Top Of The Pops Volume 92: Various Artists - Pickwick 1985

I'll own up to having bought this one quite early on during my 'research' for this blog but I decided I'd keep it back to be the 101st, and last, entry. There are a number of reasons for this. Firstly, I genuinely didn't know that the Top Of The Pops series was still a going concern as late as 1985. I'd assumed the all conquering 'Now' series would have steamrollered them into the dirt long before then, but in hindsight I guess there should have been just as much of a market for low budget alternatives to 'Now' in 1985 as there would have been to the K Tel compilations that were all the rage in, say, 1973. 

So maybe my surprise was misplaced. A little research though shows that the series HAD effectively ended in 1982 after 91 volumes and that this entry was a 'back from the dead', one off designed to test the waters and see if there was still a market for these things. Sadly, it would appear that there wasn't and this is where the series finally bit the dust so it seemed a fitting album to end on myself.

Secondly, looking back over the 100 albums that came before it, it would seem that if there was a 'golden decade' for all these budget albums it would have been the seventies. There aren't that many here from the decades either side, and while I will admit my own personal preference played in part in choosing which of these records (and, more often than not, their covers) that I wanted to write about, it may have skewed the sample toward that decade. This though was never my aim. I don't think I've reviewed anything later than 1985 in any case and so maybe it's equally fitting that this acts as a full stop. I'm pretty sure Top Of The Pops Volume 92 wouldn't have been the last record ever released that could have qualified for this blog and that there are plenty of post '85 discs gathering dust out there, but by using a bit of artistic licence I can pretend that there aren't and this is the last. And why not? It's my blog, I can do what I want.

In any case, like the eight track cartridge, the cassette and the VHS tape before them, that once ubiquitous low budget album has become an increasing rarity in charity shops these days. New vinyl may have found an audience, but few charity shops seem keen to give away space for such large items that probably provide a minimal return anymore. So much so I think I'd have struggled with this blog if I'd started it this year instead of last. But whatever, something is definitely being lost; these records are disappearing like dodos and, with music shifting online, nothing is replacing them.

The third - and most personal - reason for leaving this 'till last is that 1985 was a very good year for me. I remember it well; with a good set of O levels behind me and A levels still a year away it was a year of sheer lack of responsibility and freedom I've not experienced since.  And though I don't pretend to like them all I can say that hearing every song on this album in its original form has the capacity to unlock a memory from that year. I got absolutely shitfaced drunk for the first time in 1985 and 'Let's Go Crazy' was playing over the tannoy as I kneeled and hugged the pub toilet. I learned what 'unrequited' meant in 1985 and 'The Boys Of Summer' made for a perfect soundtrack to it. And so on.

For my money, such memories are far better than any memento taken by a modern day camera phone selfie. These exist only in my mind and, as their accuracy can't be challenged and disputed by recorded fact, I can burnish them until they grower brighter and more appealing the further I move away from them in time And in this way that passing of time is something I can be in total denial of, a mental state where I'm the same person I was at 17 and Linda Lusardi still looks exactly the same now as she does on the cover. "The past is a foreign country" wrote LP Hartley, "they do things differently there". He might have added "and they do it better too".  So to mark the end of this journey, I'm going to break with tradition and give a small review of each song. 

Things Can Only Get Better - Howard Jones 

Jones, along with Nik Kershaw, summed up everything I didn't care for about popular music in 1985, neither then or now. Jones' synth pop is easy to replicate, and this does a decent job, but the vocal here is leaden, making it more of an ordeal than the original was. 

You Spin Me Round (Like A Record) - Dead Or Alive 

The 'Like A Record' bit makes me smile now - how many of 'the kids' scratch their heads at this when it appears on ironic 80's compilations? As a point in fact, early into my writing of this a conversation with a young girl on the till of one of these shops went: 
Me: How much is the vinyl?
Her: Blank stare
Me: You know, the albums?
Her: Albums?
Me: (pointing) Yes, those square cardboard things in the box over there
Her: Oh. Them. I don't know. I'll ask.

I think she thought they were some kind of floor tile.

But anyway - the original of this sounded like 50 musical boxes playing at the same time over a thumping proto House beat. This does a fair approximation of the music, albeit with a number of those layers missing, but the would be Pete Burns is weedy and just sounds like Rob Brydon's 'small man in a box'. Nowhere near as majestic as the original. 

