1988 – And I would come a-running To give you all my loving

1988 was something of a personal annus horribilis. My Crohn’s Disease symptoms worsened to such an extent that I missed months of work for hospital treatment. A week of tests and a few weeks more of no food to rest my guts didn’t do the trick so I ended up spending a fortnight of May/June in the Victorian confines of London’s St Mark’s Hospital. So what’s that to do with music?

Well, whilst languishing on the wards, I experimented with a cheap and cheerful Sony Walkman on which I could pay some cassettes. Memories of TOTP in the TV room were also enhanced, presumably as a result of there being not much else to do following surgery apart from reading, talking and being inspected, injected, prodded and poked.

The big band of the time was Bros, fronted by Matt Goss and featuring his twin Luke plus – er – the other one (aka Craig Logan). After failing to set the charts alight the previous year, their sharp image and their twin brother USP made them media darlings in 1988. The music was all over the place but it didn’t matter one jot to teenage girls who hadn’t had much to stick on their bedroom walls for quite a while.

‘When Will I Be Famous?’ had a catchy chorus and reached number two in January. From then on, Bros churned out six successive top four singles, flying to the pinnacle with the dreadful ‘I Owe You Nothing’ while I convalesced in St Mark’s. Now for a confession: I actually quite liked their Christmas ballad ‘Cat Amongst the Pigeons’. The flip side was a cheesy rendition of ‘Silent Night’ and the result was yet another number two. Logan left the Goss brothers soon afterwards but they had little beyond the blue eyes and razor-sharp cheekbones. They suffered the law of diminishing returns and were gone by 1991. I can’t recall anything since 1988! Matt has been performing in Vegas and the group were supposedly reforming for some concerts in 2017. Did they happen? Does anyone care?

Just behind Bros in June were Climie Fisher. Simon Climie was a successful songwriter but it took a couple of releases before ‘Love Changes’ made an impression. I just thought it a near-perfect pop song. Not earth-shattering, but well-crafted with a smooth melody. Yet that’s the last time they pierced the top 20. Such is the pop business….

Well, if Bros were the boy band of 1988, the pop princess was undoubtedly Kylie Minogue. I never watched Neighbours. However, many of my friends had abandoned EastEnders, transferring their soap allegiance to the new Aussie kid on the block. However, I couldn’t join in their conversations about Charlene (played by Kylie), Scott (Jason Donovan) and their sun-kissed barbies. BBC1 broadcast the programme at lunchtimes and teatimes but, as I didn’t return home from the BBC office at White City until about 7 o’clock, I had no chance. Therefore, it was only once Pete Waterman signed up 19 year-old Kylie and released ‘I Should Be So Lucky’, I began to see what the fuss was about.

The song was cute, the singer was cute, all tumbling golden curls and dazzling teeth, and another Stock/Aitken/Waterman success was guaranteed. Kylie’s unspectacular voice and image fitted the winning S/A/W formula but I could never have predicted her enduring popularity. Yes, I quite fancied her. Still do, in that harmless, distant, unattainable celebrity way. An ageless, perfect pop pixie she may be, but I still don’t rate her vocals. What must have contributed to her lasting success is her good fortune with songwriters. My personal favourite from 1988 was ‘Got to be Certain’ but there was little to choose between them.

One song I was less keen on was her duet with her on- and off-screen boyfriend, Jason Donovan. Waterman probably wrote ‘Especially For You’ in five minutes and, buoyed by the massive TV audience for the Scott-Charlene wedding in November, it topped anything Kylie achieved as a solo artist in the Eighties. The song was completely divorced from the show, but the song that did feature, Angry Anderson’s ‘Suddenly’, was also a huge hit at Christmas. Unfortunately for them, both were eclipsed by Cliff Richard’s million-selling monstrosity, ‘Mistletoe and Wine’. More toe-curling than anything released by Bros, it nonetheless outsold every other single that year. Ouch! At least the Aussie couple finally ousted King Cliff in January.

