| < ott | DRAMA | COMEDY | FACTUAL | CHILDREN'S | LIGHT ENTERTAINMENT | FEATURES | INTERVIEWS | REVIEWS | BLOG | search > |
|
TOP OF THE POPS Sunday 25/12/83, BBC1 reviewed by Cameron Borland |
April
2002
|
|
|
|
|
Confession time. During a fruitless search through the Borland Video Vaults in a vain and abortive attempt to find the 1984 Christmas edition of Top of the Pops, I stumbled upon an unmarked copy of the previous years' show. On watching and reviewing this wonderful episode, I noticed with considerable regret that I managed to "top and tail" the show - whether through accident or choice, I am not entirely sure but it still stands up despite my half-hearted editorial cuts. 1983 seems like a world ago which, in a way, it is. I was a callow, skinny 19 year old working hard on the building sites of Glasgow at that point in time and I still regularly watched Top of the Pops. I still scanned the charts with more than a passing interest and still enjoyed watching the show of a Christmas Day. Those traits may have altered fairly soon after 1983 but that was then and watching this show brought it all rushing back to me. The tape cut into the Belle Stars performing Sign of the Times in the tinsel draped TOTP studios. This seven piece girl band stormed their way through this seminal slice of '80s pop with the undisguised glee of a group quite clearly chuffed to bits to be on the Christmas show. In their matching black suits, white shirts and cummerbunds this was an engagingly lively and sparky performance of a long forgotten but beautiful song. With the drummer standing in that early '80s style, this was a joy to watch. I must further confess to owning the 12" of Sign of the Times - hell, I even managed a little dance in my living room. Throw in a smoke machine and it was Night Moves in Sauchiehall Street all over again - all that was missing was a queue of young ladies to disdainfully dismiss my fumbling attempts for a dance. Normally the sight of Gary Davies would enough to send even the most willowy and detached of dreamers back to reality with a crashing thump. But the appearance of - alongside Liverpool's Phil Thompson - the only man to inhabit the '80s with a bigger nose than myself served only to rekindle my unburdening memories and push me further back in my wedge of time travel. Introducing the video for Paul Young's classic rendition of Wherever I Lay My Hat (That's My Home) I could only marvel at the images displayed on my screen. A quite-clearly-dresses-to-the-left Paul was clothed in a grey suit (with shoulder pads, of course), white loafers and a thin, pink (leather?) tie to complete the ensemble. This was an outfit that clearly predated Miami Vice but would not have looked in the least out of place had Don Johnson or Phillip Michael Thomas been wearing it a few years later in their Florida environment. For the record - and any fellow Glaswegians reading - this was a quintessential Ultratheque outfit, the kind that obviously had a profound effect upon Charlie Nicholas. As you can guess, I was now on the verge of some form of ecstatic hallucination. This was quality viewing and I was revelling in each and every second of it. Not even the vision of unlovliness that was Peter Powell in a stripey grey jumper (honest - the type beloved of Dixon's salesmen) could dissuade me from the path of '80s righteousness that I was travelling. The decade that taste forgot? Was the image of Pedro Powell that was assaulting my eyes any worse than one of, say, any of the current incumbents on TOTP? Of course not. Cut to Siouxsie and The Banshees - with Robert Smith on guitar - and another cover version, this time The Beatles' Dear Prudence. With a typically disinterested and languid performance, the Banshees ambled their way through the song. Bob stood in one spot throughout and mimed his chords aimlessly whilst the cameraman focussed on Siouxsie, who was wearing a backless leather number that did absolutely nothing for her figure. Not that the cameraman thought that. Clearly, he considered the matter differently given the lingering close ups on her exposed back. This pervy predilection sadly allowed us to realise that Ms Sioux was no dancer. This was shake your booty '80's style. The "special effects" (blurring the area around the singers' face - cutting edge, eh?) served only to further atrophy this number. Easily the weakest song on the show, everything seemed to conspire against it and it was blessed relief to return to Adrian Juste (I think - DJ's have never been my strong point) who underlined the DJ approach to haute couture by sporting a sweater and red shirt. Telling us with the aggressive air of an unreconstructed zealot that our next guests were "making inroads in America", we were introduced to Spandau Ballet and, for me, like it or loathe it, the defining track of 1983, True. Ah, the days when Martin Kemp had a whole head and the drummer had a full deck of cards. This studio performance had it all. Classic song, excess hair gel, hexagonal synth drums, suits so sharp you cut a diamond on the crease and shoulder pads that would not have shamed a quarterback. Sadly there was no indication if any of the Spands were wearing white socks, though I suspect that they were. The Kemps were kitted out in grey suits while Messrs Kebble, Norman and Hadley were draped in black. A split even then? Who knows. Forget the tears, court cases and bitter recriminations that were to follow - this was a great performance from