1984 Golden Earring roar back

Life - and music -seemed to have moved on a long way since Golden Earring had a share of my listening time. Yet suddenly, from nowhere they were back with a powerful album, the old themes of fast cars and treacherous women now augmented by a richer stadium sound, doubtless influenced by their US success. It was a lesson that these guys at least were not going to be just distant memories in my musical life. "Twilight Zone" was their "Radar Love" for the 80's, another perfect vehicle for one of the best rock rhythm sections in the business. The follow up album "News" in 1984 was not quite as strong as Cut, but included another timeless single "When the Lady Smiles"

1982 New Romantics

Chris and I, both seasoned rockers, could not quite believe how we fell for "Dare" the album chock full of single hits from the Human League. But fall we did, whacking it on to the turntable for months on end. Duran Duran and ABC, and later Heaven 17 also captivated us, even though the lyrics in particular often seemed laughable. 

But in fact we were not the only ones. "Dare" was one of those rare albums where every track was there on merit; indeed the track Phil Oakey himself thought the weakest, "Don't you want me baby" was the biggest hit of the lot, and was heard adapted as a football chant at The Valley in 2014. Critics have dubbed it one of the most influential rock albums of all time. This track "Seconds" rumbled out of Radio 1 on a dance DJ's morning show a while a go, and stopped me in my tracks all over again

The Aussie Wave

1983  I returned from Oz - but the music followed me!

Australia had suddenly become fashionable. By now I understood why, even though I had decided it wasn't for me. But as soon as I returned home it seemed as though Australian music had pursued me across the Earth to invade the UK. Some of it was pretty naff - Men at Work, Australian Crawl. But then some class acts appeared. Somewhat unsuspecting I went to see what all the fuss was about around Midnight Oil, at the Venue; there were only about 50 of us there to experience Pete Garrett's extraordinary vocal and visual performance. INXS were a more melodic Aussie rock offering with some great songs spanning the 80s and early 90s.

But my favourite is probably Icehouse; their music seemed to capture the atmosphere of Sydney and the Great Southern Land. "Street Cafe" owes a lot to Bryan Ferry, but it sings to me of the sweet allure of Sydney. A place where somehow everything a British person adores is available, bigger and better than ever you can find in Britain: sunshine, sandy beaches and rollers, big juicy steaks and big juicy strawberries, and long warm evenings in which to enjoy them. 

Steve Winwood returns

1982  So cool, like jazz on a summer's day....

"Love Over Gold" was the soundtrack of the darkened cabin of the 747, but as daylight came, and Sydney came clear into view, this was the memorable track I was listening to. After too long a silence Steve Winwood had returned with a new brand of sunny and mellow music which found him a huge new audience, and kept it going right through the 80s.

81, 82, 83, 84

1982-83 - oh never mind    

"I like the singer" said Annie " I like the way he dances". I was slightly jealous of Jim Kerr when she said that, but did not really understand why. Simple Minds burst into my consciousness via The Tube, and followed me to Australia, where they were heavily played on Sydney's excellent JJJ radio station. They were the soundtrack to a new and more colourful life that came with the career change to  the advertising agency. They flew high and then seemed to fade, only to emerge again recently, with a glorious Prague concert in a rickety old shed. Jim Kerr is still dancing, Annie, and what about you?

Dire Straits take off

1982 "Telegraph Road "shrinks the world

If I remember rightly, it was Rich (the Grass Snake) who introduced me to Dire Straits - though I wonder if he would admit it today. By the time of the third album I was well hooked on the combination of Mark Knoplfer's guitar work, and his resolutely working class North Eastern vocals. 

"Makin' Movies" included "Tunnel of Love" and "Romeo and Juliet" but my favourite from this album is probably "Skateaway", a subtle and sophisticated soundtrack to Christmas 1980.

