As a significant fan of two of the finest new wave-tinged hard rockers of the early '80s - I'm speaking of the lovely and talented Patty Smyth and Pat Benatar, of course - I only wish I'd had the chance to hear more from Holly Beth Vincent either back in the day or over the years. Her short-lived band Holly & the Italians released some pretty solid music that deftly bridged the gap between '70s punk and the already shifty '80s evolution of that form. Blessed with plenty of attitude and obvious if unconventional good looks (the best kind, if you ask me), Vincent wrote one of the best PG kiss-off songs in the history of rock in "Tell That Girl to Shut Up," which unfortunately only got a decent measure of attention in 1988 when Transvision Vamp covered the tune to mild success.

Still, "Miles Away" does a crisp and thorough job of spotlighting the way mainstream rock, at its best, could sound circa 1981, a period that harbors more than its share of genre-bending, heavy guitar pop classics. Taking the best from Suzi Quatro, the all-female hard rock band Girlschool, and Joan Jett (and not responsible in the least for Vixen), Vincent was an important transitional rock artist during a volatile pop music period who deserved (and deserves) far more credit than she's ever received for making early-'80s rock exciting and original.

Album Cover Photo Courtesy of Virgin Records

Well, it was time to feel old and disoriented this week as a child of the '80s, though it's certainly not the first time external conditions have thrown me for such a loop. A co-worker born during the mid-'80s caused a bit of a stir among some colleagues when she casually but without full confidence identified the artist behind "Pour Some Sugar on Me" as none other than... Led Zeppelin. This didn't particularly bother me, as my respect and admiration for those '70s juggernauts and the song's actual artist, Def Leppard, is relatively limited. Still, such a disconnect in generational musical knowledge can be difficult to imagine for those of us who lived and breathed '70s and '80s hard rock as a matter of course.

Of course, if I consider this incident to be of generally low consequence for me personally, then I must note a similar circumstance from about a year ago that I'd be shocked if I ever forgot. A different co-worker, also around 12 years my junior, actually asked me, when she saw the display on my satellite radio, just who this band was called the Cars. As a particular admirer of that band's fusion of new wave, classic rock and hook-laden pop, I'm sure I displayed a similarly appalled expression as did some of my stricken peers yesterday. It's all in what you value, dear readers, and I'm sure I don't have to ask in what camp you reside if you're spending time on this site... Or do I?

I usually make it a rule on this site to avoid replicated coverage of any one artist or album or song unless absolutely necessary. I think it's a policy that helps promote breadth of content and is therefore a sound one. However, in the case of this keyboard-heavy early power ballad - which made appearances on two separate occasions within the U.S. Top 50, in 1983 and 1989 - I think an exception can be justifiably made.

The reason I feel compelled to honor this Australian one-hit wonder in such a way relates to an experience I had last week while making my daily journey through the contents of my iPod. Going alphabetically by song title, I reached this song during my lunch break and cranked it up to sing along the way I'm always compelled to do whenever I hear it. When my mp3 player, as it sometimes does, jumped to the next song without apparent reason, I became quite agitated, especially after multiple attempts to go back and work through the glitch failed completely. So, long story slightly abridged, I didn't get to listen to the whole song that day, a fact that marred an otherwise perfectly enjoyable lunch break in my breezy, shaded car with the windows rolled down. Now that I've gone out of my way to procure a clean copy of the tune this weekend, I wanted to point out, dear readers, that when owning a song becomes this important, I think it's safe to say you might have a forgotten gem on your hands.

• Compare prices on Moving Pictures CDs here.
• Top 10 '80s Songs of Self-Pity & Self-Absorption

I'm sure there are more than a few music fans who might suggest that the only memorable thing about British synth pop band ABC is that their records/tapes/CDs could be found very near the beginning of the pop/rock section at your local music store. Notice that I use the past sense there because, seriously, does anyone really go to stores for music anymore now that chains charging up to $20 a pop for an album have all but replaced the independent, locally owned retail experience of old?

Anyway, I suppose I digress. I had intended to lament the relative obscurity of an overlooked '80s band instead of ranting like the old codger I am, so back to that. The wide musical interests and appeal of this consistent group effectively represent the capability of '80s music to endure, as ABC's blend of retro soul, funk and elegant electronic pop maintained the vital threads of early rock and roll within its modern textures. Leader Martin Fry still shines vocally a quarter century after making hits out of solid songs like "The Look of Love" and "Be Near Me," but the best thing about the band's catalogue is that it proves quite clearly that synth pop, new wave and New Romantic stylings don't have to be as stodgily one-dimensional as those genre reputations sometimes suggest. Despite its elementary-sounding name, ABC displays a keen ear for more than just the '80s basics.

• Profile of ABC
• Top 5 ABC Songs of the '80s
• Compare prices on ABC CDs here.