2006-07 Now you're calling me up on the phone So you can have a little whine and a moan

2006 marked the end of not one, but two eras of considerable personal significance. Of particular relevance in the context of this musical memoir was the coup de grace applied to the mortally-wounded beast that was Top of the Pops. Long since consigned to the graveyard slot on Sunday evening BBC2, TOTP received its fatal blow on 30^th July. It seemed utterly appropriate for Jimmy Savile to flick the symbolic switch at the bitter end. Given the subsequent airbrushing out of any reference to the serial sexual predator, this is a recorded moment of TV history which will never be repeated.

With various dates and online communications occupying more of my time, TOTP was no longer essential viewing for me anyway. With Freeview channels, there were limited opportunities to see videos of current artists. Consequently my efforts to maintain at best a tenuous grip on the contemporary pop scene were becoming increasingly unsuccessful, at least in terms of visual recognition. In this period, thanks to changing events and employment, I started hearing more music radio, rewarded by the continuing resurgence of indie guitar bands.

Within a few weeks of the TOTP axe, the interminable process of voluntary redundancy from the BBC reached its ultimate conclusion. Having been my only employer, saying good-bye after 24 years was a genuine wrench. I had established some indelible personal and professional relationships, but it was my bond with the Corporation itself which proved the hardest to break. Even now, a decade later, I find myself in conversations relating to the Beeb using not ‘it’ but ‘we’.

Yet VR was a one-off opportunity to sweep away the cobwebs and try something different. As soon as my Beeb closing date passed, I found myself heading for my spiritual home county of Somerset to work part-time for the agency TRP to facilitate their contract with the Beeb. With a generous package including B&B costs, it suited both parties down to the ground. In the ‘minus’ column, the work itself was tedious in the extreme. For an analyst like me, there was little in the way of job satisfaction; it was all constructing and manipulating Excel spreadsheets.

As a result, after six months I declined the offer of a permanent position and, after an extra month’s work, we parted company and I entered the uncertain world of unemployment. So far, so straightforward. But there was a complication. While in the West Country I met Jan via internet dating and I ended up spending more time at her family home in Stogursey, a pleasant if remote village near Bridgwater. Of course, when the TRP contract came to an end, I returned to Billericay full-time to concentrate on job hunting. I did still venture down to the West Country at regular intervals to spend more time with Jan and her teenage girls Natalie and Sally. Their own musical tastes were in a subtle way, to influence my own, or at least shape what I would hear. And then there was the playlist of Bridgwater’s new BCR station, and its breakfast show in particular. Although Jan’s penchant was for MoR ballads, Autumn 2006  did yield a few decent songs that appealed to both of us.

The Scissor Sisters had already introduced their colourful camp pop to the UK charts but ‘I Don’t Feel Like Dancing’ took it to a new level. From Jake Shears’ falsetto to the total arrangement, it was lively, fun and – contrary to the title – an open invitation to get on your feet and dance. 

There were a few good ballads, too, which have endured. Paolo Nutini’s ‘Last Request’ promised so much, before he became so intensely irritating. However, I preferred James Morrison’s equally soulful debut, ‘You Give Me Something’. The producers gave him the full orchestral treatment on the chorus, one of the most glorious crescendos of any British love song. When it comes to monster melodic ballads, Gary Barlow had proved a master in that hazy heyday of Take That in the mid-Nineties. That talent seemed to have been dissipated and frittered away before that extraordinary moment in pop history: Take That reformed and blew us all away with new material.

‘Patience’ was the perfect comeback single. It bore all the hallmarks of a classic love song, whilst retaining the – in marketing speak – core values of brand Take That. But it didn’t end there. Early the next year, the were back at number one with the altogether more upbeat ‘Shine’, in which Mark Owen took centre stage as writer and singer. The Beautiful World album included another great Barlow ballad in ‘Rule The World’, possibly the signature tune of their second career. It was robbed of the top spot by the odious ‘Bleeding Love’ but has proved far more enduring, and was performed by the group in the 2012 Olympic closing ceremony. Take That were back, and Britain embraced them with open arms. Their singles have lost their potency but the massive stadium tours have become even bigger than they had been when a derided Boy Band. Although now shrunk to a trio, they are a modern rarity: a band whose gigs transcend mere concert status; they are Musical Events.

Former Pop Idol Will Young wasn’t finished as a credible artist either. Not that ‘Who Am I?’ exactly took the charts by storm. Indeed, it was his first single not to make the top ten. However, I rate the melancholic track one of his best, up there with the similar-sounding ‘Leave Right Now’. His clever video super-imposing Will into various old Blue Peter scenes fitted Will’s sense of humour but his live performances allowed him to showcase his gentle voice to great effect.

