2006-07 Now you're calling me up on the phone So you can have a little whine and a moan

2006 marked the end of not one, but two eras of considerable personal significance. Of particular relevance in the context of this musical memoir was the coup de grace applied to the mortally-wounded beast that was Top of the Pops. Long since consigned to the graveyard slot on Sunday evening BBC2, TOTP received its fatal blow on 30^th July. It seemed utterly appropriate for Jimmy Savile to flick the symbolic switch at the bitter end. Given the subsequent airbrushing out of any reference to the serial sexual predator, this is a recorded moment of TV history which will never be repeated.

With various dates and online communications occupying more of my time, TOTP was no longer essential viewing for me anyway. With Freeview channels, there were limited opportunities to see videos of current artists. Consequently my efforts to maintain at best a tenuous grip on the contemporary pop scene were becoming increasingly unsuccessful, at least in terms of visual recognition. In this period, thanks to changing events and employment, I started hearing more music radio, rewarded by the continuing resurgence of indie guitar bands.

Within a few weeks of the TOTP axe, the interminable process of voluntary redundancy from the BBC reached its ultimate conclusion. Having been my only employer, saying good-bye after 24 years was a genuine wrench. I had established some indelible personal and professional relationships, but it was my bond with the Corporation itself which proved the hardest to break. Even now, a decade later, I find myself in conversations relating to the Beeb using not ‘it’ but ‘we’.

Yet VR was a one-off opportunity to sweep away the cobwebs and try something different. As soon as my Beeb closing date passed, I found myself heading for my spiritual home county of Somerset to work part-time for the agency TRP to facilitate their contract with the Beeb. With a generous package including B&B costs, it suited both parties down to the ground. In the ‘minus’ column, the work itself was tedious in the extreme. For an analyst like me, there was little in the way of job satisfaction; it was all constructing and manipulating Excel spreadsheets.

As a result, after six months I declined the offer of a permanent position and, after an extra month’s work, we parted company and I entered the uncertain world of unemployment. So far, so straightforward. But there was a complication. While in the West Country I met Jan via internet dating and I ended up spending more time at her family home in Stogursey, a pleasant if remote village near Bridgwater. Of course, when the TRP contract came to an end, I returned to Billericay full-time to concentrate on job hunting. I did still venture down to the West Country at regular intervals to spend more time with Jan and her teenage girls Natalie and Sally. Their own musical tastes were in a subtle way, to influence my own, or at least shape what I would hear. And then there was the playlist of Bridgwater’s new BCR station, and its breakfast show in particular. Although Jan’s penchant was for MoR ballads, Autumn 2006  did yield a few decent songs that appealed to both of us.

The Scissor Sisters had already introduced their colourful camp pop to the UK charts but ‘I Don’t Feel Like Dancing’ took it to a new level. From Jake Shears’ falsetto to the total arrangement, it was lively, fun and – contrary to the title – an open invitation to get on your feet and dance. 

There were a few good ballads, too, which have endured. Paolo Nutini’s ‘Last Request’ promised so much, before he became so intensely irritating. However, I preferred James Morrison’s equally soulful debut, ‘You Give Me Something’. The producers gave him the full orchestral treatment on the chorus, one of the most glorious crescendos of any British love song. When it comes to monster melodic ballads, Gary Barlow had proved a master in that hazy heyday of Take That in the mid-Nineties. That talent seemed to have been dissipated and frittered away before that extraordinary moment in pop history: Take That reformed and blew us all away with new material.

‘Patience’ was the perfect comeback single. It bore all the hallmarks of a classic love song, whilst retaining the – in marketing speak – core values of brand Take That. But it didn’t end there. Early the next year, the were back at number one with the altogether more upbeat ‘Shine’, in which Mark Owen took centre stage as writer and singer. The Beautiful World album included another great Barlow ballad in ‘Rule The World’, possibly the signature tune of their second career. It was robbed of the top spot by the odious ‘Bleeding Love’ but has proved far more enduring, and was performed by the group in the 2012 Olympic closing ceremony. Take That were back, and Britain embraced them with open arms. Their singles have lost their potency but the massive stadium tours have become even bigger than they had been when a derided Boy Band. Although now shrunk to a trio, they are a modern rarity: a band whose gigs transcend mere concert status; they are Musical Events.

