That haunting saxophone starts. It’s not just a note; it’s a wail. If you’ve ever sat in a dark room with a pair of high-end headphones and let Songs from the Big Chair spin from the beginning, you know that The Working Hour isn't just a "track two." It’s the emotional glue of the entire record. While "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" was busy conquering MTV and "Shout" was becoming a global anthem for protest and catharsis, this six-and-a-half-minute epic was doing the heavy lifting. It was the song that proved Roland Orzabal and Curt Smith weren't just synth-pop posters boys. They were composers.
Honestly, the track feels like a panic attack wrapped in a silk sheet. It’s grand. It’s terrifying. It’s arguably the most sophisticated thing they ever recorded during their 1980s peak.
The Pressure Cooker: Why The Working Hour Matters
Most people think of 1985 as the year of neon and upbeat pop. But Tears for Fears were different. They were obsessed with Arthur Janov’s Primal Scream therapy—a method of revisiting childhood trauma to heal the adult self. You can hear that tension in The Working Hour. The song wasn't written to be a radio hit; it was written because the band was feeling the crushing weight of the music industry.
The "working hour" isn't a 9-to-5 shift at an office. It’s the time you spend under the microscope. It’s the pressure of the "fear" that gives the band its name.
Roland Orzabal once noted that the song was a direct response to the pressures of their newfound fame and the demands of their record label, Mercury. They felt like cogs in a machine. "And clear day, let's hope it's a clear day," Roland sings, almost pleading for a moment of lucidity in a world governed by contracts and expectations.
That Saxophone Intro
We have to talk about Mel Collins. If you’re a fan of King Crimson or Roxy Music, you know his work. He’s the one responsible for that agonizingly beautiful saxophone solo that opens the track. It lasts for over a minute before a single vocal is heard. In the mid-80s, that was a bold move. Most producers would have hacked that intro to pieces to get to the chorus faster.
But Ian Stanley and Chris Hughes, the producers, knew better. They let the atmosphere build. The echo on the drums—recorded in a massive stone room—creates a sense of space that feels almost cathedral-like. It’s big. It’s wide. It makes you feel small.
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When the drums finally kick in—that signature, heavy 80s gated reverb—it doesn't feel dated. It feels intentional. It sounds like a heartbeat. A loud, anxious heartbeat.
Breaking Down the Lyrics and the "Fear"
The lyrics of The Working Hour are some of the most cryptic yet relatable in the Tears for Fears catalog.
“We are paid by those who learn by our mistakes.” Think about that for a second. It’s a cynical look at the industry. The band felt like they were being watched, analyzed, and harvested for content. The "Working Hour" is the time when you are "on." When you are being used.
There is a deep sense of duality here:
- The internal struggle (fear of failure).
- The external struggle (corporate greed).
The phrasing "Finding out, finding out too late" suggests a loss of innocence. By the time they realized what the music business actually was, they were already the biggest band in the world. They were trapped by their own success.
The Gear and the Sound
If you’re a gear head, this track is a masterclass in 1980s technology used with soul. They weren't just clicking buttons. They used the Yamaha DX7, the Fairlight CMI, and the PPG Wave. These were the cutting-edge computers of the day.
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But unlike many of their peers, Tears for Fears layered these digital sounds with organic instruments. The grand piano. The brass. The result is a "human-machine" hybrid sound. It’s why the song still sounds "expensive" today. It doesn't have that thin, tinny quality of cheap 80s pop. It’s dense. You can listen to it fifty times and hear a new synth pad or a subtle guitar lick by Neil Taylor that you missed before.
Why It Wasn't a Single (And Why That’s Good)
In the United States, "The Working Hour" was never released as a formal single, though it was a staple of their live shows. In some ways, this preserved its integrity. It didn't get played to death on Top 40 radio. It remained a "discovery" for people who bought the album.
Whenever they play it live—even decades later—the energy in the room shifts. It’s the "musician's song." It’s the track that earns them respect from the prog-rock crowd and the jazz-fusion fans.
It’s also a bridge. It connects the raw, minimalist synth-pop of their first album, The Hurting, to the lush, Beatles-esque production of their third album, The Seeds of Love. Without the experimentation of this track, they might never have had the confidence to record "Sowing the Seeds of Love."
Common Misconceptions
People often mistake the song for a simple "I hate my job" anthem. It’s much deeper. It’s about the soul-crushing nature of being an artist in a capitalist system.
Another misconception? That it’s a depressing song.
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Actually, there’s a lot of hope in the arrangement. The way the music swells toward the end feels like a release. It’s a catharsis. By naming the fear, they are conquering it.
The Impact on Modern Music
You can hear the DNA of The Working Hour in modern bands like The 1975 or even Tame Impala. That blend of high-concept production and deeply personal, almost uncomfortably honest lyrics is the blueprint Tears for Fears created.
The song taught a generation of producers that you can be "big" and "intimate" at the same time. You can have a stadium-sized drum sound and a lyric about feeling small and broken.
How to Truly Experience The Working Hour
If you want to understand why this song is a masterpiece, don't just stream it on your phone speakers while you're doing the dishes. It deserves better.
- Find the Original Vinyl or a High-Res FLAC: The dynamic range on this track is insane. You need to hear the difference between the quietest synth whisper and the loudest sax blast.
- Listen to the "Live at Massey Hall" Version: There is a legendary 1985 performance in Toronto. The energy is raw, and Roland’s vocals are absolutely shredded with emotion. It’s less "perfect" than the studio version, but it’s more "real."
- Watch the "Scenes from the Big Chair" Documentary: It gives you a glimpse into the chaotic, creative environment where this song was birthed. You’ll see the band wasn't just having fun; they were working. Hard.
The Working Hour remains a testament to what happens when pop stars refuse to play it safe. It’s a reminder that the best music usually comes from the places we’re most afraid to look. Next time you feel the weight of the world—or just the weight of your own "working hour"—put this on. Let that saxophone carry the burden for a while.