There is a fun paradox with imagining Tears For Fears’ place in the New Wave canon. While they have established themselves as one of the powerhouses of the genre with millions of records sold and almost 40 years of consistency, they were once considered a b-side to heavyweights like Depeche Mode. The signifiers are obvious on the surface, especially on the record “Songs from the Big Chair,” where Roland Orzabal’s vocals have that deep, brooding nature over despairing lyrics and a brilliantly atmospheric production. However, that is to ignore what has given them a presence still felt on terrestrial radio, where at least four of the tracks seen here are bound to be played a few times per day. Sure, they share that grandiose production reminiscent of U2 or Echo & The Bunnymen, but they bring something genuine that makes their sophomore album one of the most essential New Wave records of the decade. It may have come out a few years after most hits featured here, but it was well worth the wait.
The story starts, ironically, not too dissimilar from a lot of Make It New bands. The central duo of Orzabal and Curt Smith would meet in Bath, Somerset, England, in 1978 when they joined the band Graduate. They would release an album called “Acting My Age” in 1979 before breaking up in 1981. The two would form a partnership that led to a career as studio musicians, where they worked alongside people who would go on to form groups like Naked Eyes. They were initially influenced by Talking Heads, but would become intrigued by the potential of synth-pop when hearing Gary Numan’s “We Are Your Friends.” Because of the popularity of New Wave duos like Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark and Soft Cell, they decided to stay as a small partnership. Their name would be inspired by John Lennon’s experience with primal therapy with the psychologist Arthur Janov. Ironically, Orzabal and Smith would meet Janov years later and would be disappointed in how “Hollywood” he had become, claiming that he wanted them to write him a musical.
Their debut, “The Hurting,” would come out in 1983 following a series of singles that had a mixed reception. Despite producing hits, the band admitted that it was an “introverted” record that encouraged them to take bigger risks. As a result, their approach to the 1985 release “Songs from the Big Chair” was more operatic, creating elaborate productions that challenged their sound while expanding on darker themes, including war and financial stability. The album title also was a perfect reflection of the eight songs, stemming from the miniseries Cybil that focused on a woman with dissociative identity disorder. It was suggested that every track had a different personality despite existing as one being. There were also claims that it was a reflection of their discontent with the British press throughout the course of their early career.
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To start breaking down the album, I will agree with Orzabal and Smith’s suggestion that this album is all over the place. Even if they all share a similar tempo and the moody lyrics are mostly uniform, there is something refreshing about hearing the next song start, startled by the intro. While there’s a significant portion that I was familiar with, this is maybe the first time that I’ve engaged with Tears For Fears on an intimate level and question what they brought to New Wave. For most of my life, they had those handful of “Not Depeche Mode” songs that I did enjoy, but they were not Depeche Mode. At risk of undermining their appeal, they felt like a b-side to something else that I liked better.
But now that I’ve engaged with "Songs from the Big Chair,” I’ll confess that they’re phenomenal. This is one of my favorite albums covered so far, and not just because I recognize the longevity that it’s produced. Take away the singles, and you’ll find these elaborate numbers rich with innovation both on an orchestral level, but also in lyrics that have the New Wave subversiveness that I’ve always adored. Unlike their prior hits, there’s an interesting mix of bright production, like on “Everybody Wants to Rule the World,” where the guitars are jaunty and Orzabal sounds cheery only to be singing about major conflicts of the world. If one were to ignore the lyrics, it would be a tad innocuous. By pushing closer, there’s this universal depth that captures commentary grappling with a tonal search for humanity. Not only that, but the hooks are beyond catchy.
The same could be said for the opener, “Shout,” which has a bombastic opening before Orzabal’s vocals almost seem to be performing a controlled breath exercise as he declares, “Shout, shout, let it all out!” There is this controlled rage that kicks off the album and declares that they’re going to dig into the conflicts of the world. Not only that, but the lyrical component connects with the audience with deceptively simple, “Come on, I’m talking to you, come on!” The tones of activism may be vague, but the rolling thunder underneath Orzabal creates an intensity that builds tension throughout the entire ride. It’s anthemic, as if demanding to be played in a stadium. The fact that there’s also traces of emotional inflection mixed in, there’s a nuance that creates this synth-pop direction that never loses the listener’s attention.
If there is a downside, it’s maybe the closest that they come on the record to sounding like the aforementioned Depeche Mode. That may be one reason that the song remains one of the band’s most recognizable songs, even as the chorus has a simplified call to action.
Even so, the shift into the next song is astounding, as “The Working Hour” opens with a recognizable smooth jazz saxophone. Following the rage of the opener, it’s a melancholic sigh that is less of relief, but possibly ennui. It’s also here that another aspect of the record becomes clear. The production’s elaborate form includes lengthy introductions, in this case two minutes long, that build to Orzabal’s first line. The aggression may still be present in the lyrics, but it’s becoming more ethereal. The lyrics shift from the focused frustration on “Shout” to something more existential. “The Working Hour” emphasizes concern that the band has become a business and that writing music has become their job. There’s concern about holding onto passion and making art that means something. How can music matter if it’s not being made by those who appreciate the sound?
The next track is Tears For Fears’ biggest hit, “Everybody Wants to Rule the World.” The story goes that Orzabal played two notes on an acoustic guitar and wanted to build a song from it. There was initial reluctance, especially with the titular line being changed to “Everybody wants to go to war.” Thanks to production that took over a week to complete, they landed on the sound that featured a layered synth melody with guitars and upbeat vocals. While there was concern that it wasn’t similar enough to their other darker material, they eventually settled on it as one of the last songs on the record. Another story went that Orzabal was at a diner and The Clash’s Joe Strummer suggested he owed him five pounds for stealing a riff from “Charlie Don’t Surf.” The payoff suggests that Orzabal had, though nothing was actually confirmed.
