1989 - Life is a mystery, Everyone must stand alone

If 1988 was a personal low point, then the following year signified a renaissance of sorts. The BBC research job was going well, the intestinal surgery had left me pain-free for the first time in two years, and Rotaract had brought me right out of my stubborn shell. 

OK, life wasn’t perfect. I never left a Rotaract disco with a young lady on my arm, or a phone number in my pocket. Nevertheless, for all that romantic disappointment there was social fulfilment of a different kind. I was Treasurer and Publicity Officer, throwing myself into all sorts of activities and an enthusiastic participant in a myriad of quizzes, sports challenges, days out, nights out, concerts and those village hall discos covering the four corners of Essex and everywhere in between.  I may have sat out the slowies at the end, but it was a cracking year for dance music.

It wasn’t all about the American house or British rave scenes either. Italian production team Groove Groove Melody formed Black Box and created possibly the greatest floor-filler in history, ‘Ride On Time’. Model Katrin Quinol was the face of Black Box, but the single’s vocals were sampled from an old Loleatta Holloway song. It didn’t really matter at the time that the sexy dancer on the video was miming; it simply made you want to dance, and what more could you want from a dance track?! For all its obvious house origins, it still sounds great well into the twenty-first century.

Belgian ensemble Technotronic got in the act, too, with the pulsating ‘Pump Up the Jam’ but Double Trouble and Rebel MC from London also made the top three with ‘Street Tuff’. I also had a fondness for the Beatmasters’ ‘Hey DJ’, which introduced us to the rap of Alison Clarkson, aka Betty Boo.

It wasn’t all plain sailing. I recall being in a car heading for a Rotaract event on a Sunday evening. One of my fellow passengers suddenly turned up the radio to hear the chart show, exclaiming: “It’s a woman having an orgasm!”  Lil Louis’ ‘French Kiss’ throbbed away seemingly forever before the rhythm slowed and ‘vocals’ kicked in. This was indeed clearly depicting more than a little tongue-on-tongue action! Embarrassing to dance to, though. An enduring Rotaract favourite was Damian’s version of ‘Time Warp’. 

The choreographed moves brought everyone together:

                        “It’s just a jump to the left

                        And then a step to the right.

Put your hands on your hips
You bring your knees in tight"

but I confess I hated the record. I just had to go along with the rest.

By November, a new dance craze, the ‘Lambada’ had spread across Europe. The band was French, the singer Brazilian, the language Portuguese, the song adapted from a Bolivian original, but the infectious Latin beat traversed all borders and was something I could happily attempt to sway along to.

I’m pretty sure ‘Bring Me Edelweiss’ was not such a global success, but it was a heady hotch-potch of – would you believe? – House piano, ‘scratching’, rap, yodelling, cowbells and a sample of Abba’s ‘SOS’ chorus. You might expect such a bonkers collection of Alpine stereotypes would kill the record stone dead, but you’d be wrong; the band Edelweiss were Austrian and the record topped the chart from Basel to Vienna, reaching five here. 

Another top 5 hit which appealed to me also relied on gratuitous (but no doubt legal) borrowing of bits from old records. Kon Kan’s ‘I Beg Your Pardon’ was a fast-paced track sampling various sources, especially Lynn Anderson’s ‘Rose Garden’. I don’t remember the Canadian duo doing much else but this was great stuff. Not a staple of Rotaract discos but fun to listen to nonetheless.

A glance at my 1989 diary uncovers the revelation that none of the above was my favourite ‘dance/disco’ single of the year. That contemporary decision fell the way of the Fine Young Cannibals’ ‘You Drive Me Crazy’. They’d been around for a few years with some interesting dance tracks but this was the time when they really hit the big time on both sides of the Atlantic. ‘Good Thing’ also made our top ten, boasting a very catchy jump beat. Lead singer Roland Gift had a distinctive mixed race appearance and unusual vocal style, which endeared him to the media and girls alike. He seemed to abandon music for acting and did indeed nab some decent film roles, but in more recent times I read that the recording studio has lured him once more.

