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…..

1985 - I’m Tired of dancing here all by myself

While I was busily filling tapes with tracks taped off the radio, the year also marked a personal metamorphosis. For the first time in years, I could boast a genuine social life! For that, I had Billericay Rotaract to thank. A club for 18-30 year-olds eager to combine social, sporting and community/charity activities, it also shifted my relationship with music.

I had yet to become educated in the subject of musical theatre, but there were a few disco parties in which I could let my hair down. I recall my first Rotaract event aimed at new members. I may have been the only recruit in that particular drive but that did mean the existing Rotaractors made a fuss of me. It must have worked because I ended up staying for nine years and I’m honoured to count some of those present as my oldest friends three decades later.

On that occasion, I remember dancing to the likes of Mai Tai’s ‘History’ and Prince’s ‘1999’ although I probably sat out the slowies like Foreigner’s ‘I Want to Know What Love Is’. Rotaract also reintroduced me to cinema, beginning with the contemporary hit comedy ‘Beverley Hills Cop’. Besides being won over by young Eddie Murphy’s incredibly energetic performance, the film was also one of the first non-musicals I remember to feature a pop soundtrack. Glenn Frey’s ‘The Heat Is On’ and The Pointer Sisters’ ‘Neutron Dance’ did well in the UK charts, but most memorable of all was Harold Faltermeyer’s synth instrumental ‘Axel F’.

Later in the year, I was to go with friends to see ‘Back to the Future’ and ‘Desperately Seeking Susan’, iconic mid-Eighties movies both, with music which captured the flavour of 1985. I never saw ‘The Breakfast Club’. However, apart from making stars of the ‘Brat Pack’ (Estevez, Ringwald, Sheedy et al), it belatedly brought Simple Minds to the attention of the Yanks. ‘Don’t You (Forget About Me)’ was probably my favourite song of the year and won them a great spot at Live Aid. I was already a fan, of course, but their music was beginning to acquire an epic kind of sound, which didn’t always work for me. ‘Alive and Kicking’ seemed more designed for the 12” single market. I actually bought it but regretted it soon afterwards. ‘Don’t You’ feels a bit dated now, but back then it was a song which always made me stop what I was doing and listen.

‘Miami Vice’ was the TV cop show if you were into pastel jackets, flash yachts, sports cars and soft rock. Yes, I watched it. Some of the stories were quite good, too. However, the soundtrack became almost as important to its popularity as the super-cool stars Don Johnson and Philip Michael Thomas. Jan Hammer went to number five with his fast and furious theme tune in 1985. The sublime ‘Crockett’s Theme’ took a further two years to be a big hit, though. 

The programme lost its way a bit when guest stars found their way on to the cast list. In one 1985 episode Phil Collins played – guess what! – a cheeky London con man. But then our Phil was everywhere that year; five Top 20 singles in the UK are testament to that. His ‘No Jacket Required’ album was the second biggest-seller and his ‘Easy Lover’ duet with Philip Bailey topped the singles chart for four weeks in the spring. Then, of course, he appeared on Live Aid not once, but twice! Here he is with 'In the Air Tonight'. Many of us were wishing he’d get back with Genesis to save us from more sickly songs aimed at the American MoR market.

I wasn’t too enamoured of Prince or Bruce Springsteen either. Alost as ubiquitous as Mr Collins, neither hit the spot for me. The whole ‘Purple Rain’ package left me grey, and ‘Let’s Go Crazy’ just made me mad. Bruce may be a living legend, but ‘Dancing in the Dark’ was merely boring and ‘Born in the USA’ was just our denim-clad hero shouting on and on. And on and on….. At least the flip side gave us something a bit more to my taste: the softer, subtler ‘I’m On Fire’. I know Bruce engenders adoration like few others but I just feel unable to identify with his tales of blue-collar industrial Americana. There, I’ve said it.

There were great songs from all around the world in ’85. Pop was definitely going global. It wasn’t just the Americans saying ‘We Are the World’. A young Canadian rocker Bryan Adams finally made it over here with the exciting ‘Run To You’. Strangely, his next three releases – arguably amongst his most famous tracks – failed to crack our Top 30. I only heard the exquisite anthem ‘Heaven’ on Radio 1’s US Chart show, while the immortal ‘Summer of 69’ passed me by for several years thanks to its lowly chart peak of 42. Like Phil Collins, I consider his early stuff far superior to his later, massive-selling soft-rock duets. Yuck! 

Holland gave us the aforementioned Mai Tai; Ireland, Feargal Sharkey’s solo number one ‘A Good Heart’; Germany, the dynamic electro-pop ‘Duel’ by Propaganda, and Italy, the rip-roaring summer Euro-dance hit ‘Tarzan Boy’ (a real guilty pleasure if ever there was one).