Former Pop Idol Will Young wasn’t finished as a credible artist either. Not that ‘Who Am I?’ exactly took the charts by storm. Indeed, it was his first single not to make the top ten. However, I rate the melancholic track one of his best, up there with the similar-sounding ‘Leave Right Now’. His clever video super-imposing Will into various old Blue Peter scenes fitted Will’s sense of humour but his live performances allowed him to showcase his gentle voice to great effect.

By the end of 2006, The X Factor had taken an icy grasp on the public, the lengthy autumn run of expensive peak-time TV promotion brainwashing the ITV audience into carrying mediocre ballads to the Christmas number one position. Shayne Ward’s successor was Leona Lewis, who turned out to be one of the most successful champions here and the States. A nice girl with a spectacularly pure voice, I’m sure, but her Mariah Carey-ish trills and runs represented for me all that is wrong with manufactured MOR pop stars. Her first post-X Factor single ‘Bleeding Love’ practically made not my love, but my ears bleed, such was my hatred for the song. For three months its success destroyed my faith in the whole bleeding universe!

After sixteen top ten hits, Girls Aloud finally had a song that I liked. ‘Call the Shots’ was an upbeat dancefloor-filler with an uplifting chorus which belied their vacuous celebrity image. Not that Cheryl, Nadine and the others really needed my endorsement. While Girls Aloud, Leona and those who followed in her dainty footsteps benefited from enormous financial promotion, the internet was facilitating more homegrown talent. Before the days of Facebook and Twitter, MySpace was for a few years the social medium, providing a platform for people to share not pictures of their pizza or cats which look like Hitler, but for their music. Some of it was building a following literally from their bedsit or living room.  

Probably the prime example of this was Sandi Thom. Her pining for the good old days

“When music really mattered and when radio was king

 When accountants didn't have control, and the media

 couldn't buy your soul”

in ‘I Wish I Was a Punk Rocker’ really struck a chord with the MySpacers, although not for me. It hung around for months and sold more than 400,000.

Middle-class rebel Lily Allen also had her MySpace account to thank for launching her music career. Like Thom, her debut single went to number one. On the face of it, ‘Smile’ was a bright and breezy burst of summer reggae. On second hearing, you realised her ‘smile’ was in enjoyment about her ex’s misery and, boy, was she rubbing it in! The language was pretty dirty, too. 

Another posh Londoner using fake Estuary English (so ‘real’, innit!) to boost her ‘street’ credentials was Kate Nash. From the BRIT school and MySpace, Kate became a star in 2007 when her ‘Foundations’ spent five weeks at number two. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t travel well beyond England but I really enjoyed the song, its jaunty melody and wry lyrics, the highlight being: 

          “you've said I must eat so many lemons, because I am so bi’-er”!

Her refreshing take on modern relationships earned her the 2008 Best Female Brit, but there has been nothing remotely as successful since then. When you’re representing a genre as limiting as Mockney Melancholy Boyfriend Bollocking, it must be hard to stay at the top, especially when Lily Allen hogged the Entertainment page headlines. A shame: Britain needs more redhead role models!

Like Lily, Amy Winehouse was another singer forever associated with the excesses of fame. As an up-and-coming jazz singer, she was not even a twitch on my antennae. It was only in the celeb photo pages of the fledgling Metro freebie newspaper that I would see pictures of an emaciated, elaborately beehived young woman falling out of nightclubs, taxis or her own front door. Wasn’t she supposed to be a pop star now? Well, yes. Her album Back to Black was the biggest seller of 2007, although at the time I disliked her singles like ‘Rehab’, ‘You Know I’m No Good’ and, in particular, ‘Tears Dry on Their Own’. Mark Ronson’s whimsical arrangements couldn’t really conceal the gloom and despondency of Amy’s words. It was only years later, after her inevitable early death, that I came to appreciate the quality of her voice and writing.

The only Winehouse track which appealed – and that only after being lured by its toe-tapping charms at a mass Christmas party in Battersea Park – was Ronson’s jump-beat jamboree cover of The Zutons’ ‘Valerie’.  The video became famous for not featuring Winehouse herself, probably because she was too pissed to turn up. Maybe.

