An Eighties Challenge, Day Seven

So here we are, the final day of my Eighties Challenge, just time for one last trawl through the ocean of time to catch a shimmering fish of musical nostalgia.

With all the great music that was produced in the 1980s, and there was a lot, you didn't have to wait all that long for your new favourite band to make an appearance; turn on the radio, tune into Top Of The Pops on a Thursday night, listen to that cover-mounted cassette, there they were. Once discovered there was the inevitable period of new fandom, that golden time spent buying the single and listening to it over and over again. Of course, being a fickle minded youth, my allegiances to bands would wax and wane depending on the views of Smash Hits or the NME, hearing the appalling follow up single to the big hit, or just good old-fashioned peer pressure. Of all the bands I discovered back in the Eighties there a handful that I still regularly listen to, and today's band is one of them.

They weren't cool. They weren't hip. They weren't trendy. They didn't produce music that you could easily dance to or soundtrack car chases with but they had a good ear for melody and a nose for interesting and well-crafted lyrics. They let the drummer write the odd song and the bass player painted their album covers. They came from a land down under but were more interested in chocolate cake than Vegemite. They were Crowded House.

Now I know what some of you might be thinking; a guy like me who listens to bands that no-one else has heard of (let alone could be dragged along to see with me) must be having a laugh. I assure you I'm not. Crowded House? Really? Yes, really, and no I won't try and shrug off my appreciation of Neil Finn and chums as a guilty pleasure. I like listening to them and I'm not guilty about it. So there. I've still got their albums (I bought the debut in the Television Parlour shop in Fareham), a lot of the singles (I've even got the little cardboard box that collects the releases from Woodface) and even the odd live bootleg. For all my love of Krautrock, of Electronica, of noodly Indie guitar bands, of odd Modern Jazz from Scandinavia, I like Crowded House too. What can I say, I have catholic tastes.

And so I finish my seven days roaming the Eighties with one of my favourite Crowded House songs, taken from their under-rated second album, Temple Of Low Men (which is apparently a very rude album name indeed); here, from 1988, is Better Be Home Soon..

An Eighties Challenge, Day Six

It's the sixth day of my Eighties Challenge, a seven day stroll down a memory lane that's in dire need of better street lamps, foraging through the overgrown musical shrubbery.

In many ways the Eighties were a simpler time, with less distractions and smaller supermarkets. Fewer television channels, no Internet, no mobile phones. To be honest I wonder what we did with ourselves without Facebook or Wikipedia to keep us occupied. Surely we can't have spent the whole time drinking tea and making polite conversation about the weather? Thank heavens that nice Tim Berners-Lee bloke invented the World Wide Web so I could stay home and look at vinyl online, not spend a lot of my time in record shops ogling their merchandise.

Back then my home town of Fareham was blessed with several of places to buy vinyl, consequently many of my Saturdays were spent ricocheting from shop to shop in pursuit of some 12" or other. The record sections of WHSmith and Woolies, the bijou shininess of Our Price and, of course, the slightly dog-eared delights of Venus Records. I spent hours in all of them, but the most time in Venus, flicking through the racks, admiring the posters on the walls, paying attention to the tunes that got played by the staff (that scene in High Fidelity, where Rob states that he will sell five copies of The Three EPs by The Beta Band, is embarrassingly close to the mark; I bought the 7" of Perfect by Fairground Attraction from there after hearing to it played over and over; the Scottish guy behind the counter was adamant it would be a hit, and he was right).

A large corner of my bedroom was taken up with an ever growing collection of vinyl, most of it brought home in the familiar white carrier bags that sported the Venus Records logo, a ridiculous haul of 12" singles. As I near the end of this seven day challenge, and the memory banks of my brain warm up, I'm remembering too many of these songs that I could post. Do I pick The Big Dish's Christina's World, a nice slice of Scottish pop rock? How about Horse's mighty You Could Be Forgiven? Danny Wilson's evergreen Mary's Prayer (the 12" of which features a country-flavoured take, Mary's Prairie, on the flip side) perhaps? Am I swayed by the choice vocals of Do-Re-Mi's Deborah Conway on Adultery or do I take the opportunity to choose something by the Pet Shop Boys? Nope, none of those (though I may do a follow post of 'bonus tracks' later).

