1975 – It’s just a silly phase I’m going through

There was a distinct shift of power in the pop charts in 1975. That perspective can come only from the future, of course, but I remember feeling that something was missing. Maybe it was the death of Glam, maybe my attaining the grand old age of 14, grieving for lost youth as I started my O Level courses. I have read an article by Saint Etienne’s Bob Stanley who wrote in passing that 1975 was one of a few years notable for the awfulness of their music. A subjective viewpoint, of course, but it’s  interesting to see a respected musician and journalist supporting my humble opinion.

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.

1974 – Well, I know I'm not super hip

Ah, 1974. The year when I entered my teens. I may have had some unforgiveable strops at home but at school I was all sweetness and light. I associate a lot of June and July pop with summer lunchtimes on the school field. Weather permitting, we’d have a kickaround (I was cheekily nicknamed Johan after Dutch maestro Cruyff whose ‘turn’ thrilled us all in the World Cup). On Tuesdays, we’d then sprawl on the turf listening on somebody’s tinny tranny to Radio 1’s revelation of the new charts. There was barely time to hear the number one just before 1pm, when we had to scamper back to class.

Whenever I hear tracks such as R Dean Taylor’s ‘There’s a Ghost in My House’, Cockney Rebel’s ‘Judy Teen’ or Showaddywaddy’s debut ‘Hey, Rock’n’Roll’ I can almost smell the new-mown grass and post-football sweat!

Another big hit in the summer term was ‘This Town Ain’t Big Enough For the Both of Us’ by Sparks. Back then, it had mere novelty value but now I regard it as a Seventies classic. Russell Mael’s frantic falsetto and the peculiar piano poses of brother Ron – dubbed by us ‘the Sparks loony’ – made for an unusual act. Nevertheless, the song left me breathless, and still does. Later, they turned down the pace for ‘Never Turn Your Back on Mother Earth’ but the result was also highly entertaining. They’ve never stopped working either. While not often troubling the charts, they’ve been consistent darlings of UK music journos. American-born, maybe, but surely approaching the status of British national treasures.

A young Scottish group called The Bay City Rollers were beginning to win the hearts of schoolgirls, with four top ten singles. Some long-haired art-rockers with a really ugly lead singer also released some interesting records, the best being ‘Killer Queen’. We were to hear a lot more from them! Leo Sayer’s career began at the start of the year in clown’s costume and make-up, performing the engagingly quirky ‘The Show Must Go On’ then the character was discarded for another entertaining top five single, ‘Long Tall Glasses’. However, there were also some appealing songs from performers more commonly linked to the previous decade.

Lulu took an unexpected change of musical direction with David Bowie’s ‘The Man Who Sold the World’, The Rolling Stones were back on form with ‘It’s Only Rock’n’Roll’ (the one with the promo film featuring the boys being slowly submerged in bubbles!) and The Hollies brought out possibly their best single, ‘The Air That I Breathe’, featuring a brilliant guitar intro and haunting vocals from Allan Clarke.

Paul McCartney & Wings had huge success with their album ‘Band on the Run’, and I enjoyed the title track. It was one of those singles with three distinct sections which works a treat. The album cover was also memorable for featuring Paul, Linda and Denny dressed as escaping prisoners posing with a very mixed bunch of celebrities, from Michael Parkinson to film star James Coburn and boxer John Conteh! Only The Carpenters’ ‘Singles 1969-73’ sold more albums than ‘Band on the Run’ that year.

Coincidentally, Alan Price and The Scaffold each made the top ten simultaneously with songs celebrating the towns of their birth. Not earth-shattering, but both the autobiographical ‘Jarrow Song’ and ‘Liverpool Lou’ were very catchy tunes, also heard and hummed on the Mayflower School field.

The American heartthrobs were starting to lose their grip. The Osmonds showed Louis Walsh and Boyzone the future with ‘Love Me For a Reason’ but there were no chart-toppers for Donny, Jimmy or David Cassidy. Britain was crying out for a teenybopper idol of our own, and he emerged in the form of David Essex.

He was unusual, possibly unique in progressing from musical theatre to pop. The previous year, ‘Rock On’ had been dark, dangerous, moody and mysterious, hitting number three.  While playing on Essex’s curly-haired photogenic looks, it was not pop as I knew it. ‘I’m Gonna Make You a Star’ changed all that. The Eastender became a fun entertainer with a winning smile, and, contrary to his lyric, definitely became ‘super hip’ and not at all ‘out of style’! 1975’s ‘Hold Me Close’ took him even closer to his London roots.