Ronson wasn’t the only producer whose name began to appear as an artist on a number of hit singles. In a 15-month period, the hip-hop producer/DJ/rapper Timbaland cropped up everywhere. Unlike Amy’s collaborator, he did at least contribute a few vocals. However, I’m not sure a series of verbal tics, burps and hiccupped “Deh!”s and “Doody-oody-ooly-ep”s actually qualify as vocals. I was unimpressed by his work with Justin Timberlake and 50 Cent but he triumphed on Nelly Furtado’s reinvention as Urban dance queen. ‘Maneater’ topped the charts over here, ‘Promiscuous’ came close but my favourites were the Latin American vibe of ‘All Good Things’ and the enduring R’n’B groove in ‘Say It Right’. I’m still waiting for Nelly F’s third coming, with or without Tim (baland) Mosley.

Whilst still at the BBC, I would occasionally find myself in the presence of famous folk, whether passing in a corridor, at the next table in the canteen (sorry, restaurant) or even sharing a ride in a lift. My Star Watch roll of honour included a few notable musicians, such as Paul Weller, David Essex and Alison Moyet. Some were even singing. Before I was transferred from my Radio 3/Radio 4 Research Manager role at Broadcasting House back to Nations & Regions in White City, I grasped the opportunity to witness a handful of live ‘sessions’ in 6Music’s ‘Hub’. It wasn’t a salubrious music venue, simply a space shared with photocopiers, kitchenette and colourful toadstool chairs designed for informal meetings. However, it was extremely handy, just a 20-second walk from my open-plan office.

I tended to rely on my colleague Lolo, definitely the coolest person on our floor, for details of who was performing that week. Some artists I’d never heard of, while other performances I was unable to attend because of pesky work commitments (anyone would think I had a job to do). I mentioned earlier watching Richard Ashcroft (standing alongside Suzi Quatro), but there were also mini-gigs by Estelle, The Gang of Four and Belle & Sebastian. The latter were a duo whose name I knew but whose music I didn’t. Indeed, the only track I recognised was one released the same year, a fairly innocuous but pleasant little ditty called ‘Funny Little Frog’ which peaked at thirteen.

In my research role at the BBC, I didn’t get access to the areas enjoyed by my colleagues working with Radio 1 or Radio 2. However, I’ve always believed that my period on the Radio 3 management board greatly expanded my musical education. I don’t claim to be a converted fan of jazz or composers such as Mahler, Stockhausen or Bruch. However, I did become aware of a range of classical writers and musicians, along with rudimentary understanding of their styles and career spans. There were for me no free tickets to Glastonbury or other big pop junkets. However, I was able to attend a couple of easy-listening Proms at the Albert Hall and, in 2006, an Artur Pizarro piano recital in the soaring surroundings of St John’s, Smith Square. However, the best night out was to see the musical Stomp as part of the network’s awayday. I recommend anyone with rhythmic roots and a sense of humour to go along. Highly entertaining. 

There was nothing classical about Gnarls Barkley’s ‘Crazy’ but it did become a modern classic. It topped the UK chart for nine weeks in Spring 2006, helped by then-record download sales. The act basically comprised writer-producer Danger Mouse and soul singer CeLo Green, while the psychiatry-themed song neatly blended Green’s high tenor with a subtle Sixties-ish groove. The mirrored inkblot animation was an extraordinary video, too, but with the single’s longevity, TOTP needed a studio performance. Sadly for me, that comprised a funereal-paced soul ballad featuring CeLo in airline pilot’s uniform. I’m sure many loved it but I felt it lost what was so memorable about the record, namely the elegant pulse of the dance beat.

The following summer, Rihanna’s ‘Umbrella’ went still further, remaining top of the crop for a full ten weeks. And deservedly so. I hadn’t paid much attention to the Barbadian beanpole’s early singles, successful though they were. However, the drum ’n’ hi-hat-heavy production, backed by an almost imperceptible high synth line hammered me between the ears. I’ve never been a fan of Rihanna’s voice, nor of Jay-Z’s rap intro, but this must be one of the decade’s finest dance records. Amusingly, in contrast to drought-stricken 2006 when England experienced its hottest, sunniest July in 350 years, ‘Umbrella’’s chart dominance of May-July 2007 coincided with a record-breaking spell of wet weather. Either way, sales of actual umbrella-ella-ellas soared. Such a shame that Leona’s blasted song outsold Rihanna’s, another in the long line of reasons for keeping Simon Cowell off my Christmas card list.

