“Beatles!” Junior exclaimed, as I introduced her to the sleeve. “I like Beatles.” She may have meant “beetles”, but managed some booty-swinging to the last verse, a small nod of appreciation for the rock’n’roll version. She spent the rest of the time squeezing between the sofas to fetch the baby doll, complaining about getting stuck. The band themselves were in a bit of a fix, although this sunny record has its head firmly in the sand.
The ditty itself – a tale of John Lennon and Yoko Ono hopping around the continent acting the halfwit – is a solipsistic frippery, but I’m soft on it. My warm feelings extend from its timing: April 1969, and The Beatles are limping to a conclusion, hamstrung by legal divisions and poisonous in-fighting. Yet, amid all this, the two most obviously at loggerheads are working hard together – Paul McCartney indulging Lennon, Lennon enlisting his help with the writing, and the pair of them playing every note of the song, nary another Beatle in sight. It feels like the last true collaboration, two against the world.
the beatles
[18] Super Furry Animals, ‘Northern Lites’
I don’t know why I hated the Super Furry Animals. Maybe it was because they had marijuana bore Howard Marks on their album cover. God, where did he pick up his cachet? I had the ill luck to see him live in a Central London bar, where he treated us to 90 minutes of tedious aren’t-drugs-cool? stories, all lapped up by his zany student/70s casualty following.
Anyway, something must have clicked between me and SFA. Years later I owned all their albums and could be found singing an impromptu ‘Golden Retriever’/’Day Tripper’ medley in Inferno, hellish Clapham nightspot. You don’t want to know.
‘Northern Lites’ is a typically directionless tune, perked up by horns and steel drums. It’s a mess, but an endearing one, and it makes you flap your arms up and down until your bouncy chair is a bucking bronco.
[7] Erasure, ‘Drama!’
We had The Beatles in 65/66, ABBA in 76/77 and Blondie in 79/80. Top singles bands captured at the very peak of their powers. Erasure were showing this kind of form at the back end of the 80s, unable to stem the flow of startlingly good pop songs. ‘Drama!’ doesn’t even have a CHORUS, not really, but it’s no-sweat Top 10 gold dust.
And I’m nothing if not a sucker for sparkly pop music with killer hooks, squelchy noises, shouts of “GUILTY!” at various pitches and legions of battling synths – always have been. Junior’s going to go this way too, if I have to frogmarch her. She looked pretty sanguine about the whole thing, anyway, her arms propelling her ceilingwards on Vince Clarke’s 303 skyrocket.
Ol’ Vince, eh? 80s pop’s ubiquitous eminence grise. His dread hand will appear twice more in this chart, actual and implied. Oooooo.
[17] Tears For Fears, ‘Woman In Chains’
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.
Jukebox Junior 