I suspect that either (a) he started writing a song of vengeance against his former bandmates but got rather taken with the tune and rhythm and the song went elsewhere, or (b) he had a song about a runaway lover on the stocks and adapted it slightly here and there and later crowed about his triumph in interviews once it had gone to #1 (which he may have felt was his real triumph).

I find this an irresistible tune, sung with a snarl but one that sounds as much hurt as angry. The Spanish guitar is rather witty against the very studio-bound confection of the arrangement, a little breath of freedom in amongst the fierce onward rhythm, the tightly-played little scale at the beginning. And, though he holds the notes rather insecurely in places, it’s a tremendously coherent vocal, a little world of pop emotion.

My younger brother, with whom I have nothing in common, loved this (he was the one who bought the 7″), and perhaps I’m partly nostalgic for a very rare flash of consensus between us, something that if Scots weren’t quite so grudging with their feelings, could have been bonding.

Right from the intro it just grabbed us - the mannered delivery (the ’say’ that becomes ’sayigh”, those manipulative pauses, the recycling of the Mae West catchphrase, the theatrically arcane language (”Maybe you’ll tarry for a whi-yill?”) and that deliciously exotic guitar solo that brought that promise of future summer and sunshine that chimes with the way the nights get longer around this time of year.

Perhaps it was just the antidote to my characteristic introspection but, however barbed it was for his sometime band mates, for me, in 1975, this did what it said on the tin.

Rosie - Yes, Morrgate. I rememember it clearly, living as I was then at the other end of the Northern Line. I recall being totally shocked by the event, as all my family were regular tube users and it really was a case of “there by the grace of God…”

For Glasgow/Clyde Valley sales we also had the Radio Clyde Tartan Thirty which Richard Park counted down every Thursday lunchtime.

I’ve nothing to add to the positive vibes about “Make Me Smile (Come Up And See Me)” btw - 9 seems just right.

I’m not sure why this track in particular became a staple of oldies radio – it seems to have been treated with no more nor less reverence than other above-average 70s number ones until it was used in “The Full Monty” soundtrack, or am I mistaken? I like the hooks, the silences and the Spanish guitar bit work well, but somehow, perhaps due to the overarching tone of cynicism, this one fails to make the emotional connection with me that a really great song should. It’s still better than 80% of the songs on here though. Mind you he was apparently an arrogant so-and-so.

If you want to, you’ll find Steve Harley on Eamonn Holmes’ Saturday morning Radio 5 show as the resident racing tipster. The fact that a horse called Cockney Rebel has been winning a good few races recently hadn’t escaped him.

I did enjoy The Wedding Present doing this on Top Of The Pops, though. And I’d happily concede that the Duran Duran version is inferior.

In addition, the first two albums by the group Cockney Rebel - The Human Menagarie and Psychomodo - are as good and adventurous a pair of opening albums from any British band that side of Crocodiles and Heaven Up Here. You may marvel that the state of the record industry was so enriched at the time that a three-chord busker’s ode - “Sebastian” which Harley must have played at every tube station in central London - could be expanded to a devastating, lavishly orchestrated six-minute-plus elegy. Or the seldom visited lair of Psychomodo in general, with its prophetic hints of Talking Heads, Magazine (Devoto was Harley’s real heir - that attractive, compulsive dominion of certainty!) and even PiL.

But “Make Me Smile” was where he jumped my shark; regrettably it is impossible for me to disregard the fact that it was written as an open letter of bitching to the band which had been Cockney Rebel prior to 1975 and which he had either sacked or which they had concomitantly quit, depending on whose memory you trust (hence the Diana Ross and the Supremes-style billing; from now on, this was strictly solo Harley plus salaried session backing musicians). It has of course been massively overplayed on oldies radio beyond humane levels of tolerance, but even if it hadn’t I wouldn’t be tempted to revisit it; its air is one of smug pretending to be hurt, an alleged love of music in itself disguising Harley’s supposed reluctance to pay the rest of the group a living wage, its stop-start tricks facile and that Mike Oldfield tribute Spanish guitar solo unnecessary extra dressing. It is not the Exocet of a John Lydon sneer, but an anxious, self-defeating sneer apt for a man who shortly thereafter penned his political protest song “Red Is A Mean, Mean Colour.”

was he the first uk pop-star to make a thing (from the start) of feuding with the uk rock press? (which he had himself been briefly a member of…)

I like the music and the relative richness of the production though so maybe it’s just a combination of the character of the vocal and the projection of the song as pub pop anthem, curse of Hornby etc. This may not be fair or accurate but there you go! I may have danced to it once tho not sure I’d want to again but at least the more I think about it now the more I appreciate it’s good points.