25 December 1988: To Warm the Hearts of Good Gentle Folk

1. Cliff Richard: Mistletoe and Wine
2. Kylie & Jason: Especially for You
3. Erasure: Crackers International
4. Angry Anderson: Suddenly
5. Status Quo: Burning Bridges (On and Off and On Again)
6. Inner City: Good Life
7. Neneh Cherry: Buffalo Stance
8. Bros: Cat Among the Pigeons / Silent Night
9. The Four Tops: Loco in Acapulco
10. Phil Collins: Two Hearts
11. Petula Clark: Downtown '88
12. U2: Angel of Harlem
13. Michael Jackson: Smooth Criminal
14. Kim Wilde: Four Letter Word
15. Freihheit: Keeping the Dream Alive
16. Rick Astley: Take Me to Your Heart
17. New Order: Fine Time
18. a-ha: You Are the One
19. Londonbeat: 9 a.m. (The Comfort Zone)
20. Enya: Evening Falls
21. A Tribe of Toffs: John Kettley Is a Weatherman
22. Robin Beck: First Time
23. Shakin' Stevens: True Love
24. Bananarama: Nathan Jones
25. INXS: Need You Tonight
26. Bomb the Bass featuring Maureen: Say a Little Prayer
27. Tiffany: Radio Romance
28. Annie Lennox & Al Green: Put a Little Love in Your Heart
29. Bon Jovi: Born to Be My Baby
30. Chris de Burgh: Missing You
31. Traveling Wilburys: Handle with Care
32. Gloria Estefan & Miami Sound Machine: Rhythm Is Gonna Get You
33. Pet Shop Boys: Left to My Own Devices
34. Natalie Cole: I Live for Your Love
35. Alexander O'Neal: The Christmas Song / Thank You for a Good Year
36. Hithouse: Jack to the Sound of the Underground
37. The Beach Boys: Kokomo
38. Humanoid: Stakker Humanoid
39. Boy Meets Girl: Waiting for a Star to Fall
40. Reggae Philharmonic Orchestra: Minnie the Moocher

~~~~~

Do They Know It's Christmas, Happy Xmas Everybody, I Wish It Would Be Christmas Everyday, Fairytale of New York, Last Christmas: modern British pop's seasonal canon. These songs, as well as a host of others, seem to crop up on every budget Christmas compilation album and are regularly covered by a wide variety of artists - including some nauseatingly cheap versions that you always hear in M&S stores. So predominant are they that it's easy to assume they became part of the canon right from the start. Back in '88, however, these favourites were no where to be found: pub jukeboxes were spinning the likes of Inner City and Status Quo, whose Top 10 hits earmarked a certain festive goodwill even if they had nothing to do with Christmas. It felt as if the charts were loaded with surrogate Christmas hits.

Two notable Christmas songs, however, came out in 1988 and they perfectly represent just how a contemporary success may be ignored in the future - and vice versa. I've already written more than enough about Mistletoe and Wine, although it's been a not unpleasant surprise to discover it being a drinking song in the film The Little Matchgirl starring Twiggy and Roger Daltry. The other is nowhere to be seen on this week's Top 40. Chris Rea's Driving Home for Christmas many not have troubled the hit parade that year but it has gone on to become a holiday classic and a veritable member of the aforementioned canon. Like all my favourite Christmas songs, it brings in a sense of reality into the mix of seasonal magic. Someone had to write a song all about traveling a long distance to be home for the holidays, looking forward to seeing the family but dreading the traffic jams. "I take a look at the driver next to me," sings the gravelly-voiced Rea, "He's just the same": a Christmas experience everyone can relate to - especially someone like me who just completed an exhausting thirty hour trip from Korea back to Canada for the big day.

"Paul? Paul?" my mum whispered sweetly, "It's time to get up. It's Christmas." It's come to this: Christmas morning and my parents had to get me out of bed. I'd previously been through many a sleepless Christmas Eve, wondering if we could see what Santa had left for us at 4 a.m. or simply eschewing convention and my parents' feelings altogether by helping myself to some presents while everyone else slept. But here I was on the verge of my teenage years, puberty just kicking in and, with it, a greater priority on sleep and, thus, I went from getting everyone else up to having to be woken up. Christmas, it must be said, has never quite been the same.

I was sharing a room with Mum and Dad at the Olivia Court, Torquay; my sister had a room to herself down the hall. Being fifteen, she had to be woken up too. Dad handed me my stocking: this time my Christmas sock was a receptacle for all my gifts, not simply an appendix of odds and sods thrown together by my dad. And it was at this moment that I realised that all those items I'd pointed at to my folks in shops on Regent St and Carnaby St and Oxford Circus a few weeks back were in fact my Christmas presents. It's as if they'd double-bluffed the boy who always managed to find his mum and dad's secret hiding place for presents. Still, getting the very same objects you'd asked for had a definite up side. Imagine that...

That night, the four of us stood at a pay phone just inside the Olivia Court's front doors. If there was one thing that threatened to ruin our Christmas in England it was thinking about our family back home and the turkey dinner with either cabbage rolls (at Grandma Betty & Grandpa Roy's and/or Auntie Fay and Uncle Harold's) or Chinese chews and jumbo raisin cookies for desert (at Grandma Ella and Grandpa Bill's). While it was nice hearing their voices and I did miss all of them, it was a nice reminder that our Christmas was worth enjoying too. Grandma Betty's in Lethbridge was a bit chaotic: at my end of the phone I could hear several relatives talking a varying decibels. The line from Devon to Alberta was poor enough as it was but then I had shouting cousins and uncles picking up the receiver to wish me a merry Christmas out of nowhere when I thought I was talking to my great grandma to contend with - and that's pretty much like every Christmas with them was like. A call to my grandparents in Calgary was then placed. Suddenly a dozen or so relatives who wanted to talk to me all at the same time didn't seem so bad: hardly anyone was at Grandma Ella and Grandpa Bill's that Christmas and it seemed to bring back memories of awkward silences when no one had anything to say. In the years ahead my mum would look back at our Christmas in Torquay as our best ever and I always thought of those phone calls home as the moment it dawn on us how nice it was.

With Christmas Day winding down, a middle-aged woman showed up and began setting up a keyboard and microphones in the dining room. She'd be entertaining us with some songs. At the time I fancied my self a singer and was keen to get up to the microphone. My hubris having been bolstered by an impromptu bit of singing the night before when I delighted my mum and our new friends and fellow Olivia Court guests Bill and Pat with renditions of Food Glorious Food and Sunrise, Sunset, which I'd performed in the Mayflower choir a month earlier. Having the backing of a professional musician, I decided to switch things up with The Locomotion. Too bad I didn't know the words very well. A good thing, then, that my sister got me the Kylie Minogue tape for Christmas: there'd be plenty of time to learn.

