2008-10 And I’m on my knees Looking for the Answer

My final forties years formed, in retrospect, a bittersweet period with a mix of hot-headed adventure and the icy chill of a relationship gone sour. The first half of 2008 was occupied by preparations for a move to Somerset and a new life with Jan. I dismissed the nagging doubts and chiming alarm bells as symptoms of my traditional inertia and preference for the safe option, and duly gambled on leaving my childhood haunts and family bosom in June. Up to the point of packing, whilst spending most weekends down at Stogursey, I remained at the agency AMS during the week. Many of my musical memories still stemmed from the hours spent at my desk trying not to listen to the radio being pumped out into the office.

Some I still associate with those times include the debut single from Adele, ‘Chasing Pavements’ I never saw the ‘car crash’ video but those heartfelt vocals and the old-style lush string arrangements emanating from the speakers struck a chord. The whole Adele phenomenon didn’t explode until her 21 album came out a few years later but this track offered a glimpse of what was to come.

It was early days for Onerepublic, too. Ryan Tedder has since become the go-to songwriter for all sorts of pop wannabes but back then he and his band were best known for ‘Apologise’, made into a hit by the ubiquitous Timbaland, typically lacing the original with trademark “Dep dep”s. However, on ‘Stop and Stare’, I found the opening continuous electric guitar sound, reminiscent of some kind of eerie wind whistle, quite hypnotic. Not sure whether the rest of the song lived up to the intro, but it was one of my highlights in a sea of dross.  

North Walean singer Duffy emerged early in 2008 when she released ‘Mercy’. Its Sixties Northern Soul feel and her Dusty Springfield-like appearance singled her out from the crowd, propelling the Rockferry album to sales exceeding 1.7 million by the year’s end. ‘Mercy’ topped the chart for four weeks but it was the follow-up ‘Warwick Avenue’ which floated my boat. A gorgeous ballad, and hats off to the reference to the Bakerloo Line station. Another poignant slowie from that Spring was James Blunt’s haunting ‘Carry Her Home’. It only reached number twenty but certainly one of his best, in my opinion.

Probably two of the most annoying records of any era sent me scurrying back to my geodemographic analysis and Powerpoint reports. Sam Sparro’s ‘Black and Gold’ was pretty awful but Nickelback’s hymn to the stoner lifestyle in ‘Rockstar’ seemed to linger in the top ten forever. And how Virgin Radio loved it! I didn’t. My line manager Ange got it spot on when describing the song as “the anti-rock”. Aargh!!

At least Nickelback were a rock band. In that respect they seemed to be one of a dying breed. Approaching my fiftieth birthday with horrific haste, I was struggling to make sense of the preponderance of urban music at the top of the charts. I was grappling with the problem of knowing my Tinchys from my Tinies from my Taios. Messrs Stryder, Tempah and Cruz seemed to top the chart at will, but I was still none the wiser. At least I was more confident of recognising Dizzee Rascal in an identity parade. I wasn't too fond of some of his spelling, though.  ‘Dirtee’? It’s spelt with a ‘y’, Mr Rascal, a ‘y’! Then there was his crossover hit with Calvin Harris, ‘Dance Wiv Me’. It’s ‘WITH’!! Perhaps he was a secret fan of Slade...

British females were doing pretty well, too. What’s more, I was liking a lot of what they were doing, even if listening to Florence Welch (and her Machine) felt like being blasted by a hurricane while tied to a wall. The ever-outspoken Lily Allen returned to the top with ‘The Fear’. Featuring pithy, sarcastic observations of trashy starlet fame, the track had a more trance-dance sound than Lily’s usual destruction of ex-boyfriends in reggae or Country and I recall seeing her perform it on the Jonathan Ross show. Her lyrics were a tad naughtier live, though.

You’d never hear any profanities in Pixie Lott’s material. Of course there’d be no swearing from the pretty teenager living in my home town of Brentwood. She was no mere attractive ditzy blonde; she had brains and voice to match. Her first chart-topper ‘Mama Do’  was my favourite. Little Boots (aka Victoria Hesketh) was a welcome arrival in the charts with ‘Remedy’ in 2009, although that proved to be her last Top 50 entry. In the same year, a more successful, and slightly more enduring synth pop act was La Roux. Fronted by the androgynous-looking Elly Jackson, they had two big hits which whisked me back to the heyday of electro-dance while still sounding current. The frenetic ‘Bulletproof’ was a number one but ‘In For the Kill’ was, and still is, the track which, once heard, is very hard to shift from the brain. The vocals are a bit shrill but the uncomplicated production is undoubtedly on the money.

From out of nowhere, in 2008 Sugababes sounded back to their best with ‘Denial’. A few years earlier, I reckon this would have been a number one, but the trio were no longer in the limelight and it barely limped into the top 20. Things got worse soon after when Keisha quit the band. As a result, none of the original threesome were left, but they carried on regardless. ‘Denial’ may not have been as blatantly commercial as ‘Push the Button’ or ‘About You Now’ but it was brash and bouncy and deserved greater success.

