- Gerry Marsden, Paul McCartney, Holly Johnson & The Christians: Ferry Cross the Mersey
- Kylie Minogue: Hand on Your Heart
- Natalie Cole: Miss You Like Crazy
- London Boys: Requiem
- Queen: I Want It All
- Edelweiss: Bring Me Edelweiss
- The Bangles: Eternal Flame
- Chaka Khan: I'm Every Woman '89
- Midnight Oil: Beds Are Burning
- Roxette: The Look
- Transvision Vamp: Baby I Don't Care
- The Beatmasters with Merlin: Who's in the House?
- Holly Johnson: Americanos
- Debbie Gibson: Electric Youth
- Simply Red:If You Don't Know Me by Now
- Stevie Nicks: Rooms on Fire
- Stefan Dennis: Don't It Make You Feel Good
- Poison: Your Mama Don't Dance
- Yazz: Where Has All the Love Gone
- Bobby Brown: Every Little Step
- Hue & Cry: Violently
- Paul McCartney: My Brave Face
- Capella: Helyom Halib (Acid, Acid, Acid)
- Bon Jovi: I'll Be There for You
- Deacon Blue: Fergus Sings the Blues
- Neneh Cherry: Manchild
- Fine Young Cannibals: Good Thing
- Shakin' Stevens: Love Attack
- Swing Out Sister: You on My Mind
- Lynne Hamilton: On the Inside
- Sam Brown: Can I Get a Witness?
- Diana Ross: Workin' Overtime
- Kon Kan: I Beg Your Pardon
- Alyson Williams featuring Nikki D: My Love Is So Raw
- Robert Palmer: Change His Ways
- Metallica: One
- Inner City: Ain't Nobody Better
- Public Image Limited: Disappointed
- Soul II Soul featuring Caron Wheeler: Keep on Movin'
- De La Soul: Me, Myself and I
~~~~~
Piano and violin soloists, ballet performances, card tricks that went way over my head: yeah, elementary school talent shows were a glum affair. Of course, it didn't help that I never took part in one: the only time I bothered trying to enter was with a plotless, lifeless play cooked up with three friends and which suffered the indignity of being one of only two not selected for a class talent show. (School-wide variety performances were out of the question) The only saving grace was airbands.
Wake Me Up Before You Go Go, The Final Countdown, Thriller, Walk Like an Egyptian: all were mimed with equal parts gusto and shodiness and they never failed to enthrall me. (Even the teachers who dressed up in drag for Islands in the Stream didn't completely warp me) But it was the Grade 6 class rendition of Band Aid's Do They Know Its Christmas? that proved especially memorable. Now it's possible that everyone in the class was supposed to be a specific member of the UK supergroup but it isn't as though we were able to pick out which kid was supposed to be Simon le Bon or Sting from the rabble on stage. Only one person was recognizable to all and "he" was sporting a white jump suit covered in colourful numbers and top hat. But if everybody knew Boy George, I was the only one aware that "he" was my sister.
Band Aid was criticized by many at the time and to this day it still has its fair share of detractors. But the Highwood Elementary Grade 6 class airband of Do They Know It's Christmas? seemed cool - and not just because I'd never felt prouder of my sister. It was the spring of 1985 - no one was clever enough to have remarked, "What do you mean Do They Know It's Christmas? Don't you know that it isn't Christmas?" - and the Ethiopian famine was still all over the news and the vocalists from Duran Duran, Wham!, The Police and Culture Club were all still superstars. It even seemed original but that was soon to change: even by the time of We Are the World - also lip-synched at a subsequent Highwood talent show (it sucked) - and Tears Are Not Enough (the Canadian one which no one bothered to immortalize with an airband) the whole thing already seemed tired.
Charity singles thus became predictable. It seemed like Hillsborough had only just happened and there was already talk of a benefit record. Venerable Scouser Gerry Marsden dutifully recruited fellow Merseysiders Paul McCartney, Holly Johnson and The Christians for a cover of his old Gerry & The Pacemakers hit Ferry Cross the Mersey. This was a far cry from the cool of Band Aid; this was a pair of aging stars (one I'd never heard of before and haven't had much interest in subsequently), a respected but unremarkable soul group (who I always suspected of being a Christian rock group in thinly-veiled disguise) and a current hitmaker (who was actually running on fumes from his period with Frankie Goes to Hollywood, somehow left off of Band Aid). Even the presence of McCartney wasn't enough - Macca's stock having depreciated over the course of the eighties to the point where his mimed gaff on Wogan was the only thing notable about his new solo single.
