1989 - Life is a mystery, Everyone must stand alone

If 1988 was a personal low point, then the following year signified a renaissance of sorts. The BBC research job was going well, the intestinal surgery had left me pain-free for the first time in two years, and Rotaract had brought me right out of my stubborn shell. 

OK, life wasn’t perfect. I never left a Rotaract disco with a young lady on my arm, or a phone number in my pocket. Nevertheless, for all that romantic disappointment there was social fulfilment of a different kind. I was Treasurer and Publicity Officer, throwing myself into all sorts of activities and an enthusiastic participant in a myriad of quizzes, sports challenges, days out, nights out, concerts and those village hall discos covering the four corners of Essex and everywhere in between.  I may have sat out the slowies at the end, but it was a cracking year for dance music.

It wasn’t all about the American house or British rave scenes either. Italian production team Groove Groove Melody formed Black Box and created possibly the greatest floor-filler in history, ‘Ride On Time’. Model Katrin Quinol was the face of Black Box, but the single’s vocals were sampled from an old Loleatta Holloway song. It didn’t really matter at the time that the sexy dancer on the video was miming; it simply made you want to dance, and what more could you want from a dance track?! For all its obvious house origins, it still sounds great well into the twenty-first century.

Belgian ensemble Technotronic got in the act, too, with the pulsating ‘Pump Up the Jam’ but Double Trouble and Rebel MC from London also made the top three with ‘Street Tuff’. I also had a fondness for the Beatmasters’ ‘Hey DJ’, which introduced us to the rap of Alison Clarkson, aka Betty Boo.

It wasn’t all plain sailing. I recall being in a car heading for a Rotaract event on a Sunday evening. One of my fellow passengers suddenly turned up the radio to hear the chart show, exclaiming: “It’s a woman having an orgasm!”  Lil Louis’ ‘French Kiss’ throbbed away seemingly forever before the rhythm slowed and ‘vocals’ kicked in. This was indeed clearly depicting more than a little tongue-on-tongue action! Embarrassing to dance to, though. An enduring Rotaract favourite was Damian’s version of ‘Time Warp’. 

The choreographed moves brought everyone together:

                        “It’s just a jump to the left

                        And then a step to the right.

Put your hands on your hips
You bring your knees in tight"

but I confess I hated the record. I just had to go along with the rest.

By November, a new dance craze, the ‘Lambada’ had spread across Europe. The band was French, the singer Brazilian, the language Portuguese, the song adapted from a Bolivian original, but the infectious Latin beat traversed all borders and was something I could happily attempt to sway along to.

I’m pretty sure ‘Bring Me Edelweiss’ was not such a global success, but it was a heady hotch-potch of – would you believe? – House piano, ‘scratching’, rap, yodelling, cowbells and a sample of Abba’s ‘SOS’ chorus. You might expect such a bonkers collection of Alpine stereotypes would kill the record stone dead, but you’d be wrong; the band Edelweiss were Austrian and the record topped the chart from Basel to Vienna, reaching five here. 

Another top 5 hit which appealed to me also relied on gratuitous (but no doubt legal) borrowing of bits from old records. Kon Kan’s ‘I Beg Your Pardon’ was a fast-paced track sampling various sources, especially Lynn Anderson’s ‘Rose Garden’. I don’t remember the Canadian duo doing much else but this was great stuff. Not a staple of Rotaract discos but fun to listen to nonetheless.

A glance at my 1989 diary uncovers the revelation that none of the above was my favourite ‘dance/disco’ single of the year. That contemporary decision fell the way of the Fine Young Cannibals’ ‘You Drive Me Crazy’. They’d been around for a few years with some interesting dance tracks but this was the time when they really hit the big time on both sides of the Atlantic. ‘Good Thing’ also made our top ten, boasting a very catchy jump beat. Lead singer Roland Gift had a distinctive mixed race appearance and unusual vocal style, which endeared him to the media and girls alike. He seemed to abandon music for acting and did indeed nab some decent film roles, but in more recent times I read that the recording studio has lured him once more.

