1983 – Put on your red shoes and dance the blues

My life may have been turning more London-centric but the charts seemed to be taking on a more Celtic flavour. The Scots had been on the march since the dawn of the Eighties but in 1983, the Welsh and Irish were also enjoying some representation in the top ten.

It was all stirring guitar rock from Rhyl’s finest, The Alarm, as ’68 Guns’ made the top 20 but music doesn’t come more stirring than U2’s ‘New Year’s Day’, the first time I’d really heard the band. Four years earlier, they had performed in The Pit in the student union building at Exeter but, a few big albums later, they were evolving into a stadium band. Altered Images returned with the wonderful ‘Don’t Talk to Me About Love’ and Simple Minds furthered their growing reputation with ‘Waterfront’.

Another young bunch emanating from north of the border were Big Country. They really wore their Scottishness on their sleeves. Part of the band’s unique sound came from a bagpipe-like guitar effect and, to emphasise their Celtic credentials still further, singer Stuart Adamson was fond of wearing a tartan headscarf. Long before Mel Gibson smeared himself with blue paint for Braveheart, listening to Big Country achieved the same effect of instilling undying love of the thistle and saltire – even if you were English through and through! ‘Fields of Fire’, ‘Chance’ and the thrilling 'In a Big Country’ all sounded great, as did the following year’s ‘Wonderland’. Like so many in the business, addiction to alcohol did for Adamson and he committed suicide in 2001.

He had been a founder member of The Skids, a common sight on TV in 1979-1981. At the same time, fellow Scots The Tourists also had some chart success but in ’83, two of their line-up changed their look, their name and musical style and became huge stars. As Eurythmics, Annie Lennox’s startling short orange hair and powerful voice blended beautifully with Dave Stewart’s synths and talent for production. ‘Sweet Dreams’ was an instant hit, then ‘Who’s That Girl?’ and ‘Love is a Stranger’ provided more of the same. For years to come, each Eurythmics release was top-notch: subtle, sometimes lyrically dark but always an enjoyable listen.

I can’t say the same for Jim Steinman’s melodramatic rock operettas. I’d cheerily consign every Meatloaf record to the ocean floor, and his contribution to Bonnie Tyler’s career revival that year was little better. ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ dominated March, bludgeoning even ‘Billie Jean’ into submission, and just the sight of Tyler’s big hair, let alone the sound of her husky voice, brings me out in shivers. I much preferred the number one by the even huskier-toned Rod Stewart. I know he’s not officially Scottish, but ‘Baby Jane’ was one of the finest pop songs of the year and (in spite of that sax solo!) up there with his best.

It was a good year for Australia, too. Their cricket team may have been in the doldrums but, thanks in no small part to the popularity of comedian Paul Hogan and his Foster’s lager ads, the tongue-in-cheek Oz humour in Men at Work’s ‘Down Under’ took the single and source album to number one on both sides of the Atlantic in January. The video and lyrics contrived to include all sorts of Aussie stereotypes, but all in good faith! ‘Waiting for a Train’ was another good top-tenner by an Australian band; this time, Flash and the Pan. I don’t think I’ve heard it in the radio since then but I was obviously not the only person who liked it at the time.

Not sure if they were at work, but there were also Men Without Hats, but this lot were from Canada. I actually rated their top ten single ‘Safety Dance’ as one of 1983’s musical highlights. The Wiltshire-filmed English folky video is a bit bonkers but thoroughly entertaining for a song written in frustration at over-zealous bouncers who once stopped the lead singer from pogo-ing at a gig!

A different perspective of Australia was offered in a now-classic video featuring David Bowie. In the documentary 5 Years, Nile Rogers claimed with some credibility that Bowie had approached him with a request to “write me some hits” True to form, the disco legend duly delivered. Not only that, but he presented David with his most successful single and album of his illustrious career.  With his bottle blonde quiff and generously-proportioned trousers, this was an altogether more mainstream Eighties image for the famous fashionisto. ‘Let’s Dance’ swept Duran Duran aside in April, then both ‘Chinese Girl’ and ‘Modern Love’ peaked at two. Of the trio, my favourite was the second, featuring as it did the familiar guitarwork of the ex-Chic man. Setting aside the controversially sexy video, here’s a live performance from that year’s Serious Moonlight tour. 

Nile Rogers wasn’t the only Seventies disco pioneer riding a new wave of popularity in 1983. I recall that August hearing the toe-tapping intro to KC and the Sunshine Band’s ‘Give it Up’ while strolling to the beach at the then small Tenerife resort of Playa de las Americas, and it had most of Europe dancing all summer. During the holiday the hotel poolside PA system was occasionally fond of playing another excellent track: ‘Everything Counts’ by Depeche Mode. Vince Clarke may have left, but their more political songs nonetheless retained the same winning combination of electronic melody and rhythm.  

Synths were to the fore in Howard Jones’ quirky ‘New Song’, accompanied on TOTP by the crazily made-up mime dancer Jed Hoile. Spiky-haired Howard had several hits in the mid-Eighties, most of them intelligently crafted productions like ‘Like to Get to Know You Well’ and the haunting ballad ‘Hide and Seek’, which he played at Live Aid. I even bought his album of 12” singles a few years later. 12” singles really took off in 1983 thanks to another synth act, New Order. They barely cracked the singles top ten but spent several months in the charts with ‘Blue Monday’. Their famously rough and raw live performance on TOTP certainly blew me away, even if I hadn’t caught on with the rest of their music or their Joy Division back story.  

It was about two years later when I first heard the record in a dancing scenario: that initial burst of chest-thudding drum machine tattoo, then gradually layer upon layer are added for about two minutes before Bernard Sumner’s cold vocals and Peter Hook’s chiming bass kick in. It’s a slow-burner, but now it probably gets more airplay on mainstream radio than it did when first released. “How does it feel….?” Very nostalgic, since you ask! 

Duran Duran finally hit the singles pinnacle for the first time with ‘Is There Something I Should Know?’ but just a month later they were trumped by New Romantic rivals Spandau Ballet. Gone were the swirling ‘Highlander’ costumes and in were the smart jackets as Tony Hadley crooned ‘True’. I confess I hated it. I remember it being number one for TOTP’s 1000^th show and wishing the landmark had been celebrated with a decent record. Of course, that distinctive and deceptively simple guitar two-note riff intro has never been away after more than three decades. At least it’s better than the follow-up ‘Gold’ which gets dragged out of semi-retirement every Olympics.

However, both acts were outdone by Culture Club. After that initial explosion of celebrity the previous autumn, Boy George and the gang went even further in ’83. ‘Church of the Poison Mind’ was an upbeat Motown-esque number with Helen Terry’s Aretha-like backing vocals, but then came ‘Karma Chameleon’. It held the top spot for six weeks, easily selling a million, more than any other single that year.  Effortlessly catchy, it wasn’t really up my alley, but was easily their most commercial record. I still don’t know what a Karma Chameleon is. I recall George at the time dodging the question by saying enigmatically that “there are a lot of them in the music business”. The ‘Boy’ had long since emerged from the Blitz Club chrysalis to burst into a brilliant butterfly, but fame was already taking its toll. Fortunately they still had the haunting December hit ‘Victims’ to come; for me, the best of their back catalogue.

In the early Eighties, Bananarama were hardly an accomplished singing or dancing entity but, as the only commercial ‘girl group’ around, their sales and media coverage were inflated relative to their talent. But of course pop music was ever thus. ‘Cruel Summer’ was their biggest hit of 1983, but ‘Robert De Niro’s Waiting’ the following year was arguably their most popular, at least in their first incarnation.

They had made their debut with Funboy 3, the splinter group from The Specials in ’82 but my pick of their singles was their last, ‘Our Lips Are Sealed’. Originally a bouncy Go-Gos song with Belinda Carlisle on vocals, Terry Hall, Lynval Johnson and Neville Staples transformed it into a brooding, almost menacing number, with pleasant harmonies but a danceable beat behind them.

