— William Shaw
1987 is now upon us and thus (a) it is now officially the late eighties and (b) the younger generation of pop stars was beginning to wake up to the reality of the post-Live Aid landscape. Artists in their forties were no longer commercial poison and many began to be seen in much closer proximity to the likes of Phil Collins and Sting than they would have been at the beginning of the decade. The burgeoning compact disc boom meant that reissues were viable ('87 being the year that The Beatles' back catalog was released in the new format, giving the Fab Four a new found relevance — but more on them in a few months) but many of the dinosaurs were having success with new material as well. Younger acts were suddenly in danger of falling behind and they began dialing back on the synths and getting all roosty. Others went for the cross-generational duet.
Soul music had been the basis for a lot of figures in British pop of the eighties, a fact not lost on at least one high profile star from twenty years earlier. Aretha Franklin was already aware of George Michael as early as 1984 when "Wake Me Up Before You Go Go" hit number one in the United States. Immediately recognizing his talent, she made a play for his compositional services only to be turned down due to the young pop star's modesty, considering it "ludicrous" that he could ever write a song for her. Aware that she had to get with the times or remain a cloistered relic of the past, she she was keen to strike some new musical allies, many of whom happened to be British. In 1985, she teamed with Eurythmics on the hit single "Sisters Are Doin' It for Themselves", a song that gave a spark to the often clinical and lifeless work of Annie Lennox and Dave Stewart. The following year she did a brave but uninspired cover of "Jumpin' Jack Flash" for the Whoopi Goldberg movie of the same name with a guesting Keith Richards on guitar. Yet, the guy from Wham! remained reticent. Fortunately for her, the songwriting team of Simon Climie (who would soon have pop success as one half of Climie Fisher) and Dennis Morgan weren't so shy — though perhaps they should have been.
And about that song of their's: it's not terribly good, is it? William Shaw says it's "not up to much" (and this is his second SOTF on the bounce to be given his thumbs up in spite of the shoddy songwriting) but if anything that's an understatement. Tom Ewing considers the lyrics to have been written using a "set of gospel magnetic fridge poetry" which is harsh but sadly accurate. Luckily, Franklin gets the blustery, over-the-top nonsense which she was able to belt out as only she could; Michael's lines are much more restrained about having "made it through the heartache" and how he "just laugh(s)" at all the disappointments (how very big of him).
It's a vocal dream match and they both do well even if there's no doubt who's the star. Franklin gets top billing (doing the duet was the brainchild of her very hands on record label boss Clive Davis and Michael was just on the cusp of the mega-stardom he would reach with his album Faith and its dinghy-load of hits later in the year; the majority of generation gap match-ups from "Streets of Bakersfield" by Dwight Yoakam and Buck Owens to "Justified and Ancient" by The KLF and Tammy Wynette gave main artist credit to younger acts with their older partners getting a 'featuring' or 'with' in front of their names) and those lung-busting Ahhh's are what everyone is expecting. The real highlight, however, is her gospel-influenced responses to Michael ("I know you did") which, for whatever reason, he doesn't reciprocate. At any rate, this is still one of his best vocal performances and would anticipate his beautiful singing on 1990's Listen Without Prejudice.
"I Knew You Were Waiting (for Me)" is an enjoyable record despite the dodgy songwriting and overblown production but it's hard to escape the feeling that a lot more could have resulted from such a collaboration. Having a song at the ready probably meant that the pressure would be off Michael, who then jumped at the chance of recording with a musical idol when he had previously been so reluctant. Yet, he was one of his generation's finest pop songwriters and would surely have come up with something more inspired than this cliche-fest. Notably his only hit single up until the live "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me" (also a duet, this time with Elton John) in which he didn't get a writing credit, it ended up being a warning shot that he was quickly on his way to the very top of the pop world. As for Franklin, it turned out to be her last big moment even as she kept looking out for others sing alongside. The people she began working with tended to be American (Whitney Houston), older (again Elton John, gosh he gets around) or both (The Four Tops). She would have done better to look out for someone on the rise — say, Janet Jackson or Tears for Fears — who was also brash enough to offer a song for her to sing. That's all she wanted.
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Also Reviewed This Fortnight
The Smithereens: "In a Lonely Place"
Damn Suzanne Vega was something else back then. The Smithereens were just another solid American college rock group, albeit not one that stood out in any way. But with "In a Lonely Place" she provides the finishing touches to an already lovely song. Hard to say how this would have gone over on college radio and in student union hall concerts but it was appreciated enough in the UK for an sizable indie hit. Its heartbreak is real enough but it never descends into melodrama or self-pity. Maybe there was much more to these Smithereens than I had assumed; the fact that they got Vega to sing with them alone makes me question my previous antipathy.
Maybe The Smithereens only really worked with the assistance of a female singer – their other career high point was Blue Period, which Belinda Carlisle guested on. The question In a Lonely Place raises for me is: are there any other songs that not only nick a title from a movie but base their chorus on lines from that film?
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