Happy Friday! After a couple of dry weeks, and now being away from home for the Christmas season, I wasn’t sure that there’d be a Friday in the Wild this week, either. Nonetheless, the Internet came through.
In today’s A la Carte post, Tim Challies linked to his 2014 post about the two kinds of blog—content creation and content curation—and why he started doing both. He writes, “I am a pretty normal person and have pretty normal tastes. If I find it interesting and worthy of a few minutes of time and attention, I suppose other people are likely to as well.” I highlight this because that’s basically my philosophy, also. If I find something interesting or helpful or funny, probably someone else will, too.
Every Christmas, I make a point of listening to George Frideric Handel's great oratorio, Messiah. So do many people. If you live in a large enough city, you could potentially attend a performance several times each December. And because of Messiah's lengthy performance history (and Handel's habit of modifying the score to suit his performers), the variations are endless: modern or period instruments, professional or amateur soloists, mass choirs or small ensembles—to say nothing of the extensive catalogue of recordings! A more recent tradition is the "sing-along Messiah," in which the choir invites the audience to bring their own scores and sing with them. Paradoxically, this makes the oratorio one of Western art's highest achievements, as well as one of its most accessible.
Messiah is a Christmas institution. So it may come as a surprise to many that its first performance—a benefit in Dublin, Ireland, for the relief of prisoners' debt—took place in April, 1742. (The performance was a success, raising enough money to release 142 debtors from prison.) Its official debut in London took place the following March. Handel himself never had Messiah performed at Christmas; it was for the Easter season. Only the first of Messiah's three parts deals with the birth and ministry of Jesus, telling of the promise of judgment, redemption, and salvation through selected Old Testament passages as well as the birth narrative from the Gospel of Luke. Most of the best-known selections come from Part 1, likely because of its association with Christmas.
However, Part 2 tells of Christ's passion, his death and resurrection, his ascension into heaven, and his glorification. It continues by speaking of the beginning of the spread of the Gospel, and its rejection by the world. It culminates in the "Hallelujah" chorus, which declares the absolute sovereignty of God:
Alleluia: for the Lord God omnipotent reigneth. (Revelation 16:9)
The kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms of our Lord, and of his Christ; and he shall reign for ever and ever. (Revelation 11:15)
The words are so closely associated with the "Hallelujah" chorus that you probably think of the music while you're reading them. We hear this chorus every Christmas, but it rightly belongs to Easter! The meaning of Messiah is not "for unto us a child is born"; it's that He is "King of kings and Lord of lords." Hallelujah!
Finally, Part 3 promises eternal life, the Day of Judgment, and the final destruction of sin and death. The oratorio concludes with the exaltation of the Messiah:
Worthy is the Lamb that was slain, and hath redeemed us to God by his blood, to receive power, andriches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing.
Blessing and honour, glory and power, be unto him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb, for ever and ever.
Amen. (cf. Revelation 5:9,12-14)
Even less commonly known, perhaps, is that Messiah is as much an apologetic work as it is an artistic one. The libretto (text) was composed by Charles Jennens, Handel's friend and frequent collaborator. Jennens was a devout Christian who was concerned about the rise in popularity of Deism amongst England's intelligentsia. Deism is a philosophical theism that rejects divine revelation as a source of knowledge, concluding that human reason alone is sufficient to establish the existence of a deity. When God created the universe, He established natural laws for its running, but He does not involve himself in its activity. Jennens' brother had lost his faith and committed suicide after corresponding with a Deist. Grieving for his brother, Jennens composed the libretto to Messiah as a response to Deism, compiling Scripture after Scripture from the King James Version of the Bible (paraphrasing here and there) to show that Christ was the promised Messiah and that God took an active interest in the redemption of the world. Jennens was reportedly less than satisfied with Handel's score (which he composed in less than a month), complaining that some parts were "far unworthy of Handel, but much more unworthy of the Messiah." The judgment of history has, perhaps, been more favourable.
My favourite selection from Messiah takes its text from Isaiah 40:5:
And the glory of the LORD shall be revealed; and all flesh shall see it together: for the mouth of the LORD hath spoken it.
