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.

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. 

1987 – We know the game and we’re gonna play it

Classy songwriters saved the day in a year otherwise exemplified by somewhat boring music and, apart from increasing my involvement in Billericay Rotaract, nothing notably exciting happening in my own life. Vince Clarke was composing ‘em, Andy Bell was singing ‘em, and Erasure peppered the Top 20. However it was fellow synth-pop masters The Pet Shop Boys who dominated 1987.

They topped the chart twice, with ‘It’s a Sin’ and the Christmas number one, ‘Always on My Mind’. I recall listening to a Radio 1 broadcast when Jonathan King overtly accused PSB of plagiarising ‘Wild World’, repeating “Pet Shop Boys, no talent rip-offs” over and over. I’m delighted to report that they successfully sued the notoriously opinionated producer-broadcaster. His words didn’t hurt them either where it mattered, in the music business. Other acts seemed perfectly happy to benefit from the PSB magic. My second-favourite PSB song, ‘What Have I Done to Deserve This?’ was prevented from making it three at the summit by the year’s biggest-seller, yet resurrected the career of Dusty Springfield. They also worked with Liza Minnelli, although it wasn’t her version of ‘Rent’ which went to number eight in ’87. Tennant and Lowe were already way beyond mere electro-popsters; arch and a tad pretentious at times, but they were definitely peerless composers.

Ditto, The Bee Gees. Barry Gibb had given Diana Ross the leg-up the previous year with ‘Chain Reaction’, wasted on the Supreme diva. Now came a similar winning song ‘You Win Again’ which became their final number one in October. The odd, industrial, almost military, beat backed a typical clever melody, Barry lead vocal and fraternal harmonies and reminded me just how good they were, and had been for twenty years.

Yet some of the biggest hits in 1987 had their beginnings before even the Gibbs started their UK chart career. Jackie Wilson had enjoyed Christmas success with ‘Reet Petite’ and now came Ben E King’s ‘Stand By Me’ (catapulted to the top by a Levi’s commercial) and Los Lobos’ lively version of ‘La Bamba’. Percy Sledge’s re-released ‘When a Man Loves a Woman’ soared to number two, as did ‘Under the Boardwalk’ by American man of the moment, Bruce Willis. Not yet a movie star, his ‘Moonlighting’ TV role provided a springboard for a surprisingly fruitful musical adventure. However, once he donned that blood-stained vest in Die Hard, we were spared any more of his retro vocal efforts. He wasn’t quite as good as he thought he was.

I preferred singles by two forty-somethings. Carly Simon purred her way through the beautiful ‘Coming Around Again’ in January, then Labi Siffre released his trademark anti-apartheid anthem, ‘(Something Inside) So Strong’. I must admit I wasn’t struck by the power of the heartfelt lyric until I came to sing it a capella with the Quantock Musical Theatre Company many years later:-

“The higher you build your barriers, the taller I become
The farther you take my rights away, the faster I will run”.

The guy could sing, too. Believe me, it was a helluva strain to try and replicate his tingling high tenor in the verses. The chorus would come as a welcome relief.

Not sure what Labi’s dancing was like, but I doubt he could have held a candle to Michael Jackson. His long-awaited successor to Thriller finally saw the light of day in August, and ‘Bad’ was actually quite good. I was surprised that the title track didn’t reach number one over here, even with Scorsese’s West Side Story homage video. Jacko’s skin tone was turning notably paler, but the ‘Bad’ single was darker and rougher than much of what had come before.

The album was the only one to out-sell the latest product from U2 but The Joshua Tree was one of my most influential albums, and one of the first I bought myself that wasn’t a compilation. The driving force was the exposure I had to the cassette in the Ford Fiesta of fellow Rotaractor Caroline. I think she purchased it as soon as it hit the shelves, and played it as we headed in a club convoy one weekend morning to Upminster station. ‘With Or Without You’ was the stand-out single, featuring the haunting ‘infinite guitar’ and gently pulsating bassline, yet there was barely a duff track on it. It possessed something that only the best albums do: being greater than the sum of its parts. And yet I would have to wait a few more years for what I’d describe as my favourite U2 record.

