Let me start with a confession that might get my metal credentials permanently revoked: I know every word to Phil Collins’ “No Jacket Required.” Not just the hits—I’m talking deep cuts. “Inside Out”? Got it. “Who Said I Would”? Yep. “One More Night”? I might have slow-danced to it at my senior prom, and I’m not entirely convinced I didn’t attempt the drum fill from “Take Me Home” on the punch bowl table using plastic spoons.
And here’s the truly scandalous part—I’m not alone. I have caught some of the most diehard metalheads I know secretly grooving to “Sussudio” when they thought no one was watching. The same guys who publicly pledge allegiance to Slayer and would rather be caught wearing a Backstreet Boys shirt than admit to owning anything remotely pop… these are the guys who know all the synth parts to “Don’t Lose My Number.”
Metal culture has always defined itself partly by what it stands against. In the 80s, nothing represented the enemy more perfectly than Phil Collins. He was massively commercial, favored drum machines over thunderous acoustic kits, used keyboards unapologetically, and sang in a clean, emotive voice about (gasp) feelings. On paper, Phil was everything metal wasn’t. And yet…
“No Jacket Required,” released in 1985, arrived at this perfect cultural moment. MTV was at its peak influence. Miami Vice was defining visual aesthetics. And Phil Collins—already a respected musician from his Genesis days and solo breakthrough—delivered a pop album so perfectly crafted, so irresistibly hook-laden, that it penetrated even the most carefully constructed metal defenses.
I bought my copy somewhat furtively at the same record store where I’d proudly purchased Metallica’s “Ride the Lightning” a few months earlier. The clerk—a guy named Ray who had memorably once lectured me for 20 minutes about the superiority of Venom over Raven—gave me this look of profound disappointment, like I’d just told him I was joining a monastery and donating my metal records to the church rummage sale. I mumbled something about it being for my mom’s birthday. Ray wasn’t buying it, but he took my money anyway. “We all make mistakes, kid,” he said, with the gravity of someone witnessing a moral failing of biblical proportions.
I waited until I was alone in the house before playing it. This wasn’t just casual listening; this was contraband. My walls were covered in Iron Maiden and Judas Priest posters that I swear were staring at me accusingly as the opening synth line of “Sussudio” filled my bedroom. I felt like I was cheating on metal itself… and yet, by the first chorus, I was fully converted.
What makes “No Jacket Required” so effective—and so difficult for metal fans to resist despite its opposition to everything we supposedly stood for—is its absolute confidence. This is Phil at the absolute peak of his powers, having mastered a production approach that perfectly balanced organic and electronic elements. Those gated reverb drums (a technique he helped pioneer with “In the Air Tonight”) gave even the most dance-oriented tracks a muscular foundation. The horn arrangements added organic warmth to counter the synthesizers. And Collins’ voice—blue-eyed soul with just the right amount of grit—delivered lyrics that were straightforward yet genuinely affecting.
Take “One More Night”—a song that, let’s be honest, any self-respecting metalhead should despise on principle. It’s a tender plea for reconciliation with an ex, set to a gentle backdrop that’s about as far from “Angel of Death” as you can get. And yet… there’s something so nakedly honest about Collins’ delivery, so unpretentious about the entire production, that it bypasses all your defenses. I’ve watched guys with Cannibal Corpse tattoos unconsciously nod along to this song in bars, caught in its emotional undertow before they realize what they’re doing.
Or “Sussudio”—a song about nothing (Collins has admitted the title is just a made-up word) that somehow became everything. That opening synth line, the perfectly calibrated horn stabs, the call-and-response vocals—it’s a masterclass in pop construction. Metal prides itself on technical proficiency, and there’s a different but equally impressive technical precision to how this track is built. Every element is exactly where it needs to be, creating a whole that’s irresistible even to listeners whose musical identity is built around resistance.