Then there was Norway. A-Ha were certainly way off my radar until about October 1985. Their single ‘Take on Me’ had flopped the previous year but once you’d seen the new video, life would never be the same again. A stunning combination of pencil-sketch animation and live action made the jaw drop. It illustrated a four-minute fantasy romance, in which lead singer Morten Harket pulled a girl into her comic book and into a scary race for her life. Would she survive? Would she get back to the real world? Would she end up with Morten? The story kept us guessing right to the final frame... well, what do you think?! Actually, for all the repeated viewings, for all the technological advances in video production, ‘Take On Me’ still stirs emotions in me. It’s just one of the greatest synth pop records. 

It just failed to top the chart here, but made number one in an incredible 36 countries. Early the next year, ‘The Sun Always Shines On TV’ did go all the way in the UK, and both ‘Train of Thought’ and the ballad ‘Hunting High and Low’ also pierced our top five. I even bought a copy of the album, signed by the trio at an event at HMV in Oxford Street. It was surprisingly good! What I liked about A-Ha, and Harket in particular, was that they were Anglophiles. Morten often supported local charity runs in Wickford, Essex, and he’s still going strong. I don’t know whether he still possesses that extraordinary vocal range. The chorus of ‘Take On Me’, from lower register winding up to such a shrill falsetto, was impossible to replicate. Believe me, I tried!

For all their Scandinavian heritage, A-Ha weren’t quite the new Abba. The super-Swedes had long been retired, but in 1985, their genius writers, Bjorn and Benny, returned to the spotlight in a different format. Aided by experienced lyricist Tim Rice, they managed to construct a musical around – of all things - a Cold War chess rivalry. Yet their golden touch hadn’t deserted them. The show’s big ballad, ‘I Know Him So Well’, sung by Elaine Paige and Barbara Dickson, was the year’s second biggest-seller, and ‘One Night in Bangkok’ also did well for Murray Head. I enjoyed seeing ‘Chess’ in the West End in 1986, when Paige and Head were still in the cast, but it ran for only three years. At least ‘Mamma Mia’ did rather better in the twenty-first century.

The Paige/Dickson duet wasn’t the top love song of the year, though. They were trumped by Jennifer Rush’s million-selling ‘The Power of Love’, a song I have always hated. In contrast, I loved Phyllis Nelson’s smoochfest ‘Move Closer’. Sadly I never got to slow dance with anybody to this one-hit wonder (sigh!), but its romantic lyrics left little to the imagination.

Many women would have liked to move closer to Bryan Ferry. He had become known as the Face of the Eighties, and with songs like ‘Slave to Love’, his voice and smart fashion sense, he was often on the magazine front pages. Personally I found his smooth persona too cloying – and that was before his right-wing politics placed him beyond the pale. 

There were other, more charming Brits in the charts. I really enjoyed Kirsty McColl’s upbeat version of Billy Bragg’s ‘A New England’ and Marillion’s power ballad ‘Kayleigh’. Singer Fish was often on TOTP that year, even brandishing lyric cards for the follow-up ‘Lavender’ when he had a bad throat. Huh? We all knew he was going to mime anyway. 

Eurythmics released their masterpiece ‘There Must be an Angel’ in the summer. It was, and still sounds so lush, a near-perfect parcel of Annie Lennox’s diamond-studded voice, Dave Stewart’s multi-layered synth production and even a harmonica solo by Stevie Wonder. The Cure were at their poppiest with ‘In Between Days’ and Go West briefly promised to be the next Big Thing on the back of ‘We Close Our Eyes’ but I was becoming more fascinated by the growing cult of The Smiths. 

In February, they appeared on TOTP performing ‘How Soon is Now?’ Its disturbingly deep repetitive tremolo guitar hook and Morrissey’s melancholic opening words: 

“I am the son, and the heir, of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir, of nothing in particular”

were like nothing I’d heard before. The track trundles on a bit too long – probably why it peaked at a mere 24 – but, alongside ‘The Boy With a Thorn in His Side’, it motivated me to buying their compilation of singles, B sides and Radio 1 session tracks, ‘Hatful of Hollow’. Poor Morrissey. He has divided the nation’s critics more than just about anyone else. I am firmly in the ‘pro’ camp. Yes, he always sounds so morose, miserable, mad even. But the UK music world would be so much poorer without his contribution of lyrics and insightful quotes. Johnny Marr’s melodies are, of course, also crucial to The Smiths’ success, but the Mozmeister from Davyhulme takes some beating when it comes to my, and many others’ musical influences.

