1985 - I’m Tired of dancing here all by myself

While I was busily filling tapes with tracks taped off the radio, the year also marked a personal metamorphosis. For the first time in years, I could boast a genuine social life! For that, I had Billericay Rotaract to thank. A club for 18-30 year-olds eager to combine social, sporting and community/charity activities, it also shifted my relationship with music.

I had yet to become educated in the subject of musical theatre, but there were a few disco parties in which I could let my hair down. I recall my first Rotaract event aimed at new members. I may have been the only recruit in that particular drive but that did mean the existing Rotaractors made a fuss of me. It must have worked because I ended up staying for nine years and I’m honoured to count some of those present as my oldest friends three decades later.

On that occasion, I remember dancing to the likes of Mai Tai’s ‘History’ and Prince’s ‘1999’ although I probably sat out the slowies like Foreigner’s ‘I Want to Know What Love Is’. Rotaract also reintroduced me to cinema, beginning with the contemporary hit comedy ‘Beverley Hills Cop’. Besides being won over by young Eddie Murphy’s incredibly energetic performance, the film was also one of the first non-musicals I remember to feature a pop soundtrack. Glenn Frey’s ‘The Heat Is On’ and The Pointer Sisters’ ‘Neutron Dance’ did well in the UK charts, but most memorable of all was Harold Faltermeyer’s synth instrumental ‘Axel F’.

Later in the year, I was to go with friends to see ‘Back to the Future’ and ‘Desperately Seeking Susan’, iconic mid-Eighties movies both, with music which captured the flavour of 1985. I never saw ‘The Breakfast Club’. However, apart from making stars of the ‘Brat Pack’ (Estevez, Ringwald, Sheedy et al), it belatedly brought Simple Minds to the attention of the Yanks. ‘Don’t You (Forget About Me)’ was probably my favourite song of the year and won them a great spot at Live Aid. I was already a fan, of course, but their music was beginning to acquire an epic kind of sound, which didn’t always work for me. ‘Alive and Kicking’ seemed more designed for the 12” single market. I actually bought it but regretted it soon afterwards. ‘Don’t You’ feels a bit dated now, but back then it was a song which always made me stop what I was doing and listen.

‘Miami Vice’ was the TV cop show if you were into pastel jackets, flash yachts, sports cars and soft rock. Yes, I watched it. Some of the stories were quite good, too. However, the soundtrack became almost as important to its popularity as the super-cool stars Don Johnson and Philip Michael Thomas. Jan Hammer went to number five with his fast and furious theme tune in 1985. The sublime ‘Crockett’s Theme’ took a further two years to be a big hit, though. 

The programme lost its way a bit when guest stars found their way on to the cast list. In one 1985 episode Phil Collins played – guess what! – a cheeky London con man. But then our Phil was everywhere that year; five Top 20 singles in the UK are testament to that. His ‘No Jacket Required’ album was the second biggest-seller and his ‘Easy Lover’ duet with Philip Bailey topped the singles chart for four weeks in the spring. Then, of course, he appeared on Live Aid not once, but twice! Here he is with 'In the Air Tonight'. Many of us were wishing he’d get back with Genesis to save us from more sickly songs aimed at the American MoR market.

I wasn’t too enamoured of Prince or Bruce Springsteen either. Alost as ubiquitous as Mr Collins, neither hit the spot for me. The whole ‘Purple Rain’ package left me grey, and ‘Let’s Go Crazy’ just made me mad. Bruce may be a living legend, but ‘Dancing in the Dark’ was merely boring and ‘Born in the USA’ was just our denim-clad hero shouting on and on. And on and on….. At least the flip side gave us something a bit more to my taste: the softer, subtler ‘I’m On Fire’. I know Bruce engenders adoration like few others but I just feel unable to identify with his tales of blue-collar industrial Americana. There, I’ve said it.

There were great songs from all around the world in ’85. Pop was definitely going global. It wasn’t just the Americans saying ‘We Are the World’. A young Canadian rocker Bryan Adams finally made it over here with the exciting ‘Run To You’. Strangely, his next three releases – arguably amongst his most famous tracks – failed to crack our Top 30. I only heard the exquisite anthem ‘Heaven’ on Radio 1’s US Chart show, while the immortal ‘Summer of 69’ passed me by for several years thanks to its lowly chart peak of 42. Like Phil Collins, I consider his early stuff far superior to his later, massive-selling soft-rock duets. Yuck! 

Holland gave us the aforementioned Mai Tai; Ireland, Feargal Sharkey’s solo number one ‘A Good Heart’; Germany, the dynamic electro-pop ‘Duel’ by Propaganda, and Italy, the rip-roaring summer Euro-dance hit ‘Tarzan Boy’ (a real guilty pleasure if ever there was one).

Then there was Norway. A-Ha were certainly way off my radar until about October 1985. Their single ‘Take on Me’ had flopped the previous year but once you’d seen the new video, life would never be the same again. A stunning combination of pencil-sketch animation and live action made the jaw drop. It illustrated a four-minute fantasy romance, in which lead singer Morten Harket pulled a girl into her comic book and into a scary race for her life. Would she survive? Would she get back to the real world? Would she end up with Morten? The story kept us guessing right to the final frame... well, what do you think?! Actually, for all the repeated viewings, for all the technological advances in video production, ‘Take On Me’ still stirs emotions in me. It’s just one of the greatest synth pop records. 

It just failed to top the chart here, but made number one in an incredible 36 countries. Early the next year, ‘The Sun Always Shines On TV’ did go all the way in the UK, and both ‘Train of Thought’ and the ballad ‘Hunting High and Low’ also pierced our top five. I even bought a copy of the album, signed by the trio at an event at HMV in Oxford Street. It was surprisingly good! What I liked about A-Ha, and Harket in particular, was that they were Anglophiles. Morten often supported local charity runs in Wickford, Essex, and he’s still going strong. I don’t know whether he still possesses that extraordinary vocal range. The chorus of ‘Take On Me’, from lower register winding up to such a shrill falsetto, was impossible to replicate. Believe me, I tried!

For all their Scandinavian heritage, A-Ha weren’t quite the new Abba. The super-Swedes had long been retired, but in 1985, their genius writers, Bjorn and Benny, returned to the spotlight in a different format. Aided by experienced lyricist Tim Rice, they managed to construct a musical around – of all things - a Cold War chess rivalry. Yet their golden touch hadn’t deserted them. The show’s big ballad, ‘I Know Him So Well’, sung by Elaine Paige and Barbara Dickson, was the year’s second biggest-seller, and ‘One Night in Bangkok’ also did well for Murray Head. I enjoyed seeing ‘Chess’ in the West End in 1986, when Paige and Head were still in the cast, but it ran for only three years. At least ‘Mamma Mia’ did rather better in the twenty-first century.

The Paige/Dickson duet wasn’t the top love song of the year, though. They were trumped by Jennifer Rush’s million-selling ‘The Power of Love’, a song I have always hated. In contrast, I loved Phyllis Nelson’s smoochfest ‘Move Closer’. Sadly I never got to slow dance with anybody to this one-hit wonder (sigh!), but its romantic lyrics left little to the imagination.

Many women would have liked to move closer to Bryan Ferry. He had become known as the Face of the Eighties, and with songs like ‘Slave to Love’, his voice and smart fashion sense, he was often on the magazine front pages. Personally I found his smooth persona too cloying – and that was before his right-wing politics placed him beyond the pale. 

There were other, more charming Brits in the charts. I really enjoyed Kirsty McColl’s upbeat version of Billy Bragg’s ‘A New England’ and Marillion’s power ballad ‘Kayleigh’. Singer Fish was often on TOTP that year, even brandishing lyric cards for the follow-up ‘Lavender’ when he had a bad throat. Huh? We all knew he was going to mime anyway. 

Eurythmics released their masterpiece ‘There Must be an Angel’ in the summer. It was, and still sounds so lush, a near-perfect parcel of Annie Lennox’s diamond-studded voice, Dave Stewart’s multi-layered synth production and even a harmonica solo by Stevie Wonder. The Cure were at their poppiest with ‘In Between Days’ and Go West briefly promised to be the next Big Thing on the back of ‘We Close Our Eyes’ but I was becoming more fascinated by the growing cult of The Smiths. 

In February, they appeared on TOTP performing ‘How Soon is Now?’ Its disturbingly deep repetitive tremolo guitar hook and Morrissey’s melancholic opening words: 

“I am the son, and the heir, of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir, of nothing in particular”

were like nothing I’d heard before. The track trundles on a bit too long – probably why it peaked at a mere 24 – but, alongside ‘The Boy With a Thorn in His Side’, it motivated me to buying their compilation of singles, B sides and Radio 1 session tracks, ‘Hatful of Hollow’. Poor Morrissey. He has divided the nation’s critics more than just about anyone else. I am firmly in the ‘pro’ camp. Yes, he always sounds so morose, miserable, mad even. But the UK music world would be so much poorer without his contribution of lyrics and insightful quotes. Johnny Marr’s melodies are, of course, also crucial to The Smiths’ success, but the Mozmeister from Davyhulme takes some beating when it comes to my, and many others’ musical influences.

