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!

1978 – 'Cause the power, you're supplying. It's electrifying!

As 1977 became ’78, the musical landscape changed again. Punk changed. Ironically, as a band supposedly so anti- the old rock’n’roll brigade, The Sex Pistols became a rock’n’roll tribute act with the permanently spaced-out Sid Vicious replacing Johnny Rotten on vocals on hits like ‘My Way’, ‘Something Else’ and ‘C’mon Everybody’ before his final, fatal, overdose. Elsewhere, Punk grew up.

Mr Rotten himself matured as John Lydon, fronting the acclaimed Public Image Limited. It turned out that he wasn’t anti everything after all. A polio-afflicted, gravelly-voiced London geezer called Ian Dury enjoyed rave reviews for the ‘New Boots and Panties’ album, and we all loved the lyrics to ‘What a Waste’. For example:

“I could be a writer with a growing reputation
I could be the ticket-man at Fulham Broadway station”

Elvis Costello & the Attractions and The Boomtown Rats each had a string of top twenty singles, becoming more interesting with each new release. By the autumn, Bob Geldof had become a household name, and his effortless TOTP performance propelled ‘Rat Trap’ all the way to the top: the first ‘New Wave’ number one. The clear words of working class desperation were also new to the upper echelons of the charts. I’d never heard anything like it!

Siouxsie and the Banshees fused punk with the Orient in the absorbing ‘Hong Kong Garden’ and The Buzzcocks began a run of great little singles with a fast and furious love song - love song! – called ‘Ever Fallen in Love’. Unlike Siouxsie and Pete Shelley, Poly Styrene had a terrible voice. However, when her band X-Ray Spex produced the glorious ‘slowie’ ‘Germ-free Adolescents’, it didn’t really matter. Intriguing lyrics and smooth production were added to Poly’s unique persona and I really enjoyed the result. It only reached 18 but the song remains a personal favourite.

American New Wave artists also had some limited success over here. Blondie’s ‘Denis’ leapt to two, and Debbie Harry’s appearance made an impact on a lot of teenage boys, including me! The rockier ‘Hanging on the Telephone’ was another hit. Note Clem Burke’s manic drumming performance in this live clip!

I quite liked the Patti Smith Group’s ‘Because the Night’, too, although the rest of her material was a bit too arty-farty for me. The Cars also ascended to three with ‘My Best Friend’s Girl’, a student-friendly guitar record. Their Eighties hit ‘Drive’ became their signature tune but for me the original post-Punk material was even better.

A lot of ‘New Wave’ was pretty earnest stuff. Nothing wrong with that, but there were some artists in the genre who brought some light relief. Sham 69 burst onto our screens in April when Jimmy Pursey, at the start of ‘Angels with Dirty Faces’, exclaimed: “Ello, Mum. Who’s on Toppa the Pops?!” His eyebrows had lives of their own but he sang live and actually seemed to enjoy himself. It was all pretty basic punk rock, but hits like ‘Hersham Boys’ and ‘Hurry Up Harry’ not only made you want to dance but also to smile. ‘If the Kids are United’ – or at least versions of it - can still be heard on football terraces today. Pursey may not have achieved a career as either a solo artist or loveable ‘Cocker-nee’ TV presenter but his charming chants live on. Sham 69 and Dury proved that New Wave could be fun!

Two others caught up in the New Wave pop scene sparked conversations at school, again more in jest than as serious musical critique. Plastic Bertrand’s ‘Ca Plane Pour Moi’ was an extraordinary top ten hit. I did French ‘O’ level, but the title – along the rest of the lyrics – defied translation. The backing track was punk-lite but not the ‘woo-oo-oo-ooo’s! On TOTP, Plastic pogo-ed around as if Johnny Rotten had had a lobotomy and hefty dose of laughing gas. Mad! Still, for good or ill, the song is embedded in my brain and Plastic Bertrand will always crop up in (the very short) lists of famous Belgians.

Then there was Jilted John. Starting in the sixth form that September, we noted that John’s TOTP performance injected some much needed humour into the top ten. Officially the song was also called ‘Jilted John’ but we all knew it as ‘Gordon is a Moron’. Graham Fellows has gone on to Radio 4 legendary status with another musical creation John Shuttleworth, but for me he’ll forever be associated with the hapless John, jilted by his beloved Julie. It also consigned Gordon to history as a boy’s name. Thank God he didn’t use Michael instead. I’d have done more than cry “all the way to the chip shop”! Patti Smith or Paul Weller would never have come up with lines like:-

“I ought to smash his face in
Yeah, but he's bigger than me. In't he?
I know, I'll get my mate Barry to hit him. He'd flatten him.
Yeah but Barry's a mate of Gordon's in'e?”

Perhaps they should….

For all the efforts of New Wave and fledgling labels like Stiff Records, the 1978 charts were total dominated by songs from just two musicals. ‘Evita’ paled into insignificance compared with the power of movies which catapulted ‘Saturday Night Fever’ and ‘Grease’ into the global cultural stratosphere. Needless to say, I saw neither in the cinema. Not just because Billericay didn’t have one, necessitating a lift or bus ride into Basildon or Brentwood. It was just that we never went as a family and I wasn’t part of a bunch of friends who did that sort of thing. Even as 17 year-olds, no sixth formers in those days had a car. In any case, SNF was ‘X-rated’, officially inaccessible to schoolkids like me. I didn’t feel I was missing out. After all, the songs were simply everywhere. 

