115. S'Express - Theme From S'Express (Rhythm King)

One week at number one on 14th May 1988

Bill Drummond once argued that anybody could have a number one in 1988, and it felt as if he had a point. There have been few moments in music business history where non-musicians could grab the top spot without the benefit of a major label strategy or a team of stylists behind them, but 1988 was an exception. Perhaps the punk rock dream had finally been realised. 

Except that none of the freakiest of these freak number ones, often released on indie labels, sounded anything at all like punk rock. There was no fury, disillusionment or thrashed guitars on offer; instead, the past was burped up on top of House grooves, and represented on television by either a DJ miming their day at “the office”, or a bunch of faces plucked from the latest dancefloor. A casual onlooker might think that the only thing these artists had in common with punk was the volume (and strength) of hair product they used.

Which could be true, except I don’t think that Punk Rock and British House culture were as far detached as they seemed. The Clash begat Big Audio Dynamite, after all, who were one of the first groups out of the traps to use loops and crude samples. Combined with that, many of the DJs didn’t emerge out of the High Street nightclubs of Britain; they emerged from the leftfield, bringing a diverse record collection and a do-it-yourself mentality, and the attendees frequently had an awkward but entirely self-styled glamour.

At the risk of complicating things, however, Mark Moore of S'Express was possibly one of the less marginal DJs. He had already achieved acclaim at the mixed/gay night “Asylum” at Heaven in London, whose style took on board the electronic edges of post-punk and House music. That instantly gave him an edge and a sense of flamboyance many of his contemporaries lacked. If Tim Simenon made shapes with his hands next to street graffiti and M|A|R|R|S’s in-person appearances on British television were practically non-existent, S’Express presented Britain with a camp, frivolous image – one of bright make-up, lame, thick eyeliner and a dependance on the cheap, thrift-store availability of the past (whether that involved the records or the clothes). If a lot of emerging House music DJs wanted to be seen as credible artists, Moore primarily seemed to want to prove that he was having fun and could also provide fun; S’Express dressed up for Top Of The Pops, laughed and sniggered, winked at the cameras, and pouted and beckoned like pied pipers (actually, some photos of the German disco ensemble Silver Convention show considerable similarities).

The music itself mirrored their image and attitude. On “Theme From S’Express”, Moore was never going to sample James Brown or Public Enemy if an irresistible riff from Rose Royce was there waiting to be grabbed, so a sample from “Is It Love You’re After” – a huge hit and not a funk or soul deep cut – is used as the central hook. It’s placed neatly over an acid rhythm, combined with prominent doses of cult psychedelic funk track “Crystal World” by Crystal Glass (I am proud to own a copy of this myself) and a brew of other sources, credible and incredible (it’s flash-in-the-pan US pop star Stacey Q, rather than some obscure soul singer, gasping “overdrive”, for example). It’s the sound of boundaries being pushed to one side, of frivolousness and silliness having a place alongside the credible suspects.

None of this made it an expensive pop project; the mere fact that the hi-hat sound was created with a can of hairspray was entirely a method of convenience (though if you weren’t told, it’s not even as if you’d notice). Moore simply didn’t have the equipment to make a satisfactory approximation of the noise any other way. The group’s thrift store clothes were, likewise, often a result of simple budgetary choices.

The end result is actually, for all its irreverence and scattergun focus, the most pop of all the House music tracks we’ve heard so far. It’s the sound of an ecstasy tablet being washed down with a glass of Cava, of your inner child allowing yourself to raid your older sibling’s abandoned suitcase of seventies clothes, of the once-loved records you left up in the loft being mixed with the vinyl you bought last week.

Pop music is rarely inclusive – the whole point of a pop idol is to give the ordinary pleb something to worship or desire – but the most punk rock thing about S’Express isn’t just their cheapness (in the best sense of the word) but their lack of snobbery and their relatable chaos, their understanding that while current trends and fashions bring joy, that's also true of the things from our childhoods we might have cast off into the cultural beyond. As one sample tumbled into another on their record, so too did their Top Of The Pops appearances revel in the sense they were getting away with something; a group of friends thrown together by a strange set of circumstances gurning and grinning like cheshire cats.

114. The Sugarcubes - Deus (One Little Indian)

Three weeks at number one from 23rd April 1988

Over the years, drivers on the A38 road from Willand to Taunton have reported the appearance of a bedraggled, curly haired gentleman with a torch. Sometimes the man has been reported to cadge a lift, throughout which he grumbled morbidly about historical road fatalities in the area. In others, he apparently disappears before the driver’s eyes, frequently after a near-collision.

