Four weeks at number one from 27th August 1988
Accompanying him would be a gentleman who always took his clothes off at the height of his high, “dancing like ET” afterwards. That man was Guy Chadwick, the lead singer of the House of Love, a group by now widely tipped to be the future of rock music; if not the next Smiths, with whom they had little in common, then perhaps the next U2.
There are numerous unexpected contradictions in the above. Chadwick’s group never went near drum machines and samplers, yet there he was, dancing badly to everyone who did. Creation Records also really hadn’t delved into House music much yet, though their time would come. This odd schism paints a fair picture of the state of alternative rock in 1988; while to a casual reader in 2026 it may seem strange to have so many House records dominating the indie listings, at the time it felt logical and wonderful. That was where the revolution was occurring and the fresh, exciting sounds were emerging from. Some alternative rock musicians, from Jaz Coleman to Miles Hunt, may have mithered on about how House Music wasn’t “proper music” and lacked the integrity and passion of rock, but they frankly sounded ridiculous in the process – like a bunch of proggers witlessly complaining about the lack of craft to be found in punk. "If we should be listening to you instead, come up with some fresh ideas and make us want to, you nitwits", you couldn't help but think.
This environment created an awkward situation if you were in a straightforward alternative rock band. Music journalists began the year wondering who would replace the dearly departed Smiths, and ended it no longer really caring. Record Mirror even changed its editorial focus to mostly specialise in Dance music, often treating Indie as something to be ghettoised in its own two-page news section. Outside the shadowy corners of the Goth scene, it also seemed as if not much was going on which would result in new stars. Except, that is, for the House of Love.
By 1988, the major labels were watching the group, enabling Alan McGee to stay at the Savoy Hotel in London and invite A&R representatives in, one after the other, to pitch their six-figure advance offers. A frenzy ensued which ultimately resulted in the group being sold to Alan Bates at Fontana Records, but amidst the confusion at least one other label entered the fray who seemed to have mistaken them for another band entirely, nearly putting a huge bid down for something they didn’t actually want. Such things happen when hysteria is allowed to take hold.
Record company frenzies are rarely forged from complete mediocrity, however, and while the group had very little obvious competition in 1988 (huge emphasis on “obvious” here) they were still responsible for a string of singles which were mysterious, touching, and enormous sounding without once being pompous. Their single “Christine” is a prime example of this, a track which seemed to stare down at you from an enormous plinth yet still somehow sounded fragile and brittle, avoiding all the stadium cliches for something which alternately jangled earthily, then scraped the sky with its airy, whitewashed chorus.
Guy Chadwick may have written all their songs, but to most people it was obvious that there was another key figure in the group. Terry Bickers, the lead guitarist, took his songs and smeared paint all over them, amping them up from moody Leonard Cohen influenced laments into something much more colourful and unpredictable. “Destroy The Heart” is a primary example of this. Lyrically it’s frequently nondescript, with Chadwick merely offering a series of frustrated complaints about the romantic expectations of ladies he’d loved and lost, but those matter-of-fact late night regrets are picked up and carved into strange new shapes by Bickers. In much the same way Syd Barrett took Richard Wright’s blank, rueful prose about a lost childhood in “Remember A Day” and made it squawk, swoop and wail, Bickers slams his guitar and makes it squeal against Chadwick’s monotone, adding sprays of powdered pastel colour to a dark backdrop. The song is transformed from a groaning ballad into something much more dramatic, desperate even.