1978 Boney M: Mary's Boy Child/Oh My Lord

When it comes to Christmas tunes I'm something of a traditionalist. Not to the extent that I demand fifteenth century madrigals sung by monks, but there are certain parameters that must be maintained lest a frown reaches my brow. Boney M's version of 'Mary's Boy Child' makes me frown, and that's because you kind of expect something more from the combination of Boney M and Christmas than this single actually delivers.

Harry Belafonte sang the original and he treats the lyric with a slow and sincere reverence as befitting a hymn, but Boney M do virtually the exact opposite and fashion it into a disco shuffle with Caribbean steel drum backing. Not that this would be too much of a problem if there was a party vibe a la Slade going on here, but the beat is a ponderous one with Liz Mitchell treating the lyrics no less respectfully than Belafonte did. It's an odd combination and one that's neither prayer nor party and, at five and a half minute long, it outstays its welcome by at least half its running time.

And this length is chiefly due to one of Frank Farian's own compositions - 'Oh My Lord' - being tacked onto the end in a kind of festive medley. Not that this is a good thing in itself you understand; too slight to stand by itself, it adds little to the parent track except secure half of the royalties for Farian and make everyone else long for a good blast of Jingle Bells, even if it's just from the urchins down the street demanding money with veiled menaces on your doorsteop for the privilege of hearing it.

1978 Rod Stewart: Do Ya Think I'm Sexy

In 1978 disco was a bandwagon just waiting to be jumped on. Acts as unlikely as Kiss and the Rolling Stones were happy enough to climb aboard for the ride, but there was surely no more unlikely a passenger than Mr Rod Stewart. And it's apt to namecheck Kiss here because Paul Stanley had obviously been paying close attention to 'Do Ya Think I'm Sexy' (no question mark) when he wrote 'I Was Made For Loving You' in that it follows the same low key verse leading into a hook of a chorus, and in so doing paid heed to the missteps of Stewart's attempt and deftly avoiding them.

That 'Do Ya Think I'm Sexy' fails to spark is down to many failings, but it's useful to start at the actual structure. The verses therein follow the familiar Stewart device of a story in song but they're far too fussy for this genre; boy meets girl in a bar and they go back to his place for sex. Not much of a story granted, but Stewart takes three long verses to tell it and with it comes the impression of an old, half finished demo of a song rescued from the vault with a disco beat and chorus melody stolen wholesale from Jorge Ben's 'Taj Mahal' plastered over the top with the rather crass repetition of "If you want my body and you think I'm sexy, come on, sugar, let me know" on the chorus. And it's a chorus that fits ill with the lack of confidence from both parties that Stewart gives the pair in the verses "He's so nervous avoiding all her questions, his lips are dry, her heart is gently pounding".

But in saying that, you can look at the lyrics every which way and never be sure if it's the boy, the girl or both who are making that "If you want my body......." statement, and that's because neither of them are really - it's Rod himself speaking. He knows he's not all that good at this disco thing but he can still pull the birds right? RIGHT??? The medium itself is almost secondary to taking the opportunity to test the water to see if he's still got it, but that cover picture speaks volumes and the lack of attention is telling.

Stewart's voice is naturally geared toward blues/R&B stylings and it comes as no surprise that he makes no concessions to the genre here which makes his vocal not so much out of its depth as swimming in a different pool to the tune. And as far as that goes, the music is a clueless wooze of disco by numbers with blaring synths announcing a half hearted fanfare that amounts to not that much really, just chippy guitar lines and a loose bass that's more dull than sheen and the sum total fails to sparkle any glitterball; it's not that 'Do Ya Think I'm Sexy' isn't very good compared with 'Maggie May', it's just not very good. Full stop. Rod always had ego to burn, but to see a mid life crisis laid out so nakedly and opportunistically is all rather unsavoury - how sexy do ya think that sounds Rod?