Solid - Ashford & Simpson 

I suppose this is the first real 'test' here; you're going to need some serious chops to take on Valerie Simpson and the unknown vocalist here sounds more like Marge. The music is dull and thin too with as much soul as an abattoir. 

Dancing In The Dark - Bruce Springsteen 

The vocalist here sounds nothing like The Boss and doesn't even try. Singing well behind the beat and music supplied by the Z Street Band with neither power nor drama. Awful frankly. 

You're The Inspiration - Chicago 

The eighties loved a good power ballad and any hoary old seventies refugees could get a slice of chart action if they could come up with one. Like Chicago. This version isn't a bad copy though it could do with a bit more oomph. The song remains horrible regardless. 

Just Another Night - Mick Jagger 

An awful Jagger impersonator sinks the boat before it leaves the dock. The musicians on the original included Jeff Beck, John Bundrick, Sly Dunbar, Robbie Shakespeare and Bill Laswell, so at least Jagger's rubbish song had some pedigree behind it. This one sounds like it was knocked out on a home Casio with the pre-set rhythms working overtime. Dreadful. 

Wide Boy - Nik Kershaw 

I could write tomes about how much I hated Kershaw in the eighties. The passing of time has calmed me down, but I've never liked this. Saying that, although this version does get the music more or less right, even Nik at his worst didn't sound as bad as this. 

I Know Him So Well - Elaine Paige and Barbara Dickson 

This starts of solidly enough, but as soon as it gets going all attempts to sound like Ms Paige go out the window and both she and the would be Ms Dickson harmonise as well as two siblings squabbling over the last piece of chocolate. Actually quite painful. 

Breaking Up My Heart - Shakin' Stevens 

Probably the least well known song here, the guy sounds absolutely nothing like Shaky but the relative obscurity of the song works in its favour as there's not a well known template to measure it against. 

Nightshift - The Commodores

A late hit for the band, this version starts off quite promisingly with the solo voice but then overreaches itself when the harmonies and backing music divide like cancerous cells until they're rolling around randomly like marbles on a saucer, rarely coming together into a satisfying whole
 
The Boys Of Summer - Don Henley

I'm not sure which part of this would piss Don off the most - the strangled whine that passes as his vocal or the migraine inducing, electronic clatter that passes for his drums. The original was a beautifully underwritten song of nostalgia, this is as tasty and satisfying as own brand Corn Flakes
  
Let's Go Crazy - Prince 

Ambitious, but by this stage I get the feeling that shits are not being given anymore so they go at the song like an enthusiastic covers band trying to get a wedding reception going. Not really comparable with the original other than on the basic tune and lyrics, this does at least have the honesty of knowing it's not very good and not trying to pretend otherwise. 

And so that's that. It's a shame it all had to end on less than a high, but I guess it's fitting - anything else would have fallen foul of the title I gave this exercise twelve months ago. A project of '101 Vinyl Masterpieces From Charity Shops' would take substantially longer to write. Tant pis.

Little Things: Stef Meeder - Gemini 1968

In 1934, the Austrian legal philosopher Hans Kelsen published his 'Pure Theory Of Law'. In it, Kelsen sought to site the authority of law in terms of its social origins or 'norms'. Thus, byelaws gain their authority from the norm of legislation which in turn gets its authority from the norm of parliament. And so on. Ultimately, he believed all legal power can be traced back to, and legitimised by, a single source of authority, what Kelsen termed the 'grundnorm'. Had Hans spent his time trawling through charity shop vinyl instead of worrying about jurisprudence then he may well have located the grundnorm of crap in Stef Meeder's 'Little Things'. Because if there was one shit charity shop album to rule them all, it would surely have to be this, the grundnorm from which all others trickle down in various permutations.

 

Let's start with the most obvious element - the cover.* To date we've seen any number of ropy albums trying to make themselves more sellable via sleeves of soft focus glamour shots of women showing as much skin as taste and mainstream record shops would allow. There's no such nudge nudge shenanigans here though is there? The folk behind this have cut straight to the chase and said 'here's a pair of big tits'. You can criticise it for it's cynicism and you can criticise it for it's sexism, but for my own part I find myself praising it for its honesty - that woman and her breasts have clearly got nothing to do with the music (and trust me, they haven't) and all they're doing is crudely pushing sex to sell the album the way certain top shelf magazines use photosets of naked young women to sell their articles on cars and steam trains.

 

Then there's the music - again, it's all based around that patron saint of charity shop records Laurens Hammond and his eponymous organ, but to ramp up the Hammond quotient to the max, 'Little Things' is not little at all - it's a double album. That's right, what we have here are four sides of Hammond music - almost 90 minutes of the stuff - for double your listening pleasure. And yes, it follows/sets the usual pattern of a highly eclectic mix of familiar, popular tunes ('King Of The Road', 'Blueberry Hill', 'Yesterday') with Euro unfathomable songs ('Soep Met Speldjes', Muss I Den Zum Stadtle Hinaus', 'Froken Fraken' etc.) that I wouldn't recognise if I fell over them in broad daylight, played as medleys in clusters of three or four. Not that the source material matters all that much - this is a purely instrumental affair with Meeder's Hammond rendering them all in an Esperanto-like uniformity that transcends all borders.

 

Because as far as that music goes, the credit on the inner sleeve just about sums it up - 'Stef Meeder, Hammond Organ with Rhythm Accompaniment'. Meeder's organ plays the main melody in a surprisingly subdued way that buzzes like a lazy hornet trapped in a tin bucket, the drums pat out a light shuffle and the bassist plays simple scales in the same key. That's it really, a vaguely jazzy, wine bar sort of music that's not unpleasant at first, but then as it continues in the same relentless way over virtually every single track, it's a repetition that first gets boring and then gets irritating before we get to the end of side one.

 

And that's my biggest beef with it; there's not much light or dark on 'Little Things', no variation in volume or tempo, only a monotonous, monotone drone that burbles away in the background like two people talking too loudly behind you on a long train journey but not loud enough that you can actually understand everything they're saying. And with nothing much to engage with, there's not a lot to enjoy. You could play it as background music to blot out the silence, but to sit and actively listen to it is as satisfying as eating dust - there's simply nothing there to get your teeth into. Which perhaps explains why they thought they needed a cover like that to 'sex it up' a bit; listening to the whole of this in one sitting is something to be endured rather than enjoyed and - by god - I was glad when it was over.

 

 

* Regarding that cover, regular readers will remember that we've met that couple before on a previous Stef Meeder album, only there the woman had her top on. What's interesting (to me anyway) is that there's another Meeder album available ('What Now My Love') that uses an image from that same photoshoot. Only this one not only shows some generous side boob, but the bloke looks like he's sporting a rather obvious erection in his shorts too. Make of that what you will.

 

Hammond Disco: Duke Grant - Stereo Gold Award 1976

Third time up for Duke Grant and his organ and that's twice more than I originally planned. By all accounts though, the man has only released three albums and so with two down and with this in the crate it seemed a shame not to go on and complete the hat trick; we've had Hammond Gold and a Hammond Party and now it's time to get down at the Hammond Disco. To be honest, from that title and cover picture in (which I'm betting wasn't snapped at Studio 54) I wasn't expecting all that much and, as far as that expectation goes, I wasn't disappointed, but I will say that of his three albums, this one is probably the best.

 

And one of the reasons it is the pick of a bad bunch is - ironically - because the Hammond isn't the focal point of it all. Perhaps realising that a Hammond lends itself to being a lead disco instrument about as well as a tuba does, there's an embellished backing here that goes beyond Grant's usual trio. The percussion and drums sound still like a pre-set organ rhythm but there are guitars and saxophones and live bass guitars swimming around in the mix too and they add a dimension sorely lacking from his previous efforts. While it does add colour to the palette though, the ingredients are a bit randomy and a bit thrown together, meaning it lurches on stilts where it should groove on a rail.

 

In fact, that 'disco' title is rather misleading altogether; true, some of the tracks on this (there are only seven) are bona fide early disco classics ('The Hustle', 'Never Can Say Goodbye', I'm On Fire' which, fair enough too, would have been fairly cutting edge in 1976), while others 'Salsa Woman', 'Del Sengo') are most definitely not early disco classics; they appear to have been written to order and suffer for it.  But despite all the trimmings and trappings, this is not what I would call 'disco' music. In fact, the overall sound has more of a would be funky blaxploitation feel to it, albeit one from the lower end of the barrel and swimming in the murk of a jam session where nobody really knows what the others are doing. Saying that, it's better than I expected, but as the Duke Grant bar had previously set close to ground level, that's not saying much. But it's nice to see him going out on a high of sorts, even though I can confidently say I'll never knowingly listen to this again for as long as I live.

