1981 - The devil take your stereo and your record collection!

This was a mighty strange year for pop, with a unique penchant for packaging nostalgia, allied to a mood for the new. Once ‘There’s No-One Quite like Grandma’ had run its Christmas course, John Lennon took his rightful place at number one. ‘Imagine’ went from decent Seventies hit to a karaoke classic beloved of buskers and – well – everyone, really. The climax of the video shot in the near-empty white room, where John turns to Yoko, pulls an affectionate silly face and plants a tender kiss, is enough to melt the most metallic of hearts.

‘Imagine’ was displaced by one of John’s new songs, ‘Woman’. And if you don’t blub at seeing that posthumous promo film, then you ain’t human. It still gets me every time. I genuinely think it could have gone all the way even had Lennon been alive. It’s such a gorgeous love song, with an entrancing chord progression in the verse and an unambiguously romantic chorus.

Others got in on the act, of course. George Harrison’s Countryfied tribute ‘All Those Years Ago’ was a bitter disappointment. However, Roxy Music’s decision to release their version of ‘Jealous Guy’ paid off, giving them their first and only chart-topper. In my ignorance, I hadn’t realised it had been a Lennon track from ten years earlier. It didn’t matter. Bryan Ferry and friends did it justice, I felt, and provided a fitting climax to the grieving period.

In the meantime, I continued to learn more about Lennon’s history. I even splashed out on buying The Beatles’ 1973 Red and Blue compilation albums, helping me fully appreciate John’s massive contribution to the greatest group the world has ever known. It wasn’t only his role in the familiar hits; I also became acquainted with amazing album tracks such as ‘Nowhere Man’ and ‘Across the Universe’. A few years later I also purchased his own greatest hits album, introducing me to his solo specials like ‘No.9 Dream’. Of course, John Lennon transcended music and, in a year of Cold War chaos, his message of peace was sorely missed.

On 11^th May came the news that Bob Marley had died of cancer. This wasn’t as earth-shattering as Lennon’s passing but of course it was a landmark in musical history. And yet in the UK there was no mass re-release of Marley’s back catalogue; ‘No Woman No Cry’ went to number eight, but that was it. Instead, it was Sugar Minott’s gentle ‘Good Thing Going’ which was our reggae record of the year. Nevertheless, death has proved no barrier to success. Bob’s music continues to sell, and his likeness adorns millions of posters, portraits, T-shirts and bath-towels across the nation, and indeed the world. I don’t condone smoking of ganja but it’s impossible not to like Marley’s brand of reggae. As with Lennon, his message of spiritualism and peace lives on, too.

In 1981, there wasn’t much goodwill to all men (or women) in the UK. Thatcher’s Government had succeeded in trebling unemployment. By the start of the year, more than 10% of the working age population were out of work. Months later, many urban areas, notably Brixton, saw anti-police rioting which left streets resembling war zones. At least the political situation inspired some great music.

Back then, UB40 were a politically-conscious outfit rather than a globally-successful reggae-by-numbers covers band. I still reckon their best song was 1981’s ‘One in Ten’, motivated by those appalling unemployment statistics. With bleak lyrics like:

“My arms enfold the dole queue
Malnutrition dulls my hair
My eyes are black and lifeless
With an underprivileged stare”.

it almost felt wrong to dance to it.

Probably the most famous British political single of the early Eighties came that summer, when The Specials swept to the top with ‘Ghost Town’. For once Terry Hall’s hollow, disinterested vocal style suited the subject-matter, which was the impact on local communities by the Tories’ economic policies. He did have help from Lynval Golding and Nevile Staple, not to mention Jerry Dammers, who wrote the gloomy lyrics on urban decay such as:-

“No job to be found in this country
Can't go on no more
The people getting angry”

The contrast with Royal Wedding fever was stark. There we were on 29^th July, encouraged to go nuts for zillionaires Charles and Diana and TOTP would sign off with The Specials careering around sombre cheerless streets in an ancient Vauxhall Cresta. That was 1981 in a nutshell.

Fortunately, even in such miserable times, pop music can come to the rescue before we all slash our wrists. ‘Ghost Town’ was replaced at the top by Shakin’ Stevens, who restored a spark of optimism to the summer. Already in his thirties, Shaky had an incredible year with his Elvis-lite performances. Rubbish miming and shameless wearing of the dreaded double-denim didn’t prevent him topping the charts with fifties covers ‘This Ole House’ and ‘Green Door’, split by an original song ‘You Drive Me Crazy’ which stalled at number two for a whole month. I can’t say Shaky – born just down the road in Cardiff from where I’m typing this – drove me crazy but he had enough fans to make him an improbable biggest-selling singles artist of the entire decade! I still can’t get my head around that statistic but, love him or hate him, Shaky was always within earshot in 1981.

