28b. Yazoo - The Other Side Of Love (Mute)

 

An additional two weeks at number from w/e 18th December 1982

Here we go again, viewers. The Anti-Nowhere League's "For You" only found sufficient stamina to stay atop the indie charts for one week, leaving Yazoo to take back the throne over the Christmas period. 

Here's what was happening lower down the charts in those festive weeks which, lest we forget, also saw us gaining a national independently distributed number one.

Week One

29. Threats - Politicians And Ministers (Rondolet)

Peak position: 29

Rough-as-fuck Scottish punk which sounds as if it has more in common with American hardcore than a lot of their compatriots. "Politicians and Ministers" is relentless, punchy, and points towards a possible direction British punk could have opted for if everyone hadn't been too busy going on about how it wasn't dead. As things stood, however, this was to be their last recorded offering until 2001, at which point they returned to a level of fringe acclaim they didn't really receive in 1982. 

 

30. Laurel & Hardy - You're Nicked (Fashion)

Peak position: 30

The volume of reggae singles referring to police arrests or troubling encounters with The Fuzz in the early eighties tells a story six hundred newspaper headlines never could. The racist element of the police force, particularly in certain branches and areas, was acknowledged enough to make its way into mainstream comedy sketches, and most of the reggae artists belonged to communities where undignified and poorly evidenced arrests were part and parcel of daily life.

"You're Nicked" caused such a stir in 1982 that major labels became interested in the pair, and the follow-up single "Clunk Click" emerged on CBS as a result. That effort was a rather more establishment pleasing pean to the dangers of drink driving and failing to fasten seat belts, which still wasn't quite popular enough to turn them into major stars. Their dippy stage presentation and cheeky charisma remains fondly remembered by many, though. 

Week Two

18. Dead Kennedys - Halloween (Cherry Red)

Peak position: 3

Surprisingly conventional rant from the Kennedys here about the foolishness of Halloween - "Why oh why do we take Halloween so seriously as a piece of organised fun when we're wearing masks all year round?" they philosophise, while Roger Waters presumably nods enthusiastically and takes notes for a possible concept album.

Still, even if you're left with the impression that Jello Biafra probably went to parties with piles of anti-capitalism leaflets under his arm and was a bit of a buzzkill, "Halloween" has such a mean, snarling intent behind it that you're almost tempted to join in. 

Anyway, in 1982 in Britain barely anyone gave a fig about Halloween, so most of us probably had no idea why he was so het up about this topic. Those were the days. That's probably also why this track peaked in the indie charts at the less than seasonally appropriate period of Winter 1983.

23. Toy Dolls - Nelly The Elephant (Volume)

Peak position: 10

Oh mother. If you think this single is making a somewhat early appearance in 1982, you're only half-mistaken. "Nelly" was originally issued during this year and rapidly gathered steam as a cult novelty punk favourite, played on nighttime radio and beloved by those people who thought that children's novelty songs being thrashed around were a unique and funny concept.

Given that we'll eventually get another chance to consider this one in depth, let's hold fire for now and instead marvel at the sights and sounds of those Toy Dolls. 

24. Clint Eastwood & General Saint - Shame & Scandal In The Family (Greensleeves)

Peak position: 24

Family strife set to a bouyant reggae swing here, which in common with many of the breakout reggae tracks of the early eighties favours nods, winks, and a swing and lightness of touch over anger or deep dubbiness. 

Eastwood was a prominent performer during the early part of the decade, but his visibility weakened significantly in the following few years. 

25. Charlie Harper's Urban Dogs - New Barbarians EP (Fallout)

Peak position: 22

Why yes, it is that Charlie Harper (of UK Subs) on an extra-curricular mission. The Urban Dogs were apparently formed when the Subs began to regard certain minor club gigs as being beneath them, conflicting with Harper's desire to perform to small and sweaty audiences in legendary venues. They slowly evolved into a unit with a purpose of their own. 

Imagine early UK Subs only with a bit more of a whiff of sticky Heineken on a pub floor, and you're there. If anything, "New Barbarians" harks back to the prime punk era unapologetically. 

30. The Vibrators - Baby Baby (Anagram)

Peak position: 13

The Vibrators were always punk's slightly less credible also-rans, initially signing to Mickie Most's glitzy RAK label (more commonly the hangout for the likes of Hot Chocolate, Smokie and Mud). "Baby Baby" sees them wearing their old school rock and roll influences freely and unapologetically, like the pub rockers they were always close to being. 

Despite the fact that they were one of the first punk bands to be whisked off to a recording studio, their records seldom entered the national charts, and by the eighties they were firmly ensconced in the indie sector. "Baby Baby" sounds as if it could have been a possible minor hit in 1976, but 1982 shrugged its shoulders and didn't even allow them entry into the Indie Top Ten. 