It was a good year for the girls. S/A/W resurrected the careers of Hazell Dean and Kim Wilde, whose ‘You Came’ took off to number three. Even better was ‘Orinoco Flow’ by Enya. I’d never heard anything like it. The airy-fairy voice, pizzicato synth chords, multi-tracked chorus and mind-tripping production blew my mind and powered the record to number one around the world. I don’t think anything else she did thereafter quite matched up to the original, not even ‘Caribbean Blue’, but no matter; her unique Celtic sound has made her the richest female singer-songwriter in the British Isles. I can just imagine Enya in a fairytale Irish castle, floating from room to room on a gentle zephyr, her bare feet never touching the floor. Not even Kylie can aspire to that.

A very different Irish talent also assailed the charts early in the year. Sinead O’Connor was a punky skinhead with big brown eyes whose appearance was quite shocking to us easily shockable folk, and ‘Mandinka’ sounded a bit shouty for my liking. On the other hand, Belinda Carlisle was far more fanciable, and ‘Heaven is a Place On Earth’ advanced effortlessly to the top in January.

She was followed at number one by seventeen year-old ‘mall queen’ Tiffany. ‘I Think We’re Alone Now’ was pretty infectious but sounds very dated now. Then and now, I had more time for another teenager, Debbie Gibson. At least she wrote her own songs, could play the piano and possessed a potent voice. ‘Foolish Beat’ is a big ballad led by some silky sax and was one of my favourites, even if it only peaked at nine in our charts.

Wendy James became a British media darling, with a wilder, ballsier image than either Gibson or Tiffany. Her band Transvision Vamp had a big hit with the rebellious ‘Baby I Don’t Care’, and she seemed to encapsulate ‘Girl Power’ years before the Spice Girls adopted the label. Yet she didn’t last the pace. Another young blonde with a debut hit that year has proved a more enduring performer. In 1988, Patsy Kensit was the face of Eighth Wonder, who made the top ten with the Pet Shop Boys–penned ‘I’m Not Scared’. Great record, of course, but it’s fair to say she made a better actress than singer. Well, maybe it’s a close-run thing!

Eddi Reader had more – let’s say, Guardian-reader appeal. The Fairground Attraction frontwoman possessed a unique Celtic style, with red hair, oversized glasses and a beguiling stage presence. ‘Perfect’ was the danceable chart-topper but ‘Find My Love’ was a charming little ditty I could listen to for ages without tiring of the captivating romantic lyric.

Christine McVie, of course, had been around for ages and was no stranger to my ears. I’d never been much of a Fleetwood Mac fan. I didn’t dislike their rock era material; it just sounded a bit, well, humdrum, middling mid-Atlantic music. However, something in their wistful ‘Everywhere’ clicked with me. It was one of their more pop-py songs with a captivating melody, a fine McVie vocal and yet bounced along on the reliable Mac rhythm section. It starts wonderfully with that bubbly intro which sounds like the aural equivalent of dappled light playing on tree-fringed water, and ends with those playful ‘huh-huh-huh’ harmonies which absolutely must be heard in stereo.

La Minogue wasn’t the only Aussie superstar created in 1988. The man who wrested her away from Jason, Michael Hutchence, shot to global fame with his band INXS and, after seeing him on TOTP I know a few female friends who would have gladly been in Kylie’s shoes. ‘I Need You Tonight’ was the band’s biggest hit over here, but the song which grabs me more emotionally was, and remains, their one and only ballad, ‘Never Tear Us Apart’. It’s proof that Hutchence wasn’t just an up-tempo rock god; he could handle the more sensual romantic stuff, too. Like so many iconic '80s artists like Madonna and Duran Duran, INXS had a helping hand from the imperious Nile Rodgers but, to me, their subsequent stuff was a bit Fleetwood Mac-ish in its mediocrity but 1988 was their year.