  

There were plenty of sassy female Yanks around, such as Pink, Kelis and even Kelly Clarkson. Yet it was Katy Perry who had millions of girls around the world dabbling in lesbianism – well, if you believed the Daily Mail! I didn’t really see the virtues of Perry. Her voice was nothing special and I doubt she would ever have become the star she is had she not kissed a girl and liked it.  Ranking even higher on the obnoxiousness scale were the various products of the twin American conveyor belts of commercial crap, the casts of High Street Musical and Glee. Principal guilty party was the latter TV show’s cover of a little-known Eighties flop ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’. Add in a young Canadian brat called Justin Bieber and X Factor novelty duo Jedward, and the world of musical entertainment seemed to be wracked by an insidious virus.

Thank heavens for Lady Gaga!

My first experience of Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta was not a positive one. Her first appearance on the Jonathan Ross programme in 2009 was genuine ‘car-crash’ TV. She seemed totally unengaged and uncommunicative, gratifying fodder for the older generation keen to denigrate the talentless trash posing as modern pop stars. ‘Just Dance’ and ‘Poker Face’ went to number one and Brand Gaga was all-consuming. She was inextricably linked with outrageous costumes (remember the raw meat dress worn at the 2010 MTV Awards?!) and sexually-provocative lyrics which recalled Madonna in her heyday. Except we were now in the twenty-first century, so the celeb-obsessed media demanded notoriety to be ratcheted up to eleven. Gaga was no conventional beauty but she had – well – the X Factor.

Her second interview with Jonathan the following Spring was far more revealing. Behind the in-yer-face fashion it was patently obvious there was an intelligent woman, excellent voice, talented songwriter and musician. Had she been born twenty years later, Madonna simply wouldn’t have been able to compete. After she had steered her extravagant white peacock costume to the piano and began to play and sing ‘Brown Eyes’ live, it was a pivotal moment.

I had already appreciated the perfect pop of ‘Paparazzi’ (shown in its best light, like all Gaga’s music, live on stage), followed by the synth stomper ‘Bad Romance’ and the slower-tempo of ‘Alejandro’ (move over, La Isla Bonita) so here was a pop star I could recognise as the full package. I was compelled to make a rare foray into Taunton’s HMV (probably) to buy a new CD which wasn’t a compilation album: The Fame and the nine-track Fame Monster.

For all the ubiquity of Lady Gaga in 2009, she had fewer number ones than the three chalked up by The Black Eyes Peas. DJ-producer David Guetta added the Peas’ fifth album ‘The E.N.D.’ to his growing list of credits although the hits sounded like typical fare from Will, Fergie et al. I wasn’t fussed about the first chart-topper ‘Boom Boom Pow’ or the third, ‘Meet Me Halfway’ but ‘I Gotta Feeling’ screamed “instant classic” when released in August.

Gaga finished ahead of the Peas in both singles and albums lists, but not at the summit. That accolade went to a 48 year-old Scottish spinster with Asperger’s Syndrome by the name of Susan Boyle. The complete antithesis of Lady Gaga, she nevertheless grabbed more headlines in the second half of 2009 and 2010 than Gaga, Rihanna or Katy Perry combined. Like millions of others, even my jaw dropped when I heard her stunning voice filling the room with ‘I Dreamed a Dream’ from Les Miserables.

She was the archetypal overnight sensation and a gift to internet searchers worldwide. Her massive publicity made her such a nailed-on favourite to win the BGT final in June that even I cast a vote – for dazzling dance troupe Diversity. To my astonishment, Ashley Banjo’s boys actually triumphed. Nevertheless Cowell knew he was on to a sure thing with Boyle, and she converted column inches and YouTube hits into enormous album sales worldwide. To my relief, she didn’t shift many singles but I had to grudgingly admit that her success demonstrated the adage that anyone can do it if you really try.

Bruno Mars didn’t need a peaktime TV talent show to make it big. The pint-sized Hawaiian was one of the top artists of 2010 and 2011, churning out umpteen hits singles either as a solo or ‘featured’ vocalist. He seemed to switch seamlessly from vanilla pop to reggae humour and R’n’B ballad, none of which really floated my boat. Take That’s rebirth received new impetus in the form of a new member; an old new member by the name of Robbie Williams. Fifteen years after quitting the boy band, Robbie Williams returned to the fold, albeit temporarily. 

But where were the REAL bands. You know, the acts with guitars and drums. Real instruments. They weren’t anywhere near the top of the UK singles charts, that’s for sure. Of course, there were a few exceptions.