1985 was also a huge year for two other British bands. Tears For Fears were back with a grander sound, which helped them break America. Roland Orzabal’s rich angst-ridden vocals were to the fore on ‘Shout' and ‘Head Over Heels’ while Curt Smith sang on the number two hit ‘Everybody Wants to Rule the World’ backed by a catchy shuffle beat and some memorable guitar riffs. I liked them all. 

Dire Straits had been around for several years. Some singles I’d liked (‘Romeo and Juliet’ and ‘Sultans of Swing’) while others left me cold or just neutral (‘Private Investigations’, ‘Twisting by the Pool’) In 1985, I became exposed to some of their album material thanks to my friend Phil Polley. The band’s early albums and ‘Alchemy Live’ were often on his car cassette player during Rotaract days out. I even bought the latter myself but probably never played it more than twice. That’s the trouble with live albums. The quality is never as good as on the original recordings and unless you actually saw the act in concert, hearing it on a tape or record player just doesn’t strike an emotional chord.

The new medium of compact disc was only just beginning to gain a foothold in the market. Its rapid expansion in 1985-86 probably owed more to Dire Straits than anyone else, and their Brothers in Arms album in particular. Like millions of others, I was powerless to prevent myself from buying the 12” LP, with its sky blue cover framing Mark Knopfler’s vintage silver guitar. Actually, I didn’t like most of the tracks, a strange brew of rock’n’roll, jazz, country and pop. However, their big ’85 hit ‘Money For Nothing’ was unavoidable throughout the summer, but in a good way! Sting’s falsetto ‘I want my MTV’ intro, Knopfler’s fuzzy guitar and the groundbreaking video, complete with state-of-the-art computer-generated animation, proved irresistible.  

The irony of a top rock band raking it in with a song about a working man’s envy of a rock band’s easy lifestyle wasn’t wasted on anyone, and probably not the group themselves. MTV loved it, too, of course, and it was more successful in the US than here. How would they follow Brother in Arms? They couldn’t. They didn’t even try. But it wasn’t a bad way to bow out of the album market. My favourite Dire Straits number was, and remains, the artfully atmospheric anti-war title track which for some ludicrous reason progressed no higher than 16.  

The horrors of war were also highlighted on one of the most extraordinary hits of that or any other decade. You could describe Paul Hardcastle’s ‘19' as a dance single, and you’d be right. But it was so much more. The vocals were simply American news clips strung together, the video a montage of Vietnam images, the music a mishmash of synthesizer hooks, but somehow the various elements came together in a powerful package. It also spawned a divertingly amusing comedy parody ‘N-n-n-Nineteen Not Out’ in which a 21 year-old impressionist Rory Bremner detailed England’s cricketing woes as The Commentators, including John Arlott:- 

                        “It’s a long, slow, lazy delivery. 

    But it's the best I can do…”

Classic!

1985 probably launched the term ‘Stadium Band’. It was intended to hurt, a derogatory term aimed at the likes of Simple Minds, Genesis, Queen et al. Yet it was a cheap jibe. After all, these bands, once the darlings of rock critics, were just as good as they ever were, it’s just that they had grown so popular that they needed to book the biggest venues to give their expanding fanbases more chance to see them perform. Hardly their fault. 

And there were no stadium concerts bigger than the multi-venue Live Aid on 13^th July 1985. After so much preparation, it finally came to fruition on a hot day in both Wembley and Philadelphia. The  mega-gig has been widely slated for its focus on white acts (Stevie Wonder and Jacko refused to be involved) and, quite frankly, a lot of craggy, creaking old rockers like Led Zep, Dylan, Beach Boys, The Who, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. However, I was totally exhilarated by the whole extravaganza.

I recall travelling to Romford that morning to collect some car insurance documents on behalf of Dad. I was desperate to return home before the midday start. Armed with a Daily Mirror ‘special’, complete with running order and likely song choices (mostly wrong, as things transpired) I was mightily relieved that the trains behaved and I could set up my cassette ready for recording likely highlights from Radio 1’s broadcast and watching the whole show on BBC1 TV. If Mum or Dad had favoured anything on another channel, they didn’t dare let on. This was one day when I seized control of the remote.

I did contrive to miss a chunk in the afternoon, and I lacked the stamina to stay up beyond about 1am for the final hours of the American leg. Nevertheless, I gorged myself on the ‘global jukebox’, from Richard Skinner’s immortal introduction and Status Quo’s opening rendition of ‘Rocking All Over the World’ to the McCartney-led London finale. Stevie Wonder did have a point about the lack of black artists. Indeed, the Philly gig was a mediocre affair, enlivened only by Madonna, and Phil Collins’ second performance of the day, thanks to the wonder of Concorde. There is a degree of irony in that in an event designed to raise money to fight poverty, I highlighted boring, balding Phil flying on a supersonic toy for millionaires, and the Material Girl, who would become a symbol of Eighties consumerism!

