Category: General ponderings

I’ve been out of university and in the Real World for just over a year now, so I’ve had fewer opportunities to flex the muscles of my inner wordsmith – well, fewer opportunities to flex to a deadline. However, I regret to inform the 3 of you who may read this, that the chance to flex once again has arrived. The light to the blue touch paper? Sonia’s You’ll Never Stop Me Loving You.

I’m pinpointing this song because it’s a more recent discovery by way of an old Top of the Pops repeat. I had no idea it existed, had never listened to Sonia, and suddenly all I listened to was Sonia. This song was repeated, the specific number of times I do not wish to make public. It was the soundtrack to many lunchtime kitchen dances, post-shower dances, getting-dressed-in-the-morning-bedroom dances, practically any situation into which it was possible to incorporate dancing.

You thought I’d be mean about this song by my use of the word ‘trash’ in the title of this post. Thought I’d fooled you? I haven’t – it is, in fact, utter trash. The musical equivalent of a McDonald’s. But please do not be fooled by this, dear reader. I use the term ‘trash’ with the utmost affection and fondness. The subsection of music borne out of the synthesised technicolour apex that was Stock, Aiken and Waterman’s late 80s pop emporium. Such an empire was built on so much pop cheesiness that it could cause gastrointestinal issues in anyone within a 5-mile radius. Don’t believe me? Check out another Sonia offering – Someone Like You. A far cry from the 21^st century lamenting of Adele, its 80s counterpart is in fact a bouncy, girlishly naïve, bubble-gum tune about finding the perfect boy. This sense of naivety brings me back to the somewhat questionable message behind You’ll Never Stop Me Loving You.

“You’ll never stop me from loving you/It doesn’t really matter what you put me through/You’ll never stop me from loving you.” Where is this message to be found in Beauvoir’s The Second Sex? Oh, right. Although, the whole song does strike a rather stalkerish note: “When I know that you’re alone/I wander to your home/And catch a glimpse or two.” The only other example I can think of in this lyrical arena is Busted’s That’s What I Go To School For – “I climb a tree outside her home/To make sure that she’s alone/I see her in her underwear/I can’t help but stop and stare.” This hardly supports the case that spying on someone when they’re at home is an entirely non-creepy thing to do. However, where Busted come across as laddish schoolboys, Sonia harks back to that girlish, rose tinted naivety I was harping on about a minute ago. Indeed, the entire idea of ‘it doesn’t really matter what you put me through’ is walking the line between lovestruck and faintly concerning. Food for thought.

I know, I’m being painfully self-righteous. Disclaimer time: I understand this is by no means the worst song to come out of the 80s regarding the perception of women (the entire back catalogue of Mötley Crüe, anyone?) Indeed, there are many other songs with equally wet sentiments from the women of the 20^th Century – Jennifer Rush’s The Power of Love, even Dolly Parton’s Jolene. I am not holding Sonia or any of these women up as the enemy of feminism – I’d be a hypocrite if I was. It is simply interesting to notice how easily a questionable lyrical message can be overlooked by a catchy melody jammed with more synths than Gary Numan’s garage in 1979. But then, how many pop songs can that argument apply to?

I can hear my father having a go at me about this now – “it’s only a bloody pop song, stop reading into it so much.” Then again, if I didn’t spend my time naval gazing about 30-year old pop songs, what’s the point of this blog? (Rhetorical question). In all seriousness, I’m not trying to get on a soapbox and rant about how 80s pop music undercut centuries of feminist struggle. That would have been a brilliant dissertation topic, but I digress. The bottom line is this: You’ll Never Stop Me Loving You was written by a group of 3 blokes in the 80s who knew their way around production and a decent melody. I hope he never finds out, but my father is right. It’s incredibly catchy, it’s very upbeat, and most importantly, it’s of its time. In amongst months of such confusion, uncertainty and downright fear, it is completely harmless. If anything, it’s the opposite. The song is escapist and light-hearted. It may be so cheesy that you feel ashamed of liking it, but I say this – put it on when you’re making dinner or tidying your room. Allow yourself to fall for it, hook, line and synthesiser.   

I’ve recently been introduced to this term. I don’t understand it. Music you’d listen to on a yacht? That could be anything. The internet defines it as an association with Californian soft rock. The term also carries a faint whiff of taking the piss, a slightly sniffy way of defining the entire genre. I’m very confused by this. As a twenty-year-old woman in 2018, am I supposed to want to listen to music which apparently smacks of 80s yuppies? Or is it meant to be a condescending take on a genre which is actually full of brilliant music? Considering the typical songs I’ve found on various ‘Yacht Rock’ playlists, the majority of it can’t be sniffed at. Hall and Oates? The Doobie Brothers? Toto? Steely Dan? Sod off. Of course there’s the odd song that does air on the wetter side of things (yachts, water, geddit?), but the vast majority seems to be very good. Let’s examine the evidence.

