On the road again
Remember Wang Chung and their iconic hit from the 80s?
“Everybody have fun tonight/ Everybody Wang Chung tonight.”
That, in two short lines, sums up the entire legacy of Wang Chung, the new wave Brit-pop duo that scored a massive hit in ‘86 with a song that included its own name in the lyrics and, by so doing, may have influenced an entire generation of self-referential hip hop acts.
“At the time it was considered in bad taste,” notes cofounder Nick Feldman, on the phone from somewhere in the UK.
“But the rap scene has embedded the vocabulary of referencing themselves.”
He laughs. “We’re the godfathers of rap music.”
Feldman isn’t the typical pop star, having gone on to a post-Wang Chung career as a music exec and talent scout for the British version of TV’s “The Voice.”
As someone who has worked behind the scenes he not only has his ego in check, he’s developed a healthy perspective on Wang Chung’s ‘80s flirtation with megastardom.
“It felt very unreal,” he recalls of the sudden attention lavished on him and creative partner Jack Hues when “Everybody Have Fun Tonight” hit No. 2 in the U.S. and No. 1 in Canada.
”Everything was no longer under my control. The story was writing itself. I felt like I was an impostor — like somehow I shouldn’t be there and would be found out.”
It was the pastel neon ‘80s, an era of synthesizers and shoulder pads, MTV and “Miami Vice.”
Madonna and Michael Jackson ruled the pop charts.
Ronald Reagan and Brian Mulroney were singing “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling.”
“E.T.” and “Back to the Future” were packing them into movie theatres.
“There were some big technology developments with synthesizers and electronics, with a strong emphasis on melody,” notes Feldman.
“UK bands were maybe a bit more adventurous in taking an art school approach to videos.’’
First and foremost was that crazy Wang Chung song with images that flickered in such rapid succession it was banned for fear of sparking epileptic seizures.
Still, you couldn’t escape it. “The ‘80s had a monoculture that was much more in evidence,” he notes, referring to the predigital age when everyone consumed the same entertainment.
“If you had a hit, everyone knew it. Whether they liked it or not is another issue.”
By 1986, when their big moment arrived, Wang Chung had already experienced chart success with songs like “Dance Hall Days” and the soundtrack to the ’85 action thriller “To Live and Die in L.A.”
When they decided to up the stakes with a bona fide chart-topper, they headed into the studio, unsure how to proceed.
“I remember recording it in Vienna,” Feldman recalls of the repetitive party anthem that would become their signature.
“It was put together very spontaneously. We didn’t have a chance to think ‘is this good or is it really bad?’ We had no idea it would connect the way it did. It became a cultural phenomenon.”
Ironically, he speculates, had the band not included their own name in the lyrics, it would not have gone supernova.
“It was originally just ‘everybody have fun tonight,’” he recalls. “Jack ad-libbed ‘Everybody Wang Chung tonight’ and it captivated listeners.
“It would still have been a hit, but it wouldn’t have been as big.” What does “Wang Chung” mean? “I’ll have to kill you if I told you!” chides the 63-year-old bassist, whose father Basil Feldman was a member of the prestigious British House of Lords.
“It’s enigmatic, teasing. It’s about a feeling rather than something literal. It could mean anything from sex to just a party to something much more intellectual.
“For us, it was quite complicated. It was a Chinese musical term (the first note on the Chinese classical music scale). It’s also the actual sound a guitar makes, but that’s a superficial interpretation.”
I point out that had they included “Wang Chung” in the lyrics of every song, they might have become the bigger than The Beatles.
“That’s an interesting idea,” muses Feldman, only half-joking. “But we would be accused of ripping ourselves off.”
No matter. One hit was all they needed to resurrect their career, 30 years later, as a viable nostalgia act, currently on tour with Cutting Crew, whose own hit, “(I Just) Died in Your Arms,” was equally massive.
I ask Feldman about the potential for backstage rivalry: Who throws down the first synth-pop dance beat? Who gets the last song?
“We perform as one hybridized band,” notes the proper British gent, vaguely offended by my impropriety.
“We both play each other’s music. It’s one long show, flipped between our two repertoires.”
Sensing my surprise, he laughs. “It’s a different kind of experience.”