1983 – Put on your red shoes and dance the blues

My life may have been turning more London-centric but the charts seemed to be taking on a more Celtic flavour. The Scots had been on the march since the dawn of the Eighties but in 1983, the Welsh and Irish were also enjoying some representation in the top ten.

It was all stirring guitar rock from Rhyl’s finest, The Alarm, as ’68 Guns’ made the top 20 but music doesn’t come more stirring than U2’s ‘New Year’s Day’, the first time I’d really heard the band. Four years earlier, they had performed in The Pit in the student union building at Exeter but, a few big albums later, they were evolving into a stadium band. Altered Images returned with the wonderful ‘Don’t Talk to Me About Love’ and Simple Minds furthered their growing reputation with ‘Waterfront’.

Another young bunch emanating from north of the border were Big Country. They really wore their Scottishness on their sleeves. Part of the band’s unique sound came from a bagpipe-like guitar effect and, to emphasise their Celtic credentials still further, singer Stuart Adamson was fond of wearing a tartan headscarf. Long before Mel Gibson smeared himself with blue paint for Braveheart, listening to Big Country achieved the same effect of instilling undying love of the thistle and saltire – even if you were English through and through! ‘Fields of Fire’, ‘Chance’ and the thrilling 'In a Big Country’ all sounded great, as did the following year’s ‘Wonderland’. Like so many in the business, addiction to alcohol did for Adamson and he committed suicide in 2001.

He had been a founder member of The Skids, a common sight on TV in 1979-1981. At the same time, fellow Scots The Tourists also had some chart success but in ’83, two of their line-up changed their look, their name and musical style and became huge stars. As Eurythmics, Annie Lennox’s startling short orange hair and powerful voice blended beautifully with Dave Stewart’s synths and talent for production. ‘Sweet Dreams’ was an instant hit, then ‘Who’s That Girl?’ and ‘Love is a Stranger’ provided more of the same. For years to come, each Eurythmics release was top-notch: subtle, sometimes lyrically dark but always an enjoyable listen.

I can’t say the same for Jim Steinman’s melodramatic rock operettas. I’d cheerily consign every Meatloaf record to the ocean floor, and his contribution to Bonnie Tyler’s career revival that year was little better. ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ dominated March, bludgeoning even ‘Billie Jean’ into submission, and just the sight of Tyler’s big hair, let alone the sound of her husky voice, brings me out in shivers. I much preferred the number one by the even huskier-toned Rod Stewart. I know he’s not officially Scottish, but ‘Baby Jane’ was one of the finest pop songs of the year and (in spite of that sax solo!) up there with his best.

It was a good year for Australia, too. Their cricket team may have been in the doldrums but, thanks in no small part to the popularity of comedian Paul Hogan and his Foster’s lager ads, the tongue-in-cheek Oz humour in Men at Work’s ‘Down Under’ took the single and source album to number one on both sides of the Atlantic in January. The video and lyrics contrived to include all sorts of Aussie stereotypes, but all in good faith! ‘Waiting for a Train’ was another good top-tenner by an Australian band; this time, Flash and the Pan. I don’t think I’ve heard it in the radio since then but I was obviously not the only person who liked it at the time.

Not sure if they were at work, but there were also Men Without Hats, but this lot were from Canada. I actually rated their top ten single ‘Safety Dance’ as one of 1983’s musical highlights. The Wiltshire-filmed English folky video is a bit bonkers but thoroughly entertaining for a song written in frustration at over-zealous bouncers who once stopped the lead singer from pogo-ing at a gig!

A different perspective of Australia was offered in a now-classic video featuring David Bowie. In the documentary 5 Years, Nile Rogers claimed with some credibility that Bowie had approached him with a request to “write me some hits” True to form, the disco legend duly delivered. Not only that, but he presented David with his most successful single and album of his illustrious career.  With his bottle blonde quiff and generously-proportioned trousers, this was an altogether more mainstream Eighties image for the famous fashionisto. ‘Let’s Dance’ swept Duran Duran aside in April, then both ‘Chinese Girl’ and ‘Modern Love’ peaked at two. Of the trio, my favourite was the second, featuring as it did the familiar guitarwork of the ex-Chic man. Setting aside the controversially sexy video, here’s a live performance from that year’s Serious Moonlight tour. 

