Everybody's Number One To Someone

 

Well, I said I'd be back with something soon. And how has that turned out? Have I come up with something that you want?

I hope so. My new blog "Everybody's Number One To Someone" focuses on all the tracks which reached number one in the NME indie charts, from 1981 onwards. It's over here, comes with complete Spotify playlists (of absolutely everything that charted within their Top 30 each year). It also takes a brief look at the tracks that bumped around the charts away from the number one spot as well.

In short, it's going to be an absolute feast, shoving all those records into some kind of cultural context but hopefully not being too dry in the process. Even the hippiest and moddest of heads who read this blog might be thrilled to see that The Misunderstood and The Action get early mentions. 

I hope to see you there. It's a different topic and mostly a different era, but I've been slowly plotting, scheming and writing this one since April, there's lots more to come, and I hope you'll agree it's been worth it. 

If not... perhaps we'll bump into each other again soon somewhere else online, but sadly that won't be on "Left and to the Back". 

The End

 

I was sifting through the "Left and to the Back" Facebook mail the other day, and was reminded that somebody once sent me a message with the subject line "Never Quit". They're not going to like this blog entry...

Because unfortunately, I am quitting. I have taken the decision to draw a line under this blog and there will be no further new entries. We'll come on to the reason why in a minute, but before that, let's get the practicalities out of the way, because in the months and years which follow that's going to matter to casual readers most.

The mp3s

I'm going to keep all the mp3s on this blog live until the end of June 2024 (note - sorry readers, most of them are gone now) after which point my subscription to Box will be cancelled and they will be removed. If there's anything here you want but haven't got around to downloading yet, please do it as soon as possible, as it will evaporate after that point.

Still, this isn't necessarily the end of the world. If any of the music is currently unavailable on YouTube I'll probably upload it on my channel there in the not too distant future - so this isn't as drastic as it probably sounds on first reading. Nothing should be wiped completely from existence. 

After the end of June, the blog will exist in a mothballed state with all the writing, sleeve art and scans of record labels remaining available online but all sound files removed. No further updates to existing entries will be run beyond that point, so all very old entries declaring that "nobody knows who this band are" should obviously be treated with a pinch of salt. Share corrections in the comments for the benefit of other readers by all means, but I won't be acting on any of them. 

Bandylegs - Silver Screen Queen/ Lonely Girl

 

Label: Pye

Year of Release: 1975

A huge number of metamorphoses occurred in the seventies as everyone jumped aboard the glam rock juggernaut. It saw everyone from old rock and rollers to balladeers to Denmark Street desk jobbers suddenly wearing make up and trilling and pouting to a trucker's beat. As such, very few stylistic jumps from the period are especially surprising, but nonetheless, the one this group took at the tail end of their first lifespan is quite breathtaking - and not at all glam.

Bandylegs were from Birmingham and consisted of Derek Arnold on bass, Geoff Nicholls on keyboards, Malcolm Cope on drums, Mick  Hopkins on guitar and Mike Taylor on vocals. Mike Taylor will be familiar to a number of readers of this blog as the singer for The Lemon Tree who released a psychedelic pop masterpiece in "William Chalker's Time Machine". This record really doesn't match up to that dayglo performance, and nor should we really expect it to given that it was released in 1975. Instead, the Bandylegs ensemble ooo-weee-oooo their way through a piece of fifties fantasy, singing about the good old silver screen. Its melodies feel replete with soda pops, ice cream and tootsie rolls which surely can't have been very prevalent in Birmingham in the mid-70s, but the band do a fair job of giving you the impression that it's all they've known.

The next steps the group took, however, were alarming. One reason this single has become relatively collectible since is that the group eventually morphed into the Heavy Metal band Quartz, who issued several albums between 1977 - 1983. To be fair to them, the break wasn't entirely sudden - their final single as Bandylegs, "Bet You Can't Dance", has a glam rock fuzz in its grooves, and acts as a reasonable bridge between their middle-of-the-road leanings and the future. By the time their debut single as Quartz emerged, under the name "Street Fighting Lady", it's safe to say they had changed from delicate pop caterpillars to heavy hawk moths. 

The Bunch - Red Rover Red Rover/ Happy Like This

 

Label: Beacon

Year of Release: 1969

"Happy sounds are really happening and Red Rover Red Rover is right in today's idiom, a stomping "bubblegum" number with driving bassline and a catchy sing-a-long chorus.

Of course, the heart of the "bubblegum movement" is in New York and that's where The Bunch come from.

They're a talented foursome who generate a great feel both on record and in live performance. Discovered in their home city by the forward-thinking Sire Records company, this lively group are sure to win a powerful British following too with this strong chart challenge".

Thus spake Beacon Records on their press release for this 45, but can you spot the deliberate mistakes, readers? Firstly, there was never really a "bubblegum movement" as such, with neither kids storming city hall demanding more frothy pop discs, or groups of teenagers swanning around the town centre dressed up as members of The Archies. 

Secondly, there was to be no strong chart challenge either here in the UK or the USA for this one. In fact, Beacon getting their mitts on it is a bit of a mystery - they certainly weren't picking up a track with a proven success rate, so we can only assume they bought the rights for it cheaply, crossed their fingers and hoped it would take off here as an exotic and of-the-moment North American disc. 

Thirdly, even if it had been a chartbound sound Stateside, Sire Records weren't directly responsible - rather, the track saw its release on the Candy Floss label across the pond, and far apart from that, the group weren't actually called The Bunch in America but The Puddle. It's not altogether clear why Beacon changed their name for the British market, especially as there was already a group called The Bunch operating here of "We're Not What We Appear To Be" fame; were they ignorant of the other band or hoping to potentially cadge a few of their sales from confused fans? Your guess is as good as mine. 

Hopefully the above facts can serve as a statutory lesson as to how unreliable press releases are as historical documents. Naughty Beacon Records. 

Reupload - Solent - My World Fell Down/ The Sound Of Summer's Over

Label: Decca

Year of Release: 1973

The fact that the John Carter and Geoff Stephens penned "My World Fell Down" failed to chart when issued by The Ivy League is probably one of the great injustices of the sixties. Seldom has one song approximated the West Coast sound so faithfully and so well, and with such a sumptuous melody, only to fall by the wayside.

It was improved upon further in 1967 by Americans Sagittarius, who fleshed its sound out further still with disorientating sound effects which seemed to be knowing nods to Brian Wilson's Smile sessions, all acting as the cherry on the top of an utterly superb song. That fared somewhat better, climbing to number 70 in the US Charts, but its failure to become a significant hit doomed the track into being swept up by Nuggets, Rubble and other rarities compilations in the decades down the line. 

Whoever Solent were - that's not entirely clear, though someone called "Bobby S" has claimed vocal duties over on the 45Cat website - they obviously couldn't believe the song's lack of luck, and had another crack at it. This time round, the song is given a politer, smoother mix and almost more nostalgic, sorrowful harmonies. The track by now seems to be harking back to a sixties surfing shoreline as a distant memory (not that such things were that common in the UK to begin with) and the flipside adds to that mournful air, asking very gently where those surfing summers went to. "Don't worry baby" one of the singers sighs, and you almost get the sense they're mopping Brian Wilson's brow, trying to get him down to the south coast of the UK to work his magic.