On the other hand, the glorious era of Glam was dissolving, but not before a few last hurrahs. Suzi Quatro and Alvin Stardust topped the charts early in ’74 with ‘Devil Gate Drive’ and ‘Jealous Mind’, respectively, while Slade narrowly missed the top spot with the semi-acoustic ‘Far, Far Away’. Gary Glitter did manage it with ‘Always Yours’, but his backing group emerged from his silvery shadow as The Glitter Band and out-sold it with the drum-heavy ‘Angel Face’. 

Away from Wizzard, Roy Wood released some solo stuff (sans wig), most notably the excellent ‘Forever’, on which he inevitably sang, wrote, produced and played all the instruments. Thereafter, whether on his own or with the band, his new music never really connected with me again. Rediscovering his Move material from the Sixties, such as the dreamy 'Blackberry Way', provided adequate compensation. 

Despite the more flamboyant costumes and ear-rings of Rob Davis, I’m not sure whether Mud were truly Glam rockers. Yes or no, the group were definitely the most successful singles artists of 1974. ‘Tiger Feet’ was fun from start to finish, as this TOTP performance proves, topping the year’s sales chart. The dance moves also live on to this day! ‘When the Cat Crept In’ provided more of the same and then in December there was Les Gray’s unashamed Elvis impression on ‘Lonely This Christmas’. I’ll never forget the TOTP performance with the spoken section mimed by a ventriloquist’s dummy. A sad, mawkish song which made you smile; only Mud could do that. 

From an early age, if you’d asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I’d have said a drummer. Even in the Sixties, when TOTP came on I’d take the fat wooden knitting needles from Mum’s case, arrange the cushions on an armchair and away I’d go! I don’t recall having a particular role model. Not Ringo, Charlie Watts, not even the manic Keith Moon of The Who. 

I suppose I paid more attention to drummers who sang; Dave Clark and The Tremeloes’ Dave Munden spring to mind. In 1974, there was another candidate in the bearded form of Phil Wright from Nottingham’s finest, Paper Lace. No ‘Britain’ Got Talent’ or ‘X Factor’ in those days (hallelujah!) but the Seventies equivalent ‘Opportunity Knocks’ produced a few chart-toppers of its own. Paper Lace enjoyed a year of success, starting with ‘Billy, Don’t be a Hero’. A pleasant enough song, with words we could all sing, it was the third biggest-seller of 1974, but not exactly stuff to make young boys determined to buy a drum set! 

Cozy Powell was a different kettle of fish.  Here was a genuine rocker: dark hair, pointy face and studded, leather wristband. At the start of ’74 he reached number three with what must have been the first drumming (near-) instrumental hit, ‘Dance with The Devil’. I even have the 7” single somewhere! ‘Na na-na-na’ was a more conventional pop-rock song from Cozy’s band, but I liked it, too. I don’t remember him troubling the charts again, other than as rent-a-drummer for Whitesnake, Rainbow and others. Probably the last time I pulled out the knitting needles, too.

Drums were not particularly prominent on ‘Seasons in the Sun’ but, hot on the heels of ‘Billy, Don’t be a Hero’, it gave us another number one we could all sing along to. The lyrics had undergone various transformations from Jacques Brel’s harsher, sardonic French original, but Canadian Terry Jacks’ version was a sentimental ballad which went on to sell millions worldwide. What I remember was TOTP spending weeks trying to locate film of Terry Jacks performing the song, having had to make do with endless re-runs of Pan’s People swaying to the melody. They finally tracked down a performance of Jacks just before it was displaced by the Eurovision winner. 

And what a winner that was! Held in Brighton, the Contest resulted in a first triumph for Sweden, the first by a band and the first sung in English by a non-UK nation. The victors were, of course, ABBA; the song, ‘Waterloo’. I recall first the conductor dressed as Napoleon, then the foursome seemed even more outlandish in glam-rock outfits. Cliff Richard, it wasn’t! If the Swedes weren’t sufficiently different, heaven knows what the continental audience thought of The Wombles as the interval act! 

