Us Brits have always had time for a good power ballad. Chicago and Foreigner had hit number one in the preceding decades with power ballads par-excellence and 'Everything I Do' is a clear throwback that same genre; the gentle swell of eyes closed emotion, enough force to clench the fists and a bear hug of a chorus that reassures that love really is all you need - 'Everything I Do' ticks all these genre boxes with a thick red crayon. Job done. But none of that accounts for the phenomenal success the song enjoyed in 1991 - number one in over twenty countries with its greatest success here in the UK where it managed a record breaking 16 weeks straight at the top. That's equal to the weeks at number one in the USA and Adams' native Canada combined and beating the previous UK record of 'Rose Marie's eleven straight weeks in 1955.* Which begs the question - why? I wasn't around in 1955 so Whitman's tally has always been just a statistic to me, but I WAS most definitely around in 1991. And even though my interest in chart music at that time was at a low ebb, this song was inescapable in its ubiquity to the extent that a red mist descended whenever I heard Adams' vocal pipe up. Which was often. Too often. I was literally sick of hearing it to the extent I walked out of a shop that had it playing on the tannoy. Enough was enough. But a lot of water has passed under a lot of bridges since then and my anger has cooled, not least because on reflection I realise I've barely heard the song played anywhere in the intervening years.
'Everything I Do' hasn't (to my knowledge anyway) passed into that revered 'classic rock' club whose members generate an automatic respect simply by virtue of their titles alone, and as a small contribution to the canon of social research I today asked a 1990 born, music fan colleague what Bryan Adams and 'Everything I Do' meant to him. After initially confusing him with Phil Collins, he confessed he'd never heard the song and greeted the 16 week statistic in the same non-plussed way I greet Slim Whitman's. And this is kind of interesting to me - why has something once so phenomenally successful now faded into the wallpaper? And why was it so successful in the first place?
Well first things first, I think a lot of its original popularity was down to its adaptability - in essence 'Everything I Do' is a sensible shoes re-make of Adams' own earlier 'Heaven' (courtesy of a sweet Michael Kamen arrangement). Adams might adopt the over sincere, throat scrape vocal of a poor man's Springsteen that's so beloved of the genre, but the music itself is far more sedate. Instead of overwrought, its explosions are controlled, muffled to the point of neuter; the drums don't thump, the power chords don't crash and even the guitar solo coughs politely before entering. No, 'Everything I Do' is not out to rock any boats and the light dusting of calming bland from producer 'Mutt' Lange serves to broaden its appeal wider than an arms aloft, lighter in hand stadium brigade; weddings, funerals, first dates or messy break-ups - 'Everything I Do' and its promise of a rosy eternity could soundtrack them all.
And ironically, I think that fact also plays a major part in why my mate had never heard of it - when all's said and done, there's nothing particularly remarkable or memorable about 'Everything I Do' to make its appeal want or be required to span twenty years. Solid without ever being spectacular, the piece could be a practical example from the 'How To Write AOR' manual that The KLF never got round to publishing. Co-writer Kamen always knew his way around a melody and he knocks off the rough edges inherent Adams' usual output, but I'm afraid the whole "Yeah I'd fight for you, I'd lie for you. Walk the wire for you, yeah I'd die for you" tone and bluster is a head on collision with the cliché truck and its only that extraordinary statistic that adds anything 'extra' to what would otherwise be just plain ordinary. 'Everything I Do' was a song out of time in 1991 and the passing of time has not provided it with a place to call its own to settle down in posterity.
* Frankie Laine's 'I Believe' managed a staggering 18 weeks at number one in 195, but they weren't consecutive - it was knocked down to number two twice and came back twice, a fact that's surely far more impressive than this 16 week run?
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