1986 - Faces on posters, too many choices

At the start of 1986 I declared my fledgling accountancy career dead and buried, pinning my colours to audience research for the foreseeable future. Away from the office, I was also becoming more and more involved with Billericay Rotaract, with a knock-on impact on my musical diet. However, everyone was listening to Madonna.

There was no danger of Madonna suffering third album syndrome. True Blue even managed to out-sell Brothers in Arms. It yielded three number one singles, a number four and the first release, ‘Live To Tell’, was pipped to the post by Austria’s finest, Falco, and his mad and maddening Mozart musical biography ‘Rock Me Amadeus’. 

I really loved ‘Live To Tell’, a powerful ballad featuring Madonna simultaneously strong yet emotionally vulnerable.  I reckon it has also stood the test of time better than most of her Eighties hits. Yet 1986 also featured the re-released ‘Borderline’ (so-so), ‘Papa Don’t Preach’ (controversial social comment), the title track (catchy bubblegum pop) and ‘Open Your Heart’ (trademark dance). The Hispanic rhythms of ‘La Isla Bonita’ also sailed serenely to the top the following Spring. I happily admit to buying the album, too, and there’s barely a duff track on it, even if nowadays the Bray/Leonard production screams “Eighties!” a bit too loudly. 

I don’t know whether La Ciccone was already being dubbed the Queen of Pop, but were that the case, in 1986 she faced considerable competition for the title. Another platinum blonde, Annie Lennox, sounded imperious on ‘Thorn in My Side’, Alison Moyet sang the upbeat ‘Is This Love?’, Diana Ross burst back to the top with Barry Gibb’s ‘Chain Reaction’ and then there were Kate Bush and Whitney Houston.

Our Kate had wowed the critics and public the previous year when the Hounds of Love album came out. I wasn’t that fussed on the lead single ‘Running Up The Hill’ but for me the title song contained a much more exciting mix of melody and melodrama, although it was a relative failure in the charts. For all the Kate Bush mystique and subsequent goddess status, ‘Hounds of Love’ is probably the last of her songs which floated my boat. 

My first impression of Whitney had been a decent balladeer with slicked back hair crooning ‘Saving All My Love For You’ the previous December. A few months later, that image was dramatically transformed for ‘How Will I Know?’ Suddenly she was this vibrant, vivacious pop princess, backed by perky production from Narada Michael Walden, whose sound seemed to epitomise the 1986-87 period, even more than Madonna. I much preferred Houston in this mode to the big-voiced soul diva heard on the follow-up ‘The Greatest Love of All’.

Corinne Drewery was another face of 1986. As front woman of Swing Out Sister, her tall frame and severe ‘bob’ were on TOTP when her band were performing the exuberant ‘Breakout’. It had horns, subtle synths and backing vocals which begged you to dance and sing along. It even earned them a Grammy nomination.

Passing quickly over Sinitta’s irritating summer smash ‘So Macho’, I have to mention Bananarama’s triumphant comeback with ‘Venus’. Their famously unsynchronised dancing remained, but their new production team of Stock/Aitken/Waterman lent the trio a hitherto absent respectability in dance music, which was to serve both sides well in the coming years. Apparently S/A/W had needed persuasion that ‘Venus’ would work, so maybe Pete Waterman has the genius of Woodward, Fahey and Dallin, not his own, to thank for his lucrative career as manager of The Hit Factory. 

Suzanne Vega represented the flip side to Bananarama of the female pop star. On the back of her debut releases, ‘Marlene on the Wall’ and ‘Left of Centre’, I bravely bought her eponymous album. To my surprise, I fell in love with the folky songstress’s largely acoustic masterpiece ‘The Queen and the Soldier’. I still marvel at the lyrics which paint such vivid pictures that when I first listened, stopped me dead in my tracks, tears in my eyes. It sounds pretty powerful live, too. Working in the BBC’s audience research department, my job took me each Monday afternoon to the office of Radio 1’s Chief Assistant Dave Price. I remember in one meeting someone else entered and clumsily nudged a copy of Vega’s follow-up LP ‘Solitude Standing’. Dave was aghast, declaring it sacrilege to mess with such a record. That may have been pushing it a bit but the quiet New Yorker had undoubtedly cornered the market in intelligent melodious music. I’d love to hear her live. 