Although it signalled a dramatic sea-change in the competition, I didn’t especially like ‘Waterloo’ at the time. Yes, I preferred it to Olivia Newton-John’s old-style jolly Eurovision stomper but then who didn’t?! The ’74 Contest also stands out in my mind because no fewer than four of that year’s participants made the UK top ten. They were all very different, too, each with their own appeal. Besides Abba and Olivia, there were oddball Dutch duo Mouth and MacNeal (‘I See a Star’) and Italian Gigliola Cinquetti (‘Si’) who’d won ten years previously. It was probably the first and last time our charts had such a continental look, and had so many Eurovision songs I liked. 

1974 also brought us a couple of chart-toppers which played on social and cultural flavours of the day. For some reason, the practice of people stripping off and enlivening/ruining* (*delete as applicable) sporting events by ‘streaking’ (i.e. running around naked) had gathered momentum, mainly in the States. The versatile, tongue-in-cheek American Ray Stevens knocked up a cheeky novelty song ‘The Streak’ which duly sold plenty on both sides of the Atlantic. It amused schoolkids like me of course, but fortunately none of us was tempted to streak ourselves! 

That autumn, it was kung fu’s turn to hog the UK pop spotlight. Bruce Lee had died the previous year but I wonder what he’d have made of Jamaican Carl Douglas and ‘Kung Fu Fighting’. More martial farce than martial arts, it was nonetheless a catchy chunk of funk-pop which caught the zeitgeist. Huu-hh! It wasn’t really “a little bit frightening” but Douglas and his producer/co-writer Biddu certainly “did it with expert timing”. Hahh! 

Another Jamaican chopped ‘Kung Fu Fighting’ from the top spot. I had, and still have, a soft spot for Ken Boothe’s smooth ‘rock steady’ cover of David Gates’ ‘Everything I Own’. Or ‘Anyting I own’, as Boothe insisted on singing. Until Bob Marley hit the mainstream, this was my favourite reggae-ish song. In fact, it probably still is. 

Another beautiful slow number was Hot Chocolate’s ‘Emma’. The group famously enjoyed a top ten single in each year of the Seventies but it wasn’t until this tear-jerker that I sat up and took notice. Most of their hits were more up-tempo but the rhythm and lyrics of ‘Emma’ were absorbing. Watch this clip and I dare you not to be moved by Errol Brown’s performance, especially his eyebrows. Somebody, just give him a hug! While this was the year of classic ballads ‘Candle in the Wind’ and ‘Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me’, it was Errol, not Elton, for me. 

Back at the lower end of the spectrum of ‘cool’, two other acts caught my ear and eye. The Rubettes sprung from nowhere to pop royalty status in 1974 thanks to ‘Sugar Baby Love’ and that piercing falsetto intro by early lead vocalist Paul da Vinci. I actually preferred their December hit ‘Juke Box Jive’ by which time their much-parodied (mainly by The Goodies!) white berets and jackets were losing their novelty value! Also, what use was our brand new colour TV if the costumes were black and white?! 

The other ‘band’ had their origins not in a studio but in a series of children’s books and subsequent TV series. Yes, folks, I’m talking about those cuddly litter-pickers from Wimbledon and Eurovision entertainers, The Wombles. Their debut was simply the programme’s theme tune: “Underground, overground, wombling free….” and seemed destined to be a one-hit wonder. After all, what can you do with a bunch of imaginary furry creatures? The vocals sounded to me like Bernard Cribbins who’d narrated the TV animation, but of course in reality the music, production and singing were all the responsibility of Mike Batt, then still in his early twenties. How was I to know that Batt was a talented composer and musician who would turn The Wombles into one of 1974’s biggest-selling acts? The second single, ‘Remember You’re a Womble’, proved his pedigree. Indeed, it had all the hallmarks of Roy Wood and tongue-in-cheek 10cc, which is high praise indeed: a nod to rock’n’roll here, a burst of folky fiddle there and a catchy chorus. Of course, the lyrics were hardly awe-inspiring. You didn’t want to be heard walking to school singing: 

            “When it's foggy on the common and you just can't see
             And I womble into you and you womble into me”! 

Yet it was a genuine pop-rock song, and the magic formula also took ‘We Wish You a Wombling Merry Christmas’ to number two. Why it’s rarely played or featured on Christmas compilations is beyond me. It’s neglect on a criminal scale! In between they even introduced audiences simultaneously to Mozart and waltz via ‘Minuetto Allegretto’. Fun, educational and, thanks to their tidying exploits on Wimbledon Common, environmentally-friendly icons, too. The Wombles were way ahead of their time! 

