2011 Onwards: When my hair's all but gone and my memory fades

Once I reached my 50^th year, I succumbed to the scourge of senescence and gave up for good any attempt to keep up with the charts and note down the top four singles as I had done assiduously since 1973. Top of the Pops had long gone, barring the occasional one-off Steve Wright-narrated TOTP2 retrospectives, and I rarely listened to the radio.

Moving in with Angie in September 2012 made little difference to my exposure to contemporary music as we both eschewed the likes of digital networks such Capital or Kiss in favour of the Cardiff-based Nation Radio. Whilst rock-oriented, with a patriotic inclination towards the Manics, ‘Phonics and Catatonia, Nation does feature some new stuff, including ballads. However, ‘Urban’ genres such as hip-hop or grime and the pure teen pop of 1D and Little Mix are mercifully missing. 

However, the down side is that on the rare occasions when music appear on mainstream TV, I find myself tuning into my parents or grandparents by expressing my total ignorance of most artists. Take recent Brits nominees. Skepta. Huh? J-Hus. Who? Anohni? What? Dua Lipa? Is that just an anagram? Yet these are the Seals, Sinead O’Connors, Kate Bushes and the Bowies of modern times. And times change. It’s just that there comes a point when you suddenly realise that you no longer have to change with them. At least, not at the same rate.

The antipathy I feel towards much of ‘new’ music is very likely purely an age thing, and it helps drive me to the security blanket of nostalgia. My default listening has become oldies station Dragon Radio, the Greatest Hits CD or those ‘3 discs for a tenner’ compilations you buy at motorway service stations, play in the car and forever skip tracks until you find one you recognise. It’s usually Black Sabbath’s ‘Paranoid’ or Golden Earring’s ‘Radar Love’.

Yet it’s not all livin’ in the past. There remain songs which lodge in the memory, just as there always were. Some good, some dire. And there have been a fair few prompting me to reach for the sick bag. The Lumineers’ ‘Ho Hey’, James Bay’s ‘Hold Back the River’ and Wiz Khalifa’s repetitive ‘Black and Yellow’ spring readily to mind. One Direction and their subsequent solo stuff obviously weren’t intended to appeal to a 50-something, and neither was Rizzle Kicks’ ‘Do the Mama Hump’. Just as well! I can’t stand Mumford and Sons’ modern take on diddly-diddly Country and, despite the quality of ‘Take Me Home’, for some reason I can’t get on with Jess Glynne’s voice.

In 2011, Jessie J promised much. A British pretender to the throne of Gaga, Perry and Pink, she and her fierce fringe delivered the dubious ‘Do It Like a Dude’, followed by the altogether more inclusive slow-beat hip-hop of ‘Price Tag’. I’m not totally convinced that she was in the business purely “to make the world dance”; her ship jumping from The Voice UK to the more lucrative X Factor certainly stank of bling and ker-ching!

Lana Del Ray’s Gothic melodrama of ‘Born to Die’ was another in my credit column, while Christine Perri’s ‘Jar of Hearts’ also turned melancholy and heartache into a successful single. Lorde’s stripped back ‘Royals’ sounded very different, and Gotye’s genre-defying million-seller ‘Somebody That I Used to Know’ enjoyed mass appeal despite being impossible to dance to.

2012 was the year of Diamond Jubilees and the London Olympics. Both sought to capitalise on British musical pedigree with multi-artist performances. The gig outside Buckingham Palace was fairly forgettable but the Olympic Closing Ceremony spared no superstar on the bill. Yet for all the much-lauded appearances of The Spice Girls, The Who, McCartney and an underwhelming George Michael, the artist I still associate with the Stratford stadium event is Emeli Sande. Amidst all the Olympics tracks flooding the charts in August, it was her breathtaking rendition of ‘Read All About It' which lingers more vividly.

Like London mayor Boris Johnson - but without the hypocrisy - Sande peaked at the perfect time to reap the rewards of a billion-plus global audience, tuned in already a-glow with the heat generated by a hugely heart-warming fortnight of sport. Her album Our Version of Events was the biggest selling in UK for 2012 and the second-biggest the following year. Her duet with Labrinth, ‘Beneath Your Beautiful’ (that’s the official spelling, not a typo) was another triumph but, for all her 2016 comeback ballyhoo and consequent Brit award, I fear she left it too late to carry that public love into the second half of the decade.

The other insurmountable barrier is that she isn’t Adele.

I must confess that when Adele released the first single of her album 21 it left me underwhelmed. ‘Rolling in the Deep’ was a change from her ballads but its upbeat gospelly sound wasn’t really up my alley and it peaked at two. However, in the States it made her a massive star, selling squillions. What transformed Ms Adkins into a UK icon was her heart-melting performance of ‘Someone Like You’, accompanied only by a piano, at the O2 Brits ceremony in 2011.

I didn’t watch the broadcast. However, there couldn’t be anyone who hasn’t seen it since who wasn’t utterly, utterly captivated by the delivery and genuine tears shed by Adele at the end. The single promptly rocketed from 46 to 1 in the chart, becoming the biggest seller of the year and exploding the album into record-breaking territory. Even I felt a lump in my throat.

I also loved the piano intro and verse to ‘Set Fire to the Rain’ although it failed to make the top ten here. Meanwhile, the Yanks couldn’t get enough of her. What won me over was her concert from the Royal Albert Hall. Her folksy ord’nary-girl-from-London charisma and natural interaction with friends and mates in the audience were nothing like anything I’d seen from a major artist. In a local pub perhaps, but not an illustrious venue like the Albert Hall! Her emotional, sometimes potty-mouthed, links between songs demonstrated why so many people can relate to her and the way she channelled life experiences into music. I dare you to listen to her introduction to ‘Someone Like You’ and not be spellbound. And she sure knows how to ‘phrase’ those lyrics, too, probably her greatest asset when singing live or on record.

Since those heady days of 2011, Adele’s blazing success has been undimmed. It’s a relief, too, that she hasn’t been forced to conform to the traditional Hollywood Size Zero stereotype. I’m not a huge fan of her music; the sequence of impassioned, poignant ballads is becoming a bit tedious, too one-paced for me. Nevertheless she remains a beacon of homegrown talent and has more X Factor than any act churned out of Simon Cowell’s assembly line. 

It hasn’t just been soul giants like Adele or teen fodder like Shawn Mendes releasing ballads. Even Will.I.Am and Fergie showed their sensitive sides on ‘Just Can’t Get Enough’ I’m not sure whether it counts as a ballad but Coldplay’s ‘Paradise’ has burrowed deep into my musical psyche more than any other in recent years. On first hearing it sounded a bit old-fashioned, maybe a bit over-produced. It was seeing the video following a man dressed as a joke elephant escaping London Zoo, taking the Tube to Heathrow, then flying to Africa to meet up his family on the plains which made me fall in love with the record. And Chris Martin as unicyclist. Who knew?! It took a while to reach the summit of the singles chart, just after Christmas 2011, but I still love the dramatic synth chords, the inevitable “wooh-oo-wooh”s, seductive string sections and that triumphant chorus and guitar solo. Those ingredients which at first seemed to make an unappetising stew, now combine to serve up a 21^st century gourmet classic.

As must be apparent, I do have a high regard for melodic synth pop. Since the heyday of Depeche Mode, Human League et al, it has been in relatively short supply so when something breaks through the twenty-first century genre barrier, I raise a brave cheer or three. La Roux did it in 2009 then in 2015 it was the turn of Years and Years. They also topped the chart briefly with the excellent ‘King’. I adore the Mediterranean flute-like motif running through the track, which bounds along beautifully throughout.

When it comes to ubiquity in the last few years, few can match Pharrell Williams. Already in his forties, the former ‘Neptune’ and media all-rounder wrote, produced and sang lead vocals on no fewer than three million-selling singles in under two years. Not even Lennon or McCartney in their heyday could claim such an achievement. The first was the toe-tapper ‘Get Lucky’ the second the toe-curler ‘Blurred Lines’. ‘Get Lucky’ was officially a Daft Punk record but it’s Pharrell’s falsetto and in particular Nile Rodgers’ Chic-ish disco guitar which appealed to me and a legion of downloaders and streamers. Even I could have a go at dad-dancing to this at a family wedding. On the other hand, the collaboration with Robin Thicke on ‘Blurred Lines’ was a different kettle of (rotten) fish and, while undeniably catchy, Williams' ‘Happy’ - one of the very short list of singles shifting more than 2 million in the UK - makes me rather less than happy; irritated, not happy.

