I did revert to holidaying solo. In July I took a coach trip to what
was then still Czechoslovakia, then in September embarked on the first of several
rail-based B&B weeks around Britain, beginning with Edinburgh, my first
traversing of the Anglo-Scottish border.
It was hardly a vintage twelve months
for music so unsurprisingly. I don’t recall music playing much of a role in
either vacation. Actually, there’s one exception. When walking around Prague,
soaking up the sunshine and sights, I was diverted by the incongruous sound of
rock music filling the Old Town Square. Surely it should be a Baroque string
quartet? A Smetana symphony? Approaching the centre of the square I realised it
was a bunch of youngsters from, of all places, Shrewsbury School! The song they
played, which I remember to this day, was ‘Everything About You’,
which Ugly Kid Joe had recently taken to the top three. I’d liked the song, and
the boys were pretty good, too.
It’s a simple slice of Californian
rock but for a cool vibe there wasn’t anything cooler than Arrested
Development’s ‘People Everyday’.
For some reason I’ve never fathomed, the title is flipped around from the
phrase actually sung; that is, “everyday people”. Whatever. It shuffled
effortlessly to number two in November. There was more to come with the
snappier ‘Mr Wendal’ some months later but I don’t remember anything else from
them at all.
There was plenty of long male hair
floating around. Axl Rose mixed strutting around the stage and caressing the
keyboards with a couple of very popular rock ballads. ‘November Rain’
definitely showed Guns ‘n’ Roses’ sensitive side, then they gave a Bob Dylan
classic a heavy makeover. By ’92, the band were one of the biggest on the
planet and pretty much top of the bill at the Freddie Mercury Tribute concert
at Wembley where this memorable performance of ‘Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door’ was recorded
Curtis Stigers was touted as the new
Michael Bolton; flowing brown locks rather than hideous mullet. A better soul
voice, in my opinion, but I still wasn’t fussed on the songs ‘I Wonder Why’ and
‘You’re All That Matters to Me’. Then there was Charles, or was it Eddie?
Whichever? As a pair, Charles and Eddie had one of the year’s biggest hits with
their debut single, ‘Would I Lie to You?’.
It had a pleasant Sixties soul sound, with a Smokey Robinson-like lead vocal by
Eddie (or was it Charles?), an unfussy production and the benefit of being a much
better song than anything by Stigers or Bolton. The world’s worst hairstyle in
1992 must have been that of Billy Ray Cyrus. Fittingly, perhaps, as his ‘Achy
Breaky Heart’ just made me ache to break his neck.
Bono’s hair was less lank and mullet
than in the Joshua Tree era but amongst the several singles from the Achtung
Baby production line came what must be the finest ballad from U2, and maybe
anyone, in the Nineties. ‘One’ was the track which determined that I bought the album. On first hearing, I thought
it was an instant classic, destined to be the biggest seller for years. And yet
it peaked at a disappointing seven in March. It puzzled me then, and it puzzles
me still. The album version is much longer than that featured in the Anton
Corbijn video and frankly, could easily drift on for another three minutes
without boring me – and, believe me, I have a low boredom threshold.
At the same time, the chart was
dominated by another slowie, by Shakespear’s Sister. ‘Stay’ was number one for
eight long weeks, a melodramatic two-hander performed by ex-Bananarama Siobhan
Fahey and Marcella Detroit. The latter’s pure soprano sang the main melody and
chorus while a scarily Goth-ified Fahey did the low register bits, and the
formula certainly worked. For all Stay’s longevity, one of its follow-ups,
‘Hello (Turn On Your Radio On)’ also worked its spell on me. For both songs, I was also encouraged by the
pair’s readiness to sing live on shows such as TOTP, even though Stay’s Goth
video was played to death. Fahey’s witch-like image was apparently not
restricted to her make-up and clothes. The following year she sacked Detroit
without actually telling her.
One of my favourites from 1992 was
another creepy song, this time ‘Hazard’ from American Richard Marx. The creepiness
stems not from the singer’s visage but the mysterious lyrics. It’s a gorgeous
lilting melody but the subject-matter begs you to listen to the words. Did the
boy kill Mary? If innocent, why was he hounded out of town? The video added to the suspense, but the lyrics do rather suggest Marx’s protagonist was
the victim of mistaken identity:-
“I swear I
left her by the river.
I swear I
left her safe and sound”
We are left to make up our own minds.
