Everyone remembers "Jessie's Girl." It’s the karaoke staple, the wedding floor-filler, the song that defined Rick Springfield's career in the eyes of the casual observer. But if you talk to the die-hards—the ones who actually wore out their copies of the Living in Oz vinyl back in 1983—they’ll tell you a different story. They'll tell you that Affair of the Heart is the real masterpiece.
It’s darker. It’s grittier. Honestly, it’s just better.
While his earlier hits felt like pure power-pop sunshine, this track brought something desperate to the table. It wasn't just about a crush or a girl; it was about the messy, jagged edges of human connection. The song peaked at number nine on the Billboard Hot 100, which is impressive, but its chart position doesn't really capture the shift it represented for Springfield as an artist. He was trying to prove he wasn't just a soap opera face from General Hospital who happened to sing. He was a musician, and a frustrated one at that.
The Synthesizer Revolution of Affair of the Heart
By 1983, the musical landscape was shifting underneath everyone's feet. The guitars were still there, sure, but the machines were taking over. Rick Springfield, along with his producer Bill Drescher, knew they couldn't just keep doing the 1950s-influenced rock of Working Class Dog.
Affair of the Heart kicks off with that iconic, aggressive synth riff. It’s heavy. It’s almost industrial for a pop song.
That opening sound wasn't just a stylistic choice; it was a necessity to keep up with the New Wave movement. But here’s the thing—Springfield didn't abandon the guitar. He blended the two. You’ve got these staccato, palm-muted guitar lines playing against the coldness of the Oberheim and Prophet-5 synthesizers. It created a tension that perfectly mirrored the lyrics. It’s an anxious song. You can hear the pulse of it. It sounds like a heart rate monitor after three cups of coffee.
The recording process for the Living in Oz album was notoriously intense. Springfield was dealing with the sudden, massive weight of fame and the lingering grief of losing his father. You can hear that exhaustion in his vocals. He’s not crooning here. He’s yelling. He’s demanding. When he hits that chorus—"it's an affair of the heart"—it’s not a celebration. It’s a plea for understanding in a relationship that seems to be operating on two different frequencies.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Lyrics
A lot of folks hear the title and think it’s a song about cheating. An "affair," right? Not exactly.
The song is actually a deep dive into the frustration of being with someone who only sees the surface. It’s about a partner who is fixated on the physical or the superficial, while the narrator is screaming for an emotional, soulful connection. He’s saying, "This isn't just a fling for me. This is spiritual. This is visceral."
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Think about the line: "You say you're a victim of circumstance, but you're a victim of your own design."
That’s cold.
It’s a direct shot at someone refusing to take responsibility for their own emotional walls. It’s a surprisingly psychological lyric for a guy who was being marketed as a teen idol on the covers of Tiger Beat. Springfield has always been a much better songwriter than the critics gave him credit for in the early eighties. He was writing about codependency and emotional alienation while his peers were mostly writing about going to the mall.
The Living in Oz Era: A Career Pivot
If Working Class Dog was the introduction and Success Hasn't Spoiled Me Yet was the victory lap, Living in Oz was the moment the mask slipped.
The album cover alone tells you everything. Rick is in full "Oz" makeup, looking slightly distorted, a far cry from the clean-cut doctor on TV. He was pushing back against the "bubblegum" label with every fiber of his being. Affair of the Heart was the lead single because it was the loudest statement of that new identity.
Musically, the track relies on a "gallop" rhythm.
If you listen to the bass and drums, they’re driving forward relentlessly. This was a hallmark of 80s rock, but Springfield’s version felt more paranoid than, say, a song by Journey or Styx. He was tapped into the anxiety of the era. The Cold War was heating up, the world was changing, and the "pretty boy" from Australia was growing up and getting angry.
The production on the track is incredibly dense. There are layers upon layers of backing vocals—all Rick—creating a wall of sound that feels almost claustrophobic. It was a bold move. It worked. The song earned him a Grammy nomination for Best Male Rock Vocal Performance in 1984. He didn't win—Michael Jackson's "Beat It" took the trophy—but being in that conversation proved he had arrived as a legitimate rock force.
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The Music Video: A Time Capsule of 1983
You can't talk about this song without mentioning the video. It’s peak 80s MTV.