Up to 2012, if I had told anyone I’d like anything by an outfit called Swedish House Mafia they would be at liberty to refer me to mental health services. Failing that, to shoot me! I was unfamiliar with the electro trio’s earlier stuff but they finally registered with me thanks to ‘Don’t You Worry Child’. I know I’m probably in a minority here but I love the production, building from the understated opening guitar riff through John Martin’s wistful verse to the anthemic chorus.

By way of contrast, some of my musical exposure in recent years has been influenced by the arrival in my life of Angie’s grand-daughter Millee-Rae. Always a chatty soul, I’d no inkling of her affection for pop music until, at the age of two, she started singing along during a car journey to Angie’s Sam Smith CD. But, Millee, why did you have to choose the execrable ‘Stay With Me’? I can’t abide Smith’s white soul-boy songs. Yes, he has a super smooth tenor voice but that high-pitched whine sounds so depressing.

As for Millee, her affections transferred to Meghan Trainor’s ‘All About the Bass, ‘Let It Go’ from the Disney blockbuster Frozen, Pink's 'What About Us?' and Sia’s ‘Cheap Thrills’. Maybe our Millmeister is developing some good taste as she matures, because I quite like it, too. Uncomplicated pure pop with the now-commonplace Latin chonk-a-chonk-chonk beat, aligned with Sean Paul’s ‘featured’ but totally unnecessary vocals, it’s a song that can do no wrong. It’s hard to stop myself from joining in with the verse:- 

Gotta do my hair, put my make up on
It's Friday night and I won't be long

Til I hit the dance floor
Hit the dance floor

   

But stop I must….

The veteran Aussie singer is leading the way for the females but it’s the men who have come to the fore in recent years. Casting aside the likes of 1D and Justin Bieber – preferably over a steep cliff into shark-infested waters – a raft of male singer-songwriters has emerged to critical and market acclaim.

In 2013, in addition to the aforementioned Sam Smith and established figures like Gary Barlow and John Legend, along came Yorkshire’s John Newman (‘Love Me Again’), Chichester’s Tom Odell and fellow South Coaster Michael Rosenberg, aka Passenger. Personally I can’t stand the latter’s million-selling ‘Let Her Go’; that weedy voice goes through me like a senna enema. However, I could warm to Odell’s ‘Another Love’, even though I do feel sympathy for his piano, which receives a fearful pounding during every performance.  

A handful of outstanding baritones have also arrived on the scene. First of all, George Ezra’s cute, kooky modern folk song ‘Budapest’ deservedly went to three in the chart early in 2014. Apparently 20 year-old George had never been to the Hungarian capital but it’s a captivatingly diverting ditty delivered in a distinctive mature vocal. Ezra supported Irish singer-songwriter Hozier on his 2015 tour, a musical match made in heaven. Andrew Hozier-Byrne also made his name the previous year, thanks to the extraordinary ‘Take Me to Church’. It’s a no-holds-barred attack on the Catholic church’s antagonistic attitude towards homosexuality. With lyrics such as:-

“I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife”

it’s hardly a fun-packed four minutes, but it’s emotional stuff. Musically it’s all dramatic thunderous minor chords, suggesting the imminent arrival of the Grim Reaper rather than a global pop success. It wasn’t a number one single but only two outsold it in the UK throughout 2015, and sold millions in the States.

When in 2017 I first heard the opening bars of Rag ‘n’ Bone Man’s ‘Human’, I assumed I was hearing another Hozier gut-wrencher. I don’t suppose I was alone to be surprised at seeing the actual artist for the first time, his generous bulk and menacing beard belonging to an intimidating club bouncer or Hell’s Angel rather than a pop star. The ghostly yelps and cries backing the opening verse evoke the sound of a night in a zoo rather than a recording studio but it’s a cool, chilling and utterly compelling record.

‘Rag’, or Rory, as his Mum would no doubt call him, was kept off the top of the singles chart by the man who in the past five years has enjoyed a career trajectory most musicians can only dream about. A man who has achieved phenomenal things despite a personal attribute normally such a barrier to star status: ginger hair! I’m talking, of course, about Ed Sheeran.

In the summer of 2011, Ed’s soft yet shiny voice was always on the airwaves. On ‘A Team’, it seemed incongruously light and upbeat whilst telling the dark story of a young woman, apparently stuck in a rut of crack addiction and prostitution, gently issuing descriptive lyrics such as:-

“But lately her face seems
Slowly sinking, wasting
Crumbling like pastries”

It clearly wasn’t written as a hard-hitting and worthy ‘song with a message’, but the subtle use of melody and easily flowing production allow the song to be enjoyed first, then work as social observation. For all Ed’s subsequent work, I think his appeal is encapsulated in this debut hit.

I first saw him on telly, performing ‘A Team’ in the BBC ‘garden’ at Glastonbury that June. Accompanied only by his urgently-strummed acoustic guitar, his green polo shirt, jeans, wellies and band-bedecked wrists signified an ordinary bloke who would probably next be seen with an open guitar case at his feet in a London Underground tunnel or provincial shopping centre. An ordinary bloke, but with extraordinary talent.

I was given a CD of his first album +, which contained further atmospheric observational everyman folky ballads like ‘Lego House’ and ‘Small Bump’. but was no guarantee that such an affable, haystack-haired lad raised in rural Suffolk would become a global phenomenon and sex god. ‘Ginger hair’ and ‘sex god’ are not terms normally found in the same sentence. I should know!. It was an ultimate airy love song, ‘Thinking Out Loud’, from 'X', which cemented his position in the hearts of Brits, Yanks and music fans across the world. Like Ed himself, this was no overnight sensation either; it took 19 weeks from initial streaming release to taking its rightful place at the top of the chart and as part of our wedding dance!

Sheeran’s very ordinariness and antithesis of the standard blueprint of  music celebrity are what make him so popular with people of all ages, genders and classes. I cannot condone his declarations of love for drugs and alcohol; instead I want to love Ed for his genre-bending music and cute scruffiness, for emanating from East Anglia, beat-up brown acoustic in hand, for his unapologetic redheadedness in a world of fake blondes and fake tan. 

Moving on to 2017 and the long-awaited third album ÷ (Divide), transcended everything which had gone before. Not only did the 12-track record sell 672,000 in its first week, beaten only by Adele’s 25 and Oasis’ Be Here Now, but the release for streaming of all these tracks and four others led on 10^th March to an unprecedented domination of the singles chart by one artist. With nine of the top ten places and sixteen of the top 20, Sheeran has single-handedly destroyed the whole concept of the venerable chart as a reliable guide to what people are buying; largely because the concept of ‘buying’ itself has become total blurred.

The medium of music streaming has rendered the old format of releasing ‘singles’ totally obsolete, and now the conflict between the notions of ‘listening’ and ‘engaging’ has been raised. What should The Chart be for? For a number of years it has tried to keep up with technology by incorporating shop purchases (now very few), online downloads and streaming but it is the latter which has tipped the balance, presumably forever. It’s all crystallised in the Sheeran Supremacy of March 2017. Thanks, Ed. For nothing.

And yet this current phenomenon permits peripheral contemporary pop fans like me the potential to sample new music with just a few taps on a keyboard, pausing to try another track if I can’t ‘engage’ with the first. I have done so with ÷, thus discovering that Sheeran has perhaps over-reached himself in the peculiar rush to cover as wide a range of genres as possible on one record. As well as the seductive ‘Shape of You’ (those Latin rhythms again) and nostalgic yearning for childhood and Framlingham ‘Castle on the Hill’ (sounding like a panting Labrador racing across the fields), there’s Irish folk, Spanish fiesta, Hip-Hop, R‘n’B and, of course, a selection of more typical wistful romantic ballads.

I’d love to see Ed Sheeran or Coldplay live. However, without the right apps, motivation to ring a box office number or focus non-stop on the appropriate website, that will remain a pie-in-the-sky pipedream. Stadium tours by such big guns are, of course, not an everyday occurrence. Visiting anywhere within 100 miles of home is even rarer. Thus perusal of What’s On pages instead tends to lead my eyes towards the plethora of tribute acts or nostalgic Sixties, Seventies or Eighties concerts.

