1992 – Walking 'round the room singing Stormy Weather

This was one of those marking-time kind of years. The first of many ‘restructurings’ at the BBC did at least benefit me but what of personal matters? Now, in my thirties, I was wondering where life was taking me. Still no girlfriend, but surely I was at an age where settling down should be, at the very least, on the horizon. Yet I was still living with the parents. It wasn’t just the Queen having a kind of ‘annus horribilis’. Meanwhile I was desperately, clinging on to the last vestiges of youth with Billericay Rotaract, grasping at those opportunities to dance, opportunities I’d always spurned as a teenager, refusing to countenance even the micro-thought of attending a school disco at the Mayflower.

I did revert to holidaying solo. In July I took a coach trip to what was then still Czechoslovakia, then in September embarked on the first of several rail-based B&B weeks around Britain, beginning with Edinburgh, my first traversing of the Anglo-Scottish border.

It was hardly a vintage twelve months for music so unsurprisingly. I don’t recall music playing much of a role in either vacation. Actually, there’s one exception. When walking around Prague, soaking up the sunshine and sights, I was diverted by the incongruous sound of rock music filling the Old Town Square. Surely it should be a Baroque string quartet? A Smetana symphony? Approaching the centre of the square I realised it was a bunch of youngsters from, of all places, Shrewsbury School! The song they played, which I remember to this day, was ‘Everything About You’, which Ugly Kid Joe had recently taken to the top three. I’d liked the song, and the boys were pretty good, too.

It’s a simple slice of Californian rock but for a cool vibe there wasn’t anything cooler than Arrested Development’s ‘People Everyday’. For some reason I’ve never fathomed, the title is flipped around from the phrase actually sung; that is, “everyday people”. Whatever. It shuffled effortlessly to number two in November. There was more to come with the snappier ‘Mr Wendal’ some months later but I don’t remember anything else from them at all.

There was plenty of long male hair floating around. Axl Rose mixed strutting around the stage and caressing the keyboards with a couple of very popular rock ballads. ‘November Rain’ definitely showed Guns ‘n’ Roses’ sensitive side, then they gave a Bob Dylan classic a heavy makeover. By ’92, the band were one of the biggest on the planet and pretty much top of the bill at the Freddie Mercury Tribute concert at Wembley where this memorable performance of ‘Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door’ was recorded

Curtis Stigers was touted as the new Michael Bolton; flowing brown locks rather than hideous mullet. A better soul voice, in my opinion, but I still wasn’t fussed on the songs ‘I Wonder Why’ and ‘You’re All That Matters to Me’. Then there was Charles, or was it Eddie? Whichever? As a pair, Charles and Eddie had one of the year’s biggest hits with their debut single, ‘Would I Lie to You?’. It had a pleasant Sixties soul sound, with a Smokey Robinson-like lead vocal by Eddie (or was it Charles?), an unfussy production and the benefit of being a much better song than anything by Stigers or Bolton. The world’s worst hairstyle in 1992 must have been that of Billy Ray Cyrus. Fittingly, perhaps, as his ‘Achy Breaky Heart’ just made me ache to break his neck.

Bono’s hair was less lank and mullet than in the Joshua Tree era but amongst the several singles from the Achtung Baby production line came what must be the finest ballad from U2, and maybe anyone, in the Nineties. ‘One’ was the track which determined that I bought the album. On first hearing, I thought it was an instant classic, destined to be the biggest seller for years. And yet it peaked at a disappointing seven in March. It puzzled me then, and it puzzles me still. The album version is much longer than that featured in the Anton Corbijn video and frankly, could easily drift on for another three minutes without boring me – and, believe me, I have a low boredom threshold.

At the same time, the chart was dominated by another slowie, by Shakespear’s Sister. ‘Stay’ was number one for eight long weeks, a melodramatic two-hander performed by ex-Bananarama Siobhan Fahey and Marcella Detroit. The latter’s pure soprano sang the main melody and chorus while a scarily Goth-ified Fahey did the low register bits, and the formula certainly worked. For all Stay’s longevity, one of its follow-ups, ‘Hello (Turn On Your Radio On)’ also worked its spell on me. For both songs, I was also encouraged by the pair’s readiness to sing live on shows such as TOTP, even though Stay’s Goth video was played to death. Fahey’s witch-like image was apparently not restricted to her make-up and clothes. The following year she sacked Detroit without actually telling her.