I didn’t buy FYC’s album The Raw and the Cooked but I did splash out on Sydney Youngblood’s debut. This was purely down to the magnificence of the Texan’s singles ‘If Only I Could’ and ‘Sit and Wait’. If he had stuck with a conventional soul production, I’d never have liked him. However, his voice was mixed with some darned funky, hip-hoppy rhythms, but after these two crackers he never reached the top 40 again. A shame.

Apparently Mr Youngblood was criticised for one or two tracks sounding too similar to some work by another breakthrough act of ’89, Soul II Soul. Jazzie B became one of the faces of London R’n’B, his ‘pineapple head’ dreadlocks swaying alongside the sexy string section and behind the collective’s female singers. Caron Wheeler fronted the number one ‘Back to Life’ but it was the Soul II Soul beat which influenced a shedload of dance acts in the coming years. Impossible not to dance to.

Another icon of late Eighties hip-hop was Neneh Cherry. With Swedish-Sierra Leone parentage, she seemed to spend much of her time in the UK, which was great because she enlivened any number of British pop programmes in 1989. She sounded pure London on ‘Buffalo Stance’, especially in the delicious dialect ‘break’:-

“What is he like? What's he like anyway?
Yo' man. What do you expect? The guy's a gigolo, man
(giggling) You know wha’ I mean?!”

Yet this wasn’t my favourite Neneh Cherry song. That was the magnificent ‘Man Child’. The melancholic chord changes and melody, plus Neneh’s sassy rapping, gets me on an emotional level which few songs ever do. I remember seeing her perform it some years later at Glastonbury, and she was sensational then, too. A host of twenty-first century American stars owe so much to Neneh Cherry’s trailblazing as credible feminist musician, writer and performer. Forget Nikki Minaj et al; listen to the real deal.

According to my diary, ‘Manchild’ was my favourite ‘Slow/Ballad’ record of the year, edging out ‘The Living Years’ by Mike and the Mechanics. As my entry of 10^th February records:

            “At last, Mike Rutherford has merged from the shadow of 

            Genesis colleagues Collins and Gabriel, taking his Mechanics

            Up to number two in the singles and album charts. It’s one of 

            those ballads with (a) rousing choral chorus which has ‘classic’

            written all over it!”

With words by BA Robertson and the voice of Paul Carrack, it is such a sad song about a son's reflective regret over unresolved conflict with his now-deceased father. If it came on the radio, I always needed to keep a tissue handy for Angie. Now, having lost my own Dad, I find it a tough listen myself. 

There were other big ballads that year. The Bangles lit their ‘Eternal Flame’ which illuminated the charts for much of the Spring. Ah, what man couldn’t hold a candle for Susannah Hoffs?! Phil Collins received a cacophony of criticism for his tale of a bag lady, ‘Another Day in Paradise’. The gist was that instead of just writing a song, why can’t a millionaire pop star just give all his money away to the homeless? That was just lazy journalism. Why shouldn’t he do what he does best, enable us to enjoy the music and encourage the rest of us to “just think about it” and do our bit? Bob Geldof and Bono have endured similar belligerent brickbats over the years, but none of them justified. 

Gloria Estefan and The Miami Sound Machine were very popular in the late Eighties, bringing Cuban-influenced Latin rhythms into the mainstream. I wasn’t so struck by them. However, in 1989, the lead singer went solo and enjoyed success with slowies ‘Don’t Want to Lose You Now’ and the re-released ‘Can’t Stay Away From You’. Estefan didn’t endear herself to me with her anti-Castro rants, but back then she did have a wicked way with a ballad. 

I must confess I’d completely forgotten The Eurythmics’ sultry ‘Don’t Ask Me Why’ and Richard Marx’s ‘Right Here Waiting’ despite them being amongst my favourites at the time. I do have lasting memories of ‘Belfast Child’, which gave Simple Minds their only UK number one single. I thought it had been a re-working of an Ulster folk song but that proved to be only half correct. Apparently, Jim Kerr borrowed the tune but wrote entirely new lyrics “trying to relate to people in Northern Ireland who lost loved ones”. It’s a blistering record, from Kerr’s unaccompanied intro to the powerful second half. Finally, the easing back at the end, surely designed to allow the listener to sit and contemplate the sadness and emptiness created during the Troubles which were very much alive and kicking in 1989. 

