4545s

I was a child of the Vinyl Age.

The old 10" 78rpm discs had not long disappeared from the record company catalogues when I came along. However, it was to be a few years before I got to see their replacement, the 7" 45rpm vinyl single.

This was entirely because all we had for playing records in our house when I was small was an old wind-up gramophone ('phonograph' to my North American viewer), upon which only the old type of disc could be played.

It wasn't until about 1968 or so, when my elder brother 'donated' his old Emisonic record player to us that the wonders of the 7" single could be sampled chez nous.

He also passed some of his collection of singles from the late 1950s and early 1960s to us. Our parents (being of a much older generation) didn't care very much for them, but I took to them with a will.

The Emisonic could play LPs, but a couple of significant design defects rendered it slightly difficult. First off, the dimensions of the machine were such that you couldn't shut the lid while they played; secondly, you had to put a couple of singles underneath the LP, otherwise the damn thing caught on the lip of the cabinet. As a result, LPs took quite a while to catch on with us. Indeed, it wasn't until my father bought a second-hand Grundig radiogram in about 1972 that they came into their own (see this piece for more reminiscences about that mighty beast - the radiogram, that is, not my old man).

Their cheapness, ease of use, and their sheer 'sexiness' as objects were compelling, and remain so to this day. I have about 400 in my collection now, and I wouldn't swap them for all the iPods on your local bus.

As I've just reached the age of 45, I thought it would be the ideal time to present my 45 45s for your perusal and amazement. I could have easily chosen another 45 on top of this lot, but the line had to be drawn somewhere. Each one is special in its own way: either as a record which brings back specific memories (music is, after all, the nearest we'll ever get to a working time machine), or is just a classic which deserves its place on that basis alone.

(The discs are listed in year order, showing Title, Artist, Label & Catalogue Number and Chart Position (a (-) indicates that it didn't chart in the UK)).

1962

Telstar - The Tornados. Decca F11494 (1)

I don't know if I did actually hear this track when I was a mere infant. I think it's fairly likely, given that it would have had a hell of lot of airplay when I was three or four months old. Perhaps it lodged in my subconscious for later retrieval, because I discovered (or rediscovered) it when I was about ten, and marvelled at the sheer futuristic nature of Joe Meek's production (it was many years after that before I found out more about that strange, obsessive and - ultimately - tragic figure).

Oh, and did David Rose nick the melody for his theme to The High Chapparal?

1963

Atlantis - The Shadows. Columbia DB7047 (2)

This was one of the singles which my brother passed on to me along with his Emisonic. I fell in love with it straight away, and the combination of Jerry Lordan's tune, Norrie Paramor's arrangement and The Shads musicianship has kept it a favourite to this day.

In true time-machine style, hearing this takes me back to being about eight or nine years old in my bedroom, the Emisonic plugged into the ceiling light, looking out across the valley through the faint haze from the steelworks.

1966

Daydream - The Lovin' Spoonful. Pye International 7N.25361 (2)

And here's one that takes me back even further. I would have been about four when this was in the charts, and hearing it still evokes an image in sound, sight and smell. The sound is the song, of course; the sight is that of our tabby cat Tivvy being somewhat reluctantly wheeled up and down the front path in my little yellow and white plastic wheelbarrow; and the smell is that of clothes being boiled in the back kitchen (we couldn't afford meat, y'see).

1967

Windy - The Association. London HLT10140 (-)

I could never understand at the time - and still don't understand now - why this sublime song never charted here. It's a great vocal track, capturing the spirit of its time perfectly.

This is my Radio Luxembourg track. On those occasions when I was allowed the use of the family's new Marconiphone transistor set in bed of an evening, I'd tune around a bit, but always seemed to end up with Fab 208, where this record was played quite heavily.

1969

Israelites - Desmond Dekker And The Aces. Pyramid PYR6058 (1)

It may have been the novelty value which propelled this to the top of the charts initially. 'Reggae' and its offshoots were usually of interest only to West Indians and (latterly) skinheads, but who could resist this record? From that slow introduction into that driving groove, you'd have to be half dead not to want to move to it.

And then there were the lyrics, of course. If you understood patois, you knew them to be a tale of woe about a man struggling to feed his family. If you didn't understand...well, this song would score a high bafflement factor, and lead eventually to one of the most clever TV commercials ever aired (see it here).

