Here’s a number 1 with an unusual story. Yellow River, Christie’s sole chart-topper, could in a sense also be classed as The Tremeloes’ third number 1, if they hadn’t thrown it away.
Before
Leeds-born singer-songwriter Jeff Christie, born Jeffrey Christie on 12 July 1946, had been a member of rock band The Outer Limits, who had released singles in the late 60s. He had been inspired to write Yellow River after imagining a soldier looking forward to returning home to Yellow River (probably a mythical place) after the American Civil War, and probably thought it would work well with the anti-Vietnam War sentiment of the time. As far as I know, it’s got nothing to do with the Yellow River in China, one of the longest rivers in the world.
Christie offered the song to The Tremeloes, who liked it, and recorded it ready to release as a single, but then they went to number two with, ironically, Call Me Number One, and they decided to steer away from pop towards a more progressive sound.
Tremeloes guitarist Alan Blakley’s brother Mike was in a struggling band called The Epics, which also included guitarist Vic Elmes. The story gets muddy here, but someone, possibly Alan, to help Mike, and maybe feeling guilty about ditching Yellow River, suggested its songwriter travel to London to record a new vocal over the track himself, and he did so, forming a new band for its release, called Christie and featuring Elmes and Mike. Their debut single was released on 23 April.
Review
The chorus to Yellow River has existed in my subconscious for years, after I heard a snatch of it on some advert for a compilation album, but also due to the jingle being used in adverts for phone book Yellow Pages when I was a child, before the days of JR Hartley. Bad move by The Tremeloes – it’s a good tune, and way better than their previous number 1s Do You Love Me? and Silence Is Golden.
After
Apparently, Christie were keen to be considered the British answer to US country rock trio Creedence Clearwater Revival, and they do a great job of living up to that here, except of course, it’s not them behind that speedy finger-picked guitar, effervescent rhythm and top drumming – it’s The Tremeloes. Okay, there’s a fair few number 1s better than this in 1970, but that chorus in particular is a real ear worm. It’s easy to see why it topped the charts, even if it was for only a week. Steer clear of the later remake as it’s leaden by comparison.
Follow-up single San Bernadino, also from their eponymous debut album, was released in October, and reached number seven in the UK, and number 1 in Germany. But the success proved short-lived, and Blakely left before the release of 1971 album For All Mankind. Elmes’s departure in 1973 left Christie as the only remaining original member. No amount of line-up changes (and there were more) could capture that initial momentum though, and in 1976, after Navajo reached number 1 in Mexico, they split up.
The Outro
Jeff Christie went solo in 1980 for a couple of singles, and then probably did quite well out of the Yellow Pages campaign. He reformed Christie in 1990 with backing from members of the band Tubeless Hearts, and they bid to represent the UK in the 1991 Eurovision Song Contest with Safe in Your Arms, but failed. They have toured and recorded intermittently ever since.
The Info
Written by
Jeff Christie
Producer
Mike Smith
Weeks at number 1
1 (6-12 June)
Trivia
Deaths
7 June: Novelist EM Forster
Meanwhile…
10 June: Earlier in 1970 the Tories were enjoying a few months after the Conservatives had enjoyed opinion poll leads of more than 20 points, and looked likely to form the next government, but the tide had turned. Labour were now several points ahead of the Conservatives, with eight days to go before the general election. Labour’s win would be a record third-in-a-row, if it happened.
Seems rather fitting that on the day Brexit finally happens, that this blog covers an event from 50 years ago in which this country was embarrassed on the world stage, doesn’t it?
Before
Three weeks before the England football team began their defense of the FIFA World Cup in Mexico, they had their first number 1 single. The jolly, charming anthem Back Home marked the start of a not-often-grand tradition, in which the squad recorded an official, FA-approved song to mark that year’s failed attempt at the World Cup or UEFA European Championship.
Football songs were not a new idea – UK clubs had been recording them for years, and in 1966 skiffle king Lonnie Donegan released World Cup Willie before England’s legendary win. But this was the first (and only time) we were the world champions, and they were going into the tournament with a supposedly superior line-up to 1966 and so it must have been felt we had momentum, and that this should be commemorated.
I’m assuming it was the FA who asked Bill Martin and Phil Coulter to write and produce Back Home. After all, with their two previous number 1s and Eurovision big-hitters, Puppet on a Stringand Congratulations (plus Coulter was involved in All Kinds of Everything), the duo were more than capable of getting the nation to sing along in a big competition.
And so Alf Ramsey’s boys were assembled to record their vocals. It’s unclear who out of the 22 men picked to represent the country made it on to the recording, but the biggest names in the squad included captain Bobby Moore, goalkeeper Gordon Banks, Bobby Charlton, Geoff Hurst, Nobby Stiles and Emlyn Hughes. Also recorded was the bizarre B-side Cinnamon Stick. It’s not a weird song, it’s a typical mid-60s lightweight pop song about a pretty girl, but lots of footballers singing it together is weird.
Review
I’ve never been a fan of footballers such. I tried, but I was terrible at school, and so I took no interest in clubs. However, I do get swept up in the World Cup and Euros, going right back to Mexico 86, where I can still remember being an upset seven-year-old, as angry as my dad at Maradona’s ‘Hand of God’. I have felt the dizzying highs and terrible lows intensely. I don’t think I have the nervous disposition to cope with the tension more than once every two years. So I do take notice of the official England songs, or at least I used to before they ceased to be. Obviously the best are World in Motion and Three Lions, but I have a soft spot for Back Home.
Opening with the familiar stadium clap-a-long bit (forgive the terrible terminology), Back Home is a lovely, charming postcard from more innocent times, set to a brass band backing, in which our proud, brave boys sing about how the fans will be watching their every move. Here are the world champions, at the top of their game, but rather than boast, they just hope they won’t let their country down. There’s no mention of them winning again (just as well), they just say they’ll give all they’ve got to give. Nice, isn’t it? I’m probably also fond of it because it became the theme tune to BBC2’s mid-90s comedy competition Fantasy Football League, presented by Three Lions singers Frank Skinner and David Baddiel.
After
The 1970 World Cup began on 31 May, while Back Home was still at number 1. Before England had even played a game they faced a setback when Moore was arrested and released on bail three days previous in Colombia on suspicion of stealing a bracelet.
England were in Group 3, along with Brazil, Romania and Czechoslovakia. They came second in their group, beating the latter two but losing to the mighty (and eventual winners) Brazil, one of the greatest teams of all time, featuring legends including Pelé.
The quarter-finals saw a repeat of the 1966 final, with England facing West Germany on 14 June. It looked like Moore and co would win once more, as they were up 2-0. But Banks was ill and out of the match, and substitute goalie Peter Bonetti let a goal by Frank Beckenbauer through in the 70th minute. And then Charlton was substituted, and Uwe Seeler made it 2-2 in the 81st minute. In extra time, Gerd Müller made it 3-2. It was all over for England.
The Outro
There would be no more England World Cup songs for 12 years – we didn’t qualify in 1974 or 1978. And it would be 20 years before the England team would make it to number 1 again.
How many years before we’re back in the EU? Less than that, let’s hope.
The Info
Written & produced by
Bill Martin & Phil Coulter
Weeks at number 1
3 (16 May-5 June)
Trivia
Births
20 May: Journalist Louis Theroux 21 May: Field hockey player Jason Lee 22 May: Model Naomi Campbell
Meanwhile…
19 May: The government made a £20,000,000 loan available to help save the financially troubled car maker Rolls-Royce.
2 June: Cleddau Bridge, in Pembrokeshire, collapsed during erection. Four people died.
The devil doesn’t always have the best tunes. Dana’s old-fashioned All Kinds of Everything was booted from the top by one of the most memorable one-hit wonders of all time. Norman Greenbaum’s Spirit in the Sky heralded a new decade with its fuzz-guitar sound and could be considered a forerunner to the glam rock that was to come. This one-hit wonder, combining a riff you’d sell your soul for with holier-than-thou lyrics, was so good, two different versions have been number 1 since. Not bad going for an unassuming, enigmatic Jewish dairy farmer.
Before
Norman Joel Greenbaum was born in Malden, Massachusetts on 20 November 1942. He was raised in an Orthodox Jewish household, and as a teenager in the late 50s and early 60s he fell in love with southern blues and folk music. In high school he began performing in bands and went on to study music at Boston University, but dropped out and moved to Los Angeles in 1965.
In 1966 he formed the psychedelic jug band (think a less intense and more wacky The 13th Floor Elevators) Dr West’s Medicine Show and Junk Band and he penned their novelty single The Eggplant That Ate Chicago. They split in 1968. Clearly, Greenbaum was a unique talent.
Going it alone after signing with Reprise Records, Greenbaum set about writing a religious rock song, getting inspiration from country singer Porter Wagoner and enjoying westerns as a child. There was something in the air in the late 60s, with lots of songs moving away from references to drugs and turning to religion instead. Despite being Jewish, Greenbaum opted to sing about Jesus, because he knew it’d be more marketable then Jehovah. In an interview years later, he said it was ‘the spirit in the sky’ people should be taking notice of in his song, not ‘Jesus’. He took the phrase from a greetings card.
The music took a lot longer than the lyrics (which he claimed were done in 15 minutes), but it was worth the wait, with Greenbaum coming up with a laid-back yet fiery boogie groove in a San Francisco studio. The music provides a stark contrast to the holy lyrics and is so strong, it’s seen the song used in countless films and on TV. When Spirit in the Sky was mixed, he says it was optimised to sound good on car stereos without dynamic range, giving it an earthy, primitive quality.
Joining Greenbaum on the sessions were lead guitarist Russell DaShiell, bassist Doug Killmer from Crowfoot and drummer Norman Mayell, formerly of Sopwith Camel. The backing singers adding the gospel touch were The Stovall Sisters trio from Indiana. Before joining Earth, Wind & Fire, Philip Bailey was their percussionist.
The song became the title track of Greenbaum’s album, but Reprise were unsure this strange, lengthy track would make it as a 7”. Two other singles came out first, and they got nowhere, so they took a punt on Spirit in the Sky, released in the UK in December 1969.
Review
And what a punt. I must have heard Greenbaum’s original a million times and yet I love it as much as ever. It’s a hell (pun intended) of a groove and I love the juxtaposition between the raw production and guitar effects and happy-clappy lyrics. It’s easy to get enveloped in it, and I could happily listen to a 10-minute version, and always feel it’s a shame it fades abruptly as the guitar stretches out. Future glam stars were certainly paying attention, for example Alvin Stardust’s My Coo Ca Choo is pretty similar.