Irish trio The Script weren’t exactly high-energy rockers but did produce a handful of decent ballads, led by ‘The Man Who Can’t be Moved’. This one grew on me, and ‘Break Even’ also met with my approval. I wouldn’t have recognised any of the personnel had singer-songwriter Danny O’Donoghue not been one of the judge/mentors on BBC1’s new talent series The Voice UK. 

But The Script were hardly genuine meat-and-two-veg rockers. Muse and Kasabian were winning awards, more for their stupendous stadium tours than their recordings. Nickelback I have already summarily dissed and dismissed. The biggest selling rock single of 2009 or 2010 was a re-release of a barrage of roaring riffs, a flurry of “fuck”s and not a lot else, entitled ‘Killing in the Name’. I hated the record but applauded its use as a vehicle for halting the run of bland X Factor Christmas number ones. In December 2009, the anti-Cowell campaign coalesced behind the Rage Against the Machine single and, incredibly, succeeded. The latest pretty boy winner, Joe McElderry, was thwarted at the critical time.  It was only a transient triumph but for one glorious week, real music lovers had raged against the X Factor machine and won!

Coldplay, of course, were more to my taste, and they didn’t disappoint with their 2008 single ‘Viva La Vida’. It sounded different from their previous singles, with prominent strings, bell and a thumping tympanum in place of traditional drums. Despite the melancholic lyrics describing a ruler’s fall from his lofty position of power, it’s a thrilling, uplifting four-minute production. Sally gave me the album for my birthday. Sally was blessed with a musical download collection more eclectic than any 15 year-old had any right to possess. From Marley to Florence, burly Yank rockers Bowling for Soup to ginger-dreadlocked Newton Faulkner, Vampire Weekend to Lordi, she took great pride in blazing trails for acts long before they struck stardom in the UK. Another of her favourites were Kings of Leon.

Prior to September 2009 I honestly could not have named a single song from their three-album canon, nor did I know they were in fact a genuine band of brothers by the Tennessee family name of Followill. However, when I first heard that growling, prowling intro I knew ’Sex On Fire’ was a surefire hit. I was also intrigued by the unorthodox placement of the drumbeat on the opening verse before normality was restored for the exhilarating chorus and subsequent stanzas. Apparently the original intention was to call the song Set Us on Fire but a technician’s quip led to the change and the rest is history. 

I would later discover that ‘Sex On Fire’ was a favourite of Angie, too. It’s virtually the law that I request it for her at any discos, the inevitable result being her shaking everything she’s got on the dancefloor. Never mind the knee replacement, hearing those guitar siren calls and Caleb’s soulful vocals never cease to unleash Angie’s inner rock-chick emotions! Hell, isn’t that why rock music was invented?

When it came to musicals in 2008 there was only one name on everyone’s lips. Well, two names, to be precise. It made lots of money, money, money for Abba, the winners who took it all: Mamma Mia! We enjoyed the touring stage production at the Hippodrome, Bristol, in January and hurried to the local independent Bridgwater cinema for the much-heralded movie in its first week on release in July. Abba have been a recurring feature of this memoir, and for good reason; their music has continued to bound back joyfully into British culture at frequent intervals to remind us of their incomparable back catalogue of pop perfection.

Given the lavish cast-of-hundreds Greek location treatment, it was a guaranteed success but nobody could have predicted it would become the UK’s biggest box office hit of all time. Based on the behaviour of those around me, I reckon the cinema receipts benefitted from repeat visits of middle-aged women and their daughters intoxicated by the beautiful setting, the winning performances of Meryl Streep, Julie Walters et al, the stunning set-pieces (for example, Dancing Queen and Voulez Vous) and the feelgood love story.

Mamma Mia would also provide popular raw material for one of the productions by the Quantock Musical Theatre Company (QMTC), of which I was a member for over three years during my time in Bridgwater. It had a surprisingly striking impact on my life, enticing out the latent performer inside me, instilling self-confidence and establishing an inner strength which would benefit me far beyond the evenings in front of an audience.

Until 2008 my experience of being in a choir was restricted to my brief spell at primary school, singing the likes of ‘Little Spanish Town’ or ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’. That was all to change. Before I had taken the courageous but ill-fated decision to buy a Victorian house in the ‘nicest street in Bridgwater’ and become a full-time member of the Binstead family, I was already well acquainted with their involvement in the QMTC. 

It was run by Brian and Barbara Williams’, incomers from London who had become part of the fabric of Nether Stowey, a picturesque place at the foot of the Quantocks. Company rehearsals were held at the modern village hall.  The Williamses were massive fans of West End musicals, and had established the QMTC as a mean of directing their own productions of classics such as My Fair Lady and Oliver. For the latter, bolstering the membership created from friends of the family, a host of youngsters had been drafted in, giving the Company an impressive age range.