1970

Labio Dental Fricative - Vivian Stanshall And The Sean Head Showband. Liberty LBF15309 (-)

When the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band was in hiatus, its master of surreality surrounded himself with some fine musicians (including his old art-school chum Eric Clapton) and produced this neat little singalong. But wait! Yes, it's basically a funny song, but the middle eight has a true beauty to it, proving that Stanshall could write very feelingly too, and to great effect.

But, what is a Labio Dental Fricative? Well, I'm afraid it's not an oral sex reference: it's the technical term in phonetics for the sound of the letter 'f'.

We're Gonna Change The World - Matt Monro. Capitol CL15653 (-)

Here's another case where I simply can't understand the record-buying public.

Here's a jaunty song (originally featured, I'm told, in a cornflakes commercial, of all things), with lyrics which have an almost revolutionary fervour, sung by one of the finest singers of the pop era...

...and, chartwise, it did a big fat zero.

But it's one of my 'time machine' discs. Hearing this takes me back to the summer of 1970, aged eight, on holiday in what was then the sleepy resort of Tywyn. I can still see the cream-coloured caravan, and hear and smell the sea.

Tell The World We're Not In - The Peddlers. Philips 6006 034 (-)

What was going on in 1970? I mean, this is the third single featured from that year, and none of them charted.

OK, The Peddlers were not a heavy-hitting chart act, but they were respected and this track got plenty of airplay. Perhaps it was too heavy on the Hammond for many tastes, but that thumping wah-wah organ was an immediate attention-getter. The whole piece swings beautifully, with a great instrumental break in the middle.

It may not have helped that the song came from a particularly cheesy British thriller movie called Goodbye Gemini (or Twinsanity if you're in the US).

1973

After The Goldrush - Prelude. Dawn DNS1052 (21)

A trio from the North East of England covering a Neil Young song. Where's the attraction?

I like a capella music for one thing, and the lead vocals of Irene Hume bring out a sort of hymn-like quality in the song. The harmonies are also very strong.

Then there's the song itself. I don't think I've ever actually heard Neil Young's own version of it, but it's one that sticks in the mind, with its three verses describing the past, the present and the (all-too-likely) future when mankind has to leave the Earth because it has fucked it over once too often.

Summer (The First Time) - Bobby Goldsboro. United Artists UP35558 (9)

Right! This is probably start giving away too much about myself.

By the time I first heard this song, I was about fourteen, and was the standard adolescent hormonal explosion (as evidenced by my rampant acne). That meant that the very storyline of this song (a seventeen year old losing his cherry to a much older woman) was enticing to start with.

But it was so well done (the song, I mean) that, even had it been about something else, I would still have loved it. The arrangements in the first half are quite sparse (acoustic guitar, piano and bongos), leading right up to the climax (if you see what I mean) where the orchestra cuts in, but tastefully, before returning to the original line-up. And throughout I can hear a single note, right up at the very limit of hearing, which emphasises the atmosphere of a hot day.

Goldsboro was infamous for such sugary ballads as Honey (which, to be fair, he didn't write), but there's nothing saccharine or cutesy-pie about this (self-penned) effort. A fine song, well sung (except for the last line before the orchestra takes over, where he sings the word "man" like a sheep - way too much vibrato) and well arranged. A summer classic.

For all that, a friend nearly ruined it for me. See here for what I mean.

1974

Autobahn - Kraftwerk. Vertigo 6147 012 (11 (in 1975))

To those who know my musical tastes, this will come as no surprise.

I'd been interested in electronic music for a long time. OK, mostly it was novelty stuff: Chicory Tip's Son Of My Father, or Hot Butter's Popcorn. But I'd also been beguiled and, truth be told, somewhat unsettled by the low-pitched hum of the electrical substation on the edge of the village that I used to walk past from time to time.

So, when I (aged nearly thirteen) first heard this track being played on the radio, I was intrigued. I knew nothing about the hinterland of these strange Germans who were producing not so much songs as sound pictures, with the sounds of passing vehicles panning and dopplering all over the stereo motorway.

