Welcome, welcome, welcome home to Every UK Number 1! Don’t worry, it’s a very niche reference…
Back on we go, with the decade that truly shaped my musical tastes – the 80s (I was born in April 1979). Yet another weird and wonderful 10 years of pop, that started out extremely positively thanks to the foundations set in the late 70s… before, perhaps, the rot begins to set in during the mid-point.
But before we find out if that’s true, let’s go back to January 1980, with the sole number one by new wave outfit Pretenders. Brass in Pocket was by a strong, ballsy woman. But, contrary to popular belief, it’s not about one.
Before
In fact, let’s go further back – to 7 September 1951, when Christine Ellen Hynde was born, in Akron, Ohio. The daughter of a part-time secretary and a Yellow Pages manager, Hynde rebelled from an early age. She recalled in Rolling Stone how she wasn’t interested in high school, or dates either. But she was interested in bands, the counterculture and vegetarianism.
While at Kent State University’s Art School, she joined her first group – Sat. Sun. Mat. – which also featured Mark Mothersbaugh, later of Devo. She was also there during the infamous Kent State Massacre of 1970, in which four Vietnam protestors were killed, including the boyfriend of a friend of Hynde’s.
Hynde moved to London three years later, and within nine months was in a relationship with famed music journalist Nick Kent. She even worked at the NME alongside him, but not for long. Soon after, she was working at Sex, the famed boutique run by Malcolm McLaren and Vivienne Westwood.
This was just the start of her connection to the early punk movement. Returning from time in France and back in Cleveland, she asked both Steve Jones and then Johnny Rotten to marry her in order to gain a work permit. Rotten was initially up for it but after pulling out, Sid Vicious offered. Fortunately, the big day clashed with a court appearance for the eventual Sex Pistols bassist. A narrow escape.
Hynde briefly appeared in several bands, including Masters of the Backside – soon to be known as The Damned, and The Moors Murderers, featuring Steve Strange, later of Visage.
In 1978 she gave a demo tape to Dave Hill (not the Slade guitarist), owner of Real Records and subsequently manager to the Pretenders after he suggested she get a band together. The original line-up of Pretenders (named after Sam Cooke’s version of The Great Pretender) consisted of Hynde and bassist Pete Farndon. They soon added James Honeyman-Scott (guitar, vocals and keyboard) and Martin Chambers (drums, vocals and percussion) to the mix.
Pretenders recorded a demo tape and Hynde handed it to her friend, singer-songwriter Nick Lowe. He was impressed and produced their debut single – a cover of The Kinks’ Stop Your Sobbing, which scraped into the charts at 34 in 1979. Lowe stepped away from further sessions and was succeeded by Chris Thomas. Second single Kid did one better than the first single.
As the Pretenders worked on their eponymous debut LP in 1978-79, one song that had hit potential was Brass in Pocket. Originating from a guitar lick by Honeyman-Scott, Hynde had intended to turn it into a Motown-style tune but that changed during recording. The title was inspired by the first-ever Pretenders gig. After the show, Hynde asked whose trousers were sprawled over a chair in their dressing room, shared with support act The Strangeways. One member of the band, Ada Wilson, ‘I’ll have them if there’s any brass in the pockets’. In this instance, ‘brass’ is Northern slang for money, and it’s not the only bit of colourful language here. Hynde also included other slang such as ‘reet’ and ‘got bottle’.
Review
Thinking back to 1980, anyone who knew of Hynde’s background but hadn’t heard any Pretenders before Brass in Pocket must have been surprised. There’s no punk element to be found, and hardly even any rock. What Brass in Pocket has embodied to most listeners through the years, is that confident swagger Hynde has always had. She’s smart, sexy and confident, but actually more in the mould of a Suzy Quatro than a Johnny Rotten. But of course, the actual music here is tamer even than Quatro’s glam bluster. It’s a soft, catchy, almost plaintive tune. The attitude is all in the words and Hynde’s performance.
If you thought Brass in Pocket was sung from a female perspective, so did I, but we were wrong. In a 1980 Sounds interview, Hynde explained it’s basically about an insecure guy down the pub, geeing himself up to put up a front down the pub with his mates and be ‘one of the lads’. I’m sure you can add to that that he’s hoping to pull, too.
All in all, the image of this guy, ‘Detroit leaning’ (driving around with one hand on the wheel) and skanking, conjures up the image of a bit of a twerp. Discovering this simultaneously makes you view the song differently, and kind of tarnishes it a little. It might partially explain Hynde’s ambivalence towards her biggest hit. Initially she had told Thomas she could release it over her dead body as she hated her vocal, and for a long time she hated performing Brass in Pocket, but age seems to have mellowed her.
Hynde wasn’t a fan of the video either, and again, you can’t blame her. She played a waitress in a rundown cafe, while the rest of the band turn up in a large pink car, with Farndon doing some Detroit leaning of his own. Highlight/lowlights include Honeyman-Scott/Chambers miming terribly the ‘Special!’ backing vocals while holding up the selection of specials on the cafe menu. Bit literal, lads. Farndon and Hynde seem to have a thing going, but the tension is interrupted by three girls who enter the cafe and immediately begin snogging the men. They all leave the cafe and Hynde remains alone and upset. Her initial plan was to have the band arrive on motorbikes and rescue her from her drab life.