1985 was also a huge year for two other British bands. Tears For Fears were back with a grander sound, which helped them break America. Roland Orzabal’s rich angst-ridden vocals were to the fore on ‘Shout' and ‘Head Over Heels’ while Curt Smith sang on the number two hit ‘Everybody Wants to Rule the World’ backed by a catchy shuffle beat and some memorable guitar riffs. I liked them all. 

Dire Straits had been around for several years. Some singles I’d liked (‘Romeo and Juliet’ and ‘Sultans of Swing’) while others left me cold or just neutral (‘Private Investigations’, ‘Twisting by the Pool’) In 1985, I became exposed to some of their album material thanks to my friend Phil Polley. The band’s early albums and ‘Alchemy Live’ were often on his car cassette player during Rotaract days out. I even bought the latter myself but probably never played it more than twice. That’s the trouble with live albums. The quality is never as good as on the original recordings and unless you actually saw the act in concert, hearing it on a tape or record player just doesn’t strike an emotional chord.

The new medium of compact disc was only just beginning to gain a foothold in the market. Its rapid expansion in 1985-86 probably owed more to Dire Straits than anyone else, and their Brothers in Arms album in particular. Like millions of others, I was powerless to prevent myself from buying the 12” LP, with its sky blue cover framing Mark Knopfler’s vintage silver guitar. Actually, I didn’t like most of the tracks, a strange brew of rock’n’roll, jazz, country and pop. However, their big ’85 hit ‘Money For Nothing’ was unavoidable throughout the summer, but in a good way! Sting’s falsetto ‘I want my MTV’ intro, Knopfler’s fuzzy guitar and the groundbreaking video, complete with state-of-the-art computer-generated animation, proved irresistible.  

The irony of a top rock band raking it in with a song about a working man’s envy of a rock band’s easy lifestyle wasn’t wasted on anyone, and probably not the group themselves. MTV loved it, too, of course, and it was more successful in the US than here. How would they follow Brother in Arms? They couldn’t. They didn’t even try. But it wasn’t a bad way to bow out of the album market. My favourite Dire Straits number was, and remains, the artfully atmospheric anti-war title track which for some ludicrous reason progressed no higher than 16.  

The horrors of war were also highlighted on one of the most extraordinary hits of that or any other decade. You could describe Paul Hardcastle’s ‘19' as a dance single, and you’d be right. But it was so much more. The vocals were simply American news clips strung together, the video a montage of Vietnam images, the music a mishmash of synthesizer hooks, but somehow the various elements came together in a powerful package. It also spawned a divertingly amusing comedy parody ‘N-n-n-Nineteen Not Out’ in which a 21 year-old impressionist Rory Bremner detailed England’s cricketing woes as The Commentators, including John Arlott:- 

                        “It’s a long, slow, lazy delivery. 

    But it's the best I can do…”

Classic!

1985 probably launched the term ‘Stadium Band’. It was intended to hurt, a derogatory term aimed at the likes of Simple Minds, Genesis, Queen et al. Yet it was a cheap jibe. After all, these bands, once the darlings of rock critics, were just as good as they ever were, it’s just that they had grown so popular that they needed to book the biggest venues to give their expanding fanbases more chance to see them perform. Hardly their fault. 

And there were no stadium concerts bigger than the multi-venue Live Aid on 13^th July 1985. After so much preparation, it finally came to fruition on a hot day in both Wembley and Philadelphia. The  mega-gig has been widely slated for its focus on white acts (Stevie Wonder and Jacko refused to be involved) and, quite frankly, a lot of craggy, creaking old rockers like Led Zep, Dylan, Beach Boys, The Who, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. However, I was totally exhilarated by the whole extravaganza.

I recall travelling to Romford that morning to collect some car insurance documents on behalf of Dad. I was desperate to return home before the midday start. Armed with a Daily Mirror ‘special’, complete with running order and likely song choices (mostly wrong, as things transpired) I was mightily relieved that the trains behaved and I could set up my cassette ready for recording likely highlights from Radio 1’s broadcast and watching the whole show on BBC1 TV. If Mum or Dad had favoured anything on another channel, they didn’t dare let on. This was one day when I seized control of the remote.

I did contrive to miss a chunk in the afternoon, and I lacked the stamina to stay up beyond about 1am for the final hours of the American leg. Nevertheless, I gorged myself on the ‘global jukebox’, from Richard Skinner’s immortal introduction and Status Quo’s opening rendition of ‘Rocking All Over the World’ to the McCartney-led London finale. Stevie Wonder did have a point about the lack of black artists. Indeed, the Philly gig was a mediocre affair, enlivened only by Madonna, and Phil Collins’ second performance of the day, thanks to the wonder of Concorde. There is a degree of irony in that in an event designed to raise money to fight poverty, I highlighted boring, balding Phil flying on a supersonic toy for millionaires, and the Material Girl, who would become a symbol of Eighties consumerism!

In retrospect, without the benefit of my rose-tinted specs, it’s evident that much of the Wembley pageant was blandly banal. Status Quo were there only because ‘Rockin’ All Over the World’ was such an obvious way to start such a global event. The Boomtown Rats were predictably lame, Adam Ant’s single song was a mystery to everybody and the likes of The Style Council, Spandau Ballet and, sadly, Nik Kershaw proved they were totally unsuited to an occasion of this magnitude. 

For others, though it was their opportunity to shine in the summer sunshine and the spotlight of an unprecedented worldwide audience. Sting’s dazzling white ensemble stood out and David Bowie’s stagecraft was effortless. He also earned extra Brownie points for sacrificing one song to allow the screening (in the UK at least) of another heartbreaking film of starving African children, to the soundtrack of The Cars’ ‘Drive’. This short segment, along with Geldof’s exhortation: “Give us your focking money!” nevertheless proved to be the most lucrative in terms of donations. 

However, the acts who emerged as stadium superstars were U2 and Queen. The former only performed two tracks, including ‘Sunday, Bloody Sunday’ (which I’d never heard) and a seemingly endless ‘Bad’, featuring an extravagantly-mulleted Bono slow-dancing with a girl from the audience who he’d observed suffering in the crush.

Queen’s set an hour later, between Dire Straits and Bowie, was to go down in rock folklore. This was Freddie Mercury’s stage, strutting up and down, brandishing the mic stand in ever-more risqué poses. And then there was his imperious voice, belting out the biggest hits. For all that, I’d say the band were at their rockiest best for ‘Hammer to Fall’.

How could anything follow Live Aid? I know it was mostly middle-class music by the middle-aged for the middle-aged but nevertheless I wasn’t buying the ‘Death of rock’n’roll’ epithet – and still aren’t. It was more a case of how would the record-buying public react? Other charity mega-gigs have followed and on each occasion it’s undeniably a win-win situation. Participants boost their sales and the organisers raise millions for the nominated charities.

Before the days of instant downloads, the charts weren’t so sensitive. If you were blown away by Neil Young or Hall and Oates, and headed straight for Woolworth’s, there was no guarantee there would be a copy of ‘Helpless’ or ‘Maneater’ on the racks. In terms of the UK charts, it took several weeks before the re-release of ‘Drive’ zoomed up to the top five again. Similarly it was not until September when the bawdily bumptious cover of ‘Dancing in the Street’ by Bowie and Mick Jagger, shown during Live Aid as a video, reached number one. David looked a bit distracted but fortunately Mick seemed to inject some energy into it all.

That August, we went on holiday to Ibiza. Not for us the bright lights and hedonistic haunts of San Antonio; we were based in the more family-friendly resort of Portinatx. One evening, we ventured to a fish restaurant overlooking the picturesque bay. Music played from a speaker and I recognised music I’d heard on a TV show a few months earlier. Was it by Talk Talk? I liked it enough to follow it up on our return home, identifying the track I’d heard as ‘It’s My Life’. I ended up buying the album, which served as my favourite for months to follow. The single had bombed but did at least enjoy a more successful revival in the Nineties. 

‘Life’s What You Make It’ made the top 20 early the next year, and I made it two Talk Talk purchases with the ‘Colour of Spring’ album. It, too, contained some really good pop tunes and longer-form ballads. Two years later, I didn’t wait for singles releases before shelling out my £6.99 (or whatever) on the follow-up, Spirit of Eden. Just as well, as I’d have been waiting a long time! It proved to be a dreaded ‘experimental’ record. Critically acclaimed, perhaps, but to me one long yawnathon. Nevertheless, I have fond memories of Mark Hollis’ band and their mid-Eighties New Wave pop, sparked by a random listen on a quiet corner of the Balearics. 