Nile Rogers wasn’t the only Seventies disco pioneer riding a new wave of popularity in 1983. I recall that August hearing the toe-tapping intro to KC and the Sunshine Band’s ‘Give it Up’ while strolling to the beach at the then small Tenerife resort of Playa de las Americas, and it had most of Europe dancing all summer. During the holiday the hotel poolside PA system was occasionally fond of playing another excellent track: ‘Everything Counts’ by Depeche Mode. Vince Clarke may have left, but their more political songs nonetheless retained the same winning combination of electronic melody and rhythm.  

Synths were to the fore in Howard Jones’ quirky ‘New Song’, accompanied on TOTP by the crazily made-up mime dancer Jed Hoile. Spiky-haired Howard had several hits in the mid-Eighties, most of them intelligently crafted productions like ‘Like to Get to Know You Well’ and the haunting ballad ‘Hide and Seek’, which he played at Live Aid. I even bought his album of 12” singles a few years later. 12” singles really took off in 1983 thanks to another synth act, New Order. They barely cracked the singles top ten but spent several months in the charts with ‘Blue Monday’. Their famously rough and raw live performance on TOTP certainly blew me away, even if I hadn’t caught on with the rest of their music or their Joy Division back story.  

It was about two years later when I first heard the record in a dancing scenario: that initial burst of chest-thudding drum machine tattoo, then gradually layer upon layer are added for about two minutes before Bernard Sumner’s cold vocals and Peter Hook’s chiming bass kick in. It’s a slow-burner, but now it probably gets more airplay on mainstream radio than it did when first released. “How does it feel….?” Very nostalgic, since you ask! 

Duran Duran finally hit the singles pinnacle for the first time with ‘Is There Something I Should Know?’ but just a month later they were trumped by New Romantic rivals Spandau Ballet. Gone were the swirling ‘Highlander’ costumes and in were the smart jackets as Tony Hadley crooned ‘True’. I confess I hated it. I remember it being number one for TOTP’s 1000^th show and wishing the landmark had been celebrated with a decent record. Of course, that distinctive and deceptively simple guitar two-note riff intro has never been away after more than three decades. At least it’s better than the follow-up ‘Gold’ which gets dragged out of semi-retirement every Olympics.

However, both acts were outdone by Culture Club. After that initial explosion of celebrity the previous autumn, Boy George and the gang went even further in ’83. ‘Church of the Poison Mind’ was an upbeat Motown-esque number with Helen Terry’s Aretha-like backing vocals, but then came ‘Karma Chameleon’. It held the top spot for six weeks, easily selling a million, more than any other single that year.  Effortlessly catchy, it wasn’t really up my alley, but was easily their most commercial record. I still don’t know what a Karma Chameleon is. I recall George at the time dodging the question by saying enigmatically that “there are a lot of them in the music business”. The ‘Boy’ had long since emerged from the Blitz Club chrysalis to burst into a brilliant butterfly, but fame was already taking its toll. Fortunately they still had the haunting December hit ‘Victims’ to come; for me, the best of their back catalogue.

In the early Eighties, Bananarama were hardly an accomplished singing or dancing entity but, as the only commercial ‘girl group’ around, their sales and media coverage were inflated relative to their talent. But of course pop music was ever thus. ‘Cruel Summer’ was their biggest hit of 1983, but ‘Robert De Niro’s Waiting’ the following year was arguably their most popular, at least in their first incarnation.

They had made their debut with Funboy 3, the splinter group from The Specials in ’82 but my pick of their singles was their last, ‘Our Lips Are Sealed’. Originally a bouncy Go-Gos song with Belinda Carlisle on vocals, Terry Hall, Lynval Johnson and Neville Staples transformed it into a brooding, almost menacing number, with pleasant harmonies but a danceable beat behind them.