The label on the single said that there was an LP, too. I had to have it. And I did, the following Christmas. That's when I heard the whole track! A twenty-two minute combination of catchy melodies, driving (pun intended) rhythms and electronic effects, combining to make the most perfect 'concept' track.

I went on to buy all of Kraftwerk's albums, but this is the track I keep coming back to.

Free Man In Paris - Joni Mitchell. Asylum AYM533 (-)

Another one which didn't trouble the chart score in the UK, but perhaps this sublime track from Court And Spark didn't make it because people had already bought the LP. And why not? It's probably this multi-talented Canadian's best (or, at least, best-known) work.

I have two distinct memories connected with this. The first was when the single was first released. In 1974, commercial radio in the UK was just getting under way and, as luck would have it, one of the first stations, Piccadilly Radio in Manchester, was receivable where I live. It was listening to the station's late evening output which introduced me to this track. I loved it immediately.

Wind forward nine years to the summer of 1983, when I found myself sitting in a room on the seafront at Aberystwyth, where I was making my second attempt to pass my first-year University exams. One glorious Sunday evening, BBC Radio 1 broadcast a recording of a Joni Mitchell gig. Free Man In Paris was on the set list, and I can still see the orange sun setting over Cardigan Bay, turning the sea a bold copper colour while I listened, enchanted all over again.

1975

Beach Baby - The First Class. UK UK66 (13)

Talking of summer sounds, there have been few better than this one.

OK, it's fake. Its origins are nearer to St. Albans than San Francisco, but Beach Baby captures that 1960s California surf vibe better than a lot of what was around at the time. Beautifully produced and scored, too.

I'm Not In Love - 10cc. Mercury 6008 014 (1)

As chance would have it, 10cc had just left UK records and signed to Mercury for their new LP The Original Soundtrack, and the second single off it was destined to be an all-time smash.

Eric Stewart's wistful yet ironic vocals, the multilayered backing and a sublime song, all combining to produce the sound of the hottest, driest summer we'd had in many a long year. The 7" version, however, wins The Judge's award for 'Most Glaringly Obvious Edit In A Hit Single'.

1976

Dancing Queen - Abba. Epic EPC4499 (1)

The Swedes were just hitting their stride at this point, and what a big step this was! The finely-honed songwriting meshed perfectly with strong performances and great production to bring another classic hit as the second hot, dry summer in a row turned towards autumn.

1977

No More Heroes - The Stranglers. United Artists UP36300 (8)

Things had started to change, though. The cosy mass-produced pop of the mid-70s was being forced back by a challenge which was all snarl and attitude.

All right, The Stranglers weren't really punks (they were a bit old for that), but their hard-edged, hard-driving pub-rock-meets-The-Doors style won favour with me in a way that the comparatively talentless Sex Pistols never could. I think it was the keyboards which did it.

This was their big breakthrough, and helped to ensure that things would never be the same again.

I Feel Love - Donna Summer. GTO GT100 (1)

This was another breakthrough. To someone with an interest in electronic music, and who had been jeered at by his metal- and prog-loving contemporaries, this record was like having several Christmasses arriving at once.

Although the direction this track came from was unexpected, in that Donna Summer had been known previously only for sub-orgasmic-groan-fests such as Love To Love You Baby, she had by now teamed up with Giorgio Moroder and Pete Bellotte (who had been behind Chicory Tip's hits) for this hypnotic groove which has, I'm told, remained a certain floor-filler ever since.

Up Town Top Ranking - Althia & Donna. Lightning LIG506 (1)

Well, so I was a sucker for novelty in some ways. But how could anyone resist two sassy Jamaican girls toasting about their night out?

Like many 'reggae' tracks, this was a composite of the riddim of an Alton Ellis song and a track by Trinity (produced by Joe Gibbs, who co-wrote this hit), with the jaunty vocals of the girls placed over the top of it.

How could it fail? It was their only hit, but it knocked the abysmal Mull Of Kintyre off the top spot, and we should praise it for that...an' ting.

1978

Isn't It Time - The Babys. Chrysalis CHS2173 (45)

Despite some radio airplay (which is how I heard it, of course, no internet in those days), this wonderful song never got the success it deserved.

I suspect this is partly because, in the paroxysms of trendiness which followed punk, there wasn't much room for power-ballad rock. For that's what this is, in a manner to which we would become all too accustomed in the poodle-perm decade which followed.