While away in the Med, Madonna was sweeping all before her in the UK. She’d already made a substantial impression on the singles charts, but ‘Into the Groove' was her first number one, dominating August. A cracking dance number driven by a booming bass synth line, this was a record which practically defined what a 1985 pop song should sound like. That month, Ms Ciccone also occupied the number two position with the re-released ‘Holiday’. Another ideal track for the heady days of summer.

Yet these were just two of eight (yes, EIGHT) singles which peppered the top five in 1985, mostly culled from her Nile Rodgers-produced Like a Virgin album. The slowie ‘Crazy For You’ had peaked at two in the spring but wasn’t on the LP. ‘Material Girl’, ‘Angel’, ‘Gambler’, ‘Dress You Up’, the list went on and on. Madonna was sassy, sexy, outspoken and highly marketable. Buoyed further by her Live Aid performance, she was undoubtedly the star of ’85, and of course this was just the start. The Age of Madonna was upon us!

1984 - Are we living in a land where sex and horror are the new Gods?

1984 was not one of those personal milestone years but in my opinion was a vintage one where pop was concerned. I think there were no fewer than six million-sellers. Quite extraordinary! However, it was the supporting cast of singles that made it so memorable. That, and my long delayed entrance into the dodgy world of recording tracks from the radio. Well, everybody else was doing it, so why couldn’t I? Over the next few years, I amassed at least sixty C60 or C90 TDK cassettes of random songs taped from Radio 1, Capital, Essex FM and even the terrible Medium Wave pirate station Laser 558.

I’m not sure whether I was still listening to the Jimmy Savile show but now I wasn’t just listening to past hits; I realised I could save them for posterity without – er- paying for them. I do recall being racked with guilt on hearing Steve Wright on a Brit Awards broadcast admonish illegal tapers. Guilt, but not so much that I stopped doing it. However, I did start buying a few greatest hits tapes or 12” albums, or borrow some from the library to – um- record at home. As Steve said at the time, wagging his finger: “Naughty, naughty!”

Inevitably 1984 was greeted by a welter of articles about Orwell and gratitude that we weren’t living in a world of constant war and surveillance. Ahem.  Weren’t we? The Cold War was playing out in all its grim glory, but a man called Mikael Gorbachev was approaching the supreme Soviet stage from which he could finally bring down the Iron Curtain by the end of the decade. At home, we didn’t have Big Brother, but Big Sister Margaret Thatcher pushed the UK darned close to a police state during the 12-month miners’ strike.

The long-standing USA-USSR stand-off was the inspiration behind Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s ‘Two Tribes’, which topped the charts for nine weeks in the summer. Yet that wasn’t even the group’s biggest hit of the year. Re-wind to January, and that new song languishing in the thirties. A lot of post-Christmas airplay and a TOTP performance advanced it to number six, at which point R1 breakfast show presenter Mike Read observed the record sleeve and, suddenly horrified at the explicit lyrics and fetishist imagery, priggishly imposed a ban on the song. The network fell in behind him and ‘Relax’ duly leapt to the top. When ‘Two Tribes’ was released, it crept back up the chart to the point where Frankie occupied the top two berths around the time of my birthday.

It wasn’t just their music which was everywhere. The ‘Frankie say RELAX’ T-shirts were commonplace, and the establishment was in uproar. Here was an obvious hymn to gay sex, just as AIDS was reaching pandemic status around the world. The video even provocatively portrayed an S&M orgy, yet civilisation didn’t collapse. Indeed, Holly Johnson and his mates proceeded to release one of the most beautiful songs of all time, ‘The Power of Love’. With its sumptuous Nativity video (angels, shepherds, Magi on camels…!), it was tailor-made for a Christmas number one, only to be tossed aside when Band Aid and Wham delivered their charity fund-raising double-whammy. However, it did touch the top for one week, thus elevating the band to the elite few to have made number one with their first three releases. The following year, ‘Welcome to the Pleasuredome’ came within a whisker of making it four in a row, but within two years the band imploded and in any case the Frankie flame had already burnt itself out.

Two chart veterans were also enjoying a new purple patch. Elton John’s ‘Sad Songs’ and ‘Passengers’ continued a good run of top ten singles while Queen were back to their best on their album The Works. I couldn’t help liking Roger Taylor’s paeon to the wireless, ‘Radio Gaga’ and Eric Deacon’s ‘I Wanna Break Free’, featuring the infamous but undoubtedly entertaining cross-dressing opening to the video. I wasn’t so fussed on Freddie Mercury’s solo material like ‘Love Kills’. The Queen magic was missing.

Two sassy Americans with close associations with New York burst onto the K music scene. You really believed Cyndi Lauper when she shrilled ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’. The official video was deliberately cheap but I mainly remember her miming the song leading a sort of conga around the TOTP studio! The far more subtle ‘Time After Time’ also did well in July. And then there was Madonna Louisa Ciccone.

‘Holiday’ had done OK in February, but surely it should have been released during the summer. Never mind; it would have another day in the sun. Instead it was the arrival of ‘Like A Virgin’ just before Christmas which really brought Madonna to our attention. While you couldn’t really believe the sexy singer-dancer was a virgin, that wasn’t the point. It was a great record which offered something I hadn’t heard before. There would be plenty more where that came from…..

This side of the Atlantic, we had a few promising young female vocalists, too. Alison Moyet lent her big soulful voice to songs like ‘Love Resurrection’ and ‘All Cried Out’ while another product of Essex, Sade, won critical acclaim here and in the States with her album 'Diamond Life’. I hated her breathy ‘Your Love is King’ but ‘Smooth Operator’ was more up-tempo and– well – super smooth. She may have been born in Nigeria but I loved the fact that she we went to school in Clacton.

It wasn’t just Sade wowing them Stateside. The big Brit bands were coining it in, too. Duran Duran were starting to go a bit over the top for me. ‘The Reflex’ was a reasonable number one (their last) but ‘Wild Boys’ was pompous rubbish, with an even stupider video and Simon Le Bon’s wince-inducing attempts at the high notes. The Human League didn’t soar to the heights in the UK but I enjoyed the rocky ‘The Lebanon’ and, in particular, ‘Louise’. It’s such a simple romantic story with a gentle, low-key synth production that I was entranced. Still am. I didn’t realise at the time that Phil Oakey wrote it as a follow-up to the characters in ‘Don’t You Want Me’, but that made no difference. It also transpired that she still didn’t want him.

Melle Mel’s deep rap voice was often on the radio. His anti-drugs song ‘White Lines (Don’t Do It)’ stayed in the charts for several months and he cropped up again in the intro to Chaka Khan’s chart-topping ‘I Feel For You’. I quickly tired of the video on TOTP and the song wasn’t my cup of tea. It turned out that it had been written by Prince, whose ‘When Doves Cry’ went to number four in the summer. I know I may be in a minority here, but his follow-up, ‘Purple Rain’ is one of my most hated songs of the ‘80s.  

Mind you, there was some serious competition in 1984. Black Lace’s version of an old French ditty sold shedloads in the second half of the year but ‘Agadoo’ has become a by-word for irritating pop ever since. OK, so it’s not The Birdie Song, but when you factor in the bleach-blond spiky hairstyles and cheesy grins of the duo, the result is truly terrible. I wouldn’t ordinarily associate Stevie Wonder with crap compositions but when he brought out ‘I Just Called to Say I Love You’, his reputation took a massive jolt. Not so, his bank balance! Like most awful pop, it was extraordinarily catchy in melody and lyrics and – horrors of horrors! – proceeded to sell more than two million in this country alone.

At Christmas, another giant of twentieth-century music also blotted his copybook in terms of quality. Paul McCartney had started the year at the top with one of his trademark mediocre ‘let’s all love one another’ songs: ‘Pipes of Peace’.  He then partnered Michael Jackson on ‘The Girl Is Mine’ and reached two with his ‘No More Lonely Nights’. But when he was joined by Rupert Bear and a cartoon Frog Chorus in December, the depths were well and truly plumbed. Yet, of course, it was aimed at the seasonal family market and Macca struck gold.

Sixteen years earlier he had written one of the greatest Beatles songs, ‘Hey Jude’, inspired by Julian, the son of John Lennon.  1984 proved to be the time when Julian emerged briefly from his late dad’s lengthy shadows to have a hit of his own. Despite being an odd blend of pseudo-ska, Country and pop, I quite liked ‘Too Late for Goodbyes’. The face and voice was uncannily similar to John’s but probably the family connection was more burden than boon; this single was his only top 10 hit in the UK. 

