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Sussudio: How Phil Collins Turned A Nonsense Word Into A No.1 Hit
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In Depth

Sussudio: How Phil Collins Turned A Nonsense Word Into A No.1 Hit

Influenced by the “Minneapolis sound”, Phil Collins’ hit single Sussudio saw the Genesis frontman move beyond balladeering to the dancefloor.

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By the mid-80s, Phil Collins was ready to rip up the road map to lovelorn melancholy and embark on a new adventure into synth-funk. The lead single from his 1985 album, No Jacket Required, Sussudio was a bold leap into the jive spot of urban discotheques, as the Genesis frontman turned solo artist sought to mix the luminous R&B of the “Minneapolis sound” with the glitz of electro-pop.

Built around an irresistibly catchy nonsense word that tumbled out of his mouth during a demo session, Sussudio’s whimsical ode to teenage crushes quickly became a US No.1 smash hit, largely thanks to its giddy rush of funky horns and a buoyant groove that was the sonic equivalent of a cheeky wink and a mischievous grin.

Here is the story of Sussudio, and how Phil Collins’ 80s pop anthem bustled its way onto the dancefloor.

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The backstory: “I started to sing into the microphone, and this word came out”

When Phil Collins began writing songs for his third solo album, he was keen to reinvent himself. His first two records, Face Value and Hello… I Must Be Going!, had earned him global recognition, but it’s no secret that they were steeped in heartbreak. Written during a period of emotional turmoil following his divorce, these albums had established Collins as a master of soul-searching confessionals and introspective love songs, but by the mid-80s, Collins was determined to flip the script.

“I said to myself, I want to write some different kind of songs, because I didn’t want to be known as a miserable sod,” Collins later told US music critic Fred Bronson. “So I decided to write some dance-orientated songs.” Taking inspiration from the synth-led dance-pop of the “Minneapolis sound” – a subgenre of R&B made famous by Prince and his offshoot bands The Time and Vanity 6 – Collins thought it would be fun to try and channel that same energy.

Sitting down with his Roland TR-909 drum machine, Collins began experimenting. The demo for what would become Sussudio quickly began to emerge, built largely around a jaunty but skeletal rhythm. As he playfully improvised lyrics over the top, something unexpected happened. “I set up this drum-machine pad,” Collins explained in an interview with VH1 Storytellers, “and I got some chords, and I started to sing into the microphone, and this word came out, which was ‘sus-sussudio’.”

The word was essentially meaningless outburst that passed Collins’ lips in a fleeting moment. But in retrospect, it seemed to work perfectly, reflecting the head-scrambling confusion of youthful infatuation he was aiming for. Further explaining the song’s meaning, Collins later told Record Mirror: “Seriously, it’s about a younger man’s fantasy for an older woman. Because she smiles at him he automatically thinks she fancies him, and she becomes the object of his masturbatory fantasies.”

From the moment Collins sang the word “sussudio”, it brilliantly seemed to capture how teenage crushes can turn you into a stuttering wreck. With this new coinage standing in as a proxy for the inner confusion of a young male struggling to make sense of his desires, Sussudio had a unique sense of tongue-in-cheek whimsy that showed a fresh and surprising side to Collins’ songwriting talents.

The recording: “It was influenced by Prince, of course”

Once the song was written, Collins took the demo for Sussudio to Townhouse Studios, in London, as part of the recording sessions for No Jacket Required. At first, he felt the word “sussudio” was merely a holdover from the songwriting process, still awaiting something better. “I went back and tried to find another word that scanned as well as ‘sussudio’,” he told VH1 Storytellers, “but I couldn’t find one, so I went back to ‘sussudio’. It’s a meaningless word that I just made up.”

Fleshing out the song with the new-wave-era studio gloss of co-producer Hugh Padgham, Collins instantly carved out a new sonic direction for himself with Sussudio. Unlike his previous hits, this was a maximalist synth-funk blast of dance-pop. Full of syncopated beats, Oberheim synths and spirited horns, the song aimed to fuse contemporary R&B with Collins’ canny knack for catchy pop melodies.

