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.

1976 – Feel the Beat from the Tambourine

Ah, the music of 1976. This could be a short chapter! Naffness there was in spades. Not all dreadful, but when you hit fifteen you kinda expect something to get excited about. Excitement was definitely in short supply, but there was still entertainment.

A lot of ladies certainly seemed to get very worked up by Demis Roussos. Already a superstar on the continent, his USP was the combination of an enormous frame barely contained in a kaftan and an extraordinarily light, high voice. His EP The Roussos Phenomenon, led by the ballad ‘Forever and Ever’, topped the charts in the long hot summer of 1976. Maybe the high temperatures and lack of rain made British women long for the Greek beaches and a bearded sex god serenading them – and along came Demis!

In fact he had been on UK TV with Nana Mouskouri and even Basil Brush a few years previously but the EP propelled him into the premier league. I didn’t like his music one iota, but you couldn’t ignore him. He was an easy target for parody, and we all tried our worst falsetto to do so. Nevertheless, imitation is supposed to be the sincerest form of flattery so I’m sure Roussos took it all in his stride.

Dolly Parton’s ‘Jolene’ took more than two years to make it in Britain. As with most Country music, it didn’t appeal to me at all. Like Demis Roussos, her unmistakeable – er – body shape left her wide open to sexist imitators. To be honest, it was probably the breast jokes which brought her to the attention of a wider audience but Dolly had the last laugh. No number one singles, but, since her Glastonbury triumph in 2014, her ’76 breakthrough has sold more than 200,000 digital downloads!

It was also a successful year for Showaddywaddy. The Leicester faux teddy boys were a regular sight on Top of the Pops in their colourful drapes miming along to a series of late fifties and early sixties hits. Their only number one single came towards the end of ’76, when ‘Under the Moon of Love’ threatened to be the top song at Christmas. It didn’t, thanks to the black polo jumper-clad Johnny Mathis, but it come to epitomise their distinct brand of music, appealing to fans of rock’n’roll-lite and simple, straightforward fun pop.

Another band never likely to win the hearts of New Musical Express editors was The Wurzels. A novelty act, yes, but their Zummerzet shtick was genuine and even I was won over by their re-working of recent hits. ‘Brand New Key’ was transformed into ‘Combine Harvester’ and – lo! – a number one! The follow-up was ‘I Am a Cider Drinker’, with new lyrics to the tune of ‘Una Paloma Blanca’. Their chart positions weakened as the joke wore thinner, but they are still going strong in the West Country. Even I used to sing the ‘Cider Drinker’ chorus as I drove past the Somerset sign on the M5. They regularly headline events in and around Bridgwater, where they are living legends! 

The Brotherhood of Man returned to the big time courtesy of their Eurovision entry ‘Save Your Kisses for Me’. Cute song, cute dance steps and cute little twist at the end. Cute, cute, cute. However, for me the “Ahhh”s on first hearing swiftly became ‘”Aarrghhh”s the more the record was played. And that was very often, because the foursome won Eurovision and became the year’s best-sellers. They even went on to top the charts twice more in the Seventies, coasting on the coat-tails of Abba.

Other annoying hits of ’76 include CW McCall’s trucker song ‘Convoy’, which made number two in a year when CB radio started to become popular, many years before mobile phones. That was bad enough but then Radio 1 DJs Dave Lee Travis and Paul Burnett became Laurie Lingo and the Dipsticks to record the silly ‘Convoy GB’. It peaked at four! John Miles’ ‘Music’ left me unmoved and Eric Carmen’s ‘All By Myself’ deserved to have kept him in solitude for life.

Dutch Country outfit Pussycat enjoyed substantial sales of the pedestrian ‘Mississippi’ and they were turfed off the top by Chicago’s ‘If You Leave me Now’. For many, this is a classic ballad but I beg to differ. I just think Peter Cetera sounds like a whiny bluebottle you can’t destroy. There, I’ve said it! 