Emanating from the West Coast, The Bangles also made an impression on me. Well, Susannah Hoffs’ eyes did! The all-female quartet’s version of Prince’s ‘Manic Monday’ was infectious, a three-minute slice of dreamy real life, and those ‘peepers’ also turned me to jelly on the huge 1989 hit ‘Eternal Flame’ However, in my opinion, Hoffs’ voice wasn’t quite as exquisite as her face! Oh, well, nobody’s perfect! 

With the world supposedly on hold awaiting the successor to ‘Thriller’, 1986 was also the year in which Janet Jackson emerged from her brother’s shadow. When still a teenager, her ‘Control’ album was her first away from her family’s oppressive clutches, and delivered several Top 20 singles. ‘What Have You Done for Me Lately?’ reached three, as did 1987’s pleasant ballad ‘Let’s Wait a While’ but my pick of the tracks was ‘When I Think of You’. The official video was a messy mass of musical theatre, featuring a cast of thousands but as a dance record it was dazzling.

Probably the British act with more weeks on the chart in ’86 than any other was Five Star. Ah, Five Star! The band The Jacksons could have been had Janet and LaToya been roped in after Michael’s departure. Well, maybe not. After all, they did come from Romford. The Pearson family quintet had four top 10 singles that year, led by ‘System Addict’ and ‘Rain or Shine’ but I didn’t particularly like them. With careful styling, lead singer Denise bore a definite resemblance to Janet Jackson, which must have been the intention. Nevertheless, in 1986 it was the Pearsons who edged the Jacksons, but their dominance wasn’t to last very long.

This was a year of big hair and even bigger ballads. ‘Poodle rock’ entered the vocabulary, a perfectly apt description when you look at Bon Jovi – whose perennial stadium-pleaser ‘Livin’ On a Prayer’ reached number four – and unlikely Swedish rock gods Europe, who topped the charts with the dreadful but still-popular chart-topper, ‘The Final Countdown’. At least Steven Tyler’s shaggy locks were more old-school. He and Aerosmith played second fiddle to Run DMC on the utterly brilliant rock-rap mash-up ‘Walk This Way’. I’m no great fan of either genre but, from the infectiously foot-tapping intro, this record changed my perception of hip-hop. The video was refreshingly tongue-in-cheek, too.

As for the big balladeers, hair was less of an issue. Berlin’s ‘Take My Breath Away’ probably owed more to the appeal of hot young film star Tom Cruise and his box-office smash Top Gun. Nick Berry’s ‘Every Loser Wins’ owed everything to the song’s frequent references on the nation’s new favourite ‘soap’, Eastenders, in which Berry played unlucky-in-love Wicksy. Chris De Burgh’s ‘Lady In Red’ was unashamedly romantic, an instant hit at weddings even when the bride is wearing white. (Its main problem was De Burgh himself. I just couldn’t take him seriously. I don’t mean as a singer, but as a human being). Rod Stewart also checked in with one of his more grandiose efforts, a love song not just for a woman but for “the northern lights and the swirling pipes, how they make a grown man cry”. The prominent bagpipes reappeared on his 1991 hit ‘Rhythm of my Heart’, and they never fail to stir the blood, even in a non-Celt like me. 

I normally prefer my love songs subtler. Fortunately 1986 delivered a few which fitted the bill. ‘Absolute Beginners’ was heralded as the musical which would resurrect the British film industry. It failed, of course, but David Bowie’s epic theme song deserved better. He’s so cool in the monochrome video, too, but could he ever be anything else?

