The Ghost of a Drum : On Phil Collins, No Jacket Required, and the Memory of a Missed Song

By Kyle J. Hayes

There was a flash of excitement.

That kind of flicker that only comes from nostalgia when it meets recognition.

I saw No Jacket Required on the list, and my brain did what it always does—it leapt ahead of the facts, filled in the blanks with its own beautiful lies, and whispered, “In the Air Tonight.”

I could hear it already.

That low, ominous build.

The silence before the storm.

And then—boom-boom boom-boom-boom-boom—the greatest drum fill in the history of emotionally dramatic air drumming.

I’ve practiced that break. In the car. In the kitchen. At red lights. On the armrest of every couch I’ve ever owned.

It’s not just sound—it’s release. It’s anger, sadness, power, cool.

A universal moment of musical catharsis played out in invisible air with invisible sticks.

And then I looked again.

And there it wasn’t.

“In the Air Tonight” is not on No Jacket Required.

And in that realization, a small part of me sank.

Not because the album isn’t good—it is.

It’s damn good.

But because I’d already emotionally committed to that song, to that moment.

And now I was sitting with something else entirely.

But still, we have No Jacket Required.

And yes, it deserves to be here.

Because Phil Collins didn’t just make hits—he defined the sound of a decade.

His fingerprints are all over the ’80s.

Not just through his work but also through production credits, collaborations, and echoes of his sound showing up in places you didn’t expect but somehow always recognized.

He made the drums more than a backdrop—they became a presence.

Gated reverb. That big, cavernous, otherworldly crash that sounded like it was coming from a thousand miles away and yet landed directly in your chest.

He turned rhythm into drama. Made percussion the story.

And maybe that’s why I remember the music videos so vividly.

The lighting. The close-ups. The moments he’d stare directly into the camera with that look—detached but deeply aware, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

Was it MTV? VH1?

Of course.

Collins thrived in the era of the visual.

He knew how to use the medium—not just to sell records but to create myth.

To make you feel like the man behind the drum kit was carrying a secret.

And sometimes, when the light hit just right, it felt like he might tell you.

There are many great Phil Collins albums, and this is undoubtedly one of them.

No Jacket Required is a snapshot of a man who had perfected his sound and leaned into pop stardom without losing that strange, moody undercurrent that always lingered beneath the surface.

And even if In the Air Tonight isn’t here,

he is.

And maybe—just maybe—another one of his albums will show up on the list.

The fill may be waiting for me there.

And when it comes, I’ll be ready.

Air sticks in hand and Muscle memory intact.

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