All this would be odd enough by itself where it not for his appearance and garb, which made him seem, to all intents and purposes, like a modernised version of the Greek God (with Celtic origins) Telesphorus; a deity who was historically portrayed in grey hooded garments holding a lantern. It was as if time had lowered his status, or changed him or perhaps our perceptions of him; from respected God with a way-bearer's flame to common hitch-hiker holding an electric torch filled with Ever Ready batteries, begging for help. Seemingly even deities can get demoted.

I think about this version of Telesphorus a lot, more perhaps than I should; after all, he’s probably just a figment of tired and overheated human minds, brains whose wiring has snagged and is pulling on ancient memories buried deep in their DNA. But what if he’s real? That just makes me feel concerned for the poor deity. People seem to report finding him in a freezing cold or drenched state, and that’s no way for Gods to carry on.

In The Sugarcubes track “Deus”, on the other hand, Bjork tells us “Deus does not exist, but if he does…” before speculating on what God might look like, deviating away from any stereotypical descriptions. Throughout the song we learn that not only does he have a proclivity for putting people in bathtubs and “making them squeaky clean – really clean”, he also has sideburns and a quiff. “I was surprised – just as you would be,” Einar tells us, reasonably enough.

In an interview with Record Mirror in April 1988, the group explain things further – well, almost. “He lives up in a cloud. He's not a very interesting person,” Einar said. “He’s sterile,” Bjork added.

After spending some time considering whether Lofty out of Eastenders might be a God (well, he did record this) Bjork finally clarifies: “Mr Deus is just one of many gods. He's not special . . . Except for his sideburns and quiff!”

There has been much speculation from fans over the years that there’s a deeper meaning to this record, and it’s actually about the perversity, controlling authority and banality of the monotheistic Gods, and that also seems like a fair interpretation, but above all else, the song is mostly surrealistic flights of fantasy; a particular and unusual God built and created by a rock group, created because they were in a position where they could do it and people would listen. Therein lies the double-bind; Deus does exist, because he’s on this record. You can’t uncreate a myth.

112b. Wedding Present - Nobody's Twisting Your Arm (Reception)

 

One more week at number one on 16th April 1988

You can't keep a brilliant track down it seems, and The Wedding Present returned to the number one slot for a further week once Erasure's sales weakened.

As ever, we will use this as an excuse to look at what was happening lower down the charts.

17. Danielle Dax - Cat House (Awesome)

Peak position: 2

"Baby baby you're my heart's desire/ got my engine going and my pants on fire".

Seldom did a track in 1988 burst out of your stereo with a sexual statement of intent as direct as that. This phase of Danielle Dax's career is truly fascinating, because while you can reference its gothic edge as well as the glam and faintly psychedelic elements, the simple truth is that it's old fashioned rock and roll sass on a low budget as well. The honking one-note sax riff here hints to that, but so too does - and I almost dare not say this - the almost Meatloafian tail end to the verses just before the chorus kicks in. And if you don't think that kind of camp, biker rock element exists in "Cat-House", just listen to the way Danielle sings "He's the one with my magic key/ knows my road from A to Z" and try to imagine Cher singing it in biker gear. Far fetched? I rather thought not.

So "Cat-House" is ultimately camp, silly, trashy, hard-edged and sassy all at once, and was a much bigger deal at the time than you'd possibly imagine, despite the fact that a lot of elements of it seemed faintly out of step with everything else in 1988. A big part of that is down to the chaos of the chanting chorus,  which sounds incredibly "alt" even if the surrounding elements of the track aren't always so, and the fact that Danielle sells the song incredibly well. That so many people expected her to become a fully fledged pop star should probably surprise nobody.

20. Coco Steel & Lovebomb - The Sound of Europe Part 1 (Instant)

Peak position: 20

With a backbeat that almost (though not quite) resembles John Hawkins "Freestyle" (later sampled by Primal Scream for "Loaded") and a less busy, more freeflowing style, "The Sound of Europe" seems like the future of Dance music as it would become - and indeed, Coco Steel & Lovebomb would probably play more of a part in that than many of the groups we've covered so far.

Still, the sampling on display here is really risky, with instrumental segments of Imagination's "Body Talk" taking front and centre at various moments. "The Sound of Europe" has somewhat evaporated from view in the years since - to the extent that I had to upload it to YouTube myself years ago - and I have to wonder if somebody noticed and it received an old-school copyright strike. 

21. The Man From Delmonte - Will Nobody Save Louise (Ugly Man)

Peak position: 21

Infamously managed by Jon Ronson before he became a successful journalist and writer, The Man From Delmonte were a Manchester band with their heads firmly in the indiepop era - no electric organs, funky drummer beats or ecstacy tablets for these chaps, thank you, they were happy enough to tend their catchy sixties melodies instead. Fronted by the effervescent Mike West (son of Australian author Morris West) they oozed a carefree uncool which was as thrilling to some indie pop-pickers as it was alienating to others.