Angie and I have actually taken the plunge and bought a few tickets, albeit with mixed results. I feel privileged to have seen two of the most famous tribute bands: Bjorn Again and The Bootleg Beatles. By the time we saw the latter, on 9^th December 2012 at the St David’s Hall, Cardiff, the fake Fab Four had been active for 32 years, a career three times as long as the originals had mustered. The music is timeless (even 'Love Me Do'), of course, but the Bootlegs' all-round musicianship was also excellent, backed by a mini-orchestra for the Sergeant Pepper era segment.

They appear at the Hall every winter, as does the collective known as The Classic Rock Show. We went along in 2013 and it was another extremely enjoyable experience, this time witnessed from the stalls. The essence of the act was to reproduce faithful note-for-note a few dozen songs from the archives. Basically, anything involving legendary guitar solos (or duos) was on the setlist, from Fleetwood Mac’s ‘The Chain’ to a climactic ‘Won’t Get Fooled Again’, If there can be any criticism, it was that it was almost too perfect. 

In 2015, I was determined to experience some more live music here in Cardiff. Finding something which appealed to both of us was far from simple. However, Simple Minds and Paul Weller were each in town so I struck while the iron (and debit card) was hot. Sadly we didn’t get to see the former as Mum passed away two days earlier. The notion of enjoying a live gig in such circumstances was absurd, unthinkable. We did manage to attend Paul Weller’s performance at the Motorpoint Arena. Fortunately for me, but not for Angie, for whom the old Modmeister’s insistence on playing unfamiliar solo stuff, especially his new album tracks was met with at best indifference. At least we could all boogie down to ‘A Town Called Malice’, the show’s crowning glory and finale.

In June 2016, it was the turn of Rod Stewart. Angie’s choice, of course, but I could at least appreciate the opportunity of seeing and hearing one of the legends of my lifetime growling out his hits. His knighthood had just been announced and, while Sir Rod may not have been as good as he used to be (whaddya expect? He was 72!), his charisma was undimmed and showmanship what we expected from a man with fifty years in the business. A great night was had under the Cardiff stars.

That November, we enjoyed another shameless excursion into our past by seeing The Human League, again at the St David’s. Not quite a sell-out, but there were plenty of like-minded people my age taking their seats eager to re-live their youth in the company of Phil, Susanne and Joanne. Once we became accustomed to the sight of Mr Oakey shaven-headed, we could comfortably wallow in synth-laden nostalgia as he impressively ran through Eighties classics like 'Human', 'Louise', 'Love Action' and 'Don’t You Want Me'. Next month, local faves Stereophonics lay in wait for us.

Sadly, live music doesn’t feature strongly in my life. I missed out on the gig-going rite of passage that all teens and twenty-somethings are supposed to have undergone. I can’t claim to have seen the emergence of future stars in some London sidestreet bar, nor any epoch-defining stadium event, and it’s far too late now. Yes, there were the string of West End musicals in my Rotaract days and village hall board-treading with the QMTC, but they bore no relation to the pop and rock music closest to my heart.

And so I have to relive those heady days through the medium of CD (from Angie’s Cat Stevens and Whitney to my BritPop and New Romantics and our shared affection for Abba, Bowie and Carpenters), car radio and YouTube.  And yet, as I wrote at the very start, nostalgia still ain’t what it used to be; Nation Radio has subtly altered its strapline to ‘Nineties, Noughties and Now’, with the result that the ‘Now’ has moved more to the fore, straying into Capital territory. And not for the better. Never has my own archive delving been more heart-achingly vital but never has it been so indicative of my own inevitable ageing process. 56 isn’t old! I’m the same age as Suggs, Roland Gift, Boy George, The Edge, Daniel O’Donnell… Hang on, that last one makes me feel really old!

As has been a recurring theme of this trip down memory lane, music can spark memories of all sorts of things; places, events, random moments in my life. It can also be used with the sole intention of remembering people. In 2015, Catherine and I were dealt the double blow of losing Mum and Dad within six months of each other. Amidst all the maelstrom of emotions and physical pressures of clearing two lifetimes of possessions and the complexities of probate, we could at least find an island of sanity and pleasure of sorts in deciding what music to include at their respective funeral services.

It’s not just the sad occasions which require music to evoke, reflect or inspire. For our wedding, Angie and I seemed to devote more hours ruminating over our choice of music for the ceremony than the perennial problem of the guest list and table plan! While a cock-up meant not all were played, the following five made the cut:-

·       A Million Love Songs (Take That)

·       Something’s Gotten Hold of My Heart (Marc Almond and Gene Pitney)

·       Wonderwall (Oasis)

·       Love is All Around (Wet Wet Wet)

·       My Baby Just Cares For Me (Nina Simone)

And then there’s the dilemma of The First Dance. I’d been worrying interminably about this. It’s probably why I’ve never married before. All I knew was that there would be none of that elaborately choreographed mix-tape nonsense so beloved of YouTubers these days. We settled for a segue from the predictable ‘Talking Out Loud’ to the rather less obvious ‘Wild Thing’. Plenty of potential for embarrassment and humiliation but hopefully slow enough to avoid the need for oxygen or a trip to Casualty. It seemed to go down well!

So, from Stewpot and Savile to St David’s and DJ Kevin, there’s always been music in my life. Engagement takes many forms. Whether I’ve been ‘twisting’ to Chris Montez, drumming with knitting needles to Herman’s Hermits, contributing to four-part harmonies on stage with the QMTC, playing air guitar to Deep Purple, taping the best bits of the Top 30 or boogying on down at my own wedding, it’s almost ever-present across the decades.

My tastes have been influenced by many sources. Of all the stunning stuff I’ve detailed, there’s no golden thread linking them all. Just what is it which has led me to single out so many brilliant recordings? Occasionally a record registers as a perfect package from first note to last. Kate Bush’s ‘The Man with the Child in His Eyes’ is one such song which gives me a sense of completeness. On the other hand, I never want Massive Attack’s ‘Unfinished Sympathy’ to end.  Some of it is feel-good fun (e.g. REM’s ‘Shiny Happy People’), some of it is feel-bad melancholia (e.g. The Smith’s ‘How Soon is Now?’). I have warmed to the humour of ‘Baggy Trousers’, intelligence of 10cc, gone moist-eyed listening to the bittersweet lyrics of Gilbert O’Sullivan’s ‘Alone Again (Naturally)’, jumped to the beat of ‘Love Shack’ and had my mind blown by ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’. 

Music gets me in the gut for all sorts of reasons, making its move throughout my life. Stevie Wonder once said:-

                     “Music, at its essence, is what gives us memories.

                      And the longer a song has existed in our lives,

                      the more memories we have of it.” 

I tend to agree.  The hits from my childhood do indeed hold a particularly tight grip on my memory banks. Whatever life throws at me, I’m sure music will remain an inspiration, a motivation, a diversion, a comfort blanket.  

Reminiscing whilst writing this diary has been not only a thoroughly enjoyable, nostalgic experience but also an educational one. I’ve learned a lot about the artists and hits I’ve both loved and loathed. I also appreciate that the year-by-year diary doesn’t necessarily allow me to tell the whole story. . What are the songs which best provide the timeline to my existence? Which are my actual favourites? Whose are the voices which make my hairs stand on end? Watch this space...

1984 - Are we living in a land where sex and horror are the new Gods?

1984 was not one of those personal milestone years but in my opinion was a vintage one where pop was concerned. I think there were no fewer than six million-sellers. Quite extraordinary! However, it was the supporting cast of singles that made it so memorable. That, and my long delayed entrance into the dodgy world of recording tracks from the radio. Well, everybody else was doing it, so why couldn’t I? Over the next few years, I amassed at least sixty C60 or C90 TDK cassettes of random songs taped from Radio 1, Capital, Essex FM and even the terrible Medium Wave pirate station Laser 558.

I’m not sure whether I was still listening to the Jimmy Savile show but now I wasn’t just listening to past hits; I realised I could save them for posterity without – er- paying for them. I do recall being racked with guilt on hearing Steve Wright on a Brit Awards broadcast admonish illegal tapers. Guilt, but not so much that I stopped doing it. However, I did start buying a few greatest hits tapes or 12” albums, or borrow some from the library to – um- record at home. As Steve said at the time, wagging his finger: “Naughty, naughty!”