By the end of 2006, The X Factor had taken an icy grasp on the public, the lengthy autumn run of expensive peak-time TV promotion brainwashing the ITV audience into carrying mediocre ballads to the Christmas number one position. Shayne Ward’s successor was Leona Lewis, who turned out to be one of the most successful champions here and the States. A nice girl with a spectacularly pure voice, I’m sure, but her Mariah Carey-ish trills and runs represented for me all that is wrong with manufactured MOR pop stars. Her first post-X Factor single ‘Bleeding Love’ practically made not my love, but my ears bleed, such was my hatred for the song. For three months its success destroyed my faith in the whole bleeding universe!

After sixteen top ten hits, Girls Aloud finally had a song that I liked. ‘Call the Shots’ was an upbeat dancefloor-filler with an uplifting chorus which belied their vacuous celebrity image. Not that Cheryl, Nadine and the others really needed my endorsement. While Girls Aloud, Leona and those who followed in her dainty footsteps benefited from enormous financial promotion, the internet was facilitating more homegrown talent. Before the days of Facebook and Twitter, MySpace was for a few years the social medium, providing a platform for people to share not pictures of their pizza or cats which look like Hitler, but for their music. Some of it was building a following literally from their bedsit or living room.  

Probably the prime example of this was Sandi Thom. Her pining for the good old days

“When music really mattered and when radio was king

 When accountants didn't have control, and the media

 couldn't buy your soul”

in ‘I Wish I Was a Punk Rocker’ really struck a chord with the MySpacers, although not for me. It hung around for months and sold more than 400,000.

Middle-class rebel Lily Allen also had her MySpace account to thank for launching her music career. Like Thom, her debut single went to number one. On the face of it, ‘Smile’ was a bright and breezy burst of summer reggae. On second hearing, you realised her ‘smile’ was in enjoyment about her ex’s misery and, boy, was she rubbing it in! The language was pretty dirty, too. 

Another posh Londoner using fake Estuary English (so ‘real’, innit!) to boost her ‘street’ credentials was Kate Nash. From the BRIT school and MySpace, Kate became a star in 2007 when her ‘Foundations’ spent five weeks at number two. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t travel well beyond England but I really enjoyed the song, its jaunty melody and wry lyrics, the highlight being: 

          “you've said I must eat so many lemons, because I am so bi’-er”!

Her refreshing take on modern relationships earned her the 2008 Best Female Brit, but there has been nothing remotely as successful since then. When you’re representing a genre as limiting as Mockney Melancholy Boyfriend Bollocking, it must be hard to stay at the top, especially when Lily Allen hogged the Entertainment page headlines. A shame: Britain needs more redhead role models!

Like Lily, Amy Winehouse was another singer forever associated with the excesses of fame. As an up-and-coming jazz singer, she was not even a twitch on my antennae. It was only in the celeb photo pages of the fledgling Metro freebie newspaper that I would see pictures of an emaciated, elaborately beehived young woman falling out of nightclubs, taxis or her own front door. Wasn’t she supposed to be a pop star now? Well, yes. Her album Back to Black was the biggest seller of 2007, although at the time I disliked her singles like ‘Rehab’, ‘You Know I’m No Good’ and, in particular, ‘Tears Dry on Their Own’. Mark Ronson’s whimsical arrangements couldn’t really conceal the gloom and despondency of Amy’s words. It was only years later, after her inevitable early death, that I came to appreciate the quality of her voice and writing.

The only Winehouse track which appealed – and that only after being lured by its toe-tapping charms at a mass Christmas party in Battersea Park – was Ronson’s jump-beat jamboree cover of The Zutons’ ‘Valerie’.  The video became famous for not featuring Winehouse herself, probably because she was too pissed to turn up. Maybe.

Ronson wasn’t the only producer whose name began to appear as an artist on a number of hit singles. In a 15-month period, the hip-hop producer/DJ/rapper Timbaland cropped up everywhere. Unlike Amy’s collaborator, he did at least contribute a few vocals. However, I’m not sure a series of verbal tics, burps and hiccupped “Deh!”s and “Doody-oody-ooly-ep”s actually qualify as vocals. I was unimpressed by his work with Justin Timberlake and 50 Cent but he triumphed on Nelly Furtado’s reinvention as Urban dance queen. ‘Maneater’ topped the charts over here, ‘Promiscuous’ came close but my favourites were the Latin American vibe of ‘All Good Things’ and the enduring R’n’B groove in ‘Say It Right’. I’m still waiting for Nelly F’s third coming, with or without Tim (baland) Mosley.

