2002-2003 - Instead of spreading love we're spreading animosity

As the chart single suffered a near-catastrophic collapse – sales plunged by 32% between 2002 and 2003 – ITV inflicted upon the nation the twin horrors of Pop Idol and Popstars – the Rivals. Naturally I watched neither but it was impossible to ignore them. TV promos, poster campaigns, tabloid headlines, … When you commute to work across London there was simply no escape.

At the start of 2002, posh boy Will Young was up against spiky-haired teenager Gareth Gates for the chance to win Pop Idol. According to Wikipedia, Will’s supporters included Noel Gallagher, while Gareth could count on Francis Rossi. Really?! What about me? Well, given that I had walked right past both protagonists on my way into Broadcasting House without recognising them, I could hardly claim sufficient knowledge to pledge allegiance to either. History records that Will emerged victorious in a massive public vote. His version of an old Westlife track ‘Evergreen’, doubled with ‘Anything is Possible’, promptly sold a million in a week. Presumably nobody else bought anything.

The runner-up Gareth didn’t exactly fade from the public eye. He followed Young’s opener with another sure-fire winner ‘Unchained Melody’ and the two acts ended up spending fourteen weeks at number one between them, including an EP duet in the autumn. By this time, even I was in a position to offer an informed opinion. Will, like me, is a graduate of Exeter University, so on that basis alone, he had the edge. Musically, both had rather tame, almost feminine voices a la Gately, but this seemed to represent the changing taste of the record-buying public. A taste, it’s fair to say, I didn’t share. It’s not that all the songs were bad, just mind-numbingly vanilla. Oh, for a double-scoop of banana and lemon sorbet! To his credit, however, Will Young’s 2003 effort ‘Leave Right Now’ was at the very least mint choc chip. The brilliantly-choreographed, if slightly disturbing, single-shot video was particularly memorable.

Even the losers got in on the act. Third-placer Darius Danesh also went to number one with the pleasant ’Colour Blind’ while the second ‘Pop Stars’ formation, Liberty X, hit the top briefly with ‘A Little Bit More’. At least this had something more seductive, and is one of the few so-called ‘reality TV’ songs which remains listenable.

The 2002 Christmas number one was ‘Sound of the Underground’ by the next Cowell/ITV victorious combo Girls Aloud. Not a typical bland ballad but I still wish it had never been allowed overground. It also set the Spice Girls wannabes on the road to massive, but unfathomable success throughout the decade.

They were deposed by a rarity: a song not only performed by a TV talent show winner but also written by him! The Beeb, recognising the need to get involved with the genre, had launched their Fame Academy series. The eventual winner was young Scot David Sneddon. I recall one Thursday afternoon hearing umpteen repetitions of his piano-led ‘Stop Living the Lie’ during the course of a Personal Effectiveness training course deep in the bowels of Television Centre. It sounded as if Sneddon was rehearsing assiduously for a TOTP performance. The song was pleasant enough, but on constant hearing it was annoyingly intrusive. As for the course, my personal category was identified as ‘CI’: methodical, perfectionist, team player and slow decision-maker. I didn’t need a test to tell me that. As for Mr Sneddon, he quickly stopped living the life. Having defeated more than 30,000 fame-hungry hopefuls, he decided that fame wasn’t for him and quit performing in favour of being a professional songwriter. Good luck to him. 

I occasionally had to pop into Television Centre for other reasons. When I did, I tended to venture to, I think, the second floor and pop into the studio viewing galleries. You never knew what rehearsal or recording might be in progress. A Tuesday or Wednesday afternoon diversion was sometimes rewarded with a few minutes watching TOTP. Often there was nothing happening at all but I do remember one week witnessing a performance by the engaging Jamelia of her new hit ‘Superstar’; it may well have been this one. I was quite impressed by her personality on the studio floor, too, and not just her legs.

Talking of legs, I’d be lying if I denied noticing the shapely limbs of Beyonce. Let’s be honest, viewers of the video for ‘Crazy in Love’ were expected to notice. Blimey! Where did she come from? Well, Destiny’s Child. Obviously. But I hadn’t paid much attention to them. Beyonce wasn’t even the first of that R’n’B trio to have a UK Number one. That prize had been claimed by Kelly Rowland (‘Dilemma’). 