Inevitably 1984 was greeted by a welter of articles about Orwell and gratitude that we weren’t living in a world of constant war and surveillance. Ahem.  Weren’t we? The Cold War was playing out in all its grim glory, but a man called Mikael Gorbachev was approaching the supreme Soviet stage from which he could finally bring down the Iron Curtain by the end of the decade. At home, we didn’t have Big Brother, but Big Sister Margaret Thatcher pushed the UK darned close to a police state during the 12-month miners’ strike.

The long-standing USA-USSR stand-off was the inspiration behind Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s ‘Two Tribes’, which topped the charts for nine weeks in the summer. Yet that wasn’t even the group’s biggest hit of the year. Re-wind to January, and that new song languishing in the thirties. A lot of post-Christmas airplay and a TOTP performance advanced it to number six, at which point R1 breakfast show presenter Mike Read observed the record sleeve and, suddenly horrified at the explicit lyrics and fetishist imagery, priggishly imposed a ban on the song. The network fell in behind him and ‘Relax’ duly leapt to the top. When ‘Two Tribes’ was released, it crept back up the chart to the point where Frankie occupied the top two berths around the time of my birthday.

It wasn’t just their music which was everywhere. The ‘Frankie say RELAX’ T-shirts were commonplace, and the establishment was in uproar. Here was an obvious hymn to gay sex, just as AIDS was reaching pandemic status around the world. The video even provocatively portrayed an S&M orgy, yet civilisation didn’t collapse. Indeed, Holly Johnson and his mates proceeded to release one of the most beautiful songs of all time, ‘The Power of Love’. With its sumptuous Nativity video (angels, shepherds, Magi on camels…!), it was tailor-made for a Christmas number one, only to be tossed aside when Band Aid and Wham delivered their charity fund-raising double-whammy. However, it did touch the top for one week, thus elevating the band to the elite few to have made number one with their first three releases. The following year, ‘Welcome to the Pleasuredome’ came within a whisker of making it four in a row, but within two years the band imploded and in any case the Frankie flame had already burnt itself out.

Two chart veterans were also enjoying a new purple patch. Elton John’s ‘Sad Songs’ and ‘Passengers’ continued a good run of top ten singles while Queen were back to their best on their album The Works. I couldn’t help liking Roger Taylor’s paeon to the wireless, ‘Radio Gaga’ and Eric Deacon’s ‘I Wanna Break Free’, featuring the infamous but undoubtedly entertaining cross-dressing opening to the video. I wasn’t so fussed on Freddie Mercury’s solo material like ‘Love Kills’. The Queen magic was missing.

Two sassy Americans with close associations with New York burst onto the K music scene. You really believed Cyndi Lauper when she shrilled ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’. The official video was deliberately cheap but I mainly remember her miming the song leading a sort of conga around the TOTP studio! The far more subtle ‘Time After Time’ also did well in July. And then there was Madonna Louisa Ciccone.

‘Holiday’ had done OK in February, but surely it should have been released during the summer. Never mind; it would have another day in the sun. Instead it was the arrival of ‘Like A Virgin’ just before Christmas which really brought Madonna to our attention. While you couldn’t really believe the sexy singer-dancer was a virgin, that wasn’t the point. It was a great record which offered something I hadn’t heard before. There would be plenty more where that came from…..

This side of the Atlantic, we had a few promising young female vocalists, too. Alison Moyet lent her big soulful voice to songs like ‘Love Resurrection’ and ‘All Cried Out’ while another product of Essex, Sade, won critical acclaim here and in the States with her album 'Diamond Life’. I hated her breathy ‘Your Love is King’ but ‘Smooth Operator’ was more up-tempo and– well – super smooth. She may have been born in Nigeria but I loved the fact that she we went to school in Clacton.

It wasn’t just Sade wowing them Stateside. The big Brit bands were coining it in, too. Duran Duran were starting to go a bit over the top for me. ‘The Reflex’ was a reasonable number one (their last) but ‘Wild Boys’ was pompous rubbish, with an even stupider video and Simon Le Bon’s wince-inducing attempts at the high notes. The Human League didn’t soar to the heights in the UK but I enjoyed the rocky ‘The Lebanon’ and, in particular, ‘Louise’. It’s such a simple romantic story with a gentle, low-key synth production that I was entranced. Still am. I didn’t realise at the time that Phil Oakey wrote it as a follow-up to the characters in ‘Don’t You Want Me’, but that made no difference. It also transpired that she still didn’t want him.

Melle Mel’s deep rap voice was often on the radio. His anti-drugs song ‘White Lines (Don’t Do It)’ stayed in the charts for several months and he cropped up again in the intro to Chaka Khan’s chart-topping ‘I Feel For You’. I quickly tired of the video on TOTP and the song wasn’t my cup of tea. It turned out that it had been written by Prince, whose ‘When Doves Cry’ went to number four in the summer. I know I may be in a minority here, but his follow-up, ‘Purple Rain’ is one of my most hated songs of the ‘80s.  

Mind you, there was some serious competition in 1984. Black Lace’s version of an old French ditty sold shedloads in the second half of the year but ‘Agadoo’ has become a by-word for irritating pop ever since. OK, so it’s not The Birdie Song, but when you factor in the bleach-blond spiky hairstyles and cheesy grins of the duo, the result is truly terrible. I wouldn’t ordinarily associate Stevie Wonder with crap compositions but when he brought out ‘I Just Called to Say I Love You’, his reputation took a massive jolt. Not so, his bank balance! Like most awful pop, it was extraordinarily catchy in melody and lyrics and – horrors of horrors! – proceeded to sell more than two million in this country alone.

At Christmas, another giant of twentieth-century music also blotted his copybook in terms of quality. Paul McCartney had started the year at the top with one of his trademark mediocre ‘let’s all love one another’ songs: ‘Pipes of Peace’.  He then partnered Michael Jackson on ‘The Girl Is Mine’ and reached two with his ‘No More Lonely Nights’. But when he was joined by Rupert Bear and a cartoon Frog Chorus in December, the depths were well and truly plumbed. Yet, of course, it was aimed at the seasonal family market and Macca struck gold.

Sixteen years earlier he had written one of the greatest Beatles songs, ‘Hey Jude’, inspired by Julian, the son of John Lennon.  1984 proved to be the time when Julian emerged briefly from his late dad’s lengthy shadows to have a hit of his own. Despite being an odd blend of pseudo-ska, Country and pop, I quite liked ‘Too Late for Goodbyes’. The face and voice was uncannily similar to John’s but probably the family connection was more burden than boon; this single was his only top 10 hit in the UK. 

Two great British bands were at opposite ends of their major principal chart careers. Madness delivered one of my favourites in ‘Michael Caine’ a rarity in that it was Chas Smash and not Suggs on lead vocals. The golden age of humorous videos had passed, and they were entering a more reflective phase before their first break from the business.

On the other hand, The Smiths were garnering rave reviews for their rather different rock sound. They had four top 20 singles in 1984, although one, ‘Hand in Glove’ was officially credited to guest vocalist Sandie Shaw. Read Morrissey’s remarkably candid and eccentric autobiography – no phoney phantom ghost writer here - for his less than enthusiastic opinions on that issue. Of the four, the one appealing to me most was ‘Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now’. Yes, I know the singer-writer practically invented pop ‘miserabilism’, but wouldn’t you feel under the weather if you had a bunch of gladioli stuffed down your trousers? 

There were some cracking ballads peppering the pop scene in ’84. Lionel Richie not only had the year’s biggest-selling album (Can’t Slow Down) but also his only UK chart-topper in ‘Hello’. That video of the beautiful blind girl sculpting teacher Lionel’s head in clay by touch alone became rather annoying on TOTP after six weeks at the top but it was a winning combination of sentimentality, tunes and Richie’s peerless voice. He even kept from the top perhaps Phil Collins’ second finest moment as a solo artist. ‘In The Air Tonight’ had been an impressive debut but ‘Against All Odds’ was an above-par movie theme song. The film itself was pretty crap, even if it did star Rachel Ward, one of the most gorgeous stars back then. It also set in train a second, parallel career path for Collins, who seemed to be ever-present in the Eighties singles charts either with Genesis or another soporific solo or duet Hollywood hit. I found it hard to hate him, for all his success, but nevertheless the run of boring ballads severely tested our artist-listener relationship!