This blend of youth and maturity was also to serve the QMTC well in its secondary phase. The single-show format, toiling like stink for just a week’s performances a year, didn’t suit everyone. So it was, by the time I entered its lustrous circle, that the 30-odd members were instead spreading their range to encompass material from a host of sources, culminating in a Magic of the Musicals production. With no scenery or costumes to worry about, the QMTC could tour the village halls, appearing on Friday or Saturday evenings to entertain the local populace.

I saw no role for me in such an organisation. However, on my 47th birthday, Jan persuaded me to accompany the others. Believing I would have the chance to sit at the back and listen, I duly obliged. Jan probably smiled to herself. With the short, silver-bearded Brian running proceedings, nobody would be permitted to lurk in the shadows. She was right. I was swiftly set upon by  Brian and interrogated on my voice. Was I a tenor or bass? I hadn’t a bloody clue. I decided to sit with the men at the back. Easier to hide, I thought with cunning but naivete. It wasn’t long before Barbara sussed me out and shunted me forward to the tenors who comprised Scott, his close buddy Dom and Daniel, an entertaining trio who welcomed me into their wacky teenage world.

It was a steep learning curve. Although our first live shows weren’t scheduled until the new year, there was a lot to take in. For starters I could not then, nor can I now, read music. However, like many others around me, I found it possible to follow the staves, recalling long-forgotten teachings about crotchets and quavers, sharps and flats. Then there was the singing itself. As well as struggling with the notes, it became obvious my vocal muscles needed hours in the virtual gymnasium of each rehearsal. Never mind, as each week passed, my voice became more reliable, less likely to sound like Rod Stewart after a 48-hour bender.  

And so to 14^th February 2009: my debut performance! My diary records that despite a paltry audience in the tiny environs of Kilve - its parish one of the oldest in Somerset – we had a “good workout”. Four days later came an altogether different proposition: performing the same show on the sizeable stage of Minehead’s Regal Theatre. Unnerving but gloriously exhilarating! I considered my own voice to be “crap” but the audience seemed to leave happy. The performing bug was in me. Bloody hell, I could DO this….

Way back in my Rotaract days, I remembered going to see Les Miserables in London and departing feeling distinctly underwhelmed. A trip to a school production in Bridgwater Town Hall had me adjusting my opinion. Now I began to appreciate the power of the storyline as well as the music. Until then, ‘One Day More’ had been merely a nightmare of a song to learn: a complicated jigsaw of four-part harmonies, solo parts and chorus. When it worked, it sounded incredible. If someone came in too late: disaster! For three years, it was our show-stopping finale and I was a part of it.

I also immersed myself in the organisation itself, becoming its treasurer. We got through a few pianists in my time there, but most of them contributed different ideas designed to help us develop as individuals and, more importantly, a vocal unit.

For example, Peter threw in some random suggestions such as ‘Save the Best for Last’, ‘Eternal Flame’ and the a capella ‘Only You’. They weren’t strictly speaking songs from the musicals at all, but they undoubtedly developed our skills and repertoire. Peter’s promotion to head of music at Haygrove School left Paul as the custodian of the QMTC keyboard. He was more ‘old school’; a connoisseur of Latin and musical history, precise and a perfectionist, he also brought us on considerably. Even now, if I want to exercise my chords for presentations, interviews or even karaoke, I still practise his “Dah-meh-nee”s and “Ri-ta Chak-ra-va-ti”s to fine-tune my legato and staccato techniques.

The arrival of Shelagh in September 2011 proved a masterstroke. She gamely acquiesced in ceding the musical director’s role to Alice and with her at the piano the QMTC’s future seemed secure. In addition to works such as Oklahoma, West Side Story and Joseph…, there were also memorable performances of songs from Abba and The Beatles. I take particular pride in having my own suggestion of arrangement and audience participation in ‘Hey Jude’ accepted. I wasn’t just a weak tenor and part-time tambourine tapper, you know!

Our Christmas performances also became more important. Our sessions at the Hestercombe House Christmas Fayre and from the balcony of Bridgwater’s Angel Place shopping mall proved popular with players and public alike. However, for atmosphere and a genuine feeling of togetherness, nothing could compete with our mini-concerts on the grand staircase of Dunster Castle as part of the two-day annual Dunster by Candlelight event. I think even Angie enjoyed being in the audience for that one!

Come 2012, my relationship with Angie was blossoming and I was spending more time with her in Cardiff. With  attendance at rehearsals becoming more sporadic, I graciously bowed out in February. I confess I do miss the buzz of performing on stage. I may not be up there with the Michael Balls or Alfie Boes, nor even my fellow QMTC-ers, but my years with the Company gave me confidence and those years as a live performer remain with me for ever. 

2002-2003 - Instead of spreading love we're spreading animosity

As the chart single suffered a near-catastrophic collapse – sales plunged by 32% between 2002 and 2003 – ITV inflicted upon the nation the twin horrors of Pop Idol and Popstars – the Rivals. Naturally I watched neither but it was impossible to ignore them. TV promos, poster campaigns, tabloid headlines, … When you commute to work across London there was simply no escape.

