1983 – Put on your red shoes and dance the blues

My life may have been turning more London-centric but the charts seemed to be taking on a more Celtic flavour. The Scots had been on the march since the dawn of the Eighties but in 1983, the Welsh and Irish were also enjoying some representation in the top ten.

It was all stirring guitar rock from Rhyl’s finest, The Alarm, as ’68 Guns’ made the top 20 but music doesn’t come more stirring than U2’s ‘New Year’s Day’, the first time I’d really heard the band. Four years earlier, they had performed in The Pit in the student union building at Exeter but, a few big albums later, they were evolving into a stadium band. Altered Images returned with the wonderful ‘Don’t Talk to Me About Love’ and Simple Minds furthered their growing reputation with ‘Waterfront’.

Another young bunch emanating from north of the border were Big Country. They really wore their Scottishness on their sleeves. Part of the band’s unique sound came from a bagpipe-like guitar effect and, to emphasise their Celtic credentials still further, singer Stuart Adamson was fond of wearing a tartan headscarf. Long before Mel Gibson smeared himself with blue paint for Braveheart, listening to Big Country achieved the same effect of instilling undying love of the thistle and saltire – even if you were English through and through! ‘Fields of Fire’, ‘Chance’ and the thrilling 'In a Big Country’ all sounded great, as did the following year’s ‘Wonderland’. Like so many in the business, addiction to alcohol did for Adamson and he committed suicide in 2001.

He had been a founder member of The Skids, a common sight on TV in 1979-1981. At the same time, fellow Scots The Tourists also had some chart success but in ’83, two of their line-up changed their look, their name and musical style and became huge stars. As Eurythmics, Annie Lennox’s startling short orange hair and powerful voice blended beautifully with Dave Stewart’s synths and talent for production. ‘Sweet Dreams’ was an instant hit, then ‘Who’s That Girl?’ and ‘Love is a Stranger’ provided more of the same. For years to come, each Eurythmics release was top-notch: subtle, sometimes lyrically dark but always an enjoyable listen.

I can’t say the same for Jim Steinman’s melodramatic rock operettas. I’d cheerily consign every Meatloaf record to the ocean floor, and his contribution to Bonnie Tyler’s career revival that year was little better. ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ dominated March, bludgeoning even ‘Billie Jean’ into submission, and just the sight of Tyler’s big hair, let alone the sound of her husky voice, brings me out in shivers. I much preferred the number one by the even huskier-toned Rod Stewart. I know he’s not officially Scottish, but ‘Baby Jane’ was one of the finest pop songs of the year and (in spite of that sax solo!) up there with his best.

It was a good year for Australia, too. Their cricket team may have been in the doldrums but, thanks in no small part to the popularity of comedian Paul Hogan and his Foster’s lager ads, the tongue-in-cheek Oz humour in Men at Work’s ‘Down Under’ took the single and source album to number one on both sides of the Atlantic in January. The video and lyrics contrived to include all sorts of Aussie stereotypes, but all in good faith! ‘Waiting for a Train’ was another good top-tenner by an Australian band; this time, Flash and the Pan. I don’t think I’ve heard it in the radio since then but I was obviously not the only person who liked it at the time.

Not sure if they were at work, but there were also Men Without Hats, but this lot were from Canada. I actually rated their top ten single ‘Safety Dance’ as one of 1983’s musical highlights. The Wiltshire-filmed English folky video is a bit bonkers but thoroughly entertaining for a song written in frustration at over-zealous bouncers who once stopped the lead singer from pogo-ing at a gig!

A different perspective of Australia was offered in a now-classic video featuring David Bowie. In the documentary 5 Years, Nile Rogers claimed with some credibility that Bowie had approached him with a request to “write me some hits” True to form, the disco legend duly delivered. Not only that, but he presented David with his most successful single and album of his illustrious career.  With his bottle blonde quiff and generously-proportioned trousers, this was an altogether more mainstream Eighties image for the famous fashionisto. ‘Let’s Dance’ swept Duran Duran aside in April, then both ‘Chinese Girl’ and ‘Modern Love’ peaked at two. Of the trio, my favourite was the second, featuring as it did the familiar guitarwork of the ex-Chic man. Setting aside the controversially sexy video, here’s a live performance from that year’s Serious Moonlight tour. 