One of my favourites from 1992 was another creepy song, this time ‘Hazard’ from American Richard Marx. The creepiness stems not from the singer’s visage but the mysterious lyrics. It’s a gorgeous lilting melody but the subject-matter begs you to listen to the words. Did the boy kill Mary? If innocent, why was he hounded out of town? The video added to the suspense, but the lyrics do rather suggest Marx’s protagonist was the victim of mistaken identity:-

                                    “I swear I left her by the river.

                                    I swear I left her safe and sound”

We are left to make up our own minds. Whatever the verdict, it’s refreshing to hear a hit record which makes you think and not just listen ambiently or dance.

Another surprise hit with intriguing lyrics was Marc Almond’s cover of an old Sixties song, ‘The Days of Pearly Spencer’. The sudden crashing transition from string-driven rhythm to melancholy minor chord finale seems unnecessarily blunt but I’ve always been a fan of Almond’s voice. Stripped of the Soft Cell New Romantic baggage, he has always been a brilliant pop soul singer, capable of sounding modern yet breathing new theatrical life into older material like Jacques Brel’s ‘Jacky’, ‘Something’s Gotten Hold of My Heart’ and, for that matter, ‘The Days of Pearly Spencer’ itself.

Another unexpected chart-topper which I enjoyed was Tamsin Archer’s ‘Sleeping Satellite’. Promoted from backing vocalist status, the Yorkshire-born singer really shone with this paeon to astronauts and the moon. Her 1993 Brit award recognised her as breakthrough act but unfortunately it didn’t lead to greater things.

By way of contrast, a decade after their demise, Abba were back! Sort of. In June, Erasure went straight in at the top with their 4-track EP ‘Abba-esque’. Not only did it bring them their only number one single, but it also kept Mariah Carey and Nick Berry off the top. Yesss! Double whammy! The Essex duo’s hilarious homage to the Swedes’ ‘Take a Chance on Me’ helped keep them at the summit for five weeks. Not their best record, but undoubtedly entertaining. And who knew that Vince Clarke would make such a convincing Agnetha?! And what did Sweden think of these cover versions? Well, their shoppers kept the EP at number one for six weeks, so who says they don’t have a sense of humour? 

Not to be outdone, the Australian Abba tribute group, Bjorn Again had their cheeky revenge by releasing their own EP, entitled ‘Erasure-ish’. Sadly, it only reached 25 over here, but it gave the likes of ‘Stop’ and ‘Give a Little Respect’ a Seventies mini-skirt and platforms makeover. I saw Bjorn Again in concert at Shepherds Bush Empire some years later and have to say they were wonderful. I never got the chance to see the originals on stage. However, when the audience are in on the joke, the tongue-in-cheek but genuinely fond impressions of the legendary Swedes were hugely enjoyable, and they are more than useful singers and musicians, too.

Whether all this fun and games whetted the appetite for the real thing, I’m not sure, but Abba released their definitive greatest hits compilation Gold in September, it sold well but not spectacularly. Nevertheless, It now ranks as the second biggest selling album in UK history. Abba will never go out of style. 

Jimmy Nail’s stock was also riding high. Keen to avoid typecasting as the rugged Geordie, thick but with a heart of gold, he had transformed himself into the rugged Geordie, intelligent with a heart of gold, in the title role of BBC1’s detective series Spender. He became a bit of a sex symbol, so inevitably he chose this point to revive his dormant singing career. Perfect timing! ‘Ain’t No Doubt’ followed ‘Abbaesque’ to number one. I confess it wasn’t for me, unlike Spender, which at the time set a high standard for all future moody, flawed but brilliant detective TV series to aspire to.

