Captain Sensible's "Happy Talk": Punk Goes Rodgers & Hammerstein?

Well, if you thought the Jam's journey from "Down In The Tube Station At Midnight" to "Beat Surrender" was strange, clearly no one ever told you about Captain Sensible and "Happy Talk."

Captain Sensible was the original bassist for the Damned. If the Clash were revolutionaries, the Sex Pistols were anarchists, and the Jam were mods, then the Damned were the band that didn't give a shit about any of that crap and just wanted to have a good time. The Damned's main claim to fame is that they were the British punk band of "firsts": first to release a single, first to release an album, and the first to tour America. While being "first" didn't necessarily make them the "best," I have to say they were pretty great, all things considered - and by "all things" I mean "not being able to play their instruments in the least." In his AMG bio, Ned Raggett refers to them as "the band initially judged 'least likely to'"; ironically, their career lasted decades, as they gradually learned a chord or two and even branched out into goth rock. Personally, I'd rather listen to Damned Damned Damned than Nevermind The Bollocks any day.



The funniest part about the Damned is that their drummer went by the name of Rat Scabies and their bassist went by the name of Captain Sensible. Here are their priceless "bios" from the original Damned Damned Damned liner notes:

CAPTAIN SENSIBLE: Age 25. Instrument: guitar. Hobbies: cricket, psychedelic music, jazz. Philosophy: "I'd rather be poor and keep playing 'til I'm 60, 'cos I actually enjoy all this rubbish."

RAT SCABIES: Age 23. Instrument: drums. Hobbies: breaking things. Ambition: "Plenty of booze, plenty of women, all the drugs I can take and somewhere to live while I'm doing it."

Which brings me to "Happy Talk." "Happy Talk" is a cute little number sung by the Tonkinese character Bloody Mary at the beginning of Act II in Rodgers & Hammerstein's South Pacific. It is, quite possibly, the last song anyone would ever associate with punk rock.

Somehow, in 1982, Captain Sensible went solo, and when he did, his debut single was a tacky synth-pop cover of "Happy Talk."

So ... was it a joke? Was he serious? The Damned, after all, were the ultimate punk pranksters. And what could be a bigger prank than covering a show tune? Ultimately, the world may never know. But I'm assuming it was a joke. The thing about joke singles, however, is that they're supposed to stay a joke.

Only, Britain didn't get the joke, because the song went to #1. Wait a second. Isn't the Queen supposed to step in and prevent this sort of situation from occurring in the first place? Or is that now a parliamentary power? I'm not up to speed on those sorts of procedures.

Perhaps the funniest part of the whole thing is that Captain Sensible wasn't even the Damned's lead singer. So here's a riddle for you: is a joke song funnier if it goes to #1? Does that make it less of a joke, or more of a joke?

You decide.

Mods And Ends: The Jam And Their Four UK #1 Hits

Raise your hand if you know what a "mod" is. Put your hand down Jimmy, you're just trying to pull my leg. Right, that's what I thought. See, in order to explain what the "mod revival" was, first I would have to explain who the "mods" were - a task that is probably beyond my capabilities. Something about scooters, quaaludes, soul music, and Keith Moon. It doesn't really matter, just as long as you know the important part, which is that the music was good.

Well, the music was good the first time around, and it was almost as good the second time around. Which brings me to the Jam.

"The who?" you say. No, actually the Who were one of the original mod groups, not one of the mod revival groups. I'll be here all week. But seriously, mention the Jam to most Americans and they're likely to give you a blank stare in return. I think it's fair to say that few British groups have ever experienced such a discrepancy between their UK success and their US success as the Jam. Normally I'd use this factoid as an opportunity to bash the taste of my stateside peers, but honestly, with the Jam, I kind of see what the deal was.