For all the likeable chart entrants I’ve mentioned, at the time I felt there were few stand-out songs. My contemporary favourite was ‘I Get a Kick out of You’, which Australian folkie Gary Shearston took to number seven. I’d no idea it had been a Cole Porter composition from the Thirties; I just loved the acoustic rhythm and the violin bit in the middle!

Meanwhile, the charts were starting to fill with a new American sound. Motown had been everywhere for a decade but now we were hearing danceable records featuring lush production with strings (e.g. Barry White) and brass (including Hues Corporation’s ‘Rock the Boat’). I particularly recall being struck by the piercing ‘whoooos’ on the fast and furious ‘Queen of Clubs’ by KC and The Sunshine Band. Then there were the stuttering vocals on Bachman Turner Overdrive’s ‘You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet’, forever linked in my head with Harry Enfield’s Nineties DJ comedy creation ‘Nicey’: “Let’s ROCK!"

Yet perhaps the most enduring song from 1974 was another co-written and produced by Harry (KC) Casey, and recorded, purely because he happened to be in the studio at the time, by George McCrae. ‘Rock Your Baby’ lured you in with that sexy shuffle beat, followed by that keyboard melody and disco guitar, before George’s stunning falsetto took you to a different place altogether. It sounded like a love song but with such an infectious rhythm made you want to dance at the same time. It has been retrospectively labelled the first disco number one but at the time it was just a delicious record with the falsetto, open shirt and keyboards pre-dating the Saturday Night Fever Bee Gees by three years. Disco had arrived!

 

1973: You better watch out if you’ve got long black hair

1973 was in many ways a landmark year in my relationship with music. To start with, it was the first time I’d kept a daily diary, a routine I’ve maintained ever since. Amongst these incredibly tedious chronicles of schoolwork, train numbers and TV programmes viewed were scribbled the top four singles each week, for most of the year noted whilst watching ‘Top of the Pops’. Why four and not three, five or any other number remains a mystery, even to me.

It’s not a comprehensive record. If I missed the chart run-down during the programme one week, there are gaps. However I never seemed to miss the end, because the number one was always there. After August I was relieved to have a fall-back option.

While staying in our Marazion guest house during the family holiday in Cornwall, we would have evening meal in the dining room which would sometimes have music playing over a speaker system. On the first Sunday I was intrigued to hear playing what sounded like a Top 20 show. Dad said this was played on Radio 1 every Sunday at 6pm. How he knew, I’ve no idea, but this sparked a relationship with the programme for many years.

It changed its length, presenter and format on numerous occasions but in 1973 it was only an hour long. The host was Tom Browne. Unlike the excitable chatter of a Tony Blackburn or Dave Lee Travis, Browne’s voice oozed from the wireless like creamy hot chocolate and, along with the BMRB jingle, remains synonymous with the UK singles chart and became a must-listen every Sunday thereafter.

More importantly, it no longer mattered if I missed TOTP on the Thursday evening; I need only tune in to Tom three evenings later and feed my appetite for recording the Top Four. No internet then, of course. Even when we holidayed abroad for a fortnight, I could work out the missing positions by listening to the number of places risen or dropped, as proclaimed by the presenter.

1973 was also the year when, as mentioned earlier, I was introduced to the hits of yesteryear. In addition to the Sunday evening Top 20 rundown, I could now write in my notebook top tens from previous years, too, thanks to the discovery of Jimmy Savile’s Sunday lunchtime show.

At that time, because the concept of an official sales listing of ‘45s’ was in its relative infancy, barely two decades. I think the format was in one week to feature hits from 15 and 5 years ago, and the next from 17 and 10 years ago. The producers seemed to take 1956 as the start date for more reliable singles charts.

Thus to complement the delights of the contemporary pop scene, I could immerse myself in what people were buying and listening to (even by Mum and Dad) in 1956, 1958, 1963 and 1968. Now I could appreciate how the likes of Elvis Presley, Cliff Richard and The Beatles had started their careers. I realised that older artists such as Perry Como and Neil Sedaka, who were enjoying success in ’73, had been around in the Fifties, before I was born. Wow!

