PUSSYCAT - “Mississippi”
A few years ago, Channel 4 did a rundown of the Top 100 Best Selling Singles. My friends and I settled down to watch, cheer, shout at Kate Thornton, &c. And there, first up at No.100, was “Mississippi”, bringing a mighty collective WTF?? from everyone in the room - none of whom, I should add, were older than me. None of us had heard, or heard of, this song, which turned out to be the biggest-selling (in Britain) single to have made no mark whatsoever on pop history - at least as understood by us callow youngsters. To be honest we thought it might be a put-on. … read on …
In my teens I read a science fiction novel with a startlingly elegant twist. (I won’t mention the book’s name in case you come across it yourself.) It was about a brilliant scientist who vanishes: the book’s protagonist goes looking for clues to what happened, and becomes close to the scientist’s wife. And at a crucial juncture in the plot, the narration shifts, mid-paragraph, from third person to first: the scientist’s “vanishing” was literal, and with a thrill of horror you realise he’s been observing the action all along.
The intro to this is a masterclass: the strings and piano curling around the bass and drums in what amounts to a trailer for the song, teasing its hooks for you. It’s a suitably flirty intro for a duet, so it’s a shame the performers don’t really catch fire. Or the performer - Kiki Dee doesn’t do much wrong (though it’s annoying how her lines sometimes just trail off), it’s just unfortunate that she’s partnered with the fearful pop heffalump that is Elton John. 
(Special note: I have been unable to find a copy of all four tracks on the EP, so this review is written without having ever heard “So Dreamy”. So the mark out of ten is - unusually - subject to change. Though frankly I doubt it will.)
The Real Thing do everything right - pleading soul vocals, springy piano line, big-impact chorus - without ever threatening the spectacular. They’re using a blueprint - tuneful underdog disco - which Hot Chocolate would have huge success with, but without the next-level abjection and paranoia Erol Brown sometimes brought to it. So the Real Thing deliver a solid good time rather than anything more striking (or commentable). Solidity can get you a long way, though - “You To Me Are Everything” has become a wedding dance staple, and for simple welcoming catchiness it deserves that ubiquity.
Much like “No Charge”, this wears an idea too thin: but at least it’s a good idea. Spotting the potential for Wurzelisation in the ramshackle whimsy of Melanie’s “Brand New Key” was a stroke of pop genius that deserved the reward of a No.1. “Combine Harvester” kicks off with surely the best (or maybe worst) innuendo to grace a chart-topping record and rides a wave of sheer goodwill until at least its third verse.
I was aware of this song long before I heard it - as a young boy it was quoted at me by my Dad should I ever object to tidying my room. Since my room was rarely tidy, I became very familiar with the central notion of “No Charge”. Like my Dad, I can find immense amusement and pleasure in this style of song - talking country with a sentimental edge - but this is far from a great example.
“Fernando” is a breakthrough for ABBA, but a sly one. It’s different from anything else they’d tried - much more ambitious, with its long flowing melody lines in the verses and its lyrics about fighting in a liberation war in Central America. Before writing this I didn’t know that the song had been written for Frida’s solo record, which presumably allowed Benny and Bjorn to try something a little more unusual.
I’ve argued before that there are no good songs about how lovely small children are: some counter-examples were raised in the comments box, but not many, and this surely wasn’t one of them. “Save Your Kisses For Me” is the kind of chirpy material that used to give Eurovision a bad name before the smirkers got hold of it: catchy, but too winsome to really enjoy. I’d point to it as a classic example of cynical Britain fobbing off any old rubbish on the song contest, except Brotherhood of Man actually won the thing. Especially heinous elements: the root-i-toot toy trumpet riff, the persistent triangle accompaniment, the “awwww” final chords after the twist. THE TWIST. Path to redemption: the opening irresistibly reminds me of “Mother’s Little Helper”.
I get the strong impression that whoever wrote this came up with the line “I love to love but my baby just wants to dance” and then wrote a lyric around it - which is fine, it’s a great line, but it leaves Tina Charles in the position of having to sell a song around the idea of a boyfriend who never wants sex because he’s always out disco dancing. Maybe there are deeper issues, Tina. Just saying, like. 
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