1986 - Faces on posters, too many choices

At the start of 1986 I declared my fledgling accountancy career dead and buried, pinning my colours to audience research for the foreseeable future. Away from the office, I was also becoming more and more involved with Billericay Rotaract, with a knock-on impact on my musical diet. However, everyone was listening to Madonna.

There was no danger of Madonna suffering third album syndrome. True Blue even managed to out-sell Brothers in Arms. It yielded three number one singles, a number four and the first release, ‘Live To Tell’, was pipped to the post by Austria’s finest, Falco, and his mad and maddening Mozart musical biography ‘Rock Me Amadeus’. 

I really loved ‘Live To Tell’, a powerful ballad featuring Madonna simultaneously strong yet emotionally vulnerable.  I reckon it has also stood the test of time better than most of her Eighties hits. Yet 1986 also featured the re-released ‘Borderline’ (so-so), ‘Papa Don’t Preach’ (controversial social comment), the title track (catchy bubblegum pop) and ‘Open Your Heart’ (trademark dance). The Hispanic rhythms of ‘La Isla Bonita’ also sailed serenely to the top the following Spring. I happily admit to buying the album, too, and there’s barely a duff track on it, even if nowadays the Bray/Leonard production screams “Eighties!” a bit too loudly. 

I don’t know whether La Ciccone was already being dubbed the Queen of Pop, but were that the case, in 1986 she faced considerable competition for the title. Another platinum blonde, Annie Lennox, sounded imperious on ‘Thorn in My Side’, Alison Moyet sang the upbeat ‘Is This Love?’, Diana Ross burst back to the top with Barry Gibb’s ‘Chain Reaction’ and then there were Kate Bush and Whitney Houston.

Our Kate had wowed the critics and public the previous year when the Hounds of Love album came out. I wasn’t that fussed on the lead single ‘Running Up The Hill’ but for me the title song contained a much more exciting mix of melody and melodrama, although it was a relative failure in the charts. For all the Kate Bush mystique and subsequent goddess status, ‘Hounds of Love’ is probably the last of her songs which floated my boat. 

My first impression of Whitney had been a decent balladeer with slicked back hair crooning ‘Saving All My Love For You’ the previous December. A few months later, that image was dramatically transformed for ‘How Will I Know?’ Suddenly she was this vibrant, vivacious pop princess, backed by perky production from Narada Michael Walden, whose sound seemed to epitomise the 1986-87 period, even more than Madonna. I much preferred Houston in this mode to the big-voiced soul diva heard on the follow-up ‘The Greatest Love of All’.

Corinne Drewery was another face of 1986. As front woman of Swing Out Sister, her tall frame and severe ‘bob’ were on TOTP when her band were performing the exuberant ‘Breakout’. It had horns, subtle synths and backing vocals which begged you to dance and sing along. It even earned them a Grammy nomination.

Passing quickly over Sinitta’s irritating summer smash ‘So Macho’, I have to mention Bananarama’s triumphant comeback with ‘Venus’. Their famously unsynchronised dancing remained, but their new production team of Stock/Aitken/Waterman lent the trio a hitherto absent respectability in dance music, which was to serve both sides well in the coming years. Apparently S/A/W had needed persuasion that ‘Venus’ would work, so maybe Pete Waterman has the genius of Woodward, Fahey and Dallin, not his own, to thank for his lucrative career as manager of The Hit Factory. 

Suzanne Vega represented the flip side to Bananarama of the female pop star. On the back of her debut releases, ‘Marlene on the Wall’ and ‘Left of Centre’, I bravely bought her eponymous album. To my surprise, I fell in love with the folky songstress’s largely acoustic masterpiece ‘The Queen and the Soldier’. I still marvel at the lyrics which paint such vivid pictures that when I first listened, stopped me dead in my tracks, tears in my eyes. It sounds pretty powerful live, too. Working in the BBC’s audience research department, my job took me each Monday afternoon to the office of Radio 1’s Chief Assistant Dave Price. I remember in one meeting someone else entered and clumsily nudged a copy of Vega’s follow-up LP ‘Solitude Standing’. Dave was aghast, declaring it sacrilege to mess with such a record. That may have been pushing it a bit but the quiet New Yorker had undoubtedly cornered the market in intelligent melodious music. I’d love to hear her live. 

Emanating from the West Coast, The Bangles also made an impression on me. Well, Susannah Hoffs’ eyes did! The all-female quartet’s version of Prince’s ‘Manic Monday’ was infectious, a three-minute slice of dreamy real life, and those ‘peepers’ also turned me to jelly on the huge 1989 hit ‘Eternal Flame’ However, in my opinion, Hoffs’ voice wasn’t quite as exquisite as her face! Oh, well, nobody’s perfect! 

With the world supposedly on hold awaiting the successor to ‘Thriller’, 1986 was also the year in which Janet Jackson emerged from her brother’s shadow. When still a teenager, her ‘Control’ album was her first away from her family’s oppressive clutches, and delivered several Top 20 singles. ‘What Have You Done for Me Lately?’ reached three, as did 1987’s pleasant ballad ‘Let’s Wait a While’ but my pick of the tracks was ‘When I Think of You’. The official video was a messy mass of musical theatre, featuring a cast of thousands but as a dance record it was dazzling.

Probably the British act with more weeks on the chart in ’86 than any other was Five Star. Ah, Five Star! The band The Jacksons could have been had Janet and LaToya been roped in after Michael’s departure. Well, maybe not. After all, they did come from Romford. The Pearson family quintet had four top 10 singles that year, led by ‘System Addict’ and ‘Rain or Shine’ but I didn’t particularly like them. With careful styling, lead singer Denise bore a definite resemblance to Janet Jackson, which must have been the intention. Nevertheless, in 1986 it was the Pearsons who edged the Jacksons, but their dominance wasn’t to last very long.

This was a year of big hair and even bigger ballads. ‘Poodle rock’ entered the vocabulary, a perfectly apt description when you look at Bon Jovi – whose perennial stadium-pleaser ‘Livin’ On a Prayer’ reached number four – and unlikely Swedish rock gods Europe, who topped the charts with the dreadful but still-popular chart-topper, ‘The Final Countdown’. At least Steven Tyler’s shaggy locks were more old-school. He and Aerosmith played second fiddle to Run DMC on the utterly brilliant rock-rap mash-up ‘Walk This Way’. I’m no great fan of either genre but, from the infectiously foot-tapping intro, this record changed my perception of hip-hop. The video was refreshingly tongue-in-cheek, too.