The Doobie Brothers. There are some songs where you can more clearly hear the twang of acoustic strings against a pick, or the brush of calloused fingers on metal during a chord change. It lends an extra level of intimacy, a warmth, to a song. This is present in Black Water, which combines deep southern imagery with a bluesy, gothic country backdrop. The outro culminates in a central conglomeration of layered vocal arrangements as the music drops away.
I feel the need to mention Long Train Runnin’ because it’s the One That Everyone Knows (you do know it). The two standout elements are the harmonies in the chorus and, of course, the opening riff. I wouldn’t have thought that you could make such a catchy song about trains, but there you go. There’s a romance attached to the imagery of big, cross-country American trains. The sorts that young vagabonds used to hop on and off of in search of work/themselves/love/the meaning of life. You couldn’t really write as good a song about Northern Rail (although the middle verse of LTR does mention train delays, so there are some parallels). Anyway…

Steely Dan are magnificent. Lyrically if nothing else, they’re one of the most original and imaginative bands I’ve ever come across – Kid Charlemagne, for example, a song based on the 1960s San Francisco LSD scene. When I say ‘original,’ I’m not necessarily being entirely complimentary as I am confused – much of my time spent listening to the words is taken up by thinking ‘how the hell did they get there?’ There’s something that sets apart Steely Dan and I think that the lyrics and themes of the songs have got a lot to do with it. Even Donald Fagen’s solo work from the Nightfly follows similar patterns – New Frontier is set under the assumption of nuclear war during the 1960s. Obviously the music is brilliant, but the thematic elements are of primary interest in the case of Steely Dan, purely for their complete individuality.

Hall and Oates. They’re fantastic. I know, I know my speciality is ranting about how good lots of bands are, but Hall and Oates really are two of the most talented songwriters. Take Kiss On My List or You Make my Dreams for example – common lyrical themes, but as with much of their catalogue, they’ve managed to cultivate an incredibly unique tone to their songwriting – harmony styles, vocal patterns, and such – whilst never falling into a repetitive formula.

We have to mention the Godfather of Yacht Rock himself, Mr Michal McDonald. Present on records by the Doobie Brothers (lead vocals on What a Fool Believes), Steely Dan & Toto (backing vocals on I’ll Be Over You), pretty much all at the same time, the guy basically owned the genre in the late 70s & early 80s. He also put out some solo work in between (I Gotta Try, for example). Look up the video of his character on Family Guy sneezing.

And then we come to the miscellaneous paragraph. The individual Yacht Rock gems that have woven their way into the genre and onto the playlists, standing alone next to the entire discography of Chicago. Such gems include You Can Do Magic by America – I love this song, it gives off a similar lyrical tone to the Eagles’ Witchy Woman: the supernatural powers of women (sugar and spice, etc.) I’d Really Love to See You Tonight by England Dan and John Ford Coley is a shared favourite of my dad and I, and no matter how many times each of us listens to it, whenever we’re in the same room and it comes on, we both almost simultaneously say ‘this is a bloody great song’. One of the great parts of it for me is that it’s not a huge, dramatic love ballad, it lets the melody do the talking, as it were, but the message in it is just as heartfelt. There are no mountain-moving promises, and it’s a bit of a does-what-it-says-on-the-tin kind of song, but I find that this gives it a gentler sense of intimacy. The last of the miscellaneous section is Dance With Me by Orleans. It was a coincidence that when I mentioned to my dad about my then-newly constructed Yacht Rock playlist, the very first song he mentioned was Dance With Me. It’s not complex, nor is it overly emotional, it’s just really, really sweet. As someone who has always loved dancing, it’s a really cute message for a song – “Dance with me, I want to be your partner, can’t you see…”

It’s actually really difficult to pinpoint a specific set of characteristics which universally define the Yacht Rock genre. The main theme seems to be the geographic origin of the bands.  Maybe Yacht Rock is just a vibe? It may be a case of listening to a song, and the imaginary Yacht-o-meter beeps when there are enough harmonies to qualify it as yuppie-esque. Either way, I see no issue with Yacht Rock, but that might just be because I still have no idea if I should or not.

Ahh, the Wet Song. You may be familiar. A song so soppy, so gooey that it almost makes you embarrassed for the artist singing it. Such songs are always about love, due primarily to the abundant potential for melodrama, whether it be unrequited or reciprocated. No, it isn’t lost on me that almost every generic pop song is also written in accordance to these themes, but the thing that makes the Wet Song different is the sheer scale of moisture  involved.