I have a love-hate relationship with that peculiar phenomenon, the Rock Ballad. Most are crap but, for some reason, Heart’s ‘Alone’ really grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me a shaking that hasn’t really left me. The piano intro, power-packed chorus and passionate vocals by Ann Wilson (the dark-haired sister) and the playful winding down at the end combined to tick the right boxes. It’s just the right side of the line which separates genius from obnoxiously OTT.

Two of the biggest singles of the year I would cheerfully consign to the waste bin of history: Starship’s ‘Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now’ and T’Pau’s ‘China In Your Hand’. The latter’s only redeeming feature was Carol Decker’s striking red hair which has served her rather well  ever since, even without any comparable musical triumphs.

Meanwhile Wham had vanished but George Michael was everywhere. He partnered Aretha Franklin to glory on ‘I Knew You Were Waiting’, courted controversy with the awful ‘I Want Your Sex’ and provided uncredited guest vocals on his cousin’s Boogie Box High cover of ‘Jive Talkin’’. Then came his first solo project ‘Faith’. The image of George in denim, swinging that acoustic guitar, sporting what was soon dubbed as ‘designer stubble’ transformed him from one half of a pop duo into credible soul boy in one well-crafted step. It wasn’t an image that appealed to me and neither, I’m afraid, did his music.

Social comment was alive and well in Prince’s simple but striking ‘Sign o’ the Times’ and Suzanne Vega’s ‘Luka’ but, to be honest, sometimes it’s better to just have a giggle. The Firm’s utterly silly ‘Star Trekkin’’ was just the ticket. Elsewhere, I wasn’t taken in by The Beastie Boys’ efforts to portray themselves as the new Sex Pistols and cringed at footballers Glenn and Chris (aka Hoddle and Waddle) performing ‘Diamond Lights’. On the other hand, I was mildly diverted by George Harrison’s return to the commercial big time with ‘Got My Mind Set On You’, The Proclaimers’ engaging Scottish-twin-brothers-in-big-glasses shtick on ‘Letter From America’ and the unconventional ‘Hey Matthew’ by Karel Fialka. Well, variety is the spice of musical life! 

Speaking of which, 1987 was the year when House (abbreviated from Chicago’s Warehouse club, where the genre originated) crossed over into the mainstream. It’s never been top of my list for listening but the jerky piano rhythms of Steve ‘Silk’ Hurley’s ‘Jack Your Body’ and deeper, smoother bass sound of M/A/R/R/S’ ‘Pump Up The Volume’ had something about them. They both went to number one, so I wasn’t the only person to think that way. I now know it was short for ‘ejaculation’ but although suddenly everything was Jack this, Jack that, Jack the other, when it came to song titles I still don’t really know why. 

Of course, my more conventional tastes gravitated towards the pop end of the spectrum. Like me, Johnny Hates Jazz (ouch!) but the British band seemed to pack promise when in the Spring they released the smooth silky ‘Shattered Dreams’. I associate the record with another Rotaract day out, this time a hot sunny afternoon in Cambridge. Pausing by the sprawling acres of Jesus Green, I vividly recall hearing the strains of the song floating from the radio amidst a seated group of young tourists. It sounded so serene, so perfect for the occasion. As for JHJ, I don’t remember hearing other hits, although apparently they did quite well overseas for a year or two. 

Wet Wet Wet also broke through that year. ‘Wishing I Was Lucky’ went to number six, stimulating a stream of decent singles and a huge album. Singer Marti Pellow’s perpetual smile was refreshing at first. Had any man ever looked so insanely happy on the stage?! By the time they brought out the ballad ‘Angel Eyes’, Pellow’s little vocal tics were wearing thin but WWW’s records were invariably worth a listen.