But this is just a great record. A song which tells of the passions and doubts of new love, with a highly accomplished arrangement.

Northern Lights - Renaissance. Warner Brothers K17177 (10)

Two reasons for inclusion for this, the only hit by prime exponents of the 'symphonic rock' school. First off, it's just a great song well performed: a punchy acoustic and bass intro, then on to Annie Haslam's majestic singing.

Secondly, the 'time machine' effect again. It was the summer of my sixteenth birthday, and I had just left a school in which I had spent five largely miserable years. I was free! OK, the weather was pretty crap, but that didn't matter. There was nothing I had to do, except to sign on the dole and wait for my O-level results to see if they were good enough to get me into the local sixth-form college (remember them?). A magical time.

Actually, there's a third reason, and that's a funny anecdote told by the comedian Graham Fellows. At the time, he was inhabiting his 'Jilted John' persona, and had scored a surprise hit single. He happened to be on the same edition of Top Of The Pops as Renaissance, and was standing on one stage waiting his turn at stardom whilst watching Annie and the boys performing their hit on another stage across the studio.

When singing Northern Lights, Annie Haslam would put her hands on her hips and twist slowly to left and right. Fellows/John, genuinely caught up in the song, found himself unconsciously doing the same. Haslam, spotting this, and thinking that this snotty eighteen-year-old was taking the piss, made a rather unladylike gesture towards him.

Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick - Ian And The Blockheads. Stiff BUY38 (1)

Well, I got into sixth form college. This song was part of the soundtrack of my first term there.

I have to admit that, at the time, I wasn't that impressed by the combination of white-boy funk and Essex innuendo. Also, despite the manufactured controversy around it (which was more to do with its B-side There Ain't Half Been Some Clever Bastards - "How dare they produce such filth!" - Mrs. Freda Mainpeace), it was played to death on the radio, which always turns me against a song.

Further reflection, however, places this track here as of right. Dury was a kind of genius, here producing lyrics which were the heirs to the best songs of the music halls. And the driving rhythm of Norman Watt-Roy and Charley Charles made the stylus (literally) jump out of the groove.

Rock 'N' Roll Damnation - AC/DC. Atlantic K11142 (24)

This is here almost solely for its memories rather than its qualities.

I'd got slightly into metal in sixth form, entirely as a consequence of being one of the group of about a dozen or so people who used to gather around the rather basic record-player in the corner of the Common Room. Many of them were into it, and so it got what the 'biz' would call 'heavy rotation'.

The most obsessive of the denim brigade was a boy called Andy Beresford, and AC/DC were his number one faves. So much so that this single (featuring the voice of that legend, the late Bon Scott) could be heard at least once every day during term-time.

The rest of us, of course, just used to take the piss out of him, but if he were to read this now, I wonder if he might just think that, in some small way, he's had the last laugh?

1979

Atmosphere - Joy Division. Factory FAC213 (34 (1988 re-issue))

It was, perhaps, in keeping with the constant doubts surrounding the 'good taste' of Joy Division and Factory Records that this track should be released in the aftermath of the suicide of singer Ian Curtis in 1980. But if any song could sum up what the band's image was in the minds of most people, it's this one. All the trademarks are there: Ian Curtis' quietly despairing vocals, Peter Hook's melodic bass, the synths; but mostly the remarkable production of Martin Hannett, providing a feeling of spaciousness and of a cold, stark clarity.

This single gets in here largely because I can't hear it without thinking of John Peel, to whom I owe so much in the way of his shows broadening my musical tastes.

Are 'Friends' Electric? - Tubeway Army. Beggar's Banquet BEG18 (1)

It's quite difficult to describe the impact of Gary Numan in 1979. Here was this strange, robotic figure clad in black, looking out at the world with wary eyes whilst intoning odd lyrics in a deadpan London accent.

The most common phrase used about him was "fucking weird".

This, actually his fourth single, was equally odd, but compellingly so, as it flew in the face of most of what was going on. It was over five minutes long; there was no chorus; what guitars there were were so treated as to take them off into a different dimension altogether; the lyrics were cold, paranoid, alienated. It couldn't possibly succeed at a time dominated by post-punk on the one hand and disco on the other.