Greenbaum may have never had another hit but some acts could take years to come up with one this good. He didn’t disappear straight away though – this was followed up by the bizarre Canned Ham, and he recorded two further albums – Back Home Again later this year, and the all-acoustic Petaluma in 1972.
Eventually Greenbaum’s music fizzled out, and he went to work in a friend’s café around the start of the 80s. Then in 1986 Doctor and the Medics released their cover, which took everyone by surprise when it reached number 1. The renewed interest sparked its use in films, and Greenbaum never needed to work again.
The one-hit wonder made headlines in 2015 when he was the passenger in a car accident that killed a motorcyclist and left him in a coma for three weeks. With perhaps a new-found appreciation of life, Greenbaum, now 77, returned to performing.
The Outro
Spirit in the Sky went to number 1 yet again in 2003, with a version for Comic Relief by Gareth Gates with The Kumars, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I’m in no rush.
Somehow, Bridge over Troubled Water was replaced at number 1 after three weeks, by… this. The Eurovision Song Contest winner of 1970, Irish 19-year-old warbler Dana’s ultra-twee All Kinds of Everything is an early contender for worst number 1 of the 70s.
Before
Rosemary Brown, born 30 August 1951, was born in Islington, North London. Her working-class parents had relocated from Derry, Northern Ireland after World War Two due to high unemployment, but when she was five the Browns were advised to return to Derry due to the effects of smog in the city on some of her siblings (she was one of seven).
Both young Brown’s parents were musical, and she proved it ran in the family when she won an all-ages talent contest aged only six. She learned to play the piano, violin, guitar sang and became a ballet dancer too.
As a young teen in 1965 she won another talent contest, and this time the prize was to record a demo. When Brown finished her O-levels, Rex Records got to hear it and signed Brown up. Debut single Sixteen, released in November 1967, failed to ignite interest. Around this time, and now undertaking her A-levels, she took the stage name ‘Dana’ – her school nickname.
In 1969 her label suggested she take part in the Irish National Song Contest, as the winner would represent Ireland in the Eurovision Song Contest. She came second with Look Around (her fourth single).
The following year the Irish National Song Contest producer Tom McGrath suggested Dana try again. This time the winner would represent just the Republic of Ireland at that year’s Eurovision. He thought the young singer would be a great match for All Kinds of Everything, a ballad by Derry Lindsay and Jackie Smith, two 28-year-old amateur songwriters working as printmakers for a Dublin newspaper.
Dana won the contest and on 21 March she became the last performer at Eurovision, held in Amsterdam. She beat Mary Hopkin representing the UK by seven votes. This was the first of a record seven wins by the Republic of Ireland, and was only the second English language song to win the competition (Sandie Shaw’s Puppet on a String was the first in 1967, and Lulu’s Boom Bang-a-Bang had shared first place in 1969). It’s worth noting the political significance of this win, having a girl from Northern Ireland representing the republic and not the UK, just as The Troubles were rumbling.
The single version of All Kinds of Everything had been released the week before the show, arranged by Phil Coulter, who had co-written Puppet on a String and Congratulations. It began to climb the charts.
https://youtu.be/8xmnd3uiK_Y
Review
If this kind of dreck can win Eurovision, there’s no wonder it has such a reputation for the naff. The best thing I can say about it is that it didn’t make me want to hurt myself the way Puppet on a String did. All Kinds of Everything is all kinds of terrible. The production (Ray Horricks also produced both Anthony Newley’s chart-toppers) is lightweight and makes an already sickly song even worse, and the lyrics are something else. Dana’s got someone constantly on her mind and the song is simply a list of things that remind her of him. So let’s take a look at those things, shall we?
In the first verse she sings (in a serviceable but sickly manner) of ‘Snowdrops and daffodils, butterflies and bees’. Predictable, but sweet I suppose. But then she moves on to ‘Sailboats and fishermen, things of the sea’. Fishermen? Ok, that’s unusual. And how vague is ‘things of the sea’? Either she can’t be arsed to go into detail, or hasn’t got the imagination to do so. In the second verse we get ‘things of the sky’, including seagulls and wind… I daresay my eight-year-old could be more imaginative than this. Lindsay and Smith clearly should have stuck to their day jobs. Tacky, dated and dull, All Kinds of Everything is one of the worst songs I’ve reviewed yet.
After
Dana’s debut album was released in June, named after her number 1, and featuring a new version of that track. I’m not going to find it and compare, I’m not putting myself through that. Her fortunes soon became mixed, with her follow-up single I Will Follow You ironically not following her previous one to anywhere near the same success. Who Put the Lights Out reached the top 20 in 1971, though.
Despite still doing well in Ireland, it was 1975 before Dana was back on Top of the Pops with Please Tell Him That I Said Hello. Her second biggest UK success happened that December with the seasonal It’s Gonna Be a Cold Cold Christmas reaching number four in Christmas week. In 1976 she scored a top 20 hit with the disco-influenced Fairytale, but after that her fame dwindled until she took a new direction as the 80s began.
In 1979 Pope John Paul II visited Ireland, which inspired Dana to sing about her faith. She topped the Irish charts with Totus Tuus, and it opened the door to a career recording Catholic music and prayer albums, and spent most of the 80s doing this, appearing in Pantones or appearing on light entertainment shows.
Dana’s religious dedication made her popular in the US, and she presented a TV show there in 1991, called Say Yes. In 1997 the Christian Community Centre in Ireland suggested she ran for Irish presidency, and after scoffing at the idea initially, she ran as an independent under the name Dana Rosemary Scallon, and came third.
Scallon won a seat in the European Parliament in 1999, and proved herself to have values as outdated as her music – vehemently pro-life, anti-divorce, anti-same-sex marriages, and anti-EU. So actually, in a way she was ahead of her time, and could probably become supreme leader of the universe with the way the world is in 2020. All kinds of prejudice reminds me of Dana, you could say.
Scanlon lost her seat in 2004 and returned to light entertainment, launched a religious music label, released her second autobiography and became a TV talent show judge. In 2011 she ran for presidency again and came sixth. 2019 saw Dana, now 68, release her first album in years, My Time.
The Outro
Sadly, All Kinds of Everything sets the scene in a way, as there was lots more dreary MOR to come in the 70s.
The Info
Written by
Derry Lindsay & Jackie Smith
Producer
Ray Horricks
Weeks at number 1
2 (18 April-1 May)
Trivia
Births
27 April: Actress Kylie Travis
Deaths
20 April: Academic Thomas Iorwerth Ellis
Meanwhile…
18 April: British Leyland announced its longest-running model, the Morris Minor, which had been in production since 1948, would be discontinued at the start of 1971.
29 April: Chelsea defeated Leeds United 2-1 in the FA Cup final replay at Old Trafford, gaining them the trophy for the first time. On the same day, last year’s winners Manchester City won the European Cup Winners’ Cup by defeating Polish team Górnik Zabrze 2-1 in Vienna, Austria.
The first classic number 1 of the 70s, Bridge over Troubled Water‘s message of the importance of friendship in times of emotional pain made it one of the most famous songs of all time, and yet it did further damage to Simon & Garfunkel’s already strained relationship, and helped quicken their disintegration.
Before
Paul Frederic Simon was born on 13 October 1941 in Newark, New Jersey. Arthur Ira Garfunkel was born 5 November in New York City, also 1941. They grew up three blocks from each other in Queens, New York and attended the same schools and admired The Everly Brothers. They became friends in 1953 when appearing in a sixth grade production of Alice in Wonderland. In addition to forming a street corner doo-wop quintet called The Peptones, Simon and Garfunkel began performing as a duo at school dances. In 1956 they wrote their first song, The Girl for Me and signed with independent label Big Records aged only 15.
As Tom & Jerry (Garfunkel was Tom Graph, Simon was Jerry Landis) the duo had some success with 1957 single Hey Schoolgirl, but were unable to follow it up. While both at university, and still officially a duo, Simon released a single under the name True Taylor. This can be seen as the first crack in their relationship, as it caused some resentment with Garfunkel.
They went their separate ways for some time, recording under a variety of names and working with other acts. Then in 1963, they both graduated from university and began to work together again. By now they had moved on from rock’n’roll and were both enjoying the burgeoning folk scene in Greenwich, and billed themselves as Kane & Garr. One of the songs they would perform was The Sound of Silence. Columbia Records producer Tom Wilson, who later helped Bob Dylan in his transition to electric, was impressed by the duo, and helped get them signed to the label.
In 1964, as Simon & Garfunkel, they recorded their debut LP, Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M. Featuring compositions by Simon and covers, it bombed, and Simon decided to move to the UK soon after, going solo once more.
Fast forward to 1965, and Simon had released solo album The Paul Simon Songbook, which hadn’t done too well. Garfunkel, who had been to visit his friend in the UK, was at Columbia University. Then everything changed.
The Sound of Silence was gaining in popularity with colleges on the radio, and Wilson decided to make a remix featuring electric instruments and drums, without telling either of them. Simon was horrified when he found out, but then the new folk-rock version hit number 1 in the US in January 1966. He hastily returned to the US, and they reunited to quickly record a new album, Sounds of Silence. Featuring remade versions of tracks from Simon’s solo LP, including I Am a Rock, it was a rush-job, but extremely popular, and they were famous at last.
They decided to take time over their third album, and became more interested in production, while making Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme, released that October. With their version of Scarborough Fair/Canticle, and a remade Homeward Bound among the included material, it was one of their best collections.
Simon developed writer’s block while working on the next album, but managed to pen material for Mike Nichols’ smash romantic comedy The Graduate in 1967, including Mrs. Robinson. Fourth album Bookends eventually surfaced in 1968, and included the title track, America and Hazy Shade of Winter.
By now huge recording and touring stars, their partnership began to suffer, thanks in part to Garfunkel’s acting career. Simon was to join him in Nichols’ Catch-22 (1970) but found his part written out. Matters were exacerbated by the filming taking longer than expected. Eventually they began work, with members of The Wrecking Crew and producer Roy Halee on their fifth and final album, turning down an invitation to perform at Woodstock Festival while doing so.
What was to become the title track began originally as a gentle two-verse guitar number that had been inspired in part by a line from 1958 song Mary Don’t You Weep, a gospel track by the Swan Silvertones: ‘I’ll be your bridge over deep water if you trust in me”. Simon later presented singer-songwriter Claude Jetter with a cheque to acknowledge his inspiration. The civil rights unrest and political assassinations in the stormy years leading up to this time also helped Simon come up with a message of hope.
