1972: All alone without a telephone, oh yeah

Looking at the first few months of the year, the charts are chock-full of songs I can remember as if it were yesterday. 1972 also marks the first time I can with certainty associate songs with a particular place. I think this has much to do with my first encounter with the technical phenomenon which was the car radio!

Not our own family car, of course. The trusty Ford Escort 1300, DPU 958G, had no such innovations. However, when I was introduced in February to trainspotting by my friend Mark Chillingworth, we would travel up to London to note the loco numbers at Old Oak Common, Kings Cross, Willesden and Cricklewood in his dad’s car; I think it was a Capri. The important thing is we could listen to music as we travelled or while we waited for the next ‘Peak’, ‘Brush’ or ‘Deltic’.

As a consequence, there are a few songs from the early part of the year which are forever linked with those hours spent lineside: Jo Jo Gunne’s adrenalin rush of slide guitar rock-blues boogie ’Run, Run, Run’, America’s trippy ‘Horse with No Name’ and Lindsfarne’s folky ‘Meet Me at the Corner’ spring to mind. I also recall listening to Neil Young’s gorgeous acoustic ‘Heart of Gold’ in my Uncle David’s car watching trains at Hampton-in-Arden. I remember just that song, no other.

Back in January there was no escaping ‘I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing’. It was the second number one for The New Seekers, an inoffensive five-piece outfit who became international stars for a year or two. The success came largely on the back of this song which itself originated as a Coca Cola commercial, famous in its own right I wasn't particularly enamoured of the song: all those "apple trees and honey bees and snow white turtle doves" were a bit too cute for me even then. Nice harmonies, though.

Pretty soon, The New Seekers had become so big, they were selected to represent the UK in the 1972 Eurovision Song Contest. BBC TV viewers had a choice of several songs, and selected the up-tempo ‘Beg, Steal and Borrow’. An excellent choice, it ticked all the boxes to bring us our first winner since ‘Puppet on a String’. Unfortunately it found itself up against what I think was the finest Eurovision winner in history, ‘Apres Toi’ by Vicky Leandros.

Even Dad liked it, or was it that he just fancied Vicky?! Whatever the appeal, it was re-recorded in English as ‘Come What May’, and followed ‘Beg, Steal and Borrow’ to number two over here. One of the songs which didn’t make the cut for Eurovision, ‘Circles’  gave The New Seekers another top five success that year, with more hits to come in 1974. By that time, the superior singer Eve Graham had been relegated (disgracefully in the view of this twelve year-old!) in favour of the more photogenic blonde Lyn Paul who subsequently went solo. That was that, but they are very much part of my 1972 musical experience.

I was unaware of Cat Stevens as an album superstar and sex god but when he released a version of my favourite hymn ‘Morning Has Broken’ he became a household name, even in 14 Marks Close! Cat’s distinctive voice and Rick Wakeman’s wonderful ivory-tinkling, fingers flowing like a waterfall, certainly grabbed my attention. The result made even something we had to sing in a school assembly ‘cool’. Probably the first and last time that ever happened!

Orchestral recordings of TV themes were also popular early in 1972. ‘The Onedin Line’ was a must-see on, I think, Sunday nights on BBC1. For all the period costumes and storylines combining nautical commerce and family relationships, the series became synonymous with Khachaturian’s ‘Spartacus’, so a top 20 single was almost inevitable. Around the same time, ITV’s ‘The Persuaders’ theme made number thirteen. However, my favourite was ‘Sleepy Shores’, the beautiful piano melody accompanying BBC1’s early evening ‘soap’, ‘Owen MD’. Performed by TOTP’s orchestral supremo Johnny Pearson, it peaked at number eight.

These were by no means the biggest instrumentals of the year. Neither was ‘Morning Has Broken’ the only hymn. The top-seller was ‘Amazing Grace’, a bagpipe-fest performed by the Pipes and Drums of the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards. A novelty hit, perhaps, but it was pretty stirring stuff. For many, the pipes are an abomination but I found the sound of a full ‘pipes and drums’ remarkably powerful and, of course, different from anything I’d heard before. It’s still the only kind of military band music I can stomach. Watching the be-kilted hordes performing ‘Flower of Scotland’ at Murrayfield before a Six Nations rugby international can almost make me support the men in blue. Almost. In my opinion the pipes section was also the best bit of ‘Mull of Kintyre’, which came five years later.