The important thing to note is that the Wet Song differs from your average love ballad. The Wet Song is a love ballad on steroids. The more dramatic the lyrics, the more glass-shattering the choruses, the more key changes and harmonies, the better. I’m not just talking about bog-standard ballads by Foreigner and Journey (although Faithfully has impressive Wet Song potential). I’m talking Air Supply (Making Love Out of Nothing At All), Chicago (You’re the Inspiration) and Survivor (Ever Since the World Began). However, of all the Wet Songs I have ever come across, the soggiest, without a doubt, is awarded to When I Look Into Your Eyes by Firehouse. Über-soppy lyrics. Arena-melting guitar. Harmonies everywhere. Dramatic key change. Makes you want to fall to your knees and rip at your shirt with your hair blowing in front of a giant fan. Full shebang. It’s brilliant.

This is my point. I love Wet Songs. Who couldn’t? Even if you only like them when you’re drunk, that still means that on some level, you’re feeling it. They go so far beyond the line of cringe that you no longer need to feel shame because it’s impossible to be unaware of the ridiculousness of them. Therefore, the level of self-awareness negates any sense of shame one may feel for listening to the Wet Song. It’s perfect. Plus, despite the insane levels of sop, the songs are actually really good. The thing about a good, melodramatic love song is that they often have really, really brilliant melodies. While you might listen to a nice love song or a ballad every now and then just because, a Wet Song is the ultimate emotional catharsis. Even when you can’t be bothered to move, you can just sit on your laptop and listen to a Wet Song, and by the time it’s over, you’re so emotionally exhausted from listening to it that you feel lighter, and the artist has actually done all the work for you. It’s a win-win.

Let us all rejoice in the glory of the Wet Song. Rejoice in the cringe. Do not be ashamed. If you really can’t take it, just use headphones – you can still turn on the fan.

As the nights draw in, the days get shorter and the rain gets colder, it’s easy to see that winter has arrived. Well, not for me, because I’m at university in Manchester so it’s always dark and raining. However, for others located not quite as close to the Arctic Circle, I’m told that winter has arrived. November is a hideous month for us students; as well as the darkness making it more difficult to motivate oneself for those hateful 9ams, the month is riddled with deadlines, dwindling loans and a heightened dependence on alcohol. Or is that just me?

There is, however, one thing which has aided the pain of November for me, and by proxy, my flatmate. Christmas music. That’s right. Come at me.

“NO.”

“No, Christmas starts on December 1^st. END OF.”

“IT’S TOO EARLY.”

“Oh God, you’re one of those.”

I have been met with the above by practically everyone I know. Let me justify myself: I don’t care. No matter what anyone says or how many people complain and roll their eyes, you cannot deny that Christmas music is brilliant. It just is. It’s so happy, so energetic and full of excitement (i.e, everything my life is currently not). I’m not even necessarily talking about your average Slades and Muds here, because even, even I roll my eyes at the introduction of Merry Christmas Everybody. However, this leaves the vast majority of good Christmas music out there – take Wizzard’s I Wish It Could be Christmas Every Day. It’s so over the top and there’s so much going on that you can listen to it 9 times and still find a new detail you missed previously. Kelly Clarkson’s Underneath the Tree (a recently discovered work of magic which has become a fast favourite), and the glorious, glorious Step Into Christmas by Elton John. The latter is a family favourite, a brilliantly colourful work of instrumental genius with a bassline that fills me with festive joy the minute I hear it. It’s even one that the rest of my family can tolerate hearing a bit early. Other mainstream favourites include Last Christmas, which will never cease to be a beautiful song for me lyrically and musically, no matter what my brother says. Fairytale of New York has been tried and tested, and I’ve come to the conclusion that everybody I’ve ever been around when it’s playing can’t help but sing along. And of course, nobody, I don’t care who you are, nobody, can resist Mariah. Don’t even try.

Good Christmas songs are lethal to a self-confessed melody whore like myself. I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember, inhaling melodies, repeatedly listening to them and driving my family to distraction. Case in point, Band Aid: Do They Know It’s Christmas (the original, obviously – don’t you dare try and come at me with whichever one has that Godawful rap in it). This was the gateway to my love of festive music, and it got played so often that now my brother can’t hear it without breaking out in hives.

I have to point out a special one – imagery is an important factor in Christmas music and many successfully capture this, but few do so as authentically as White Christmas. Taken from my favourite Christmas film, Holiday Inn, it’s a song that everyone’s fond of, no matter how overplayed every other one is. It’s in many ways the ultimate Christmas song; warm, sophisticated, simple, beautifully crafted and reminiscent of a Christmas before Slade and Mariah Carey – a glorious image for most, I’m sure.