Once my fave group, The Bee Gees had grown their hair, exposed their chests and gone falsetto. They were no longer just kings of the beautiful ballad; they were now disco gods. Fortunately I still enjoyed what they were putting out. ‘How Deep is Love?’ had done well the previous Christmas, but not with me. ‘Staying Alive’ was something else. That relentless rhythm, Maurice’s bass intro and Barry’s vocals had the world dancing, but in the UK, it was only ‘Night Fever’ which topped the chart. It was also my favourite track from the show. 

Grease may have played second fiddle to Saturday Night Fever in album sales, but the 1978 singles charts became almost the personal fiefdom of Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta. ‘You’re the One That I Want’ was number one for nine weeks that summer. The same clip from the film became boring. If that wasn’t enough, ‘Summer Nights’ held the top spot for a further seven weeks. Of course, we have sung and acted it out at discos and weddings a million times since, but “ohhh, those su-u-mmer nigh-hights” really got on my wick! Travolta was, of course the star of both the behemoth movies, and his ‘Sandy’ also made two. In the first week of November, he and Livvy between them had three of the top four singles. They were all good pop songs but by Christmas, I was fully fed up with Grease.

Those two million-selling chart-toppers were truly massive yet neither proved to be the official best-seller of the year. That title went to a Boney M double A-sider. ‘Rivers of Babylon’ bridged the five weeks at number one between ‘Night Fever’ and ‘You’re the One That I Want’ but it was only when stations played the flip side ‘Brown Girl in the Ring’ later that summer when combined sales broke through the two million barrier.

I may be alone in this, but I actually preferred the ludicrous ‘Rasputin’ which in October was held at number two for three weeks by - who else but - John and Olivia. Its grasp of history was perhaps dubious (“Russia’s greatest love machine” –eh??) but a disco era classic and also memorable for Bobby Farrell’s comedy Cossack beard! Nevertheless, the M-sters weren’t finished that year. They gave Harry Belafonte’s Fifties Christmas smash ‘Mary’s Boy Child’ a foot-tapping Caribbean twist and a festive number one was inevitable. Repeat the ‘Rivers of Babylon’ beat and harmonies, wrap the foursome in Santa gear, and the formula was a sure-fire winner. Even now, I think it’s the second biggest-selling Christmas song in UK history. Boney M were never going to win Oscars or Grammies but they were an entertaining part of my teenage years.

Other artists also dipped their toes into the wacky waters of disco.  Even The Rolling Stones slipped into a nifty bass-heavy groove for ‘Miss You’. It may have shocked many of their old fans but I couldn’t help liking it, and a top 3 chart position suggested I wasn’t alone. Meanwhile, ABBA were continuing their outstanding run of number ones with ‘Take a Chance on Me’. At the time, I considered it their best so far. The accompanying video may be a bit naff, memorably lampooned years later by French and Saunders, but the quality of the music was undimmed.

In September, Bjorn and Benny demonstrated their versatility by releasing ‘Summertime City’. Unashamedly disco, it failed to make the top four. Maybe the world wasn’t ready for a new ABBA sound, but it wasn’t really such a giant leap. The rest of the formula was mercifully intact. Nevertheless, it did pave the way for their 1979 album ‘Voulez-Vous’ which had more danceable stuff.

Even Rod Stewart abandoned his ballad-heavy mode to inflict disco-lite ‘D’Ya Think I’m Sexy?’ on us all. Confession time: I actually quite liked it. Reaching number one briefly in December, I reckon it’s a guilty pleasure for many of my contemporaries. However, my abiding memory of the record is not Rod himself. Instead it was Kenny Everett’s typically irreverent piss-take of the Stewart strut, complete with ever-inflating leopardskin derriere!

The Motors weren’t disco by any stretch of the imagination, but their top four single ‘Airport’ was in my opinion one of the best records of the year. It’s one of those examples of a record which didn’t fit into a particular pigeonhole, but made an impression in an otherwise mediocre summer of music. While the synth intro is instantly recognisable, I particularly loved the keyboard bridge before the final chorus.

Reggae was back en vogue, claiming an improbable pair of number one singles. A pair of Jamaican teenagers, Althia and Donna, came from nowhere in January with ‘Uptown Top Ranking’. None of us knew what the words were, let alone meant, but it caught a mood. There was some light reggae from 10cc, too, in September. With Graham Gouldman taking lead vocals, it proved to be not only the group’s last chart-topper but their last top 30 single. It wasn’t their finest hour but some of the lyrics endure. For example, Angie may enjoy repeating the line “I don’t like cricket” but I just trot out the next line, “I love it!”

A genuine reggae superstar was also making his mark on me for the first time. Bob Marley had made the Top 20 before but ‘Jamming’ was the first song I remember hearing, and certainly enjoying. His impressive dreadlocks and voice were so distinctive, but he seemed to marry the traditional off-beat with melody. Upsetting to think that within three years he was dead.

Earlier I ‘dissed’ the saxophone in pop, but in ’78 came a sax solo that even I could rave about. Gerry Rafferty’s face looked vaguely familiar, and it was his voice I’d heard on ‘Stuck in the Middle with You’ but ‘Baker Street’ was something else entirely. It had rock guitar, keyboards, that sax, and a unique vibe all of its own. He followed it the next year with ‘Night Owl’, at least as good in my opinion, and ‘Get it Right Next Time’ but it’s the number three hit in 1978 which made him hugely successful on both sides of the Atlantic.  Rafferty’s laconic drawl and half-shut eyes indicated either a real cool customer or someone under the influence of alcohol or drugs. Sadly, we were to discover it was probably the former. I don’t know if there was an issue with one-night stands but taking the words of his greatest hit, he distressingly failed to “give up the booze”.