There wasn’t much of their 2Tone history evident in that top ten single, and neither was there any punk rock detectable in Siouxsie and the Banshees’ surprise success with the old hippy era John Lennon composition ‘Dear Prudence’. I hadn’t heard the Beatles original but for once I actually prefer the Siouxsie version.

Sting seemed to be losing his commercial touch on the Synchronicity album, with one notable exception: ‘Every Breath You Take’. Strange how a dark tale of a possessive lover should be interpreted as the ultimate romantic song, but it earned Sting and the band just about every award going in the UK and USA, and time has treated it extremely well. Godley and Crème’s black and white video is so atmospheric, too.

The Police were on the wane but Wham were definitely moving centre stage. Their early mix of pop and white boy rap was evolving into something more intelligent. My choice Wham hit was 1983’s ‘Club Tropicana’.  The video portrayed George Michael and Andrew Ridgely as the babe magnets they undoubtedly were back then, at least in the eyes of teenage girls. It was a few years before teenage boys might have believed themselves to be in with a chance of snaring George. Rather than being a shameless paeon to Eighties consumer excess, Michael admitted it was entirely tongue-in-cheek. Whatever; it remains a fabulous slice of summer pop and should be played at every Mediterranean disco from now to eternity.

Nick Rhodes’ protoges Kajagoogoo briefly threatened to be The Next Big Thing. When ‘Too Shy’ flew to number one in February, it seemed inevitable that stupid hairstyles and an even dumber name would propel Limahl and co to pop royalty like Rhodes’ Duran Duran. Thankfully that didn’t happen, but they were all over the papers in 1983.

Genesis had their biggest single success with ‘Mama’ while Phil Collins had his first solo chart-topper with ‘You Can’t Hurry Love’. Prog-rocker Phil was now beginning to raid the Sixties for inspiration and consequent hits. I just couldn’t equate his dreary America-friendly movie ballads with the Genesis output throughout that decade. Oh, well. If you can carry off two simultaneous careers, you’re doing something right. Hats off to him.

Tracey Ullman was a very popular star thanks to her work in sketch comedies A Kick up The Eighties and Three of a Kind. Then she brought her golden touch to a brief pop music career. It wasn’t only Mr Collins harking back to the Sixties. Ullman’s debut ‘Breakaway’ was a 1964 cover, but at least the follow-up was written by Kirsty McColl, even if it had a retro sound. ‘They Don’t Know’ was one of my favourites of 1983. She even managed to lure Paul McCartney into the humorous ‘riches to rags’ video, presumably in return for her role in Macca’s own movie being filmed at the time. She spent more than two decades becoming immensely successful in the States but at the time of writing, our Tracey has moved back to the UK with a BBC TV comeback. Much as I loved ‘They Don’t Know’, I sincerely hope she doesn’t also attempt a new album!

Also on the light entertainment side of pop were The Flying Pickets. They were unashamed Socialists (not a dirty word in my own dictionary) and had been around for a while before they released a beautiful a capella version of Yazoo’s ‘Only You’. It dominated the Christmas charts and did no harm to Vince Clarke’s bank balance. Fast forward more than twenty-five years and, as part of the Quantock Musical Theatre Society’s tenor section, I performed a variation on the Pickets’ a cappela arrangement at various concerts. It took a hell of a lot of rehearsing but when we got the timing perfect, it sounded fantastic!

Another of my personal picks from the year was ‘Moonlight Shadow’, featuring the musical talents of Mike Oldfield and enchanting voice of Maggie Reilly. Number one across Europe, it peaked at three here. Not exactly a song that was ‘cool’ to admire, it nonetheless sounded mystical, magical, majestic. Beautiful production was a ‘given’ given Oldfield’s involvement, and his guitar solo lent an additional rocky vibe towards the end.

In the autumn, there was no escaping the light reggae of UB40’s ‘Red, Red Wine and Lionel Richie’s percussive classic ‘All Night Long’, and I was captivated by The Cure’s TOTP performance of ‘Love Cats’. However, I can’t say they occupy the same status in my head as they do in others’. Parts of my soundtrack, yes, but not necessarily parts I’d want replayed incessantly.

It was a phenomenal year for Paul Young. His ‘No Parlez’ album was second only to ‘Thriller’ in 1983 sales, and yielded three big singles. A 27 year-old veteran, Young’s good looks were heaven sent for the mid-Eighties conservative pop scene. His soulful voice offered something different, but I wasn’t particularly enamoured of his number one, ‘Wherever I Lay My Hat’. The more up-tempo ‘Come Back and Stay’ sounded more interesting but it was Paul’s re-release of his own cover of ‘Love of the Common People’ which caught my imagination and reached number two in December. Backed by the female singers The Royal Family, it sounded incredible to me. I couldn’t understand how it had flopped on its original release.

Paul Young had further success with well-produced sugary ballads in the next few years and he is immortalised by his opening lines of Band Aid’s ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas’. However, 1983 was his annus mirabilis.

The percussion heard in ‘Love of the Common People’ was also a feature of The Thompson Twins who were one of the most consistently successful acts of the year. They weren’t twins, and Tom Bailey, Alannah Currie and Joe Leeway were obviously not even related, yet the trio were constant TOTP performers. ‘Love On Your Side’ was quite New Wavey, ‘We Are Detectives’ a bit jokey but ‘Hold Me Now’ was top quality pop with that distinctive xylophone rhythm track. ‘Doctor Doctor’ and ‘You Take Me Up’ were more successful in 1984 but, as with Paul Young, I consider their best stuff to have graced the charts in 1983. I feel The Thompson Twins have been unfairly ignored, victims of the even greater success of Duran Duran, the Spands, Wham et al.

I did have a fleeting acquaintance – in the loosest possible sense of the word - with the band. At that time, I worked next door to the offices of their record company Arista in London’s Cavendish Square. One lunchtime, I actually saw Currie and Leeway emerging down the steps but, disappointingly, missing their lead singer.

One act which most certainly was not buried under tomes of media coverage and multi-layered New Wave memories was Michael Jackson. Gone was the afro, in was the new nose, but this was still unmistakeably an adult version of the remarkably talented teenage entertainer of the Seventies.

The world seemed to fall comprehensively under the spell of ‘Thriller’, and even now, well into the twenty-first century, no other album has come close to the global sales commanded by this one. Yet, I wasn’t one of those seduced. So many singles rolled off its production line. The title tune had a catchy riff, ‘Beat It’ boasted that Eddie Van Halen guitar solo, ‘The Girl is Mine’ featured that man McCartney again but the only track which grabbed me by the throat and refused to relinquish its grip was ‘Billie-Jean’. It managed only one week at the top over here, before Bonnie Tyler’s irritating epic gave Jacko a wee nudge off the summit. Yet the constant playing of that imaginative video, boosted by the infant MTV channel, made it a near-perfect package for the time. The pet cat-turned-tiger was an over-employed visual device but Michael’s swivels and spins to that simple but insistent dance groove proved irresistible. The subtle pastels must have influenced Michael Mann in his ‘Miami Vice’ imaginings, too.

The track was apparently produced to within an inch of its life but the effort was worth it in the end. If ‘I Want You Back’ was Michael Jackson at his most joyous, ‘Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough’ at his most sparkling and ‘Show You the Way to Go’ at his most assured, ‘Billie-Jean’ was the icon at the peak of his powers. There were plenty more hits, but everything professionally and personally seemed to take a downward trajectory.

By the end of the year, a new single by an unknown Liverpool band was struggling to break the top 40. Within weeks, its notoriety would create a modern recording phenomenon that would turn the UK music and pop marketing industries on their respective heads. 1984 would be a whole new ball game….