The new wave of Indie rock was breaking powerfully on the shores of 2006. With the exception of Kaiser Chiefs guitarist Andrew White, apparently channelling his inner Johnny Marr/Noel Gallagher into his hairstyle, there was little similarity with the Nineties brand of guitar bands. In February 2007, the Chiefs themselves ascended the summit with the rock jewel ‘Ruby’. I don’t think it has necessarily stood the test of time but it was one of my favourites of the year. 

Tousled curls seemed to be the ‘in’ style, while some of the music had a slightly rumpled sound to it, too. Illustration number one: The Kooks and singer Luke Pritchard. Their fourth single ‘Naïve’ was their biggest seller, but it’s the sprightly, folky fifth, ‘She Moves In Her Own Way’ which was, and remains, their best-known hit.  

Illustration number two: Razorlight and Jonny Borrell. ‘Golden Touch’ had peaked at three, ‘Somewhere Else’ at two, but in October 2006, they went all the way with the tale of life on the road, ‘America’. It still receives generous airplay on Nation Radio but further success has somehow eluded the band. Great things were expected of Borrell on both sides of the Atlantic, in both music and acting. He possessed all the ingredients: the looks, the contacts, ‘A’ list girlfriends (allegedly) and the essential air of ‘indie cool’. The Hollywood career never happened and, despite a few festival appearances, Razorlight remain without a label. How quickly stars can wane.

Illustration number three: The Fratellis. The Glaswegian trio may all have sported the Fratelli nomenclature but the fraternal connection was totally bogus. Who cared? In 2006, they were hot property. ‘Chelsea Dagger’, apparently based on John Fratelli’s burlesque dancer wife and a play on Britney Spears, has become something of a football stadium anthem. Well, the boisterous chorus of “Der der-ler, der der-ler, Der der ler-der-ler-der-ler” certainly has. The actual verse and lyric has been long forgotten! In any case, I preferred the follow-up, ‘Whistle for the Choir’. Its semi-acoustic, almost Gallic lilt, plus memorable melody, really appealed to me, and that appeal remains undimmed to this day.

Mind you, when there was some decent stuff emanating from the speakers, I probably allowed myself to listen a bit too closely when I should have been identifying and analysing potential customer bases of agency clients. Virgin Radio’s focus on pop-rock introduced me to the music not just of conventional rock but also new bands with a twenty-first century sound.

I’ve already mentioned the Arctic Monkeys and, despite their undoubtedly sizeable following, their failure to convert me with their first album’s offerings. However, when I first heard ‘Fluorescent Adolescent’ at AMS, I couldn’t believe it was them. But there were the familiar ingredients: jangly rhythm guitars, earthy ‘Northern’ lyrics and Alex Turner’s slightly echo-ey or over-dubbed vocals. Yet there was a delightful melody, too. It wasn’t merely my favourite Arctic Monkeys track; it was one of my fave singles of the whole year. It also made me re-evaluate earlier songs. For example, I heard ‘Mardy Bum’ on the radio and for three minutes became immersed in the world of the Sheffield underclass. I didn’t rush out to buy their albums but perhaps I wasn’t as out-of-touch as I feared.

Turner’s songs weren’t particularly frolicsome fun-fests but their readiness to dress in clown costumes (reflecting the odd violent video for ‘…Adolescent’) did at least suggest a sense of humour. Other, more pop-oriented indie bands possessed an overtly happy sound. Scouting for Girls’ mildly irritating ‘She’s So Lovely’ was a case in point. Then there were The Hoosiers. Founded in Indiana and re-located to Bracknell, they had a number five single with ‘Worried About Ray’ around the time I joined AMS. It sounded like a sad song, which jarred with the enthusiastic vocals. The follow-up, ‘Goodbye Mister A’ sounded a more snug fit. 

The Feeling were in a similar vein, and enjoyed a run of quirky top 20 singles throughout 2006. ‘Never Be Lonely’ and ‘I Love it when You Call’ were perfect fodder for pop radio but too cute for my taste. Their biggest hit, the ballad ‘Sewn’, passed me by completely back then. A shame, because it’s quite a powerful slow number which demands a careful listen. The follow-up, ‘You Fill My Little World’ was more uplifting, and was the Feeling song which I most enjoyed. Its captivating chorus still makes me smile, not because it’s amusing but thanks to its cheery vocals, piano chords and general niceness.

When it comes to feelgood music, there can be few to match Mika. His uber-camp, shiny-eyed falsetto pop lost much of its sheen with repetition but when ‘Grace Kelly’ was released at the start of 2007, everyone fell in love with him – or at least with the song. I considered it not so much a breath of fresh air but a full-blown gale. Written about his experience of rejection in the business, it seemed to subvert all the conventions of a contemporary hit. With all the sonic winks and nudges, it was more musical comedy than platinum single material, yet it topped the charts for five weeks and sold over 600,000 copies. The chorus demanded that people of all ages, myself included, sing along. A shame that I misheard “I could be hurtful, I could be purple” as “I could be happy, I could be dappy”! But then I never was much cop at picking out lyrics.

There were a few American ballads dominating the airwaves. I found The Fray’s ‘How to Save a Life’ insufferably depressing, but The Plain White Ts’ charming acoustic love song ‘Hey There Delilah’ was far more engaging. Yet two singles released by a previously unknown Scottish singer-songwriter left an even deeper impression on me in 2007.

Like many of the other artists I’ve name-checked, I never saw Amy Macdonald appear on TV but her bluesy voice was always on the airwaves. ‘Mr Rock’n’Roll’ was a brilliant blend of acoustic strumming, electric noodling, strings and toe-tapping beat. Later in the year, she released the more serious but hauntingly atmospheric ‘This is the Life’, which I loved even more. For some inexplicable reason, it failed to crack the top 20 here yet took Europe by storm. It was the biggest seller of the year in Holland.

2007 ended with me desperately trying to ignore Leona Lewis and her X Factor descendants and wallowing in the past. A colleague’s illness allowed me to snap up a ticket to see Madness at the O2. What a venue, and what a show! I was getting older, and nostalgia was beginning to take a tighter chokehold on my musical experience.

1995 – See our friends, See the sights!

Fed up with a life of frustrating singledom, this was the year I tried to take control of my own destiny. Tantalised by those new-fangled dating pages in the free local newspapers, I made a few tentative contacts. Later in the year, attracted by an advert seen on the Tube, I joined Dateline. It wasn’t about the internet back then, of course; just sending personal details and receiving five contact numbers. You could also subscribe to a magazine which proved more successful in actually meeting people. I had several autumn dates, some promising, some not. No girlfriend, but at least I enjoyed getting out and about in London, visiting unfamiliar corners of the capital and experiencing a different form of social life, post-Rotaract..

None of the encounters involved music. Maybe that’s where I went wrong. Instead, my principal link with the latest sounds remained that frail and frayed umbilical cord connected to TOTP and the Radio 1 chart show. Neither were the appointment to view or listen they once were, of course and the ‘papers offered a chance to keep up with the charts for my diary. Actually there was some decent stuff to listen to, although much of it could be bracketed under Britpop.

Amidst the increasing dominant hip-hop and R’n’B scene, largely white guitar bands were suddenly everywhere. Not just in the clubs where they had always been, but on the radio and telly. Radio 1 really championed the genre, and so it also entered my own precious little world. And about time, too.

I didn’t necessarily lump all the artists together under one media-friendly banner. Sleeper’s ‘Vegas’ just sounded different, and had the additional benefit of singer Louise Wener. I could, and often did, lose myself in her big brown eyes. And she was single! AND from London? Dream on! It was followed by another excellent single ‘What Do I Do Now?’ but Wener was soon to put music to one side and become a highly regarded novelist. Those eyes strayed elsewhere…

Sonya Maden also made a splash in ’95. Not just because she was a front woman, but also because she was an ASIAN frontwoman. To me, that wasn’t significant. More importantly, her band Echobelly purveyed a similarly appealing brand of pop-rock. I particularly liked ‘King of the Kerb’. No ladies amongst The Levellers, but the ‘crusty’ band enjoyed a rare hit with ‘Hope Street’, which became one of my favourites of the year. 