’92 was also the year when Crowded House stamped their mark on me. I’d known ‘Don’t Dream it’s Over’, of course, but when ‘Weather With You’ broke into the top ten, I recognised their true talent. It wasn’t just the lilting melody and the uplifting chorus; I also loved the intriguing lyrics like

                        “There’s a small boat made of china

                        It’s going nowhere on the mantelpiece”

I didn’t buy the Woodface CD (shame!) but did hire it from the library, to discover more great tracks like ‘Fall at Your Feet’ and ‘Four Seasons in One Day’. Neil and Tim Finn certainly had a way with words, harmonies and memorable ballads, wrapped up in unfussy production. Mere OBEs don’t do them justice.

In contrast, there were some truly awful records being played constantly that year. I’ve mentioned the ‘Achy Breaky Heart’ abomination, but I also detested the re-release of the Freddie Mercury/Monserrat Caballe operatic epic ‘Barcelona’. The BBC’s coverage of the Olympics from that city meant it was on air ad infinitum. I described Madonna’s ‘This Used to be my Playground’ as a “dreadfully boring ballad” and Eric Clapton’s ‘Tears in Heaven’ and Michael Jackson’s vomit-inducing Christmas hit ‘Heal the World’ were so coated in sugar, there was nothing worth listening to in the centre.

Yet none of these compared to the year’s biggest-seller. It wasn’t that Whitney Houston’s ‘I Will Always Love You’ was a dreadful song. It wasn’t. And, of course, Whitney’s interpretation of Dolly Parton’s composition was stunning. It’s just that the whole romance of the thing, the ‘Bodyguard’ brand marketing, turned my stomach. Even now I find it a tough listen. When I went to see the West End musical version of The Bodyguard’, starring the brilliant Beverly Knight, I was probably the only one on the audience not to be crying buckets when Beverly belted out the big number.

Moving hastily back to the good stuff, as The B-52s would have it in 1992. My 1991 obituary for the passing of decent dance music turned out to be a tad premature. For starters, Dr Alban’s ‘It’s My Life’ was a huge Euro disco hit, and for obvious reasons. I’d never heard of him before but the Nigerian-born Swedish DJ/producer had already become successful on the continent. After ‘It’s My Life’, that success continued, but not over here. I thought Snap! would be pretty much a one-hit wonder but that had been just an appetiser for ‘Rhythm is a Dancer’.

The words weren’t important, of course. Nor, in truth, were the vocals – perfectly adequate though they were – of Thea Austin and rapper Turbo B. It was all about the synthesizer riff. As an intro, it was reminiscent of a bugle call to arms, only this time hailing the hordes on to the dance floor. It worked. Unlike many big Euro dance tracks, ‘Rhythm is a Dancer’ had the structure of any good pop record: a proper start, middle and finish, although this didn’t necessarily work for DJs trying to incorporate the ‘boof, boof’ finale while segue-ing into the next record. Anyway, only Whitney’s hit outsold it that year in the UK.

It wasn’t just about Swedish and German electronica, though. Britain was producing some great Euro-sounding dance music, too. Once pigeonholed as rave acts, some were really crossing over into the pop world without really compromising their dance reputations.

For years, I imagined Felix to be some anonymous figure toiling from a soundproofed chalet studio deep in the Westphalian forest but apparently he hailed from Chelmsford! His enduring anthem ‘Don’t You Want Me’ has been remixed at frequent intervals but why mess with the original in the first place?

The Utah Saints created some top tunes with the help of creative sampling of well-known voices. The best example was ‘Something Good’, which flew to four in the summer. So smart was the sample of the ”I knew that something good was going to happen” line that I didn’t realise it came from Kate Bush’s ‘Cloudbusting’, hence the ghostly images of Kate’s 1987 video amidst the Saints’ own promo. The band was unusual in that they could actually perform live rather than just twiddle a few knobs on a synth and wave their arms around.

And then there were The Shamen. For starters, they had the – for me - attractive propensity to sing live on TOTP. This was pretty much unheard of for a techno-dance act, either before or since, and first surfaced on the previous autumn’s top fiver, ‘Move Any Mountain’. They originated in Scotland, but the rapper Mr C brought a touch of London street ‘bantah’ and a DJ-land credibility to their sound. Everything came together in September, when ‘Ebenezer Goode’ leapt to the top of the singles chart.

