Two weeks at number one from 31st October 1987
“Mum, can we go to Greenland on holiday?” I asked.
“No. There’s nothing there,” she sighed. “We’ve had this conversation before.”
“There can’t just be nothing there.”
“It’s as close to nothing as you can get, it’s expensive, and we’re not paying all that money to go there and sit surrounded by snow and ice. If you want to go to Greenland, you’re going to have to pay for it when you get older.”
I still haven’t been to Greenland (largely because my wife isn't up for it either). I have, however, been to Iceland a few times, a country which was similarly at the forefront of my childhood obsessions. It’s not a cheap place to visit by anyone’s standards, but it is halfway to Canada, which has on occasion made it a handy stopping off point for those long trips to see my in-laws. You can pause, mood-bathe in the sheer weirdness of eternal daylight or constant nighttime, get scalped by a couple of Arctic Terns, eat some Puffin (or actually, don’t), wander around the wild coastline, or just walk the brightly coloured streets and feel as if you’re somewhere which has still clung on to its own distinct identity; which hasn’t been Big Macced up to its eyeballs. Aside from the hot thermal springs, a Penis Museum and the rugged landscape, there are no huge tourist attractions in Iceland as such, just the comforting sense that you’re somewhere which prides itself on its differences.
When “Birthday” was released, most of the music press seemed to focus on the country of Iceland rather than the group themselves – as if the entire population, rather than a single group, had released a new record. Smash Hits just listed some facts about the country in their “Mutterings” section and The Chart Show’s info boxes barely mentioned the group at all. Strange behaviour indeed, especially as The Sugarcubes weren’t even the first Icelandic group to get exposure in the UK; Mezzoforte had a sizeable jazz funk hit with “Garden Party” some years before (which we’ve covered in passing) and their parent Steinar label even had a British arm for a time, pumping out other Icelandic records to the British public by artists such as Puzzle, You And I and Joe Ericson.
The reason the music press seem to have suddenly become Icelandphiles became apparent when I finally saw One Little Indian’s original press release for “Birthday” - the vast bulk of it was covered in Iceland facts; proof if it were needed that many music journalists are idle buggers who, when faced with an inexplicable and leftfield record, would rather just copy the contents of the press release into their word processors.
Because “Birthday” is, even by the standards of 2026, a deeply strange record. The guitars whine and weep, bells ring as if struck by stray poltergeists, ponderous percussive elements wobble down stairs, then Bjork's echoing, sky-reaching howling seeps in to create something actually really very creepy. The word "beautiful" has been occasionally used to describe the single, but it's not a well sounding record to my ears; it reaches, it surges, it staggers, it collapses like a yearning ballad being played from a vinyl record on a boat at choppy seas. In fact, chances are if you investigated the noise, you would find an empty boat bereft of a crew, and a turntable inexplicably playing this – Bjork’s screech being answered by gulls.
Comparisons were made to the Cocteau Twins at the time, but while that group could stab discords and abrupt handbrake turns into their work, they were, for the most part, following fairly predictable melodic paths. “Birthday” see-saws uncomfortably, not wanting the listener to get too settled.
The video, screened on "The Chart Show" more times than I can sensibly count, adds to the sense of unease. The background picture is Bjork dancing and singing in an empty room with a darkened window. The foreground shot zooms in and out of Bjork's face, and as it zooms in she becomes pixellated like a Crimewatch video of a witness talking about a heinous murder. It's cheap and basic, but it again gives the impression of something slightly more sinister afoot.
Bjork later referred to this as a "tasteless pop song", clarifying: "It’s a story about a love affair between a five year old girl, a secret and a man who lives next door. The song’s called Birthday because it’s his fiftieth birthday... I was always changing my mind about what the lyrics should be about. I had the atmosphere right from the start but not the facts. It finally ended up concentrating on this experience I remembered having as a little girl, among many other little girls’ experiences. It’s like huge men, about fifty or so, affect little girls very erotically but nothing happens . . . nothing is done, just this very strong feeling. I picked on this subject to show that anything can affect you erotically; material, a tree, anything.”
Which doesn't really clarify anything concretely, except to say that from the foundations up (the premise, the overall sound, the delivery) "Birthday" is consciously awkward, naive and confused, reaching for past emotions it can't get to or properly explain, and seems to want to unnerve the listener with its ideas.
I have my own particular memories of being five years old which relate tangentially to this record: My parents used to have an old 1960s stacking record player in the corner of our front room which contained a large number of old singles in its cabinet. I used to regularly plough through the singles and stack them on the central spindle, spinning Fats Domino, The Beatles, The Animals, Ray Charles and other classic records of that era. On occasion, the stacking process wouldn't work, and a record would drop and as it span, would slip and slide against the label of the one beneath it, causing the melody to create a slightly discordant, wobbly noise. I hated this and would run from the room crying out to get help, finding the results unsettling.
To this day, I still have a stronger gag reflex than most around music which feels unstable and similarly seasick. It causes me to admire the way "Birthday" was put together rather than actually outright enjoy it; Bjork’s yelps and howls feel a few steps away from a crisis, and the music beneath her is of a beat group strumming away on instruments whose strings are slowly becoming unwound. An amazing piece of art, but God almighty I have to be in the right mood to hear it.
But whatever I think, or reflexively feel - this single launched Bjork outside of Iceland and created a fascinating and unique pop star who remains an inspiration to many, and you could argue it was even the first pivotal step towards putting Iceland on the tourist map, giving the country more glossy magazine and newspaper coverage in Britain and beyond than it had previously enjoyed. If The Sugarcubes caused you to pull the Atlas from your bookshelf and look further north than usual, you weren't alone. Maybe it was the start of the nation being patronised as being weird, quirky and out-there, when in reality it's no stranger than any island nation (including my own) - but that's the price everyone paid for that hard tourist moulah.
That a single like “Birthday” did it, however, is possibly the strangest thing of all. It’s one of the most perplexing indie number ones we’ve been confronted with in years; a cry back to the uneasy strangeness of some early eighties anarcho-punk singles – indeed, Bjork’s previous group Kukl had released records on Crass’s label – a pretty, weird, rainbow-reflecting jellyfish washed ashore whose body doesn’t sting, but clings to your skin like some kind of alien molten plastic when touched.
The Sugarcubes never really created anything like it again, even though others expected them to. They would steadily occupy a reliable, offbeat post-punk territory, like an oddball American College Radio group reimagined by some people in the frozen north of Europe. They were consistently contrary and seemed to revel in their own strangeness, always the first to criticise the English in particular for their buttoned-up fear of life’s inexplicable underbelly. Their music, however, gradually settled into something closer to normal. “Birthday” was that very unusual thing – something of inconceivable angularity which drew a crowd, rather than got enjoyed by a handful of oddballs. By the time it completed its meandering run in the lower rungs of the British charts, it had sold 50,000 copies – enough to have been a regular hit single, and more than enough to establish the group’s career.
New Entries Elsewhere In The Chart
Week One
11. The Brilliant Corners - Delilah Sands (SS20)
Peak position: 6
Strange, limping, groaning beast of a single which sees Davy Woodward bellowing lines like “I’d bite you if I had the teeth” while the rest of the group jangle and honk behind him. Like a Salvation Army Band caught in a pile-up with a local student beat group during rag week, it’s unconventional but you’re left with an impression that it wasn’t supposed to be; like the group aimed their arrows towards the indiepop bullseye and hit a passing crooner in the stomach by mistake. Its eccentricities are delightful for a listen or two, but its lack of any obvious hook causes its charms to quickly fade.
12. Cookie Crew - Females (Rhythm King)
Peak position: 7
"Females" followed hot on the heels of the initial non-success of "Rok Da House", and climbed to number 78 on the national charts - a fairly big deal for a British rap act at that time. Seemingly focused on the slicker dressed female rappers with snobbier attitudes on the circuit, the pair put them on the straight and narrow: "Females, they wear a lot of gold/ be careful of them homeboys, because they're ten years old". Mmmm.
This is slick, sassy and smart, though sadly some of the sampled elements in it - most especially the "Yeah Woo!" sample - do datestamp it rather firmly in 1987. In the pair's defence, though, they weren't directly responsible for the fact that absolutely everyone, including Timmy Mallett, ended up using it.
20. Christian Death - Sick of love (Normal)
Peak position: 20
25. Frazier Chorus - Sloppy Heart (4AD)
Peak position: 21
This would be Frazier Chorus’s only single on 4AD before signing to Virgin; a jump which might have made sense from a financial perspective, but sadly never resulted in any hits.
