Any Major Dude With Half A Heart

As we enter 1979 and the songs that take me back to that time, I’m still living in the house in which I had spent the first 13 years of my life. In early summer we moved into a new house. So this lot of songs are old-house songs. In May, at the end of the time under review in part 1, I went to Bavaria for a week or two on a “cure”, organised by the medical aid scheme, for stressed kids. Because a stressed kid I certainly was.

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Gebrüder Blattschuss – Kreuzberger Nächte.mp3
It was a time for comic novelty songs in Germany. Big-nosed Mike Krüger had Germans in a LOL hysteria with his instruction ditty playing on the word “nipple”, while swathes of Germans were engaging in a collective ROFLMAO at the frankly unhilarious antics of comedians Dieter Hallervoorden and Helga Feddersen in their cover of the Grease hit You’re The One That I Want (their hit riffed on the phonetic rendition of the English title, “Du die Wanne ist voll”, which roughly means – be still, chuckling heart – “Hey, the bathtub is full”), and some fuckwit from Hamburg split a nation’s side just by virtue of his moniker, Gottlieb Wendehals (you see, an uncool first name and a surname that means “twist-neck” is as close to Monty Python’s funniest joke ever as you’ll get). And the brothers Blattschuss joined the comedy revolution by singing this song about prolific beer-drinking in the working-class Berlin suburb of Kreuzberg, where the nights apparently are long. It includes a few good puns and a rousing chorus which even the most inebriated joker can sing, which elevates the song above the rest of the mirthless comedy. Obviously I didn’t buy or even like the record. I remember the song chiefly for its performance on the Disco music TV show, during which leadsinger  Jürgen von der Lippe, who’d become a big German TV personality, lit up a cigarette.

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Status Quo – Accident Prone.mp3
For years, the chorus of this mid-tempo number resided in my repertoire of permanent earworms, the songs whose lines I might absent-mindedly sing as I go about buttering my toast, or whatever. The critics didn’t love it – I’ve read that some believed Accident Prone to be the Quo’s nod to disco, but I really can’t hear that at all. It certainly is a Rick Parfitt song though, less boogie than Francis Rossi’s material. The guitar solo is pretty good. I bought the single, as I had bought Again And Again (featured in part 3 of 1978). Then I bought the If You Can’t Stand The Heat album, and never listened to it in its entirety. In fact, of the three Quo LPs I have owned (the live double set, Rocking All Over The World, and …Heat), I don’t think I ever listened to any of them in full.

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Thin Lizzy – Rosalie (live).mp3
Rosalie was my introduction to Thin Lizzy. This version is from the great Live And Dangerous album. Lizzy frontman Phil Lynott was one cool guy. He is so cool when he expresses his appreciation for the audience participation on this live version of the song written by Bob Seger (whose Hollywood Nights might have featured in this series, come to think of it). Of course, towards the end, Lynott was not cool, in the ways heroin addiction is not cool. His death in early 1986 (from pneumonia, not an overdose) was a tragedy; the man had so much more to give. So it’s much better to remember Lynot as the charismatic frontman of a great live band, not a tragic junkie. On that subject, can anyone explain to me why intelligent individuals ignore everything they know about the hyper-addictive dangers of heroin, and try it anyway? Fun trivia fact: heroin got its name from the German pharma-giant Bayer (who in their guise as IG Farben supplied the Nazis with the Zyklon B used in the gas chambers).

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Hot Chocolate – I’ll Put You Together Again.mp3
Man, I loved Hot Chocolate’s disco stuff. Heaven’s In The Backseat Of My Cadillac and You Sexy Thing and all that. I also loved the slower songs, especially So You Win Again and Emma. This was one of those slower songs, and I think I got the single for my 13^th birthday, on which my friends and I were allowed to share a bottle of white wine (well, it amounted to a small glass each). Errol Brown’s vocals are fine, but it’s the melody, which I’m sure was inspired by some piece of classical music, that really appealed to me. Brown had had a hand in writing all big Hot Chocolate hits other than this and So You Win Again (written by Russ Ballard). I’ll Put You Together Again was co-written by Geoff Stephens, one of those songwriters whose work is much better known than his name. Among the songs he wrote are The Crying Game, There’s A Kind Of Hush, Winchester Cathedral, Semi-Detached Suburban Mr James, Sorry Suzanne, It’s Gonna Be A Cold Cold Christmas, The Lights Of Cincinnati, You Won’t Find Another Fool Like Me, and Silver Lady.

