1979 – Another lonely day, no one here but me-o

This was another of those personal landmark years. Struggling through months of A level revision was bad enough, without the ill-effects of sickness and loss of appetite to contend with. The specialist diagnosis turned out to be Crohn’s Disease and it took a year or so for the treatment to settle the inflammation. Meanwhile I bade farewell to my second home for seven years, the Mayflower School, and made those initial nervous steps into higher education. I probably wasn’t cut out for the whirlwind of sudden independence thrust upon me by attending Exeter University. However, I was exposed to a more eclectic mix of music than I had been whilst relying on the regimented rules of chart-led media. I even went to a few gigs, but they were still some way off

The year began with two massive hits following each other to the top. The Village People's ‘YMCA’ was irritatingly catchy, its brass ‘n’ bass rhythm and arm actions instantly recognisable to this day. I actually preferred the follow-up, ‘In The Navy’, which stalled at two. Hot on the heels of that particular disco classic came the highlight of Ian Dury’s career. ‘Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick’ shouldn’t really have been successful. Nonsense lyrics, an uncommercial funk vibe, a disabled lead singer whose voice seemed to have been constructed from the gravel pits of the Thames Estuary itself…? Yet it sold a million! ‘What A Waste’ had raised his profile nationally the previous year, but ‘Rhythm Stick’ was on a different plane altogether. Behind Dury’s lyric, those Blockheads were in fine form, too. Norman Watt-Roy’s shimmering bassline and that double-sax solo by Davey Payne were so distinctive. Even Dad liked it!

The song also motivated me to find out more, discovering songs like ‘Billericay Dickie’, ‘Clever Trevor’ and ‘Sex ‘n’ Drugs ‘n’ Rock ‘n’ Roll’. The former proved a handy way of introducing myself and my home town to fellow undergraduates that autumn. What I hadn’t quite grasped was that the eponymous character was hardly – shall we say – an icon of middle-class respectability!  As the first verse explains:-

“A seasoned up hyena
Could not have been more obscener”

Hmm. Well. With regard to the fairer sex, I left Exeter as green as I arrived, but at least I got to see Ian and the Blockheads live in the Great Hall.

The band were the leading lights of Stiff Records, a label which had also nurtured Elvis Costello, Nick Lowe and a rejuvenated Dave Edmunds. These three also produced songs I really enjoyed in 1979. Costello soared to number two with his bitter but clever ‘Oliver’s Army’, Edmunds to four with the rollocking ‘Girl Talk’ and Lowe had a few hits of his own while playing bass with Edmunds.

Stiff probably would not have existed without the financial fillip provided by Lee Brilleaux, co-founder and chain-smoking singer with Canvey Island’s finest, Dr Feelgood. Already with a number one album to their name, they pierced the singles top ten in February with the powerful ‘Milk and Alcohol’. It was the only time they reached even the top 30, but in our part of Essex they were huge. Not really into R’n’B, it took a while to appreciate their music but a decade or so later I did finally tag along to a gig in Chelmsford to see what all the fuss was about. Being showered with fag ash ain’t my idea of fun, but the atmosphere further back was undeniably fast and furious!

The year also featured the first singles from another Stiff group, Madness. Their revival of the Sixties ska sound left me cold. I’d never even heard of Prince Buster. However, I did recognise ‘One Step Beyond’ as an entertaining foot-tapper, even though Madness were a year or two away from becoming my favourite band. Suddenly ska was everywhere. My first few terms at Exeter played out to a soundtrack of 2-Tone records. Hot Chocolate, The Foundations and The Equals were no longer the only multi-racial groups I’d heard of. In addition to the music, itself a blend of reggae and punk influences, having black and white artists together demonstrated defiance against the rise of the racist National Front and Margaret Thatcher’s new right-wing government. Jerry Dammers’ The Special AKA (not yet The Specials) and The Beat made the top ten, but I favoured the bouncy beat of The Selector’s ‘On My Radio’.

