My 20 Favorite Billboard Hot 100 No. 1s of the 1980s

I discuss my favorite chart-toppers from 1980 to 1989.

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The 1980s Billboard Hot 100 chart archive is one of the most entertaining documents in American pop culture history.

This weekly survey crowned Prince, Michael Jackson, and Madonna as some of music’s biggest tastemakers, but also left plenty of space for Falco singing in German about Mozart, Bobby McFerrin doing an entire song a cappella without a single instrument, and a Norwegian band whose video was a rotoscoped pencil-sketch animation. In the same ten-year stretch, Toni Basil would get to No. 1 for one week, while Olivia Newton-John stayed there for 10.

MTV loomed large, syndicated countdown shows democratized pop music’s national reach, and new subgenres and movements emerged as commercial titans (see synth-pop, hip-hop, and thrash metal). The No. 1s of the 1980s are an embarrassment of riches (and, in a couple of cases, pure embarrassments, though those tracks won’t make it onto this list) that, by and large, have stood the test of time. “80s Gold” is still the most bankable radio format in North America.

It was also the last decade that relied on Billboard’s old (some might say “corruptible”) methods for determining which songs were worthy of chart inclusion. Beginning in 1991, Nielsen SoundScan data became the standard, instead of self-reported record store sales numbers. That meant a consolidated pool of artists who would ultimately stay at the top of the Hot 100 for longer periods.

As with every other installment in this Billboard Hot 100 series, this isn’t your standard “best of the 80s” list. It’s a collection of 20 songs that have left the greatest impression on me as a music nerd, and also happened to hit No. 1 between 1980 and 1989. I only allow myself one song per artist, so there’s only a single track from Madonna on this list, for example.

Plenty of great 80s songs couldn’t have possibly made this list because they never topped the chart. Those include:

• “Thriller” by Michael Jackson, which peaked at No. 4

• “Purple Rain” by Prince, which topped out at No. 2

• “Tainted Love” by Soft Cell, which stalled at No. 8

If you’re new here, the 1960s and 1970s lists are already up. Paid subscribers also get the companion playlist for each decade (one-song-per-artist rule there, too). Skip to the playlist and/or upgrade your subscription tier if you’re down for bonus content you can listen to.

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We begin, in chronological order:

1. “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” by Queen (1980)

I wrote about Queen’s path to get to “Crazy Little Thing Called Love,” their first American No. 1 single, early in 2026, so I won’t go into as much detail here. But, suffice it to say, the band was in need of a commercial breakthrough. Mercury and company dialed back the theatrics quite a bit on this track and throughout The Game, the ensuing LP that, for a short period, put them back on top of the pop-rock world. A not-insignificant part of this record’s appeal is how uncomplicated it is. Unlike “Bohemian Rhapsody” and other, more grandiose tracks of its ilk, this song is as straightforwardly fun as they come, and that energy is infectious from the first note.

The story goes that Mercury wrote “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” in roughly ten minutes while sitting in a bathtub at the Bayerischer Hof hotel in Munich. He also played acoustic guitar on the recording, one of the few times he contributed to a Queen session as a guitarist. The rhythm is obviously reminiscent of Elvis Presley and other 50s rock and roll greats, with a walking bass line and a percussion swing that hums with this warm, wistful confidence. Brian May also switched things up on this record, playing his solo on a Fender Telecaster rather than his homemade Red Special, deliberately aiming for a vintage tone.

The result is production that’s quite lean and dry compared to Queen’s trademark layered excess, and that restraint is (more or less) the point. “Another One Bites the Dust,” another No. 1 smash off the same album, takes the same tack with a disco-funk stomper that ingratiated the band to R&B (then dubbed Black) radio. A maximalist band scoring a generational hit with a minimalist arrangement. It can be done.

2. “Bette Davis Eyes” by Kim Carnes (1981)

Sometimes I keep going back to songs for the tone and texture of certain sounds. Not necessarily instruments that repeat across multiple entries on a tracklist, but a specific aural pleasure that always hits your neural pleasure centers in exactly the right way. One of those sounds is the main synth on Kim Carnes’ “Bette Davis Eyes,” which spent nine non-consecutive weeks atop the Billboard Hot 100 in 1981. You can thank keyboardist Bill Cuomo for that riff, which he played on the Prophet-5 synthesizer, for creating chords that give me chills every time I hear them.

That instrumental hook was also what got the song made in the first place. The lyrics were originally penned by Donna Weiss and Jackie DeShannon in 1974, with the latter recording the demo herself as a country-leaning pop ballad. Carnes and producer Val Garay circled it for a little while, as did other artists, before Carnes ultimately rejected it based on the demo’s arrangement. But after they started rebuilding the song’s structure from scratch, it quickly took shape. Cuomo’s playing replaced acoustic guitars, the drums became drier and punchier, and Carnes’ husky vocal sits between rock and new wave.