I’ve never been an aficionado of soul. Its exponents don’t crop up very often in this memoir. But in early ’78, Bill Withers flew to number seven with ‘Lovely Day’ and it was to be one of my musical highlights of the year. That bassline and smooth groove throughout the song haven’t dated one iota. I reckon that had it come out in the summer, it would have been even bigger. Withers is my kind of soul singer. None of that melodramatic emoting. You can imagine him sitting down by the mic, cup of coffee at his side, just letting the lyrics flow. Another contemporary favourite of mine also started with a distinctive bass intro and beautiful shuffling rhythm. I hadn’t heard of John Paul Young before and can’t recall hearing of him since, but ‘Love is in the Air’ was a joyous record in a genre of its own.

I wouldn’t call Andrew Gold a soul singer, nor even a Seventies superstar. However, his luxuriant ginger locks were at odds with the conventional Californian look, and he did produce the gorgeous ‘Never Let Her Slip Away’ that year. That, and Genesis’ ‘Follow You, Follow Me’ prove to the world that I’m just a big softie, really. The latter even made my all-time Top 50 when I wrote it in 1985! Not sure it’ll be there now, but for me it was a stunning introduction to the work of Genesis. It would be another two years before they’d finally submit to the lure (or peril?) of TOTP exposure and consequent singles success.

Yes, I can be a romantic, but don’t expect me to love The Commodores’ ‘Three Times a Lady’. It may be a wedding dance staple, but it didn’t ‘alf drone on at the top in August. It was enough to make anyone long for Travolta and Newton-John to take over once more. I now appreciate Lionel Richie for the consummate entertainer he is, but back then, his afro seemed better than his songs.

At least the Commodores were superior to Father Abraham and the Smurfs. ‘The Smurf Song’ famously languished at number two for six weeks. Its inanity drove me almost to insanity! Like Brian and Michael’s ode to LS Lowry, ‘Matchstalk Men and Matchstalk Cats and Dogs’, it was a huge hit I couldn’t avoid, however hard I tried. I could have happily strangled every one of the irritating little blue b*st*rds….

ELO were nothing if not consistent in 1978. Despite several years in the charts, their USP of well-crafted records with a prominent string section had remained – well – U! Co-founder Roy Wood had long since departed to form Wizzard, but drummer Bev Bevan and singer-writer-guitarist-producer-everything-else-er Jeff Lynne were still around to keep us entertained. ‘Out of the Blue’ was a double album, and its signature logo of colourful flying saucer was everywhere that year. Their concerts became more elaborate and technical and, while I didn’t see them live, those performances became a feature of TOTP appearances.

‘Sweet Talking Woman’, ‘Wild West Hero’ and ‘Mr Blue Sky’ each peaked at six in ’78, and there was plenty more still to come. Even better, Jeff Lynne is still going! Although somewhat shrunken since the Out of the Blue era, the trademark frizz is intact, as is, despite all those years in the States, the Brummie accent Why he isn’t Sir Jeff is a mystery, a knighthood long overdue. If the PM or Queen needs convincing, she should simply watch the clip above.

For all ELO’s singles chart consistency, and the tenacious tentacles of the Grease stars, it was another, considerably less famous act which enjoyed no fewer than four top three hits in 1978. No, not Showaddywaddy, although they were still churning out the crap rock’n’roll covers. No, it was Darts. They, too, boasted plenty of members and harked back to a different era, but their blend of doo-wop and R’n’B was in stark contrast to the Leicester boys. ‘Daddy Cool’, ‘Come Back, My Love’, ‘Boy from New York City’ (my favourite) and ‘It’s Raining’ featured different lead vocalists and slightly different styles but Darts managed to carry it off. The wild-eyed Den Hegarty seemed out of synch with his bandmates but when he left in mid-year, they lost their way and the hits vanished as quickly as they had appeared. 

A review of my musical tastes in 1978 could never have been complete without mentioning the extraordinary force of nature that was, and is, Kate Bush. When the shy teenager first appeared on TOTP in February, waving her arms around and squealing what sounded like “Out on the wild and windy moors” in such a ridiculously high register, I and my friends didn’t know what to make of her. It was easiest to simply make fun. Yet ‘Wuthering Heights’ made Kate the first woman to write and sing a UK number one song.  

But bald statistics don’t do it justice. While I indubitably enjoyed ‘Wuthering Heights’ at the time, it seems to sound even better with every passing year. Kate’s vocals, the arty dance moves, the piano, stunning minor chords and rock guitar ‘outro’ together form surely one of the two or three greatest records in history. A work of genius – and she was only nineteen! 

And, blow me, she then goes and releases another mind-blowing single just months later. ‘The Man with the Child in His Eyes’ was another mature product of a young girl’s amazing imagination. It had been recorded three years earlier with that flowing piano and orchestra, but it was worth the wait. When I listen to it now I become the man with the tears in his eyes. When the horn echoes Kate’s voice near the end before that final lingering chord it’s monumentally moving.

Of course, Kate Bush enjoyed plenty more hits in the years to come but if she had disappeared into a black hole in 1979, her legacy of these 1978 masterpieces from ‘The Kick Inside’ would have been enough for any artist. The rush of renewed fascination with the Bush back catalogue when she stepped back into the spotlight with her first gigs in 35 years made me realise that she had been years ahead of her time. I didn’t appreciate a lot of her pretentious material. Indeed, I didn’t like many of her later hits. However, the world of music would be a lot poorer had Dave Gilmour not indulged young Kate in the mid-70s and set her on that road to success.  