The Yanks couldn’t get enough of the chirpy London accent or his lucrative line in cinema lullabies but then there were quite a few American artists I enjoyed hearing, too. I’ve mentioned a few already but in addition Kool and the Gang were doing well. ‘Joanna’ represented a shift towards the Phil Collins market (as was ‘Cherish a few years later) but ‘Fresh’ was more like their old disco thang, and all the better for it. Sister Sledge sang ‘Thinking of You’, both Van Halen and The Pointer Sisters were in the top ten with very different songs boasting the same title, ‘Jump’.  

I also enjoyed ZZ Top’s debut record ‘Gimme All Your Lovin’. It wasn’t just about the Gibbons brothers’ mighty beards; it was the whole blend of Rhythm and Blues (in its true sense) and those growled vocals by Billy Gibbons. The videos had a visual brand all of their own, too: long-legged blondes, scruffy blokes in denim and vehicles with ludicrously over-sized wheels. It was a winning formula, but the first single was their best. 

In 1984, there were a mere four channels on British television. However, the infant Channel 4 had expanded the opportunities many-fold to watch pop music. I rarely watched The Tube, largely because it was too early in the evening but also as it clashed with the News. However, what made it stand out was the exposure it offered to many new bands, and that many of them performed live. Barring the occasional three-minute gem on TOTP, the BBC featured very little live contemporary music. Which is why, one summer evening in 1984, I managed to get my way with the TV remote and watch BBC1’s broadcast direct from, I think, Wembley. 

The concert was by Billy Joel, whose An Innocent Man album had yielded a few decent singles including ‘Uptown Girl’. I’d been aware of several of Joel’s songs without generating much in the way of devotion, but this hour or so won him at least one new fan! Even Dad watched with me, but I don’t think Mum was present; must have been her bath night! I think only the first half was transmitted live, with part two recorded for the following night. Put together, the programme not only included some familiar hits but also introduced me to longer tracks like ‘Scenes from an Italian Restaurant’ and ‘Goodnight Saigon’ which made a huge impression on me. Joel’s piano-playing, gift for melody and observations on social issues and vignettes of ordinary New York lives were outstanding and I embraced the live experience, albeit from the small screen in the corner of our lounge.  When his Greatest Hits Volumes 1 and 2 came out the next year, I actually sought it out to catch up with the songs I’d heard in that TV simulcast or just missed over the previous decade. In 1990, I grabbed the chance to witness him live for myself at the Wembley Arena. And a fab show it was, too.

It wasn’t just the Americans invading our charts. Even Germany supplied some pop songs which appealed to me. Nena was a kind of brunette Kim Wilde who achieved something that our Kim never did: a UK number one single.  '99 Red Balloons’ toppled the mighty ‘Relax’ with a jaunty synth-heavy song inspired by Cold War paranoia. In 2016’s German TV spy thriller Deutschland 83, centred on the same theme, the original hit ‘Neunandneunzig Luftballons’ was a perfect choice to set the cultural and political scene for the drama, which turned out to be extremely watchable, even with subtitles. As for Nena in Grossbritannien 84 I remember at the time the tabloids focussing crassly on the singer’s armpit hair (!) but that was just their way of ridiculing anything foreign.

I also enjoyed a record by New Wave band, Alphaville. Unbeknowns to me at the time, ‘Big In Japan’ was apparently about heroin-addicted lovers longing for a drug-free future but to my naïve ears, it was simply an addictive four-minute slice of mid-tempo electro-pop It sold zillions across Europe but unsurprisingly peaked only at eight this side of the Channel. Only in doing some research on the band have I discovered that Alphaville were the composers of the classic power ballad ‘Forever Young’, a track I’d always associated with Laura Branigan. Surprisingly the original barely made a scratch on our Top 100.

Other random songs that floated my boat that year included Blancmange’s ‘Don’t Tell Me’. Perhaps best known for ‘Living on the Ceiling’, their Indian-influenced sound transferred quite well to mid-80s electropop. So did Bronski Beat’s. They made a stunning arrival with the dreamy but sad ‘Smalltown Boy’. A serious tale about homophobia and bullying (“Alone on a platform, the wind and the rain on a sad and lonely face”) its memorable synth riff, minor chords, lovely tune, dance beat and Jimmy Somerville’s falsetto were irresistible. It was far more than a gay anthem, and took Europe by storm.

Paul Weller has made a career of being a miserable git but even he has his romantic side. This came to the fore with ‘You’re the Best Thing’, a top five hit with Mick Talbot as The Style Council. They made quite a few chart appearances around that time but, just ahead of ‘Shout to the Top’, this soulful ballad has to be the highlight. Much as I like ‘Long Hot Summer’, I wish he’d chosen to perform instead this 1984 love song in his Cardiff show I attended in 2015.

Whilst ‘Smalltown Boy’ and The Style Council were necessarily short of laughs, there were some conspicuously shameless comedy records in 1984. To such a degree that the 1985 Brit Awards, forerunners of today’s Brits, featured a Best Comedy Song award. Surely the first and only time that happened. Weird Al Jankovic’s Michael Jackson parody, ‘Eat It’ and Alexei Sayle’s manic ‘Ullo John, Got a New Motor?’ (best line: “What’s that button there for? What’s that button there for? Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow! Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!”) were nominated, but the deserved winner was Neil’s very funny version of hippy anthem ‘Hole in My Shoe’. Nigel Planer’s character from BBC’s cult comedy The Young Ones let rip, and even John Peel seemed to like the subversive performance on TOTP. Neil/Nigel was thwarted by ‘Two Tribes’ but he did eventually top the chart, along with the rest of the Young Ones – plus Cliff Richard – two years later. Heavyyyy!

Paul Young may have won the Brit Award for Best British Male, but in my mind Nik Kershaw was robbed! A talented writer and multi-instrumentalist, his look of a teenage boy rabbit caught in the headlights may have held him back. Early releases flopped but when the wonderful ‘Wouldn’t it Be Good’ soared to four, the re-releases made him one of the most successful artists of 1984.

‘I Won’t Let the Sun Go Down On Me’, a jaunty appeal against nuclear war (“forefinger on the button” was a genuinely scary and real prospect in ’84) went to number two, although his haunting ballad ‘Human Racing’, written as a teenager, was less successful. Stupendous chord changes and vibrant vocals clearly weren’t enough for the wider public. Their loss! Nik proceeded to finish the year on another high, releasing an even better song, but what was it about? Contemporary commentary had it that it was about the Northern Ireland Troubles. I couldn’t fathom that interpretation, but the lyrics seemed to mean nothing. I guess that’s why Kershaw called it ‘The Riddle’. Who cares? It’s a brilliant song. A few more hits followed, my favourite being the little-remembered ‘Elizabeth’s Eyes’. I was delighted to find him supporting Elton John several years later at Wembley Arena. The venue was mostly empty at the time but I preferred Nik’s set to Elton’s.

Much as I loved Nik Kershaw’s material, 1984 gave me what was, and remains one of the tracks I most enjoy hearing. I mentioned U2’s ‘New Year’s Day’ contribution to 1983 but when ‘Pride(In the Name of Love)’ entered the chart at eight in mid-September, the Irish band ascended to an altogether higher plane. From The Edge’s chiming guitar intro to the anthemic “Oh oh-oh oh” chorus for the fade-out, via Bono’s impassioned vocals, Larry Mullen Jnr’s heavy drums and Adam Clayton’s insistent bass, everything I could ask for in a rock classic is there. And then there’s the subject itself. Stevie Wonder’s ‘Happy Birthday’ had been a memorable appeal for Martin Luther King’s birthday to be commemorated as a national holiday. And with ‘Pride’ on his side, there was no doubting MLK’s elevation to true world icon, not just a troublesome US civil rights leader of the Sixties.

I bought the album The Unforgettable Fire off the back of the single. The title track and ‘Bad’ also worked for me, and of course there was plenty more from U2. Their Live Aid performance transformed them into stadium superstars and also into my new favourite band.