That August, the four of us enjoyed what I think was our final summer holiday as a complete family. The following year Catherine was to grow up quicker than I did, doing her own thing with friends. However, in ’81, we all headed to Pembrokeshire, with overnight B&B stops along the way, there and back. I recall some warm sunshine and our exploration of the Wye Valley and West Wales unfolded to a backdrop of amazing sporting achievement. Ian Botham was doing his thing for English cricket, while Sebastian Coe and Steve Ovett were trading middle-distance running world records seemingly every few days.

The musical soundtrack to that holiday was provided, not only by Mr Stevens but the likes of Aneka, who showed him the (green) door while we were away. A Scottish folk singer, Mary Sandeman looked about as oriental as I did, but her song ‘Japanese Boy’ was a surprise hit. Jumping on the Kelly Marie bandwagon, it had obvious similarities with ‘Feels Like I’m In Love’ but there was a naïve charm about it which I actually warmed to.

Bucks Fizz cheered the nation in Spring by winning the Eurovision Song Contest with ‘Making Your Mind Up’. Like Shaky’s hits, it harked back to the rock’n’roll and jive era, and was incredibly popular, if not with undergraduates like me. I recall babysitting next-door during the Easter holidays, watching the programme. Obviously the colourful, ripping-off-the-skirts gimmick was by then familiar from pre-Contest performances, but it was nevertheless quite uplifting to see them take the title.

I wasn’t sure whether I should go along with the old-fashioned good-natured style of Joe Dolce, whose ‘Shuddapa Your Face’ so famously kept ‘Vienna’ off the top in March, or want to kill him. Actually, I found Dolce and his singalongaJoe shtick quite endearing. Sorry, Midge! On the other hand, I couldn’t stand Julio Iglesias. He took the mantle of ‘Housewives’ Euro crumpet’ from Distel and Roussos, his soft-focus Spanish tones propelling ‘Begin the Beguine’ to number one just before Christmas. It wasn’t the worst hit single of the year. That must surely have been The Tweets’ ‘Birdie Song’, which sold more than half a million during the autumn term. But who bought it? Anyone who has even attempted to do the dance moves is equally culpable. Own up!

The New Romantic movement really took hold in 1981. It could easily have been a victory of style over substance, but the music was undeniably good. Emerging from the Blitz club scene, Spandau Ballet wasted no time in hitting the charts, but I did find their swirling ‘Highlander’ skirts a mite pretentious. Tony Hadley’s impressively precise old school vocals made an immediate impact on me, even if their take on electronic music didn’t. On the other hand, I did like Duran Duran’s ‘Girls on Film'. I wasn’t sure about the chubby-faced, bandana-clad lead singer but their fashion wasn’t as ridiculous as Spandau’s, and the blend of John Taylor’s funky bass, Andy Taylor’s riffs, Nick Rhodes’ synths and Roger Taylor’s drums definitely boasted ‘something’.

In the lyrics to 1980’s ‘My Perfect Cousin', young Kevin’s mum had bought him a synthesiser and “got the Human League in to advise her”. The result was “Now he's making lots of noise Playing along with the Art school boys”. Lucky Kevin! But maybe he wasn’t moving in the right circles as envisaged by his well-connected mother. By 1981, the original ‘art school Human League had split in two. After their experimental phase, Phil Oakey’s section left the arty crowd behind them and proceeded to make some of the best synth pop ever. 

It took their summer hit ‘Love Action' to make me realise that Sheffield’s finest were actually very listenable. Oakey still boasted the striking but rather silly ‘long one side, short the other’ hairstyle, but the schoolgirl backing singers and dancers Susan Sulley and Joanne Catherall had given up university ambitions to join full-time. ‘Love Action’ sounded incredible, and I loved that bass synth line. The Human League’s album ‘Dare’ was the year’s third biggest seller and, with no traditional drums anywhere on the record, it broke new ground, even in the States. 