It did succeed, though, and Numan eventually became the father of Industrial Music.

1980

Mirror In The Bathroom - The Beat. Go Feet GO2 (4)

I never really warmed to the whole Two-Tone thing. I think I was put off by the sight, on Regent Street in Wrexham one lunchtime, of a boy of about fifteen wearing a pork-pie hat. A ripe one he looked, too.

This track gets in, then, mostly in the 'time machine' category (of which more anon), but there was something to it which set it apart. I think it was the bass line (I've always been a sucker for good bass lines): a sort of boinging, loose-knicker-elastic feel which also had power.

The memory bit? Well, I was at the end of my time in sixth-form college (or so I thought), having just finished my A-levels. Having also just turned eighteen, it was time for me to get into the pub culture.

The Walnut Tree on Rhosddu Road wasn't the nearest pub to the college, but it was nearest good one, and the one where we were most likely to get served. This was down to a degree of latitude on the part of the licensees, Fred and Tess Pardoe. It became our 'local', and many a lunchtime would find us in there, a pint of cider (or even the dreaded snakebite!) in one hand, and a cheese and onion roll in the other.

The pub had a good jukebox as well, and in the early summer of 1980, this single was heard a great deal.

Messages - Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark. Dindisc DIN15 (13)

Another 'time capsule' one, but this might have got in anyway. It's electronic, after all.

I've never socialised much, and my friends had to persuade me to come to the end-of-term college 'disco'. We met up in The Walnut beforehand, of course, before going down the road to the college.

I think the DJ that night was the legendary Phil Easton (of Radio City in Liverpool), and one of the tracks he played was this single. I can close my eyes now and see the old Common Room, illuminated solely by disco lighting, as OMD thumped out.

This was just prior to the sight of a bunch of youths doing that awful sitting-on-the floor-and-pretending-to-row-a-boat schtick when Phil played The Gap Band's Oops, Upside Your Head. One of those boys is a lawyer now. Scary, isn't it?

This World Of Water - New Musik. GTO GT268 (31)

New Musik produced a short run of classic pop singles in 1980. This was the best of them. A good song, interesting lyrics and a classy arrangement (the transition from the middle eight into the last verse is a real thrill-up-the-spine moment for me), but it's just perfect pop all round.

Everybody's Got To Learn Sometime - Korgis. Rialto TREB115 (5)

A beautiful song by any description, but the memories! I remember listening to this late at night beaming out from BRMB in Birmingham whilst lying in a tent in a field in Herefordshire. The wider story on that experience is here.

Babooshka - Kate Bush. EMI EMI5085 (5)

Another Brimfield moment. I can still smell that plastic groundsheet...

1981

Sat In Your Lap - Kate Bush. EMI EMI5201 (11)

Yes, her again. This time from the summer of the next year, when I had finally got out of the sixth-form college which had become as stifling in its way as my secondary school had been. Once more, there was nothing to do but wait to see if my A-level results would be enough to get me to University. This track (a foretaste of the following year's The Dreaming LP) was part of the soundtrack of that summer.

Waiting For A Girl Like You - Foreigner. Atlantic K11696 (8)

Well, I got to Uni. I was now sufficiently far away from home not to have to worry too much about what other people thought. It was the chance for a fresh start...except that I was still painfully introverted, and spent much of my (disastrous) first year in my room. What made it worse was that my room was on the ground floor, on a corner of the building (which meant it had two windows), and beside a footpath. The goldfish-bowl feel was too much for me, and I kept the curtains closed for six months.

My only solace was the radio. This wasn't too promising a prospect at first, as Aberystwyth was not well served by radio. There was nothing local (it being a completely rural area), and the national stations had nothing to offer anyway.

This changed one day when, tuning through the medium wave desperate for something interesting, I caught a powerful signal playing pop music. It turned out that this was Radio Nova, a commercial station broadcasting (not exactly legally) out of Dublin. It was to be my companion for many months afterwards, and I would especially listen to its transmission of American Top 40 (hosted at that time by Casey Kasem) on Sunday afternoons.

This track was a big hit in the US at that time, so was played every week for a couple of months. It's quite possibly the greatest love song of the pop era. It has power, tenderness and yearning - what more could it need? All I needed was the girl, but that never happened.

