Three weeks at number one from 1st March 1986
At the time of writing this, I’m ploughing through Justin Lewis’s marvellous book “Into The Groove”, which performs the unenviable job of trying to tie together the hundreds of narratives around eighties music. How you remember the decade probably depends an awful lot on a wide variety of factors besides the big headline events – how old you were, where you lived, how much money you had, and ultimately what mattered to you most; the microscopic silk threads that weave in a dizzying number of directions.
It’s not that the eighties is the decade where audience fragmentation becomes the norm, but you can just about see the 21st Century and its cornucopia of unmixed, niche experiences on the horizon. Underground and DIY movements, started by people with perhaps more ideas than financial sense, and invisible to most but their small target audiences, began to feel more viable. For club music, urban pirate stations cropped up which were avidly followed by those in the know, creating surprise hit singles for artists nobody in the mainstream media (apart from the likes of James Hamilton) were writing about. Numerous low-budget indie labels, fanzines and club nights also popped up, all collectively pushing a roughly shared agenda and creating a scene which could see a good single by a relatively new band selling 10,000 copies with only minimal bites of mainstream exposure.
Amidst the avalanche of short-lived indie labels around the period, 53rd and 3rd is one which seldom seems to get written about, despite having an enormous cultural clout for a couple of years, almost exclusively releasing records by the kind of groups we would refer to as “indiepop” these days (and far ahead of bigger cult labels like Sarah Records).
Launched in Scotland in 1985 with Stephen McRobbie (of The Pastels), David Keegan (of The Shop Assistants) and Sandy McLean (of early indie Fast Product) running affairs, their sleeves were amateurish and none-more-indie, usually consisting of smudged designs in two colours. The contents inside matched the artwork, being simple, frequently fey, cheaply recorded and sometimes scratchy pop tunes performed by usually very young or naive bands. Their roster, if you could call it that, is essentially everyone any self-respecting indie kid of the era has heard of; Talulah Gosh, BMX Bandits, The Vaselines, The Pooh Sticks and Beat Happening all at least passed through. Their catalogue numbers usually began with AGARR, which stood for “As Good As Ramones Records”, thereby solidly etching a firm ambition on all their output, right in the middle of the run-out grooves.
For Stephen McRobbie aka Stephen Pastel, the enterprise might have been motivated by his recent experiences on Creation Records (although we’d have to ask him). His group had recently been booted off the label alongside a number of others during an Alan McGee organised clear-out, partly motivated by criticisms from his artists about what the label now represented and how he was handling their affairs. If Creation had once seemed like a convenient safehouse for oddballs and mavericks, the artists residing there had perhaps not appreciated how ambitious McGee truly was, which became only too apparent during the Jesus & Mary Chain’s first run of success. He suddenly stopped being the over-excitable man who folded single sleeves with his friends and associates until the early morning, and instead became a sunglasses-at-night wannabe McLaren figure.
53rd and 3rd backed completely away from grand statements and kept themselves firmly on the amateur side of the street. Despite this, their first release “Safety Net” quickly climbed to the top of the indie charts, and unlike The Sisterhood or Easterhouse before it, remained there for more than one token week, far above the current Depeche Mode single “Stripped” and also outpacing new contenders such as The Wedding Present and The Mighty Lemon Drops.
It was, despite their amateur aesthetic, a strong opening statement for the label. The Shop Assistants had been slowly building up an audience since 1984 with releases on various labels, and their previous single “Shopping Parade” had peaked at number 3 in the indie listings. The group – a mixed gender quintet – had also spent some of 1985 benefitting from national support slots with Jesus & Mary Chain, bringing them to much larger audiences than they would have experienced had they been stuck on pub bills with the Jasmine Minks or A Witness. On top of that, their work and live shows were cut through with a bonhomie which didn’t seem fake; without seemingly even trying, their interviews, video clips and even the records themselves made them sound like a joyful gang of people who could be your new best friends. In underground circles, where bands toured the country bumping into the same fanatical individuals in Norwich, Leeds and Bristol, that mattered. There was a sense of belonging.
If you were so minded, you could see “Safety Net” as being a very cynical move as a result. “Lucky you’ve a safety net/ lucky you’ve somewhere to go,” the song begins. The indiepop community was by this point becoming tight and solid friendships were forming – like most small music based cults, it contained people who may only have had a few slabs of vinyl and a surplus of idealism in common, but that seemed like enough to forge lasting bonds. The opening lines, then, could be addressed to the “lucky people” in the audience. “Afraid of dying and afraid of life/ But wishing we could stand around the stars again,” lead singer Alex Taylor sings again later on, addressing the simultaneous neuroses and child-like wonder of a lot of their fans.
It would be harsh to call it calculated, though. Musically, it’s poppy and sweet but undercut by the thorny scrape of cheap guitars and a bare, Mary Chain-esque backbeat. It couldn’t be trying less hard. If it’s an anthem, I’d argue it gets there by chance rather than strategic manoeuvres, purely by sharing themes common to twenty-somethings in an increasingly harsh economic environment.