Whatever the verdict, it’s refreshing to hear a hit record which makes you
think and not just listen ambiently or dance.
Another surprise hit with intriguing
lyrics was Marc Almond’s cover of an old Sixties song, ‘The Days of Pearly Spencer’.
The sudden crashing transition from string-driven rhythm to melancholy minor
chord finale seems unnecessarily blunt but I’ve always been a fan of Almond’s
voice. Stripped of the Soft Cell New Romantic baggage, he has always been a
brilliant pop soul singer, capable of sounding modern yet breathing new
theatrical life into older material like Jacques Brel’s ‘Jacky’, ‘Something’s
Gotten Hold of My Heart’ and, for that matter, ‘The Days of Pearly Spencer’
itself.
Another unexpected chart-topper which
I enjoyed was Tamsin Archer’s ‘Sleeping Satellite’.
Promoted from backing vocalist status, the Yorkshire-born singer really shone
with this paeon to astronauts and the moon. Her 1993 Brit award recognised her
as breakthrough act but unfortunately it didn’t lead to greater things.
By way of contrast, a decade after
their demise, Abba were back! Sort of. In June, Erasure went straight in at the
top with their 4-track EP ‘Abba-esque’. Not only did it bring them their only
number one single, but it also kept Mariah Carey and Nick Berry off the top.
Yesss! Double whammy! The Essex duo’s hilarious homage to the Swedes’ ‘Take a Chance on Me’ helped
keep them at the summit for five weeks. Not their best record, but undoubtedly
entertaining. And who knew that Vince Clarke would make such a convincing
Agnetha?! And what did Sweden think of these cover versions? Well, their shoppers kept
the EP at number one for six weeks, so who says they don’t have a sense of
humour?
Not to be outdone, the Australian Abba
tribute group, Bjorn Again had their cheeky revenge by releasing their own EP,
entitled ‘Erasure-ish’. Sadly, it only reached 25 over here, but it gave the
likes of ‘Stop’ and ‘Give a Little Respect’ a
Seventies mini-skirt and platforms makeover. I saw Bjorn Again in concert at
Shepherds Bush Empire some years later and have to say they were wonderful. I
never got the chance to see the originals on stage. However, when the audience
are in on the joke, the tongue-in-cheek but genuinely fond impressions of the
legendary Swedes were hugely enjoyable, and they are more than useful singers
and musicians, too.
Whether all this fun and games whetted
the appetite for the real thing, I’m not sure, but Abba released their
definitive greatest hits compilation Gold in September, it sold well but not
spectacularly. Nevertheless, It now ranks as the second biggest selling album
in UK history. Abba will never go out of style.
Jimmy Nail’s stock was also riding
high. Keen to avoid typecasting as the rugged Geordie, thick but with a heart
of gold, he had transformed himself into the rugged Geordie, intelligent with a heart of gold, in the
title role of BBC1’s detective series Spender.
He became a bit of a sex symbol, so inevitably he chose this point to revive
his dormant singing career. Perfect timing! ‘Ain’t No Doubt’ followed
‘Abbaesque’ to number one. I confess it wasn’t for me, unlike Spender, which at the time set a high
standard for all future moody, flawed but brilliant detective TV series to aspire
to.
’92 was also the year when Crowded
House stamped their mark on me. I’d known ‘Don’t Dream it’s Over’, of course,
but when ‘Weather With You’ broke into the top ten, I recognised their true talent. It wasn’t just the
lilting melody and the uplifting chorus; I also loved the intriguing lyrics
like
“There’s a small boat made of china
It’s going nowhere on
the mantelpiece”
I didn’t buy the Woodface CD (shame!)
but did hire it from the library, to discover more great tracks like ‘Fall at
Your Feet’ and ‘Four Seasons in One Day’. Neil and Tim Finn certainly had a way
with words, harmonies and memorable ballads, wrapped up in unfussy production. Mere
OBEs don’t do them justice.
In contrast, there were some truly
awful records being played constantly that year. I’ve mentioned the ‘Achy
Breaky Heart’ abomination, but I also detested the re-release of the Freddie
Mercury/Monserrat Caballe operatic epic ‘Barcelona’. The BBC’s coverage of the
Olympics from that city meant it was on air ad infinitum. I described Madonna’s
‘This Used to be my Playground’ as a “dreadfully
boring ballad” and Eric Clapton’s ‘Tears in Heaven’ and Michael Jackson’s
vomit-inducing Christmas hit ‘Heal the World’ were so coated in sugar, there
was nothing worth listening to in the centre.