Was she merely a Prog rocker, to be pigeonholed with Yes and the Floyd? No, she was unique, a one-off. Certainly progressive, her music full of intelligence. However, I reckon she had more melody than any of the much-maligned groups, and her wondrous love of movement took her onto a different plane entirely.

1975 – It’s just a silly phase I’m going through

There was a distinct shift of power in the pop charts in 1975. That perspective can come only from the future, of course, but I remember feeling that something was missing. Maybe it was the death of Glam, maybe my attaining the grand old age of 14, grieving for lost youth as I started my O Level courses. I have read an article by Saint Etienne’s Bob Stanley who wrote in passing that 1975 was one of a few years notable for the awfulness of their music. A subjective viewpoint, of course, but it’s  interesting to see a respected musician and journalist supporting my humble opinion.

Despite never attending a proper disco in my school life, there was no excuse for being unaware of the genre. Songs like ‘Disco Stomp’ (Hamilton Bohannon) and ‘Disco Queen’ (Hot Chocolate) did what it says on the tin. However, I preferred other records which didn’t try so hard.  The Bee Gees reinvented themselves with the funky ‘Jive Talkin’’ and Hot Chocolate released the immortal ‘You Sexy Thing’. It would have topped the chart were it not for possibly the greatest record ever made, Shit happens, Errol!

I remember returning from our summer holiday on Mallorca, always eager to find out what had been happening in the UK charts while in our Balearic bubble. The major movement was the rise of two great songs from the USA. George McCrae’s ‘It’s Been So Long’ was my favourite of the year, and it competed for the number four spot with KC and the Sunshine Band’s finest moment on vinyl, ‘That’s the Way I Like It’. Just watch this clip and try resisting the temptation to dance and join in the “Woo-oo-oo”s at the beginning and the “uh-huh”s during the chorus. Dig that brass section, man! I liked it in ’75 but it’s improved with age.

I also enjoyed Van McCoy’s ludicrously catchy semi-symphonic ‘The Hustle’, which made number three in June. It had the edge over that other dance move of the year: ‘The Bump’ by Kenny! The group’s children’s TV presenter-style clothes and bouncy performances were simultaneously irritating and fun.

There were no disco chart-toppers over here but the Philly sound was more successful in the form of The Stylistics. As more singles were released, their chart positions seemed to improve slowly and in 1975 the jaunty ‘Sing Baby Sing’ reached three. This was trumped by the magnificent ‘I Can’t Give You Anything (But My Love)’ in August. Russell Thompson Jnr’s falsetto soared wider even than his afro!

David Bowie had morphed into the Thin White Duke but I didn’t like his soul era. Thank goodness for the re-release of ‘Space Oddity’ which went to number one that autumn. This used to be one of my all-time favourites but has since slipped down the list. Still great, though: and a successful musical story with a sad ending is so rare.                                                  

It was also a big year for Country and Western, as we then called it. Oh, C&W. All that drawlin’ and mewlin’ about lervin’, cheatin’, drinkin’ and a-prayin’ by rednecks who think the world is a poorer place since the abolition of slavery. And then there are all the ‘yee-hahs’. Aarghhh! Yet, strangely 1975 gave us a few Country songs I – er - actually quite liked.

Not Tammy Wynette’s awful ‘Stand By Man’, which took the UK by storm in the Spring. In a year when gender equality took a giant leap closer thanks to the Sex Discrimination Act, the sentiments seemed slightly at odds with the mood of the times. In contrast, two other songs surprised me by sounding rather good. First, Ray Stevens stopped streaking and returned to his Country roots by delivering a rollicking piano-banjo version of ‘Misty’. Later, I also found myself enjoying the be-permed Billy-Jo Spears’ ‘Blanket on the Ground’. Fortunately that was pretty much it as far as good Country & Western was concerned. Sorry, Dolly, but normal service was quickly resumed!

Northern Soul was gaining in popularity and, as with so many local ‘underground’ musical movements, related record sales took the genre into the national mainstream. I’d no inkling of what Northern Soul was. I don’t suppose I’d have recognised the term even if I’d lived next-door to one of the hotbeds of the movement, Wigan Casino! Apparently, revivals such as ‘Ghost in My House’ owed their success to Northern Soul DJs and, in turn, future stars like Soft Cell would create new audiences for mid-‘70s songs such as Gloria Jones’ ‘Tainted Love’. 

Had I been sufficiently motivated to read more about it I’d have worked out why two artists in the 1975 charts had Wigan in their names. Wigan’s Chosen Few were created to accompany the instrumental dance track ‘Footsie’ and, more my cup of tea back then, Wigan’s Ovation recorded the more ‘poppy’ ‘Skiing in the Snow’. I never did reconcile a song about winter sports with an industrial town in the North West! Regardless, both made Top of the Pops and did well. 

South East England experienced a notable heatwave that summer and, for me, three records represent those weeks spent sweltering in the classroom or sitting at home, windows wide open. Brian Hyland’s early Sixties hit ‘Sealed with a Kiss’ was suitably slow and sultry, and one-hit wonders Typically Tropical (how apt!) topped the chart with ‘Barbados’. I’ve never been to the island personally but that August, we had to improvise and make some subtle alterations to the lyrics: “Woah! We’re going to Mallorca!” And we were “flying away on Britannia (not Coconut) Airways”. 