Antipodean group Crowded House provided a very different type of House music. It’s astounding to discover that their classic ballad ‘Don’t Dream It’s Over’ failed to reach the top 20 over here but it had already registered with me. They went on to become one of my favourite groups, although it needed more great songs to do so. I also liked New Order, whose brilliant, Stephen Hague-produced electro-dance anthem ‘True Faith’ raced to four, aided by a barnstorming video.

On the Mancunian theme, I wasn’t particularly enamoured of the latterday Smiths songs. However, after buying their latest singles/B-sides compilation The World Won’t Listen, I was introduced to ‘There is a Light that Never Goes Out’ and music will never seem the same again. It’s been derided as a song about suicide. I’m not so sure; I just think it’s the greatest ever song about unrequited love. Whilst I could never place myself in the same depths of despondency as Morrissey, I was a shy, sensitive soul, too, and some of the lyrics resonated with me:- 

“And in the darkened underpass I thought Oh God, my chance has come at last
(But then a strange fear gripped me and I just couldn't ask)”

Having read Morrissey’s weird and wonderful autobiography, the significance of the video becomes more obvious. It makes no direct link with the lyric but focuses on the imminent destruction of the writer’s Manchester childhood community. Maybe that was the alternative light which was about to be extinguished in a physical sense, but not in Morrissey’s mind. Whatever. What makes such a sad song so memorable was the use of such a gorgeous melody, strings and light, lilting production. Eighties indie gold!

Julian Cope didn’t quite have the feverish fanbase of The Smiths but, as I was to discover on the 1992 release of his Floored Genius collection, he was just an accomplished a singer-songwriter-performer as Morrissey and Marr. After the Teardrop Explodes era, the only song I recall hearing was ‘Eve’s Volcano’, and it didn’t even rattle the cage of the Top 40. For some reason, I associate it with a walk up Wood Lane to work at the BBC. Presumably I’d heard it on the radio that morning and it had stuck in my brain. Good job, too, because it was one of the reasons why I later bought the cassette of Floored Genius. Irony of ironies, the one song excluded from the track list was… ‘Eve’s Volcano’! Thank God for YouTube and Cope’s New York gig.

Cope had allegedly cleaned up his drug-addled act by ’87 but nobody looked more clean-cut than Colin Vearncombe, alias Black. His rather dreary dirge ‘Sweetest Smile’ may have been a Top Tenner but didn’t stick in my memory. However, when he re-released ‘Wonderful Life’, I was gob-smacked. I’ve always been a sucker for a well-crafted minor key ballad and a steel band and here was a record which boasted both delicious ingredients. Black had such a delicate croon, ideal for such a melancholic yet simultaneously curiously uplifting song, and he deservedly enjoyed international success with it. Sadly, his own wonderful life was cut cruelly short in 2016 by a car crash. It makes watching the Mersey coast-set video and lyrics like 

            “The sunshine fills my hair 

And dreams hang in the air”

even more bittersweet, and hard to hold back tears.

There was no need to cry for the prolific production team of Stock, Aitken and Waterman. SAW had their own names on the boring jazz-hip-hop ‘Roadblock’ in the summer of 1987 but it was their work with other artists which was making them much-needed money and a burgeoning reputation for finding an unfailing formula. Dead Or Alive had already provided a first number one single and Bananarama were enjoying a second spell in the limelight with entertaining records like ‘Love In the First Degree’.  

But now came the compelling sister act Mel and Kim. Their sassy style and sexy smiles dovetailed with ‘Respectable’, following their debut hit ‘Showing Out’, and big things were on the cards for the Appleby girls. Unfortunately another tragedy put paid to that. Although concealed at the time, Mel was diagnosed with cancer of the spine and within three years she had died of complications aged just 23.  

Rick Astley was alive, well and only 21 in August 1987 when his first single ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’ blazed up the charts. The shy singer from Lancashire had allegedly started as a S/A/W teaboy, a rumour happily endorsed by Pete Waterman himself. Whatever the truth, young Rick was catapulted to fame by the song’s success. As for the production trio, the magic formula had now been perfected. S/A/W were on the road to world domination!