It’s kind of shocking that Carnes, with all the ability and charisma displayed on this track, never became more of a household name. She had been working as a singer-songwriter since the late 1960s, and was respected in Nashville and Los Angeles circles without ever “making it.” She’s one of the decade’s defining one-moment artists, a term I’m coming to prefer over the dismissive nature of calling someone a one-hit wonder. In addition to being the longest-running chart-topper of 1981, “Bette Davis Eyes” won Grammy Awards for Record of the Year and Song of the Year.

Davis herself reportedly sent Carnes and the songwriters a thank-you note regarding its lyrical portrayal of a certain brand of female knowingness (if you know, you know).

3. “9 to 5” by Dolly Parton (1981)

Before she was cast in 9 to 5, Dolly Parton was already a music star, albeit a niche one. Well known in country circles, but not much of a pop chart presence, save for one Top 5 single with “Here You Come Again.” That all changed in 1980, when Parton starred alongside Lily Tomlin and Jane Fonda as three office workers who kidnap their sexist, scummy boss (Dabney Coleman) and, what do you know, improve the quality of life of all employees in the process. It ended up being the second-biggest domestic film from that year—only The Empire Strikes Back made more money at the box office. That cultural cache made Parton a different level of superstar.

In that moment, it’s not a surprise that the film’s eponymous theme song went to No. 1. It’s more bubbly, catchy, and charming than almost everything else in Parton’s catalog, which is saying something. Parton’s phrasing and performance do most of the heavy lifting here, turning what could have been a forgettable novelty tie-in into a pop cut with personality to spare. She also came up with the rhythm by clicking her acrylic nails together (you can hear them getting the groove started at the very beginning of the track). Once that walking bass line comes in, all bets are off. Your defenses are officially broken down.

Though it alienated some purists in her base, Parton’s crossover success set the template other hopefuls would replicate in the decades that followed: country enough that it still had ties to her roots, but pop enough to dominate the Top 40. And dominate it did, reaching No. 1 for two weeks on the Hot 100 and simultaneously topping the country chart. The song also received an Academy Award nomination for Best Original Song, ultimately losing to “Fame” by Irene Cara. Whether or not you agree with that Oscar decision, the run-off was undeniable. Parton was, suddenly, one of the biggest American entertainers in the world.

4. “I Can’t Go for That (No Can Do)” by Hall & Oates (1982)

Let me tell you all something right now: There is no pop song on planet Earth—not now, not ever—with a groove as locked in as Hall & Oates’ “I Can’t Go for That (No Can Do).” The first time I heard it almost 25 years ago, I couldn’t get over how cool it sounded. Effortlessly so. The drum machine pattern, created using a Roland CR-78 CompuRhythm, was mic’d through the bass amp with delay, giving it an otherworldly strut. Daryl Hall played the bass portion on a Moog synthesizer in such an unhurried fashion that the beat doesn’t need to do much else to persuade you.

Hall grew up in Philadelphia, steeped in Gamble and Huff’s sound, and his understanding of R&B wasn’t borrowed or plasticized (despite what the “blue-eyed soul” connotation would have you believe). It comes off as a deep cut more than a hit on first blush, with an instrumental that would fit right in on late-night soul broadcasts. Hall’s vocal is more standoffish than inviting, more preoccupied with boundary-setting than whatever physical pursuits might come after those have been established. It’s a weird, sparse, and utterly transfixing song.

Michael Jackson reportedly told Hall that “I Can’t Go for That” was a direct influence on “Billie Jean.” There’s been some debate as to whether that’s 100% true or not, but if accurate, it makes this track the ghost in the machine of one of the biggest pop singles of all time. In 1982, Hall & Oates were in the most commercially dominant stretch of their career, charting six No. 1 hits between 1980 and 1985. Of those, “I Can’t Go for That” is the one that matters most to people across all genres. It held No. 1 for one week on the Hot 100 and topped the R&B chart at the same time, emerging as one of several successes off the multi-Platinum Private Eyes LP.

5. “Don’t You Want Me” by The Human League (1982)

I don’t think you can call the Human League’s “Don’t You Want Me” the first true synth-pop song, but it was the first of its kind to take over the Hot 100, spawning a zillion imitators in the process. However, at first, Phil Oakey didn’t even want to release the track as a single. He thought it was too conventional a pop song to warrant a ton of consideration, but Virgin Records insisted. Sometimes, the suits are right, as this release has become the group’s biggest wide by a wide margin in the US.