At the start of 2002, posh boy Will Young was up against spiky-haired teenager Gareth Gates for the chance to win Pop Idol. According to Wikipedia, Will’s supporters included Noel Gallagher, while Gareth could count on Francis Rossi. Really?! What about me? Well, given that I had walked right past both protagonists on my way into Broadcasting House without recognising them, I could hardly claim sufficient knowledge to pledge allegiance to either. History records that Will emerged victorious in a massive public vote. His version of an old Westlife track ‘Evergreen’, doubled with ‘Anything is Possible’, promptly sold a million in a week. Presumably nobody else bought anything.

The runner-up Gareth didn’t exactly fade from the public eye. He followed Young’s opener with another sure-fire winner ‘Unchained Melody’ and the two acts ended up spending fourteen weeks at number one between them, including an EP duet in the autumn. By this time, even I was in a position to offer an informed opinion. Will, like me, is a graduate of Exeter University, so on that basis alone, he had the edge. Musically, both had rather tame, almost feminine voices a la Gately, but this seemed to represent the changing taste of the record-buying public. A taste, it’s fair to say, I didn’t share. It’s not that all the songs were bad, just mind-numbingly vanilla. Oh, for a double-scoop of banana and lemon sorbet! To his credit, however, Will Young’s 2003 effort ‘Leave Right Now’ was at the very least mint choc chip. The brilliantly-choreographed, if slightly disturbing, single-shot video was particularly memorable.

Even the losers got in on the act. Third-placer Darius Danesh also went to number one with the pleasant ’Colour Blind’ while the second ‘Pop Stars’ formation, Liberty X, hit the top briefly with ‘A Little Bit More’. At least this had something more seductive, and is one of the few so-called ‘reality TV’ songs which remains listenable.

The 2002 Christmas number one was ‘Sound of the Underground’ by the next Cowell/ITV victorious combo Girls Aloud. Not a typical bland ballad but I still wish it had never been allowed overground. It also set the Spice Girls wannabes on the road to massive, but unfathomable success throughout the decade.

They were deposed by a rarity: a song not only performed by a TV talent show winner but also written by him! The Beeb, recognising the need to get involved with the genre, had launched their Fame Academy series. The eventual winner was young Scot David Sneddon. I recall one Thursday afternoon hearing umpteen repetitions of his piano-led ‘Stop Living the Lie’ during the course of a Personal Effectiveness training course deep in the bowels of Television Centre. It sounded as if Sneddon was rehearsing assiduously for a TOTP performance. The song was pleasant enough, but on constant hearing it was annoyingly intrusive. As for the course, my personal category was identified as ‘CI’: methodical, perfectionist, team player and slow decision-maker. I didn’t need a test to tell me that. As for Mr Sneddon, he quickly stopped living the life. Having defeated more than 30,000 fame-hungry hopefuls, he decided that fame wasn’t for him and quit performing in favour of being a professional songwriter. Good luck to him. 

I occasionally had to pop into Television Centre for other reasons. When I did, I tended to venture to, I think, the second floor and pop into the studio viewing galleries. You never knew what rehearsal or recording might be in progress. A Tuesday or Wednesday afternoon diversion was sometimes rewarded with a few minutes watching TOTP. Often there was nothing happening at all but I do remember one week witnessing a performance by the engaging Jamelia of her new hit ‘Superstar’; it may well have been this one. I was quite impressed by her personality on the studio floor, too, and not just her legs.

Talking of legs, I’d be lying if I denied noticing the shapely limbs of Beyonce. Let’s be honest, viewers of the video for ‘Crazy in Love’ were expected to notice. Blimey! Where did she come from? Well, Destiny’s Child. Obviously. But I hadn’t paid much attention to them. Beyonce wasn’t even the first of that R’n’B trio to have a UK Number one. That prize had been claimed by Kelly Rowland (‘Dilemma’). 

In the meantime, a temporary gap in the British girl group market was amply filled by The Sugababes. With a clear nod to The Spice Girls (sugar…spice…), the name was truly dreadful, but in my humble opinion, their music was far from it. They had a so-so start but, by 2002, Heidi Range had joined Keisha Buchanan and Mutya Buena and their more varied approach to pop was paying dividends. It wasn’t that I really loved any of their singles but, for consistent high quality, they were hard to beat. Great ballads like ‘Stronger’ and ‘Too Into You’ were mixed with chart-topping fare like ‘Hole in the Head’ and ‘Round Round’. Nevertheless, my fave was, by the narrowest of margins, ‘Freak Like Me’. Built around that artfully atmospheric synth lick from ‘Are Friends Electric?’ it’s a sultry sexy song that grabs you by any part of the body you can imagine, including the ears. Unlike most of their songs, the band members weren’t amongst the many writing credits but it knocked most of the other 2002 number ones into freaking cocked hats.