In retrospect, without the benefit of my rose-tinted specs, it’s evident that much of the Wembley pageant was blandly banal. Status Quo were there only because ‘Rockin’ All Over the World’ was such an obvious way to start such a global event. The Boomtown Rats were predictably lame, Adam Ant’s single song was a mystery to everybody and the likes of The Style Council, Spandau Ballet and, sadly, Nik Kershaw proved they were totally unsuited to an occasion of this magnitude. 

For others, though it was their opportunity to shine in the summer sunshine and the spotlight of an unprecedented worldwide audience. Sting’s dazzling white ensemble stood out and David Bowie’s stagecraft was effortless. He also earned extra Brownie points for sacrificing one song to allow the screening (in the UK at least) of another heartbreaking film of starving African children, to the soundtrack of The Cars’ ‘Drive’. This short segment, along with Geldof’s exhortation: “Give us your focking money!” nevertheless proved to be the most lucrative in terms of donations. 

However, the acts who emerged as stadium superstars were U2 and Queen. The former only performed two tracks, including ‘Sunday, Bloody Sunday’ (which I’d never heard) and a seemingly endless ‘Bad’, featuring an extravagantly-mulleted Bono slow-dancing with a girl from the audience who he’d observed suffering in the crush.

Queen’s set an hour later, between Dire Straits and Bowie, was to go down in rock folklore. This was Freddie Mercury’s stage, strutting up and down, brandishing the mic stand in ever-more risqué poses. And then there was his imperious voice, belting out the biggest hits. For all that, I’d say the band were at their rockiest best for ‘Hammer to Fall’.

How could anything follow Live Aid? I know it was mostly middle-class music by the middle-aged for the middle-aged but nevertheless I wasn’t buying the ‘Death of rock’n’roll’ epithet – and still aren’t. It was more a case of how would the record-buying public react? Other charity mega-gigs have followed and on each occasion it’s undeniably a win-win situation. Participants boost their sales and the organisers raise millions for the nominated charities.

Before the days of instant downloads, the charts weren’t so sensitive. If you were blown away by Neil Young or Hall and Oates, and headed straight for Woolworth’s, there was no guarantee there would be a copy of ‘Helpless’ or ‘Maneater’ on the racks. In terms of the UK charts, it took several weeks before the re-release of ‘Drive’ zoomed up to the top five again. Similarly it was not until September when the bawdily bumptious cover of ‘Dancing in the Street’ by Bowie and Mick Jagger, shown during Live Aid as a video, reached number one. David looked a bit distracted but fortunately Mick seemed to inject some energy into it all.

That August, we went on holiday to Ibiza. Not for us the bright lights and hedonistic haunts of San Antonio; we were based in the more family-friendly resort of Portinatx. One evening, we ventured to a fish restaurant overlooking the picturesque bay. Music played from a speaker and I recognised music I’d heard on a TV show a few months earlier. Was it by Talk Talk? I liked it enough to follow it up on our return home, identifying the track I’d heard as ‘It’s My Life’. I ended up buying the album, which served as my favourite for months to follow. The single had bombed but did at least enjoy a more successful revival in the Nineties. 

‘Life’s What You Make It’ made the top 20 early the next year, and I made it two Talk Talk purchases with the ‘Colour of Spring’ album. It, too, contained some really good pop tunes and longer-form ballads. Two years later, I didn’t wait for singles releases before shelling out my £6.99 (or whatever) on the follow-up, Spirit of Eden. Just as well, as I’d have been waiting a long time! It proved to be a dreaded ‘experimental’ record. Critically acclaimed, perhaps, but to me one long yawnathon. Nevertheless, I have fond memories of Mark Hollis’ band and their mid-Eighties New Wave pop, sparked by a random listen on a quiet corner of the Balearics. 

While away in the Med, Madonna was sweeping all before her in the UK. She’d already made a substantial impression on the singles charts, but ‘Into the Groove' was her first number one, dominating August. A cracking dance number driven by a booming bass synth line, this was a record which practically defined what a 1985 pop song should sound like. That month, Ms Ciccone also occupied the number two position with the re-released ‘Holiday’. Another ideal track for the heady days of summer.

Yet these were just two of eight (yes, EIGHT) singles which peppered the top five in 1985, mostly culled from her Nile Rodgers-produced Like a Virgin album. The slowie ‘Crazy For You’ had peaked at two in the spring but wasn’t on the LP. ‘Material Girl’, ‘Angel’, ‘Gambler’, ‘Dress You Up’, the list went on and on. Madonna was sassy, sexy, outspoken and highly marketable. Buoyed further by her Live Aid performance, she was undoubtedly the star of ’85, and of course this was just the start. The Age of Madonna was upon us!