The Jam may deserve the title of "Most British Band Ever." They were more British than Mary Poppins, Harry Potter, and Paddington Bear combined. Let's face it: no one can understand what the hell Paul Weller is saying. Not even Paul Weller can understand what Paul Weller is saying. And when you do understand it, the lyrics are stuffed with slang and jargon and they make no sense. Also, I know the Jam were trying to revive the classic British pop of the mid-60s, but compared to the Beatles, the Who, and the Kinks, a lot of Jam songs aren't really that ... catchy. I mean, they're catchy, but they're not catchy. "Stayin' Alive" - now that's catchy. For a band that supposedly excelled at the three minute pop single, a lot of their songs kind of sound to me like drunken, two-chord football chants. I actually like the Britpop bands the Jam inspired more than the Jam themselves. And I know people have accused Oasis of ripping off pre-existing songs, but the Jam sure did a lot of that sort of thing themselves. That said, there are about six or seven Jam songs that I really like, and when I like a Jam song, I definitely like it.

The Jam were one of the core members of the "Class of '77," which included the Sex Pistols, the Clash, the Buzzcocks, The Damned, Wire, Generation X, and ... am I forgetting anybody? Funny how, out of all those groups, the Jam went on to achieve the kind of chart success usually reserved for Bucks Fizz and Shakin' Stevens. For whatever reason, Paul Weller (otherwise known as the Modfather) just seemed to have his palm lovingly placed on the crotch of the British public. Which is interesting, considering he spent half of his time insulting it, but they're gluttons for self-loathing.

The Jam were like the Police, if the Police had never made it through Customs at Heathrow. They both were trios with one main singer-songwriter who completely overshadowed the other two members, they both started out in the punk scene in the late '70s but ended up branching out into more eclectic territory, they both became superstars in the early '80s but broke up at the height of their popularity. The difference? The Police wanted to sound like they were from someplace cool like Jamaica, and the Jam wanted to sound like they were from some shitty town in industrial England somewhere.

Like the Police, at first the Jam pretended to be punks just so that they could "make it," and then they gradually admitted that they were actually mods. By 1978, Weller's songwriting started including phrases such as "a pint of Wall's ice cream" and "toffee wrappers and this morning's papers." Add in the exploration of more carefully crafted production techniques, as well as the band no longer hiding their instrumental prowess, and you've got the default spokesmen for a generation of British youth, or something to that effect. Highlights from this late '70s period are many, but in a pinch I'd go with the haunting anti-racism mini-epic "Down in the Tube Station at Midnight," the forlorn "Strange Town," and its surreal, folky B-side, the "The Butterfly Collector."

By the time 1980 rolled around, the Jam were on fire, but if you'd think they managed to top the charts by somehow compromising their sound or their lyrical stance, well, you would sorely be mistaken. "Going Underground," their first #1 hit, boasted some of Weller's most bitter, vitriolic, and politically caustic lyrics yet. Essentially, this song is his very artful and poetic response to Thatcher's political ascension; in other words, "Don't blame me, I voted for the other guy". Kerry voters, this one's for you.

Some people might say my life is in a rut
But I'm quite happy with what I got
People might say that I should strive for more
But I'm so happy I can't see the point

Something's happening here today
A show of strength with your boy's brigade
and I'm so happy and you're so kind
You want more money, of course I don't mind
To buy nuclear textbooks for atomic crimes
And the public gets what the public wants
But I want nothing this society's got

I'm going underground (going underground)
Well let the brass bands play and feet start to pound
Going underground (going underground)
Well let the boys all sing and the boys all shout for tomorrow

Some people might get some pleasure out of hate
Me, I've enough already on my plate
People might need some tension to relax
Me, I'm too busy dodging between the flak

What you see is what you get
You've made your bed, you better lie in it
You choose your leaders and place your trust
As their lies wash you down and their promises rust
You'll see kidney machines replaced by rockets and guns
And the public wants what the public gets
But I don't get what this society wants
I'm going underground

We talk and talk until my head explodes
I turn on the news and my body froze
These braying sheep on my TV screen
Make this boy shout, make this boy scream!

Q: Can you top the charts by railing about how much you loathe society and wish everyone in it would just get lost? A: If you're the Jam, you can. Also: I like Bruce Foxton's little "bass rumble" homage to the end of "And Your Bird Can Sing."