Status Quo surprised us all in October when they released the strangely grown-up slowish tempo ‘In The Army Now’, which proved to be one of their most successful singles. Even Francis Rossi wore a smart jacket in the promo. Around the same time, Spandau Ballet’s ‘Through the Barricades’ is perhaps the finest moment of both writer Gary Kemp and singer Tony Hadley, a million times better than ‘True’ or ‘Gold’! Hull’s finest The Housemartins narrowly missed out on the Christmas top spot with their a capella version of ‘Caravan of Love’. In striking contrast to their entertainingly energetic debut, ‘Happy Hour’, this showed that Paul Heaton could sing as well as write. In my humble opinion, 1987’s ‘Build’ was even better, though. The band may have split in 1988 but of course the division merely hastened the arrival of The Beautiful South and Fatboy Slim. 

Andrew Lloyd Webber’s new musical ‘Phantom of the Opera’ was introduced with two successful singles. The theme tune featured Sarah Brightman alongside Steve Harley, but it was Cliff Richard who got to snog the composer’s wife in the video to ‘All I Ask Of You’. That must have been an unfamiliar experience for him!  Jenny was quick to buy tickets for the show, and I was amongst the Billericay Rotaract crowd who went to Her Majesty’s Theatre that autumn. Me and opera don’t usually mix, but I was captivated by the blend of clever staging, beautiful melodies and Michael Crawford’s performance in the lead role. His rendition of ‘Music of the Night’ was jaw-dropping, and it entered the top ten early the following year. In three decades, the musical has never left the West End and I’m not surprised. 

Cliff was part of another unexpected collaboration in the Spring. It all came about when the Comic Relief charity was launched. Someone had the bright idea of releasing a fund-raising single and it turned out to be Cliff’s ‘Living Doll’. This being a comedy event, he had to share top billing with The Young Ones, who provided the humour. And indeed it was quite funny, and the record was the fourth biggest-seller of the whole year! This had more jokes in it than another chart-topper, Spitting Image’s ‘Chicken Song’. The ITV satirical puppet show had become part of British cultural life, but this unfunny parody of summer holiday singalong hits was more atrocious than was strictly necessary. 

The Fluck and Law animators also had a hand (and numerous strings) in the success of a Genesis song. Collins, Rutherford and Banks enjoyed their most commercial pop album with ‘Invisible Touch’, featuring several memorable singles. ‘In Too Deep’ was a beautiful ballad, the title track a livelier affair and ‘Land of Confusion' a synth rock fusion, backed by a video which showed at least that Genesis weren’t afraid to have the urine extracted. True to Spitting Image tradition, the puppets weren’t exactly flattering likenesses, but they didn’t prevent the record peaking at 14, best of all the album’s releases. In truth, it was more insulting to perennial Spitting Image target President Reagan, and I wouldn’t complain about that. 

Invisible Touch was a long distance removed from the days when Peter Gabriel fronted the band. Yet 1986 was the year when the influential musician and composer truly made his mark on the Eighties. After four albums without titles, he released ‘So’, which proved at least as commercially triumphant as the Genesis production. The highlight was the innuendo-laden ‘Sledgehammer’. I did like the song but it’s impossible to think of it without the imaginative imagery of the animated video. Apparently it remains the most played video on MTV, and won every award going. Gabriel seemed so cool and, with his unshaken belief in social activism with Amnesty International and World Music, he is admirable in a way that probably no other musician – not even Bono or Geldof – has ever been.

World Music also achieved greater recognition courtesy of Paul Simon. His work with South African musicians on Graceland was highly controversial at the time and, to be honest, African rhythms aren’t my cup of tea. Nevertheless, the single ‘You Can Call Me Al’ was highly engaging. The famously grumpy singer-writer allowed himself to be sent up in the official video, in which he is upstaged by the considerably taller Chevy Chase. The comedian is probably funnier in this four-minute sequence than all his National Lampoon films combined. So, for that matter, is Paul Simon.

