Picture the scene: it’s March 1984, and freshly imbued with the success of Now That’s What I Call Music, the suits at Sony Music and Universal Music decided there were more bucks to be made from this compilation mullarkey, and so they lobbed out Volume 2 in the series.
Let’s see what pop singles they considered to be worthy of flagging to us this time around, shall we? And don’t be shy, ‘fess up to those atrocities you bought back in the day via the Comments section; trust me, you’ll feel free from the burden of embarrasment if you do. I’ll be ‘fessing up, and also dropping any I remember my brother owning too, jusy to annoy him.
A song, written by drummer Roger Taylor, which mourns the passing of time and the progress of technology. Still, we can all do a synchronised communal clapping, which should distract us all from noticing how thin Freddie’s starting to look.
Named after the the two bumbling detectives Thomson and Thompson in the Tin Tin series of comic novels, they were in fact a three-some, although this number had been stripped down from at least seven members before they found success. My brother, much as he may protest, bought their Into The Gap album and I’m pretty sure briefly joined their fanclub. Doctor, Doctor, indeed.
You know where I’m going with this. The thing that Matt Bianco are best remembered for is not their *reads notes* “irresistable blend of jazz and Latin-flavoured music”. it’s for this moment when they appeared on a Saturday morning kid’s show in 1984, engaged in a phone-in, where fans could call in and ask their musical heroes anything they liked:
And that’s why we now have wall-to-wall cookery shows on TV on a weekend morning.
This lot were a bunch of between-jobs actors, who got together to record some a capella versions of popular songs, and scored a surprise Christmas #1 with this, their take on Yazoo’s #2 hit single from 1982. Given that he has written so many catchy electro-pop singles, it must stick in Vince Clarke’s throat that the only two #1s he achieved were The Pickets’s version of this, and an ABBA cover when he was one half of Erasure.
The main bloke from The Flying Pickets was a chap called Brian Hibbard. Shortly after finding success in The Pickets, he landed a role in Coronation Street. He used to drink in a pub in Cardiff I occasionally frequented, The Royal Oak.
I’d often see him there, sitting at the bar. Normally, when I see a celebrity out in the wild, I’ll leave them be, decide not to bother them, and that’s probably because of the one time that I actually approached one. Him. I asked him this: How did it feel to steal Mike Baldwin’s Jag? (I had, of course, neglected to take into account that this was the point when he was written out of Britain’s top soap). His answer, predictably, rightly, was this: “Fuck off, mate.”
Bloody hell, we all fancied Nena when we were young, hairy German armpits and all. Shame she never released anything else that bothered the charts here in the UK.
The soundtrack to a billion awful hen do’s. God I hate this record. She made many better, less succesful songs, hopefully one of them will come up later. My brother bought the She’s So Unusual album this sits on, which I’ll admit has it’s moments (She Bop and the later single I bought by her…)
Since I started posting streaming links to songs rather than an mp3 download from my own collection, it’s rare that I come across a song which none of the main streaming platforms are able to offer. But such is the case with this one. Read into that what you will.
This was the theme tune to the hugely popular TV series Auf Wiedersehen, Pet, which, written by Dick Clement and Ian La Frenais (authors of Porridge and The Likely Lads, to name just two), told the story of a bunch of (mostly Geordie) labourers, working in Germany. It kick-started the acting careers of Jimmy Nail (thanks for that!), Kevin Whateley, Tim Healey and Timothy Spall, to name but a few.
Many years ago, at a gathering at mine and Hel’s flat, I promised a Geordie friend of ours, Jo, that I had a song which would make her happy. I played her this. I cannot repeat the profanities which came from her mouth. Brian Hibbard would’ve blushed.
Terence Charles “Snowy” White used to be in Thin Lizzy, and a backing guitarist with Pink Floyd. Neither of which has any bearing on this record, except we can safely say he is musically competent. This is a perfectly nice record, but nothing that would, or indeed did, set the world alight.
Well, here’s funny. For some reason, WordPress decided not to save and publish the final, finished post yesterday, and instead farmed out an old, initial draft, with different words and songs in a different order. Sorry about that. Below is what should have been published yesterday. (Llŷr would have pretended to be mildly offended at this cock-up, but would actually have been pissing himself at me messing up on what is potentially a global stage. Laugh it up, dude)
Today would’ve been Llŷr’s birthday, and, given our shared love of compiling mix tapes and CDs, and the oh-so-many he prepared for me, it seems only right and appropriate that tonight’s mix is dedicated to him. It’s what he would have wanted.
No sleeve notes this week, as I’ve written about all of these songs before, with a couple of exceptions. I should stress that Llŷr did not like all of tonight’s tracks (only, maybe, 98.9% of them), but all of them remind me of him in one way or another, and have featured before on these pages. If you want to understand why I’ve included a particular song, then you can scroll through the Be Llŷrious series via the drop down to the left and find the back story.
The only two exceptions are the obligatory Super Furry Animals track; I’ve included one which hasn’t featured before, but, if memory serves, Llŷr told me was his favourite tune by them, in a field of many, so lawd only knows how I’ve managed to swerve posting it before.
The second is the Gene song which kicks things off; shortly after he passed I referenced this tune in my eulogy to Llŷr, but posted a different song, for reasons which I hope will become obvious. Now, five years on, it seems right to post it. Llŷr’s younger sister and uber-Gene fan Siân will know them both, of course.
As for the running order: it amuses me to stick songs next to each other which have no right to be neighbours. Hence Cliff Richard living next door to Surfer Rosa-era Pixies just tickled me.
One last bit of admin: you’ll spot that Track 16 is by Goldie Lookin’ Chain. It not only contains a huge amount of effing and jeffing, it is also incredibly filthy, so I need to slap one of these on here:
Ok, let’s go: 90 minutes of Llŷriousness. By the time you all read this, I’ll have raised several glasses (Jez-measures, of course), in his memory. Feel free to join me, whenever you read/listen to this:
Friday night is upon us again, and that can only mean one thing: a new mix of tip-top tunes from yours truly. (Well, actually, it can mean a lot of things: a Friday night takeaway, a couple of post-work pints, you get the gist. What I’m saying is: there’s room in your hectic playboy/girl lifestyle for this too).
This week’s mix has been picked from the debris of the one I mentioned having jetisoned last time out, but don’t let that put you off. I’ve over-run the usual 60 minutes mark, mostly because I was enjoying this one so much I kept lobbing in extra tracks until I decided to rest back, fully satisfied and fit to burst.
What we have this week, is a load of songs which mostly fall into the following categories: quiet build up; wicked bassline; who are these/I’ve forgotten about these/where are they now?; absolute stone cold classic. I’ll let you decide which falls into which box.
So welcome one and all, to this week’s mix for which I’ve done some sleeve notes, and included links so you can stream the individual song or album it comes from (don’t get used to this level of customer service, by the way), so I won’t waste any more time with my attempts to fashion a new introduction, let’s crack straight on shall we?
This is from 1989, but ignore the ever-so-slightly egotostical grandeur of the mention of Orchestra in the title. This is good old fashioned acoustic-driven folk/rock, like Mumford & Sons could have been if they weren’t insistent on being awful.
2. World Party – Ship Of Fools
I was very sad to hear of the passing of World Party main man, and ex-Waterboy, Karl Wallinger recently. I’ve been meaning to write something about how much I love their first album, Private Revolution, from which this is lifted, for a while, as a kind of eulogy, but time pressures blahblahblah. Maybe I’ll do something for SWC’s continually excellent Nearly Perfect Albums series over at No Badger Required. We’ll see.
3. The Charlatans – Forever
If you’ve ever been to see The Charlatans play live – and if you haven’t that’s something you should rectify as soon as possible – you’ll know that often – not always – they kick things off with this. It’s a near-perfect intro tune, the opening track on their 1999 Us and Us Only album, one of their finest in my opinion, and lawd knows they’ve been around for a goodly while, so it’s up against some stiff competition.
4. We Have Band – Hear It In The Cans
This lot should have been huge. I mean, listen to this: bouncy bass, spiky guitars, boy/girl shared vocals – I’m probably doing them a dis-service here, but I can imagine early B-52’s doing this, and I totally mean that as a compliment. This is from their debut album from 2010, WHB, a moniker under which they released further stuff, but, according to their wiki page, nothing since 2014, which is disappointing, because this is, well, just ace.
5. Metronomy – The Bay (Erol Alkan’s Extended Rework)
More boy/girl vocals and harmonies, more bouncing basslines, stretched out by DJ hero of mine, Erol Alkan. The original can be found on their 2011 album The English Riviera.
All these irresistable basslines mean I can’t resist, and nor can Alan…
Smooth.
6. Saint Etienne – Sylvie
Classic kitsch from Sarah, Bob and Pete. You don’t need me to tell you how ace they are/this is. It’s Saint Etienne, therefore….From their 1998 Good Humor album.
7. EMF – I Believe
It always struck me as amusing that their follow-up to the massive was Unbelieveable was a song called I Believe. If only they’d called the next one Now You Mention It, That’s a Thinker. From 1991’s Schubert Dip album.
8. Jesus Jones – Bring It On Down
Look, I know that time and history may not look favourably upon the likes of Jesus Jones. But what I think is often over-looked is how, with their blend of guitars and samples, bands like this very much laid the groundwork for devoted guitar obsessed indie kids, as I was back in 1989 (on their Liquidizer album) to like dance music. This was precursor for what was to follow: baggy, Madchester, indie/dance crossover, Screamadelica. It may have taken hold eventually, but it was because of the stuff that Jones’ and their likes released that blinkered idiots like me we were more receptive.
9. Pop Will Eat Itself – Def Con One
Ditto.
I bought this on 7″ single at college. with the specific intention of dropping it at the Indie Night I was DJ’ing at. Imagine my disappointment, and embarrasment having not listened to it before I played it out, that I’d bought the BBC-friendly version, where the integral “Big Mac” line had been changed to “Milk Shake”. How I ever managed to recover any credibility I’ll never know. You’ll find this of-it’s-time belter on 16 Different Flavours of Hell.
10. The Wonder Stuff – Don’t Let Me Down, Gently
Since we’re in the Black Country, an absolute banger from popular rhyming slang Miles Hunt and the boys, this, the first single from their 1989 second album Hup!, reached #19 in the UK charts, and deserved to have got a lot higher.
11. Crazyhead – What Gives You the Idea That You’re so Amazing Baby?
I’m not going to pretend this is a fine moment, let alone this Leicester band’s finest moment, but it does have one of the greatest titles of a single ever. This lot played the Students Union in my first year, before I was involved in the Ents side of things. I went to see them, liked them, but recall a conversation in the gents afterwards with a random which went pretty much like this:
Random: What did you think of them that, mate?
Me: Thought they were alright. Not sure about some of the song titles, though. I mean “I Don’t Want That Pint of Blood”? C’mon….
The song in question is actually I Don’t Want That Kind of Love and I was an idiot. Listen to their Desert Orchid album and tell me I’m a fool to have misheard.
John Moore was, briefly, in The Jesus & Mary Chain. He took over from Bobby Gillespie on his very taxing drum duties, later moving to guitar, but left the band in 1988. He’s probably better know now for his involvement in Black Box Recorder, but this is what he did in between.
Whenever I hear this record, I immediately think of my old mate Tony, sadly no longer with us. Back in 2016, on what would have been his 50th birthday, I wrote this:
He sidled up to me once in the Sixth Form Common Room; a mixtape I had made was playing, and suddenly I was aware that Tony was standing by my side.
“This should be number one, shouldn’t it, mate?” he whispered to me.
In an ideal world, Tony, yes, it should have been. (It got to Number 11.)
And he was right, it should have been Number One because it’s bloody great, far better than most of the old tosh that was cluttering up the UK Singles Charts at the time. Who cares that they released nothing else of any note? That is a great record. Westworld were The Ting Tings of the 80s, only without the number one hit record.
I stand by that.
On a related note: I’m going to see The Wedding Present play in Cambridge in a couple of weeks (May 3rd). Tony would have loved to have been there, but for fairly obvious reasons, can’t be. As it happens, a mate who was supposed to be joining me and my old mate Richie has dropped out, so if you know anyone in the area who fancies joining us, let them know I have a spare, and to contact me via the Comments or by email.
A Northern Soul-esque version of what is probably one of my favourite Beatles songs.
16. The Webb Brothers – I Can’t Believe You’re Gone
One of the tunes salvaged from the wreckage of that mix I mentioned last week. The Webb Brothers are the sons of Jimmy Webb, and that discarded mix ended with a run of Webb-related songs; this (from 2000’s wonderful Maroon album), the next song in this mix, and, sandwiched in-between, actor Richard Harris’ version of the Jimmy Webb MacArthur Park, which, much as I love it, I decided you probably don’t need to hear.
Not written one of these for a while, mostly since the idea of this series is that I try to post uplifting, positive songs to kick off the working week, and I’ve not felt particularly positive or uplifted for a while now (don’t fret, I’m fine).
But on the drag into London and the office the other day – the time when inspiration strikes me the most – my iTunes tossed this at me, and I immediately perked up, much to the annoyance of all the people who had gotten on to the train at the last stop and had decided not to disturb the sleeping man by sitting next to him.
Not a song I cared for at all at the time, it seemed to be promoted on the basis of who the participants’ parents were (“So it must be great!”) rather than what the song itself was like.
I do have a vague memory of dancing to this at Hel & Neil’s wedding party, but I may be imagining that. I was, very very drunk.
Here you go, chin up, let’s get through Monday, shall we?:
2022, Forrest McCurren releases his debut album Oh Me, Oh My.
You wouldn’t know it was his debut album, he has the sound of a hangdog that’s been round the block more times than he cares to remember.
Here’s what it says about him on his website: Forrest McCurren comes from the heart of the heartland, where the foothills of the Ozarks meet the Big Muddy: The Middle-of-Missouri. Blazing his own trail while stylistically tipping his hat to the songwriting giants of the past, McCurren wields the magic of lyricism to cast a light on the many intricacies of everyday life set against vignettes of Middle America. Tackling topics such as: wise words from waitresses, heartbroken high school football standouts, and tattooed trailer park lovers, McCurren writes songs for good people that got bad grades in school, are drunk on dreams, and still trying to figure out if life is sour or sweet. Which is pretty much what I said.
Props are due to Swiss Adam over at Bagging Area for a little while ago posted some stuff from David Holmes latest project, Blind on a Galloping Horse and all of the oh-so-many remixes which have been released in conjunction.
I have a couple of Holmes’ early albums logged away on the CD racks, and Adam’s posts inspired me to a) revisit the ones I already owned – what a treat!, and b) shell out for the new stuff – what a treat!
This, then, is from Blind On a Galloping Horse Remixes, Vol.1; bleepy, squelchy, spacey and dubby, it’s just perfect for this series:
Thank you all for the comments left for me after last week’s first instalment of this series, where I go through all of the tracks on each volume (that I own) of the long-running compilation album series Now That’s What I Call Music.
But you’ll not put me off, oh no. And if you thought, like long-time reader George did, that last week’s serving was “…the worst set of songs I’ve ever read on a blog. Teeth-grindingly bad…” (It’s nice to have such a devoted fanbase), well buckle up because Side 1 of the second disc of Now That’s What I Call Music, where we’re heading today, is, in my opinion, even worse.
Let’s see who wants to admit to having bought any of these back in their more youthful days, shall we?
What did New Edition ever give us? Well, they gave us this utterly irritating UK #1, sung by annoying little pipsqueaks and featuring a horrid squelchy bassline. What else? Well, they also gave us three further UK Top 20 singles; the first, Mr Telephone Man, came two years later, in 1985, and then two more, Hit Me Off [I’m sorry, do what to you, exactly…?] and Something About You but they didn’t scrape the lower regions of the UK Top 20 until 1996 and 1997 respectively, some 13 years after Candy Girl hit the top of the charts. Presumably by then they had all matured into hunky looking young men who danced with their shirts off, or, more likely, in a precursor to the Sugababes’ method of keeping things fresh, an entirely different line-up.
Safe to say, then, that they did not exactly capitalise on their early succeess, and praise be for such small mercies.
But what about in between, in what has become known in Dubious Towers as ‘The No Second Edition Years’? Well, after the follow-up single Popcorn Love [which conjures up horrid images of young men taking their dates to the cinema, buying a massive carton of popcorn, making a hole in the bottom, resting it on their lap and inviting their beau to ‘grab a handful’] limped it’s way to #43, it was followed swiftly – probably more swiftly than their record company had anticipated – by Is This The End to which we as a nation chorused “We fucking hope so!” as we booed it to it’s triumphant peak of #83.
What else did New Edition give us? Well, they also gave us Bobby Brown, and therefore, by extension, dead in a bath tub Whitney .
Here’s the compilers of Now… breaking that well-known rule one should always bear in mind when putting together a mixtape/album/playlist/whatever: Thou shalt not include two tracks by the same artist. Fair play, by the time this came out the Kajas (The GooGoos?) had kicked that prick Limahl out, and lead vocal duties were now taken over by bass player Nick Beggs.
You know how many people’s go-to-reference for awful 80s haircuts is A Flock of Seagulls? Well that overlooks the godawful barnet Beggs had:
Several years later, a mate of mine at Uni inexplicably tried to revive this haircut. He dyed his hair peroxide blonde and then got white hair extenstions put it in. He had them all cut off less than 24 hours later when he got fed up with people baa-ing at him.
Anyway, Big Apple is about life in New York, which is also named The Big Apple. I don’t know how they came up with such a complicated concept to sing about. Imagine: living in a city! In America!!
Ably assisted by Glenn Gregory and Martyn Ware of Heaven 17 fame on backing vocals and production duties, this. a cover of the Al Green classic, was the first of Tina’s great comeback singles. Before this, which reached #6 in 1983, she’d not had a hit in the UK since 1973’s Nutbush City Limits, and that was with her ex-husband and all-round-not-a-nice-guy Ike.
To open the doors on the amnesty of admission: Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession. Whilst I didn’t buy this as a single, I did buy Private Dancer, the album it appears on.
Join me in ‘fessing up via the Comments. It’ll be a laugh, I promise.
Or rather (Keep Feeling) Fascination as the band called it, but the Now… compilers refused to. They probably had a cap on brackets policy in place. And on the number of times they could use the word The on one set of packaging.
Anyway, by April 1983, The Human League were on a roll. This was their 5th Top Ten UK hit in a row, if you ignore The Holiday ’80 EP which re-entered the charts in February 1982, having been originally released in – you guessed it – 1980. This, remember, long before the days of downloading, where 10,000 clicks can get you a #1. No, back then you had to go out and find the record you wanted, flick through the racks of your local vinyl emporium, scour through the ads at the back of the NME to see if you could buy one with a postal order or a cheque. So that re-entry – only at #46, but in the charts for 5 weeks, is indicative of just how massive The League had become.
Or, to put it another way (Dad joke incoming!): it meant Phil Oakey could now afford to get the other side of his hair cut.
For a while in the early-80s, if you wanted a solo male UK pop star, it was either Howard Jones or Nik Kershaw: them’s yer choices. I’ll admit, in time, to buying a couple of Kershaw’s singles, but never anything by Jones. His were just a bit too Casio-toned for my rock-loving ears. And, he had that annoying twat Jed – Roy Jay (look him up) meets Marcel Marceau meets Bez – accompanying him in the videos and TOTP performances for this single:
Oh go on then: Roy Jay. This passed as entertainment in the 80s. Slither!:
No, go on, do make him cry. At least he won’t be singing this interminably dull sub-snoozing reggae then.
And if you’re short of practical ideas about how to make him cry, well a very young Danny Dyer has some suggestions intended for Peter Andre but which I’m sure could easily be transferred over:
Oh Jesus wept. Ordinarily, this sort of schlocky slop would have featured on a smash-hit movie soundtrack, and that would explain how it got to #2 in the UK Charts. I mean: there’s only one explanation for (I’ve Had) The Time of My Life‘s inexplicable popularity: it’s in Dirty Dancing. People – by which I mean, women, like Dirty Dancing. (I’m sure they exist, but I know of no men who like Dirty Dancing. Not any straight ones, anyway.) But Tonight I Celebrate My Love didn’t feature in any blockbuster movie. And back in 1983, just like now, Steve Wright’s Sunday Love Songs wasn’t a thing. So the only place this would get played would be in the last ten minutes at your local disco, when the DJ slllooowwwweedddd tttthhhhhhhiiiiinnnnnnggggsss dowwwwwwwwwwwwwn for ‘all the lovers out there’.
Wake me up when the erection section’s finished will you?
That’s more like it! I’ve written about this, and Tracey’s brief pop career before, here, should you fancy having a read.
Suffice it to say: They Don’t Know is a damn-near perfect pop record. And therefore, I didn’t buy it at the time, though I have subsequently availed myself of a vinyl copy of You Broke My Heart in 17 Places, the album it lives on. Kirtsy MacColl’s original version is probably the song that appears most in my iTunes library. It’s 100% skip-proof: I’ve never gotten tired of hearing it and I doubt I ever will.
Blimey, two absolute crackers in a row. Things are looking up.
Let’s see what wiki has to say about it: “Kissing with Confidence” is a song by Will Powers (the stage name/persona of photographer-turned-singer Lynn Goldsmith) from her 1983 album Dancing for Mental Health. It was written by Goldsmith, Jacob Brackman, Nile Rodgers, Todd Rundgren, and Steve Winwood. Goldsmith used a voice recorder to sound like a man. Carly Simon is the uncredited lead singer”. I mean, c’mon: that’s not a bad set of artists to be working with. Although that voice recorder needs chucking out: I have never for a moment thought it was man providing the central advice on this record.
I’ve posted this before and extolled its’ virtues, and it was met with a decidedly lukewarm reaction. I bloody love it. But of course, I didn’t buy it at the time, although I sponge-like absorbed every word of advice it offered. Y’know…just in case….
Anyway, no, I didn’t buy that, but, I did buy this:
Yes. That’s right. I bought this. In fact, I bought the album, not the single. And I bought the album because it had this on it.
Look. I know we all know what Phil Collins is now. But those were different times, back then. We had no idea how he would turn out. The benefit of hindsight is a wonderful thing. I also had no clue that Genesis used to be some adored arty prog-rock band, fronted by Peter Gabriel dressed as a chrysanthemum; no idea what Collins had converted them from and into.
And you know what? Now I do know, and I’ve listed to Gabriel-era Genesis, and I’d rather listen to Collins-era Genesis than that old shite anyday.
I’m sure they’ll crop up again in this series, if they haven’t already appeared on these pages. There are other Collins/Genesis songs that I like. And when the time comes, I will hold my head up and confess: I. Like. This. Song.
Not now, obviously. I don’t want to expose myself uneccesarily.
There I’ve said it: there are other Collins/Genesis songs that I like. I’m not sure why so many find this such an alien concept. Just because I – we – like the occasional record that someone makes, but dislike them and much of their other recorded output, that does not make me – you – a fan of theirs. That makes me – you – honest enough to give credit where I – you – think credit is due.
The album that has this on it that I bought, the wittily-titled Genesis is, as you would expect, rubbish apart from That’s All.
I mean, this is just magnificent, isn’t it? I didn’t buy it at the time, of course, but fear not! My days of buying Cure records were just around the corner. Redemption is nigh.
I hated Simple Minds back then. I think it was partly because Jim Kerr reminded me of Michael Myers from the Halloween horror movie franchise:
Spot the difference
Anyway, time and age has mellowed me, and I can now appreciate the shimmering magnificence of some of those early Simple Minds records, this one included.
To round off what’s actually turned out to be a pretty decent fourth side, given some of the shite they could have picked, another band making their second appearance on the same compilation album. Tut, tut, compilers.
But having mentioned how much I hate Karma Chameleon last time out, I woudn’t want you to think I was some homophobic twat who hated Culture Club unconditionally because of Boy George. Quite the opposite, I really like Mr O’Dowd, and some of the band’s other singles – Church of the Poisoned Mind, Time (Clock of the Heart), It’s a Miracle, this and…er…well, that’s about it really. So, the ones Helen Terry was involved in, pretty much.
Anyway, that’s it for this week. Hopefully we’re ending things on a positive note this time.
Next time (which should be next week, all being well), we’ll move on to Now That’s What I Call Music Vol II and see what delights that has in store for us, shall we? No peeking!
The more astute of you will have spotted that each week, when I can find one, I include an image or gif related to the number of the volume of Music Club we’ve reached. Usually, the image will have no bearing whatsoever on the contents of the mix that is to follow, and never has that been truer than this week.
For, had it occured to me that the obvious choice this week would be hedonistic 70s New York nightclub Studio 54’s logo, then this week’s mix would have been suitably disco and diva-ish. But the penny didn’t drop until I came to write this and did a Google Image seach for something with 54 in it, letting out an audible groan when the realisation dawned.
So, if you’re new to these pages, have stumbled across if because of the Studio 54 emblem, then I’m sorry to disppoint you, but there’s barely a whiff of glitter or poppers in this week’s mix. If I can misquote Sheryl Crow: This ain’t no disco/It ain’t no country club either/This is…Friday Night Music Club.
But stick around, you never know, you may find there’s something you like in what’s to come: 18 songs squeezed into 63 minutes, as this week more than any other we skid around the circuit of musical genres with barely a gear-grind in earshot.
No sleeve-notes this week, partly because I’ve not had time, but mostly because of a last-minute change of heart as to which mix to post this week. I know you may find this hard to believe, but I do exercise a little quality control around here, and having listened to the mix that was scheduled to appear I decided it was just a little bit…well, shit is probably the kindest way to describe it, so it got bumped. Now you may listen to this mix and think: this is better than the other one?? which is fair enough, can’t please all the people all the time and all that. In particular, we kick off this week with a tune by a band who, whenever I feature them on these pages, are consistently met with absolute indifference.
But stick around, you never know, you may find there’s something you like in what’s to come: 18 songs squeezed into 63 minutes blahblahblahblahblah you get the gist.
Jenny Wilson – Let My Shoes Lead Me Forward (The Knife Remix)
Jungle – All of the Time
Da Hool – Meet Her at The Love Parade
Swedish House Mafia – Greyhound
Greyhound – Black and White
The Mighty Diamonds – Pass The Kouchie
LL Cool J – Mama Said Knock You Out
Stereo Total – I Love You, Ono
Billie Eilish – Bad Guy
Juliana Hatfield – Totally Hot
Wings – Goodnight Tonight
Hot Hot Heat – Goodnight Goodnight
We Are Scientists – After Hours
Now, you’ll have to excuse me; I’ve got to prepare a new mix for next week now, and also write a post about disc 2 of Now That’s What I Call Music Volume 1 to annoy you all with tomorrow, if the reaction to last week’s post is anything to go by.
A little over a week ago, there was an item on the news about how Beyoncé had released an album of Country music, which featured guest appearances by such legends as Willie Nelson and Dolly Parton. Intrigued, I got me a copy.
It’s not, in my opinion, a Country album. So why am I featuring it here, in my Sunday morning country music slot, I hear you ask. Well, because there are definite tinges of Country music there, and whilst I don’t claim to be an expert on Beyoncé’s back catalogue, I’d say this is her most Country record to date.
As for those guest appearances by Willie and Dolly, well don’t get your hopes up, as they feature by way of a couple of voicemail messages and inter-song links, so don’t get your hopes up about an actual collaboration. That said, there is a really rather good cover (lyrically reworked) of this old Dolly delight:
Dolly’s version came out in 1973, 51 years ago. Assuming she was in her early twenties back then, that would make Jolene in her seventies now and so, frankly, I don’t think you need to feel quite so threatened by her anymore, Beyoncé.
Other album highlights include a lovely cover of The Beatles’ Blackbird (a song so beautiful you’d have to try really hard to mess it up), the lead single from the album: Texas Hold ‘Em, this duet with Miley Cyrus: II Most Wanted and Ya Ya, which samples Nancy Sinatra’s These Boots Are Made For Walking, goes a bit Patti Smith’s Gloria whilst also referencing The Beach Boys. It’s a four and a half minute whirlwind of brilliance.