And then in late 1982 they came out with "Love Over Gold"; just in time to accompany me on my flight to Australia. It's made for an air flight. The opening minute blends in with the atmosphere of a darkened plan cabin. You look out of the window to find a storm raging below, but the 747 flies serenely above it. And by the end of the track you have knocked another 14 minutes off the journey.

After this album Dire Straits became a bit bloated, and came to epitomise MOR (later AOR) rock, but   Knopfler's Newcastle influences came again to captivate  in his 90's solo albums

1981 Chris Rea 

Chris Rea had appeared on my radar a couple of years earlier. "Fool if you think it's over" was all a bit soft and soppy in punk-fuelled 1978, however I was surprised to find him playing on the Old Grey Whistle Test, and even more surprised when he announced, "My name's Chris Rea. I come from Middlebrough". I thought, good for you, standing up for a dump like that. 

By 1981 I had fallen upon the record shop in Molesey that offered a rental system. Borrow the album and tape it on cassette. It allowed me to experiment without wasting too much precious money. So I tried Chris Rea's Tennis album; the gravely voice and the occasional licks of slide blues guitar beguiled me and I became a fan, even though it took several years before anyone else I knew saw anything in him. 

Chris Rea's own journey has taken many twists and turns, and I'll come back to him much later on. This track is from Water Sign, the 1983 album, and stands out from the usual melancholy Chris Rea style,  a gleeful tribute to beautiful girls and the effect they have on us.

Proper stereo system for Mr Neil Young

1980 I could afford a proper stereo system!

It was an Aiwa Music Centre. Record deck, cassette recorder and radio in one with separate speakers, cannot remember the brand, but they were respectable. It was a big step up in music enjoyment. And Neil Young's Live Rust album needed such a stage. Crosby, Stills and Nash had faded into oblivion, but Neil was setting new rock standards, introducing a sound which would later be known as 'grunge'.

I remember hearing this track a few years later, way behind the Iron Curtain in Moravia, beaming in on an Austrian station, and taking me by surprise that such music wasn't being jammed

1980 City of Radio

I was off to The States for the first time, to shoot a TV ad in LA. It was an atmospheric and comfortable introduction to California, and I was instantly amazed by the variety of radio stations including several dedicated entirely to rock music. KLOS became my station of choice for those few days of sunshine, delicious big breakfasts and glamorous exotic dinners. At the end I made time to visit Tower Records and buy LPs for half the price I'd pay in the UK. From the KLOS playlist, I particularly remember this anti-nuclear blast from Dan Fogelberg

I already was familiar with Dan Fogelberg but Christopher Cross was a complete newcomer. It turned out that he was newcomer to the US audience too, but he had produced an album which I picked up in Tower, and which turned out to be a timeless gem. The following year he came to London to play, stayed in the White House Hotel, and Karen got him to autograph my copy of his album

1978  New Jersey makes it mark

The punk explosion placed British music at the heart of my new London experiences, yet Capital Radio's Roger Scott had other ideas. One evening, heralding their arrival to play a gig in London, he played a track by Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes. They were completely unknown to me, but Rich and Pete my flatmates knew them, and I absorbed the fact that they were all part of the Springsteen diaspora. "This Time its for Real" contained stories of love in a gritty urban landscape which felt just right as the London autumn drew in. They were never big names anywhere, and they faded from my vision completely in the late 80's only to triumphantly return in 1991 with "Better days".  I saw them once live - they were excellent - and am always reminded of them through Steve van Zandt. Last year I bought a couple of later live CDs - they are a band who enjoy making music rather than being stars. But that album from 1978 still has the spine-tingling atmosphere that comes alive on any autumn night when I happen to put it on.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z3Tp-HjYLps

1979 An English Rose

This was the year I fell in love really seriously, and of course when that happens it influences your taste in music. The Jam were not appropriate for romantic candle-lit evenings. Judie Tzuke definitely was. I was surprised how entranced I was by her sugar-sweet hit single "Stay with me til Dawn", but her album "Welcome to the Cruise" was full of great songs. It accompanied me on my epic Inter Rail holiday, as I went north through Scandinavia and back down to Helsinki to stay with Jussi; then back to Amsterdam for the first time (some Golden Earring to accompany that segment of course), the night train south to Ventimiglia and back to Diano Marina where we met up with Jussi and Hexi again, and then on to the island of Rab, while Pete went further on, to Greece. 