The second most popular single in 1972 was, apart from a few vocal interjections of the title, also a novelty instrumental, and one which can still bear repeated listening. Lieutenant Pigeon’s ‘Mouldy Old Dough’ was a real slow-burner, taking nine months to fly to the heights, eventually selling almost 800,000 copies in Britain alone. Apart from the instantly recognisable drum and penny whistle intro, the song was basically honky-tonk style piano, with the main man’s 60 year-old mum Hilda playing the basic keyboard rhythm. Many turned their noses up at it, but ‘Mouldy Old Dough’ was another of those (almost) lyric-free records which make you smile. A guilty pleasure? Definitely not; I feel no guilt about expressing my pleasure at listening to it whatsoever!

Pianists who could sing (and write) were also starting to appear. Listening to the charts, I’d never have identified Elton John with the controversial rocker or tantrum-prone gay activist with whom we have become familiar in recent times. Back then he was a young bloke in silly glasses who sang slow songs at a grand piano. They were good songs, of course, with ‘Rocket Man’ one of my favourites, and ‘Crocodile Rock’ later illustrating he could do the up-tempo stuff, too. Lynsey de Paul also stood out. Not only with her attractive face, trademark beauty spot and blonde hair, but ‘Sugar Me’ boasted an unusual blend of rhythm piano and a solo gypsy violin section. Apparently we have her then boyfriend Dudley Moore (yes, as in Dud ‘n’ Pete) to thank for her singing her own composition. She was also partly responsible for one of my 1973 favourites, of which more anon…. 

Another Top of the Pops regular at the piano in the early Seventies was Gilbert O’Sullivan. His early image comprised a pudding basin haircut, cloth cap, braces or skinny tie and shirt emblazoned with a giant letter G, and it was with this appearance that I first remember him performing ‘Alone Again (Naturally)’. Like Keith West’s ‘Grocer Jack’ in 1967, this song made an instant impression not because it was a happy pop foot-tapper. Quite the opposite, it has always stirred me to the brink of tears, and that was before my own mum died. It made number three in the UK and, although eclipsed in terms of chart position that November by the merrier ‘Claire’, ‘Alone Again’ is my definitive Gilbert O’Sullivan song.  

I remember Mum buying one of those ‘Best of’ LPs featuring a session singer recording Gilbert’s early songs. I hadn’t realised he had already written so many agreeable tunes with likeable lyrics, like ‘We Will’ and 'Ooh Wakka Doo Wakka Day'. There were more to come, and I clearly recall a car journey down to Nan and Grandad’s in Southampton in 1973 singing along to ‘Get Down’. 

Slow songs, then and now, tend to be like Marmite. I’ve mentioned ‘Apres Toi’ as one of the good examples from 1972. I could also list David Cassidy’s ‘How Can I be Sure?’, Don McLean’s ‘Vincent’, Nilsson’s all-time classic ‘Without You’ and Peter Skellern’s ‘You’re a Lady’. The latter was extraordinary thanks to the singer’s obvious North East accent and generous helpings of ‘Hovis’ ad-style colliery band backing. A glorious crescendo of piano at the end, too. 

Two years after ‘Back Home’ demonstrated that football fans could and would by records by their heroes, Chelsea and Leeds United got in on the act. ‘Blue is the Colour’ can still be heard at Stamford Bridge and is probably the most enduring club pop song in history. Shame it’s a rather dull military march and it was released as I was switching my allegiance to QPR, but it made three in the charts. Leeds brought out their own single to drum up support for their FA Cup Final appearance in 1972. Name-dropping all the squad (very small in those days) and manager Don Revie, it sounded more tuneful than Chelsea’s hit. It worked insomuch that Leeds beat Arsenal at Wembley (always a plus in my view!) but failed to reach the top ten. 

With no obvious contenders for my favours, I still held up The Bee Gees as personal favourites, even though they had been absent from the charts for a year or so. To my relief, they were back together again in 1972 and took ‘My World’ into the top twenty. Boasting one of those plaintive Robin vocals, it’s a sadly neglected Gibb Brothers ballad. History has been kinder to the brilliant follow-up ‘Run To Me’ but it’s ‘My World’ which I remember listening to that Spring. Weirdly it was another three years before The Bee Gees next ventured into the UK charts.

Although the rock/pop era was still in its relative infancy, the record-buying public were already going retro. Cliff and, with much greater success, Elvis were still going. Neil Sedaka and The Drifters were enjoying a renaissance. Fifties compilations were outselling most contemporary artists and re-releases of early Sixties hits were doing well. Even my toddler-era twister, ‘Let’s Dance’ returned to the Top Ten that autumn. Nevertheless, it was Don McLean’s thoughtful paeon to Buddy Holly on ‘the day the music died’ which grabbed the attention. I watched only the abbreviated version of ‘American Pie’ on TOTP but you really should see the full-length acoustic tour de force recorded elsewhere on the Beeb.

