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.

1979 – Another lonely day, no one here but me-o

This was another of those personal landmark years. Struggling through months of A level revision was bad enough, without the ill-effects of sickness and loss of appetite to contend with. The specialist diagnosis turned out to be Crohn’s Disease and it took a year or so for the treatment to settle the inflammation. Meanwhile I bade farewell to my second home for seven years, the Mayflower School, and made those initial nervous steps into higher education. I probably wasn’t cut out for the whirlwind of sudden independence thrust upon me by attending Exeter University. However, I was exposed to a more eclectic mix of music than I had been whilst relying on the regimented rules of chart-led media. I even went to a few gigs, but they were still some way off

The year began with two massive hits following each other to the top. The Village People's ‘YMCA’ was irritatingly catchy, its brass ‘n’ bass rhythm and arm actions instantly recognisable to this day. I actually preferred the follow-up, ‘In The Navy’, which stalled at two. Hot on the heels of that particular disco classic came the highlight of Ian Dury’s career. ‘Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick’ shouldn’t really have been successful. Nonsense lyrics, an uncommercial funk vibe, a disabled lead singer whose voice seemed to have been constructed from the gravel pits of the Thames Estuary itself…? Yet it sold a million! ‘What A Waste’ had raised his profile nationally the previous year, but ‘Rhythm Stick’ was on a different plane altogether. Behind Dury’s lyric, those Blockheads were in fine form, too. Norman Watt-Roy’s shimmering bassline and that double-sax solo by Davey Payne were so distinctive. Even Dad liked it!

The song also motivated me to find out more, discovering songs like ‘Billericay Dickie’, ‘Clever Trevor’ and ‘Sex ‘n’ Drugs ‘n’ Rock ‘n’ Roll’. The former proved a handy way of introducing myself and my home town to fellow undergraduates that autumn. What I hadn’t quite grasped was that the eponymous character was hardly – shall we say – an icon of middle-class respectability!  As the first verse explains:-

“A seasoned up hyena
Could not have been more obscener”

Hmm. Well. With regard to the fairer sex, I left Exeter as green as I arrived, but at least I got to see Ian and the Blockheads live in the Great Hall.

The band were the leading lights of Stiff Records, a label which had also nurtured Elvis Costello, Nick Lowe and a rejuvenated Dave Edmunds. These three also produced songs I really enjoyed in 1979. Costello soared to number two with his bitter but clever ‘Oliver’s Army’, Edmunds to four with the rollocking ‘Girl Talk’ and Lowe had a few hits of his own while playing bass with Edmunds.

Stiff probably would not have existed without the financial fillip provided by Lee Brilleaux, co-founder and chain-smoking singer with Canvey Island’s finest, Dr Feelgood. Already with a number one album to their name, they pierced the singles top ten in February with the powerful ‘Milk and Alcohol’. It was the only time they reached even the top 30, but in our part of Essex they were huge. Not really into R’n’B, it took a while to appreciate their music but a decade or so later I did finally tag along to a gig in Chelmsford to see what all the fuss was about. Being showered with fag ash ain’t my idea of fun, but the atmosphere further back was undeniably fast and furious!

The year also featured the first singles from another Stiff group, Madness. Their revival of the Sixties ska sound left me cold. I’d never even heard of Prince Buster. However, I did recognise ‘One Step Beyond’ as an entertaining foot-tapper, even though Madness were a year or two away from becoming my favourite band. Suddenly ska was everywhere. My first few terms at Exeter played out to a soundtrack of 2-Tone records. Hot Chocolate, The Foundations and The Equals were no longer the only multi-racial groups I’d heard of. In addition to the music, itself a blend of reggae and punk influences, having black and white artists together demonstrated defiance against the rise of the racist National Front and Margaret Thatcher’s new right-wing government. Jerry Dammers’ The Special AKA (not yet The Specials) and The Beat made the top ten, but I favoured the bouncy beat of The Selector’s ‘On My Radio’.