I'll Find My Way Home - Jon And Vangelis. Polydor JV1 (6)

I don't know if this was Messrs. Anderson and Papathannasiou's intention, but I'll always associate this song with Christmas; far more so than just about any 'real' Christmas song. This was climbing up the charts in the run-up to Christmas 1981, and getting a lot of airplay on Radio Nova as a result, so I heard this a lot.

When ever I heard that line "Your friend is close by your side/And speaks in far ancient tongue", I thought of my friend Alex Greene the noted Klingonist, poet, mystic, merchant adventurer and incorrigible eccentric whose Livejournal can - I now discover - be found here.

O Superman - Laurie Anderson. Warner Brothers K17870 (2)

Speaking of strange things, what could be odder than this becoming a hit?

American performance artist Anderson created this sparse and - to be frank - slightly disturbing piece as a section of the much larger United States opus. It was picked up on by John Peel (yes, him again), and the demand was quite astonishing. Nonetheless, despite having just missed out on the Number 1 spot, it stayed in the Top 75 for just six weeks. Well, it was weird, and it was over eight minutes long, so it didn't have a lot else going for it. At least, if you bought it, you got your money's worth. Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha-...

1982

Ever So Lonely - Monsoon. Mobile Suit Corporation CORP2 (12)

Was this a sort of forerunner to Bhangra, that fusion of Panjabi traditional dance music and western instrumentation which became briefly fashionable in the late eighties?

Perhaps. What attracted me to this single when it came out was its vitality and its difference from just about anything else around at that time.

Party Fears Two - The Associates. Associates ASC1 (9)

They looked quite odd, and certainly sounded it, with Billy Mackenzie's histrionic vocals giving a lot of the drama to their records.

What really drummed this into my head though, was the fact that a loop of the instrumental section was used for years as the theme for the long-running topical comedy show Week Ending on Radio 4.

The Revolutionary Spirit - The Wild Swans. Zoo CAGE009 (-)

I never actually heard this at the time. John Peel played it a lot, but I didn't start listening to him until 1986.

In about 1992, he played it again. This time, I did hear it, and just had to try to get hold of it. This wasn't going to be easy. It had never charted, had been released on an indie label and in small numbers.

It took about five years of ploughing through record fairs in Chester, but finally I got my mitts on it...only to find that it was a different mix to the one I had heard. No matter. Eventually I got hold of the version I wanted.

So, what's so special about it? Well, it's hard to say. It's not the production - that's quite lo-fi. Nor is it the technical accomplishment of the performers - a cheap (but not unkind) laugh is to be had from hearing keyboard player Ged Quinn getting a bit ahead of everyone else in the last chorus. It's not the lyrics either, because they're quite indistinct (and I'd never found them anywhere online, either, until now).

It's just a wonderful song, performed with energy and drive. You can currently hear what I mean at The Wild Swans' Myspace site.

1983

Every Breath You Take - The Police. A&M AM117 (1)

Sting is said to be amused to the point of dumbfoundedness that so many people want this song played at their wedding. I don't blame him. It's perfectly obvious from the lyrics that it's about someone being stalked.

But, then again, it's just a great pop song, from a great LP (Synchronicity) by a great band.

There's a personal memory associated with it, though, which I might as well tell you.

I screwed up my first-year exams in University so badly that they made me wait a year before I could resit them. June 1983, therefore, found me back in Aberystwyth, staying in a room in Neuadd John Williams, which stood on the promenade, only about fifty yards from the pier.

The pier had a pub on it, and as one would expect, there was a juke-box or some other source of amplified music in it. I could hear much of what was pumped out from there from that distance, even with the window closed (I had no choice - bloody thing wouldn't open anyway).

There were three absolute certainties to be played every single evening. New Order's Blue Monday was one, Every Breath You Take was another (for the third one, see the next entry). Despite become rather more familiar with the track (or at least its rhythm section) than I would have wished in the circumstances, its greatness can't be denied.

Let's Dance - David Bowie. EMI America EA152 (1)

This was the remaining part of the pier disco triptych I mentioned a moment ago, and is in this list for that memory rather than anything else. Even hearing it now, I can see through that window onto the prom again, seeing the bright lights of the Inn On The Pier and their reflections on the waves around and below.