1986 - Faces on posters, too many choices

At the start of 1986 I declared my fledgling accountancy career dead and buried, pinning my colours to audience research for the foreseeable future. Away from the office, I was also becoming more and more involved with Billericay Rotaract, with a knock-on impact on my musical diet. However, everyone was listening to Madonna.

There was no danger of Madonna suffering third album syndrome. True Blue even managed to out-sell Brothers in Arms. It yielded three number one singles, a number four and the first release, ‘Live To Tell’, was pipped to the post by Austria’s finest, Falco, and his mad and maddening Mozart musical biography ‘Rock Me Amadeus’. 

I really loved ‘Live To Tell’, a powerful ballad featuring Madonna simultaneously strong yet emotionally vulnerable.  I reckon it has also stood the test of time better than most of her Eighties hits. Yet 1986 also featured the re-released ‘Borderline’ (so-so), ‘Papa Don’t Preach’ (controversial social comment), the title track (catchy bubblegum pop) and ‘Open Your Heart’ (trademark dance). The Hispanic rhythms of ‘La Isla Bonita’ also sailed serenely to the top the following Spring. I happily admit to buying the album, too, and there’s barely a duff track on it, even if nowadays the Bray/Leonard production screams “Eighties!” a bit too loudly. 

I don’t know whether La Ciccone was already being dubbed the Queen of Pop, but were that the case, in 1986 she faced considerable competition for the title. Another platinum blonde, Annie Lennox, sounded imperious on ‘Thorn in My Side’, Alison Moyet sang the upbeat ‘Is This Love?’, Diana Ross burst back to the top with Barry Gibb’s ‘Chain Reaction’ and then there were Kate Bush and Whitney Houston.

Our Kate had wowed the critics and public the previous year when the Hounds of Love album came out. I wasn’t that fussed on the lead single ‘Running Up The Hill’ but for me the title song contained a much more exciting mix of melody and melodrama, although it was a relative failure in the charts. For all the Kate Bush mystique and subsequent goddess status, ‘Hounds of Love’ is probably the last of her songs which floated my boat. 

My first impression of Whitney had been a decent balladeer with slicked back hair crooning ‘Saving All My Love For You’ the previous December. A few months later, that image was dramatically transformed for ‘How Will I Know?’ Suddenly she was this vibrant, vivacious pop princess, backed by perky production from Narada Michael Walden, whose sound seemed to epitomise the 1986-87 period, even more than Madonna. I much preferred Houston in this mode to the big-voiced soul diva heard on the follow-up ‘The Greatest Love of All’.

Corinne Drewery was another face of 1986. As front woman of Swing Out Sister, her tall frame and severe ‘bob’ were on TOTP when her band were performing the exuberant ‘Breakout’. It had horns, subtle synths and backing vocals which begged you to dance and sing along. It even earned them a Grammy nomination.

Passing quickly over Sinitta’s irritating summer smash ‘So Macho’, I have to mention Bananarama’s triumphant comeback with ‘Venus’. Their famously unsynchronised dancing remained, but their new production team of Stock/Aitken/Waterman lent the trio a hitherto absent respectability in dance music, which was to serve both sides well in the coming years. Apparently S/A/W had needed persuasion that ‘Venus’ would work, so maybe Pete Waterman has the genius of Woodward, Fahey and Dallin, not his own, to thank for his lucrative career as manager of The Hit Factory. 