For all their excellence on CD, I have it on good authority, supported by the evidence of any number of YouTube recordings, that the Sugababes were terrible live. Keisha always looks so bored. Nevertheless, more than a decade later, ignoring the hilarious frequency of line-up changes (the latest one is all-male – I jest!), they remain one of the most successful girl groups in UK history.

There was a good deal more charisma, sex appeal and eye-popping hip action going on in one second of any performance by Shakira than anything the ‘Babes or even Beyonce could manage. The Colombian queen of Latin rhythm blew me away on ‘Whenever Wherever’. The inclusion of Andean pipes and charanga gave the record a rare exoticism, Shakira’s voice and movement provided the pure eroticism. Deprived of a number one by Will Young’s debut, it took her from being a mere superstar of the Spanish-speaking world to a global icon. Intelligent, creative, philanthropic and apparently a jolly nice woman as well, Shakira must be one of the few women who could marry a Barcelona and Spain footballer (Gerard Pique) and be more famous than he is. I don’t hear much of her new music these days but, as arguably the best record of 2002, ‘Whenever Wherever’ must be one of the most joyfully infectious three-and-a-bit minutes of dance-pop ever made.

Ex-Spice Girl Emma had dropped the Bunton as her material also embraced her inner Latina. Clearly keen to shed her cute and fluffy ‘Baby’ image, all her videos seemed hell-bent on showing as much thigh and cleavage as possible but the music was unflinchingly carefree pop with a Sixties vibe. Before she dared to cover ‘Down Town’ Emma enjoyed herself with a Bunton bossanova in ‘Maybe’. I quite enjoyed it, too, probably the last of the listenable post-Spice solo singles from any of the quintet.

However, if it’s genuine Latin beat you wanted, Las Ketchup were the real deal. From Andalusia, the family group’s ‘Asereje’ was simultaneously annoying and adorable. I do find it embarrassing that it had to be re-branded ‘The Ketchup Song’ for the UK market. There were no references in the lyrics to ketchup or indeed any other condiment, so why the crass change? When I hear it, I am transported back to the very un-Latin environment of Thailand during the water-throwing carnival of Chiang Mai’s Songkran the following April. I have a clear recollection of its toe-tapping tune emanating from either a ‘pick-up’ or café just before I was drenched by a bunch of bucket-wielding Aussies who felt I was fair game. As it happened, everyone was fair game during the three-day New Year festival. At least it was only water, and not ketchup…

Hip-hop duo Outkast were very much 'in'. I was never an aficionado then, in October 2003, along came ‘Hey Ya!’ which defied any logic when it came to explaining why I liked it, or indeed any attempts at categorisation. Even now I feel compelled by some primeval urge to join in with the ‘clap-clap’ and ‘Hey Ya’ chorus. Can’t help it. Sorry! 

Also in the process of broadening their hip-hop horizons were The Black Eyed Peas. I’d certainly never heard of them until they released the lament for the apparent absence of good feeling and social justice, ‘Where is the Love?’ Although selling barely 600,000 copies in 2003, it was the year’s best-seller here and topped the charts for six weeks in September and October. Even I could pick out the heartfelt rap lyrics of will.i.am et al, and the sentiment struck a chord with many others, too. That it was a hip-hop-pop crossover was important; it wouldn’t have had the same impact globally had it been sung by will.r.young!

Where is the Love? An apt question to ask, given the final collapse of my relationship with Kim. The move from my flat to our larger house in Atridge Chase in February 2002 had merely postponed the inevitable. The first post-split show I went to on my own was a concert at the Palladium on Sunday 14^th December by one of my favourite bands Saint Etienne. I mentioned this in the 1993 section, but given my emotional state, this one-off gig ten years later has a special status in my musical life. Scheduled just before Christmas there was a real party atmosphere which I definitely craved at the time. The performance of all their hits culminated in 'Join Our Club' and the seasonal ‘I Was Born on Christmas Day’. Perfect.

Another track which stirred the by now dormant dance divo in me was ‘Move Your Feet’ by Danish duo Junior Senior. It wasn’t particularly clever. In fact, it was naively repetitively with a sequence of three distinct sections repeated throughout the three minutes. Yet it somehow came together. I saw them on various TV shows, always singing, if not playing, live, and they always succeeded in creating a vibe which made you smile as well as move your feet.