At its core, this song explains why Tears For Fears was destined for larger success. If judged on the surface, this is a happy song. The synth and guitars sound closer to prancing through a field of flowers. However, the lyrics reflect a series of conflicts that have been interpreted as being about war, famine, and various other everyday matters. The one agreed suggestion is that it’s about the hubris of mankind to have their own control over others. Whereas “Shout” feels a bit too vague, “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” has a cleverness that hides a more insidious point. The playfulness encourages one to listen to the lyrics and see what Orzabal is trying to say. It's both direct and abstract in ways that work well as subversive Top 40. The contrasting melodies also keep the listener invested without ever falling into outright dance pop.
Closing out side one is “Mother Talks,” which comments on a similar territory. The lyrics are based on the old adage in which a mother tells a child to stop making a face, or it will stay like that. Applied to a larger political or social context, it becomes more complex and paints a more playful picture. Something amusing to note is that the version heard here isn’t the original take. It’s not even the original interpretation. That version was closer to a Talking Heads pastiche, which had been scrapped as the sound changed.
That may be why it’s both one of the most invigorating numbers featured here, but also might be a tad too over-produced. The orchestration is grandiose, running five minutes as Orzabal’s vocals fixate on playful turns of phrases. It’s the most purposeful track on the album, at times feeling designed for stadium rock, feeling like an accompaniment to “Shout.” Despite being a fan of the number, it does become more novelty when considering the sincerity of the surrounding material. It’s visceral and pulsating in just the right ways, though, as the band has suggested, the downside of every song sounding different is that some risks don’t have as satisfying a conclusion as others. This is one of the boldest, most scattershot, and it makes sense why it feels the most tampered with.
This is followed by a startling shift into the self-reflective “I Believe,” which finds everything slowing down and focusing on what’s unseen. Following the contemplative first half, this track declares that “I believe that things will get better.” It’s the slowest track on the album, at times closer to an optimistic ballad amid a sea of a somewhat cynical worldview. This and “Listen” paint a more sensitive picture of how the band sees the world. The tenderness never falls too far into saccharine and instead works thanks to a compelling production that is sparse but provides enough sentimentality to make it beautiful. By those standards, this may be the most standard rock song on the album, though not without its charm.
Closing out the album is an odd run of tracks that find an especially bizarre sandwiching of “Head Over Heels” between two different versions of “Broken.” Whereas the first half is a studio number, as well as the shortest track, the second is a live performance that is tacked onto the back half of “Head Over Heels.” This isn’t a terrible thing to do from an experimentation standpoint, but given how the central song is the bigger hit, it’s a bit nonsensical in hindsight. The chaotic intention of “Broken” serves as an odd transition for two relatively slow numbers that, in some ways, denigrate its reputation. I imagine many people are more likely to fast forward through “Broken” to get to “Head Over Heels” and stop before the latter half returns.
That isn’t to suggest it’s without merit, but the transitional nature feels lopsided for a few reasons. The most noteworthy is that “Head Over Heels” has enough charm to work without framework. The pianos are some of the most delightful and catchy on the album. The balladry is among the strongest that Tears For Fears has here, and I think the easiest to see as anthemic in a way that appeals to general audiences. It has the drive of “Shout,” but the swaying chorus provides more to chew. I also love how the melody progresses between quick, sharp notes and longer sustained notes, capturing the emotional nature of its lyrics in melodic structure
The closer is a return to the expansive production and call for empathy. Whereas the album starts with anger, there is a slow calm-down that has emerged by “Listen” and finds Orzabal in some ways calling for peace. He notes how Russia is hurting, and the economic state of other characters is causing them to starve. Before the repetition that ends the song, which serves more as prayer, it’s an embodiment of his concern with the world. After hearing various stances throughout the record, this feels like the perfect cleansing for every problem in the world. It’s the type of methodical number that ties everything together and makes the aggression and passion all make sense in tandem.
The record was a significant hit. While “The Hurting” was a success internationally, this was the record that made them into superstars. In The United States, they were able to sell five million records as well as earn MTV Video Music Awards for “Everybody Wants To Rule the World.” A lot of the songs here have become the standards that the band is best known for. It’s also now their echoic sound that most people recognize and would only continue to expand on the records to come.
From here, the story of Tears For Fears does become amusing for those who know the tropes of New Wave bands. After a few more years of success, Orzabal and Smith would break up around 1991. The catch is that Orzabal still had rights to the name and produced several solo albums under the name. While it was believed that the partnership was over, they would reunite in the early 2000s and rekindle the partnership. Since then, they have toured intermittently with occasional releases. While their success of newer material hasn’t been as prevalent, they still remain a hallmark of the genre, even earning several accolades along the way.
Despite the potential to be seen as a secondary band of New Wave, it’s important to notice the technical ingenuity of Tears For Fears and how they mixed upbeat productions with darker lyrics. Orzabal’s vocals have a dexterity that keeps the exchanges playful and makes their best work come to life with interesting nuance. This is one of those records that you look for when making a column like this. It’s lovely and constantly pushing boundaries of what the genre could do. For whatever it lacks in the truly weird material, it more than makes up for, capturing the painful yearning that lies underneath. It’s a commentary within pop. It’s doing everything to challenge what the form can do, and that’s what is most important.
Coming Up Next: Marianne Faithfull – “Broken English” (1979)
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