At the time of my fourteenth birthday, 10cc were back at the top with the ageless ‘I’m Not in Love’. A few months earlier, I’d enjoyed the punning whimsy of ‘Life is a Minestrone’ but this was a whole new ball game. It was such an innovative sound, with those painstakingly multi-tracked and looped “aaahhhhhhh”s behind Eric Stewart’s electronic piano, gentle vocals and subtle sentiments expressed in clever lyrics. Just imagine a hot Sunday afternoon with that ‘choir’ wafting softly on a light breeze; ‘I’m Not In Love’ would be perfect. 

1975 was the year Rod Stewart armed himself with eyeliner and other cosmetics, and made his Atlantic Crossing to conquer America. The first step was, appropriately enough, the single, ‘Sailing’, which became the second biggest seller in the UK.  It wasn’t my favourite, but it’s an example of how simplicity works. By coincidence, ‘Sailing’ kept another nautical song at number two, ‘The Last Farewell’ by Roger Whittaker. Rod was travelling “to be near you, to be free” but Rog seemed to be sailing home, leaving his love behind. In his chart hits, he always seemed to be off somewhere: leaving Durham Town, heading “over the sea to Skye”. Never mind; you couldn’t dislike Roger Whittaker. He’d been on children’s TV quite a bit, usually showing off his whistling skills, and he had the kind, avuncular appeal of an unpretentious entertainer, certainly not a pop star! Oddly, ‘The Last Farewell’ did much better in the States than ‘Sailing’ but Rod hasn’t looked back since! 

There were other slowies which I didn’t much like but were hard to avoid. Ralph McTell’s ‘Streets of London’ was more to Mum’s taste than mine, and Minnie Ripperton’s ‘Lovin’ You’ – including those irritating chirping birds and eye-wateringly high notes – was possibly better suited to canines. Then there was ‘If’ by Telly Savalas. It was a big year for the American TV cop show ‘Kojak’ but for some reason its star believed he could be a serious recording artist, too. Women did seem to find his deep speaking voice rather sexy but I found a whole song of him intoning the lyrics sheer hell! If Telly’s musical career encouraged William Shatner’s similar move, then ‘If’ has even more to answer for than I originally thought. 

In the credit column I would place the number ones, the dreamy ‘I Only Have Eyes For You’ by Art Garfunkel and Steve Harley and Cockney Rebel’s delightful ‘Come Up and See Me, Make Me Smile’ (I love that acoustic middle eight). Meanwhile John Lennon took ‘Imagine’ to number six, well before it attained classic status. 

Fox were a band with a different vibe, mostly down to the voice and hippyish poses of singer Susan Traynor. I liked their number three hit ‘Only You Can’ and their 1976 effort, ‘S-s-s-single Bed’. One of my faves of the year was ‘If You Think You Know How to Love Me’ by Smokey (later re-named Smokie, after Smokey Robinson threatened legal action!). They’d apparently been around in some form or other for years but once Chinn and Chapman sprinkled their writing/production stardust, they broke through at last. Chris Norman’s croaky vocals, the acoustic guitar, backing harmonies and quality songs made for a winning formula, repeated on the follow-up ‘Don’t Play Your Rock’n’Roll to Me’. Smokie are probably best known for ‘Living Next Door To Alice’, but only because it was appropriated and desecrated years later by Roy ‘Chubby’ Brown. I insist that their 1975 singles are far superior.

At the start of the year, Mum liked Pilot’s ‘January’ so much we actually bought it for her birthday. For me, the only memorable thing about it was the double-necked guitar they played on TOTP! Singer-writer-bassist David Paton had apparently been part of the Bay City Rollers a few years earlier but I’m not sure he fitted in with the new incarnation of the Rollers, who stood head, shoulders and platform shoes above the rest. 

They’d been building their reputation amongst teenage girls throughout the previous twelve months but as soon as Les McKeown sang the first line of ‘Bye Bye Baby’ in early ’75, they went stratospheric. ‘Rollermania’ out-did anything generated by the Osmonds, David Cassidy or indeed any band since The Beatles. Girls burst into tears at the very thought of Les, Eric, Woody, Alan and Derek. Boys didn’t get a look-in! I hadn’t been aware of The Four Seasons’ original, but the Rollers sold a million in no time at all. 

‘Give A Little Love’ was their summer love song, a chart-topper while I was confined to bed ill at Uncle David’s. However, when they released ‘Money Honey’ in the autumn, it already felt like their day had gone. They never had another number one single and Britain was faced with a pile of unwanted plaid. Modern girls whose mums and grandmothers roll their eyes at their obsession with One Direction, Justin Bieber or whoever, should just ask about that box of yellowing posters and tartan scarves in the attic….. 

Another of my picks from the year’s pop crop was Carpenters’ ‘Please Mister Postman’. As with ‘Bye Bye Baby’, I was ignorant of the song’s origins, but it didn’t matter. However, the passing years have not been kind to this record. It’s that dreaded Country vibe again; give me one of their straightforward ballads any day. 

Researching for this memoir when my own mind failed me led me to the opinion that 1975 must have had more comedy or novelty records than possibly any other. As with anything in life, humour can be very personal and subjective, and so these humorous songs were very hit and miss. I can’t say I was a fan of Windsor Davies and Don Estelle’s ‘Whispering Grass’ yet, performed as their characters from BBC sitcom ‘It Ain’t Half Hot Mum’, it was curiously engaging and was the fourth biggest seller of the year! “Sing, Lofty!” It wasn’t strictly speaking a comedy record. Estelle sang it straight in his impeccable tenor but Davies brought his Sergeant-Majorly Welsh baritone to the spoken section and OTT gurning to their TOTP performances. 

