music

[7] Marvin Gaye, ‘Sexual Healing’

Junior got up, got up, got up, got up from her cot, but otherwise spent the song pointing at the wooden crocodile, the light fitting, the wet wipes, her clothes and her piggy bank. While saying “Da!”.

Probably best that she wasn’t listening too carefully. She’d have wet herself laughing. “Baby, I think I’m capsizing, the waves are rising and rising”, “I’m hot just like an oven”, “I can’t wait for you to operate”. I mean, REALLY. As an Operations Manager, people are always saying the last of those lines to me. It’s harassment.

But the song works, because Marvin has the voice and the brass balls (no actual mention of them in the song, surprisingly), and the music is as crisp, lean and chromium as any electronic future-revealing groundbreaker released the same year. Perhaps Marvin could’ve pioneered house music if he’d only agreed with his Dad about the colour of the party hats.

[8] Daryl Hall & John Oates, ‘I Can’t Go For That (No Can Do)’

Try and educate a baby all you like, she’ll always return to her frames of reference. “No Kandoo? Who cares, Dad? We’ve still got Pampers,” was her reaction. She listened with the lonely, neglected iDog, whose flashing lights suggested this is a hip-hop tune. It certainly launched a million of them.

Hall and Oates absolutely hammered the Billboard charts, like a pair of big-haired doo-wopping blue-eyed-soul Temptation-wannabe male Mariah Careys. They did ok over here too, no doubt helped by regular slots on lovable rascal Jonathan King’s Entertainment USA programme. I’ve opened a Pandora’s Box of memories there, haven’t I?

You’ll all remember John Oates’ huge, bushy moustache, of course. He was one of those fellows who saw the light just a little too late and shaved it off, without making an iota of difference. It might not be there, but you can still see it. As popular football managers Graeme Souness and Sam Allardyce have also found, a phantom ‘tache will always play around his top lip.

[9] Associates, ‘Party Fears Two’

Well, it’s either the most magnificent single of all time or a towering camp folly. Obviously not the former if it can only sashay to No.9 on this chart, but every year it edges closer. Distance brings it classic status. Billy MacKenzie’s swooping vocal flirts with the correct tune and the cascading keyboards try to keep up, all the while carrying the record to its wailing, ecstatic crescendo. It’s all rather understated.

So, does this Junior party fear two? So what if she does? She has almost a whole year to wait.

Yep, she had her first birthday last Monday. We’ve been celebrating ever since.

[10] Duran Duran, ‘Rio’

Junior stood at the coffee table, directly in front of the stereo, bobbing up and down. She fair resembled a Duranie from all those years ago, missing only the baggy trousers tucked into pixie boots, the hair sprayed outwards ‘til it was replacing the ozone layer let alone ripping through it, and the bulldozer-applied make-up. Give her five years.

This is the title track of the first album I owned, no half-shares with big sis, and it was the first song on the tape I took away to school, to play on one of those flat players with the speaker at the top. I had a single earpiece for private listening. Yes, I was at the vanguard of the hi-fi revolution.

What I’m saying is it’s a formative record for me. It’s why I wear a headband with my pastel suit, and blather interminable bullshit about cherry ice cream and how much birthdays and pretty views mean to me.

And it still has muscle and depth of sound, an odd contrast with the more cutting edge likes of Rockers Revenge. The cool dates faster than the naff.

[11] Rockers Revenge featuring Donnie Calvin, ‘Walking On Sunshine’

“Is this the most 80s record ever?” asked Junior’s mum. That brought me down to earth. I thought it was a pioneering, barnstorming, proto-electrohouse, hip-hop-referencing, technofunk floorburner. Turns out it’s as tinny as Kajagoogoo.

And that’s electro’s big problem. As groundbreaking and exciting as Arthur Baker productions and the like might have sounded back in ‘82/‘83, these days they only seem acceptable with LL Cool J droning and Jennifer Lopez caterwauling over the top. Of course, that’s not true. That record’s a travesty, but we do expect everything beefed up now. Only “zum zum zum zum zum”s seem to bestride the decades.