It wasn’t merely a cracking track to dance to. It had a unique quality to it, perhaps best illustrated by Mr C’s opening lines:-

                        “Naughty, naughty, very naughty

                        Ha ha ha ha ha”

It was indeed very naughty. The “Es are good, Es are good” chorus obviously extolled the virtues of the drug du jour, Ecstasy, which did result in the single being banned temporarily by the Beeb. However, as I imagined The Beatles did a quarter of a century earlier over ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’, The Shamen and their record company must have had their fingers tightly crossed behind their backs when insisting that the song was really about a shady club underworld character! See what I mean?

“He takes you to the top, shakes you all around
Then back down, you know as he gets mellow”

Anyway, there was sufficient lyrical ambiguity to let them off the hook, and ‘Ebenezer Goode’ proceeded to sell almost 300,000 copies before being prematurely deleted after about six weeks! It stayed in the clubs much longer.

Dance still wasn’t dead by the following year but, thanks to a male vocal quintet from the North West, the UK pop music axis was swiftly shifting.

1991 – All bound for Mu-Mu land

Strife was still bubbling around the world in 1991. The break-up of Communist Eastern Europe hadn’t settled revolutionary fervour. In June, Slovenia and Croatia broke away from Yugoslavia, laying the foundations for the appalling war there in the following few years. President Gorbachev survived a coup in the Soviet Union but, understandably fearing for his life and opting for a quieter (and more lucrative) retirement, finally jacked it in at Christmas. But the worst violence was the preserve of a UK-US alliance.

Operation Desert Storm began on 16^th January, heralding six weeks of carnage as our forces blitzed Iraq to rubble in retaliation for the invasion of Kuwait. Talking of slaughter, Iron Maiden made the cunning and cheeky calculated move of releasing ‘Bring Your Daughter to the Slaughter’ at the perfect time to displace holier-than-thou Cliff Richard from the number one spot in the New Year. While they didn’t stay at the top for the Iraq War, the hostilities were instead accompanied by the rise of Enigma’s contrasting ‘Sadness Part 1’!

Metal tracks rarely registered with me, but several monsters did register in the upper echelons of the chart. In January, Queen channelled their inner Led Zep in their six-minute single ‘Innuendo’, crashing straight in at number one. At the time, I described it as “such a slovenly mish-mash of HM posturing, flamenco guitar (!) and sub-Bohemian Rhapsody effects”. In many ways my contemporaneous opinion still holds water, but I might now replace the word ‘slovenly’ with ‘oddly appealing’! 

It certainly wasn’t the best year for the band, but then Freddie Mercury’s health, like their music, was in rapid decline. I was shocked to see Freddie’s skeletal appearance in the video for the awful ‘I’m Going Slightly Mad’, and so the news of his death in November from “an AIDS-related illness” came as no surprise. Neither did the consequent surge to the Christmas number one slot of a re-released ‘Bo-Rhap’, twinned with the new and grossly inferior ‘These Are the Days of Our Lives’. When the following Easter, Mercury’s life and music were celebrated in a Wembley fundraising mega-concert, it was only fitting that ‘Innuendo’ was sung by Led Zep’s Robert Plant.

Metallica also featured heavily in that show but at the time their brand of chugging guitar rock in hits like ‘Enter Sandman’ wasn’t to my taste. The same went for Nirvana, whose sensational ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ assaulted the top ten in November. It was another year or two before I came to appreciate Kurt Cobain et al and buy not one, but two Nirvana albums – and then he went and shot himself…. I like to think the two events are unconnected.

U2 went ‘Rock’ in the autumn, too. Releasing ‘The Fly’, they announced it would be available for three weeks only. Would it have topped the chart otherwise? Maybe, but it ranks as one of my favourite U2 tracks of all time, from one of my favourite albums by any artist, Achtung Baby. This also kicked off the band’s predilection for extravagantly-staged multimedia event shows, beginning with the ZooTV tour in 1992-93. I just wish I’d grabbed the opportunity to see it for myself instead of just on video. 

It was another good year for the rock ballad. Guns ‘n’ Roses seemed more appropriate interpreters of ‘Live and Let Die’ than Paul McCartney ever did, while Extreme temporarily went acoustic for the memorable romantic number two song ‘More Than Words’.  1991 also saw German behemoth band The Scorpions go global with the stirring power ballad ‘Wind of Change’.