I didn’t like everything I heard, but The Double Top Ten Show opened the door to a whole new world of music. As well as furthering my musical education, it satisfied my greed for facts and figures, leaving me with a legacy as a very useful member of pop quiz teams! These Sunday lunchtimes also left me with enduring affection for artists such as Lonnie Donegan, The Shadows and The Beach Boys, as well as a few who were still around in 1973, including The Rolling Stones. Mick, Keith and the boys have barely registered so far in this memoir. For all the classic riffs and Jagger’s howling, bluesy vocals, the first hit I recall enjoying was in 1973, the haunting piano ballad ‘Angie’. Imagine my shock upon discovering recently that Keith Richards wrote the song about his battle with heroin.

Back then, Ronnie Wood had yet to join the Stones and Kenney Jones was not part of The Who. Instead, they were, with Ian MacLagen and Ronnie Laine, very active members of The Faces. After two very successful years as a solo artist, in ’73 Rod Stewart toured with his old booze buddies and bandmates and produced some great songs like ‘Stay With Me’, ‘Pool Hall Richard’ and, my favourite, ‘Cindy (Incidentally)’.  Even the guitars seem to be laughing and larking around! Of all Rod’s extensive back catalogue, I tend to remember the Faces era with particular fondness.

I was also taking note of another Seventies megastar, David Bowie. As I’ve written before, albums were not on my radar. Therefore I was blissfully unaware of the ten weeks Bowie spent atop the LP charts with ‘Aladdin Sane’ and his collection of covers, ‘Pin Ups’. On the other hand, I did listen to his singles offerings, always remarkably diverse but especially so that year.

From the pulsating dance beat of ‘JeanGenie’ to the piano-laden ‘Life on Mars’, Bowie was always interesting. In the autumn, a soulful cover of ‘Sorrow’ also made the top three, but I confess to preferring the cheeky re-release of an embarrassing (to Bowie) Sixties recording of ‘Laughing Gnome’. Let’s face it, nobody of my age would ever comprehend the lyrics of your typical Bowie composition, but a 12 year-old would instantly ‘get’ lines such as “Ha-ha-ha, hee-hee-hee. I’m a laughing gnome and you can’t catch me”! In fact I think Catherine and I knew just about all the words and, for all Bowie’s cool image, the single reached the top ten at the same time as ‘Sorrow’.

I recently received Simon Goddard’s book Ziggyology as a Christmas present. persistence paid off, and from reading I have learned a lot about Ziggy’s role in the early Seventies cultural landscape, the evolution of the striking Starman and his Spiders from Mars (including the even cooler Mick Ronson, whose fuzzy guitar sound tops anything from the Seventies), his rise and sudden rock’n’roll suicide at the Hammersmith Odeon in July 1973. However, the name on the records, the radio announcements and the printed page said not ‘Ziggy Stardust’ but ‘David Bowie’ and so the whole alien-art-rock phenomenon left me untouched. In my own musical landscape, Ziggy was a mere ephemeral butterfly; it was David Bowie who is remembered.

Many consider David Bowie to be the definitive embodiment of Glam Rock, at least in the UK. However, for those of my age, Marc Bolan has a strong claim to that status. By 1973, though, T Rex were on the wane. ‘20^th Century Boy’ reached number three in April but from that point it was downhill all the way for Bolan, musically and personally.

T Rex’s mantle as kings of glam was passing to a new collection of groups. There can be few years so utterly dominated by a cartel of half a dozen or so acts from a single genre. Slade, Sweet, Wizzard and Gary Glitter had eight number one and five number two singles between them. Add Suzi Quatro, plus the aforementioned Bowie and T Rex, and you had a mightily strong stranglehold which only Donny Osmond and siblings could breach with consistent success. 

What appealed to me most about this motley crew was their apparent sense of fun. They always seemed to enjoy themselves on TOTP, performing with a smile on their collective faces. When Noddy Holder, a consummate easy-going performer, urged us all to ‘Cum On Feel the Noize’, it was hard not to respond by going ‘wild, wild, wild’! Noddy’s “Baby, baby, Bayyyyy-behhhhh!” lit up the scene throughout February and it remains one of my favourite intros of all time. In the autumn, they probably found more favour with teachers everywhere when ‘My Friend Stan’ came out, correctly spelt! A lighter, piano-driven number, it stalled at two. This proved a brief blip because their next single performed slightly better…. 

