1987 – We know the game and we’re gonna play it

Classy songwriters saved the day in a year otherwise exemplified by somewhat boring music and, apart from increasing my involvement in Billericay Rotaract, nothing notably exciting happening in my own life. Vince Clarke was composing ‘em, Andy Bell was singing ‘em, and Erasure peppered the Top 20. However it was fellow synth-pop masters The Pet Shop Boys who dominated 1987.

They topped the chart twice, with ‘It’s a Sin’ and the Christmas number one, ‘Always on My Mind’. I recall listening to a Radio 1 broadcast when Jonathan King overtly accused PSB of plagiarising ‘Wild World’, repeating “Pet Shop Boys, no talent rip-offs” over and over. I’m delighted to report that they successfully sued the notoriously opinionated producer-broadcaster. His words didn’t hurt them either where it mattered, in the music business. Other acts seemed perfectly happy to benefit from the PSB magic. My second-favourite PSB song, ‘What Have I Done to Deserve This?’ was prevented from making it three at the summit by the year’s biggest-seller, yet resurrected the career of Dusty Springfield. They also worked with Liza Minnelli, although it wasn’t her version of ‘Rent’ which went to number eight in ’87. Tennant and Lowe were already way beyond mere electro-popsters; arch and a tad pretentious at times, but they were definitely peerless composers.

Ditto, The Bee Gees. Barry Gibb had given Diana Ross the leg-up the previous year with ‘Chain Reaction’, wasted on the Supreme diva. Now came a similar winning song ‘You Win Again’ which became their final number one in October. The odd, industrial, almost military, beat backed a typical clever melody, Barry lead vocal and fraternal harmonies and reminded me just how good they were, and had been for twenty years.

Yet some of the biggest hits in 1987 had their beginnings before even the Gibbs started their UK chart career. Jackie Wilson had enjoyed Christmas success with ‘Reet Petite’ and now came Ben E King’s ‘Stand By Me’ (catapulted to the top by a Levi’s commercial) and Los Lobos’ lively version of ‘La Bamba’. Percy Sledge’s re-released ‘When a Man Loves a Woman’ soared to number two, as did ‘Under the Boardwalk’ by American man of the moment, Bruce Willis. Not yet a movie star, his ‘Moonlighting’ TV role provided a springboard for a surprisingly fruitful musical adventure. However, once he donned that blood-stained vest in Die Hard, we were spared any more of his retro vocal efforts. He wasn’t quite as good as he thought he was.

I preferred singles by two forty-somethings. Carly Simon purred her way through the beautiful ‘Coming Around Again’ in January, then Labi Siffre released his trademark anti-apartheid anthem, ‘(Something Inside) So Strong’. I must admit I wasn’t struck by the power of the heartfelt lyric until I came to sing it a capella with the Quantock Musical Theatre Company many years later:-

“The higher you build your barriers, the taller I become
The farther you take my rights away, the faster I will run”.

The guy could sing, too. Believe me, it was a helluva strain to try and replicate his tingling high tenor in the verses. The chorus would come as a welcome relief.

Not sure what Labi’s dancing was like, but I doubt he could have held a candle to Michael Jackson. His long-awaited successor to Thriller finally saw the light of day in August, and ‘Bad’ was actually quite good. I was surprised that the title track didn’t reach number one over here, even with Scorsese’s West Side Story homage video. Jacko’s skin tone was turning notably paler, but the ‘Bad’ single was darker and rougher than much of what had come before.

The album was the only one to out-sell the latest product from U2 but The Joshua Tree was one of my most influential albums, and one of the first I bought myself that wasn’t a compilation. The driving force was the exposure I had to the cassette in the Ford Fiesta of fellow Rotaractor Caroline. I think she purchased it as soon as it hit the shelves, and played it as we headed in a club convoy one weekend morning to Upminster station. ‘With Or Without You’ was the stand-out single, featuring the haunting ‘infinite guitar’ and gently pulsating bassline, yet there was barely a duff track on it. It possessed something that only the best albums do: being greater than the sum of its parts. And yet I would have to wait a few more years for what I’d describe as my favourite U2 record.

