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!

1980 – Oh, what fun we had, but at the time it seemed so bad

History hasn’t been kind to the Seventies. Retrospectives look so grey and depressing: Vietnam, oil crises, Northern Ireland, National Front hooligans, Punk rockers, … Even the contemporary news footage seems to have been filmed in fifty shades of beige. The Eighties have become synonymous with colour but – surprise, surprise - 1980 didn’t look much different from 1979.

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”

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”

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 8^th 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.