Two great British bands were at opposite ends of their major principal chart careers. Madness delivered one of my favourites in ‘Michael Caine’ a rarity in that it was Chas Smash and not Suggs on lead vocals. The golden age of humorous videos had passed, and they were entering a more reflective phase before their first break from the business.

On the other hand, The Smiths were garnering rave reviews for their rather different rock sound. They had four top 20 singles in 1984, although one, ‘Hand in Glove’ was officially credited to guest vocalist Sandie Shaw. Read Morrissey’s remarkably candid and eccentric autobiography – no phoney phantom ghost writer here - for his less than enthusiastic opinions on that issue. Of the four, the one appealing to me most was ‘Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now’. Yes, I know the singer-writer practically invented pop ‘miserabilism’, but wouldn’t you feel under the weather if you had a bunch of gladioli stuffed down your trousers? 

There were some cracking ballads peppering the pop scene in ’84. Lionel Richie not only had the year’s biggest-selling album (Can’t Slow Down) but also his only UK chart-topper in ‘Hello’. That video of the beautiful blind girl sculpting teacher Lionel’s head in clay by touch alone became rather annoying on TOTP after six weeks at the top but it was a winning combination of sentimentality, tunes and Richie’s peerless voice. He even kept from the top perhaps Phil Collins’ second finest moment as a solo artist. ‘In The Air Tonight’ had been an impressive debut but ‘Against All Odds’ was an above-par movie theme song. The film itself was pretty crap, even if it did star Rachel Ward, one of the most gorgeous stars back then. It also set in train a second, parallel career path for Collins, who seemed to be ever-present in the Eighties singles charts either with Genesis or another soporific solo or duet Hollywood hit. I found it hard to hate him, for all his success, but nevertheless the run of boring ballads severely tested our artist-listener relationship!

The Yanks couldn’t get enough of the chirpy London accent or his lucrative line in cinema lullabies but then there were quite a few American artists I enjoyed hearing, too. I’ve mentioned a few already but in addition Kool and the Gang were doing well. ‘Joanna’ represented a shift towards the Phil Collins market (as was ‘Cherish a few years later) but ‘Fresh’ was more like their old disco thang, and all the better for it. Sister Sledge sang ‘Thinking of You’, both Van Halen and The Pointer Sisters were in the top ten with very different songs boasting the same title, ‘Jump’.  

I also enjoyed ZZ Top’s debut record ‘Gimme All Your Lovin’. It wasn’t just about the Gibbons brothers’ mighty beards; it was the whole blend of Rhythm and Blues (in its true sense) and those growled vocals by Billy Gibbons. The videos had a visual brand all of their own, too: long-legged blondes, scruffy blokes in denim and vehicles with ludicrously over-sized wheels. It was a winning formula, but the first single was their best. 

In 1984, there were a mere four channels on British television. However, the infant Channel 4 had expanded the opportunities many-fold to watch pop music. I rarely watched The Tube, largely because it was too early in the evening but also as it clashed with the News. However, what made it stand out was the exposure it offered to many new bands, and that many of them performed live. Barring the occasional three-minute gem on TOTP, the BBC featured very little live contemporary music. Which is why, one summer evening in 1984, I managed to get my way with the TV remote and watch BBC1’s broadcast direct from, I think, Wembley. 

The concert was by Billy Joel, whose An Innocent Man album had yielded a few decent singles including ‘Uptown Girl’. I’d been aware of several of Joel’s songs without generating much in the way of devotion, but this hour or so won him at least one new fan! Even Dad watched with me, but I don’t think Mum was present; must have been her bath night! I think only the first half was transmitted live, with part two recorded for the following night. Put together, the programme not only included some familiar hits but also introduced me to longer tracks like ‘Scenes from an Italian Restaurant’ and ‘Goodnight Saigon’ which made a huge impression on me. Joel’s piano-playing, gift for melody and observations on social issues and vignettes of ordinary New York lives were outstanding and I embraced the live experience, albeit from the small screen in the corner of our lounge.  When his Greatest Hits Volumes 1 and 2 came out the next year, I actually sought it out to catch up with the songs I’d heard in that TV simulcast or just missed over the previous decade. In 1990, I grabbed the chance to witness him live for myself at the Wembley Arena. And a fab show it was, too.

It wasn’t just the Americans invading our charts. Even Germany supplied some pop songs which appealed to me. Nena was a kind of brunette Kim Wilde who achieved something that our Kim never did: a UK number one single.  '99 Red Balloons’ toppled the mighty ‘Relax’ with a jaunty synth-heavy song inspired by Cold War paranoia. In 2016’s German TV spy thriller Deutschland 83, centred on the same theme, the original hit ‘Neunandneunzig Luftballons’ was a perfect choice to set the cultural and political scene for the drama, which turned out to be extremely watchable, even with subtitles. As for Nena in Grossbritannien 84 I remember at the time the tabloids focussing crassly on the singer’s armpit hair (!) but that was just their way of ridiculing anything foreign.

I also enjoyed a record by New Wave band, Alphaville. Unbeknowns to me at the time, ‘Big In Japan’ was apparently about heroin-addicted lovers longing for a drug-free future but to my naïve ears, it was simply an addictive four-minute slice of mid-tempo electro-pop It sold zillions across Europe but unsurprisingly peaked only at eight this side of the Channel. Only in doing some research on the band have I discovered that Alphaville were the composers of the classic power ballad ‘Forever Young’, a track I’d always associated with Laura Branigan. Surprisingly the original barely made a scratch on our Top 100.

Other random songs that floated my boat that year included Blancmange’s ‘Don’t Tell Me’. Perhaps best known for ‘Living on the Ceiling’, their Indian-influenced sound transferred quite well to mid-80s electropop. So did Bronski Beat’s. They made a stunning arrival with the dreamy but sad ‘Smalltown Boy’. A serious tale about homophobia and bullying (“Alone on a platform, the wind and the rain on a sad and lonely face”) its memorable synth riff, minor chords, lovely tune, dance beat and Jimmy Somerville’s falsetto were irresistible. It was far more than a gay anthem, and took Europe by storm.

Paul Weller has made a career of being a miserable git but even he has his romantic side. This came to the fore with ‘You’re the Best Thing’, a top five hit with Mick Talbot as The Style Council. They made quite a few chart appearances around that time but, just ahead of ‘Shout to the Top’, this soulful ballad has to be the highlight. Much as I like ‘Long Hot Summer’, I wish he’d chosen to perform instead this 1984 love song in his Cardiff show I attended in 2015.

Whilst ‘Smalltown Boy’ and The Style Council were necessarily short of laughs, there were some conspicuously shameless comedy records in 1984. To such a degree that the 1985 Brit Awards, forerunners of today’s Brits, featured a Best Comedy Song award. Surely the first and only time that happened. Weird Al Jankovic’s Michael Jackson parody, ‘Eat It’ and Alexei Sayle’s manic ‘Ullo John, Got a New Motor?’ (best line: “What’s that button there for? What’s that button there for? Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow! Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!”) were nominated, but the deserved winner was Neil’s very funny version of hippy anthem ‘Hole in My Shoe’. Nigel Planer’s character from BBC’s cult comedy The Young Ones let rip, and even John Peel seemed to like the subversive performance on TOTP. Neil/Nigel was thwarted by ‘Two Tribes’ but he did eventually top the chart, along with the rest of the Young Ones – plus Cliff Richard – two years later. Heavyyyy!

Paul Young may have won the Brit Award for Best British Male, but in my mind Nik Kershaw was robbed! A talented writer and multi-instrumentalist, his look of a teenage boy rabbit caught in the headlights may have held him back. Early releases flopped but when the wonderful ‘Wouldn’t it Be Good’ soared to four, the re-releases made him one of the most successful artists of 1984.

‘I Won’t Let the Sun Go Down On Me’, a jaunty appeal against nuclear war (“forefinger on the button” was a genuinely scary and real prospect in ’84) went to number two, although his haunting ballad ‘Human Racing’, written as a teenager, was less successful. Stupendous chord changes and vibrant vocals clearly weren’t enough for the wider public. Their loss! Nik proceeded to finish the year on another high, releasing an even better song, but what was it about? Contemporary commentary had it that it was about the Northern Ireland Troubles. I couldn’t fathom that interpretation, but the lyrics seemed to mean nothing. I guess that’s why Kershaw called it ‘The Riddle’. Who cares? It’s a brilliant song. A few more hits followed, my favourite being the little-remembered ‘Elizabeth’s Eyes’. I was delighted to find him supporting Elton John several years later at Wembley Arena. The venue was mostly empty at the time but I preferred Nik’s set to Elton’s.

