1989 Top 20 Singles

[11] Fine Young Cannibals, ‘She Drives Me Crazy’

Fine Young Cannibals

Just what was stuck in Roland Gift’s throat? Maybe he’d sniffed too hard at the Like A Prayer sleeve. And what happened to this lot, anyway? The Raw & The Cooked album was the year’s most unexpected must-have, which must have made them shedloads of cash and stored up a cache of goodwill for whatever they wanted to do next. Nothing.

A catchy single, this, snaring soul, rock, pop and funk fans all at once. Junior is all of these. It was slyly released into the no-man’s land of early January – when the record buyers are sick to the back teeth of Cliff and Slade, and will even propel a sub-par washed-up Duran Duran single into the Top 10 – and what do you know, the first memorable hit of the year.

As Junior bounced her chair along the floorboards, I had a gander at the tracklist for the R&TC. It reminded me of Jukebox Junior Theory 2c: no one makes tightly-edited, quality-controlled, filler-free 10-track albums anymore. We’re assailed with “added value”, bonus tracks, unfunny skits and will-this-do?-isms, and it’s all a load of crap.

Am I right?

[12] Madonna, ‘Like A Prayer’

Madonna

She’s snogging a BLACK CRIMINAL JESUS. Shocking, I’m sure, but Madge didn’t need to whip up a storm here. Her power pop peak sold itself. It came out of nowhere too: the Who’s That Girl film and soundtrack had underperformed, the singles were shoddy and sales had diminished; the You Can Dance remix album had met a public rapt with indifference. Blonde Ambition to Blonde Ambivalence.

So, she went brunette and found some songs. The Chameleoness of Pop.

Junior’s a brunette already, but she’ll never be a successful chameleon until she discovers colours that aren’t pink. The song was a hit – she smiled and bounced as she put her pink-sleeved arm into her pink anorak.

I remember buying the album along with Soul II Soul’s Club Classics Vol. One and The Stone Roses’ debut, a solid burst of purchasing in Virgin Milton Keynes. Then, of course, I took it home and sniffed Madonna’s patchouli-scented crotch.

I forgot to upload the mp3. Ah, you know how it goes.

[13] Public Enemy, ‘Fight The Power’

Public Enemy

Deliriously exciting intro, punchy message, the first of many* appearances on this chart for the ‘Funky Drummer’ backbeat, that “ELVIS was a hero to most…” line: this ROCKED DA HOUSE, man. Junior pivoted the highchair on its front legs and flipped out like a b-girl.

Back in ’87, I nearly bought a Public Enemy jacket in Watford Market, but left with nothing except regrets and that sawdusty aroma of pet cages. I could’ve been the flyest hip hopper in the Herts commuter belt. Instead, by 1989, my shirts were flowery and my fringe was long.

Junior won’t miss any trends, I promise. I’ll have her in a Gnarls Barkley sleepsuit by the end of the week.

*Well, three. I think.

[14] Lil’ Louis, ‘French Kiss’

French Kiss

You know the drill: just-missing-the-boat acid house with a load of moaning over the top. Yep, Dad was late with Junior’s Weetabix again.

Like taking a bite of acieeed-laced madeleine, this brings me back to a low-rent nightclub in Corfu in August ’89. Junior’s Uncle Neil and I are trying to dance with a bunch of German girls who’d been admiring our pale, skinny torsos on the beach a few hours earlier. Couldn’t really tell where their eyes were looking behind the sunglasses, I suppose, but we certainly gave off a glare.

Halfway through the record, of course, as the orgasmic groans creep in, everyone looks awkward and stares at their shoes (purple Converse here, I reckon; with jeans and paisley shirt, if I was a betting man). The moment passes, and Neil and I return to necking as much lager as our teenage frames will take.

Back in 2006, Junior just thinks the poor iDog’s crying.

[15] De La Soul, ‘Eye Know’

De La Soul

3 Feet High & Rising, the soundtrack to a summer spent at Berkhamsted’s late, lamented outdoor swimming baths. A girl called Nova came over one afternoon and asked me what I was listening to – “De La Soul,” I said.  She was nonplussed and I didn’t pursue it.

Junior’s more hip to Mase, Pos and Trugoy – rocking with the best and putting in a brave effort to overbalance her highchair. We dotted around the album after this song, and ‘The Magic Number’ sent her loopy, but we’re here for ‘Eye Know’, where the magic number is two and Junior can wriggle with delight when she spots her favourite Steely Dan samples. She can only take them in small doses.

It’s a cutely formed little gem; the sweetest moment of De La Soul’s fresh take on hip hop. A fresh take fired, I suppose, by acid house and E and the Cold War thaw and Arsenal’s slaying of the Liverpool monster and the break-up of Microdisney and the first inklings of the demise of Thatcher – all fusing together to bring a new hippy era. Daisy this, daisy that.