Nile Rogers wasn’t the only Seventies disco pioneer riding a new wave of popularity in 1983. I recall that August hearing the toe-tapping intro to KC and the Sunshine Band’s ‘Give it Up’ while strolling to the beach at the then small Tenerife resort of Playa de las Americas, and it had most of Europe dancing all summer. During the holiday the hotel poolside PA system was occasionally fond of playing another excellent track: ‘Everything Counts’ by Depeche Mode. Vince Clarke may have left, but their more political songs nonetheless retained the same winning combination of electronic melody and rhythm.  

Synths were to the fore in Howard Jones’ quirky ‘New Song’, accompanied on TOTP by the crazily made-up mime dancer Jed Hoile. Spiky-haired Howard had several hits in the mid-Eighties, most of them intelligently crafted productions like ‘Like to Get to Know You Well’ and the haunting ballad ‘Hide and Seek’, which he played at Live Aid. I even bought his album of 12” singles a few years later. 12” singles really took off in 1983 thanks to another synth act, New Order. They barely cracked the singles top ten but spent several months in the charts with ‘Blue Monday’. Their famously rough and raw live performance on TOTP certainly blew me away, even if I hadn’t caught on with the rest of their music or their Joy Division back story.  

It was about two years later when I first heard the record in a dancing scenario: that initial burst of chest-thudding drum machine tattoo, then gradually layer upon layer are added for about two minutes before Bernard Sumner’s cold vocals and Peter Hook’s chiming bass kick in. It’s a slow-burner, but now it probably gets more airplay on mainstream radio than it did when first released. “How does it feel….?” Very nostalgic, since you ask! 

Duran Duran finally hit the singles pinnacle for the first time with ‘Is There Something I Should Know?’ but just a month later they were trumped by New Romantic rivals Spandau Ballet. Gone were the swirling ‘Highlander’ costumes and in were the smart jackets as Tony Hadley crooned ‘True’. I confess I hated it. I remember it being number one for TOTP’s 1000^th show and wishing the landmark had been celebrated with a decent record. Of course, that distinctive and deceptively simple guitar two-note riff intro has never been away after more than three decades. At least it’s better than the follow-up ‘Gold’ which gets dragged out of semi-retirement every Olympics.

However, both acts were outdone by Culture Club. After that initial explosion of celebrity the previous autumn, Boy George and the gang went even further in ’83. ‘Church of the Poison Mind’ was an upbeat Motown-esque number with Helen Terry’s Aretha-like backing vocals, but then came ‘Karma Chameleon’. It held the top spot for six weeks, easily selling a million, more than any other single that year.  Effortlessly catchy, it wasn’t really up my alley, but was easily their most commercial record. I still don’t know what a Karma Chameleon is. I recall George at the time dodging the question by saying enigmatically that “there are a lot of them in the music business”. The ‘Boy’ had long since emerged from the Blitz Club chrysalis to burst into a brilliant butterfly, but fame was already taking its toll. Fortunately they still had the haunting December hit ‘Victims’ to come; for me, the best of their back catalogue.

In the early Eighties, Bananarama were hardly an accomplished singing or dancing entity but, as the only commercial ‘girl group’ around, their sales and media coverage were inflated relative to their talent. But of course pop music was ever thus. ‘Cruel Summer’ was their biggest hit of 1983, but ‘Robert De Niro’s Waiting’ the following year was arguably their most popular, at least in their first incarnation.

They had made their debut with Funboy 3, the splinter group from The Specials in ’82 but my pick of their singles was their last, ‘Our Lips Are Sealed’. Originally a bouncy Go-Gos song with Belinda Carlisle on vocals, Terry Hall, Lynval Johnson and Neville Staples transformed it into a brooding, almost menacing number, with pleasant harmonies but a danceable beat behind them.

There wasn’t much of their 2Tone history evident in that top ten single, and neither was there any punk rock detectable in Siouxsie and the Banshees’ surprise success with the old hippy era John Lennon composition ‘Dear Prudence’. I hadn’t heard the Beatles original but for once I actually prefer the Siouxsie version.

Sting seemed to be losing his commercial touch on the Synchronicity album, with one notable exception: ‘Every Breath You Take’. Strange how a dark tale of a possessive lover should be interpreted as the ultimate romantic song, but it earned Sting and the band just about every award going in the UK and USA, and time has treated it extremely well. Godley and Crème’s black and white video is so atmospheric, too.