The full charts can be found at the UKMix Forums

Number One In The Official Charts

Renee and Renato: "Save Your Love" (Hollywood)

This also peaked at number 5 in the indie chart during the same period. Its lower position in the indie charts can doubtless be explained away by the fact its fondest purchasers were more likely to be buying copies in Woolworths rather than Rough Trade and Volume, so we've had a very lucky escape here.

15. Anti Nowhere League - Streets of London (WXYZ)

 

Three weeks at number one from 9^th January 1982

There’s a sketch in the series “Big Train” which portrays Ralph McTell struggling to engage with an audience who only want to hear his hit “Streets of London”. Whenever he begins to play anything else, everyone gasps in astonishment at his audacity, and begins heckling furiously until he is forced to concede and play the song again. And again.  

It does a brilliant job of sending up the plight of talented songwriters who are mainly known for their one huge success – for make no mistake, McTell was (and is) damn good. He’s the closest Britain ever came to producing a Gordon Lightfoot styled folk singer, and at his very best his work intertwines beautiful storytelling with intricate finger-picked guitar lines. The actual B-side of “Streets Of London”, “Summer Lightning”, could have acted as a point of entry to anyone wanting to journey further into his catalogue, and the album that was plucked from (“Easy”) contains other material like “Maginot Waltz” whose unexpected lyrical conclusion acts as a stab to the heart. 

His slightly undeserved "one hit wonder" status very nearly didn’t happen for him at all – he didn’t regard “Streets of London” as a contender for either of his first two albums when he first penned it in the sixties, deeming the subject matter too depressing. The producer Gus Dudgeon persuaded him otherwise and got him to record it in simple acoustic form for his second album “Spiral Staircase”, issued on the independent Transatlantic Records in 1969. 

From there on, “Streets of London” began to slowly grow in popularity, becoming a track that other folk performers sang in pubs and clubs. A ripple effect was created in the process, elongating its life far beyond the usual lifespan of a track from an (at best) cultish folk album. 

Thanks to its burgeoning reputation, McTell finally released it as a single in a swollen, more intricately produced form on the Warner Brothers subsidiary Reprise in 1974, and it climbed to number two in the national charts early the following year. That version is disliked by some purists for its wintery choral embellishments which could be argued to treacle up the song and over-embellish the point; the unvarnished 1969 recording is the one most folkies would point you towards.

I have to be honest, the production – whether raw and authentic or luxurious and icy - has never been the central issue for me. As much as I love McTell’s voice and the sumptuous melodies, and even some of the observational aspects of the verses, the chorus is a slightly unnecessary slap in the face. We’re expected to believe that because homelessness and human suffering exists, all other emotional reactions to personal tragedies, depression or emptiness are null and void. “How can you tell me you’re lonely?” pleads McTell. “Very easily actually, Ralph”, the listener could be forgiven for replying. “My Mum died last month and my partner is being an unsympathetic arse. And no, I don’t think your idea of a tramp pointing session in Central London is going to make me feel better, thanks all the same.” 

The central philosophy to “Streets of London” is rather too abrupt and facile, the musical equivalent of your irritating work colleague sneering “First world problems” when you tell them your car didn’t start that morning, or perhaps even Bono’s Band Aid cry of “Tonight thank God its them instead of you” stretched to an entire song. Unlike McTell’s best work, it’s an unsurprising and simplistic narrative, and that’s probably why it did so well commercially. The mass market generally only tends to have time for folk music when it tilts heavily towards sentimentality. Bert Jansch, who performed on the 1974 version of the track, stated that unlike McTell's other work it had “no mystery”, which feels like a fair assessment. 

The public adored the song's simple, sharp message, though, and the track simply wouldn't fade from view, eventually becoming bashed about by so many honking buskers and amateur performers that it felt inescapable. Victoria Wood took aim at its ubiquity in the eighties, featuring it in a sketch about care homes, where every single example of live residential entertainment involved terrible musicians singing the song in an inappropriately cheery fashion. 

By the time enough wannabe Dylans got their plectrums around it, McTell’s gentle baritone had been replaced in the public’s consciousness with a street poet rasp – so by 1982, your average British provincial High Street might have featured two things; a busker straining his way through “Streets of London” outside WH Smith, harmonica strapped around his neck, while 100 yards further down, a group of young mohicaned town punks sat throwing crisps at each other outside a branch of Presto. That halfway point, within earshot of both the wannabe beatnik and the teenage Sid Vicious wannabes, is where the Anti Nowhere League come in (finally).