1978 – 'Cause the power, you're supplying. It's electrifying!

As 1977 became ’78, the musical landscape changed again. Punk changed. Ironically, as a band supposedly so anti- the old rock’n’roll brigade, The Sex Pistols became a rock’n’roll tribute act with the permanently spaced-out Sid Vicious replacing Johnny Rotten on vocals on hits like ‘My Way’, ‘Something Else’ and ‘C’mon Everybody’ before his final, fatal, overdose. Elsewhere, Punk grew up.

Mr Rotten himself matured as John Lydon, fronting the acclaimed Public Image Limited. It turned out that he wasn’t anti everything after all. A polio-afflicted, gravelly-voiced London geezer called Ian Dury enjoyed rave reviews for the ‘New Boots and Panties’ album, and we all loved the lyrics to ‘What a Waste’. For example:

“I could be a writer with a growing reputation
I could be the ticket-man at Fulham Broadway station”

Elvis Costello & the Attractions and The Boomtown Rats each had a string of top twenty singles, becoming more interesting with each new release. By the autumn, Bob Geldof had become a household name, and his effortless TOTP performance propelled ‘Rat Trap’ all the way to the top: the first ‘New Wave’ number one. The clear words of working class desperation were also new to the upper echelons of the charts. I’d never heard anything like it!

Siouxsie and the Banshees fused punk with the Orient in the absorbing ‘Hong Kong Garden’ and The Buzzcocks began a run of great little singles with a fast and furious love song - love song! – called ‘Ever Fallen in Love’. Unlike Siouxsie and Pete Shelley, Poly Styrene had a terrible voice. However, when her band X-Ray Spex produced the glorious ‘slowie’ ‘Germ-free Adolescents’, it didn’t really matter. Intriguing lyrics and smooth production were added to Poly’s unique persona and I really enjoyed the result. It only reached 18 but the song remains a personal favourite.

American New Wave artists also had some limited success over here. Blondie’s ‘Denis’ leapt to two, and Debbie Harry’s appearance made an impact on a lot of teenage boys, including me! The rockier ‘Hanging on the Telephone’ was another hit. Note Clem Burke’s manic drumming performance in this live clip!

I quite liked the Patti Smith Group’s ‘Because the Night’, too, although the rest of her material was a bit too arty-farty for me. The Cars also ascended to three with ‘My Best Friend’s Girl’, a student-friendly guitar record. Their Eighties hit ‘Drive’ became their signature tune but for me the original post-Punk material was even better.

A lot of ‘New Wave’ was pretty earnest stuff. Nothing wrong with that, but there were some artists in the genre who brought some light relief. Sham 69 burst onto our screens in April when Jimmy Pursey, at the start of ‘Angels with Dirty Faces’, exclaimed: “Ello, Mum. Who’s on Toppa the Pops?!” His eyebrows had lives of their own but he sang live and actually seemed to enjoy himself. It was all pretty basic punk rock, but hits like ‘Hersham Boys’ and ‘Hurry Up Harry’ not only made you want to dance but also to smile. ‘If the Kids are United’ – or at least versions of it - can still be heard on football terraces today. Pursey may not have achieved a career as either a solo artist or loveable ‘Cocker-nee’ TV presenter but his charming chants live on. Sham 69 and Dury proved that New Wave could be fun!

Two others caught up in the New Wave pop scene sparked conversations at school, again more in jest than as serious musical critique. Plastic Bertrand’s ‘Ca Plane Pour Moi’ was an extraordinary top ten hit. I did French ‘O’ level, but the title – along the rest of the lyrics – defied translation. The backing track was punk-lite but not the ‘woo-oo-oo-ooo’s! On TOTP, Plastic pogo-ed around as if Johnny Rotten had had a lobotomy and hefty dose of laughing gas. Mad! Still, for good or ill, the song is embedded in my brain and Plastic Bertrand will always crop up in (the very short) lists of famous Belgians.

Then there was Jilted John. Starting in the sixth form that September, we noted that John’s TOTP performance injected some much needed humour into the top ten. Officially the song was also called ‘Jilted John’ but we all knew it as ‘Gordon is a Moron’. Graham Fellows has gone on to Radio 4 legendary status with another musical creation John Shuttleworth, but for me he’ll forever be associated with the hapless John, jilted by his beloved Julie. It also consigned Gordon to history as a boy’s name. Thank God he didn’t use Michael instead. I’d have done more than cry “all the way to the chip shop”! Patti Smith or Paul Weller would never have come up with lines like:-

“I ought to smash his face in
Yeah, but he's bigger than me. In't he?
I know, I'll get my mate Barry to hit him. He'd flatten him.
Yeah but Barry's a mate of Gordon's in'e?”

Perhaps they should….

For all the efforts of New Wave and fledgling labels like Stiff Records, the 1978 charts were total dominated by songs from just two musicals. ‘Evita’ paled into insignificance compared with the power of movies which catapulted ‘Saturday Night Fever’ and ‘Grease’ into the global cultural stratosphere. Needless to say, I saw neither in the cinema. Not just because Billericay didn’t have one, necessitating a lift or bus ride into Basildon or Brentwood. It was just that we never went as a family and I wasn’t part of a bunch of friends who did that sort of thing. Even as 17 year-olds, no sixth formers in those days had a car. In any case, SNF was ‘X-rated’, officially inaccessible to schoolkids like me. I didn’t feel I was missing out. After all, the songs were simply everywhere. 

Once my fave group, The Bee Gees had grown their hair, exposed their chests and gone falsetto. They were no longer just kings of the beautiful ballad; they were now disco gods. Fortunately I still enjoyed what they were putting out. ‘How Deep is Love?’ had done well the previous Christmas, but not with me. ‘Staying Alive’ was something else. That relentless rhythm, Maurice’s bass intro and Barry’s vocals had the world dancing, but in the UK, it was only ‘Night Fever’ which topped the chart. It was also my favourite track from the show. 

Grease may have played second fiddle to Saturday Night Fever in album sales, but the 1978 singles charts became almost the personal fiefdom of Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta. ‘You’re the One That I Want’ was number one for nine weeks that summer. The same clip from the film became boring. If that wasn’t enough, ‘Summer Nights’ held the top spot for a further seven weeks. Of course, we have sung and acted it out at discos and weddings a million times since, but “ohhh, those su-u-mmer nigh-hights” really got on my wick! Travolta was, of course the star of both the behemoth movies, and his ‘Sandy’ also made two. In the first week of November, he and Livvy between them had three of the top four singles. They were all good pop songs but by Christmas, I was fully fed up with Grease.

Those two million-selling chart-toppers were truly massive yet neither proved to be the official best-seller of the year. That title went to a Boney M double A-sider. ‘Rivers of Babylon’ bridged the five weeks at number one between ‘Night Fever’ and ‘You’re the One That I Want’ but it was only when stations played the flip side ‘Brown Girl in the Ring’ later that summer when combined sales broke through the two million barrier.

I may be alone in this, but I actually preferred the ludicrous ‘Rasputin’ which in October was held at number two for three weeks by - who else but - John and Olivia. Its grasp of history was perhaps dubious (“Russia’s greatest love machine” –eh??) but a disco era classic and also memorable for Bobby Farrell’s comedy Cossack beard! Nevertheless, the M-sters weren’t finished that year. They gave Harry Belafonte’s Fifties Christmas smash ‘Mary’s Boy Child’ a foot-tapping Caribbean twist and a festive number one was inevitable. Repeat the ‘Rivers of Babylon’ beat and harmonies, wrap the foursome in Santa gear, and the formula was a sure-fire winner. Even now, I think it’s the second biggest-selling Christmas song in UK history. Boney M were never going to win Oscars or Grammies but they were an entertaining part of my teenage years.