I didn’t buy FYC’s album The Raw and the Cooked but I did splash out on Sydney Youngblood’s debut. This was purely down to the magnificence of the Texan’s singles ‘If Only I Could’ and ‘Sit and Wait’. If he had stuck with a conventional soul production, I’d never have liked him. However, his voice was mixed with some darned funky, hip-hoppy rhythms, but after these two crackers he never reached the top 40 again. A shame.

Apparently Mr Youngblood was criticised for one or two tracks sounding too similar to some work by another breakthrough act of ’89, Soul II Soul. Jazzie B became one of the faces of London R’n’B, his ‘pineapple head’ dreadlocks swaying alongside the sexy string section and behind the collective’s female singers. Caron Wheeler fronted the number one ‘Back to Life’ but it was the Soul II Soul beat which influenced a shedload of dance acts in the coming years. Impossible not to dance to.

Another icon of late Eighties hip-hop was Neneh Cherry. With Swedish-Sierra Leone parentage, she seemed to spend much of her time in the UK, which was great because she enlivened any number of British pop programmes in 1989. She sounded pure London on ‘Buffalo Stance’, especially in the delicious dialect ‘break’:-

“What is he like? What's he like anyway?
Yo' man. What do you expect? The guy's a gigolo, man
(giggling) You know wha’ I mean?!”

Yet this wasn’t my favourite Neneh Cherry song. That was the magnificent ‘Man Child’. The melancholic chord changes and melody, plus Neneh’s sassy rapping, gets me on an emotional level which few songs ever do. I remember seeing her perform it some years later at Glastonbury, and she was sensational then, too. A host of twenty-first century American stars owe so much to Neneh Cherry’s trailblazing as credible feminist musician, writer and performer. Forget Nikki Minaj et al; listen to the real deal.

According to my diary, ‘Manchild’ was my favourite ‘Slow/Ballad’ record of the year, edging out ‘The Living Years’ by Mike and the Mechanics. As my entry of 10^th February records:

            “At last, Mike Rutherford has merged from the shadow of 

            Genesis colleagues Collins and Gabriel, taking his Mechanics

            Up to number two in the singles and album charts. It’s one of 

            those ballads with (a) rousing choral chorus which has ‘classic’

            written all over it!”

With words by BA Robertson and the voice of Paul Carrack, it is such a sad song about a son's reflective regret over unresolved conflict with his now-deceased father. If it came on the radio, I always needed to keep a tissue handy for Angie. Now, having lost my own Dad, I find it a tough listen myself. 

There were other big ballads that year. The Bangles lit their ‘Eternal Flame’ which illuminated the charts for much of the Spring. Ah, what man couldn’t hold a candle for Susannah Hoffs?! Phil Collins received a cacophony of criticism for his tale of a bag lady, ‘Another Day in Paradise’. The gist was that instead of just writing a song, why can’t a millionaire pop star just give all his money away to the homeless? That was just lazy journalism. Why shouldn’t he do what he does best, enable us to enjoy the music and encourage the rest of us to “just think about it” and do our bit? Bob Geldof and Bono have endured similar belligerent brickbats over the years, but none of them justified. 

Gloria Estefan and The Miami Sound Machine were very popular in the late Eighties, bringing Cuban-influenced Latin rhythms into the mainstream. I wasn’t so struck by them. However, in 1989, the lead singer went solo and enjoyed success with slowies ‘Don’t Want to Lose You Now’ and the re-released ‘Can’t Stay Away From You’. Estefan didn’t endear herself to me with her anti-Castro rants, but back then she did have a wicked way with a ballad. 