Billy Connolly was just beginning to make a name for himself as a comic and actor but the trouble was that his Glaswegian accent was almost incomprehensible to anyone south of Hadrian’s Wall. His re-write of Tammy Wynette’s ‘D.I.V.O.R.C.E.’ proved a major step towards his achieving eventual national treasure status. However, hearing the song again reminded me that the song wasn’t funny at all. Forget the words and simply watch Billy; he just made you want to laugh. 

Meanwhile, Max Boyce managed a feat that even Billy Connolly couldn’t: a number one album. The charismatic musician and songwriter had become an icon of South Wales and, boosted by a few late-evening network TV series, had spread his fanbase way beyond Cardiff, Swansea and the Valleys. Everyone was going “Oggi oggi, ogg, oi, oi, oi!” even if we didn’t know one end of a (giant) leek from the other. Max didn’t just write rugby-related crowdpleasers or humorous tales; there were also a lot of wistful ballads reflecting his own mining community heritage. Dad and I had become so enamoured of his showmanship and mix of musical material that I actually bought his ‘The Incredible Plan’ LP. From its success, obviously I wasn’t the only one. 

At Christmas, I also purchased the single of Laurel and Hardy’s ‘Trail of the Lonesome Pine’, ostensibly for Mum and Dad but really for me. To be honest, for all their comedy genius, I’ve never been a fan of the musical bits in their films; they just get in the way of that wonderful slapstick and looks to camera that left me helpless with laughter. This excerpt from ‘Way Out West’ was an exception. There were bits we could all act out, and it had the temerity to hit number two in the chart. 

Now if ‘disco’ in the title meant you had to dance, then ‘funky’ signalled the opportunity to laugh. Two top five songs demonstrated that it was working. Neither song contained anything resembling actual funk, unless the ‘k’ is silent! First, The Goodies transferred their TV popularity to Top of the Pops with ‘Funky Gibbon’. Completely pointless, but as with much of Bill Oddie’s musical contributions, who cared? Here were grown men from Oxbridge dressed in colourful clothes prancing around like apes, and we loved it! Brummie ‘stand-up’ Jasper Carrott was less familiar to me, featuring mainly on ITV. That changed when he released ‘Funky Moped’. Essentially a silly tale of a girlfriend lost to another bloke with a bike, it was a decent semi-rock record you could dance to. Also, you can’t beat lines like:- 

        “As soon as me moped’s front mudguard is fixed,

        Gonna find the creep and put him down (down, down…)”! 

A lot of comedy doesn’t stand the test of time. After all, once you’ve heard a punchline, or the twist in a tall tale, it’s lost the element of surprise. But if you have a funny song without jokes, you have an enduring winner.

As in the previous year, my 14 year-old self didn’t really pick out any authentic classics in 1975. Until the end of November, that is. That was when I and all my contemporaries were first exposed to the jaw-dropping promo film for the new single by Queen called ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’. From the opening silhouettes to the man with the gong, I remember being enthralled. I had no clue what it as about. “Beelzebub has a devil for a sideboard…”? All those Galileos and Piccolos? Four decades of documentaries and interviews with Freddie, Brian, Roger and Eric, and countless listens haven’t really enlightened me, either. But so what? All the effort required to write and record it certainly paid off. It was number one for nine weeks, then for a further five upon its re-release in the wake of Freddie Mercury’s death in 1991. ‘Wayne’s World’ then gave us the immortal headbanging in the car scene, but ‘Bo Rhap’ still looks and sounds fresh.  

Records commonly touted as The Best Ever usually have a negative effect on me yet I cannot think of another which combines melody, mood, rhythm, rock, innovation and invention in such an unforgettable way. Brian May recently said that he still enjoyed listening to the track when it came on the radio, and it wasn’t just ego talking. For all Bohemian Rhapsody’s history and intellectual dissection, I absolutely agree with him. It sounds as absorbing as it did the first time I heard it. Click on this reference link to remind yourself of Queen’s six-minute magnum opus and the film which launched the whole pop video industry.

1967: Counts the days into years…

I’ve written about my early exposure to the small selection of singles acquired by Mum and Dad to complement their slightly larger assortment of LPs. What I heard on the radio may also have seeped into my infant consciousness but did not survive the ‘delete’ instruction of my undeveloped brain. From about 1967, that began to change. But what was the music I listened to fifty years ago?

I daresay ‘Stewpot’ played the current hits on Junior Choice, but the songs I remember were much older, kids-focussed material. My Sixties radio memories are dominated by the likes of the tears-inducing ‘Puff the Magic Dragon’ (Peter, Paul and Mary), ‘A Windmill in Old Amsterdam’ (Ronnie Hilton) and ‘Three Wheels on My Wagon’ (The New Christy Minstrels, but co-written by a young Burt Bacharach!).  I guess the more you heard them, the more children – or their parents – were likely to request to hear them again. And so, for good or ill, I got to hear them every week, never to be forgotten.

Actual hits would have been played, too, of course. I definitely remember hearing songs like Millie’s ‘My Boy Lollipop’ and The Dave Clark Five’s ‘Bits and Pieces’ but, as these were released in 1964, I doubt these memories dated from then; I’d have been only two years old.

Of course, television provides that visual stimulus which until then had largely been missing. Top of the Pops made the difference and, albeit in black and white, the pictures allied to the music enabled the whole pop package to perculate into my brain. Then there were The Monkees.