Over the years, the duo have both given different stories over what happened next. Simon claimed he thought it would be perfect as a solo spot for Garfunkel’s angelic voice, but that he didn’t want to do it, and Simon felt hurt. Garfunkel says Simon was gracious when Garfunkel told him politely that he felt Simon should do it as it sounded lovely performed by him. Who knows – but I do know from reading and seeing interviews that both men can be oversensitive and precious.
Simon & Garfunkel, musicians and production crew assembled at CBS studios to work Bridge over Troubled Water out in November 1969. The final track to be recorded for the album, but the first to be completed, it was felt that, as nice as it was, the song should feature an extra verse, and open out to become a real epic in the style of a Phil Spector number. And so Simon wrote the ‘silver girl’ verse at Garfunkel’s suggestion, but wasn’t too keen. While some say it’s a reference to a drug user’s needle, it’s apparently an in-joke – Simon’s wife Peggy Harper had noticed she was turning grey. Simon seems to regret ever adding a third verse, and he’s not alone in that.
Review
Bridge over Troubled Water has been criticised for being calculated and manipulative – a glossy exercise in tugging the heartstrings, and that it’s too epic, too, that it would have been better in its original incarnation. I understand all these points, and it’s certainly been used since in countless covers as the go-to song to make people emotional, but I think it’s simply a beautiful song and that no amount of stories of two stars whose egos were incompatible can spoilt it for me.
Simon is right in that the first verse, in particular, is the most moving. Garfunkel’s always beautiful voice is perfect here, and I admire the technical brilliance of being able to wring every bit of emotion out of each syllable. Garfunkel later claimed this verse took the most amount of takes, whereas the finale was the easiest. Wonderful support on the piano by Larry Knetchel, too. The performance makes me imagine that the person Garfunkel is singing to is so fragile, his almost hushed tones are all they can take.
He/they grow in strength in the second verse, adding meaning to Simon’s already powerful words, and the cymbal crashes from Hal Blaine suggest the message is getting through. Then the strings come in, courtesy of Jimmy Haskell, who had misheard the name of the song and labelled his arrangement Like a Pitcher of Troubled Water. Bass enters the fray, and Blaine gets on the drum kit. Its unclear whether that’s double-tracked singing from Garfunkel or Simon finally getting his voice heard, but I think it’s the former. Yes, the lyrics don’t match what came before, but the music picks up the slack, and then the epic rousing finale, in which Garfunkel gives it his all, leaving the darkness behind, with Blaine creating that unique drum sound by slapping the chains from his snow tyres on to his snare drum (used again on The Boxer). If this track hasn’t at least once made you want to cry when your defences are down (or just very pissed), are you even human?
After
The song was complete, and despite being over five minutes in length, label boss Clive Davis insisted it was too good to be anything but the first single from the album. He was totally correct, of course. It went to number 1 in the US in February, then the UK a month later, and like Wand’rin’ Star before it, it kept The Beatles’ swansong single, Let It Be, from number 1. Clearly, the mood of the time was for gospel-influenced, big message songs. The Beatles may be the greatest band of all time, but Bridge over Troubled Water was the better song here. It rightfully went on to be one of the biggest-selling singles of all time.
And the album named after the song was also huge. It was the bestseller of 1970, 71 and 72, and until Michael Jackson’s Thriller it was the biggest of all time. But Simon & Garfunkel had had enough of each other for the forseeable. In 1971, the same year their final LP won six awards at the Grammys, they split.
Simon would confess to Bridge over Troubled Water causing him to feel jealous – he resented sitting in the wings watching Garfunkel getting adulation for performing his song. You’d be forgiven for thinking he needed to get over himself. But it’s also proof that you can be an incredible songwriting talent and still be as petty as any other human, I suppose.
The duo got back together in 1972 for a benefit concert for Democrat hopeful George McGovern, but it was another three years before they spoke to each other when they visited a recording session by John Lennon and Harry Nilsson. They collaborated in the studio once more, and came up with a new single, My Little Town, which was a hit. For the rest of the 70s they would occasionally make rare TV and live appearances. Garfunkel would have two UK number 1s, most notably the beautiful Bright Eyes from animated movie Watership Down (1978) – it was number 1 on the day I was born, 19 April 1979.
The 80s began with both Simon and Garfunkel’s solo careers in decline, until they were persuaded to perform at a free concert in Central Park, New York City in 1981. An incredible 500,000 attended the show – the largest ever at the time. They tried to capitalise on the renewed interest with a world tour in 1982, but old tensions rose and they barely spoke to each other throughout. Warner Bros. pushed for a tour extension and reunion album, but after early recording attempts, Simon opted for a new solo LP instead, with Garfunkel’s refusal to give up cannabis among the reasons given. Simon would go on to be very popular for the rest of the decade, particularly for his crossover world music album Graceland in 1986.
Simon & Garfunkel were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1990, and managed to perform three songs together, despite Simon being pretty snide in his speech, and the duo refusing to speak to each other afterwards. A year later Simon did his own Central Park show, pointedly refusing an offer from his former partner to join him there. However in 1993 they were touring once more. Guess what? They fell out again for the rest of the decade.
In 2001 Simon was inducted into the Hall of Fame as a solo artist. He thanked Garfunkel, but ended up saying he wasn’t in a rush to make peace with him, either. Nice. A lifetime achievement Grammy for the old friends/sworn enemies in 2003 resulted in another halt to their Cold War. They toured the US and Europe for a year, and performed at a Hurricane Katrina benefit in 2005. Their final performance as Simon & Garfunkel took place at the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival in 2010, with the latter struggling with vocal cord paresis. Further dates were postponed indefinitely, and it would be four years before his voice was back to full strength.
The Outro
Simon announced his retirement from touring in 2018. Does that mean we’ll never see them on stage ever again? Who knows. They’re both approaching 80, and it seems Simon in particular is unlikely to want to do so, but it would be nice to think they could end their days as friends once more. Hopefully it would be for genuine reasons, rather than the money.
If it doesn’t happen, best to take comfort in the fact the duo were able to produce some brilliant songs, had real alchemy together, and that despite the result it had on their relationship, Bridge over Troubled Water has helped so many people for 50 years.
Among the multitude of covers, it’s been number 1 twice since, for great causes – making up part of A Bridge over You, the 2015 Christmas number 1 by Lewisham & Greenwich NHS Choir, and in its own right in 2017, when stars including Robbie Williams, Rita Ora, Roger Daltrey and Stoemzy united under the banner Artists for Grenfell.
The Info
Written by
Paul Simon
Producers
Roy Halee, Paul Simon & Art Garfunkel
Weeks at number 1
3 (28 March-17 April)
Meanwhile…
April Fool’s Day: Everton won the Football League First Division title.
10 April: Paul McCartney announces that he has left The Beatles, marking the end of the Fab Four.
11 April: Chelsea and Leeds United drew 2–2 in the FA Cup final at Wembley Stadium, making it the first to require a replay since 1912.
16 April: The controversial Dr. Ian Paisley entered the Parliament of Northern Ireland after winning the Bannside By-election.
Here’s a strange one. Taking up the top spot for most of March was Academy Award-winning Hollywood actor Lee Marvin – definitely not a professional singer – and Wand’rin’ Star, from the 1969 western musical film Paint Your Wagon, based on the 1951 stage show.
Set in a mining camp during the Gold Rush in California, the film also starred Clint Eastwood in a singing role. Despite its notoriety now, it was panned upon its release. Not much of a fan of westerns or musicals, I’ve never seen it, and likely never will.
The song Wand’rin’ Star, like the rest of the music in the film/show, came from Frederick Loewe, with the lyrics by Alan J Lerner. Together, the duo wrote some of the most famous musicals of all time, including My Fair Lady (Vic Damone had a UK number 1 in 1958 with On the Street Where You Live).
The makers of the movie had a problem when it cames to filming. Prematurely white-haired, gruff-voiced Marvin, one of the top actors of the era, was no singer, yet he had top billing in his role as prospector Ben Rumson. And he refused to mime.
Before
Marvin was born 19 February 1924 in New York City. The son of an advertising executive and fashion editor, he struggled from authority from an early age – running away from home for two days at the age of four, and expelled from a succession of boarding schools. However when he was 18 he dropped out of a Florida prep school to join the Marines in 1942, determined to prove how tough he was. Marvin was wounded in action in 1944 and spent a year in hospital.
Upon his discharge he took up various menial jobs and stumbled upon acting almost by accident. Soon, he was in a Broadway production of Billy Budd, before the 50s beckoned, and he garnered many small TV roles.
Next, came Hollywood, and a role as a murderer in an episode of crime drama Dragnet got him noticed, leading to him being typecast as the bad guy in films. Two such roles came in The Big Heat and The Wild One (both 1953) – the latter of which may be where The Beatles got their name from (Marvin’s gang were called The Beetles). He finally got to be leading man in the TV crime drama The M Squad, which ran from 1957-60.
Once the series ended, he went up a notch in film roles, starring in The Comancheros (1961), The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962) and Donovan’s Reef (1963). But it was 1965 surprise-hit comedy Cat Ballou that really shot him to the big time, and he won the Best Actor Oscar that year.
The Dirty Dozen (also starring Charles Bronson) as a commercial success, and Point Blank adored by critics, both in 1967. Hell in the Pacific was also acclaimed a year later, and in 1969 Marvin was set to star in The Wild Bunch, but he fell out with director Sam Peckinpah and opted for Paint Your Wagon instead.
Wand’rin’ Star finds Marvin’s character fending for himself and contemplating his hobo lifestyle. The song was orchestrated and arranged by Nelson Riddle, who had been working with some of the most legendary singers since the 40s – including Frank Sinatra on his first number 1, Three Coins in the Fountain.
Review
The first time I listened to this, I thought Siri had accidentally picked an instrumental version, perhaps used as incidental music in the film. It’s quite some time before Marvin’s gravelly vocal begins. And you know what, yes, it’s out of tune and his timing is also off at times, but I’d take his voice over the dated backing singers.
It’s all about the mood, and Marvin’s baritone fits perfectly. His off-key rasp puts across that this is someone that’s been damaged, that’s gone through some shit, but is proud of the lifestyle he has.