As for the big balladeers, hair was less of an issue. Berlin’s ‘Take My Breath Away’ probably owed more to the appeal of hot young film star Tom Cruise and his box-office smash Top Gun. Nick Berry’s ‘Every Loser Wins’ owed everything to the song’s frequent references on the nation’s new favourite ‘soap’, Eastenders, in which Berry played unlucky-in-love Wicksy. Chris De Burgh’s ‘Lady In Red’ was unashamedly romantic, an instant hit at weddings even when the bride is wearing white. (Its main problem was De Burgh himself. I just couldn’t take him seriously. I don’t mean as a singer, but as a human being). Rod Stewart also checked in with one of his more grandiose efforts, a love song not just for a woman but for “the northern lights and the swirling pipes, how they make a grown man cry”. The prominent bagpipes reappeared on his 1991 hit ‘Rhythm of my Heart’, and they never fail to stir the blood, even in a non-Celt like me. 

I normally prefer my love songs subtler. Fortunately 1986 delivered a few which fitted the bill. ‘Absolute Beginners’ was heralded as the musical which would resurrect the British film industry. It failed, of course, but David Bowie’s epic theme song deserved better. He’s so cool in the monochrome video, too, but could he ever be anything else?

Status Quo surprised us all in October when they released the strangely grown-up slowish tempo ‘In The Army Now’, which proved to be one of their most successful singles. Even Francis Rossi wore a smart jacket in the promo. Around the same time, Spandau Ballet’s ‘Through the Barricades’ is perhaps the finest moment of both writer Gary Kemp and singer Tony Hadley, a million times better than ‘True’ or ‘Gold’! Hull’s finest The Housemartins narrowly missed out on the Christmas top spot with their a capella version of ‘Caravan of Love’. In striking contrast to their entertainingly energetic debut, ‘Happy Hour’, this showed that Paul Heaton could sing as well as write. In my humble opinion, 1987’s ‘Build’ was even better, though. The band may have split in 1988 but of course the division merely hastened the arrival of The Beautiful South and Fatboy Slim. 

Andrew Lloyd Webber’s new musical ‘Phantom of the Opera’ was introduced with two successful singles. The theme tune featured Sarah Brightman alongside Steve Harley, but it was Cliff Richard who got to snog the composer’s wife in the video to ‘All I Ask Of You’. That must have been an unfamiliar experience for him!  Jenny was quick to buy tickets for the show, and I was amongst the Billericay Rotaract crowd who went to Her Majesty’s Theatre that autumn. Me and opera don’t usually mix, but I was captivated by the blend of clever staging, beautiful melodies and Michael Crawford’s performance in the lead role. His rendition of ‘Music of the Night’ was jaw-dropping, and it entered the top ten early the following year. In three decades, the musical has never left the West End and I’m not surprised. 

Cliff was part of another unexpected collaboration in the Spring. It all came about when the Comic Relief charity was launched. Someone had the bright idea of releasing a fund-raising single and it turned out to be Cliff’s ‘Living Doll’. This being a comedy event, he had to share top billing with The Young Ones, who provided the humour. And indeed it was quite funny, and the record was the fourth biggest-seller of the whole year! This had more jokes in it than another chart-topper, Spitting Image’s ‘Chicken Song’. The ITV satirical puppet show had become part of British cultural life, but this unfunny parody of summer holiday singalong hits was more atrocious than was strictly necessary. 

The Fluck and Law animators also had a hand (and numerous strings) in the success of a Genesis song. Collins, Rutherford and Banks enjoyed their most commercial pop album with ‘Invisible Touch’, featuring several memorable singles. ‘In Too Deep’ was a beautiful ballad, the title track a livelier affair and ‘Land of Confusion' a synth rock fusion, backed by a video which showed at least that Genesis weren’t afraid to have the urine extracted. True to Spitting Image tradition, the puppets weren’t exactly flattering likenesses, but they didn’t prevent the record peaking at 14, best of all the album’s releases. In truth, it was more insulting to perennial Spitting Image target President Reagan, and I wouldn’t complain about that. 

Invisible Touch was a long distance removed from the days when Peter Gabriel fronted the band. Yet 1986 was the year when the influential musician and composer truly made his mark on the Eighties. After four albums without titles, he released ‘So’, which proved at least as commercially triumphant as the Genesis production. The highlight was the innuendo-laden ‘Sledgehammer’. I did like the song but it’s impossible to think of it without the imaginative imagery of the animated video. Apparently it remains the most played video on MTV, and won every award going. Gabriel seemed so cool and, with his unshaken belief in social activism with Amnesty International and World Music, he is admirable in a way that probably no other musician – not even Bono or Geldof – has ever been.

World Music also achieved greater recognition courtesy of Paul Simon. His work with South African musicians on Graceland was highly controversial at the time and, to be honest, African rhythms aren’t my cup of tea. Nevertheless, the single ‘You Can Call Me Al’ was highly engaging. The famously grumpy singer-writer allowed himself to be sent up in the official video, in which he is upstaged by the considerably taller Chevy Chase. The comedian is probably funnier in this four-minute sequence than all his National Lampoon films combined. So, for that matter, is Paul Simon.

There was some peculiar stuff in the upper echelons of the singles chart, too. I must have long since blotted from my mind the big hits by Nana Mouskouri, Su Pollard (of TV sitcom Hi-De-Hi) etc, but the opening Moroder beats of SIgue Sigue Sputnik’s debut single have unfortunately stayed with me. ‘Love Missile No.9’ was launched early in the year, ignited by a potent marketing campaign. They were punks for the Thatcher generation, but they lacked the music to go with the scary hair and make-up. Their follow-ups must have been damp squibs as they have thankfully been forgotten. On the other hand, Larry Blackmon’s infamous red codpiece on Cameo’s ‘Word Up’ is emblazoned on my memory. A superior slice of  R’n’B, though.