Amidst the cartoons, Doctor Who and Blue Peter, The Monkees was a TV show I was allowed to watch and also found entertaining. No doubt it would look absolutely terrible to my 50-something self. Part sitcom, part pop video; were there even storylines? But to a five year-old, the slapstick, speeded-up running around and the very accessible music were a winning combination.

I recall being given a magazine containing lyrics of contemporary songs. On the cover there were the familiar faces and mop-top of Messrs Dolenz, Jones, Nesmith and Tork, heads turned to face the camera from individually named director’s chairs. It may even have been the photo I found online (below)! The date must have been early 1967 because for some reason I can visualise on its pages the words for Nancy Sinatra’s ‘Sugar Town’ and Donovan’s ‘Mellow Yellow’, both of which I know made the top ten early that year.

Number one at the time was The Monkees’ ‘I’m a Believer’ and throughout 1967 and 1968 their singles peppered the charts, outselling even The Beatles and the Rolling Stones. Nevertheless, for anyone my age, the band are immortalised by the opening lines of the TV show’s theme tune:- 

            “Here we come

             Walking down the street

             Get the funniest looks from

             Everyone we meet…

  
Altogether now…. 

            “Hey, hey, we’re the Monkees…!”

They weren’t simply a ‘manufactured’ band of talentless kids. Indeed, they had friends in very high places, musically and culturally. And their music endures and endears to this day, with Dolenz and Tork still touring. To paraphrase their theme song’s lyric, they are no longer the young generation, but still have something to say. 

1967 has since become synonymous with hippydom. At the age of 6, the closest I got to Flower Power was picking pansies and making daisy chains. Everyone was going to San Francisco, right? No. For us, it was a fortnight in Gorleston, Norfolk. The collection of holiday slides certainly don’t capture Mum and Dad adorned with flowers in their hair, let alone stoned on LSD! It was also the year of ‘Sergeant Pepper’, the Stones being controversially in ‘Sympathy with the Devil’ and the birth of ‘rock’ as we know it.  

Obviously the whole psychedelia scene passed me by. However, had I been 16 or even 26, I doubt that situation would have been much changed. I just like to think I’d have been equipped with an enhanced appreciation of Jimi Hendrix, The Beach Boys, The Hollies and The Beatles. Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd may have been pushing it…. 

Given their enormous fame and significance, it now seems weird that I have no recollection of The Beatles prior to ‘Hello Goodbye’, the ’67 Christmas chart-topper; probably because they didn’t appear on TOTP beyond a few promo films which obviously made little impact on me. I’m now a fan of Jimi Hendrix, a guitar genius and shy trendsetter like no other. However, at the age of six, ‘Hey Joe’ and ‘Purple Haze’ simply sounded like wild, raucous cacophonies of drums and electric guitar. I vividly recall a contemporary music-related conversation with Dad in which I slated Hendrix, perhaps the one act which made me leave the room during TOTP!  

The biggest-selling singles act of ’67 in the UK must have been Engelbert Humperdinck. Decades before his Eurovision humiliation, he was the mum’s favourite. ‘Release Me’ stuck around in the charts for a year, an achievement unheard of back then. Then, and now, I consider it a dreary dirge. On the other hand, I did like ‘The Last Waltz’. It was the complete antithesis of ‘Release Me’; love on the dance floor, not a demand for divorce; gentle melodic piano instead of insufferably slow orchestra. 

His closest rival was Tom Jones. They may have shared the same manager, and sung similar big ballads, but their personas were worlds apart. Dad, not known for his affinity with pop, certainly sat in the Tom camp. While I don’t remember listening to any of his material prior to the dramatic intro to ‘Delilah’, I can now appreciate why the man from Treforest garnered the male vote.  

Forty years before his renaissance as the rheumy-eyed, name-dropping silver fox on TV talent show ‘The Voice UK’, Tom was a dynamic performer who could not only deliver an emotional weepie with the best of ‘em but also belt out rock and soul like few others. He really did make Engelbert look feeble. While Tommy Woodward abbreviated his name to the short, sharp Tom Jones, Arnold Dorsey had to re-brand himself with the ludicrously lengthy monicker of a long-dead German composer. Who was the man’s man? Can you really imagine Humperdinck, all wavy hair and big lips, murdering his girlfriend Delilah in cold blood? I rest my case.

There were some really classic records released in 1967. No doubt, I would have been exposed to most of them, but most only entered my consciousness in later years. The Kinks’ wistful ‘Waterloo Sunset’, The Troggs’ original ‘Love is all Around’, Aretha Franklin’s ‘Respect’, Cream’s ‘Strange Brew’, The Move’s ‘Flowers in the Rain’ (famously launching BBC Radio 1), Cat Stevens’ ‘Matthew and Son’, that super slice of Small Faces psychedelia, ‘Itchycoo Park’, Scott McKenzie’s dreamy ‘San Francisco’, The Young Rascals’ definitive lazy summer single ‘Groovin’; the list goes on and on. 

Instead, random songs have lodged in my memory banks from that year. I’m not sure whether it was down to the Smith connection but Alan Price’s ‘Simon Smith and his Amazing Dancing Bear’ and Whistling Jack Smith’s ‘I was Kaiser Bill’s Batman’ still resonate. You no longer hear them much on the radio but both made the top five. Price’s jaunty piano intro and the whimsical lyrics still raise a nostalgic smile, yet the package comes in at under two minutes! Surely another verse and chorus wouldn’t have hurt writer Randy Newman too much? No need for words in Whistling Jack’s hit, but check out the performer’s miming in this German TV clip. Not exactly taxing! 