In the meantime, a temporary gap in the British girl group market was amply filled by The Sugababes. With a clear nod to The Spice Girls (sugar…spice…), the name was truly dreadful, but in my humble opinion, their music was far from it. They had a so-so start but, by 2002, Heidi Range had joined Keisha Buchanan and Mutya Buena and their more varied approach to pop was paying dividends. It wasn’t that I really loved any of their singles but, for consistent high quality, they were hard to beat. Great ballads like ‘Stronger’ and ‘Too Into You’ were mixed with chart-topping fare like ‘Hole in the Head’ and ‘Round Round’. Nevertheless, my fave was, by the narrowest of margins, ‘Freak Like Me’. Built around that artfully atmospheric synth lick from ‘Are Friends Electric?’ it’s a sultry sexy song that grabs you by any part of the body you can imagine, including the ears. Unlike most of their songs, the band members weren’t amongst the many writing credits but it knocked most of the other 2002 number ones into freaking cocked hats.

For all their excellence on CD, I have it on good authority, supported by the evidence of any number of YouTube recordings, that the Sugababes were terrible live. Keisha always looks so bored. Nevertheless, more than a decade later, ignoring the hilarious frequency of line-up changes (the latest one is all-male – I jest!), they remain one of the most successful girl groups in UK history.

There was a good deal more charisma, sex appeal and eye-popping hip action going on in one second of any performance by Shakira than anything the ‘Babes or even Beyonce could manage. The Colombian queen of Latin rhythm blew me away on ‘Whenever Wherever’. The inclusion of Andean pipes and charanga gave the record a rare exoticism, Shakira’s voice and movement provided the pure eroticism. Deprived of a number one by Will Young’s debut, it took her from being a mere superstar of the Spanish-speaking world to a global icon. Intelligent, creative, philanthropic and apparently a jolly nice woman as well, Shakira must be one of the few women who could marry a Barcelona and Spain footballer (Gerard Pique) and be more famous than he is. I don’t hear much of her new music these days but, as arguably the best record of 2002, ‘Whenever Wherever’ must be one of the most joyfully infectious three-and-a-bit minutes of dance-pop ever made.

Ex-Spice Girl Emma had dropped the Bunton as her material also embraced her inner Latina. Clearly keen to shed her cute and fluffy ‘Baby’ image, all her videos seemed hell-bent on showing as much thigh and cleavage as possible but the music was unflinchingly carefree pop with a Sixties vibe. Before she dared to cover ‘Down Town’ Emma enjoyed herself with a Bunton bossanova in ‘Maybe’. I quite enjoyed it, too, probably the last of the listenable post-Spice solo singles from any of the quintet.

However, if it’s genuine Latin beat you wanted, Las Ketchup were the real deal. From Andalusia, the family group’s ‘Asereje’ was simultaneously annoying and adorable. I do find it embarrassing that it had to be re-branded ‘The Ketchup Song’ for the UK market. There were no references in the lyrics to ketchup or indeed any other condiment, so why the crass change? When I hear it, I am transported back to the very un-Latin environment of Thailand during the water-throwing carnival of Chiang Mai’s Songkran the following April. I have a clear recollection of its toe-tapping tune emanating from either a ‘pick-up’ or café just before I was drenched by a bunch of bucket-wielding Aussies who felt I was fair game. As it happened, everyone was fair game during the three-day New Year festival. At least it was only water, and not ketchup…

Hip-hop duo Outkast were very much 'in'. I was never an aficionado then, in October 2003, along came ‘Hey Ya!’ which defied any logic when it came to explaining why I liked it, or indeed any attempts at categorisation. Even now I feel compelled by some primeval urge to join in with the ‘clap-clap’ and ‘Hey Ya’ chorus. Can’t help it. Sorry! 

Also in the process of broadening their hip-hop horizons were The Black Eyed Peas. I’d certainly never heard of them until they released the lament for the apparent absence of good feeling and social justice, ‘Where is the Love?’ Although selling barely 600,000 copies in 2003, it was the year’s best-seller here and topped the charts for six weeks in September and October. Even I could pick out the heartfelt rap lyrics of will.i.am et al, and the sentiment struck a chord with many others, too. That it was a hip-hop-pop crossover was important; it wouldn’t have had the same impact globally had it been sung by will.r.young!

Where is the Love? An apt question to ask, given the final collapse of my relationship with Kim. The move from my flat to our larger house in Atridge Chase in February 2002 had merely postponed the inevitable. The first post-split show I went to on my own was a concert at the Palladium on Sunday 14^th December by one of my favourite bands Saint Etienne. I mentioned this in the 1993 section, but given my emotional state, this one-off gig ten years later has a special status in my musical life. Scheduled just before Christmas there was a real party atmosphere which I definitely craved at the time. The performance of all their hits culminated in 'Join Our Club' and the seasonal ‘I Was Born on Christmas Day’. Perfect.

