Showing posts with label 1978. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1978. Show all posts

Friday, 24 January 2025

You're no tramp but you're no lady

It's bleak out there - dank, wet and windy - but it's not meant to last, the weekend's almost upon us, and it's pay day!

Time, methinks to get this party started - so let's let our hair (or our braids) well and truly down, enjoy a classic choon from this week (gulp!) 47 years ago and...

...Thank Disco It's Friday!

Runnin' pretty, New York City girl
Twenty-five, thirty-five
Hello baby, New York City girl

You grew up riding the subways running with people
Up in Harlem, down on Broadway
You're no tramp but you're no lady talkin' that street talk
You're the heart and soul of New York City

And love, love is just a passing word
It's the thought you had in a taxi cab
That got left on the curb
When he dropped you off at East 83rd

Oh oh oh (Oh oh oh)
You're a native New Yorker
You should know the score by now
You're a native New Yorker
New York girl, ooh ooh ooh

Music plays, everyone's dancing closer and closer
Making friends and finding lovers
There you are lost in the shadows searching for someone
To set you free from New York City

And, whoa, where did all those yesterdays go?
When you still believed
Love could really be like a Broadway show
You are the star, win the applause

Oh oh oh (Oh oh oh)
You're a native New Yorker
No one opens the door
For a native New Yorker

(Runnin' pretty, New York City girl)
Ooh ooh ooh
Native, native, native New Yorker

Where did all those yesterdays go?
When you still believed
Love could really be like a Broadway show
You are the star

You're a native New Yorker
You should know the score by now
You're a native New Yorker

Have a good weekend, dear reader!

Thursday, 23 August 2018

I was so upset that I cried all the way to the chip shop



Timeslip moment again - and The Liberator's teleportation device has landed us once more into the spookily familiar-yet-somewhat-alien world of the UK in 1978; a year of strikes, including firefighters, bakers (which led to bread rationing) and at the BBC, culminating in the "Winter of Discontent"; a year of civil wars including in Zaire, Comoros, Angola and Afghanistan; the year of Space Invaders, the Amoco Cadiz disaster, Ian Botham, Disco, The Camp David Accords, Watership Down, skateboards, P.W. Botha, the murder of Aldo Moro, Saatchi & Saatchi, Anna Ford, Dallas, the theft of Charlie Chaplin's coffin, curly perms for men, Strawberry Shortcake, the murder of Nancy Spungen by Sid Vicious, Freddie Laker, and Bob Marley's One Love Peace Concert; the year that Nicole Scherzinger, James Franco, James Corden, Smash Hits, Vanessa-Mae, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and the first computer bulletin board system were born; and Robert Shaw, Michael Bates, two Popes (Pope Paul VI and John Paul I), Hollywood studio mogul Jack Warner, the Ellice Islands (which became Tuvalu), Harvey Milk and Golda Meir died.

In the news in August forty years ago: gunmen opened fire on an Israeli El Al airline bus in London, the world's first test tube baby Louise Brown's birth still obsessed the tabloids, the first balloon successfully crossed the Atlantic Ocean, and there was mass speculation over whether the incumbent PM Jim Callaghan was going to call a snap election in the autumn (he didn't, and lost spectacularly to Maggie Thatcher the following year). In UK cinemas: Revenge of the Pink Panther, Thank God It's Friday. On telly: Seaside Special, Petrocelli, Captain Pugwash, and the 3,000th episode of Crossroads.

And in our charts this week in August 1978? Grease fever was upon us, despite the fact the film was yet to be released in cinemas (it arrived in September), as John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John You're The One That I Want had only just been toppled from the Number 1 slot after nine weeks by The Commodores' Three Times A Lady. Pushing hard for pole position were Darts, Boney M, Justin Hayward, 10CC, David Essex and Cerrone, and also present and correct were Clout, A Taste of Honey and City Boy. But one song that still stands out from the rest was this little novelty number...

Surely a stylistic influence on BritPop (if not yesterday's boys Oasis, certainly upon Blur and Pulp) - here's the lovely Graham Fellows... aka Jilted John!


I've been going out with a girl
Her name is Julie
But last night she said to me
When we were watching telly

(This is what she said)

She said listen John, I love you
But there's this bloke I fancy
I don't want to two time you
So it's the end for you and me

Who's this bloke I asked her
Goooooordon, she replied
Not THAT puff? I said dismayed
Yes but he's no puff she cried

(He's more of a man than you'll ever be)

Here we go, two three four

I was so upset that I cried
All the way to the chip shop

When I came out there was Gordon
Standing at the bus stop

(And guess who was with him? Yeah, Julie, and they were both laughing at me)

Oh, she is cruel and heartless
To pack me for Gordon
Just cos he's better looking than me
Just cos he's cool and trendy

But I know he's a moron, Gordon is a moron
Gordon is a moron, Gordon is a moron

Here we go, two three four

Oh she's a slag and he's a creep
She's a tart, he's very cheap
She is a slut, he thinks he's tough
She is a bitch, he is a puff
Yeah yeah, it's not fair
Yeah yeah, it's not fair

(I'm so upset)

I'm so upset, I'm so upset, yeah yeah

(I ought to smash his face in.)

(Yeah, but he's bigger than me. In't he?)

(I know, I'll get my mate Barry to hit him. He'd flatten him)

(Yeah but Barry's a mate of Gordon's in'e?)

(Oh well, I don't care)

I don't care
I don't care
Cause she's a slag and he's a creep
She's a tart, he's very cheap
She is a slut, he thinks he's tough...


FORTY YEARS ago? Sigh.

Tuesday, 23 January 2018

Nah pop no style, I strictly roots


"Somewhere there's heaven; how high the... waist?"

Timeslip moment again, dear reader - our first of the year...

...and John Beck's Time Machine has deposited us in the wilderness of January 1978, the year of the shakiest PM ever Jim Callaghan, of Evita, Brian Clough, the first "test-tube baby", Grease, "The Hillside Strangler", Wuthering Heights, "post-Punk" and the three Popes; the year that Ben Cohen, Zoe Saldana, Nelly Furtado, Space Invaders and - ahem - Katie Price (aka Jordan) were born, and Charles Boyer, Louis Prima and Keith Moon died.

Making the headlines this month forty years ago: dramatic storms destroyed the historic piers at Herne Bay, Margate, Hunstanton and Skegness; the Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet cemented his rule after a referendum on the country's constitution; the Yorkshire Ripper's reign of terror continued, with the discovery of victim #8; in the ascendant were The Holy Crown of Hungary (returned to its home country after three decades in the USA), Bülent Ecevit (re-elected as President of Turkey) and Harvey Milk (the first openly gay person elected to public office in California), but an Air India jumbo jet crashed near Bombay, killing 213 people. In our cinemas in the UK: Star Wars, Julia and The Deep . On telly: An Audience With Jasper Carrott, Blake's 7 and All Creatures Great and Small.

In our charts this week in '78? The seemingly unstoppable Mull Of Kintyre by Wings was in its eighth week (out of nine) at Number 1 [NB quite likely this was the record that spawned the Human League classic "The Black Hit Of Space, lyrics: "As the song climbed the charts, the others disappeared, 'til there was nothing but it left to buy; It got to number one, then into minus figures, though nobody could understand why"...]. Also in the mêlée of contenders were some big hitters including Donna Summer, Bonnie Tyler, the Bee Gees, David Soul, Odyssey, Chic, Crystal Gayle and, errr, The Brighouse & Rastrick Brass Band.

But it was the estimable talents of a completely unknown duo of Jamaican teenagers, performing their one and only hit - and what an unforgettable one! - that was destined to kick Mr McCartney and his mournful dirge off the top slot. Thank heavens for "one-hit-wonders" Althea Rose Forrest and Donna Marie Reid [and whatever happened to them?!] I say!


Watch how we chuck it an' ting
Inna we khaki suit an' ting
Love is all I bring
Inna me khaki suit and ting


Indeed.

Friday, 29 April 2016

There is something goin' down and I can feel it



Another week is (almost) over, and it's time to party!

It is also an excuse to feature another "timeslip moment"...

In the news thirty-eight years ago: Cold War tensions continued after the Soviets shot down Korean Air Lines Flight 902; the Afghan Civil War began with a military coup; American homophobe Anita Bryant, Bob Marley, Saatchi & Saatchi and the Yorkshire Ripper were all headline-grabbers; and Britain's first official naturist beach opened in Covehurst Bay near Hastings. On telly: Pennies From Heaven, Cheggers Plays Pop and All Creatures Great and Small. In our cinemas: Dawn of the Dead, FM, and (of course) the ubiquitous Saturday Night Fever.

In the UK charts this week in April 1978: novelty act Brian and Michael's Matchstalk Men and Matchstalk Cats and Dogs was (unfortunately) at the top, and also selling well were Suzi Quatro, Wings, Showaddywaddy, Andrew Gold, Johnny Mathis with Deniece Williams, Gerry Rafferty, Sheila B Devotion and Blondie. However, continuing the inexorable dominance of the charts by the aforementioned Saturday Night Fever, this classic number was about to take over...

So let's take a step back to that remarkable Bee-Gees-led Disco boom, get our best black panties on - and Thank Disco It's Friday!


Listen to the ground:
there is movement all around.
There is something goin' down
and I can feel it.

On the waves of the air,
there is dancin' out there.
If it's somethin' we can share,
we can steal it.

And that sweet city woman,
she moves through the light,
controlling my mind and my soul.
When you reach out for me
yeah, and the feelin' is bright,

then I get night fever, night fever.
We know how to do it.
Gimme that night fever, night fever.
We know how to show it.

Here I am,
prayin' for this moment to last,
livin' on the music so fine,
borne on the wind,
makin' it mine.

Night fever, night fever.
We know how to do it.
Gimme that night fever, night fever.
We know how to show it.

In the heat of our love,
don't need no help for us to make it.
Gimme just enough to take us to the mornin'.
I got fire in my mind.
I got higher in my walkin'.
And I'm glowin' in the dark;
I give you warnin'.

And that sweet city woman,
she moves through the light,
controlling my mind and my soul.
When you reach out for me
yeah, and the feelin' is bright,

Then I get night fever, night fever.
We know how to do it.
Gimme that night fever, night fever.
We know how to show it.

Here I am,
prayin' for this moment to last,
livin' on the music so fine,
borne on the wind,
makin' it mine.

Night fever, night fever.
We know how to do it.
Gimme that night fever, night fever.
We know how to show it.


Possibly the one and only time anyone thought John Travolta was sexy.

Have a great weekend!

Friday, 17 September 2010

There was a cat that really was gone



Way back in this month in 1978, an artificially created band made up of session musicians and dancers were in the process of conquering the music world. Boney M (for it is they) had already managed to enter the record books with their multi-million selling Rivers Of Babylon/Brown Girl In The Ring at the turn of that year, and were about to achieve a similar best-selling hit with Mary's Boy Child at its end.

In-between, in September '78 they released this - which surely must be a contender for "catchiest song ever"...

Thank Disco It's Friday!


Oh, those Russians.