If You Grew Up In The 80s, These 9 Songs Probably Raised You To See The World A Little Differently
sommthink | ShutterstockGen-X was raised on MTV, and I was no exception. We didn’t just listen to music — we absorbed it. The videos flickered on our living room televisions while our parents were busy doing their own thing.
Unsupervised and impressionable, I let these songs wire themselves into my nervous system. I didn’t understand most of the lyrics; I just knew they evoked a certain feeling in me as an 80s kid.
If you grew up in the 80s, these 9 songs probably raised you to see the world a little differently:
1. Faith, George Michael, 1987
It’s 2006, and the elevator doors open. Instantly, I’m disappointed when I see it’s full, but I squeeze in anyway. Then I hear it. The guitar riff plays as I slap the button to my floor.
Without thinking, I shake my body while singing the chorus. I remember the first time I saw the video at 8 years old. George Michael, in a leather jacket, swivels his hips with swagger. I didn’t know what confidence and sensuality were at that age, but it felt electric.
2. Raspberry Beret, Prince, 1985
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Before Prince was an unpronounceable symbol, I was a six-year-old dancing in the living room to Raspberry Beret. My mother’s obsession began after Purple Rain was released the previous year.
I didn’t understand the lyrics, but I felt the quirky energy of this song long before I knew Prince was crooning about a woman in a dark pink beret. In 2011, I was lucky enough to witness him dance across the stage in seven-inch heels at The Forum in L.A., sparking the familiar feelings of pure joy. I kind of wished I’d worn my heels that night.
3. Under Pressure, Queen/David Bowie, 1981
The second the bassline thrums, I’m in the backseat of my mother’s car. Air conditioning blasting as her hand drums the steering wheel. Her solid-gold bangle bracelets dance to the rhythm. Every time I hear Freddie Mercury and David Bowie sing together, I’m home again.
4. Thriller, Michael Jackson, 1983
This song was my first brush with horror. At four years old, my parents watched the debut of the iconic music video as I shivered, whimpered, and buried my face in my mother’s lap. “Mama, this is scary.”
She insisted it was make-believe, and by the time MJ zombie danced his way across the screen, my claws were up as I shimmied side to side. No wonder I’m a horror fan. Thanks, Mom.
5. I’ll Tumble 4 Ya, Culture Club, 1982
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The horns blast, and I’m back on the living room carpet. Jumping up and down in front of the television as Boy George glides across a stage. Wide-brimmed black bowler hat, long ratted bangs, heavy black eyeliner, rouged cheeks, and I loved it. I thought he was so pretty.
Something about his androgynous style and British accent intrigued me. Now, when this song pops up, I immediately sing the chorus and shoulder roll with a smile on my face. A few years later, I may have rouged my own cheeks with my cousin’s blush.
6. Rhythm Nation, Janet Jackson, 1989
Ten-year-old me was determined to master every dance move Janet executed with force, precision, and control. My bestie and I practiced the military-reminiscent moves fused with her brother MJ’s flair.
I envisioned myself hopping in military boots, my arms in perfect X formation with every step. The fire this song evokes gets my shoulder moving and head bobbing every time. “We are a part of a rhythm nation.” I didn’t know it then, but that was my first taste of feminist energy. This song lit a fire that never went out.
7. Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’, Michael Jackson, 1983
Mom would grab my tiny hands and swing them back and forth. “Mama-say mama-sa mama-coo-sa,” as we’d clap our hands together like each repeat of the song was a party of our own.
We’d sing it over and over again like it was a children’s song. Even now, as a forty-something woman, I’ll still sing my heart out. If I ever miss Mom, I click on my Spotify list, and there she is.
8. Kickstart My Heart, Motley Crue, 1989
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Spring 1989. I was nine going on ten when my cousin’s daughter blasted “Kickstart My Heart” on repeat. Back then, the music felt fast, loud, and rebellious. When I saw Vince Neil on MTV, I begged her to do my eyeliner just like his.
When she did, she got in trouble for turning me into a mini metal groupie. I had never felt so grown up. I can’t listen to this song without air drumming — and wondering how my mom didn’t care I was belting lyrics about drugs. Seeing Vince Neil run across the stage and Tommy Lee flip upside down with his drum kit in 2013 was an absolute dream.
9. Pictures of You, The Cure, 1989
The Cure was constant background music for as long as I can remember. The second I hear the melancholy guitar, I’m instantly in my bedroom scribbling out my angst in purple ink. Robert Smith’s emotional state mirrored mine, and by the time I was 16, this song was on regular rotation. Even now, the sad guitar and synthesizers transport me to the days I’d pour my emotions on the page. It was the only place I felt safe.
The Cure was also the first concert I ever went to. I was sixteen, watching Robert Smith drift across the stage, his hair wild, his voice heavy with ache. I stood there completely undone. I would go on to see them several more times. They will always be in my top five favorite bands of all time.
I didn’t understand most of these songs when I first heard them. I just knew how they felt. Decades later, they still hit the same way. Many songs fade into the ether with time, but these never did. They’re stitched into my nervous system, in the backseat of my mom’s car, the living room floor, and the bedroom where I learned how to write.
I was born in 1979, but the 80s practically raised me. And if one of these songs comes on? I’m still not skipping it.
Sherene Jensen is a writer, educator, and editor whose work explores grief, creativity, emotional healing, and human connection. Her essays are featured in several Medium-based publications, including The Memoirist, Write A Catalyst, and Age of Empathy.
