1984 Time Capsule:

• 'Sweet and Sour' by the Takeaways
• 'From Her to Eternity' by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds
• 'Black Boy' by Coloured Stone
• 'Heaven (Must Be There)' by Eurogliders
• 'Listening' by Pseudo Echo

The year Australia cranked up the volume

In 1984, Australia rode the wave of Bob Hawke’s re-election and the nation’s thrilling victory in the America’s Cup. Despite the lingering global unease of the Cold War, Australians seized the mood of possibility. The occasional Orwellian undertone aside, the focus was on the bright side, as the country charged forward with confidence, even while the rest of the world seemed to hold its breath.

Neon dreams and maximalist madness

Bold, brash, and neon-soaked, 1984 embodied maximalism. Creative energy pulsed in Ken Done’s and Jenny Kee’s graphic designs. First Nations voices gained strength, with Maruka Arts and others amplifying perspectives long overlooked. Green and gold, officially adopted as Australia’s national colours, saturated everything from sports uniforms to pop culture. Ads for VHS players and Walkmans heralded a future steeped in materialism and technology as Australia adopted the shiny and the now.

Hawke’s swagger, Meldrum’s Countdown and O’Donoghue’s revolution

As Prime Minister, Bob Hawke embodied Australia’s newfound confidence on the world stage. On Countdown, Molly Meldrum curated the nation’s pop obsessions, shaping its tastes with boundless energy. 'Advance Australia Fair' became our official national anthem (even if Men At Work’s ‘Down Under’ still reigned as the unofficial one). Lowitja O’Donoghue, named Australian of the Year, emerged as a vital figure in First Nations rights and social justice as the country’s conversations shifted towards equality and representation. Australia’s identity was being defined, with its cultural leaders becoming symbols of national momentum.

Nick Cave, Eurogliders and a barrier-breaking anthem

In 1984, Australian musicians, filmmakers, and artists broke new ground. Nick Cave’s From Her to Eternity – a raw, gothic odyssey – marked the beginning of his legendary career. The Eurogliders delivered shimmering new wave perfection with ‘Heaven (Must Be There)’, while Warumpi Band took ‘Jailanguru Pakarnu' on the road, the first Aboriginal-language rock song to hit mainstream radio. Directors like Werner Herzog showcased Australia’s landscapes in Where the Green Ants Dream, bringing international attention to our stories. Coloured Stone’s ‘Black Boy’ continued to break barriers, elevating First Nations voices.

Synths, scanners and sonic innovation

1984 also marked a technological leap. Icehouse’s ‘Taking the Town’ featured Fairlight synthesisers, signalling Australia’s ambition in sonic innovation. Vegemite, already a national treasure, marked a milestone in consumer technology by becoming the first product scanned at an Australian checkout. Even Film Australia predicted the digital future with Get With IT: The Information Technology Challenge.

Prisoner and Hey Hey – Aussie TV takes over

Prisoner, Hey Hey It’s Saturday – Australian TV in 1984 was filled with local flavour. Countdown remained essential viewing, and Young Talent Time kept families glued to their screens. The Bodyline miniseries blended sport and drama, while Aussie screens lit up with homegrown talent, helping to celebrate our national identity in prime time.

Synth-pop, triple j and queer radio waves

On the radio, synth-pop reigned, with Pseudo Echo’s ‘Listening’ and INXS’s ‘Burn for You’ climbing the charts. Triple j championed Australian music, surfacing the alt and underground. Meanwhile, Gaywaves, the first LGBTQIA+ radio program in Sydney, continued to push boundaries, amplifying queer voices on the airwaves – and queer pride at the ’84 Mardi Gras parade.

Meta twists, '80s tropes and emotional storytelling

1984’s pop culture was undeniably eclectic. The lines between fiction and reality blurred with Sweet and Sour, as the fictional Takeaways became real-life chart-toppers. Rick Springfield leaned into classic 80s tropes, combining music-videos-as-film-trailers and pop-stars-as-matinee-idols with the explosive clip for 'Love Somebody'. Meanwhile, Mondo Rock’s 'Come Said the Boy' broadcast sexual awakening across FM radio, and Coloured Stone’s 'Black Boy' brought powerful storytelling to the forefront.

A non-exhaustive 1984 time capsule 

‘Sweet and Sour’, The Takeaways (from the ABC series soundtrack)

The signature track from a fictional band – that cracked real-life charts

In 1984, Sweet and Sour hit the ABC, following the fictional band the Takeaways as they navigated the highs and lows of Sydney’s music scene. Shot in an old warehouse in Pyrmont, the show offered a frank, heartfelt snapshot of young musicians trying to break into the industry. Though it only ran for one season, its prime 6pm pre-dinnertime slot made it a cult classic for Gen Xers – and the soundtrack went platinum.

