The chart-toppers were a mish-mash of
mediocrity. Few stayed at number one for long, almost as if they were
embarrassed to be there. Fern Kinney, Johnny Logan’s first Eurovision winner,
Odyssey, the depressing vocal theme from ‘M*A*S*H’, Kelly Marie, Detroit
Spinners, Kenny Rogers preaching that, in the end, you DO have to fight to be a
man… They all came and went. There were some
gems amongst them, of which more later.
This was also my first full year of
university life. I may no longer have been sending out an SOS but continued to
shrink more than was healthy into my little bedroom bubble in the Birks Halls
of residence. It wasn’t a complete cocoon, of course. I may not have indulged
in three years of sex, drugs and booze but, apart from the lectures, there were
shared experiences over meals, in the TV room, at St James’ Park watching
Exeter City and general milling about.
It was also my first taste of hearing
continuous music blasting out of fellow undergrads’ windows at all times of day
and night. And most of it was crap. Of course, anything played umpteen times a day becomes the worst music ever.
Two songs in particular stick in the mind. I didn’t identify them at the time
and, given a few years’ vacuum, they don’t sound half bad now. When I hear
Talking Heads’ ‘Psycho Killer’, the menacing bass intro and David Byrne’s
frightening vocals get you in the gut. Then, all I could I hear was a
cacophonous, atonal racket.
The other example of aural abomination
was ‘Electricity’ by Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. At the time, the future
OMD were innovative arty-farty synth pioneers, and this track wasn’t exactly
commercial. And that meant it was never going to appeal to my sensitive ears.
Yet by the end of 1980, the group had won me over. ‘Messages’ and ‘Enola Gay’
were excellent examples of electro-pop: modern and melodic, even if Andy
McCluskey’s voice (and his dad dancing) left much to be desired. So perhaps the
students I could happily have strangled were not quite the musical monsters
they first appeared.
Another band which constantly blared
out across my corner of the campus was Rainbow. Heavy Metal – as we then called
it – was enjoying a renaissance in 1980. Iron Maiden, Whitesnake (‘Fool for
Your Loving’), Saxon (‘747’), Judas Priest (‘United’) and Motorhead (‘The Ace
of Spades’) were always on the radio and TOTP. Old-timers Black Sabbath and
AC/DC rode on the new generation’s coat-tails. Yet of them all, I actually
preferred Richie Blackmore’s post-Purple collective. The fact that Cozy Powell was on
drums, of course, may have been a factor. Graham Bonnet had taken over as lead
singer and, while he didn’t exactly look very ‘metal’ in his smart haircut,
sleek jacket and shades, his powerful vocals helped take ‘All Night Long’ to
number five. The
video isn’t exactly a paragon of political or sexual correctness, and neither
are the lyrics. Nevertheless I thought Rainbow were
definitely the best of the bunch. Spending thirty weeks a year in a male-only
Hall, it was a bunch that was heard incessantly.
Heavy Metal wasn’t the only genre to
be revived. In fact there were plenty, although most should probably have
stayed in the annals of yesteryear. I didn’t ‘get’ Kevin Rowlands’ paeon to
Geno Washington with Dexy’s Midnight Runners, and rockabilly wasn’t my scene.
Matchbox and Coast to Coast were awful, but at least The Stray Cats had a bit
of energy in ‘Runaway Boys’.
It wasn’t just about rockers; mods
were back, too. Acts like The Lambrettas were in the charts, but most of the
plaudits went to a band who weren’t strictly speaking mods but it was unfair to
pigeon-hole them in such a crude way. I’m talking about The Jam. After several modest punky singles,
they suddenly stepped up a gear in ’79 with ‘Eton Rifles’. Six months later,
they achieved a feat not seen for more than six years when ‘Going Underground’
went straight in at number one in March. I know it’s a cliché but it really was
an instant classic. As ever with Paul Weller, there was socio-political comment
mixed with seriously searing rock and memorable melody. What more could a
modestly intelligent eighteen year-old music fan want?!
For the next two years, The Jam’s
seven official single releases all entered the charts in the top ten, including
‘Start’, which topped the chart just before I returned to Exeter for my second
year. They looked classy, while Weller’s guitar, Bruce Foxton’s bass and Rick
Buckler’s drums made for a strong rhythm section, and they knew how to turn out
a tune. They were a band whose new stuff I would always look forward to
hearing. Indeed, their new-found success led to the simultaneous re-release of
their earlier material, peppering the top sixty at the end of April.
Once The Jam had ended the drought,
The Police also flew straight to the top in September. I don’t think ‘Don’t
Stand So Close to Me’ was one of their best, but it did at least displace Kelly
Marie’s ‘Feels Like I’m In Love’, for which we should all have been
grateful! I don’t know how much Sting
called upon personal experiences as a teacher in this tale of a classroom
Lolita, but it worked so well it was the biggest-seller of the whole year. In
some ways I preferred their number six hit ‘De Do Do Do De Da Da Da’.