We’ve got Rick in a white suit. We’ve got neon lights. We’ve got high-contrast shadows. It’s stylized to the point of being a fever dream. But there’s a rawness to his performance. He isn't just lip-syncing; he’s performing with a level of intensity that feels a bit "much" for a standard pop clip.
It worked because he was a trained actor. He knew how to use the camera. He knew how to sell the desperation of the lyrics through his eyes. This wasn't just promotional material; it was part of the storytelling. The video helped cement the song as a staple of the early cable era, ensuring that even if you didn't buy the record, you knew that synth riff and you knew that white suit.
Why the Song Still Matters to Modern Listeners
Music trends are cyclical. Right now, we are seeing a massive resurgence in 80s synth-rock sounds. Bands like The 1975 or The Weeknd are pulling directly from the sonic palette that Affair of the Heart helped pioneer.
Why? Because that specific blend of "electronic coldness" and "human warmth" is timeless.
We live in a digital world where we are all screaming for "affairs of the heart"—real, tangible connections in a sea of screens and superficiality. Springfield’s lyrics feel more relevant now than they did forty years ago. We are all still trying to convince the people in our lives to look past the "design" and see the person underneath.
Another reason it sticks around is the sheer craft.
The song doesn't have a bridge in the traditional sense; it has a breakdown that builds tension until it almost snaps. The drum fills are huge. The gated reverb on the snare—a classic 80s trope—is used here with surgical precision. It’s a masterclass in pop-rock production.
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If you’re a songwriter or a producer today, there’s a lot to learn from how this track is put together. It doesn't waste a second. It gets in, does its job, and leaves you feeling slightly breathless.
The Technical Breakdown: Gear and Sound
For the gear nerds out there, the sound of the track is heavily rooted in the Roland Jupiter-8 and the aforementioned Oberheim OB-Xa. These were the Ferraris of the synth world at the time. They provided those thick, rich pads and the biting lead lines.
Springfield played many of the guitar parts himself, often using a Gibson Les Paul or an SG through a cranked Marshall stack to get that bite. He wanted the guitars to fight the synths. He didn't want a "soft" pop record. He wanted a record that could hold its own against the rock bands of the day like The Cars or even Pat Benatar.
The mix, handled by Drescher, is incredibly wide. If you listen on headphones, you can hear the percussion panning across the stereo field, adding to that sense of movement and "unsettledness." It’s an active listen. It’s not background music.
Actionable Takeaways for Rick Springfield Fans
If you want to truly appreciate the depth of this track and Springfield's discography, don't just stop at the greatest hits. The man has a massive catalog that deserves a proper look.
- Listen to the full Living in Oz album: It’s a cohesive piece of work. Songs like "Me & Johnny" and "Alyson" provide a much-needed context to the heavy-hitting nature of "Affair of the Heart."
- Watch the live versions: Rick is a notorious "road dog." He’s been touring almost non-stop for decades. His live version of this song is usually much faster and more guitar-driven, showing the rock-and-roll heart beneath the 80s production.
- Check out his memoir, Late, Late at Night: If you want to understand the pain and the drive behind the lyrics, this book is essential. He’s incredibly honest about his struggles with depression (which he calls "Mr. D") and how it fueled his most famous songs.
- Acknowledge the evolution: Compare this track to his later work, like the 2016 album Rocket Science. You can see how he took the synth-rock foundation and evolved it into a more sophisticated, Americana-influenced sound.
Affair of the Heart isn't just a nostalgic trip. It’s a testament to what happens when a "pop star" decides to stop playing it safe and starts writing from the gut. It’s loud, it’s anxious, and it’s undeniably real. That’s why, four decades later, when that synth riff starts, we still turn the radio up.
Next time you hear it, listen to the lyrics. Really listen. You’ll find a song that’s much deeper than the neon-soaked video suggests. It’s a song about the struggle to be seen. And honestly, isn't that what we're all looking for?
Explore the rest of the Living in Oz tracklist to see how Springfield navigated the transition from 70s power-pop to 80s New Wave. Pay close attention to the track "Human Touch," which serves as a thematic bookend to the emotional themes found in this single. By studying the production choices made by Bill Drescher during these sessions, you can gain a better understanding of how the "80s sound" was actually constructed from the ground up through a mix of analog warmth and digital precision.