There wasn’t much of their 2Tone history evident in that top ten single, and neither was there any punk rock detectable in Siouxsie and the Banshees’ surprise success with the old hippy era John Lennon composition ‘Dear Prudence’. I hadn’t heard the Beatles original but for once I actually prefer the Siouxsie version.

Sting seemed to be losing his commercial touch on the Synchronicity album, with one notable exception: ‘Every Breath You Take’. Strange how a dark tale of a possessive lover should be interpreted as the ultimate romantic song, but it earned Sting and the band just about every award going in the UK and USA, and time has treated it extremely well. Godley and Crème’s black and white video is so atmospheric, too.

The Police were on the wane but Wham were definitely moving centre stage. Their early mix of pop and white boy rap was evolving into something more intelligent. My choice Wham hit was 1983’s ‘Club Tropicana’.  The video portrayed George Michael and Andrew Ridgely as the babe magnets they undoubtedly were back then, at least in the eyes of teenage girls. It was a few years before teenage boys might have believed themselves to be in with a chance of snaring George. Rather than being a shameless paeon to Eighties consumer excess, Michael admitted it was entirely tongue-in-cheek. Whatever; it remains a fabulous slice of summer pop and should be played at every Mediterranean disco from now to eternity.

Nick Rhodes’ protoges Kajagoogoo briefly threatened to be The Next Big Thing. When ‘Too Shy’ flew to number one in February, it seemed inevitable that stupid hairstyles and an even dumber name would propel Limahl and co to pop royalty like Rhodes’ Duran Duran. Thankfully that didn’t happen, but they were all over the papers in 1983.

Genesis had their biggest single success with ‘Mama’ while Phil Collins had his first solo chart-topper with ‘You Can’t Hurry Love’. Prog-rocker Phil was now beginning to raid the Sixties for inspiration and consequent hits. I just couldn’t equate his dreary America-friendly movie ballads with the Genesis output throughout that decade. Oh, well. If you can carry off two simultaneous careers, you’re doing something right. Hats off to him.

Tracey Ullman was a very popular star thanks to her work in sketch comedies A Kick up The Eighties and Three of a Kind. Then she brought her golden touch to a brief pop music career. It wasn’t only Mr Collins harking back to the Sixties. Ullman’s debut ‘Breakaway’ was a 1964 cover, but at least the follow-up was written by Kirsty McColl, even if it had a retro sound. ‘They Don’t Know’ was one of my favourites of 1983. She even managed to lure Paul McCartney into the humorous ‘riches to rags’ video, presumably in return for her role in Macca’s own movie being filmed at the time. She spent more than two decades becoming immensely successful in the States but at the time of writing, our Tracey has moved back to the UK with a BBC TV comeback. Much as I loved ‘They Don’t Know’, I sincerely hope she doesn’t also attempt a new album!

Also on the light entertainment side of pop were The Flying Pickets. They were unashamed Socialists (not a dirty word in my own dictionary) and had been around for a while before they released a beautiful a capella version of Yazoo’s ‘Only You’. It dominated the Christmas charts and did no harm to Vince Clarke’s bank balance. Fast forward more than twenty-five years and, as part of the Quantock Musical Theatre Society’s tenor section, I performed a variation on the Pickets’ a cappela arrangement at various concerts. It took a hell of a lot of rehearsing but when we got the timing perfect, it sounded fantastic!

Another of my personal picks from the year was ‘Moonlight Shadow’, featuring the musical talents of Mike Oldfield and enchanting voice of Maggie Reilly. Number one across Europe, it peaked at three here. Not exactly a song that was ‘cool’ to admire, it nonetheless sounded mystical, magical, majestic. Beautiful production was a ‘given’ given Oldfield’s involvement, and his guitar solo lent an additional rocky vibe towards the end.