I must confess I’d completely forgotten The Eurythmics’ sultry ‘Don’t Ask Me Why’ and Richard Marx’s ‘Right Here Waiting’ despite them being amongst my favourites at the time. I do have lasting memories of ‘Belfast Child’, which gave Simple Minds their only UK number one single. I thought it had been a re-working of an Ulster folk song but that proved to be only half correct. Apparently, Jim Kerr borrowed the tune but wrote entirely new lyrics “trying to relate to people in Northern Ireland who lost loved ones”. It’s a blistering record, from Kerr’s unaccompanied intro to the powerful second half. Finally, the easing back at the end, surely designed to allow the listener to sit and contemplate the sadness and emptiness created during the Troubles which were very much alive and kicking in 1989. 

The legendary Roy Orbison had died of a heart attack the previous December. I had come to love some of his Sixties classics, and his voice is an eternal wonder.  Enjoying a renaissance as part of tongue-in-cheek super-group The Travelling Wilburys at least in the States, he was more popular than he had been for two decades. It’s a shame therefore that he didn’t live to see the Jeff Lynne-penned ‘She’s Got it’ go to number three early in February 1989. Actually, I preferred the Bono/Edge composition ‘She’s a Mystery to Me’ even though it failed to make the top 20. 

Roy’s ‘She’s Got it’ was stalled behind another fifty-something singer, Gene Pitney. I’d remembered the original version of ‘Something’s Gotten Hold of My Heart’ but it was quite a revelation to hear it given a big production sound twenty-one years later. It complemented Marc Almond’s soulful voice beautifully, so the decision to reunite the song (from the aforementioned Cook-Greenaway partnership) with the now silver-haired Pitney was brave. Fortunately it worked spectacularly. However it didn’t lead to more UK hits although he continued performing up to his sudden death in 2006 after a concert in Cardiff, a few miles down the road from where I am writing this.

Sixties guitar hero and shock-haired singer Joe Brown had been part of my childhood thanks to constant playing of Mum’s 7” EP featuring ‘Picture of You’. I was to be reminded of this when his daughter Sam Brown enjoyed success of her own with the bluesy ‘Stop’. For some reason, I really liked it. Apart from Sam’s voice, it must have been the gentle strings which clinched the deal. Since then I have spotted her doing backing vocals for various bigger stars like Dave Gilmour, and she has been one of Jools Holland’s go-to singers performing with his orchestra. She has shown that you can make a career as a supporting artist and has even taught the art of backing vocals at the Academy of Contemporary Music. 

When it comes to heavy rock ballads, there are few stronger than ‘Sweet Child o’ Mine’ by Guns ‘n’ Roses. Axl Rose still looked startlingly feminine back in autumn 1988 when this was originally released, but Slash was already enigmatically hidden behind his distinctive long black curls beneath that towering hat. The guitar is just as towering but, for all the record’s enduring iconic status in rock history, it originally reached a paltry 23 in our singles chart before getting a new lease of life in 1989. An unforgettable five fab minutes.

Then in the summer it was surpassed by the roaring return to form of Alice Cooper. I recall first hearing the searing feedback-laden intro to ‘Poison’ while sitting in the car at a rain-soaked West Bay on holiday that August. Alice seemed such an anachronism as the Eighties entered their death throes, but amidst all the crap emanating from the likes of Kiss and Aerosmith, this remains a rock classic nonetheless.

Another record that conjures up memories of that summer fortnight in Dorset is Martika’s ‘Toy Soldiers’. Written about a cocaine-addicted friend, it had a different atmosphere to it, partly because of the childlike backing chorus (featuring, amongst others, future Black-Eyed Pea, Fergie) and also the haunting vocals of Martika herself. She has done all sorts of stuff since, as writer and performer, but this remains the only song I’ve liked.

In October, the Rotaract club travelled en masse to Sussex for a youth hostelling weekend at Alfriston. In addition to savouring the delights of the beautiful village, Eastbourne pier and the Seven Sisters walk, the trip brings back memories of the newly released Tears For Fears album, Seeds of Love.  Three years and a million pounds in the making, it wasn’t the masterpiece everyone was hoping for. Indeed it was panned for obvious echoes of The Beatles’ Sergeant Pepper in the title track which, for all its rambling excesses, I quite enjoyed listening to. The following March, another large group of us went to see the band at Wembley Arena. Recognising the criticism of the Summer of Love overtones, Curt and Roland had the cheeky temerity to include in the set list a singalong ‘All You Need is Love’.