Also, there’s some really great lyrics here, particularly: I’ve never seen a sight that didn’t look better looking back And especially: Do I know where hell is? Hell is in hello Heaven is goodbye for ever, it’s time for me to go
No wonder this was played at Joe Strummer’s funeral, and covered by Shane MacGowan and the Popes. There’s real depth here. I can do without the backing singers taking over at one point, and I probably won’t be listening to it much in the future, but it’s surprisingly good. And the public clearly thought so too. This even kept Let It Be off the top spot!
After
Marvin remained active in films throughout the 70s, but despite his roles becoming diverse, nothing matched the 60s for him, commercially or critically. He was offered the role of Quint in Jaws (1975) but turned it down.
He was embroiled in a high-profile lawsuit in 1979 when his old live-in girlfriend, Michelle Triola, who had changed her surname to Marvin, claimed he had promised her half his income while they were still together. This was the first time the US Supreme Court has allowed such a case between unmarried couples. The judge only awarded her enough money to get back on her feet.
Marvin claimed to spend much of the remainder of his years living in the desert, which makes him sound very similar to the character Ben – no wonder he sang it with such conviction. He starred in Gorky Park in 1983, and his final film was The Delta Force alongside Chuck Norris in 1986.
The Outro
Marvin fell ill that December, and after a number of issues he died of a heart attack on 29 August 1987, aged 63.
The Info
Written by
Alan J Lerner & Frederick Loewe
Producer
Tom Mack
Weeks at number 1
3 (7-27 March)
Meanwhile…
12 March: The government’s anti-rabies measures following an outbreak in Newmarket, Suffolk meant that the quarantine period for cats and dogs was increased to one year.
13 March: The Bridgwater by-election became the first in which 18-year-olds could vote. Tom King of the Conservatives was the victor.
17 March: Martin Peters, who scored for England in the 1966 World Cup final, became the first footballer in the country worth £200,000 after transferring from West Ham United to Tottenham Hotspur.
23 March: 18 victims of the thalidomide scandal were awarded nearly £370,000 in compensation.
It’s time to delve into the 70s. A fascinating decade, if not always an enjoyable one, when it comes to number 1 singles, but rarely dull.
In 1970, The Beatles were (nearly) gone, and pop scratched its head in search of its next move. There was a year to go until glam rock reared its beautiful glittery sparkly head, and the hippy dream was turning somewhat sour.
The bubblegum pop of the last two years was still going strong as the decade dawned, however, and finally the undercover paedophile Rolf Harris relinquished his grip on the top spot to Edison Lighthouse.
Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes) had been written by Tony Macauley and Barry Mason, who between them had plenty of experience at writing number 1s. Macauley had co-written Baby Now That I’ve Found You and Let the Heartaches Begin, and Mason co-wrote The Last Waltz and I Pretend. This first new number 1 of the 70s certainly has Macauley’s joyous pop stamp all over it, Mason’s perhaps less so as he was more used to MOR ballad material.
Before
Originally they gave the song to Jefferson, former guitarist with The Rockin’ Berries. That demo remained unreleased however, and instead they offered it to a session singer called Tony Burrows.
Born Anthony Burrows in Exeter, Devon on 14 April 1942, he had been a member of The Kestrels in the early 60s, and subsequently vocal trio The Ivy League, before they became The Flower Pot Men, who became one-hit wonders with Let’s Go to San Francisco in 1967. Despite their short-lived success, at one point they featured future Deep Purple members Jon Lord and Nick Simper.
In effect, Edison Lighthouse was originally Macauley, Mason, Burrows and session musicians. The writers chose the name as a play on the Eddystone Lighthouse off the coast of Devon. Upon its release in November 1969, the single rapidly gained attention, allegedly becoming the fastest-climbing number 1 up to that point. This meant finding Burrows a backing band for Top of the Pops appearances. They picked Greenfield Hammer for the job following an audition a week before their debut on the show, making the initial line-up of Edison Lighthouse Burrows on vocals, Stuart Edwards on lead guitar, Ray Dorey on guitar, David Taylor on bass and George Weyman on drums.
Review
I’ve been watching lots of off-air recordings of Top of the Pops of late from 1970, so I’ve heard plenty of this track, and that’s no bad thing. Okay, it’s pretty much just a chorus and the verses are afterthoughts, but a chorus so uplifting and catchy is not to be sniffed at. The lyrics are your typical 60s flower power fare, about a dreamlike girl who’s captured the singer’s heart. However, some people believe there’s a filthy meaning behind these words:
‘There’s something about her hand holding mine It’s a feeling that’s fine And I just gotta say She’s really got a magical spell And it’s working so well That I can’t get away’
Yes, they think it might be about getting a handjob. I don’t agree, personally, and I tend to look out for stuff like that. Of course, there’s a chance the writers deliberately left it up to interpretation as a sly joke, who knows? Whatever the meaning, Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes) is reminiscent of Love Affair’s Everlasting Love, and a decent start to the 70s number 1s.
After
Burrows was an incredibly busy bunny during those first few months of 1970. He found himself on Top of the Pops appearing as the singer in Edison Lighthouse, as part of White Plains (performing My Baby Loves Lovin’) and as lead singer in an early incarnation of Brotherhood of Man, performing United We Stand. At the same time, he also had a hit as one half of The Pipkins with Gimme Dat Ding. No wonder he soon quit Edison Lighthouse – he must have thought success was guaranteed no matter who he recorded with.
Macauley owned the name Edison Lighthouse, and replaced Burrows with actor and singer Paul Vigrass. He was the first in a long list of line-up changes over the next few years. Nothing was able to match their debut single’s success. The closest they came was when It’s Up to You, Petula reached number 49 in 1971. Edison Lighthouse called it a day in 1972 after the single Find Mr Zebedee. As is so often the case with bands of this era, the name Edison Lighthouse now belongs to different groups – Brian Huggins in the UK, and Les Fradkin in the US. Original guitarist Edwards died of cancer in 2016.
The Outro
As for Burrows, he only had one ‘hit’ under his own name – a cover of Melanie Makes Me Smile in the US in 1970. He did however continue as a session singer, helping out both Elton John and Cliff Richard over the years, to name just two.
The Info
Written by
Tony Macauley & Barry Mason
Producer
Tony Macauley
Weeks at number 1
5 (31 January-6 March)
Trivia
Births
31 January:Actress Minnie Driver 10 February: TV and radio scriptwriter Rob Shearman 14 February: Actor Simon Pegg 25 February: Sailboat racer Ian Walker 1 March: Field hockey player Tina Cullen
Deaths
2 February: Philosopher Bertrand Russell 14 February: Cricketer Herbert Strudwick 15 February: RAF fighter commander Hugh Dowding 28 February: Painter Arthur Henry Knighton-Hammond
Meanwhile…
13 February: A demonstration at the Garden House Hotel by Cambridge University students against the Greek military junta led to police intervention with eight students receiving custodial sentences for their part. Plus, Brummie rockers Black Sabbath released their self titled landmark debut album in the UK – the first major heavy metal album.
19 February: The Prince of Wales joined the Royal Navy.
23 February: Rolls-Royce asked the government for £50,000,000 towards developing the RB 211-50 Airbus jet engine.
27 February-1 March: The first National Women’s Liberation Conference was held, at Ruskin College in Oxford.
2 March: Four years after independence was declared, Rhodesian Prime Minister Ian Smith declared Rhodesia a republic, breaking all ties with the British Crown. The government refused to recognise the new state for as long as the Rhodesian Government opposed majority rule.
6 March: An outbreak of rabies in Newmarket, Suffolk caused the importation of pets to be banned.
Every UK Number 1 has made it to a national newspaper! So chuffed to have my feature on Christmas number ones in the Boxing Day edition of The Daily Mirror!
I’ve done it. 186 blogs in 17 months and I’ve now reviewed all the chart-toppers in that most incredible decade of transformation in pop culture. It’s been fascinating, exciting, dreary and terrifying at times, and sometimes, while listening to songs such as Cinderella Rockefeller, it’s been all those things at once.
The 60s, pre-Beatles, is an era I knew little about, so I suspected this could prove as enlightening as my reviews of the 50s, but I was surprised to learn so much once The Beatles invaded the charts too. Their impact in 1963 and 64 was even bigger than I’d ever imagined, and their move into a more ‘mature’ sound would effect the singles charts of their later years too, but detrimentally.
To commemorate reaching the end, it’s only right that I repeat what I did with Every 50s Number 1, and relisten to them all once more, before deciding on the best and worst of each year, and whittling them down even more to the best and worst of the whole decade.
Despite knowing and loving much of this music so much, I admit to being a bit nervous. How do I choose between some of the greatest bands and songs the world has ever seen? Only one way to find out…
1960
They say that it takes a few years for a decade to get started, and it’s certainly true in the case of the swinging 60s. The music from the dawn of the decade is mostly a hangover from the fag ends of the initial burst of rock’n’roll. There’s a strange short-lived fad at the start of the year for cockney pop by Adam Faith and Anthony Newley (a big influence on early David Bowie). Things don’t really get going until May when the Everly Brothers return to the top with The pioneering drum sound ofCathy’s Clown. This was followed by the first posthumous chart-topper – Eddie Cochrane’s Three Steps to Heaven. Legendary singer-songwriter Roy Orbison makes his number 1 debut with the classic melancholy of Only the Lonely (Know How I Feel). There’s also a great comeback from Elvis Presley with It’s Now or Never. Less impressive were Cliff Richard and The Shadows’ two number 1s together. Weirdest? That can only be Johnny Preston’s bizarre tail of the love between a cowboy and a native American, Running Bear.
This could and arguably should have been The Shadows’ surprisingly edgy and menacing Apache, which is a true pre-Beatles classic and hugely influential on pop, rock and even hip-hop. But just pipping it for me was this raunchy, dangerous slice of British rock’n’roll. The band brought theatrics into their live shows and inspired The Who, among others, plus it features number 1 session drumming legend Clem Cattini.
How quickly the mighty can fall. In Every 50s Number 1, the ‘King of Skiffle’ Lonnie Donegan’s incendiary performance of Cumberland Gap was my runner-up for number 1 of the decade. Three years after inspiring some of the future decade’s brightest talents, he was performing this music-hall rubbish in a live recording from Doncaster. Terrible, terrible jokes littered throughout. Shame.