Of course, I had never heard of them, but this record was to become one of the world’s biggest-selling singles in history, not just in Germany. Forever associated with the country’s reunification – and a million times better than David Hasselhoff’s crass, but for some reason hugely popular ‘Freedom’ – it was actually written about the fragile political situation in the Soviet Union. Yet the precise political inspiration behind the song is unimportant; it just works wonders as a glorious emotional ode to the human spirit.

However, where sales are concerned, it paled into insignificance compared with the UK’s biggest seller of 1991. Following the previous year’s Ghost supremacy, it was the turn of Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves to attract hordes into cinemas and enjoy Kevin Costner and his Merrie Men fight in the forest and ultimately kill Alan Rickman’s gloriously over-the-top Sheriff. From the film came Bryan Adams’ even more all-conquering track ‘Everything I Do I Do It For You’. It was number one for an unbelievable sixteen weeks, spanning July to October. For all its irritating longevity, it remains one of the all-time best movie love songs, perfectly structured with its piano intro, climactic crescendo then final breakdown. I wasn’t aware at the time, but the incessantly-broadcast Julien Temple video was mostly filmed not in glamorous California but in little ol’ West Somerset. Take a bow, Kilve beach.

In the days before she sold her songs to some of the biggest stars on the planet, Norwich’s Cathy Dennis enjoyed a modest solo career of her own. Her dance tunes were instantly forgettable but I have fond memories of the less successful ballad ‘Too Many Walls’. Terry Wogan seemed impressed, too! 

I’ve never liked Spandau Ballet’s over-rated ‘True’, but I have to admit the simple guitar motif sounds much better on PM Dawn’s ‘Set Adrift on Memory Bliss’. Another American hip-hop single which effortlessly evokes the emotions of West Coast sultry dog days was ‘Summertime’ by Jazzie Jeff and the Fresh Prince. I never watched the latter’s Bel Air sitcom but Will Smith was a rapper I could listen to. Occasionally. 

From hip-hop to trip-hop. I suppose it got its name from mixing hip-hop and Acid House beats and 1991 gave us one of the best examples in the form of Massive Attack’s ‘Unfinished Sympathy’. With its sumptuous strings, minor synth chords, Shara Nelson’s soulful vocals and the ‘heyyy hey-hey heyyy’s, together with the groundbreaking single-shot video in non-descript LA, it all felt so American; yet it was a very British, ney Bristolian, production. Seal was another domestic star with a transatlantic sound. His biggest hit ‘Crazy’ went silver early in the year, making him more than just ‘that bloke with the facial scars who sings on Adamski’s ‘Killer’’. Like ‘Unfinished Sympathy’, it possesses a smooth, chilled, almost ambient style. Not quite a ballad, not quite pure dance, not quite a political statement, it nonetheless successfully fused elements of all three, and it was one of my favourites of ’91. 

Trip-hop was also to the fore in the work of the most successful, possibly the weirdest and definitely the most controversial singles artists of the year. The KLF wasn’t the first project created by thirty-somethings Jimmy Cauty and A&R man Bill Drummond. They had already topped the chart as The Timelords but in 1991 they blew us away with something very different.

The coming together of hip-hop, trance, soul and a punkish attitude was altogether too much for me at the time. When ‘3am Eternal’ went to number one in February, I described it as “awful claptrap”. Kind of Snap! meets The Prodigy meets The Clash. What was all this nonsense about The Justified Ancients? MuMu Land? I never understood it then and I still don’t. ‘Last Train to Trancentral’ was more of the same but, when they flew to number two in December, I began to appreciate their music a bit more. ‘Justified and Ancient’ must go down as one of the most bizarre collaborations in pop history, marrying Drummond’s offbeat take on music with the country legend Tammy Wynette!  How did that happen? Well, according to the lyric: 

“They called me up in Tennessee
They said "Tammy, stand by The Jams"
But if you don't like what they're going to do,
You better not stop them 'cause they're coming through” 

Apparently Drummond was a Country fan. Whatever. It was a chart-topper in eighteen countries and refreshed the career of Wynette, introducing her to a whole new generation of listeners and rave-goers for whom breakbeats and wacky lyrics (“They’re justified and they’re ancient And they drive an ice cream van”. I mean, really?!). And that proved to be their final single. Their outlandish thrash metal performance of ‘3am Eternal’, climaxing with Drummond firing a machine gun at the incredulous audience of suited and booted record industry execs at the 1992 Brit Award ceremony, proved to be a dramatic suicide note for the duo’s musical life.  