Judie Tzuke was a favourite for several years afterwards. She was great live, her pure voice needing no enhancement. Everyone thought of her as the quintissential English rose; hardened male rock fans acted completely out of character by throwing red roses to her.

So it came as something of a shock to find, thanks to Wikipedia, that Judie is in fact of Slavic stock. Her parents emigrated from Poland, and Tzuke is her original Polish family name. With hindsight, as I watch these old clips of her now, I should have bloody guessed it ages ago...

1978 Soundtrack of an epic holiday

We we were self-confident, full of energy, our careers were burgeoning. Of course we wanted to show the world, or at least Europe. We headed off on a package holiday to Diano Marina in Northern Italy. I taped my favourite music of the week off the Capital Countdown, and it was played endlessly to Jussi and Pena, from Helsinki, eager to drink in the British culture, while getting us to drink all kind of dubious alcoholic concoctions, often straight after breakfast. Another punk send-up song had captured the imagination. Jussi and Pena learnt "Jilted John" word for word

Meanwhile Siouxsie & the Banshees, rapidly maturing into a talented act with staying power, captured the sunlight and optimism with "Hong Kong Garden"

1977 Back in Punk - driven London

I returned to London to start my career in earnest, and had the huge good fortune to fall into the house-share in Twickenham where I would make friends for life. Far from creating anarchy, the Sex Pistols had been the trigger for a creative explosion. New punk rock bands had given a reason for disco venues to convert back to live music. Capital Radio, led by DJ Roger Scott, did its best to air the new bands, despite their often controversial lyrics. The announcement  of a new Sex Pistols single always caused a sharp intake of breath. They scorned the Jubilee festivities with "God Save the Queen" and scorned the entire music industry with "EMI". But some other bands were emerging. The Damned and the Clash were not quite my cup of tea, but the Stranglers captured the sound of the summer, with "Peaches" and No more Heroes. It was probably a bit crass of the BBC to expect a band like that to go along with the sham miming session that was Top of the Pops...

And then there was The Jam. "In the City" added to the rich tapestry of new music that summer, and Paul Weller lasted (has lasted) in my musical hemisphere long after punk became history

and then from the USA came the perplexing Jonathan Richman and his "Roadrunner". It was the first of several punk-influenced songs whose sense of humour appealed to me, and still make me smile today. It was also a favourite on our party tapes, back-to -back with Tom Robinsons' "2-4-6-8 Motorway"

1st September, 1976..anarchy

A long hot summer, selling biscuits in the sleepy South Midlands, was drawing to a close. I returned to London to see my family, and see Charlton early in the new season. Music, well, same old, really. The Who had played at the Valley again, but I didn't go. Nothing much was happening...

My parents went to bed. Idly I checked the TV. There was an interesting looking late show on ITV from Manchester, called  "So it goes". I tuned in. Tony Wilson introduced a new band called the Sex Pistols. The very name was risky. But the next three minutes saw my whole world, as defined by music, turn upside down.

I don't think any other audio-video presentation has ever had such an effect on me. Perhaps the Olympic 2012 opening event; but that was a benign, feel good affair. This wasn't. All sorts of conflicting thoughts went through my head.The first was that I had been away from London, in the sleepy Midlands and the place had gone into ferment. The second was that it was a wind up, it had to be. But they looked serious: by the standards of 1976, that really was anarchy on TV. Then I thought I had lost touch with young people. I was, on that day, 22 years old...

I went to bed, shattered and slightly scared. 