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Queen – Mustapha.mp3
My friend Arne was a big Queen fan, and introduced me to more Queen stuff than News Of The World, which I already had. So when Jazz came out, I bought it – and put up the poster of all the naked women on bicycles (or Fat Bottomed Girls on a Bicycle Race) on my wall. And my mother didn’t mind, tolerant woman that she was. Mustapha was the strangest thing I had ever heard in rock. It still is bizarre. Presumably inspired by Freddie Mercury’s experience as Faroukh Bulsara in his birthplace of Zanzibar, it sounds like a Muslim call to prayer which halfway through gets the pomp rock treatment. Muezzin rock, if you like.

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Suzi Quatro – If You Can’t Give Me Love.mp3
I liked Suzi Quatro back in the day. Too Big was my favourite sing of hers. Recently I saw her Top of the Pops performance of Devil Gate Drive, which sparkles with the exuberance and rocking choreography. Suzi Quatro opened doors for chicks with guitars (and I’m using the word in the nicest possible way). So her comeback in 1979 was anticipated. Alas, Suzi had grown pout of rock-chickdom. A few months earlier, she had recorded a duet with Smokie singer and fellow RKA label mate Chris Norman, Stumblin’ In, the contemplation of which makes me feel slightly ill. And yet, I bought the LP, titled If You Knew Suzi… Well,I thought I knew Suzi. High-kicking, guitar-thrashing, super-gurning Suzi. This was housewive Suzi whose Smokie music was going to appeal to our mothers. I couldn’t give her love, and I gave it to somebody else.

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Clout – Save Me.mp3
The South African band featured in 1978 with Substitute (and I’m still looking for the original of that by the Righteous Brothers, as well as for Gloria Gaynor’s take). Save Me was also a cover version of a Merrilee Rush’s 1977 original (she had the first hit version of Angel In The Morning, as recounted in The Originals Vol. 39). Rush’s version was a mid-tempo country-pop affair; Clout turned it into a proper pop song.  Save Me is almost as good as Substitute, which I’d designate as a perfect pop song. By now Clout had lost their gorgeous keyboardist Glenda Hyams, and wasn’t even an all-girl group anymore, with the inclusion of two dudes (who’d later join Johnny Clegg in Juluka). I don’t know what became of the Clout members, other than Cindy Alter, one of the lead singers, who now performs with South African pop veteran Stewart Irving.

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Gerard Kenny – New York New York.mp3
So good they named it twice, sings Mr Kenny as he fellates the Big Apple. I had this on a compilation album (titled Disco Laser, it also included hits by the likes of Leif Garrett, Racey, Supermax and Chic, among a whole lot of people that were never heard of again, such as Wallensten and Snoopy). I rather liked it as a companion piece to Billy Joel’s My Life, a favourite at the time. It really should accompany New York State Of Mind; either way, it belongs in the same genre as Billy Joel (with whom Kenny once was in a band, apparently). Gerard Kenny has been something of a prolific songwriter; his resumé includes Barry Manilow’s I Made it Through The Rain and I Could Be So Good For You by Dennis Waterman (off TV’s Minder). He continues to perform.

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Patrick Hernandez – Born To Be Alive.mp3
This was the anthem of every school disco in the West-Germany of 1979. I wonder if schools in other cities did that stupid aerobic dance: legs together and jumping from one side to the other, if possible in beat to the music. The song, by a French Euro disco singer with a football player’s bubble perm, was absolutely ubiquitous, and there are no words to describe how much I hated it. Just as I hated school discos, with their bad music, cheap crisps and ban on Coca Cola, because somebody decreed it was not good for 13-year-olds, whereas Fanta was. For that reason Born To Be Alive does not conjure cheerful memories, but today I can acknowledge just how good a Euro-disco song it is. Hernandez later gave the young Madonna her first break as a dancer.

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Dschinghis Khan – Dschinghis Khan.mp3
Germans have earned themselves a reputation of having slowly developed an awareness of and sensitivity to their country’s terrible history in relation to the Holocaust; the noble project of Vergangenheitsbewältigung (and bless the German language for its compound words). In 1979, all good intentions notwithstanding, West-Germany was not quite there yet. The country’s entry for the Eurovision Song Contest that year was a rousing ensemble number extolling the masculine virility of the Mongol warrior Genghis Khan, whose name the performing group adopted for good measure. All that might have seemed like a good idea at the time, except that the host city of the contest was Jerusalem. It does not send a message of Vergangenheitsbewältigungsbestätigung when Germany sends its minstrels to Israel to sing about a genocidal megalomaniac. The Austrian entry was much more sensitive with the title “Today in Jerusalem” (presumably not a protest song about the condition of Palestinans in that city).

In the event, the German entry placed fourth (ahead of Britain’s Black Lace, who took revenge a few years later with the appalling Agadoo), while Israel defended their title with Milk & Honey’s melodious and very annoying Hallelujah, a song a visitor to Israel cannot avoid hearing even three decades later.