The last phrase is drawn out in long, solemn notes that underscore its significance. It is immediately followed by a bass solo that thunders out: "Thus saith the LORD of hosts" (Haggai 2:6). Jennens draws out the story of Jesus almost entirely from the Old Testament, primarily the prophet Isaiah, drawing from the Gospels only for the annunciation of Jesus' birth to the shepherds by the angles (Luke 2:8-14). The Creator is no mere spectator, and this birth is no mere accident of history. The mouth of the Lord has spoken it; therefore, it has come to pass.
There is a strong relationship between good art and a good message. I have met many Christians who can appreciate many kinds of mediocre art as long as they mention Jesus enough times and are helpful for sharing the Gospel. Yet, in Messiah, a devout Lutheran composer has created one of the acknowledged masterpieces of the Western musical canon, listened to by millions every Christmas. Thanks to his friend, a devout Anglican with a concern for the spiritual state of England, those millions flock into auditoriums and churches willingly to hear the Gospel sung to them.
I wrote last Christmas about why the Incarnation is important. Only God, taking on true humanity, could atone for the sins of, and intercede for, the human race. Without that first Christmas, when "God sent forth his son, born of a woman, born under the law" (Galatians 4:4), there would be no Easter—no cross to free us from the penalty of the law. But Charles Jennens and George Handel were right to focus on the work of Christ on the cross, and the blessings that result from it. Without the hope of Easter, there would be no joy at Christmas.
It is, once again, Canada Day: the 148th anniversary of Confederation in 1867. We're definitely on the homestretch to our sesquicentennial in 2017.
As I write this—true to form—it's raining. So far, it looks like it's shaping up to be the rainy, drizzly kind of Canada Day rather than the bright warm kind that is punctuated during the day by a brief but heavy downpour. (I've never known a July 1 where it didn't rain in Ottawa at some time.) Either Way, of course, it won't affect the spirits of the massive block party happening on or near Parliament Hill.
Pauline Johnson (1861-1913) was a Canadian poet of English and Mohawk descent. She was born on the Six Nations reserve near Brantford, Ontario. As an adult she had a profitable stage and literary career; however, as much of her fame rested on her performances, her reputation declined considerably after her death, although in recent years her significance has been re-evaluated.
Today, Johnson's claim to fame arguably rests on one poem in particular, although in a different form that should be nonetheless recognizable to many Canadians, particularly those who spent time in the Scouting movement. The Canadian folk song, "Land of the Silver Birch" has, after all, been sung in the round by many a Cub, Scout, or Girl Guide around a late-night campfire.
The lyrics are perhaps more romantic than nationalistic, as they idealize living in the wild at harmony with nature. (As Johnson loved canoeing and the outdoors, however, it may betrue to her own experience.) Also, the repeated refrain of "Boom diddy-ah da" tends to rob the lyrics of some of their dignity. Nonetheless, "Land of the Silver Birch" also serves as a gentle reminder that the Canadian notion of two founding peoples—English and French—is really a myth. There were peoples here before us, and all of us are equally Canadians: as another of Pauline Johnson's verses put it, "one common Brotherhood / In peace and love, with purpose understood."
Chris Squire, longtime bassist for the British progressive rock group Yes, has passed away at the age of 67, six weeks after being diagnosed with acute erythroid leukemia.
Squire's playing, which had a growling, melodic style, was an essential part of Yes' sound, as you can hear in their track "Long Distance Runaround" from 1973's Fragile:
Yes has recorded 21 studio albums since 1969, and over their rather tumultuous history has had about 20 different members and as many different personnel lineups. Squire was the single constant element throughout. With his passing, none of Yes' founding members remain in the band (longtime guitarist Steve Howe and drummer Alan White joined in 1970 and 1972, respectively).
The music world has lost a major talent. Rest in peace, Mr. Squire.
Happy 147th birthday, Canada! We're definitely on the home stretch to our sesquicentennial celebration (150 years) in 2017. Absolutely true to tradition, this Canada Day is a muggy scorcher, threatening later in the day to break into thunderstorms. (In fact, as I write this, Ottawa is even under a tornado warning.) Fortunately, the buses are free, as I will be heading downtown this evening to view the fireworks with a friend, who has a perfect view from his balcony.
My blog posting has been sporadic in recent years, but unlike many of my more ambitious plans, I have always made sure to post something on Canada Day every year since 2004. My habit—though, after 10 years, I think I'm right in calling it a tradition—has been to showcase a Canadian patriotic song each year.