The promo video, if such a term can be used with a straight face in reference to the Shop Assistants, even underscores all this. The group are filmed on Super 8 darting about purposelessly, laughing and hugging each other, travelling around the country in a plain white van and pogoing in petrol station forecourts. The Jesus & Mary Chain were too cool to smile; The Shop Assistants couldn’t seem to stop themselves, coming across like a punk rock Famous Five or the closest indiepop came to the Hard Day’s Night era Beatles.
There are people out there who think that “Safety Net” is one of the best songs of all time. I have to confess I’m not one of them; I like it, but far better singles would emerge from other like-minded artists in 1986 alone, never mind during the whole of rock’s lifetime. What I think it did, more so even than the Jesus & Mary Chain, was open up possibilities for bands making a similar noise – for The Primitives and The Darling Buds as well as the Talulah Goshes and initially even Pop Will Eat Itselves of this world. In that sense, its a truly pivotal recording.
It’s difficult to know whether to be surprised by the fact that they were rapidly signed to the Chrysalis subsidiary Blue Guitar, whereupon the early excitement was bleached out under the harsh strip lights of corporate offices. Their only major label single “I Don’t Want To Be Friends With You” failed to reach the Top 75, and their album cruelly spent one solitary week at Number 100 in the album charts. They disintegrated shortly afterwards, with lead singer Alex Taylor re-emerging in The Motorcycle Boy, and while they briefly reformed without her in 1990 for two more singles, the initial allure had by then faded.
Sadly, Alex Taylor passed away in 2005, meaning that The Shop Assistants will never join the ranks of indie bands who reformed to play the Tramlines festival or do one-off gigs at the Lexington in London – their sound remains forever tied to that place and time, Alex's voice a flashing beacon in the retreating distance guiding others towards likeminded souls and more tightly woven safety nets. The studio version of it isn't even on Spotify, meaning it remains tied to an age of fanzine swops, tiny gigs in unexpected bars and getting off your arse to go out and buy the actual vinyl. It could never happen quite this way again.
New Entries Elsewhere In The Charts
18. The Bodines – Therese (Creation)
Peak position: 6
“Therese” sees The Bodines combine their fetching jangles with a chorus which insists “It scares the health out of me”, thereby accidentally (or otherwise) turning this fine single into an anthem for malnourished and easily startled indie kids everywhere. "It scares the health out of me" could almost be a Larry Grayson catchphrase, but perhaps that's not surprising given that Morrissey brought such camp Complan quaffing frailness into the underground to begin with.
It later appeared on the C86 compilation cassette and became a firm favourite, suspending it in amber forever – anytime anyone wanted a quick reminder of the key sounds of the era, there it’s always been, waiting for them. Further commentary is probably not necessary.
20. The Jazz Butcher - Hard (Glass)
Peak position: 14
Not that “Hard” doesn’t sound as if it shouldn’t have been on the C86 tape too, but the NME chose not to grant The Jazz Butcher a slot. Perhaps it’s a tad more sturdy and conventional; those droning sixties garage organs have a muscularity to them The Bodines lacked, and there’s no trace of uncertainty or hesitance here – the song scuttles and rushes straight towards the bullseye.
Week Two
12. The Guana Batz - Seethrough (ID)
Peak position: 8
It may be 1986, but the psychobilly shuffle carries on. Guana Batz endured far beyond most of their peers and were the only psychobilly group to ever feature in Beechwood's forthcoming "Indie Top 20" compilation series (the first volume, naturally). There’s plenty of juice in the tank on evidence here; “Seethrough” shuffles, skiffles and hiccups its way down the road, and even contains some guitarwork which wouldn’t have shamed the finest Gene Vincent recordings.
18. Test Dept. - Faces of Freedom (Some Bizzare)
Peak position: 16
24. The Durutti Column - Tomorrow (Factory Benelux)
Peak position: 24
29. Boom Boom Room - Here Comes The Man (Fun After All)
Peak position: 25
Debut outing for this single before Epic Records picked up on it and sent it to the Post Office Tower heights of Number 74 in the national charts.
Boom Boom Room are a very glossy package, and have as much in common with The Shop Assistants as I do with Nick Rhodes. “Here Comes The Man” is the kind of polished, mid-eighties pop which seldom appeared on indie labels. Straining, exercised masculine vocals explore every nook and cranny – from breathy to moody to passionate and back again – while the group pulse behind, all waiting for the epic chorus which arrives on time as expected. John Peel didn’t play it, and nor would you have expected him to.
Week Three
26. Icons Of Filth - The Filth & The Fury EP (Mortarhate)
Peak position: 9
Breathless hardcore EP whose frantic pace and snarled vocals are relentless. No peace or shade here, just a pure white light and a rush of noise.
This was the last release for the Welsh group prior to disbanding, although they would reform in 2001 for another three years of activity until their lead singer Stig passed away.
They recently reformed yet again in 2021, proving that hardcore bands never truly fade no matter what life throws at them; they seem to find a way of getting up and facing the world again with a guard dog’s snarl.
For the full charts, please go to the UKMix Forum
Number One In The Official Charts
Billy Ocean - "When The Going Gets Tough, The Tough Get Going" (Jive)
Diana Ross - "Chain Reaction" (Capitol)
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