1991 – All bound for Mu-Mu land

Strife was still bubbling around the world in 1991. The break-up of Communist Eastern Europe hadn’t settled revolutionary fervour. In June, Slovenia and Croatia broke away from Yugoslavia, laying the foundations for the appalling war there in the following few years. President Gorbachev survived a coup in the Soviet Union but, understandably fearing for his life and opting for a quieter (and more lucrative) retirement, finally jacked it in at Christmas. But the worst violence was the preserve of a UK-US alliance.

Operation Desert Storm began on 16^th January, heralding six weeks of carnage as our forces blitzed Iraq to rubble in retaliation for the invasion of Kuwait. Talking of slaughter, Iron Maiden made the cunning and cheeky calculated move of releasing ‘Bring Your Daughter to the Slaughter’ at the perfect time to displace holier-than-thou Cliff Richard from the number one spot in the New Year. While they didn’t stay at the top for the Iraq War, the hostilities were instead accompanied by the rise of Enigma’s contrasting ‘Sadness Part 1’!

Metal tracks rarely registered with me, but several monsters did register in the upper echelons of the chart. In January, Queen channelled their inner Led Zep in their six-minute single ‘Innuendo’, crashing straight in at number one. At the time, I described it as “such a slovenly mish-mash of HM posturing, flamenco guitar (!) and sub-Bohemian Rhapsody effects”. In many ways my contemporaneous opinion still holds water, but I might now replace the word ‘slovenly’ with ‘oddly appealing’! 

It certainly wasn’t the best year for the band, but then Freddie Mercury’s health, like their music, was in rapid decline. I was shocked to see Freddie’s skeletal appearance in the video for the awful ‘I’m Going Slightly Mad’, and so the news of his death in November from “an AIDS-related illness” came as no surprise. Neither did the consequent surge to the Christmas number one slot of a re-released ‘Bo-Rhap’, twinned with the new and grossly inferior ‘These Are the Days of Our Lives’. When the following Easter, Mercury’s life and music were celebrated in a Wembley fundraising mega-concert, it was only fitting that ‘Innuendo’ was sung by Led Zep’s Robert Plant.

Metallica also featured heavily in that show but at the time their brand of chugging guitar rock in hits like ‘Enter Sandman’ wasn’t to my taste. The same went for Nirvana, whose sensational ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ assaulted the top ten in November. It was another year or two before I came to appreciate Kurt Cobain et al and buy not one, but two Nirvana albums – and then he went and shot himself…. I like to think the two events are unconnected.

U2 went ‘Rock’ in the autumn, too. Releasing ‘The Fly’, they announced it would be available for three weeks only. Would it have topped the chart otherwise? Maybe, but it ranks as one of my favourite U2 tracks of all time, from one of my favourite albums by any artist, Achtung Baby. This also kicked off the band’s predilection for extravagantly-staged multimedia event shows, beginning with the ZooTV tour in 1992-93. I just wish I’d grabbed the opportunity to see it for myself instead of just on video. 

It was another good year for the rock ballad. Guns ‘n’ Roses seemed more appropriate interpreters of ‘Live and Let Die’ than Paul McCartney ever did, while Extreme temporarily went acoustic for the memorable romantic number two song ‘More Than Words’.  1991 also saw German behemoth band The Scorpions go global with the stirring power ballad ‘Wind of Change’.

Of course, I had never heard of them, but this record was to become one of the world’s biggest-selling singles in history, not just in Germany. Forever associated with the country’s reunification – and a million times better than David Hasselhoff’s crass, but for some reason hugely popular ‘Freedom’ – it was actually written about the fragile political situation in the Soviet Union. Yet the precise political inspiration behind the song is unimportant; it just works wonders as a glorious emotional ode to the human spirit.