~~~~~
young Paul's Christmas #1: Especially for You
older Paul's retro Christmas chart topper: Left to My Own Devices

21 December 1988: I Am Lost in Oceans of Night, part 2

The Olivia Court hotel was as step up from the still modest number of B&B's we'd stayed at; even our beloved, much missed Buchan in Edinburgh had its dearth of bathrooms and largely inedible wholewheat toast to take a tiny fraction of the shine off our stay. But here at our Christmas accommodation on the English Riviera we were at a place with all the comforts of home - and given that we were living in a cramped, cold and gloomy dwelling, it also had all the comforts we never had at home. One comfort, however, went unappreciated by me. The first night we were served pâté as part of our dinner and I looked at it askance. I wasn't exactly sure why there was a pile of wet cat food on my plate and I was determined not to eat it under any circumstances. (The following night, after picking at a piece of fish that I'd similarly turned up my nose to, the exasperated manageress asked me, "So what do you like to eat?" I must say they whipped up quite a nice omelette for me the night after)

Such service and in a town noted for one (fictional) hotel and its (equally fictional) hot-tempered manager and buffoonish staff. If one plays a game of word association involving TV shows and the towns and cities in which they're set this one would top the list. Torquay? Fawlty Towers.

I wasn't yet a fan of the show but I was already aware of it. Perhaps that's why I seemed to notice an over-abundance of hotels, B&B's and guest houses in and around Torquay - although I suppose it's as much to do with Devon's status as a magnet for tourists more than anything else. (Did it ever occur to John Cleese to set such a lousy establishment in an equally lousy English town? Perhaps it stretched believability that a hotel in, say, King's Lynn would attract guests in the first place - and I say that as someone who once spent a night there!) Do the hoteliers of Torquay consider the sitcom to be a saving grace or the band of their existence? While morticians and funeral directors have spoken of how Six Feet Under has helped aid the public's perception of their trade, Devon's hotel industry must be sick to death of hearing guests go on about Basil and Manuel. Either that or they just act like the bloody show never existed, much like the owners of the Olivia Court.