Wham said goodbye, performing their farewell Wembley concert in June, at the same time Edge of Heaven was their final number one. However, it was hello to The Communards. With ex-Bronski Beat gay icons Jimmy Somerville and (the future Reverend) Richard Coles at the helm, their hi-NRG cover of ‘Don’t Leave Me This Way’ swept aside all-comers. It sold barely 600,000 copies but it was the best of a poor bunch. Another electro-pop duo Erasure also enjoyed their first big hit, ‘Sometimes’. Vince Clarke and Andy Bell were to give us some of the best pop of the late Eighties.

Despite the exhortations from Morrissey to ‘Hang the DJ’, the club scene didn’t collapse, but I did enjoy the short but sweet Smiths song ‘Panic’ and the conspicuously jolly ‘Ask’, both of which entered the top 20. Other favourites included The Human League’s US-friendly ‘Human’, ex-punks The Damned’s faithful copy of ‘Eloise’ and A-Ha’s rockier but ravishing ‘I’ve Been Losing You’. However, the one that really penetrated my consciousness was ‘The Way it Is’ by Bruce Hornsby and the Range. I couldn’t help taping it several times, just loving the perky piano riffs set against a beautiful bed of synth. Hearing it again now, it doesn’t quite excite me as it did thirty years earlier but, as with the successor ‘Mandolin Rain’, still better than most.

I’ve mentioned the development of the CD, and Radio 1 demonstrated its commitment to cutting edge technology by broadcasting more and more programmes using the shiny silver circles. Bruno Brookes Compact Disc Jockey became a Bank Holiday Monday staple on the network, “a non-stop music show entirely on compact disc”. Wow! The records sounded so good on our stereo system and very ordinary speakers. Or was it just my imagination? Some of the hits seemed tailor-made for the new medium. Not only Dire Straits, but anything with a synth purring in the background. George Michael’s ‘A Different Corner’, Level 42’s ‘Leaving Me Now’ and ‘Captain of her Heart’ by Double (pronounced the French way) spring to mind.

Another act whose intricate yet super-smooth production typified the early CD era was The Pet Shop Boys. They weren’t spring chickens and success was hardly overnight but when I heard the first strains of ‘West End Girls’ just before the previous Christmas, I knew this was something special. It eventually topped the chart by elbowing out Shaky’s ‘Merry Christmas Everyone’ and has never left me since. It’s not just an Eighties record; it has stood the test of time better than anything from 1986, sending chills down my spine at every listen.

‘Love Comes Quickly’ took a while to grow on me, while ‘Suburbia’ probably overdoes the sound effects and ‘Opportunities’ is a foot-tapping critique of the burgeoning Yuppie phenomenon. And they had so much more to give! How many people have achieved 22 Top 10 singles and continue to maintain credibility from 1986’s debut album ‘Please’ to 2016’s ‘Super’. Back then, you could actually see Chris Lowe’s eyes and Neil Tennant boasted a full head of dark curls before he became a silver-topped national treasure. Could 1987 top ’86 for the PSBs? Well, yes. Actually…..

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….

1980 – Oh, what fun we had, but at the time it seemed so bad

History hasn’t been kind to the Seventies. Retrospectives look so grey and depressing: Vietnam, oil crises, Northern Ireland, National Front hooligans, Punk rockers, … Even the contemporary news footage seems to have been filmed in fifty shades of beige. The Eighties have become synonymous with colour but – surprise, surprise - 1980 didn’t look much different from 1979.

The chart-toppers were a mish-mash of mediocrity. Few stayed at number one for long, almost as if they were embarrassed to be there. Fern Kinney, Johnny Logan’s first Eurovision winner, Odyssey, the depressing vocal theme from ‘M*A*S*H’, Kelly Marie, Detroit Spinners, Kenny Rogers preaching that, in the end, you DO have to fight to be a man… They all came and went. There were some gems amongst them, of which more later.

This was also my first full year of university life. I may no longer have been sending out an SOS but continued to shrink more than was healthy into my little bedroom bubble in the Birks Halls of residence. It wasn’t a complete cocoon, of course. I may not have indulged in three years of sex, drugs and booze but, apart from the lectures, there were shared experiences over meals, in the TV room, at St James’ Park watching Exeter City and general milling about.

It was also my first taste of hearing continuous music blasting out of fellow undergrads’ windows at all times of day and night. And most of it was crap. Of course, anything played umpteen times a day becomes the worst music ever. Two songs in particular stick in the mind. I didn’t identify them at the time and, given a few years’ vacuum, they don’t sound half bad now. When I hear Talking Heads’ ‘Psycho Killer’, the menacing bass intro and David Byrne’s frightening vocals get you in the gut. Then, all I could I hear was a cacophonous, atonal racket.

The other example of aural abomination was ‘Electricity’ by Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. At the time, the future OMD were innovative arty-farty synth pioneers, and this track wasn’t exactly commercial. And that meant it was never going to appeal to my sensitive ears. Yet by the end of 1980, the group had won me over. ‘Messages’ and ‘Enola Gay’ were excellent examples of electro-pop: modern and melodic, even if Andy McCluskey’s voice (and his dad dancing) left much to be desired. So perhaps the students I could happily have strangled were not quite the musical monsters they first appeared.

Another band which constantly blared out across my corner of the campus was Rainbow. Heavy Metal – as we then called it – was enjoying a renaissance in 1980. Iron Maiden, Whitesnake (‘Fool for Your Loving’), Saxon (‘747’), Judas Priest (‘United’) and Motorhead (‘The Ace of Spades’) were always on the radio and TOTP. Old-timers Black Sabbath and AC/DC rode on the new generation’s coat-tails. Yet of them all, I actually preferred Richie Blackmore’s post-Purple collective. The fact that Cozy Powell was on drums, of course, may have been a factor. Graham Bonnet had taken over as lead singer and, while he didn’t exactly look very ‘metal’ in his smart haircut, sleek jacket and shades, his powerful vocals helped take ‘All Night Long’ to number five. The video isn’t exactly a paragon of political or sexual correctness, and neither are the lyrics. Nevertheless I thought Rainbow were definitely the best of the bunch. Spending thirty weeks a year in a male-only Hall, it was a bunch that was heard incessantly.

