100. Soup Dragons - Can't Take No More (Raw TV)

Five weeks at number one from 27th June 1987

When I started writing this blog, I did idly wonder what the hundredth number one might be, and promised myself that I wouldn’t draft a full list in advance and project ahead. That would spoil the beezer surprise for me, after all – supposing it’s a really appropriate, “era defining” classic? Or, even better than that, something the indie-kids would get agitated about; an Erasure single, perhaps, or one of the many Rhythm King releases that dominated the late eighties? What would that co(s)mic event tell us?

In reality, and at the risk of sounding like Hannah Fry, sequential numbers don’t care much about your preferred narratives. Just as nothing exciting happened when your car’s mileometer hit 5,000, and you just passed a boarded up carpet store rather than the Angel of the North or the house of the first person you ever loved, centenaries occur just because eventually they have to. The law of sequences demands it, and whether they coincide with something memorable depends entirely on the way the coin lands that day (go and look up the 100th Official UK Number One and you’ll see what I mean. I’ve been told the answer to that one before, many times, but I still have to keep reminding myself).

Back in 1987 though, The Soup Dragons taking the crown at this point would have felt somewhat appropriate, even though I can’t remember anyone noting it. While the start of their career saw them regarded as another one of those cheap and cheeky C86 acts, all fizz and charm, and the tail end saw them cast as bandwagon-hopping chancers, there was a brief sunlit period where they were critically lauded as the next big cult thing. Front page magazine shoots were gained, a highly reputable manager swept in to guide them, and a serious buzz emerged.

“Can’t Take No More” landed at the apex of all the fuss, and became their first single to enter the national Top 75. At this point, the group were still playing true to their roots, and the promotion around it was misleadingly low-key – The Chart Show played the accompanying video a few times, making a big deal of the fact that it was shot by the group for £80, tactfully ignoring the backing they had at this point.

The song itself is actually the third slam-dunk in a row for the band, following both “Hang Ten” and “Head Gone Astray” into some kind of scratchy indie heaven. The three singles are markedly different from each other yet still, amazingly, identifiable as Soups product. “Hang Ten” stays true to their C86 roots and serves up two minutes of exhilarating rattle and roll, while “Head Gone Astray” is somehow punky yet beautiful jangle pop, and then “Can’t Take No More” is a stranger beast still – shouty, stammering, always evolving then collapsing again, and downright furious about the inconsistencies and wrongdoings of a significant other. “Your attitude always ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-changes/ like the weather!” rants Sean Dickson angrily, while staccato drumbeats and distorted guitars follow him behind.

It could choose to all be over in two minutes like “Hang Ten”, but instead it twists and evolves, featuring shimmering guitar breakdowns and taunting, childlike “na na na” vocalisations, before finishing on an ear-splitting electric organ break. It’s almost as if the group had two possible objectives, either a track akin to The Who’s “I Can See For Miles”, or a Slade styled rave-up, and decided to go for both at once, but keep the production and the presentation raw and cheap.

It’s easy to attempt something like this and come back with something perfectly listenable but ultimately insubstantial – thousands of low-key indie bands have done just that – but they channel so much adrenalin and frustration into one three minute single they manage to make the listener feel both peppy and disorientated at the same time. Elements of this, particularly the sharper and more discordant aspects, sound as if they would have slotted very neatly alongside some of the groups emerging out of the USA in a year or two’s time; Black Francis, for one, seems as if he might have appreciated it. Far from staying true to this indie era’s dominant idea that singles should be cheap, raw and simple, the Soups bounce and ricochet off the walls in ways which aren’t immediately predictable (the disorientating psychedelic dizziness of the latter half of each verse is interesting and proof they were already operating in a different territory to either The Wedding Presents or Bodines of this world).

97. The Smiths - Sheila Take A Bow (Rough Trade)

Four weeks at number one from 25th April 1987

Prior to the release of “Sheila Take A Bow”, it might have felt as if The Smiths were treading the backwards path, understanding their initial appeal and returning to their original ideas. Craig Gannon was out of the group, and previous single “Shoplifters of the World Unite” was (instrumentally speaking) chock-full of Smiths tropes, all bowed together into a fresh new song. And for “Sheila”, Sandie Shaw was invited back into the studio to do vocals. So far, so very 1984 (in calendar terms rather than Orwellian terms, obviously).

However, everything seemed cursed from the off. At the aborted sessions for the single in December 1986, Morrissey declared himself ill and only Shaw turned up. She was dismissive of the song, calling it “horrid”, and was slightly reluctant to play second fiddle as a backing vocalist. She spoke to Morrissey on the phone and demanded that he sing down the telephone line what he wanted her to do, and he obliged, but the session was deemed unworkable and ultimately scrapped.

Stephen Street later picked up the pieces and produced the version which was released, which might be one of the oddest singles The Smiths put out. The tumbling, thumping intro with its honking brass, almost sounding like a factory klaxon, makes it seem as if we’re in for another “Panic”, only for it to suddenly and inexplicably start to do musical high kicks, like an aborted show-tune (it’s rather like Madonna’s “Hanky Panky” or Geri Halliwell’s “Look At Me” in that respect). Just when you think it might deviate from this path and explore different avenues, it sticks fairly rigidly to the concept and even leans into it towards the end – “You’re a girl and I’m a boy/ la la la la la la la la la!” sings Morrissey at the end, beaming towards the imaginary West End theatre audience before him (I suspect this bit might have been written with Shaw’s contributions in mind).

It wasn’t the first time The Smiths had created something which sounded as if it might work in a musical. “Ask” had its moments too, but it was never such a constant, unending feature of the track. Nor had Morrissey ever written lyrics which felt so much like a parody of a sixties Tin Pan Alley tune – with the exception of “boot the grime of this world in the crotch, dear”, the song is filled with fairly cliched imagery which feels almost tossed-off. The thunder and swing of the group’s backing helps it to achieve a small amount of heft, but there’s an incessant and deeply unSmithsian sugariness to the rest of the contents – an overwhelming taste of honey which gloops down your gullet and dominates your tastebuds in an unwelcome way for the rest of the afternoon.

Behind the scenes, the first obvious signs that all was not well in The Smiths were beginning to make themselves known to those outside their camp. Brixton Academy had been booked for the filming of a promotional video, but Morrissey refused to show up for the filming, resulting in a significant waste of money and a promo-free song. Given that he failed to turn up for the first recording session as well, a certain pattern was clearly establishing itself which continues to this day – Morrissey the diva hiding under the duvet whenever obligation knocks. Johnny Marr would not tolerate this for long.

You could also argue that “Sheila” stylistically fits in with his solo material better than The Smiths catalogue, given that its daffy, showy sensibilities feel akin to his moments of levity there – neither “You’re The One For Me, Fatty” or “Certain People I Know” fit neatly alongside “Everyday Is Like Sunday” or “November Spawned A Monster”, but they’re in his discography nonetheless, those attempts to impress the ghost of sixties pop impresario Larry Parnes with bits of easy-to-swallow rock and roll. “Sheila” has that same breezy flexibility and is as family friendly as a tub of Peak Freans biscuits, but something feels very wrong here; the song is catchy, jolly, and has a spirited glam charge, but the melody feels more like an adland jingle for a carpet warehouse than a proper pop song.