My pâté largely untouched, we went to the lounge where my sister and I could occupy ourselves by giving lots of attention to Sophie, the hotel's very sweet beagle. The TV must not have been on or else we would have already heard the grim news. Suddenly, one of the staff came in and told us: a Pan-Am jet had just crashed in southern Scotland. 

Lockerbie - for a time at least - would go on to be as synonymous with aviation terrorism as Toquay would be with malevolent hotel proprietors. Much like Aleppo, Chernobyl, Columbine, and Ypres before and after it, it went from being an unremarkable, nothing town to one forever linked with tragedy.

For me, and this will sound heartless, the tragic news lasted only about as long until the shock wore off. Being on a trip, we weren't especially inclined to be watching TV - I can only recall tuning in to Neighbours and the Top of the Pops Christmas Special while we were in Devon - so the heartbreaking news was something we could easily avoid. (Upon returning to Laindon, it seemed like all the reports from Lockerbie were about the families of the victims coming to Scoland primarily from the U.S. which gave the disaster seem much more like something that had happened in America rather than in Britain)

The next day, we headed out to Land's End at the tip of Cornwall. The day after, it was Kent's Cavern, a spot that only stands out due to having sprained my left ring finger after tripping on the steps in front of the Olivia Court. I spent the rest of the day, as well as much of the next, with my hand awkwardly - not to mention embarrassingly - pressed up to my chest. That afternoon we went to see Who Framed Roger Rabbit? which was practically ruined by the sweet popcorn my parents purchased by mistake (I tried warning them but to no avail).

And, finally, we come to Christmas Eve. The couple that ran the Olivia Court invited guests to go with them to a church service and my mum accepted on behalf of her otherwise reluctant family. An evening service, I discovered, was a good way to whet one's appetite before Christmas but my first time going to church wasn't something I looked forward to doing again. On the way back to our hotel, I began to get excited for Christmas.

~~~~~
young Paul's favourite: Especially for You
older Paul's retro pick: Left to My Own Devices

18 December 1988: I Am Lost in Oceans of Night, part 1

1. Cliff Richard: Mistletoe and Wine
2. Kylie & Jason: Especially for You
3. Erasure: Crackers International
4. Angry Anderson: Suddenly
5. Inner City: Good Life
6. Bros: Cat Among the Pigeons / Silent Night
7. Status Quo: Burning Bridges (On and Off and On Again)
8. Phil Collins: Two Hearts
9. U2: Angel of Harlem
10. Petula Clark: Downtown '88
11. New Order: Fine Time
12. Rick Astley: Take Me to Your Heart
13. Neneh Cherry: Buffalo Stance
14. Michael Jackson: Smooth Criminal
15. The Four Tops: Loco in Acapulco
16. Bananarama: Nathan Jones
17. Bomb the Bass featuring Maureen: Say a Little Prayer
18. Robin Beck: First Time
19. Kim Wilde: Four Letter Word
20. a-ha: You Are the One
21. Londonbeat: 9 a.m. (The Comfort Zone)
22. Chris de Burgh: Missing You
23. Bon Jovi: Born to Be My Baby
24. Tiffany: Radio Romance
25. INXS: Need You Tonight
26. Pet Shop Boys: Left to My Own Devices
27. Freiheit: Keeping the Dream Alive
28. Shakin' Stevens: True Love
29. Hithouse: Jack to the Sound of the Underground
30. Alexander O'Neal: The Christmas Song / Thank You for a Good Year
31. Humanoid: Stakker Humanoid
32. Annie Lennox & Al Green: Put a Little Love in Your Heart
33. Traveling Wilburys: Handle with Care
34. The Beach Boys: Kokomo
35. Reggae Philharmonic Orchestra: Minnie the Moocher
36. Enya: Evening Falls
37. George Michael: Kissing a Fool
38. Gloria Estefan & Miami Sound Machine: Rhythm Is Gonna Get You
39. A Tribe of Toffs: John Kettley Is a Weatherman
40. Natalie Cole: I Live for Your Love

~~~~~

I wrote a couple weeks' back that everyone seemed depressingly resigned to the dreadful Mistletoe and Wine being on top until Christmas. I had nothing but contempt for the two previous chart toppers but there was always the hope that they'd be dethroned; with this, however, it was inevitable that it was going nowhere. At the time it was just rotten and cheesy, but now I hear it as a self-righteous wannabe holiday carol exhorting all the stuff about the season that means precisely nothing to me. In effect, Cliff Richard is simply listing by rote all the clichés of an old fashioned family Christmas with none of the reality of the day. A sweet observation like "Does your granny always tell you that the old songs are the best / Then she's up and rock 'n' rollin' with the rest"? Nope. How about a little "You mean you forgot cranberries too"? Nah. This is a straight up idealistic Christmas and I couldn't stand it. The music fan in me couldn't wait for January even if the Christmas mark in me was as excited as ever.