Heavy Metal wasn’t the only genre to be revived. In fact there were plenty, although most should probably have stayed in the annals of yesteryear. I didn’t ‘get’ Kevin Rowlands’ paeon to Geno Washington with Dexy’s Midnight Runners, and rockabilly wasn’t my scene. Matchbox and Coast to Coast were awful, but at least The Stray Cats had a bit of energy in ‘Runaway Boys’.

It wasn’t just about rockers; mods were back, too. Acts like The Lambrettas were in the charts, but most of the plaudits went to a band who weren’t strictly speaking mods but it was unfair to pigeon-hole them in such a crude way. I’m talking about The Jam. After several modest punky singles, they suddenly stepped up a gear in ’79 with ‘Eton Rifles’. Six months later, they achieved a feat not seen for more than six years when ‘Going Underground’ went straight in at number one in March. I know it’s a cliché but it really was an instant classic. As ever with Paul Weller, there was socio-political comment mixed with seriously searing rock and memorable melody. What more could a modestly intelligent eighteen year-old music fan want?!

For the next two years, The Jam’s seven official single releases all entered the charts in the top ten, including ‘Start’, which topped the chart just before I returned to Exeter for my second year. They looked classy, while Weller’s guitar, Bruce Foxton’s bass and Rick Buckler’s drums made for a strong rhythm section, and they knew how to turn out a tune. They were a band whose new stuff I would always look forward to hearing. Indeed, their new-found success led to the simultaneous re-release of their earlier material, peppering the top sixty at the end of April.

Once The Jam had ended the drought, The Police also flew straight to the top in September. I don’t think ‘Don’t Stand So Close to Me’ was one of their best, but it did at least displace Kelly Marie’s ‘Feels Like I’m In Love’, for which we should all have been grateful!  I don’t know how much Sting called upon personal experiences as a teacher in this tale of a classroom Lolita, but it worked so well it was the biggest-seller of the whole year. In some ways I preferred their number six hit ‘De Do Do Do De Da Da Da’. Intriguing, maybe too-clever lyrics like:

“The only cheques I've left unsigned
From the banks of chaos in my mind”

served to convey the message that fancy words count for little in the language of love. At least I think that’s what the song was about!

There were all sorts of good stuff with a New Wave-y vibe which didn’t necessarily hit the heights enjoyed by The Police. The Vapors went top three with ‘Turning Japanese’ which was well timed given Paul McCartney’s arrest and deportation from Japan for cannabis possession.

The first new chart-topper of the Eighties was The Pretenders’ ‘Brass in Pocket’. I wasn’t sure about Chrissie Hynde’s voice and look but she was the ultimate rock chick. Fortunately she has come through reasonably unscathed! It wasn’t their biggest, but for me the jangly guitar sound comes over better in the follow-up, ‘Talk of the Town’

Two of my favourites of 1980 are rarely heard nowadays. In fact, one didn’t exactly set the airwave alight even then. I loved Elvis Costello’s ‘New Amsterdam’. Simple, beautiful and in waltz-time, Elvis was stretching his musical wings. A shame they were clipped by advancing no further than 36. Rather a downbeat video but listen to the song, short and sweet. 

Joe Jackson had garnered good reviews with ‘Is She Really Going Out With Him?’ the year before but I was bowled over with ‘It’s Different for Girls’. It was one of those mini-masterpieces I couldn’t get out of my head – and in a good way. I remember him doing a gig at the University and reading that he had refused to sing his hit because it was on the radio so much already. Eh? That’s why people want to go to your concert, you pillock! Fab record, anyway.

No chance of Blondie doing the Great Hall but they were greedy in 1980. They had no fewer than three number ones: the rocky ‘Atomic’ and ‘Call Me’, followed by the reggae-ish ‘The Tide is High’ cover. None of them made a strong impression on me but there was no avoiding Debbie Harry et al. It was a good year for other women, too. 

Barbra Streisand benefited from the Barry Gibb stardust on her superior ballad, ‘Woman in Love’. Normally I couldn’t stand Streisand, but her film and music careers were on the upturn in the new decade. Principal rival for Diva of the Year, Diana Ross, also enjoyed a boost, in her case from Nile Rodgers. ‘Upside Down’ was a big summer holiday disco hit. Hazel O’Connor was one of the faces of the year, thanks to her role in punk movie Breaking Glass, and then she reached number five in the chart with ‘Eighth Day’, which I really liked. 

Now turn down the tempo, and the lights, for another autumn ballad. Ex-Crusaders vocalist Randy Crawford deserved her number two success with the enchanting ‘One Day I’ll Fly Away’. Her voice didn’t have Streisand’s crystal clarity but I could happily lose myself in this song. I don’t know if Martha and the Muffins had another record but ‘Echo Beach’ is a brilliant legacy. It still sounds as fresh as when I hummed along to it in my room almost four decades ago.

The Nolan Sisters were the darlings of TV light entertainment but I hated their all-pervasive, poisonous ‘I’m In the Mood for Dancing’. They were on every show going. The same could not be said for Kate Bush. She had retreated to the studio but fortunately was no stranger to the charts. The voice, cryptic lyrics and bizarre videos were definitely part of my musical year, even though ‘Babooshka’, ‘Breathing’ and ‘Army Dreamers’ were all a bit too weird for me.

Another star was born as a result of a TV show, but not from one of ITV’s ratings bankers. Glaswegian Sheena Easton hit ‘The Big Time’ thanks to Esther Rantzen’s new series of that name. Her first single ‘Nine to Five’ went to three, then ‘Modern Girl’ joined it in the top ten for a few weeks. Easton then went to the States, had a ludicrous Eighties makeover, and enjoyed lucrative years as a Prince collaborator (and probably more) and Bond film singer. I thought it a shame to see shy Sheena transformed into shock-haired diva Sheena but - that’s showbiz!