By this time, sadly The Smiths had finally imploded but we were treated to Morrissey’s debut solo album, Viva Hate. On the basis of the opening singles, I naturally bought it, but only really liked those two trailblazers. ‘Every Day Is Like Sunday’ was a typical brooding gloom-fest but ‘Suedehead’ was a livelier piano-driven affair. I don’t understand why the video has Morrissey on the trail of James Dean but I fully comprehend why the record charted higher than any of his former band’s releases. 

Terence Trent Darby had made an unforgettable TOTP entrance the previous year, with some acrobatic dance moves while miming to ‘If You Let Me Stay’. His high soulful voice also featured a raunchy rasp, but the only song of his I enjoyed hearing was ‘Sign Your Name’, which reached number two in January ’88. Its slow, sultry Latin rhythm perfectly complemented Darby’s vocals. For all his talent as singer and writer, the trouble with him was that he was such a tedious self-publicist. The final straw was when, on accepting the Brit Award for Best International Breakthrough Act, TTD had the temerity to moan that he should have won the Best British Breakthrough, ahead of Wet Wet Wet. Er… born and bred in the States, only coming to the UK after being court-martialled from the US army? British? I suppose his claim to a UK award is related to his biological father’s ancestry but, unlike Ireland’s football team’s outrageous abuse of FIFA rules, this didn’t wash with the BPI. Darby was as American as Elvis. Congratulations on his Brit, but that was his last. He subsequently changed his name but never quite hit the heights he predicted for himself.

I was about as disconnected from the fledgling acid house and rap scenes as it was possible to be. The yellow smiley face representing the rave scene was on T-shirts everywhere, and kids started wearing clocks or nicking metal Volkswagen logo plates as signs of allegiance to hip-hop/rap artists The Beastie Boys and Public Enemy. Whatever. Actually, it was the novelty acts taking the piss who were the most successful over here.

All the songs riffing on the “Xxxin’ the house” theme got the treatment they deserved when Harry Enfield adopted his popular wealthy plasterer persona Loadsamoney (“See my WAD!”), teamed up with young chums Paul Whitehouse and Charlie Higson and released the entertaining ‘Doin’ Up the House’. It went to number four in the chart, as did Morris Minor and the Motors’ ‘Stutter Rap’. The Liverpool FC’s execrable ‘Anfield Rap’ went one place higher but at least they got their just desserts on the pitch when Wimbledon’s Crazy Gang beat them in the FA Cup Final. Before becoming the KLF, Jimmy Cauty and Bill Drummond formed The Timelords to record ‘Doctorin’ the Tardis’. A strange mash-up of the Dr Who theme, Gary Glitter’s ‘Rock ‘n’ Roll’ and various other samples, it beat all the other joke records by topping the chart in June, but Harry Enfield’s hit was the best.

I may not have been dropping Ecstasy tabs in remote raves but I did still enjoy a bop at Rotaract discos around the village halls of Essex. I recall having particularly welcomed the chance to let my hair down to the likes of Yazz’s big-selling ‘The Only Way Is Up’, Inner City’s ‘Big Fun’ (which brought Detroit’s fledgling techno to the UK masses) and Erasure’s ’Give a Little Respect’. Salt ‘n’ Pepa’s unambiguously sexy ‘Push It’ was a popular floor-filler, too.

The Pet Shop Boys brought out a whole album of extended dance tracks, Introspective. I was never going to dance around to them at home but, being the product of Neil and Chris, they were just as enjoyable simply to listen to. ‘Left to my Own Devices’ probably had the edge when it came to bpm (beats per minute) but my guilty pleasure was the eccentric ‘I Want a Dog’. It seemed a bit perverse wanting to bop to a song with lyrics like:-

“When I get back to my small flat
I want to hear somebody bark” 

                                    Or

“Don't want a cat
scratching its claws all over my habitat
giving no love and getting fat”

But why the hell not?!