Don McLean stalled at two but a genuine rock’n’roll icon went all the way. Chuck Berry found a new fanbase at the end of the year but it was hardly rock’n’roll! Instead he topped the chart with a novelty singalong, ‘My Ding-a-Ling’. It didn’t really appeal to me, but then I probably didn’t appreciate the ‘double entendres’, at least not at first. Mary Whitehouse and chums inevitably attempted to get the song banned. They only part-succeeded. TOTP was forced into a compromise solution.

Apparently the main objection was to the showing of young audience members exuberantly singing along to the chorus so, hilariously, I remember those shots replaced by cutaways to Rolf Harris using a marker pen to draw the ‘silver bells hanging on a string’ in scenes appropriate to the lyrics The literal words, of course, not the sexual interpretations! In the end, Chuck managed to get it up to number one, penetrating the December market but was knocked off the pinnacle in time for Christmas by a nine year-old Little Jimmy Osmond bragging about being a ‘Long Haired Lover from Liverpool’. That was deemed perfectly acceptable. Eh?!

1972 saw the rise of the ‘teenybopper’. Mass hysteria at the merest suspicion of a pop star hadn’t been experienced since the early Beatles heyday. Suddenly we had not one, but three young icons sending girls into raptures. Michael Jackson had solo singles backed by his brothers, and it was a similar story for 14 year-old Donny Osmond. It was also the year when David Cassidy emerged from his TV ‘Partridge Family’.

When I moved up to the Mayflower School at eleven, I noticed that most of the girls seemed to be pinning large badges on their blazers. A few may have featured groups but, in the main, they advertised their favours for either Donny, David or Michael. The school soon cracked down on this disgraceful act of rebellion but couldn’t stop them buying their records.

Cassidy was by then in his twenties but I think that was played down at the time. While he could easily pass as a teenager, David certainly had a more mature voice than his contemporary teen idols, and he achieved his first UK number one with an excellent cover of ‘How Can I be Sure?’ Jackson was a mere 13 when he wowed the girls with ‘Got to Be There’ and ‘Rockin’ Robin’ and, like the Bee Gees, he was to be a near-constant on my musical soundtrack for the next two decades.

However, in 1972 and 1973, The Osmonds stole the show when it came to wowing the teenage girls. Already well-established in the USA, they really took the UK by storm, with 14 year-old Donny at the forefront. Personally I could not understand what the fuss was about but many of my female schoolfriends certainly did! ‘Puppy Love’ topped the charts for five weeks and there followed several similar covers of early 60s love songs. In contrast to Neil Reid’s experience, not even the inevitable voice breaking stemmed the young Mormon’s popularity. Unlike Jackson and Cassidy, Donny has somehow avoided the decline into personal disasters, and good on him!

He still recorded with his older brothers and, before they settled for prototype Westlife status with decent ballads-on-stools, they released the one Osmonds song it was acceptable for boys to like. They may have sported some awesomely daring flares but ‘Crazy Horses’ was a rare foray into rock for the Utah Mormons. Unusually Jay sang lead vocals, assisted by Merrill, while Donny appeared to play keyboards. I just have to forget that it’s The Osmonds and enjoy a cracking rock song!

August 1972 marked the momentous period of my debut trip abroad. Travelling on a Monarch Airlines Boeing 720B from Luton to Gerona (as it was then spelt under Franco’s anti-Catalan edict), we enjoyed a fortnight on the Costa Brava. In addition to the unaccustomed heat, sights and smells there were also the foreign sounds to savour. 

Amongst those was the music blaring out from the hotel or any number of neighbouring bars and cafes. The music wasn’t necessarily Spanish but inevitably repetition breeds familiarity and certain songs became inextricably linked with the location. Yes, I was experiencing for the first time the phenomenon of Euro Pop, the Summer Holiday Hit!

At Lloret de Mar, it was definitely the futuristic synthesiser rock instrumental, ‘Popcorn’ by Hot Butter. It reached number five over here but topped charts all over Europe, presumably after all the French, German, Dutch and Swiss returned from their summer hols by the Med. Whenever I hear the ‘pop-pop-pop’ melody I see the view from our hotel balcony and smell the Ambre Solaire. 