Speaking of Revolver, the first thing anyone ever says about "Start!" is that Weller nicked the bass line straight from "Taxman." This is true, but he also nicked the choppy guitar part, and the guitar solo, which people don't point out as often. Basically "Start!" is sort of an early form of sampling. It's not a cover version; it's a new song which is heavily indebted to a pre-existing song. That's fine with me, but the thing is, if you're going to rip off an old song, your new song better be just as good, or even better, than the old song. All "Start!" makes me want to do is go listen to "Taxman." I mean, if you're going to sample "Pastime Paradise," you better come up with "Gangsta's Paradise," you know what I'm saying? The lyrics, however, concerning the intimate struggle for interpersonal communication, are worlds away from the lyrics of "Taxman" and might actually be the most interesting feature of the song:

It's not important for you to know my name
Nor I to know yours
If we communicate for two minutes only
It will be enough
For knowing that someone in this world
Feels as desperate as me
And what you give is what you get

It doesn't matter if we never meet again
What we have said will always remain
If we get through for two minutes only
It will be a start!
For knowing that someone in this life
Loves with a passion called hate
And what you give is what you get

The Jam already possessed a '60s American R&B influence "once removed," given that the original mod groups of the '60s were obsessed with '60s American R&B, and the Jam were obsessed with the original mod groups. But by 1981, Weller was cutting out the middle man and trying to go straight to the source. However, as Elvis Costello or the English Beat also demonstrated, enthusiasm for a genre doesn't necessarily endow one with the ability to convincingly perform said genre. Keep in mind that most soul singers don't sound like they have a corned beef sandwich stuck in their mouth. And so the Jam's version of R&B comes off as kind of strange and awkward, but I find it oddly compelling. On "Town Called Malice," Weller stole the bass line from the Supreme's "You Can't Hurry Love" (hey, if you nick the Beatles, you might as well nick Motown while you're at it), and as with "Start!," the original may have been stronger than the song it inspired. On the other hand, the Supremes' lyrics certainly never read like this:

Better stop dreaming of the quiet life
Cos it's the one we'll never know
And quit running for that runaway bus
Cos those rosy days are few
And stop apologizing for the things you've never done
Cos time is short and life is cruel
But it's up to us to change
This town called malice

Rows and rows of disused milk
Stand lying in the dairy yard
And a hundred lonely housewives
Clutch empty milk bottles to their hearts
Hanging out their old love letters on the line to dry
It's enough to make you stop believing when tears come
Fast and furious
In a town called malice

A whole street's belief in Sunday's roast beef
Gets dashed against the Co-op
To either cut down on beer or the kids new gear
It's a big decision in a town called malice

The ghost of a steam train echoes down my track
It's at the moment bound for nowhere
Just going round and round
Playground kids and creaking swings
Lost laughter in the breeze
I could go on for hours and I probably will
But I'd sooner put some joy back
In this town called malice

I know I'm quoting a lot of lyrics, but not only are the Jam's lyrics pretty good ("Stop apologizing for the things you've never done"?! "A hundred lonely housewives clutch empty milk bottles to their hearts"?!), I need to paste them here or otherwise you'd be lost. Trust me. At any rate, despite some of my misgivings, ultimately I think "Town Called Malice" does a splendid job of capturing the spirit of of early '80s England in a way that few songs ever have. Not that I would know, I guess. That just seemed like a fun thing to write.

I do know that, as far as Britain was concerned, the Jam could do no wrong, but by 1982, Weller was getting fed up with the limitations of the Jam, the other two guys were probably getting fed up with Weller, and so the band released "Beat Surrender" as a "farewell" single. It feels to me like Weller's attempt at making a "Land of 1,000 Dances" or an "Uptight (Everything's Alright)," but it came out sounding more like the theme from Laverne & Shirley. At this point, the song could have been three minutes of Weller passing gas and it would have reached #1, but it's not exactly one of my favorite Jam singles.



"What are some of your favorite Jam singles, Little Earl? You know, maybe like, some of the ones that didn't reach #1?" Funny children, I'm glad you asked, and I can't wait to tell you all about it, but you'll have to wait until next time.

The Goombay Dance Band and Nicole: Germany Invades Britain ... With Cloying Folk Music!

Where Hitler failed, German '80s musicians succeeded.