I’m not 100% certain but I think I saw them on the BBC’s Glastonbury coverage in 2003. That same weekend I was also introduced by two other bands hitherto beyond my ken. Although also from Scandinavia, Royksopp were a completely different kettle of herring, being distinctly electronic. Once you survive the onslaught of all those random electronic bursts at the start, ‘Eple’ (Norwegian for apple, apparently) settles into a wonderful groove of synths, drum machine and bass. Even in the rolling meadows of Somerset, it somehow works. On the back of ‘Eple' I’ve sought out other tracks, and it’s a shame that no others made the UK Top 20. They were just born twenty years too late. The Glasto coverage also introduced me to the London acoustic duo, Turin Brakes. I love their alt-folk harmonies on ‘Painkiller’ which reached number five. They shifted a fair few albums, sold out their local Brixton Academy, supported David Gray amongst others, but have never quite achieved headliner status.

One of the most successful bands of this period was Busted. Posh, tall Charlie, spiky James and annoyingly perma-gurning Matt were ever-present, their first eight singles all making the top three inside two years. I quickly tired of their well-practised knees-together leaps while thrashing guitars, but the songs were actually quite listenable. The likes of Good Charlotte and Blink-182 were too heavy for me, but the Essex boys knew how to write a tune which could shine from beneath the rock guitar.

‘What I Go to School For’ was an entertaining debut, ‘Sleeping with the Light On’ and ‘3am’ were nicely-crafted ballads but their trip back to the future for ‘Year 3000’ is my favourite. The lyrics were throwaway nonsense but I was amused by their tongue-in-cheek reference to their rivals in the lines:-

“He took me to the future in the flux thing
And I saw everything
Boy bands, and another one, and another one
……And another one”

The second album was more grown-up but I didn’t like the singles as much. Shows how mature I was! Charlie fancied himself as a hard rocker and split up the band at their peak. The 17 year-old who had been deprived by the record label of a place in the line-up had the last laugh. Tom Fletcher – for it was he - proceeded to lead Busted’s natural progeny McFly to even greater success in the next few years. At least there was a satisfying conclusion to the story of both bands when a decade later they joined forces to tour and record briefly as McBusted. 

American rock was entering a purple patch, too. Actually, REM’s Michael Stipe was in a blue patch. The band seemed to be on our screens quite a lot around that time, and the lead singer always seemed to sport across his eyes a band of blue as a kind of painted bandana. Why? Only he will know. But REM were back on form with songs like ‘Bad Day’ and I am prepared to forgive Stipe any of his weird idiosyncrasies.

REM were being challenged as top international rock combo by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. They weren’t new kids on the block either but I hadn’t really appreciated their music prior to the release of ‘Zephyr Song’ and ‘By the Way’. Canadians Nickelback were more old-school while The White Stripes, on the other hand, did offer something new. Amidst the media debate over whether Jack and Meg White were married or siblings (actually the former, and he took her surname), their brand of raw bluesy rock was earning rave reviews. Jack’s earthy voice had echoes of Jack Bruce or Robert Plant, while his guitar playing also boasted a dramatic simplicity, amply backed by Meg’s no-nonsense drums. It was all wrapped up in a consistent production of red, black and white. So far, so tedious. However, when I first heard the bass intro for ‘Seven Nation Army’, I recognised something better than most. The video of ever-morphing triangles genuinely made me feel physically sick (!) but it was a really exciting record to listen to. And, of course, the riff lives on in football grounds, with the cries of ‘Oh, Santi Cazorla’ and variations thereof.

Another duo who made an even bigger splash was TaTu. It wasn’t that they were the first Russians to reach number one in the UK. Instead, the teenage girls Yuliya Volkova and Len Katina aroused the typical middle-class, low-intelligence indignation of the Daily Mail and Sun by daring to kiss each other in the dramatic video of ‘All the Things She Said’. Of course, the whole lesbian schoolgirl controversy (both were decidedly heterosexual) was all a manipulative marketing ploy, which worked spectacularly well. Cutting through that crap, the record itself – produced by our own Trevor Horn - was brilliant, and topped charts around the world. Russia cashed in on TaTu’s European popularity by having them sing their Eurovision entry a few months later. Unusually for this era, I actually watched the BBC broadcast that year and, must confess that, while coming third, their live performance in Riga sounded terrible. They fared rather better than the UK entry. Jemini’s ‘Cry Baby’ which utterly deserved the dubious achievement of our first ever ‘nul points’ total. 

Britain did have some pleasant pop-rock singles, of course. Travis were back on form with ‘Reoffender’ and I even liked Mark Owen’s mature solo single, ‘Four-Minute Warning’. Top DJ/producer Paul Oakenfold joined the gang of Ibiza’s finest releasing their own albums, and his 2002 rap-assisted ‘Starry-Eyed Surprise’ possessed a super summer vibe. Admittedly, it owed much to a sample of the gentle guitar riff from Harry Nilsson’s ‘Ev’rybody’s Talkin’ that I always loved. So beloved of Terry Wogan, Katie Melua took Mike Batt’s saccharine ballad ‘Closest Thing to Crazy’ into the top ten at Christmas. I just adored her dark curls.