So who was right about Brass in Pocket – Hynde or the public? I’m going to side with the latter. It’s a rather low-key start to the decade, but then, every decade up to this point had similar, so no change there. It’s stood the test of time as a memorable enough tune. However, it’s not even Pretenders’ best (I prefer Don’t Get Me Wrong and 2000 Miles). And how did it happen, after two previous relative flops?
Well, the excellent, insightful and blisteringly funny folks at the Chart Music podcast uncovered an edition of World in Action from 1980, called The Chart Busters. Brass in Pocket was among the songs which the programme claimed did so well because of underhanded tactics from the music industry. I’m not aware of how much the Pretenders knew about this.
After
Whatever the controversy over the performance of Brass in Pocket, debut album Pretenders was a critical and commercial success. And the follow-up Pretenders II contained the hits Talk of the Town (number eight in 1980), Message of Love (11 in 1981) and other Ray Davies track, I Go to Sleep (seven, also in 1981). But there was trouble ahead. Farndon was sacked by the others for drug abuse that June, and two days later, Honeyman-Scott died of heart failure due to cocaine intolerance.
Hynde assembled a new line-up with Chambers, featuring members of Rockpile and Big Country, for comeback single Back on the Chain Gang, which went to 17 in 1982. Farndon, who was trying to form a new band, was found dead in the bath after overdosing on heroin in April 1983,
That November, a new line-up featuring Hynde and Chambers with Robbie McIntosh on guitar and Malcolm Foster on bass released the lovely seasonal ballad 2000 Miles, which went on to feature on many a Christmas compilation. This first single from 1984 album Learning to Crawl peaked at 15. Pretenders performed at Live Aid in 1985, but soon after Hynde sacked Chambers, making her the sole original member. Foster quit in protest.
1985 was also the year that Hynde had the first of two number 1s with other artists. Sadly it was the awful reggae-lite cover of Sonny & Cher’s 1965 chart-topper I Got You Babe with UB40.
The next Pretenders album, Get Close, was recorded with various session musicians. Released in 1986, Hynde must have felt vindicated when Don’t Get Me Wrong soared to 10 and Hymn to Her outdoing it at eight. But the latter was their last top 10 hit for eight years, and there were yet more line-up changes. Parliament/Funkadelic’s Bernie Worrell briefly featured on keyboards while they toured, and Johnny Marr, post-Smiths, joined the band in 1987 for a year. That same year they recorded two tracks for the soundtrack to James Bond movie The Living Daylights.
The 90s didn’t begin too well, with Hynde the only official Pretender on unsuccessful LP Packed! in 1990. Three years later Hynde teamed up with guitarist Adam Seymour to form a new version of the group with a revolving door of bassists (including Andy Rourke from The Smiths) and drummers. By the time the next album Last of the Independents was finished and released in 1994, Chambers had returned and was joined by Andy Hobson of The Primitives. And they struck gold, with power ballad I’ll Stand by You, a number 10 smash and a number 1 in 2004 for Girls Aloud. But it was the last time they made a serious impact on the charts.
In 1995 Hynde had another rubbish chart-topping cover outside of the Pretenders name. This time, the tedious power ballad Love Can Build a Bridge with (ironically) Cher, plus Neneh Cherry and Eric Clapton. It was that year’s official Comic Relief single. No laughing matter.
The Pretenders settled into the career of a band who will always have faithful support, but no longer trouble the charts. They collaborated with Tom Jones on his 1999 album Reload, and Human was their last song to enter the top 40, making it to 33 in the same year.
Since the new millennium, the Pretenders line-up has continued to change as five albums came and went. Loose Screw in 2003, Break Up the Concrete in 2008, Alone in 2016, Hate for Sale in 2020 and most recently, Relentless in 2023. In 2005 they were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, where Hynde paid tribute to Honeyman-Scott and Farndon.
Brass in Pocket features in a memorable scene in the 2004 film Lost in Translation, in which Scarlett Johansson performs the song at karaoke to Bill Murray.
The Outro
Brass in Pocket continued the trend for edgy, new wave pop that would continue to chart well in the late-70s and early 80s. But it was only the start of a bumper year of a diverse range of number 1s, which would end with the death of an icon.
The Info
Written by
Chrissie Hynde & James Honeyman-Scott
Producer
Chris Thomas
Weeks at number 1
2 (19 January-1 February)
Trivia
Births
19 January: Grime MC D Double E 20 January: Racing driver Jenson Button/Welsh Bullet for My Valentine singer Matthew Tuck 21 January: Boxer Nicky Booth 30 January: Model Leilani Dowding 31 January: Journalist Clarissa Ward
Deaths
27 January: Economist Sir Eric Wyndham White
Meanwhile…
19 January: The first UK Indie Chart was published in trade weekly Record Business. The first number 1 was Where’s Captain Kirk by Spizzenergi.
20 January: The record for largest TV audience for a film in the UK is set when 23,500,000 viewers watch the James Bond film Live and Let Die (1973).
21 January: MS Athing B is beached in Brighton.
28 January: A controversial edition of Granada Television’s current affairs series World in Action is broadcast on ITV. It alleged that Manchester United chairman Louis Edwards made unauthorised payments to the parents of young players in the club, as well as dodgy deals to try and win the local council meat contracts for his chain of retail outlets.
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.