Another track which stirred the by now dormant dance divo in me was ‘Move Your Feet’ by Danish duo Junior Senior. It wasn’t particularly clever. In fact, it was naively repetitively with a sequence of three distinct sections repeated throughout the three minutes. Yet it somehow came together. I saw them on various TV shows, always singing, if not playing, live, and they always succeeded in creating a vibe which made you smile as well as move your feet.

I’m not 100% certain but I think I saw them on the BBC’s Glastonbury coverage in 2003. That same weekend I was also introduced by two other bands hitherto beyond my ken. Although also from Scandinavia, Royksopp were a completely different kettle of herring, being distinctly electronic. Once you survive the onslaught of all those random electronic bursts at the start, ‘Eple’ (Norwegian for apple, apparently) settles into a wonderful groove of synths, drum machine and bass. Even in the rolling meadows of Somerset, it somehow works. On the back of ‘Eple' I’ve sought out other tracks, and it’s a shame that no others made the UK Top 20. They were just born twenty years too late. The Glasto coverage also introduced me to the London acoustic duo, Turin Brakes. I love their alt-folk harmonies on ‘Painkiller’ which reached number five. They shifted a fair few albums, sold out their local Brixton Academy, supported David Gray amongst others, but have never quite achieved headliner status.

One of the most successful bands of this period was Busted. Posh, tall Charlie, spiky James and annoyingly perma-gurning Matt were ever-present, their first eight singles all making the top three inside two years. I quickly tired of their well-practised knees-together leaps while thrashing guitars, but the songs were actually quite listenable. The likes of Good Charlotte and Blink-182 were too heavy for me, but the Essex boys knew how to write a tune which could shine from beneath the rock guitar.

‘What I Go to School For’ was an entertaining debut, ‘Sleeping with the Light On’ and ‘3am’ were nicely-crafted ballads but their trip back to the future for ‘Year 3000’ is my favourite. The lyrics were throwaway nonsense but I was amused by their tongue-in-cheek reference to their rivals in the lines:-

“He took me to the future in the flux thing
And I saw everything
Boy bands, and another one, and another one
……And another one”

The second album was more grown-up but I didn’t like the singles as much. Shows how mature I was! Charlie fancied himself as a hard rocker and split up the band at their peak. The 17 year-old who had been deprived by the record label of a place in the line-up had the last laugh. Tom Fletcher – for it was he - proceeded to lead Busted’s natural progeny McFly to even greater success in the next few years. At least there was a satisfying conclusion to the story of both bands when a decade later they joined forces to tour and record briefly as McBusted. 

American rock was entering a purple patch, too. Actually, REM’s Michael Stipe was in a blue patch. The band seemed to be on our screens quite a lot around that time, and the lead singer always seemed to sport across his eyes a band of blue as a kind of painted bandana. Why? Only he will know. But REM were back on form with songs like ‘Bad Day’ and I am prepared to forgive Stipe any of his weird idiosyncrasies.

REM were being challenged as top international rock combo by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. They weren’t new kids on the block either but I hadn’t really appreciated their music prior to the release of ‘Zephyr Song’ and ‘By the Way’. Canadians Nickelback were more old-school while The White Stripes, on the other hand, did offer something new. Amidst the media debate over whether Jack and Meg White were married or siblings (actually the former, and he took her surname), their brand of raw bluesy rock was earning rave reviews. Jack’s earthy voice had echoes of Jack Bruce or Robert Plant, while his guitar playing also boasted a dramatic simplicity, amply backed by Meg’s no-nonsense drums. It was all wrapped up in a consistent production of red, black and white. So far, so tedious. However, when I first heard the bass intro for ‘Seven Nation Army’, I recognised something better than most. The video of ever-morphing triangles genuinely made me feel physically sick (!) but it was a really exciting record to listen to. And, of course, the riff lives on in football grounds, with the cries of ‘Oh, Santi Cazorla’ and variations thereof.

Another duo who made an even bigger splash was TaTu. It wasn’t that they were the first Russians to reach number one in the UK. Instead, the teenage girls Yuliya Volkova and Len Katina aroused the typical middle-class, low-intelligence indignation of the Daily Mail and Sun by daring to kiss each other in the dramatic video of ‘All the Things She Said’. Of course, the whole lesbian schoolgirl controversy (both were decidedly heterosexual) was all a manipulative marketing ploy, which worked spectacularly well. Cutting through that crap, the record itself – produced by our own Trevor Horn - was brilliant, and topped charts around the world. Russia cashed in on TaTu’s European popularity by having them sing their Eurovision entry a few months later. Unusually for this era, I actually watched the BBC broadcast that year and, must confess that, while coming third, their live performance in Riga sounded terrible. They fared rather better than the UK entry. Jemini’s ‘Cry Baby’ which utterly deserved the dubious achievement of our first ever ‘nul points’ total. 