Much as I loved Nik Kershaw’s material, 1984 gave me what was, and remains one of the tracks I most enjoy hearing. I mentioned U2’s ‘New Year’s Day’ contribution to 1983 but when ‘Pride(In the Name of Love)’ entered the chart at eight in mid-September, the Irish band ascended to an altogether higher plane. From The Edge’s chiming guitar intro to the anthemic “Oh oh-oh oh” chorus for the fade-out, via Bono’s impassioned vocals, Larry Mullen Jnr’s heavy drums and Adam Clayton’s insistent bass, everything I could ask for in a rock classic is there. And then there’s the subject itself. Stevie Wonder’s ‘Happy Birthday’ had been a memorable appeal for Martin Luther King’s birthday to be commemorated as a national holiday. And with ‘Pride’ on his side, there was no doubting MLK’s elevation to true world icon, not just a troublesome US civil rights leader of the Sixties.

I bought the album The Unforgettable Fire off the back of the single. The title track and ‘Bad’ also worked for me, and of course there was plenty more from U2. Their Live Aid performance transformed them into stadium superstars and also into my new favourite band.

Nobody I knew could possibly admit to loving Wham. Nevertheless, George Michael and Andrew Ridgley (plus backing singers Pepsi and Shirlie) were just as part of the 1984 pop scene as Frankie Goes to Hollywood. They topped the chart twice with ‘Wake me Up Before You Go-Go’ and ‘Freedom’ and came close with the perennial Christmas weepie ‘Last Christmas’. That wasn’t enough for George. Even hearty heterosexuals like me couldn’t fail to be impressed by his solo effort, ‘Careless Whisper’, and then he took one of the most important segments of Band Aid’s ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas’. Given that he wrote most of these hits, Mr Michael was becoming a very rich young man indeed, as well as a sizzling sex symbol amongst teenage girls….  More than that, his 1984 soundtrack singles combined to encapsulate everything that pop is supposed to be about: two up-tempo, apparently throwaway dance numbers, a mature ballad, consummate Christmas perfection and perhaps the most politically and financially successful humanitarian musical venture in history.

Of course, George didn’t write ‘Do They Know….?’. That accomplishment belongs to Bob Geldof and Midge Ure. Their respective bands had been experiencing different career arcs. The Boomtown Rats were no longer the force they had been in the late Seventies, but Ultravox were still selling singles, including ‘Dancing With Tears in My Eyes’ and – a guilty pleasure of mine – ‘Love’s Great Adventure’. Band Aid was certainly the most inspiring collective – and song – I can remember. Geldof’s anger at the injustice of the Ethiopian famine resulted in the roping in not only the Ultravox front man but also dozens of the biggest names in UK contemporary pop.

Bob’s job was to harangue the names in his contacts book and rattle cages throughout the industry, not to mention the incumbents of the House of Commons. However much she tried, Prime Minister Thatcher could not sweep this scruffy, potty-mouthed Irish rock star under her luxurious deep pile Conservative carpet. The last thing she wanted to do was encourage giving money to millions of poor black people. Third World poverty merely helped support military dictatorships friendly to her own regime. But she under-estimated Geldof. Meanwhile Midge was left to handle the back-room musical roles, and his contribution to the Band Aid enterprise should never be forgotten.

After all, it was actually quite a good song – a million times better than the Jacko-Richie composition that followed the next year, which just sounded cheap and exploitative. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so critical. Anything that gets Yanks to spare even a solitary thought for people beyond their own borders, let alone raise $63 million, deserves some credit.  The era of the charity single had begun. There have been many feeble, yet well-intentioned imitators. The initiators and humanitarian pop campaigners like Bono and Geldof have been pilloried in the Press. Why? I have no problem with musicians using their fame and influence to support worthy causes. Better that than lazy journos and politicians trying to ignore or belittle issues we should be angry about! If the music itself merits repeated listening, it becomes even more powerful.

With so much free publicity and promotion on every radio station, TV channel (all four of them!) and in all kinds of retail outlet, ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas?’ could easily have become tedious, turning such a force for good into a negative. Yet it made us feel good about ourselves and, as a musical soundtrack to December ’84 will linger for ever. What could Geldof and Ure do to top that? Surely they couldn’t develop the theme from a three-minute single into a massive, multi-artist concert? It could never be done! Such negativity was simply a red rag to the stubborn bull that was Mr Geldof. The seeds were already sown for the extraordinary extravaganza that was to be Live Aid.

1983 – Put on your red shoes and dance the blues

My life may have been turning more London-centric but the charts seemed to be taking on a more Celtic flavour. The Scots had been on the march since the dawn of the Eighties but in 1983, the Welsh and Irish were also enjoying some representation in the top ten.

It was all stirring guitar rock from Rhyl’s finest, The Alarm, as ’68 Guns’ made the top 20 but music doesn’t come more stirring than U2’s ‘New Year’s Day’, the first time I’d really heard the band. Four years earlier, they had performed in The Pit in the student union building at Exeter but, a few big albums later, they were evolving into a stadium band. Altered Images returned with the wonderful ‘Don’t Talk to Me About Love’ and Simple Minds furthered their growing reputation with ‘Waterfront’.

Another young bunch emanating from north of the border were Big Country. They really wore their Scottishness on their sleeves. Part of the band’s unique sound came from a bagpipe-like guitar effect and, to emphasise their Celtic credentials still further, singer Stuart Adamson was fond of wearing a tartan headscarf. Long before Mel Gibson smeared himself with blue paint for Braveheart, listening to Big Country achieved the same effect of instilling undying love of the thistle and saltire – even if you were English through and through! ‘Fields of Fire’, ‘Chance’ and the thrilling 'In a Big Country’ all sounded great, as did the following year’s ‘Wonderland’. Like so many in the business, addiction to alcohol did for Adamson and he committed suicide in 2001.

He had been a founder member of The Skids, a common sight on TV in 1979-1981. At the same time, fellow Scots The Tourists also had some chart success but in ’83, two of their line-up changed their look, their name and musical style and became huge stars. As Eurythmics, Annie Lennox’s startling short orange hair and powerful voice blended beautifully with Dave Stewart’s synths and talent for production. ‘Sweet Dreams’ was an instant hit, then ‘Who’s That Girl?’ and ‘Love is a Stranger’ provided more of the same. For years to come, each Eurythmics release was top-notch: subtle, sometimes lyrically dark but always an enjoyable listen.

I can’t say the same for Jim Steinman’s melodramatic rock operettas. I’d cheerily consign every Meatloaf record to the ocean floor, and his contribution to Bonnie Tyler’s career revival that year was little better. ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ dominated March, bludgeoning even ‘Billie Jean’ into submission, and just the sight of Tyler’s big hair, let alone the sound of her husky voice, brings me out in shivers. I much preferred the number one by the even huskier-toned Rod Stewart. I know he’s not officially Scottish, but ‘Baby Jane’ was one of the finest pop songs of the year and (in spite of that sax solo!) up there with his best.

It was a good year for Australia, too. Their cricket team may have been in the doldrums but, thanks in no small part to the popularity of comedian Paul Hogan and his Foster’s lager ads, the tongue-in-cheek Oz humour in Men at Work’s ‘Down Under’ took the single and source album to number one on both sides of the Atlantic in January. The video and lyrics contrived to include all sorts of Aussie stereotypes, but all in good faith! ‘Waiting for a Train’ was another good top-tenner by an Australian band; this time, Flash and the Pan. I don’t think I’ve heard it in the radio since then but I was obviously not the only person who liked it at the time.

Not sure if they were at work, but there were also Men Without Hats, but this lot were from Canada. I actually rated their top ten single ‘Safety Dance’ as one of 1983’s musical highlights. The Wiltshire-filmed English folky video is a bit bonkers but thoroughly entertaining for a song written in frustration at over-zealous bouncers who once stopped the lead singer from pogo-ing at a gig!

A different perspective of Australia was offered in a now-classic video featuring David Bowie. In the documentary 5 Years, Nile Rogers claimed with some credibility that Bowie had approached him with a request to “write me some hits” True to form, the disco legend duly delivered. Not only that, but he presented David with his most successful single and album of his illustrious career.  With his bottle blonde quiff and generously-proportioned trousers, this was an altogether more mainstream Eighties image for the famous fashionisto. ‘Let’s Dance’ swept Duran Duran aside in April, then both ‘Chinese Girl’ and ‘Modern Love’ peaked at two. Of the trio, my favourite was the second, featuring as it did the familiar guitarwork of the ex-Chic man. Setting aside the controversially sexy video, here’s a live performance from that year’s Serious Moonlight tour. 