Integral to the song’s punchiness was the involvement of The Phenix Horns, the brass section for Earth, Wind And Fire. The ensemble – Don Myrick (saxophone), Louis Satterfield (trombone), Michael Harris and Rahmlee Michael Davis (trumpets) – bestowed the track with an undeniably hip-swinging groove. “It always fascinated me that the horn players would come in and play a song of mine and suddenly make it R&B,” Collins later remarked to The Mail On Sunday. “It was influenced by Prince, of course.”

As an affectionate homage to Prince’s hit song 1999, Sussudio also owed much of its success to the involvement of David Frank of The System, a keyboardist and arranger known for his pioneering style of electro-R&B. Tasked with handling the song’s sound design and making the rhythm and bass sound more authentic to its genre, Frank helped Sussudio transcend its semi-improvised roots by turning it into a club-ready floor-filler.

As Collins and Hugh Padgham put their finishing touches to the song, it was clear they’d captured a fist-pumping moment of pop magic that was bound to make a big impact. Not only was Sussudio selected to be No Jacket Required’s opening track, but it was also chosen as the album’s lead single in the UK. As a radical departure from Collins’ earlier, ballad-heavy sound, this was a statement of intent.

The release: “The lyrics are based on this schoolboy crush I had”

Released on 14 January 1985, Sussudio peaked at No.12 in the UK and became an even bigger smash in the US, reaching No.1 on the Billboard Hot 100 that summer. Although Collins was approaching his mid-30s, he’d perfectly captured how puppy love leaves teenage boys tongue-tied. “It’s a song I’m sure people will identify with,” he told Record Mirror. “It’s like the first tumble on a sofa with your first girl or clambering around in the back of the car.”

Despite the song’s playful use of gobbledygook, its inspiration runs deeper than many suspected. Largely drawing upon Collins’ adolescent memories of being smitten with a classmate, Sussudio recalls a time of bashful blushes and awkward foot-shuffling. “The lyrics are based on this schoolboy crush I had on this girl at school,” Collins later revealed.

Cleverly juxtaposing the idea of pubescent flutters with the brawny self-assurance of contemporary R&B, Sussudio shone as a surprisingly artful dance-pop ode to the stirrings of juvenile obsession. Eschewing the prog-based complexity of his work with Genesis, Collins was now in his comfort zone crafting radio-friendly party bops.

With its infectious melody and exuberant production, Sussudio not only helped establish No Jacket Required as one of the best Phil Collins albums, but also demonstrated how Collins could branch off musically without losing his knack for relatable lyricism. Proving he was capable of jettisoning the sparse minimalism of his early ballads in favour of more upbeat fare, the song succeeded in adding splashes of colour to Collins’ repertoire with all the explosiveness of a peony firework.

The legacy: “If I could have a pound for every time I’ve been asked what the word means…”

Decades later, Sussudio is still widely regarded as being one of the best Phil Collins songs. Selling more than 500,000 copies in the US, this lively dalliance with dance-pop continued Collins’ seemingly unstoppable chart reign. As a pre-MTV star whose extraordinary success had taken many by surprise, there was no doubting that Collins had become a bona fide pop heavyweight.

Though the other singles from No Jacket Required – One More Night, Don’t Lose My Number and Take Me Home – were also US Top 10 hits, it’s Sussudio that interviewers repeatedly asked Collins about, largely on account of its title. “If I could have a pound for every time I’ve been asked what the word means, I’d have a lot of pounds,” Collins joked in his memoir, Not Dead Yet.

In a surprising twist, Sussudio’s success reportedly even inspired some parents to name their children after the song. How a made-up word found its way into baby-name registries is anyone’s guess, but Collins is typically self-deprecating about this. “I’m sure there are children all over the world with the name Sussudio,” he has said, “so I apologise for that!”

Years later, Sussudio continued its cultural cut-through when it was included in the 1998 film American Psycho. In a now-famous scene, the serial killer Patrick Bateman (played by Christian Bale) gushes about his undying admiration for Phil Collins while schmoozing his latest victim. “This is Sussudio,” Bateman says, after popping on the CD. “A great, great song. Personal favourite.”

Marking a pivotal point in Collins’ career, Sussudio is what happened when one of the 80s’ biggest stars traded heartbreak and introspection for joy and fun, finding new ways of connecting with audiences on a massive scale. Born of sheer impulsivity, it’s the ultimate example of how a simple act of spontaneity embodied the carefree zeitgeist of the 80s in a way no calculated effort ever could.

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