Sailor’s ‘Girls, Girls, Girls’ also registered high on the naff scale, and accompanied lots of politically-incorrect clips in those unenlightened times. Their nautical costumes and impressive nickelodeon keyboard contraption also stood out from the rest. However, listen to their first number two single, ‘A Glass of Champagne’; it’s actually quite good!

Another act which probably wouldn’t make the grade in the twenty-first century was Tina Charles. She wasn’t a size zero, she couldn’t really dance and, truth be told, she couldn’t really sing very well. Tina probably wouldn’t pass an X Factor audition. However, back in ’76, her winning smile and Biddu-produced dance-pop made winning formula. She looked like an ordinary young woman boogieing on a local dancefloor or nervously taking to a pub karaoke platform, but she was a surprise success story of ’76. 

To some cogniscenti she is now considered a British disco pioneer. That might be pushing it a bit, but ‘I Love to Love’ was the eighth biggest seller of 1976. Her (earthier) voice had also been heard on 5000 Volts’ high-energy 1975 hit ‘I’m on Fire’, but my personal favourite was her solo song ‘Dance Little Lady, Dance’.

The guitar is distinctly funky. Not in the moped/gibbon sense of the word, but in the ‘makes you want to get up and jiggle about’ sense. I also liked the Wild Cherry top tenner, ‘Play that Funky Music’. A shame I rarely hear it on the radio any more. The same goes for The Sensational Alex Harvey Band’s weird ‘Boston Tea Party’. Always a very visual band, this was one of the few Harvey songs I actually liked (the other being their outrageous version of ‘Delilah’). It stalled at thirteen but I enjoyed their brand of rock, and the charismatic Harvey’s unashamed Scottish and, on his TOTP performance, live vocals. At the age of 40, he may have looked slightly the worse for wear, but his stage presence was undeniably Sensational.

Thin LIzzy became rock gods in 1976 with the immortal ‘Boys Are Back in Town’, forever radio-friendly. It may be full of ‘chicks’ and crazy ‘cats’ but I can’t tire of hearing it. Everything that followed was inferior. I don’t think Hank Mizell was ever a guitar hero like Phil Lynott, but I confess that, at the time, I did prefer the re-release of his 1958 rockabilly flop, ‘Jungle Rock’! One of my favourite Status Quo songs also made the top ten. In a year which gave us the century’s most serious and prolonged drought, it had to be ‘Rain’…

Away from rock, I liked Barry White’s number two hit ‘Say the Trouble with Me’, Yvonne Elliman’s sweet ‘Love Me’, The Four Seasons’ ‘December ‘63’ and Andy Fairweather Low’s ‘Wide-eyed and Legless’. That reminds me…. I recently attended a Paul Weller concert in Cardiff. Towards the end, a ‘local boy done good’ was ushered onto the stage. Bald, in unflattering specs and acoustic guitar in hand, Paul introduced him as Mr Fairweather Low himself! Unrecognisable from his Amen Corner days but we all sang along anyway to ‘Half as Nice’. His 1976 top-tenner would have raised a smile, too. 

The most memorable disco contributions must have been Candi Staton’s summer classic ‘Young Hearts Run Free’ and Andrea True Connection’s ‘More More More’  but a song which elicited much discussion in the playground was written and sung by an unknown black British woman, Joan Armatrading. The opening unaccompanied lines of ‘Love and Affection’ 

                        “I’m not in love

                         But I’m open to persuasion” 

must be amongst the powerful of any song in the Seventies. When the acoustic guitar kicked in, you were hooked. It dragged on a bit for me so didn’t register high on my list back then. Nevertheless, something different never hurt!

Elton John took his mix of piano ballads and rock to the States, generating more sales but also pissing off the right-wing bible-bashers who considered him the devil incarnate. And he hadn’t even come out as gay! Over here, it was his unassuming Motown-esque duet ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ with Kiki Dee which captured British hearts, occupying the number one spot throughout the summer holidays. I didn’t much like it, but Elton’s comic turn in the promo film was quite engaging. 