The sound: A high-energy mix of '80s pop-rock with a post-punk bite, Sweet and Sour is pure offbeat joy. It depicts Australia’s music scene just as it was cresting on the global stage, giving voice to creative outsiders finding their footing in a world dominated by pub rock and FM pop. Behind the scenes, songwriting legends like Deborah Conway, Martin Armiger and Ian Moss helped craft an album that’s a contagious explosion of jangly guitars and infectious melodies. Its DIY ethos mixes with radio-friendly production values, sitting comfortably alongside tracks by INXS or Eurogliders: electric guitars layered with synths, delivered with an edge and a grin.

The look: Sweet and Sour captures the chaos of late adolescence, where life’s sweet and sour moments are equally celebrated. The band’s wardrobe – oversized jackets, outré hats and loud colours – mirrored the sartorial rebellion of the era, where no pattern clashed and no look was ever too much. The aesthetic carried through to the artwork: kinetic Memphis-inspired shapes, the band outlined in neon graffiti strokes. It’s the visual embodiment of a show where creativity and style trumped polish.

Singular delights: The title track, ‘Sweet and Sour’, remains a standout, full of sugary hooks and a bittersweet punch. Deborah Conway’s vocals bristle with defiant energy, speaking directly to anyone who’s ever felt like an outsider.

Its singular strangeness: A fictional band becoming a real-world musical success is a gag – and a good one. The Takeaways don’t just exist within the show, they transcend it, releasing singles that slapped and scoring actual hits on the charts. The fact that actors mime to the vocals of real musicians – like Conway and Cathy McQuade – adds another layer of playful deception. 

Why it still matters: Sweet and Sour was ahead of the curve, both in its meta twist and spotlight on strong female protagonists navigating a male-dominated scene. And its scrappy optimism still chimes: stardom will elude most but the messy joy of creation is anyone’s for the taking.

'From Her to Eternity', Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds

A jagged post-punk symphony of tension without release

From Her to Eternity was the Bad Seeds' debut album, born from the ashes of Nick Cave’s previous band, the Birthday Party, and recorded in the chaotic aftermath of the new band’s formation. There’s more than a whiff of sulphur – the songs are less post-punk than thrillingly, theatrically post-apocalyptic, very fitting in Orwell’s year of 1984.

The sound: The title track – a clever play on From Here to Eternity – signals the Bad Seeds' dark wit and bombastic intentions. The song’s meticulous, almost ritualistic structure is all relentless build-up with no hope of release. Blixa Bargeld’s guitar shrieks, stabbing at Barry Adamson’s subterranean bass lines. Nick Cave’s preacher-like baritone crawls through the wreckage, every note clawing at the seams of reality. All of which made the album one of 1984's more bracing Top 40 entries – Eternity stares into the abyss, and the abyss howls back in appreciation.

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The look: The Bad Seeds are a total work of art, where every detail – typography, photography, dishevelled noir suits – contributes intentionally to their mystique. The hand-cut letters on the From Her to Eternity promo poster might have been pasted haphazardly together in the pre-dawn hours. Cave’s resemblance to Nosferatu here could be incidental. Or both are genius calculations. Either way, it works. 

Why it still matters: ‘From Her to Eternity’ defies traditional song structures – there’s no grounding chorus, no narrative guardrails, and no respite from its walled-in noise. This unflinching embrace of discomfort – in both sound and subject– is the song’s legacy, inspiring the artists that followed the Bad Seeds to take similar risks. All up, it’s not so much timeless as entirely outside time. 

‘Black Boy’, Coloured Stone

A resonant anthem from the heart of the Nullarbor

Bunna Lawrie, the Mirning Senior Elder who founded Coloured Stone in the late 1970s, grew up in Koonibba’s old Lutheran mission on the Nullarbor Plain. ‘Black Boy’ made a breakthrough in 1984, igniting discussions on race, identity and pride. The track reshaped cultural narratives, giving a voice to those long silenced.

At its core, the song reflects Lawrie’s personal journey, speaking to both pain and resilience. The melody carries hope, propelled by reggae’s steady thrum. This tension between an uplifting sound and harsh truths gives ‘Black Boy’ its lasting emotional power.

The video for ‘Black Boy’ is as simple as it is profound. Nine-year-old Brendan Nanjini walks through the expansive red and blue landscape, embodying the quiet strength of a young boy embracing his identity – a radical act in the face of racism. Alongside the song, the imagery conveyed a message of pride and defiance carried far.