There were some other top tracks which I recorded for repeated listens, and which I rarely, if ever, hear nowadays. British reggae veterans Aswad topped the chart with ‘Don’t Turn Around’, while Robert Palmer crooned ‘She Makes My Day’. Scritti Politti, led by Green Gartside, already had a reputation for some idiosyncratic songwriting across a range of genres, but my favourite of theirs was the more conventional ballad ‘Oh Patti’. It just envelops you in warm synth chords and Green’s soft voice, with some muted Miles Davis trumpet for extra effect. A forgotten gem.

If at the start of the year you’d said I’d enjoy listening to a record sung largely in Hebrew by a Yemeni-Israeli woman, I’d have laughed in your face. However, Ofra Haza’s ‘Im Nan Alu’ was surprisingly good and made our top 20. Haza’s stirring voice and the thudding dance beat made for an incongruous blend of Western and Middle East styles. I loved it!

Haza’s hit excepted, I clearly wasn’t an aficionado of World Music but I was to become more aware of the genre in ’88. The big music event of the year was Nelson Mandela 70^th Birthday concert on 11^th June. As with Live Aid three years earlier, the BBC bravely defied the Thatcher government by clearing its schedules to broadcast it, albeit on BBC2. The decision was all the more courageous given the PM’s insistence on calling the incarcerated ANC leader a “terrorist”. Unlike Live Aid, this was not purely a fundraiser. While several charities benefited; it was also a consciousness raiser, consciousness of the appalling consequences of the apartheid regime in South Africa, and of the insanity of keeping freedom fighters like Mandela caged like animals.

Given the trail blazed by the Geldof-inspired ‘global jukebox’ of 1985, this concert didn’t have quite the ‘wow’ factor of Live Aid, but there were enough notable acts to reel me in. Acts like Simple Minds, Whitney Houston, Stevie Wonder, Eurythmics, Sting and George Michael were A-listers, but it was important to include black stars of ‘World Music’, too. I confess to ignorance at the time of Hugh Masekela, Salif Keita and Miriam Makeba and I don’t remember watching them perform.

The mega-concert has become famous for making an overnight international star of American Tracy Chapman. Presented with an unscheduled second slot in UK primetime when Stevie Wonder’s synclavier hard disk went missing, scuppering what was potentially a highlight of the entire occasion, the 24 year-old American proceeded to steal the show. After performing ‘Fast Car’ with just an acoustic guitar, the world took note, and both the single and her debut album would become big hits. Typically, I wasn’t watching at the time (!) but it was a good song which grew on me the more I listened to the words.

Despite some of the other major names on the bill, plus some humorous interludes involving top young ‘alternative’ comedians like Fry and Laurie, Harry Enfield and Lenny Henry, two acts stood out for me.

It was impossible not to condemn the racist pigs in Pretoria after listening to Peter Gabriel’s brilliant, passionate yet understated rendition of his Seventies song about the police torture and murder of South African black activist, Steven Biko. Backed by the synthesized bagpipes, stirring guitar of Charlie Burchill and the massed choir of the Wembley audience, it was a political and musical tour de force.

“And the eyes of the world are watching you now
They're watching you now, watching you now”

Indeed they were, but were you watching, Prime Minister PW Botha? Even I found myself joining in with the “Huh-huh-ohh”s.

The sun was sinking when the other unforgettable segment was broadcast. Dire Straits effectively topped the bill, despite not having played together for years. They did several songs, supported by Eric Clapton, but the one which brought tears to my eyes then and still does, was their heart-rending, spine-tingling performance of ‘Brothers in Arms’. The lump in my throat threatened to asphyxiate me. 

It was to be another twenty months before Nelson Mandela took his famous walk to freedom one Sunday afternoon. Yet I am sure this concert played its part in putting that extra piece of pressure on the South African regime and its overseas supporters like the UK and USA to cave in, release Mandela and pave the way for true democracy there. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    But it's the best I can do…”

Classic!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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