1978 The Boomtown Rats: Rat Trap

Throughout the eighties and into the early nineties, whenever a successful act or band came along that wasn't to the liking of the critics, there'd usually be an arms aloft exasperated statement from them along the lines of 'It's as if punk never happened'. But a quick glance at the charts between 1976-1978 shows you could be forgiven for thinking that punk wasn't actually happening at the time. As far as this blog goes, the whole movement may as well have been a vicious rumour. The Sex Pistols should have got there but didn't, and no other footprints were left at the top of the charts.

Not that the Boomtown Rats were in fact a punk act. They weren't part of the first phase of bands that had long since split, burned out or changed course before late 1978 but were instead part of the more radio friendly post punk assault that commentators lumped together under the banner 'New Wave'. Which was a bit of a misnomer by itself as far as 'Rat Trap' goes as there was precious little that was new about it. Geldof may have believed he was providing a genuine rebellious alternative to the mainstream (my own remembrance of this is outrage at Geldof ripping up a picture of Liv and Trav on Top Of The Pops), but from the wailing saxophone solos to the claustrophobic story/song of small town unrest, Geldof and his band came across as a bunch of shamrock Springsteens too busy equating their Ireland with dusty Americana to bother about musical movements closer to home.

Geldof's lyrical observations have obvious parallels with 'The Boss', so much so that 'Rat Trap' is little more than a pessimistic re-write of 'Born To Run', but without the sharp observation of the latter. The main character of the song 'Billy' is an already trapped rat, he's not born to run anywhere. He can make it if he wants to or if he need its bad enough, but whilst Springsteen wants to guard his Wendy's 'dreams and visions' with a promise that they'll both walk in the sun one day, the Billy of 'Rat Trap' has no such hope for him and his 'Judy'. In fact, he's such a hopeless case that she even has to make the first move on him because he's too pissed to even speak, and when he does it's only to scream "It's a rat trap Judy; and we've been caught...." Judy's own dreams only reach as far as leaving school to get a factory job, so with future plans that reach no further than the end of their roads then maybe they deserve each other in the song, but it gives the impression that Geldof doesn't really care for the characters he's creating; they're there as mere misery ciphers existing solely as a means to an end, but even in that the song is flawed.

Springsteen at his best could summon up a lifetime of despair in a single line that played in Widescreen imagery whereas Geldof's writing is flabby, overwritten and resolutely monochrome - "hope bites the dust behind all the closed doors, and pus and grime ooze from its scab crusted sores" - it's trying too hard camp violence dressed up as social commentary and hitched to the punk bandwagon to inject some much needed credibility that Geldof' and his over earnest, over the top mugging could never provide, mainly because it lacks a certain urgency; 'Rat Trap is a busy song that never manages to lock into its own identity. At almost five minutes long it has plenty of time to, but Geldof is too busy playing every hand in his possession in the hope of finding one that wins.

There's some 'West Side Story' type finger snaps at the start, a jerky Devo-ish section on "In this town Billy says" middle eight while the close runs out into everything Dion and the Belmonts ever recorded playing simultaneously at distortion level. In this case the dense pile up actually helps in that the relentless, no hoper depression of the lyrics never finds a permanent surface to settle and cling to until it overpowers. Ultimately, while I can confess to having a soft spot for 'Rat Trap' and have done since 1978 (his crimes against Grease were soon forgiven), I can't help thinking that the spot would have been a lot bigger had Geldof employed a decent editor to trim off the fat here into something more punchy.

1978 John Travolta & Olivia Newton John: Summer Nights

The second 'taster' single from the (then) forthcoming film though from the opposite end; 'You're The One That I Want' was more or less the last song of the movie while 'Summer Nights' is one of the first. And that's key here, because as 'bad Sandy' on the previous single, ONJ was allowed to shred Travolta to bits with her vocal, but as 'good Sandy' she can't - she's contractually obliged to keep the lid on and sound sweet and virginal, and in so doing she offers up nothing for Travolta's white bread vocal to bounce off.* She only manages to let rip (with a very Australian twang) on the "He was sweet, just turned eighteen" line, but that's probably down to the incredulity of suddenly realising a thirty year old woman (her) and a twenty four year old man (him) were playing high school teens.