[16] Neneh Cherry, ‘Manchild’

Neneh Cherry

Trip hop invented here. Should Neneh go up against the wall for paving the way for Morcheeba? Or should we thank her and her cohorts for Blue Lines, Dummy and Maxinquaye? Whatever, she co-wrote this with Massive Attack’s 3D and their producer Cameron McVey, and some arrangement duties were taken on by Nellee Hooper, so an early sign of things to come.

Or, as my big sis put it at the time, it’s a nice song until she tears the towel off her head and then you’ve got this banshee rapping in your face. And she’s PREGNANT. Big sis wasn’t wrong, but I like the rap – I can even perform it for Junior, who remains unmoved. She’s used to seeing her dad act the goat, fortunately. Let’s face it: she’ll have to endure years of it.

Can’t stand that trip hop label, and I’ve only gone and perpetuated it. Needs a new name. Slow hop, maybe. Marijuanabore hop. Was-quite-promising-until-it-got-diluted-by-chancers-bereft-of-ideas-and-concepts-of-melody hop. More?

[17] Tears For Fears, ‘Woman In Chains’

Tears For Fears and Oleta Adams

Junior empathised with everywoman’s plight, wailing and batting the highchair tray with frustration and torment. Or maybe she was annoyed that I kept leaving the room to mix formula/mash Weetabix. Or perhaps she thought it was a rubbish song.

‘Sowing The Seeds Of Love’ was the first, and most obvious single from the album. Its Beatles pastiche-y effects palled quickly, though. ‘Woman…’ was the genuinely strong track, right-on message and all, and it has the beef and production sheen to sound heavyweight today. Really, it fitted in well at the time, lifting TFF from pop conquerors to serious CD-era quality MOR purveyors. Debatable whether that constitutes “lifting”, of course – the songs were stronger on the previous album, but I don’t think the megalomaniacal Roland Orzabal was happy with the band’s residual teen appeal, nor the joint billing with pretty boy Curt Smith.

He found his preferred foil in Oleta Adams, discovered pumping gas/waiting tables/singing in seedy dives/selling the Big Issue – God, I dunno – somewhere in America. Lovely voice, fine song.

So, this record killed the band. Way to go, Ro-land.

[18] James, ‘Come Home’

Come Home

Funny band, James. They flapped around in Morrissey-championed indie semi-obscurity for years before accidentally getting swept along by the Madchester wave, but they didn’t even seem to have that crucial dance element to their music. Instead, they introduced sloganeering and merchandise and student-friendly ditties, and snuck in through the back door. ‘Sit Down’ was the most obvious example – released earlier in 1989* yet requiring years and re-releases to hit the Top 10 – but ‘Come Home’ was the vital breakthrough.

A propulsive rhythm and Doppler-effect keyboards get Junior rocking, but she thinks the song drags on a touch too long. Grandad’s visiting and he’s more interesting than the final minute’s cacophony. I still have warm feelings towards the record. It was oddly fashionable at the time (again, a year before it charted) and it had just enough of a groove for me to stick it on the party tapes I’d make as self-appointed teenage DJ.

Within a year I’d be wearing an outsized, long-sleeved ‘Come’ t-shirt. It was quite the conversation piece on my first day at university.

*How much am I bid for my original 7″ single? It’s got a bad drawing on the cover.

[19] Soul II Soul, ‘Back To Life (However Do You Want Me)’

Caron Wheeler

Junior’s hair’s growing fast, but stops just short of Funky Dreads. OK, miles short. She and the iDog were content to shake metaphorical dreads, nodding their heads sagely as if they were teetering on the cutting edge in the Africa Centre in the late 80s. The Africa Centre. It was just a rubbish shop in Covent Garden, wasn’t it?

A seminal record, this, so we’re told. I always find it oddly unsatisfying. Where’s Jazzie B’s searing insight into being selective and objective and an asset to the collective? I mean, come on, we’re on this mission to achieve. But yes, Caron Wheeler does a lovely job – early Shara-Nelson-bad-solo-career prototype that she was – and the Reggae Philharmonic Orchestra keep it swinging. They had plaits, incidentally, not Funky Dreads. They were no a to the c.

I had this single on 3” CD. Weren’t the 80s great?

[20] Kirsty MacColl, ‘Free World’

Kirsty MacColl

Sorry, Kirst, for demeaning your memory by playing this song through the iDog. The decorators are coming in to paint our new living room today, so all the stereo components are in a pile next to my bed, and I just couldn’t wait to get started with ’89. You can only go so long without hearing Glen Medeiros’ honeyed tones.

Right, what’s she on about here? Well, it’s a protest song, anti-Thatcherite and bristling with the righteous fury of the masses, man. It’s driven by rattling, chiming guitar, very Smithsy – as I recall, Johnny Marr was all over the Kite album so this is no spooky coincidence. Then we have the familiar, multi-tracked MacColl vocals. I think they’re multi-tracked, she always sounded like that. Or maybe she had more than one larynx.

Anyway, it’s a great record and it gets better every year.

The iDog gave it the full red and yellow lightshow and shook its head around. Junior copied it. The head-shaking bit, I mean. She’s not mastered projecting coloured lights from her forehead yet. God knows what they do at that nursery all day.