It’s definitely worth checking this out, I really like it, it’s a definite grower, just don’t expect it to be quite the out-and-out Country conversion it’s being billed as in some quarters – it’s a little bit Country, done as only Beyoncé, and that’s a good thing.
Had I not watched TV last night, then you’d now be reading a long-overdue Rant.
But I did, and of course I watched Have I Got News For You; not the greatest episode ever, but I became more and more dismayed as every topic I had intended to write about this morning got mentioned – even the same video clips I planned to insert – but with better gags than I had come up with. No loosely-linked tunes, granted, but still…
So what did I do instead? Well, now that storage space on my iPod is no longer an issue, I decided to upload all of the Now albums I have *coughs* legally acquired digital copies of to my iTunes.
And as I did so, a thought occured to me: there’s a series here. And then I remembered that, a long time ago, I wrote about Now That’s What I Call Music Vol 1 and promised to return with more from the series soon. Which, of course, I never did, because…aww, you know, I’m rubbish.
I tracked down that old post to see when it was written: 16/09/17. As I thought, it was prompted by me snaffling up a load of the original series on vinyl from a now-defunkt charity shop. You can read what I wrote here if you’re interested.
Of course, all of the links are dead 5 1/2 years later, but fear not! For back then, I just picked out the songs I liked – or more likely, the songs I hated least. Now we’re going to look at them all.
Some historical context: Volume 1 came out in November 1983. I would have been 14, and frankly just ripe for listening to this kind of stuff. But, as mentioned in that old post, I bought precisely zero copies of Now That’s What I Call Music at the time: in my mind back then, pop music was for girls, and I liked rock music, which was or boys. I liked Deep Purple and AC/DC and Led Zeppelin and, of course, Quo. An album full of cheesy pop songs? No thanks, thought the younger, stupider me.
But now? I love this stuff, even if I have no recollection whatsoever of a lot them, as you’ll find out as the series progresses.
Here’s the plan: each week, as each volume contained two discs, I’ll feature one complete disc from at a time, in sequential order. So this week: Volume 1, Disc 1, next time Vol 1, Disc 2…and so on. There will, of course, be some unexplained breaks in the series, because…well, you know what I’m like.
So, shall we see what Volume 1, Disc 1 has in store for us?
Side 1:
Phil Collins – You Can’t Hurry Love I have vivid, disturbing memories of this one. Lifted from his second solo album Hello, I Must Be Going, this hit #1 in the UK. A cover of the old Supremes song, it was backed up by a video which featured not one Phil Collins, but three of him, one singing, the other two performing as his backing singers. Fax machines across the UK must have girded their loins in readinesss for the forthcoming deluge of divorce letters. Of course, given the option, I’d plump for listening to The Supremes version, and if you sat through Diana Ross’s Glastonbury Legends slot a couple of years ago, you’ll know what a sacrifice that is.
Their first #1 in the UK. God, I hated them at the time. They were “a girl’s band”, adored not for their musical ability, but because they were fit. I now realise that’s fine, that’s what pop music is. But back then…well I didn’t think Simon Le Bon could sing, and thought it really funny that time he nearly drowned on his yacht. I’ve done a lot of growing up is all I can say.
Speaking of first UK #1s, here’s the cod-white reggae band from Birmingham, who started off making great political records like One in Ten but then quickly declined to doing this kind of thing. If ever you’re at a social engagement and find yourself talking to someone who tells you that Red Red Wine was written by Neil Diamond like it’s some kind of profound truth, then move away quickly because any moment now they’re going to tell you that the guy from ZZ Top without a beard is called Frank Beard and expect your mind to be suitably blown.
Now we’re talking! An absolute 80s beauty, even if it’s not the Brothers in Rhythym mix (which will be making an appearance soon on these pages, all being well). A UK #2 back in 1983, a genuine travesty it didn’t reach the peak. And what prevented it from hitting the top? True by Spandau fucking Ballet, that’s what. Another reason to hate it.
I bloody love this song. The sound of summer, the sound of happiness, even if the lyrics ain’t that happy. Here’s some Give It Up facts that I’ve nicked from wiki:
The song is the walk-on music of professional darts player Vincent van der Voort.
It featured in the last series of Play Away broadcast on January 7, 1984.
It is used in the opening scene of British anthology series Black Mirror, episode “Loch Henry”
The song is chanted by Tottenham Hotspur supporters in their appreciation of Rafael van der Vaart (who doesn’t play for them anymore) and Micky van de Ven (who does, but when will they learn that Tenpole Tudor’s Wünderbar is a much better fit?)
That rare beast: a Jim Steinman composition that isn’t recorded by Meat Loaf. It’s cheesy and power ballad as hell, but can I resist singing along to it? Nosireebob. And I’m not the only one: my brother shelled out for the album, although he won’t thank me for mentioning it.
