1988 – And I would come a-running To give you all my loving

1988 was something of a personal annus horribilis. My Crohn’s Disease symptoms worsened to such an extent that I missed months of work for hospital treatment. A week of tests and a few weeks more of no food to rest my guts didn’t do the trick so I ended up spending a fortnight of May/June in the Victorian confines of London’s St Mark’s Hospital. So what’s that to do with music?

Well, whilst languishing on the wards, I experimented with a cheap and cheerful Sony Walkman on which I could pay some cassettes. Memories of TOTP in the TV room were also enhanced, presumably as a result of there being not much else to do following surgery apart from reading, talking and being inspected, injected, prodded and poked.

The big band of the time was Bros, fronted by Matt Goss and featuring his twin Luke plus – er – the other one (aka Craig Logan). After failing to set the charts alight the previous year, their sharp image and their twin brother USP made them media darlings in 1988. The music was all over the place but it didn’t matter one jot to teenage girls who hadn’t had much to stick on their bedroom walls for quite a while.

‘When Will I Be Famous?’ had a catchy chorus and reached number two in January. From then on, Bros churned out six successive top four singles, flying to the pinnacle with the dreadful ‘I Owe You Nothing’ while I convalesced in St Mark’s. Now for a confession: I actually quite liked their Christmas ballad ‘Cat Amongst the Pigeons’. The flip side was a cheesy rendition of ‘Silent Night’ and the result was yet another number two. Logan left the Goss brothers soon afterwards but they had little beyond the blue eyes and razor-sharp cheekbones. They suffered the law of diminishing returns and were gone by 1991. I can’t recall anything since 1988! Matt has been performing in Vegas and the group were supposedly reforming for some concerts in 2017. Did they happen? Does anyone care?

Just behind Bros in June were Climie Fisher. Simon Climie was a successful songwriter but it took a couple of releases before ‘Love Changes’ made an impression. I just thought it a near-perfect pop song. Not earth-shattering, but well-crafted with a smooth melody. Yet that’s the last time they pierced the top 20. Such is the pop business….

Well, if Bros were the boy band of 1988, the pop princess was undoubtedly Kylie Minogue. I never watched Neighbours. However, many of my friends had abandoned EastEnders, transferring their soap allegiance to the new Aussie kid on the block. However, I couldn’t join in their conversations about Charlene (played by Kylie), Scott (Jason Donovan) and their sun-kissed barbies. BBC1 broadcast the programme at lunchtimes and teatimes but, as I didn’t return home from the BBC office at White City until about 7 o’clock, I had no chance. Therefore, it was only once Pete Waterman signed up 19 year-old Kylie and released ‘I Should Be So Lucky’, I began to see what the fuss was about.

The song was cute, the singer was cute, all tumbling golden curls and dazzling teeth, and another Stock/Aitken/Waterman success was guaranteed. Kylie’s unspectacular voice and image fitted the winning S/A/W formula but I could never have predicted her enduring popularity. Yes, I quite fancied her. Still do, in that harmless, distant, unattainable celebrity way. An ageless, perfect pop pixie she may be, but I still don’t rate her vocals. What must have contributed to her lasting success is her good fortune with songwriters. My personal favourite from 1988 was ‘Got to be Certain’ but there was little to choose between them.

One song I was less keen on was her duet with her on- and off-screen boyfriend, Jason Donovan. Waterman probably wrote ‘Especially For You’ in five minutes and, buoyed by the massive TV audience for the Scott-Charlene wedding in November, it topped anything Kylie achieved as a solo artist in the Eighties. The song was completely divorced from the show, but the song that did feature, Angry Anderson’s ‘Suddenly’, was also a huge hit at Christmas. Unfortunately for them, both were eclipsed by Cliff Richard’s million-selling monstrosity, ‘Mistletoe and Wine’. More toe-curling than anything released by Bros, it nonetheless outsold every other single that year. Ouch! At least the Aussie couple finally ousted King Cliff in January.