In what will become a bit of a trend as we move on down the list, the real trick synth-pop pulls when it’s this well done is wringing a ton of drama out of stripped-down production. Martin Rushent’s work here is built almost entirely on synthesizers and a LinnDrum machine, but even then, it never sounds small or insignificant. The call-and-response structure between Oakey and Susan Ann Sulley also gives the song a nice bit of narrative tension that most of those imitators lacked. Sulley and Joanne Catherall were relatively fresh members at the time, recruited out of a Sheffield nightclub to strengthen the group after earlier members departed to form Heaven 17.

The track held No. 1 for three weeks on the Hot 100 and five weeks in the UK. Parent album Dare went Platinum on both sides of the Atlantic, too, proving that synth-pop had much broader appeal outside Britain. After this one hit, the floodgates opened for real, providing runways to US pop stardom for acts like Depeche Mode, Soft Cell, Duran Duran, and Eurythmics. The Human League are far more than just this one hit as well. If you dive deeper into only one catalog cited in this list, I urge you to consider theirs. There’s a ton of exceptional material to explore.

6. “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts (1982)

23, folks. That’s how many record labels passed on Joan Jett before she self-released “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” on Boardwalk Records. It’s not like she was a complete unknown or anything. She had already been in the Runaways, the all-female hard rock group that broke up in 1979 after four albums, plenty of international touring, and even more memorable on-stage antics. And yet, for whatever (misogynist) reason, the industry looked at her track record and said “no” that many times. The song eventually spent seven weeks at No. 1 on the Hot 100 in 1982.

“I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” was also the first in a long line of successful covers that would solidify Jett and her band as a force to be reckoned with. The Arrows, a British glam-rock band, originally recorded this one in 1975, but it received only a whisper of a commercial response. However, Jett heard it during a UK tour with the Runaways and soon after began performing it live. When she had a band and a label willing to release it, she and producer Kenny Laguna built the studio version around a Chuck Berry-influenced guitar riff, supporting by power chords, stomp-clap drums, and a snarling vocal that makes the title sound like a claim rather than a preference.

Despite earning the title of “Godmother of Punk,” Jett’s prowess as a performer has mostly flown under the radar. After this effort, she’d only crack the Top 10 on the Hot 100 twice more—later in 1982, with another cover, this time a terrific version of “Crimson and Clover,” and again in 1988 with “I Hate Myself For Loving You.” The latter also earned her a Grammy nomination for Best Rock Performance. It’s a shame she didn’t have another “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” in her career.

7. “Billie Jean” by Michael Jackson (1983)

Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” is, above all else, proof positive that less is more.

A lesser, more convoluted version of this song would have far more (and far less necessary) sonic pyrotechnics going on. Instead, you’ve got a handful of notes that add up to an iconic bass line, played by Louis Johnson, and a sturdy, straightforward drum groove supplied by Leon “Ndugu” Chancler. But those aspects were also painstakingly constructed by Quincy Jones and engineer Bruce Swedien, who supposedly put plywood on the floor to get the low-end to thump just the way they wanted. All of Thriller has a remarkable attention to detail, but this song in particular impresses in that regard.

Even more incredibly, “Billie Jean,” one of the most beloved dancefloor anthems of all time, is a tight knot of paranoia and denial. The lyrics, which may or may not have been inspired by true events, position Jackson as either a wrongfully accused man terrified of what false baby daddy claims will do to his image, or a panicked lothario who’s overcome by something approaching (but not quite registering as) guilt. When the synths arrive in the mix before the first verse, they do so with unease rather than warmth, going against the grain to establish palpable tension early on. It never lets up, either. It just keeps tightening and tightening.

“Billie Jean” held the No. 1 spot on the Hot 100 in 1983 for seven weeks, starting an unprecedented run of commercial success for Jackson as a solo artist. Buoyed by his Motown 25 performance where he debuted the moonwalk dance move on live television in front of an estimated 47 million people, he and the track became a cultural phenomenon. It was the spark that fueled Thriller’s initial run of Billboard 200 chart dominance, too, spending 37 non-consecutive weeks atop that list. As of this writing, the album has been certified 34x Platinum in the US and has sold over 70 million copies globally. In 2008, the Thriller 25 reissue liner notes estimated that it still gets 250,000 spins every week in clubs. It wouldn’t surprise me if that number has grown, not ebbed, in the years since.

8. “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)” by Eurythmics (1983)

It’s fitting that we’re hitting “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)” in this slot, right after “Billie Jean,” since it signals an important shift in pop music as the mid-1980s inched closer. The warm, textural sounds of the 1970s had fully given way to something colder, more rhythmic, and utterly hypnotic. Like the Michael Jackson track, this arrangement doesn’t let you off the hook. The synth riff loops with a sense of resolution, creating a futuristic backdrop for Annie Lennox’s vocal, which itself is at war with itself, equal parts emotional longing and detachment.

