It was thirty years ago today

On 25 November 1984, Bob Geldof assembled the very best pop stars the UK and Ireland had to offer, and had them record a song that he and Ultravox frontman Midge Ure had written. The song, 'Do They Know It's Christmas?' came in response to Michael Buerk's harrowing reporting – broadcast on 23 October 1984 – of a massive famine in Ethiopia. The original track spent five weeks at number one in the UK charts, sold 3.7 million copies and raised some £8 million. At the time, it was the biggest-selling UK single ever, and held this record for almost 13 years. Such was the impact of the initiative, the song was re-released the following Christmas and still got to number two.

It's fair to say that Band Aid became the blueprint for all the charity ensemble records that followed; where individual singers would sing a single line each (or with one or two others), leading to a tutti chorus. Two re-recordings of 'Do They Know It's Christmas?' followed in 1989 and 2004. The new, fourth version, by Band Aid 30, has now reached number one in over 60 countries and is raising millions to fight the Ebola virus.

Many people, myself included, have raised concerns over a song about famine being invoked to raise money for an entirely different cause. The rewritten lyrics were supposed to deal with this issue, though singer Emeli Sandé subsequently very eloquently expressed her own misgivings. I would also argue that the marketing of the single has also been confusing. Downloading a single for 99p means you are paying less for it than anyone did in 1984. Who knows just how many people are therefore following Bob Geldof's mantra of "download, delete, download, again, download more copies for your mates"? It will also be interesting to see how many people buy the physical CD single (which will include the previous incarnations of the song) when it's released on 8 December. Does anyone actually buy CD singles anymore? Would a release in even more formats – say, a 30th anniversary Band Aid 7" or 12" picture disc – encourage more people to buy the song multiple times?

So while this campaign has achieved its aim of raising millions, for me, it is a nostalgic exercise. In 1984, two current pop stars were sufficiently moved to do something entirely of their own volition. No call from the UN was required. This time, the same protagonists were called on again. From a purely musical perspective, I also don't think any reissue of the song can possibly have the same impact or convey the same sense of urgency as the original version did – or as an entirely new song would. Were today's stars not considered capable of writing something in the voice of their own generation in the same way that Bob and Midge did all those years ago?

Now that's what I call a 12-inch!

Following on from yesterday's post, today I received another trio of tunes. When I started this blog, I knew that I'd unearth other gems besides the number ones. So hands up, who remembers The Lotus Eaters? They were a Liverpool-based band whose star shone brightly in the summer of 1983 (when I was still at primary school). They had one solitary hit, 'The First Picture Of You' – that reached number 15 on the chart. it reputedly received the most radio airplay in the UK that year and every time I hear it, it takes me back to seven weeks of summer holidays.

Frontman Peter Coyle has his own website, though parts of it don't appear to have been updated for some time. I believe the band reconvened for some live performances in 2010, though. Perhaps some musicians I know who were gigging around locally in the 1980s might know him or the band and can feed my nostalgia. Though the song itself is, for me, as seminal as the one hit achieved by another Liverpool band at the end of the decade – 'There She Goes' by The La's. Sometimes it's the songs on the fringes of prevailing fads and trends which ultimately linger longest in people's memories.

The other 12-inch singles in today's batch were 'Where Are You Baby?' by Betty Boo (above) and 'Don't You Want Me' by The Human League. The first of those can also be seen as ground-breaking in its own way. I remember being impressed that Betty Boo (aka Alison Clarkson) had skills in sound technology, DJ mixing, sampling and the like. Betty Boo rose to prominence when dance music was very male-dominated. It probably still is.

Regarding the Human League, as with several other singles, I had to buy three copies before I finally got hold of a copy that played without a hitch. My playable copy was a factory-sealed 2012 reissue. I need to remember that the record may be a classic, but it's a 33-year-old classic! Second-hand copies of big hits – like the Christmas number one from 1981 – won't always be in pristine condition. But in any case, I'm now slowly reaching the point where my obsession will gradually diminish. Once I've tracked down a few more synth pop classics to join The Human League and others in my vinyl vaults, I'll simply carry on collecting number ones from other decades as and when I see them.

Fourth time lucky?

After a couple of months of being busy with work, today I thought I'd give you an update and voice my frustration over my quest to acquire all the UK number one 7" singles of the 1980s in playable condition. As the rain lashes down outside on this dismal Tuesday, it's still a case of mission impossible, it seems.

As I am now addicted to vinyl, I'm also collecting 1970s classics (including number ones) too. So this morning, the postman delivered three singles: 'Pinball Wizard' by Elton John (plays perfectly), 'Night Fever' by The Bee Gees (plays perfectly) and a third single – of which I now own three faulty copies:

Ignoring the musical merits of some DJs from Rotherham sampling and mixing together some old tunes for us all to dance to at family weddings, Jive Bunny scored three UK number ones in 1989. 'Swing The Mood' was the first of them. The record is now also the only 7" I need to complete the list of the 190 chart-toppers of the 1980s.