Nile Rogers wasn’t the only Seventies disco pioneer riding a new wave of popularity in 1983. I recall that August hearing the toe-tapping intro to KC and the Sunshine Band’s ‘Give it Up’ while strolling to the beach at the then small Tenerife resort of Playa de las Americas, and it had most of Europe dancing all summer. During the holiday the hotel poolside PA system was occasionally fond of playing another excellent track: ‘Everything Counts’ by Depeche Mode. Vince Clarke may have left, but their more political songs nonetheless retained the same winning combination of electronic melody and rhythm.  

Synths were to the fore in Howard Jones’ quirky ‘New Song’, accompanied on TOTP by the crazily made-up mime dancer Jed Hoile. Spiky-haired Howard had several hits in the mid-Eighties, most of them intelligently crafted productions like ‘Like to Get to Know You Well’ and the haunting ballad ‘Hide and Seek’, which he played at Live Aid. I even bought his album of 12” singles a few years later. 12” singles really took off in 1983 thanks to another synth act, New Order. They barely cracked the singles top ten but spent several months in the charts with ‘Blue Monday’. Their famously rough and raw live performance on TOTP certainly blew me away, even if I hadn’t caught on with the rest of their music or their Joy Division back story.  

It was about two years later when I first heard the record in a dancing scenario: that initial burst of chest-thudding drum machine tattoo, then gradually layer upon layer are added for about two minutes before Bernard Sumner’s cold vocals and Peter Hook’s chiming bass kick in. It’s a slow-burner, but now it probably gets more airplay on mainstream radio than it did when first released. “How does it feel….?” Very nostalgic, since you ask! 

Duran Duran finally hit the singles pinnacle for the first time with ‘Is There Something I Should Know?’ but just a month later they were trumped by New Romantic rivals Spandau Ballet. Gone were the swirling ‘Highlander’ costumes and in were the smart jackets as Tony Hadley crooned ‘True’. I confess I hated it. I remember it being number one for TOTP’s 1000^th show and wishing the landmark had been celebrated with a decent record. Of course, that distinctive and deceptively simple guitar two-note riff intro has never been away after more than three decades. At least it’s better than the follow-up ‘Gold’ which gets dragged out of semi-retirement every Olympics.

However, both acts were outdone by Culture Club. After that initial explosion of celebrity the previous autumn, Boy George and the gang went even further in ’83. ‘Church of the Poison Mind’ was an upbeat Motown-esque number with Helen Terry’s Aretha-like backing vocals, but then came ‘Karma Chameleon’. It held the top spot for six weeks, easily selling a million, more than any other single that year.  Effortlessly catchy, it wasn’t really up my alley, but was easily their most commercial record. I still don’t know what a Karma Chameleon is. I recall George at the time dodging the question by saying enigmatically that “there are a lot of them in the music business”. The ‘Boy’ had long since emerged from the Blitz Club chrysalis to burst into a brilliant butterfly, but fame was already taking its toll. Fortunately they still had the haunting December hit ‘Victims’ to come; for me, the best of their back catalogue.

In the early Eighties, Bananarama were hardly an accomplished singing or dancing entity but, as the only commercial ‘girl group’ around, their sales and media coverage were inflated relative to their talent. But of course pop music was ever thus. ‘Cruel Summer’ was their biggest hit of 1983, but ‘Robert De Niro’s Waiting’ the following year was arguably their most popular, at least in their first incarnation.

They had made their debut with Funboy 3, the splinter group from The Specials in ’82 but my pick of their singles was their last, ‘Our Lips Are Sealed’. Originally a bouncy Go-Gos song with Belinda Carlisle on vocals, Terry Hall, Lynval Johnson and Neville Staples transformed it into a brooding, almost menacing number, with pleasant harmonies but a danceable beat behind them.

There wasn’t much of their 2Tone history evident in that top ten single, and neither was there any punk rock detectable in Siouxsie and the Banshees’ surprise success with the old hippy era John Lennon composition ‘Dear Prudence’. I hadn’t heard the Beatles original but for once I actually prefer the Siouxsie version.

Sting seemed to be losing his commercial touch on the Synchronicity album, with one notable exception: ‘Every Breath You Take’. Strange how a dark tale of a possessive lover should be interpreted as the ultimate romantic song, but it earned Sting and the band just about every award going in the UK and USA, and time has treated it extremely well. Godley and Crème’s black and white video is so atmospheric, too.

The Police were on the wane but Wham were definitely moving centre stage. Their early mix of pop and white boy rap was evolving into something more intelligent. My choice Wham hit was 1983’s ‘Club Tropicana’.  The video portrayed George Michael and Andrew Ridgely as the babe magnets they undoubtedly were back then, at least in the eyes of teenage girls. It was a few years before teenage boys might have believed themselves to be in with a chance of snaring George. Rather than being a shameless paeon to Eighties consumer excess, Michael admitted it was entirely tongue-in-cheek. Whatever; it remains a fabulous slice of summer pop and should be played at every Mediterranean disco from now to eternity.

Nick Rhodes’ protoges Kajagoogoo briefly threatened to be The Next Big Thing. When ‘Too Shy’ flew to number one in February, it seemed inevitable that stupid hairstyles and an even dumber name would propel Limahl and co to pop royalty like Rhodes’ Duran Duran. Thankfully that didn’t happen, but they were all over the papers in 1983.

Genesis had their biggest single success with ‘Mama’ while Phil Collins had his first solo chart-topper with ‘You Can’t Hurry Love’. Prog-rocker Phil was now beginning to raid the Sixties for inspiration and consequent hits. I just couldn’t equate his dreary America-friendly movie ballads with the Genesis output throughout that decade. Oh, well. If you can carry off two simultaneous careers, you’re doing something right. Hats off to him.

Tracey Ullman was a very popular star thanks to her work in sketch comedies A Kick up The Eighties and Three of a Kind. Then she brought her golden touch to a brief pop music career. It wasn’t only Mr Collins harking back to the Sixties. Ullman’s debut ‘Breakaway’ was a 1964 cover, but at least the follow-up was written by Kirsty McColl, even if it had a retro sound. ‘They Don’t Know’ was one of my favourites of 1983. She even managed to lure Paul McCartney into the humorous ‘riches to rags’ video, presumably in return for her role in Macca’s own movie being filmed at the time. She spent more than two decades becoming immensely successful in the States but at the time of writing, our Tracey has moved back to the UK with a BBC TV comeback. Much as I loved ‘They Don’t Know’, I sincerely hope she doesn’t also attempt a new album!

Also on the light entertainment side of pop were The Flying Pickets. They were unashamed Socialists (not a dirty word in my own dictionary) and had been around for a while before they released a beautiful a capella version of Yazoo’s ‘Only You’. It dominated the Christmas charts and did no harm to Vince Clarke’s bank balance. Fast forward more than twenty-five years and, as part of the Quantock Musical Theatre Society’s tenor section, I performed a variation on the Pickets’ a cappela arrangement at various concerts. It took a hell of a lot of rehearsing but when we got the timing perfect, it sounded fantastic!

Another of my personal picks from the year was ‘Moonlight Shadow’, featuring the musical talents of Mike Oldfield and enchanting voice of Maggie Reilly. Number one across Europe, it peaked at three here. Not exactly a song that was ‘cool’ to admire, it nonetheless sounded mystical, magical, majestic. Beautiful production was a ‘given’ given Oldfield’s involvement, and his guitar solo lent an additional rocky vibe towards the end.

In the autumn, there was no escaping the light reggae of UB40’s ‘Red, Red Wine and Lionel Richie’s percussive classic ‘All Night Long’, and I was captivated by The Cure’s TOTP performance of ‘Love Cats’. However, I can’t say they occupy the same status in my head as they do in others’. Parts of my soundtrack, yes, but not necessarily parts I’d want replayed incessantly.

It was a phenomenal year for Paul Young. His ‘No Parlez’ album was second only to ‘Thriller’ in 1983 sales, and yielded three big singles. A 27 year-old veteran, Young’s good looks were heaven sent for the mid-Eighties conservative pop scene. His soulful voice offered something different, but I wasn’t particularly enamoured of his number one, ‘Wherever I Lay My Hat’. The more up-tempo ‘Come Back and Stay’ sounded more interesting but it was Paul’s re-release of his own cover of ‘Love of the Common People’ which caught my imagination and reached number two in December. Backed by the female singers The Royal Family, it sounded incredible to me. I couldn’t understand how it had flopped on its original release.

Paul Young had further success with well-produced sugary ballads in the next few years and he is immortalised by his opening lines of Band Aid’s ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas’. However, 1983 was his annus mirabilis.