Still in the Home Counties, Squeeze’s ‘Cool For Cats’ was popular with my schoolmates. Amusing lyrics, a deadpan vocal from Chris Difford and cigar-puffing Jools Holland on keyboards was very sixth former-friendly stuff and it went to number two. ‘Up the Junction’ did the same, but was a very different song. Glenn Tilbrook’s lighter voice was perfect for the sweet story of a doomed Clapham romance, which was quite moving. I still can’t decide which of the two hits I prefer. The following few years brought more singles, albeit less popular. ‘Pulling Mussels’ (with a delightful piano interlude from Jools) and ‘Is That Love?’ earned few sales but won my heart. One of my many regrets from those Exeter days was that I didn’t see Squeeze perform there. Difford and Tilbrook are still on the scene so maybe there’s still time….

Wit and whimsicality were not the sole preserve of Londoners like Dury and Difford. Glaswegian B.A. Robertson achieved fame with a sequence of jocular singles in ’79 and ’80, the first of which, ‘Bang Bang’, pulled off the rare feat of being both genuinely funny and great to listen to. ‘Knocked it Off’ was more of a comedy song but also made the top ten. You couldn’t help warm to him. With such depressing politics and economic news weighing heavily even on us teenagers, music to lighten the mood was extremely welcome. 

Disco was still very much to the fore, delivering some crunching dance numbers to complement the 2Toners and wry balladeers. I have never stopped loving the work of Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards. 1979 was their peak year. Not only did their group Chic release the wonderful ‘I Want Your Love’ and ‘My Forbidden Lover’ but the two ace American musicians/composers/producers gave Sister Sledge their first taste of true success. ‘We Are Family’ is the track which to this day seems to generate most airplay, but in my mind, it’s ‘He’s the Greatest Dancer’ which stands proud amongst the top three disco records of all time. It’s one you can listen to, but for a pure dance track, Chic’s 1978 track ‘Le Freak’ probably has the edge. Sadly Edwards is no longer with us but, despite his prodigious drug intake over the years, at the time of writing Rogers is very much active - and perhaps even cooler than he was in the Seventies! 

South Essex hadn't really taken the new American fad for roller-disco to its bosom. However, it was prominent in the promo for Gloria Gaynor’s early girlpower anthem, ‘I Will Survive’. Yes, it’s Gloria’s song but it was the segments spotlighting Sheila Reid-Pender’s graceful roller-dancing which for me are the most enduring images. The record displaced The Bee Gees’ ‘Tragedy’ from the number one position here. I confess I liked neither. When the American rock community launched their record-burning backlash and the nation turned against the Bee Gees, with ‘Tragedy’ in my head I could almost feel they had a point. 

However, the huge hit holding the top spot between Ian Dury and the Gibbs was more to my taste. Blondie may have infuriated their old punk supporters when they released ‘Heart of Glass’, but it made them global superstars, and Debbie Harry a thirty-something sex symbol. If I’d been into buying posters, I’m sure she’d have been on one of them! They didn’t become a disco band, though. Their next chart-topper, ‘Sunday Girl’, was a lighter, almost Sixties-ish pop song. Taking these together with the previous year’s rockier New Wave tracks, you had the heart of Blondie’s LP ‘Parallel Lines’, which was the year’s biggest-seller. 

When it came to singles, nothing sold more than Art Garfunkel’s dreamy ‘Bright Eyes’. Of course it was a beautiful song. Everything performed by Art is. However, the association with the ‘Watership Down’ animated movie meant that the oft-repeated film of fluffy rabbits wore somewhat thin! Cliff Richard’s massive hit ‘We Don’t Talk Any More’ was another song which sounded good for the first few weeks before becoming merely irritating. Even with a twenty-year career behind him, Cliff was still a significant artist back then. 

It was a good year for virtuoso guitarists, too. Cliff’s old mates, The Shadows notched a couple of top-tenners with their own instrumental versions of current popular tunes. Much as I had come to appreciate his enormous influence on rock music back in the early Sixties, Hank Marvin’s mix of grinning and gurning over his Fender tremolo arm in 1979 seemed peculiar to say the least. Yet ‘Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina’ and ‘Cavatina’ did really well. The latter had been revived by its use in the groundbreaking film ‘The Deer Hunter’ and it was only fitting that the man who had originally recorded the tune, classical supremo John Williams, should also make the top twenty with his acoustic version. I’d never seen ‘The Deer Hunter’ until recently and I still associate the mesmeric melody with children’s TV series ‘Vision On’...