By that point in their respective careers, Lennox and Eurythmics’ counterpart, Dave Stewart, were no longer a romantic item. They’d formed this duo out of the ruin of a previous group, the Tourists, and they were still spending hours and hours together in the studio. According to Lennox, Stewart wrote the lyrics to “Sweet Dreams” after the two had a big blow-up fight. “I thought it was the end of the road and that was that,” she said later. “We were trying to write, and I was miserable. And he just went, well, ‘I’ll do this anyway.’” For both their pop music fortunes, it turns out that was the right call

“Sweet Dreams” broke the group in the US after minimal success outside the UK, making both Lennox and Stewart into superstars basically overnight. The song reached No. 1 on the Hot 100 for one week, due in no small part to MTV’s parallel explosion as a promotional vehicle. Lennox’s visual presentation in the music video, with that bright, close-cropped orange hair and man’s suit, “broke the mold for female pop stars,” per the BBC. The Eurythmics would go on to have other global hits, but none that would attain the level of ubiquity as “Sweet Dreams.” The closest they’d come to No. 1 again would be with “Here Comes the Rain Again” in 1984.

9. “When Doves Cry” by Prince (1984)

Longtime readers will know I’m a Prince stan. He’s got one of the most impressive discographies of all time, of which Purple Rain is the undisputed centerpiece. That album, along with being one of the best film soundtracks ever made, is as much a science experiment as it is a work of pop music brilliance. There’s the existential dread of “Computer Blue” and the taut humidity of “Darling Nikki” that take the first side of the LP in fascinating directions. But no single song off Purple Rain demonstrates how peerless a songwriter and conceptualist he was in his prime as much as “When Doves Cry,” which ranks among his very best work.

It’s a song that’s missing a lot of familiar elements. There’s no bass line to speak of, just a kick drum and synth riff that cut through the negative space to sear themselves into your brain. Prince’s guitar work, including the whirling opening solo, is reminiscent of the late-60s psychedelic soul movement. The instrument provides an earthy element that sticks out like a sore thumb against the dry, aggressive rhythm that pulses underneath. Hovering over it all is the multihyphenate’s vocal, which careens between a howling falsetto and a lower, more suggestive register. The sum of all those parts is, somehow, some way, one of the catchiest songs I’ve ever heard.

“When Doves Cry” was the first single off Purple Rain and scored Prince his first Hot 100 No. 1. It stayed at the top of the chart for five weeks, one of several achievements that made 1984 an unparalleled success for him. The film of the same name grossed over $80 million domestically, and the soundtrack was eventually certified 13x Platinum. Prince accomplished all of this at the age of 25, by the way, which is an astonishing stat on its own. The level of creative control he maintained over everything— music, film, his visual identity, not to mention label negotiations—was a rare accomplishment even back then and may never be replicated to the same degree ever again. I don’t know what it was back in the 1980s, but music superstars were just built different then.

10. “What’s Love Got to Do with It” by Tina Turner (1984)

Tina Turner left Ike Turner in 1976 with nothing. No money, no house, no career momentum. She spent years rebuilding, playing small venues, and scraping together session work. I went over this backstory in more detail in my Private Dancer review, but the short version is that Capitol Records took a chance and signed her in 1983. That was the beginning of the resurgence that would see her become, at the time, the oldest women (she was 44) to top the Hot 100 with “What’s Love Got to Do With It.” It’s a testament to Turner’s sheer force of will in both the macro, meaning her career arc, and the micro, at the song level. This one wasn’t supposed to be as big as it became, but she made it so.

“What’s Love Got to Do With It” was initially offered to several other artists, including Donna Summer and Cliff Richard, who all passed on it for one reason or another. Turner didn’t like it at first, either, but her manager Roger Davies convinced her to try recording it. During the sessions that made up the work for Private Dancer, the track became more synth-laden and, compared to her ferocious R&B classics from the 1970s, more restrained rhythmically, which is the key to its appeal. Turner never overpowers the song, underplaying the question at the core of the lyrics. She’s not opposed to the idea of love, but she’s more than a little skeptical, and she sells both angles expertly.

Despite being one of the most celebrated R&B and rock singers of her generation, “What’s Love Got to Do With It” was Turner’s only No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100. How is that fair and just in any way? She got close a couple of times, though. The Mad Max tie-in, “We Don’t Need Another Hero (Thunderdome),” and “Typical Male” both peaked at No. 2 in 1985 and 1986, respectively. Her story, which included building a brand-new persona that enjoyed plenty of air time on MTV and late-night talk shows, is one for the ages. If you haven’t seen the fabulous HBO documentary about her life, I highly recommend it. It will give you new appreciation for how important a pop music trailblazer she was.

