Years ago, my brother and I spent a lot of time watching music video compilation shows on VH1 and the like. Mostly, my brother would sit around hoping they played Dead or Alive or “Somebody’s Watching Me” (“you ain’t fine, Rockwell!”), but of course we enjoyed the other videos, too. I had probably seen the video for “Never Gonna Give You Up” probably twenty times before Rickrolling was ever a thing. Anyway, because of this I was always kind of fascinated by some of these bands, particularly the ones who were firmly in one-hit-wonder territory. I knew they had to have other songs - lots of them, probably - but somehow or other nobody cared about any of them but one.
Some time later, when I started to get more seriously into music, I had a renewed interest in those one-hit-wonder groups, and I started doing a lot of compulsive research on them; downloading discographies when I could, or else just binge-reading Wikipedia trying to get a better grasp of who they were outside of those familiar songs. I remember my utter bewilderment learning about Men Without Hats bizarre and awful alternative rock album Sideways, inspired by pre-Nevermind Nirvana; my delight and confusion when A Flock of Seagulls first album (uhm, A Flock of Seagulls) was actually pretty good when on TV they were just objects of ridicule, that there were other songs by the rapping cat that fucked Paula Abdul; and my general surprise at how long a lot of these bands kept trying to have a genuine breakthrough, whether that meant leaning into the one thing they were known for or fighting against it. It was a lot of fun.
One one-hit-wonder I was particularly fascinated by, though, was Thomas Dolby. For one thing, being pretty nerdy, I related somewhat to the image projected in the “Blinded Me With Science” video, which felt very different from the garish affectations of the New Romantics. Another thing though was that among my scant cassette tape collection I had the cover art (but not the tape itself) for his album Aliens Ate My Buick. Though a little on the nose, the B-movie pastiche cover was the kind of thing that I was into, even if I couldn’t actually listen to the record. Eventually, I found a download for Dolby’s first album, The Golden Age of Wireless.
The worst thing about “one-hit-wonder” status is how it tends to efface every other aspect of someone’s persona. Like, to most people Thomas Dolby is not a musician, or even a person, he’s the “You Blinded Me With Science” guy. It condemns someone to the endless hell of being a novelty act who, at best, is used to remind people of other things that they liked better. In the case of Dolby, that’s a pretty unfair fate, even if his most famous song is pretty firmly in novelty territory. The Golden Age of Wireless is a very well-done collection of synthpop songs, showcasing great songwriting and arrangement on every track. Two of my favorites are “Europa and the Pirate Twins” and “Airwaves.” The former is a very energetic, vivacious pop number, while the letter drifts into some pretty sad territory. It’s pretty good.
When I listened to this album, I couldn’t understand how Dolby had managed to just become the “She Blinded Me With Science” guy when he had so much else going for him. Ultimately, though, that’s just the way things go for some people. Of course, he has many other albums, a couple of them also pretty good, but as a performer he’d never again reach those sweet novelty heights. Still, I guess there’s worse ways to go. Astronauts and Heretics is definitely aa high point. Somehow I don’t think I ever did listen to Aliens Ate My Buick, though.
I haven’t listened to this album in whole in quite a few years, really. To me, it being here is less about the album itself and more about the experiences I had because of it. Somehow, it was probably because of Thomas Dolby that I ended up listening to Coil and Ramleh and everything else. I’d still recommend it, at least the songs mentioned above. A Flock of Seagulls is probably better, though.