Intriguing, maybe too-clever lyrics like:
“The only cheques I've left unsigned
From the banks of chaos in my mind”
From the banks of chaos in my mind”
served
to convey the message that fancy words count for little in the language of
love. At least I think that’s what
the song was about!
There
were all sorts of good stuff with a New Wave-y vibe which didn’t necessarily
hit the heights enjoyed by The Police. The Vapors went top three with ‘Turning
Japanese’ which was well timed given Paul McCartney’s arrest and deportation
from Japan for cannabis possession.
The
first new chart-topper of the Eighties was The Pretenders’ ‘Brass in Pocket’. I
wasn’t sure about Chrissie Hynde’s voice and look but she was the ultimate rock
chick. Fortunately she has come through reasonably unscathed! It wasn’t their
biggest, but for me the jangly guitar sound comes over better in the follow-up,
‘Talk of the Town’
Two of my favourites of
1980 are rarely heard nowadays. In fact, one didn’t exactly set the airwave
alight even then. I loved Elvis Costello’s ‘New Amsterdam’.
Simple, beautiful and in waltz-time, Elvis was stretching his musical wings. A
shame they were clipped by advancing no further than 36. Rather a downbeat
video but listen to the song, short and sweet.
Joe Jackson had garnered
good reviews with ‘Is She Really Going Out With Him?’ the year before but I was
bowled over with ‘It’s Different for Girls’.
It was one of those mini-masterpieces I couldn’t get out of my head – and in a
good way. I remember him doing a gig at the University and reading that he had
refused to sing his hit because it was on the radio so much already. Eh? That’s
why people want to go to your concert, you pillock! Fab record, anyway.
No chance of Blondie doing
the Great Hall but they were greedy in 1980. They had no fewer than three
number ones: the rocky ‘Atomic’ and ‘Call Me’, followed by the reggae-ish ‘The
Tide is High’ cover. None of them made a strong impression on me but there was
no avoiding Debbie Harry et al. It was a good year for other women, too.
Barbra Streisand benefited
from the Barry Gibb stardust on her superior ballad, ‘Woman in Love’. Normally
I couldn’t stand Streisand, but her film and music careers were on the upturn
in the new decade. Principal rival for Diva of the Year, Diana Ross, also
enjoyed a boost, in her case from Nile Rodgers. ‘Upside Down’ was a big summer
holiday disco hit. Hazel O’Connor was one of the faces of the year, thanks to her role in punk movie Breaking Glass,
and then she reached number five in the chart with ‘Eighth Day’, which I really
liked.
Now turn down the tempo,
and the lights, for another autumn ballad. Ex-Crusaders vocalist Randy Crawford
deserved her number two success with the enchanting ‘One Day I’ll Fly Away’.
Her voice didn’t have Streisand’s crystal clarity but I could happily lose
myself in this song. I don’t know if Martha and the Muffins had another record
but ‘Echo Beach’ is a brilliant legacy. It still sounds as fresh as when I
hummed along to it in my room almost four decades ago.
The Nolan Sisters were the
darlings of TV light entertainment but I hated their all-pervasive, poisonous
‘I’m In the Mood for Dancing’. They were on every show going. The same could
not be said for Kate Bush. She had retreated to the studio but fortunately was
no stranger to the charts. The voice, cryptic lyrics and bizarre videos were
definitely part of my musical year, even though ‘Babooshka’, ‘Breathing’ and
‘Army Dreamers’ were all a bit too weird for me.
Another star was born as a
result of a TV show, but not from one of ITV’s ratings bankers. Glaswegian
Sheena Easton hit ‘The Big Time’ thanks to Esther Rantzen’s new series of that
name. Her first single ‘Nine to Five’ went to three, then ‘Modern Girl’ joined
it in the top ten for a few weeks. Easton then went to the States, had a
ludicrous Eighties makeover, and enjoyed lucrative years as a Prince
collaborator (and probably more) and Bond film singer. I thought it a shame to
see shy Sheena transformed into shock-haired diva Sheena but - that’s showbiz!
Finally, on the subject of
the female of the species, I can’t ignore Agnetha Falkstog. I recall sitting in
the lounge of the Lake Hotel, Bonchurch on the Isle of Wight, watching what
must have been one of the first TOTP broadcasts after a lengthy layoff caused
by a BBC strike. There at number one was Abba’s ‘The Winner Takes it All’,
featuring Agnetha at her saddest. The poignant lyrics may have been Bjorn’s
but, given they were inspired by his divorce from her, it was unsurprising that
she sang them with unsurpassed feeling, and the video genuinely tugged at my
heart-strings. Watch and weep with me…
It wasn’t Abba’s biggest hit of the year, though. That accolade belonged to
‘Super Trouper’, an altogether more joyous, pop song, albeit of temporary
separation. It should have been the Christmas number one. Another reason to
hate the St Winifred’s School Choir, in case I needed one.