While Kraftwerk may have brought the more modern side of German music to the British public, two other artists managed to bring the village hootenanny side of German music into the UK charts. According to Wikipedia, the Goombay Dance Band's music was "a mixture of Caribbean soca or calypso and western pop." Or, to put it another way, "Seven Tears" might be the "Fernando" of the '80s. Although I suppose it doesn't sound particularly "German," listening to this song, for whatever reason, makes me want to put on a pair of lederhosen and build a cuckoo clock.



By contrast, listening to Nicole's "A Little Peace," Germany's first Eurovision Song Contest winner, makes me want to frolic in a fresh, dew-covered meadow with the Von Trapp family. Seriously, where did they find this girl? Nicole is like the perfect vision of everlasting Aryan purity.



But, just as I'm about to blame Germany all over again for the slaughter of millions, the beatific sound of Nicole singing "I feel I'm a leaf in the November snow/I fell to the ground, there was no one below/ So now I am helpless, alone with my song/Just wishing the storm was gone" fills my ears and makes me forgive all. Oh Germany, how can I stay mad at you?

M*A*S*H, Michael Jackson, and Kraftwerk (??) AKA Songs From The '70s That Became UK #1 Hits In The '80s

The United Kingdom, as I mentioned earlier, is much smaller than the United States, at least in terms of geographical size - if not in spirit. The point is, imagine a song suddenly becoming popular in Texas. Probably happens all the time. Maybe some local DJ suddenly hears "Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini" for the first time in his life, and decides to play the hell out of it. But it would never hit #1. You know why? Because the rest of the country would sit there and say, "Texas, what the fuck?"

Well, imagine a country where local DJs revived old, obscure singles, but there was no one else around to say, "Britain, What the fuck?"

While filming M*A*S*H in 1970, director Robert Altman realized he needed a theme song:

Robert Altman had two stipulations about the song for Mandel; first, it had to be called "Suicide is Painless", secondly, it had to be the "stupidest song ever written". Altman tried to write the lyrics himself, but found that it was too difficult for his 45-year-old brain to write "stupid enough". Instead he gave the task to his 14-year-old-son, Michael, who apparently wrote the lyrics in five minutes ... During an appearance on The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson in the 1980s, Robert Altman said that his son had earned more than a million US dollars for having co-written the song while he only made US$70,000 for having directed the movie.

Fast-forward ten years. I'm sure the M*A*S*H TV show was still popular in May 1980, but why did "Suicide Is Painless" suddenly top the UK charts at that precise moment? According to Wikipedia, it was "championed by BBC Radio 1 DJ Noel Edmonds." That's it? I don't even think something particularly unusual took place in relation to either the TV show or the film at that time. The final episode, which once held the record for most watched television program in U.S. history, didn't even air until 1983. And the version of the song in the TV show was instrumental.



I mean, it's a lovely song and everything, but it oozes early '70s California singer-songwriter folkiness and I can't imagine what it must have sounded like on UK radio sandwiched between "Call Me" and "Xanadu." Sure, England, whatever. Why didn't some DJ just champion the Brady Bunch theme while they were at it? Three's Company?

After the massive success of Off The Wall, Michael Jackson's little old record company, Motown, decided to re-release some Michael Jackson solo song from 1975 that nobody really cared about the first time around. But maybe the British public thought, "What's this? A new Michael Jackson song? Even though it kind of sounds seven years old? Let's make it number one!" At least American audiences were a little more savvy; the song only peaked at #55 over here.



Kraftwerk were no strangers to fluke Top 40 hits. The last thing they ever expected was for their 22-minute, pioneering electronica track "Autobahn" to peak (as a single edit) at #25 in the U.S. and #11 in the UK. But at least "Autobahn" became a hit shortly after the band released it. When "The Model" appeared on The Man-Machine in 1978, well, big whoop. Somehow or other it ended up as the B-Side to 1981's "Computer Love," some random BBC DJ probably thought it was the bee's knees, and it shot to #1.