1961
A bumper crop and a real mixed bag. The women finally get a look in, featuring a young Petula Clark, Shirley Bassey and Helen Shapiro, but I have to say none of these tracks impressed. Elvis had started his ‘will this do?’ era, butAre You Lonesome Tonight? still hits the spot and(Marie’s the Name) His Latest Flame deserves a mention. Wooden Heart does not. His sometime pianist Floyd Cramer’sOn the Reboundis still full of vim and vigour. The Everlys bow out with Temptation, a nice atmospheric number. There’s a lot of oddities about, and they’re mostly good, particularly the gothic melancholic pomp of Johnny Remember Me. Blue Moon is a lot of fun, as is the demented wailing of Frankie Vaughan on Tower of Strength.
Not for the last time I found myself torn between a song that pushes the boundaries of pop and a simple, much-loved standard. This time the former, Del Shannon’s still-popular Runaway fell behind the timeless beauty of the South African singer’s take on Moon River, number 1 that Christmas.
The veteran Welsh singer is loved for her powerful voice, but it not only leaves me cold most of the time, I find it painful, and this is her at her wailiest (it’s a word, now) over a very boring track. I was very tempted to throw my headphones across the garden when I got to the final note.
1962
The first sighting of what may have been had The Beatles not arrived. Frank Ifield was the year’s biggest star, with his penchant for amusing yodelling over two number 1s, and was still going strong until the rise of Merseybeat. Elvis’s bestsellers range from the dire to classics – even within a single release. Cliff Richard and The Shadows return with strong material, The Young Ones and Wonderful Land respectively. The country-soul of I Can’t Stop Loving You is far from Ray Charles’s best work, but I confess it’s grown on me a little. Nut Rocker is ace, and is fully deserving of its ubiquitous usage in TV and film.
Like 1961, this was tough. I very nearly picked the quirky space race euphoria of The Tornados’ Telstar. Joe Meek was innovating pop before The Beatles, and despite Telstar being famous, I can’t help but think it’s still a little underrated. However, once more, the timeless pop ballad wins out – am I getting soft in my old age? Perhaps, but how can I deny the brilliance of one of the finest love songs ever written? There are many versions, but none compare to Elvis’s. I’m far from his biggest fan at times but this is pure gold. That the flip side of this is the awful Rock-A-Hula Baby (“Twist” Special) makes it all the more remarkable.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for a bit of Carry On humour, and it’s wrong to expect a song from 1962 to live up to the political correctness of the #metoo era, but Come Outside is woeful. Sarne’s flat vocal irritates, Richard is charmless, and it’s all a bit, well, rapey. The rhythm track isn’t bad, though.
1963
Never has a year in pop seen such a seismic shift. For the first third it’s very similar to the year before with appearances from Cliff (Summer Holiday is still a lovely blast of pop), The Shadows and Frank Ifield, and then Merseybeat happens, and things change forever. It’s nearly always The Beatles, acts performing Lennon-McCartney tunes (Billy J Kramer with The Dakotas) or inferior copycats (Brian Poole and The Tremeloes). Bar one good single from Elvis,(You’re the) Devil in Disguise, US artists don’t get a look in. None of these other groups can match The Beatles, although Gerry and the Pacemakers have some decent material with their hat trick of bestsellers. A lot of Merseybeat is too twee for me to really get into, but some of the greatest pop songs of all time are right around the corner now. Exciting times!
The Fab Four shook things up like no act before or since in 1963, and that’s largely due to this, the decade’s biggest-selling 7″. The chorus of She Loves You is lightning in a bottle, pure unbridled joy and ecstacy, and it sparked a thousand imitations. From Me to You is nice enough, andI Want to Hold Your Hand showed new maturity in their songwriting, but this is easily their finest early song. And the lyrics are smart too, moving away from the template of ‘I love you’ and introducing a third party. I’ve always loved She Loves You, but hearing it arrive in the context of this blog increases my respect for it even more.
Cliff Richards’ sometime backing band’s impressive run of number 1s with him and alone came to an end this year, with tracks ranging from the great (Apache) and the good (Wonderful Land) to this, which isn’t awful, it’s just incredibly boring and leaves no mark on me whatsoever. Adding an exclamation mark to the end of the title doesn’t make me any more enthusiastic, either.
1964
An incredible year of number 1s. I envy anyone who lived through this. In fact, listening to them all in one stint, I’d say there’s a very strong argument that this is the high watermark for number 1s. Merseybeat mutates and expands in strange and exciting ways, most notably the momentous folk-rock classicThe House of the Rising Sun by The Animals, meaning that the legendary Bob Dylan’s influence was now being felt on these shores. Then The Rolling Stones made their debut (It’s All Over Now), and became so popular, they got a blues cover to the top (Little Red Rooster)! Roy Orbison bows out by getting the girl at last with the brilliant Oh,Pretty Woman. Joe Meek had his third and final chart-topper too, producing The Honeycombs’ insanely underrated Have I the Right?. Women make their belated return, with Sandie Shaw and Cilla Black both topping the charts with two songs by the masterly Burt Bacharach and Hal David – ((There’s) Always Something There to Remind Me and Anyone Who Had a Heart), and The Supremes had their sole UK number 1. As for the Fab Four, well, there’s three classics from them, in particularA Hard Day’s Night. But they don’t win this time.
Facing incredibly strong competition, Muswell Hill’s finest were my choice, because despite all the other great tunes in 64, it was this primal expression of pure animal lust that pretty much kickstarted rock and heavy metal. Ray Davies may have become one of our wittiest, most quintessentially English songwriters, but The Kinks perhaps never bettered this scorching slab of raunch.
A staid, old-fashioned, boring ballad from Ireland’s original boy band. Wouldn’t have sounded out of place 10 years previous (it actually dates back to 1927. That’s right, it’s even worse than Billy J Kramer with The Dakotas’Little Children, because at least that had a tune.
1965
Tons of pop gold again, but stylistically more varied than the previous year. More strong material from The Kinks and the Stones, and one of the finest epic break-up songs of all time – namely The Righteous Brothers’ You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’. On a similar note, I’ve always loved The Moody Blues’ version of Go Now that preceded it. We’re starting to see the rise of the hippy movement – hair is getting longer, and the lush jangle of Mr Tambourine Man marks another sea change. Cynics may balk at Sonny & Cher’sI Got You Babe, but I think it holds up well, as does the debut of Tom Jones with his anthem It’s Not Unusual. Four songs from The Beatles, all of them – Ticket to Ride, Help! and Day Tripper/We Can Work It Out, among their finest work, in particular Ticket to Ride. The latter, and Day Tripper, are built around some of the finest riffs in existence. And yet, and yet… Ticket to Ride is just trumped by perhaps the greatest riff there has ever been.
It was as close a call as it’s possible to have, but for once in my life, I’m choosing the Stones over The Beatles. Keith Richards’ legendary riff, allegedly created in his sleep and intended for horns, never dates and combined with Mick Jagger’s frustrated world view make for a dream combination. After paying homage to the blues time and again, this saw the birth of Jagger and Richards as songwriters to rival Lennon and McCartney.
Oh Cliff. Behind the times as early as 1965. And what does he do, to counteract Beatlemania? He abandons The Shadows, perhaps a shrewd move to appear ahead of the curve? Oh, he’s gone and recorded an old-fashioned country song from 1963. Never the genre’s biggest fan, this sounds like a pale imitation of I Can’t Stop Loving You. Ken Dodd’s huge-selling Tearsmay have also sounded like a relic, but at least the chorus was catchy.
1966
The last of the peak years of the decade, before albums began to overtake singles in importance. In general, a superlative blend of pop and the rise of drugs and psychedelia in music. British pop now striding into a bold, experimental future, and combined with England winning the World Cup, there was an overwhelming sense of optimism and pride in the UK. The Beatles were approaching the peak of their abilities in the studio, and minds must have been blown by their dark ode to the lonely, Eleanor Rigby. As startling a song as it is, I’ve always found it easier to admire than to enjoy. I’d take previous single Paperback Writer over that, and wish their jangly guitar era had lasted a bit longer. 66 got off to a blistering start with the Spencer Davis Group’s still storming Keep on Running, and Nancy Sinatra helped shape modern female pop with the sassy cool ofThese Boots Are Made for Walkin’… yet Dusty Springfield’s only number 1, You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me is uncharacteristically pleading. By and large, 1966 is another embarrassment of riches, particularly The Rolling Stones’ apocalyptic Paint It, Black, almost their best song ever.The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore, Sunny Afternoon, Reach Out, I’ll Be There… all classics. It would take a very special song to shine above all these.
And a very special song this is. That’s right, Brian Wilson’s ‘pocket symphony’ means that I haven’t picked any number 1s by The Beatles during their peak years, which is probably the biggest surprise I’ve had since starting this blog. What it does prove is that the Fab Four inspired their contemporaries to do better than them. Had they not released their landmark album Revolver, we may never have had the finest three-plus minutes of The Beach Boys’ career, which in turn spurred the Beatles on to Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. But anyway… in a year of great tunes and studio innovation, The Beach Boys combined both beautifully, devoting as much time to Good Vibrations as lesser bands would to entire albums. The peak of Brian Wilson’s creativity. The only downside being the burn-out that followed recording their next LP.
Released two years after the US country star’s untimely death, this was a bizarre number 1 to have in 1966, particularly for five weeks. It’s unclear why it was considered single-worthy, as it’s more B-side material, and it’s completely out-of-step with prevailing trends. But the anti-war message may have resonated with Vietnam in mind, and it probably gave succour to old folk baffled by yellow submarines et al. Not awful, like some of the other dire material I’ve mentioned, just out of place.
1967
The tectonic plates of British music and culture shifted once more this year, only not as much as you might imagine in the singles chart. As some of the most famous acts concentrated on complex psychedelic LPs influenced by the rise in LSD, the 7″ chart was largely dominated by light entertainment acts – the most since 1962. Top of the pops was smoother-than-smooth balladeer Engelbert Humperdinck, who enjoyed 11 weeks at number 1 and famously, criminally, prevented Penny Lane/Strawberry Fields Forever with Release Me. Other than the pop brilliance of The Monkees’ I’m a Believer, nothing remotely hippy-like gets a look in until the Summer of Love finally gets underway that June with Procul Harum’s earnest and excellent lysergic standard A Whiter Shade of Pale. Only two other, wholly appropriate chart-toppers followed – The Beatles anthem All You Need Is Love and Scott McKenzie’s dreamy San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair), before Humperdinck brought everything down to earth again. We say hello to the Bee Gees for the first time with the lovely Massachusetts, and goodbye to Nancy and Frank Sinatra, with their ‘incest anthem’ Somethin’ Stupid. All in all, 1967 was a surprising letdown.
