Look, you knew this was going to happen sooner or later. There was no doubt. But listen, I figured it’s best to get it over with early enough in the year, so you have ample time to heal from this glorious torture.
Oh yes, pigeons, I’m talking about the NINETEEN EIGHTIES. (!!!)
Ohhhhh how I miss the ’80s. (See this old school collage? ^^^ That’s how we do the ’80s.)
We had mullets. We had parachute and hammer pants. We had copper molds hanging on walls and floral wallpaper for days. We had carpet and pale yellow linoleum, shoulder pads, wall phones with a cord so long you could wrap it around the Earth. Twice. We had enormous Swatch watch clocks, DIY perms in the kitchen, The Cosby Show on Thursday nights and Smurfs on Saturday mornings.
We had neon banana clips, 30 minutes of Atari in the afternoon, metal roller skates and candy cigarettes. (<–well, not me. but everyone else) We had jelly bracelets, jelly shoes, training montages in every single movie, Care Bears, crimped pony tails, Pizza Hut on Friday nights, followed by a wholesome round of Simon.
But above all, we had the music.
You might be shaking your head in utter disgust right now. And I get it! It was crazy. It was awful. It was wonderful. It was so wrong, but so right. Like, gag me with a spoon!
Of course I wasn’t exactly listening to any of this music at the time. A tiny taste of Madonna’s “Papa Don’t Preach” sealed that deal RIGHT ON UP for my parents. Only Amy Grant, Sandi Patti and Michael W. Smith from there on out. Well, until 1991, when I could secretly get caught up on all the goods with my high school friends. (Sorry, Mom! Wait, am I grounded?)
This playlist is what I consider to be the GEMS of the 1980s. A healthy mix of college radio meets Top 40 classics. I could had added so much more, but I didn’t want you to chainsaw your ears off and throw them down a water well. And sure, a little bit of this is a tad cliché, but it was the EIGHTIES. That’s what our radical lives were all about. Right, Casey Kasem?
So put on your leg warmers and crimp those bangs, as I give you . . . .
The “Parachute Pants and Saxophone Solos” Mix.
Also, I’m sorry.
Also also, Alf.
If you can’t even bear to listen to this monstrosity right now, you can always click this here link for later. That would be totally tubular!
One more (sad electronically-devised) collage, because BANGS.
Poll: Did anyone else have an irrational crush on Ricky Schroder in Silver Spoons? Or should I have just kept that one to myself?
Previous mixtapes, if you can even deal: