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!

1980 – Oh, what fun we had, but at the time it seemed so bad

History hasn’t been kind to the Seventies. Retrospectives look so grey and depressing: Vietnam, oil crises, Northern Ireland, National Front hooligans, Punk rockers, … Even the contemporary news footage seems to have been filmed in fifty shades of beige. The Eighties have become synonymous with colour but – surprise, surprise - 1980 didn’t look much different from 1979.

The chart-toppers were a mish-mash of mediocrity. Few stayed at number one for long, almost as if they were embarrassed to be there. Fern Kinney, Johnny Logan’s first Eurovision winner, Odyssey, the depressing vocal theme from ‘M*A*S*H’, Kelly Marie, Detroit Spinners, Kenny Rogers preaching that, in the end, you DO have to fight to be a man… They all came and went. There were some gems amongst them, of which more later.

This was also my first full year of university life. I may no longer have been sending out an SOS but continued to shrink more than was healthy into my little bedroom bubble in the Birks Halls of residence. It wasn’t a complete cocoon, of course. I may not have indulged in three years of sex, drugs and booze but, apart from the lectures, there were shared experiences over meals, in the TV room, at St James’ Park watching Exeter City and general milling about.

It was also my first taste of hearing continuous music blasting out of fellow undergrads’ windows at all times of day and night. And most of it was crap. Of course, anything played umpteen times a day becomes the worst music ever. Two songs in particular stick in the mind. I didn’t identify them at the time and, given a few years’ vacuum, they don’t sound half bad now. When I hear Talking Heads’ ‘Psycho Killer’, the menacing bass intro and David Byrne’s frightening vocals get you in the gut. Then, all I could I hear was a cacophonous, atonal racket.

The other example of aural abomination was ‘Electricity’ by Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. At the time, the future OMD were innovative arty-farty synth pioneers, and this track wasn’t exactly commercial. And that meant it was never going to appeal to my sensitive ears. Yet by the end of 1980, the group had won me over. ‘Messages’ and ‘Enola Gay’ were excellent examples of electro-pop: modern and melodic, even if Andy McCluskey’s voice (and his dad dancing) left much to be desired. So perhaps the students I could happily have strangled were not quite the musical monsters they first appeared.

Another band which constantly blared out across my corner of the campus was Rainbow. Heavy Metal – as we then called it – was enjoying a renaissance in 1980. Iron Maiden, Whitesnake (‘Fool for Your Loving’), Saxon (‘747’), Judas Priest (‘United’) and Motorhead (‘The Ace of Spades’) were always on the radio and TOTP. Old-timers Black Sabbath and AC/DC rode on the new generation’s coat-tails. Yet of them all, I actually preferred Richie Blackmore’s post-Purple collective. The fact that Cozy Powell was on drums, of course, may have been a factor. Graham Bonnet had taken over as lead singer and, while he didn’t exactly look very ‘metal’ in his smart haircut, sleek jacket and shades, his powerful vocals helped take ‘All Night Long’ to number five. The video isn’t exactly a paragon of political or sexual correctness, and neither are the lyrics. Nevertheless I thought Rainbow were definitely the best of the bunch. Spending thirty weeks a year in a male-only Hall, it was a bunch that was heard incessantly.

Heavy Metal wasn’t the only genre to be revived. In fact there were plenty, although most should probably have stayed in the annals of yesteryear. I didn’t ‘get’ Kevin Rowlands’ paeon to Geno Washington with Dexy’s Midnight Runners, and rockabilly wasn’t my scene. Matchbox and Coast to Coast were awful, but at least The Stray Cats had a bit of energy in ‘Runaway Boys’.

It wasn’t just about rockers; mods were back, too. Acts like The Lambrettas were in the charts, but most of the plaudits went to a band who weren’t strictly speaking mods but it was unfair to pigeon-hole them in such a crude way. I’m talking about The Jam. After several modest punky singles, they suddenly stepped up a gear in ’79 with ‘Eton Rifles’. Six months later, they achieved a feat not seen for more than six years when ‘Going Underground’ went straight in at number one in March. I know it’s a cliché but it really was an instant classic. As ever with Paul Weller, there was socio-political comment mixed with seriously searing rock and memorable melody. What more could a modestly intelligent eighteen year-old music fan want?!

For the next two years, The Jam’s seven official single releases all entered the charts in the top ten, including ‘Start’, which topped the chart just before I returned to Exeter for my second year. They looked classy, while Weller’s guitar, Bruce Foxton’s bass and Rick Buckler’s drums made for a strong rhythm section, and they knew how to turn out a tune. They were a band whose new stuff I would always look forward to hearing. Indeed, their new-found success led to the simultaneous re-release of their earlier material, peppering the top sixty at the end of April.