It's fair to say that 'You're The One That I Want' was a duet whereas 'Summer Nights' is a song for two voices and it's a tough one to divorce from its original setting - if you're not familiar with the story then all the humour of Liv's innocent remembrance of the summer past compared to Travolta's attempt to look big in the eyes of his mates by sexing it up is going to be lost. It works well enough in the context of the film with the visual prompts and the rest of the cast larking around in the background, but it's not a lot of fun when taken by itself. Because by itself, 'Summer Nights' is flat lemonade with precious little in the way of fizz or energy about it with the music always threatening a crescendo that it consistently fails to reach. Fitting then to say that 'You're The One That I Want' has aged as well as Liv herself while 'Summer Nights' has aged about as well as Travolta.

* 'You're The One That I Want' (and 'Hopelessly Devoted To You') didn't actually appear in the original stage version of Grease, they were written by John Farrar to bring the musical up to feature length. And as a long time ONJ collaborator it's no wonder they both sound tailor made for her voice - they were.

1978 10cc: Dreadlock Holiday

The concept of smug white men playing reggae is not something that's going to whet too many appetites, but what about men playing ironic reggae? Now there's a niche genre. 10cc had never been a band to play anything with a straight bat, but by 1978 they had split in two after Godley and Creme quit to leave Graham Gouldman and Eric Stewart as the core of the band augmented with whatever session musicians happened to be knocking about. 'Dreadlock Holiday' was to be the last hit from a band in decline.

Mention it to anyone and like as not the first thing they'll shout is the 'I don't like cricket, I LOVE it' refrain from the chorus. Amusing yes, but in the context of the song it has it's own purpose - 'Dreadlock Holiday' is the (supposedly true) tale of a hapless tourist getting out of his depth on the bad side of Jamaica and being robbed by four locals. The love of cricket cry is intended as a way to get on the good side of the muggers by identifying a common interest, the idea being that all West Indians are obsessed with cricket and they wouldn't do harm to a fellow fan (he also goes on to claim 'I don't like reggae, I LOVE it' for the same reasons). You can take this one of two ways, which is quite neat because it also sums up the two ways you can take the song; either with a good humoured amusement, or as an offensive display of outrageous racist stereotyping.

The case for the prosecution is a strong one. For a start, the song seems hell bent on not portraying Jamaican folk in too flattering a light. All have 'dark voices' with the men engaged in robbery with menaces, the women deal in dope and everybody, when they aren't mugging or getting high, are out playing cricket. Presumably with reggae blasting over the PA system. To compound this injury, Gouldman and Stewart adopt cod-patois accents throughout that hark back to the Typically Tropical affair with their "Don't you cramp me style, don't you queer on me pitch" jive. But what sounded fresh and effervescent in the mouths of Althea and Donna now sounds smug, piss-taking and yes, vaguely offensive when coming from some middle aged, middle class white men. And to make sure these voices are heard, the reggae backing is a subdued chink chink affair instead of the genuine article's chunk chunk, suggesting that the band are parodying both Jamaicans and their music.

In its defence, 'Dreadlock Holiday' is a well crafted song and, to be fair, the sheer unexpectedness of that 'I don't like cricket' yell is still amusing even when you know it's coming. At heart though, there's a mean and spiteful edge to it all that both belies and negates the sunny, feel-good nature the song aspires to. The humour lands wide of the target somewhat, making it the sound of a clever, clever band being not quite as clever as they think they are. Reggae fans will hate it on sight and if non reggae fans are looking to dip their toes in the water then there a better places to start than this.