Finally, on the subject of the female of the species, I can’t ignore Agnetha Falkstog. I recall sitting in the lounge of the Lake Hotel, Bonchurch on the Isle of Wight, watching what must have been one of the first TOTP broadcasts after a lengthy layoff caused by a BBC strike. There at number one was Abba’s ‘The Winner Takes it All’, featuring Agnetha at her saddest. The poignant lyrics may have been Bjorn’s but, given they were inspired by his divorce from her, it was unsurprising that she sang them with unsurpassed feeling, and the video genuinely tugged at my heart-strings. Watch and weep with me… It wasn’t Abba’s biggest hit of the year, though. That accolade belonged to ‘Super Trouper’, an altogether more joyous, pop song, albeit of temporary separation. It should have been the Christmas number one. Another reason to hate the St Winifred’s School Choir, in case I needed one.

The art school crowd were prominent, too. In particular, David Bowie was back to his best. Well, the cognoscenti weren’t enamoured of his album Scary Monsters, Super Creeps, but as a non-LP buyer I couldn’t possibly pass judgement. However, when a song as astonishing as ‘Ashes to Ashes’ explodes onto the radio, accompanied by an even more extraordinary video, Bowie’s legendary status was further enhanced.

Barring the Major Tom reference, I haven’t a clue what it’s about, the song or video, but the menacing bulldozer, huge padded cell, pierrot clown and his grotesque funereal acolytes against that black background were incredibly visibly striking. Shocking, even. So it should have been, given the £1/4 million cost, easily the most expensive at the time. But it’s the musical production which has stood the test of time. Simultaneously electro, funky and melancholy ballad, ‘Ashes to Ashes’ remains one of my all-time favourites.

Roxy Music were re-born in a new style, too, and it was one which definitely ticked my boxes. Brian Ferry had never been a shrinking violet but here he was in smart-casual attire, sometimes with deliberately half-mast tie, a soul-boy crooner for the new decade. He even appeared to be playing electric guitar on a few TOTP performances. 1980 featured three great releases from their ‘Flesh and Blood’ album. I liked the singles so much I even bought it. What on earth came over me?! Well, the first hit was ‘Over You’, typical of the smooth, melodic, up-tempo sound which exemplified the album. ‘Oh, Yeah’ also reached number five, and was an altogether gentler affair. Nevertheless, it retained all the familiar Roxy hallmarks such as Phil Manzanera’s guitar and Andy Mackay’s mullet (and saxophone). A definite high point of my pop year. ‘Same Old Scene’ was less successful but contained a brilliant bubbling bass from Gary Tibbs to accompany the long-standing trio.

At uni, I was surrounded by massive fans of Genesis. Their prog rock albums were a complete mystery to me, but clearly attracted devotion on an epic scale, at least amongst Maths undergraduates. Clutching their ‘album band’ credentials to their hearts, Genesis had famously resisted the lure of the Top of the Pops studio for years. However, with the release of the ‘Duke’ album and single ‘Turn It On Again’, they finally relented. The Birks Halls TV room that evening was packed to the rafters. Follow the link to see what we watched. The juxtaposition of the Genesis appearance and the video for ex-bandmate Peter Gabriel’s top-four hit ‘Games Without Frontiers’ must surely have been no coincidence, and wasn’t lost on me! Presenter Steve Wright was spot-on, but I was not yet won over.

By that time, Genesis had already written their name into Exeter University folklore. Somehow, they had been booked to do a Great Hall gig. The Students Union Ents officer surely never had to buy another drink! When the tickets had gone on sale, the overnight queue reached record lengths. I may even had been tempted to see what all the fuss was about – and even done my bit of queue duty – had the concert not been scheduled for the day after the end of term. Attendees would have nowhere to stay the night. For me, that was discomfort I wasn’t prepared to endure. No deterrent for a true Genesis fan, of course. Speaking to colleagues at the start of the summer term, the universal verdict was that it had all been worth it.

Genesis did gradually become more of a commercial singles band and it wasn’t until much later that I rented ‘Duke’ from the local library. Only then did I really appreciate the quality of that album. It wasn’t just the two big singles; the flop ‘Misunderstanding’ had clearly been misunderstood by the public. Then there were the gorgeously atmospheric ‘Heat Haze’ and personal Phil Collins-penned ballad ‘Please Don’t Ask’. Funny to say this now, but in the early 80s, Collins was cool!

There was no chance on earth of Ottowan being cool, but their post-summer Euro-disco behemoth ‘D.I.S.C.O.’ was inescapable. Some such records are intensely irritating but this French-Caribbean production narrowly got away with it because we found it amusing. All those “She is S, super-sexy, She is C, Such a cutie” lyrics screamed out for parody but whatever else, ‘She’ would be forever “O-o-ohhhhhh”!

The same producers were responsible for the more enjoyable Gibson Brothers. “Que sera, me vida” gave even Earth, Wind and Fire a run for their money in terms of OTT spectacle and all-out dance rhythm. However, I preferred the irresistible Latin percussion beat of ‘Cuba’ despite it stalling at twelve in the chart on its second release. It also introduced me to salsa; the word, not the dance itself. Obviously I’d never partake, but nonetheless an infectious record which demanded replays when Angie and I had the long-awaited opportunity to spend a fortnight on Castro’s island in 2012. It was mostly more traditional songs like ‘Guantanamera’ at our hotel, but if only they had imported the Gibson Brothers for the occasion…

Back in Thatcherite Britain, Ska continued to be a dominant force. Jerry Dammers’ 2Tone collective The Specials swept to number one with a live EP in February, thanks largely to the controversial lead track ‘Too Much Too Young’. Their musical verve seemed at odds with Terry Hall’s deadpan vocals but I guess that was part of what made them – er – special.

Bad Manners had also been winning fans with their own take on ska. Unlike The Specials, they boasted a big front man. A VERY big front man! Buster Bloodvessel must have been well over twenty stone in weight with not much of a voice, but his larger-than-life body and personality carried Bad Manners to four top ten appearances. In 1980 they toned it down a bit for ‘Special Brew’ and – my favourite – the lively, lovely and completely bonkers love song ‘Lorraine’. They had more success in 1981 and I saw them live at the Great Hall. Seeing Buster crowd-surf was a sight to behold, and fortunately nobody beneath him died….