I have a love-hate relationship with that peculiar phenomenon, the Rock Ballad. Most are crap but, for some reason, Heart’s ‘Alone’ really grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me a shaking that hasn’t really left me. The piano intro, power-packed chorus and passionate vocals by Ann Wilson (the dark-haired sister) and the playful winding down at the end combined to tick the right boxes. It’s just the right side of the line which separates genius from obnoxiously OTT.

Two of the biggest singles of the year I would cheerfully consign to the waste bin of history: Starship’s ‘Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now’ and T’Pau’s ‘China In Your Hand’. The latter’s only redeeming feature was Carol Decker’s striking red hair which has served her rather well  ever since, even without any comparable musical triumphs.

Meanwhile Wham had vanished but George Michael was everywhere. He partnered Aretha Franklin to glory on ‘I Knew You Were Waiting’, courted controversy with the awful ‘I Want Your Sex’ and provided uncredited guest vocals on his cousin’s Boogie Box High cover of ‘Jive Talkin’’. Then came his first solo project ‘Faith’. The image of George in denim, swinging that acoustic guitar, sporting what was soon dubbed as ‘designer stubble’ transformed him from one half of a pop duo into credible soul boy in one well-crafted step. It wasn’t an image that appealed to me and neither, I’m afraid, did his music.

Social comment was alive and well in Prince’s simple but striking ‘Sign o’ the Times’ and Suzanne Vega’s ‘Luka’ but, to be honest, sometimes it’s better to just have a giggle. The Firm’s utterly silly ‘Star Trekkin’’ was just the ticket. Elsewhere, I wasn’t taken in by The Beastie Boys’ efforts to portray themselves as the new Sex Pistols and cringed at footballers Glenn and Chris (aka Hoddle and Waddle) performing ‘Diamond Lights’. On the other hand, I was mildly diverted by George Harrison’s return to the commercial big time with ‘Got My Mind Set On You’, The Proclaimers’ engaging Scottish-twin-brothers-in-big-glasses shtick on ‘Letter From America’ and the unconventional ‘Hey Matthew’ by Karel Fialka. Well, variety is the spice of musical life! 

Speaking of which, 1987 was the year when House (abbreviated from Chicago’s Warehouse club, where the genre originated) crossed over into the mainstream. It’s never been top of my list for listening but the jerky piano rhythms of Steve ‘Silk’ Hurley’s ‘Jack Your Body’ and deeper, smoother bass sound of M/A/R/R/S’ ‘Pump Up The Volume’ had something about them. They both went to number one, so I wasn’t the only person to think that way. I now know it was short for ‘ejaculation’ but although suddenly everything was Jack this, Jack that, Jack the other, when it came to song titles I still don’t really know why. 

Of course, my more conventional tastes gravitated towards the pop end of the spectrum. Like me, Johnny Hates Jazz (ouch!) but the British band seemed to pack promise when in the Spring they released the smooth silky ‘Shattered Dreams’. I associate the record with another Rotaract day out, this time a hot sunny afternoon in Cambridge. Pausing by the sprawling acres of Jesus Green, I vividly recall hearing the strains of the song floating from the radio amidst a seated group of young tourists. It sounded so serene, so perfect for the occasion. As for JHJ, I don’t remember hearing other hits, although apparently they did quite well overseas for a year or two. 

Wet Wet Wet also broke through that year. ‘Wishing I Was Lucky’ went to number six, stimulating a stream of decent singles and a huge album. Singer Marti Pellow’s perpetual smile was refreshing at first. Had any man ever looked so insanely happy on the stage?! By the time they brought out the ballad ‘Angel Eyes’, Pellow’s little vocal tics were wearing thin but WWW’s records were invariably worth a listen.

