Genesis’ We Can’t Dance and what makes a favorite album
As my time writing for The Lamron and specifically the Arts & Entertainment section comes to a close, it felt not only right but essential that I dedicate my final music article to my favorite album of all time, Genesis’ 1991 We Can’t Dance. Being Phil Collins’ final album with the band and the second to last Genesis original album, there was a lot for the group to do: find conclusion to a group that had started 22 years before in 1969, who had gained and lost a number of members, who had experimented and pushed the boundaries of every genre they worked in, and a group that acted as a launching pad for a number of incredibly successful solo careers. How could it all be boiled down to one last hurrah?
Only with the precision and talent that Genesis brought to the table with every one of their albums. We Can’t Dance not only finalizes the long, successful journey of the band, but acts as a climax for its entire existence, a place where each remaining member could push their own limits and work knowing that it may be their last time performing with their closest friends. The only way I can explain the brilliance of the album is by going through each of the twelve songs and describing why each one not only earns its spot, but exceeds the expectations placed by the music industry in the 90s and the band’s previous work.
“No Son of Mine” kicks off the album in an incredibly interesting way. Though Genesis was known to write dark songs like “Mama” and “Domino” in previous albums, “No Son of Mine” tells the audience right away that this isn’t just a pop album. Telling the story of a son returning to his childhood home wherein his abusive father lives, the song experiments not only with lyrics but with the instruments as well (something that will continue to appear). Whether it be the humming bass right in the beginning throwing the audience off, or the continued use of a clock ticking to put listeners on edge and illustrate the anxiety of the speaker, there’s little question as to why a song as “No Son of Mine” became one the band’s biggest hits.
Following with what is essentially the exact opposite, “Jesus He Knows Me” is easily one of Genesis’ funniest songs. From the whimsical organ riffs imitating the church atmosphere to the hilarious lyrics poking fun at the gullible, the song came about from the boom of “Televangelists” in the 80s and 90s. Told from the perspective of one of these con-men, Collins chants lyric after lyric about how giving your money to the man behind the screen will get you to heaven. To those of you who are going to listen to the song, I implore you to watch the music video along with it. The song has also recently reemerged, as the band Ghost will be releasing their cover of the song next month.
“Driving the Last Spike” appears as the album’s first long sonnet, the second longest song of the album clocking in at just over ten minutes. Phil Collins stated that the song came about from a book he was given about the construction of the railroads in the UK. What essentially amounted to slave labor, Irish laborers were forced to construct the tunnels and lay the tracks in life-threatening circumstances. The song comes from the perspective of one of these laborers who is a victim of a tunnel collapse, killed by those who promised it was safe having left a wife and family at home. Being written by Collins’, the percussion in the song is particularly powerful, echoing the sound of a real tunnel collapse and the anxiety of being trapped without air.
Moving now into the titular song of the album and one of my personal favorite pop-rock songs of all time, “I Can’t Dance” is everything you could possibly want in a goofy, just-bop-your-head-and-jam masterpiece. Inspired by absurd jean commercials in the 90s wherein a man would model the pants at the beach, Genesis took this idea and ran with it, creating a song wherein this beach escapade goes horribly wrong. Collins is known for his ability to poke fun at his own appearance, exemplified by him fitting into a model caricature, saying “A perfect body with a perfect face / Mhm” in the best way possible. Once again, for those who want to listen, I highly recommend the music video that only increases the hilarity of the song.
The fifth song of the album, “Never a Time,” is perhaps the most beautiful of the album. Opening with a sliding percussion crescendo, the song looks into the nature of humans to continuously rely on “tomorrow.” The song calls for the listeners to realize that their time is, indeed, limited, and that there will come a time when there was “never a time” will be a lame excuse for not acting on what you want to do with your life. “You’re living your life locked in a dream / where nothing is real / and not what it seems / we can’t go on another day / just being afraid to say.” Despite being the fifth single released and not having a music video, the song reached 21st on the Billboard Hot 100 upon release and continues to make listeners—me specifically—reevaluate the way they spend their precious time on earth.
We’ll loop back around to track #6, “Dreaming While You Sleep,” at the end.
“Tell Me Why” follows the ever-popular “Land of Confusion” from Genesis’ previous album as a political take on the state of global war. Written in light of the Gulf War, the song is a plight to God to “tell us why” the horrors of the world continue to happen, but also a cry to those in power to change what they are doing before it’s too late. Collins stated the song was originally inspired by a news broadcast he watched with his daughter, perhaps leading to the power that he puts behind his vocals and the emotion that is bubbling throughout. He repeats over and over, “Hurry for me, hurry for me, they cry, they cry.”