The art school crowd were
prominent, too. In particular, David Bowie was back to his best. Well, the
cognoscenti weren’t enamoured of his album Scary Monsters, Super Creeps, but as
a non-LP buyer I couldn’t possibly pass judgement. However, when a song as
astonishing as ‘Ashes to Ashes’ explodes onto the radio, accompanied by an even
more extraordinary video,
Bowie’s legendary status was further enhanced.
Barring the Major Tom
reference, I haven’t a clue what it’s about, the song or video, but the
menacing bulldozer, huge padded cell, pierrot clown and his grotesque funereal
acolytes against that black background were incredibly visibly striking. Shocking,
even. So it should have been, given
the £1/4 million cost, easily the most expensive at the time. But it’s the
musical production which has stood the test of time. Simultaneously electro,
funky and melancholy ballad, ‘Ashes to Ashes’ remains one of my all-time
favourites.
Roxy Music were re-born in a new
style, too, and it was one which definitely ticked my boxes. Brian Ferry had
never been a shrinking violet but here he was in smart-casual attire, sometimes
with deliberately half-mast tie, a soul-boy crooner for the new decade. He even
appeared to be playing electric guitar on a few TOTP performances. 1980 featured three great releases
from their ‘Flesh and Blood’ album. I liked the singles so much I even bought
it. What on earth came over me?! Well, the first hit was ‘Over You’, typical of
the smooth, melodic, up-tempo sound which exemplified the album. ‘Oh, Yeah’
also reached number five, and was an altogether gentler affair. Nevertheless,
it retained all the familiar Roxy hallmarks such as Phil Manzanera’s guitar and
Andy Mackay’s mullet (and saxophone). A definite high point of my pop year.
‘Same Old Scene’ was less
successful but contained a brilliant bubbling bass from Gary Tibbs to accompany
the long-standing trio.
At uni, I was surrounded by massive
fans of Genesis. Their prog rock albums were a complete mystery to me, but
clearly attracted devotion on an epic scale, at least amongst Maths
undergraduates. Clutching their ‘album band’ credentials to their hearts,
Genesis had famously resisted the lure of the Top of the Pops studio for years.
However, with the release of the ‘Duke’ album and single ‘Turn It On Again’,
they finally relented. The Birks Halls TV room that evening was packed to the
rafters. Follow the link to see what we watched.
The juxtaposition of the Genesis appearance and the video for ex-bandmate Peter
Gabriel’s top-four hit ‘Games Without Frontiers’ must surely have been no
coincidence, and wasn’t lost on me! Presenter Steve Wright was spot-on, but I
was not yet won over.
By that time, Genesis had already
written their name into Exeter University folklore. Somehow, they had been
booked to do a Great Hall gig. The Students Union Ents officer surely never had
to buy another drink! When the tickets had gone on sale, the overnight queue reached
record lengths. I may even had been tempted to see what all the fuss was about
– and even done my bit of queue duty – had the concert not been scheduled for
the day after the end of term.
Attendees would have nowhere to stay the night. For me, that was discomfort I
wasn’t prepared to endure. No deterrent for a true Genesis fan, of course.
Speaking to colleagues at the start of the summer term, the universal verdict
was that it had all been worth it.
Genesis did gradually become more of a
commercial singles band and it wasn’t until much later that I rented ‘Duke’
from the local library. Only then did I really appreciate the quality of that
album. It wasn’t just the two big singles; the flop ‘Misunderstanding’ had
clearly been misunderstood by the public. Then there were the gorgeously
atmospheric ‘Heat Haze’ and personal Phil Collins-penned ballad ‘Please Don’t
Ask’. Funny to say this now, but in the early 80s, Collins was cool!
There was no chance on earth of
Ottowan being cool, but their post-summer Euro-disco behemoth ‘D.I.S.C.O.’ was
inescapable. Some such records are intensely irritating but this
French-Caribbean production narrowly got away with it because we found it
amusing. All those “She is S, super-sexy,
She is C, Such a cutie” lyrics screamed out for parody but whatever else,
‘She’ would be forever “O-o-ohhhhhh”!
The same producers were responsible
for the more enjoyable Gibson Brothers. “Que sera, me vida” gave even Earth,
Wind and Fire a run for their money in terms of OTT spectacle and all-out dance
rhythm. However, I preferred the irresistible Latin percussion beat of ‘Cuba’
despite it stalling at twelve in the chart on its second release.