Antipodean group Crowded House provided a very different type of House music. It’s astounding to discover that their classic ballad ‘Don’t Dream It’s Over’ failed to reach the top 20 over here but it had already registered with me. They went on to become one of my favourite groups, although it needed more great songs to do so. I also liked New Order, whose brilliant, Stephen Hague-produced electro-dance anthem ‘True Faith’ raced to four, aided by a barnstorming video.

On the Mancunian theme, I wasn’t particularly enamoured of the latterday Smiths songs. However, after buying their latest singles/B-sides compilation The World Won’t Listen, I was introduced to ‘There is a Light that Never Goes Out’ and music will never seem the same again. It’s been derided as a song about suicide. I’m not so sure; I just think it’s the greatest ever song about unrequited love. Whilst I could never place myself in the same depths of despondency as Morrissey, I was a shy, sensitive soul, too, and some of the lyrics resonated with me:- 

“And in the darkened underpass I thought Oh God, my chance has come at last
(But then a strange fear gripped me and I just couldn't ask)”

Having read Morrissey’s weird and wonderful autobiography, the significance of the video becomes more obvious. It makes no direct link with the lyric but focuses on the imminent destruction of the writer’s Manchester childhood community. Maybe that was the alternative light which was about to be extinguished in a physical sense, but not in Morrissey’s mind. Whatever. What makes such a sad song so memorable was the use of such a gorgeous melody, strings and light, lilting production. Eighties indie gold!

Julian Cope didn’t quite have the feverish fanbase of The Smiths but, as I was to discover on the 1992 release of his Floored Genius collection, he was just an accomplished a singer-songwriter-performer as Morrissey and Marr. After the Teardrop Explodes era, the only song I recall hearing was ‘Eve’s Volcano’, and it didn’t even rattle the cage of the Top 40. For some reason, I associate it with a walk up Wood Lane to work at the BBC. Presumably I’d heard it on the radio that morning and it had stuck in my brain. Good job, too, because it was one of the reasons why I later bought the cassette of Floored Genius. Irony of ironies, the one song excluded from the track list was… ‘Eve’s Volcano’! Thank God for YouTube and Cope’s New York gig.

Cope had allegedly cleaned up his drug-addled act by ’87 but nobody looked more clean-cut than Colin Vearncombe, alias Black. His rather dreary dirge ‘Sweetest Smile’ may have been a Top Tenner but didn’t stick in my memory. However, when he re-released ‘Wonderful Life’, I was gob-smacked. I’ve always been a sucker for a well-crafted minor key ballad and a steel band and here was a record which boasted both delicious ingredients. Black had such a delicate croon, ideal for such a melancholic yet simultaneously curiously uplifting song, and he deservedly enjoyed international success with it. Sadly, his own wonderful life was cut cruelly short in 2016 by a car crash. It makes watching the Mersey coast-set video and lyrics like 

            “The sunshine fills my hair 

And dreams hang in the air”

even more bittersweet, and hard to hold back tears.

There was no need to cry for the prolific production team of Stock, Aitken and Waterman. SAW had their own names on the boring jazz-hip-hop ‘Roadblock’ in the summer of 1987 but it was their work with other artists which was making them much-needed money and a burgeoning reputation for finding an unfailing formula. Dead Or Alive had already provided a first number one single and Bananarama were enjoying a second spell in the limelight with entertaining records like ‘Love In the First Degree’.  

But now came the compelling sister act Mel and Kim. Their sassy style and sexy smiles dovetailed with ‘Respectable’, following their debut hit ‘Showing Out’, and big things were on the cards for the Appleby girls. Unfortunately another tragedy put paid to that. Although concealed at the time, Mel was diagnosed with cancer of the spine and within three years she had died of complications aged just 23.  

Rick Astley was alive, well and only 21 in August 1987 when his first single ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’ blazed up the charts. The shy singer from Lancashire had allegedly started as a S/A/W teaboy, a rumour happily endorsed by Pete Waterman himself. Whatever the truth, young Rick was catapulted to fame by the song’s success. As for the production trio, the magic formula had now been perfected. S/A/W were on the road to world domination!