11. “Time After Time” by Cyndi Lauper (1984)

Co-written by Rob Hyman of the Hooters, “Time After Time” is Cyndi Lauper at her least exaggerated and, one could argue, her most effective. She’s better known for fizzier pop cuts like “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” and “Money Changes Everything,” but this cut dials the everything back to the point where she has nowhere to hide in the mix. It’s a mechanism she’d redeploy with great success in the years after “Time After Time” (a song like “True Colors” comes to mind), but none of them have such an intuitive melody at their core. You could probably sing most of it back after one or two listens, which is further evidence that it works.

The press spent much of 1984 pitting Lauper against Madonna, trying to create this faux rivalry that, to my eye, seems built on nothing more than the fact that both women happened to have hit songs charting at the same time. But, where Madonna was far more calculating in her approach, Lauper always sounded like she was operating on a more instinctual level, and you can hear that in “Time After Time.” She wraps her words around that clean guitar figure like someone jotting down their innermost thoughts on lined paper, unbothered by letters or words that come out a little crooked or worm their way into the margins. It’s a much different, more honest kind of pop standard.

This single, the second of six (!) from She’s So Unusual, was the album’s only chart-topper. However, five of those six singles cracked the Top 10, setting a standard for debut LPs that few have equaled since. It’s been covered endless times in the years since and made it into just about as many films and TV shows as a reliable 80s needle drop, but perhaps the most striking bit of praise for Lauper’s classic came from jazz great Miles Davis, who covered it on his 1985 release You’re Under Arrest. He stripped it down to its essentials and the song lost none of its power. Talk about translating seamlessly to another medium …

12. “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” by Tears for Fears (1985)

Few songs in the 80s canon pull off a bigger misdirection than “Everybody Wants to Rule the World.” Everything in the arrangement signals warmth: the shuffle drum pattern, Neil Taylor’s jangly guitar figure with Roland Orzabal layering on additional parts, a bass line with a fluid, almost jazz-adjacent quality, and Curt Smith’s vocal, which is so indelibly clean and unforced. The whole track floats so effortlessly that it’s enough to make you forget what they’re actually talking about. If you’re paying attention to the title, you know the lyrical content is going to be anything but warm and fuzzy.

Tears for Fears were enthusiasts of Arthur Janov’s primal scream therapy from their formation (the band’s name is a play on one of his observations), and *Songs from the Big Chair* plays like existentialist psychoanalytic theater, wrapped in an immaculate collection of arrangements and production choices. They understood psychological tension better than most pop acts of the era, and I’d argue that “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” is their most elegant, accessible expression of it. The words by Orzabal, Ian Stanley, and Chris Hughes could be interpreted in any number of ways: Cold War commentary, Thatcherite critique, or a wry, somewhat weary observation about human ambition. Maybe all three simultaneously. But, crucially, the song never tells you which reading to choose, which makes the ambiguity a feature, not a bug.

“Everybody Wants to Rule the World” held No. 1 for two weeks in 1985 and won the Brit Award for Best British Single in 1986. The song has endured as, if not the “best” song of the 1980s, one of the most 80s to top the charts, with new generations of fans discovering it every few years. That legacy has helped their smash album go 5x in the US and sell over 9 million units worldwide. In a way, it’s an oddly comforting listening experience to this day, primarily because of the disconnect between what the production sounds like and what the songwriting conveys. It trusts the listener to sit with that gap, which is more than you can say for much of the pop music released during or since 1985.

13. “Take On Me” by a-ha (1985)

I don’t think it’s hyperbole to say the music video, as a medium, saved “Take On Me” and, by association, Norwegian synth-pop outfit a-ha from obscurity.

The first version of this song was released in 1984 with a different mix and a low-budget video, neither of which gained any traction with listeners. Warner Bros. then brought in director Steve Barron for a second attempt, commissioning the now-famous rotoscoped pencil-sketch animation that combined live-action with hand-drawn animation for an updated music video. The reshoot cost the label roughly $100,000 and took 16 weeks to complete. But, even at that price, the video is one of the most successful of all time, with over 2.4 billion views on YouTube alone (as of this writing).

I guess I’m underselling how strong the song is on its own terms, though. That synth riff, played on a Yamaha DX7, is one of the most recognizable of the decade, and I’d argue Morten Harket’s vocal performance gets far less credit than it earns. The sustained high note that closes the final chorus is a technical and emotional feat, sounding like someone overwhelmed by what they’re asking for (and hoping to give in return). The arrangement, which shifts between synth-driven verses and a guitar-inflected chorus, has more in common with power-pop than with their icier European contemporaries, making them sort-of outsiders in both the British and American markets. The fact that it’s tough to pin down in one single genre category is further proof of its greatness.