Britain did have some pleasant pop-rock singles, of course. Travis were back on form with ‘Reoffender’ and I even liked Mark Owen’s mature solo single, ‘Four-Minute Warning’. Top DJ/producer Paul Oakenfold joined the gang of Ibiza’s finest releasing their own albums, and his 2002 rap-assisted ‘Starry-Eyed Surprise’ possessed a super summer vibe. Admittedly, it owed much to a sample of the gentle guitar riff from Harry Nilsson’s ‘Ev’rybody’s Talkin’ that I always loved. So beloved of Terry Wogan, Katie Melua took Mike Batt’s saccharine ballad ‘Closest Thing to Crazy’ into the top ten at Christmas. I just adored her dark curls.

There were few love songs in the entire decade which could match the power of Dido’s ‘White Flag’. Her second album Life For Rent beat even No Angel by selling more than 2 million in one calendar year, and this was the stunning lead single. It followed the same successful formula of sweet, breathy vocals, perfect multi-layered production and memorable melody, and became Dido’s highest-placed single. It took the Black Eyed Peas to keep this classic off the top spot but ‘White Flag’ was certainly one of my top two records of 2003. 

Around this time, ‘Girl Power’ seemed to be replaced by ‘Girrrl Power,’ the ‘I’ being optional! Duplicated ‘r’s appeared for no logical reason, too. Christina Aguilera’s ‘Dirrty’ is a case in point. Avril Lavigne did at least adhere to the English language conventions in her excellent debut, ‘Complicated’. However, she lost my respect when her single ‘Sk8er Boi’ came out. Text spelling was now in the mainstream and the world would never be the same again. Pink was the epitome of the new brand of ballsy women with attitude but I had yet to hear any music by her which appealed.

This was a relatively fallow period for Britney Spears but her ‘ex’ and fellow Mickey Mouse Club alumnus, Justin Timberlake happily filled the gap. His music wasn’t always my brew but if they had an X Factor competition in 2003, JT would win. With a further apprenticeship in N-SYNC behind him he had it all: good looks, a decent voice, a modicum of acting talent and dance moves that would give Wacko Jacko a run for his money. For all his upbeat singles like ‘Rock Your Body’, it’s the sad R’n’B slowie ‘Cry Me A River’ – based on his Britney break-up - which made the biggest impression on me then, and still has the ability to haunt.

The whole R’n’B genre was spreading its tentacles far and wide, even clasping Eminem to its burgeoning bosom. In December 2002, he topped the chart with another high-quality single, ‘Lose Yourself’. Taken from the soundtrack to his Eight Mile movie, in which Em had the tough task of portraying a young rapper trying to make his way in a tough world, it was a typically emotional monologue topped and tailed by tinkly piano. His more humorous ‘WIthout Me’ was the bigger hit here, but ‘Lose Yourself’ is for me up there with the best. Who can argue with the philosophical opening lines?

“Look, if you had one shot, one opportunity
To seize everything you ever wanted
One moment
Would you capture it or just let it slip?

Yo”

Yo, indeed. 

Marshall Bruce Mathers III was a polar opposite to that of Curtis James Jackson III. They had quite a bit in common: apart from both being ‘Third’s, they were Americans, successful rappers with backing posses. Yet they were so different in looks. Eminem’s skinny white boy was a million miles from 50 Cent’s mean, moody, muscular image. ‘Fiddy Cent’ wore his drug-dealing past and bullet scars like badges of pride. To me he just looked a right dumb plank of wood, albeit with biceps bigger than my chest. He did alright for himself, but proved incapable of holding on to his huge fortune. Back to half a dollar then….

While 50 Cent’s over-serious, precious lady’s man shtick made me laugh, another star was making a career out of a white comic character who did his utmost not just to imitate his black role models but to be black. Sacha Baron Cohen’s Ali G started life on Channel 4’s Eleven O’Clock Show, appearing in hilarious short films with unsuspecting real people. It was only a matter of time before the character moved into Da Movies and the music charts. I didn’t hear ‘Me Julie’ much on the radio, despite it reaching number two. Not surprising given the frequent references to knobbin’ and shaggin’. “Me Julie, I love you from my head down to my goolies” was one of the cleaner lines.

