Despite never attending a proper disco
in my school life, there was no excuse for being unaware of the genre. Songs
like ‘Disco Stomp’ (Hamilton Bohannon) and ‘Disco Queen’ (Hot Chocolate) did
what it says on the tin. However, I preferred other records which didn’t try so
hard. The Bee Gees reinvented themselves
with the funky ‘Jive Talkin’’
and Hot Chocolate released the immortal ‘You Sexy Thing’. It would have topped
the chart were it not for possibly the greatest record ever made, Shit happens,
Errol!
I remember returning from our summer
holiday on Mallorca, always eager to find out what had been happening in the UK
charts while in our Balearic bubble. The major movement was the rise of two
great songs from the USA. George McCrae’s ‘It’s Been So Long’ was my favourite
of the year, and it competed for the number four spot with KC and the Sunshine
Band’s finest moment on vinyl, ‘That’s the Way I Like It’. Just watch this clip
and try resisting the temptation to dance and join in the “Woo-oo-oo”s at the
beginning and the “uh-huh”s during the chorus. Dig that brass section, man! I
liked it in ’75 but it’s improved with age.
I also enjoyed Van McCoy’s ludicrously
catchy semi-symphonic ‘The Hustle’,
which made number three in June. It had the edge over that other dance move of
the year: ‘The Bump’ by Kenny! The group’s children’s TV presenter-style
clothes and bouncy performances were simultaneously irritating and fun.
There were no disco chart-toppers over
here but the Philly sound was more successful in the form of The Stylistics. As
more singles were released, their chart positions seemed to improve slowly and
in 1975 the jaunty ‘Sing Baby Sing’ reached three. This was trumped by the
magnificent ‘I Can’t Give You Anything (But My Love)’ in
August. Russell Thompson Jnr’s falsetto soared wider even than his afro!
David Bowie had morphed into the Thin
White Duke but I didn’t like his soul era. Thank goodness for the re-release of
‘Space Oddity’ which went to number one that autumn. This used to be one of my
all-time favourites but has since slipped down the list. Still great, though:
and a successful musical story with a sad ending is so rare.
It was also a big year for Country and
Western, as we then called it. Oh, C&W. All that drawlin’ and mewlin’ about
lervin’, cheatin’, drinkin’ and a-prayin’ by rednecks who think the world is a
poorer place since the abolition of slavery. And then there are all the
‘yee-hahs’. Aarghhh! Yet, strangely 1975 gave us a few Country songs I – er -
actually quite liked.
Not Tammy Wynette’s awful ‘Stand By
Man’, which took the UK by storm in the Spring. In a year when gender equality
took a giant leap closer thanks to the Sex Discrimination Act, the sentiments
seemed slightly at odds with the mood of the times. In contrast, two other
songs surprised me by sounding rather good. First, Ray Stevens stopped
streaking and returned to his Country roots by delivering a rollicking
piano-banjo version of ‘Misty’. Later, I also found myself enjoying the
be-permed Billy-Jo Spears’ ‘Blanket on the Ground’.
Fortunately that was pretty much it as far as good Country & Western was
concerned. Sorry, Dolly, but normal service was quickly resumed!
Northern Soul was gaining in
popularity and, as with so many local ‘underground’ musical movements, related
record sales took the genre into the national mainstream. I’d no inkling of
what Northern Soul was. I don’t suppose I’d have recognised the term even if
I’d lived next-door to one of the hotbeds of the movement, Wigan Casino!
Apparently, revivals such as ‘Ghost in My House’ owed their success to Northern
Soul DJs and, in turn, future stars like Soft Cell would create new audiences for
mid-‘70s songs such as Gloria Jones’ ‘Tainted Love’.
Had I been sufficiently motivated to
read more about it I’d have worked out why two artists in the 1975 charts had
Wigan in their names. Wigan’s Chosen Few were created to accompany the
instrumental dance track ‘Footsie’ and, more my cup of tea back then, Wigan’s
Ovation recorded the more ‘poppy’ ‘Skiing in the Snow’. I never did reconcile a
song about winter sports with an industrial town in the North West! Regardless,
both made Top of the Pops and did well.
South East England experienced a
notable heatwave that summer and, for me, three records represent those weeks
spent sweltering in the classroom or sitting at home, windows wide open. Brian
Hyland’s early Sixties hit ‘Sealed with a Kiss’ was suitably slow and sultry,
and one-hit wonders Typically Tropical (how apt!) topped the chart with
‘Barbados’.
I’ve never been to the island personally but that August, we had to improvise
and make some subtle alterations to the lyrics: “Woah! We’re going to
Mallorca!” And we were “flying away on Britannia (not Coconut) Airways”.