Suzanne Vega represented the flip side to Bananarama of the female pop star. On the back of her debut releases, ‘Marlene on the Wall’ and ‘Left of Centre’, I bravely bought her eponymous album. To my surprise, I fell in love with the folky songstress’s largely acoustic masterpiece ‘The Queen and the Soldier’. I still marvel at the lyrics which paint such vivid pictures that when I first listened, stopped me dead in my tracks, tears in my eyes. It sounds pretty powerful live, too. Working in the BBC’s audience research department, my job took me each Monday afternoon to the office of Radio 1’s Chief Assistant Dave Price. I remember in one meeting someone else entered and clumsily nudged a copy of Vega’s follow-up LP ‘Solitude Standing’. Dave was aghast, declaring it sacrilege to mess with such a record. That may have been pushing it a bit but the quiet New Yorker had undoubtedly cornered the market in intelligent melodious music. I’d love to hear her live. 

Emanating from the West Coast, The Bangles also made an impression on me. Well, Susannah Hoffs’ eyes did! The all-female quartet’s version of Prince’s ‘Manic Monday’ was infectious, a three-minute slice of dreamy real life, and those ‘peepers’ also turned me to jelly on the huge 1989 hit ‘Eternal Flame’ However, in my opinion, Hoffs’ voice wasn’t quite as exquisite as her face! Oh, well, nobody’s perfect! 

With the world supposedly on hold awaiting the successor to ‘Thriller’, 1986 was also the year in which Janet Jackson emerged from her brother’s shadow. When still a teenager, her ‘Control’ album was her first away from her family’s oppressive clutches, and delivered several Top 20 singles. ‘What Have You Done for Me Lately?’ reached three, as did 1987’s pleasant ballad ‘Let’s Wait a While’ but my pick of the tracks was ‘When I Think of You’. The official video was a messy mass of musical theatre, featuring a cast of thousands but as a dance record it was dazzling.

Probably the British act with more weeks on the chart in ’86 than any other was Five Star. Ah, Five Star! The band The Jacksons could have been had Janet and LaToya been roped in after Michael’s departure. Well, maybe not. After all, they did come from Romford. The Pearson family quintet had four top 10 singles that year, led by ‘System Addict’ and ‘Rain or Shine’ but I didn’t particularly like them. With careful styling, lead singer Denise bore a definite resemblance to Janet Jackson, which must have been the intention. Nevertheless, in 1986 it was the Pearsons who edged the Jacksons, but their dominance wasn’t to last very long.

This was a year of big hair and even bigger ballads. ‘Poodle rock’ entered the vocabulary, a perfectly apt description when you look at Bon Jovi – whose perennial stadium-pleaser ‘Livin’ On a Prayer’ reached number four – and unlikely Swedish rock gods Europe, who topped the charts with the dreadful but still-popular chart-topper, ‘The Final Countdown’. At least Steven Tyler’s shaggy locks were more old-school. He and Aerosmith played second fiddle to Run DMC on the utterly brilliant rock-rap mash-up ‘Walk This Way’. I’m no great fan of either genre but, from the infectiously foot-tapping intro, this record changed my perception of hip-hop. The video was refreshingly tongue-in-cheek, too.

As for the big balladeers, hair was less of an issue. Berlin’s ‘Take My Breath Away’ probably owed more to the appeal of hot young film star Tom Cruise and his box-office smash Top Gun. Nick Berry’s ‘Every Loser Wins’ owed everything to the song’s frequent references on the nation’s new favourite ‘soap’, Eastenders, in which Berry played unlucky-in-love Wicksy. Chris De Burgh’s ‘Lady In Red’ was unashamedly romantic, an instant hit at weddings even when the bride is wearing white. (Its main problem was De Burgh himself. I just couldn’t take him seriously. I don’t mean as a singer, but as a human being). Rod Stewart also checked in with one of his more grandiose efforts, a love song not just for a woman but for “the northern lights and the swirling pipes, how they make a grown man cry”. The prominent bagpipes reappeared on his 1991 hit ‘Rhythm of my Heart’, and they never fail to stir the blood, even in a non-Celt like me. 

I normally prefer my love songs subtler. Fortunately 1986 delivered a few which fitted the bill. ‘Absolute Beginners’ was heralded as the musical which would resurrect the British film industry. It failed, of course, but David Bowie’s epic theme song deserved better. He’s so cool in the monochrome video, too, but could he ever be anything else?