I discovered Stan Rogers 8 years ago—in fact, it was while researching my Canada Day post for 2006, in which I wrote: "It is said that the best recording [of "Farewell to Nova Scotia"] is that of the late folk singer Stan Rogers, although I have not heard it." In fact, I still haven't. Even YouTube (which hardly existed back then) hasn't managed to come through yet. Now I'm actually skeptical the recording even exists (curse you, Wikipedia!). However, the lack of one particular, fabled recording hasn't stopped me from enjoying the rest of Rogers' music over the years.
In his first trip to the North in 2006, Prime Minister Stephen Harper referred to Rogers' 1981 song "Northwest Passage" as Canada's unofficial national anthem. The lyrics parallel the search for the fabled Northwest Passage across North America to the Pacific Ocean, with Rogers' own trip west. Like many Canadian patriotic songs, it makes numerous references to history, mentioning several explorers directly or indirectly:
John Davis was a sixteenth-century English navigator, who led several voyages during the reign of Elizabeth I to find the Northwest Passage. Davis Strait, between Greenland and Baffin Island, is named after him.
Henry Kelsey ("brave Kelso" in the song) was a seventeenth-century English fur trader and explorer for the Hudson's Bay Company. He was likely the first European to see present-day Saskatchewan.
Alexander Mackenzie was a Scottish explorer, the first man to cross North America to the Pacific north of Mexico, in 1790. The Mackenzie River in the Northwest Territories is named after him: he travelled to its mouth hoping it would lead to the Pacific, but named the river "Disappointment" when it opened into the Arctic Ocean.
David Thompson, who worked as a fur trader and surveyor for both the Hudson's Bay and North West companies, mapped nearly four million square kilometers of the North American west: one-fifth of the continent.
The Fraser River is named after Simon Fraser, the Scottish fur trader who charted much of present-day British Columbia, and in 1808 explored the Fraser River from Prince George to its mouth.
Sir John Franklin sailed on four Arctic exploration expeditions. The final one was to travel the theretofore unnavigated section of the Northwest Passage. Both ships and all hands of the expedition were lost in 1845 when they became icebound in the Arctic near King William Island.
Stan Rogers died at the age of 33 on June 2, 1983, when a fire aboard Air Canada Flight 797 forced an emergency landing at Cincinnati Greater Airport. Seconds after landing, a flash fire killed Rogers and 22 passengers who had not yet had time to evacuate the plane. His legacy is a small library of wonderful recordings, and a deep influence on Canadian music.
For the tenth time in this blog's history: Happy Canada Day!
Today is the 146th anniversary of Confederation, and, as usual, Canadians temporarily cast off their restraint and display unbridled patriotism. This is, of course, most evident here in the nation's capital, where the streets surrounding Parliament Hill become one very crowded block party for the day, culminating in a stage show and the annual 10 pm fireworks. The first Canada Day I attended, back in 1995, featured performances by Burton Cummings and Spirit of the West. This year, though, it's Carly Rae Jepsen and literally no one else I've ever heard of, so I think I'll skip the stage show (though I do have an invitation to see the fireworks from a well-situated downtown balcony).
This is also the 140th anniversary of Prince Edward Island, which joined Confederation on July 1, 1873—the eighth province or territory to do so. In honour of the anniversary, I devote this year's customary patriotic song to PEI's provincial hymn: "The Island Hymn."
This song dates back to 1908. The lyrics were written by Lucy Maud Montgomery, best known of course as the author of Anne of Green Gables, that quintessential Canadian redheaded orphan:
Fair Island of the sea,
We raise our song to thee,
The bright and blest;
Loyally now we stand
As brothers, hand in hand,
And sing God save the land
We love the best.
Upon our princely Isle
May kindest fortune smile
In coming years;
Peace and prosperity
In all her borders be,
From every evil free,
And weakling fears.
Prince Edward Isle, to thee
Our hearts shall faithful be
Where'er we dwell;
Forever may we stand
As brothers, hand in hand,
And sing God save the land
We love so well.
The music was composed by Lawrence Watson specifically for this hymn. I've heard one recording of "The Island Hymn," and in my opinion, the lyrics deserve better. In fact, when I first read the lyrics, I mentally matched them to "Olivet," the Lowell Mason tune to which "My Faith Looks Up to Thee" is usually sung. "The Island Hymn" was officially declared as PEI's provincial hymn in 2010.