There was some peculiar stuff in the upper echelons of the singles chart, too. I must have long since blotted from my mind the big hits by Nana Mouskouri, Su Pollard (of TV sitcom Hi-De-Hi) etc, but the opening Moroder beats of SIgue Sigue Sputnik’s debut single have unfortunately stayed with me. ‘Love Missile No.9’ was launched early in the year, ignited by a potent marketing campaign. They were punks for the Thatcher generation, but they lacked the music to go with the scary hair and make-up. Their follow-ups must have been damp squibs as they have thankfully been forgotten. On the other hand, Larry Blackmon’s infamous red codpiece on Cameo’s ‘Word Up’ is emblazoned on my memory. A superior slice of  R’n’B, though.

Wham said goodbye, performing their farewell Wembley concert in June, at the same time Edge of Heaven was their final number one. However, it was hello to The Communards. With ex-Bronski Beat gay icons Jimmy Somerville and (the future Reverend) Richard Coles at the helm, their hi-NRG cover of ‘Don’t Leave Me This Way’ swept aside all-comers. It sold barely 600,000 copies but it was the best of a poor bunch. Another electro-pop duo Erasure also enjoyed their first big hit, ‘Sometimes’. Vince Clarke and Andy Bell were to give us some of the best pop of the late Eighties.

Despite the exhortations from Morrissey to ‘Hang the DJ’, the club scene didn’t collapse, but I did enjoy the short but sweet Smiths song ‘Panic’ and the conspicuously jolly ‘Ask’, both of which entered the top 20. Other favourites included The Human League’s US-friendly ‘Human’, ex-punks The Damned’s faithful copy of ‘Eloise’ and A-Ha’s rockier but ravishing ‘I’ve Been Losing You’. However, the one that really penetrated my consciousness was ‘The Way it Is’ by Bruce Hornsby and the Range. I couldn’t help taping it several times, just loving the perky piano riffs set against a beautiful bed of synth. Hearing it again now, it doesn’t quite excite me as it did thirty years earlier but, as with the successor ‘Mandolin Rain’, still better than most.

I’ve mentioned the development of the CD, and Radio 1 demonstrated its commitment to cutting edge technology by broadcasting more and more programmes using the shiny silver circles. Bruno Brookes Compact Disc Jockey became a Bank Holiday Monday staple on the network, “a non-stop music show entirely on compact disc”. Wow! The records sounded so good on our stereo system and very ordinary speakers. Or was it just my imagination? Some of the hits seemed tailor-made for the new medium. Not only Dire Straits, but anything with a synth purring in the background. George Michael’s ‘A Different Corner’, Level 42’s ‘Leaving Me Now’ and ‘Captain of her Heart’ by Double (pronounced the French way) spring to mind.

Another act whose intricate yet super-smooth production typified the early CD era was The Pet Shop Boys. They weren’t spring chickens and success was hardly overnight but when I heard the first strains of ‘West End Girls’ just before the previous Christmas, I knew this was something special. It eventually topped the chart by elbowing out Shaky’s ‘Merry Christmas Everyone’ and has never left me since. It’s not just an Eighties record; it has stood the test of time better than anything from 1986, sending chills down my spine at every listen.

‘Love Comes Quickly’ took a while to grow on me, while ‘Suburbia’ probably overdoes the sound effects and ‘Opportunities’ is a foot-tapping critique of the burgeoning Yuppie phenomenon. And they had so much more to give! How many people have achieved 22 Top 10 singles and continue to maintain credibility from 1986’s debut album ‘Please’ to 2016’s ‘Super’. Back then, you could actually see Chris Lowe’s eyes and Neil Tennant boasted a full head of dark curls before he became a silver-topped national treasure. Could 1987 top ’86 for the PSBs? Well, yes. Actually…..