The only pop concert I attended in ’89 was Elton John, also at the big barn Arena as part of the ‘Reg Strikes Back’ tour. I’ve already alluded to it in respect of Nik Kershaw’s supporting role, but the abiding memory is not of Elton doing his thing belting out hits like ‘Philadelphia Freedom’ or ‘I’m Still Standing’. Unfortunately it is of boos ringing out when it became apparent that Elton wasn’t reappearing for the encore, thus depriving 7,000 people who’d paid at least £17.50 from hearing ‘Candle in the Wind’ and other faves. Reg wasn’t striking back, he was just on strike! 

On Radio 1 the next morning, there were whispers that Elton had had one of his notorious hissy fits and left the building and George Michael waiting in the wings, where he’d been preparing  to duet on ‘Don’t Let the Sun Go Down On Me’. I have no proof of this rumour but the show’s conclusion did leave a sour taste and made for a despondent trudge back to Wembley Park Tube station. Nevertheless the four of us tried to compensate by singing the missing songs ourselves. Apologies to the fellow passengers who had to hear it. 

One of the biggest and most controversial tours was Madonna’s ‘Blonde Ambition, taking in three nights at Wembley Stadium. To my chagrin, I missed out on this one, but not out of choice. I doubt that her sweet Christmas hit ‘Dear Jessie’ reached the set list, which was absolutely laden with hits past, present and future. Her only number one single that year was ‘Like A Prayer’, one of her attempts (successful!) to antagonise the Catholic church hierarchy, especially with the video’s depiction of burning crosses and kissing a black male saint. At least she covered up her Gaultier conic bra and stopped simulating sex on a bed for this memorable concert performance. It’s by no means my favourite Madonna track, with its gospel choir sections, but definitely an example of the Eighties megastar in her pomp.

Well, I’ve reached this far in my 1989 journey without including those initials SAW. They can’t be ignored any longer. If Madonna was at the peak of her creative powers at this time, so was the Hit Factory and the writing of Pete Waterman.  They were on the credits of no fewer than seven number one singles, and heaven knows how many other top tenners.  

Jason Donovan took centre stage from Kylie Minogue. He sold 1.5 million copies of the Ten Good Reasons album, and topped the singles charts with ‘Too Many Broken Hearts’ and the Brian Hyland ballad ‘Sealed with A Kiss’, as well as with Kylie on ‘Especially With You’ and a host of others familiar from the S/A/W roster (plus Cliff, Lisa Stansfield, Bros et al) on the Band Aid 2 Christmas fundraiser. He wasn’t, though, on the SAW-produced Hillsborough disaster charity song ‘Ferry ‘Cross the Mersey’, a number one featuring a ‘who’s who’ of Merseyside pop stars like Gerry Marsden, Holly Johnson and Paul McCartney, and which was actually quite good. 

The twinkly-eyed, delectably-dimpled, red-headed Scouser Sonia also hit the big time with ‘You’ll Never Stop Me From Loving You’. Another typically rousing chorus but a forgettable verse melody. I’ve just listened and, er, no, it’s gone… S/A/W also revived the career of Donna Summer in the Spring with my favourite Waterman composition of 1989: 'This Time I Know It’s For Real’.

For all the above, probably the most successful ‘artist’ of the year was not an Aussie soap star, a Euro-dance phenomenon or an American female style icon. No, it was a – cartoon rabbit! Under the banner of Jive Bunny, a bunch of Yorkshire mixers and producers came up with the not-entirely-new idea of sampling a load of old hits for a new generation of partygoers. It proved extraordinarily, and infuriatingly, successful.