Still in the Home Counties, Squeeze’s ‘Cool For Cats’ was popular with my schoolmates. Amusing lyrics, a deadpan vocal from Chris Difford and cigar-puffing Jools Holland on keyboards was very sixth former-friendly stuff and it went to number two. ‘Up the Junction’ did the same, but was a very different song. Glenn Tilbrook’s lighter voice was perfect for the sweet story of a doomed Clapham romance, which was quite moving. I still can’t decide which of the two hits I prefer. The following few years brought more singles, albeit less popular. ‘Pulling Mussels’ (with a delightful piano interlude from Jools) and ‘Is That Love?’ earned few sales but won my heart. One of my many regrets from those Exeter days was that I didn’t see Squeeze perform there. Difford and Tilbrook are still on the scene so maybe there’s still time….

Wit and whimsicality were not the sole preserve of Londoners like Dury and Difford. Glaswegian B.A. Robertson achieved fame with a sequence of jocular singles in ’79 and ’80, the first of which, ‘Bang Bang’, pulled off the rare feat of being both genuinely funny and great to listen to. ‘Knocked it Off’ was more of a comedy song but also made the top ten. You couldn’t help warm to him. With such depressing politics and economic news weighing heavily even on us teenagers, music to lighten the mood was extremely welcome. 

Disco was still very much to the fore, delivering some crunching dance numbers to complement the 2Toners and wry balladeers. I have never stopped loving the work of Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards. 1979 was their peak year. Not only did their group Chic release the wonderful ‘I Want Your Love’ and ‘My Forbidden Lover’ but the two ace American musicians/composers/producers gave Sister Sledge their first taste of true success. ‘We Are Family’ is the track which to this day seems to generate most airplay, but in my mind, it’s ‘He’s the Greatest Dancer’ which stands proud amongst the top three disco records of all time. It’s one you can listen to, but for a pure dance track, Chic’s 1978 track ‘Le Freak’ probably has the edge. Sadly Edwards is no longer with us but, despite his prodigious drug intake over the years, at the time of writing Rogers is very much active - and perhaps even cooler than he was in the Seventies! 

South Essex hadn't really taken the new American fad for roller-disco to its bosom. However, it was prominent in the promo for Gloria Gaynor’s early girlpower anthem, ‘I Will Survive’. Yes, it’s Gloria’s song but it was the segments spotlighting Sheila Reid-Pender’s graceful roller-dancing which for me are the most enduring images. The record displaced The Bee Gees’ ‘Tragedy’ from the number one position here. I confess I liked neither. When the American rock community launched their record-burning backlash and the nation turned against the Bee Gees, with ‘Tragedy’ in my head I could almost feel they had a point. 

However, the huge hit holding the top spot between Ian Dury and the Gibbs was more to my taste. Blondie may have infuriated their old punk supporters when they released ‘Heart of Glass’, but it made them global superstars, and Debbie Harry a thirty-something sex symbol. If I’d been into buying posters, I’m sure she’d have been on one of them! They didn’t become a disco band, though. Their next chart-topper, ‘Sunday Girl’, was a lighter, almost Sixties-ish pop song. Taking these together with the previous year’s rockier New Wave tracks, you had the heart of Blondie’s LP ‘Parallel Lines’, which was the year’s biggest-seller. 

When it came to singles, nothing sold more than Art Garfunkel’s dreamy ‘Bright Eyes’. Of course it was a beautiful song. Everything performed by Art is. However, the association with the ‘Watership Down’ animated movie meant that the oft-repeated film of fluffy rabbits wore somewhat thin! Cliff Richard’s massive hit ‘We Don’t Talk Any More’ was another song which sounded good for the first few weeks before becoming merely irritating. Even with a twenty-year career behind him, Cliff was still a significant artist back then. 

It was a good year for virtuoso guitarists, too. Cliff’s old mates, The Shadows notched a couple of top-tenners with their own instrumental versions of current popular tunes. Much as I had come to appreciate his enormous influence on rock music back in the early Sixties, Hank Marvin’s mix of grinning and gurning over his Fender tremolo arm in 1979 seemed peculiar to say the least. Yet ‘Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina’ and ‘Cavatina’ did really well. The latter had been revived by its use in the groundbreaking film ‘The Deer Hunter’ and it was only fitting that the man who had originally recorded the tune, classical supremo John Williams, should also make the top twenty with his acoustic version. I’d never seen ‘The Deer Hunter’ until recently and I still associate the mesmeric melody with children’s TV series ‘Vision On’...