This isn’t even the best Beatles single of 1967, but thanks to Humperdinck, I can’t rate Strawberry Fields Forever. So I’m settling for this instead, which may seem controversial when lined up against A Whiter Shade of Pale, but personally I love Hello, Goodbye. I rated it the best Christmas number 1 of the 60s here, and I stand by it. It’s infectious, upbeat and catchy, and the finale is as joyous as the chorus to She Loves You if you’re in the right mood. The B-side, I Am the Walrus, is better, though.
The famously barefooted singer hated this song, which was our first ever Eurovision winner – and I don’t blame her, because it’s awful and I’m betting it did her career lasting damage. The lyrics are awful, the tune is demented and it makes me want to pull my teeth out and feed them to sparrows.
1968
Stylistically speaking, 1968 is all over the place when it comes to number 1s. The main trend among the bigger bands this year was to adopt a back-to-basics approach as a reaction to flower power. The Beatles led the way, as usual, but Lady Madonna doesn’t match up to The Rolling Stones’ rocking, witty comeback single Jumpin’ Jack Flash, and Do It Again is a bit of a letdown after Good Vibrations, even if the drumbeat proved pioneering. There’s still room for psychedelia in the charming theatrical demonic pomp of Fireby The Crazy World of Arthur Brown, but then there are some number 1s that are downright odd more than anything, such as The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, and particularly Cinderella Rockefeller, with its deranged yodelling and godawful rickety tune. I loved the Bee Gees’ I’ve Gotta Get a Message to You and Louis Armstrong’s What a Wonderful World, an evergreen classic which gave Satchmo a chart-topper shortly before his death. Cliff finally remembered how to record a catchy tune and whatever you think of Eurovision runner-up Congratulations, you can’t deny its popularity.
In much the same way John Lennon’s Imagine is now considered uncool, it seems to be the done thing to slate McCartney’s lengthy classic, but I’m having none of it. It’s soulful and poignant, written for Julian Lennon when his parents were splitting, and its universal message of the power and importance of love speaks more to me than the simplistic sloganeering of All You Need Is Love. The Beatles may have been already splitting at this point, but there was still plenty of magic in the tank.
This could so easily have been the profoundly irritating Cinderella Rockefeller, but that at least had a memorable hook, albeit a very irritating one. No, this is as bland as they get, sang with no soul or meaning whatsoever. He’s supposed to be broken-hearted, but he sounds like he’s having a great time. I like Des, but I get why Morecambe and Wise ripped the piss so much now.
1969
The end of an era in more ways than one as we say farewell to The Beatles and The Rolling Stones. Despite the fact Abbey Road is one of their finest albums, The Beatles’ singles before its release weren’t them at their best, leaving The Ballad of John and Yoko a rather odd way to bow out of the blog. Honky Tonk Women was more appropriate, showing the future for the Stones as the archetypal good-time rock band of the 70s and beyond that they became. For the first time, album sales outpaced singles, as the teens of the mid-60s grew up and moved on to LPs. This left a gap, to be filled by inferior bubblegum pop, resulting in Sugar Sugarby The Archies becoming the year’s biggest seller. Other than that, it’s another mixed bag, like 1968. Some of the highlights include the tranquil Albatross by the original incarnation of Fleetwood Mac and Something in the Air by Thunderclap Newman. Lots of great tracks from overseas acts too, particularly the horny Je t’aime… moi non plus by Jane Birkin and Serge Gainsbourg, plus the apocalyptic boogie of Bad Moon Rising by Creedence Clearwater Revival and ska pioneer Desmond Dekker’s Israelites.
Originally recorded in 1967, Motown boss Berry Gordy Jr was uncharacteristically blind to the greatness of Gaye’s version of this track. Slowing things down, adding an incredibly cool bass line for the intro, and singing with the kind of feeling that was completely alien to the likes of Engelbert Humperdinck and Des O’Connor, this is soul music at its finest, and peak Motown. To hear just how stunning Gaye is here, check out this clip that’s currently doing the rounds online, which isolates the vocal. Spine-tingling.
Had I been deciding this before Harris was outed as a paedophile, I’d have said Zager & Evans deserved it, because I, like so many others, had a soft spot for Two Little Boys. Now obviously it just leaves a very sour taste, and it’s a downbeat way to end the decade.
The Best 60s Number 1 Ever is…
The Beatles – She Loves You
It was always going to be the Fab Four, wasn’t it? They’re the greatest group of all time, so it’s a no-brainer. However, I’d be lying if I said She Loves You has always been my favourite Beatles single. I’d probably say Strawberry Fields Forever or Something, but of course neither went to number 1. But it would be wrong to make my choices for best and worst chart-toppers of each decade simply my favourite. I also look at the impact of each song, ine innovation and the influence it had, as well as the catchiness of the chorus. She Loves You easily covers all three bases. It’s modern music’s ‘big bang’ moment, and as I’ve said before about this and other legendary number 1s, it’s listening to them in the context of this blog that really separates the wheat from the chaff, and Every UK Number 1has truly brought home what a monumental few minutes of pop music The Beatles conjured up here. What alchemy.
But also, what competition, what an often astounding selection of songs I was honoured to listen to and choose from. It could just as easily been You Really Got Me or (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction, but in the end She Loves You got there first and laid the groundwork that allowed all the other classics to be made in the first place.
The Worst 60s Number 1 Ever is…
The Bachelors – Diane
You could argue it’s unfair to single out Diane because it was number 1 in a year full of brilliance. I’d argue that’s exactly why I’ve given it this dubious honour. It spoiled my listening experience and stuck out like a sore thumb! Its dull tweeness would have earned it a slating if it had been released in 1954. 10 years later, it’s unforgivable really. And if they were the first Irish boyband, well, that’s nothing to be proud of, is it?
The Outro
The 60s were the decade in which pop came of age and became an integral part of the youth movement. From the dreariness of post-rock’n’roll, to Merseybeat, to the British Invasion, to psychedelia, to bubblegum pop and rock, music mutated rapidly, thanks in large to The Beatles, but also The Beach Boys, The Kinks, The Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, and more. Reviewing each number 1 in turn was really fascinating, and has increased my knowledge of the decade greatly, and for me the most interesting parts were just how much Merseybeat completely upturned the charts, and how little impact psychedelia actually had in 1967, due to the rise in popularity of albums.
So obviously it’s the 70s next. The decade in which I was born, albeit very late in the decade (1979). Pop changed and changed again here too, many times, and it was an often dark and turbulent decade in the news, so I can’t wait to get stuck in once more.
Blogs on every 60s number 1 are available to view via the Archive section.
A year ago I made the foolish decision to listen to all the Christmas number 1s, in order, during a single four-hour-plus sitting. Luckily, this insane idea paid off as the feature proved rather popular. I joked at the time about following it up with something similar, covering all the festive number 2s. But why would anyone want to do that?
Well, as we all know, the Christmas number 1 has been such a prestigious prize since the 70s, the runner-up is often considered just as worthy. Plus, some of the most popular and best Christmas songs of all time were notable by their absence last time around. So, why not follow up Christmas number 1s with Christmas number 2s?
Just to clarify, I’m not talking about toilet activity following Christmas dinner. Although, to be honest, listening to some of these songs has been as difficult as passing a yule log.
So, here we are again. 76 festive and not-so-festive songs, in one sitting, lasting four-and-a-half hours. Like last year, if a single was a double A-side, I’ll include both. Unlike last year, this time around there’s two EPs to include. I’ve decided to listen to every track on these and come up with an opinion on the EP in general based on the material within. As before, I’ll pick a best and worst for each decade, and then an overall best and worst. If you’ve never read Every Christmas Number 1, or want a refresher, here it is.
Deep breath, and here we go again.
The 50s
We start right back at 1952, the year the chart began. You Belong to Me by Jo Stafford just missed out on the first Christmas number 1 spot behind Al Martino, but was to overtake him eventually, making Stafford the first female number 1. Pre-rock’n’roll, a lot of the early 50s tracks are so dated now, but it’s not too bad compared to other singles from the era. The next two tracks in a row came from Hull crooner David Whitfield. Now here’s a voice that grates on me, but at least 1954’s Santo Natale is an actual Christmas song – the last in this list until 1975.
The first decent song up is the classic Rock Around the Clock. One of the most important number 1s of the decade had slipped from pole position by the time Christmas 1955 rolled around. One of two covers of Singing the Blues to get to number 1, Guy Mitchell’s in 1956 has grown on me somewhat since I first reviewed it, and it was quite nice to hear it again. Unlike Adam Faith’s What Do You Want? (1959), which irritated me today. You’re not Buddy Holly, Adam. I hadn’t heard Ma He’s Making Eyes at Me before, by Johnny Otis and his Orchestra with Marie Adams, and I’ve already no memory of it whatsoever. Although I’ve a better appreciation of 50s music these days, I’m still not a huge fan, and I was pleased to get it over with quickly, by and large. This first 30 minutes of my listening marathon didn’t show the 50s in as good a light as some of the music I heard when reviewing all the chart-toppers of the decade.
The Best:
Lord Rockingham’s XI – Hoots Mon (1958): It was very close between this and Rock Around the Clock, and although Bill Haley’s pioneering rock’n’roll bop changed the charts forever, it hasn’t aged as well as this fun instrumental (with eccentric stereotyped Scottish interjections), which I’d have imagined would have made any 50s festive party go with a swing. Altogether now, ‘Hoots mon, there’s a moose, loose, aboot this hoose!’
The Worst:
David Whitfield – Answer Me (1953): Slow, slushy, overblown and trite. Poor old Whitfield really doesn’t rate highly with me. But it’s nothing personal – Frankie Laine’s version of the same song was rated my worst Christmas number 1 last year, so it’s the song as much as it is Whitfield’s performance. Thanks to the likes of Haley, Elvis and Buddy Holly, these type of songs disappeared eventually.
The 60s
By the time the most exciting decade in pop began, the youthful excitement of rock’n’roll and skiffle had fizzled out, leaving a big hole filled by almost everything Elvis released, which was often poor once he’d left the army, or tracks from Cliff Richard and The Shadows. Again, not that great either. Presley’s It’s Now or Never was up first, and as I said when I reviewed it a few months back, I can admire the vocal prowess on display, but it just makes me want a Cornetto, and that’s not festive at all. Tower of Strength though, by Frankie Vaughan, is a frankly barmy display of bluster, reminscent of Tom Jones before anyone had heard of him, back in 1961. Things got rather dull and safe afterwards with Cliff and co’s double-bill of The Next Time and Bachelor Boy. Cliff crops up as a number 2 (snigger) over the festive season just as often as he would at number 1 – four times. I’d yet to hear the worst he had to offer at this point though.