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Frank Mills – Music Box Dancer.mp3
I think it’s fair to say that I bought some pretty decent singles when I was 13, though that will reveal itself only in parts 2 and 3. And amid all those cool records, I bought this, a record which Richard Clayderman must have condemned as too soft. I have no interest in hearing his cover version (of course he recorded one!), but by comparison it probably rocks hard. It has to. Musicx Box Dancer has as pretty melody, admittedly, and as such is a very dangerous earworm. It’s no accident that ice cream vans around the world are playing the tune. It’s not surprising then to learn that one town has declared ice cream van music illegal. Oh yes, if you signal the availability of soft-serve in Stafford, New Jersey, you’ll go down, man. “At no time shall a vendor be permitted to use a sound device, mechanical bell, mechanical music, mechanical noise, speakers, amplifiers or any other similar type of sound device,” The Man has ordained. You may use a bicycle bell, however. Can you play Music Box Dancer on a bicycle bell?

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George Harrison – Blow Away.mp3
As mentioned in the intro, in May 1979 the medical scheme packed me and a few dozen other kids from across West-Germany off to a cure in Bavaria. On the train journey there, we encountered a pederast who liked to suck the feet of pubescent boys (not mine, I’m relieved to report). In Bavaria I met for the first time a person named Adolf, our bus driver on excursions, though he tried to disguise his unfortunate name by inviting us to call him Dolf. He was a nice guy, so we didn’t even make jokes about him. The small town where we stayed, with the satisfying name Pfronten, had a small record shop. One day we were passing it when our group, probably headed for another bloody uphill hike through Bavarian forest, paused for a few minutes. I quickly jumped into the shop to see what was new. And what was new was George Harrison’s new single, which I bought unheard. Happily George’s bubble perm did not deter me, for Blow Away is a great song; indeed, it’s my favourite solo song by Harrison, with a great sing-along chorus.

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More Stepping Back

Today marks the 25^th anniversary of Live Aid, a sentence that makes me feel old. I wrote what I think is my definitive take on the day two years ago. I have nothing new to add, except for a few minor edits. But it’s the 25^th anniversary of a big event I actually attended, so I will recycle that post and re-upload my Live Aid mix, ripped from DVD.To see what else happened that day and what awful music populated the US charts, check out the always enjoyable The Hits Just Keep Coming blog.

The music was mostly terrible, the artists tended to be self-serving and smug, we had shit seats right at the back of Wembley Stadium, and the legacy of the event is questioned by many. And still, Live Aid ranks among the best days of my life, at least in as far as concerts are concerned.

Indisputably, there were long stretches of tedium, watching wasters like Sting and Phil Collins being bumptious, Spandau Ballet demonstrating why they were a rubbish live act, Adam Ant destroying his already skidding career with one song, and the creations of mad hairstylists immortalising the decade of my youth as one bereft of sense and elegance.

But these dull stretches were enlivened by some high point. Everybody is right, Queen were indeed, well, majestic. Fred had sex with the whole of Wembley stadium, and left us panting for more. Queen’s set provided my abiding memory: the crowds doing that arms-aloft-clap-clap-arms-aloft-clap-clap thing from the video of Radio Gaga – what a sight that was from where I was sitting overlooking the masses on the pitch  – followed by Mercury leading the 80,000 people (or whatever) in vocal exercises. And I’m not even a Queen fan, certainly wasn’t in 1985.

Other highlights included getting to watch The Who play live, playing my favourite song of their catalogue, Won’t Get Fooled Again; and U2 playing my favourite of their repertoire, Bad, with the mulleted Bono (then not yet conclusively the pompous ponce we know him as today) grabbing that girl from the crowd. It was not a spontaneous act, though; he performed that shtick, probably stolen from Springsteen’s Dancing In The Dark video, during every concert at the time (I saw him do it three times in three countries that summer). At the time I thought his sampling of other people’s songs (here Lou Reed and the Rolling Stones), was cool; now not so much. And George Michael, coming out as a bearded man for the first time, was magnificent when he sang Elton John’s Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me. When he got around to recording it almost a decade later, it had lost its magic.

In Philadelphia, Hall & Oates stole the show. In a pretty soul-free line-up, the blue-eyed soulmen hooked up with bona fide soul legends, singing soul music. Otherwise there were the Four Tops, and, at some point when nobody was watching, Ashford & Simpson with Teddy Pendergrass (R.I.P.), the latter appearing on stage for the first time since his accident which left him paraplegic. Oh, and Pati LaBelle, whose acute histrionics were entirely distressing. And, I must say, Madonna (wearing entirely regrettable floral trousers) was energetic. Her line, “I’m not gonna take shit off tonight” in reference to just released nude photos of her in Penthouse was a welcome glimpse of humour.