Paul McCartney and Wings were unfortunate to miss out on a number one single in ’76. Both ‘Silly Love Songs’ and ‘Let ‘Em In’ both peaked at two in the charts, but I liked them both. While they were separate entities, I still think of them as parts of a pair. Paul’s bass is really prominent in the former, while the latter is an unashamedly lightweight piano-driven song. As with the nursery rhyme ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’, only McCartney could manufacture a big hit from such simple material: a rollcall of friends, family and heroes knocking on his door.

Earlier I waxed lyrical about 10cc’s ‘I’m Not in Love’. However, it was their 1976 single ‘I’m Mandy, Fly Me’ which was, and remains, my favourite track from their brilliant back catalogue. It starts out as another gentle Eric Stewart ballad before taking off into all sorts of weird directions thanks, presumably, to Kevin Godley’s influence. Impossible to dance to, but it’s wonderful to listen to: the best song of the year. Sadly it marked the end of 10cc as a foursome. Godley and Crème departed to be creative in different fields, notably the development of the music video throughout the Eighties. Stewart and Gouldman kept going (but not as 5cc!) and with such an enormous writing and performing pedigree, enjoyed further hits until Stewart suffered an injury which kept him out of the studio. The magical momentum was lost and one of the great bands was no more.

But they weren’t my favourite artists of the year. Without any doubt whatsoever, that accolade went to the group who dominated our charts in 1976. Not British, not American, but Swedish! They were, of course, ABBA. 

‘Waterloo’ had promised to be a one-hit Eurovision wonder until ‘S.O.S’ came to the rescue at the end of 1975. A few months later, ’Mamma Mia’ finally knocked ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ off its perch. I must admit it left me distinctly underwhelmed. However, come April, their first masterpiece blew me away. ‘Fernando’’s intro of woodwind and gentle military drum rolls immediately creates a special mood, but when Frida sings the first verse, it practically brings tears to my eyes.The chorus brings some happiness to the story but the whole package made me realise ABBA were no passing fad.

Even better was to follow. Returning from our coach holiday through Europe at the end of August, the big news on the Sunday evening Top 20 show was the surge of ‘Dancing Queen’ from sixteen to one. It took only one listen to recognise an instant classic. That opening piano glissando was thrilling and the rest of the record didn’t disappoint either. As ever, the ABBA crew lavished time and lots of love on the production. Benny and Bjorn have since explained how they weren’t prolific, but they worked darned hard to perfect what songs they had written; I guess it’s hard to make a song sound simple. The more you listen, the more recognisable little bells and whistles you can pick up. Not literally ‘bells and whistles’ but the little strings motifs, the ‘high hat’ cymbal, the choral “ah ah-ah”s, the six-note piano bit are all as familiar as the melody and the infectious beat. The video may not have captured the essence but it must be one of the best dance records ever made. 

No sooner had ‘Dancing Queen’ slipped out of the chart, ‘Money, Money, Money’ was released for Christmas. It must have sold plenty but was held at three. I remember going Christmas shopping in Chelmsford, mooching around Dace’s music shop seeking inspiration. ‘Money, Money, Money’ was playing and the main display featured piles of the new ABBA album, ‘Arrival’. I don’t think I bought either, but I did purchase the year’s bestselling LP, the group’s first Greatest Hits collection. For Mum, of course, but we could all enjoy ABBA. 

Disappointingly there was no ‘Dancing Queen’ but I did discover a few other songs which had charted but failed to attract my attention. ‘I Do I Do I Do I Do I Do’ (there are five!), ‘Ring Ring’ and ‘Honey Honey’ had that distinctive ABBA style, as well as typical repeated words in the title. The LP must have been the first proper ‘greatest hits’ record I ever bought. Their next one was probably ABBA’s second. As the brand new album that December declared, the Swedish quartet had arrived. With the musical ‘Mamma Mia’ and later generations of music lovers perpetuating their musical legacy, they have never really departed.