2013 is also a sadder milestone, as it marks the passing of Stompin' Tom Connors at the ripe old age of 77 in March. Connors was a Canadian patriot, with many of his best-known songs referencing Canadian culture, history, or folklore. Appropriately for today, his first single, and arguably his best-known, was "Bud the Spud," a lighthearted ballad about a PEI potato trucker who raises the ire of the police.
This being my 10th Canada Day blog post, I thought it only fitting to go out with a twofer. Happy July 1, everyone.
Last month was the 40th anniversary of the classic Pink Floyd album The Dark Side of the Moon. Today, Storm Thorgerson, the key figure of the graphic arts group Hipgnosis and the designer of Dark Side's iconic album cover, died at the ripe old age of 69.
Thorgerson was the designer of the majority of Pink Floyd's covers, but also designed the artwork for albums by Led Zeppelin, Genesis, Peter Gabriel, Dream Theater, the Cult, and many others. Doing a quick count down the list in Wikipedia's entry on Thorgerson, I counted 19 albums that I owned featuring his artwork.
Thorgerson's designs were more than just something to make an album look attractive in the record store. They were an integral part of the experience. As often as not I would have the album in my lap as I listened.
Of course, with the shift from LPs to CDs and now downloadable music, the graphics have arguably become redundant. I wonder whether we will see the likes of another Storm Thorgerson again.
With all the posting I've been doing this year about the 30th anniversary of all the pop music released in 1983, I actually came close to forgetting that there are other musical milestones that I wanted to highlight as well. Fortunately, Google Calendar has reminders for that, and a couple days ago, one of them popped up to remind me:
March 24, 1973—40 years ago today—one of the most groundbreaking, influential, and best-selling rock albums of all time was released: Pink Floyd's The Dark Side of the Moon.
Another week, another late entry to the 1983 in music series. At least this time I have an excuse: I spent a lot of my free time out of the house and wasn't able to sit down and blog. Stop complaining, it's free.
"Billie Jean" continued its domination of the Billboard Hot 100 on March 19, 1983. Meanwhile, a single from a band that would become one of the quintessential musical groups of the 1980s reached its peak on the chart. Kept from the top spot by both "Billie Jean" and Culture Club's "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me," the second single from their 1982 album Rio peaked at #3: "Hungry like the Wolf," by Duran Duran.
"Hungry Like the Wolf" comes close to being the definitive Duran Duran song. The lyrics are vaguely, er, suggestive of Little Red Riding Hood; the accompanying video is inspired by Indiana Jones. And none of it, in the end, actually gets around to meaning anything.
Duran Duran was one of my guilty pleasures back in my teens, as I discovered them as they were becoming unfashionable, so I listened in secret, for fear of the Jews. My earliest copy of Rio was on cassette, and that was how I heard the album for about 15 years before I bought the 2001 re-release on CD. Of course, the sound quality was far superior to my well-worn tape, but the first thing I actually noticed was that the CD cut of "Hungry Like the Wolf" was considerably shorter than I remembered—by nearly two minutes, in fact.
The Internet can tell you anything. It turns out that there were three versions of the album track: the original British LP track, the US album remix, which is half a minute longer, and the extended "Night Version," which is the one I had on cassette. The 2001 remaster uses the UK album version. I don't know if the Night Version has ever been released on CD. I'd love it if it were.
I've been slack with the music over the last few weeks. Had a few other things on my mind, I guess. However, I did pretty much promise 52 tunes over 52 weeks, which means that tonight you get not one, not two, but three tunes from 1983 to make up for it. Huzzah!
Back when we last left this series, on February 19, the #1 song 30 years earlier was "Baby Come to Me," an R&B duet by Patti Austin and James Ingram. They held the top spot for two consecutive weeks.
Meanwhile, however, the first hit from a new British band was starting its rise up the charts. That song was "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me," from Kissing to be Clever, the debut album of Culture Club. After their first two singles failed to chart, this release became a global #1 hit, although it peaked at #2 on the Billboard chart in the U.S. The reggae-ish "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me" thrust the New Wave band with their androgynous, cross-dressing front man Boy George into the mainstream.
After two weeks topping the charts, Austin and Ingram were displaced by another R&B hit. This one is likely more familiar: "Billie Jean," by the one and only Michael Jackson. Really, what more need be said?
"Billie Jean" spent 7 weeks at the top of the Billboard Hot 100.
