The memory arrives in a flash of neon and chrome, the way the late 1980s and early 90s are supposed to. I am driving late, radio dial fixed on a classic rock station, when the opening drum fill hits—a clean, compressed thunderclap that cuts through the night air. Then comes that keyboard figure, an ascending, synthesised brass fanfare that sounds like the curtain being pulled back on a grand stage. Before the first syllable has left her lips, you know exactly what is coming. It is the signature sonic moment of a legend at her second, perhaps greatest, peak. It is Tina Turner, and it is “The Best.”
This song, officially titled simply “The Best” but universally recognised by its parenthetical qualifier, is more than just a hit. It is an inflection point. Released in 1989, it served as the lead single from Turner’s seventh solo studio album, Foreign Affair. By this time, Tina Turner had long solidified her position as the Queen of Rock ‘n’ Roll, having staged one of the most remarkable comebacks in music history with 1984’s Private Dancer. Foreign Affair arrived five years later, and while it contained grit, it also leaned fully into the polish and global ambition of her newfound pop stardom. “The Best” was the crown jewel of that ambition.
The song’s path to Tina was famously winding. Written by Mike Chapman and Holly Knight, it had first been recorded by Welsh singer Bonnie Tyler. Yet, many sources note, it truly found its definitive voice only when it reached the hands of Turner and her production team, notably producer Dan Hartman, with Tina Turner herself serving as an executive producer and co-arranger. It is reportedly Turner who requested the addition of the soaring bridge and a key change, elements that transform the competent original into a monumental rock declaration. This small but crucial act of artistic ownership is key to understanding the track’s success: it wasn’t just given to her, she moulded it into a perfect fit.
The sound is maximalist late-eighties pop-rock, yet executed with uncommon precision. The foundation is a powerhouse rhythm section. Drums, provided by Art Wood, possess that gated reverb snap that defines the era, yet they anchor the song with a propulsive, unshakeable groove. T.M. Stevens’ bass guitar provides a taut, funky undertow, giving the whole piece of music a muscularity that other arena-ready tracks often lacked. This is not mere synth-pop; it is a rock foundation built for stadiums.
Layered on this bedrock is the instrumentation that gives the track its sense of overwhelming grandeur. Dan Hartman, wearing multiple hats, handles much of the synth and acoustic guitar work, creating the dense, shimmering textures. But the star instrument—beyond Turner’s voice—is the lead guitar. The solo, reportedly played by Pat Thrall, is a marvel of taste and controlled ecstasy. It arrives not as shredding excess, but as a melodic counter-statement, a wailing, sustained cry that perfectly captures the song’s emotional core: a commitment so absolute it approaches the divine. The solo uses heavy compression and a bright, almost metallic tone, ensuring it cuts through the complex mix.
The role of the piano is subtle but essential. While Phil Ashley’s and Philippe Saisse’s work on keyboards mostly manifests as synthesized strings and the trademark brass hits, a more traditional piano pulse occasionally weaves through the lower frequencies, adding a harmonic complexity that prevents the track from becoming brittle. The arrangement is a masterclass in dynamic build. It starts with almost nervous energy in the verses, where Turner’s vocal phrasing is restrained, drawing us in. Then, the chorus explodes, a huge release of pent-up feeling where every instrument, every backing vocalist (including Tessa Niles and Lance Ellington), hits with unified force.
And then there is the voice. Turner’s delivery is a study in controlled, yet visceral, passion. She doesn’t belt gratuitously; she uses the raw grain in her lower register for the verses, establishing intimacy and gravity. The word “better,” particularly in the iconic line, “Simply the best, better than all the rest,” is elongated, savoured, and delivered with a slight upward scoop that signifies triumph. She transforms what could have been a generic power ballad into a hymn of personal sovereignty. This song is about a love so good it’s a validation of her own strength.
The emotional arc is what turned this track from a single on the Foreign Affair album into a global, timeless standard. In a cultural landscape saturated with cynical, transactional relationships, “The Best” offers a stark, confident counter-narrative. It is earnest, unabashedly celebratory, and utterly convincing because it is sung by an artist who had, publicly and privately, wrestled with the absolute worst. When she sings of having “climbed the highest mountain,” it is not hyperbole; it is a lived-in truth.
For listeners today, especially those rediscovering the track via a music streaming subscription on high-fidelity playback systems, the song’s production clarity remains stunning. The crisp separation of instruments—the shimmer of the cymbals, the depth of the bass—makes it a fantastic test track for quality home audio equipment.
“This is not a passive declaration of affection; it is a conqueror’s banner, unfurled over the landscape of personal victory.”
The song’s legacy stretches far beyond the charts, where it achieved widespread commercial success across Europe and reached the US Top 20. It became an instant fixture in advertising, film soundtracks, and, most famously, sports montages, forever associating Turner’s voice with peak athletic achievement. It entered the collective DNA as the soundtrack to victory, whether it was scoring a goal or simply overcoming a personal hurdle. It is the ultimate feel-good affirmation, a piece of rock and soul theology that proves simple words can carry earth-shattering weight when delivered with sufficient conviction. The guitar chord progression, simple yet powerful, is now part of the international language of triumph.
The fact that this piece of music was released late in her career, nearly 30 years after her debut, makes it all the more potent. It represents the ultimate vindication of her struggle, a final, unassailable statement that she was, and remains, the best. It’s an invitation to everyone to adopt her conviction and apply it to their own lives. We listen not just to hear a song, but to borrow some of her fire.
Listening Recommendations
- Joe Cocker – “You Are So Beautiful”: For a similar, almost spiritual declaration of love, delivered with raw, emotive vocal grit.
- Heart – “Alone”: Shares the same epic, keyboard-driven, power-ballad structure and a massive vocal performance from the same era.
- Simply Red – “Holding Back the Years”: Offers a contrast in pace but an adjacent mood of deeply felt, sophisticated soul-pop conviction.
- Steve Winwood – “Higher Love”: Another late-80s track built around synthesised brass, huge drums, and a soaring, soul-infused vocal delivery.
- Whitney Houston – “I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me)”: For a track that perfectly captures the maximalist, triumphant pop sound of the late 80s.
- Bonnie Tyler – “Total Eclipse of the Heart”: Shares a similar songwriter (Holly Knight co-wrote both) and a dramatic, cinematic vocal performance.