However, where sales are concerned, it paled into insignificance compared with the UK’s biggest seller of 1991. Following the previous year’s Ghost supremacy, it was the turn of Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves to attract hordes into cinemas and enjoy Kevin Costner and his Merrie Men fight in the forest and ultimately kill Alan Rickman’s gloriously over-the-top Sheriff. From the film came Bryan Adams’ even more all-conquering track ‘Everything I Do I Do It For You’. It was number one for an unbelievable sixteen weeks, spanning July to October. For all its irritating longevity, it remains one of the all-time best movie love songs, perfectly structured with its piano intro, climactic crescendo then final breakdown. I wasn’t aware at the time, but the incessantly-broadcast Julien Temple video was mostly filmed not in glamorous California but in little ol’ West Somerset. Take a bow, Kilve beach.

In the days before she sold her songs to some of the biggest stars on the planet, Norwich’s Cathy Dennis enjoyed a modest solo career of her own. Her dance tunes were instantly forgettable but I have fond memories of the less successful ballad ‘Too Many Walls’. Terry Wogan seemed impressed, too! 

I’ve never liked Spandau Ballet’s over-rated ‘True’, but I have to admit the simple guitar motif sounds much better on PM Dawn’s ‘Set Adrift on Memory Bliss’. Another American hip-hop single which effortlessly evokes the emotions of West Coast sultry dog days was ‘Summertime’ by Jazzie Jeff and the Fresh Prince. I never watched the latter’s Bel Air sitcom but Will Smith was a rapper I could listen to. Occasionally. 

From hip-hop to trip-hop. I suppose it got its name from mixing hip-hop and Acid House beats and 1991 gave us one of the best examples in the form of Massive Attack’s ‘Unfinished Sympathy’. With its sumptuous strings, minor synth chords, Shara Nelson’s soulful vocals and the ‘heyyy hey-hey heyyy’s, together with the groundbreaking single-shot video in non-descript LA, it all felt so American; yet it was a very British, ney Bristolian, production. Seal was another domestic star with a transatlantic sound. His biggest hit ‘Crazy’ went silver early in the year, making him more than just ‘that bloke with the facial scars who sings on Adamski’s ‘Killer’’. Like ‘Unfinished Sympathy’, it possesses a smooth, chilled, almost ambient style. Not quite a ballad, not quite pure dance, not quite a political statement, it nonetheless successfully fused elements of all three, and it was one of my favourites of ’91. 

Trip-hop was also to the fore in the work of the most successful, possibly the weirdest and definitely the most controversial singles artists of the year. The KLF wasn’t the first project created by thirty-somethings Jimmy Cauty and A&R man Bill Drummond. They had already topped the chart as The Timelords but in 1991 they blew us away with something very different.

The coming together of hip-hop, trance, soul and a punkish attitude was altogether too much for me at the time. When ‘3am Eternal’ went to number one in February, I described it as “awful claptrap”. Kind of Snap! meets The Prodigy meets The Clash. What was all this nonsense about The Justified Ancients? MuMu Land? I never understood it then and I still don’t. ‘Last Train to Trancentral’ was more of the same but, when they flew to number two in December, I began to appreciate their music a bit more. ‘Justified and Ancient’ must go down as one of the most bizarre collaborations in pop history, marrying Drummond’s offbeat take on music with the country legend Tammy Wynette!  How did that happen? Well, according to the lyric: 

“They called me up in Tennessee
They said "Tammy, stand by The Jams"
But if you don't like what they're going to do,
You better not stop them 'cause they're coming through” 

Apparently Drummond was a Country fan. Whatever. It was a chart-topper in eighteen countries and refreshed the career of Wynette, introducing her to a whole new generation of listeners and rave-goers for whom breakbeats and wacky lyrics (“They’re justified and they’re ancient And they drive an ice cream van”. I mean, really?!). And that proved to be their final single. Their outlandish thrash metal performance of ‘3am Eternal’, climaxing with Drummond firing a machine gun at the incredulous audience of suited and booted record industry execs at the 1992 Brit Award ceremony, proved to be a dramatic suicide note for the duo’s musical life.  