Those loveable lads from Oxford, Supergrass, finally cracked it with ‘Alright’, smashing in at number two in July. I may never have been tempted to “smoke a fag, put it out” or “got some cash, bought some wheels, took it out through some fields, lost controls, hit a wall” but its frenetic pace and joyous outdoor video nonetheless evoked images of summer holidays past and deserved its success. Gaz Coombs’ simian sideburns were definitely a symbol of ’95, and the band produced a number of top-quality songs across the whole decade.

Another under-rated act was The Lightning Seeds. By 1995, they were expanding from being Ian Broudie’s studio project into a proper touring band, and it was their top 20 single ‘Lucky You’ which made me sit up and listen. Match of the Day’s adoption of the instrumental intro to ‘The Life of Riley’ to accompany the Goal of the Month competition clips also raised the band’s profile and the following year Broudie became forever associated with football and lad-dom, of which more later.

Another group which finally found their moment was Pulp. I’d never heard of them until ‘Common People’ flew into the top three at the start of June. Jarvis Cocker’s unfashionable glasses, clothes and geeky, gawky limbs stood out in so many ways, while his perceptive lyrics begged to be heard, enjoyed and repeated. However, it was their performance of the song as their finale at Glastonbury a few weeks later (on a programme called 4 at Glastonbury – none of the saturation BBC coverage back then) that really made an impression. Apparently they had only been included after The Stone Roses pulled out and it had been feared the Glasto crowd would have booed them off the stage. Quite the opposite; ‘Common People’ became part of the festival folklore. I wasn’t ‘there’, but I did see it on the telly that night.

By the end of the year, I actually preferred ‘Sorted – For Es and Wizz’ which also reached number two. The Press predictably slated it as a grotesque advert for drugs. Listen to the bloody lyrics! More memorable was Cocker’s performance at the start of the 1996 Brits broadcast, ending with him  soaring high above the auditorium in a wire singing “What if I never come down?”! An hour or so later, his position as media hate figure and simultaneous man of the people was firmly set in stone as he mischievously mooned in front of Michael Jackson’s much-hyped Messiah depiction while singing ‘Earth Song’. Consequently I’ll never hear a bad word about Jarvis, one of the truly great eccentric British pop stars and a damned fine songwriter to boot. Meanwhile, that once all-conquering American genius had dipped beyond parody.

But of course, retrospectives of 1995 tend to focus primarily on the supposed bitter rivalry between Blur and Oasis…. The country was allegedly split in two. Forget the Brexit division; this was far more significant! North v South. Art school v Old school. Middle class v Working class. Cocaine v cannabis. When Blur’s ‘Country House’ was released on the same day in July as Oasis brought out ‘Roll With It’, the race to number one was dubbed the Battle of Britpop. The result made the national TV news. The winners were…..Blur! Ironically, neither song was anywhere near their best.

The following singles releases were, in my opinion, possibly their finest. The strings intro and verse for ‘The Universal’ are simply stunning, and have since achieved lasting fame through use in British Gas adverts. Subtle Graham Coxon guitar and Alex James bass and mature vocals from Damon Albarn came together nicely, and they could do it live, as this ‘Later….’ performance demonstrates. Rather too much brass for my liking, perhaps, but nevertheless I was shocked that it went straight in at five only to make an unceremonious slide.

Meanwhile, Oasis were robbed of a number one spot for ‘Wonderwall’, the pinnacle of the Britpop production line. Gone were the Grunge guitars and the angry Liam Gallagher snarl. This was an astonishing rock ballad, the acoustic intro and cello accompaniment giving the song an other-worldly sound. I even insisted on having the track played at our wedding in 2017. This wasn’t Britpop, it was sheer magic. Meanwhile, on 2^nd October the Manc quintet gave their second album (What’s the Story) Morning Glory to the world. For all Noel Gallagher’s stupid statements about drugs, there was no doubting his genius for writing, and the album ensured that, while Blur won the 1995 battle, Oasis undoubtedly won the war. It was also a conflict which was yet to run its course. It may seem too obvious but it remains one of my favourite CDs, retaining its beauty, rhythm and relevance two decades later. Oasis were a bunch of weed-smoking dickheads but how the music scene today could benefit from a band of their calibre.