Whilst still at the BBC, I would occasionally find myself in the presence of famous folk, whether passing in a corridor, at the next table in the canteen (sorry, restaurant) or even sharing a ride in a lift. My Star Watch roll of honour included a few notable musicians, such as Paul Weller, David Essex and Alison Moyet. Some were even singing. Before I was transferred from my Radio 3/Radio 4 Research Manager role at Broadcasting House back to Nations & Regions in White City, I grasped the opportunity to witness a handful of live ‘sessions’ in 6Music’s ‘Hub’. It wasn’t a salubrious music venue, simply a space shared with photocopiers, kitchenette and colourful toadstool chairs designed for informal meetings. However, it was extremely handy, just a 20-second walk from my open-plan office.

I tended to rely on my colleague Lolo, definitely the coolest person on our floor, for details of who was performing that week. Some artists I’d never heard of, while other performances I was unable to attend because of pesky work commitments (anyone would think I had a job to do). I mentioned earlier watching Richard Ashcroft (standing alongside Suzi Quatro), but there were also mini-gigs by Estelle, The Gang of Four and Belle & Sebastian. The latter were a duo whose name I knew but whose music I didn’t. Indeed, the only track I recognised was one released the same year, a fairly innocuous but pleasant little ditty called ‘Funny Little Frog’ which peaked at thirteen.

In my research role at the BBC, I didn’t get access to the areas enjoyed by my colleagues working with Radio 1 or Radio 2. However, I’ve always believed that my period on the Radio 3 management board greatly expanded my musical education. I don’t claim to be a converted fan of jazz or composers such as Mahler, Stockhausen or Bruch. However, I did become aware of a range of classical writers and musicians, along with rudimentary understanding of their styles and career spans. There were for me no free tickets to Glastonbury or other big pop junkets. However, I was able to attend a couple of easy-listening Proms at the Albert Hall and, in 2006, an Artur Pizarro piano recital in the soaring surroundings of St John’s, Smith Square. However, the best night out was to see the musical Stomp as part of the network’s awayday. I recommend anyone with rhythmic roots and a sense of humour to go along. Highly entertaining. 

There was nothing classical about Gnarls Barkley’s ‘Crazy’ but it did become a modern classic. It topped the UK chart for nine weeks in Spring 2006, helped by then-record download sales. The act basically comprised writer-producer Danger Mouse and soul singer CeLo Green, while the psychiatry-themed song neatly blended Green’s high tenor with a subtle Sixties-ish groove. The mirrored inkblot animation was an extraordinary video, too, but with the single’s longevity, TOTP needed a studio performance. Sadly for me, that comprised a funereal-paced soul ballad featuring CeLo in airline pilot’s uniform. I’m sure many loved it but I felt it lost what was so memorable about the record, namely the elegant pulse of the dance beat.

The following summer, Rihanna’s ‘Umbrella’ went still further, remaining top of the crop for a full ten weeks. And deservedly so. I hadn’t paid much attention to the Barbadian beanpole’s early singles, successful though they were. However, the drum ’n’ hi-hat-heavy production, backed by an almost imperceptible high synth line hammered me between the ears. I’ve never been a fan of Rihanna’s voice, nor of Jay-Z’s rap intro, but this must be one of the decade’s finest dance records. Amusingly, in contrast to drought-stricken 2006 when England experienced its hottest, sunniest July in 350 years, ‘Umbrella’’s chart dominance of May-July 2007 coincided with a record-breaking spell of wet weather. Either way, sales of actual umbrella-ella-ellas soared. Such a shame that Leona’s blasted song outsold Rihanna’s, another in the long line of reasons for keeping Simon Cowell off my Christmas card list.

The new wave of Indie rock was breaking powerfully on the shores of 2006. With the exception of Kaiser Chiefs guitarist Andrew White, apparently channelling his inner Johnny Marr/Noel Gallagher into his hairstyle, there was little similarity with the Nineties brand of guitar bands. In February 2007, the Chiefs themselves ascended the summit with the rock jewel ‘Ruby’. I don’t think it has necessarily stood the test of time but it was one of my favourites of the year. 

Tousled curls seemed to be the ‘in’ style, while some of the music had a slightly rumpled sound to it, too. Illustration number one: The Kooks and singer Luke Pritchard. Their fourth single ‘Naïve’ was their biggest seller, but it’s the sprightly, folky fifth, ‘She Moves In Her Own Way’ which was, and remains, their best-known hit.  

Illustration number two: Razorlight and Jonny Borrell. ‘Golden Touch’ had peaked at three, ‘Somewhere Else’ at two, but in October 2006, they went all the way with the tale of life on the road, ‘America’. It still receives generous airplay on Nation Radio but further success has somehow eluded the band. Great things were expected of Borrell on both sides of the Atlantic, in both music and acting. He possessed all the ingredients: the looks, the contacts, ‘A’ list girlfriends (allegedly) and the essential air of ‘indie cool’. The Hollywood career never happened and, despite a few festival appearances, Razorlight remain without a label. How quickly stars can wane.