The following summer we remained in England and there were no discos or bars around Marazion to leave my ears with sonic imprints of Euro dance. Instead, it was left to whatever was riding high in the charts. If there was one Holiday Hit it would have to be Gary Glitter’s ‘I’m the Leader of the Gang (I Am)’. In 1974, we headed for Spain again, where it was proved that the Holiday Hit doesn’t always equal Summer Classic. At Salou, the over-riding musical memory was of Sylvia’s awful ‘Y Viva Espana’! A year later in Mallorca, it was The George Baker Selection’s version of ‘Una Paloma Blanca’, a definite improvement. Good or bad, they were never to be forgotten, just like the holidays themselves. 

Despite all of the above, the principal musical influence of 1972 had to be Glam Rock!  

Having missed most of 1971’s TOTP, T Rex’s rapid rise had passed me by. With Marc Bolan’s transformation from fey folk hippy to shaggy-permed rock god, there was no escaping them in ’72. I wasn’t too keen on ‘Telegram Sam’ but I have always loved their next single. ‘Metal Guru’ was near-perfect, with a genuine melody, an instantly attention-grabbing intro and superb production. My only criticism is that, at barely two and a half minutes, it’s much too short. 

T Rex really were in their pomp that year, but ‘Metal Guru’ proved to be their last number one. On the other hand, David Bowie was just starting to make a huge impression. Despite his androgynous ‘Ziggy Stardust’ persona, I don’t particularly remember him in 1972. Roxy Music’s ‘Virginia Plain’ was for some reason more memorable. Brian Ferry’s sparkling black suit and distinctive vocals plus Andy Mackay’s rippling tenor sax (or was it oboe?) stood out for me. For others it may have been Brian Eno’s synthesizer (and ludicrous hairstyle) but for me his thunder had already been stolen. 

While we were soaking up the rays and ‘Popcorn’ in Lloret, a landmark record had soared to the top back in the UK, with a title guaranteed to appeal to every schoolchild in the country: ‘School’s Out’. The guitar riff chimed with the Bowie/Ronson sound but Alice Cooper’s slightly scary image and growled vocals stood out from the rest. Along with the words, of course. I was between junior and senior schools that summer so Mum was stocking up my bag with the required paraphenalia. ‘No more pencils, no more books’? Far from it! Nevertheless, it all made for some joyous playground singing, ironically once we were all back in school which had not, after all, ‘been blown to pieces’.

I’m not sure whether Chicory Tip count as a Glam band, but their number one single ‘Son of my Father’ certainly fitted in with the prevailing stompy dance beat. What set it apart, however, was the innovative electronic keyboard sound. An early composition success for Eighties Moog-meister Giorgio Moroder, it was a brilliant slice of early Seventies pop. I remember first seeing the group on TOTP and thinking the lead singer was Barry Ryan. An easy mistake to make, as Peter Hewson’s hairstyle and pouty pursed lips made for an obvious comparison. But the music was very different and I loved the growling intro and bouncy synth bridge. It still sounds good today.

Also on an upward trajectory were Sweet and Slade, who were evolving into top-class pop groups. Sweet were beginning to benefit from Chinn and Chapman’s writing and, by the time ‘Wigwam Bam’ hit number four in October ’72, the familiar ingredients were in place. Brian Connolly was in silver, there were liberal sprinklings of glitter and guitarist Steve Priest’s flamboyance threatened to steal the show every time they appeared on TOTP.

Talking of glitter, the summer offered our first sighting of Paul Gadd in spandex and platform boots. Already 28, Gary Glitter was well on his way to UK superstardom thanks to ‘Rock and Roll (Parts 1 and 2)’. It was the largely instrumental Part 2 which proved more popular, although it stalled at two in the charts.

Like Sweet and Gary Glitter, Slade were yet to have their finest hour. Nevertheless, they had already topped the chart in 1971 with ‘Coz I Luv You’. In ’72, they released a sequence of loud stompers which settled into a familiar formula of guitar riff, crowd choruses, Dave Hill’s ferocious fringe and Noddy Holder’s vocals. Then there were their deliberately mis-spelt song titles which sent shivers through the education system with each new Slade release! I think their TOTP performance of ‘Mama Weer All Crazee Now’ (sp, punct., see me…) provided us with our first sighting of Noddy’s famous mirror-studded hat, one of the most enduring images not only of 1972 but the entire decade.

Glam rock encompassed a look, sound and, above all, sense of fun which was to light the fuse for my renewed and revitalised love of pop in the following twelve months.