“Take On Me” held No. 1 for one week and, unsurprisingly, won six MTV Video Music Awards in 1986, including Best New Artist and Best Concept Video. The video deserved every award it won, but it also complicated the band’s legacy in a way they never fully recovered from. Underneath the animation spectacle is a simple, almost desperate love song, and the band, though they’ve remained popular, with a loyal fan base, in the years since, didn’t recapture that same fire after this moment. A tall order, but still.

14. “West End Girls” by Pet Shop Boys (1986)

Neil Tennant and Chris Lowe had an unlikely trajectory to pop stardom, to say the least. The former worked in publishing and later became a journalist, while the latter was pursuing a career as an architect. But after meeting at a hi-fi store in 1981, they immediately clicked and shortly thereafter started playing together. “We sort of released something in each other,” Tennant recalled of those early sessions. “There was immediately something there.” The duo built on their mutual interest in disco and electronic music, particularly pioneering acts like Kraftwerk and Depeche Mode. After Tennant flew to New York to interview Sting for Smash Hits magazine, he passed their demo to Bobby Orlando, an American producer who helped them cut “West End Girls” in 1984.

Except that’s not the version that would eventually top the Hot 100 for a week in 1986. That 1984 recording was a minor European club hit but didn’t sniff any crossover success. It wasn’t until EMI signed the duo and brought in Stephen Hague to produce that the single’s sound (and, by extension, the group’s sonic identity) began to really take shape. Besides his work with the Pet Shop Boys, Hague is best known for producing New Order and Erasure, and you can hear a lot of the same crisp confidence in the mix for “West End Girls.” Hi-hats snap and synths throb under Tennant’s lilting, somewhat disaffected vocal, with every element operating within clean lines, like lane dividers on an open highway. It’s a bit self-serious in its anxieties about class, money, and urban drudgery in Thatcher’s UK, but not enough to smother that iconic groove.

In addition to hitting No. 1 on the Billboard singles chart, the starmaking single was a big hit in Britain and across most of Europe. It ensured that Please, their debut studio album, also went Platinum. That LP is good, though I’m more partial to their follow-up, 1987’s Actually. That year, they also came the closest they’ve ever been to another No. 1, when “What Have I Done to Deserve This?” peaked at No. 2. What gets me about “West End Girls” is how fully fleshed-out the group’s emotional register (loneliness disguised as sophistication) was at the outset of their career. Nobody writing pop songs in 1986 was doing anything quite like it.

15. “Livin’ on a Prayer” by Bon Jovi (1987)

I’ve never understood the Bon Jovi hate.

Sure, they’ve made their fair share of cornball, lowest-common-denominator rock songs, but that’s only part of the bigger picture. In over 40 years in the business, they’ve accumulated a deep, critically underrated catalog that has produced 4 separate No. 1 hits on the Hot 100, all of which topped the charts between 1986 and 1989. Not dissimilar to Coldplay, it may be trendy to hate on Bon Jovi, but all the snobbery in the world can’t take away the fact that those boys from New Jersey, along with writer Desmond Child and producer Bruce Fairbairn, created a song so universally adored, so embedded in our everyday lives, that people will sing it anytime, anywhere. Sometimes, they’ll even do it in the presence of Jon Bon Jovi himself.

At this point, when someone says the words “Livin’ on a Prayer,” you can hear it in your head immediately. The opening synth note gives way to that infectious bass line. The talk box, gated reverb on those drums, and the massive key change that hits you right in the feels every time that final chorus starts. It’s 80s feathered hair euphoria. All those ingredients combine to make it one of the most effective stadium anthems in pop-rock history, with a mix that’s loud and engineered for maximum sonic impact. Underneath all its sheen, you have a doomed working-class love story that, even though we’ve never met Tommy and Gina, presents instantly familiar archetypes. They’re holding onto each other because they literally have no other option, and, in a sad way, exemplify a lot of what the “American Dream” has come to stand for.

Jon Bon Jovi has said in multiple interviews that he didn’t think the song was strong enough to merit consideration for Slippery When Wet, the blockbuster album that turned the group into global superstars. He and the rest of his bandmates initially passed on recording it, but manager Doc McGhee and others pushed for its inclusion. It ultimately became the second single from Slippery When Wet, building on the momentum generated by “You Give Love a Bad Name,” which also went to No. 1. “Livin’ on a Prayer” held the top spot for four weeks and has since accumulated over 2.2 billion Spotify streams, more than any other 80s track on the platform.

16. “I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me)” by Whitney Houston (1987)

By 1987, Whitney Houston had already scored multiple No. 1 hits and was well on her way to becoming one of the most dominant voices in 80s and 90s pop music (spoiler: this won’t be the last time we hear from Whitney in the Summer of Billboard series). But, of those early hits, most of them put her in a specific balladeering lane that was putting an artificial glass ceiling over her enormous potential. Clive Davis and her production team made it their mission to craft a signature uptempo song that would put her in another, rarified pop diva category, and set about writing and recording what has endured as one of her greatest achievements, “I Wanna Dance with Somebody.”