But it was a different sort of excitement. As I mentioned last week, we were embarking on a lengthy Christmas holiday spent on the road. Back from Lincoln just a day and we were once again spurning our tiny Laindon shack, this time heading east. Somewhere near Bristol I drifted off to sleep and when I awoke I noticed an over-abundance of "L's", "W's" and "Y's" in the place names. We were in Wales.

Passing by Cardiff and then through Swansea, we eventually made it to Mumbles where we'd be spending the next two nights. I have no idea how or why my parents chose this charmingly nondescript town on a bay as our base for our trip to Cymru but it proved a good one: we were within easy access of the gorgeous eastern Welsh coast but we were in a town big enough to ensure that some services were still available. As lovely a town as Tenby was to drive through, I daresay we might have starved had we elected to stay there - although that's assuming its no doubt modest selection of B&B's and guesthouses weren't as boarded up as its shops and teahouses. It quickly dawned on us that we had descended upon south Wales in the middle of its off-peak season. My mum was hoping we could stop somewhere for a cup of tea or coffee but our search through the villages of Pembrokeshire proved fruitless. My sister and I noticed an awful lot of storefronts with posters for Gino Ginelli ice cream¹: it was as if summer came to an end and entire towns just came to a halt, awaiting the hordes of tourists who weren't us.

That was the downside to having an entire county to ourselves; on the plus side we had an entire county to ourselves. Parking along the coast, we ended up at a beach that was a far cry from those narrow, pebble-strewn strands we'd encountered in Southend, Dover and Brighton. This was a proper beach, the sand was pale and soft, the shore expansive. All I wanted to do was run and jump and that's exactly what I did. A lone windsurfer bravely took on the rough Atlantic waves but he was our only company. Returning to Mumbles, we eventually found a place to eat and walked along the esplanade. Even here on the outskirts of the city of Swansea we were in relative solitude.

And, thus, we come back to the big drawback of staying in area so bereft of other people. Our B&B was big with long, dark corridors and very few other guests. My sister got a room to herself but it was on a different floor and on the opposite side of the building. The whole place had an unsettling creepiness about it. Two nights of this place proved to be more than enough. Besides which, one day of travelling through abandoned villages had a welcome novelty to it; any more and it would surely have become as bleak and depressing as I am picturing right now. A good thing we moving on to Torquay.

To be continued.

---

1 As Canadians, these signs immediately made us think of Gino Vanelli, he of I Just Wanna Stop-fame and one seriously killer pube-fro.^↩