At least he gave me something to laugh at, The same went for a new British band by the name of The Darkness. Were they for real?! How did Justin Hawkins arrive at their musical mission? Did they, like me on many occasions at the Beeb, have an awayday brainstorm to identify gaps in the market? Seventies-style heavy rock?  Tick. Sparkly catsuits as in Queen? Tick. Choruses delivered in funny falsetto? Tick. Referencing their background in the mean streets of Suffolk? Tick! All they needed to do was write a few decent tunes. I still can’t believe the public bought into it.

Apparently they even had a Carling Homecoming gig booked for the London Astoria before they had even signed a record deal! I really didn’t like ‘I Believe in a Thing Called Love’, and was appalled at the prospect of their ‘Christmas Time single topping the chart. It didn’t. Instead of pseudo-glam rock, the festive number one slot unexpectedly went to the glum rock of Michael Andrews and Gary Jules’ cover of ‘Mad World’. Yet The Darkness sold well over a million copies of their debut album Permission to Land. Another album followed, then the band imploded under Hawkins’ alleged abuse of alcohol and cocaine. Their story had all the ingredients of a spoof rockumentary a la Spinal Tap. Joke music, joke image, joke descent into rehab. All that was missing was an exploding drummer and a undersized Stonehenge at the Brits. I’m sorry but, even in 2018, I am still waiting for the true tale to emerge.

1993 - Time to break free, nothin' can stop me

At some point during the year, one of my newer Rotaract colleagues, Elaine, expressed excitement at the rumour of Gary Barlow moving to Billericay. Noticing my blank look, she seemed part pained, part amused at my apparent – and genuine – ignorance of the aforementioned celebrity, who may or may not have been gracing our town with his presence. “You know? Take That!”.

Well, at least I had heard of Take That; I just wasn’t au fait with the individual band members. By the end of 1993 there probably wasn’t anybody under the age of 50 who didn’t know Gary, Robbie, Mark, Jason and Howard. During the previous year they had racked up five top 20 singles, culminating in the up-tempo cover of ‘Could it Be Magic?’ at Christmas which peaked at three. The next single, the dreary ‘Why Can’t I Wake Up With You’ made two but it was ‘Pray’ which signalled their arrival as true pop stars.

It was a brilliant song, nice vocals by Gary, a beat you could tap your toes to, and another of those daft almost homoerotic videos full of moody, topless poses and slo-mo shakes of the head in water. Their days as purely gay icons were gone; suddenly every young female was after the quintet. To my knowledge, Mr Barlow never bought a house in Norsey Road but his songs were everywhere. Not only ‘Pray’, but also ‘Relight My Fire’ and ‘Babe’ went straight in at number one, making Take That the first act ever to have such a hat-trick in the UK.

I don’t remember the term ‘boy band’ being applied to any previous group, but suddenly it was a popular label with which TT were encumbered, prompting the launching of various copies such as Louis Walsh’s Boyzone. However, Gary and the boys were not ready to relinquish their crowns as pop princes.

I suppose the Osmonds and The Jackson Five had been prototype pop boy bands, releasing a stream of mostly vocal hits. They did actually play some instruments although it was obvious that, apart from Gary on the piano, Take That were primarily eye candy, decent dancers (apart from Gary, again) and proponents of passable vocal harmonies. Michael Jackson’s career clearly hadn’t been harmed by his abandoning his brothers; he was, after all, only the biggest star on the planet.

One reason for that was his willingness to experiment and attract some top-notch collaborators from other genres. One of my favourite Jacko singles from the Nineties was ‘Give In To Me’ which reached number two in March ’93. It was a true rock ballad, fuelled by Slash’s guitar licks and solos. At the same time, Lenny Kravitz was doing the same thing, swinging his dreads while knocking out some mean rock riffs on a ‘flying V’. That month, Iron Maiden also made it a temporary haven for old-school metal. It didn’t last. However, the summer did deliver another slice of meat-and-two-veg rock in the form of ‘Two Princes’ by New York’s Spin Doctors. Angie hates it and it has been voted one of the worst songs ever. Not in my book. Its simplicity, basic structure without the excesses of contemporary icons Kiss and Aerosmith, makes this track one of my not-so-guilty pleasures.

