You know that feeling when a song just grabs you by the throat? Not because it’s happy, but because it feels urgent. That’s exactly what happens three minutes into "Hunting High and Low" when the drums finally kick in on a-ha's second big hit. Most people remember the band for the sketch-book charm of "Take On Me," but honestly? The Sun Always Shines on TV is the superior track.
It’s darker. It’s louder. It’s got this weird, driving paranoia that makes you want to dance and have an existential crisis at the same time.
While "Take On Me" made them superstars, "The Sun Always Shines on TV" proved they weren't just a flash in the pan. It hit the number one spot in the UK and Ireland, actually outperforming their debut in those territories. But the story of how they made it—and what it actually means—is way grittier than the polished synth-pop surface suggests.
A Studio Full of Fever Dreams
Making this track was a literal nightmare. Imagine being in a London recording studio in 1985. You’re trying to record the follow-up to a global phenomenon, and everyone is dying of the flu.
I'm not exaggerating. Paul Waaktaar-Savoy, the band’s guitarist and primary songwriter, recalls that Magne Furuholmen and Morten Harket were so sick they were literally lying on camping beds in the studio between takes. They had high fevers, shaking, the works. You can almost hear that shivering intensity in Morten’s vocals. When he begs "Touch me," he sounds like a man who’s actually desperate for a connection in a cold, sterile world.
The production, handled by Alan Tarney, was a technical balancing act. They used the Yamaha DX7 for that iconic bassline, but they layered it with the PPG Wave and Roland Juno-60. It created this "Wall of Sound" that felt massive. It wasn't just a pop song; it was a synth-pop opera.
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What Does it Actually Mean?
The title sounds optimistic, right? Like a Hallmark card. Wrong.
Paul got the idea while watching British television on a miserable, grey, rainy day. The announcer came on and said something like, "It's a rainy day out there but, as ever, the sun shines on TV."
It’s about the falseness of media. It’s the 1980s version of a "curated Instagram life."
The lyrics are actually pretty grim when you look at them:
- "I reached inside myself and found nothing there."
- "I fear the crazed and lonely looks the mirror's sending me these days."
- "Please don't ask me to defend the shameful lowlands of the way I'm drifting."
Basically, the song is a critique of how television (and now social media) presents this polished, sun-drenched version of reality while the people watching it—and the people in it—are often falling apart. It’s about the pressure to be "on" when you feel empty.
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That Video: The Church and the Mannequins
If you haven’t seen the video lately, go watch it. It’s a masterpiece of 80s Gothic aesthetic. Directed by Steve Barron, the guy who did "Take On Me," it actually starts exactly where the first video ended.
You see the animated Morten turning back into a pencil sketch and running away, leaving Bunty Bailey (the girl from the first video) alone in the woods. It’s a heartbreaking epilogue. Then the music shifts, and we’re suddenly in St. Alban’s Church in Teddington.
They filled the church with roughly 600 mannequins.
It’s eerie. The band is performing to a silent, plastic audience. It perfectly mirrors the song’s theme: performing for something that isn't real. The cinematography was so good it actually won two MTV Video Music Awards for Best Editing and Best Cinematography in 1986.
Why the US Didn't "Get It" as Much
It’s a bit of a mystery why this song only reached number 20 on the Billboard Hot 100 in the States. Maybe it was too dark? In the UK, it was a massive number one hit. In Norway, it’s considered a national treasure.
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Some critics at the time, like those at Billboard, compared the Steve Thompson remix to a mix of Bronski Beat and Dead or Alive. It had a dance floor energy that was a bit ahead of its time for mainstream American radio, which was still obsessed with the "pretty boy" image of the band rather than the "serious artist" vibe they were pushing.
The Legacy of the "Sun"
This track has had a long life. It’s the song a-ha used to announce their comeback at the Nobel Peace Prize Concert in 1998. It’s been covered by everyone from Milk Inc. to KEiiNO.
Even today, in 2026, it doesn't sound dated. The synth textures have a weight to them that modern digital plugins often miss. It’s a reminder that pop music can be incredibly catchy while still saying something deeply uncomfortable about the human condition.
How to Appreciate This Classic Today
If you want to really hear this song for what it is, try these steps:
- Listen to the Extended Version: The 8-minute version (often found on the Hunting High and Low Deluxe Edition) has a beautiful, slow piano intro that builds the tension perfectly before the beat drops.
- Watch the Nobel Peace Prize Performance: See the 1998 version to hear how Morten’s voice matured and how the song translates to a massive, live orchestral setting.
- Compare the Lyrics to Social Media: Read the lyrics while thinking about the "perfect" lives people post on TikTok or Instagram. It hits differently.
The sun might always shine on TV, but the best music happens in the shadows.
Next Step: Dig into the 2015 Remastered version on a high-quality pair of headphones to catch the subtle oboe parts—which were actually played on a sampler—and the layered "Wall of Sound" production that makes this track a timeless synth-pop titan.