However, in my mind, none could compare with the ‘Nutty Boys’ of Camden Town. Their opening singles in ’79 hadn’t prepared me for four years of outstanding singles, hilarious videos and an enduring two-way love affair with the public probably unmatched in pop history. They were no longer seven young blokes in pork pie hats doing silly, jerky dance moves. ‘My Girl’ and ‘Embarrassment’ were intelligent songs, ‘Night Boat to Cairo’ deliriously danceable music hall, and then there was ‘Baggy Trousers’.

The amusing Suggs lyrics resonated and were easily remembered, even by me. Then, of course, there was the video excerpt filmed at the Kentish Town primary school where saxophonist Lee ‘flew’ above his bandmates. This must be one of the most famous video sequences of all time; so iconic that even now Madness simply cannot dare perform the song live without a rather more portly fifty-something Lee soaring on a wire. At any wedding reception disco (including our own), Angie will insist on requesting ‘Baggy Trousers’ in the knowledge that I cannot fail to exhaust and probably embarrass myself dancing to it. Who cares? I always enjoy myself!

Yet this wasn’t the only witty record about childhood which made the top ten and my personal top three of the year. Other than on the John Peel show, The Undertones had come in a bit under the radar when they brought out ‘My Perfect Cousin’ that April. Two and a half minutes of post-punk perfection with memorable lyrics like:-

“He's got a degree in economics
Maths, physics and bionics
He thinks that I'm a cabbage
'Cause I hate University Challenge”

Feargal Sharkey’s Northern Irish accent added another interesting perspective, and it was fun to watch his fringe flop manically on TOTP. Their debut ‘Teenage Kicks’ may be more famous but this was The Undertones’ only top ten single and still conjures happy memories amidst the horrors of exam revision.

So far, so straightforward. And then, just a few days before I packed up to come home for Christmas, I awoke to the news on Radio 4 that John Lennon had been shot. Dead. Murdered. Bloody hell! Now, I didn’t know a huge amount about The Beatles but I was very aware that this was a Big Deal. Posters appeared on the outside of bedroom doors. And of course the TV and Radio played Lennon and Beatles songs incessantly.

Just a day or so earlier, my Beatles education had been furthered by listening to the first part of a Radio 1 interview Lennon had given to Andy Peebles. It was a massive coup for the station and so I had given it a whirl. Since re-locating to New York with Yoko, Lennon had been a reclusive figure and so hearing him talk frankly about his early career was fascinating. He had just released a new album ‘Double Fantasy’ and the lead single ‘Starting Over’ was sliding out of the top twenty from a peak position of eight. Then came that fateful moment outside the Dakota apartment building when Mark Chapman delivered those fateful shots on 8^th December.

Amidst all the usual Christmas paraphernalia, ‘Starting Over’ inevitably did a U-turn and topped the chart for a week. ‘Happy Xmas (War is Over)’ rocketed to number two and my own sense of history and heritage was stimulated over the following weeks and months. The more I read and listened, the more I came to appreciate the legacy of John Lennon in my lifetime. I think the bad press accorded Paul McCartney is utterly out of order, but for the first time I discovered which classic songs Lennon had written. Indeed, the BBC’s screening of the Fab Four’s Sixties films like ‘Help’ familiarised me with some of the tracks I hadn’t previously heard on the Jimmy Savile show; songs like ‘Nowhere Man’ and ‘Norwegian Wood’.

1981 was to be a year full of fun and fashion in pop, but John Lennon’s death was to cast a long shadow over UK music.

1977 – He got an ice pick, which made his ears burn

This is a year lauded as a special one in the history of music. Punk rock spelled the end of prog rock, although it was the death of Elvis which left a gaping hole in rock’n’roll. As for me, there was less of a feeling that the sands were shifting in such a momentous way. After all, I had more important things to worry about – like ‘O’ levels.

It transpired that 1977’s biggest sellers followed each other to the top spot from January to March. For all the new genres, David Soul seemed to create one of his own. Already popular as one half of TV’s detectives ‘Starsky and Hutch’, Soul set about dominating the UK singles charts with some rather plaintive piano ’n’ strings love songs led by ‘Don’t Give On Us Baby’. I preferred the slightly rockier ‘Silver Lady’, a number one in October.

Leo Sayer achieved his greatest success with another dreary ballad, ‘When I Need You’, and ABBA’s march to near-global supremacy with ‘The Name of the Game’ and another four minutes of pop perfection in ‘Knowing Me, Knowing You’. Cue shots of snowy landscapes, front- and side-on close-ups and bittersweet lyrics. A-ha-ahhhh.

A period of big musicals was set in motion by Evita. Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber had enjoyed some hits from ‘Jesus Christ Superstar’ but they were dwarfed by the popularity of the Act 2 scene-stealer, ‘Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina’. Julie Covington’s beautiful rendition was in the top ten for seemingly forever. Accept no imposters like Madonna or assorted Pussycat Dolls! I wasn’t a fan of the song but it’s an undeniable giant of West End musical theatre. Years later I was to see a lot of London musicals but somehow Evita has always eluded me.

Winter was setting in when I first heard a new record by Paul McCartney and Wings. I was happy to say aloud that the simple celebration of rural Scotland would never be a hit. Ever the man with his finger on the pulse of British pop taste, I was proved wrong as never before or since; ‘Mull of Kintyre’ sold two million copies in the UK alone! Not even ‘Sgt Dave Hutchinson’ (aka D Soul) could compete with acoustic guitar, an ex-Beatle and bagpipes.

In contrast to the above, the lens of retrospective specs reveals that there were indeed some pretty pivotal singles released. At the time, I just took them at face value. And that was just the ones I heard. The Clash wouldn’t have been seen dead performing ‘White Riot’ on TOTP, nor do I recall watching Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Don’t Stop’; neither managed to scrape in to the top 30.

Until 1977 all of my favourites tended to be top-tenners. However, while freed from school class attendance obligations during the exam period, I listened to Radio 1 shows beyond the usual Top 20 and Jimmy Savile. I think it may have been Tony Blackburn following the Noel Edmonds breakfast show, so I became familiar with his irritating ways and preferences. Of course, he probably had little say in the tracks played, as there were new releases besides those who’d already climbed the charts. As a result, I got to know, and like, a lot of singles which, despite heavy airplay, were left languishing in the twenties or thirties.