Even by 4AD standards, they were always a peculiar act, filled with semi-whispered or murmured lead vocals, puffing flutes, zinging acoustic basslines and almost psychedelic lyrics; like a baroque pop band rehearsing quietly at 3am, continually worried that their noise might startle the neighbours. While they were admired by Belle and Sebastian, and referenced by Half Man Half Biscuit (in the song “Girlfriend’s Finished With Him” - “Inspired by no-one, other groups bore us/ How can you say we sound like Frazier Chorus?”) the irony was that in truth, they turned out to be a dead-end twig on rock’s family tree – out on their own, but often lovably so.
“Sloppy Heart” is melodically strangely similar to Pulp’s “Common People” in places, but while that song is furious, this sounds like the final lullaby of a woodland creature before it enters hibernation – autumnal pings and zings meeting a chorus which would almost be elated were it not for its own understated nature. Like a lot of their material, it’s a fine record, and one which was sadly ruined by a much more polished Virgin mix later on.
More sadly still, the only references the lead singer Tim Freeman gets in the press nowadays are asides mentioning that he’s the brother of successful actor Martin.
29. Leon Rosselson - Ballad of a Spycatcher (Up Side Down)
Peak position: 10
Cult folk singer Leon Rosslson had been recording since 1958, and this particular ditty – summarising the novel of the same name – featured musical contributions from the rather less established, but nonetheless more fashionable, Billy Bragg and Oyster Band.
It’s a rare example of a veteran folk singer barging into the indie charts, the first time this has happened since the likes of Foster and Allen, and it’s certainly a lot smarter, wittier and more palatable.
Week Two
8. Joy Division – The Peel Sessions (2nd) (Strange Fruit)
Peak position: 4
11. Coldcut - Beats And Pieces (Ahead of Our Time)
Peak position: 8
Spellbinding twelve inch single from Coldcut which has all but disappeared from the Internet (except one unofficial YouTube post) presumably due to the difficulties in clearing the many samples it contains.
“Beats and Pieces” contains sucker-punch rhythms, ringing phones, orchestral hits, sharp and urgent scratch-mixing, and an unpredictability which nonetheless never quite gives way to modern hyperactivity. Smooth yet chaotic, it sometimes feels like the perfect companion piece to “Pump Up The Volume”, both records finding their own space and pace and impressing with their casual manner.
13. That Petrol Emotion – The Peel Sessions (Strange Fruit)
Peak position: 12
14. The Pastels - Comin' Through (Glass)
Peak position: 5
“Comin’ Through” comes on like a jam session in a school musical instrument cupboard, filled with pocket percussive instruments as well as that usual thwarted, drugged sounding childlike melody. It manages to sound close to punk rock despite itself, the sulky chorus in particular having an attitude Stephen Pastel rarely presented.
Another solid single from one of the few indiepop groups to consistently deliver great records, yet somehow be blamed as responsible for everyone else’s mess and chaos. Sometimes being influential comes with a cost attached.
22. Miaow - Break The Code (Factory)
Peak position: 19
23. The Adverts – The Peel Sessions (Strange Fruit)
Peak position: 23
24. Brother D – Clappers Power (Rough Trade)
Peak position: 24
Brother D emerged in 1980 as one of the earliest socially conscious rappers, his record “How We Gonna Make The Black Nation Rise?” attracting the attention of Island Records.
By 1987 he was back on his own label in the US on on Rough Trade in Britain, and “Clappers Power” is his most visible recording from that late period, attracting both airplay from John Peel and positive music press. It’s superbly constructed, driving and furious without forgetting the overriding necessity of a killer groove.
25. Celtic Frost - I Won't Dance (The Elders' Orient) (Noise)
Peak position: 25
Swiss Thrash Metallers Celtic Frost were much more angular than their US counterparts, never afraid to go off-piste and throw in an unexpected riff or a sound which seemed as if it belonged in another genre entirely. Take the female backing vocals here, for example – they sound incredibly close to soul or gospel, only for the group to chant and thrash around them in conflict.
If all metal sounded a bit like this, I’d be on board.
28. The Leather Nun - Lost & Found (Wire)
Peak position: 16
30. Goodbye Mr Mackenzie - Face to Face (Precious Organisation)
Peak position: 23
This jarring single is about a 1980s rape case where the victim was accused by the judge of “contributory negligence”. It’s not an easy listen, but as protests go, it’s laser-focused and lacks either hand-wringing or bombast. The group contributed all their royalties to Rape Crisis.
It would also be their final single before signing to Capitol records and scoring a minor hit with a reissue of “The Rattler”.
For the full charts, please go to the UKMix Forums
Number One In The Official Charts
Bee Gees: "You Win Again" (Warner Bros.)
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