Of course, Kraftwerk were so "ahead of their time" that a Kraftwerk song from 1978 probably didn't sound all that different from a Human League or a Soft Cell song from 1982. Granted, I know their first language was not English, but these lyrics make ABBA sound like Elvis Costello:

She's a model and she's looking good
I'd like to take her home, that's understood
She plays hard to get, she smiles from time to time
It only takes a camera to change her mind

She's going out tonight but drinking just champagne
And she has been checking nearly all the men
She's playing her game and you can hear them say
She is looking good, for beauty we will pay

She's posing for consumer products now and then
For every camera she gives the best she can
I saw her on the cover of a magazine
Now she's a big success, I want to meet her again

All right, who was it? Was it Ralf? Or maybe it was Karl? Whoever was responsible, let me start by pointing out a couple of things: "champagne" does not rhyme with "men," and "magazine" does not rhyme with "again." Plus, you need to add an "out" between "checking" and "nearly"; no one "checks men." And maybe it's just me, but why does it feel like they kept running out of words in the middle of their lines, so they just threw a comma in there, tried to add an extra sentence, and hoped no one would notice? "'She's a model and she's looking good/I'd like to take her home' ... crap, that's not enough words, I need something else ... ah, what rhymes with good?"

Bucks Fizz: If Only ABBA Had Been British, And Only From The '80s

You know, the original ABBA were great and everything, but there was just something ... missing. For years, I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Then finally, it hit me. You know what they needed? They needed to be British.

Like ABBA before them, Bucks Fizz rose to fame by winning the Eurovision contest. Unlike ABBA, they did it by incorporating a tacky skirt-ripping routine into their performance. Released in 1981, "Making Your Mind Up" sounds more like ABBA circa 1974 than ABBA circa 1981. I mean, they nailed the style to a T; they were just ... a little bit behind?



Their next #1 hit, 1982's "The Land of Make Believe," sounds more like ABBA circa 1978 (think "Take a Chance on Me" or "The Name of the Game"), but hey, at least they were working their way a little closer to the present, right? Maybe at this rate they would soon catch up to ABBA circa 1982. Amusingly, Bucks Fizz's lyrics might actually be more simplistic than ABBA's, which, given that Bucks Fizz didn't even write their own material, and that ABBA managed to do so despite their native language not even being English, is really saying something. Here the band extols the virtues of the world of imagination:

Stars in your eyes little one
Where do you go to dream?
To a place we all know
The land of make believe

Shadows
Tapping at your window
Ghostly
Voices whisper, "Will you come and play?"
Not for all the tea in China
Or the corn in Carolina
Never, never ever
They're running after you babe

Run for the sun little one
You're an outlaw once again
Time to change, Superman
Will be with us while he can
In the land of make believe

This TopPop clip sadly cuts off the dopey spoken word portion at the end, where some child actress fresh from "There's No One Quite Like Grandma" tells us enchantingly, "I've got a friend who comes to tea/And no one else can see but me/He came today, but had to go/To visit you, you never know," but in its defense, it does include a shirtless black bodybuilder, a mysterious juggler, and a lifetime's supply of dry ice.



I'm not sure if "My Camera Never Lies" finally caught up to ABBA's contemporary sound, or was more of a prime slice of Aerobic Rock, sounding more like Olivia Newton-John or Sheena Easton. I'm also kind of getting a Styx/"Mr. Roboto" vibe.



True story: I downloaded a Bucks Fizz Greatest Hits album (why not?), and I have to confess, some of their smaller hits are actually pretty good slices of shitty, disposable pop. "If You Can't Stand The Heat" is the song that someone finally wrote in order to take advantage of the phrase "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen," and it also boasts a chorus that Roxette would have undergone an Ingmar Bergman marathon for. "Talking in Your Sleep" is a highly faithful and yet strangely effective cover of the Romantic's American hit.

In other words, you like your pop big, stupid, and catchy? Bucks Fizz may be your band.

Shakin' Stevens: If Only Elvis Had Been British, And From The '80s

Americans may have invented '50s rock 'n' roll, but we seem to have gotten over it. For some reason, Great Britain has romanticized and venerated the genre with a passion has been directly inverse to the size of its original contribution. Maybe music that, for us, seems quaint and passe, seems exotic and glamorous to our Transatlantic cousins. I guess it wasn't that unusual in the late '50s to like rock 'n' roll in America, but it was sort of a whole statement of personal identity in England. Still, how do you explain Shakin' Stevens?