The Sweet advanced to the elite when I first experienced ‘Blockbuster’ on the telly in January 1973. First, the sirens, then the ubiquitous ‘dum, dum, dum, der-der-der dum, dum, dum’ Bo Diddly guitar riff, followed by ‘Ah-ahhhhhh. Ah-ahhhhhhh’. Brian Connolly pouted beneath that unique blonde thatch, almost bursting out of his silver two-piece, mic stand grasped horizontally with both black-gloved hands…. The intro to Sweet’s ‘Blockbuster’ encapsulates for me what made ‘Top of the Pops’ so exciting in its heyday. The band never hit the same heights again, although ‘Hellraiser’ and ‘Ballroom Blitz’ came close.

However, I must confess that my allegiance that year was to Gary Glitter.  There, I’ve said it. Of course, I wasn’t to know what GG was getting up to in his spare time then and in subsequent years. Nevertheless, 1973 was his heyday in the charts. Like Noddy Holder and the members of Mud, I loved the fact that he never seemed to take himself seriously on or off stage. His music and lyrics won’t stand up to much critical scrutiny but this was pure pop in extravagant entertaining form. 

Gary’s first releases of the year each reached number two. Written with Mike Leander, ‘Do You Wanna Touch?’ and ‘Hello, Hello, Good to be Back’ were almost interchangeable. At least the latter featured the deliberately mis-heard line Catherine and I loved to sing: “Did you miss me (yeah!) while I was away? Did you hang my teacher on your wall?” The basic format was then given a twist for ‘I’m the Leader of the Gang (I Am)’. The revving motor bike and clarion call to “come on, come on” were theatrical in the extreme and provided the soundtrack to the summer. This was followed by the slower ‘I Love You Love me Love’ which outsold every other glam rock single. You couldn’t help smiling at Glitter’s jokey entrances on TOTP, whether reclining on a crescent moon or, in this case, attached to the back of a golden heart!

Roy Wood’s extravagant floor-length wig and genuine beard almost as long were also Top of the Pops staples that year. Back then I wasn’t aware of his work with The Move and Electric Light Orchestra, but Wood’s latest incarnation Wizzard were also at their peak in ’73, claiming their only two chart-toppers, the brilliant ‘See My Baby Jive’ and ‘Angel Fingers’, as well as that other perennial favourite ‘I Wish it Could be Christmas Every Day’. There may have been others prancing around behind him on TOTP but we all knew that Mr Wood wrote, sang and played most of the instruments. Wizzard were part rock’n’roll, part glam, part explosion in a make-up factory and a whole load of fun. 

Chinn and Chapman didn’t only write and produce hits for The Sweet. The ‘Chinnichap’ stompy sound and guitar riffs also provided success for Suzi Quatro, Mud and Smokey. Suzi Q’s USP was, of course, her gender. There were no other female rockers around at the time and, squeezed into black leather, she had a great image. She always seemed to be playing an over-sized bass but she admitted it was actually her who was under-sized. 

Suzi was also American, but she fitted right in with the glam rock vibe in ’73, topping the charts in June with ‘Can the Can’. Catherine and I preferred the follow-up ’48 Crash’ although the following year’s ‘Devil Gate Drive’ is probably her best single. Of all the pop stars of that year, Suzi must be the only one I have met, although ‘stood next to’ is perhaps more accurate! 

Mud started the year looking a bit glam, achieving Top 20 status with ‘Crazy‘ and ‘Hypnosis’, but I took notice when they released ‘Dyna-Mite’. Suddenly they became drapes’n’shades lads, doing that thumbs-on-the-belt, hip-swaying rocker dance. OK, so Rob Davies retained his earrings and flares, but Mud became a group, like Slade, it was OK for boys to like. 

Alvin Stardust was an altogether different creation. Nevertheless, when his towering quiff, tight costume and distinctive, uncomfortable-looking microphone grip first appeared on TOTP late in 1973, we didn’t bat an eyelid. What I hadn’t realised then was that the original Alvin Stardust was the stage name of Pete Shelley who both wrote and sang ‘My Coo-ca-choo’. Shane Fenton/Bernard Jewry was promoted to be the face of Stardust in his place only after the song charted! It was intended as a one-off but became the first of several chart successes for the ‘new’ Alvin Stardust. ‘My Coo-ca-choo’ was hardly a work of musical genius but sold shedloads, deprived of a number one position only by Slade and Gary Glitter. He did, at least, top the chart a few months later with ‘Jealous Mind’ but, as the formula was repeated through the next year or two, the law of diminishing returns set in.

