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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it almost felt wrong to dance to it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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