As we continue to reflect over the death of Whitney Houston, it’s important to remember the time period when she emerged. The 1980s was not only a period when technology began to take over the music industry in the form of drum machines, synthesizers and sampling keyboards; but also a time of cultural conservatism. The baby-boomer generation of the 1950s and 1960s enjoyed broad yet waning influence in pop culture. We like to remember that electronic music, hip-hop and post-punk (which evolved into indie-rock) came of age back then. But we often forget that those new and exciting sounds were far removed from the corporate rock and adult contemporary mainstream.
The world of black music was no different. The charts were mostly dominated by artists who launched their careers during the 1960s. The music they produced was often incredible – indeed, this era is celebrated as the heyday of “boogie funk” and “post-disco,” a brief oasis for musicians increasingly threatened by the insurgent hip-hop horde. But it could also be very bland and safe. Much like their white counterparts, older black music fans were retreating to the safe comforts of the quiet storm, a programming term for classic soul, smooth jazz, and lots of ballads. (Nelson George writes lucidly about this period in his book The Death of Rhythm and Blues.)
Black artists trying to break their audience’s stupor had an additional problem; the music industry in the 1980s was extremely segregated. We’ve all heard the story of how Columbia Records forced MTV to play Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” because the channel rarely programmed black songs in heavy rotation. Between 1981 and 1985, only three black artists reached number one on the album charts: Jackson, Prince and Lionel Richie. In 1981 and 1982, there were none. Pop radio was even worse: Only four songs by black artists reached number one during those two years. This is why Jackson is viewed as a pioneer. After black artists were consigned to the margins following the demise of disco, the groundbreaking popularity of Thriller made the industry recognize them again. But don’t assume that Jackson, Houston, and others were underground or alternative. Inexplicably, and even with major labels supporting them with vast financial resources, they often had trouble gaining wide acceptance.
As a result, Jackson, Prince and others who managed to break through the glass ceiling were called “crossover” stars, because they managed to cross over to the mainstream (re: white) audience. (Of course, this assumes that white people usually didn’t listen to black music, which is another falsehood.) They appealed to fans of hard rock (Tina Turner, Prince), adult contemporary (Anita Baker) and/or that strange mix of synthesized dance music that typified 80s pop (the Pointer Sisters, Whitney Houston). This list covers black artists who earned platinum or better sales between 1981 and 1986. (The sole outlier is the electro-funk band Midnight Star, which earned double-platinum with No Parking on the Dance Floor despite no pop radio support.)
Luckily, this “crossover” nonsense began to end when a generation of younger artists finally took over the pop charts in the late 1980s. They were led by artists like Janet Jackson, perhaps the last of the era to be saddled with the condescending “crossover” label. Appropriately, her breakthrough album was called Control.
The brief interest in cool, painfully hip jazz-pop in the UK was a curious thing. It was the child of New Romantic fashion hounds, smooth jazz dilettantes, Big 80s superstars, and retro-minded soul boys in thrall to Burt Bacharach, Dusty Springfield and Chet Baker. And in 1985, when Sade’s Diamond Life became a cross-format smash, and Sting assembled a coterie of jazz and R&B musicians for his triple-platinum The Dream of the Blue Turtles, “sophisti-pop” — to quote an obtuse term employed by allmusic.com — entered the Zeitgeist.
This stuff wasn’t popular with critics. Paul Weller, who arguably kick-started the trend with his Style Council project, was lambasted for inserting leftist analyses into his music. Sting, who had entered his socially conscious, save-the-rainforests phase, got called out for being pretentious. And even Sade, perhaps the most important group to emerge from this era, was dismissed at the time as make-out music for supermodels. But before it faded back into the adult contemporary ghetto, the jazz-pop fad yielded some memorable singles.
This playlist not only includes great tracks like Swing Out Sister’s “Breakout” and The Blow Monkeys’ “Digging Your Scene,” but also songs with similar sensibilities, like British pop darling Prefab Sprout’s incandescent “Appetite,” and David Sylvian’s brilliant “Red Guitar.” Dive in, and don’t be afraid of the sexy saxophone solos.