Journey were not exactly an 80s' band, as they arguably had their best success in the late 1970s. This is not to say they didn't have some major success in the 1980s; in fact, their best-known song, "Don't Stop Believin'" was a 1982 hit, and the 1983 album Frontiers was one of their highest charting. The lead single from Frontiers was the rocker "Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)":
The video for "Separate Ways" has gained a reputation as one of the worst ever, particularly for the instrument miming and the dated fashion. Really, it just doesn't make any sense to me.
Thanks to the success of Frontiers, Journey became one of the few rock bands to have their own licensed arcade game. The background music during gameplay was a loop of "Separate Ways." Coincidentally, or perhaps not, Midway Games also manufactured the (considerably more successful) movie tie-in games Tron and Discs of Tron—and "Separate Ways" has a prominent place in the arcade scene in 2010's Tron: Legacy.
Anyway, after one week back at the #1 slot on the Billboard Hot 100, Men at Work were knocked off the top by "Baby Come to Me," a duet by Patti Austin and James Ingram:
While I have heard this tune many times, it's not one that I have associated with the year 1983. It's just a pleasant R&B song. Enjoy.
On February 5, 1983, Men at Work were knocked off the top of the Billboard Hot 100 after three weeks. The new #1 hit was the second single from Toto's 1982 album, Toto IV. Ironically, although the band won a Grammy for their first single, "Rosanna," it only reached #2; it was the follow-up single, "Africa, that became their first and only #1 song:
I've wondered for years what "Africa" was supposed to be about. Tonight I checked Wikipedia to see what it said. Basically, it's about someone trying to write a song about Africa who has never been there. Figures, really.
It's February. February has four weeks. Therefore, February has four Fridays. Four, February, and Friday all start with F. Hence, it's time again to go overboard with the alliteration and announce Four February Fridays of Fabulous Frivolity the Fifth. F5 write specifically about myself, rather than my opinion about this or that: favourite books, movies, postal codes, and whatnot. This time round, instead of one topic per post, I've decided to take the "4" motif to another extreme, and list my Four Favourite . . . blank, filling in the blank with a different theme each week.
My first thought was to start off with an easy one: my Top 4 Favourite Podcasts. Then, I remembered that I did just that last year, and the list hasn't changed. Sigh. All the good ideas have already been taken.
My Four Favourite . . . Pop Albums of the 1980s
It's no secret amongst friends, family, or the Faithful Readers of this blog, that I love the music of the 80s. Heck, I'm blogging a year-long series on 1983's music alone.
Dire Straits, Brothers in Arms: I wrote an extensive review of this amazing album on its 20th anniversary in 2005. My opinion hasn't changed. (Just to show how ever-changing the pop industry is: where I wrote "where will Britney or Justin be in 2025? Do we care?" how many readers forgot that Justin Bieber was as yet unheard-of?)
Cyndi Lauper, She's So Unusual: The orange-haired, squeaky-voiced New Yorker's debut album is a quintessential part of the soundtrack to the 1980s. Lauper set a record when the first four singles from this album charted in the Billboard Top 5, and you have to be well into the second side (for all of you listening on an LP, as I did) before you hear something unfamiliar. In later years, I was surprised to find out how many of her signature tunes were actually rather obscure covers: "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun," for example, was originally a punk song by the late Robert Hazard, sung from a male perspective, before Cyndi modified the lyrics and turned it into a kind of feminist pop anthem. (And, to give her credit for getting it past me for so long, I didn't grasp the meaning of "She Bop" until well into my 20s.)
Tears for Fears, Songs from the Big Chair: My affection for this album has less to do with the quality of the music—which is good, and indeed is the reason I ever wanted the album in the first place—but the quality of the recording. Big Chair was an early full-digital recording. Despite the multilayered arrangements saturated in reverb, the mastering is crystal-clear, and the brighter sounds blast right off the disc. The most notable tracks are the singles "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" and "Head Over Heels," as well as the non-single tracks "Working Hour" and "Listen"—the lead-out of the latter being particularly beautiful. You owe it to yourself to listen to this album in the dark, at high volume, with headphones.