The Police were on the wane but Wham were definitely moving centre stage. Their early mix of pop and white boy rap was evolving into something more intelligent. My choice Wham hit was 1983’s ‘Club Tropicana’.  The video portrayed George Michael and Andrew Ridgely as the babe magnets they undoubtedly were back then, at least in the eyes of teenage girls. It was a few years before teenage boys might have believed themselves to be in with a chance of snaring George. Rather than being a shameless paeon to Eighties consumer excess, Michael admitted it was entirely tongue-in-cheek. Whatever; it remains a fabulous slice of summer pop and should be played at every Mediterranean disco from now to eternity.

Nick Rhodes’ protoges Kajagoogoo briefly threatened to be The Next Big Thing. When ‘Too Shy’ flew to number one in February, it seemed inevitable that stupid hairstyles and an even dumber name would propel Limahl and co to pop royalty like Rhodes’ Duran Duran. Thankfully that didn’t happen, but they were all over the papers in 1983.

Genesis had their biggest single success with ‘Mama’ while Phil Collins had his first solo chart-topper with ‘You Can’t Hurry Love’. Prog-rocker Phil was now beginning to raid the Sixties for inspiration and consequent hits. I just couldn’t equate his dreary America-friendly movie ballads with the Genesis output throughout that decade. Oh, well. If you can carry off two simultaneous careers, you’re doing something right. Hats off to him.

Tracey Ullman was a very popular star thanks to her work in sketch comedies A Kick up The Eighties and Three of a Kind. Then she brought her golden touch to a brief pop music career. It wasn’t only Mr Collins harking back to the Sixties. Ullman’s debut ‘Breakaway’ was a 1964 cover, but at least the follow-up was written by Kirsty McColl, even if it had a retro sound. ‘They Don’t Know’ was one of my favourites of 1983. She even managed to lure Paul McCartney into the humorous ‘riches to rags’ video, presumably in return for her role in Macca’s own movie being filmed at the time. She spent more than two decades becoming immensely successful in the States but at the time of writing, our Tracey has moved back to the UK with a BBC TV comeback. Much as I loved ‘They Don’t Know’, I sincerely hope she doesn’t also attempt a new album!

Also on the light entertainment side of pop were The Flying Pickets. They were unashamed Socialists (not a dirty word in my own dictionary) and had been around for a while before they released a beautiful a capella version of Yazoo’s ‘Only You’. It dominated the Christmas charts and did no harm to Vince Clarke’s bank balance. Fast forward more than twenty-five years and, as part of the Quantock Musical Theatre Society’s tenor section, I performed a variation on the Pickets’ a cappela arrangement at various concerts. It took a hell of a lot of rehearsing but when we got the timing perfect, it sounded fantastic!

Another of my personal picks from the year was ‘Moonlight Shadow’, featuring the musical talents of Mike Oldfield and enchanting voice of Maggie Reilly. Number one across Europe, it peaked at three here. Not exactly a song that was ‘cool’ to admire, it nonetheless sounded mystical, magical, majestic. Beautiful production was a ‘given’ given Oldfield’s involvement, and his guitar solo lent an additional rocky vibe towards the end.

In the autumn, there was no escaping the light reggae of UB40’s ‘Red, Red Wine and Lionel Richie’s percussive classic ‘All Night Long’, and I was captivated by The Cure’s TOTP performance of ‘Love Cats’. However, I can’t say they occupy the same status in my head as they do in others’. Parts of my soundtrack, yes, but not necessarily parts I’d want replayed incessantly.

It was a phenomenal year for Paul Young. His ‘No Parlez’ album was second only to ‘Thriller’ in 1983 sales, and yielded three big singles. A 27 year-old veteran, Young’s good looks were heaven sent for the mid-Eighties conservative pop scene. His soulful voice offered something different, but I wasn’t particularly enamoured of his number one, ‘Wherever I Lay My Hat’. The more up-tempo ‘Come Back and Stay’ sounded more interesting but it was Paul’s re-release of his own cover of ‘Love of the Common People’ which caught my imagination and reached number two in December. Backed by the female singers The Royal Family, it sounded incredible to me. I couldn’t understand how it had flopped on its original release.

Paul Young had further success with well-produced sugary ballads in the next few years and he is immortalised by his opening lines of Band Aid’s ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas’. However, 1983 was his annus mirabilis.