Following the success of “How Will I Know,” a track that I adore and that very nearly supplanted this one as this list’s Whitney Houston entry, Davis brought back George Merrill and Shannon Rubicam to craft a sequel of sorts. The duo penned “Waiting For a Star to Fall,” another one of my favorite 80s songs that they’d release under their own banner, Boy Meets Girl, but Davis and company passed on it for Whitney’s upcoming album. “We wanted to write a song that was airtight, that was just so solid on its own, it could be an uptempo [track], it could be a ballad, it was just going to be,” explained Rubicam. The vocal melody invites Whitney to make a meal out of it, and she does just that, delivering a performance that’s technically extraordinary and yet so airy and effortless-sounding.

The other architect that needs to be mentioned is Narada Michael Walden, who built the arrangement around a driving synth-pop beat not dissimilar to the one he produced for Aretha Franklin on “Freeway of Love.” Walden’s press quotes about working on this song are, um, interesting, especially when it comes to moving Whitney’s sensibility away from the “white pop” aesthetic she often got accused of pandering to. It’s a crude description perhaps, but I think Walden sums up the instrumental’s appeal perfectly here: “My philosophy is the outhouse bottom with the penthouse view... if it’s got nastiness on the bottom, which is really funky, but it’s very pretty on top, that combination is kind of irresistible.”

The song held at No. 1 on the Hot 100 for two weeks in 1987 and won the Grammy for Best Female Pop Vocal Performance.

17. “Father Figure” by George Michael (1988)

And now, for something completely different. A track that I’d posit is one of the most anti-No. 1 No.1 hits in the history of the Billboard Hot 100: George Michael’s “Father Figure.”

Everything about it resists Top 40 conventions of the period, maybe the biggest reason it’s held up better than most of what surrounded it on the charts. The running time exceeds five minutes. The tempo is unhurried and never sounds like it’s working too hard, least of all to wow the listener. More importantly, George Michael wrote, produced, and arranged the entire track himself, a workload that he certainly wasn’t forced to undertake. He was at the height of his immediate post-Wham! fame and could’ve done whatever he wanted. Instead of following the day’s trends to a T, he created a track that reflects a more eclectic taste.

The programmed drum pattern soothes rather than thumps, the bass synth sits in a sunnier register than you’d think, the strings swell with the perfect amount of intensity, and there’s even a jazz-inflected guitar that adds to the laid-back atmosphere. The arrangement owes more to 70s soul and to records like Marvin Gaye’s “I Want You” than to anything else that graced the Hot 100 in 1988. Michael was just 24 years old when he made “Father Figure,” a love song that sits in this transfixing space between tender and unsettling. You could say the same for other tracks off Faith, his teen-pop emancipation statement, such as “I Want Your Sex,” but the strangeness of the lyrical premise is unlike anything on that LP and, more broadly, in that era of his career.

“Father Figure” held No. 1 for two weeks, the fourth of six singles from Faith to reach the Top 5 in the US. The parent album also topped the Billboard 200, won the Grammy for Album of the Year, and has been certified 10x Diamond (it’s sold over 25 million copies worldwide to date). I’ve always considered George Michael’s solo career a bridge between the blue-eyed soul tradition of Hall & Oates and the neo-soul movement of the 1990s. He sang with so much feeling, even when he was purposely holding the theatrics back considerably. I have a feeling his catalog will age incredibly gracefully as the decades pass.

18. “Sweet Child o’ Mine” by Guns N’ Roses (1988)

Slash’s legendary riff for “Sweet Child o’ Mine” was supposedly conceived as he was noodling with a circular guitar figure he later described as a “circus melody” during rehearsal. He was playing it as a warm-up joke, nothing more, but when Duff McKagan and Steven Adler heard it, they immediately moved to lock in a groove underneath. Izzy Stradlin’s rhythm guitar provided the chordal foundation that let Slash’s lead line float. Axl Rose, hearing what was taking shape, started writing a lyric. The story of how this song came together is almost a parable about how the best accidents happen: you can’t will a riff like this one into existence. You have to let it sneak up on you.

More than anything else, “Sweet Child o’ Mine” is what brought Guns N’ Roses the kind of mainstream success they hadn’t necessarily banked on. It’s often lost to time now, but the truth is that Appetite for Destruction, took over a year to find its audience commercially. “Child” was the third single and the one that finally helped push the LP to the top of the charts (the song itself held the No. 1 position for two weeks and is, to date, the band’s only US chart-topper). Rose wrote the lyric about his girlfriend Erin Everly, daughter of Don Everly of the Everly Brothers. The specificity of the imagery, her eyes, her smile, the way she takes him to a calmer place when the noise in his head gets too loud, is reminiscent of country-rock ballads from the likes of the Allman Brothers Band and Lynyrd Skynyrd, the latter of which served as inspiration for GN’R to infuse the track with “that heartfelt feeling.”