1978 Commodores: Three Times A Lady

A mate once convinced me that the 'Three Times A Lady' of the title referred to mother, lover and whore - the three component parts of every man's ideal woman. It sounded plausible enough to me and I believed it for years. Writer and lead vocalist Lionel Richie spoiled the party a bit going on record to say it was about the three women he loved most - wife, mother and daughter. That sounded plausible too, if a little less fun. But then Richie is also on the record as saying it was inspired by him overhearing his father saying 'I want you, I need you, I love you' to his mother. Which is slightly less plausible and a lot less fun, but I think it all puts down a marker as to the main problem with the song - what the hell is it about? And does it matter?*

Well yes and no. No in that, as I've said before, complete understanding of a lyric is never a pre-requisite to enjoy any given song, but when you're working in the medium of soul then it's always an idea to know what you're being soulful about. Richie's song seems to be about the end of something "The memories are all in my mind, and now that we've come to the end of our rainbow", and his vocal is suitably maudlin, but the song is a somnambulistic sticky treacle topping with no sponge pudding underneath to give it substance; I bet those cover photo's didn't capture them playing this live. Richie's vocal is sincere, but its sincere dullness has never managed to engage my interest, neither then nor now.

* A different mate had a theory that the once, twice, three times was a reference to the three....ermmm....orifices of a woman that Richie liked to make whoopee with. I have never found this explanation even remotely plausible.

1978 John Travolta & Olivia Newton John: You're The One That I Want

As I intimated back on 'Night Fever', I was a Grease fan in 1978. Hell that's an understatement - I was a HUGE fan, and all my mates were too. Dammit, the whole school was. That's the effect it had - the film was a nuclear explosion that radiated a blast area that few could escape and the countdown until it arrived in the cinemas 'over here' was like waiting for Christmas in the middle of summer. To help feed my own obsession, I managed to persuade my parents to buy me a black leather jacket, and when I wore it around my junior school I managed to convince myself I was as cool as, if not quite Danny Zucco, then Kenickie at least.

Looking back, 'You're The One That I Want' was the song that lit this particular fuse. It's kind of easy to see why - screwdriver straight, 'You're The One That I Want' bursts with verve enough to transcend its finale context within the musical to give it an identity in its own right. Powered by a Johnny Cash 'boom-chika-boom' rhythm, it's a song that's meat and potatoes to a singer with the country chops of ONJ - she could sing the guts out of this at a canter and her vocal here toys with the lyric mercilessly. In the film, a leather clad Liv pussy whips Travolta until he howls and begs on his knees and her delivery is no less dominant of Travolta's thin yelp; even though it's mixed lower and rides restrained just behind the beat, she still manages to blow up a storm that strangles everything a 'trying his best' Travolta can throw back at her.

Weddings, parties, bar mitzvahs - 'You're The One That I Want' is everybody's karaoke friend with the added bonus of its own hardwired pantomime routine that only gets better the drunker you are. It's short enough to leave you wanting more too, and in 1978 I wanted more. A lot more. I was only ten, but 'You're The One That I Want' is the song that made me want to grow up fast. I'd seen the film clip nine weeks on the trot on Top Of The Pops and I couldn't wait to start the 'big school' the following year. It was to be my version of 'Rydell High' and I was convinced there would be a leather clad siren waiting for me there and we would hang around the bleachers in our respective gangs, hiding from coach and making fun of the geeks.

Sadly, as I was to learn, confessing a liking for Grease at the 'big school' in 1979 was no barometer of local coolness, and all the Sandra Dee's (and they were there) turned out to be loaded for bigger game than me. And that's when the chills really started multiplyin'. There would quickly follow a Stalinist purge of my recent past where John Travolta would be replaced with John Rotten as the name to drop, but that's another story. But even at the point of most denial, I always had a soft spot for 'You're The One That I Want', and whenever I hear it now at whatever ironic theme bar or club, my singing along is irony free.