The percussion heard in ‘Love of the Common People’ was also a feature of The Thompson Twins who were one of the most consistently successful acts of the year. They weren’t twins, and Tom Bailey, Alannah Currie and Joe Leeway were obviously not even related, yet the trio were constant TOTP performers. ‘Love On Your Side’ was quite New Wavey, ‘We Are Detectives’ a bit jokey but ‘Hold Me Now’ was top quality pop with that distinctive xylophone rhythm track. ‘Doctor Doctor’ and ‘You Take Me Up’ were more successful in 1984 but, as with Paul Young, I consider their best stuff to have graced the charts in 1983. I feel The Thompson Twins have been unfairly ignored, victims of the even greater success of Duran Duran, the Spands, Wham et al.

I did have a fleeting acquaintance – in the loosest possible sense of the word - with the band. At that time, I worked next door to the offices of their record company Arista in London’s Cavendish Square. One lunchtime, I actually saw Currie and Leeway emerging down the steps but, disappointingly, missing their lead singer.

One act which most certainly was not buried under tomes of media coverage and multi-layered New Wave memories was Michael Jackson. Gone was the afro, in was the new nose, but this was still unmistakeably an adult version of the remarkably talented teenage entertainer of the Seventies.

The world seemed to fall comprehensively under the spell of ‘Thriller’, and even now, well into the twenty-first century, no other album has come close to the global sales commanded by this one. Yet, I wasn’t one of those seduced. So many singles rolled off its production line. The title tune had a catchy riff, ‘Beat It’ boasted that Eddie Van Halen guitar solo, ‘The Girl is Mine’ featured that man McCartney again but the only track which grabbed me by the throat and refused to relinquish its grip was ‘Billie-Jean’. It managed only one week at the top over here, before Bonnie Tyler’s irritating epic gave Jacko a wee nudge off the summit. Yet the constant playing of that imaginative video, boosted by the infant MTV channel, made it a near-perfect package for the time. The pet cat-turned-tiger was an over-employed visual device but Michael’s swivels and spins to that simple but insistent dance groove proved irresistible. The subtle pastels must have influenced Michael Mann in his ‘Miami Vice’ imaginings, too.

The track was apparently produced to within an inch of its life but the effort was worth it in the end. If ‘I Want You Back’ was Michael Jackson at his most joyous, ‘Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough’ at his most sparkling and ‘Show You the Way to Go’ at his most assured, ‘Billie-Jean’ was the icon at the peak of his powers. There were plenty more hits, but everything professionally and personally seemed to take a downward trajectory.

By the end of the year, a new single by an unknown Liverpool band was struggling to break the top 40. Within weeks, its notoriety would create a modern recording phenomenon that would turn the UK music and pop marketing industries on their respective heads. 1984 would be a whole new ball game….

1982 – We Are Far Too Young and Clever

This was a funny old year. Musically it was a right mish-mash, with a load of chart-toppers which deserve to be buried in an impenetrable vault on a distant planet never to be rediscovered. Personally I had to knuckle down to pass my Finals and, after bingeing on the football World Cup and a nervy, uncertain summer break, enter the real world of work for the first time.

In retrospect, I’d say music took a bit of a back seat in my life, but of course it couldn’t be suppressed for long. Madness enjoyed their first and only number one, thanks to ‘House of Fun’ and those hilarious video cornershop scenes. Later on, ‘Our House’ maintained the humour but brought a more mature sound which at long last attracted an American audience. Years later, my Canadian cousin Suzanne enthused about Madness but seemed oblivious of the band’s umpteen previous hits.

New Romanticism was now the mainstream, and the decade burst into a carnival of colour. Most of it must have been compressed into Duran Duran’s most famous album, ‘Rio’. Released in May, it was kept off the top by a combination of Complete Madness and Roxy Music’s Avalon, but it has become perhaps the quintessential early-Eighties record.

And Duran Duran changed videos forever. Madness ventured out of London briefly for a Great Yarmouth rollercoaster ride. Meanwhile, Simon and the boys sweltered in pastels under the fierce sun of Sri Lanka. Exotic didn’t begin to describe it. I didn’t much like ‘Hungry Like a Wolf’ at the time, ‘Rio’ was a gaudy but vibrant video without a song but the single which split the two was fantastic. ‘Save a Prayer’ was five and a half minutes of beautiful melody, a stunning synth which would have wowed me even without one of the most atmospheric promo films I’ve had the pleasure of watching. The band got a bit too big for their boots in the subsequent years but, despite their number ones, for me the less successful ‘Rio’ era in 1982 stands as their career highpoint.