Illustration number three: The Fratellis. The Glaswegian trio may all have sported the Fratelli nomenclature but the fraternal connection was totally bogus. Who cared? In 2006, they were hot property. ‘Chelsea Dagger’, apparently based on John Fratelli’s burlesque dancer wife and a play on Britney Spears, has become something of a football stadium anthem. Well, the boisterous chorus of “Der der-ler, der der-ler, Der der ler-der-ler-der-ler” certainly has. The actual verse and lyric has been long forgotten! In any case, I preferred the follow-up, ‘Whistle for the Choir’. Its semi-acoustic, almost Gallic lilt, plus memorable melody, really appealed to me, and that appeal remains undimmed to this day.

Mind you, when there was some decent stuff emanating from the speakers, I probably allowed myself to listen a bit too closely when I should have been identifying and analysing potential customer bases of agency clients. Virgin Radio’s focus on pop-rock introduced me to the music not just of conventional rock but also new bands with a twenty-first century sound.

I’ve already mentioned the Arctic Monkeys and, despite their undoubtedly sizeable following, their failure to convert me with their first album’s offerings. However, when I first heard ‘Fluorescent Adolescent’ at AMS, I couldn’t believe it was them. But there were the familiar ingredients: jangly rhythm guitars, earthy ‘Northern’ lyrics and Alex Turner’s slightly echo-ey or over-dubbed vocals. Yet there was a delightful melody, too. It wasn’t merely my favourite Arctic Monkeys track; it was one of my fave singles of the whole year. It also made me re-evaluate earlier songs. For example, I heard ‘Mardy Bum’ on the radio and for three minutes became immersed in the world of the Sheffield underclass. I didn’t rush out to buy their albums but perhaps I wasn’t as out-of-touch as I feared.

Turner’s songs weren’t particularly frolicsome fun-fests but their readiness to dress in clown costumes (reflecting the odd violent video for ‘…Adolescent’) did at least suggest a sense of humour. Other, more pop-oriented indie bands possessed an overtly happy sound. Scouting for Girls’ mildly irritating ‘She’s So Lovely’ was a case in point. Then there were The Hoosiers. Founded in Indiana and re-located to Bracknell, they had a number five single with ‘Worried About Ray’ around the time I joined AMS. It sounded like a sad song, which jarred with the enthusiastic vocals. The follow-up, ‘Goodbye Mister A’ sounded a more snug fit. 

The Feeling were in a similar vein, and enjoyed a run of quirky top 20 singles throughout 2006. ‘Never Be Lonely’ and ‘I Love it when You Call’ were perfect fodder for pop radio but too cute for my taste. Their biggest hit, the ballad ‘Sewn’, passed me by completely back then. A shame, because it’s quite a powerful slow number which demands a careful listen. The follow-up, ‘You Fill My Little World’ was more uplifting, and was the Feeling song which I most enjoyed. Its captivating chorus still makes me smile, not because it’s amusing but thanks to its cheery vocals, piano chords and general niceness.

When it comes to feelgood music, there can be few to match Mika. His uber-camp, shiny-eyed falsetto pop lost much of its sheen with repetition but when ‘Grace Kelly’ was released at the start of 2007, everyone fell in love with him – or at least with the song. I considered it not so much a breath of fresh air but a full-blown gale. Written about his experience of rejection in the business, it seemed to subvert all the conventions of a contemporary hit. With all the sonic winks and nudges, it was more musical comedy than platinum single material, yet it topped the charts for five weeks and sold over 600,000 copies. The chorus demanded that people of all ages, myself included, sing along. A shame that I misheard “I could be hurtful, I could be purple” as “I could be happy, I could be dappy”! But then I never was much cop at picking out lyrics.

There were a few American ballads dominating the airwaves. I found The Fray’s ‘How to Save a Life’ insufferably depressing, but The Plain White Ts’ charming acoustic love song ‘Hey There Delilah’ was far more engaging. Yet two singles released by a previously unknown Scottish singer-songwriter left an even deeper impression on me in 2007.

Like many of the other artists I’ve name-checked, I never saw Amy Macdonald appear on TV but her bluesy voice was always on the airwaves. ‘Mr Rock’n’Roll’ was a brilliant blend of acoustic strumming, electric noodling, strings and toe-tapping beat. Later in the year, she released the more serious but hauntingly atmospheric ‘This is the Life’, which I loved even more. For some inexplicable reason, it failed to crack the top 20 here yet took Europe by storm. It was the biggest seller of the year in Holland.

2007 ended with me desperately trying to ignore Leona Lewis and her X Factor descendants and wallowing in the past. A colleague’s illness allowed me to snap up a ticket to see Madness at the O2. What a venue, and what a show! I was getting older, and nostalgia was beginning to take a tighter chokehold on my musical experience.