What metal fans secretly respond to in “No Jacket Required” is its absolute lack of pretension. Phil Collins never tried to be anything other than Phil Collins. There’s a lesson there that the best metal bands understand—authenticity transcends genre. Collins might have been making commercial pop, but he was doing it with complete conviction and genuine skill. There’s no winking, no ironic distance, no self-consciousness—just a master craftsman delivering exactly what the material demands.
I interviewed Sebastian Bach from Skid Row once in the mid-90s, back when grunge had made his brand of metal commercially toxic, and we got to talking about musical guilty pleasures. After extracting a blood oath that I wouldn’t print this part of our conversation (sorry, Sebastian, the statute of limitations has expired), he confessed to me that “Take Me Home” was “maybe the perfect pop song.” When I admitted I owned the album, he high-fived me and proceeded to sing most of the chorus before catching himself. “If you tell anyone about this, I will find you,” he said, only half-joking.
The ultimate irony is that Phil Collins has more legitimate metal connections than most people realize. He was friends with Ronnie James Dio. He played drums on Brian Eno’s “Another Green World” alongside Robert Fripp and Phil Manzanera. The man was (and remains) a phenomenal drummer, something even the most dedicated metalhead can appreciate. His early work with Genesis—particularly on albums like “The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway”—demonstrates a technical proficiency and willingness to explore unusual time signatures that would be right at home in progressive metal.
But “No Jacket Required” isn’t great because of any metal connection; it’s great because it’s a perfectly realized pop album by an artist operating at the peak of his powers. The songwriting is impeccable, the production pristine without being sterile, and the performances—from Collins’ vocals and drums to the studio musicians like Daryl Stuermer and the Earth, Wind & Fire horn section—are flawless throughout.
I’ve watched the cycle of ironic appreciation to genuine reevaluation play out with Phil Collins over the decades. In the 90s, admitting you liked his music was social suicide in certain circles. By the early 2000s, there was this wave of “ironic” Phil Collins appreciation—hipsters wearing Genesis T-shirts “as a joke,” DJs slipping “Against All Odds” into sets for a knowing laugh. But we’ve finally reached the point where people can just admit the truth: Phil Collins made some genuinely great music, and “No Jacket Required” stands as his commercial and artistic peak.
I had this moment a few years back at a house party. It was about 2 AM, the serious drinking had been done, and we were in that reflective phase of the night. My buddy Steve—a guy who played in death metal bands for most of the 90s and has the hearing damage to prove it—was in charge of the music. He had been playing a carefully curated selection of credibility-maintaining deep cuts all night. Then, after checking to see who was still awake, he quietly put on “Take Me Home.”
As the song’s gorgeous, melancholy synth intro filled the room, I watched various metal and punk veterans around the room have the same reaction—first the recognition, then the internal struggle (“Do I acknowledge I know this?”), and finally the surrender. By the chorus, four of us were singing along, air-drumming the fills, completely unselfconscious in our enjoyment. When it ended, there was this moment of slightly embarrassed silence before Steve said, “That song is fucking perfect and I don’t care who knows I think that.”
That’s the final stage of Phil Collins appreciation: the acknowledgment that great music transcends genre boundaries and tribal allegiances. “No Jacket Required” may be the polar opposite of metal aesthetically, but it shares the qualities that make the best metal endure—it’s made with conviction, it’s crafted with genuine skill, and it connects emotionally with listeners.
I still have my vinyl copy, now well-worn from countless plays. It sits on my shelf between Celtic Frost’s “To Mega Therion” and Corrosion of Conformity’s “Deliverance,” an arrangement that would have seemed sacrilegious in 1985 but now just feels right. Great music is great music, regardless of its packaging or cultural associations.
So to all my metal brothers and sisters secretly bopping to “Sussudio” in your cars when no one’s watching: it’s time to come out of the shadows. Embrace your inner Collins fan. Let that air drum fill during “Take Me Home” fly proudly. Life’s too short to deny yourself music that brings you joy just because it doesn’t fit your carefully constructed identity.
Just maybe don’t mention it to Ray at the record store. Some wounds never fully heal.
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