I saw The English Beat at the Metro in February 2004. Still had my coat on for the first three songs because Chicago venues in winter are either meat lockers or saunas, no in-between. Dave Wakeling did "Save It For Later" and everyone sang along like it was a hymn, which it kind of is. That song's about putting off the hard conversation, the breakup you both know is coming but neither of you will say out loud. Top 5 songs that sound happy but are actually devastating, easy.
This playlist opens with that track, which tells you everything. "Easy like Sunday morning" – sure, except Sunday mornings are when you wake up alone and realize you've been alone for months. You just didn't notice because you were busy.
The Aggrolites keep it moving, that California rocksteady bounce, then DEVO strips down the Stones' "Satisfaction" until it's all twitchy anxiety. That's the move – take something familiar and make it strange. DEVO on Stiff Records in 1978, covering a song about not getting what you want and turning it into art school paranoia. The Psychedelic Furs' "Pulse" follows, all Richard Butler's wounded croon over that jagged guitar. This is the sound of Wicker Park in the '80s if Wicker Park had actually been cool in the '80s.
Then we hit the Buzzcocks double shot. "What Do I Get?" and "Why Can't I Touch It?" – Pete Shelley asking questions nobody wants to answer. Those songs are 2 minutes of pure frustration, which is what running feels like the first mile. Your legs lie to you. They say you can't do this. The Buzzcocks say ask better questions.
The Clash's "Straight to Hell" is the longest track here at 5:42, and it shouldn't work for running because it's slow and mournful and about imperialism's casualties. But it does work, because sometimes you need to sit in something heavy. The Jam's "In The City" kicks you back out, all Weller's young fury, then we get "Pretty In Pink." That's the John Hughes movie version, not the album version – same song, different context. The Psychedelic Furs probably made more money from that film than from every album combined. That's the music business. Make art, sell it to teenagers, try not to think about it.
"In Between Days" by The Cure is where this playlist stops pretending it's easy. Robert Smith wrote that about the gap between being together and being apart, when you're technically still a couple but you're already ghosts to each other. I've lived in that gap. It's longer than you think.
The Velvet Underground's "Rock & Roll" is the palette cleanser – Lou Reed's story about a kid hearing music on the radio and her life being saved. Then The Jam covers The Beatles' "And Your Bird Can Sing," which is a bold move because Weller was always trying to be The Beatles and never quite getting there. Still great, though. Romeo Void's "Never Say Never" has that bassline that won't quit, Debora Iyall half-singing half-speaking about desire and denial. MTV played that video constantly in '82.
The English Beat returns with "Rotating Heads," more anxious energy masked as danceable ska. Violent Femmes' "Please Do Not Go" is Gordon Gano begging, acoustic and desperate. Then Lou Reed again – "Oh! Sweet Nuthin'" from Loaded, the last great Velvet Underground track before everything fell apart. It's about having nothing and being okay with nothing, which is either enlightenment or depression depending on the day.
DEVO's "Girl U Want" is pure new wave efficiency. Mark Mothersbaugh's robotics about desire as commodity. Missing Persons doubles down – Dale Bozzio's voice on "Bad Streets" and "Mental Hopscotch" is unmistakable, Terry Bozzio's drumming on those tracks is why every drummer in 1982 wanted to be him. Blondie's "Hanging On The Telephone" is a cover of a Nerves song, power pop perfection, desperation as catchy hook.
"Don't You (Forget About Me)" – the Simple Minds track everyone knows from The Breakfast Club. They didn't want to record it. Thought it was too commercial. They were right, and it became their biggest hit. That's the other music business lesson – your best work and your most popular work are rarely the same thing.
The playlist ends with The Specials' "Ghost Town," which is bleak and perfect. Britain in 1981, Thatcher's recession, race riots, and Jerry Dammers writing the saddest ska song ever recorded. It went to number one. Easy like Sunday morning, except Sunday morning when everything's closed and everyone's left and you're running alone trying to figure out what you're running from.
What came first – the playlist or the need to escape? Doesn't matter. You're here now. The Lakefront Trail isn't getting any shorter.