Today's band, Fire Next Time, were a four piece from Leicester; strange then that I only heard of them thanks to spending way too much time loitering among the racks in a record shop in Fareham. They never broke it big, only releasing a handful of singles and the one album before disbanding but, thanks to them scoring a support slot for a tour with The Icicle Works, I got to see them live. To be honest my memory is a bit hazy about the gig itself; I remember them being rather good, I'm fairly certain that at least one of them was wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt, I'm definite that neither my brother or I were all that bothered about watching Icicle Works' set after. The other thing I'm sure of is that we bumped into the aforementioned Scottish chap from Venus Records, he who sold me Perfect, as he turned out to be chums with Fire Next Time too (well, stranger things have happened I suppose). After a brief and, yes, probably fanboy-esque chat with the band we turned down the offer of going for a curry with them (no, really) and headed off to Scott's Bar for a few pints. I know, what might have happened if I'd gone for the curry? Sometimes my life really is like a Gwyneth Paltrow movie.. err.. anyway, here then from 1988 is Fire Next Time..

An Eighties Challenge, Day Five

The fifth day of the Eighties Challenge I've been set, a selection of seven hand-picked tunes from that fine decade, gently buffed to a shine and hot-glued onto the web.

Whilst some bands had the legs to make it through the decade, more or less intact, not all were so lucky. Wikipedia has a handy selection of 'year in music' pages that list the hits but also the casualties, the bands that either disbanded or imploded. Such is the way of things not all of these bands stayed dead, they festered for awhile, sometimes feuded publicly, then reformed, with more or less the original line-up, usually for financial reasons. If this sounds cynical then, well, that's the music business for you.

Today's band have split, reformed, split again, reformed again, had members sacked, replaced, re-hired and sacked again. Back in the mid-eighties they looked like a bunch of fashion models and public school boys, which they possibly were, who wore cricket jumpers and blazers. The lead singer not only helped co-produce their debut album but was also credited on the liner notes for art direction and styling of the sleeve. They covered Roxy Music, they had the Artists Against Apartheid logo printed on their releases, they were terribly right on. They released a string of singles that had some success, one featuring the dulcet tones of Belinda Carlisle, whilst their biggest hit was used on the soundtrack for a dystopian sci-fi film that starred Mark Hamill (and flopped so badly at the cinema that the producer went bankrupt). Today's band is, of course, Then Jerico.

I toyed with picking Big Area, the big hit from the bad movie, but that would perhaps have been a wee bit too obvious a choice (plus I couldn't find the promo with clips of Mark Hamill and Bob Peck in an Edgley Optica on YouTube, maybe I just imagined seeing that on Top Of The Pops). Instead I've plumped for The Motive, a track from their debut album, 'First (The Sound of Music)', the LP of which I still have. The video ticks a lot of Eighties boxes, with back projected footage, slow motion and moving camera shots, with the added bonus of lead singer posing. Lovely.

Some years after their big success I got see to Then Jerico up close and personal at The Wedgewood Rooms (though they were billed as Then Jerico II and were basically a vehicle for lead singer Mark Shaw to belt out the hits, aided on stage by the silent, brooding and be-jacketed figure of Andy Taylor). Yes, that Andy Taylor, him from Duran Duran and The Power Station. Andy Taylor who noodled away on his guitar whilst simultaneously puffing away on a home-made cigarette of some description. Come to think of it I think I've got the set-list here somewhere. err.. but I digress. Here then, from 1987, is The Motive.. the nights come down and moments glow, the rats go by and by...

An Eighties Challenge, Day Four

Day four of my Eighties Challenge, a jovial seven day jaunt back through the mists of time, throwing musical oddities onto the web..

The Eighties famously saw the Second British Invasion of the USA, a musical incursion into the American charts that was powered by another of the decade's children, MTV. Thanks to the music video, and the channel's near constant playing of them, a raft of UK bands saw considerable chart success across the pond. For some acts this was only a fleeting glimpse of fame, whilst others secured career longevity and are still (mostly) together today; you only have to look at the posters on the wall in Ferris Bueller's bedroom to see who stumbled and who ran. Music sales were bolstered and embiggened by the power of the music video, with bands often reinventing their sound to make themselves more commercially appealing (perhaps at the gentle prodding of their record company). Would U2 be where they are now without MTV? Arguably no.

Just over thirty years ago this week I found myself standing in a field just outside of Milton Keynes to see one of these bands. Over the course of several albums they'd already moved from their Post Punk roots, to New Wave, to dabbling with Synthpop, all with varying degrees of success. A shift to a rockier sound brought dividends but it was a song from a movie soundtrack, a song they didn't write and were loathe to record, that pushed them over the edge and made them a stadium band. I am, of course, referring to Simple Minds.

In 1985 the band released Once Upon A Time, an album that soon appeared to be everywhere (in part due to most of it being released as singles), and the band toured relentlessly off the back of it. A year later, on a Sunday in June, my brother, his chums and I stood at the rear of the Milton Keynes Bowl, ready to be entertained. This was my first foray into the world of "the Stadium gig" and, yes, suffice to say I was a wee bit over-excited. The line-up included Doctor and The Medics (my first experience of seeing a band bottled), The Waterboys, the excellent Lloyd Cole and The Commotions and the sadly underwhelming Big Audio Dynamite.