The Thin White Duke

1976 Although he was a Beckenham boy, I hadn't really connected with David Bowie

In particular all the Ziggy Stardust stuff sailed right over my head. But in early 1976 he was due to play a concert in London coinciding with the release of his new album. All his fans turned up in their Ziggy Stardust gear, only to be confronted with his new, completely different persona. I was seriously impressed, especially when I heard the album, the first one whose music I seriously enjoyed. I didn't understand it at the time, but Bowie was also being drawn to the Continent: "the European pattern is here"

It was probably the most subversive moment in rock'n'roll at that time. I was sent to Northampton, a terminally dull town, to do my obligatory year selling biscuits. The music was generally dull, dull dull. Was it just me? No. Little did I know it in that long hot summer, but an explosion was brewing on the British rock scene

A diamond in the greyness

1975 What the hell is Northern Soul, anyway?

To this day, I still don't know. I had been sent off to the North for the first time. It was hugely enjoyable, but no-one seemed to like rock music. Nor could I listen to any. London had a new commercial radio station, Capital Radio, but I could not pick it up in Grimsby, nor could I pick up RNI, which was still playing but too far south. Disco, disco, disco. The mysterious Northern soul they all raved about went right over my head. Sometimes you might get a track from the Eagles' album. Wow.

When I returned to Portsmouth there still wasn't much happening. Until one day, I heard this most extraordinary track,  presented by Capital's Roger Scott. It sounded like it was too big for  the radio speakers. It had the most extraordinary musical dynamics. And I had never heard of the artist before. His name was Bruce Springsteen.  

(this clip is a brilliantly edited montage of the famous song, played  live in concerts spanning 37 years)

Santana; the sound of eternal sunshine

1974 Santana, Steely Dan, Doobie Brothers ; mellow, sunny music

From "Samba pa ti" on Abraxas onwards, there would always be a Santana track which would perfectly fit the relaxed sensuous mood of a Mediterranean evening. Chris and Figs, from Portsmouth were into a more mellow sound anyway. They liked Stevie Wonder and some funky stuff, which wasn't for me, but the intelligent Steely Dan and Doobie Brothers, and Santana was music we could all enjoy, and they became the soundtrack of our holiday - of course a return to Istria! 

Santana became an ever-present favourite. I can never get enough of Carlos' wonderful guitar solos, and it was great  to finally see him live in Prague in 2010, full of energy and good vibes in a three hour set.

A Classic: "Who's Next"

1974 The Who, at the top of their game, fill my beloved stadium

In those days you did not hear new rock music as soon as it was released. Where would you hear it? Especially away from the pirates in the North Sea, there was just Radio 1, which was mainly playing pop. That's why I only discovered the full depth of the brilliant Who's Next in 1974. In the summer they played The Valley. It was a strange feeling, to finally be there and see it filled to its 75,000 capacity, knowing that it would never see that number for football. What a concert that was, with Bad Company early on, Lou Reed completely bombing, and as the sun went down on a rare golden summer day, the electric intro to Baba O'Reilly filled the Valley. But my favourite track on the album is this one, rarely played live, a haunting and wistful track which the legendary Keith Moon drives to its finale.

A Classic : "Moontan"

1973 "I been drivin' all night, my hands wet on the wheel..."

Up until that year, Golden Earring were only known to a few people like me who lived in the South East and listened to the Dutch pirate ships. "Radar Love" grabbed the rest of the unsuspecting rock music fraternity and assaulted them with what had become one of the most impressive rhythm sections in the genre, driving a classic song that everyone knows and remembers. But Moontan's five tracks opened up for me   Golden Earring's exciting vision of Continental Europe, a sophisticated world of fast cars and faster, treacherous women. They came to play in Portsmouth one evening; Cesar Zuiderwijk vaulting over his drumkit, Rinus Gerritsen laying down epic driving basslines, George Kooymans, the quiet architect, and Barry Hay, the consummate frontman oozing Dutch self confidence with his flawless English. But even then I would never imagine that this band which started before the Beatles would still be playing its classy European rock in live gigs 50 years after the first pirate ships set sail. True rock and roll resilience!