Once The Jam had ended the drought, The Police also flew straight to the top in September. I don’t think ‘Don’t Stand So Close to Me’ was one of their best, but it did at least displace Kelly Marie’s ‘Feels Like I’m In Love’, for which we should all have been grateful!  I don’t know how much Sting called upon personal experiences as a teacher in this tale of a classroom Lolita, but it worked so well it was the biggest-seller of the whole year. In some ways I preferred their number six hit ‘De Do Do Do De Da Da Da’. Intriguing, maybe too-clever lyrics like:

“The only cheques I've left unsigned
From the banks of chaos in my mind”

served to convey the message that fancy words count for little in the language of love. At least I think that’s what the song was about!

There were all sorts of good stuff with a New Wave-y vibe which didn’t necessarily hit the heights enjoyed by The Police. The Vapors went top three with ‘Turning Japanese’ which was well timed given Paul McCartney’s arrest and deportation from Japan for cannabis possession.

The first new chart-topper of the Eighties was The Pretenders’ ‘Brass in Pocket’. I wasn’t sure about Chrissie Hynde’s voice and look but she was the ultimate rock chick. Fortunately she has come through reasonably unscathed! It wasn’t their biggest, but for me the jangly guitar sound comes over better in the follow-up, ‘Talk of the Town’

Two of my favourites of 1980 are rarely heard nowadays. In fact, one didn’t exactly set the airwave alight even then. I loved Elvis Costello’s ‘New Amsterdam’. Simple, beautiful and in waltz-time, Elvis was stretching his musical wings. A shame they were clipped by advancing no further than 36. Rather a downbeat video but listen to the song, short and sweet. 

Joe Jackson had garnered good reviews with ‘Is She Really Going Out With Him?’ the year before but I was bowled over with ‘It’s Different for Girls’. It was one of those mini-masterpieces I couldn’t get out of my head – and in a good way. I remember him doing a gig at the University and reading that he had refused to sing his hit because it was on the radio so much already. Eh? That’s why people want to go to your concert, you pillock! Fab record, anyway.

No chance of Blondie doing the Great Hall but they were greedy in 1980. They had no fewer than three number ones: the rocky ‘Atomic’ and ‘Call Me’, followed by the reggae-ish ‘The Tide is High’ cover. None of them made a strong impression on me but there was no avoiding Debbie Harry et al. It was a good year for other women, too. 

Barbra Streisand benefited from the Barry Gibb stardust on her superior ballad, ‘Woman in Love’. Normally I couldn’t stand Streisand, but her film and music careers were on the upturn in the new decade. Principal rival for Diva of the Year, Diana Ross, also enjoyed a boost, in her case from Nile Rodgers. ‘Upside Down’ was a big summer holiday disco hit. Hazel O’Connor was one of the faces of the year, thanks to her role in punk movie Breaking Glass, and then she reached number five in the chart with ‘Eighth Day’, which I really liked. 

Now turn down the tempo, and the lights, for another autumn ballad. Ex-Crusaders vocalist Randy Crawford deserved her number two success with the enchanting ‘One Day I’ll Fly Away’. Her voice didn’t have Streisand’s crystal clarity but I could happily lose myself in this song. I don’t know if Martha and the Muffins had another record but ‘Echo Beach’ is a brilliant legacy. It still sounds as fresh as when I hummed along to it in my room almost four decades ago.

The Nolan Sisters were the darlings of TV light entertainment but I hated their all-pervasive, poisonous ‘I’m In the Mood for Dancing’. They were on every show going. The same could not be said for Kate Bush. She had retreated to the studio but fortunately was no stranger to the charts. The voice, cryptic lyrics and bizarre videos were definitely part of my musical year, even though ‘Babooshka’, ‘Breathing’ and ‘Army Dreamers’ were all a bit too weird for me.

Another star was born as a result of a TV show, but not from one of ITV’s ratings bankers. Glaswegian Sheena Easton hit ‘The Big Time’ thanks to Esther Rantzen’s new series of that name. Her first single ‘Nine to Five’ went to three, then ‘Modern Girl’ joined it in the top ten for a few weeks. Easton then went to the States, had a ludicrous Eighties makeover, and enjoyed lucrative years as a Prince collaborator (and probably more) and Bond film singer. I thought it a shame to see shy Sheena transformed into shock-haired diva Sheena but - that’s showbiz!