My 1973 diary records that one of my favourite songs of the year was ‘Dancing on a Saturday Night’ by Barry Blue. He wasn’t really designed to be a pop star but, like his songwriting partner Lynsey de Paul, he enjoyed a short-lived chart career. His real name was, amusingly, Barry Green, but there was never going to work in the era of glam rock.

Glam was undoubtedly at the pop end of the rock spectrum, but the album charts were cluttering up with the prog rockers like Yes and Genesis and what are now familiar classic rockers like Deep Purple and Led Zep but none of them meant anything to me whatsoever. The one prog rock band I was aware of was Focus. This was entirely down to the success of their single ‘Sylvia’. Lashings of guitar, whirling organ and weird falsetto wailing took it to number four.

Blues rock was still in vogue, too. Following on from Jo Jo Gunne in ’72, there was more slide guitar to be enjoyed on songs including Nazareth’s ‘Bad, Bad Boy’, Hudson Ford’s ‘Pick up the Pieces’ and Medicine Head’s ‘One and One is One’.  I also enjoyed ‘Roll Away the Stone’ by Bowie proteges Mott the Hoople.

Autumn 1973 was the first time Status Quo twelve-bar boogied into my life. They weren’t new, of course, and at the time I didn’t particularly like their brand of rock, nor Francis Rossi’s long, greasy hair.  So long was the guitar intro to ‘Caroline’, and so limited my musical horizons that I actually thought this was Heavy Metal! Exposure to genuine HM put me right on that matter and Quo were to become like comfortable denim and trainers for another decade or so.

Another record that took time to grow on me was Ike and Tina Turner’s ‘Nutbush City Limits’. That funky sound was too heavy for me back then but the pulsating ‘wow-wow’ guitar rhythm and synth solo eventually ground me down. One intro which never fails to get you in the gut is heard on Thin Lizzy’s debut, ‘Whisky in the Jar’. Not typical of later fare, this version of an old folk song nonetheless certainly put Phil Lynott and Irish rock on the UK map. More of them later!

Just because ‘heavy’ wasn’t normally to my taste didn’t mean that ‘light’ always floated my boat. Perry Como was already in his 60s but had a couple of number two hits. Actually, the songs were new, but suited the old crooner to a ‘T’. Not me, though! Two of the year’s biggest selling singles were Dawn’s ‘Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree’ and Peters and Lee’s ‘Welcome Home’. Catchy, no doubt, but they’re so full of sugary sentiment, I can feel my teeth rot just thinking about them.

Many of the Osmond clan’s 1973 records had a similar effect. Little Jimmy’s execrable ‘Long Haired Lover from Liverpool’ and sister Marie’s appalling country-lite ‘Paper Roses’ had me reaching for the sick bag. Even my twelve year-old self could tell that Marie couldn’t sing! However, I had a sneaking regard for Donny’s re-hash of Tab Hunter’s ‘Young Love’ and The Osmonds’ ‘Let Me In’. The former topped the charts for a month but the way the latter crashed the charts at four made a bigger impression. A lovey-dovey ballad, led by Merrill’s soulful vocals, it was all super-smart clothes, ultra-slick moves and stools, a blatant template for their inferior musical descendents, Boyzone and Westlife. Those Mormon brothers have a lot to answer for...

That other teeny-bopper idol, David Cassidy, enjoyed his last really big hit late that year. He arrived in the UK to hysteria, and we were subjected to a promo film of him at Heathrow and strolling around Syon Park to ‘Daydreamer’ for weeks on end. I remember the Blue Peter programme welcoming David into the studio straight from the airport, a real coup for star-struck John, Pete and Lesley and which made a change from making things out of sticky-backed plastic.

For many, Easy Listening is synonymous with Carpenters. They somehow escape the sheer naffness of a Tony Orlando or Peters and Lee by the quality of Richard’s production and Karen’s voice. Their earlier work like ‘Close to You’, ‘We’ve Only Just Begun’ and ‘Goodbye to Love’ had not registered with me but when I heard the first line of ‘Yesterday Once More’ I was entranced. How anyone of any age can hear Karen Carpenter’s voice and not melt into jelly is beyond me. Looking back, what surprises me particularly is that it was the favourite song of 1973 for a twelve year-old who in the main was far more into the music of Wizzard, Mud and Gary Glitter.