a group on top of their game delivering one of the stand out tracks of the decade. We were returned to Peter Powell with the then theme tune, Yellow Peril - my own personal favourite, playing neatly and considerately in the background as the winsomely effeminate Peter introduced us to the mighty Howard Jones and his unique interpretation of Peter Gabriel's Salisbury Hill (miaow!), New Song. Another 12" that is secreted in my collection, I must confess. This, for me, is a judicious and savoury slice of paperweight pop that I still delight in. Joined on stage by his mime artist mate, Jed (chains appropriately wrapped in tinsel), both HoJo and his sidekick chundered away in a workmanlike fashion. Which was quite apposite given Howard's' lack of early '80s fashion etiquette - he was wearing grubby combats and well-worn trainers. A statement? Unlikely given his two tone porcupine hairstyle and later outfits. Still, with Jed bouncing away and Howard plinking at the synthesiser, this was a nostalgic few minutes that transported me back effortlessly to 1983. It was a particularly poignant piece for me as, not only did my family acquire its first video recorder (rented, naturally) in 1983 but also this was the first thing that I ever taped - HoJo performing New Song on Swap Shop. Having at the very least been entertained by each and every performance or video thus far, it was clear that into every life a little rain must fall. I was utterly monsooned next by everyone's least favourite cod Scotsman (no, not Jim Davidson), Rod Stewart. With his white shoes and socks (that's where they went!), skin tight yellow strides and eerie blonde feather cut, Rod looked for all the world like the bastard father of H from Steps. Baby Jane is arguably the nadir of the Stewart canon - though the competition is intense, granted. Even D'Ya Think I'm Sexy? has a certain something but this is simply awful. The video espouses all that was worst of the '80s - no imagination, cheap production values and a ridiculous amount of self-importance. Thankfully, the producer decided that after around two thirds of this, enough was enough. Whether by coincidence or design, we were confronted by the sight of Tommy Vance sporting yet another of the ubiquitous grey jumpers. Was there a fire sale in a shop round the corner or did the Radio 1 posse get a bulk discount at Cecil Gee's? Either way, this was not very rock and roll, Tommy. Strangely The VanceMeister looked older all those years ago than he does now. Clearly it was the morning after the night before for dear old Tommy. With indecent haste, we were introduced to The Style Council. No doubt Tommy was already sprinting to the toilet for a quick puke (or whatever) as the opening bars of Long Hot Summer drifted melodiously across the studio. The Future Modfather sat at his piano, inscrutable behind his shades as Mick occasionally plucked at a banjo and a bloke with a red cardigan rapped the bongos. This deviant looking mono-browed bloke also had what appeared to be a golden whistle on a chain swinging around his neck. Evidently this quirky fad had, like the long hot summer of the song, passed me by. Reassuringly, Mick underlined his hillbilly fashion chic by wearing a sparkling pair of white socks. If there was an understated, atmospheric and elegiac beauty to Long Hot Summer then the diametric opposite followed in the unforgettable form of Karma Chameleon and Culture Club. This was the biggest selling single of 1983 by a band fronted by one of the most familiar faces of the 1980's. I'll get my cliché in early here - my mum liked Boy George. Still does despite his well publicised woes and his fall and subsequent rise back to grace, actually. If my memory serves me correctly here (and I'm prepared to stand corrected) the B-side (remember them?) of this atrocious single was the infinitely superior I'll Tumble 4 Ya. But it's Karma Chameleon that is indelibly etched onto the collective consciousness of the great British public as well as being the staple of a million karaoke bars the world over. So, the Club sold their souls to the devil to conquer the world with this lightweight ditty. What of it? They - Roy, Mikey Jon and George - were the ones basking in the warmth of their global adulation and their pleasure of this fact shone through in their festive performance. With a fat bloke dressed as an American cop for the mouth organ solos, the unlikely four cheesed their way through this song. Thereafter, sad to say, the show was tailed. The tape dissolved into Nik Kershaw and his lemon snood bemoaning their luck on Wouldn't It Be Good closely followed by the magical sight of the long forgotten Swansway performing the utterly brilliant (and then number 34) Soul Train. Was Kershaw on the Christmas TOTP? What other gems had I missed? My soul ached a little but, in truth, this slice of 1983 had sated me fully. The DJs were quite restrained in their presentation and seemed almost humble in comparison to their peers of today. Throw in the god-awful fashions, the dreadful graphics and the fact that I sang along with every word (even to Baby Jane) and you have the unassailable fact that this was marvellous viewing. My disappointment of not finding the '84 edition - the one where the acts introduced each other - was washed away with soporific ease and I decided to pull out some more dust-collecting tapes from the back shelf. 1983? It was a bloody good year. And no, I didn't own a pair of white socks. Honest. |
|
|