11 December 1988: I Just Can't Contain These Feelings That Remain If Dreams Were Wings You Know I Would've Flown to You

1. Cliff Richard: Mistletoe and Wine
2. Kylie & Jason: Especially for You
3. Angry Anderson: Suddenly
4. Erasure: Crackers International
5. Bros: Cat Among the Pigeons / Silent Night
6. Inner City: Good Life
7. Phil Collins: Two Hearts
8. Rick Astley: Take Me to Your Heart
9. Status Quo: Burning Bridges (On and Off and On Again)
10. U2: Angel of Harlem
11. Michael Jackson: Smooth Criminal
12. Robin Beck: First Time
13. Petula Clark: Downtown '88
14. Bomb the Bass featuring Maureen: Say a Little Prayer
15. New Order: Fine Time
16. Bananarama: Nathan Jones
17. Chris de Burgh: Missing You
18. Tiffany: Radio Romance
19. Pet Shop Boys: Left to My Own Devices
20. Humanoid: Stakker Humanoid
21. INXS: Need You Tonight
22. Bon Jovi: Born to Be My Baby
23. The Four Tops: Loco in Aculpoco
24. Hithouse: Jack to the Sound of the Underground
25. a-ha: You Are the One [remix]
26. George Michael: Kissing a Fool
27. The Beach Boys: Kokomo
28. Kim Wilde: Four Letter Word
29. Londonbeat: 9 a.m. (The Comfort Zone)
30. Alexander O'Neal: The Christmas Song / Thank You for a Good Year
31. Neneh Cherry: Buffalo Stance
32. Deacon Blue: Real Gone Kid
33. Salt 'n' Pepa: Twist and Shout
34. Traveling Wilburys: Handle with Care
35. Kylie Minogue: Je ne sais pas pourquoi
36. Shakin' Stevens: True Love
37. Yazz: Stand Up for Your Love Rights
38. Annie Lennox & Al Green: Put a Little Love in Your Heart
39. The Pasadenas: Enchanted Lady
40. Reggae Philharmonic Orchestra: Minnie the Moocher

~~~~~

The Summer of 1991. Bryan Adams was absolutely everywhere but about four weeks of (Everything I Do) I Do It for You was more than enough for me. Superman's Song by Crash Test Dummies was pretty good but it was hardly the sort of number that a fourteen-year-old could embrace and believe in. I have fond memories of attempting to rap in unison with Chris Robinson on The Black Crowes' Hard to Handle while on the Skyride at the Calgary Stampede but it wasn't something I sought out afterwards. It Ain't Over 'til It's Over, Unbelievable, 3 a.m. Eternal, I Am Here: yeah, there were a lot of solid tunes that July. But none could match the addictive chiming drone sung by a sullen, grubby urchin with a voice that could hit high notes but still sound flat. There She Goes by The La's was one of those songs that just seemed to alter everything. It sounded fresh yet harked back to the pop/rock golden age. It led me to an indie/alternative phase that took up the next year or so of my life - and probably led me towards eventually trying to discover as many types of music as possible. And all from a song that is so outstanding that even Sixpence None the Richer couldn't balls it up.

It's strange, then, that it was around two and a half years earlier. Clinging on to the lower reaches of the Top 100, it was one of many singles that failed to trouble the proper hit parade. Most would fade into obscurity but There She Goes eventually got a second chance. I wonder what my eleven-year-old self would have thought of it. Would I have been ready for it? I had little to do with indie at the time, I knew more about The Smithereens than The  Smiths. The Top 40 was hardly brimming with tunes from the fringes, the closest being New Order's Fine Time, a thrilling jumble of acid house and synth pop that baffled me at the time - even though I liked the grotesque, nightmarish video. I may well have been equally stumped by There She Goes. I wasn't ready for it and, evidently, neither was 1988.

This week would be our last at school before the Christmas holidays. Finishing in the middle of December seems awfully early and it probably gave me the false impression that our winter break was longer than what we typically got back home. At school that Friday I exchanged gift sets of chocolate bars with my friends: we all got each other pretty much the same things although the Yorkie Bar set from Neil was a particular treat. In the library for our final class of the day and term I leafed through the Raymond Briggs book Father Christmas, paying particular attention to the panel depicting Santa taking a dump, and then we were off.