Bridge Over The Genius Of Simon & Garfunkel: The Tony Mansell Singers - Stereo Gold Award 1972

The third Simon and Garfunkel covers album I've come across (and to be honest, that's three more than I ever knew existed prior to starting this blog), but surely the winner of 'the most literal album cover' prize - I mean, there's a bridge, there's rough looking water and there's a couple standing on that bridge over it. Genius. Except it's not; in depicting the metaphor of the song in a literal way it's kind of missed the whole point, which is the promise to provide emotional support during bad times. But no matter - if that was the only thing about this that missed the target then we'd be doing well, but unfortunately it's not. Not by a long shot.

Let's start with the tracklist, in amongst the usual 'Mrs Robinson' and 'Sounds Of Silence' suspects, two illegal aliens (wisely left off the front cover) stand out like blood on whitewash - 'Granma Pepper' and 'The Longest Day'. The former is a tale about a pipe smoking octogenarian bootlegger who rides a goat while the latter is an end of days, Book of Revelation type affair of doomy preachers, the sun and moon hanging in the sky side by side and snow falling on days when it's 100 degrees. Both are delivered in a rollicking, barn dance kind of way and neither rank amongst Paul Simon's better known songs. Or even amongst Paul Simon's songs at all - we're on the Stereo Gold Award label here and so my regular readers will have guessed that both of these efforts were penned by L Muller up to his usual cash in tricks.* I'm not saying that they aren't as good as the rest of the Simon & Garfunkel songs, I'm saying they're not good full stop. They aren't in any way keeping with Simon's writing and you couldn't even see them as pastiche or parody - what they are is f*#+?%£g awful; surely nobody who bought this album on the strength of the title would have either expected or wanted crap like this?

What of the rest of it? Well song one, side one aims straight for the stars by taking 'Bridge Over Troubled Water' head on, which is unwise. But what's even more unwise is its attempt to stay as faithful to the original as it can. That would be a plateful of trickiness for anyone to cope with but those Tony Mansell singers en-masse can neither compete with Garfunkel's choirboy soar or even play in the same ballpark; the best they can manage is a wince inducing squawkfest of clunking harmonies that drown the lyric in a sack of clue free over ambition. Perhaps recognising a lost cause when they see one, for the remainder the ensemble stray from the familiar and offer up a unique take on the songs in a cacophony of sound that at times sounds like it's being strangled out of home made instruments with the percussion supplied by someone hitting  tin can with a pencil; it sounds like Simon and Garfunkel left out in the rain.

Even that could have been an interesting proposition if there was intent behind it, but there's not - the stuff on this is the result of incompetence and it sounds bad because it is bad; badly sung, badly played, badly arranged and badly produced with classic song after classic song being put through the shredder to no good purpose other than to get a cheap cash in into the shops.  I'll admit that the closing "Homeward Bound" is an interesting take in that it has a skitterish, mutant folk feel that wouldn't have been out of place in 'The Wicker Man' or on a 60's Giallo soundtrack. Again though, although it's the only thing on this that does bear repeating I can't see it as anything but a fluke, and even if it wasn't it's still way too little way too late and it does precious little to elevate the catalogue of horrors that have gone before it. About as bad as these albums get.


* For those who are not regular readers, then firstly shame on you, but by way of explanation L Muller is the shadowy figure behind the Stereo Gold Award label who has already written songs for Jimi Hendrix, Burt Bacharach and Glenn Miller, as well as arranging popular tunes by Tchaikovsky, Mozart and Dvorak; there's a good compilation there somewhere.

One Day At A Time: Father Francis - Jungle Records 1979

I'll own up to a certain level of mischief making in lining this one up in my crosshairs. After all, we've already met Father Francis once before and I'm well aware of what his shtick is - this might be Volume 4 of 10, but I was neither hoping nor expecting that his earlier works might cast him as the spiritual successor to Nick Drake. No, what caught my eye mainly was the back cover and the reveal that this is the Father's 'Christmas album', and as at the time of writing Christmas is only a few weeks away, it seemed fitting.  The problem is though that it's only partly a Christmas album; half the songs on it (the whole of side one in fact) have got nothing to do with Christmas whatsoever, and even some of the ones on side two that are meant to only have a tenuous link to the festive season ('Bambino', 'Amazing Grace').*