Many artists have proclaimed they are the people to revolutionise the music business, overthrow the status quo and go out on a high. The KLF are the only ones who succeeded, if only for one year. They proceeded to delete their entire back catalogue and move into arthouse territory, culminating in the public burning of a million pounds. Did they make a statement? Oh yes. That Drummond and Cauty were a couple of obnoxious mad numpties with more money than sense.  Mind you, I believe their subversive anarchistic attitude hasn’t extended to a boycott of Spotify, and 2017 saw them dip a toe back into the public eye..

Speaking as I was of The Clash, the veteran punk rockers finally hit the top with Mick Jones’ ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go?’, thanks to Levi’s latest TV ad campaign. Not, in my view, their finest musical moment. I much preferred the rawer Strummer sound of ‘Rock the Casbah’, the re-release of which peaked at a mere fifteen. Not quite ‘London Calling’, but in the aftermath of the first Gulf War, it had an apt contemporary political comment to make. 

The Sixties were re-born in the guise of Cher’s monotonous ‘Shoop Shoop Song’ (aka ‘It’s In His Kiss’), a massive hit from the ‘Mermaids’ soundtrack. The comedian Vic Reeves later teamed up with the ubiquitous folk/alt rock outfit The Wonder Stuff to update Tommy Roe’s ‘Dizzy’ while The Doors’ brooding ‘Light My Fire’ blazed into the charts on the coat-tails of Oliver Stone’s biopic of the original stoner band. I have never understood why this had failed to light up the UK charts back in ’67 but for all the media obsession with recreational drugs, the sound didn’t quite chime with the early Nineties scene. Good, though! 

I couldn’t say the same about other songs prominent that year. I really detested Crystal Waters’ ‘Gypsy Woman’, Kiri Te Kanawa’s ‘World in Union’ (part of ITV’s commercial blitz surrounding the Rugby World Cup) and The Simpsons’ ‘Do the Bartman’. Back then, Sky TV was in its infancy, with an audience still largely comprised of white van men’s families keen to adorn their terraced homes and flats with the latest hideous satellite dishes. Was I just being a snob? Most definitely. I therefore tarred the unfamiliar cartoon comedy with the same contemptuous brush. Consequently, any associated single never stood a chance with me. After The Simpsons appeared on BBC2, bringing it within my reach, I realised that instead of being brash American trash it was in fact rather brilliant, probably the funniest sitcom I’ve ever seen.

Strangely enough, it later transpired that Bart’s anthem was written by superfan Michael Jackson! He had kept it quiet so as not to interfere with the promotion of his new album Dangerous. I didn’t particularly like his number one single ‘Black or White’. I considered it ironic given that Wacko Jacko had by this time become more white than black. 

Jackson could no longer guarantee outselling everyone else; not in the UK anyway. His latest effort was easily eclipsed by an act I found it hard to like.  Simply Red’s fourth album Stars was released in September and took a grip on the album chart for well over a year, eventually selling well over 3 million copies. I wasn’t one of the buyers. Mick Hucknall may have boasted ginger hair and left-leaning politics but his brand of pop/soul wasn’t my thing at all. For me, Stars was the ultimate dinner party record. Too slow to dance to, too boring to listen to, it was fit only to play in the background while you ate and nattered, twinkling gently and inoffensively overhead while more interesting things were happening on the ground. ‘Something Got Me Started’ did at least have a bit of drive to it but the title track epitomised everything that was wrong – yet also right – about Simply Red. It was inescapable throughout December. Searching desperately for positives, I must admit it was preferable to ‘Fairground’, the group’s only number one from 1996. I hated that one! Maybe it was because I wasn’t really a dinner party person either.

MoR was beginning to grow, while Dance was starting to take itself less seriously, and not in a good way. However, there were some enjoyable tracks around. Candi Staton’s ‘You Got the Love’ was given a toe-tapping trancey update by British DJ/producer The Source. Florence and the Machine’s more recent high octane version is perhaps better known over here, and there have been other dance remixes but I still love The Source’s bubbly synths.

