1068 The Soundtrack of Carbonated Delusion: Coca-Cola Jingles in the 1980s  – Transcript

The 1980s gave us many things: shoulder pads, mullets, cassette tapes, nuclear panic, and an unshakable belief that soft drinks could somehow save the world. Among the noisiest contributions to this surreal decade were the Coca-Cola jingles – bright, sugary musical anthems that promised joy, unity, and refreshment, all for the price of a bottle cap.

If the Cold War was the sound of tension, Coca-Cola was the soundtrack of forced optimism.

Coca-Cola’s jingles in the 1980s weren’t just catchy, they were an all-out assault on the senses. With lyrics that made sunshine sound compulsory and melodies designed to burrow into your skull like a corporate parasite, these jingles were everywhere: on radios, televisions, and the lips of disturbingly enthusiastic teenagers in advertising spots.

Take, for example, the endlessly repeated “Can’t Beat the Feeling!” campaign. This jingle, released in 1989, featured crowds of people smiling far too widely, often mid-laugh, as they sipped their Coke in slow motion. The music swelled, the camera panned over golden beaches or neon-lit cities, and somewhere, a child ran through a sprinkler. The message was clear: Coca-Cola was not a drink. It was a lifestyle.

A lifestyle where no one ever had a headache. Or rent. Or the slightest trace of cynicism.

This was not new, of course. Coca-Cola had been linking itself to happiness since the 1971 classic “I’d Like to Buy the World a Coke,” a song so idealistic it made peace in the Middle East look like a reasonable weekend goal. But in the 1980s, the jingles got louder, more polished, and somehow more desperate.

Everything about them said: “Look! Everything’s fine! Don’t think too hard!”

The irony, of course, was that much of the world in the 1980s was not fine. There was recession, unemployment, nuclear threats, and the growing fear that Ronald Reagan might accidentally press the wrong button before his next nap. Meanwhile, Coke’s ad campaigns danced forward, blissfully unaware or perhaps entirely aware of how false their promises sounded.

This made the jingles all the more surreal. In the middle of your family’s second-hand car breaking down, the radio would blast, “Can’t beat the real thing!” as if it were gently mocking your life.

They sang about sharing Coke with friends while half the country wasn’t speaking to each other. They sang about energy and joy while millions felt tired and broke.

And yet, the jingles worked. That’s the dark genius of it all. People bought the drinks. People sang along. For a few seconds, humming the tune in a supermarket aisle, you did feel a little better. Coca-Cola wasn’t selling sugar and water. It was selling escape.

Even now, those old jingles haunt us. Not just as melodies, but as memories of a kind of mass hypnosis. A time when we all agreed, without saying it, that pretending everything was wonderful was better than facing how complicated it really was.

There’s a special kind of horror in watching an old 1980s Coke ad today. The hair is big. The smiles are bigger. Everyone is dancing in a way that suggests they’ve either found salvation or been recently electrocuted. You know it’s fake. They knew it was fake. But we all played along.

And let’s not forget the children. In many of these jingles, kids sang too—voices so clear and hopeful it made you feel guilty for ever doubting anything. Their eyes sparkled with the kind of trust you only see in people who haven’t read the news yet.

What were we teaching them? That joy came in a can? That unity could be achieved through matching T-shirts and high kicks?

Perhaps the darkest joke of all is that the Coca-Cola jingles were right, in their own strange way. They did bring people together. They united us in pretending that the world was simple, that problems could be solved with bubbles and branding.

It wasn’t true, of course. But it was catchy.

And maybe, in the end, that’s all a jingle needs to be.