Apart from all that, I can report that from the creepy cover kids in, it's very much business as usual. Francis still doesn't have much of a voice and both his and the band's playing is competent rather than great, though once again he goes at each song with an honest amateurishness that never tries to pretend it's anything other than it is. However, the enthusiasm in that honest amateurishness is not contagious and, as before, much of this stuff is cloying, sing-song sentimentality (his versions of 'One Day At A Time', 'You Needed Me' and 'Four Strong Winds' in particular) that clogs up my ears like fat in an artery. Meanwhile, the 'Christmas side' is cheerless and po-faced enough to make Cliff Richard fidget and itch to get the Slade records out. Not for me I'm afraid.

 

* The other thing that amused me was the order form brochure in the inner sleeve that reveals the Father to have more merchandise for his fans than Taylor Swift, though even Taylor doesn't have a small stuffed version of her you can hang from your guitar neck. I wonder how many Christmas stockings had one of those in them back in the day?

Dance To Beatles Hits In The Glenn Miller Sound: The Hiltonaires - Stereo Gold Award 1971

Well, where to start with this one? OK, there's the title for one - 'Dance To Beatles Hits In The Glenn Miller Sound'. That's clear enough I suppose, but then so is 'Green Pig With Three Heads In A Tutu'; doesn't make it logical though does it? I mean, who thought this would be a good idea - to play Beatles songs in the style of a 1940s Big Band? There's no logical connection is there? No lightbulb over the head moment of clarity where you can see what they're getting at (and I'm afraid that remains a closed book to the end). That's one thing anyway, but then I find that song one side one is 'Moonlight Serenade', a Glenn Miller hit played in the Glenn Miller style. Nothing to do with The Beatles at all. It doesn't add to the clarity.

 

And then there are three other tunes on this ('Bird Cage Walk', 'Londonderry Air' and 'Diamond Rock') that have nothing to do with either The Beatles or Glenn Miller save the fact they're played in Miller's style - they are new compositions credited to one 'Bill Holcombe'. Two of them are absolutely rotten, hamfisted pastiches of big band while 'Birdcage Walk' is simply a minor rearrangement of 'Chatanooga Choo Choo', a tune associated with Miller though credited here solely to Holcombe. All of which I find totally bizarre, but as this is on the Stereo Gold Award label then maybe I shouldn't be too surprised; after all, they've got form in this type of skulduggery and, true to that form, L Muller gets a credit here too. But whatever the ethics of it all (which I'm not going to go into again), it does make that title highly misleading and leaves the listener all at sea.

 

Of the songs that are from The Beatles, then yes they are arranged in a 'Big Band' style with a clarinet and/or saxophone leading the charge, but that's where the positives end. For a start, most of selections are a curious choice; 'Yesterday', 'Hey Jude', 'Michelle', 'Let It Be' all have a slow, melancholy air in their original form and don't readily lend themselves to a Big Band makeover. The results are overcooked and messy, holing the atmosphere of the originals well below the waterline and they're left to sink in the waters of their own hubris  In fairness, the opening track (a tag team medley of 'Moonlight Serenade' and 'Something') does at least offer up something different and interesting that's perhaps true to the promise of the cover, but the exercise is not repeated again; the rest of the album is made up of stand alone tracks.

 

'I Want To Hold Your Hand' and 'A Hard Day's Night' carry more promise, but The Hiltonaires don't so much drop the ball as fail to find it in the first place with their cramped and way too busy arrangements that leave no room to breathe, let alone a solid beat to dance to. 'When I'm 64' or 'Maxwell's Silver Hammer' and the like would have been better choices by far, but too late now. To provide the death blow, the Tony Mansell singers are back to supply the vocals and they're just as flat and toneless as they were on the Burt Bacharach album, taking the same cavalier approach to beat and melody which, although may be just down to Holcombe's arrangements, end up sounding like they don't have a clue what they're singing and are just making up the tune as they go along. Maybe this would have been more tolerable if it had been all Beatles songs, but as it stands this is a hideous mash up that never manages to convince that it has any real idea of what it's trying to be except to act as a cheap cash in on The Beatles' name. But if I don't know what it wants to be, I can tell you what it is, and that's a frankly quite painful listen that puts both Miller and The Beatles through an aural mangle that neither deserve.