Many artists have proclaimed they are the people to revolutionise the music business, overthrow the status quo and go out on a high. The KLF are the only ones who succeeded, if only for one year. They proceeded to delete their entire back catalogue and move into arthouse territory, culminating in the public burning of a million pounds. Did they make a statement? Oh yes. That Drummond and Cauty were a couple of obnoxious mad numpties with more money than sense.  Mind you, I believe their subversive anarchistic attitude hasn’t extended to a boycott of Spotify, and 2017 saw them dip a toe back into the public eye..

Speaking as I was of The Clash, the veteran punk rockers finally hit the top with Mick Jones’ ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go?’, thanks to Levi’s latest TV ad campaign. Not, in my view, their finest musical moment. I much preferred the rawer Strummer sound of ‘Rock the Casbah’, the re-release of which peaked at a mere fifteen. Not quite ‘London Calling’, but in the aftermath of the first Gulf War, it had an apt contemporary political comment to make. 

The Sixties were re-born in the guise of Cher’s monotonous ‘Shoop Shoop Song’ (aka ‘It’s In His Kiss’), a massive hit from the ‘Mermaids’ soundtrack. The comedian Vic Reeves later teamed up with the ubiquitous folk/alt rock outfit The Wonder Stuff to update Tommy Roe’s ‘Dizzy’ while The Doors’ brooding ‘Light My Fire’ blazed into the charts on the coat-tails of Oliver Stone’s biopic of the original stoner band. I have never understood why this had failed to light up the UK charts back in ’67 but for all the media obsession with recreational drugs, the sound didn’t quite chime with the early Nineties scene. Good, though! 

I couldn’t say the same about other songs prominent that year. I really detested Crystal Waters’ ‘Gypsy Woman’, Kiri Te Kanawa’s ‘World in Union’ (part of ITV’s commercial blitz surrounding the Rugby World Cup) and The Simpsons’ ‘Do the Bartman’. Back then, Sky TV was in its infancy, with an audience still largely comprised of white van men’s families keen to adorn their terraced homes and flats with the latest hideous satellite dishes. Was I just being a snob? Most definitely. I therefore tarred the unfamiliar cartoon comedy with the same contemptuous brush. Consequently, any associated single never stood a chance with me. After The Simpsons appeared on BBC2, bringing it within my reach, I realised that instead of being brash American trash it was in fact rather brilliant, probably the funniest sitcom I’ve ever seen.

Strangely enough, it later transpired that Bart’s anthem was written by superfan Michael Jackson! He had kept it quiet so as not to interfere with the promotion of his new album Dangerous. I didn’t particularly like his number one single ‘Black or White’. I considered it ironic given that Wacko Jacko had by this time become more white than black. 

Jackson could no longer guarantee outselling everyone else; not in the UK anyway. His latest effort was easily eclipsed by an act I found it hard to like.  Simply Red’s fourth album Stars was released in September and took a grip on the album chart for well over a year, eventually selling well over 3 million copies. I wasn’t one of the buyers. Mick Hucknall may have boasted ginger hair and left-leaning politics but his brand of pop/soul wasn’t my thing at all. For me, Stars was the ultimate dinner party record. Too slow to dance to, too boring to listen to, it was fit only to play in the background while you ate and nattered, twinkling gently and inoffensively overhead while more interesting things were happening on the ground. ‘Something Got Me Started’ did at least have a bit of drive to it but the title track epitomised everything that was wrong – yet also right – about Simply Red. It was inescapable throughout December. Searching desperately for positives, I must admit it was preferable to ‘Fairground’, the group’s only number one from 1996. I hated that one! Maybe it was because I wasn’t really a dinner party person either.