To make matters worse, on visual inspection, every 7" in the photo looks to be in great condition for a 25-year-old bit of plastic. But I'm puzzled as to why all three copies jump in exactly the same place – at around 2:34 when Elvis sings "I'm itching like a man in a fuzzy tree". I have no idea why this keeps happening.

Relatively few records have given me any trouble since I began collecting obsessively in April of this year. Besides this record, I've probably bought second copies of four or five other 80s number ones, with some playability issues also concerning several of the 12" singles I'm also collecting. A record cleaning kit will be on my Christmas list, though for the time being, I'm taking a chance on a fourth copy of 'Swing The Mood'.

I'm grateful that the last tune I need is easy to find at a cheap price. I'm now awaiting delivery of another copy, this time on a now-defunct Belgian record label called Indisc. My hope is that a non-UK pressing of the record may make a difference and shouldn't jump in the same place as the other three. But if that blasted bunny continues to hop all over my turntable, I swear he'll end up in a stew! In the meantime, if anyone out there has any ideas about how I can clean up the copies I already have – I'm all ears.

Hooked on classics

Having established that a longstanding record shop sold no 7" vinyl at all (probably due to the paltry mark-up the seller could add), I recently annoyed my better half by ensuring that our little holiday trips took in some of the most well-stocked charity shops that North Wales has to offer! I was not disappointed.

Some shops have no vinyl; those that do have it tucked away in a basket on the floor. In one instance, alongside the novelty singles were loads of what can only be described as classics. Four or five of those pictured below were charity-shop finds for 50p each.

There was always the fear that as I collected all the 1980s number ones, I'd inadvertently start picking up other gems. Maybe it's just me and my obsession, though I always feel like I'm holding a piece of history in my hands when I find a truly iconic track for next to nothing, including:

Gerry And The Pacemakers – You'll Never Walk Alone (1963 number one) = 50p
Gerry And The Pacemakers – How Do You Do It? (1963 number one) = 50p
The Beatles – She Loves You (1963 number one) = £1.99
The Beatles – I Want To Hold Your Hand (1963 number one) = 99p
The Searchers – Needles And Pins (1964 number one) = 50p
Roy Orbison – Oh Pretty Woman (1964 number one) = 50p
Frank Sinatra – Strangers In The Night (1966 number one) = 50p

Of course, I now only need I Like It by Gerry And The Pacemakers to complete a historic chart double. As any collector knows, the Merseybeat musicians were the first act to have their first three releases hit the top spot. This feat was not repeated until fellow Scousers Frankie Goes To Hollywood did the triple in 1984. I already have all of Frankie's number ones on vinyl.

It's this obsession with pop trivia that feeds my habit and causes my partner to groan. No matter how many of them I eventually find from the 60s, 70s and 80s; number ones form a finite set of specific records. She should start to worry when I decide to collect all releases by certain artists. But those days are a long way off ... I think!

Pump up The Jam

I've just stumbled upon an article in the Daily Telegraph listing the top ten most valuable records of all time and, to be honest, it makes for predictable reading. Old and/or special-edition vinyl by what the industry now calls 'heritage artists' (The Beatles, Rolling Stones, Jimi Hendrix, Led Zeppelin and others) command the highest prices, while vinyl made while the format was supposedly dying in the 1990s is also becoming desirable. So far, so obvious.

To highlight the other end of the collectable music scale, I have toyed with the idea of creating a feature on this blog entitled either 'Nik Kershaw Watch' or 'Charity Shop Chart' to show the vinyl that is most readily available for next to nothing. The list in the article (included below) appear to confirm my suspicions of the abundance of certain records, though I personally would beg to differ that they were somehow less collectable:

Genres worth collecting:
1. Progressive rock
2. Reggae
3. Northern Soul
4. Jazz
5. Top classical soloists
 
And those not…
1. Pop music
2. Novelty songs
3. 'Unfashionable’ singers
4. 'Popular’ classical artists (such as James Last)
5. Compilations

I'm happy to be corrected on this point, but anyone who collects records from any genre or artist does so because they like what they're collecting. If you're taking your chances with music you don't like in the hope that you will make a quick buck, then you're simply chasing a trend that will eventually pass. Besides, if prog rock is so desirable, why do I waste so much time at flea markets flicking through so much Yes and Alan Parsons Project before I find any vinyl I like?

