1979 Top 20 Singles

[11] Squeeze, ‘Up The Junction’

Well, this is a right barrel of laughs; auspicious meeting, alcoholism and estranged fatherhood set to one of the catchiest tunes of the year. The ironic sing-along melody and clunky rhymes make for some rueful fun and pop scholars Tilbrook and Difford wallow in it all, throwing in forboding chords for “little kicks inside her” and dropping everything for the lad’s lonely kitchen vigil. Still, the return of the lovely organ refrain at the climax makes everything all right again.

“Within a year a walker”: Junior herself missed the window by a month, but seven-month-old little sis is looking active. This doesn’t stand out as a song to dance to, but Junior insisted on me copying a variety of steps before she took her sister’s hands for the final third. She zeroes in on the essential rhythms of these numbers, showing natural flair. We can say – with some confidence – she gets it from her mother. I just watch out for soldiers.

[12] Ian Dury & The Blockheads, ‘Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick’

It’s a song to be enjoyed on many levels, from enjoyment of high-falutin’ place names and cockney-sparrered franglais/deutschglish via a hard-nailed groove right down to – if you’re a three-year-old – a rasped exhortation to “hit me!” Hang on, Junior’s eyes gleamed, is this cast-iron permission to hit something without being told off? Nirvana!

So funky is this tune, played as it is by a band as tight as this month’s budget, you can get your freak on to it at seven in the morning. Back in ’79, as a Stanmore cub scout, Kilburn seemed like it was just down the road. Dury was our urban counterpart and we adopted his edge, even if he was the sort of chap we’d stop and stare at it in the street in our primary school gaucheness. Struck by polio, swarthy and impish, he made a lasting impression on Top Of The Pops, but he wasn’t a poor unfortunate to be laughed at in our playground huddle. This was grown-up rock, slightly intimidating and so out of its time that it’s as fresh now as it ever was.

[13] Elvis Costello & The Attractions, ‘Oliver’s Army’

He passed me by, really, only bleeping on my ’80s chart-kid radar with ‘Everyday I Write The Book’, and as The Imposter on ‘Pills And Soap’. That assumed name even got my goat as an eleven-year-old, Lord knows why. I didn’t like him. Something impelled me to buy Spike and Mighty Like A Rose at the turn of the decade, but I’d missed Blood And Chocolate, Imperial Bedroom, all the classic capers. Picked up My Aim Is True for a couple of quid a few years back, but I was The Imposter now.

Everyone knew ‘Oliver’s Army’, though. That earworm of a chorus and those ‘Dancing Queen’ fills. It’s a song that bears close listening as well, with the odd uncomfortable lyric and a whole heap of didactic about our mercenary, careless, imperial doings. Elvis has never been one to let you off lightly – I know now – but lately he’s only demonstrated this with unappealing music. And that old sneer’s a shock to hear on the new Jenny Lewis album.

The tumbling tune is an instant hit with Junior, who enjoys some prominent ivory-tinkling. I mime a bit of piano and confidently tell her, “That’s Steve Nieve.” She’s quick to fire back, “Who’s playing guitar?” Junior’s mum laughs. She’s got me. “Er… – oh, it’s Elvis Costello.” Phew.

[14] Blondie, ‘Sunday Girl’

Light as air, carefree and – what? – hard to get? Junior’s mum pointed out that Junior and Juniorer are both Sunday Girls (“You were born on a Sunday, J” “I was very born on a Sunday”) but perhaps not in the way Debbie Harry is hinting. We all love the song, know the words – even the French ones on this Best Of version – and Junior sways in front of her sister, hips in time to the gossamer rhythms.

Blondie were bang into their flow by this point, succeeding ABBA as the singles band du jour, knocking the classics out at a rate to make Paul Weller jealous; not that he was far behind. I’m always seduced by a band that respects the single, that can put so much care in for so sustained a period. You know the suspects: Wham!, Erasure, Pet Shop Boys, Girls Aloud… hmmm. I feel like I’m coming out.

I shared a bed with Debbie Harry last year. Well, she draped herself across it, while I perched at the end, asking questions she’d answered a thousand times before. In all the excitement, my tape recorder broke, but she let me have an extra five minutes once I’d taught myself shorthand. Lovely. Anyway, that’s one for the After Dinner circuit.

[15] M, ‘Pop Muzik’

The creation of polymath and pop eminence grise Robin Scott, this is the handbook for a snazzy and sparkling pop life – “Wanna be a gun slinger, don’t be a rock singer… dance in the supermarket, dig it in the fast lane” – and hell, we’re all talking about it. Round and round it goes, devastatingly catchy, wiggly, irritating, practically perfect in every way. A bit knowing, a bit studied, but absolutely pop pop shoo wop.

Probably should’ve bumped it up a place, because Junior wasn’t it the mood for boinging bounce-pop, or any kind of jumping jack. She conceded it was “happy”, but she wasn’t. She was being made to put her shoes on.

Or perhaps she really did find it irksome. Let me hear you say, “New York, London, Paris, Munich…”

[16] Cliff Richard, ‘We Don’t Talk Anymore’

Junior insisted she knew who this was: “He’s got black spiky hair and he dances like this…” She crouched down, stood up slowly and lifted her arms in fifth position, then rocked back and forth, bending at the waist. It looked like a balletic version of The Ting Tings in their ‘Great DJ’ video. There you are – Junior thinks Cliff is a member of our premier Mancunian flash-in-the-pan guitar/drums duo.