In the autumn, there was no escaping the light reggae of UB40’s ‘Red, Red Wine and Lionel Richie’s percussive classic ‘All Night Long’, and I was captivated by The Cure’s TOTP performance of ‘Love Cats’. However, I can’t say they occupy the same status in my head as they do in others’. Parts of my soundtrack, yes, but not necessarily parts I’d want replayed incessantly.

It was a phenomenal year for Paul Young. His ‘No Parlez’ album was second only to ‘Thriller’ in 1983 sales, and yielded three big singles. A 27 year-old veteran, Young’s good looks were heaven sent for the mid-Eighties conservative pop scene. His soulful voice offered something different, but I wasn’t particularly enamoured of his number one, ‘Wherever I Lay My Hat’. The more up-tempo ‘Come Back and Stay’ sounded more interesting but it was Paul’s re-release of his own cover of ‘Love of the Common People’ which caught my imagination and reached number two in December. Backed by the female singers The Royal Family, it sounded incredible to me. I couldn’t understand how it had flopped on its original release.

Paul Young had further success with well-produced sugary ballads in the next few years and he is immortalised by his opening lines of Band Aid’s ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas’. However, 1983 was his annus mirabilis.

The percussion heard in ‘Love of the Common People’ was also a feature of The Thompson Twins who were one of the most consistently successful acts of the year. They weren’t twins, and Tom Bailey, Alannah Currie and Joe Leeway were obviously not even related, yet the trio were constant TOTP performers. ‘Love On Your Side’ was quite New Wavey, ‘We Are Detectives’ a bit jokey but ‘Hold Me Now’ was top quality pop with that distinctive xylophone rhythm track. ‘Doctor Doctor’ and ‘You Take Me Up’ were more successful in 1984 but, as with Paul Young, I consider their best stuff to have graced the charts in 1983. I feel The Thompson Twins have been unfairly ignored, victims of the even greater success of Duran Duran, the Spands, Wham et al.

I did have a fleeting acquaintance – in the loosest possible sense of the word - with the band. At that time, I worked next door to the offices of their record company Arista in London’s Cavendish Square. One lunchtime, I actually saw Currie and Leeway emerging down the steps but, disappointingly, missing their lead singer.

One act which most certainly was not buried under tomes of media coverage and multi-layered New Wave memories was Michael Jackson. Gone was the afro, in was the new nose, but this was still unmistakeably an adult version of the remarkably talented teenage entertainer of the Seventies.

The world seemed to fall comprehensively under the spell of ‘Thriller’, and even now, well into the twenty-first century, no other album has come close to the global sales commanded by this one. Yet, I wasn’t one of those seduced. So many singles rolled off its production line. The title tune had a catchy riff, ‘Beat It’ boasted that Eddie Van Halen guitar solo, ‘The Girl is Mine’ featured that man McCartney again but the only track which grabbed me by the throat and refused to relinquish its grip was ‘Billie-Jean’. It managed only one week at the top over here, before Bonnie Tyler’s irritating epic gave Jacko a wee nudge off the summit. Yet the constant playing of that imaginative video, boosted by the infant MTV channel, made it a near-perfect package for the time. The pet cat-turned-tiger was an over-employed visual device but Michael’s swivels and spins to that simple but insistent dance groove proved irresistible. The subtle pastels must have influenced Michael Mann in his ‘Miami Vice’ imaginings, too.

The track was apparently produced to within an inch of its life but the effort was worth it in the end. If ‘I Want You Back’ was Michael Jackson at his most joyous, ‘Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough’ at his most sparkling and ‘Show You the Way to Go’ at his most assured, ‘Billie-Jean’ was the icon at the peak of his powers. There were plenty more hits, but everything professionally and personally seemed to take a downward trajectory.

By the end of the year, a new single by an unknown Liverpool band was struggling to break the top 40. Within weeks, its notoriety would create a modern recording phenomenon that would turn the UK music and pop marketing industries on their respective heads. 1984 would be a whole new ball game….