Much like “No Charge”, this wears an idea too thin: but at least it’s a good idea. Spotting the potential for Wurzelisation in the ramshackle whimsy of Melanie’s “Brand New Key” was a stroke of pop genius that dese[…]

I was aware of this song long before I heard it – as a young boy it was quoted at me by my Dad should I ever object to tidying my room. Since my room was rarely tidy, I became very familiar with the central notion of “No Charge”. […]

“Fernando” is a breakthrough for ABBA, but a sly one. It’s different from anything else they’d tried – much more ambitious, with its long flowing melody lines in the verses and its lyrics about fighting in a liberation w[…]

I’ve argued before that there are no good songs about how lovely small children are: some counter-examples were raised in the comments box, but not many, and this surely wasn’t one of them. “Save Your Kisses For Me” is the kin[…]

I get the strong impression that whoever wrote this came up with the line “I love to love but my baby just wants to dance” and then wrote a lyric around it – which is fine, it’s a great line, but it leaves Tina Charles in the […]

Another one tainted slightly by personal memories: on the jukebox at University, this was a chosen singalong track of the rugby lads. I did not like the rugby lads; they did not like me – ergo I did not like the song. In fact when I first acqu[…]

Midge Ure is one of those pop figures who joins a bunch of dots, perhaps to a greater degree than his observed talent might suggest. From this boy band to New Pop to the charity records boom, via a tangential role (and almost much more than that, if […]

To swipe a phrase from my other favourite band, we are now into ABBA’s “imperial phase”, their shift from one-hit wonders to the world’s biggest pop group sudden and complete. The world had, in fact, been patient with ABBA &#8[…]

The first in what will be a regular run of reader participation features – one each time we reach the end of a year.
As you know, I give a mark out of 10 to each track. The rough expectation, over the course of 56+ years of #s, is that the numb[…]

There is a pub in North London called The Swimmer At The Grafton Arms. It prides itself on well-kept beer and a well-kept jukebox, the latter with an deeply tasteful selection of fine rock and soul music. I haven’t visited for a couple of years[…]