But it isn’t all about the mainstream Christmas music. I wouldn’t be the annoying music snob that I am if I didn’t point out a few lesser known favourites which don’t often see as much air time around the festive period. One of these is Greg Lake’s I Believe in Father Christmas. I’ve expressed before that one of my favourite things is hearing my dad play guitar, and this is one of the songs in my household which is worshipped by everyone – a rare occurrence, let me tell you. I’ve heard my dad playing this song for years, and it still remains a firm favourite. The inimitable introduction is often greeted with choruses of what can only be described as “YAASSSSSSS” whenever it comes on at home. Another household fave is In Dulce Jubilo by Mike Oldfield. Originally a folk song but one which has also found itself part of the small group of songs that my whole family likes. Whenever I listen to it, I picture my brother coming down the stairs playing it on Christmas morning as a surprise for my mum.  Other tunes played frequently are Christmas Wrapping, Little Saint Nick by the Beach Boys and A Spaceman Came Travelling, the last of these also contributing to my brother’s aforementioned hives.

There are so many things to love about Christmas music; the excitement and happiness they conjure if not from the lyrics, then from the richness and warmth it wraps you in. Images of blazing log fires, blankets, mulled wine, cosy evenings and the smell of the Christmas tree as the light glints off the decorations all come to mind as Christmas music begins to infiltrate daily life. As well as this, they’re just good, happy, well written songs. Christmas music is, in a way, very inspirational as a songwriting tool. Layered with interesting and often complex instrumentation, along with an onslaught of melodic genius, a good, well written Christmas song can be timeless. Christmas is such an extravagant occasion, so why not make the music to match? It’s the one time of year where we’re allowed to embrace bells and brass bands left right and centre. So to all those who have pooh-poohed my choice of listening to Christmas music before it’s socially acceptable to do so, I say the following: bah humbug, you miserable git.

I’m at a crossroads in my life. Or at least I was until I began university, so now it feels like I’ve just crossed the crossroads. In other ways, I haven’t; I’m still standing in the middle of several paths, each leading in a different direction, each route I want to take dependent on my mood. And being a hormonal teenage girl, this means I often end up beginning to take one route before backtracking and starting again. In other words, the last year of my life (give or take) has been incredibly emotional, but primarily, pretty terrifying. I left school last summer, uprooted my entire life, and plonked it halfway across the country, in Manchester, on my own, knowing nobody, and leaving behind every shred of the identity I had constructed for myself over the past 18 years. Needless to say, I was bricking it. I started thinking a while ago as I walked to and from campus about the songs that had shaped my life up until this point. Everyone has songs that they remember hearing as a kid, or loving for years, and I am not excluded in that – but having a particular set of songs which you specifically remember having some sort of influence in your life, or sticking in your memory for a particular reason, those are different. And so, with the crossroads comes the music, and I shall here talk about the songs which have shaped my life up until now.

Magic – Pilot

This is possibly the very first song I remember hearing. It probably isn’t the first song I heard, but it was the first song that I remember consciously concentrating on listening to. There isn’t much backstory to it, I was sat in the car with my Dad and the song came on the radio, and I just remember listening to it and liking the hook. Whenever I’ve heard it since, I think of that time, as I said, probably because it was the first song I recall consciously listening to.

Beach Baby – First Class

An epitome of summer and nostalgia, a childhood memory of a song that was just…there. I originally got confused with the song name, thinking the artist was the Beach Boys, also because the song could easily be mistaken for a Beach Boys track. Nevertheless, it’s up there with one of my childhood classics.

There She Goes – The La’s

One of my favourite sounds in the entire world is the sound of my father playing acoustic guitar. I could listen to it forever; I find it relaxing, calming and altogether just a beautiful sound. My earliest memory of this is that of my dad sat at our table playing There She Goes on an acoustic. This is a more concrete memory of mine, and as a result, it’s cemented the song in the mental folder of songs which cannot be anything other than happy. The song reminds me of summer, and the general feeling of being relaxed – which, as a uni student, is a godsend. Whenever I hear the intro, it takes me back to the first time I heard it.

My Sharona – The Knack

Another childhood oldie. There isn’t really much of a memory attached to it, just another one that was always there, floating around in a cloud of gig setlists and tabs. I’ve also discovered that it a pain the arse to play on bass.

Boys of Summer – Don Henley

Another one to add to the summer playlist; I heard this song constantly growing up, played either by my dad or brother, and as a result, I could pick out the chorus because of its distinctive melody, but I couldn’t name the song.

