust seems like a reasonable response. But there’s something in the delivery…something just a shade too measured, a little too strident, that introduces doubt. Not outright deception…but the possibility of it.
It’s the kind of question that feels less like reassurance and more like a subtle test: “You trust me…don’t you?” And suddenly you’re not as sure as you were five seconds ago.
Enter “Like to Get to Know You Well”, a new voice in our ongoing examination, and one that appears, at first glance, refreshingly sincere. He doesn’t want to talk about the news. He doesn’t want to talk about the weather. He wants to get to the “real you”. Which sounds admirable…until you think about it for more than a moment.
Because skipping the small talk entirely and heading straight for the emotional core feels less like connection and more like fast-tracking intimacy without earning it. It’s efficient, sure, but also slightly unsettling. Like being asked to share your deepest thoughts by someone whose last name you don’t yet know. Much like Annie, the intent may be genuine…but the approach raises questions.
By the time we reach “Head Over Heels”, those questions start to resolve themselves, and not in a particularly comforting way. The character here isn’t looking for anything complicated. No grand emotional excavation, no psychological deep dives. Just something simple. Something recognizable. A conversation. A connection. Maybe even…yes…the weather. But that simplicity proves elusive.
“You’re just, just, just…wasting my time”
And there it is, the realization that all the layered intention, the subtle probing, the carefully phrased overtures…may not lead anywhere at all. What began as intrigue turns into frustration. What felt like depth begins to resemble drain.
If 1984 showed us people mastering the system, 1985 begins to reveal the cracks in that mastery. Honesty becomes questionable. Intentions feel unclear. Connection starts to feel…negotiated. And beneath it all is a growing suspicion. Not every invitation is sincere…and not every conversation is meant to go anywhere.
ACT II – Freedom & The Search for Something Real
4. “If You Love Somebody Set Them Free” – Sting
5. “Part-Time Lover” – Stevie Wonder
6. “Dare Me” – The Pointer Sisters
There’s no way to begin this Act without acknowledging the artistry of The Police, and more specifically Sting, whose introspective writing throughout the early ’80s provided a kind of emotional depth that the rest of the landscape didn’t always feel obligated to supply. Without that contribution, this stretch of years might have felt a bit…underdeveloped.
That said, there’s a persistent problem when it comes to Sting: He’s very difficult to summarize. Every attempt to neatly explain his lyrics tends to fall apart under inspection. They’re not obscure, exactly, but they don’t sit still long enough to be reduced to a single idea. The best advice I can offer is simple: READ THEM.
Because there’s a good chance you’ve been hearing them for years…just slightly misinterpreting them…or perhaps understanding them through your own personal filter, which is a polite way of saying we all hear what we want to hear. With that being said…
With “If You Love Somebody Set Them Free”, Act II begins to thaw the emotional distance established in Act I. Connection is back on the table, but it arrives with terms. Freedom. Which sounds noble. Mature. Almost enlightened. Until you realize that freedom introduces a small but important complication: You no longer control the outcome.
Letting someone go doesn’t guarantee they’ll return. It simply guarantees that you’ll find out whether they ever intended to. So, what initially feels like emotional wisdom carries a quiet undercurrent of risk. Connection is possible. But it’s no longer secure.
Next comes “Part-Time Lover”, marking Stevie Wonder’s first, and possibly only, appearance in this series, and he doesn’t waste time complicating things.
Here we have a character who avoids commitment while simultaneously acting protective and even a bit possessive over what should, by definition, be a low-stakes arrangement. On paper, this makes very little sense. In practice…it feels strangely familiar.
Because beneath the secrecy and compartmentalization, there’s something undeniably human: “He wants to know she made it home”. No grand declarations. No philosophical speeches. Just concern.
Which, ironically, gives this “part-time” relationship more emotional credibility than some of the earlier full-time proposals. While others are trying to accelerate intimacy by skipping steps, this character stumbles into authenticity almost by accident. It may be flawed. It may be temporary. But at least it’s honest about what it is.
Then comes “Dare Me“, and whatever softness has been building is immediately challenged. “Make your move…step across the line…” No ambiguity. No reflection. Just a direct challenge.
If the previous songs suggest that connection can exist within carefully negotiated boundaries, “Dare Me” calls that bluff. Hesitation is reframed as avoidance. Caution becomes an excuse. The message is refreshingly blunt. At some point, you either commit…or admit that you won’t.
Act II doesn’t reject connection…but it strips away the illusion that it can exist without cost. And beneath it all is a growing realization that what people seem to want isn’t just connection….it’s authenticity. Something direct. Something unfiltered. Something that doesn’t require translation.
Unfortunately, this leads to an uncomfortable question: Is a simple, one-on-one, honest relationship as rare as it feels…or have we just made it that complicated?
ACT III – Illusion & What Remains
7. “Money for Nothing” – Dire Straits
8. “Road to Nowhere” – Talkng Heads
9. “Pop Life” – Prince
In the opening to this year, I mentioned the outsized role MTV played in shaping my entertainment experience, so it feels only appropriate that Act III begins with “Money for Nothing“, a satirical critique delivered from the perspective of a working-class observer looking in from the outside.
“That ain’t workin’…”
It’s a familiar sentiment, and an easy one to agree with at first glance. The idea that fame, especially the kind packaged and broadcast through television, represents some kind of effortless shortcut. But the critique carries a blind spot. Are you willing to pay the price that comes with it?
Because every role, no matter how appealing from a distance, comes with its own set of demands. The difference is simply whether those demands are visible…or edited out between commercial breaks. Long before social media turned comparison into a full-time activity, we were already measuring ourselves against carefully constructed images. The technology has improved since then. The mechanism hasn’t.
From there, “Road to Nowhere” shifts the focus away from fame and toward something far less avoidable. “It’s very far away…but it’s growing day by day…”
At first, the title suggests futility…movement without purpose, effort without destination. But the deeper implication feels less fatalistic and more…unsettlingly practical. The “nowhere” isn’t meaningless. It’s simply unknown. And perhaps more importantly: It’s not optional.
This isn’t a road you choose to take. It’s the one you’re already on. The reassurance of “It’s alright” doesn’t resolve the uncertainty, but it does acknowledge it. Not everything needs to be defined in order to be accepted.
Which brings us to the closer, “Pop Life”, and the question that sits underneath everything that came before it: What exactly are you going to do while you’re here?
There are multiple ways to interpret the song, but at its core, it seems less concerned with critique and more focused on participation. The world may be constructed. The roles may feel imposed. The system may not fully align with your preferences. But none of that changes the basic premise: You’re in it.
And whether you like the role or not, there’s an expectation – spoken or otherwise – that you will engage with it in some meaningful way. “It doesn’t work…until you make it pop”
That sounds simple enough, until you realize that “making it pop” requires effort, intention, and a willingness to fully step into whatever position you’ve found yourself in. Not necessarily to embrace it blindly…but to activate it.
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