In contrast, I can well believe that Northern Soul and reggae are collectable. Frank Wilson's 'Do I Love You (Indeed I Do)', a great Northern Soul song, famously sold for over £25,000 in 2009 on 7" because there were only two copies in existence. Reggae also has a following. I would also include ska, judging by some of the prices I've seen paid online paid by people chasing records by The Specials and other acts on the Two Tone label. I was lucky and managed to bag Ghost Town and The Special AKA EP for a few quid each. Here, as indicated elsewhere in the article, I believe prices increase in relation to the disposable income of buyers of a certain age trying to reclaim their youth – and it's a period a good decade before my own teenage years. It's why people drop the Boy George and Bros and pump up The Jam instead.

Jazz and classical soloists may indeed be coveted, but they're not for me. I suspect certain recording are prized by completists collecting a performer's entire career, even if the musical notes have remained the same for hundreds of years. But for me, personally, the perceived unpopularity of pop music is great news. For as long as my pursuit of No.1s involves a genre that isn't trendy or might contain 'unfashionable singers' (call the taste police, someone) or the charity-shop fodder in the rest of the second list above; my hobby remains fun and cheap. With a bit of luck, I might even have collected all the 80s classics before people with much more disposable income than me decide they'd like to do the same.     

Good things come to those who wait

This morning I needed to get out. So I looked online for flea markets in my local area, found one, jumped on a train and checked it out. At first glance, it was the usual mix of old clothes and household tat. To make matters worse, it was pouring down with rain – so most items were covered in tarpaulin and couldn't be inspected. What vinyl there was on show was the predictable, uninspiring mix of James Last and K-Tel compilations. Things weren't looking good.

After fifteen minutes, I was about to head for home. But having had nothing to eat or drink before I'd rushed out of my flat, I decided to get a coffee from the burger van there. Behind the two guys serving, there were three crates of 12"s (singles and albums) and one little basket of 7" singles. The records looked like they had been packed away because of the rain. I asked if I could look through them from the back of their van. Bizarrely, this was the idea! 12" records were CHF 5.00 each (£3.26) and 7"s were CHF 2.00 each (£1.30), I was told. But you had to attract the guys' attention while they were serving food and drink. They turned round to you, took your cash for the records and then went straight back to their Bratwürste!

But by now, the rain was easing off and I had some serious rifling to do. Was I going to leave a pristine, 1985 German issue of the first Erasure single (Who Needs Love Like That) in the racks? Not on your Nelly Furtado! Someone else is currently trying to flog it online for £10.99. Bee Gees 12" (You Win Again)? Yep, I'll have that too. Terence Trent D'Arby's debut album (Introducing The Hardline According To ...)? Oh, go on then!

My attention then turned to the 7" singles: M – Pop Muzik, John Farnham – You're The Voice, Black – Wonderful Life, INXS – Original Sin, among others. But then things got much better:

The Assembly – Never Never was Vince Clarke's brief project with producer Eric Radcliffe (name-checked in the Yazoo album title 'Upstairs At Eric's'), featuring guest vocalist Feargal Sharkey. I've wanted this single on vinyl for years! And then ... after Wot by Captain Sensible ... there he was, staring back at me ... like a slightly more grown-up Fred Savage:

So at least now I can knock another No.1 off my list. Hurrah! This is not the UK picture sleeve. My copy is from the Netherlands. Earlier this week, I very nearly parted with seven English pounds for the UK version online. My very patient girlfriend has inevitably suffered as a result of my vinyl obsession, so when I asked her opinion concerning pricing, her actual response was:


"Well, you don't drink, don't smoke; what do you do?"


The answer, of course, is that you leave overpriced Glenn Medeiros and Adam Ant online exactly where they are. You wait for them to turn up elsewhere, first.

Nostalgia's not what it used to be

Back in early 1983, I received my first radio cassette recorder as a birthday present. My twin sister and I had been given a 'disco party' in our living room, which was great. Now, as well as being (in my eyes) a king of  hospital radio in Liverpool, my uncle had been a mobile DJ for years. So he brought some disco lights to add to the ambience – plus some posters to put on the walls. Why they were posters of Bob Seger (who I'd never heard of), I don't know. Anyway, having the same, long-since sold Hitachi TRK 5351L radio cassette recorder as my uncle was also really cool. I couldn't stop listening to the radio, Spandau Ballet were at No.1 with 'True' and life was good!

These memories came flooding back yesterday, when I received a pristine 7" copy of 'Come Dancing' by The Kinks delivered to my door for the equivalent of a couple of quid. It wasn't a No.1 hit. In fact, it only reached No.12 in August 1983. I can't even play records over here in Switzerland as I don't have a turntable – so I could only drool at the gleaming vinyl and the great condition of the 31-year-old picture sleeve. I always have to wait until my next trip to the UK before I can play my latest purchases. But I had to buy it because of the time in my life that it harks back to.

This particular song also got me thinking about the mechanics of nostalgia itself. The melody evokes my first experience of unhindered access to recorded music and the beginnings of an obsession with pop charts and classic tracks that continues unabated. But why should the lyrics – Ray Davies' homage to the bygone era of courting at dances in the '50s and '60s – appeal to me?  Well, they told a story, something most pop songs have failed to do since. But most importantly, the song randomly happened to be on the radio when I was at my most impressionable.