At the time of my fourteenth birthday,
10cc were back at the top with the ageless ‘I’m Not in Love’. A
few months earlier, I’d enjoyed the punning whimsy of ‘Life is a Minestrone’
but this was a whole new ball game. It was such an innovative sound, with those
painstakingly multi-tracked and looped “aaahhhhhhh”s behind Eric Stewart’s
electronic piano, gentle vocals and subtle sentiments expressed in clever
lyrics. Just imagine a hot Sunday afternoon with that ‘choir’ wafting softly on
a light breeze; ‘I’m Not In Love’ would be perfect.
1975 was the year Rod Stewart armed
himself with eyeliner and other cosmetics, and made his Atlantic Crossing to
conquer America. The first step was, appropriately enough, the single,
‘Sailing’, which became the second biggest seller in the UK. It wasn’t my favourite, but it’s an example
of how simplicity works. By coincidence, ‘Sailing’ kept another
nautical song at number two, ‘The Last Farewell’ by Roger Whittaker. Rod was
travelling “to be near you, to be free” but Rog seemed to be sailing home,
leaving his love behind. In his chart hits, he always seemed to be off
somewhere: leaving Durham Town, heading “over the sea to Skye”. Never mind; you
couldn’t dislike Roger Whittaker. He’d been on children’s TV quite a bit,
usually showing off his whistling skills, and he had the kind, avuncular appeal
of an unpretentious entertainer, certainly not a pop star! Oddly, ‘The Last
Farewell’ did much better in the States than ‘Sailing’ but Rod hasn’t looked
back since!
There were other slowies which I
didn’t much like but were hard to avoid. Ralph McTell’s ‘Streets of London’ was
more to Mum’s taste than mine, and Minnie Ripperton’s ‘Lovin’ You’ – including
those irritating chirping birds and eye-wateringly high notes – was possibly
better suited to canines. Then there was ‘If’ by Telly Savalas. It was a big
year for the American TV cop show ‘Kojak’ but for some reason its star believed
he could be a serious recording artist, too. Women did seem to find his deep
speaking voice rather sexy but I found a whole song of him intoning the lyrics
sheer hell! If Telly’s musical career encouraged William Shatner’s similar
move, then ‘If’ has even more to answer for than I originally thought.
In the credit column I would place the
number ones, the dreamy ‘I Only Have Eyes For You’ by Art Garfunkel and Steve
Harley and Cockney Rebel’s delightful ‘Come Up and See Me, Make Me Smile’ (I
love that acoustic middle eight). Meanwhile John Lennon took ‘Imagine’ to number
six, well before it attained classic status.
Fox were a band with a different vibe,
mostly down to the voice and hippyish poses of singer Susan Traynor. I liked
their number three hit ‘Only You Can’ and their 1976 effort, ‘S-s-s-single
Bed’. One of my faves of the year was ‘If You Think You Know How to Love Me’ by
Smokey (later re-named Smokie, after Smokey Robinson threatened legal action!).
They’d apparently been around in some form or other for years but once Chinn
and Chapman sprinkled their writing/production stardust, they broke through at
last. Chris Norman’s croaky vocals, the acoustic guitar, backing harmonies and
quality songs made for a winning formula, repeated on the follow-up ‘Don’t Play
Your Rock’n’Roll to Me’. Smokie are probably best known for ‘Living Next Door
To Alice’, but only because it was appropriated and desecrated years later by
Roy ‘Chubby’ Brown. I insist that their 1975 singles are far superior.
At the start of the year, Mum liked
Pilot’s ‘January’ so much
we actually bought it for her birthday. For me, the only memorable thing about
it was the double-necked guitar they played on TOTP! Singer-writer-bassist
David Paton had apparently been part of the Bay City Rollers a few years
earlier but I’m not sure he fitted in with the new incarnation of the Rollers,
who stood head, shoulders and platform shoes above the rest.
They’d been building their reputation
amongst teenage girls throughout the previous twelve months but as soon as Les
McKeown sang the first line of ‘Bye Bye Baby’ in early ’75, they went
stratospheric.
‘Rollermania’ out-did anything generated by the Osmonds, David Cassidy or
indeed any band since The Beatles. Girls burst into tears at the very thought
of Les, Eric, Woody, Alan and Derek. Boys didn’t get a look-in! I hadn’t been
aware of The Four Seasons’ original, but the Rollers sold a million in no time
at all.
‘Give A Little Love’ was their summer
love song, a chart-topper while I was confined to bed ill at Uncle David’s. However,
when they released ‘Money Honey’ in the autumn, it already felt like their day
had gone. They never had another number one single and Britain was faced with a
pile of unwanted plaid. Modern girls whose mums and grandmothers roll their
eyes at their obsession with One Direction, Justin Bieber or whoever, should
just ask about that box of yellowing posters and tartan scarves in the attic…..
Another of my picks from the year’s
pop crop was Carpenters’ ‘Please Mister Postman’. As with ‘Bye Bye Baby’, I was
ignorant of the song’s origins, but it didn’t matter. However, the passing
years have not been kind to this record. It’s that dreaded Country vibe again;
give me one of their straightforward ballads any day.