So where did I stand on the stand-off? As ever, I didn’t quite fit in with the media view on the world; I just loved both bands. Each were giants of Britpop and Nineties music generally and sit happily side-by-side in my CD collection.

I was becoming a regular viewer of Jools Holland’s Friday night show on BBC2 and, with the use of video I could record it to see at a more convenient time and fast-forward through the boring World Music segments and cringey interviews. As with Blur, I’m pretty sure I also watched the performances of McAlmont and (Bernard) Butler, including their rendition of the gorgeous ‘You Do’. The same was true for Everything But the Girl delivering their dance re-mix of ‘Missing’. My then work colleague Lesley is somewhere in the audience with her latest boyfriend, behind Ben Watt and Tracey Thorn in this clip but the recording quality is a bit too ropey for me to pick them out! Whatever, it was a great record and a November contemporary of ‘Wonderwall’. 

Another superstar who wore his Sixties influences prominently on his sleeve was Paul Weller. He won hearts and minds in ’95 with his finest solo album Stanley Road. He was always a popular choice for Later… and here he is doing his thing at the piano on probably his best ballad ‘You Do Something To Me’. As in his Jam days, his singles usually blazed into the top ten before descending rapidly off the radio stations’ radar. It happened to this one, and also the rockier ‘The Changingman’ but I really liked them both.

I’d say that Weller fans were even more hostile than Albarn fans to Noel Gallagher. However, Oasis were already being flattered by the sincere form of imitation of tribute bands like No Way Sis and Wibling Rivalry. However, no cover versions were quicker out of the blocks, nor more successful, than the Mike Flowers Pops’ version of ‘Wonderwall’. It was outrageous, so bad it was good! Almost. The cheesy be-wigged singer, Mike Sammes-esque backing chorus and the bossanova beat should have consigned the record to oblivion. But it matched Oasis in going to number two at Christmas, much to Noel’s amusement. Who says Mr Gallagher doesn’t have a sense of humour? 

However, Mike Flowers appeared at some major venues, presumably as a novelty act. I admit I never heard their take on The Doors’ ‘Light My Fire’!  It was perhaps unsurprising that this type of faux easy listening didn’t catch on. On the other hand the more modern dance music was not finished. However, examples which got me jigging were becoming fewer and further between. 

Belgians Alex Party did well with ‘Don’t Give Me Your Life’ as did Strike’s ‘U Sure Do’. However, I took a greater shine to the two big hits by N-Trance. I’d assumed they were yet another European outfit but apparently they were true Brits. ‘Set You Free’ was the archetypal club anthem but its follow-up, an update of ‘Stayin’ Alive’, was even more successful. Kinda tongue-in-cheek, it boasted rapping by Ricardo da Force, whose unorthodox corruption of the verse shouldn’t have worked. However, according to my diary, this turned out to be my favourite dance track of 1995.

I’ve written much about 1995 being the year of Britpop. That’s probably the product of my selective memory. Even a cursory flick over the year’s charts reveals that where singles are concerned, hip-hop, reggae fusion and R’n’B definitely had the upper-hand. Wacko Jacko had two number ones, Shaggy’s impenetrable ‘Boombastic’ was all over the airwaves, and Coolio’s collaboration with LV, ‘Gangsta’s Paradise’, was ‘95’s second biggest seller.

That was a decent single but until researching this section I had buried all trace of The Outhere Brothers in the deepest recesses of my memory banks. Damn! Out they came again. ‘Boom Boom Boom!’ ‘Wiggle Wiggle Wiggle Wiggle….’ Aarrghhh! They also topped the charts twice. But worse was to come.

Like millions of others, Mum loved watching ITV’s drama series Soldier Soldier. After an episode in which the two main characters sang ‘Unchained Melody’ at a wedding, huge public interest spurred Simon Cowell into pursuing the actors Robson Green and Jerome Flynn into recording the song. They eventually relented and ended up making a fortune. The first single sold 1.8 million. The next, a similarly sickly saccharine cover of ‘I Believe’, also broke the million barrier. It gets worse. Their cringeworthy covers album outsold ‘Morning Glory’ in 1995 and, with the hastily recorded follow-up, sold a combined seven million! Being far superior actors than vocalists they didn’t even sing all the harmonies on the records. Robson and Jerome were all over that year like a nasty rash but don’t expect a YouTube link in this blog.

