Popular

Something else to read

Something I occasionally get asked is “what about No.1 albums?”. And I think, yes, what about them? The album charts present a different version of pop’s story in this country - some might say a more accurate version. Wouldn’t it be good, then, if someone were to tackle writing about them? Why yes, it would be! And if that someone had a remarkably thorough knowledge of pop, plus the proven blogging stamina to write exhaustively and insightfully about albums of pretty much any genre…. ?

Well, as it happens Marcello’s started a new blog project doing just that. I’ll be reading it, I’m sure you will too. Best of luck to him!

As for Popular, apologies for the slight gap: I’ve been very busy interviewing for and accepting a new job, celebrating that, and tying up loose ends from the old one. In the middle of all that I’m off to France on holiday from Tuesday - it is a wireless enabled holiday but I would say things will be slow moving here until a week or so into September, though I’m hopeful of another entry before I leave. I’m still determined to get well into the 80s by the year’s end, so I will pick up the pace again then. In the meantime, there are 430 old entries to bang on about, the rest of Freaky Trigger to read, and of course Mr Carlin’s new project. See you soon!

IAN DURY AND THE BLOCKHEADS - “Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick”

What is the relationship between the charts and everything else? The charts are a show home for pop music, filled with its shiniest mod cons, but one stuffed with hidden doors and tunnels, records that can tumble you out of pop and into other worlds which have their own codes and rules and no cosy countdown to set things in order. And in those other worlds - some of them, anyway - the charts are a sunlit palace of temptation, but to step (or be plucked) into it is to risk having your life and art and the world it came from turned higgledy-piggledy. … read on …

VILLAGE PEOPLE - “Y.M.C.A.”

The baton passes from one manufactured disco band to another, but “Y.M.C.A.” is superior to “Mary’s Boy Child” in absolutely every respect - well, the dancing in the video is just as awful, but in “Y.M.C.A.”’s case the wisdom of crowds soon provided a better alternative. A big part of this song’s success is Victor Willis, who gives his broad-chested lead vocal absolutely everything, starting stentorian and then going steadily more berserk (”PUT YOUR PRIDE ON THE SHELF!”) - gutbucket shouting put to the service of disco goodwill. … read on …

Popular ‘78

I give each record reviewed on Popular a mark out of 10. This is a poll where you can indicate which ones you would have given 6 or more to - pick as many as you like, and discuss the year in general in the comments box if you want.

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My highest mark for 78 went to Kate Bush (10) - my lowest to the Brotherhood of Man (2).

BONEY M - “Mary’s Boy Child/Oh My Lord”

Christmas is a time for the kiddies, but I can’t say Boney M made much impression on this five-year-old: “Mary’s Boy Child” was never quite a first-division carol for me, and as for Frank Farian’s unique contribution to the mythology of Christmas, “Oh My Lord” just didn’t register.

Much though I’d love to be writing a hearty defence of Boney M here, this second No.1 shows them at their worst: self-editing doesn’t seem to be a Farian skill and at almost six minutes this is cripplingly long. It’s a frothy bubblebath at first - the girls’ creamy vocals and the rippling steel drums ushering you into a grotto festooned with Christmas tack - but by the end the water’s getting cold and your toes are looking horribly crinkly. The problem is that the group do the entire of “Mary’s Boy Child” - not in itself a short song - and then go into the “oh my lord” routine. Everyone seems to be on autopilot, and the vim which makes their good songs good is mostly absent (Poor old Bobby Farrell looks unimaginably bored in the video). Go back and listen to “Rasputin” instead.

ROD STEWART - “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?”

HAHAHA “Do ya think I’m sexy?” heh heh well the answer to that Rod is…..

NO!

AHAHAHAHAHA!

It’s the gag no pop show talking head can resist, but the title line doesn’t actually show up in this admittedly odd record, and Rod isn’t singing about himself. … read on …

THE BOOMTOWN RATS - “Rat Trap”

“Rat Trap” is billed - in the Guinness Book Of British Hit Singles, no less - as the first punk No.1. I couldn’t recall it - my memories of the Rats themselves were vague; Geldof I knew for later good works. So I approached “Rat Trap” cold but with a frisson of definite expectation. Geldof tore up a picture of John’n'Liv on Top Of The Pops, didn’t he? So “Rat Trap” - great title, Sir B - was surely something tight and angry, a sliver of nimble menace in the shadows of 1978’s poptopian monsterhits.

Five minutes later my expectation had turned to shock and laughter. Whatever I’d anticipated it wasn’t this: five woeful minutes of scraggy street-rock pastiche, Born To Run with the melted-down Crystals records replaced by stolen chip fat. Far from the first punk No.1, this risible track sounded like an early warning of one of indie’s less palatable side-effects: a deadly combination of overreach and the feeling of virtuous entitlement that being (relatively) outside the mainstream would lend to mediocre bands.

… read on …

JOHN TRAVOLTA AND OLIVIA NEWTON-JOHN - “Summer Nights”

“Summer Nights” brings into focus the differences between pop on stage and pop on single: its structure, building and building and getting more cacophonous and then peaking into a languid fade, is a really unusual one for a pop single, but immediately recognisable as a musical ensemble number. That’s what it was bought as, anyhow - another massive Grease hit, from the other end of the story, and this one a survivor of the original stage version. As such it’s trying to channel the 50s more directly than “You’re The One That I Want”, nodding especially to the call-and-response minidramas of classic Shangri-La’s. … read on …

10cc - “Dreadlock Holiday”

On one level the ‘plot’ of “Dreadlock Holiday” is hugely important to any judgement of it. On another, not at all, but let’s recap anyway. The narrator is a tourist in Jamaica - he gets mugged for his silver chain and returns to the comfort of his hotel where a woman tries to sell him weed.

Nobody comes out of the story well: the song’s parent album was called Bloody Tourists, and the narrator is a simp, trying and failing to fit in (“concentrating on truckin’ right”) and then fleeing to the hotel at the first sign of trouble. But the island isn’t exactly a welcoming place either, and the message seems to be that if you’re a white tourist, any approach is misguided and nowhere is entirely safe from the scary dark other looking to hustle you at every turn. … read on …

THE COMMODORES - “Three Times A Lady”

Lionel Richie pens a heartfelt tribute to the Celtic triple Goddess - maiden, mother and crone.  Well, I assume that’s what it’s about. Before I got into soul music, this is pretty much what I assumed all soul music sounded like: insipid gloop for grown-ups, to be drowsed through in the hope something better might show up. Now, of course, not only do I know that soul is a broader church than I once imagined, I also know that a lot of the stuff that does sound like “Three Times A Lady” is terrific. The great soul ballads deliver a double payload - the comfort that comes from letting a thick wave of sentiment carry you up, and the pleasure of listening more closely to hear the nuance and twist in the singer’s delivery.

“Three Times” also holds these attractions to some degree - Richie is a fine singer and commendably restrained here, and there’s some attractive swells and surges in the arrangement towards the end. But I still can’t enjoy it. Maybe I’ve just heard it too often, maybe I like my balladry more situationally grounded and “Three Times” is too abstract. Maybe I’m just cold-hearted.