It was a good year for the girls. S/A/W resurrected the careers of Hazell Dean and Kim Wilde, whose ‘You Came’ took off to number three. Even better was ‘Orinoco Flow’ by Enya. I’d never heard anything like it. The airy-fairy voice, pizzicato synth chords, multi-tracked chorus and mind-tripping production blew my mind and powered the record to number one around the world. I don’t think anything else she did thereafter quite matched up to the original, not even ‘Caribbean Blue’, but no matter; her unique Celtic sound has made her the richest female singer-songwriter in the British Isles. I can just imagine Enya in a fairytale Irish castle, floating from room to room on a gentle zephyr, her bare feet never touching the floor. Not even Kylie can aspire to that.

A very different Irish talent also assailed the charts early in the year. Sinead O’Connor was a punky skinhead with big brown eyes whose appearance was quite shocking to us easily shockable folk, and ‘Mandinka’ sounded a bit shouty for my liking. On the other hand, Belinda Carlisle was far more fanciable, and ‘Heaven is a Place On Earth’ advanced effortlessly to the top in January.

She was followed at number one by seventeen year-old ‘mall queen’ Tiffany. ‘I Think We’re Alone Now’ was pretty infectious but sounds very dated now. Then and now, I had more time for another teenager, Debbie Gibson. At least she wrote her own songs, could play the piano and possessed a potent voice. ‘Foolish Beat’ is a big ballad led by some silky sax and was one of my favourites, even if it only peaked at nine in our charts.

Wendy James became a British media darling, with a wilder, ballsier image than either Gibson or Tiffany. Her band Transvision Vamp had a big hit with the rebellious ‘Baby I Don’t Care’, and she seemed to encapsulate ‘Girl Power’ years before the Spice Girls adopted the label. Yet she didn’t last the pace. Another young blonde with a debut hit that year has proved a more enduring performer. In 1988, Patsy Kensit was the face of Eighth Wonder, who made the top ten with the Pet Shop Boys–penned ‘I’m Not Scared’. Great record, of course, but it’s fair to say she made a better actress than singer. Well, maybe it’s a close-run thing!

Eddi Reader had more – let’s say, Guardian-reader appeal. The Fairground Attraction frontwoman possessed a unique Celtic style, with red hair, oversized glasses and a beguiling stage presence. ‘Perfect’ was the danceable chart-topper but ‘Find My Love’ was a charming little ditty I could listen to for ages without tiring of the captivating romantic lyric.

Christine McVie, of course, had been around for ages and was no stranger to my ears. I’d never been much of a Fleetwood Mac fan. I didn’t dislike their rock era material; it just sounded a bit, well, humdrum, middling mid-Atlantic music. However, something in their wistful ‘Everywhere’ clicked with me. It was one of their more pop-py songs with a captivating melody, a fine McVie vocal and yet bounced along on the reliable Mac rhythm section. It starts wonderfully with that bubbly intro which sounds like the aural equivalent of dappled light playing on tree-fringed water, and ends with those playful ‘huh-huh-huh’ harmonies which absolutely must be heard in stereo.

La Minogue wasn’t the only Aussie superstar created in 1988. The man who wrested her away from Jason, Michael Hutchence, shot to global fame with his band INXS and, after seeing him on TOTP I know a few female friends who would have gladly been in Kylie’s shoes. ‘I Need You Tonight’ was the band’s biggest hit over here, but the song which grabs me more emotionally was, and remains, their one and only ballad, ‘Never Tear Us Apart’. It’s proof that Hutchence wasn’t just an up-tempo rock god; he could handle the more sensual romantic stuff, too. Like so many iconic '80s artists like Madonna and Duran Duran, INXS had a helping hand from the imperious Nile Rodgers but, to me, their subsequent stuff was a bit Fleetwood Mac-ish in its mediocrity but 1988 was their year.

