So, into the 90s and a real topsy-turvy decade, both for
myself and for music. I made some great friends but there were occasions where I
didn’t fit in; school was a nightmare at times and even with football as a
means of escapism – one season I banged in 27 goals for Bective Wanderers – I
still felt a bit of an outsider, especially when I was picked for the Northampton league’s
representative squad. I was treated with suspicion by cliquey players and
borderline bullied. University was a much-needed intervention, even if some of
it was a waste of time.
As for music, there was a hell of a lot of great stuff
around but gradually the record industry started to take it too seriously:
firstly by announcing that pop music was dead and we now had to categorise
everything – rock, hip hop, Europop, Britpop, trip hop, progressive house, paraplegic
trance, etc, as well as girl power – and secondly, later in the decade,
manipulating the charts by selling new releases at low prices and raising them
the following week. As such, every artist’s release date was a calculated
process and almost every number one was a new entry, many staying at the top
for only one week. Basically the industry sucked the fun out of the charts and totally devalued the chart-topper.
14 KLF – 3am Eternal (1991)
With this following Manchild and Street Tuff at numbers 12 and 13, I’ve just noticed there’s a rap theme developing, which is
odd as I don’t think I’ve ever actively explored hip hop and have had no desire
to. Not that this is an out-and-out rap record anyway; it was the lush melodies
and synth bleeps that ultimately drew me in. The ‘Ancients of Mu Mu’ were
geniuses. They created songs with bonkers lyrics worthy of a novelty act but
crafted with the sort of killer hooks associated with the best artists around.
This record coincided with the start of the Gulf War when
naughty Saddam invaded Kuwait. Because it jeopardised the oil industry in the
West, the UK and US decided to join in (er, allegedly). If you think political
correctness is a relatively new phenomenon, you’re wrong. Back during that period,
music was censored and 3am eternal’s intro – a round of gunfire – had to be
removed from the radio edit.
15 Massive (Attack) – Unfinished sympathy (1991)
Poor Massive Attack. The Bristolians also fell victim to music
censorship and were forced to remove ‘Attack’ from their name during the war
period. This is an amazing record with its lush strings and addictive drum
patterns. Another favourite lyric of mine too: “The curiousness of your
potential kiss has got my mind and body aching.”
In a term of Drama at school we constructed a play in which
two gangs tried to negotiate a deal after a series of violent attacks. “It’s a
snapshot of the Gulf War, isn’t it?” I casually mentioned. “I think you realised that a
while ago, Kristian,” was the response. I was flattered.
16 Billy Bragg – Sexuality (1991)
“Just because you’re gay, I won’t turn you away.” Er, good.
In all seriousness, I’ve always wondered what homosexuals thought of this song
at the time; even back then I was sniggering at the simplicity and almost patronising naivety of it all. And for every great line, such as “safe sex doesn’t mean no
sex it just means use your imagination”, you get, “I look like Robert de Niro,
I drive a Mitsubishi Zero”. Was he watching Whose Line Is It Anyway at the
time? Musically, though, it’s an amazing record with Kirsty MacColl on backing
vocals, ex-Smiths guitarist Johnny Marr strumming, and Phill Jupitus directing
a laugh-a-minute video.
17 Electronic – Idiot country (1991)
The opening track on my favourite ever album. I could
pretend to be smug and mention the link to Sexuality because Johnny Marr is the
one of the duo in Electronic; the other being Bernard Sumner from New Order.
But I’ll admit it: I stumbled across the link at the last minute as I didn’t
realise Marr was involved on Sexuality. I should have done as I remember at the
time thinking that the jangly guitar on Idiot country sounded identical to the
one providing the intro on the former. With Sumner yelling the rock-driven
verses then singing the chorus over waves of synth strings, it’s the perfect
template of the album. Two guys in a studio layering synths and guitars,
playing around with basslines and melodies, dragging them out but never for too
long because they continually changed direction.