Finally though the headline act took the stage, kicking things off with Waterfront, and all was good with the world. Well, it was nearly all good. Unfortunately the gig clashed with another important world event, namely the World Cup Quarter Final match between Argentina and England. Yes, that match, that infamous meeting of hand and ball. And wouldn't you know it, Jim Kerr baited the crowd with news of the game throughout their set. For shame Jim, for shame. Still, it was an excellent evening of music, a big band at the top of their game. And yes, there are no prizes for guessing what song I've picked for today..

41. EXT. FOOTBALL FIELD - DAY

We see Bender walking towards us as Brian's monologue continues.

BRIAN (VO)
(CONT'D)
But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain...

ANDREW (VO)
...and an athlete...

ALLISON (VO)
...and a basket case...

CLAIRE (VO)
...a princess...

BENDER (VO)
...and a criminal...

BRIAN (VO)
Does that answer your question? Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club.

We see Bender walking across the football field as he thrusts his fist into the air in a silent cheer and freezes there.

An Eighties Challenge, Day Three

It's the third day of my Eighties Challenge, a seven day foray into the neon palace of memory, plucking songs and related gibberish from the ether as I go.

The Sony Walkman might have been around since 1979 but it came into its own in the 80s; a portable music player it finally provided relief for the millions of people that want to left alone on the bus (though, in turn, it created an arguably larger portion of society sat behind them wondering what song that tinny noise was supposed to be). In a nod to this growing market of sullen folk sat on trains and buses, and perhaps in a not so subtle move from The Man to try and stop The Kids from killing music (and his profit margins) with home taping, the music industry introduced the 'cassette single'.

On paper it might have appeared, to a bean counter at least, to be a grand idea; the same form factor as the cassette but, as it only had to hold a limited number of tracks, it contained less tape and was cheaper to produce. There was no A or B side as the tracks were repeated on both sides and, as it edged nearer to a 12" single than a 7", they could bump up the cost accordingly. All the people who listened to music on their Walkman, an ever increasing number, would buy one. The money would print itself. The trouble was that most everyone with a Walkman would either buy the album the single was from on cassette or, more likely, buy their tunes on vinyl and collate them into mix tapes. Who wanted to carry around a bag of 'Cassingles' (no really, I looked it up) when a couple of C90s would do the job nicely? And so the 'cassette single' went the way of all flesh.

That's not to say, of course, that I wasn't suckered into the shininess of this new item on the shelf. Today's offering came in a shiny gold cardboard flip-top box, looking vaguely like a slightly trim packet of Benson & Hedges, that caught my eye on a visit to Venus Records one day (and, contrary to what I wrote above, I'd already bought the album it came from). From 1985 then I give you Scritti Politti's Perfect Way...

An Eighties Challenge, Day Two

Day two of the Eighties Challenge where, of course, I've been tasked to choose seven songs in seven days from that decade of excess. Songs to delight, or songs to confuse. Maybe both.

Thinking about it now, despite the tricks memory plays, Saturdays had a regular routine about them (or at least they did until I discovered alcohol); mornings spent festering in front of the telly, flicking between BBC and ITV, followed by a walk into Fareham to waste a not inconsiderable amount of time in Venus Records perusing the 12" singles piled up in their 99p sales rack. Sometimes this exercise would offer up gems, a promo white label perhaps or a new release that had been slipped in to make things interesting, but more often than not I'd end up punting my pounds on something peculiar. All too often I'd be tempted by odd vinyl from bands I'd not heard of, risking my money on the cover alone, and have to wait until I got home to discover if I'd bought a classic or a new novelty place mat.

Today's offering is one from the 99p sales rack, it's not really a gem but it's not something I'd sit my plate of fish and chips on either, that I must have had some reason to buy unheard. A song by a band some might remember but most won't know, to be honest I was amazed to find the audio clip on YouTube (more so that it's on Spotify too), English Evenings released a handful of singles before disappearing back from whence they came. Set your controls for 1985 and, for the next six and a bit minutes, enjoy the slightly overblown 12" remix of I Will Return...

An Eighties Challenge, Day One

All it took was a thumbs up, a thumbs up of a post on Facebook, and my fate was sealed; the gauntlet thrown to select seven songs from Eighties, a misbegotten decade, and post them for all to enjoy (or mock, depending on the selection). Was I up to the challenge? Yes, although not wanting to limit "the fun" to Facebook I'd thought I'd bung them up here as well for all to enjoy.

