The pulse of a generation
Cool and calm, the opening synths flow in like morning fog over a Scottish hillside. Then come the drums, crisp and certain, followed by Jim Kerr’s voice, stretched wide like a skyline. Alive and Kicking unfolds; it is a song that flows with the gentle force of something certain of its course rather than rushing. Released in 1985 right after Don’t You (Forget About Me) became popular all over America, this one is nearer to the band’s heart. Simple Minds had begun in the post-punk shadows of Glasgow, but by now they were filling arenas with music that sparkled, surged, and knew precisely how to hold an audience.
The rhythm has a physical presence, something muscular and alive. Michael MacNeil’s keyboards flood the veins; Mel Gaynor’s drumming gives it bones; Charlie Burchill’s guitar raises everything with those high, pristine arcs. Pay attention to the way Kerr sings stay until your love is alive and kicking; there is both breath and bite in it. The track does not deal in tragedy or nostalgia. It merely is. Strong, upright, tall. This is a song that establishes its feet and greets you.
It came from a time when bands still believed in the design of a good single. No satire, no detached layers. Simply make. Under Jimmy Iovine’s direction, who had just worked with Springsteen and U2, Simple Minds recorded it in New York. You can feel the city in it, not the noise but the landscape, the sense of scale. The sounds have gaps, but like steel and glass everything locks into position. It’s music constructed like a building, sturdy, shining, lightless.
In Alive and Kicking, Simple Minds deliver an anthemic sound and powerful lyrics that embody resilience and hope, making it one of the band’s most iconic hits.
(Songtell, 2025)
Alive and Kicking’s success sealed their transatlantic status. Not a fluke. Having been ascending for years, the band had changed their line-ups, become more hungry and sharper. Their first fans might remember the days of Empires and Dance, when they still felt underground and weird, but by the mid-80s they had opened their music to the sky. This song has no darkness; it’s a broad openness, like the tower’s windows gazing out upon the world.
Still today the track has presence. It seems large without effort, emotional without seeking. In your car, apply it and the road opens. In a room play it loudly and the ceiling rises. Simple Minds didn’t come up with the sound of the 1980s, but this song pulses with its heartbeat, grand, melodic, restless, utterly confident of its location.