The legendary Roy Orbison had died of a heart attack the previous December. I had come to love some of his Sixties classics, and his voice is an eternal wonder.  Enjoying a renaissance as part of tongue-in-cheek super-group The Travelling Wilburys at least in the States, he was more popular than he had been for two decades. It’s a shame therefore that he didn’t live to see the Jeff Lynne-penned ‘She’s Got it’ go to number three early in February 1989. Actually, I preferred the Bono/Edge composition ‘She’s a Mystery to Me’ even though it failed to make the top 20. 

Roy’s ‘She’s Got it’ was stalled behind another fifty-something singer, Gene Pitney. I’d remembered the original version of ‘Something’s Gotten Hold of My Heart’ but it was quite a revelation to hear it given a big production sound twenty-one years later. It complemented Marc Almond’s soulful voice beautifully, so the decision to reunite the song (from the aforementioned Cook-Greenaway partnership) with the now silver-haired Pitney was brave. Fortunately it worked spectacularly. However it didn’t lead to more UK hits although he continued performing up to his sudden death in 2006 after a concert in Cardiff, a few miles down the road from where I am writing this.

Sixties guitar hero and shock-haired singer Joe Brown had been part of my childhood thanks to constant playing of Mum’s 7” EP featuring ‘Picture of You’. I was to be reminded of this when his daughter Sam Brown enjoyed success of her own with the bluesy ‘Stop’. For some reason, I really liked it. Apart from Sam’s voice, it must have been the gentle strings which clinched the deal. Since then I have spotted her doing backing vocals for various bigger stars like Dave Gilmour, and she has been one of Jools Holland’s go-to singers performing with his orchestra. She has shown that you can make a career as a supporting artist and has even taught the art of backing vocals at the Academy of Contemporary Music. 

When it comes to heavy rock ballads, there are few stronger than ‘Sweet Child o’ Mine’ by Guns ‘n’ Roses. Axl Rose still looked startlingly feminine back in autumn 1988 when this was originally released, but Slash was already enigmatically hidden behind his distinctive long black curls beneath that towering hat. The guitar is just as towering but, for all the record’s enduring iconic status in rock history, it originally reached a paltry 23 in our singles chart before getting a new lease of life in 1989. An unforgettable five fab minutes.

Then in the summer it was surpassed by the roaring return to form of Alice Cooper. I recall first hearing the searing feedback-laden intro to ‘Poison’ while sitting in the car at a rain-soaked West Bay on holiday that August. Alice seemed such an anachronism as the Eighties entered their death throes, but amidst all the crap emanating from the likes of Kiss and Aerosmith, this remains a rock classic nonetheless.

Another record that conjures up memories of that summer fortnight in Dorset is Martika’s ‘Toy Soldiers’. Written about a cocaine-addicted friend, it had a different atmosphere to it, partly because of the childlike backing chorus (featuring, amongst others, future Black-Eyed Pea, Fergie) and also the haunting vocals of Martika herself. She has done all sorts of stuff since, as writer and performer, but this remains the only song I’ve liked.

In October, the Rotaract club travelled en masse to Sussex for a youth hostelling weekend at Alfriston. In addition to savouring the delights of the beautiful village, Eastbourne pier and the Seven Sisters walk, the trip brings back memories of the newly released Tears For Fears album, Seeds of Love.  Three years and a million pounds in the making, it wasn’t the masterpiece everyone was hoping for. Indeed it was panned for obvious echoes of The Beatles’ Sergeant Pepper in the title track which, for all its rambling excesses, I quite enjoyed listening to. The following March, another large group of us went to see the band at Wembley Arena. Recognising the criticism of the Summer of Love overtones, Curt and Roland had the cheeky temerity to include in the set list a singalong ‘All You Need is Love’.