GN’R arrived at a moment when hair metal had largely calcified into posturing and tired formulas. While they may have leaned into similar era-specific instrumentation, they had a different energy, rooted in the traditions of the Stones and Aerosmith rather than post-glam-rock preening. To that end, “Sweet Child o’ Mine” is a rock music Trojan horse, boasting a framework that’s melodic enough for pop radio, but also dangerous enough to introduce more casual listeners to a band that had no interest in being palatable with any consistency. Appetite is one of the most transcendent feel-bad albums ever made thematically, and, as I argued in the discography ranking, it’s also in the conversation for the best debut LPs of all time, regardless of genre.

19. “Like a Prayer” by Madonna (1989)

I’ve written a fair amount about Madonna in this newsletter (her albums ranked across three installments), and one of the arguments I keep returning to is the disconnect between how calculated her image could be and how unguarded she sounds on her best recordings. “Like a Prayer” is arguably the most famous of those case studies and, for me, the most endlessly listenable of them all.

At the end of the 1980s, Madonna was at a crossroads. She was one of the biggest stars in the world across music, film, and the stage, but she was also coming off several commercial flops in a row and freshly divorced from Sean Penn. Out of that emotional turmoil came a song and album (which I wrote about here) that wraps its arms around a whole lot, including the prevailing guilt the Catholic church saddles many of its constituents with for life. “In Catholicism, you are born a sinner and you are a sinner all of your life,” she told Rolling Stone in 1989. “No matter how you try to get away from it, the sin is within you all the time.”

Here’s more about the song from my original review:

“Much has been written about how [’Like a Prayer’] courted controversy and set dubious standards for capitalistic opportunism to the point where the magic of the music itself has been at least partially obscured over time. The start-and-stop minimalist rhythm gives Madonna room to work through deep-rooted struggles [and] whether she’ll ever truly feel one with [Him]. Phrases like ‘I want to take you there’ and ‘I can feel your power’ feel at odds with the more paranoid lyrics (’It’s like a dream/No end and no beginning’). Does this track confirm her allegiance to a higher power or show her rejecting it in favor of a more grounded (these days, it’d be phrased as ‘woke’) worldview that celebrates individualism?”

It’s another kitchen-sink single that, when dissected, maybe shouldn’t work on paper. There’s the church organ that arrives first, the Andraé Crouch Singers (one of the most respected gospel choirs in the country), some rock guitar swirling over a funk bass line, and somehow it doesn’t collapse under its own weight. Nearly 30 years later, it still soars.

20. “My Prerogative” by Bobby Brown (1989)

Bobby Brown left New Edition in 1985. He was 17 and, by all accounts, primed for stardom. The swerve? His first solo album, King of Stage, from 1986, was a flop. Softer production and languid pacing kill what could’ve been a much more interesting record, leaving Brown frustrated with the overall sound. He elected to go with different, more proven producers for a follow-up, linking with names like Babyface, L.A. Reid, and Teddy Riley, all of whom have been discussed in this newsletter before. That album, Don’t Be Cruel, would go on to sell upwards of 12 million copies, further popularize New Jack Swing, and give him his only US No. 1 single, “My Prerogative.”

Riley’s production is bonkers. The drum programming is harder and more syncopated than almost anything on mainstream R&B radio at the time. Control is certainly in that conversation, but even Jam & Lewis beats weren’t as thick and brawny as this one. Over top, the synth stabs are also aggressive, almost confrontational in nature. Riley was borrowing from hip-hop’s burgeoning vocabulary while retaining enough melody for pop radio, a hybrid that would dominate and reshape pop in the first half of the 1990s. Lyrically, “My Prerogative” sets a template that’s been reused time and again in the rap game, from his New Jack contemporaries to men on both sides of the Drake/Kendrick beef: a direct response to tabloid scrutiny and public judgment. Rejecting the premise means you’re controlling the messaging.

“My Prerogative” reached No. 1 for one week in early 1989, one of five Top 10 singles produced by Don’t Be Cruel’s run of success. Alongside Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation 1814, it also signaled the beginning of an era where one smash hit album could mean two-plus years of chart and media visibility through MTV, award show performances, and so on. Brown also won the Grammy for Best Male R&B Vocal Performance, showcasing the commercial opportunity that came with bridging polished R&B vocal-group stylings and a rough-edged hip-hop persona.

He wasn’t a rapper, but he moved through the culture like one.

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Which 1980s No. 1 would you have added? And which one on this list are you putting on right now?