Researching for this memoir when my
own mind failed me led me to the opinion that 1975 must have had more comedy or
novelty records than possibly any other. As with anything in life, humour can
be very personal and subjective, and so these humorous songs were very hit and
miss. I can’t say I was a fan of Windsor Davies and Don Estelle’s ‘Whispering
Grass’ yet, performed as their characters from BBC sitcom ‘It Ain’t Half Hot
Mum’, it was curiously engaging and was the fourth biggest seller of the year!
“Sing, Lofty!” It wasn’t strictly speaking a comedy record. Estelle sang it
straight in his impeccable tenor but Davies brought his Sergeant-Majorly Welsh
baritone to the spoken section and OTT gurning to their TOTP performances.
Billy Connolly was just beginning to
make a name for himself as a comic and actor but the trouble was that his
Glaswegian accent was almost incomprehensible to anyone south of Hadrian’s
Wall. His re-write of Tammy Wynette’s ‘D.I.V.O.R.C.E.’ proved a major step
towards his achieving eventual national treasure status. However, hearing the
song again reminded me that the song wasn’t funny at all. Forget the words and
simply watch Billy; he just made you want to laugh.
Meanwhile, Max Boyce managed a feat
that even Billy Connolly couldn’t: a number one album. The charismatic musician
and songwriter had become an icon of South Wales and, boosted by a few
late-evening network TV series, had spread his fanbase way beyond Cardiff,
Swansea and the Valleys. Everyone was going “Oggi oggi, ogg, oi, oi, oi!” even
if we didn’t know one end of a (giant) leek from the other. Max didn’t just
write rugby-related crowdpleasers or humorous tales; there were also a lot of
wistful ballads reflecting his own mining community heritage. Dad and I had
become so enamoured of his showmanship and mix of musical material that I
actually bought his ‘The Incredible Plan’ LP. From its success, obviously I
wasn’t the only one.
At Christmas, I also purchased the
single of Laurel and Hardy’s ‘Trail of the Lonesome Pine’, ostensibly for Mum
and Dad but really for me. To be honest, for all their comedy genius, I’ve
never been a fan of the musical bits in their films; they just get in the way
of that wonderful slapstick and looks to camera that left me helpless with
laughter. This excerpt from ‘Way Out West’ was an exception. There were bits we
could all act out, and it had the temerity to hit number two in the chart.
Now if ‘disco’ in the title meant you
had to dance, then ‘funky’ signalled the opportunity to laugh. Two top five
songs demonstrated that it was working. Neither song contained anything
resembling actual funk, unless the ‘k’ is silent! First, The Goodies
transferred their TV popularity to Top of the Pops with ‘Funky Gibbon’.
Completely pointless, but as with much of Bill Oddie’s musical contributions,
who cared? Here were grown men from Oxbridge dressed in colourful clothes
prancing around like apes, and we loved it! Brummie ‘stand-up’ Jasper Carrott
was less familiar to me, featuring mainly on ITV. That changed when he released
‘Funky Moped’.
Essentially a silly tale of a girlfriend lost to another bloke with a bike, it
was a decent semi-rock record you could dance to. Also, you can’t beat lines
like:-
“As soon as me moped’s front mudguard
is fixed,
Gonna find the creep and put him down (down,
down…)”!
A lot of comedy doesn’t stand the test
of time. After all, once you’ve heard a punchline, or the twist in a tall tale,
it’s lost the element of surprise. But if you have a funny song without jokes,
you have an enduring winner.
As in the previous year, my 14
year-old self didn’t really pick out any authentic classics in 1975. Until the
end of November, that is. That was when I and all my contemporaries were first
exposed to the jaw-dropping promo film for the new single by Queen called
‘Bohemian Rhapsody’. From the opening silhouettes to the man with the gong, I
remember being enthralled. I had no clue what it as about. “Beelzebub has a devil for a sideboard…”? All those Galileos and
Piccolos? Four decades of documentaries and interviews with Freddie, Brian,
Roger and Eric, and countless listens haven’t really enlightened me, either.
But so what? All the effort required to write and record it certainly paid off.
It was number one for nine weeks, then for a further five upon its re-release
in the wake of Freddie Mercury’s death in 1991. ‘Wayne’s World’ then gave us
the immortal headbanging in the car scene, but ‘Bo Rhap’ still looks and sounds
fresh.
Records commonly touted as The Best
Ever usually have a negative effect on me yet I cannot think of another which
combines melody, mood, rhythm, rock, innovation and invention in such an
unforgettable way. Brian May recently said that he still enjoyed listening to
the track when it came on the radio, and it wasn’t just ego talking. For all
Bohemian Rhapsody’s history and intellectual dissection, I absolutely agree
with him. It sounds as absorbing as it did the first time I heard it. Click on
this reference link to remind yourself of Queen’s six-minute magnum opus and the film which launched
the whole pop video industry.
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