Now, my brother and I are much closer than we were when we were teenagers still living under the same roof. When this was the case, it was not as fluffy a relationship as it is now. Therefore, whenever I liked a song he was listening to, and asked for its name, he would not tell me. God forbid I’d listen to a song that he liked, because obviously, the second I listened to a song ‘of his’, it would automatically ruin it for him, and I would be forever burdened with the sin of corrupting a song that he enjoyed listening to. Not that I don’t have a habit of playing a song that I like repeatedly for 3 days straight, but he was still being unreasonable in my 13(ish)-year-old head. This very thing happened with Boys of Summer. Upon requesting the title, I received the usual reply, and so, after a small side of swearing, I decided enough was enough. I’d known this song for years, loved it, and was apparently not allowed to listen to it. Fuck that. Marching outside to my dad’s office, I explained the sitch, and hummed/sang the chorus as best I could to him. I can’t remember if I knew that it was by Don Henley, but either way, I eventually found out the title and immediately ran back indoors with the smuggest attitude I reckon I’ve ever had, and knocked on my brother’s door.

“Boys of Summer”

“Fuck sake”

Slam.

Nowadays, I often get messages from my brother which go something like this:

“Listen from 1:35-2:00, the bass is SO GOOD”.

Papa Don’t Preach – Madonna

Yes I know, but it was the very first single I bought on vinyl, so I kind of have to include it. Plus, not going to lie, I kind of really like it.

Waiting For a Star to Fall – Boy Meets Girl

I feel like many of the songs I’ve chosen to write about from my childhood all come under a certain emotional umbrella; they all seem to have that late 80’s/90’s summery nostalgia attached to them – the musical equivalent of battered, faded Levis, sunshine, bias cut dresses and oversized printed shirts, giant plants in living rooms and dandelions, all seen through a sepia filter. So, not much different from the music video of Waiting For a Star to Fall. I heard this song many, many years ago, and never really heard it again. Many, many years later, re-enter brother. Same formula applied, however, this time, he actually told me what it was. We sat listening to it and came to the mutual conclusion that it was possibly the happiest song EVER. Seriously, I defy all 2 of you reading this to listen to that song (watching the video is optional but would strongly recommend) and try to deny happiness. You will not succeed.

As well as the sentimental value of the song, the actual music itself is spectacular. The introductory bars are good enough, but then the burst of saxophone at the start, and the solo in the middle is the metaphorical explosion of summer, of sunshine, dancing on the beach and laughter. That is what this song is to me. It is the musical representation of happiness as an emotion. And I don’t think music gets better than that.

Photograph – Def Leppard

Oh, Def Leppard. One of the earliest bands I remember hearing, there are many to choose from, but Photograph was the first song by Def Leppard that I remember hearing (apart from Unbelievable, but I initially thought that was by McFly so let’s skate over that). Once again, I can’t pinpoint exactly where or when I heard the song, it was just kind of there, but it’s always been there, a popular Def Leppard favourite in my house. As I gradually became more interested in music, I began to analyse the guitars more, and I love the chords and the intricacy of the different parts. My favourite part of the song is the crescendo (yes I have a thing about crescendos), both for the live performances of the outro, by Steve Clark in 1988, and Phil Collen now. Also, I’d kill to be able to sing that long note.

Much like St Elmo’s Fire (see below), the ending of the song gives off the same sort of emotion for me, and I think the ability to create that kind of emotion in music whilst maintaining the flow of the song and keep its focus as a rock song is another reason for my unconditional love and adoration for Steve Clark. When I saw Def Leppard live, the song didn’t disappoint.

Livin’ On a Prayer – Bon Jovi

This was my favourite song for nearly 10 years. I don’t remember how exactly it was that I became obsessed with this song, but I’ve told the story in a previous post about how I discovered Bon Jovi as a band. However, Livin’ On a Prayer was the catalyst for this subsequent musical (obsession) discovery. I think my memory of this song is sitting on the sofa with the rest of my family and the song and music video coming on the TV, and my Mum singing along to it, and me just absolutely bloody loving it. It was the song that I aired guitared to in my room with a scarf tied around my head; it was the start of my idolisation of Jon Bon Jovi, and it was the song that stayed with me through the years, and became ‘my song’ at school, whenever it came on at parties, I’d be the one that people turned to. It stayed with me as an anthem of happiness, shit key change and all, and I loved the power and euphoria of both the vocal and the chord progressions. It remained my favourite song until I heard another, which I shall talk about later…

Bohemian Rhapsody – Queen

I’m going to voice possibly one of the most unpopular opinions to have as a rock fan – I’ve grown to not like this song. Here’s why…

When my brother and I were at school, our schools put on a joint musical, as they do every other year. The year that we did it, the musical was We Will Rock You. So obviously, I was in the cast and my brother was the guitarist. However, this did mean endless (enjoyable) rehearsals, and constant performances of BoRap. I can now never hear it and not think of the musical. Not that this is a bad thing, it’s just that it’s kind of been done to death for me. Nevertheless, the song has shaped my life in that way, because it reminds me of that period of school, as well as the fun I had putting on the production. And it was a bloody good production, not going to lie. To prove that, we got sent a signed photo by Brian May.