My best mate and I played the
album to death and had a juvenile tradition of looping the line “And if I drove
a faster car, I’d drive it bloody well” on track four, The patience of a saint,
sung rather oddly by occasional collaborator, Neil Tennant of Pet Shop Boys. I
still listen to the album now and then during painful commutes via Southern
Rail. I don’t think I’ve ever heard an album with a more triumphant intro and
outro than this one.
As you’ll have noticed, 1991 was quite a fruitful year
musically for me although it will also be remembered for a 16-week stint at
number one for Bryan Adams. I mention it because it was quite surreal; it
covered the summer holiday period at school. When you leave one school year
behind you expect to return to the next with an all-new chart to discuss.
Instead we returned bemused by the fact that Adams was still at the top and
Right Said Fred were still at number 2 for an eighth week with I’m too sexy.
18 Haddaway – What is love? (1993)
Europop began to dominate the charts but curiously we in the
UK were always the last to hear it – unless you had MTV. Back then MTV was
solely a European feed for UK viewers and it was fantastic; VJs with phat Euro accents playing
the latest hits, several of which would not be getting a UK release for a few
months. All that she wants by Ace of Base was one big example, and this was another. A Finnish visitor said, “I’m sick of this bloody song”. It had only
just charted here. Top tune and the album wasn't bad either.
19 Lightning Seeds – Lucky you (1994)
Very underrated act who probably suffered from being too
poppy in a world that was about to become invaded by wanky chinstrokers. True,
there was Three lions, and the fantastic The life of Riley has made a comeback
on Match of the Day’s Goal of the Month, but Ian Broudie’s music as a whole has
deserved more attention. The album Jollification was packed with potential hit
singles, so much so that a stomper with Alison Moyet, My best day, and bouncy
singalong Feeling lazy, which would have gone top 5 for Madness had it been
released in the 80s, weren’t released. Shockingly, Lucky you only made number
43 initially but was re-released a year later after the album gained some
momentum. It then charted at a more respectable 15.
20 Dubstar – Stars (1995)
I remember dozing in bed as all good teenagers do when they
should be revising for A-Levels. Then on the radio came a breakbeat intro into
a sea of mournful synth strings. I was now wide awake because I instantly knew
I was listening to something special. A bit like Unfinished sympathy but
without the grooves. Then came Sarah Blackwood’s vocals; the sort – a bit like
Tracy Thorn from Everything But The Girl – that divide people. Are they dull
and monotonous, or darkly romantic and moving? You can probably guess which
side I’m on.
Amazingly the follow-up single, Not so manic now, was also
outstanding and both would be in my top 10 singles of the 1990s if I was pinned
down and forced to come up with something definitive. Which I probably wouldn’t.
Stars, like Lucky you above, had two bites of the cherry, scraping the top 40
in 1994 first time around and then, after Not so manic now was strategically
released in the first week of 1995 to make number 17, charted at 15 following
the album Disgraceful’s release.
The great thing about writing blogs like this is it provides
the perfect excuse to reunite with records such as these. I listened to
Disgraceful on a commute home recently and it still sounds fantastic.
21 Saint Etienne – He’s on the phone (1995)
Some lazy journalists compared Dubstar with Saint Etienne
simply because they had a female singer (and called Sarah too, in this case
Cracknell) and a largely electronic sound and male songwriters. But they were
hugely different. Saint Etienne were mostly considered a bubblegum pop act and
if this single was bubblegum it would be the Everlasting Gobstopper. It’s one
of the finest singles I’ve ever bought because not only does it contain this
track, the three b-sides are magnificent chilled-out ballads. So when I went
out clubbing in the first year of uni I used to listen to He’s on the phone
beforehand and then the other three as I wound down afterwards. Unless I’d
pulled of course. Which wasn’t often. The single is perhaps a snapshot of their
little-known diversity and Smash the system, a double CD collection of singles,
album tracks and b-sides is up there with the best compilations I’ve heard.
Hugely underrated.