They even conquered Christmas with the supreme synth classic, ‘Don’t You Want Me'. It has so far sold over 1 ½ million copies here and I could listen to it every day without ever getting bored. While they never quite hit the same heights again, there were more first-class singles to follow, including ‘Mirror Man’, ‘Keep Feeling Fascination’ and ‘The Lebanon’. More impressive still is that, for all those art school origins, Oakey and the girls never sound pretentious, and they are still doing the circuit. I can vouch that Phil’s voice, in particular, is undimmed by the passing years.

Back in August I recall sitting in the room I shared with Catherine in an old hotel in the Malverns, listening to the new Sunday evening chart rundown. By the time they reached the number one position, I was extremely puzzled. For the life of me, I couldn’t work out who could be at the top. Had a record shot straight in? No, the presenter would surely have mentioned it to build some extra excitement. When it was revealed that Soft Cell’s ‘Tainted Love’ occupied the number one spot, I was surprised. Four months later, I had a similar mental frustration trying to guess the year’s top-selling single. Blow me: it was ‘Tainted Love’ again!

I really didn’t see the appeal. The song sounded mediocre, and Marc Almond’s camp performance in eyeliner, tight black gear and studded wristbands seemed to lack much substance. So, what do I know?! I much preferred the follow-up, ‘Bedsitter’ and their string of successful torch songs in the next year or so. Some of the gay artists were obviously ‘out’ and for the coming years, camp but clever electro-pop duos were definitely ‘in’. 

1981 also saw the introduction of Basildon boys Depeche Mode to the charts. They had a bright and breezy synth sound, typified by Vince Clarke’s ‘Just Can’t Get Enough’. I didn’t really expect them to amount to much, especially once Clarke left to form Yazoo. It was therefore a pleasure to hear them evolve into a darker, more political band without losing their musical mojo. OMD also stepped up a gear. ‘Souvenir’ had a softer, lusher sound and the quieter vocals of Paul Humphreys, and went to number three. Andy McCluskey’s voice was back in charge for another top fiver, ‘Joan of Arc', in November. Joan was to make an appearance in their next single in 1982’s waltz-time ‘Maid of Orleans’, too, a track introduced by 30 seconds of atonal electronic whine. OMD seemed unable to create a poor record.

The power of the video was growing by the week. In February, Ultravox blew everyone away with their atmospheric gothic masterpiece, ‘Vienna’. A rare synth-pop ballad, the five-minute mini-movie featuring moonlit Covent Garden cobbles, an exotic party, climactic murder and Midge Ure’s sharp collars - and even sharper sideburns - really ladled on the atmosphere. ‘Vienna’ was voted best number two single of all time but its video was definitely part of the whole package. 

Midge also wrote the lyrics to another iconic New Romantic record, ‘Fade to Grey' by Visage. Now, this was pretentious with a capital ‘P’. Just as its singer Steve Strange was, well, strange with a capital ‘S’! I still love the music, though and, like ‘Vienna’, the video images linger long in the memory.  

They were largely the creative brainchild of ex-10cc-ers Kevin Godley and Lol Crème. It was all a bit incestuous at the time, and the chain continues with Godley and Crème performing my favourite song of the year, ‘Under Your Thumb’. I loved it so much I bought the single. That’s two in two years! It was a brilliantly crafted record; the synth replicates the sound of a speeding train, an appropriate backdrop to a spooky story of “woman throws herself from speeding train, identity unknown”. A rare example of a song whose lyrics I could hear and remember, yet for all G and C’s video wizardry, it didn’t need an eerie film to spoon-feed you with imagery; the words and music did the job perfectly well on their own. 

When I went up to Uni, I had abhorred Talking Heads’ ‘Psycho Killer’. However, I really liked their new single, ‘Once in a Lifetime’. It had a strange rhythm to it, but David Byrne’s frankly scary vocals and the even scarier video made it work for me. Another arty-farty oddball was Julian Cope. Before his prodigious psychedelic drug intake sent him over the edge, his band The Teardrop Explodes produced some great pop music. In February, they zoomed to number six with the stirring ‘Reward’ and ‘Treason’ also entered the top twenty. Before he became the ultimate hippy for the twenty-first century, Cope was a charismatic frontman with a great voice as well as a talented tunesmith, and I wasn’t the only undergrad fan of his. 