Later in the year, I distinctly remember watching TOTP the week we had our first televisual experience of Culture Club. The tabloids had been bigging up the performance of their debut single ‘Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?’ but not because of the music. No, the fuss was all centred on the lead singer and the Big Question Everyone Is Asking: Is it Male or Female? Well, if we weren’t actually asking the question, it certainly prompted discussion in the West End office of the BBC’s Central Directorates Accounts the next morning! Given that the vocalist’s stage name was Boy George, the clue was in the name. The publicity may have been politically incorrect (had the term existed) but it propelled George into the big time, with a string of top five singles. His unique fashion style was hardly surprising given his background at the Blitz Club, but his mellow asexual soulful voice was undoubtedly commercial. The rest of the band looked ‘straight’ but it emerged that they were anything but; a real dysfunctional ‘family’ which within a few years had been destroyed by sex and class A drugs.

There was nothing obviously straight about Marc Almond, but Soft Cell had four hit singles in ’82, all of which I adored. ‘Torch’ and ‘What’ were uncomplicated up-tempo synth pop, peaking at two, book-ended by a couple of epic electro ballads, ‘Where the Heart Is’ and ‘Say Hello, Wave Goodbye’. The latter, at number three in February, has remained ensconced in my list of all-time favourites ever since. I knew all the words and, perhaps encouraged by Almond’s occasionally tenuous grip on pitch and key, I used to have a sing in the bath. Might have been embarrassing in the shared facilities of Raddon House should anyone else have been sober enough to hear me and work out the source! Nobody mentioned it to my face so hopefully I got away with it.

It was also the year when ABC launched The Lexicon of Love, from which three top ten hits were borne. Like The Human League they hailed from Sheffield, but their music and lush orchestration seemed to be more transatlantic. That never goes down well with me. I recall noting in my diary at the time of ‘Poison Arrow’ that singer Martin Fry looked a cross between David Bowie and Brian Ferry. Smiling was frowned upon; it was all about The Look, and not necessarily the ‘Look of Love’! Normally dressed in silver or gold lame, with that lopsided, floppy blonde fringe, I thought Fry was trying too hard but – hey! – it did him no harm.

Tinkly pop was alive and well in the hands of Depeche Mode (‘See You’) and their Vince Clarke spin-off, Yazoo. Vince teamed up with another ex- Nicholas School pupil Alison Moyet and, despite being a decidedly odd couple, produced some great songs in their short time together.

Skinny Clarke was happy to be the quiet one at the back, writing the music and playing keyboards. ‘Alf’ Moyet, big in body as well as voice, looked like a heavyweight ‘punk’ (as her previous band had indeed been) but sounded like a first-class blues exponent. On paper, Yazoo shouldn’t have worked, but it did, thanks largely to the quality of writing. ‘Only You’ was a synth love song, while ‘Don’t Go’ was somewhat livelier. Both made number three, but it was their chalk’n’cheese image which made them so interesting. I most enjoyed their 1983 single ‘Nobody’s Diary’, but by the time it entered the top ten, the duo had announced their split. It transpired they hadn’t been such a well-suited creative couple after all. Fortunately they weren’t away for long.

Another classy musical duo who made an impression on me in ’82 were Tears For Fears. ‘Mad World’ may have been synth-heavy but compared with the likes of Depeche Mode, Yazoo, Human League, Ultravox et al, was decidedly darker in tone and content. With lyrics like “the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had” the music was perhaps more upbeat than it should have been. Indeed, the bleak 2001 Michael Andrews/Gary Jules version sounded far more apposite. Nevertheless, I really liked the Roland Orzabal/Curt Smith original, and their subsequent releases weren’t bad either.

TFF hailed from bourgeois Bath but over in Dusseldorf, Kraftwerk had been pioneering synthesizer music for years. Back in the Seventies, I remember watching a TOTP film of the slick robotic suited quartet tapping strange-looking machines and hitting ‘hot plates’ with black rods. That was ‘Autobahn’ but then in January 1982 they had an unlikely chart-topper with ‘The Model’. Strictly speaking, it was a double A-sider with ‘Computer Love’ but ‘The Model’ was far more commercial and I loved listening to it.