Nobody I knew could possibly admit to loving Wham. Nevertheless, George Michael and Andrew Ridgley (plus backing singers Pepsi and Shirlie) were just as part of the 1984 pop scene as Frankie Goes to Hollywood. They topped the chart twice with ‘Wake me Up Before You Go-Go’ and ‘Freedom’ and came close with the perennial Christmas weepie ‘Last Christmas’. That wasn’t enough for George. Even hearty heterosexuals like me couldn’t fail to be impressed by his solo effort, ‘Careless Whisper’, and then he took one of the most important segments of Band Aid’s ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas’. Given that he wrote most of these hits, Mr Michael was becoming a very rich young man indeed, as well as a sizzling sex symbol amongst teenage girls….  More than that, his 1984 soundtrack singles combined to encapsulate everything that pop is supposed to be about: two up-tempo, apparently throwaway dance numbers, a mature ballad, consummate Christmas perfection and perhaps the most politically and financially successful humanitarian musical venture in history.

Of course, George didn’t write ‘Do They Know….?’. That accomplishment belongs to Bob Geldof and Midge Ure. Their respective bands had been experiencing different career arcs. The Boomtown Rats were no longer the force they had been in the late Seventies, but Ultravox were still selling singles, including ‘Dancing With Tears in My Eyes’ and – a guilty pleasure of mine – ‘Love’s Great Adventure’. Band Aid was certainly the most inspiring collective – and song – I can remember. Geldof’s anger at the injustice of the Ethiopian famine resulted in the roping in not only the Ultravox front man but also dozens of the biggest names in UK contemporary pop.

Bob’s job was to harangue the names in his contacts book and rattle cages throughout the industry, not to mention the incumbents of the House of Commons. However much she tried, Prime Minister Thatcher could not sweep this scruffy, potty-mouthed Irish rock star under her luxurious deep pile Conservative carpet. The last thing she wanted to do was encourage giving money to millions of poor black people. Third World poverty merely helped support military dictatorships friendly to her own regime. But she under-estimated Geldof. Meanwhile Midge was left to handle the back-room musical roles, and his contribution to the Band Aid enterprise should never be forgotten.

After all, it was actually quite a good song – a million times better than the Jacko-Richie composition that followed the next year, which just sounded cheap and exploitative. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so critical. Anything that gets Yanks to spare even a solitary thought for people beyond their own borders, let alone raise $63 million, deserves some credit.  The era of the charity single had begun. There have been many feeble, yet well-intentioned imitators. The initiators and humanitarian pop campaigners like Bono and Geldof have been pilloried in the Press. Why? I have no problem with musicians using their fame and influence to support worthy causes. Better that than lazy journos and politicians trying to ignore or belittle issues we should be angry about! If the music itself merits repeated listening, it becomes even more powerful.

With so much free publicity and promotion on every radio station, TV channel (all four of them!) and in all kinds of retail outlet, ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas?’ could easily have become tedious, turning such a force for good into a negative. Yet it made us feel good about ourselves and, as a musical soundtrack to December ’84 will linger for ever. What could Geldof and Ure do to top that? Surely they couldn’t develop the theme from a three-minute single into a massive, multi-artist concert? It could never be done! Such negativity was simply a red rag to the stubborn bull that was Mr Geldof. The seeds were already sown for the extraordinary extravaganza that was to be Live Aid.

1981 - The devil take your stereo and your record collection!

This was a mighty strange year for pop, with a unique penchant for packaging nostalgia, allied to a mood for the new. Once ‘There’s No-One Quite like Grandma’ had run its Christmas course, John Lennon took his rightful place at number one. ‘Imagine’ went from decent Seventies hit to a karaoke classic beloved of buskers and – well – everyone, really. The climax of the video shot in the near-empty white room, where John turns to Yoko, pulls an affectionate silly face and plants a tender kiss, is enough to melt the most metallic of hearts.

‘Imagine’ was displaced by one of John’s new songs, ‘Woman’. And if you don’t blub at seeing that posthumous promo film, then you ain’t human. It still gets me every time. I genuinely think it could have gone all the way even had Lennon been alive. It’s such a gorgeous love song, with an entrancing chord progression in the verse and an unambiguously romantic chorus.

Others got in on the act, of course. George Harrison’s Countryfied tribute ‘All Those Years Ago’ was a bitter disappointment. However, Roxy Music’s decision to release their version of ‘Jealous Guy’ paid off, giving them their first and only chart-topper. In my ignorance, I hadn’t realised it had been a Lennon track from ten years earlier. It didn’t matter. Bryan Ferry and friends did it justice, I felt, and provided a fitting climax to the grieving period.

In the meantime, I continued to learn more about Lennon’s history. I even splashed out on buying The Beatles’ 1973 Red and Blue compilation albums, helping me fully appreciate John’s massive contribution to the greatest group the world has ever known. It wasn’t only his role in the familiar hits; I also became acquainted with amazing album tracks such as ‘Nowhere Man’ and ‘Across the Universe’. A few years later I also purchased his own greatest hits album, introducing me to his solo specials like ‘No.9 Dream’. Of course, John Lennon transcended music and, in a year of Cold War chaos, his message of peace was sorely missed.

On 11^th May came the news that Bob Marley had died of cancer. This wasn’t as earth-shattering as Lennon’s passing but of course it was a landmark in musical history. And yet in the UK there was no mass re-release of Marley’s back catalogue; ‘No Woman No Cry’ went to number eight, but that was it. Instead, it was Sugar Minott’s gentle ‘Good Thing Going’ which was our reggae record of the year. Nevertheless, death has proved no barrier to success. Bob’s music continues to sell, and his likeness adorns millions of posters, portraits, T-shirts and bath-towels across the nation, and indeed the world. I don’t condone smoking of ganja but it’s impossible not to like Marley’s brand of reggae. As with Lennon, his message of spiritualism and peace lives on, too.

In 1981, there wasn’t much goodwill to all men (or women) in the UK. Thatcher’s Government had succeeded in trebling unemployment. By the start of the year, more than 10% of the working age population were out of work. Months later, many urban areas, notably Brixton, saw anti-police rioting which left streets resembling war zones. At least the political situation inspired some great music.

Back then, UB40 were a politically-conscious outfit rather than a globally-successful reggae-by-numbers covers band. I still reckon their best song was 1981’s ‘One in Ten’, motivated by those appalling unemployment statistics. With bleak lyrics like:

“My arms enfold the dole queue
Malnutrition dulls my hair
My eyes are black and lifeless
With an underprivileged stare”.

it almost felt wrong to dance to it.

Probably the most famous British political single of the early Eighties came that summer, when The Specials swept to the top with ‘Ghost Town’. For once Terry Hall’s hollow, disinterested vocal style suited the subject-matter, which was the impact on local communities by the Tories’ economic policies. He did have help from Lynval Golding and Nevile Staple, not to mention Jerry Dammers, who wrote the gloomy lyrics on urban decay such as:-

“No job to be found in this country
Can't go on no more
The people getting angry”

The contrast with Royal Wedding fever was stark. There we were on 29^th July, encouraged to go nuts for zillionaires Charles and Diana and TOTP would sign off with The Specials careering around sombre cheerless streets in an ancient Vauxhall Cresta. That was 1981 in a nutshell.

Fortunately, even in such miserable times, pop music can come to the rescue before we all slash our wrists. ‘Ghost Town’ was replaced at the top by Shakin’ Stevens, who restored a spark of optimism to the summer. Already in his thirties, Shaky had an incredible year with his Elvis-lite performances. Rubbish miming and shameless wearing of the dreaded double-denim didn’t prevent him topping the charts with fifties covers ‘This Ole House’ and ‘Green Door’, split by an original song ‘You Drive Me Crazy’ which stalled at number two for a whole month. I can’t say Shaky – born just down the road in Cardiff from where I’m typing this – drove me crazy but he had enough fans to make him an improbable biggest-selling singles artist of the entire decade! I still can’t get my head around that statistic but, love him or hate him, Shaky was always within earshot in 1981.

That August, the four of us enjoyed what I think was our final summer holiday as a complete family. The following year Catherine was to grow up quicker than I did, doing her own thing with friends. However, in ’81, we all headed to Pembrokeshire, with overnight B&B stops along the way, there and back. I recall some warm sunshine and our exploration of the Wye Valley and West Wales unfolded to a backdrop of amazing sporting achievement. Ian Botham was doing his thing for English cricket, while Sebastian Coe and Steve Ovett were trading middle-distance running world records seemingly every few days.