K-Klass went to number three with ‘Rhythm is a Mystery’, probably forgotten by everyone except me. I shamefully recall having it as an answer in a Rotaract pop quiz at the time, with only one team knowing it. I still wake up in a cold sweat remembering what a ridiculously difficult quiz I devised. Lessons were learnt, of course. They never let me fly solo writing all the questions again, and rightly so.

Now for the sillier songs. Oceanic’s ‘Insanity’ sold surprisingly well, its House piano bed and catchy chorus making it a popular party anthem before the term was ever used. It also helped to have your act name beginning with the number two. 2 in a Room’s ‘Wiggle It’ and 2 Unlimited’s ‘Get Ready For This’ were great for Rotaract discos – and were indeed played at quite a few! - but not much else.

I tend to think of Erasure as an Eighties band, but they probably enjoyed more success in the Nineties than they did in the previous ten years. In ’91, ‘Chorus’ was the biggest hit but the more memorable one was ‘Love to Hate You’. Not so keen on the echoes of ‘I Will Survive’ but otherwise definitely one for dancing to. REM first appeared on my radar, too. Not their utterly brilliant ‘Losing My Religion’, but the top-tenner ‘Shiny Happy People’. Back then, Michael Stipe could actually pass for being of a sunny disposition!

Later I would ponder on the likelihood of the song being about something far more miserable and depressing. Yet the lyrics are simply full of ‘happy’s. Lots of them. Speaking of misery, Morrissey’s fave Manchester band (apparently) and one-time ‘baggies’, James, took ‘Sit Down' to number two, with a gloriously upbeat rhythm and vocal. Yet its theme was supposedly that of mental illness. In the words of Kurt Cobain: oh, well, whatever, never mind! It became a song we could enjoy at discos while, well, sitting down. Also Tim Booth was to become one of my favourite singers.

Some front men and women have truly amazing voices. I’m thinking Freddie Mercury, Karen Carpenter, Elvis Presley, Roy Orbison. Others are memorable for being uniquely bizarre: I give you Kate Bush, Noddy Holder, Rod Stewart. However, Booth comes into the category of just sounding wonderful for no apparent reason whatsoever. James didn’t quite repeat the success of ‘Sit Down’ but the follow-ups and his occasional appearances on 'Later… with Jools Holland' cemented Tim Booth’s as one of my all-time top voices.

There was plenty of sex in the charts and on TOTP. Color Me Badd wanted to sex me up while Salt n’ Pepa insisted: ‘Let’s Talk about Sex’. No, let’s not! However, one of the most entertaining three minutes of music came courtesy of a camp couple of Putney gym club owners with little hair but a twinkle in the eye. Richard Fairbrass had you from the unaccompanied baritone monotone opening lines:-

“I'm too sexy for my love
Too sexy for my love
Love's going to leave me”

And just kept going! Even the band’s name, Right Said Fred, possessed just the right sense of fun and comedic nostalgia, while ‘I’m Too Sexy’ was one of the rare tracks you could jig along to with a stupid grin on your face. Bryan Adams kept it at number two for a record-equalling six weeks but it outsold all but three singles in the UK and even scooped an Ivor Novello songwriting award. I suspect that was merited by one of the finest finales of any song ever. It simply ends with:

“I’m too sexy for this song”.

That’s all, folks! It had ‘one-hit wonder’ stamped all over it and yet for all its novelty value, ‘I’m Too Sexy’ was not the beginning and end of RSF’s musical career. I actually preferred the Christmas follow-up, ‘Don’t Talk, Let’s Kiss’ while the following Spring, ‘Deeply Dippy’ presented them with a number one success, and a second Ivor Novello. But it was the first single which remains unforgettable. Let’s face it, we’ve all strutted around the living room singing “I’m too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts”, haven’t we. Haven’t we? Oh, maybe it’s just me then, but I don’t care.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    But it's the best I can do…”

Classic!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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