Contrarily, Junior danced like a maniac.

[12] The Jam, ‘Beat Surrender’

The last Jam single foreshadowed the Style Council again. ‘Speak Like A Child’-style horns, backing vocals sounding suspiciously like Tracie – hell, it was probably Mick Talbot on piano too. But still the purists thought Weller sold out.

This came straight in at No.1 back when that meant something. The Jam had a habit of doing that – four times, I think – and I remember hearing that it was because Polydor released singles at the beginning of the “chart week” for maximum sales exposure. Blimey. Hardly rocket science.

I know you love your chart facts, dear readers, but what of the song? What of Junior’s opinion? I think it’s a life-affirming, foot-stomping, air-punching cracker, but largely overlooked; Junior spent most of its three and a half minutes on her toy phone. Girls.

[13] Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five, ‘The Message’

Let’s say hip hop began when Kool Herc took a couple of copies of the Incredible Bongo Band’s ‘Apache’ and played the same bit of breakbeat over and over again. That was around 1973 or something. So how come people still refer to ‘The Message’ as “early” hip hop? I reckon it’s because you’re NUFFINK until you’re on Top Of The Pops. And now TOTP is no longer, nothing will be anything ever again. Bands will be stuck on myspace until they’re yesterday’s news, mum and dad won’t be able to say “Is that a boy or a girl? You can’t even understand what they’re saying,” and Michael Parkinson will shape the mainstream, unchallenged. Is that what you want? IS THIS WHAT MADE BRITAIN GREAT?

The impending apocalypse hasn’t registered with Junior, who stares wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the immaculate black vinyl falling onto the turntable. She knows the medium of great tunes, and grips the coffee table, ready to dance. Seven minutes, this, and the proto-critic loves every second.

It was my first real brush with hip hop – ‘Wham! Rap’ was still a few months away – and I was impressed. Their clothes were madder than Kevin Rowland’s and we could all chant along at boarding school without indulging in girlie singing. That was important.

[14] ABC, ‘The Look Of Love’

ABC drop a couple of places because I couldn’t be bothered looking for a hip hop classic and a proto-house electro barnstormer hidden amongst the 12”s this morning. It’s too hot. They’re also both really long, we were pushed for time, and Junior was in a bad mood. The clarity and power of ABC and Trevor Horn’s dramatic pop vision tore through her impatience just for a minute or two, mind you. She danced to the string-soaked funk and threw shapes to the call-and-response choruses, before bursting into tears at how long Dad was taking to get the milk ready. All things being equal, a hit for yet another load of Sheffield poseurs.

‘All Of My Heart’ and ‘Poison Arrow’ were better songs but this was the icon, innit.

[15] Tears For Fears, ‘Mad World’

Huge reaction from the young popster. Exaggerated rocking from side to side, some clapping and, if I’m not mistaken, bold attempts at singing along. Tears For Fears are not underappreciated here.

They are everywhere else. Remember when the Gary Jules cover came out, and everyone said they’d never realised what a good song this was until then? As if it was somehow legitimised by a sparse arrangement and slower tempo? Pah.

TFF were an oddity, and their otherness was never clear while they were enjoying mammoth hits. You don’t miss your Janovian primal therapy lyrics welded to powerfully chunky yet finely tuned pop songs until your, er, well runs dry.

[16] Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark, ‘Maid Of Orleans’

The 31st biggest selling single of the year starts off with some industrial noises, still more tuneful than Japan’s squeaks and whirs, before a kind of military waltz tempo fades in. It’s hypnotic and addictive, but still alienating until the melody comes in. These elements build and build, constructing OMD’s best song. It’s effortless.

It’s also their second single about Joan of Arc. What was the fascination? I know Jane Wiedlin looked quite cute in Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure, but this was years earlier. Junior and I have no answers. We prefer to stand rooted to the spot by the metronomic rhythm, musing on OMD’s position in the hierarchy of great synth duos.

6th, we reckon.