Starting in July, Jive Bunny and the Mastermixers spent a total of nine weeks at number one, with their segues of songs from the rock ‘n’ roll era, plus a soupcon of Glenn Miller. ‘Swing the Mood’ dominated the summer, returning to the top in October with ‘That’s what I Like’ and again in December with a medley of Christmas hits. That blasted bunny was everywhere!

And so the Eighties came to an end. Yuppies were on the up, the Berlin Wall came down. A decade remembered largely for its excesses, I have fonder memories of the music, from Madness to Madonna, Jam to Jacko. It was a great decade for me personally, representing the journey from shy, naïve student to more socially aware public servant. I would mature further in the Nineties and, as you will read, my musical tastes probably became a little more eclectic.

1982 – We Are Far Too Young and Clever

This was a funny old year. Musically it was a right mish-mash, with a load of chart-toppers which deserve to be buried in an impenetrable vault on a distant planet never to be rediscovered. Personally I had to knuckle down to pass my Finals and, after bingeing on the football World Cup and a nervy, uncertain summer break, enter the real world of work for the first time.

In retrospect, I’d say music took a bit of a back seat in my life, but of course it couldn’t be suppressed for long. Madness enjoyed their first and only number one, thanks to ‘House of Fun’ and those hilarious video cornershop scenes. Later on, ‘Our House’ maintained the humour but brought a more mature sound which at long last attracted an American audience. Years later, my Canadian cousin Suzanne enthused about Madness but seemed oblivious of the band’s umpteen previous hits.

New Romanticism was now the mainstream, and the decade burst into a carnival of colour. Most of it must have been compressed into Duran Duran’s most famous album, ‘Rio’. Released in May, it was kept off the top by a combination of Complete Madness and Roxy Music’s Avalon, but it has become perhaps the quintessential early-Eighties record.

And Duran Duran changed videos forever. Madness ventured out of London briefly for a Great Yarmouth rollercoaster ride. Meanwhile, Simon and the boys sweltered in pastels under the fierce sun of Sri Lanka. Exotic didn’t begin to describe it. I didn’t much like ‘Hungry Like a Wolf’ at the time, ‘Rio’ was a gaudy but vibrant video without a song but the single which split the two was fantastic. ‘Save a Prayer’ was five and a half minutes of beautiful melody, a stunning synth which would have wowed me even without one of the most atmospheric promo films I’ve had the pleasure of watching. The band got a bit too big for their boots in the subsequent years but, despite their number ones, for me the less successful ‘Rio’ era in 1982 stands as their career highpoint.

Later in the year, I distinctly remember watching TOTP the week we had our first televisual experience of Culture Club. The tabloids had been bigging up the performance of their debut single ‘Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?’ but not because of the music. No, the fuss was all centred on the lead singer and the Big Question Everyone Is Asking: Is it Male or Female? Well, if we weren’t actually asking the question, it certainly prompted discussion in the West End office of the BBC’s Central Directorates Accounts the next morning! Given that the vocalist’s stage name was Boy George, the clue was in the name. The publicity may have been politically incorrect (had the term existed) but it propelled George into the big time, with a string of top five singles. His unique fashion style was hardly surprising given his background at the Blitz Club, but his mellow asexual soulful voice was undoubtedly commercial. The rest of the band looked ‘straight’ but it emerged that they were anything but; a real dysfunctional ‘family’ which within a few years had been destroyed by sex and class A drugs.

There was nothing obviously straight about Marc Almond, but Soft Cell had four hit singles in ’82, all of which I adored. ‘Torch’ and ‘What’ were uncomplicated up-tempo synth pop, peaking at two, book-ended by a couple of epic electro ballads, ‘Where the Heart Is’ and ‘Say Hello, Wave Goodbye’. The latter, at number three in February, has remained ensconced in my list of all-time favourites ever since. I knew all the words and, perhaps encouraged by Almond’s occasionally tenuous grip on pitch and key, I used to have a sing in the bath. Might have been embarrassing in the shared facilities of Raddon House should anyone else have been sober enough to hear me and work out the source! Nobody mentioned it to my face so hopefully I got away with it.