Shakin' Stevens was a relatively straightforward rockabilly revivalist who performed competent cover versions of slightly obscure oldies. He wasn't a New Wave artist. He didn't do anything surprising, or offer much of a modern twist on the genre, or even write much of his own material. And he had four UK #1 hits.

"This Ole House," originally a hit for Rosemary Clooney in 1954, was obviously not inspired by the long-running Bob Vila home improvement show of the same name.



"Green Door" was originally a US #1 hit for Jim Lowe in 1956. According to Wikipedia, "An oft-repeated urban legend has developed saying the song refers to London's first lesbian club (1930-1985) which was in Bramerton Street in Chelsea." If Shakin' Stevens was aware of this interpretation, he certainly didn't show it.



The zydeco-flavored "Oh Julie," which I find somewhat more inventive and a little less derivative than his other material, was a number Stevens actually wrote himself. See, if only Stevens had realized earlier on that he needed to be the "rockabilly/cajun revivalist," he might have made it over here.



Or maybe he could have given Paul McCartney a run for his money in the synth-rockabilly Christmas market. "Wonderful Christmastime" or "Merry Christmas Everyone"? Pick your holiday poison.

"Shaddap You Face" and "Japanese Boy" AKA I Guess It Was OK To Stereotype Italians and The Japanese Back Then

Mexicans? Nope. Jews? Probably not. Blacks? I wouldn't suggest it. But apparently, as Joe Dolce and Aneka demonstrated, it was perfectly acceptable in the '80s to string a bunch Italian or Japanese stereotypes together and make a hit song out of it.

Joe Dolce was an American from Ohio who moved to Australia and released "Shaddap You Face" in 1980. The lyrics, as well as Joe's delivery, make fun of Italians. And ... that's it. That's the whole song. There's no moral, no life lesson, no spiritual epiphany. It's just a bunch of Italian stereotypes. Didn't Weird Al do this better with "Lasagna"?



"Shaddap You Face" might have been tailor-made for something like Dr. Demento's show, where it was played frequently in the US. But how do you explain the song topping the charts in the UK, Australia, and several other countries besides? According to Wikipedia, "The original release sold over 6 million copies and has remained the most successful Australian-produced single in Australian music history for 33 years straight, with sales of over 350,000+ copies." Some audiences are too easy.

Slightly more understandable, but arguably more tasteless, is Aneka's "Japanese Boy." And no, Aneka was not her real name:

Written by Bob Heatlie and produced by Neil Ross, the song was recorded by Scottish folk singer Mary Sandeman. Realizing that the name didn't fit the song, they decided to come up with a name to put to the single. Leafing through the telephone directory, they came upon the name of Aneka.

Umm ... isn't that just some ersatz, quasi-Japanese-sounding name? Why not just call her Fuji, or Yamaha, or Iwo Jima while we're at it? And didn't they just compose some ersatz, quasi-Japanese-sounding melody to go with it? Why not just have her sing, "Me build steleo system and eat flied lice"? I mean hell. My roommate's Top Ramen Cup O'Noodles is more authentically Japanese than "Japanese Boy."



Or maybe this was just Britain's revenge for World War II? We won the war, so now we get to insult your defeated nations with tacky, politically incorrect '80s pop songs?

"There's No One Quite Like Grandma": Britain's Shameless Retreat From The John Lennon Assassination

It's December 1980. John Lennon has just been murdered. A generation's hopes and dreams have been obliterated for all eternity. What are you in the mood to hear, Great Britain?

Why, the St. Winifred's School Choir's "There's No One Quite Like Grandma," of course!

Nothing to cheer up a grieving nation like cloying, saccharine nostalgia. Turns out there's only so much eulogizing a listening public can take. "There's No One Quite Like Grandma" pushed Lennon's "(Just Like) Starting Over" from the top spot, only to be replaced a couple of weeks later by a re-release of "Imagine," which was followed by Lennon's "Woman," and even Roxy Music's cover of "Jealous Guy." That's two straight months of Lennon, broken up by "There's No One Quite Like Grandma."