Gary Moore’s ‘Parisienne Walkways’ was another great guitar single, but I was more impressed by Mark Knopfler’s frenetic fretwork on ‘Sultans of Swing’. On that final epic solo, how can anyone play so many notes in such a short time – and in the right order?! I first heard it travelling down to Devon in a minibus for a Geography school field trip. It sure took my mind off the relentless rain! 

There was another great guitar solo in that year’s unforeseen Christmas number one, Pink Floyd’s ‘Another Brick in the Wall’. With its imagery of kids being fed into a meat mincer, and calls of “We don’t need no educay-shun”, it was another of those records which got many educationalists in a tizz. Not Dad, of course. True to form, it merely amused him! It did indeed a memorable video, if somewhat bleak, especially for the season of turkey and tinsel.

The video was in its infancy but starting to move on from Abba-style ‘two-shots’ and bands miming in various locations. As with ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’, promo films could make a difference to sales. The Buggles’ ‘Video Killed the Radio Star’ was a case in point. I recall first hearing the song on Radio 1 and feeling distinctly underwhelmed. It looked like languishing unloved in the lower reaches of the Top 30 until the video was shown on TOTP. Suddenly I ‘got’ it! Three weeks later in October it was at number one. It all looks rather tame and basic nowadays, but it was cutting edge in the Seventies. Singer-writer Trevor Horn proceeded to be one of the most prolific and influential producers of the Eighties so, ironically, under his guidance, video didn’t actually kill the radio star after all.

Another powerful promo belonged to The Boomtown Rats’ ‘I Don’t Like Mondays’. Appropriately for the song’s subject-matter (an American girl’s killing spree) there are lots of scary classroom close-ups and sharp editing but it was the dazzling white-light studio scenes which packed the greatest punch. A great record but an even greater video.

I've written before about my childhood infatuation with drumming. The arrival of punkish white reggae (well, ‘Regatta de Blanc’) group The Police in ’79 brought to my attention the idiosyncratic stickwork of Stewart Copeland. Until that point, most drumming on chart records was regulation stuff. I’m no technical expert but some of Copeland’s rhythms were refreshingly different. Of course, The Police were a trio of brilliant musicians and writers and went on to be so successful, better than the sum of their constituent parts. I first heard them when ‘Roxanne’ reached twelve in the Spring. It didn’t do much for me. However, when ‘Can’t Stand Losing You’ soared to number two (behind the Rats) in July, I began to pay closer attention. A few months later, I felt an instant emotional connection with ‘Message in a Bottle’. Topping the chart when I went up to Exeter University, the lyrics chimed with the loneliness I experienced during those early days in hall, trying to get to grips with new surroundings, colleagues and ways of working. I suppose I, too, was “sending out an SOS” but when Sting sang:-

“Walked out this morning I don't believe what I saw
A hundred billion bottles washed up on the shore

there was a modicum of hope. As the next line revealed, I realised “I’m not alone in being alone”. I may not have possessed in my room a means of actually playing a record, but ‘Message in a Bottle’ was the first 7” I bought purely for me, a personal statement. I wouldn’t have bought it just for the empathetic words, though. It was a fabulous record. A simple guitar riff, bass line, vocal and fairly straightforward structure, but it all came together in such an energetic package, and The Police had such quality no band could touch them for the next few years.

M’s ‘Pop Muzik’ and The Knack’s ‘My Sharona’ were similar examples of classy singles but they were one-offs. XTC delivered the brilliant ‘Making Plans for Nigel’, but failed to penetrate the top ten. The Jam’s ‘Eton Rifles’ was a tantalising preview of what was to come from Paul Weller and co, while Michael Jackson seemed to come of age with his effortless dance moves and vocals on ‘Rock With You’, ‘Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough’ and, with his brothers, ‘Shake Your Body (Down to the Ground)’.