The attraction must have been the vocals, lush backing, gorgeous verse melody and – well – “Ev’ry sha-la-la-la, ev’ry woh-oh-woh-oh”. Four decades later it’s the sentimental lyrics which resonate even more than the tune. I’m not now convinced it’s even my favoured Carpenters track but a song about nostalgia creates its own nostalgia; it takes me back to the summer of ’73, such a happy time. We also enjoyed singing along to the follow-up single, ‘Top of the World’. It may have been country pop but its lively melody and Karen’s crystal-clear delivery appealed to all the family.

Nostalgia has always been a part of music, with old songs constantly re-released. 1973 was no different from any other year. It was only four years since ‘Albatross’ topped the chart but for some reason Fleetwood Mac brought out their wonderful instrumental. I duly rated it one of my favourites of 1973. Another, albeit less successful, sixties record given a new lease of life was Al Martino’s ‘Spanish Eyes’. A real old-school singer, Al nevertheless won our hearts. It peaked at five yet remained in the top 30 for ages. It was also to be repeated by various hotel bands during several subsequent summer holidays in Spain!

An even bigger hit was The Simon Park Orchestra’s ‘Eye Level’. I didn’t watch ITV’s police drama series ‘Van Der Valk’, but its theme was a slow burner which mysteriously leapt to number one in September and proceeded to sell over a million copies. It was the sort of instrumental you could sing along to. It didn’t matter that it was classical music, played by violins, brass and woodwind, it sounded delightful and to this day makes me smile while listening.

I think there aren’t enough songs which have that effect on me these days. As a child, jaunty tunes and/or funny lyrics were very appealing. I’ve already mentioned ‘Laughing Gnome, but there was also a re-release of the novelty song ‘Monster Mash’ by Bobby ‘Boris’ Pickett and the Crypt Kickers and The Strawbs’ ‘Part of the Union’. Simultaneously loved by trade unions and their critics, the latter was just a jokey singalong with a big bass drum and pub piano instrumental bit in the middle. Given the subsequent decline in the union movement, the lyrics might seem even more archaic now than they did at the time!

Even those masters of vintage radio comedy The Goons had an unlikely top ten hit in 1973 with their 1956 recording of ‘The Ying Tong Song’. You might think that would have appealed to me. But you’d be wrong. A bunch of grown men behaving like stupid children? What’s funny about that? Well, having supposedly grown up myself, I now totally get the whole ‘adults wanting to be silly’ thing!

10cc were highly successful in the Seventies. Like The Beautiful South in the Nineties, they weren’t in the vanguard of latest trends but steered a clever path of their own with a unique brand of pop which was difficult to pigeonhole. In June 1973, they had their first number one with ‘Rubber Bullets’. I liked it immediately; it sounded different from anything else I’d heard. The juxtaposition of Lol Crème’s squeaky falsetto, Kevin Godley’s baritone lines and crafted harmonies with those quirky words was a winner for me.

There were other, one-off winning singles that year. Anne-Marie David made it two successive Eurovision successes for Luxembourg as ‘Tu te Reconnaîtras’ swept aside Cliff’s foot-stomping ‘Power to All Our Friends’. Maybe I had a pre-teen crush on the singer but I like to think I liked the song, too! Carly Simon did have more chart success in later years, although her UK hits were spasmodic. However, it was early ’73 when perhaps her most talked-about song reached number two over here. I may not have appreciated what – or who?! – it was about, but ‘You’re So Vain’ has always sounded good.

I can’t finish this section without the soundtrack to Christmas. Possibly the most-loved festive 45s of all-time were released that year – and I’m not talking about Elton John’s ‘Step Into Christmas’, which deservedly stalled at 24. No, 1973 concluded to the sleighbells of Wizzard’s ‘I Wish it Could be Christmas Every Day’ and, smashing in at number one, Slade’s masterpiece, ‘Merry Christmas Everybody’.  

It set the standard for all season-themed music and nothing has ever come close. The song even transcended Glam Rock and while it wasn’t the last single of the genre to top the chart, it marked the beginning of the end. Pop should be about music to sing along to, to dance to, to chat to your mates about. It should entertain and make life seem good. In each respect, in my eyes, that made 1973 the pinnacle of Pop.

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.