Return to exotic Istria

1973 I discovered that music was a common bond that could break through even iron curtains.

Teddy and I had decided to return to Rabac for a second holiday in Istria. And this time we felt affluent enough to throw in a hired car. We were amazed by how rapturously we were welcomed back. Music was a big discussion in our developing friendships. The Yugoslav guys had their Deep Purple, Grand Funk and Santana albums, and took us to a live gig of a nationally famous band, playing decent prog rock. The car was important too. In a back to the future moment, we wondered why it attracted catcalls from local guys, and our friends explained that it was because it carried Sarajevo numberplates. They persuaded us to make a trip across the border to Trieste - they wanted to shop. It was an epic journey in the orange Beetle. On the way back we stopped late in Porec to take in a club. It was in a cellar, or perhaps a cave, the people were cool, the drinks intoxicating, and then this track came on, a song I knew and loved, but a wild, chaotic live version, which perfectly captured the mood of the evening and the atmosphere in the club. I play it and in my minds eye, I am back in that club.

Leaving home

1972 University - where you discover new ideas and make the transition from teenage to adult

I met and became friends with people from all over the country. My political view, previously shaped by the One Nation Conservatism of my parents rapidly shifted leftwards. I didn't much like Portsmouth, and often headed home, by train when I could afford it hitch-hiking when not; back to see my parents, school -mates, Charlton; back to the reception area of Radio Nordsee, and the catchment area of the Black Prince. My musical taste wasn't really changing. I'd already taken with me a solid foundation of rock, and in the early days there it was just a case of sampling the LPs of housemates. Portsmouth was at least a seaport, and in the first six months the track that lives in the memory is this haunting sea song.

Exotic holiday - in Istria

1972 Does everybody remember their holidays through music? I certainly do, and none more than my first real foreign holiday

We were entering our final six months at school. Six of us decided to celebrate by going on holiday together. To the sunshine, the beaches, the Med. But somehow we decided that we were not going to go to Spain or Majorca, where most Brits were heading. We decided,  for some reason I cannot recall, on Yugoslavia. There was one company specialising in package holidays there. I took home the Yugotours brochure and came under its spell as I gazed at the endless photos of the glittering blue Adriatic. It appeared though that the more southerly resorts - Dubrovnik, which I had heard of, and others which I had not - were out of our price range. So we settled on what I now know as Istria, and the village of Rabac. We booked it in January. I constantly went back to the brochure as I waited for the winter nights to end, and I was constantly playing this track from the majestic new Yes album. It seemed to speak of the colours and scents and freshness of the exotic country that awaited us.

And the holiday lived up to and surpassed all expectations. The sea was blue, the water crystal clear, the pine trees bewitched with their scent, and mixed with the exotic smells of grilled meats and different tobacco. But most of all it delivered the opportunity to engage with the locals working in the hotels. The guys, bold and macho, who thrashed us at football, and the girls with their devastating Slavic looks, who would hold your gaze the way English girls never would; and the bewildering variety of new alcoholic drinks they would ply us with deep into the night as the crickets kept up their incessant chatter. I was totally, utterly hooked! And so many years later when I fell in love with Istria all over again, "Roundabout' was on the car stereo.

A Classic: "Argus"

1972 Everything about this album was glorious, from the moment I set eyes on the iconic sleeve artwork

Wishbone Ash had already become a favourite with their live performances at the Croydon Greyhound; their big thing was two lead guitarists. They had two solid albums but Argus was on another level, guitar rock music from a sunny summer in a green and pleasant land. The Ash never quite hit the same heights again, and faded off my radar as subsequent albums disappointed. But Argus lives forever. 

Live at the Black Prince - Pub Rock

1971 It was a good year. I had passed my driving test! And there were these places where bands were playing live, bands with reputations, who made LPs, but whose live gigs were affordable.