By this time, sadly The Smiths had finally imploded but we were treated to Morrissey’s debut solo album, Viva Hate. On the basis of the opening singles, I naturally bought it, but only really liked those two trailblazers. ‘Every Day Is Like Sunday’ was a typical brooding gloom-fest but ‘Suedehead’ was a livelier piano-driven affair. I don’t understand why the video has Morrissey on the trail of James Dean but I fully comprehend why the record charted higher than any of his former band’s releases. 

Terence Trent Darby had made an unforgettable TOTP entrance the previous year, with some acrobatic dance moves while miming to ‘If You Let Me Stay’. His high soulful voice also featured a raunchy rasp, but the only song of his I enjoyed hearing was ‘Sign Your Name’, which reached number two in January ’88. Its slow, sultry Latin rhythm perfectly complemented Darby’s vocals. For all his talent as singer and writer, the trouble with him was that he was such a tedious self-publicist. The final straw was when, on accepting the Brit Award for Best International Breakthrough Act, TTD had the temerity to moan that he should have won the Best British Breakthrough, ahead of Wet Wet Wet. Er… born and bred in the States, only coming to the UK after being court-martialled from the US army? British? I suppose his claim to a UK award is related to his biological father’s ancestry but, unlike Ireland’s football team’s outrageous abuse of FIFA rules, this didn’t wash with the BPI. Darby was as American as Elvis. Congratulations on his Brit, but that was his last. He subsequently changed his name but never quite hit the heights he predicted for himself.

I was about as disconnected from the fledgling acid house and rap scenes as it was possible to be. The yellow smiley face representing the rave scene was on T-shirts everywhere, and kids started wearing clocks or nicking metal Volkswagen logo plates as signs of allegiance to hip-hop/rap artists The Beastie Boys and Public Enemy. Whatever. Actually, it was the novelty acts taking the piss who were the most successful over here.

All the songs riffing on the “Xxxin’ the house” theme got the treatment they deserved when Harry Enfield adopted his popular wealthy plasterer persona Loadsamoney (“See my WAD!”), teamed up with young chums Paul Whitehouse and Charlie Higson and released the entertaining ‘Doin’ Up the House’. It went to number four in the chart, as did Morris Minor and the Motors’ ‘Stutter Rap’. The Liverpool FC’s execrable ‘Anfield Rap’ went one place higher but at least they got their just desserts on the pitch when Wimbledon’s Crazy Gang beat them in the FA Cup Final. Before becoming the KLF, Jimmy Cauty and Bill Drummond formed The Timelords to record ‘Doctorin’ the Tardis’. A strange mash-up of the Dr Who theme, Gary Glitter’s ‘Rock ‘n’ Roll’ and various other samples, it beat all the other joke records by topping the chart in June, but Harry Enfield’s hit was the best.

I may not have been dropping Ecstasy tabs in remote raves but I did still enjoy a bop at Rotaract discos around the village halls of Essex. I recall having particularly welcomed the chance to let my hair down to the likes of Yazz’s big-selling ‘The Only Way Is Up’, Inner City’s ‘Big Fun’ (which brought Detroit’s fledgling techno to the UK masses) and Erasure’s ’Give a Little Respect’. Salt ‘n’ Pepa’s unambiguously sexy ‘Push It’ was a popular floor-filler, too.

The Pet Shop Boys brought out a whole album of extended dance tracks, Introspective. I was never going to dance around to them at home but, being the product of Neil and Chris, they were just as enjoyable simply to listen to. ‘Left to my Own Devices’ probably had the edge when it came to bpm (beats per minute) but my guilty pleasure was the eccentric ‘I Want a Dog’. It seemed a bit perverse wanting to bop to a song with lyrics like:-

“When I get back to my small flat
I want to hear somebody bark” 

                                    Or

“Don't want a cat
scratching its claws all over my habitat
giving no love and getting fat”

But why the hell not?!