There were few love songs in the entire decade which could match the power of Dido’s ‘White Flag’. Her second album Life For Rent beat even No Angel by selling more than 2 million in one calendar year, and this was the stunning lead single. It followed the same successful formula of sweet, breathy vocals, perfect multi-layered production and memorable melody, and became Dido’s highest-placed single. It took the Black Eyed Peas to keep this classic off the top spot but ‘White Flag’ was certainly one of my top two records of 2003. 

Around this time, ‘Girl Power’ seemed to be replaced by ‘Girrrl Power,’ the ‘I’ being optional! Duplicated ‘r’s appeared for no logical reason, too. Christina Aguilera’s ‘Dirrty’ is a case in point. Avril Lavigne did at least adhere to the English language conventions in her excellent debut, ‘Complicated’. However, she lost my respect when her single ‘Sk8er Boi’ came out. Text spelling was now in the mainstream and the world would never be the same again. Pink was the epitome of the new brand of ballsy women with attitude but I had yet to hear any music by her which appealed.

This was a relatively fallow period for Britney Spears but her ‘ex’ and fellow Mickey Mouse Club alumnus, Justin Timberlake happily filled the gap. His music wasn’t always my brew but if they had an X Factor competition in 2003, JT would win. With a further apprenticeship in N-SYNC behind him he had it all: good looks, a decent voice, a modicum of acting talent and dance moves that would give Wacko Jacko a run for his money. For all his upbeat singles like ‘Rock Your Body’, it’s the sad R’n’B slowie ‘Cry Me A River’ – based on his Britney break-up - which made the biggest impression on me then, and still has the ability to haunt.

The whole R’n’B genre was spreading its tentacles far and wide, even clasping Eminem to its burgeoning bosom. In December 2002, he topped the chart with another high-quality single, ‘Lose Yourself’. Taken from the soundtrack to his Eight Mile movie, in which Em had the tough task of portraying a young rapper trying to make his way in a tough world, it was a typically emotional monologue topped and tailed by tinkly piano. His more humorous ‘WIthout Me’ was the bigger hit here, but ‘Lose Yourself’ is for me up there with the best. Who can argue with the philosophical opening lines?

“Look, if you had one shot, one opportunity
To seize everything you ever wanted
One moment
Would you capture it or just let it slip?

Yo”

Yo, indeed. 

Marshall Bruce Mathers III was a polar opposite to that of Curtis James Jackson III. They had quite a bit in common: apart from both being ‘Third’s, they were Americans, successful rappers with backing posses. Yet they were so different in looks. Eminem’s skinny white boy was a million miles from 50 Cent’s mean, moody, muscular image. ‘Fiddy Cent’ wore his drug-dealing past and bullet scars like badges of pride. To me he just looked a right dumb plank of wood, albeit with biceps bigger than my chest. He did alright for himself, but proved incapable of holding on to his huge fortune. Back to half a dollar then….

While 50 Cent’s over-serious, precious lady’s man shtick made me laugh, another star was making a career out of a white comic character who did his utmost not just to imitate his black role models but to be black. Sacha Baron Cohen’s Ali G started life on Channel 4’s Eleven O’Clock Show, appearing in hilarious short films with unsuspecting real people. It was only a matter of time before the character moved into Da Movies and the music charts. I didn’t hear ‘Me Julie’ much on the radio, despite it reaching number two. Not surprising given the frequent references to knobbin’ and shaggin’. “Me Julie, I love you from my head down to my goolies” was one of the cleaner lines.

At least he gave me something to laugh at, The same went for a new British band by the name of The Darkness. Were they for real?! How did Justin Hawkins arrive at their musical mission? Did they, like me on many occasions at the Beeb, have an awayday brainstorm to identify gaps in the market? Seventies-style heavy rock?  Tick. Sparkly catsuits as in Queen? Tick. Choruses delivered in funny falsetto? Tick. Referencing their background in the mean streets of Suffolk? Tick! All they needed to do was write a few decent tunes. I still can’t believe the public bought into it.

Apparently they even had a Carling Homecoming gig booked for the London Astoria before they had even signed a record deal! I really didn’t like ‘I Believe in a Thing Called Love’, and was appalled at the prospect of their ‘Christmas Time single topping the chart. It didn’t. Instead of pseudo-glam rock, the festive number one slot unexpectedly went to the glum rock of Michael Andrews and Gary Jules’ cover of ‘Mad World’. Yet The Darkness sold well over a million copies of their debut album Permission to Land. Another album followed, then the band imploded under Hawkins’ alleged abuse of alcohol and cocaine. Their story had all the ingredients of a spoof rockumentary a la Spinal Tap. Joke music, joke image, joke descent into rehab. All that was missing was an exploding drummer and a undersized Stonehenge at the Brits. I’m sorry but, even in 2018, I am still waiting for the true tale to emerge.