Gary Moore’s ‘Parisienne Walkways’ was another great guitar single, but I was more impressed by Mark Knopfler’s frenetic fretwork on ‘Sultans of Swing’. On that final epic solo, how can anyone play so many notes in such a short time – and in the right order?! I first heard it travelling down to Devon in a minibus for a Geography school field trip. It sure took my mind off the relentless rain! 

There was another great guitar solo in that year’s unforeseen Christmas number one, Pink Floyd’s ‘Another Brick in the Wall’. With its imagery of kids being fed into a meat mincer, and calls of “We don’t need no educay-shun”, it was another of those records which got many educationalists in a tizz. Not Dad, of course. True to form, it merely amused him! It did indeed a memorable video, if somewhat bleak, especially for the season of turkey and tinsel.

The video was in its infancy but starting to move on from Abba-style ‘two-shots’ and bands miming in various locations. As with ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’, promo films could make a difference to sales. The Buggles’ ‘Video Killed the Radio Star’ was a case in point. I recall first hearing the song on Radio 1 and feeling distinctly underwhelmed. It looked like languishing unloved in the lower reaches of the Top 30 until the video was shown on TOTP. Suddenly I ‘got’ it! Three weeks later in October it was at number one. It all looks rather tame and basic nowadays, but it was cutting edge in the Seventies. Singer-writer Trevor Horn proceeded to be one of the most prolific and influential producers of the Eighties so, ironically, under his guidance, video didn’t actually kill the radio star after all.

Another powerful promo belonged to The Boomtown Rats’ ‘I Don’t Like Mondays’. Appropriately for the song’s subject-matter (an American girl’s killing spree) there are lots of scary classroom close-ups and sharp editing but it was the dazzling white-light studio scenes which packed the greatest punch. A great record but an even greater video.

I've written before about my childhood infatuation with drumming. The arrival of punkish white reggae (well, ‘Regatta de Blanc’) group The Police in ’79 brought to my attention the idiosyncratic stickwork of Stewart Copeland. Until that point, most drumming on chart records was regulation stuff. I’m no technical expert but some of Copeland’s rhythms were refreshingly different. Of course, The Police were a trio of brilliant musicians and writers and went on to be so successful, better than the sum of their constituent parts. I first heard them when ‘Roxanne’ reached twelve in the Spring. It didn’t do much for me. However, when ‘Can’t Stand Losing You’ soared to number two (behind the Rats) in July, I began to pay closer attention. A few months later, I felt an instant emotional connection with ‘Message in a Bottle’. Topping the chart when I went up to Exeter University, the lyrics chimed with the loneliness I experienced during those early days in hall, trying to get to grips with new surroundings, colleagues and ways of working. I suppose I, too, was “sending out an SOS” but when Sting sang:-

“Walked out this morning I don't believe what I saw
A hundred billion bottles washed up on the shore

there was a modicum of hope. As the next line revealed, I realised “I’m not alone in being alone”. I may not have possessed in my room a means of actually playing a record, but ‘Message in a Bottle’ was the first 7” I bought purely for me, a personal statement. I wouldn’t have bought it just for the empathetic words, though. It was a fabulous record. A simple guitar riff, bass line, vocal and fairly straightforward structure, but it all came together in such an energetic package, and The Police had such quality no band could touch them for the next few years.

M’s ‘Pop Muzik’ and The Knack’s ‘My Sharona’ were similar examples of classy singles but they were one-offs. XTC delivered the brilliant ‘Making Plans for Nigel’, but failed to penetrate the top ten. The Jam’s ‘Eton Rifles’ was a tantalising preview of what was to come from Paul Weller and co, while Michael Jackson seemed to come of age with his effortless dance moves and vocals on ‘Rock With You’, ‘Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough’ and, with his brothers, ‘Shake Your Body (Down to the Ground)’.