Two British superstars who had long since left the bands which made their respective fortunes were earning rave reviews with new albums. Sting brought out ‘Ten Summoner’s Tales’, including some sumptuous singles. I remember one of my work colleagues, with whom I tended to associate more muscular music, going into raptures over the bucolic charms of ‘Fields of Gold’, and quite rightly so. It’s one of those songs whose layers of echoing synth chords and delicious vocals beg you to stop what you’re doing and listen and lose yourself in the music. ‘If I Ever Lose My Faith in You’ was another great record, yet neither pierced the UK top ten, which is quite baffling.

The solo career of another post-punk New Waver, Paul Weller, really gathered momentum with 'Wild Wood'. I recall being delighted on first hearing the title track, yet it spent a mere three weeks on the chart. Another mystery. Maybe it was deliberately deleted by the artist or his record company, but it deserved a longer shelf life.

Duran Duran had taken a few sabbaticals but sensibly Simon le Bon never attempted to go it alone. In January, their beautiful ‘Ordinary World’, from their ‘Wedding album’, crept up to six and proved to the world they weren’t to be consigned to the bargain bins of New Romanticism. Lovely lyrics, written and delivered with mature restraint by a 34 year-old Simon Le Bon, combine with an elegant verse and stirring chorus, topped off by a memorable descending guitar riff. This is probably their last great single but it’s life-affirming that Duran Duran still tour and make new music, free of the nostalgia circuit. Long may they do so!

1993 was the year when I finally realised that, to grow up properly, I really needed to escape the bosom of the family home. I had always got on extremely well with Mum and Dad, which made the whole palaver of searching for my own place less urgent. However, my days in Rotaract (nominally for 18-29s) were clearly numbered and the prospect of finding my own way was not as frightening as it had once been. I had sufficient savings for a deposit, so finance wasn’t an issue. I wasn’t looking to move too far, and so we perused together some local properties. I came close to securing a 2-bed flat but it wasn’t until the next year when I finally moved into 30 Radford Court for the princely sum of £52,000!

All of this coincided with the success of M People’s Elegant Slumming album, including the intoxicating ‘Moving On Up’. Obviously it wasn’t written with my house-hunting in mind. It was more a feminist anthem giving an errant boyfriend the heave-ho, and with Heather Small’s deep, rich voice, no boyfriend would dare challenge the decision. I’m pretty sure I didn’t associate my own life and the song title at the time; only in retrospect does the title neatly encapsulate my thinking. Anyway, Heather Small’s distinctive towering hairstyle was everywhere that year and M People were deservedly hoovering up all sorts of awards.

It was also a year that brought two other very different artists to my attention for the first time. Radiohead seemed quite ‘normal’ back then, and their re-released debut single ‘Creep’ struck a chord with me. Not the weird lyrics about some form of obsession, but the semi-grungey music. That grumbling bass intro, the mysterious chord progression and ugly double guitar slashes were like nothing I’d heard before, not even from Nirvana. This was before Thom Yorke, Jonny Greenwood et al became rock legends with a disturbingly obsessive, possessive fanbase. Their massively popular Nineties albums did yield the occasional commercial single I liked, such as ‘Fade Out’, but I have never ‘got’ Radiohead, and in my mid-fifties, surely never will.

Of course, they have a right to exist. In fact the rock world would be a poorer place without them. I’ve long felt the same about Bjork. The diminutive ex-Sugarcubes singer has been pigeonholed in the ‘difficult’ box, labelled as perennially weird and an enemy of the media. She may have had her run-ins with intrusive photographers; quite frankly, considering it natural behaviour for a mum protecting her child, I don’t blame her. As for Bjork’s music, my relationship with her has followed similar lines to that with Radiohead. However, in 1993 she released three astonishingly contrasting singles. ‘Play Dead’, made with David Arnold, was a movie song but not for James Bond. They surely missed a trick there. ‘Big Time Sensuality’ was a shimmering electronic oddity, showcasing Bjork’s endearingly unique vocal style, full of squawks and childish dancing. However, it was seeing her perform ‘Venus as a Boy’ on telly, not TOTP, that I recognised her exquisite talent.

It wasn’t a big hit, but the vulnerability and gentle emotion in her voice grabbed me by the gut in a way the Icelander has never achieved since. With her pretty, elfinlike appearance, she came across not so much a pop star but as a fairytale character; not as distant as Enya, less precisely rehearsed than Kate Bush. Bjork was half-tomboy, half pixie. She possessed the innocent moon face of a tweenie, yet the mature musical mind of a 27 year-old woman. The song itself has hints of jazz and touches of Indian percussion yet at heart it’s a simple pop ballad. Her Glastonbury performance sums up everything which seemed so wondrous, yet simultaneously slightly irritating about her.