‘Black Boy’ was the first Aboriginal song to break into Australia’s mainstream, selling more than 120,000 copies and topping the charts in Fiji.

Today, ‘Black Boy’ remains a landmark, especially in ongoing discussions about reconciliation and First Nations empowerment. Four decades later, the song’s call for pride and resilience is as urgent and powerful as ever, reminding us of how far Australia has come – and how far there is still to go. In recent years, the track has found new life in educational settings, where it continues to inspire conversations about Aboriginal identity, cultural pride and the fight for social justice.

'Heaven (Must Be There)', Eurogliders

Shimmering new wave perfection – with a cinematic touch

The sound: ‘Heaven (Must Be There)’ transcends the constraints of its era. It's pitch-perfect new wave with lush production and irresistible hooks, but a subtle melancholy simmers just beneath the surface. The song’s standout feature? Tubular bells. It’s an unexpected touch that elevates ‘Heaven’ from mere pop, giving it a near-cinematic quality. The track balances radio-ready gloss with existential questioning – ‘Heaven must be there, I don’t want to live in this place’ – capturing that unmistakable '80s blend of hope tinged with disillusionment.

The look: Eurogliders, as their sleek, high-speed name suggests, were visually captivating, projecting both sophistication and raw energy. Grace Knight, the band’s frontwoman, became their defining presence, her sharp suits and athletic silhouettes conjuring just the right mix of ambition and relatability. These promo photos capture a critical inflection point for the band: an act about to transition from local haunts to international stages.  

Why it still matters: ‘Heaven (Must Be There)’ is a reminder of what pop music at its best can be: smart, catchy and layered with meaning. The track became one of Australia’s best-selling singles, standing out when many Aussie artists were vying for international recognition. Its success in the USA, though brief, demonstrated that Australian pop could hold its own globally. And ‘Heaven’s' delicious alchemy – philosophical undertones couched in soft edges, drenched in neon lights – is one today’s indie-pop artists still chase. In a music world where pop can often feel disposable, Eurogliders’ masterpiece reminds us that sometimes, the simplest hooks carry the most weight. 

'Listening', Pseudo Echo

Synth-pop futurism, sci-fi aesthetics

Yes, we’re bending the rules here. 'Listening' technically dropped in November 1983, but it front-loaded Pseudo Echo’s 1984 debut album Autumnal Park and perfectly expresses the temperament of that year. Gravity-defying hair? Check. Futuristic optimism? Double check. Pushing technology to its limits and beyond? Absolutely. Even Pseudo Echo’s name reportedly came from a setting on the ARP Odyssey Synth, linking their identity to the electric dreams they helped create.

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The sound: In 1983, Pseudo Echo were the first unsigned band to perform on Countdown, catapulting the Melbourne act from underground hopefuls to EMI signees – and ‘Listening’ to No. 4 on the charts. Clocking in at just under three minutes (the mathematically ideal length for a pop song?), soaring synths launch it straight into the stratosphere. Underneath, punchy bass lines pulse with mechanical precision, giving the chorus – ‘Now it’s too late / You’re not listening’ – stern gravity and sleek intent. ‘Listening ‘was a technological marvel, built on cutting-edge synths like the ARP Odyssey, Korg RK100, and Yamaha DX7. The very newness of the tech makes the song feel both ahead of its time and paradoxically dated – a double-edged sword for many ’80s bands. Alongside the hexagonal Simmons electronic drums, that polished urgency makes it a gleaming encapsulation of synth-pop’s peak era.

The look: Pseudo Echo embodied their sound’s intergalactic glam in every visual, and this promo shot situates them proudly among international New Wave graduates like Ultravox, A Flock of Seagulls, and Duran Duran. The hair is voluminous to the point of aerodynamic. The clothes are relaxed but intentionally sharp, mixing sophistication with pub-rock swagger. In the original Australian video for ‘Listening’, they stood against stark, windswept landscapes – New Romantic by way of David Lynch’s Dune (another enduring 1984 touchpoint); sci-fi apocalypso chic. When ‘Listening’ crossed over to the US, the video underwent a high-octane transformation, complete with keytars, walls of TVs, and inexplicable surfing footage, presenting a small thesis in geographical tastes.

Why it still matters: 'Listening’ isn’t an ’80s relic – it’s a cornerstone of Australian synth-pop. The band’s use of ARP and Yamaha DX7 synths encapsulates the era’s twin drivers of optimism and innovation, pushing boundaries in how technology shapes culture. And Pseudo Echo continues to perform today, proving their specific elixir is still potent. The future never really goes out of style.

Read Part 2 of 1984: Australia finds its voice

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