As well as this, the beginning of Innuendo nearly makes me wet myself because that was the start of the first act.

Faithfully – Journey

I’m not really trying to list these songs in chronological order, because I can’t remember which order I heard them all in. But Faithfully stuck out for me among the songs I thought about. I was raised listening to bands like Journey and Def Leppard, and Faithfully was one of those early songs I heard – that and Don’t Stop Believing. I remember falling in love with the way it sounded, but having no idea what the song was actually about. Mainly because I was about 9 or 10, and so long-distance relationships with touring musicians wasn’t really a topic about which I knew a great deal. Nevertheless, the first concert I went to was Journey when I was around this age. I remember little else apart from hearing the lead in to final chorus, sang primarily by the audience. That, and two drunk women really, really going for it dancing-wise about 5 rows behind us. I saw Journey again a few years later, supported by Styx and Foreigner, and again, I heard Faithfully, and the melody, the crescendo, the guitar, the piano, the vocals, everything about it elevates me when I hear it. That hasn’t gone away, for it was the song I talked about in my very presentation at university, when, in a seminar focussed on the history of popular music (best module EVER), I had to talk about a song I associated with a particular childhood memory, or one which meant a lot to me. I did feel sorry for my classmates, as I did get a bit animated talking about the song, but either way, this is another song which has shaped my musical taste.

Uptown Girl – Billy Joel

Similarly to some of the other songs I’ve mentioned, Uptown Girl was one of those which I’d always heard and loved growing up, but I couldn’t really name the artist – the Billy Joel obsession was to come many years later. Either way, I always loved the melody and the music video, and I guess in a way, the song was a gateway to the discovery of the album An Innocent Man, its title track, and a few others on that album which stand out for me – This Night and Christie Lee. The former I loved for its melody, the backing vocals, and most importantly, the saxophone solo and crescendo. The latter I listened to, expecting it to more like This Night or The Longest Time, but no. The moment that rock ‘n’ roll piano kicked in, I stared at my turntable, thought “bloody hell, I was not expecting that.” Whilst it isn’t really that much of a shocker in reality, bear in mind that the most upbeat Billy Joel song I’d heard was Uptown Girl, so Christie Lee was a massive change – another song which influenced my love of saxophone. But more on that later.

During the summer of 2016, I went to see Billy Joel at Wembley Stadium. I took along a friend who hadn’t been to a concert with me before…she did get elbowed, but I did warn her. Anyway, the concert was magnificent, and everyone knew what the encore would be. Surprise surprise, the stage was bathed in pink lighting as the drumbeat kicked in and 90,000 people started singing Uptown Girl.

Love Theme to St Elmo’s Fire – David Foster

Now, I mentioned earlier about my love of saxophone. This song is what tipped me over the edge, from “I love listening to saxophone” to “I must play this because if I don’t I will never be happy with myself.” The film for which this song was written is a bit too relatable in many ways for me, and I reckon that the emotional attachment to my favourite film has influenced my outlook on its soundtrack.

I mentioned at the start of this piece that I am at a crossroads in my life. I am teetering on the brink of something strange called ‘real life’, which I have come to realise, far fewer people know how to navigate than I originally thought. I’m at a crucial point at the start of university. It’s the time where I can start to make choices in terms of what career path I’d like to take, choose the people with whom I want to spend time, develop my hobbies, and ultimately, start carving a life for myself. It is the time where you have to take all of these things into account, and make a choice: sink or swim. Make the most of it, because, if you don’t, what else? It’s terrifying, so terrifying, I’ve never been so scared about anything in my life. The choices I’ve learned that people have to make when they’re this young have more of an impact than one would think. On one hand, the new start is a great thing, people can reinvent themselves, develop as a person, and generally take to it like a duck to water. Others hate it immediately, realise it isn’t for them, and decide to do other things. St Elmo’s Fire epitomises that emotion. The film follows 7 friends who try to navigate life as college graduates in their early 20s. Some can do it, others take a little longer. Most have no clue what they’re doing. But, as the film develops and ends, it leaves a sense of “yes, it’s hard. Yes, you may not always know what you’re doing, and it’s scary having to go into the real world by yourself and work out your own life. But whatever happens, things will always work out” And I believe that if the Love Theme to St Elmo’s Fire could speak, this is the thing it would say. It’s an empowering song with an utterly euphoric crescendo, and when I heard it, I will just say that it affected me. I’m not entirely sure how, but it did, and that is all I feel I can say about it.