Other artists also dipped their toes into the wacky waters of disco.  Even The Rolling Stones slipped into a nifty bass-heavy groove for ‘Miss You’. It may have shocked many of their old fans but I couldn’t help liking it, and a top 3 chart position suggested I wasn’t alone. Meanwhile, ABBA were continuing their outstanding run of number ones with ‘Take a Chance on Me’. At the time, I considered it their best so far. The accompanying video may be a bit naff, memorably lampooned years later by French and Saunders, but the quality of the music was undimmed.

In September, Bjorn and Benny demonstrated their versatility by releasing ‘Summertime City’. Unashamedly disco, it failed to make the top four. Maybe the world wasn’t ready for a new ABBA sound, but it wasn’t really such a giant leap. The rest of the formula was mercifully intact. Nevertheless, it did pave the way for their 1979 album ‘Voulez-Vous’ which had more danceable stuff.

Even Rod Stewart abandoned his ballad-heavy mode to inflict disco-lite ‘D’Ya Think I’m Sexy?’ on us all. Confession time: I actually quite liked it. Reaching number one briefly in December, I reckon it’s a guilty pleasure for many of my contemporaries. However, my abiding memory of the record is not Rod himself. Instead it was Kenny Everett’s typically irreverent piss-take of the Stewart strut, complete with ever-inflating leopardskin derriere!

The Motors weren’t disco by any stretch of the imagination, but their top four single ‘Airport’ was in my opinion one of the best records of the year. It’s one of those examples of a record which didn’t fit into a particular pigeonhole, but made an impression in an otherwise mediocre summer of music. While the synth intro is instantly recognisable, I particularly loved the keyboard bridge before the final chorus.

Reggae was back en vogue, claiming an improbable pair of number one singles. A pair of Jamaican teenagers, Althia and Donna, came from nowhere in January with ‘Uptown Top Ranking’. None of us knew what the words were, let alone meant, but it caught a mood. There was some light reggae from 10cc, too, in September. With Graham Gouldman taking lead vocals, it proved to be not only the group’s last chart-topper but their last top 30 single. It wasn’t their finest hour but some of the lyrics endure. For example, Angie may enjoy repeating the line “I don’t like cricket” but I just trot out the next line, “I love it!”

A genuine reggae superstar was also making his mark on me for the first time. Bob Marley had made the Top 20 before but ‘Jamming’ was the first song I remember hearing, and certainly enjoying. His impressive dreadlocks and voice were so distinctive, but he seemed to marry the traditional off-beat with melody. Upsetting to think that within three years he was dead.

Earlier I ‘dissed’ the saxophone in pop, but in ’78 came a sax solo that even I could rave about. Gerry Rafferty’s face looked vaguely familiar, and it was his voice I’d heard on ‘Stuck in the Middle with You’ but ‘Baker Street’ was something else entirely. It had rock guitar, keyboards, that sax, and a unique vibe all of its own. He followed it the next year with ‘Night Owl’, at least as good in my opinion, and ‘Get it Right Next Time’ but it’s the number three hit in 1978 which made him hugely successful on both sides of the Atlantic.  Rafferty’s laconic drawl and half-shut eyes indicated either a real cool customer or someone under the influence of alcohol or drugs. Sadly, we were to discover it was probably the former. I don’t know if there was an issue with one-night stands but taking the words of his greatest hit, he distressingly failed to “give up the booze”.

I’ve never been an aficionado of soul. Its exponents don’t crop up very often in this memoir. But in early ’78, Bill Withers flew to number seven with ‘Lovely Day’ and it was to be one of my musical highlights of the year. That bassline and smooth groove throughout the song haven’t dated one iota. I reckon that had it come out in the summer, it would have been even bigger. Withers is my kind of soul singer. None of that melodramatic emoting. You can imagine him sitting down by the mic, cup of coffee at his side, just letting the lyrics flow. Another contemporary favourite of mine also started with a distinctive bass intro and beautiful shuffling rhythm. I hadn’t heard of John Paul Young before and can’t recall hearing of him since, but ‘Love is in the Air’ was a joyous record in a genre of its own.

I wouldn’t call Andrew Gold a soul singer, nor even a Seventies superstar. However, his luxuriant ginger locks were at odds with the conventional Californian look, and he did produce the gorgeous ‘Never Let Her Slip Away’ that year. That, and Genesis’ ‘Follow You, Follow Me’ prove to the world that I’m just a big softie, really. The latter even made my all-time Top 50 when I wrote it in 1985! Not sure it’ll be there now, but for me it was a stunning introduction to the work of Genesis. It would be another two years before they’d finally submit to the lure (or peril?) of TOTP exposure and consequent singles success.

Yes, I can be a romantic, but don’t expect me to love The Commodores’ ‘Three Times a Lady’. It may be a wedding dance staple, but it didn’t ‘alf drone on at the top in August. It was enough to make anyone long for Travolta and Newton-John to take over once more. I now appreciate Lionel Richie for the consummate entertainer he is, but back then, his afro seemed better than his songs.

At least the Commodores were superior to Father Abraham and the Smurfs. ‘The Smurf Song’ famously languished at number two for six weeks. Its inanity drove me almost to insanity! Like Brian and Michael’s ode to LS Lowry, ‘Matchstalk Men and Matchstalk Cats and Dogs’, it was a huge hit I couldn’t avoid, however hard I tried. I could have happily strangled every one of the irritating little blue b*st*rds….

ELO were nothing if not consistent in 1978. Despite several years in the charts, their USP of well-crafted records with a prominent string section had remained – well – U! Co-founder Roy Wood had long since departed to form Wizzard, but drummer Bev Bevan and singer-writer-guitarist-producer-everything-else-er Jeff Lynne were still around to keep us entertained. ‘Out of the Blue’ was a double album, and its signature logo of colourful flying saucer was everywhere that year. Their concerts became more elaborate and technical and, while I didn’t see them live, those performances became a feature of TOTP appearances.

‘Sweet Talking Woman’, ‘Wild West Hero’ and ‘Mr Blue Sky’ each peaked at six in ’78, and there was plenty more still to come. Even better, Jeff Lynne is still going! Although somewhat shrunken since the Out of the Blue era, the trademark frizz is intact, as is, despite all those years in the States, the Brummie accent Why he isn’t Sir Jeff is a mystery, a knighthood long overdue. If the PM or Queen needs convincing, she should simply watch the clip above.

For all ELO’s singles chart consistency, and the tenacious tentacles of the Grease stars, it was another, considerably less famous act which enjoyed no fewer than four top three hits in 1978. No, not Showaddywaddy, although they were still churning out the crap rock’n’roll covers. No, it was Darts. They, too, boasted plenty of members and harked back to a different era, but their blend of doo-wop and R’n’B was in stark contrast to the Leicester boys. ‘Daddy Cool’, ‘Come Back, My Love’, ‘Boy from New York City’ (my favourite) and ‘It’s Raining’ featured different lead vocalists and slightly different styles but Darts managed to carry it off. The wild-eyed Den Hegarty seemed out of synch with his bandmates but when he left in mid-year, they lost their way and the hits vanished as quickly as they had appeared. 

A review of my musical tastes in 1978 could never have been complete without mentioning the extraordinary force of nature that was, and is, Kate Bush. When the shy teenager first appeared on TOTP in February, waving her arms around and squealing what sounded like “Out on the wild and windy moors” in such a ridiculously high register, I and my friends didn’t know what to make of her. It was easiest to simply make fun. Yet ‘Wuthering Heights’ made Kate the first woman to write and sing a UK number one song.  

But bald statistics don’t do it justice. While I indubitably enjoyed ‘Wuthering Heights’ at the time, it seems to sound even better with every passing year. Kate’s vocals, the arty dance moves, the piano, stunning minor chords and rock guitar ‘outro’ together form surely one of the two or three greatest records in history. A work of genius – and she was only nineteen! 