Dum-chah, dum-chah, dum-chah!. 1981 turned out to be the year of the medley single, with the ubiquitous and monotonous ‘clap track’. Even we students had brains subconsciously alive to the ‘dum-chah’ beat. While party medleys weren’t new, a Dutch producer spotted a gap in the singles market and StarSound was born. The first ‘Stars on 45’ 7” edit featured session musicians singing ‘Sugar Sugar’ and ‘Venus’, followed by eight Beatles tracks (mostly B sides like ‘Drive My Car’), and peaked at no.2. That seemed a bit random, but Volume 2 focussed entirely on Abba. It, too, narrowly failed to top the chart but brought to my attention lesser-known songs like ‘Boom-a-Boomerang’ which, like ‘S.O.S’’, ‘Voulez-Vous’, etc, fitted the default beat to perfection.

The bandwagon’s axles must have been close to collapse under the weight of other acts jumping on it. Tight Fit did well with early 60s stuff and Adrian Baker’s falsetto came in useful on Gidea Park’s Beach Boys and Four Seasons segues. There were also Caribbean boom-chahs, Chas and Dave brought out ‘Stars Over 45’ for Christmas and real groups like The Hollies cashed in before a tribute act or unknown Dutchmen could get there first. 

Perhaps the most unlikely bandwagon-leapers were the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. Louis Clark created the Hooked on Classics brand which not only created a number two single but also hugely successful albums and concerts Even I went to one at the Barbican later in the decade. The RPO were professional musicians, of course, not session singers. That gave them an advantage of being able to tamper with the time signatures and rhythms of Beethoven, Mozart, Sibelius, Tchaikovsky et al to fit the steady ‘dum-chah’ claptrack. Clark and the RPO must have done more to subsidise classical music than a generation of stingy governments, and good on ‘em!

Another classical number two single came from Ennio Morricone’s ‘Chi Mai’, and 1981 also experienced one of the most famous classical synth records of all time. Greek composer and synth wizard Vangelis was everywhere. Not only did he combine with ex-Yes singer Jon Anderson to release pleasant jingly-jangly ballads like ‘Find My Way Home’ but his popular ‘Chariots of Fire’ theme has probably done more to inspire amateur runners than any piece of music ever written. 

The pouting face of 20 year-old Kim Wilde covered a myriad of student walls after her anthemic debut ‘Kids in America’ blasted the charts early in the year. Co-written by her dad Marty and brother Ricky, the family effort paid off in spades, even if Kim so clearly was a kid from the Home Counties. The rhythm section was traditional but the soaring synths gave the record an ultra-modern vibe. Fantastic ending, too. More hits followed during the year, my favourite being the slower ‘Cambodia’, but ‘Kids..’ must be one of the best examples of early Eighties rock-pop. 

Another hugely successful female artist in 1981 was Toyah Wilcox. Her bright bouncy orange mop-top was a familiar sight on TV throughout the year and beyond. Looking like the love child of John Lydon and Kate Bush, she was often touted as a punk. Indeed, the first time I saw her was in the crime series Shoestring playing, yes, a punk rocker with a heart. Her music proved to be anything but punk. Her first record went top four in February, an EP led by ‘It’s a Mystery’. Her hint of a lisp left her fair game for comediennes like Tracey Ullman to take the pith, but her squeaky voice was endearing and irritating in equal measure. When she sang ‘I Wanna Be Free’, she sounded less a dangerous rebel and more a Roedean teenager having a hissy fit.

Hazel O’Connor had been a far more convincing post-punk icon than Toyah, and then in 1981 she released one of my all-time fave ballads, ‘Will You?’ Going against all my natural instincts, I have to confess that the record was turned from merely great to sensational by Wesley Magoogan’s sultry sensual sax solo. It was so moving that it took over the entire second half of the track. I don’t recall loving it quite so much at the time but it grew on me year by year. It sounds pretty darned cool in this live performance, too.

No saxophones in sight but another hot girl singer was Clare Grogan. In ’81 she played Gregory’s Girl in the brilliant Bill Forsyth comedy, then led Altered Images to number two with ‘Happy Birthday’ in September. I missed the chance to see them play the Great Hall but one of my neighbours insisted on playing the song all the bloody time! I admit I had a mini-crush on young Clare, with her feather-light fluffy voice and engaging stage presence. Altered Images not only had more hits but, along with The Skids and The Tourists helped launch a raft of excellent Eighties Scottish bands. 

Coincidentally, another ‘Happy Birthday’ anthem also reached number two. However, Stevie Wonder’s song was a different kettle of fish. An unapologetic musical demand for a national public holiday to mark the birthday of Martin Luther King, it was the first Wonder composition I really liked. It flopped in the racist USA but eventually succeeded in its objective when, two years later, even President Reagan was persuaded to accede to Stevie’s heartfelt appeal. A delightful record, too.

