January 1998

While of course it wasn’t his intention, when Charles Dickens wrote “it was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” it nonetheless sums up the music of the ’80s now being resurrected on VH-1’s Big ’80s and classic rock radio. Coming off the prickly pop of New Wave and the nihilistic roar of punk – a thrilling retort to the nightmare that was disco – it was strange that at the start of the ’80s, things swiftly headed downhill.

Straight out of MTV-land were the hair-metal acts – Poison, Warrant, et al – who were keen on spandex and borderline androgyny. Meanwhile, on the other side of the Atlantic, the New Romantics were equally vacuous, though somewhat more effete. Favoring style over substance, easily-forgettable acts such as A Flock of Seagulls and Spandau Ballet were big on coiffure and light on credibility (and their abuse of hairspray might explain that hole in the ozone).

There was an upside to the decade, however, as proved by two recent “best-of” CD box-sets. The Psychedelic Furs’ Should God Forget: A Retrospective (Columbia/Legacy) and The Replacements’ All For Nothing/Nothing For All (Reprise) serve as useful reminders that the ’80s weren’t an entirely barren time for edgy rock’n’roll. OK, maybe the timing of their careers was the only thing they had in common – The Psychedelic Furs recorded between 1980 and 1991, The Replacements from 1981 to 1990 – and it’s unlikely either band would have much to share if they were stuck together waiting for a bus.

The Replacements were beer-bloated punk-poets direct from Minneapolis, whereas the Furs were deep, dark Brit popsters with an arty bent. Nonetheless, together their work represents some of the ’80s most expressive guitar-rock, a world apart from the big-haired, light-headed bands that ruled charts and bedroom walls. And their influence is all over platinum-plus bands of today, from Bush to Green Day, Foo Fighters to Oasis.

It’s true that head Mat Paul Westerberg is as renowned for his backstage excess as his blurred pop vision, but he was a bleary-eyed romantic who tried (yet failed) to conceal his wistfulness with a layer of cool cynicism. Low-key meditations such as “Skyway,” “Sadly Beautiful” and his celebration of beer for breakfast, “Here Comes a Regular,” are testimonies to both his songwriting skills and his oversized heart. And there are no prizes for guessing the identity of the “rebel without a clue” he sings about in “I’ll Be You”: Westerberg was (and still is) a master of the art of self-deprecation.

Part of The Replacements’ charm was their willingness to fall flat on their faces, as proved by the second disc’s mix of live curiosities and B-side catastrophes. “Till We’re Nude,” “All He Wants To Do Is Fish” and “Like A Rolling Pin” – a throwaway homage to His Bobness – are typically broken-down, ramshackle affairs. In this time of rock’n’roll careerism, it’s reassuring to know that, once upon a time, at least one band wasn’t totally image obsessed.

Image, however, meant plenty to The Psychedelic Furs, who were more serious than death. Unintentionally, the 33 tracks of Should God Forget: A Retrospective (including seven unheard tunes) divide their career into three neat packages: early punkish drone; brooding, mid-career power ballads; and bristling latter-day rock. Fronted by the shade-wearing Richard Butler – a man who fancied both Morrison’s poetry and Rotten’s snarl – the Furs scored big with the twitchy synth hustle of “Love My Way,” produced in 1982 by pop journeyman Todd Rundgren. By this time they had kissed off London for New York, an understandable career move but a stepping stone to artistic submission.

The subsequent “Mirror Moves” and 1986’s monster hit “Heartbreak Beat” (produced by Stones’ consort Chris Kimsey) may have established them as solid-gold stars, but at a cost: the band’s angsty inklings were watered down for the MTV generation and the travesty of their dazzling farewell albums Book of Days and World Outside – represented here by “Until She Comes,” “There’s A World” and more – is that the stop-start dynamics and unsettling explorations of love’s darker side have since made Bush a zillion dollars. So it goes.

While Richard Butler plods along with his newish band, Love Spit Love, and his bassist brother Tim is New York-based, producing, engineering and writing, a Furs reunion isn’t completely out of the question. Tim Butler states in the detailed liner notes that “the door certainly isn’t closed. But if we were to do it, it would have to be for the fun of working together, because that’s why we started.” Not much chance of the Replacements getting all nostalgic, though. Westerberg has moved onto a credible solo career, likewise fellow Mats Slim Dunlap and Tommy Stinson, while original axeman Bob Stinson played his final solo a few years back. When asked his opinion of Nothing For All/All For Nothing, Tommy Stinson put it straight: “I’m not into it.” Enough said.

Irrespective of their future (or lack thereof), it’s still comforting to know that the musical legacy of the ’80s isn’t entirely left with the skinny-tie wearers and guys called Nikki.