‘No Jacket Required’ At 40: A Track-By-Track Guide To Phil Collins’ Third Solo Album

Only You Know And I Know

Adding a glossy veneer of 80s new-wave pop to the soulful thrust of Motown, Only You Know And I Know is a lively R&B/rock hybrid with staccato synths that jump along like 1984-era Van Halen on pogo sticks. With Collins keen to shake off his balladeer image by embracing danceable, uptempo grooves, it’s an irresistibly catchy song that jettisons the angst of Collins’ early solo albums in favour of finger-wagging lyrics about one-sided relationships (“I open up and give you everything/Then you say, ‘OK, what else?’”).

Topped off by a stunning twin guitar solo from Daryl Stuermer, Only You Know And I Know cheekily pokes at the paradoxes of marital miscommunication. Teetering on an emotional tightrope walk, the song is a bittersweet party bop that voices the confusion of love’s highs and lows, its shifting chord progressions disentangling the strands of a messy relationship like a kitten pawing at a ball of yarn.

Long Long Way To Go

Offering a poignant respite from the album’s energetic opening tracks, Long Long Way To Go is tinged with Eastern synths reminiscent of the work of ambient-music pioneer Ryuichi Sakamoto. With political undertones lamenting how violence in the modern world is reported by TV news anchors, the song’s chilling textures are hauntingly beautiful, with a somnambulant air that only heightens when Sting implores us to step away from the news (“Turn it off if you want to/Switch it off, it will go away”).

Of course, this is all but a vain hope: Long Long Way To Go knows only too well that violence and human suffering is a grim reality of existence that indifference won’t cure. Sting’s collaboration with Phil Collins was a direct result of the pair’s shared commitment to humanitarian causes. “Sting sang on Long Long Way To Go with me, because we’d just done Band Aid together,” Collins said. From raising funds for famine relief to ironically suggesting emotional detachment as a coping mechanism, Long Long Way To Go casts a critical gaze on our impulse towards turning a blind eye to the world’s troubles.

I Don’t Wanna Know

Plunging into driving pop-rock territory, I Don’t Wanna Know brings a jolt of energy to No Jacket Required like a sudden injection of nitro into a race car. A cut-and-shut rocker that brings the guitar work of Collins’ Genesis bandmate Mike Rutherford to mind, the song’s momentum is provided by Daryl Stuermer’s sinewy riffs, while a relentless backbeat hurls us into a saxophone-led bridge before an a cappella interlude hits us like a cushiony airbag.

Lyrically, the song nurses the head wounds of a breakup, bandaging them up with words that find Collins turning to self-preservation (“She can cry all she wants/She’s not gonna bring me back”). Propelled by straightforward rock gusto, I Don’t Wanna Know is a grounded yet racy ride that switches off the cruise control.

One More Night

A plea for second chances, One More Night is a smooth, R&B-tinged ballad with achingly sincere lyrics that spell out Collins’ desire for reconciliation. Aching with passion and vulnerability throughout, Collins delivers his plaintive croon over sparse percussion and crystalline synths. “It has a heartfelt thing in it, it comes from someplace deeper,” Collins later told Playboy of the song. “It hits the chord of truth. People understand it because they have felt it, too.”

Released as No Jacket Required’s lead single in the US, One More Night peaked at No.1 on the US Hot 100 and at No.4 in the UK. Showing a very different facet to Collins’ songwriting, it lacks the bitterness that characterised early hits such as I Don’t Care Anymore and It Don’t Matter To Me, its languid interplay of palpable longing and deeply-felt sincerity making it a standout track on No Jacket Required.

Don’t Lose My Number

Launching Side Two of the album with a bang, Don’t Lose My Number is an impeccably crafted power-pop firecracker that left scorch marks on the MTV era. With reverb-heavy drum fills and steamy synths that sizzle like a blacksmith’s iron rod in a barrel, the song shot to No.4 on the US Hot 100 and is easily one of the standout examples of Collins in his mid-80s pomp. Yelling about a phone number with a fervour that rivals Tommy Heath’s turn on Tommy Tutone’s 1981 hit, 567-5309/Jenny, he certainly keeps listeners connected here.