The only pop concert I attended in ’89 was Elton John, also at the big barn Arena as part of the ‘Reg Strikes Back’ tour. I’ve already alluded to it in respect of Nik Kershaw’s supporting role, but the abiding memory is not of Elton doing his thing belting out hits like ‘Philadelphia Freedom’ or ‘I’m Still Standing’. Unfortunately it is of boos ringing out when it became apparent that Elton wasn’t reappearing for the encore, thus depriving 7,000 people who’d paid at least £17.50 from hearing ‘Candle in the Wind’ and other faves. Reg wasn’t striking back, he was just on strike! 

On Radio 1 the next morning, there were whispers that Elton had had one of his notorious hissy fits and left the building and George Michael waiting in the wings, where he’d been preparing  to duet on ‘Don’t Let the Sun Go Down On Me’. I have no proof of this rumour but the show’s conclusion did leave a sour taste and made for a despondent trudge back to Wembley Park Tube station. Nevertheless the four of us tried to compensate by singing the missing songs ourselves. Apologies to the fellow passengers who had to hear it. 

One of the biggest and most controversial tours was Madonna’s ‘Blonde Ambition, taking in three nights at Wembley Stadium. To my chagrin, I missed out on this one, but not out of choice. I doubt that her sweet Christmas hit ‘Dear Jessie’ reached the set list, which was absolutely laden with hits past, present and future. Her only number one single that year was ‘Like A Prayer’, one of her attempts (successful!) to antagonise the Catholic church hierarchy, especially with the video’s depiction of burning crosses and kissing a black male saint. At least she covered up her Gaultier conic bra and stopped simulating sex on a bed for this memorable concert performance. It’s by no means my favourite Madonna track, with its gospel choir sections, but definitely an example of the Eighties megastar in her pomp.

Well, I’ve reached this far in my 1989 journey without including those initials SAW. They can’t be ignored any longer. If Madonna was at the peak of her creative powers at this time, so was the Hit Factory and the writing of Pete Waterman.  They were on the credits of no fewer than seven number one singles, and heaven knows how many other top tenners.  

Jason Donovan took centre stage from Kylie Minogue. He sold 1.5 million copies of the Ten Good Reasons album, and topped the singles charts with ‘Too Many Broken Hearts’ and the Brian Hyland ballad ‘Sealed with A Kiss’, as well as with Kylie on ‘Especially With You’ and a host of others familiar from the S/A/W roster (plus Cliff, Lisa Stansfield, Bros et al) on the Band Aid 2 Christmas fundraiser. He wasn’t, though, on the SAW-produced Hillsborough disaster charity song ‘Ferry ‘Cross the Mersey’, a number one featuring a ‘who’s who’ of Merseyside pop stars like Gerry Marsden, Holly Johnson and Paul McCartney, and which was actually quite good. 

The twinkly-eyed, delectably-dimpled, red-headed Scouser Sonia also hit the big time with ‘You’ll Never Stop Me From Loving You’. Another typically rousing chorus but a forgettable verse melody. I’ve just listened and, er, no, it’s gone… S/A/W also revived the career of Donna Summer in the Spring with my favourite Waterman composition of 1989: 'This Time I Know It’s For Real’.

For all the above, probably the most successful ‘artist’ of the year was not an Aussie soap star, a Euro-dance phenomenon or an American female style icon. No, it was a – cartoon rabbit! Under the banner of Jive Bunny, a bunch of Yorkshire mixers and producers came up with the not-entirely-new idea of sampling a load of old hits for a new generation of partygoers. It proved extraordinarily, and infuriatingly, successful.

Starting in July, Jive Bunny and the Mastermixers spent a total of nine weeks at number one, with their segues of songs from the rock ‘n’ roll era, plus a soupcon of Glenn Miller. ‘Swing the Mood’ dominated the summer, returning to the top in October with ‘That’s what I Like’ and again in December with a medley of Christmas hits. That blasted bunny was everywhere!

And so the Eighties came to an end. Yuppies were on the up, the Berlin Wall came down. A decade remembered largely for its excesses, I have fonder memories of the music, from Madness to Madonna, Jam to Jacko. It was a great decade for me personally, representing the journey from shy, naïve student to more socially aware public servant. I would mature further in the Nineties and, as you will read, my musical tastes probably became a little more eclectic.