It was also the year when ABC launched The Lexicon of Love, from which three top ten hits were borne. Like The Human League they hailed from Sheffield, but their music and lush orchestration seemed to be more transatlantic. That never goes down well with me. I recall noting in my diary at the time of ‘Poison Arrow’ that singer Martin Fry looked a cross between David Bowie and Brian Ferry. Smiling was frowned upon; it was all about The Look, and not necessarily the ‘Look of Love’! Normally dressed in silver or gold lame, with that lopsided, floppy blonde fringe, I thought Fry was trying too hard but – hey! – it did him no harm.

Tinkly pop was alive and well in the hands of Depeche Mode (‘See You’) and their Vince Clarke spin-off, Yazoo. Vince teamed up with another ex- Nicholas School pupil Alison Moyet and, despite being a decidedly odd couple, produced some great songs in their short time together.

Skinny Clarke was happy to be the quiet one at the back, writing the music and playing keyboards. ‘Alf’ Moyet, big in body as well as voice, looked like a heavyweight ‘punk’ (as her previous band had indeed been) but sounded like a first-class blues exponent. On paper, Yazoo shouldn’t have worked, but it did, thanks largely to the quality of writing. ‘Only You’ was a synth love song, while ‘Don’t Go’ was somewhat livelier. Both made number three, but it was their chalk’n’cheese image which made them so interesting. I most enjoyed their 1983 single ‘Nobody’s Diary’, but by the time it entered the top ten, the duo had announced their split. It transpired they hadn’t been such a well-suited creative couple after all. Fortunately they weren’t away for long.

Another classy musical duo who made an impression on me in ’82 were Tears For Fears. ‘Mad World’ may have been synth-heavy but compared with the likes of Depeche Mode, Yazoo, Human League, Ultravox et al, was decidedly darker in tone and content. With lyrics like “the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had” the music was perhaps more upbeat than it should have been. Indeed, the bleak 2001 Michael Andrews/Gary Jules version sounded far more apposite. Nevertheless, I really liked the Roland Orzabal/Curt Smith original, and their subsequent releases weren’t bad either.

TFF hailed from bourgeois Bath but over in Dusseldorf, Kraftwerk had been pioneering synthesizer music for years. Back in the Seventies, I remember watching a TOTP film of the slick robotic suited quartet tapping strange-looking machines and hitting ‘hot plates’ with black rods. That was ‘Autobahn’ but then in January 1982 they had an unlikely chart-topper with ‘The Model’. Strictly speaking, it was a double A-sider with ‘Computer Love’ but ‘The Model’ was far more commercial and I loved listening to it.

Perhaps less successful that year but en route for greater things was the bunch of Glaswegians known as Simple Minds. In the small halls of residence library, I occasionalIy perused the pages of Sounds or Melody Maker. Usually frustrated at being ignorant of most of the artists being written about, or not understanding most of the language it was written in, I do nonetheless remember reading praise of the band, who were finally breaking through with the New Gold Dream album. I still wasn’t really into LPs, but was decidedly intrigued by ‘Glittering Prize’. Immaculate-sounding production complemented Jim Kerr’s arty vocals and Charlie Burchill’s guitar, and they had definite student appeal. I don’t remember them appearing at the Great Hall but had they done so, I’d have regretted missing out.

Another Scottish synth-rock band with a cult following was The Associates. When they appeared on TOTP, I’m sure all of us watching in the TV room cast puzzled side-long glances at each other when singer Billy Mackenzie opened his mouth. It was just manic, frantic falsetto! What was he on?! ‘Party Fears Two’ achieved top ten status but I don’t remember their subsequent material.