Is it any more outlandish than Cliff hitting No.1 at the pinnacle of New Wave? That’s the thing with musical movements; they’re never as all-encompassing as history tells us. Punk washed away the dinosaurs!!! Meanwhile ‘Mull Of Kintyre’ became the biggest selling single of all time.

This is the most astonishing of the great man’s later chart-toppers – coming 11 years after ‘Congratulations’ – because it isn’t hung on festive schlock or Young Ones larks, and it’s a good record. A truly solid pop song, with Sir Cliff emoting, falsetto and all, and a chunky synth foundation presaging any number of ‘80s FM hits. If it seems naff, it’s only the fault of the cloak he can’t shake off – and he wouldn’t care anyway. You need the hide of a rhinoceros to plough bloodymindedly on, held up by a dwindling yet voracious fanbase. If the mask ever slips, the mums stick it firmly back on.

[17] Chic, ‘Good Times’

In some music-writerly way, ‘Good Times’ is the crossover point between disco and hip-hop. Well, it emerged at the fag-end of disco and has been sampled within an inch of its sharp-creased strides by every hip-hop cut this side of ‘Ice Ice Baby’ (and ‘Ice Ice Baby’). That’ll do for a theory.

With a bassline you could write books about – someone page Simon Reynolds – Nile Rodgers and B’nard Edwards fashioned a typically lush setting and got down to moving feet to a happier tomorrow. Forget all the bad stuff, “don’t be a drag – participate/Clams on the half-shell and rollerskates, rollerskates”. Junior was quick to pick out the salient point: “Are the rollerskates pink, white or blue?” I went for the populist answer and assured her they were pink. “Can I have pink rollerskates?” See how an idle query swiftly turns into a dive for the jugular? I think these are feminine wiles.

Watch out for that bassline.

[18] The Police, ‘Message In A Bottle’

“Sending out a nesso ess”. The lad really needed to sort out his diction. And that Jamaican accent was fooling no one – I mean, have you ever seen a whiter man? His only competition was, erm, Stewart Copeland and Andy Summers.

The most hated man in pop? Even Paul Weller – hardly Mr Popular himself – spat at a picture of Sting backstage at the Royal Albert Hall recently. Does he get a tough rap? There’s no doubting he’s conceited, but really everyone’s just jealous of Sting and his month-long mating rituals. And the zillion records sold. And the fact he still cuts a dashing figure in middle-age.

Of course, it’s possible that people simply hate his music but a) check out those zillion units and b) come on, some of it’s been smart. ‘Message In A Bottle’ was a monument from the minute it was released. Edgy, memorable, carrying universal appeal around in bags, it’s a classic pop moment in a year brimming with them. Like so many greats, it even has a massively clunky metaphor at its heart.

Junior wielded the plastic Stratocaster throughout, showing her credentials as a proto-Hendrix by imploring me to watch her playing it with her chin. Face it – you’re impressed just reading about it.

[19] Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark, ‘Electricity’

This is exactly the kind of tinky-tonk Casiotone tripe that gave electronic music a bad name from the moment it began to enslave the charts. Isn’t it wonderful?

“I don’t want it” said Junior.

Well, there you go. On the contrary, I do want it, a bit. It’s the sort of high concept stuff OMD specialised in as they ran the gamut from “our one source of energy, the ultimate discovery” to Joan of Arc to the atomic bomb, accompanied by tinny synths and tupperware beats. It’s what music was made for.

And it’s topical – as the economy crumbles into little bits around our ears, Andy McClusky gargles about “the final source of energy, solar electricity…”, pointing the way to a brighter, less oily future. Way to go, big man. Shame about Atomic Kitten.

[20] Squeeze, ‘Cool For Cats’

Ah, 1979. I started paying attention to Top Of The Pops, Arsenal, all life’s sweetest joys. Moved to Hertfordshire in January and stayed there for 17 years (minus a dozen terms in Bristol). Pop baffled me, but that may have been down to assuming that everything Terry Wogan played was current. In that world, the Supremes were going strong and Cliff Richard was still a chart-topper. Hmmm.

Marrying new wave and pub rock, Squeeze had a boisterous appeal that worked well in the playground; to seven-year-olds a band to file alongside The Specials, The Jam and the rising Madness – stuff it was ok to like and bowl along to as if you were something else, something a stretch more streetwise than a kid with a fringe and grey shorts. If it was cool for cats, we wanted a bit of it. In essence, the single isn’t typical Squeeze, more a part within a part for Chris Difford to play, but he sounds smart and the band bounce in broad-shouldered style. The drifting middle eight’s useless though.

For all I know, Junior’s already at the age when she wants to impress her peers, and she’s got all the moves to do so. A jerky dance matched the sproinging bass and she gave an airing to this week’s trick – humming along to the tune. At the end she asked whether Junior 2 (Juniest? Minima?) liked the song – now there’s scope for a blog within a blog – and then requested the next track on the Best Of. Give it a week or so, missy.