Status Quo surprised us all in October when they released the strangely grown-up slowish tempo ‘In The Army Now’, which proved to be one of their most successful singles. Even Francis Rossi wore a smart jacket in the promo. Around the same time, Spandau Ballet’s ‘Through the Barricades’ is perhaps the finest moment of both writer Gary Kemp and singer Tony Hadley, a million times better than ‘True’ or ‘Gold’! Hull’s finest The Housemartins narrowly missed out on the Christmas top spot with their a capella version of ‘Caravan of Love’. In striking contrast to their entertainingly energetic debut, ‘Happy Hour’, this showed that Paul Heaton could sing as well as write. In my humble opinion, 1987’s ‘Build’ was even better, though. The band may have split in 1988 but of course the division merely hastened the arrival of The Beautiful South and Fatboy Slim. 

Andrew Lloyd Webber’s new musical ‘Phantom of the Opera’ was introduced with two successful singles. The theme tune featured Sarah Brightman alongside Steve Harley, but it was Cliff Richard who got to snog the composer’s wife in the video to ‘All I Ask Of You’. That must have been an unfamiliar experience for him!  Jenny was quick to buy tickets for the show, and I was amongst the Billericay Rotaract crowd who went to Her Majesty’s Theatre that autumn. Me and opera don’t usually mix, but I was captivated by the blend of clever staging, beautiful melodies and Michael Crawford’s performance in the lead role. His rendition of ‘Music of the Night’ was jaw-dropping, and it entered the top ten early the following year. In three decades, the musical has never left the West End and I’m not surprised. 

Cliff was part of another unexpected collaboration in the Spring. It all came about when the Comic Relief charity was launched. Someone had the bright idea of releasing a fund-raising single and it turned out to be Cliff’s ‘Living Doll’. This being a comedy event, he had to share top billing with The Young Ones, who provided the humour. And indeed it was quite funny, and the record was the fourth biggest-seller of the whole year! This had more jokes in it than another chart-topper, Spitting Image’s ‘Chicken Song’. The ITV satirical puppet show had become part of British cultural life, but this unfunny parody of summer holiday singalong hits was more atrocious than was strictly necessary. 

The Fluck and Law animators also had a hand (and numerous strings) in the success of a Genesis song. Collins, Rutherford and Banks enjoyed their most commercial pop album with ‘Invisible Touch’, featuring several memorable singles. ‘In Too Deep’ was a beautiful ballad, the title track a livelier affair and ‘Land of Confusion' a synth rock fusion, backed by a video which showed at least that Genesis weren’t afraid to have the urine extracted. True to Spitting Image tradition, the puppets weren’t exactly flattering likenesses, but they didn’t prevent the record peaking at 14, best of all the album’s releases. In truth, it was more insulting to perennial Spitting Image target President Reagan, and I wouldn’t complain about that. 

Invisible Touch was a long distance removed from the days when Peter Gabriel fronted the band. Yet 1986 was the year when the influential musician and composer truly made his mark on the Eighties. After four albums without titles, he released ‘So’, which proved at least as commercially triumphant as the Genesis production. The highlight was the innuendo-laden ‘Sledgehammer’. I did like the song but it’s impossible to think of it without the imaginative imagery of the animated video. Apparently it remains the most played video on MTV, and won every award going. Gabriel seemed so cool and, with his unshaken belief in social activism with Amnesty International and World Music, he is admirable in a way that probably no other musician – not even Bono or Geldof – has ever been.

World Music also achieved greater recognition courtesy of Paul Simon. His work with South African musicians on Graceland was highly controversial at the time and, to be honest, African rhythms aren’t my cup of tea. Nevertheless, the single ‘You Can Call Me Al’ was highly engaging. The famously grumpy singer-writer allowed himself to be sent up in the official video, in which he is upstaged by the considerably taller Chevy Chase. The comedian is probably funnier in this four-minute sequence than all his National Lampoon films combined. So, for that matter, is Paul Simon.