Phew! That’s enough of them! Back to some of the music I did enjoy hearing. This was the time I first became aware of Green Day. When Billy-Jo Armstrong launched into ‘Basket Case’, I was immediately transported back to the late Seventies. The frenetic guitar intro was pure Punk rock but the Californians nevertheless somehow forged their own path to massive global success for another two decades and counting.

Punk was one of the few genres Madonna never experimented with. Mercifully Madonna had closed her outrageous sexually-explicit chapter but in 1995 seemed to be drifting inevitably towards middle-age sentimentality. Her album Bedtime Stories yielded decent singles like ‘Secret’ and ‘Take a Bow’ without taking the charts by storm. Then an elegant acoustic production of the ballad ‘You’ll See’ made the top five in November and was in my mind her best of the year. M People also released ‘Search for the Hero’, an eighth successive top-tenner for them. It was in and out remarkably quickly but the lyrical message has guaranteed airplay on radio, adverts and sporting video sequences ever since.

I’ve already written about the Britpop conflicts dominating the UK music scene. However, now for a reality check. In 1995, the truly dreadful, pointless (is there any other kind?) civil war in Yugoslavia was in its fourth year. It gained prominence because for once the pictures of shelling, snipers, civilian massacres and political mayhem were not in some distant corner of the world but just a few hours away in Europe. The nation had splintered and various state and breakaway militias were fighting over the spoils, avenging past nationalist ‘wrongs’ with fascistic fervour. One of the worst excesses was the siege of Sarajevo.

For all the news coverage, it can often be a piece of music which brings home the true horror of war and spurs people into bringing the warring factions to a ceasefire. The U2/Brian Eno project Original Soundtracks 1, under the name Passengers, yielded one memorable single ‘Miss Sarajevo’, its official video consisting entirely of film of life in the besieged capital of Bosnia. Weirdly, it’s not Bono’s verses which stirred my senses but the operatic segment sung by Luciano Pavarotti. Sadly the siege continued for several months but this track for me serves as a stunning reminder of that appalling war on our doorstep.

The year even yielded two ‘new’ Beatles hits. However, despite the plentiful publicity, neither achieved the success I originally expected. Probably because they weren’t much cop. ‘Baby It’s You’ was taken from the recent Beatles Live at the BBC album while ‘Free as a Bird’ was cobbled together from an old Lennon demo, with new contributions from surviving members. However, with George Harrison’s long-time collaborator Jeff Lynne co-producing, it just sounded like a feeble ELO-Tom Petty track. Another, similarly unremarkable Beatles single ‘Real Love’ emerged the following year to accompany a new ITV documentary series and Anthology album. 

Other ballads also left their mark on me. Wet Wet Wet’s ‘Julia Says’ was no ‘Love is all Around’ but definitely above average, as was Seal’s ‘Kiss from a Rose’. Boyzone narrowly missed out on a first chart-topper with another three singles, although ‘Father and Son’ sold more than 800,000 copies in the Christmas period. However, when it came to boy bands, Take That continued to reign supreme. It wasn’t plain sailing. Robbie Williams left, allegedly because he considered himself too ‘hard’ for the pure pop world, his personality too big for a boy band and talent to great to play second fiddle to Mr Barlow. His departure didn’t hurt their sales, coming between two of their biggest hits. In July, their gospel/classical-influenced ‘Never Forget’ topped the chart for three weeks, but my contemporary diary note suggests I was no fan. Two decades on, and I think the dramatic intro and chorus are brilliant.

Nevertheless, their preceding single took brilliance to a new level. An instant classic, ‘Back for Good’ shifted 350,000 in the first week and went on to top a million. The quintet were back looking daft under water for the video, but I’ll forgive them because this is Gary Barlow’s finest moment as a songwriter. Robbie was probably in denial but, for all his indie rock credentials, even Noel Gallagher said the song “said something” and “touched” him. Undoubtedly it is one of the finest ‘lost love’ songs I’ve ever heard. But for how long could the Barlow production line continue….?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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