Embarrassing moments prevailed, however. Sumon Le Bon, never a good singer, totally missed a note in A View To A Kill.  Bob Dylan and the two craggies from the Stones (who looked 60 then, but were only in their early 40s) contrived to perform an amusing cacophony, which the performers believably blamed on not being able to hear each other. Frankly, I thought Keef was high, Ronny pissed and Dylan no different from usual.

But the cringe moment of the day belonged to the man who made Live Aid possible, Bob Geldof (Midge fucking who?). Of course, credit to Bob for doing something; indeed, more than most of us have done. It was commendable and all that. When it was their turn, the Boomtown Rats gave a particularly feckless rendition of I Don’t Like Mondays, with the sidekicks not even bothering to sing the backing vocals in tune. Then at the line “and the lesson today is how to die”, in a song about a schoolground shooting, Geldof stopped, raised his fist and let the crowd lap up his status as Temporary Messiah while they reflected on the supposed symbolic magnitude of the line. You see, Ethiopians are dying, and the lesson today is how to die. Which is deep man. Especially if you consider how many Ethiopians are running around with silicon chips inside their heads getting switched to overload.

Likewise, the use of the Cars’ song Drive to soundtrack that utterly devastating video of starving people was embarrassing. One misapplied line in a love song is not suitable as a device for the manipulation of those who viewed the video. It was not just mawkish; it was ill-judged, trivialising the famine, as though it can be explained by a random pop number. It symbolised the cocaine-fuelled rock triumphalism of the day. Perhaps Midge Ure captured the true spirit of Live Aid’s star-roster when he crooned that line from Vienna: “This means nothing to me.”

Doubtless many acts on the bill felt deeply about feeding the world and reminding the starving Ethiopians that they were doing their best to ensure that there will be snow in Africa next Christmastime, regardless of the inopportune consequences of such radical climate change. But many of those who took part were in truth opportunists, wanting in on the cash-in. Some, such as Queen (who might have been sincere or opportunistic or both), revived their flagging careers on the back of Live Aid. All but one act recorded increased sales after the event, the exception being the hapless Adam Ant. Live Aid was at least as much about corporate profiteering as it was about social engagement. Did much of the profits from increased post-Live Aid sales go to famine relief? Didn’t think so.

Paradoxically, Live Aid was also a bit of a racist event, and the 4-DVD set aggravates that defect. No African artists other than the Nigerian-born but otherwise decidedly western Sade appeared in London or Philadelphia; an oddity when the event was supposed to raise awareness about Africa. As noted above, black artists were very thin on the bill. The DVD set even manages to exclude the Four Tops’ 5-song set, as well as those of Billy Ocean and Run-DMC (featured in the extras). The only other excised acts are Santana and, commendably, Power Station.

I don’t buy into the fairly popular idea that Live Aid was in itself malign. Pragmatically, it raised money which saved some lives, and helped build clinics and water purification schemes. That is admirable. It did raise awareness on a range of issues concerning famine, albeit imperfectly, and promoted some sense of social responsibility. In the callous, self-centred 1980s, Live Aid made charity cool. But it also proposed a notion that charity is not selfless, that for your charity you must get something in return — at the very least the option to congratulate yourself. Consumerist charity, one might call it.

Live Aid did not see itself as a solution but as a contribution to a problem. Its contribution was effective in addressing an immediate crisis. The music, however, was mostly shit. To celebrate the music that wasn’t, or to observe the performances which were poor but stand as novelties we may marvel at, here is a compilation of my highlights of Live Aid (plus the chaos of Bob, Keef and Ron).

TRACKLISTING:

1. Status Quo – Rockin’ All Over The World
2. Boomtown Rats – I Don’t Like Mondays
3. Elvis Costello – All You Need Is Love
4. U2 – Bad
5. Beach Boys – Good Vibrations
6. Queen - Bohemian Rhapsody
7. Queen - Radio Gaga
8. David Bowie – Heroes
9. The Who – Won’t Get Fooled Again
10. George Michael – Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me
11. Paul McCartney – Let It Be
12. Crosby, Stills & Nash – Teach Your Children
13. Neil Young – Nothing Is Perfect (In God’s Perfect Plan)
14. Hall & Oates with Eddie Kendricks - Get Ready
15. Hall & Oates with Eddie Kendricks & David Ruffin – Ain’t Too Proud To Beg
16. Hall & Oates with Eddie Kendricks & David Ruffin – My Girl
17. Bob Dylan, Keith Richards & Ron Wood – Blowing In The Wind

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