Waiting For A Train - Flash And The Pan. Easybeat EASY1 (7)

I travelled to and from Aberystwyth by train during this period, and this "nifty little record" (© Tommy Vance) always brings back memories of leaving Aberystwyth railway station heading towards Dovey Junction and all points east. It's a real little groover this, especially in the extended Disco Version to be found on the twelve-inch release.

Mama - Genesis. Charisma/Virgin MAMA1 (4)

Well, I got back into University in the end, but I had to resit the exams in one subject a third time in the September before that happened. This was in the charts by that time, and as a long-time Genesis fan, I wasn't quite sure what to make of it at first. The previous LP Abacab (1981) had been something of a departure, but this was a move even further away from what Genesis had been traditionally associated with.

Consider: one of the master bands of Prog, now using drum machines and a minimal, repetitive structure, topped off by a vocal which varied from the sleazy to the downright bizarre (that laugh!).

It did grab me, though, and perhaps for all those reasons.

1987

Time Stand Still - Rush with Aimee Mann. Vertigo RUSH 13 (42)

(The gaps between these singles is getting wider. This may just be because I'd moved beyond the age where singles are that significant, or it may be because the single was already starting to lose its allure generally)

I didn't hear this one at the time, coming across it only when I bought a compilation double-CD of Rush's stuff about five years later.

Rush were (and quite possibly still are) a great band, combining musicianship and intelligent lyrics in equal measure. So I knew, in general, what to expect.

I never quite expected to be blown away by this, though. But given the subject matter, it's perhaps not surprising.

I've never really decided whether it's a weakness or a strength that I have such a retentive memory. One the one hand, it's good to be able to look back, to have a stock of sights, sounds and experiences to go back to. On the other hand, I've always felt the passage of time far too sharply. This can invoke the most dreadful melancholy if I dwell on it for more than a few moments. How many years since such-and-such? Oh gods, where has it all gone?!!

Time Stand Still, as you might suspect from its title, is about trying to slow down time, to stretch experience out, to be able to live in it for a little longer. It can't be done, of course, which lends an air of desperation to it all. As my own time resolutely refuses to stand still, I identify increasingly with the lyrics, especially the last verse:

"Summer's going fast, the nights growing colder.
Children growing up, old friends getting older."

And so it goes for us all.

1992

Make A Deal With The City - East River Pipe. Hellgate (US) HG-9202 (-)

I have old Peely to thank for this one as well.

F.M. Cornog is an American singer/songwriter who, after overcoming a lot of personal demons (most of them in bottles) started to write and record songs in a very basic, low-key way at the start of the 1990s.

There is a very moving beauty to this song. The arrangement is simple but very effective, the lyrics sung with great feeling, and it comes together to make a recording to kill for.

1993

I Wanted To See You To See If I Wanted You - Moose. Cool Badge KOOL001 (-)

Peely's influence again, friends. How can we cope now that he's gone?

This beautiful slice of pure melodic pop sounds almost like country music, layering acoustic guitars and even some strings over a great melody and lyrics. Should have been a massive hit.

2003

Hurt - Johnny Cash. Universal 779982 (39)

The legendary Man In Black was near the end of his time when he made the American IV album. Illness had reduced him physically, but even so, there remained a passion in him which came out most movingly in this cover of one of Trent Reznor's most personal songs.

The first time I heard it was when I just happened to be watching a documentary about Cash one evening. It featured Mark Romanek's video for the song, recorded in Cash's home just a few months before Cash's death.

I sat there transfixed as images from the man's wild days were interspersed with those of him as a frail old man. Despite that frailty, the force that made him what he was leapt straight through the screen.

I wept. I still do every time I see the video. See it if you can.

2005

Electron Blue - R.E.M. Warner W665 (26)

R.E.M. had been around a long time, but I'd taken very little notice of them.

Then, one day in early 2005, coming back from a visit to our Rhyl office with a colleague, Radio 2 played this newly-released single. I didn't know it was R.E.M. because I didn't hear the DJ announce it, but I like to think that it wouldn't have made any difference.

Michael Stipe claims that the song's origins were in a dream he had about an electric hallucinatory drug made from light, and that seems to be borne out by the lyrics.