Herman’s Hermits may not have been as successful in Britain as they were in the States but I recall enjoying their typically understated ‘There’s a Kind of Hush’ from that ‘summer of love’. It’s not often on the compilations. Neither is Keith West’s ‘Excerpt from a TeenageOpera’ but it made a lasting impression on me. It did reach number two here, and I can still see in my mind’s eye the singer surrounded by miming school children on TOTP. It was such a sad song about Grocer Jack, and it still sparks a tear or two. The opera itself took another three decades to materialise, but it was a wonderful, lavishly orchestrated four-minute taster! The BBC recording was presumably wiped long ago but the Germans were apparently more forward-thinking when preserving their musical archive.  

Back then, as now, some soppy ballads did hold some appeal for my young self. The Tremeloes’ ‘Silence is Golden’ is the first number one song I recall being performed on TOTP. The falsetto in the chorus was probably the defining feature of the record, which I’ve since learned covered a Four Seasons B side. The descending guitar riff and impeccable harmonies still sound good and, in true X Factor style, The Tremeloes ‘made it their own’!

Vince Hill’s sugary version of ‘Edelweiss’ was ever-present that summer, and I distinctly remember the soft-focus film accompanying ‘Something Stupid’ by Frank and Nancy Sinatra. Lovely song, too, and the only one by Ol’ Blue Eyes that has ever appealed to me. 

The swirling organ of Procul Harum’s ‘Whiter Shade of Pale’ also evokes memories of life aged six. Now a Sixties classic, it left a mark on me, too, although the words meant nothing. Fandango? Sixteen vestal virgins? Mind you, I’m not sure if even Gary Brooker knew what his masterpiece is about. The consensus is that it’s about sex – and maybe it is. However, Matthew Fisher’s sweeping, swooping Bach-inspired keyboards and Brooker’s earthy vocals are forever 1967. See their bargain basement promo, ‘dig’ their outfits, man, and lose yourself in the music….

The year marks my first recollection of the Eurovision Song Contest. For the next ten years or so this was to be a highlight of my TV calendar, but had it not been for the child-friendly ‘Puppet on a String’ maybe it would have been different. Sandie Shaw set the UK on the road to much Euro and domestic chart success. Compulsive viewing, but not in the tongue-in-cheek, so-bad-it’s-good way it can be now. Bare-footed Sandie won in’67, Cliff Richard was runner-up to Spain the following year with another Sixties standard ‘Congratulations’, then came Lulu’s share of the first prize with ‘Boom Bang-a-Bang’ in 1969.

Someone at the BBC must have considered the importance of UK cohesion given that Scotland (Lulu), Wales (Mary Hopkin) and Northern Ireland (Clodagh Rogers) each had a representative between 1969 and 1971 with diminishing returns. We weren’t to triumph again until The Brotherhood of Man in ’76.  

But I digress. Back to the Sixties… 

Apart from individual songs, did I consider any artists as being above the rest? Well, yes. The Monkees were fleetingly at the top, but I also remember describing two others as my personal favourites. With such a daft name, Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky. Mick and Tich tickled my fancy. They were always on Top of the Pops around that time, but the first song I can recall hearing was ‘Zabadak’. Nonsense lyrics but great percussion and a number three hit. They finally topped the chart with ‘Legend of Xanadu’ a year later. Dave Dee’s mock whip-cracking is preserved for posterity but it’s their number eight follow-up ‘Last Night in Soho’ which I remember watching on TOTP, complete with shots of night-time traffic. 

Nevertheless, for years I claimed The Bee Gees as my top group. It began with the time in autumn 1967 when ‘Massachussetts’ first came out. Robin Gibb’s gentle vocals and his strange habit of cupping his ear are fresh in my mind, and of course it’s two and a half minutes of gorgeous melody and strings. ‘World’ was the closest the group came to the psychedelic sound of the Summer of Love, complete with minor chord piano and even a few discordant wails of rock guitar. Along with the next year’s ‘Gotta Get a Message to You’ (note Robin’s hairstyle; not only did he sound like a lovesick spaniel but he looked like one, too) it’s one of my fave Bee Gees hits. 

There were several other beautiful ballads from the Gibbs in the late Sixties and early Seventies. I don’t recall hearing them all at the time, although I must have done, but nobody writes sad songs like Barry nor sings them like Robin. Most were so touching you want to give him a cwtch in that roll-neck sweater, although his ethereal howl on solo hit ‘Saved by the Bell’ makes the song almost unlistenable. Even his mother once said that his voice “still makes me go cold when I listen to him” which sounds like a criticism but as presumably meant as a compliment! Strange to think Robin had gone from delinquent pyromaniac to purveyor of perfect pop in just a few years and was still only seventeen when crooning ‘Massachussetts’.

Of course, big bro Bazza had many memorable moments on lead vocals. His tender tenor was ideal for the introspective, sentimental and the sincere, songs like ‘Words’ and 1969’s ‘First of May’. His trademark falsetto scream would not be heard on record for another several years. 

The Bee Gees crop up regularly on my musical soundtrack, not just in the Sixties but throughout the Seventies and even the Eighties. Never really ‘cool’ but, in my opinion, their musical legacy is probably amongst Britons second only to that of The Beatles.

And so the Summer of Love gave way to the revolutionary fervour of '68. Read the next instalment to find out what this six year-old was doing instead of demonstrating on the streets of Paris...