And, blow me, she then goes and releases another mind-blowing single just months later. ‘The Man with the Child in His Eyes’ was another mature product of a young girl’s amazing imagination. It had been recorded three years earlier with that flowing piano and orchestra, but it was worth the wait. When I listen to it now I become the man with the tears in his eyes. When the horn echoes Kate’s voice near the end before that final lingering chord it’s monumentally moving.

Of course, Kate Bush enjoyed plenty more hits in the years to come but if she had disappeared into a black hole in 1979, her legacy of these 1978 masterpieces from ‘The Kick Inside’ would have been enough for any artist. The rush of renewed fascination with the Bush back catalogue when she stepped back into the spotlight with her first gigs in 35 years made me realise that she had been years ahead of her time. I didn’t appreciate a lot of her pretentious material. Indeed, I didn’t like many of her later hits. However, the world of music would be a lot poorer had Dave Gilmour not indulged young Kate in the mid-70s and set her on that road to success.  

Was she merely a Prog rocker, to be pigeonholed with Yes and the Floyd? No, she was unique, a one-off. Certainly progressive, her music full of intelligence. However, I reckon she had more melody than any of the much-maligned groups, and her wondrous love of movement took her onto a different plane entirely.

1977 – He got an ice pick, which made his ears burn

This is a year lauded as a special one in the history of music. Punk rock spelled the end of prog rock, although it was the death of Elvis which left a gaping hole in rock’n’roll. As for me, there was less of a feeling that the sands were shifting in such a momentous way. After all, I had more important things to worry about – like ‘O’ levels.

It transpired that 1977’s biggest sellers followed each other to the top spot from January to March. For all the new genres, David Soul seemed to create one of his own. Already popular as one half of TV’s detectives ‘Starsky and Hutch’, Soul set about dominating the UK singles charts with some rather plaintive piano ’n’ strings love songs led by ‘Don’t Give On Us Baby’. I preferred the slightly rockier ‘Silver Lady’, a number one in October.

Leo Sayer achieved his greatest success with another dreary ballad, ‘When I Need You’, and ABBA’s march to near-global supremacy with ‘The Name of the Game’ and another four minutes of pop perfection in ‘Knowing Me, Knowing You’. Cue shots of snowy landscapes, front- and side-on close-ups and bittersweet lyrics. A-ha-ahhhh.

A period of big musicals was set in motion by Evita. Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber had enjoyed some hits from ‘Jesus Christ Superstar’ but they were dwarfed by the popularity of the Act 2 scene-stealer, ‘Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina’. Julie Covington’s beautiful rendition was in the top ten for seemingly forever. Accept no imposters like Madonna or assorted Pussycat Dolls! I wasn’t a fan of the song but it’s an undeniable giant of West End musical theatre. Years later I was to see a lot of London musicals but somehow Evita has always eluded me.

Winter was setting in when I first heard a new record by Paul McCartney and Wings. I was happy to say aloud that the simple celebration of rural Scotland would never be a hit. Ever the man with his finger on the pulse of British pop taste, I was proved wrong as never before or since; ‘Mull of Kintyre’ sold two million copies in the UK alone! Not even ‘Sgt Dave Hutchinson’ (aka D Soul) could compete with acoustic guitar, an ex-Beatle and bagpipes.

In contrast to the above, the lens of retrospective specs reveals that there were indeed some pretty pivotal singles released. At the time, I just took them at face value. And that was just the ones I heard. The Clash wouldn’t have been seen dead performing ‘White Riot’ on TOTP, nor do I recall watching Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Don’t Stop’; neither managed to scrape in to the top 30.

Until 1977 all of my favourites tended to be top-tenners. However, while freed from school class attendance obligations during the exam period, I listened to Radio 1 shows beyond the usual Top 20 and Jimmy Savile. I think it may have been Tony Blackburn following the Noel Edmonds breakfast show, so I became familiar with his irritating ways and preferences. Of course, he probably had little say in the tracks played, as there were new releases besides those who’d already climbed the charts. As a result, I got to know, and like, a lot of singles which, despite heavy airplay, were left languishing in the twenties or thirties.

For example, another of the tracks from Fleetwood Mac’s epoch-making ‘Rumours’ album was ‘Dreams’. I loved the soft rock rhythm, the bassline and, of course, Stevie Nicks’ idiosyncratic vocals. I dispute her assertion that “thunder only happens when it’s raining” but it was a cracking record all the same. Yet it peaked at just 24 in the UK.

Another mostly British band who crossed the Atlantic to achieve success were Supertramp. I’d been drawn to a previous hit ‘Dreamer’ and in ’77, it was the turn of the less manic ‘Give A Little Bit’. Even more surprising today is the realisation that David Bowie’s evergreen ‘Heroes’ was another song whose class didn’t translate into contemporary sales. Robert Fripp’s legendary guitar work sounded so, well, heroic, and for me Bowie’s voice was never better. Yet by far his biggest hit of the year was ‘Sound and Vision’, the first half of which was instrumental. I had a friend who really loved Bowie, then seen as way ahead of his time. Perhaps, but that just meant most of us hated his material.

I had a few friends who raved about American country rockers The Eagles. I never really shared their enthusiasm, but they were never far from my ears or eyes in 1977. It was the year when the album ‘Hotel California’ was released. I didn’t really like the first single, ‘New Kid in Town’, but the title track boasted that intriguing lengthy intro and that (then) unusual guitar duet by Joe Walsh and Don Felder at the end. I’d no idea it would become such an iconic rock song, but it eased into the UK top ten, and the performance in this clip from the same year captures their languid LA style to perfection.  

Talking of classics, Boston’s ‘More Than a Feeling’ and Joe Walsh’s ‘Rocky Mountain Way’ made little impression on me or anyone else. However, the year gave us two British rock-pop staples by home-grown giants. Queen’s ‘We Are the Champions’ and Status Quo’s ‘Rockin’ All Over the World’ were top three singles which appealed to me, although they hardly blew my mind.

The voice of Lionel Richie is so familiar now, it feels like we were born with it in our brains but probably the first time I heard it was in 1977 on The Commodores’ ‘Easy’. It may have been ‘easy on a Sunday morning’ but on the Sunday evening chart show it was a bit of a yawnathon. The only redeeming feature was that guitar solo!

Manhattan Transfer topped the chart in March with ‘Chanson d’Amour’. Their 40s pastiche didn’t appeal to me at all and I was surprised that a few classmates actually sang along to it. It did introduce the saxophone as a supposed instrument of gratuitous sophistication to pop, for which the Transfer should grovel for forgiveness. ‘Chanson…’ already had a French title. There was no need to add a sax solo; the record was pretentious enough as it was! Thank goodness for ‘Baker Street’ and ‘Will You’ for delivering the sax from jazz and pop hell! 

Those weekday breakfasts spent listening to Radio 1, delaying another summer session of tedious revision, also left me with some real turkeys filling my head. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Alessi’s ‘O Lori’, Tony Etoria’s ‘I Can Prove It’ and ‘You’re Gonna Get Next To Me’ by Bo Kirkland and Ruth Davis. Yuk! There were some goodies, though. At the end of June, Hot Chocolate finally achieved number one status with ‘So You Win Again’. Even then, we all knew that Errol Brown et al had never topped the singles charts so perhaps the great British public heard the new song and bought it out of sympathy. It wasn’t their best, but a reliable mid-tempo ‘lost love’ number which I couldn’t help liking either. 