As I reached the era of The Beatles, pop was taking giant leaps forward, and although the number 2s are stil lacking any references to the silly season, there’s some classic pop served up for me, including Petula Clark’s brassy Downtown (1964), Donovan’s trippy Sunshine Superman (1966) and the infectious chorus of The Foundations’ Build Me Up Buttercup in 1968. However, such was the chart dominance of the Fab Four, they had two Christmas number 2s while they sat at the top of the charts. This presented me with an almost impossible decision.
The Best:
The Beatles – Magical Mystery Tour EP (1967): So, it became a choice between this and perhaps the greatest pure pop song in history, She Loves You. 1963’s best-selling song was a breath of fresh air both today and as I I’ve made my way through every number 1 of the 60s, and its importance cannot be overstated. However, much as I love it, I’ve always loved the psychedelic period of The Beatles the most, and the Magical Mystery Tour EP is not one, not two, but six whole tracks of some of their finest work. Plus, in a sense, it is Christmassy, as the music featured on their patchy but interesting Boxing Day TV special in 1967. And it features I Am the Walrus, always fascinating and savage, but particularly so when up against some of the other songs I’d be hearing today. Plus George Harrison’s EP closer, Blue Jay Way, was the song that made me obsessed with The Beatles, after I had an out-of-body experience to it. And no, I wasn’t under the influence.
The Worst:
Cliff Richard – Wind Me Up (Let Me Go) (1965):Bachelor Boy at least had a memorable chorus, and is unintentionally funny, but this track, which I’d never heard before, was instantly forgettable. Despite the fact The Beatles stole his British pop crown, Cliff clearly still had a hell of a following in 1965, otherwise, how do you explain this selling so well? The only impact it had on me was to make me imagine an actual wind-up Cliff Richard toy. Which would be pointless. Just like this song.
The 70s
There’s a noticeable slide in quality once The Beatles split. One thing I’ve learnt from the BBC Four repeats of Top of the Pops is that the 70s may have been a diverse, fertile and often wonderful decade for music, there was also an awful lot of shit doing well. Things started off okay with McGuinness Flint’s When I’m Dead and Gone, which wasn’t unlike something Faces would have released, but it didn’t move me. T Rex’s Jeepster (1971) was more like it, and my choice for the runner-up of the 70s. Not as great as Bolan’s number 1s, though. Bachman Turner Overdrive’s one-hit wonder You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet from 1974 can’t help but raise a smile – the trouble is it’s very hard to hear it without thinking of Smashey and Nicey, and thus just feels a bit of a joke, rather than a harmless bit of feelgood rock. Same goes for the Village People’s YMCA (1978). Very difficult to hear that and not think of the million spoofs over the years. And of course, it was meant as a bit of fun disco in the first place. While I’m not sure I believe in the idea of guilty pleasures when it comes to music (a song is either good or not, cool shouldn’t come into it), I’ve always enjoyed Showaddywaddy’s Under the Moon of Love (1976). But would I ever listen to it by choice? No. I’m no ABBA fan either but I appreciate there are some classics in their catalogue. I Have a Dream (1979) isn’t one of them. Plus, it reminds me of Westlife’s version, which I rated the worst Christmas number 1 last year.
Almost scraping the bottom of the barrel were Brighouse and Rastrick Brass Band’s The Floral Dance. 1977 may have been the year of punk but it was also the year of this dross. Everyone knows Terry Wogan’s version is the one to hear. And then there’s Gary Glitter’s I Love You Love Me Love from back in 1973. Glitter is a difficult subject, obviously. Is it possible to separate the monster from the music? I discussed this in my review of Great Balls of Fire. I ranked that as the best number 1 of the 50s. Yet the man behind it married an underage relative, and therefore, Lewis is a horrible dickhead. However, Glitter isn’t just a fallible human being, he’s evil. I’d say it is very, very difficult to get anything positive out of his music anymore. I Love You Love Me Love, like most of Glitter’s hits, sounds great, thanks to Mike Leander’s production, but it’s sleazy, and not in a good way, and that’s even before you factor in Gary Glitter’s crimes. I felt like I needed a wash after it was done. I’d always assumed Wizzard were at number 2 that Christmas, behind Slade. Shame.
The Best:
Greg Lake – I Believe in Father Christmas (1975): Ah, thank you Greg Lake, for making me feel clean again. Generally the runner-up songs from the 70s were a disappointing listen, but here was a proper classic. The first festive number 2 in 21 years stands largely apart from most famous Christmas songs in its philosophical approach and criticism of the commercialisation of the holidays. Ahead of its time, and yet looking to the past with is adaptation of Sergei Prokofiev’s Troika portion of his Lieutenant Kijé suite, its message has only grown in relevance over the years. If I hear it in the right mood, it’s in my top three Christmas songs of all time.
The Worst:
Chuck Berry: My Ding-a-Ling (1972): Worst of a bad bunch was this live recording by rock’n’roll legend and sex offender Chuck Berry. Yes, Glitter wasn’t the only pervert to have a number 1 and Christmas number 2. Yet this innuendo-laden novelty track is even more offensive, because it’s irredeemably shit. How can the man behind some of rock’n’roll’s most influential tunes have released this? Mary Whitehouse tried to get it banned apparently. For once, it’s a shame she didn’t succeed.
The 80s
The number 2s for the decade I grew up in get off to a sad start with the sadly ironic (Just Like) Starting Over by John Lennon, who had been murdered a few weeks earlier. Far from being his best work, it’s still criminal that this was beaten to Christmas number 1 by There’s No One Quite Like Grandma. Yet again, Cliff shows his face the following year. Daddy’s Home is slushy nonsense, but not the worst the decade has to offer. Slade make a surprise return in 1983. 10 years on from Merry Xmas Everybody, which I voted the best festive number 1 of all time, they tried again with a timely slice of stadium rock. It’s not great, but at least it’s Slade.
At last, another yuletide classic! It’s Last Christmas, by Wham! I’ve grown to love this song more and more as the years go by, and it took the untimely death of George Michael for me to discover what a bloody decent man he was on top of all his talent. He played every track on this, and it’s leagues above its fellow A-side in 1984, Everything She Wants, and could have easily been my favourite of the 80s, but it faces strong competition. Not from Whitney Houston’s Saving All My Love for You in 1985, though. It ticks all the boxes for an 80s slushy lets-get-it-on-style track, but it’s not really my bag. Unlike Caravan of Love by The Housemartins the following year. My third favourite of the decade takes me back to my childhood and this beatiful a cappella cover with a Christian message would have stood out as a great number 1 during the selfish Thatcher era. The 80s number 2s come to an end with Jason Donovan and Kylie Minogue’s Especially for You (1988), which is difficult to dislike, and finally Let’s Party by Jive Bunny and the Mastermixers. I can still remember how excited I was to open this on Christmas Day and run upstairs to my brother’s record player to put it on. Tragic, eh? Well, perhaps, but come on, it features all the Christmas classics like, er, March of the Mods, and a version of I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday that isn’t even the Wizzard original as they couldn’t get the rights… Yeah, well, I was only 10, alright?
The Best:
The Pogues featuring Kirsty MacColl – Fairytale of New York (1987): It would take a strong song to rank above Last Christmas as the best festive number 2, and this is it. Famously kept off the top spot by Pet Shop Boys’ Always on My Mind, many consider this the best Christmas number 1 there never was, and its hard to argue with that. The beauty of MacColl’s angelic vocal contrasts perfectly with MacGowan’s shambolic wailing, and that’s before you take a look at the lyrics. Featuring lost hope, alcoholism, drugs, prison and swear words, its a truly unique work.
The Worst:
Shakin’ Stevens – Blue Christmas EP (1982): I’m going to give Cliff Richard a break here. Daddy’s Home may be crap, but at least it was over quickly. Shaky’s EP is four songs long, and without the charm of his 1985 Christmas number 1, Merry Christmas Everyone. The title track is ok, but the other material was pretty painful, and his voice is all over the place. It’s hard enough listening to over four hours of songs in one session, but four in a row by Shakin’ Stevens is a step too far.
The 90s
You can laugh at me if you want, but the 90s tracks get off to a good start with Vanilla Ice’s Ice Ice Baby. Come on, it’s enjoyable enough – and ice is associated with Christmas, is it not? It’s certainly better than the next few sappy ballads, anyway. Diana Ross’s When You Tell Me You Love Me (1991), Michael Jackson’s Heal the World (1992) and Take That’s Babe (1993) are all sure signs of the direction the charts were heading, with sentiment and pomposity becoming commonplace in the singles released every December. Heal the World is particularly sickly, especially with the children at the start.
The comedy tracks are much more enjoyable, and it’s surprising it’s taken this long for any to appear. I have warm memories of The Mike Flowers Pops pretending their easy-listening version of Wonderwall was the original at the height of Britpop, and Chocolate Salty Balls(PS I Love You) (1998) might be a cheap joke but it’s always good to hear Isaac Hayes. I don’t want to speak ill of Dunblane’s cover of Knockin’ On Heavens Door in 1996, as it was for a great cause, but it’s too overblown and would have worked better if they’d held back a little. It sounds 10 years out of date.
And then, once again, there’s Cliff. I both admire and shake my head at the idea of him thinking he was entitled to be the last number 1 artist of the 20th century. At least he tried to release something momentous for such a huge event. The problem is, the words to The Lords Prayer set to the music of Auld Lang Syne was a terrible idea. However, it would have made a more fitting Christmas number 1 than Westlife’s double-bill of total dross, I Have a Dream/Seasons in the Sun.
The Best:
Mariah Carey – All I Want for Christmas Is You (1994): Only at Christmas would I ever rank pampered prima donna Mariah Carey as the best anything. Resolutely not a fan of her over-the-top style of singing normally, she did the right thing here by toning it down and yet still going hell-for-leather in performing this total barnstormer that still lights up the dancefloor at every Christmas party. It sounds just like something from Phil Spector’s 1963 album A Christmas Gift to You, but outdoes every track on it. At the time of its release I had just become a dyed-in-the-wool indie fan, but I remember secretly thinking it was better than Oasis’s Whatever, which I was hoping would be number 1 come 25 December 25. Of course, East 17’s Stay Another Day defeated both in the end.