Alone – Heart

Ann Wilson. What a voice. She’s up there with the best female vocalists of all time for me. It’s a song that I could never name, but upon hearing the introduction, I’d go “oh, this…” I found Heart when I was quite a bit older than when I discovered a lot of the songs I’ve mentioned. I only found them when I was well into my teens. But whatever song I listened to, I could not get over her voice. When I saw Heart at the Albert Hall in 2016, Ann Wilson still had a phenomenal voice. I was very emotionally conflicted, trying to watch both Ann and the London Philharmonic Orchestra.

Ann Wilson is my singing idol (along with Steve Perry) and Alone is a spectacularly well written song. It was another one that I spent far too long singing into a hairbrush, but you listen to it and tell me that you didn’t go a little bit 80s power ballad too.

Tangled

As I’ve grown up, the latest path I’d like to carve into the music industry has been through songwriting. I’m hardly fantastic at it (understatement) and it’s not like I have any particular ability when it comes to putting what’s in my head into music (even bigger understatement). However, it’s been something I’d like to be able to do for a very long time. There was a process to this development in ambition, and it started with Diane Warren.

Diane Warren has written so many songs that I lose track, but she’s mastered the art of a simple song. Case in point: Steve Lukather’s Lonely Beat of My Heart, or Cher’s Turn Back Time. This was my goal – write a simple song like Diane Warren, and practise that skill, and it would get easier. However, this intersected with my discovery of David Foster, and so it all went out of the window because I discovered something which grabbed at me and wouldn’t let go – film music.

As I said, David Foster composed the music to St Elmo’s Fire, among many, many other films. It was this which first got me into the idea of film music in a contemporary, pop-song sense. Enter Alan Menken’s soundtrack for Tangled.

I watched Tangled the first time and quite liked it – I liked the story, and on a basic level, I liked the songs. However, upon the next couple of times I watched it, and then the next 39542952082 times I watched it, I came to realise that OH MY GOD THE SCORE. Alan Menken is already a genius, but this just isn’t fair. Listen to the instrumentation of I See the Light, or my personal favourite, the reprise of Mother Knows Best. Or just the background music in the scenes. It is truly, truly incredible. The film score for Tangled is one of the reasons that I decided I wanted to teach myself more about composing music for film. But this was more in the sense of writing actual songs which were performed as part of the film, not traditional, old-school Hollywood film music. This came later, and there is one person whom I have to thank for setting a fire inside me about the art of  film music.

John Barry

I could go on forever about John Barry. To some, I have. If you’re one of the people to whom I haven’t spoken about him, I suggest you possibly don’t mention it around me.

My relationship with the music of John Barry has been a slow burner, but if I come to realise the dream that I currently have of following in his footsteps, I believe I will come to recognise him as possibly one of my greatest musical influences, if he isn’t already. There are several standout pieces which he has composed, and I shall discuss them all, as they mean very different things to me.

The first I’ll choose is Body Heat. This song plays to my love of saxophone, and was another key one which made me want to play; I heard it before St Elmo’s Fire, and the two combined meant that the temptation of learning to play became very hard to resist. I was once discussing Body Heat with a friend, and by that I mean I’d forced them to listen to it and tell me what they thought. I said that I thought the song was the musical equivalent of sex; or rather, how sex should be. They said it was more like seduction, and I found myself agreeing. The piece is beautiful, and the tempo combined with the peaks and troughs of the hook creates such an imaginative, unavoidable atmosphere that results in a piece dripping with seduction.

I read a biography of John Barry over the summer. Whilst sat on the roof listening to his discography, I noticed that there was a term frequently mentioned to describe the work of Barry – soaring. The next piece I chose to discuss embodies this trademark perfectly – Out of Africa. I will be forever grateful to my father for successfully dragging me along to the John Barry memorial concert at the Royal Albert Hall a few years ago. I didn’t want to go, because at the time, I had no interest in his music whatsoever. I’m so, so glad that I went, because not only did I get to see Michael Caine (I love Michael Caine) and Dame Shirley Bassey, I got to sit for a whole evening in the Albert Hall listening to the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra play John Barry’s greatest hits. Even though I didn’t have an interest in film music, or know who John Barry was – I merely knew that he composed the James Bond theme tune – I could still appreciate the sheer power and brilliance of the music. Out of Africa is one of the songs that I associate with that concert, also because it was one of the first pieces by Barry that I ever heard. It’s remained one of my favourites.