MoR was beginning to grow, while Dance was starting to take itself less seriously, and not in a good way. However, there were some enjoyable tracks around. Candi Staton’s ‘You Got the Love’ was given a toe-tapping trancey update by British DJ/producer The Source. Florence and the Machine’s more recent high octane version is perhaps better known over here, and there have been other dance remixes but I still love The Source’s bubbly synths.

K-Klass went to number three with ‘Rhythm is a Mystery’, probably forgotten by everyone except me. I shamefully recall having it as an answer in a Rotaract pop quiz at the time, with only one team knowing it. I still wake up in a cold sweat remembering what a ridiculously difficult quiz I devised. Lessons were learnt, of course. They never let me fly solo writing all the questions again, and rightly so.

Now for the sillier songs. Oceanic’s ‘Insanity’ sold surprisingly well, its House piano bed and catchy chorus making it a popular party anthem before the term was ever used. It also helped to have your act name beginning with the number two. 2 in a Room’s ‘Wiggle It’ and 2 Unlimited’s ‘Get Ready For This’ were great for Rotaract discos – and were indeed played at quite a few! - but not much else.

I tend to think of Erasure as an Eighties band, but they probably enjoyed more success in the Nineties than they did in the previous ten years. In ’91, ‘Chorus’ was the biggest hit but the more memorable one was ‘Love to Hate You’. Not so keen on the echoes of ‘I Will Survive’ but otherwise definitely one for dancing to. REM first appeared on my radar, too. Not their utterly brilliant ‘Losing My Religion’, but the top-tenner ‘Shiny Happy People’. Back then, Michael Stipe could actually pass for being of a sunny disposition!

Later I would ponder on the likelihood of the song being about something far more miserable and depressing. Yet the lyrics are simply full of ‘happy’s. Lots of them. Speaking of misery, Morrissey’s fave Manchester band (apparently) and one-time ‘baggies’, James, took ‘Sit Down' to number two, with a gloriously upbeat rhythm and vocal. Yet its theme was supposedly that of mental illness. In the words of Kurt Cobain: oh, well, whatever, never mind! It became a song we could enjoy at discos while, well, sitting down. Also Tim Booth was to become one of my favourite singers.

Some front men and women have truly amazing voices. I’m thinking Freddie Mercury, Karen Carpenter, Elvis Presley, Roy Orbison. Others are memorable for being uniquely bizarre: I give you Kate Bush, Noddy Holder, Rod Stewart. However, Booth comes into the category of just sounding wonderful for no apparent reason whatsoever. James didn’t quite repeat the success of ‘Sit Down’ but the follow-ups and his occasional appearances on 'Later… with Jools Holland' cemented Tim Booth’s as one of my all-time top voices.

There was plenty of sex in the charts and on TOTP. Color Me Badd wanted to sex me up while Salt n’ Pepa insisted: ‘Let’s Talk about Sex’. No, let’s not! However, one of the most entertaining three minutes of music came courtesy of a camp couple of Putney gym club owners with little hair but a twinkle in the eye. Richard Fairbrass had you from the unaccompanied baritone monotone opening lines:-

“I'm too sexy for my love
Too sexy for my love
Love's going to leave me”

And just kept going! Even the band’s name, Right Said Fred, possessed just the right sense of fun and comedic nostalgia, while ‘I’m Too Sexy’ was one of the rare tracks you could jig along to with a stupid grin on your face. Bryan Adams kept it at number two for a record-equalling six weeks but it outsold all but three singles in the UK and even scooped an Ivor Novello songwriting award. I suspect that was merited by one of the finest finales of any song ever. It simply ends with:

“I’m too sexy for this song”.

That’s all, folks! It had ‘one-hit wonder’ stamped all over it and yet for all its novelty value, ‘I’m Too Sexy’ was not the beginning and end of RSF’s musical career. I actually preferred the Christmas follow-up, ‘Don’t Talk, Let’s Kiss’ while the following Spring, ‘Deeply Dippy’ presented them with a number one success, and a second Ivor Novello. But it was the first single which remains unforgettable. Let’s face it, we’ve all strutted around the living room singing “I’m too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts”, haven’t we. Haven’t we? Oh, maybe it’s just me then, but I don’t care.

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.