Yet none of these compared to the
year’s biggest-seller. It wasn’t that Whitney Houston’s ‘I Will Always Love
You’ was a dreadful song. It wasn’t. And, of course, Whitney’s interpretation
of Dolly Parton’s composition was stunning. It’s just that the whole romance of
the thing, the ‘Bodyguard’ brand marketing, turned my stomach. Even now I find
it a tough listen. When I went to see the West End musical version of The
Bodyguard’, starring the brilliant Beverly Knight, I was probably the only one
on the audience not to be crying buckets when Beverly belted out the big
number.
Moving hastily back to the good stuff,
as The B-52s would have it in 1992. My 1991 obituary for the passing of decent
dance music turned out to be a tad premature. For starters, Dr Alban’s ‘It’s My
Life’ was a huge Euro disco hit, and for obvious reasons. I’d never heard of
him before but the Nigerian-born Swedish DJ/producer had already become
successful on the continent. After ‘It’s My Life’, that success continued, but
not over here. I thought Snap! would be pretty much a one-hit wonder but that
had been just an appetiser for ‘Rhythm is a Dancer’.
The words weren’t important, of
course. Nor, in truth, were the vocals – perfectly adequate though they were –
of Thea Austin and rapper Turbo B. It was all about the synthesizer riff. As an
intro, it was reminiscent of a bugle call to arms, only this time hailing the
hordes on to the dance floor. It worked. Unlike many big Euro dance tracks,
‘Rhythm is a Dancer’ had the structure of any good pop record: a proper start,
middle and finish, although this didn’t necessarily work for DJs trying to
incorporate the ‘boof, boof’ finale while segue-ing into the next record.
Anyway, only Whitney’s hit outsold it that year in the UK.
It wasn’t just about Swedish and
German electronica, though. Britain was producing some great Euro-sounding
dance music, too. Once pigeonholed as rave acts, some were really crossing over
into the pop world without really compromising their dance reputations.
For years, I imagined Felix to be some
anonymous figure toiling from a soundproofed chalet studio deep in the
Westphalian forest but apparently he hailed from Chelmsford! His enduring
anthem ‘Don’t You Want Me’ has been remixed at frequent intervals but why mess with the original in the
first place?
The Utah Saints created some top tunes
with the help of creative sampling of well-known voices. The best example was
‘Something Good’, which
flew to four in the summer. So smart was the sample of the ”I knew that something good was going to
happen” line that I didn’t realise it came from Kate Bush’s ‘Cloudbusting’,
hence the ghostly images of Kate’s 1987 video amidst the Saints’ own promo. The
band was unusual in that they could actually perform live rather than just
twiddle a few knobs on a synth and wave their arms around.
And then there were The Shamen. For
starters, they had the – for me - attractive propensity to sing live on TOTP.
This was pretty much unheard of for a techno-dance act, either before or since,
and first surfaced on the previous autumn’s top fiver, ‘Move Any Mountain’.
They originated in Scotland, but the rapper Mr C brought a touch of London
street ‘bantah’ and a DJ-land credibility to their sound. Everything came
together in September, when ‘Ebenezer Goode’ leapt to the top of the singles chart.
It wasn’t merely a cracking track to
dance to. It had a unique quality to it, perhaps best illustrated by Mr C’s
opening lines:-
“Naughty, naughty, very naughty
Ha ha ha ha ha”
It was indeed very naughty. The “Es are good, Es are good” chorus
obviously extolled the virtues of the drug du
jour, Ecstasy, which did result in the single being banned temporarily by
the Beeb. However, as I imagined The Beatles did a quarter of a century earlier
over ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’, The Shamen and their record company must
have had their fingers tightly crossed behind their backs when insisting that
the song was really about a shady club underworld character! See what I mean?
“He
takes you to the top, shakes you all around
Then back down, you know as he gets mellow”
Then back down, you know as he gets mellow”
Anyway, there was sufficient lyrical
ambiguity to let them off the hook, and ‘Ebenezer Goode’ proceeded to sell
almost 300,000 copies before being prematurely deleted after about six weeks!
It stayed in the clubs much longer.
Dance
still wasn’t dead by the following year but, thanks to a male vocal quintet
from the North West, the UK pop music axis was swiftly shifting.
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