The Eighties, as I recall them through the hazy fog of memory, were an interesting time to be alive. As I remember now it seemed a loud decade, mostly big and bright, peppered with quirky design and adorned with shocking typography, with too much time spent obsessing over shoulder pads or doing whatever Frankie told us to do. It was a time of grand technological advances, burgeoning globalisation, some excellent John Hughes movies and living in the near constant fear of either being atomised in a Nuclear Holocaust or catching something nasty that might make your winky fall off. Fun times indeed, all sound-tracked with a selection of tunes, some good, some bad, some classic and some that haven't aged very well at all.

First up on our brief and hopefully entertaining jaunt through the dusty 80's section of my record collection (as, yes, I promise that I will have owned or still have a copy of all the selections posted) is a gem of a tune from 1983. All drums, whistles and earnest clipped vocals, I first encountered Kissing The Pink thanks to that classic of Saturday morning television, No.73. I can't recall if the band were on before or after Roger Ramjet, or if they played The Sandwich Game, but I do know that I liked their song so much that I bought the 7" single....

Tunes, not chat

As much as I loved Massive Attack's set at Portsmouth Guildhall last night, and an excellent array of tunes and arresting visuals it was too (including a nice Terry Wogan tribute), my enjoyment of said gig was somewhat hampered by the drunken chatterboxes stood behind me who willfully bleated on throughout the show. It is my gig-going bugbear. My prime punter annoyance. Why pay £30+ for a ticket if you're going to talk all the way through the gig? Why cheer loudly when Horace Andy takes to the stage if you're just going to gab during his performance? Surely not just to piss me off, that they could've done far easier and cheaper than spending £££ for a ticket plus whatever to cover the amount of booze they'd imbibed. No matter, the Dave abides and, by shuffling my carcass slightly forward, I moved myself just about out of earshot (though slightly more up close and personal to some flat-cap wearing hipsters then I'd like) and could enjoy the show (and damn good it was too).

By my own admission, and no surprise to you reading this, I'm a bit of gig whore. I have been to a lot of shows over the years and, yes, I've sadly stood through too many that have been spoiled by someone crapping on about something when they should be listening. Venues have bars, if you want a chat go and stand there, prop up the counter and chew the fat. Don't stand next to me and talk to your mate about your favourite song, the one you want played at your wedding, that you then talk loudly through when the artist plays it (that was one time seeing Ed Harcourt) or just witter on incessantly and ignore the very British looks of umbrage that are being thrown in your direction (as happened at gigs by such fine artists as John Grant, Midlake and Sleaford Mods to name but three).

Last night's experience reminded me of times in The Cellars (RIP) where they had a notice pinned near the bar advising that it was a "listening venue"; if you spoke too loudly during a set then one of the bar staff would tell you off, and they weren't kidding either. Slightly less full on is a poster campaign by Independent Venue Week that makes the point very clearly; if the band is interrupting your conversation you're in the wrong place. Ideally venues shouldn't have to post up nanny state posters telling punters how to behave, nor should I have to waste pixels venting a small amount of spleen about some people I don't know who couldn't care less, but sadly that's just the way it is.

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(update - unfortunately the link to the IVW campaign appears to have expired, the posters are present via the illustrator though; click the image below to view them on Robbie Porter's website)

Life on Mars

One of the sad facts about gaining years is that, with every day, there's an ever increasing chance that someone you know, love, appreciate, admire or respect will disappear. It's one of the choice parts of the human condition, a happy/sad twist that makes you reflect on what you have, what you've missed out on, what hours there are in the day to make something new or maybe just that it's high time that you bought that new shiny thing that you'd promised yourself. It may be that someone you know has passed on, or it may be that someone you've never met, but to you has had an equally important impact on your life, has died; the writer of a book you can quote offhand perhaps, or an actor who's work you enjoyed, the painter who's way with colour makes the juices in your brain fizz or the performer who's music lifts your soul. If life is like a box of chocolates, and you never know what you're going to get, there's a likelihood that some days you'll be handed the Peanut Cracknel and not the Noisette Triangle. Today was one of those days.

David Bowie is dead and, not to put too fine a point on it, it's bummed me right out. It bummed me out when I woke up to the news, half-dreaming the report read out on the radio, and it's continued to do so as the day has progressed. It's bummed me out, it's pissed me off, it's made me sad and, from the tweets I've read and the items I've seen populating my newsfeed in Facebook, unsurprisingly I'm not alone in how I feel. Today may be beyond Peanut Cracknel, today was a big bar of Marmite chocolate, chewed with a grimace. David Bowie is/was a genius, an artist, a chameleon, a creator of beautiful music and, by most accounts, was a really nice chap to boot. Part of me thinks that this is just another way of him reinventing himself, that he'll reappear as a new creation tomorrow, but that's just the dreamer in me. Bowie has left the planet. The body may be gone but the body of work remains and will always be with us. He really made the grade, and for that I am thankful.

RIP David Bowie (1947-2016)