Less successful was ‘Heaven on the Seventh Floor’, the latest in a line of unassuming lively ditties from Paul Nicholas, but Smokie reached five with ‘It’s Your Life’. Back then I was unfamiliar with Emerson, Lake and Palmer’s prog rock reputation. I didn’t even know what prog rock was. Nevertheless, if ‘Fanfare of the Common Man’ was anything to go by, I’d sing its praises. The radio edit soared like Keith Emerson’s keyboards to number two, but if TOTP had featured the full eight minutes of their frost-filled performance in the Montreal Olympic stadium, I would surely have re-considered.

Considerable airplay was also given to Boney M’s ‘Ma Baker’. Their third consecutive top-tenner, I loved it. Opening with that snarling "Freeze, I'm Ma Baker, put your hands in the air! Gimme all your money", it opened out into a great dance track. German producer-guru Frank Farian had assembled a visually-arresting quartet of West Indian singers and dancers, the most notable being Bobby Farrell and his afro. His gyrations rarely appeared to be in time with the music, and he famously mimed to Farian’s vocals. I recall watching a clip from a German TV show where Boney M sang ‘Daddy Cool’ live. It became crystal clear why Farrell didn’t sing on the recordings. All he needed to do was get five words in tune but no, he was hopeless! 

Hot Chocolate were followed at the top by a record which undoubtedly did make my jaw drop when I first heard it. Donna Summer’s previous hit ‘Love to Love You Baby’ had been banned because of its unambiguous groans and sighs. However, when ‘I Feel Love’ launched into that synthesizer sequencer line, I felt I had been transported into the future. Indeed I had. Giorgio Moroder’s productions were no strangers to the charts but, assisted by Donna’s sexy voice, this innovative use of the Moog and key changes influenced a new generation of musicians, let alone clubbers or ordinary listeners like me. It was disco, but not as we knew it.

Tavares, Trammps and Rose Royce had more conventional disco hits, not really to my taste, but one of my favourite up-tempo hits of 1977 was Heatwave’s ‘Boogie Nights’. A rare British giant of the genre, this was another record which grabbed you by the throat on first exposure. It sounds quite tame nowadays, but in Spring 1977 that funky growling guitar line seemed really heavy. Their moves in this video are laughable, but it was the sound which blew me away.

It wasn’t only Giorgio Moroder pioneering electronic music in the charts. In France, a twenty-something composer and synth wizard released his LP ‘Oxygene’ to an unsuspecting world. The fourth ‘track’, ‘Oxygene IV’ captured the imagination. It sounded so clean, so crisp, so… new! Totally instrumental, of course, but it led to a new genre of boring-bloke-behind-synths-with-laser-show concerts. Later open-air gigs attracted crowds of a million-plus but not sure how many of them would have seen Monsieur Jarre actually doing his thing. It made four in our charts, and the album also did rather well.

Yet it wasn’t even my favourite French electronic instrumental of the year; that was Space’s ‘Magic Fly’. The helmets in the video were a precursor to the shy, mysterious image so beloved of twenty-first century dancemeisters Daft Punk but the synth melody, bass and drums, together with the visuals, made for such a futuristic package I was instantly hooked. A shame that it was held at number two for three weeks in September, but it was perhaps understandable given the circumstances which began on 16^th August. 

I distinctly remember sitting in a rather austere hotel restaurant in Rimini having breakfast. We were talking about the previous night’s awesome firework display marking the Feast of the Assumption. Then, whether it was seeing the front page on someone’s newspaper or other Brits in our group telling us, I forget, but that was the morning we discovered that Elvis Presley had died.

It was more of a shock to Mum who, while hardly a rock’n’roller, was the same age as Elvis, and who had probably been a major part of her musical soundtrack through the Fifties. My generation was less attached to him and his music, but his singles had continued to sprinkle the charts throughout my life. Apart from the re-released ‘Girl of My Best Friend’ in 1976, I hadn’t liked any of them particularly. However, I knew from the Jimmy Savile show how much of a legend he had been; all those groundbreaking chart-toppers such as ‘Jailhouse Rock’ and ‘It’s Now Or Never’ plus tearjerkers like ‘In The Ghetto’.

His voice and charisma were unmistakeable, even to a child of the ‘60s and ‘70s like me. It’s just that his music didn’t speak to me the way it had done to the previous generation. Unsurprisingly, sales of his recent compilations soared, and his new single ‘Way Down’ predictably went to number one. It didn’t change my opinion of his music but there was no escaping it for a few weeks. There was also the dreadful by-product in the form of the commemorative single ‘I Remember Elvis Presley’ by Dutch producer-singer Danny Mirror. Thousands of people fell for it and it went to number four. It was simply WRONG!

The Fifties and Sixties had already generated huge LP sales that year. The Shadows, Slim Whitman, The Supremes and others all led the album charts. Prog rockers like Pink Floyd, Yes, ELP and Genesis were also in the mainstream. Despite the hiccup of post-Presley grief purchases, the scene was set for a new set of rockers to register their protest against the old guard of music and politicians. They were, of course, the Punks. 

This isn’t a history of pop so I’ll focus on my own belated introduction to the strange world of sneers, safety pins and two-minute bursts of frenetic energy. Malcolm McLaren had been marketing his pet band The Sex Pistols for a while, but it took the nation’s preoccupation with the Queen’s Silver Jubilee to provide the fertile seedbed from which a powerful brand grew into the mainstream with alarming speed.  As the Union Flag bunting mushroomed around the streets of Britain, and pressure mounted on all of us to commemorate Liz 2’s twenty-five years on the throne, it was a clever move to release a snarling alternative anthem appealing to the working classes unimpressed by the real thing. The Pistols’ ‘God Save the Queen’ featuring Johnny Rotten’s biting vocals was banned by the BBC and the main record stores and famously thwarted from taking the number one position in Jubilee week by Rod Stewart. Much as I enjoyed ‘The First Cut is the Deepest’, I would have appreciated the opportunity to hear the record everyone was either talking about or desperately trying to ignore.

When I did manage to catch it, I realised it was nothing special. The follow-up, ‘Pretty Vacant’ was far superior. I recall the TOTP presenter - Kid Jensen, I think it was – linking another doomed and forgettable Cilla Black effort with this film. ‘I also quite liked ‘Holidays in the Sun’, another single from the ‘Never Mind the Bollocks…’ album. However, it was really only the descending guitar riff, ripped off The Jam’s ‘In The City’ and the first verse. The rest degenerated into Johnny wailing on about the Berlin Wall. Eh?

Punk rock was hardly aimed at comfortable middle-class kids like me, but it did have an impact on many teenagers in leafy Billericay. I remember waiting to go into a class and one of the girls – well spoken and certainly no wild child – was raving about a Damned gig she’d been to the night before: “They were gobbing and everything!” she enthused. It was obvious that there was a new world order in pop music. 

TOTP had to change, too. Blackburn, Edmonds, Savile and their ilk needed to give way to presenters like Jensen, Mike Read and Peter Powell. The latter actually appeared to like the New Wave bands he was introducing, and his enthusiasm rubbed off on teens like me. Nevertheless, it was DLT who did the honours for probably the most memorable live TOTP performance EVER. His words were apposite; the world really wasn’t ready for John Otway and Wild Willy Barrett’s ramshackle rendition of ‘Really Free’! It only scraped into the top 30 but was a talking point in our sixth form common room. 

If Otway and even the Pistols had a fairly short singles chart shelf life, the same wasn’t true of The Stranglers. I first saw them on TOTP in around June, Jean-Jacques Burnel bounding around miming to ‘Go Buddy Go’, wielding a guitar with no strings! At least they didn’t wreck their set. They had an ugly reputation for concert violence and even been banned from the Exeter University Great Hall after one fiery gig. A great shame because they were great musicians and songwriters. They were hardly young tearaways, either; drummer Jet Black was already pushing forty! I didn’t appreciate some of their other early hits like ‘Something Better Change’ and ‘Hanging Around’ until later, but ‘No More Heroes’ was in my opinion one of the best records of 1977. With Hugh Cornwell’s superior vocals, J-J’s filthy bass sound and Dave Greenfield’s swirling keyboards to the fore, it had that punk vibe but a great melody, too. The following year or two gave us more terrific hits like ‘5 Minutes’, ‘Nice ‘n’ Sleazy’ and ‘Walk On By’. The Stranglers were notoriously lazy lip-synchers, though. Cornwell and Burnel never seemed to take their TV performances seriously, but I suppose that was part of the image. They were punks and so obviously didn’t care! They also demonstrated that with some quality songs I could be a bit of a punk, too. In spirit, at least.