There were some other top tracks which I recorded for repeated listens, and which I rarely, if ever, hear nowadays. British reggae veterans Aswad topped the chart with ‘Don’t Turn Around’, while Robert Palmer crooned ‘She Makes My Day’. Scritti Politti, led by Green Gartside, already had a reputation for some idiosyncratic songwriting across a range of genres, but my favourite of theirs was the more conventional ballad ‘Oh Patti’. It just envelops you in warm synth chords and Green’s soft voice, with some muted Miles Davis trumpet for extra effect. A forgotten gem.

If at the start of the year you’d said I’d enjoy listening to a record sung largely in Hebrew by a Yemeni-Israeli woman, I’d have laughed in your face. However, Ofra Haza’s ‘Im Nan Alu’ was surprisingly good and made our top 20. Haza’s stirring voice and the thudding dance beat made for an incongruous blend of Western and Middle East styles. I loved it!

Haza’s hit excepted, I clearly wasn’t an aficionado of World Music but I was to become more aware of the genre in ’88. The big music event of the year was Nelson Mandela 70^th Birthday concert on 11^th June. As with Live Aid three years earlier, the BBC bravely defied the Thatcher government by clearing its schedules to broadcast it, albeit on BBC2. The decision was all the more courageous given the PM’s insistence on calling the incarcerated ANC leader a “terrorist”. Unlike Live Aid, this was not purely a fundraiser. While several charities benefited; it was also a consciousness raiser, consciousness of the appalling consequences of the apartheid regime in South Africa, and of the insanity of keeping freedom fighters like Mandela caged like animals.

Given the trail blazed by the Geldof-inspired ‘global jukebox’ of 1985, this concert didn’t have quite the ‘wow’ factor of Live Aid, but there were enough notable acts to reel me in. Acts like Simple Minds, Whitney Houston, Stevie Wonder, Eurythmics, Sting and George Michael were A-listers, but it was important to include black stars of ‘World Music’, too. I confess to ignorance at the time of Hugh Masekela, Salif Keita and Miriam Makeba and I don’t remember watching them perform.

The mega-concert has become famous for making an overnight international star of American Tracy Chapman. Presented with an unscheduled second slot in UK primetime when Stevie Wonder’s synclavier hard disk went missing, scuppering what was potentially a highlight of the entire occasion, the 24 year-old American proceeded to steal the show. After performing ‘Fast Car’ with just an acoustic guitar, the world took note, and both the single and her debut album would become big hits. Typically, I wasn’t watching at the time (!) but it was a good song which grew on me the more I listened to the words.

Despite some of the other major names on the bill, plus some humorous interludes involving top young ‘alternative’ comedians like Fry and Laurie, Harry Enfield and Lenny Henry, two acts stood out for me.

It was impossible not to condemn the racist pigs in Pretoria after listening to Peter Gabriel’s brilliant, passionate yet understated rendition of his Seventies song about the police torture and murder of South African black activist, Steven Biko. Backed by the synthesized bagpipes, stirring guitar of Charlie Burchill and the massed choir of the Wembley audience, it was a political and musical tour de force.

“And the eyes of the world are watching you now
They're watching you now, watching you now”

Indeed they were, but were you watching, Prime Minister PW Botha? Even I found myself joining in with the “Huh-huh-ohh”s.

The sun was sinking when the other unforgettable segment was broadcast. Dire Straits effectively topped the bill, despite not having played together for years. They did several songs, supported by Eric Clapton, but the one which brought tears to my eyes then and still does, was their heart-rending, spine-tingling performance of ‘Brothers in Arms’. The lump in my throat threatened to asphyxiate me. 

It was to be another twenty months before Nelson Mandela took his famous walk to freedom one Sunday afternoon. Yet I am sure this concert played its part in putting that extra piece of pressure on the South African regime and its overseas supporters like the UK and USA to cave in, release Mandela and pave the way for true democracy there.