The musical soundtrack to that holiday was provided, not only by Mr Stevens but the likes of Aneka, who showed him the (green) door while we were away. A Scottish folk singer, Mary Sandeman looked about as oriental as I did, but her song ‘Japanese Boy’ was a surprise hit. Jumping on the Kelly Marie bandwagon, it had obvious similarities with ‘Feels Like I’m In Love’ but there was a naïve charm about it which I actually warmed to.

Bucks Fizz cheered the nation in Spring by winning the Eurovision Song Contest with ‘Making Your Mind Up’. Like Shaky’s hits, it harked back to the rock’n’roll and jive era, and was incredibly popular, if not with undergraduates like me. I recall babysitting next-door during the Easter holidays, watching the programme. Obviously the colourful, ripping-off-the-skirts gimmick was by then familiar from pre-Contest performances, but it was nevertheless quite uplifting to see them take the title.

I wasn’t sure whether I should go along with the old-fashioned good-natured style of Joe Dolce, whose ‘Shuddapa Your Face’ so famously kept ‘Vienna’ off the top in March, or want to kill him. Actually, I found Dolce and his singalongaJoe shtick quite endearing. Sorry, Midge! On the other hand, I couldn’t stand Julio Iglesias. He took the mantle of ‘Housewives’ Euro crumpet’ from Distel and Roussos, his soft-focus Spanish tones propelling ‘Begin the Beguine’ to number one just before Christmas. It wasn’t the worst hit single of the year. That must surely have been The Tweets’ ‘Birdie Song’, which sold more than half a million during the autumn term. But who bought it? Anyone who has even attempted to do the dance moves is equally culpable. Own up!

The New Romantic movement really took hold in 1981. It could easily have been a victory of style over substance, but the music was undeniably good. Emerging from the Blitz club scene, Spandau Ballet wasted no time in hitting the charts, but I did find their swirling ‘Highlander’ skirts a mite pretentious. Tony Hadley’s impressively precise old school vocals made an immediate impact on me, even if their take on electronic music didn’t. On the other hand, I did like Duran Duran’s ‘Girls on Film'. I wasn’t sure about the chubby-faced, bandana-clad lead singer but their fashion wasn’t as ridiculous as Spandau’s, and the blend of John Taylor’s funky bass, Andy Taylor’s riffs, Nick Rhodes’ synths and Roger Taylor’s drums definitely boasted ‘something’.

In the lyrics to 1980’s ‘My Perfect Cousin', young Kevin’s mum had bought him a synthesiser and “got the Human League in to advise her”. The result was “Now he's making lots of noise Playing along with the Art school boys”. Lucky Kevin! But maybe he wasn’t moving in the right circles as envisaged by his well-connected mother. By 1981, the original ‘art school Human League had split in two. After their experimental phase, Phil Oakey’s section left the arty crowd behind them and proceeded to make some of the best synth pop ever. 

It took their summer hit ‘Love Action' to make me realise that Sheffield’s finest were actually very listenable. Oakey still boasted the striking but rather silly ‘long one side, short the other’ hairstyle, but the schoolgirl backing singers and dancers Susan Sulley and Joanne Catherall had given up university ambitions to join full-time. ‘Love Action’ sounded incredible, and I loved that bass synth line. The Human League’s album ‘Dare’ was the year’s third biggest seller and, with no traditional drums anywhere on the record, it broke new ground, even in the States. 

They even conquered Christmas with the supreme synth classic, ‘Don’t You Want Me'. It has so far sold over 1 ½ million copies here and I could listen to it every day without ever getting bored. While they never quite hit the same heights again, there were more first-class singles to follow, including ‘Mirror Man’, ‘Keep Feeling Fascination’ and ‘The Lebanon’. More impressive still is that, for all those art school origins, Oakey and the girls never sound pretentious, and they are still doing the circuit. I can vouch that Phil’s voice, in particular, is undimmed by the passing years.

Back in August I recall sitting in the room I shared with Catherine in an old hotel in the Malverns, listening to the new Sunday evening chart rundown. By the time they reached the number one position, I was extremely puzzled. For the life of me, I couldn’t work out who could be at the top. Had a record shot straight in? No, the presenter would surely have mentioned it to build some extra excitement. When it was revealed that Soft Cell’s ‘Tainted Love’ occupied the number one spot, I was surprised. Four months later, I had a similar mental frustration trying to guess the year’s top-selling single. Blow me: it was ‘Tainted Love’ again!

I really didn’t see the appeal. The song sounded mediocre, and Marc Almond’s camp performance in eyeliner, tight black gear and studded wristbands seemed to lack much substance. So, what do I know?! I much preferred the follow-up, ‘Bedsitter’ and their string of successful torch songs in the next year or so. Some of the gay artists were obviously ‘out’ and for the coming years, camp but clever electro-pop duos were definitely ‘in’. 

1981 also saw the introduction of Basildon boys Depeche Mode to the charts. They had a bright and breezy synth sound, typified by Vince Clarke’s ‘Just Can’t Get Enough’. I didn’t really expect them to amount to much, especially once Clarke left to form Yazoo. It was therefore a pleasure to hear them evolve into a darker, more political band without losing their musical mojo. OMD also stepped up a gear. ‘Souvenir’ had a softer, lusher sound and the quieter vocals of Paul Humphreys, and went to number three. Andy McCluskey’s voice was back in charge for another top fiver, ‘Joan of Arc', in November. Joan was to make an appearance in their next single in 1982’s waltz-time ‘Maid of Orleans’, too, a track introduced by 30 seconds of atonal electronic whine. OMD seemed unable to create a poor record.

The power of the video was growing by the week. In February, Ultravox blew everyone away with their atmospheric gothic masterpiece, ‘Vienna’. A rare synth-pop ballad, the five-minute mini-movie featuring moonlit Covent Garden cobbles, an exotic party, climactic murder and Midge Ure’s sharp collars - and even sharper sideburns - really ladled on the atmosphere. ‘Vienna’ was voted best number two single of all time but its video was definitely part of the whole package. 

Midge also wrote the lyrics to another iconic New Romantic record, ‘Fade to Grey' by Visage. Now, this was pretentious with a capital ‘P’. Just as its singer Steve Strange was, well, strange with a capital ‘S’! I still love the music, though and, like ‘Vienna’, the video images linger long in the memory.  

They were largely the creative brainchild of ex-10cc-ers Kevin Godley and Lol Crème. It was all a bit incestuous at the time, and the chain continues with Godley and Crème performing my favourite song of the year, ‘Under Your Thumb’. I loved it so much I bought the single. That’s two in two years! It was a brilliantly crafted record; the synth replicates the sound of a speeding train, an appropriate backdrop to a spooky story of “woman throws herself from speeding train, identity unknown”. A rare example of a song whose lyrics I could hear and remember, yet for all G and C’s video wizardry, it didn’t need an eerie film to spoon-feed you with imagery; the words and music did the job perfectly well on their own. 

When I went up to Uni, I had abhorred Talking Heads’ ‘Psycho Killer’. However, I really liked their new single, ‘Once in a Lifetime’. It had a strange rhythm to it, but David Byrne’s frankly scary vocals and the even scarier video made it work for me. Another arty-farty oddball was Julian Cope. Before his prodigious psychedelic drug intake sent him over the edge, his band The Teardrop Explodes produced some great pop music. In February, they zoomed to number six with the stirring ‘Reward’ and ‘Treason’ also entered the top twenty. Before he became the ultimate hippy for the twenty-first century, Cope was a charismatic frontman with a great voice as well as a talented tunesmith, and I wasn’t the only undergrad fan of his. 

Dum-chah, dum-chah, dum-chah!. 1981 turned out to be the year of the medley single, with the ubiquitous and monotonous ‘clap track’. Even we students had brains subconsciously alive to the ‘dum-chah’ beat. While party medleys weren’t new, a Dutch producer spotted a gap in the singles market and StarSound was born. The first ‘Stars on 45’ 7” edit featured session musicians singing ‘Sugar Sugar’ and ‘Venus’, followed by eight Beatles tracks (mostly B sides like ‘Drive My Car’), and peaked at no.2. That seemed a bit random, but Volume 2 focussed entirely on Abba. It, too, narrowly failed to top the chart but brought to my attention lesser-known songs like ‘Boom-a-Boomerang’ which, like ‘S.O.S’’, ‘Voulez-Vous’, etc, fitted the default beat to perfection.