“Living Forever” acts as the opposite side of the same coin as “Never a Time,” written from the perspective of someone who actively and absurdly believes they are going to live forever. By existing in compliant ignorance, the narrator avoids the realization that “Never a Time” speaks to, telling those who are trying to help that they simply want to “rule over everybody’s life.” Tony Banks’ keyboarding is particularly good in this song, with a significant solo towards the end acting as the cherry on top for an already brilliant song.
The soft-rock ballad of the album comes in as song #9, “Hold on My Heart.” Perhaps the least lyrically/storytelling involved piece on the album, the song is still perfect to cool down to. All of the Genesis staples, from Collins’ drums to Rutherford’s guitar and bass, are still present, but tuned down to focus in on the lyrics and the ebb and flow of the song. A jam perfect for a relaxing evening, “Hold on My Heart” acts as the perfect rest going into the final three songs.
“Way of the World” puts the audience back on their toes right from the start with a percussion down-beat, going into the stunning vocals. Philosophizing on the nature of good and evil, the song makes no ground-breaking discoveries but forces the audience to look inward on their own experiences and how they would react differently if given a redo. The true climax of the song emerges with a beautiful keyboard solo that rises and falls, backed by guitar and drums, bursting out in the final chorus. “Way of the World” puts the audience front and center at their instrumental best.
“Since I Lost You” is, in terms of realism, the most heartbreaking song on We Can’t Dance. Written by Collins for fellow musician and performer Eric Clapton, the song is a ballad about the accidental death of Clapton’s four-year-old son who fell from an apartment window. Using actual quotes Clapton said to Collins while grieving, the emotional core of the song and how it is related through the stark realism of every line (“How can life ever be the same / cause my heart’s broken in pieces”) makes “Since I Lost You” worthy of a cry every time it’s played.
Finally, the longest song on the album and one of Genesis’ longest songs ever, “Fading Lights” was the perfect end to one of the greatest trios of songwriters ever. There’s the inherent knowledge within each second of the song that Collins’ departure from the band isn’t something the group wants, but something that has to happen for the greater good of each member and their families: “Like a story we wish was never ending / we know sometimes we must reach the final page.” Each member is playing as if it were their very last performance, the drums ringing out, the guitars humming, and the keyboard punctuating every note that sounds. The middle of the song holds a six-minute instrumental portion that seems to be composed of every riff the band never fit into another song; a farewell to what could never be. As the metaphorical lights faded on the band’s time together, the resulting song proved what Collins said upon leaving: “I wish the guys in Genesis all the very best in their future. We remain the best of friends.”
And now, looping back to the song that I believe best defines We Can’t Dance and the final era of Genesis, we’ll talk about one of my favorite songs ever, “Dreaming While You Sleep.” The song effortlessly blends everything the album stands for, from realism, human capacity for evil, and the fragile and sacred nature of life, to heart-dropping instrumentals and vocals that continue to deliver after every listen, all within the confines of a beautifully crafted and easily empathetic story. Narrated by a man who has just hit a woman with his car, putting her in a coma and forever changing what may remain of her life, we see each of the various complex stages of grief, from initial denial to all-encompassing guilt.
The song uses both diegetic and non-diegetic sounds within, like the sound of an approaching car along with the actual music, to further immerse the listener. Upon the chorus’s introduction, Collins gives a percussion riff to rival that of “In the Air Tonight” to signal the impact of the accident, not to mention how soulfully Collins belts the lyrics, “I will never be free all my life / Trapped in her memory all my life / Till the day that you open your eyes / Please open your eyes.” There’s few, if any, other songs that are as effective in both lyrical and instrumental capacity at relating a story as soul-rending as the one present in “Dreaming While You Sleep.”
I could go on, but it ought to be clear how I feel about We Can’t Dance, not to mention that it came to me during the time I needed it most. If it weren’t for the stories and lessons that its songs teach, it’s hard to say not only how my life would be different, but how my personality, my attitude, and my capacity for life would be altered as well. I, of course, recommend the album to anyone who listens to pop or rock music. The sheer dynamism and the how each song differs so radically from the others make We Can’t Dance everything in one, all while providing the groundwork for life lessons that will be carried forever.
Thumbnail Photo via Wikimedia Commons