For example, another of the tracks from Fleetwood Mac’s epoch-making ‘Rumours’ album was ‘Dreams’. I loved the soft rock rhythm, the bassline and, of course, Stevie Nicks’ idiosyncratic vocals. I dispute her assertion that “thunder only happens when it’s raining” but it was a cracking record all the same. Yet it peaked at just 24 in the UK.

Another mostly British band who crossed the Atlantic to achieve success were Supertramp. I’d been drawn to a previous hit ‘Dreamer’ and in ’77, it was the turn of the less manic ‘Give A Little Bit’. Even more surprising today is the realisation that David Bowie’s evergreen ‘Heroes’ was another song whose class didn’t translate into contemporary sales. Robert Fripp’s legendary guitar work sounded so, well, heroic, and for me Bowie’s voice was never better. Yet by far his biggest hit of the year was ‘Sound and Vision’, the first half of which was instrumental. I had a friend who really loved Bowie, then seen as way ahead of his time. Perhaps, but that just meant most of us hated his material.

I had a few friends who raved about American country rockers The Eagles. I never really shared their enthusiasm, but they were never far from my ears or eyes in 1977. It was the year when the album ‘Hotel California’ was released. I didn’t really like the first single, ‘New Kid in Town’, but the title track boasted that intriguing lengthy intro and that (then) unusual guitar duet by Joe Walsh and Don Felder at the end. I’d no idea it would become such an iconic rock song, but it eased into the UK top ten, and the performance in this clip from the same year captures their languid LA style to perfection.  

Talking of classics, Boston’s ‘More Than a Feeling’ and Joe Walsh’s ‘Rocky Mountain Way’ made little impression on me or anyone else. However, the year gave us two British rock-pop staples by home-grown giants. Queen’s ‘We Are the Champions’ and Status Quo’s ‘Rockin’ All Over the World’ were top three singles which appealed to me, although they hardly blew my mind.

The voice of Lionel Richie is so familiar now, it feels like we were born with it in our brains but probably the first time I heard it was in 1977 on The Commodores’ ‘Easy’. It may have been ‘easy on a Sunday morning’ but on the Sunday evening chart show it was a bit of a yawnathon. The only redeeming feature was that guitar solo!

Manhattan Transfer topped the chart in March with ‘Chanson d’Amour’. Their 40s pastiche didn’t appeal to me at all and I was surprised that a few classmates actually sang along to it. It did introduce the saxophone as a supposed instrument of gratuitous sophistication to pop, for which the Transfer should grovel for forgiveness. ‘Chanson…’ already had a French title. There was no need to add a sax solo; the record was pretentious enough as it was! Thank goodness for ‘Baker Street’ and ‘Will You’ for delivering the sax from jazz and pop hell! 

Those weekday breakfasts spent listening to Radio 1, delaying another summer session of tedious revision, also left me with some real turkeys filling my head. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Alessi’s ‘O Lori’, Tony Etoria’s ‘I Can Prove It’ and ‘You’re Gonna Get Next To Me’ by Bo Kirkland and Ruth Davis. Yuk! There were some goodies, though. At the end of June, Hot Chocolate finally achieved number one status with ‘So You Win Again’. Even then, we all knew that Errol Brown et al had never topped the singles charts so perhaps the great British public heard the new song and bought it out of sympathy. It wasn’t their best, but a reliable mid-tempo ‘lost love’ number which I couldn’t help liking either. 

Less successful was ‘Heaven on the Seventh Floor’, the latest in a line of unassuming lively ditties from Paul Nicholas, but Smokie reached five with ‘It’s Your Life’. Back then I was unfamiliar with Emerson, Lake and Palmer’s prog rock reputation. I didn’t even know what prog rock was. Nevertheless, if ‘Fanfare of the Common Man’ was anything to go by, I’d sing its praises. The radio edit soared like Keith Emerson’s keyboards to number two, but if TOTP had featured the full eight minutes of their frost-filled performance in the Montreal Olympic stadium, I would surely have re-considered.

Considerable airplay was also given to Boney M’s ‘Ma Baker’. Their third consecutive top-tenner, I loved it. Opening with that snarling "Freeze, I'm Ma Baker, put your hands in the air! Gimme all your money", it opened out into a great dance track. German producer-guru Frank Farian had assembled a visually-arresting quartet of West Indian singers and dancers, the most notable being Bobby Farrell and his afro. His gyrations rarely appeared to be in time with the music, and he famously mimed to Farian’s vocals. I recall watching a clip from a German TV show where Boney M sang ‘Daddy Cool’ live. It became crystal clear why Farrell didn’t sing on the recordings. All he needed to do was get five words in tune but no, he was hopeless! 

Hot Chocolate were followed at the top by a record which undoubtedly did make my jaw drop when I first heard it. Donna Summer’s previous hit ‘Love to Love You Baby’ had been banned because of its unambiguous groans and sighs. However, when ‘I Feel Love’ launched into that synthesizer sequencer line, I felt I had been transported into the future. Indeed I had. Giorgio Moroder’s productions were no strangers to the charts but, assisted by Donna’s sexy voice, this innovative use of the Moog and key changes influenced a new generation of musicians, let alone clubbers or ordinary listeners like me. It was disco, but not as we knew it.

Tavares, Trammps and Rose Royce had more conventional disco hits, not really to my taste, but one of my favourite up-tempo hits of 1977 was Heatwave’s ‘Boogie Nights’. A rare British giant of the genre, this was another record which grabbed you by the throat on first exposure. It sounds quite tame nowadays, but in Spring 1977 that funky growling guitar line seemed really heavy. Their moves in this video are laughable, but it was the sound which blew me away.

It wasn’t only Giorgio Moroder pioneering electronic music in the charts. In France, a twenty-something composer and synth wizard released his LP ‘Oxygene’ to an unsuspecting world. The fourth ‘track’, ‘Oxygene IV’ captured the imagination. It sounded so clean, so crisp, so… new! Totally instrumental, of course, but it led to a new genre of boring-bloke-behind-synths-with-laser-show concerts. Later open-air gigs attracted crowds of a million-plus but not sure how many of them would have seen Monsieur Jarre actually doing his thing. It made four in our charts, and the album also did rather well.