Channel 4's "The Chart Show" seemed unusually keen on them, and "Will Nobody Save Louise" achieved some mainstream exposure as a result. It didn't result in significant sales, unfortunately. Their sound landed rather late in the day when this kind of unapologetic dorky outsider merriment was starting to lose ground, and while they would retain a loyal cult audience, their pure tradness meant that they would never become a serious proposition.

22. The Fizzbombs – The Surfin' Winter EP (Calculus)

Peak position: 16

26. Crime And The City Solution - On Every Train (Grain Will Bear Grain) (Mute)

Peak position: 26

Nick Cave's ex-partners in crime return with a shuffling, hypnotic and faintly sinister pean to lust, love, memories, obsession and God knows what - the code is unforgiving and possibly deeply personal. The song remains firmly on track, never shifting course, only picking up speed as it continues, then leaving the idea behind as it halts.

28. Close Lobsters - the Janice Long Session (Night Trax)

Peak position: 28

For the full charts, please go to the UKMix Forums

Number One In The National Charts

Pet Shop Boys: "Heart" (Parlophone)

113. Erasure - Ship Of Fools (Mute)

One week at number one on 9th April 1988

This is the first time Vince Clarke has been number one on the NME Indie Chart since 1983, when The Assembly reached the top spot with “Never Never”. It feels as if the cultural bulldozers have flattened the land and rebuilt on it twice over since then; in Indie terms, he was sharing chart space with anarcho-punks, Oi! urchins, Toyah and Tom Robinson when we last discussed his work in depth – in mainstream terms, that moment also coincided with Culture Club being the dominant popular force, and Slade having an unexpected comeback. Makes you think.

Of course, it’s not Clarke’s fault that the eccentricities of the NME Indie Chart placed some fairly significant Erasure records outside the number one spot (“Sometimes” only just missed out) but it isn’t an exaggeration to say that he also spent a lot of time in the long grass. After Yazoo split, he embarked on dead-end projects which (The Assembly aside) either didn’t sell or didn’t get off the ground, then launched Erasure who found themselves unexpectedly cold-shouldered by record-buyers. Even “Oh L’Amour” couldn’t get inside the national Top 75, leaving Dollar to walk off with it under their arms to turn it into a hit instead (and if Vince Clarke seemed faintly passé in 1986, then what the hell were Dollar? Truly, this feels incomparable – imagine The Springfields having a hit with a Ray Davies flop in 1964.)

By 1988, though, the pair were sprinting towards their imperial phase and just about any single they put out was assured a high chart placing. “Ship Of Fools” was the first to be taken from the explosively popular “Innocents” album, and in a strange way offers a handy symmetry, in that it sounds closer to The Assembly’s only single than perhaps anything Erasure had done so far. Both songs have a creaking, autumnal atmosphere – gentle melodies and lingering, airy notes underlining despair and tragedy. Where “Never Never” is about romantic regret, though, “Ship Of Fools” feels sociologically driven in a weirdly non-specific way.

The first time I heard it, I assumed Clarke was riffing off The Beatles “The Fool On The Hill”. The lines “The flowers and the trees are encapsulating me/ And I go spinning” are probably responsible for that, but the rest is strangely repetitive and vague, focusing constantly on the “baby of the class” who “didn’t know that one and one was two/ two and two were four”. There’s really very little to it beyond that, and you’re tricked into believing it’s lyrically richer because the arrangement does most of the work – a filmic, steadily building, occasionally almost organic sound which gets the synthetic strings out surprisingly early but still visits new places with them by the fade-out. It’s a far cry from his earliest work, coming across like a soothing lullaby to life’s misfits, a parent rocking a cradle to comfort their child’s disappointment.

As a teen, I related to it on a very obvious level. We had a late August baby in our year at school who was cursed with a mind which contained persistently naive ideas; the kind of child who, if he read a Judge Dredd comic strip that lunchtime, had managed to convince himself the story might be not only possible but actually real by three o’clock. He was also short and skinny, and while he was friendly and surprisingly good at keeping himself out of trouble, always looked faintly lost at the periphery of the playground. He joined in but was never really at the centre of anything that went on – a mid-field slogger, a bit-part character in games and social interaction.

He grew quieter as the years went on, clearly understanding that every time he opened his mouth, he exposed himself to ridicule from both kids and teachers alike. I immediately associated him with this song; he wasn’t a vindictive or bratty teen. Shouldn’t there be some kind of prize for that? It’s not as if I always managed to pass that test myself. He was a trier who had genuine personal qualities most of my friends didn’t have, but people were too busy laughing at his feeble misunderstandings to notice.