The percussion heard in ‘Love of the Common People’ was also a feature of The Thompson Twins who were one of the most consistently successful acts of the year. They weren’t twins, and Tom Bailey, Alannah Currie and Joe Leeway were obviously not even related, yet the trio were constant TOTP performers. ‘Love On Your Side’ was quite New Wavey, ‘We Are Detectives’ a bit jokey but ‘Hold Me Now’ was top quality pop with that distinctive xylophone rhythm track. ‘Doctor Doctor’ and ‘You Take Me Up’ were more successful in 1984 but, as with Paul Young, I consider their best stuff to have graced the charts in 1983. I feel The Thompson Twins have been unfairly ignored, victims of the even greater success of Duran Duran, the Spands, Wham et al.

I did have a fleeting acquaintance – in the loosest possible sense of the word - with the band. At that time, I worked next door to the offices of their record company Arista in London’s Cavendish Square. One lunchtime, I actually saw Currie and Leeway emerging down the steps but, disappointingly, missing their lead singer.

One act which most certainly was not buried under tomes of media coverage and multi-layered New Wave memories was Michael Jackson. Gone was the afro, in was the new nose, but this was still unmistakeably an adult version of the remarkably talented teenage entertainer of the Seventies.

The world seemed to fall comprehensively under the spell of ‘Thriller’, and even now, well into the twenty-first century, no other album has come close to the global sales commanded by this one. Yet, I wasn’t one of those seduced. So many singles rolled off its production line. The title tune had a catchy riff, ‘Beat It’ boasted that Eddie Van Halen guitar solo, ‘The Girl is Mine’ featured that man McCartney again but the only track which grabbed me by the throat and refused to relinquish its grip was ‘Billie-Jean’. It managed only one week at the top over here, before Bonnie Tyler’s irritating epic gave Jacko a wee nudge off the summit. Yet the constant playing of that imaginative video, boosted by the infant MTV channel, made it a near-perfect package for the time. The pet cat-turned-tiger was an over-employed visual device but Michael’s swivels and spins to that simple but insistent dance groove proved irresistible. The subtle pastels must have influenced Michael Mann in his ‘Miami Vice’ imaginings, too.

The track was apparently produced to within an inch of its life but the effort was worth it in the end. If ‘I Want You Back’ was Michael Jackson at his most joyous, ‘Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough’ at his most sparkling and ‘Show You the Way to Go’ at his most assured, ‘Billie-Jean’ was the icon at the peak of his powers. There were plenty more hits, but everything professionally and personally seemed to take a downward trajectory.

By the end of the year, a new single by an unknown Liverpool band was struggling to break the top 40. Within weeks, its notoriety would create a modern recording phenomenon that would turn the UK music and pop marketing industries on their respective heads. 1984 would be a whole new ball game….

1982 – We Are Far Too Young and Clever

This was a funny old year. Musically it was a right mish-mash, with a load of chart-toppers which deserve to be buried in an impenetrable vault on a distant planet never to be rediscovered. Personally I had to knuckle down to pass my Finals and, after bingeing on the football World Cup and a nervy, uncertain summer break, enter the real world of work for the first time.

In retrospect, I’d say music took a bit of a back seat in my life, but of course it couldn’t be suppressed for long. Madness enjoyed their first and only number one, thanks to ‘House of Fun’ and those hilarious video cornershop scenes. Later on, ‘Our House’ maintained the humour but brought a more mature sound which at long last attracted an American audience. Years later, my Canadian cousin Suzanne enthused about Madness but seemed oblivious of the band’s umpteen previous hits.

New Romanticism was now the mainstream, and the decade burst into a carnival of colour. Most of it must have been compressed into Duran Duran’s most famous album, ‘Rio’. Released in May, it was kept off the top by a combination of Complete Madness and Roxy Music’s Avalon, but it has become perhaps the quintessential early-Eighties record.

And Duran Duran changed videos forever. Madness ventured out of London briefly for a Great Yarmouth rollercoaster ride. Meanwhile, Simon and the boys sweltered in pastels under the fierce sun of Sri Lanka. Exotic didn’t begin to describe it. I didn’t much like ‘Hungry Like a Wolf’ at the time, ‘Rio’ was a gaudy but vibrant video without a song but the single which split the two was fantastic. ‘Save a Prayer’ was five and a half minutes of beautiful melody, a stunning synth which would have wowed me even without one of the most atmospheric promo films I’ve had the pleasure of watching. The band got a bit too big for their boots in the subsequent years but, despite their number ones, for me the less successful ‘Rio’ era in 1982 stands as their career highpoint.

Later in the year, I distinctly remember watching TOTP the week we had our first televisual experience of Culture Club. The tabloids had been bigging up the performance of their debut single ‘Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?’ but not because of the music. No, the fuss was all centred on the lead singer and the Big Question Everyone Is Asking: Is it Male or Female? Well, if we weren’t actually asking the question, it certainly prompted discussion in the West End office of the BBC’s Central Directorates Accounts the next morning! Given that the vocalist’s stage name was Boy George, the clue was in the name. The publicity may have been politically incorrect (had the term existed) but it propelled George into the big time, with a string of top five singles. His unique fashion style was hardly surprising given his background at the Blitz Club, but his mellow asexual soulful voice was undoubtedly commercial. The rest of the band looked ‘straight’ but it emerged that they were anything but; a real dysfunctional ‘family’ which within a few years had been destroyed by sex and class A drugs.

There was nothing obviously straight about Marc Almond, but Soft Cell had four hit singles in ’82, all of which I adored. ‘Torch’ and ‘What’ were uncomplicated up-tempo synth pop, peaking at two, book-ended by a couple of epic electro ballads, ‘Where the Heart Is’ and ‘Say Hello, Wave Goodbye’. The latter, at number three in February, has remained ensconced in my list of all-time favourites ever since. I knew all the words and, perhaps encouraged by Almond’s occasionally tenuous grip on pitch and key, I used to have a sing in the bath. Might have been embarrassing in the shared facilities of Raddon House should anyone else have been sober enough to hear me and work out the source! Nobody mentioned it to my face so hopefully I got away with it.

It was also the year when ABC launched The Lexicon of Love, from which three top ten hits were borne. Like The Human League they hailed from Sheffield, but their music and lush orchestration seemed to be more transatlantic. That never goes down well with me. I recall noting in my diary at the time of ‘Poison Arrow’ that singer Martin Fry looked a cross between David Bowie and Brian Ferry. Smiling was frowned upon; it was all about The Look, and not necessarily the ‘Look of Love’! Normally dressed in silver or gold lame, with that lopsided, floppy blonde fringe, I thought Fry was trying too hard but – hey! – it did him no harm.

Tinkly pop was alive and well in the hands of Depeche Mode (‘See You’) and their Vince Clarke spin-off, Yazoo. Vince teamed up with another ex- Nicholas School pupil Alison Moyet and, despite being a decidedly odd couple, produced some great songs in their short time together.

Skinny Clarke was happy to be the quiet one at the back, writing the music and playing keyboards. ‘Alf’ Moyet, big in body as well as voice, looked like a heavyweight ‘punk’ (as her previous band had indeed been) but sounded like a first-class blues exponent. On paper, Yazoo shouldn’t have worked, but it did, thanks largely to the quality of writing. ‘Only You’ was a synth love song, while ‘Don’t Go’ was somewhat livelier. Both made number three, but it was their chalk’n’cheese image which made them so interesting. I most enjoyed their 1983 single ‘Nobody’s Diary’, but by the time it entered the top ten, the duo had announced their split. It transpired they hadn’t been such a well-suited creative couple after all. Fortunately they weren’t away for long.

Another classy musical duo who made an impression on me in ’82 were Tears For Fears. ‘Mad World’ may have been synth-heavy but compared with the likes of Depeche Mode, Yazoo, Human League, Ultravox et al, was decidedly darker in tone and content. With lyrics like “the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had” the music was perhaps more upbeat than it should have been. Indeed, the bleak 2001 Michael Andrews/Gary Jules version sounded far more apposite. Nevertheless, I really liked the Roland Orzabal/Curt Smith original, and their subsequent releases weren’t bad either.

TFF hailed from bourgeois Bath but over in Dusseldorf, Kraftwerk had been pioneering synthesizer music for years. Back in the Seventies, I remember watching a TOTP film of the slick robotic suited quartet tapping strange-looking machines and hitting ‘hot plates’ with black rods. That was ‘Autobahn’ but then in January 1982 they had an unlikely chart-topper with ‘The Model’. Strictly speaking, it was a double A-sider with ‘Computer Love’ but ‘The Model’ was far more commercial and I loved listening to it.