The Stranglers thus became my favourite band. But the song I accorded the title of favourite song of the year could not have provided a more dramatic contrast. It was Berni Flint’s sweet ‘I Don’t Want to Put a Hold on You’. Acoustic guitar, no instrument destruction, an artist graduating from ITV’s ‘Opportunity Knocks’. Definitely not the new wave. My musical tastes were as broad as ever.

1975 – It’s just a silly phase I’m going through

There was a distinct shift of power in the pop charts in 1975. That perspective can come only from the future, of course, but I remember feeling that something was missing. Maybe it was the death of Glam, maybe my attaining the grand old age of 14, grieving for lost youth as I started my O Level courses. I have read an article by Saint Etienne’s Bob Stanley who wrote in passing that 1975 was one of a few years notable for the awfulness of their music. A subjective viewpoint, of course, but it’s  interesting to see a respected musician and journalist supporting my humble opinion.

Despite never attending a proper disco in my school life, there was no excuse for being unaware of the genre. Songs like ‘Disco Stomp’ (Hamilton Bohannon) and ‘Disco Queen’ (Hot Chocolate) did what it says on the tin. However, I preferred other records which didn’t try so hard.  The Bee Gees reinvented themselves with the funky ‘Jive Talkin’’ and Hot Chocolate released the immortal ‘You Sexy Thing’. It would have topped the chart were it not for possibly the greatest record ever made, Shit happens, Errol!

I remember returning from our summer holiday on Mallorca, always eager to find out what had been happening in the UK charts while in our Balearic bubble. The major movement was the rise of two great songs from the USA. George McCrae’s ‘It’s Been So Long’ was my favourite of the year, and it competed for the number four spot with KC and the Sunshine Band’s finest moment on vinyl, ‘That’s the Way I Like It’. Just watch this clip and try resisting the temptation to dance and join in the “Woo-oo-oo”s at the beginning and the “uh-huh”s during the chorus. Dig that brass section, man! I liked it in ’75 but it’s improved with age.

I also enjoyed Van McCoy’s ludicrously catchy semi-symphonic ‘The Hustle’, which made number three in June. It had the edge over that other dance move of the year: ‘The Bump’ by Kenny! The group’s children’s TV presenter-style clothes and bouncy performances were simultaneously irritating and fun.

There were no disco chart-toppers over here but the Philly sound was more successful in the form of The Stylistics. As more singles were released, their chart positions seemed to improve slowly and in 1975 the jaunty ‘Sing Baby Sing’ reached three. This was trumped by the magnificent ‘I Can’t Give You Anything (But My Love)’ in August. Russell Thompson Jnr’s falsetto soared wider even than his afro!

David Bowie had morphed into the Thin White Duke but I didn’t like his soul era. Thank goodness for the re-release of ‘Space Oddity’ which went to number one that autumn. This used to be one of my all-time favourites but has since slipped down the list. Still great, though: and a successful musical story with a sad ending is so rare.                                                  

It was also a big year for Country and Western, as we then called it. Oh, C&W. All that drawlin’ and mewlin’ about lervin’, cheatin’, drinkin’ and a-prayin’ by rednecks who think the world is a poorer place since the abolition of slavery. And then there are all the ‘yee-hahs’. Aarghhh! Yet, strangely 1975 gave us a few Country songs I – er - actually quite liked.

Not Tammy Wynette’s awful ‘Stand By Man’, which took the UK by storm in the Spring. In a year when gender equality took a giant leap closer thanks to the Sex Discrimination Act, the sentiments seemed slightly at odds with the mood of the times. In contrast, two other songs surprised me by sounding rather good. First, Ray Stevens stopped streaking and returned to his Country roots by delivering a rollicking piano-banjo version of ‘Misty’. Later, I also found myself enjoying the be-permed Billy-Jo Spears’ ‘Blanket on the Ground’. Fortunately that was pretty much it as far as good Country & Western was concerned. Sorry, Dolly, but normal service was quickly resumed!

Northern Soul was gaining in popularity and, as with so many local ‘underground’ musical movements, related record sales took the genre into the national mainstream. I’d no inkling of what Northern Soul was. I don’t suppose I’d have recognised the term even if I’d lived next-door to one of the hotbeds of the movement, Wigan Casino! Apparently, revivals such as ‘Ghost in My House’ owed their success to Northern Soul DJs and, in turn, future stars like Soft Cell would create new audiences for mid-‘70s songs such as Gloria Jones’ ‘Tainted Love’. 

Had I been sufficiently motivated to read more about it I’d have worked out why two artists in the 1975 charts had Wigan in their names. Wigan’s Chosen Few were created to accompany the instrumental dance track ‘Footsie’ and, more my cup of tea back then, Wigan’s Ovation recorded the more ‘poppy’ ‘Skiing in the Snow’. I never did reconcile a song about winter sports with an industrial town in the North West! Regardless, both made Top of the Pops and did well. 

South East England experienced a notable heatwave that summer and, for me, three records represent those weeks spent sweltering in the classroom or sitting at home, windows wide open. Brian Hyland’s early Sixties hit ‘Sealed with a Kiss’ was suitably slow and sultry, and one-hit wonders Typically Tropical (how apt!) topped the chart with ‘Barbados’. I’ve never been to the island personally but that August, we had to improvise and make some subtle alterations to the lyrics: “Woah! We’re going to Mallorca!” And we were “flying away on Britannia (not Coconut) Airways”. 

At the time of my fourteenth birthday, 10cc were back at the top with the ageless ‘I’m Not in Love’. A few months earlier, I’d enjoyed the punning whimsy of ‘Life is a Minestrone’ but this was a whole new ball game. It was such an innovative sound, with those painstakingly multi-tracked and looped “aaahhhhhhh”s behind Eric Stewart’s electronic piano, gentle vocals and subtle sentiments expressed in clever lyrics. Just imagine a hot Sunday afternoon with that ‘choir’ wafting softly on a light breeze; ‘I’m Not In Love’ would be perfect. 

1975 was the year Rod Stewart armed himself with eyeliner and other cosmetics, and made his Atlantic Crossing to conquer America. The first step was, appropriately enough, the single, ‘Sailing’, which became the second biggest seller in the UK.  It wasn’t my favourite, but it’s an example of how simplicity works. By coincidence, ‘Sailing’ kept another nautical song at number two, ‘The Last Farewell’ by Roger Whittaker. Rod was travelling “to be near you, to be free” but Rog seemed to be sailing home, leaving his love behind. In his chart hits, he always seemed to be off somewhere: leaving Durham Town, heading “over the sea to Skye”. Never mind; you couldn’t dislike Roger Whittaker. He’d been on children’s TV quite a bit, usually showing off his whistling skills, and he had the kind, avuncular appeal of an unpretentious entertainer, certainly not a pop star! Oddly, ‘The Last Farewell’ did much better in the States than ‘Sailing’ but Rod hasn’t looked back since! 