Other rather bonkers performers were in the charts and, despite my aversion, my ears. The Damned’s Captain Sensible (surely the most inappropriate pop moniker) topped the UK chart with an excruciating version of South Pacific’s ‘Happy Talk’. Kid Creole enjoyed considerable success backed by his female Coconuts. His Latino lover image on hits like ‘I’m a Wonderful Thing, Baby’ was not to my taste, but the carnival sound of ‘Annie, I’m Not Your Daddy’ was mildly diverting.

Maybe they weren’t actually do-lally, but Renee and Renato held the top spot at Christmas with their semi-operatic ballad ‘Save Your Love’. So bad, it was (almost) good. I stress the ‘almost’. Only at Christmas, eh? Just behind them in December was the even more implausible pairing of David Bowie and Bing Crosby crooning ‘Little Drummer Boy’. Arrghhh! Paul McCartney joined forces with Stevie Wonder on the well-intentioned racial harmony song ‘Ebony and Ivory’ but despite its success, it’s one to forget! I also couldn’t fathom why so many people bought The Goombay Dance Band’s’ ‘7 Tears’ (German! Fire-eating! Crap!!) or Charlene’s ‘I’ve Never Been to Me’ either.

Toni Basil’s persona on ‘Mickey’ caught the eye and ear but it quickly lost its novelty appeal. I had more fondness for Chas and Dave’s ‘Ain’t No Pleasing You’, a rare foray into straight pop as opposed to their trademark pub singalong ‘Rockney’. German threesome Trio went to number two with the very simple ‘Da Da Da’: deadpan vocals accompanied mainly by a basic pre-programmed rhythm on a Casio keyboard rather than a Moog, Fairlight or Roland synthesizer.

Catherine was into Haircut 100, as close to a twenty-first century boy band as we got in 1982. Nick Heyward was a cheerful front man of a band which dressed in fishermen’s style knitted jumpers or scarves, releasing pleasant but flimsy singles like ‘Love Plus One’. 20 year-old Heyward seemed destined for bigger things but he parted company with his bandmates in 1983, had a few decent solo singles and faded from the scene. It’s not on Wikipedia but I reckon Haircut 100 returned to earth two decades later as Busted. I saw Heyward on telly recently and was struck by his appearance. He's my age yet looked at least ten years younger. Lucky b*st*rd...

The Jam had their best year, singles-wise, but their music was evolving. My favourite was ‘The Bitterest Pill’, a slowish Sixtie-ish record backed by lush strings. It was kept from the top by Survivor’s ‘Eye of the Tiger’ but both ‘A Town Called Malice’ and ‘Beat Surrender’ went all the way. Nevertheless, Paul Weller’s transformation from angry young mod to blue-eyed soul-boy was almost complete by the end of 1982, and that was that for The Jam. It was several years later when I bought their collection ‘Snap!’ and realised once and for all what a great band they had been. It wasn’t just the singles, but also the album tracks like ‘Man in the Corner Shop’ and ‘Tales from the Riverbank’ that marked them out. It’s a shame that Weller no longer plays more than one or two Jam songs in his current gigs but I suppose he is entitled to place more emphasis on his twenty-year solo career, dammit..

My favourite punk band The Stranglers were also developing a different sound. The keyboards, whilst always integral to their sound were taking centre stage and Hugh Cornwell’s growl was evolving into a pleasant croon. ‘Golden Brown’ was even written in 6:8 waltz time. Was it about heroin? Possibly. Difficult to dance to? Definitely! Nevertheless, it made for a beautiful listen, and only The Jam stood in the way of a first number one single. They were never dull and deserve to be considered one of the best British bands of the Seventies and Eighties.

Disco was officially dead but while Kool and the Gang were around there was music to dance to. I know the ‘Kool’ referred to bass player Robert Bell but to me it was singer JT Taylor always seemed so cool with a ‘C’. They’d already released ‘Celebration’ and ‘Ladies Night’ but, with Taylor’s no-frills soulful vocals, ‘Get Down on It’ was their most successful single, making three in January. It was also the one that made me jig about more than any other! Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards also gave Carly Simon an Eighties hit with ‘Why’, right up there with most of their Chic material.