Finally, on the subject of the female of the species, I can’t ignore Agnetha Falkstog. I recall sitting in the lounge of the Lake Hotel, Bonchurch on the Isle of Wight, watching what must have been one of the first TOTP broadcasts after a lengthy layoff caused by a BBC strike. There at number one was Abba’s ‘The Winner Takes it All’, featuring Agnetha at her saddest. The poignant lyrics may have been Bjorn’s but, given they were inspired by his divorce from her, it was unsurprising that she sang them with unsurpassed feeling, and the video genuinely tugged at my heart-strings. Watch and weep with me… It wasn’t Abba’s biggest hit of the year, though. That accolade belonged to ‘Super Trouper’, an altogether more joyous, pop song, albeit of temporary separation. It should have been the Christmas number one. Another reason to hate the St Winifred’s School Choir, in case I needed one.

The art school crowd were prominent, too. In particular, David Bowie was back to his best. Well, the cognoscenti weren’t enamoured of his album Scary Monsters, Super Creeps, but as a non-LP buyer I couldn’t possibly pass judgement. However, when a song as astonishing as ‘Ashes to Ashes’ explodes onto the radio, accompanied by an even more extraordinary video, Bowie’s legendary status was further enhanced.

Barring the Major Tom reference, I haven’t a clue what it’s about, the song or video, but the menacing bulldozer, huge padded cell, pierrot clown and his grotesque funereal acolytes against that black background were incredibly visibly striking. Shocking, even. So it should have been, given the £1/4 million cost, easily the most expensive at the time. But it’s the musical production which has stood the test of time. Simultaneously electro, funky and melancholy ballad, ‘Ashes to Ashes’ remains one of my all-time favourites.

Roxy Music were re-born in a new style, too, and it was one which definitely ticked my boxes. Brian Ferry had never been a shrinking violet but here he was in smart-casual attire, sometimes with deliberately half-mast tie, a soul-boy crooner for the new decade. He even appeared to be playing electric guitar on a few TOTP performances. 1980 featured three great releases from their ‘Flesh and Blood’ album. I liked the singles so much I even bought it. What on earth came over me?! Well, the first hit was ‘Over You’, typical of the smooth, melodic, up-tempo sound which exemplified the album. ‘Oh, Yeah’ also reached number five, and was an altogether gentler affair. Nevertheless, it retained all the familiar Roxy hallmarks such as Phil Manzanera’s guitar and Andy Mackay’s mullet (and saxophone). A definite high point of my pop year. ‘Same Old Scene’ was less successful but contained a brilliant bubbling bass from Gary Tibbs to accompany the long-standing trio.

At uni, I was surrounded by massive fans of Genesis. Their prog rock albums were a complete mystery to me, but clearly attracted devotion on an epic scale, at least amongst Maths undergraduates. Clutching their ‘album band’ credentials to their hearts, Genesis had famously resisted the lure of the Top of the Pops studio for years. However, with the release of the ‘Duke’ album and single ‘Turn It On Again’, they finally relented. The Birks Halls TV room that evening was packed to the rafters. Follow the link to see what we watched. The juxtaposition of the Genesis appearance and the video for ex-bandmate Peter Gabriel’s top-four hit ‘Games Without Frontiers’ must surely have been no coincidence, and wasn’t lost on me! Presenter Steve Wright was spot-on, but I was not yet won over.

By that time, Genesis had already written their name into Exeter University folklore. Somehow, they had been booked to do a Great Hall gig. The Students Union Ents officer surely never had to buy another drink! When the tickets had gone on sale, the overnight queue reached record lengths. I may even had been tempted to see what all the fuss was about – and even done my bit of queue duty – had the concert not been scheduled for the day after the end of term. Attendees would have nowhere to stay the night. For me, that was discomfort I wasn’t prepared to endure. No deterrent for a true Genesis fan, of course. Speaking to colleagues at the start of the summer term, the universal verdict was that it had all been worth it.

Genesis did gradually become more of a commercial singles band and it wasn’t until much later that I rented ‘Duke’ from the local library. Only then did I really appreciate the quality of that album. It wasn’t just the two big singles; the flop ‘Misunderstanding’ had clearly been misunderstood by the public. Then there were the gorgeously atmospheric ‘Heat Haze’ and personal Phil Collins-penned ballad ‘Please Don’t Ask’. Funny to say this now, but in the early 80s, Collins was cool!

There was no chance on earth of Ottowan being cool, but their post-summer Euro-disco behemoth ‘D.I.S.C.O.’ was inescapable. Some such records are intensely irritating but this French-Caribbean production narrowly got away with it because we found it amusing. All those “She is S, super-sexy, She is C, Such a cutie” lyrics screamed out for parody but whatever else, ‘She’ would be forever “O-o-ohhhhhh”!