Perhaps less successful that year but en route for greater things was the bunch of Glaswegians known as Simple Minds. In the small halls of residence library, I occasionalIy perused the pages of Sounds or Melody Maker. Usually frustrated at being ignorant of most of the artists being written about, or not understanding most of the language it was written in, I do nonetheless remember reading praise of the band, who were finally breaking through with the New Gold Dream album. I still wasn’t really into LPs, but was decidedly intrigued by ‘Glittering Prize’. Immaculate-sounding production complemented Jim Kerr’s arty vocals and Charlie Burchill’s guitar, and they had definite student appeal. I don’t remember them appearing at the Great Hall but had they done so, I’d have regretted missing out.

Another Scottish synth-rock band with a cult following was The Associates. When they appeared on TOTP, I’m sure all of us watching in the TV room cast puzzled side-long glances at each other when singer Billy Mackenzie opened his mouth. It was just manic, frantic falsetto! What was he on?! ‘Party Fears Two’ achieved top ten status but I don’t remember their subsequent material.

Other rather bonkers performers were in the charts and, despite my aversion, my ears. The Damned’s Captain Sensible (surely the most inappropriate pop moniker) topped the UK chart with an excruciating version of South Pacific’s ‘Happy Talk’. Kid Creole enjoyed considerable success backed by his female Coconuts. His Latino lover image on hits like ‘I’m a Wonderful Thing, Baby’ was not to my taste, but the carnival sound of ‘Annie, I’m Not Your Daddy’ was mildly diverting.

Maybe they weren’t actually do-lally, but Renee and Renato held the top spot at Christmas with their semi-operatic ballad ‘Save Your Love’. So bad, it was (almost) good. I stress the ‘almost’. Only at Christmas, eh? Just behind them in December was the even more implausible pairing of David Bowie and Bing Crosby crooning ‘Little Drummer Boy’. Arrghhh! Paul McCartney joined forces with Stevie Wonder on the well-intentioned racial harmony song ‘Ebony and Ivory’ but despite its success, it’s one to forget! I also couldn’t fathom why so many people bought The Goombay Dance Band’s’ ‘7 Tears’ (German! Fire-eating! Crap!!) or Charlene’s ‘I’ve Never Been to Me’ either.

Toni Basil’s persona on ‘Mickey’ caught the eye and ear but it quickly lost its novelty appeal. I had more fondness for Chas and Dave’s ‘Ain’t No Pleasing You’, a rare foray into straight pop as opposed to their trademark pub singalong ‘Rockney’. German threesome Trio went to number two with the very simple ‘Da Da Da’: deadpan vocals accompanied mainly by a basic pre-programmed rhythm on a Casio keyboard rather than a Moog, Fairlight or Roland synthesizer.

Catherine was into Haircut 100, as close to a twenty-first century boy band as we got in 1982. Nick Heyward was a cheerful front man of a band which dressed in fishermen’s style knitted jumpers or scarves, releasing pleasant but flimsy singles like ‘Love Plus One’. 20 year-old Heyward seemed destined for bigger things but he parted company with his bandmates in 1983, had a few decent solo singles and faded from the scene. It’s not on Wikipedia but I reckon Haircut 100 returned to earth two decades later as Busted. I saw Heyward on telly recently and was struck by his appearance. He's my age yet looked at least ten years younger. Lucky b*st*rd...

The Jam had their best year, singles-wise, but their music was evolving. My favourite was ‘The Bitterest Pill’, a slowish Sixtie-ish record backed by lush strings. It was kept from the top by Survivor’s ‘Eye of the Tiger’ but both ‘A Town Called Malice’ and ‘Beat Surrender’ went all the way. Nevertheless, Paul Weller’s transformation from angry young mod to blue-eyed soul-boy was almost complete by the end of 1982, and that was that for The Jam. It was several years later when I bought their collection ‘Snap!’ and realised once and for all what a great band they had been. It wasn’t just the singles, but also the album tracks like ‘Man in the Corner Shop’ and ‘Tales from the Riverbank’ that marked them out. It’s a shame that Weller no longer plays more than one or two Jam songs in his current gigs but I suppose he is entitled to place more emphasis on his twenty-year solo career, dammit..

My favourite punk band The Stranglers were also developing a different sound. The keyboards, whilst always integral to their sound were taking centre stage and Hugh Cornwell’s growl was evolving into a pleasant croon. ‘Golden Brown’ was even written in 6:8 waltz time. Was it about heroin? Possibly. Difficult to dance to? Definitely! Nevertheless, it made for a beautiful listen, and only The Jam stood in the way of a first number one single. They were never dull and deserve to be considered one of the best British bands of the Seventies and Eighties.