Michael Stipe was another mild eccentric who by ’93 was helping REM to global superstardom. After hearing the rocking ‘The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonite’, baffling ‘Man on the Moon’, bewitching ‘Everybody Hurts’ and the beautiful nostalgic drum-free ‘Nightswimming’, I was moved to buy their new album ‘Automatic for the People’, the year’s second biggest-seller. Even the failed single ‘Find the River’, which closed side two (yes, they still had 12” LPs) was glorious. For all the ingenious string and woodwind arrangements, and Mike Mills’ piano, on ‘Nightswimming’, it was the lullaby-like ‘Everybody Hurts’ which most represents REM that year.

I found it hard to like Stipe’s twang, but I could at least appreciate his phrasing of his own lyrics. The band was impressively talented, too, swapping instruments while the front man did his usual angsty thing at the mic. Like most great acts, they passed me by in the live sense. However, I always enjoyed watching them performing live on TV, if only to spot the fleeting moments when Michael Stipe’s face cracked into a smile!

New Order had been quiet for three years, so it was a welcome treat to see the video for their new single ‘Regret’ on TOTP. Well, the ‘Baywatch’ aspect was largely lost on me – and the band don’t exactly look comfortable on a Californian beach either - but the rockier sound met with my approval. Their ‘Best Of…’ compilation came out the following Christmas and I think I bought the cassette not long after. I think they are dreadfully under-rated. They have done dance, electronica, pop-rock, and often in the same song! From sustaining the Eighties Hacienda scene to appearing at the 1993 Reading Festival, the rockers’ mecca, they were always a cool band. Still are.

2Unlimited certainly weren’t cool but ‘No Limit’ proved to be their biggest UK hit. The contemporary joke was that, once the minute-long techno intro finally gave way to Anita’s vocals, she sang “No, no, no-no-no-no, no-no-no-no, no-no there’s no lyrics”. Of course, dance anthems don’t exactly demand deep and meaningful words, and the Dutch duo enjoyed a string of successful singles using the same winning formula.

There was more of the same from Capella’s ‘U Got to Let the Music’, Culture Beat’s ‘Mr Vain’ and one of the great Nineties tracks from any genre, Haddaway’s ‘What is Love?’. The Germany-based Trinidadian gave us this majestic debut, a searing dance beat with a melody worthy of listening to without your dancing shoes on. DJ Jazzy Jeff and the pre-Will Smith Fresh Prince hip-hopped their way to number one with ‘Boom Shake Shake the Room’. One of the rare rap tracks I quite liked, thanks to Will’s tongue-in-cheek delivery, it was a million miles from the new breed of gangsta rappers like Snoop Doggy Dogg, Tupac and Public Enemy who were beginning to infiltrate the UK singles chart.

For some reason, 1993 became one of the biggest years ever for reggae and its modern offshoot, ragga. In one March week, the top three consisted of Shaggy’s “catchy” ‘O Carolina’, Canadian white boy Snow’s ‘Informer’ (“repetitive crap”) and Shabba Ranks’ “sexist ego trip”, ‘Mr Loverman’. Note the italicised quotes from my diary on 26^th March.

Two months later, it was a top three consisting entirely of more traditional reggae. Only Inner Circle were Jamaican, and ‘Sweat (la-la-Long)’ bounced its merry way to number three, justifying my description as “a jolly little holiday song”. Swedish band Ace of Base went further with their ‘All That She Wants’. The Berggren sisters could sing live, too, as they did on TOTP here. The blonde-brunette combo had a slight touch of the Abbas about them, and indeed their 30 million global sales put them third behind the fab foursome and Roxette in Swedish pop annals. ‘The Sign’ was another number one the following year and, to my surprise, it even became America’s biggest-seller of 1994.

Of course, any period of reggae dominance must include our own UB40. On their way to the top that week in May, their inevitable contribution was another cover version, this time of ‘I Can’t Help Falling in Love’. Shuffling along in the same predictable groove as ‘Red, Red Wine’, it had similar huge success without really floating my boat. It was at least better than the “erotic” Sharon Stone thriller Sliver from which the track emerged. However, when it came to enervating Caribbean rhythms, the year belonged to Chaka Demus and Pliers.

The Jamaican DJ and singer combined to entertaining effect, making the top three with three consecutive singles. At first, I didn’t appreciate ‘Tease Me’, but it grew on me. ‘She Don’t Let Nobody’ was a slower number but probably my favourite was their ragga take on ‘Twist and Shout’. It never stood a chance of being the Christmas number one, but did top the chart once the decorations came down. I’ll even go as far as saying this version surpasses that of Brian Poole or The Beatles three decades earlier. It’s not exactly the same structure, of course, but through the patois you can just about detect the familiar guitar riff.