And off we were. We may or may not have headed back to Laindon to change but in any case we were soon on our way. For the next two weeks we were barely ever at home as we jettisoned up to the Midlands, over to Wales, then down to Devon and back up towards the Midlands. Our little place was little more than a flop house where we would spend a night before heading elsewhere. And this was by design. For the first time in my life we didn't have a Christmas tree to decorate. Mum put up our felt advent calendar but otherwise our place was bereft of Yuletide cheer. This we would have to locate elsewhere.

Friday night we were heading up to Peterborough to stay we John and Debbie and their little girl Aimee. While the chums I met in Brighton and Colchester were still AWOL, here we were staying with a fellow exchange family that my mum and dad had similarly hit it off with but who my sister and I hardly knew. This didn't seem fair to me. Any trepidation and/or resentment we may have had quickly evaporated when we got to their place: their modest abode was as cramped and uninspired as our's and our hosts were welcoming and John impressed us to no end by displaying a considerable knowledge and interest in the pop charts. We were going to be seeing a lot of these people 

On Saturday we all proceeded to Lincoln for an exchange teacher's event. Being in York a month earlier was still fresh in our memories and Lincoln seemed cut from the same cloth: mid-sized, older, vaguely Nordic/Germanic and, seemingly, in the north of England. Only this week did I learn that Lincoln is in fact south of York: I had always figured that York was in the Midlands and Lincoln was practically knocking on the door of Scotland. How wrong I was.

A.B.C.: Another Bloody Cathedral. I've heard this lamentation to childhood travel boredom and I've uttered it a couple times myself. But I've never fully believed it. (Although, having said that, while living in Thailand a few years ago I began to consider its Eastern companion ailment N.A.D.R.B.: Not Another Damn Reclining Buddha) My folks never overdid such visits so it never seemed like a chore to wander around these glorified churches. In any event, it hardly applied in this instance: Lincoln Cathedral is brilliant and set the gold standard in my mind for grand places of worship. The York Minster had its Blue Peter bosses and a pretty great view of the city but it couldn't match the Gothic architecture and unsettling echo of the Cathedral Church of the Blessed Virgin Mary of Lincoln. As we entered we could hear the strains of a choir wafting through the eight hundred year old structure and I shuddered.

The Cathedral was such a highlight of the trip that I assumed it was the only reason we bothered venturing up to Lincoln. Only now do I realise that the city's famed Christmas Market was our raison d'être for being there. I had no idea it was famed, it just seemed like a quaint seasonal event that we stumbled upon. It could have been anywhere, it was simply a number of people wandering about some nondescript stalls strewn with Christmas lights. Aimee and I went in the fun house but little else stands out. Looking it up now I'm struck by what a big deal it is; perhaps its stature has grown over the years, maybe they put a bit more thought into making it more visually appealing or it could be that I'm no longer eleven and disinterested in Christmas markets.

From there, we headed to the nearby village of Woodhall Spa where we'd be bed and breakfasting. A British teacher's exchange volunteer invited us to his or her place where we were promised some of the finest Chinese food in all the land. Our hosts smacked their lips at the greyish, limp prawns while we did our best to push the bland, deep-fried-beyond-recognition veggies around our plates. One lousy meal and we were convinced: the British haven't the faintest idea how to cook Chinese food. End of discussion. And that's how we kicked off our Christmas holidays. A taster for what was to come and here's hoping it will taste better than Woodhall Spa Chinese.