The Worst:
Teletubbies – Teletubbies Say ‘Eh-Oh!’ (1997): As much as Christmas is for children, and if you have to hear a kids’ song in the charts, now is the time, there was no need for the theme tune to this show for babies and toddlers to have been released, let alone do so well. It was basically a cash-in for the BBC. It’s not the worst number 2 ever, and Teletubbies works wonders with children. It’s just downright odd to listen to. It’s basically the theme tune on a loop, and there have been many better theme tunes over the years. It also brings to mind that creepy baby face in the sun from the programme, that used to freak me out when I was at university. Why was I watching Teletubbies at university? Good question.
The 00s
What awful timing. Just as I begin to get tired of this experiment, I reach the most painful decade to listen to. Bar a few exceptions, every song was painful for me to sit through. Wet ballad after wet ballad. And yet, X Factor songs don’t feature much. Probably because they were constantly getting to number 1 at the time. Both One True Voice’s Sacred Trust in 2002 and Joe McElderry’s The Climb aren’t worth another listen though. I remember lots of fuss over veteran songwriter Gordon Haskell finding fame with How Wonderful You Are in 2001, but it just made me want to take a nap.
I hated The Darkness at the time. Didn’t find the joke that funny, and they were everywhere. But I’ve warmed to them over the years for at least providing an antidote to teen hunks singing about not having penises. At least Christmas Time (Don’t Let the Bells End) was a stab at a good old-fashioned Christmas singalong, whether it was tongue-in-cheek or not. In fact, such is the poor quality of this batch of tunes, I even found myself debating whether it should win this section. I don’t understand why Ronan Keating felt the need to cover Cat Stevens’ Father and Son in 2004, as Boyzone had already made it a hit in 1995. Stevens, now known as Yusuf Islam, features, but it’s still not a patch on the original. Never liked Nizlopi’s vastly overrated JCB Song (2005) – the lyrics may be worthy and meaningful, but my ears won’t let me get past the awful affectation to Luke Concannon’s voice. Take That’s big comeback single Patience the following year has been praised by critics as an excellent return to form and a sign of the group’s maturity, but both that and Katie Melua’s version of What a Wonderful World, with Eva Cassidy singing from beyond the grave, left me cold.
The Best:
Jeff Buckley – Hallelujah (2008): Originally on Grace (1994), the singer-songwriter’s sole album before his tragic death by drowning, Buckley’s cover of Leonard Cohen’s powerful ballad was released as an antidote to X Factor winner Alexandra Burke’s missing-the-point-pile-on-the-gospel rendition for a chart showdown in 2008. Simon Cowell sadly won out yet again, but it was a victory in itself that this spine-tingling version could climb so high in such a desolate decade of pop.
The Worst:
Westlife – What Makes a Man (2000): Hooray for Bob the Builder! Can We Fix It? kept yet another soggy slowie off the Westlife production line from being the first Christmas number 1 of the 22st century. What Makes a Man stands out as a particularly tedious waste of time amongst a sea of similar ‘tunes’.
The 10s
Nearly there… Luckily for me, the 2010s have seen an improvement over the previous decade… although talk about damning with faint praise… There’s still a tendency towards boring ballads (see Justin Bieber’s Love Yourself in 2015), but generally there’s more variety. I can’t say I enjoyed much of it, but then again, I’m 39, it’s not meant for me. I don’t understand the popularity of Rihanna, and her 2010 track with Drake, What’s My Name?, sets my teeth on edge.
Rag’n’Bone’s Human (2016) is okay, I guess. It’s certainly better than Eminem and Ed Sheeran’s River, which brings my ordeal to a close. For all his credibility and attitude, why does Slim Shady collaborate with so many boring, beige pop stars? Many will be asking why I haven’t rated Pharrell Williams’ Happy (2013) as the best seasonal number 2. As nice as it is, I find it a little too in thrall to the soul classics of the 60s that are far better. Also, it’s been played to death over the last five years.
The Best:
Mark Ronson featuring Bruno Mars – Uptown Funk (2014): Okay, you could give the exact same arguments as above for this. Yes, it’s also one of the biggest songs of the 2010s, and yes, it’s clearly unoriginal. However, I’m a huge funk fan, particuarly of Parliament and Funkadelic, and Uptown Funk brings to mind Atomic Dog-era George Clinton. I’ve yet to personally tire of it, and if anything it’s taken on a new lease of life for me as my eldest daughter loves it. So there.
The Worst:
Little Mix – Cannonball (2011): My eldest also loves Black Magic by Little Mix, and I agree, it’s a great pop track. Sadly, I don’t get to hear that today, I have to suffer this instead. The first girl group to win X Factor, their debut single has none of the energy and anthemic chorus of Black Magic. It’s just yet another lush but empty ballad, complete with black-and-white video of the group’s ‘journey’. I hope to never again have to put myself through such tat, at least, not until my daughters are teenagers and then I clearly won’t have a choice anymore.
The Best UK Christmas Number 2 Ever is…
The Pogues featuring Kirsty MacColl – Fairytale of New York (1987): Although in general my marathon session of Christmas number 1s was more enjoyable than this year’s, the decision to pick the best of the bunch was quite easy. Today proved much harder. My winner, I Believe in Father Christmas and All I Want for Christmas Is You are all among the best Christmas songs there is. In the end, I decided that Fairytale of New York was the best all-rounder. Lake’s single is wistful, makes you think, and gets to the nitty gritty of Christmas. But you wouldn’t want to hear it at a party. Carey’s single is the opposite. It’s a belter of a tune, but it’s not deep. Fairytale of New York is all of these things. And it manages to be dark and poetic, and a song to sing when blind drunk on a night out, all at the same time. It’s also poignant, since the death of MacColl, and seems to grow in stature with every passing year.
The Worst UK Christmas Number 2 Ever is…
Westlife – What Makes a Man (2000): Congratulations Westlife! It takes a special kind of crapness to be responsible for the worst Christmas number 1 and number 2! Last year I said they had committed ‘Pop music at it’s very dreariest’, and What Makes a Man is more of the same. There’s little more I can add to this really, as it’s so dull, it\s hard to get angry about. It’s just depressing.
The Outro
Never again. I’ve suffered enough. The surprising lack of true Christmas songs in this marathon listen made it feel more like a bunch of random songs, a large amount of which I’d never choose to listen to. Even a decade I thought would throw up some goodies like the 70s managed to disappoint. And there were a few classics conspicuous by their absence. I’d always assumed that Stop the Cavalry and I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday would be in there. It’s always great to hear my top three though, and they and a few others saved the day. It makes you question your sanity, though, when you find yourself picking All I Want for Christmas is You over the Magical Mystery Tour EP. But that’s Christmas for you. They don’t call it the silly season for nothing.
Do you agree? Have I been too harsh on Westlife? Can’t stand hearing MacGowan’s barely comprehensible ramblings? Stick a comment below.
And no, I won’t be listening to every Christmas number 3 next year. You’ve got to draw the line somewhere.
Every UK Christmas Number 2 (1952-2017)
1952: Jo Stafford with Paul Weston & His Orchestra – You Belong to Me 1953: David Whitfield with Stanley Black & His Orchestra – Answer Me 1954: David Whitfield – Santo Natale 1955: Bill Haley & His Comets – Rock Around the Clock 1956: Guy Mitchell with Ray Connif & His Orchestra – Singing the Blues 1957: Johnny Otis and His Orchestra with Marie Adams – Ma He’s Making Eyes at Me 1958: Lord Rockingham’s XI – Hoots Mon 1959: Adam Faith – What Do You Want? 1960: Elvis Presley – It’s Now or Never 1961: Frankie Vaughan – Tower of Strength 1962: Cliff Richard – The Next Time/Bachelor Boy 1963: The Beatles – She Loves You 1964: Petula Clark – Downtown 1965: Cliff Richard – Wind Me Up (Let Me Go) 1966: Donovan – Sunshine Superman 1967: The Beatles – Magical Mystery Tour EP 1968: The Foundations – Build Me Up Buttercup 1969: Kenny Rogers and the First Edition – Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love To Town 1970: McGuinness Flint – When I’m Dead and Gone 1971: T Rex – Jeepster 1972: Chuck Berry – My Ding-a-Ling 1973: Gary Glitter – I Love You Love Me Love 1974: Bachman Turner Overdrive – You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet 1975: Greg Lake – I Believe in Father Christmas 1976: Showaddywaddy – Under the Moon of Love 1977: Brighouse and Rastrick Brass Band – The Floral Dance 1978: The Village People – YMCA 1979: ABBA – I Have a Dream 1980: John Lennon – (Just Like) Starting Over 1981: Cliff Richard – Daddy’s Home 1982: Shakin’ Stevens – Blue Christmas EP 1983: Slade – My Oh My 1984: Wham! – Last Christmas/Everything She Wants 1985: Whitney Houston – Saving All My Love for You 1986: The Housemartins – Caravan of Love 1987: The Pogues featuring Kirsty MacColl – Fairytale of New York 1988: Jason Donovan and Kylie Minogue – Especially for You 1989: Jive Bunny and the Mastermixers – Let’s Party 1990: Vanilla Ice – Ice Ice Baby 1991: Diana Ross – When You Tell Me That You Love Me 1992: Michael Jackson – Heal My World 1993: Take That – Babe 1994: Mariah Carey – All I Want for Christmas Is You 1995: The Mike Flowers Pops – Wonderwall 1996: Dunblane – Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door 1997: Teletubbies – Teletubbies Say ‘Eh-Oh!’ 1998: Chef – Chocolate Salty Balls (PS I Love You) 1999: Cliff Richard – The Millennium Prayer 2000: Westlife – What Makes a Man 2001: Gordon Haskell – How Wonderful You Are 2002: One True Voice – Sacred Trust 2003: The Darkness – Christmas Time (Don’t Let the Bells End) 2004: Ronan Keating featuring Yusuf Islam – Father and Son 2005: Nizlopi – JCB Song 2006: Take That – Patience 2007: Katie Melua and Eva Cassidy – What a Wonderful World 2008: Jeff Buckley – Hallelujah 2009: Joe McElderry – The Climb 2010: Rihanna featuring Drake – What’s My Name? 2011: Little Mix – Cannonball 2012: James Arthur – Impossible 2013: Pharrell Williams – Happy 2014: Mark Ronson featuring Bruno Mars – Uptown Funk 2015: Justin Bieber – Love Yourself 2016: Rag’n’Bone Man – Human 2017: Eminem featuring Ed Sheeran – River