What happened, UK? I'm guessing that, for a couple of weeks there, the Baby Boomer generation was so depressed, and so unenthusiastic about buying records, that all the old ladies and little girlies swooped in and took over. Then, when all the Baby Boomers heard the kind of song that Lennon and the Beatles (well, maybe not McCartney) had pretty much sought out to destroy, they were aghast and quickly rectified the situation. "There's No One Quite Like Grandma" is basically the song that would have been playing in the dreams of Lennon's notoriously proper and stuffy guardian Aunt Mimi.

Still, you have to say that this song perfectly captures that moment of complete and utter culture shock. If you could put "La-la-la, everything's just like it always was, let's forget rock 'n' roll ever happened" into a tune, it would be this tune. And for the life of me, I simply can't fathom why "There's No One Quite Like Grandma" never caught on in the States!

While creepy enough on its own, the song is rendered even more disturbing by this Top of the Pops clip, in which a collection of Britain's most sickeningly adorable children have been gathered together and forced to stand on stage in matching pink outfits. I half expect the lead little girl to hold out a bowl and ask, "Please sir, may I have some more?" Either that, or her cranium to start spinning around while she spews vomit and shouts "Let Jesus fuck you! Let Jesus fuck you!"



Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how twisted you are, the version of the clip featuring an introduction by posthumously outed pedophile Jimmy Savile is no longer on YouTube, although you can still see his name in the credits. Why does it not seem terribly out of the question that one or two of these little schoolchildren would have received a traumatic "Christmas gift" from Uncle Jimmy?

Fern Kinney, Odyssey, and Kelly Marie: The British Liked Disco? Follow-up Question: The British Liked Our Disco Leftovers?

If there's one thing I don't associate with disco, it's England.

Big Ben. Tower Bridge. Buckingham Palace. Disco! Nope, don't see it.

And yet, Great Britain was a country in the late '70s. There were people living in it. These people must have experienced disco somehow. Funny, but I'd never thought about it. When I think of late '70s England, I think of punk, New Wave, heavy metal, progressive rock, even some soft rock, but I sure as hell don't think of disco.

Well, not only did the British like disco - they liked certain disco singles more than we did. At some point in the late '70s, record labels must have been pumping out so much disco that they lost track. I mean, how could people ever get sick of disco, right? Well, as it turns out, Britain was picking up our disco scraps.

It's charming, in a way, how quickly disco left the American airwaves. Like an inebriated party guest who still has enough sense to know when he's worn out his welcome, as soon as the calendar struck 1980, almost as if on cue, disco in its pure and original form slinked away from the American charts. Sure, there were a few stray odds and ends like "Funkytown," but almost every "disco" song in the new decade was actually disco with a twist: disco-tinged New Wave ("Call Me"), disco-tinged hard rock ("Another Brick In The Wall, Part II," "Another One Bites The Dust"), disco-tinged soft rock ("Magic," "Woman In Love"), disco-tinged Cosby Rock ("Too Hot," "Give Me The Night"), etc. etc. Disco didn't exactly die. Like Voltemort, it just slipped into an alternate supernatural dimension, waiting for the day when it could be reincarnated in a host body.

And then there was Great Britain ... which was about six months behind. Because in 1980, in the UK, disco wasn't quite yet dead.

Listening to the following three songs is like listening to disco from an alternate dimension. They "sound" like the disco songs you know and love, without actually "being" the disco songs you know and love. Imagine if you programmed a computer to generate "disco songs." The computer would create something like "Together We Are Beautiful," "Use It Up and Wear It Out," and "Feels Like I'm In Love."

Both Fern Kinney and Odyssey were American disco acts who never made it big in their homeland. But alas, the disco gods threw them a bone, and they were able to achieve at least a small slice of polyester immortality across the pond. Kinney's "Together We Are Beautiful," which hit #1 in March 1980, floats along on a swirling, pseudo-Diana Ross cloud.