~~~~~
young Paul's favourite: Especially for You
older Paul's retro pick: Left to My Own Devices

4 December 1988: You're Much Too Young

1. Cliff Richard: Mistletoe and Wine
2. Kylie & Jason: Especially for You
3. Angry Anderson: Suddenly
4. Bros: Cat Among the Pigeons / Silent Night
5. Robin Beck: First Time
6. Phil Collins: Two Hearts
7. Erasure: Crackers International
8. Rick Astley: Take Me to Your Heart
9. Michael Jackson: Smooth Criminal
10. Chris de Burgh: Missing You
11. Pet Shop Boys: Left to My Own Devices
12. Bomb the Bass featuring Maureen: Say a Little Prayer
13. INXS: Need You Tonight
14. Tiffany: Radio Romance
15. Bananarama: Nathan Jones
16. Hithouse: Jack to the Sound of the Underground
17. Humanoid: Stakker Humanoid
18. George Michael: Kissing a Fool
19. Salt 'n' Pepa: Twist and Shout
20. Status Quo: Burning Bridges (On and Off and On Again)
21. Deacon Blue: Real Gone Kid
22. Inner City: Good Life
23. New Order: Fine Time
24. Petula Clark: Downtown '88
25. The Beach Boys: Kokomo
26. Brother Beyond: He Ain't No Competition
27. Kylie Minogue: Je ne sais pas pourquoi
28. a-ha: You Are the One [remix]
29. Yazz: Stand Up for Your Love Rights
30. The Four Tops: Loco in Acapulco
31. Bon Jovi: Born to Be My Baby
32. The Pasadenas: Enchanted Lady
33. Milli Vanilli: Girl You Know It's True
34. Kim Wilde: Four Letter Word
35. Mica Paris: Breathe Life Into Me
36. Robert Palmer: She Makes My Day
37. Samantha Fox: Love House
38. Londonbeat: 9 a.m. (The Comfort Zone)
39. Iron Maiden: The Clairvoyant
40. Alexander O'Neal: The Christmas Song / Thank You for a Good Year

~~~~~

The last of the heavy hitters were up for the promise of the Christmas #1 - sorry, Alexander O'Neal - but as it turned out it was all for nought as the sappy, not-quite-a-hymn-but-not-exactly-a-secular-fave Mistletoe and Wine was now on top and everyone knew it wasn't going anywhere. Cliff Richard was someone I wasn't previously aware of and I soon had him pegged as a national treasure-type, one whose popularity in one region didn't translate in foreign climes. How wrong I was - and not because I was ignorant of Summer Holiday getting semi-regular rotation on the CBC's Sunday morning dead time. The appeal of this holiday hit was lost on the four of us in Laindon but I assumed we were in a tiny minority. He struck me as pompous and more than a little full of himself: turns out, that would've been a fairly charitable view of Cliff, especially within Britain.

Of the big newcomers, one was by a respectable synth-pop duo giving fans value for money with a four song EP and the other was a duet by an Antipodean couple cashing in on their respective TV characters' wedding. Guess which one is better?

Now, first, neither is especially good. Erasure had their backers and they seemed to be the discerning music fan's choice to get the number one. Smash Hits named Crackers International their single of the fortnight and I was rather in awe of it as an EP. I'd never heard of such a format before but it seemed cool that on even the modestly-sized 7" cut of vinyl there were four songs rather than the standard two. At one point my sister bought it - even though we didn't have a record player, a fact that made it an even more prized possession - and I liked staring at the between song groove on each side. What I missed out on was most of the music. Though sold and marketed as an EP, it was treated no differently from any other single by radio and TV and, thus, the only track we ever heard was Stop!, whose bristling energy and Christmas bells couldn't disguise the fact that it was a considerable let down after the brilliant A Little Respect which had been a hit back in October. The opening verse is repeated directly after the first run through of the chorus and that, combined with a running time of under three minutes, gave the whole thing a rushed, unfinished quality. That said, at least it was catchy which is more than can be said for the remaining three tracks. B-sides have always had the usually well-earned reputation for being filler but here we have a trio tunes barely worth the effort of playing the whole way through, let alone writing about.

In the end, Erasure were a group who couldn't win: they sounded in over their heads when they dabbled in profundity and facile when they tried to lighten things up. It probably never helped that their synth beats and somewhat amusing videos couldn't hide the fact that they were so deadly serious and irony-free - not to mention the vague sense from Andy Bell's operatic-lite pitch that he'd rather not be lowering himself to be warbling pop songs. (Evidently Cliff Richard wasn't alone in the taking-himself-too-seriously stakes)

(As for Kylie and Jason's effort, perhaps I should leave my analysis for next time. Let's just say for now that it's not a great step down in quality from Erasure - and not just because it was the first 7" single I bought to rival that of my sister)

I like to look back at this year in England as a turning point, the period in which I abandoned the things of my childhood and began to look ahead to the teen years and adulthood. It's a nice thought and not entirely wrong. Before we left I was still playing with toys, still kept my collection of teddy bears and other animals on display in my bedroom, loved wrestling - I was still trying to face up to it being fake - and comic books and cartoons and wasn't even that far off from believing in Santa Claus. I was starting to get into girls but I was still at that stage in which I was far too embarrassed to admit it to anyone.

Living in Britain got me away from many of my old childish pursuits. Wrestling wasn't on any of the four channels we got, most of my toys were back in Calgary and wearing a school uniform gave me a sartorial élan I'd never previously possessed (and promptly abandoned at the first opportunity). Nevertheless, I'd typically get home and throw on my old sweats from back home before tuning in to BBC Children's programming hosted by Andy Crane and his sidekick Bobby the Banana. Photos of me at the time show a mat-haired urchin sporting Converse All-Star jogging pants and the sort of winter jacket that probably still had a lift ticket dangling from its zipper. Trips to Scotland and York led me into newsagents shops where I purchased copies of the Beano. (I naively asked some of my mates at school about the iconic tabloid comic but was met with many a scoffing dismissal - except for from the two slowest boys in our class; I didn't raise the subject again) I was even still a few months away from feeling self-conscious about holding my mum's hand while walking around British towns. Puberty may have beckoned but I was still clinging to my boyhood.

And, yet, I began to secretly plot my return to Canada: I imagined learning to play the guitar and forming a band with some of my chums from back home; I pictured myself attending parties and school dances; I was sure I'd be the star of the basketball team. All those Archie comics I'd grown up on gave me the false impression that the Junior High and High School life that awaited me back home would be a glorious half-dozen years of teenage derring-do, casual girlfriends and cruising through life. Needless to say, I experienced none of that once we were back in Calgary. Not that it mattered: by then I was thinking of nothing else but the life I left behind in England.

~~~~~

young Paul's favourite: Especially for You

older Paul's retro pick: Left to My Own Devices