Don’t Lose My Number is fondly remembered for its “meta” music video, in which Collins parodies a series of famous films – such as donning a cowboy hat for a Wild West-style showdown – and even lampoons Elton John’s I’m Still Standing promo by dancing in a top hat and waving a cane. Culminating in a samurai swordfight and a shot of Collins metamorphosing into a cartoon butterfly, the playful clip underscores the singer’s love of catchy hooks and his quirky sense of humour.

Who Said I Would

A blood brother to Sussudio, Who Said I Would is a punchy, synth-funk tribute to the “Minneapolis sound” of the 80s, proving that beneath Collins’ balladeer persona lies a demolition expert packing dancefloor dynamite. “I’ve set myself the target of writing things that I hadn’t done much before,” Collins told Melody Maker at the time of No Jacket Required’s release. “I wanted it to be more dance-orientated.” With The Phenix Horns on joyous form unleashing spasms of sax, trombone and trumpets, Who Said I Would achieves that goal with ease.

Telling a tale of an uncaring femme fatale (“But she’s got a heart/Must be made of stone”) over some chattering synth notes, Collins lets loose with a buoyant vocal delivery and infectious call-and-response chorus that’s as dazzling as a pair of Day-Glo parachute pants at a midweek disco. One of the poppiest moments on the album, Who Said I Would is 80s fun at its most carefree.

Doesn’t Anybody Stay Together Anymore

Born from a discussion with his manager, Tony Smith, and producer Hugh Padgham about a spate of divorces among friends, Doesn’t Anybody Stay Together Anymore turns Collins’ bewilderment into incredulity. “Tony had just been divorced and we were thinking about all of our friends who had split with their partners in 1984,” Collins later said. “You see that fall apart and you think, My God, doesn’t anybody stay together anymore? The song came out of that.”

Incorporating sounds left over from Collins’ work on Peter Gabriel’s 1980 solo album, Doesn’t Anybody Stay Together Anymore finds a new vessel for Collins’ gated reverb sound, melding thunderous drumming with a brooding bassline from Leland Skylar. Co-written with guitarist Daryl Stuermer, the song slaps an exclamation mark on the fragility of modern relationships like an angry blot of ink on a set of divorce papers.

Inside Out

Giving Collins’ trademark gated drum sound yet another spin, No Jacket Required’s penultimate track, Inside Out, takes listeners on a whirligig ride that once again merges the worlds of rock and R&B. With its sleek verses and Gary Barnacle’s stupendous sax solo providing a twist of sophisti-pop, the song is built around a steady drum beat and some seesawing piano chords that are sweeter than a warm evening spent slathered in coconut oil.

Though never released as an official single, Inside Out peaked at No.9 on the US Top Rock Tracks chart and kept Collins’ commercial merry-go-round moving. A hidden gem among Collins’ mid-80s output, the song’s lyrics evoke the feeling of stumbling off the dodgems, dizzy and disoriented, mirroring the topsy-turvy nature of a relationship that leaves you second-guessing your partner’s motives at every turn.

Take Me Home

Closing No Jacket Required with a crackling swirl of arpeggiated synths and tribal-sounding drums, Take Me Home is a hyper-kinetic finale. Inspired by Ken Kesey’s novel One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and its movie adaptation starring Jack Nicholson, the song’s lyrics evoke the homesickness of an institutionalised patient, disoriented by bouts of electroshock therapy and longing for freedom.

Underpinned by a plaintive drum machine billowing with static, the song quickens with an exhilarating surge of backing vocals from Sting, Helen Terry and former Genesis frontman Peter Gabriel. “I’d worked with Peter Gabriel not long before,” Collins later pointed out, “so I got him and Helen Terry to come and sing on Take Me Home.” Peaking at No.7 on the US Hot 100 following its release as a single, Take Me Home is a cry for liberation (“I’ve been a prisoner all my life”) that closes one of the best Phil Collins albums with dreams of an open sky beyond the walls that keep the singer penned in.

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