Yet it wasn’t even my favourite French electronic instrumental of the year; that was Space’s ‘Magic Fly’. The helmets in the video were a precursor to the shy, mysterious image so beloved of twenty-first century dancemeisters Daft Punk but the synth melody, bass and drums, together with the visuals, made for such a futuristic package I was instantly hooked. A shame that it was held at number two for three weeks in September, but it was perhaps understandable given the circumstances which began on 16^th August. 

I distinctly remember sitting in a rather austere hotel restaurant in Rimini having breakfast. We were talking about the previous night’s awesome firework display marking the Feast of the Assumption. Then, whether it was seeing the front page on someone’s newspaper or other Brits in our group telling us, I forget, but that was the morning we discovered that Elvis Presley had died.

It was more of a shock to Mum who, while hardly a rock’n’roller, was the same age as Elvis, and who had probably been a major part of her musical soundtrack through the Fifties. My generation was less attached to him and his music, but his singles had continued to sprinkle the charts throughout my life. Apart from the re-released ‘Girl of My Best Friend’ in 1976, I hadn’t liked any of them particularly. However, I knew from the Jimmy Savile show how much of a legend he had been; all those groundbreaking chart-toppers such as ‘Jailhouse Rock’ and ‘It’s Now Or Never’ plus tearjerkers like ‘In The Ghetto’.

His voice and charisma were unmistakeable, even to a child of the ‘60s and ‘70s like me. It’s just that his music didn’t speak to me the way it had done to the previous generation. Unsurprisingly, sales of his recent compilations soared, and his new single ‘Way Down’ predictably went to number one. It didn’t change my opinion of his music but there was no escaping it for a few weeks. There was also the dreadful by-product in the form of the commemorative single ‘I Remember Elvis Presley’ by Dutch producer-singer Danny Mirror. Thousands of people fell for it and it went to number four. It was simply WRONG!

The Fifties and Sixties had already generated huge LP sales that year. The Shadows, Slim Whitman, The Supremes and others all led the album charts. Prog rockers like Pink Floyd, Yes, ELP and Genesis were also in the mainstream. Despite the hiccup of post-Presley grief purchases, the scene was set for a new set of rockers to register their protest against the old guard of music and politicians. They were, of course, the Punks. 

This isn’t a history of pop so I’ll focus on my own belated introduction to the strange world of sneers, safety pins and two-minute bursts of frenetic energy. Malcolm McLaren had been marketing his pet band The Sex Pistols for a while, but it took the nation’s preoccupation with the Queen’s Silver Jubilee to provide the fertile seedbed from which a powerful brand grew into the mainstream with alarming speed.  As the Union Flag bunting mushroomed around the streets of Britain, and pressure mounted on all of us to commemorate Liz 2’s twenty-five years on the throne, it was a clever move to release a snarling alternative anthem appealing to the working classes unimpressed by the real thing. The Pistols’ ‘God Save the Queen’ featuring Johnny Rotten’s biting vocals was banned by the BBC and the main record stores and famously thwarted from taking the number one position in Jubilee week by Rod Stewart. Much as I enjoyed ‘The First Cut is the Deepest’, I would have appreciated the opportunity to hear the record everyone was either talking about or desperately trying to ignore.

When I did manage to catch it, I realised it was nothing special. The follow-up, ‘Pretty Vacant’ was far superior. I recall the TOTP presenter - Kid Jensen, I think it was – linking another doomed and forgettable Cilla Black effort with this film. ‘I also quite liked ‘Holidays in the Sun’, another single from the ‘Never Mind the Bollocks…’ album. However, it was really only the descending guitar riff, ripped off The Jam’s ‘In The City’ and the first verse. The rest degenerated into Johnny wailing on about the Berlin Wall. Eh?

Punk rock was hardly aimed at comfortable middle-class kids like me, but it did have an impact on many teenagers in leafy Billericay. I remember waiting to go into a class and one of the girls – well spoken and certainly no wild child – was raving about a Damned gig she’d been to the night before: “They were gobbing and everything!” she enthused. It was obvious that there was a new world order in pop music. 

TOTP had to change, too. Blackburn, Edmonds, Savile and their ilk needed to give way to presenters like Jensen, Mike Read and Peter Powell. The latter actually appeared to like the New Wave bands he was introducing, and his enthusiasm rubbed off on teens like me. Nevertheless, it was DLT who did the honours for probably the most memorable live TOTP performance EVER. His words were apposite; the world really wasn’t ready for John Otway and Wild Willy Barrett’s ramshackle rendition of ‘Really Free’! It only scraped into the top 30 but was a talking point in our sixth form common room. 

If Otway and even the Pistols had a fairly short singles chart shelf life, the same wasn’t true of The Stranglers. I first saw them on TOTP in around June, Jean-Jacques Burnel bounding around miming to ‘Go Buddy Go’, wielding a guitar with no strings! At least they didn’t wreck their set. They had an ugly reputation for concert violence and even been banned from the Exeter University Great Hall after one fiery gig. A great shame because they were great musicians and songwriters. They were hardly young tearaways, either; drummer Jet Black was already pushing forty! I didn’t appreciate some of their other early hits like ‘Something Better Change’ and ‘Hanging Around’ until later, but ‘No More Heroes’ was in my opinion one of the best records of 1977. With Hugh Cornwell’s superior vocals, J-J’s filthy bass sound and Dave Greenfield’s swirling keyboards to the fore, it had that punk vibe but a great melody, too. The following year or two gave us more terrific hits like ‘5 Minutes’, ‘Nice ‘n’ Sleazy’ and ‘Walk On By’. The Stranglers were notoriously lazy lip-synchers, though. Cornwell and Burnel never seemed to take their TV performances seriously, but I suppose that was part of the image. They were punks and so obviously didn’t care! They also demonstrated that with some quality songs I could be a bit of a punk, too. In spirit, at least.

The Stranglers thus became my favourite band. But the song I accorded the title of favourite song of the year could not have provided a more dramatic contrast. It was Berni Flint’s sweet ‘I Don’t Want to Put a Hold on You’. Acoustic guitar, no instrument destruction, an artist graduating from ITV’s ‘Opportunity Knocks’. Definitely not the new wave. My musical tastes were as broad as ever.