Meanwhile, Odyssey's "Use It Up and Wear It Out," which hit #1 in July 1980, has more of a latin, "Bad Girls"/"Calypso Breakdown" quality.



However, there were a few British disco hits that were genuinely British in origin. Scotland's own Kelly Marie hit #1 in September 1980 with "Feels Like I'm In Love," a song that was originally written for Elvis Presley, but he croaked before he got the chance to record it (assuming he would have wanted to record it anyway). God knows what that version might have sounded like, but I get kind of an Anita Ward, "Ring My Bell" vibe from Kelly Marie's, with some Moroder-esque laser beam effects thrown in for good measure. I'm not sure which of the song's several YouTube clips I find more hilarious, so I've decided to embed the official video (which comes with a campy naval theme, and most definitely was filmed in Britain), but if your head's still in a spin and your feet still haven't touched the ground, then you might enjoy this video from Top of the Pops. But be warned: if Courtney Love and Boy George had a bastard child, Kelly Marie might be the result.

UK #1 '80s Hits That Weren't Even Minor US Hits

I like to think of myself as someone who possesses a comprehensive knowledge of popular music. It irks me when I read about a song or a band that is unfamiliar to me. The trick is, just when I think I've got a handle on all of the music that's ever been popular from roughly 1948 to 2012, I'll read about a "#1 hit" or a "classic single" that I've never heard of. You know why I've never heard of it?

Because it was a "#1 hit" in the UK.

Oh bollocks. You mean to tell me there's a whole other chart history that I need to know about that consists of songs I've never even heard on American radio? Bloody hell.

Well, it's not quite as daunting as it sounds. You see, there's been a lot of overlap between the US charts and the UK charts. It's not like I'm starting from zero. There have been many songs that were #1 hits in both the US and UK. Then there are those songs that were #1 hits in one country, and very big hits in the other country, if not quite #1. This has happened a lot. Then there are those songs that were #1 hits in one country, but only small hits in the other country. Still, all this overlap certainly makes things easier.

But then. Then there are those songs that were #1 hits in one country, but weren't even minor hits in the other country. Now, in terms of US hits that didn't quite take off in the UK, this isn't really a problem for me. But what about those UK #1 hits that didn't even make a dent over here?

Tea and nonsense, I tell you.

The thing is, American culture is so pervasive and omnipresent around the world that even if a massive US hit never charted in the UK, people over there would have probably encountered the song in a movie or a TV show at some point anyway. There isn't really too much music that is so distinctly "American" that it wouldn't make sense to a British person - no, not even rap or country. But Britain, on the other hand - Britain is weird. Britain is kind of insular. There's all kinds of shit that would make sense to the British public that would be completely incomprehensible to an American. All those World Cup songs, for example.

Looking at the UK charts is kind of like living in the Twilight Zone. Right next to songs that are deeply ingrained in the American consciousness are songs have remained completely obscure to the American public at large. They haven't even become cult favorites. You won't find them on AMG five star albums.

Here's my theory: because the UK is relatively small, I think that songs with potentially limited appeal were still able to catch fire somehow. It's like if New England and New York State had a chart of its own, separate from the rest of the U.S. One renegade DJ in Sheffield could spark a month-long obsession with a generic remix of some '60s TV theme, and there you go. I feel like some of these songs became #1 hits almost by accident. And that's one thing you have to say about the American charts, for better or for worse: rarely has a song ever become #1 by accident.

If anything, familiarizing myself with UK #1 hits has shattered a myth or two. For many years, I have been under the impression that the British have had better taste in music than Americans. But maybe that's because the only obscure British music I'd heard thus far was the critically acclaimed British music. Well, funny thing. It turns out that the British record-buying public has liked just as much crap as the American record-buying public; Americans just never got to hear the crap!

And so we come to my new series: UK #1 '80s Hits That Weren't Even Minor US Hits. If some of these songs are crap, they are very bizarre crap. We've got ABBA knock-offs, goofy rockabilly revivalists, tasteless ethnic novelties, flop American singles from the '70s that somehow became popular ten years later, Eurovision contest winners, and songs that are just too plain British for American years. Prepare to get yer knickers in a twist.