Disco was officially dead but while Kool and the Gang were around there was music to dance to. I know the ‘Kool’ referred to bass player Robert Bell but to me it was singer JT Taylor always seemed so cool with a ‘C’. They’d already released ‘Celebration’ and ‘Ladies Night’ but, with Taylor’s no-frills soulful vocals, ‘Get Down on It’ was their most successful single, making three in January. It was also the one that made me jig about more than any other! Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards also gave Carly Simon an Eighties hit with ‘Why’, right up there with most of their Chic material.

 The American TV series ‘Fame’ was hugely popular. Like its descendant ‘Glee’, the tales of talented young New York entertainers left me cold, but it built on the 1980 movie to create the second biggest selling single and album of 1982. Irene Cara’s theme song was a huge summer hit, while the ‘Kids from Fame’ sold out arenas for years to come. Not my scene but it spawned any number of teen dance blockbusters and massive sales of leg-warmers in the subsequent few years.  

When Pigbag recorded ‘Papa’s Got a Brand New Pigbag’ I doubt they anticipated it being sung at football matches three decades later. However, the exuberant, brassy instrumental made for an enjoyable diversion from the Falkland War horrors in April and May. The Steve Miller Band’s ‘Abracadabra’ and Rockers Revenge’s ‘Walking on Sunshine’ were also really good, even though unfamiliar to twenty-first century Premier League crowds. 

In September, I started working at the BBC in Palladium House with a mixed bunch of individuals with musical tastes ranging from Dionne Warwick’s ‘Heartbreaker’ to new pop duo Wham. Not only was I earning my first salary (£4,970 per year!) but also travelling into Central London by train and Tube offered my first real taste of multiculturalism. On TV and the radio, too, British reggae was notably prominent. Birmingham schoolboys Musical Youth topped the chart with ‘Pass the Dutchie’ then Eddy Grant did the same with the rather staid and sedate ‘I Don’t Wanna Dance’. The former had novelty value given the age of the artists but, to be honest, not a lot else.

I was never a fan of glossy soul-dance, and therefore American trio Shalamar weren’t really my bag. They were on the radio a lot, so hard to avoid. Howard Hewett was the lead singer but, as then only female, Jody Watley garnered the most attention from the media. However, when they were due to perform ‘Night to Remember’ on TOTP that summer, only Jeffrey Darnell took to the floor. This turned out to be one of the most memorable three minutes in the show’s history. A noted dancer, Darnell proceeded to make jaws drop with his ‘body-popping’ to the song. It was the first time any of us had witnessed what was to become known as ‘moonwalking’, and Michael Jackson went on to make it his own. Fortunately he credited Darnell and signed him up to co-choreograph some of Jacko’s most celebrated videos like ‘Smooth Criminal’. Of course, after that TOTP broadcast, we all had a sneaky attempt at that ‘back-sliding’ manoeuvre, but I’ve never seen anyone pull it off successfully in real life. 

I spent a fortnight between university and the world of work with Mum and Dad in the Austrian Tirol. Loads of fresh Alpine air, magnificent mountain scenery and pleasant strolls around gorgeous green meadows were just what the doctor ordered. We also explored the surrounding towns and valleys by holiday company coach. Two of them were guided by our own hotel rep who proved to be a very informative and entertaining host. On the return journeys home he tended to shut up and let us relax or doze to a soundtrack of piano music. To my surprise, I found myself listening and quite enjoying what I heard; the music sounded perfect for a mountain drive. To such an extent that, alighting from the vehicle one occasion, I made sure of noting the title and artist on the cassette case: ‘Impresionen’ by Richard Clayderman. At the time I’d never heard of him but, while that particular album was unknown in the UK, the young blonde classical pianist soon became a household name and, dare I say it, sex symbol. However, for me, he is forever associated with chalets and cowbells. 

The biggest single hit of 1982 was undoubtedly ‘Come On Eileen’ by Dexy’s Midnight Runners’. Kevin Rowland’s ensemble was now all about folky fiddles and unappealing dungarees and this record was a weird mish-mash of Celtic dance, tribute to Johnny Ray and young love which somehow struck a chord. Indeed, as well as selling a million, ‘Come On Eileen’ proceeded to be part of my life soundtrack for many years to follow. A perennial favourite at Rotaract discos and wedding receptions, it was a song which would elicit groans all around and yet provide a clarion call for the dancefloor to fill with idiots eager to do that final manic accelerating ‘can-can’. An Eighties classic!