It’s him I saw in my mind’s eye whenever this song played (and it still is). And perhaps not just him, but all those other meek, good-natured kids who did their best, failed most of their exams, and were released without praise or acknowledgement to employers who probably had them pegged as eternal mail-frankers, coat checkers or goods packers, never asking the obvious question: “What does this person want out of life? What else can they do?” At least the school bullies and delinquents occasionally got special attention in 1988. Quiet, dumb nobility did not result in any extra coaching.

112. Wedding Present - Nobody's Twisting Your Arm (Reception)

 

Three weeks at number one from 19th March 1988

Sometimes – often, in fact – I find myself wondering what “pop music” is, and what the word really means. If you want to be blandly factual about it, it just means “popular”; so one week pop music could mean Laurie Anderson’s “O Superman”, the next “I Should Be So Lucky” (XTC’s single “This Is Pop” seems to favour that notion). On the other hand, if you want to get scientific and separate the concept away from freak breakout Death Metal hits, there’s probably something to be said about the fluency of the melodic formation, about how strictly the song keeps to agreed time signatures or templates, rather than pulling them to pieces like the excesses of prog or jazz.

Our last entry on Bomb The Bass’s “Beat Dis” did find me asking a few questions, I must admit. While Tim Simenon is hardly Miles Davis, that single does sound like the audio equivalent of a hyperactive but purposeful man throwing paint at a canvas, using repetition to an extent, understanding symmetry, knowing what he wants to get at the end of it, but eschewing ideas like verses, choruses and middle eights for a free-form splurge over a hooky groove. Is THAT pop? Well, it earned a silver disc and was inescapable for the whole year, which is more than “O Superman” managed, and yes, I instinctively understood it as a teen – but it doesn’t adhere to “the rules”.

The indie charts are supposed to be the place where rules go out of the window and innovators can experiment in their labs before the better ones are poached by a major label. The problem here is, things are unpopular or marginal for all kinds of reasons, and that can be because they’re difficult to immediately understand, far too ahead of their time or, actually, rooted so far behind in the past that they may feel antiquated. Until 1988, when the tide began to turn, I would argue that the indie listings have often been surprisingly anachronistic in nature; the retirement home for fading sub-genres, owing obvious debts to punk, psychedelia, sixties pop, and even folk.

The Wedding Present are an interesting case in point. When they first emerged, the music press did not describe them as forward thinkers, but a glorious return to pre-eighties values – of “buzzsaw” guitars, pop-punk melodies, realistic, earthy home-spun truths of love affairs gone awry set to a melodic thrash. The only way the group were ever aligned with any projected future was by being feted as “the next Smiths”, with David Gedge cast as some kind of Agony Uncle for heartbroken youths everywhere.

This needn’t necessarily be a problem. From skiffle onwards, pop music history has been littered with traditionalists leaning on the stylings found in old songbooks. It can be a serious disadvantage when there’s an absence of commerciality, though - when they started, The Wedding Present created a fierce racket, but didn’t really seem like keen respecters of the big chorus, instead favouring the brooding, repetitive refrain.

By the time “Nobody’s Twisting Your Arm” was released, that situation was corrected. From start to finish, this single absolutely fizzes with memorable melodies as well as unforgettably barbed lyrics – the opening lines “And when I called your house/ I’m sure your sister thought that I was somebody else” feels like something from a daytime soap; almost comedic from one angle, but harshly relatable if you’ve ever experienced similar indignities. The lyrics intertwine with a tune which is fast and furious, but beneath the stroppiness lies a melody Pete Waterman wouldn’t have cocked a snook at.

That sense only gets stronger when the chorus lands, which continues the lyrical homeliness, but punches far beyond that with something which could have been from a mid-80s pop hit, if only the group had dispensed with those guitars and invested in a Roland synth and a drum machine. It’s not a million miles from a prime Motown era track in its pure rush of heartbreak and dismissal, Gedge donning a Diana Ross wig and marching off away from his tormentor like a man who knows his true worth (and it doesn’t depend on settling for being second best). Or perhaps it’s something else – maybe “Nobody’s Twisting Your Arm” is, in a sense, “I Will Survive” for indie karaoke blokes everywhere. Nobody, to the best of my knowledge, has released an electropop cover of this record, but I’ve always wanted them to.

In case anyone felt it was in danger of being too blokey, however, Amelia Fletcher of Talulah Gosh features prominently on vocals throughout, adding an effective harmony and perspective to remind us that many a woman has also phoned up a boyfriend’s house only to be given unsubtle hints by their sibling.