The Black Prince was big pub by the A2, the main road leading to the coast, just ten minutes from our house. It had a big separate hall for live gigs. Sunday night became an institution. Looking back it is amazing to think that some of those bands went on to the world stage. Mott the Hoople, Wishbone Ash, Uriah Heep, we saw them all at the Prince. And Status Quo, working hard as a straightforward blues and boogie band; and later on Thin Lizzy, making their mark after their first single hit. Those were most definitely the days. But my favourite band from the Black Prince days saw less commercial success than these others....

Stray built a reputation as a live band. They were Londoners, and built a strong following there. But when I moved around the country, I found few people knew them. But their third album remains one of my favourites today. I got it as a Christmas present. I put it on my parents' stereogram, there was short piece of accoustic guitar accompanying Steve Gadd's vocals, and then suddenly..boom...and I knew it was going to be a great Christmas Day. Del Bromham, the band's leader, was a genuinely talented musician, and there isn't a duff track on this album. On this track, Bromham produces a tingling slide guitar solo with Richie Cole driving it along on drums. Get the light'n' bitters in !

From across the North Sea, Europe calls

1971 Yes, this is where it all started, the enduring love affair with Europe, and all that it brought me.

The original pirate stations in the North Sea had been forced off the air - in a way which had instilled a permanent rebel soul in me - and the BBC now broadcast Radio 1. Which was better than what we had before, at least. But a new pirate ship, Radio NordSee International, was broadcasting, and it was partly broadcasting to a Dutch audience. I was quite intrigued. They had their own bands, they were not bad, and they were all singing in English. One of them, Shocking Blue, broke into the UK charts, and their sultry female vocalist Mariska Veres became the stuff of all our teenage fantasies. But on RNI, which could only be received on the south east side of London and down to the coast, there were more interesting bands for me. There was Golden Earring of course, of whom much more later, but also Sandy Coast, and this classy  prog-rock band Earth&Fire. And later there would be Focus. 

And I was already listening to this stuff when that summer, at Eltham Park pool, I met Bea, a savvy and to me, exotic Dutch girl, who was terribly impressed that I liked Earth& Fire. And I decided that Europe was something to be investigated and embraced. 

And why not ...this stuff?

1968-70  There was a completely different musical subculture running at the same time. Soul and especially Motown had always been there but many kids had now embraced reggae and ska. Why didn't I?

Peer groups, I suppose. The skinhead fashion had - for reasons I've never fully understood - embraced reggae, but my parents had moved to a more affluent part of my London suburb, and the school they had sent me to was "posh". Hardly anybody there adopted skinhead culture. But this was London, of course it touched me. You had to go to discos to meet girls, and with the exception of the odd one up at Falconwood, they were playing Desmond Dekker and not The Nice. 

Of course if I'd lived in a more racially mixed suburb such as Brixton, I'd have been more into such music because of the peer group. But reggae and ska is more physical music; its for dancing to rather than listening to. It was already clear that a lack of co-ordination and extreme self -consciousness meant I would never be a natural dancer. So I'd never be getting up offa that thing. But I understand why people do, and I'm quite envious of them.  

West Coast

1970 At school you look up to the kids a year above you, and they look down on you with withering contempt. But at least, in their patronising way, they let you listen to their LPs

At lunchtimes we were allowed to play our own LPs in the music room. The kids above us were bringing in albums by bands which never got near the limited output of  the BBC. Feverishly we started to peruse the US album charts so that we could pretend to have heard of Santana, Jefferson Airplane, Grateful Dead and Quicksilver Messenger Service. Crosby, Stills, Nash &Young were in that crowd too. And I hadn't needed the older kids to help me find The Doors. I never took to The Dead. I claimed to like JA and QMS, but I fear it was more about trying vainly to appear cool. CSN&Y were great for two albums and introduced me to Neil Young. Carlos Santana gets a post of his own. And the Doors...their Absolutely Live album, and LA Woman, with its sultry full version of Riders on the Storm, still sound exciting and atmospheric today. This video featuring Roadhouse Blues is 44 years old, and it still looks and sounds exciting today. But five years back from 1970, and everything looks so naive and low key by comparison with this. What to conclude from this? I'll let you decide, but these were momentous times to be young.