Apart from Take That, what kept Chaka Demus and Pliers at bay for a few weeks was an act which sends shivers down the spine to this day. The ‘performer’ must be the tallest ever to make number one and probably the pinkest. Mr Blobby was simply unstoppable that Christmas! The spin-off from BBC1’s Saturday evening show Noel’s House Party was the first, and surely the worst, in a sequence of home-grown children’s TV characters to achieve Christmas success. Give me Bob the Builder any day! At least the proceeds helped supplement the Beeb’s income and kept me in a job!

From Mr Blobby to Meatloaf isn’t as vast a chasm as you might think. And I’m not talking merely of the physical similarities, uncanny as they are. No, size is unimportant; I simply hate them both.

I cannot fathom why normally sane friends dissolve into raptures on hearing the first chords of ‘Bat Out of Hell’, a track so long I’m convinced whole civilisations have grown and collapsed before the final bursts of motor bike engine. The news that Meatloaf and Jim Steinman were working on a sequel to the original Seventies album filled me with dread. Unsurprisingly Bat Out of Hell 2 conquered all in 1993. But worst of all was the lead single, ‘I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That)’. Seven weeks at the top felt like seven years, it was a typical “interminable epic”. I won’t give it the extra exposure of a YouTube link but I can’t deny it formed part of my musical backdrop that autumn.

Changing the subject rapidly…. Ah, I refer to a band which has become possibly my favourite of all time. Yes, I know I have raved about Abba, Madness or even The Beatles, but they are predictable choices. I can claim only a quantum share of such musical megastars. However, I feel this band is more – well – mine: Saint Etienne.

They’ve had only one top ten hit, but umpteen which briefly illuminated the top thirty. In 1993, I first became enamoured of their wistful, Sixties-influenced covers and original music, when ‘You’re in a Bad Way’ and the joyous ‘Who Do You Think You Are?’ adorned the stage of TOTP. Sarah Cracknell’s fresh and light vocals proved such a perfect fit with the rhythms of Pete Wiggs and Bob Stanley, and I must confess I found her easy on the eye, too. My relationship with Saint (never St.) Etienne intensified two years later when they released a singles compilation Too Young to Die.

They may have taken their name from the French football club but Saint Etienne are very much part of the fabric of London. Most of their material from the mid-Nineties have been love songs to hidden corners of the capital and its people. Bob and Pete are also well into capturing the city on film, while Bob has written some well-received books and articles about the history of pop. His byline in The Guardian is always a welcome sight.

Imagine my delight, too, when I caught a short ad in Metro for remaining tickets to the band’s 2003 Christmas concert at the London Palladium. Who cared if I had nobody to go with; this was an opportunity not to be missed. It also turned out to be an unforgettable evening’s trawl through all their singles complete with guest stars like Etienne Daho and Edwyn Collins. Sarah self-consciously performed - complete with small baby bump! – front of stage, while black-clad Bob and Pete twiddled knobs behind banks of synthesisers. Thank you, Saint Etienne, for your enduring talent, and also staying below the celebrity radar and allowing me to feel that little bit closer to you.

Another London band was garnering rave reviews amongst the more mainstream media. Suede hadn’t really done much chart-wise but Melody Maker’s 1992 description of them as ‘the best new band on Britain’ helped convince the BPI and BBC to open the prestigious 1993 Brit Award broadcast with ‘Animal Nitrate’. I’m not sure they merited the introductory epithet of ‘already legendary’ but their performance of the song certainly made an impression on me.

The single was propelled to seven in the chart and Suede blasted off into the forefront of a whole new UK-born musical genre. Brett Anderson’s love of removing his shirt did nothing for me, and neither did his exaggerated vocal Cockneyisms, but I’d never before heard guitar work like Bernard Butler’s. If I had been remotely musical, I’m sure he would have inspired me to take up the instrument myself. Instead I contented myself with listening to his instinctive ear for accompanying melodies, riffs and licks on several chart hits. Maybe The Stone Roses and other indie bands had done something similar before, but for me this was a whole new sound. The shy Butler left Suede the following year but the band became a cornerstone, and maybe a catalyst, for a host of new bands which exploded from the underworld in 1994. Shining singles like ‘Trash’ and ‘Wild Ones’ were still to come but, while the term had yet to be coined, Britpop was upon us.

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.