Needless to say, I hated it - and I was especially resentful of the implication that disliking the record meant I was being disrespectful towards the ninety-six unfortunate souls who lost their lives in the overcrowded pens of Leppings Lane. Plus, it entered the charts at number one, an unparalleled feat since we arrived in England, but which seemed to trivialize such a novel occurrence. A handful of singles had come in at number two and that seemed like the maximum for chart newcomers. Suddenly the artificial glass ceiling was shattered and it was courtesy of a bunch of has-been's and never-were's churning out some boring drivel whose sole virtue was charity.
The sandpit. I guess it was there for the long jump - maybe the tripe jump for all I knew - but for boys at Mayflower Comprehensive it was something you were thrown into. Occasionally you'd come across a poor lad furiously shaking grains of sand from his hair and brushing his blazer until it looked presentable. And all because it just so happened to be his birthday. Our good-natured but slow chum Grant had earlier been the victim of the sandpit and then the wrath of the staff. (Bloody teachers always jumping to conclusions and punishing whoever happens to be convenient)
I tried reasoning with the more troublesome boys in my class that my birthday was in fact on Saturday but they weren't having it: I was going to be thrown into the sandpit by the end of the lunch break (probably the only rule of the birthday sand ritual was that it had to be done before afternoon classes), no questions asked. But they were going to have to find me first.
Neil, Sean, Richard and Grant had been my regular lunchtime companions ever since September but today they stuck to me like glue. The most overly swotty of our group, Sean suggested we keep an eye on my pursuers and at one point I think we even began following them. Lunch began to wind down and I grew so relaxed that I sat down right next to my classmate Francis who was particularly keen on seeing me covered in sand. The bell rang signalling the end of lunch and I nonchalantly turned to my left and said "Hi Francis!" Sandpit avoided.
Neil and Sean came over for my birthday that night. We went to Mcdonald's at Basildon Town Centre and then came back to Laindon for some of my mum's excellent coffee cake with apple. It was a warm evening and so we played some hacky sack and frisbee in the backyard. At some point a neighbourhood urchin decided to join in and he somehow scaled the wall of our backyard. He didn't venture any further, however, and my lasting memory of that night is being taunted by a grubby shirtless boy precariously hanging over us. My sister came out to chat with us only to ask of our new unkempt chum "Is he wearing any clothes?" While certainly annoyed, we were also bemused by the absurdity of this foul-mouthed kid who yearned for our attention yet seemed determined to be our antagonists. I did worry that this little shit would continue to make a nuisance of himself in my presence but he obviously had other kids in Laindon to bother. I never saw him again. Finally, we watched Beetlejuice; I don't remember anything about it.
But that was just Birthday Eve. Saturday was my actual birthday and it began with presents. Having squandered the hundred quid my grandparents sent me for Christmas, I had been under a cassette embargo for about a month so I was practically giddy to have Deacon Blue and S'Express to add to my collection. John and Debbie and their daughter Aimee arrived for the weekend later that morning and they presented me with a Liverpool FC poster. Here was a Hillsborough tribute I could stomach.
We spent most of my birthday in London. While I was humming a loop of Bobby Brown's Every Little Step, John and my sister were comparing notes on their own favourite record of the moment, Roxette's The Look (I stand by my choice for song of the day). Having enjoyed our previous visit to the Big Smoke's premiere Canadian watering hole, I was adamant about having lunch at the Maple Leaf Pub - and I wasn't the only one who thought so: my mum wrote to my grandma wistfully about their "real Canadian mustard".
We were then off to Leicester Square to see the musical Blood Brothers. Seeing a West End production was not my idea nor was I disappointed that we weren't seeing Phantom or Les Miz instead. The Sherlock Holmes play back in January had been a monumental waste of time but I knew this had to be better - and it was. It also got me thinking about my friends here in England and back in Canada. My pals at Mayflower had helped me avoid the sandpit and we chatted constantly about girls and music. My friends back at Highwood, meanwhile, liked looking at cars and reading comic books; was I going to fit in with these people? They probably didn't even aspire to form an airband.
~~~~~
young Paul's favourite: Every Little Step
older Paul's retro pick: Manchild
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