David Grant’s voice was not altogether different from Stevie’s and his hit ‘Intuition’ with Linx was one of my top singles from 1981. The lively and light-hearted reflection on childhood went to number seven thanks in part to an entertaining video which served its purpose during another TOTP technicians’ strike. ‘So This Is Romance’ followed in similar vein, albeit perhaps a bit funkier thanks to bass player Sketch. Grant went on to pursue a solo career as a poor man’s Michael Jackson but with limited success. 

Another soulful group who enjoyed the first of their five top 20 singles that year was Imagination. Singer Leee John seeemed over-fond not only of ‘e’s but also of spinning on the spot, while bassist Ashley Ingram often appeared to be getting jiggy with his instrument. Nevertheless, ‘Body Talk’ sounded sexy, albeit not as much as the band seemed to think! ‘Just an Illusion’ went to number two the following year and they were TOTP staples for a while.

Some bigger names than Imagination enjoyed their final flirtations with the top ten in 1981. Abba’s unbroken run of perfect pop hits ended with ‘One of Us’ in December. I associate the song with a family journey to Uncle David’s house on Christmas Eve. I don’t know if it was a new chart rundown, but it was dark, it was cold, and it was snowing as it played on the car radio! We weren’t to know it, but they didn’t even pierce the top twenty with subsequent new releases. It was another peerless four minutes of emotional vocals and melody, but Bjorn and Benny were never to repeat the success.

‘Start Me Up’ proved to be the last classic Rolling Stones top-tenner, too, but Slade enjoyed a renaissance  - as heavy rockers! With ‘We’ll Bring the House Down’ and ‘Lock Up Your Daughters’, Noddy et al delivered a totally unexpected reinvention and they were an extremely popular act at the Reading Festival to boot. You can’t keep a good group down for long.

A hundred miles further down the Great Western line from Reading, my halls of residence held their Summer Ball in June. The unofficial Ents Officer Chas seemed to boast an impressive contact book for his age. One year we had comic singer Jake Thackray but in 1981 Chas booked Fassbender Russell as the headline act. “Woo-hoo!” you may sardonically reply. But actually they had, under Susan Fassbender’s name, enjoyed a top 30 single, ‘Twilight Café’, at the start of the year, and fortunately I had enjoyed it. In her unfashionable glasses, Fassbender looked nothing like your average pop star and Kate Russell was a rarity, a female guitarist which I recall prompted a shameful sexist comment by one of the TOTP presenters. I remember nothing else from their set at Exeter that warm summer evening, but ‘Twilight Café’ was worth the wait. It was therefore shocking to read recently that Fassbender had committed suicide just ten years later. The world can be a cruel place.

The world can also be a bright place, especially when Madness are around. They were really hitting their stride, the first band whose videos we all anticipated at least as much as the new singles they were made to promote. The TV room at Birks would fill just to laugh at the latest daft adventures of the Nutty Boys, cavorting around various North London locations like Camden High Street and Hampstead Heath. They had no fewer than four top ten singles in 1981: Labi Siffre’s ‘It Must Be Love’ (he even has a cameo in the video), Mike Barson’s dark ‘Grey Day’, the comical ‘Shut Up’ and ‘The Return of the Los Palmas Seven’ (superb lyrics: “Waiter” was the only word). But they clearly weren’t just a comedy troupe. They were a tight musical unit, brilliant live, as I was to witness for myself at the O2 a decade or so ago.  

Yet, when it came to whimsical, tongue-in-cheek videos, Madness had serious competition that year in Adam and the Ants, surely the biggest band in Britain. From ragged New Wavers at the end of 1980, they blew our socks off in May 1981 by going straight in at number one with ‘Stand and Deliver’. It proved to be the second biggest selling single of the year, and the video’s fleeting singing wolfhound is priceless. The follow-up, ‘Prince Charming’ was third. Their album’ Kings of the Wild Frontier’ was simply unassailable. 

Adam’s ‘dandy highwayman’, complete with trademark white face stripe, and Regency prince were supreme examples of zany pop persona running hand in hand with clever marketing. Not since early 70s Bowie had we seen anything like it. And don’t tell me Johnny Depp’s movie pirate Captain Jack Sparrow wasn’t influenced by Adam Ant’s 1981 characters. Adam’s face and entertaining videos defined 1981 more than any other. He may have invited parody but, as he sang in his second chart-topper, “Ridicule is nothing to be scared of”. A message for us all in the '80s!