I wasn’t really into his music, but his talent was obvious. This was the year of his ‘Off the Wall’ collaboration with producer Quincy Jones, and the hit singles flowed. The ‘Thriller’/’Bad’ Eighties era probably marked Jackson’s pinnacle as a zillion-selling global musical icon. However, 1979/80 appears in retrospect to be the time when young Michael was at his peak as an unblemished human being, before Jacko started to become Wacko.

There was plenty of cheesy pop, of course. Most has been mercifully forgotten but some was too ubiquitous to be easily disposed of with a mental ‘delete’ button. While the Americans had The Jacksons, we had The Dooleys! I kind-of recall 'The Chosen View' but as a product of the Northern club circuit they were pretty dreadful. Not the worst of the year, though…

The Ramblers’ ‘Sparrow Song’ towards Christmas signalled a horrendous start of songs featuring cute kids, culminating in the next year’s mind-numbing number one by St Winifred’s School Choir. I also loathed Lena Martell’s big hit ‘One Day at a Time’ but not all cheese leaves a nasty, mould-ridden taste in the mouth. Dollar were borne out of the crap vocal group Guys and Dolls but David van Day and Thereza Bazar were to release a string of singles in the late ‘70s and, when Trevor Horn assumed control, the early ‘80s. A good-looking couple, but Bazar’s feather-light voice wasn’t really up to much; it didn’t seem to hold them back. As for the music, it wasn’t their most successful, but I had a sneaking regard for their 1979 effort, ‘Who Were You With in the Moonlight’.

It was also the year when ABBA blotted their copybook by releasing ‘I Have a Dream’. For all their amazing back catalogue, I suppose they are allowed one dodgy moment. The simple ballad is OK but once the dreaded school choir kicks in, my patience checks out. 1979 was also unusual given that the Swedes failed to clock a single UK chart-topper. ‘Chiquitita’ came mighty close and is now one of my favourites.

Under 1978, I raved about the Electric Light Orchestra. It’s not that they were top of my list at the time but nostalgia and age has boosted their appeal. In ’79, their album ‘Discovery’ was the second biggest seller, including ‘The Diary of Horace Wimp’. Not one of the most famous ELO songs, but I love it. A silly story, but lovely melody and orchestral arrangements, and the vocoder is used cleverly as a rhythm machine. That autumn, ‘Don’t Bring Me Down’ peaked at a very respectable three and consisted of much ‘E’ but no ‘O’. A rock number, allowing Bev Bevan to thrash the drumkit at live shows, I quite liked it, despite the string section’s sabbatical. For all the great Seventies singles, and a few more in 1981, it is painful to recall that ELO’s only chart-topper was the feeble ‘Xanadu’ with Olivia Newton-John in 1980. The least said about that, the better. 

Violins and cellos are all very well, but sounded prehistoric in comparison with a record which captured the imagination in the summer of ’79, much as ‘I Feel Love’ had done a few years previously. Back then we were amidst a feeding frenzy of sci-fi blockbusters like the original ‘Star Wars’ and ‘Star Trek movies. Then, as if beamed down from another galaxy, appeared on our TV screens The Tubeway Army. Dressed like Kraftwerk and with a voice akin to a part-alien David Bowie, front man Gary Numan invaded the charts with banks of synthesisers so that pop would never be the same again. At least he also had the foresight to include a few drums and guitars to placate the awe-struck earthlings. ‘Are Friends Electric?’ even had a quizzical title, suggesting an affirmative response was in order. Two years before, The Carpenters had charted with the epic ‘Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft’. Now we knew the result. It was Numan who had - to paraphrase the lyric - been observing our earth, wanting to make a contact with us. 

The song was all so epic, yet futuristic. In fact, Numan WAS the future. I loved it and, despite those booming synth chords, I feel it has stood the test of time. Its sample even helped launch the Sugababes' career two decades later. Numan went solo for the follow-up single ‘Cars’ which was number one just before I left Billericay for Exeter. Used for so many adverts in the intervening years, it feels as if it has never been away. Other hit records followed but none had the impact of the first. It paved the way for a new electronic era in pop which caught hold in the Eighties, a decade which was suddenly upon us…