Bruce Springsteen, Born in the U.S.A.: I had a little trouble deciding on my fourth album, but if it comes down to the sheer volume of replays, then this one wins hands down. I wore the grooves off it: there's a permanent skip in "My Hometown." And, as I've noted in the past, I discovered Dire Straits when I mistook "Walk of Life" for "Glory Days," so I have Spirngsteen to thank for introducing me to my favourite music, sort of. Born in the U.S.A. was a stylistic departure from the Boss' previous work (especially the bleak Nebraska, its immediate predecessor), heavy on synthesizers, and featuring upbeat, anthemic songs rather than the more pessimistic fare of earlier albums. 30 years later, the title track is still a staple at Democratic political conventions—and still being mistaken for a patriotic anthem. Born in the U.S.A. was my favourite of Springsteen's albums, at least until I heard Born to Run.
I could go on; there are so many worthy contenders—Thomas Dolby's The Golden Age of Wireless, Phil Collins' No Jacket Required, Duran Duran's Rio and Seven and the Ragged Tiger, just to name a few. For picking favourite music, the 80s was a target-rich environment.
For the third week running, Men at Work's "Down Under" owned the top spot on the Billboard Hot 100 on January 29, 1983.
Meanwhile, the latest single from Phil Collins was rising up the chart. On the 29th, it was at #11, and it would peak a week later at #10, although it had already been a #1 hit on the UK charts. It was Collins' cover of the Supremes' hit, "You Can't Hurry Love":
The video, though somewhat awkward in execution (this was after all, the early 80s, and music video production was still at the toddler stage), is great in concept. Collins can certainly channel his inner Diana Ross!
Men at Work's "Down Under" continued to top the Billboard hot 100 on January 22, 1983.
January 20, 1983 was the release date of Def Leppard's third album, Pyromania. This album, which made the hard-rock band into a household name, is 30 years old.
Personally, I don't feel that Pyromania is as accessible as its 1987 followup Hysteria, but it's still quite listenable. Of course, the best track on the album is "Rock of Ages."
This is the one time in your life that you will see bad hair, tight pants, Union Jack boxers, a giant glowing sword, and chess, all within 4 minutes. Unless you watch it twice.
Hall & Oates' "Maneater" was knocked out of the Billboard Hot 100's top spot, after four weeks, by a song that had been virtually ignored for more than a year.
Australian pop group Men at Work's "Down Under" had been released in Australia and New Zealand in late 1981. It came to North America a year later, where it became a #1 in Canada in October 1982—a relatively rare instance of Canadian precedence, for a non-Canadian single. A month later, Americans finally began to take notice, and "Down Under" began its climb up the Hot 100, reaching #1 on January 15, 1983.
This was the second hit for Men At Work, following "Who Can It Be Now" about six months earlier. Their album, Business as Usual, topped the album chart the same week, making Men at Work the only Australian band to have a #1 single and album simultaneously.
On January 1, 1983, the #2 single was the former #1 single that "Maneater" displaced: "Mickey," by Toni Basil, one of the great one-hit wonders of the 80s.
Until "Mickey," Basil was probably better known as a dancer and choreographer than a pop singer—the advantage being that, though nearly 40, she was still able to fit into her high-school cheerleader uniform for the video.
And 1983 is, simply put, the best year ever for pop music. I intend to prove this over the next 52 Tuesdays. (Well, 51, anyway—while I was planning this project, I let the first Billboard chart of 1983, released on Jan. 1, skip by me. Holidays will do that.)
For most of 1983, I was 12 years old in grade 7 and 8, just starting to attend school dances, and just beginning to get interested in popular music. It would really be the summer of 1984 that I would receive the lethal dose of AM radio waves that turned me into who I am today, but at this point, I was starting out.
What I intend to do is post each Tuesday about the Billboard Hot 100 #1 hit on the chart released on the corresponding day back in 1983. Where a particular hit topped the chart for more than on week, I'll post about something interesting farther down the chart—or ignore Billboard entirely to showcase something else 1983-related that deserves attention.
1983 began with "Maneater," by the blue-eyed soul duo, Hall & Oates. Technically, I suppose this is a 1982 single, since it was originally released the previous October and hit #1 in late December. But it stayed there for the next four weeks, including the first two chart weeks of 1983. (So even if I did skip Jan. 1, you didn't miss anything.)
"Maneater" was Hall & Oates' fifth #1; their previous chart topper was "I Can't Go for That (No Can Do)" in 1981.
For a few years in the mid-80s, Boston talk-radio station WBZ used something that sounded suspiciously like "Maneater's" bass line as bumper music for their evening programming.
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