It also introduced me to salsa; the word, not the dance itself. Obviously I’d
never partake, but nonetheless an infectious record which demanded replays when
Angie and I had the long-awaited opportunity to spend a fortnight on Castro’s
island in 2012. It was mostly more traditional songs like ‘Guantanamera’ at our
hotel, but if only they had imported the Gibson Brothers for the occasion…
Back in Thatcherite Britain, Ska continued to be a
dominant force. Jerry Dammers’ 2Tone collective The Specials swept to number
one with a live EP in February, thanks largely to the controversial lead track
‘Too Much Too Young’. Their musical verve seemed at odds with Terry Hall’s
deadpan vocals but I guess that was part of what made them – er – special.
Bad Manners had also been winning fans
with their own take on ska. Unlike The Specials, they boasted a big front man.
A VERY big front man! Buster Bloodvessel must have been well over twenty stone
in weight with not much of a voice, but his larger-than-life body and
personality carried Bad Manners to four top ten appearances. In 1980 they toned
it down a bit for ‘Special Brew’ and – my favourite – the lively, lovely and
completely bonkers love song ‘Lorraine’.
They had more success in 1981 and I saw them live at the Great Hall. Seeing
Buster crowd-surf was a sight to behold, and fortunately nobody beneath him
died….
However, in my mind, none could
compare with the ‘Nutty Boys’ of Camden Town. Their opening singles in ’79
hadn’t prepared me for four years of outstanding singles, hilarious videos and
an enduring two-way love affair with the public probably unmatched in pop
history. They were no longer seven young blokes in pork pie hats doing silly,
jerky dance moves. ‘My Girl’ and ‘Embarrassment’ were intelligent songs, ‘Night Boat to Cairo’
deliriously danceable music hall, and then there was ‘Baggy Trousers’.
The amusing Suggs lyrics resonated and
were easily remembered, even by me. Then, of course, there was the video
excerpt filmed at the Kentish Town primary school where saxophonist Lee ‘flew’
above his bandmates. This
must be one of the most famous video sequences of all time; so iconic that even
now Madness simply cannot dare perform the song live without a rather more
portly fifty-something Lee soaring on a wire. At any wedding reception disco (including our own),
Angie will insist on requesting ‘Baggy Trousers’ in the knowledge that I cannot
fail to exhaust and probably embarrass myself dancing to it. Who cares? I
always enjoy myself!
Yet this wasn’t the only witty record
about childhood which made the top ten and my personal top three of the year.
Other than on the John Peel show, The Undertones had come in a bit under the
radar when they brought out ‘My Perfect Cousin’ that April. Two and a half minutes of post-punk perfection with memorable
lyrics like:-
“He's got a degree in economics
Maths, physics and bionics
He thinks that I'm a cabbage
'Cause I hate University Challenge”
Maths, physics and bionics
He thinks that I'm a cabbage
'Cause I hate University Challenge”
Feargal Sharkey’s Northern Irish
accent added another interesting perspective, and it was fun to watch his
fringe flop manically on TOTP. Their debut ‘Teenage Kicks’ may be more famous
but this was The Undertones’ only top ten single and still conjures happy
memories amidst the horrors of exam revision.
So far, so straightforward. And then,
just a few days before I packed up to come home for Christmas, I awoke to the
news on Radio 4 that John Lennon had been shot. Dead. Murdered. Bloody hell!
Now, I didn’t know a huge amount about The Beatles but I was very aware that
this was a Big Deal. Posters appeared on the outside of bedroom doors. And of
course the TV and Radio played Lennon and Beatles songs incessantly.
Just a day or so earlier, my Beatles
education had been furthered by listening to the first part of a Radio 1
interview Lennon had given to Andy Peebles. It was a massive coup for the
station and so I had given it a whirl. Since re-locating to New York with Yoko,
Lennon had been a reclusive figure and so hearing him talk frankly about his
early career was fascinating. He had just released a new album ‘Double Fantasy’
and the lead single ‘Starting Over’ was sliding out of the top twenty from a
peak position of eight. Then came that fateful moment outside the Dakota
apartment building when Mark Chapman delivered those fateful shots on 8th
December.
Amidst all the usual Christmas
paraphernalia, ‘Starting Over’ inevitably did a U-turn and topped the chart for
a week. ‘Happy Xmas (War is Over)’ rocketed to number two and my own sense of
history and heritage was stimulated over the following weeks and months. The
more I read and listened, the more I came to appreciate the legacy of John
Lennon in my lifetime. I think the bad press accorded Paul McCartney is utterly
out of order, but for the first time I discovered which classic songs Lennon
had written. Indeed, the BBC’s screening of the Fab Four’s Sixties films like
‘Help’ familiarised me with some of the tracks I hadn’t previously heard on the
Jimmy Savile show; songs like ‘Nowhere Man’ and ‘Norwegian Wood’.
1981 was to be a year full of fun and
fashion in pop, but John Lennon’s death was to cast a long shadow over UK
music.
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