The bandwagon’s axles must have been close to collapse under the weight of other acts jumping on it. Tight Fit did well with early 60s stuff and Adrian Baker’s falsetto came in useful on Gidea Park’s Beach Boys and Four Seasons segues. There were also Caribbean boom-chahs, Chas and Dave brought out ‘Stars Over 45’ for Christmas and real groups like The Hollies cashed in before a tribute act or unknown Dutchmen could get there first. 

Perhaps the most unlikely bandwagon-leapers were the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. Louis Clark created the Hooked on Classics brand which not only created a number two single but also hugely successful albums and concerts Even I went to one at the Barbican later in the decade. The RPO were professional musicians, of course, not session singers. That gave them an advantage of being able to tamper with the time signatures and rhythms of Beethoven, Mozart, Sibelius, Tchaikovsky et al to fit the steady ‘dum-chah’ claptrack. Clark and the RPO must have done more to subsidise classical music than a generation of stingy governments, and good on ‘em!

Another classical number two single came from Ennio Morricone’s ‘Chi Mai’, and 1981 also experienced one of the most famous classical synth records of all time. Greek composer and synth wizard Vangelis was everywhere. Not only did he combine with ex-Yes singer Jon Anderson to release pleasant jingly-jangly ballads like ‘Find My Way Home’ but his popular ‘Chariots of Fire’ theme has probably done more to inspire amateur runners than any piece of music ever written. 

The pouting face of 20 year-old Kim Wilde covered a myriad of student walls after her anthemic debut ‘Kids in America’ blasted the charts early in the year. Co-written by her dad Marty and brother Ricky, the family effort paid off in spades, even if Kim so clearly was a kid from the Home Counties. The rhythm section was traditional but the soaring synths gave the record an ultra-modern vibe. Fantastic ending, too. More hits followed during the year, my favourite being the slower ‘Cambodia’, but ‘Kids..’ must be one of the best examples of early Eighties rock-pop. 

Another hugely successful female artist in 1981 was Toyah Wilcox. Her bright bouncy orange mop-top was a familiar sight on TV throughout the year and beyond. Looking like the love child of John Lydon and Kate Bush, she was often touted as a punk. Indeed, the first time I saw her was in the crime series Shoestring playing, yes, a punk rocker with a heart. Her music proved to be anything but punk. Her first record went top four in February, an EP led by ‘It’s a Mystery’. Her hint of a lisp left her fair game for comediennes like Tracey Ullman to take the pith, but her squeaky voice was endearing and irritating in equal measure. When she sang ‘I Wanna Be Free’, she sounded less a dangerous rebel and more a Roedean teenager having a hissy fit.

Hazel O’Connor had been a far more convincing post-punk icon than Toyah, and then in 1981 she released one of my all-time fave ballads, ‘Will You?’ Going against all my natural instincts, I have to confess that the record was turned from merely great to sensational by Wesley Magoogan’s sultry sensual sax solo. It was so moving that it took over the entire second half of the track. I don’t recall loving it quite so much at the time but it grew on me year by year. It sounds pretty darned cool in this live performance, too.

No saxophones in sight but another hot girl singer was Clare Grogan. In ’81 she played Gregory’s Girl in the brilliant Bill Forsyth comedy, then led Altered Images to number two with ‘Happy Birthday’ in September. I missed the chance to see them play the Great Hall but one of my neighbours insisted on playing the song all the bloody time! I admit I had a mini-crush on young Clare, with her feather-light fluffy voice and engaging stage presence. Altered Images not only had more hits but, along with The Skids and The Tourists helped launch a raft of excellent Eighties Scottish bands. 

Coincidentally, another ‘Happy Birthday’ anthem also reached number two. However, Stevie Wonder’s song was a different kettle of fish. An unapologetic musical demand for a national public holiday to mark the birthday of Martin Luther King, it was the first Wonder composition I really liked. It flopped in the racist USA but eventually succeeded in its objective when, two years later, even President Reagan was persuaded to accede to Stevie’s heartfelt appeal. A delightful record, too.

David Grant’s voice was not altogether different from Stevie’s and his hit ‘Intuition’ with Linx was one of my top singles from 1981. The lively and light-hearted reflection on childhood went to number seven thanks in part to an entertaining video which served its purpose during another TOTP technicians’ strike. ‘So This Is Romance’ followed in similar vein, albeit perhaps a bit funkier thanks to bass player Sketch. Grant went on to pursue a solo career as a poor man’s Michael Jackson but with limited success. 

Another soulful group who enjoyed the first of their five top 20 singles that year was Imagination. Singer Leee John seeemed over-fond not only of ‘e’s but also of spinning on the spot, while bassist Ashley Ingram often appeared to be getting jiggy with his instrument. Nevertheless, ‘Body Talk’ sounded sexy, albeit not as much as the band seemed to think! ‘Just an Illusion’ went to number two the following year and they were TOTP staples for a while.

Some bigger names than Imagination enjoyed their final flirtations with the top ten in 1981. Abba’s unbroken run of perfect pop hits ended with ‘One of Us’ in December. I associate the song with a family journey to Uncle David’s house on Christmas Eve. I don’t know if it was a new chart rundown, but it was dark, it was cold, and it was snowing as it played on the car radio! We weren’t to know it, but they didn’t even pierce the top twenty with subsequent new releases. It was another peerless four minutes of emotional vocals and melody, but Bjorn and Benny were never to repeat the success.

‘Start Me Up’ proved to be the last classic Rolling Stones top-tenner, too, but Slade enjoyed a renaissance  - as heavy rockers! With ‘We’ll Bring the House Down’ and ‘Lock Up Your Daughters’, Noddy et al delivered a totally unexpected reinvention and they were an extremely popular act at the Reading Festival to boot. You can’t keep a good group down for long.

A hundred miles further down the Great Western line from Reading, my halls of residence held their Summer Ball in June. The unofficial Ents Officer Chas seemed to boast an impressive contact book for his age. One year we had comic singer Jake Thackray but in 1981 Chas booked Fassbender Russell as the headline act. “Woo-hoo!” you may sardonically reply. But actually they had, under Susan Fassbender’s name, enjoyed a top 30 single, ‘Twilight Café’, at the start of the year, and fortunately I had enjoyed it. In her unfashionable glasses, Fassbender looked nothing like your average pop star and Kate Russell was a rarity, a female guitarist which I recall prompted a shameful sexist comment by one of the TOTP presenters. I remember nothing else from their set at Exeter that warm summer evening, but ‘Twilight Café’ was worth the wait. It was therefore shocking to read recently that Fassbender had committed suicide just ten years later. The world can be a cruel place.

The world can also be a bright place, especially when Madness are around. They were really hitting their stride, the first band whose videos we all anticipated at least as much as the new singles they were made to promote. The TV room at Birks would fill just to laugh at the latest daft adventures of the Nutty Boys, cavorting around various North London locations like Camden High Street and Hampstead Heath. They had no fewer than four top ten singles in 1981: Labi Siffre’s ‘It Must Be Love’ (he even has a cameo in the video), Mike Barson’s dark ‘Grey Day’, the comical ‘Shut Up’ and ‘The Return of the Los Palmas Seven’ (superb lyrics: “Waiter” was the only word). But they clearly weren’t just a comedy troupe. They were a tight musical unit, brilliant live, as I was to witness for myself at the O2 a decade or so ago.  

Yet, when it came to whimsical, tongue-in-cheek videos, Madness had serious competition that year in Adam and the Ants, surely the biggest band in Britain. From ragged New Wavers at the end of 1980, they blew our socks off in May 1981 by going straight in at number one with ‘Stand and Deliver’. It proved to be the second biggest selling single of the year, and the video’s fleeting singing wolfhound is priceless. The follow-up, ‘Prince Charming’ was third. Their album’ Kings of the Wild Frontier’ was simply unassailable. 

Adam’s ‘dandy highwayman’, complete with trademark white face stripe, and Regency prince were supreme examples of zany pop persona running hand in hand with clever marketing. Not since early 70s Bowie had we seen anything like it. And don’t tell me Johnny Depp’s movie pirate Captain Jack Sparrow wasn’t influenced by Adam Ant’s 1981 characters. Adam’s face and entertaining videos defined 1981 more than any other. He may have invited parody but, as he sang in his second chart-topper, “Ridicule is nothing to be scared of”. A message for us all in the '80s!