Everyone has their own soundtrack determined by their age and the music available to them at key times during their formative years. It's why 1983 will always be my favourite year of music and, conversely, it's why a lot of current music passes me by. It's not for me. How nostalgia will manifest itself in the future is anyone's guess. But the increase in younger people buying (new) vinyl can be interpreted as a backlash against today's omnipresent, digitalised and intangible formats. In contrast to my hefty batches of 7"s schlepped between two countries, the weight of a full or an empty mp3 player is the same. Perhaps people simply want more bulk for their buck.

I'll be visiting two more flea markets tomorrow to unearth more treasures. So far I've only had jumps/scratches with four of the scores of singles I've bought recently. I'm just happy that my musical pre-midlife crisis is proving such an easy quest to complete.

A is for Aneka

Many people set themselves daredevil tasks to complete before they reach *that* significant birthday. But my recent surprise at finding classic 7" singles in a charity shop for just 20p each meant that I am revisiting a former hobby of collecting and playing records. More specifically, I intend to collect every 1980s UK No.1 hit on 7" vinyl before I hit 40.

If you're expecting a chronological 'vinyl countdown' with a rating of each song, then you'll find this on Tom Ewing's interesting blog Popular. But in each case, enough people bought a copy of a song for it to top the charts. And once you start to collect them, you can bang on about 'Shaddap You Face' by Joe Dolce Music Theatre keeping 'Vienna' by Ultravox off the top spot in 1981 as much as you like. This means nothing to me. You can't rewrite history. I'm more interested in the resurgence of vinyl as a format, how collectable 7"s may or may not be now, as well as other trivia during my quest to tick off the chart-toppers. As a result, the aspects I cover will be as random as the order in which I acquire the 190 singles that got to No.1 in the 1980s – from 'Brass In Pocket' by The Pretenders through to 'Do They Know It's Christmas?' by Band Aid II.

So let me begin with 'Japanese Boy' by Aneka. Finding several copies of this single at a flea market here in Switzerland yesterday showed me once again that it's impossible to predict the availability of certain singles. It's easy to believe that just because a song is now widely pilloried in the UK and was also a one-hit wonder for the artist there, it would make her a rare pop pariah elsewhere. Conversely, from here in German-speaking Switzerland, I think I'll spend a very long time looking for a copy of '99 Red Balloons' by Nena in English rather than the original '99 Luftballons' in German!

But putting transnational differences aside, with the help of my better half in the UK, I've sourced most singles fairly easily and cheaply. I now only need around 60 to complete my collection. Of course, as I rifle through masses of vinyl in shops, stalls and online (admittedly, buying online is cheating); I find 70s classics that I also cannot leave behind. I'll write about those another day. In the meantime, if anyone's got a copy of The Special AKA Live! (EP) by The Specials they'd be willing to part with at a reasonable price, please let me know!

Here, rare and everywhere

As I fired off an e-mail this morning to try and reserve my next batch of nine number ones from the 1980s (plus 'Y.M.C.A' by the Village People, a chart-topper in 1979 – no collection of classic vinyl should be without it); I started to think about the concept of 'rare' records and limited editions.

As a teenager in the 1990s, I built up a small, disparate collection of picture discs, coloured vinyl and other limited editions of songs and albums that I liked, had found by chance in the plethora of record shops that existed at the time, and had no intention of ever selling. I still have them. Fast-forward twenty-odd years to today, and we have what music journalist David Hepworth calls the 'Fake Rarity Roadshow' that is Record Store Day. He notes Paul Weller's anger at those who managed to bag a copy of his limited edition 7" single and then sell it online at a huge profit. Was that not supposed to happen?

But on Record Store Day, I couldn't actually get into the one (count 'em) independent record shop in my hometown because the queue was so long and I couldn't spend the whole day waiting. So I missed out on the 7" picture disc of 'Altogether Now' by The Farm I'd had my eye on. And I certainly won't be paying up to £27 for a copy online! But someone else will. So if you release an event-led limited edition, you can't then complain about the market that this restricted availability creates!

Everything has its price. And in these days when anyone with an Internet connection and a camera can sell anything online to the highest bidder, the market can no longer be controlled by artists or record companies. I've seen this market in action even during my quest to find old 1980s vinyl. I've now collected about 75% of the 7"s I'm after. Everything is available online. As long as you're prepared to pay the asking price, nothing is truly 'rare' anymore. So my choice is to either 'cheat' and pay over the odds for the remaining songs on my list, or else carry on trawling the flea markets for gems that sellers will part with for less. My own impatience means I'm doing a mixture of both – at least up to the point where prices become exorbitant.