Another of those records that just makes me smile. Maybe it’s because Quo covered it once (oh yes they did, and it’s as awful as you’d expect), but I don’t think so. It’s a great, if weird, song, with a weird if not so great video…maybe the one-hit-wonderness of them is what appeals? (They’re only other charting record in the UK was I Got The Message, which reached the giddy heights of #99 in the UK. That’s clearly a misnomer of a tune, as I find when I write this that they’re still touring…how tedious must their gigs be, as you wait for the encore to hear the one song you paid £35 to hear?)
Uh oh, here’s that Limahl bloke again, in the band he found success with before they kicked him out. And why did they do that, you might ask. Succesful band, #1 hit single and a couple of less succesful singles under their belt – why dispose of the lead singer? Back to wiki again for some light-shedding: “Limahl accused the others of being envious of him and said “I’ve been betrayed!” and “I was sacked for making them a success.” The other band members countered Limahl’s assertions, insisting that he had become egomaniacal and increasingly difficult to work with. Soon after the departure, [founder member, Nick] Beggs commented, “It was a business decision and not one we took lightly. He wanted the band to go in a different direction to the rest of us. Eventually, we realised we were on a different planet to Limahl.” Beggs also stated that the band harboured no ill will towards Limahl, and blamed the press for sensationalising the matter. Guitarist Steve Askew commented “At first … we did everything possible to make Limahl feel like part of the furniture but, you know, his lifestyle is so different from ours. We’re very normal people whereas Limahl likes the bright lights.”
In other words, he was a bit of a cock. Let’s move on.
Another record I love, and I know I’m not alone. It’s featured twice on these pages before, once when Alyson from What’s It All About? suggested it as part of The Chain, with these words: “…as ever I don’t know if its cool or uncool to like Mike Oldfield around these parts but not averse to hearing a bit of ‘In Dulce Jubilo’ at this time of year.” (It was December 2016, in case you were curious when Alyson pops on the folky Christmas tunes). And back in 2015 I wrote about it (along with a whole load of other records) as I’d bought it when I was a nipper. Here’s what I wrote way back when: “Oldfield was famous for a few things: for his Tubular Bells album which, I’m sure you know, was the first ever release on the Virgin label and which set Richard Branson up for a life-time of twatting around in hot-air balloons, running rubbish railway services and paying Usain Bolt and David Tennant to pretend to be his friends in TV adverts; for his Christmas hit “In Dulce Jubilo”, and for “Portsmouth” – not one that might tickle your memory glands, that, but one which has been burned onto my psyche ever since we did Country Dancing at Junior School and I made a complete arse of myself attempting to do-si-do with Vanessa Simpson, who I had a massive crush on, crush turning out to be quite literally the appropriate phrase, as I trod on her feet countless times until she asked to be allowed to change partner.
Funny story: Down Under, with its characteristically earthy antipodean humour, was a worldwide smash in late 1982/early 1983. It hit the #1 spot in Australia, New Zealand, Canada, USA, UK, Denmark, Ireland, Italy and Switzerland, and was a Top 10 hit in many other countries, and has sold just shy of 3 million copies to date. It earned the writers a small fortune. Note the tense, there.
But then in 2007, the fates conspired agaisnst them. On the ABC-TV quiz show Spicks and Specks, this question was asked: “What children’s song is contained in the song ‘Down Under‘?” And it all unravelled from there. The answer was “Kookaburra”, a song written in 1932 by Marion Sinclair, who died in 1988. However, the rights to “Kookaburra” were deemed to have been transferred to publisher Larrikin Music, who unsurprisingly decided to take legal action against the song’s writers.
28 years after the release of Down Under, Larrikin Music sued Men at Work for copyright infringement, alleging that part of the flute riff of the song was copied from “Kookaburra”. Justice Peter Jacobson of the Federal Court of Australia – of all the Justices of the Federal Court of Australia, he’s one of my favourites, he’s just so dreamy! – made a preliminary ruling that Larrikin did own copyright on the song, but the issue of whether or not the Down Under writers had plagiarised the riff was set aside to be determined at a later date.
A year later – and this is why he’s my favourite, he kept them on tenterhooks that long – Jacobson ruled that Larrikin’s copyright had been infringed because Down Under reproduced “a substantial part of ‘Kookaburra'”.
One of the very few hip-hop/rap/whatever it is records that I liked at the time. Not enough to buy it, mind. And I’m staggered to find it doesn’t seem to feature on any of the main music streaming sites, so you get an mp3 download for this one, you lucky people.
It’s a Marvin Gaye cover. It got to #1. It’s not as awful as his version of Love Will Tear Us Apart, but then very little is. What else do you want me to say???
A History of Dubious Taste 