 The American TV series ‘Fame’ was hugely popular. Like its descendant ‘Glee’, the tales of talented young New York entertainers left me cold, but it built on the 1980 movie to create the second biggest selling single and album of 1982. Irene Cara’s theme song was a huge summer hit, while the ‘Kids from Fame’ sold out arenas for years to come. Not my scene but it spawned any number of teen dance blockbusters and massive sales of leg-warmers in the subsequent few years.  

When Pigbag recorded ‘Papa’s Got a Brand New Pigbag’ I doubt they anticipated it being sung at football matches three decades later. However, the exuberant, brassy instrumental made for an enjoyable diversion from the Falkland War horrors in April and May. The Steve Miller Band’s ‘Abracadabra’ and Rockers Revenge’s ‘Walking on Sunshine’ were also really good, even though unfamiliar to twenty-first century Premier League crowds. 

In September, I started working at the BBC in Palladium House with a mixed bunch of individuals with musical tastes ranging from Dionne Warwick’s ‘Heartbreaker’ to new pop duo Wham. Not only was I earning my first salary (£4,970 per year!) but also travelling into Central London by train and Tube offered my first real taste of multiculturalism. On TV and the radio, too, British reggae was notably prominent. Birmingham schoolboys Musical Youth topped the chart with ‘Pass the Dutchie’ then Eddy Grant did the same with the rather staid and sedate ‘I Don’t Wanna Dance’. The former had novelty value given the age of the artists but, to be honest, not a lot else.

I was never a fan of glossy soul-dance, and therefore American trio Shalamar weren’t really my bag. They were on the radio a lot, so hard to avoid. Howard Hewett was the lead singer but, as then only female, Jody Watley garnered the most attention from the media. However, when they were due to perform ‘Night to Remember’ on TOTP that summer, only Jeffrey Darnell took to the floor. This turned out to be one of the most memorable three minutes in the show’s history. A noted dancer, Darnell proceeded to make jaws drop with his ‘body-popping’ to the song. It was the first time any of us had witnessed what was to become known as ‘moonwalking’, and Michael Jackson went on to make it his own. Fortunately he credited Darnell and signed him up to co-choreograph some of Jacko’s most celebrated videos like ‘Smooth Criminal’. Of course, after that TOTP broadcast, we all had a sneaky attempt at that ‘back-sliding’ manoeuvre, but I’ve never seen anyone pull it off successfully in real life. 

I spent a fortnight between university and the world of work with Mum and Dad in the Austrian Tirol. Loads of fresh Alpine air, magnificent mountain scenery and pleasant strolls around gorgeous green meadows were just what the doctor ordered. We also explored the surrounding towns and valleys by holiday company coach. Two of them were guided by our own hotel rep who proved to be a very informative and entertaining host. On the return journeys home he tended to shut up and let us relax or doze to a soundtrack of piano music. To my surprise, I found myself listening and quite enjoying what I heard; the music sounded perfect for a mountain drive. To such an extent that, alighting from the vehicle one occasion, I made sure of noting the title and artist on the cassette case: ‘Impresionen’ by Richard Clayderman. At the time I’d never heard of him but, while that particular album was unknown in the UK, the young blonde classical pianist soon became a household name and, dare I say it, sex symbol. However, for me, he is forever associated with chalets and cowbells. 

The biggest single hit of 1982 was undoubtedly ‘Come On Eileen’ by Dexy’s Midnight Runners’. Kevin Rowland’s ensemble was now all about folky fiddles and unappealing dungarees and this record was a weird mish-mash of Celtic dance, tribute to Johnny Ray and young love which somehow struck a chord. Indeed, as well as selling a million, ‘Come On Eileen’ proceeded to be part of my life soundtrack for many years to follow. A perennial favourite at Rotaract discos and wedding receptions, it was a song which would elicit groans all around and yet provide a clarion call for the dancefloor to fill with idiots eager to do that final manic accelerating ‘can-can’. An Eighties classic!