There were other slowies which I didn’t much like but were hard to avoid. Ralph McTell’s ‘Streets of London’ was more to Mum’s taste than mine, and Minnie Ripperton’s ‘Lovin’ You’ – including those irritating chirping birds and eye-wateringly high notes – was possibly better suited to canines. Then there was ‘If’ by Telly Savalas. It was a big year for the American TV cop show ‘Kojak’ but for some reason its star believed he could be a serious recording artist, too. Women did seem to find his deep speaking voice rather sexy but I found a whole song of him intoning the lyrics sheer hell! If Telly’s musical career encouraged William Shatner’s similar move, then ‘If’ has even more to answer for than I originally thought. 

In the credit column I would place the number ones, the dreamy ‘I Only Have Eyes For You’ by Art Garfunkel and Steve Harley and Cockney Rebel’s delightful ‘Come Up and See Me, Make Me Smile’ (I love that acoustic middle eight). Meanwhile John Lennon took ‘Imagine’ to number six, well before it attained classic status. 

Fox were a band with a different vibe, mostly down to the voice and hippyish poses of singer Susan Traynor. I liked their number three hit ‘Only You Can’ and their 1976 effort, ‘S-s-s-single Bed’. One of my faves of the year was ‘If You Think You Know How to Love Me’ by Smokey (later re-named Smokie, after Smokey Robinson threatened legal action!). They’d apparently been around in some form or other for years but once Chinn and Chapman sprinkled their writing/production stardust, they broke through at last. Chris Norman’s croaky vocals, the acoustic guitar, backing harmonies and quality songs made for a winning formula, repeated on the follow-up ‘Don’t Play Your Rock’n’Roll to Me’. Smokie are probably best known for ‘Living Next Door To Alice’, but only because it was appropriated and desecrated years later by Roy ‘Chubby’ Brown. I insist that their 1975 singles are far superior.

At the start of the year, Mum liked Pilot’s ‘January’ so much we actually bought it for her birthday. For me, the only memorable thing about it was the double-necked guitar they played on TOTP! Singer-writer-bassist David Paton had apparently been part of the Bay City Rollers a few years earlier but I’m not sure he fitted in with the new incarnation of the Rollers, who stood head, shoulders and platform shoes above the rest. 

They’d been building their reputation amongst teenage girls throughout the previous twelve months but as soon as Les McKeown sang the first line of ‘Bye Bye Baby’ in early ’75, they went stratospheric. ‘Rollermania’ out-did anything generated by the Osmonds, David Cassidy or indeed any band since The Beatles. Girls burst into tears at the very thought of Les, Eric, Woody, Alan and Derek. Boys didn’t get a look-in! I hadn’t been aware of The Four Seasons’ original, but the Rollers sold a million in no time at all. 

‘Give A Little Love’ was their summer love song, a chart-topper while I was confined to bed ill at Uncle David’s. However, when they released ‘Money Honey’ in the autumn, it already felt like their day had gone. They never had another number one single and Britain was faced with a pile of unwanted plaid. Modern girls whose mums and grandmothers roll their eyes at their obsession with One Direction, Justin Bieber or whoever, should just ask about that box of yellowing posters and tartan scarves in the attic….. 

Another of my picks from the year’s pop crop was Carpenters’ ‘Please Mister Postman’. As with ‘Bye Bye Baby’, I was ignorant of the song’s origins, but it didn’t matter. However, the passing years have not been kind to this record. It’s that dreaded Country vibe again; give me one of their straightforward ballads any day. 

Researching for this memoir when my own mind failed me led me to the opinion that 1975 must have had more comedy or novelty records than possibly any other. As with anything in life, humour can be very personal and subjective, and so these humorous songs were very hit and miss. I can’t say I was a fan of Windsor Davies and Don Estelle’s ‘Whispering Grass’ yet, performed as their characters from BBC sitcom ‘It Ain’t Half Hot Mum’, it was curiously engaging and was the fourth biggest seller of the year! “Sing, Lofty!” It wasn’t strictly speaking a comedy record. Estelle sang it straight in his impeccable tenor but Davies brought his Sergeant-Majorly Welsh baritone to the spoken section and OTT gurning to their TOTP performances. 

Billy Connolly was just beginning to make a name for himself as a comic and actor but the trouble was that his Glaswegian accent was almost incomprehensible to anyone south of Hadrian’s Wall. His re-write of Tammy Wynette’s ‘D.I.V.O.R.C.E.’ proved a major step towards his achieving eventual national treasure status. However, hearing the song again reminded me that the song wasn’t funny at all. Forget the words and simply watch Billy; he just made you want to laugh. 

Meanwhile, Max Boyce managed a feat that even Billy Connolly couldn’t: a number one album. The charismatic musician and songwriter had become an icon of South Wales and, boosted by a few late-evening network TV series, had spread his fanbase way beyond Cardiff, Swansea and the Valleys. Everyone was going “Oggi oggi, ogg, oi, oi, oi!” even if we didn’t know one end of a (giant) leek from the other. Max didn’t just write rugby-related crowdpleasers or humorous tales; there were also a lot of wistful ballads reflecting his own mining community heritage. Dad and I had become so enamoured of his showmanship and mix of musical material that I actually bought his ‘The Incredible Plan’ LP. From its success, obviously I wasn’t the only one. 

At Christmas, I also purchased the single of Laurel and Hardy’s ‘Trail of the Lonesome Pine’, ostensibly for Mum and Dad but really for me. To be honest, for all their comedy genius, I’ve never been a fan of the musical bits in their films; they just get in the way of that wonderful slapstick and looks to camera that left me helpless with laughter. This excerpt from ‘Way Out West’ was an exception. There were bits we could all act out, and it had the temerity to hit number two in the chart. 

Now if ‘disco’ in the title meant you had to dance, then ‘funky’ signalled the opportunity to laugh. Two top five songs demonstrated that it was working. Neither song contained anything resembling actual funk, unless the ‘k’ is silent! First, The Goodies transferred their TV popularity to Top of the Pops with ‘Funky Gibbon’. Completely pointless, but as with much of Bill Oddie’s musical contributions, who cared? Here were grown men from Oxbridge dressed in colourful clothes prancing around like apes, and we loved it! Brummie ‘stand-up’ Jasper Carrott was less familiar to me, featuring mainly on ITV. That changed when he released ‘Funky Moped’. Essentially a silly tale of a girlfriend lost to another bloke with a bike, it was a decent semi-rock record you could dance to. Also, you can’t beat lines like:- 

        “As soon as me moped’s front mudguard is fixed,

        Gonna find the creep and put him down (down, down…)”! 

A lot of comedy doesn’t stand the test of time. After all, once you’ve heard a punchline, or the twist in a tall tale, it’s lost the element of surprise. But if you have a funny song without jokes, you have an enduring winner.

As in the previous year, my 14 year-old self didn’t really pick out any authentic classics in 1975. Until the end of November, that is. That was when I and all my contemporaries were first exposed to the jaw-dropping promo film for the new single by Queen called ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’. From the opening silhouettes to the man with the gong, I remember being enthralled. I had no clue what it as about. “Beelzebub has a devil for a sideboard…”? All those Galileos and Piccolos? Four decades of documentaries and interviews with Freddie, Brian, Roger and Eric, and countless listens haven’t really enlightened me, either. But so what? All the effort required to write and record it certainly paid off. It was number one for nine weeks, then for a further five upon its re-release in the wake of Freddie Mercury’s death in 1991. ‘Wayne’s World’ then gave us the immortal headbanging in the car scene, but ‘Bo Rhap’ still looks and sounds fresh.  

Records commonly touted as The Best Ever usually have a negative effect on me yet I cannot think of another which combines melody, mood, rhythm, rock, innovation and invention in such an unforgettable way. Brian May recently said that he still enjoyed listening to the track when it came on the radio, and it wasn’t just ego talking. For all Bohemian Rhapsody’s history and intellectual dissection, I absolutely agree with him. It sounds as absorbing as it did the first time I heard it. Click on this reference link to remind yourself of Queen’s six-minute magnum opus and the film which launched the whole pop video industry.