I wasn’t really into his music, but his talent was obvious. This was the year of his ‘Off the Wall’ collaboration with producer Quincy Jones, and the hit singles flowed. The ‘Thriller’/’Bad’ Eighties era probably marked Jackson’s pinnacle as a zillion-selling global musical icon. However, 1979/80 appears in retrospect to be the time when young Michael was at his peak as an unblemished human being, before Jacko started to become Wacko.

There was plenty of cheesy pop, of course. Most has been mercifully forgotten but some was too ubiquitous to be easily disposed of with a mental ‘delete’ button. While the Americans had The Jacksons, we had The Dooleys! I kind-of recall 'The Chosen View' but as a product of the Northern club circuit they were pretty dreadful. Not the worst of the year, though…

The Ramblers’ ‘Sparrow Song’ towards Christmas signalled a horrendous start of songs featuring cute kids, culminating in the next year’s mind-numbing number one by St Winifred’s School Choir. I also loathed Lena Martell’s big hit ‘One Day at a Time’ but not all cheese leaves a nasty, mould-ridden taste in the mouth. Dollar were borne out of the crap vocal group Guys and Dolls but David van Day and Thereza Bazar were to release a string of singles in the late ‘70s and, when Trevor Horn assumed control, the early ‘80s. A good-looking couple, but Bazar’s feather-light voice wasn’t really up to much; it didn’t seem to hold them back. As for the music, it wasn’t their most successful, but I had a sneaking regard for their 1979 effort, ‘Who Were You With in the Moonlight’.

It was also the year when ABBA blotted their copybook by releasing ‘I Have a Dream’. For all their amazing back catalogue, I suppose they are allowed one dodgy moment. The simple ballad is OK but once the dreaded school choir kicks in, my patience checks out. 1979 was also unusual given that the Swedes failed to clock a single UK chart-topper. ‘Chiquitita’ came mighty close and is now one of my favourites.

Under 1978, I raved about the Electric Light Orchestra. It’s not that they were top of my list at the time but nostalgia and age has boosted their appeal. In ’79, their album ‘Discovery’ was the second biggest seller, including ‘The Diary of Horace Wimp’. Not one of the most famous ELO songs, but I love it. A silly story, but lovely melody and orchestral arrangements, and the vocoder is used cleverly as a rhythm machine. That autumn, ‘Don’t Bring Me Down’ peaked at a very respectable three and consisted of much ‘E’ but no ‘O’. A rock number, allowing Bev Bevan to thrash the drumkit at live shows, I quite liked it, despite the string section’s sabbatical. For all the great Seventies singles, and a few more in 1981, it is painful to recall that ELO’s only chart-topper was the feeble ‘Xanadu’ with Olivia Newton-John in 1980. The least said about that, the better. 

Violins and cellos are all very well, but sounded prehistoric in comparison with a record which captured the imagination in the summer of ’79, much as ‘I Feel Love’ had done a few years previously. Back then we were amidst a feeding frenzy of sci-fi blockbusters like the original ‘Star Wars’ and ‘Star Trek movies. Then, as if beamed down from another galaxy, appeared on our TV screens The Tubeway Army. Dressed like Kraftwerk and with a voice akin to a part-alien David Bowie, front man Gary Numan invaded the charts with banks of synthesisers so that pop would never be the same again. At least he also had the foresight to include a few drums and guitars to placate the awe-struck earthlings. ‘Are Friends Electric?’ even had a quizzical title, suggesting an affirmative response was in order. Two years before, The Carpenters had charted with the epic ‘Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft’. Now we knew the result. It was Numan who had - to paraphrase the lyric - been observing our earth, wanting to make a contact with us. 

The song was all so epic, yet futuristic. In fact, Numan WAS the future. I loved it and, despite those booming synth chords, I feel it has stood the test of time. Its sample even helped launch the Sugababes' career two decades later. Numan went solo for the follow-up single ‘Cars’ which was number one just before I left Billericay for Exeter. Used for so many adverts in the intervening years, it feels as if it has never been away. Other hit records followed but none had the impact of the first. It paved the way for a new electronic era in pop which caught hold in the Eighties, a decade which was suddenly upon us…