The same producers were responsible for the more enjoyable Gibson Brothers. “Que sera, me vida” gave even Earth, Wind and Fire a run for their money in terms of OTT spectacle and all-out dance rhythm. However, I preferred the irresistible Latin percussion beat of ‘Cuba’ despite it stalling at twelve in the chart on its second release. It also introduced me to salsa; the word, not the dance itself. Obviously I’d never partake, but nonetheless an infectious record which demanded replays when Angie and I had the long-awaited opportunity to spend a fortnight on Castro’s island in 2012. It was mostly more traditional songs like ‘Guantanamera’ at our hotel, but if only they had imported the Gibson Brothers for the occasion…

Back in Thatcherite Britain, Ska continued to be a dominant force. Jerry Dammers’ 2Tone collective The Specials swept to number one with a live EP in February, thanks largely to the controversial lead track ‘Too Much Too Young’. Their musical verve seemed at odds with Terry Hall’s deadpan vocals but I guess that was part of what made them – er – special.

Bad Manners had also been winning fans with their own take on ska. Unlike The Specials, they boasted a big front man. A VERY big front man! Buster Bloodvessel must have been well over twenty stone in weight with not much of a voice, but his larger-than-life body and personality carried Bad Manners to four top ten appearances. In 1980 they toned it down a bit for ‘Special Brew’ and – my favourite – the lively, lovely and completely bonkers love song ‘Lorraine’. They had more success in 1981 and I saw them live at the Great Hall. Seeing Buster crowd-surf was a sight to behold, and fortunately nobody beneath him died….

However, in my mind, none could compare with the ‘Nutty Boys’ of Camden Town. Their opening singles in ’79 hadn’t prepared me for four years of outstanding singles, hilarious videos and an enduring two-way love affair with the public probably unmatched in pop history. They were no longer seven young blokes in pork pie hats doing silly, jerky dance moves. ‘My Girl’ and ‘Embarrassment’ were intelligent songs, ‘Night Boat to Cairo’ deliriously danceable music hall, and then there was ‘Baggy Trousers’.

The amusing Suggs lyrics resonated and were easily remembered, even by me. Then, of course, there was the video excerpt filmed at the Kentish Town primary school where saxophonist Lee ‘flew’ above his bandmates. This must be one of the most famous video sequences of all time; so iconic that even now Madness simply cannot dare perform the song live without a rather more portly fifty-something Lee soaring on a wire. At any wedding reception disco (including our own), Angie will insist on requesting ‘Baggy Trousers’ in the knowledge that I cannot fail to exhaust and probably embarrass myself dancing to it. Who cares? I always enjoy myself!

Yet this wasn’t the only witty record about childhood which made the top ten and my personal top three of the year. Other than on the John Peel show, The Undertones had come in a bit under the radar when they brought out ‘My Perfect Cousin’ that April. Two and a half minutes of post-punk perfection with memorable lyrics like:-

“He's got a degree in economics
Maths, physics and bionics
He thinks that I'm a cabbage
'Cause I hate University Challenge”

Feargal Sharkey’s Northern Irish accent added another interesting perspective, and it was fun to watch his fringe flop manically on TOTP. Their debut ‘Teenage Kicks’ may be more famous but this was The Undertones’ only top ten single and still conjures happy memories amidst the horrors of exam revision.

So far, so straightforward. And then, just a few days before I packed up to come home for Christmas, I awoke to the news on Radio 4 that John Lennon had been shot. Dead. Murdered. Bloody hell! Now, I didn’t know a huge amount about The Beatles but I was very aware that this was a Big Deal. Posters appeared on the outside of bedroom doors. And of course the TV and Radio played Lennon and Beatles songs incessantly.

Just a day or so earlier, my Beatles education had been furthered by listening to the first part of a Radio 1 interview Lennon had given to Andy Peebles. It was a massive coup for the station and so I had given it a whirl. Since re-locating to New York with Yoko, Lennon had been a reclusive figure and so hearing him talk frankly about his early career was fascinating. He had just released a new album ‘Double Fantasy’ and the lead single ‘Starting Over’ was sliding out of the top twenty from a peak position of eight. Then came that fateful moment outside the Dakota apartment building when Mark Chapman delivered those fateful shots on 8^th December.

Amidst all the usual Christmas paraphernalia, ‘Starting Over’ inevitably did a U-turn and topped the chart for a week. ‘Happy Xmas (War is Over)’ rocketed to number two and my own sense of history and heritage was stimulated over the following weeks and months. The more I read and listened, the more I came to appreciate the legacy of John Lennon in my lifetime. I think the bad press accorded Paul McCartney is utterly out of order, but for the first time I discovered which classic songs Lennon had written. Indeed, the BBC’s screening of the Fab Four’s Sixties films like ‘Help’ familiarised me with some of the tracks I hadn’t previously heard on the Jimmy Savile show; songs like ‘Nowhere Man’ and ‘Norwegian Wood’.

1981 was to be a year full of fun and fashion in pop, but John Lennon’s death was to cast a long shadow over UK music.