Prog Rock

1970  I was drawn towards bands with a strong keyboard element, which wasn't hard to find in 1970!

The prog rock disco always ended with "America" by Keith Emerson's The Nice. Then there was Deep Purple, with the talented and ambitious Jon Lord, ready to toy with classical influences before Ian Gillan joined on vocals and the monstrous Deep Purple in Rock ditched most of the prog in favour of the rock. But my personal favourite was Argent, led on keyboards by Rod Argent, the classically trained keyboard player who had already found fame with The Zombies, and prolific songwriter Russ Ballard. Enterprising school mates actually persuaded the school to let Argent play live there, which was pretty surreal, but successful, and Caravan followed the following year. I never really liked my school; it was academically strong but socially repressive; or so I thought at the time. In retrospect, having my favourite band playing live in the Great Hall was a pretty liberal gesture by the school authorities.

Getting Heavy

1969  CCR made hit singles. Led Zeppelin most definitely did not. 

They were a dark, complex introduction to an exciting world of sex, drugs and rock'n'roll, most of which I barely understood, let alone experienced. It was the first music I bought into which had blues influences   (somehow I had failed to encounter Cream before they disbanded), and the sophistication and innovation took my breath away. All of their albums contain tracks I listen to today, and when I finally got to see Page and Plant live, many years later in Prague, it was well worth the 30 year wait.

Led Zeppelin II is a rock classic, each track a challenging gem. "Ramble On" is one of the quieter interludes; it taught me a lot about musical dynamics, and with its Lord of the Rings references, fitted very well with my book of the day.

Chooglin' teenagers

1968 Creedence Clearwater Revival were the epitome of teenage years. They arrived from nowhere, rose to dizzying heights, and suddenly, you noticed, they were gone.

What was it about "Proud Mary" that grabbed us, made us want to wear check shirts, and ponder on life on the Bayou with its bullfrogs and hound dogs? CCR was far and away my favourite band, overwhelming us with three album releases in one year. In 1970 they played the Royal Albert Hall. It was my first real live concert, and remarkably it is here on You Tube. There it all is; the immaculate delivery, but with hardly any live improvisation; the check shirt, but no on stage presence, no audience interraction; a complete set of great songs, but lasting less than 50 minutes; and the ecstatic and ultimately bewildered crowd who stay on for five more minutes, bellowing for the encore that never comes. 

By 1972 they were gone. I disowned them before I left for University that year. But in retrospect their music wears well.

Pop with a sharper edge

1966-68. The pirate radio stations on ships in the North Sea are pumping out the music the BBC refuse to play. My favourite bands along side the Who are The Kinks and the Small Faces.

 

Steve Marriott's peerless vocals will be a perennial favourite as his career takes off later with Humble Pie, and then crashes back down to the pub circuit and his untimely death in the mid-1980's. Here in Tin Soldier his voice shows a soulful maturity beyond his years and is perfectly combined with guest vocalist P.P. Arnold

What were the other popular genres? I wasn't so influenced then by American music (but that would soon change). The Beach Boys were OK; soul bored me; and I didn't really get the blues, or Jimi Hendrix. And somehow I didn't appreciate Cream until they had already broken up.

11 years old, I have a choice to make

1965. I've been given money to buy a record. A single of course. I am thinking about on the one hand Herman's Hermits, and on the other hand the new group, The Who. I have a feeling my Mum would prefer I opted for Herman's Hermits. So naturally I choose "Can't Explain", the first hit by a band which will remain forever one of my favourites.

Up until then, like all my classmates I've been mesmerised by the Beatles as they revolutionise pop music with every new release. Like kids up and down the country in the Swinging Sixties, we are debating the rival merits of The Beatles and the Stones, but once I had that Who record, I would start to nominate different groups as my favourites.