Perhaps less successful that year but en route for greater things was the bunch of Glaswegians known as Simple Minds. In the small halls of residence library, I occasionalIy perused the pages of Sounds or Melody Maker. Usually frustrated at being ignorant of most of the artists being written about, or not understanding most of the language it was written in, I do nonetheless remember reading praise of the band, who were finally breaking through with the New Gold Dream album. I still wasn’t really into LPs, but was decidedly intrigued by ‘Glittering Prize’. Immaculate-sounding production complemented Jim Kerr’s arty vocals and Charlie Burchill’s guitar, and they had definite student appeal. I don’t remember them appearing at the Great Hall but had they done so, I’d have regretted missing out.

Another Scottish synth-rock band with a cult following was The Associates. When they appeared on TOTP, I’m sure all of us watching in the TV room cast puzzled side-long glances at each other when singer Billy Mackenzie opened his mouth. It was just manic, frantic falsetto! What was he on?! ‘Party Fears Two’ achieved top ten status but I don’t remember their subsequent material.

Other rather bonkers performers were in the charts and, despite my aversion, my ears. The Damned’s Captain Sensible (surely the most inappropriate pop moniker) topped the UK chart with an excruciating version of South Pacific’s ‘Happy Talk’. Kid Creole enjoyed considerable success backed by his female Coconuts. His Latino lover image on hits like ‘I’m a Wonderful Thing, Baby’ was not to my taste, but the carnival sound of ‘Annie, I’m Not Your Daddy’ was mildly diverting.

Maybe they weren’t actually do-lally, but Renee and Renato held the top spot at Christmas with their semi-operatic ballad ‘Save Your Love’. So bad, it was (almost) good. I stress the ‘almost’. Only at Christmas, eh? Just behind them in December was the even more implausible pairing of David Bowie and Bing Crosby crooning ‘Little Drummer Boy’. Arrghhh! Paul McCartney joined forces with Stevie Wonder on the well-intentioned racial harmony song ‘Ebony and Ivory’ but despite its success, it’s one to forget! I also couldn’t fathom why so many people bought The Goombay Dance Band’s’ ‘7 Tears’ (German! Fire-eating! Crap!!) or Charlene’s ‘I’ve Never Been to Me’ either.

Toni Basil’s persona on ‘Mickey’ caught the eye and ear but it quickly lost its novelty appeal. I had more fondness for Chas and Dave’s ‘Ain’t No Pleasing You’, a rare foray into straight pop as opposed to their trademark pub singalong ‘Rockney’. German threesome Trio went to number two with the very simple ‘Da Da Da’: deadpan vocals accompanied mainly by a basic pre-programmed rhythm on a Casio keyboard rather than a Moog, Fairlight or Roland synthesizer.

Catherine was into Haircut 100, as close to a twenty-first century boy band as we got in 1982. Nick Heyward was a cheerful front man of a band which dressed in fishermen’s style knitted jumpers or scarves, releasing pleasant but flimsy singles like ‘Love Plus One’. 20 year-old Heyward seemed destined for bigger things but he parted company with his bandmates in 1983, had a few decent solo singles and faded from the scene. It’s not on Wikipedia but I reckon Haircut 100 returned to earth two decades later as Busted. I saw Heyward on telly recently and was struck by his appearance. He's my age yet looked at least ten years younger. Lucky b*st*rd...

The Jam had their best year, singles-wise, but their music was evolving. My favourite was ‘The Bitterest Pill’, a slowish Sixtie-ish record backed by lush strings. It was kept from the top by Survivor’s ‘Eye of the Tiger’ but both ‘A Town Called Malice’ and ‘Beat Surrender’ went all the way. Nevertheless, Paul Weller’s transformation from angry young mod to blue-eyed soul-boy was almost complete by the end of 1982, and that was that for The Jam. It was several years later when I bought their collection ‘Snap!’ and realised once and for all what a great band they had been. It wasn’t just the singles, but also the album tracks like ‘Man in the Corner Shop’ and ‘Tales from the Riverbank’ that marked them out. It’s a shame that Weller no longer plays more than one or two Jam songs in his current gigs but I suppose he is entitled to place more emphasis on his twenty-year solo career, dammit..

My favourite punk band The Stranglers were also developing a different sound. The keyboards, whilst always integral to their sound were taking centre stage and Hugh Cornwell’s growl was evolving into a pleasant croon. ‘Golden Brown’ was even written in 6:8 waltz time. Was it about heroin? Possibly. Difficult to dance to? Definitely! Nevertheless, it made for a beautiful listen, and only The Jam stood in the way of a first number one single. They were never dull and deserve to be considered one of the best British bands of the Seventies and Eighties.

Disco was officially dead but while Kool and the Gang were around there was music to dance to. I know the ‘Kool’ referred to bass player Robert Bell but to me it was singer JT Taylor always seemed so cool with a ‘C’. They’d already released ‘Celebration’ and ‘Ladies Night’ but, with Taylor’s no-frills soulful vocals, ‘Get Down on It’ was their most successful single, making three in January. It was also the one that made me jig about more than any other! Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards also gave Carly Simon an Eighties hit with ‘Why’, right up there with most of their Chic material.

 The American TV series ‘Fame’ was hugely popular. Like its descendant ‘Glee’, the tales of talented young New York entertainers left me cold, but it built on the 1980 movie to create the second biggest selling single and album of 1982. Irene Cara’s theme song was a huge summer hit, while the ‘Kids from Fame’ sold out arenas for years to come. Not my scene but it spawned any number of teen dance blockbusters and massive sales of leg-warmers in the subsequent few years.  

When Pigbag recorded ‘Papa’s Got a Brand New Pigbag’ I doubt they anticipated it being sung at football matches three decades later. However, the exuberant, brassy instrumental made for an enjoyable diversion from the Falkland War horrors in April and May. The Steve Miller Band’s ‘Abracadabra’ and Rockers Revenge’s ‘Walking on Sunshine’ were also really good, even though unfamiliar to twenty-first century Premier League crowds. 

In September, I started working at the BBC in Palladium House with a mixed bunch of individuals with musical tastes ranging from Dionne Warwick’s ‘Heartbreaker’ to new pop duo Wham. Not only was I earning my first salary (£4,970 per year!) but also travelling into Central London by train and Tube offered my first real taste of multiculturalism. On TV and the radio, too, British reggae was notably prominent. Birmingham schoolboys Musical Youth topped the chart with ‘Pass the Dutchie’ then Eddy Grant did the same with the rather staid and sedate ‘I Don’t Wanna Dance’. The former had novelty value given the age of the artists but, to be honest, not a lot else.

I was never a fan of glossy soul-dance, and therefore American trio Shalamar weren’t really my bag. They were on the radio a lot, so hard to avoid. Howard Hewett was the lead singer but, as then only female, Jody Watley garnered the most attention from the media. However, when they were due to perform ‘Night to Remember’ on TOTP that summer, only Jeffrey Darnell took to the floor. This turned out to be one of the most memorable three minutes in the show’s history. A noted dancer, Darnell proceeded to make jaws drop with his ‘body-popping’ to the song. It was the first time any of us had witnessed what was to become known as ‘moonwalking’, and Michael Jackson went on to make it his own. Fortunately he credited Darnell and signed him up to co-choreograph some of Jacko’s most celebrated videos like ‘Smooth Criminal’. Of course, after that TOTP broadcast, we all had a sneaky attempt at that ‘back-sliding’ manoeuvre, but I’ve never seen anyone pull it off successfully in real life. 

I spent a fortnight between university and the world of work with Mum and Dad in the Austrian Tirol. Loads of fresh Alpine air, magnificent mountain scenery and pleasant strolls around gorgeous green meadows were just what the doctor ordered. We also explored the surrounding towns and valleys by holiday company coach. Two of them were guided by our own hotel rep who proved to be a very informative and entertaining host. On the return journeys home he tended to shut up and let us relax or doze to a soundtrack of piano music. To my surprise, I found myself listening and quite enjoying what I heard; the music sounded perfect for a mountain drive. To such an extent that, alighting from the vehicle one occasion, I made sure of noting the title and artist on the cassette case: ‘Impresionen’ by Richard Clayderman. At the time I’d never heard of him but, while that particular album was unknown in the UK, the young blonde classical pianist soon became a household name and, dare I say it, sex symbol. However, for me, he is forever associated with chalets and cowbells. 

The biggest single hit of 1982 was undoubtedly ‘Come On Eileen’ by Dexy’s Midnight Runners’. Kevin Rowland’s ensemble was now all about folky fiddles and unappealing dungarees and this record was a weird mish-mash of Celtic dance, tribute to Johnny Ray and young love which somehow struck a chord. Indeed, as well as selling a million, ‘Come On Eileen’ proceeded to be part of my life soundtrack for many years to follow. A perennial favourite at Rotaract discos and wedding receptions, it was a song which would elicit groans all around and yet provide a clarion call for the dancefloor to fill with idiots eager to do that final manic accelerating ‘can-can’. An Eighties classic!