There was some peculiar stuff in the upper echelons of the singles chart, too. I must have long since blotted from my mind the big hits by Nana Mouskouri, Su Pollard (of TV sitcom Hi-De-Hi) etc, but the opening Moroder beats of SIgue Sigue Sputnik’s debut single have unfortunately stayed with me. ‘Love Missile No.9’ was launched early in the year, ignited by a potent marketing campaign. They were punks for the Thatcher generation, but they lacked the music to go with the scary hair and make-up. Their follow-ups must have been damp squibs as they have thankfully been forgotten. On the other hand, Larry Blackmon’s infamous red codpiece on Cameo’s ‘Word Up’ is emblazoned on my memory. A superior slice of  R’n’B, though.

Wham said goodbye, performing their farewell Wembley concert in June, at the same time Edge of Heaven was their final number one. However, it was hello to The Communards. With ex-Bronski Beat gay icons Jimmy Somerville and (the future Reverend) Richard Coles at the helm, their hi-NRG cover of ‘Don’t Leave Me This Way’ swept aside all-comers. It sold barely 600,000 copies but it was the best of a poor bunch. Another electro-pop duo Erasure also enjoyed their first big hit, ‘Sometimes’. Vince Clarke and Andy Bell were to give us some of the best pop of the late Eighties.

Despite the exhortations from Morrissey to ‘Hang the DJ’, the club scene didn’t collapse, but I did enjoy the short but sweet Smiths song ‘Panic’ and the conspicuously jolly ‘Ask’, both of which entered the top 20. Other favourites included The Human League’s US-friendly ‘Human’, ex-punks The Damned’s faithful copy of ‘Eloise’ and A-Ha’s rockier but ravishing ‘I’ve Been Losing You’. However, the one that really penetrated my consciousness was ‘The Way it Is’ by Bruce Hornsby and the Range. I couldn’t help taping it several times, just loving the perky piano riffs set against a beautiful bed of synth. Hearing it again now, it doesn’t quite excite me as it did thirty years earlier but, as with the successor ‘Mandolin Rain’, still better than most.

I’ve mentioned the development of the CD, and Radio 1 demonstrated its commitment to cutting edge technology by broadcasting more and more programmes using the shiny silver circles. Bruno Brookes Compact Disc Jockey became a Bank Holiday Monday staple on the network, “a non-stop music show entirely on compact disc”. Wow! The records sounded so good on our stereo system and very ordinary speakers. Or was it just my imagination? Some of the hits seemed tailor-made for the new medium. Not only Dire Straits, but anything with a synth purring in the background. George Michael’s ‘A Different Corner’, Level 42’s ‘Leaving Me Now’ and ‘Captain of her Heart’ by Double (pronounced the French way) spring to mind.

Another act whose intricate yet super-smooth production typified the early CD era was The Pet Shop Boys. They weren’t spring chickens and success was hardly overnight but when I heard the first strains of ‘West End Girls’ just before the previous Christmas, I knew this was something special. It eventually topped the chart by elbowing out Shaky’s ‘Merry Christmas Everyone’ and has never left me since. It’s not just an Eighties record; it has stood the test of time better than anything from 1986, sending chills down my spine at every listen.

‘Love Comes Quickly’ took a while to grow on me, while ‘Suburbia’ probably overdoes the sound effects and ‘Opportunities’ is a foot-tapping critique of the burgeoning Yuppie phenomenon. And they had so much more to give! How many people have achieved 22 Top 10 singles and continue to maintain credibility from 1986’s debut album ‘Please’ to 2016’s ‘Super’. Back then, you could actually see Chris Lowe’s eyes and Neil Tennant boasted a full head of dark curls before he became a silver-topped national treasure. Could 1987 top ’86 for the PSBs? Well, yes. Actually…..