22 Pulp – Disco 2000 (1995)
So yes I was now at uni, Nottingham Trent, and immersed in the world of
Britpop. As a genre it was OK, nothing more, and although there were a lot of great songs
out there – The trucks don't work – by The Verve, for example, I found it disturbing to see how many people were banging on about
the genre and how it was ‘real music’, etc. The continual masturbation over Oasis was even worse. What’s the story… was a good
album but there was a period when it was almost as though music history had
been deleted and the only two records left were Wonderwall and Don’t look back
in anger.
Pulp, however, were a band from that era that did interest
me. Different Class was an amazing album full of quirky songs that had a
Britpop sound but with extra personality. Jarvis Cocker fascinated me; there
were times when I thought he was simply a satirical character but others when
he was a genius, taking a step back and thinking, this is all a load of
bollocks, isn’t it? Famously, of course, he invaded the stage at the Brit Awards when
Michael Jackson pretended to be Jesus during a performance of Earth song and more
or less farted in his face.
Disco 2000 hit the spot because it worked on so many levels. It was a rousing pop anthem but one full of sadness, yet the narrative's wit kept the song upbeat enough for the chorus and its hope for reunion to feel special. Not many artists
are capable of achieving that balance in such a moving manner. And of course,
the older you get, the more poignant the lyrics become.
23 Crescendo – Are you out there? (1995)
From the sublime to the spooky. Just before we broke for
Christmas I heard this, a weird dance record – thumping beats, strings and a
choir – played in the early hours on Radio 1. I really liked it so I bought it
but I had no idea what was in store. The single version was good, the extended
mix amazing and there was a third version lasting 20 minutes that was
mind-blowing; I realised the single version had basically chopped about
three-quarters of a masterpiece. There was an intro so tentative it sounded like
the volume was at the wrong level, a vocal, a gradual build-up from a choir to
the main melody, and after 10 minutes it exploded into a battle between the
dancefloor and the orchestra pit.
I think this is the only record Crescendo ever released.
Just a shame it wasn’t released at Easter; then I could make a joke about putting
all their eggs into one basket. Snigger.
24 Faithless – Insomnia (1996)
The other week I was making my way to work when some geezer
drove past me at breakneck speed with this blaring out of his car stereo.
Forget cutting-edge house, he was listening to this, one of the most iconic
dance records ever made. Over 20 years on and Insomnia still sounds as fresh as
ever. Even wanky ‘real music’ Britpop fans would hit the dancefloor when this
came on at the Black Orchid in Nottingham all those years ago.
25 Bon Jovi – Living on a prayer
The Black Orchid (as it was named back in 1995-96) was one
of many bars that had student nights during the first year. When it filled up
to near maximum levels, the DJ would play a string of pop classics with massive
singalong choruses. It was nearly the same order every week – Tainted love,
Karma chameleon, Take on me, I wanna be (500 miles), etc – but it was good fun.
And it would carry on; there’d be Summer
of 69, Sweet child of mine, and
then this.
My best mate from school was at the same uni but on a different campus and he
introduced me to one of his flatmates, a sweet Lancashire lass whose first
words were: “D’ya like Bon Jorvi?” I’d found my best mate from uni. I wasn’t
going to include this originally but on New Year’s Eve I was abroad watching a
live band and they started playing Living
on a prayer. My plan was to dance like a twat to the song and send her the
video to say an early happy new year as we were two hours ahead but it didn’t
work. Probably a good thing.
26 Divine Comedy – Something for the weekend (1996)
A bit like Jarvis Cocker, frontman Neil Hannon had – and still
has – the quirky personality and raised eyebrow that made Divine Comedy stand out from the regular
Britpop trend. The band are best known for the cheeky National Express but
their output has been consistently great over the years. Many will recognise
Hannon’s voice from Father Ted’s unused Eurovision version of My lovely horse,
and he also wrote the theme tunes for that show and the IT Crowd.
Something for the weekend was a very clever record; not a love song, more a humorous twist on the art of seduction using a tale of a mysterious woodshed central to a cunning scam.
Part three, 2000-2016: 'Don't let the walls cave in on you'
Part one, 1976-1990: '4am in the morning'
