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?
Disc 2, Side 1.
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!!
3. Tina Turner – Let’s Stay Together
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!:
6. UB40 – Please Don’t Make Me Cry
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:
7. Peabo Bryson & Roberta Flack – Tonight I Celebrate My Love
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?
Disc 2, Side 2.
8. Tracey Ullman – They Don’t Know
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.
9. Will Powers – Kissing With Confidence
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:
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.
13. Madness – The Sun and The Rain
Without question, my favourite Madness single. That’s all (to quote Phil).
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!
More soon.
A History of Dubious Taste