Somewhere in Time is my dad’s favourite Barry piece, and one of mine. However, I viewed it differently before seeing the film. I shan’t give away the plot, I shall only say that the ending of the film was followed with about an hour and a half of hardcore weeping. It made the score even more poignant for me, but did not detract from its beauty. It’s not like whenever I hear the music, I burst out crying, but it’s like the musical equivalent of putting a name to a face. I am able to separate the two, but the score itself another soaring piece of magnificence.

I’ll discuss one more of John Barry’s pieces, because this is one of my more recent discoveries. And by recent, I mean within the last week or so. It is also the piece which gave me the lightning bolt moment. Up until now, I’d loved, appreciated and wanted to play John Barry’s music. When I heard the London Theme, I had to learn how to create the music. Taken from the series of songs composed by Barry for Elizabeth Taylor’s visit to London, I listened to the whole lot but kept going back to the London Theme. It’s so classic, it’s so classic Hollywood, it’s beautiful and mesmerising. I listened to it a few more times, and picked up a book about film music. I’m currently 4 chapters in.

Take This Heart – Richard Marx

And now we come to my favourite song. It’s been newly appointed, and it took some emotional effort to yank the crown off Livin’ On a Prayer, but I think it’s more than justified. “You fear every step you make, so sure that your heart will break/It’s not how the story ends, you’ll be back on your feet again.” If you refer back to the first paragraph of this (very long) post, or the paragraph concerning St Elmo’s Fire, you may understand why I listened to this song on a loop for about 16 hours straight. Re: terror of real life and need for musical comfort. My dad showed it to me in his office one summer evening on a whim, saying that he used to play it in a band. I’ve often thought about this; that he wouldn’t have thought about it at the time, but he was playing what would become his daughter’s favourite song. Anyway, I love it. I love it with all my heart, I told Richard Marx how much I loved it (he said thank you), and I love the video. Apart from the sentimentality, I think the song itself is fantastic. Richard Marx has a habit of making the most satisfyingly melodic music ever, and this is no exception; it’s a brilliant piece of music, and once again, because I’m a crescendo whore, I love the ending as well. Everything about the song makes me feel empowered and euphoric, happy and safe. It’s been my go-to throughout my year of transition, and I still continue to love it.

Start Me Up – Rolling Stones

Ok, it’s an unpopular opinion in my house, but I love the Stones. My dad doesn’t mind them, but there’s only so much he can listen to before announcing that it all blends into one. As someone who can rather comfortably listen to good blues music, I do not have this problem. I have many favourable Stones songs, but I’ve chosen Start Me Up, because it’s in my top 3, and quite possibly my favourite. This is primarily because the song always makes me think of when I saw them in Hyde Park in 2013. The band came onstage and Start Me Up just exploded, and the entire festival was enveloped in such a monumental, historical sound, it blew me away. I only have to hear the riff and it takes me right back to the summer; I recently rediscovered the fact that I have that very concert in live form on vinyl, and upon putting it on, the same feeling flooded back to me when I heard the riff. The cheers of the crowd, the sound of the guitars, everything brought me back to the feeling of walking bare foot on short, dusty grass, the faint, echoing sound of Fender guitars wafting around on the breeze, sun and relaxation.

As well as that, Brown Sugar is the other Stones song which I feel shaped my life in other ways; plonking it in the same category as My Sharona, it’s another gig favourite – it was welcomed at the end of every encore. Both of these songs have acted like many of the others, as gateways to the discovery of, often, a band’s entire discography. Or at least, a big part of it. The Rolling Stones hold a special place in my life, because the day that I saw them was one of the greatest days of my life, and their powerful influence in music combined with the era and historical themes they represent cement them as one of the artists who shaped my life.

Wake Me Up Before You Go Go – Wham!

This song has infiltrated my life throughout the years at parties, through my general listening, my brother playing it on bass, among other scenarios. My first memory of it is sitting with my dad in his office, and he showed me this song, and I remember clearly the two of us laughing at the part of the video lit up in neon. The song stayed with me through the years purely because I come from a house of Wham! lovers, and just because the music is incredible. When we heard the news of George Michael’s death, we were all shocked. His talent was undeniable and unavoidable, and quite right too. This song was one which shaped my life by introducing me to that talent.

I realised how long this post was when I hit about 3100 words. However, I didn’t want to stop, because there are so many songs which influenced my life in many different ways – some purely due to sentiment and memory, others due to influence and fascination. I am still at a crossroads in my life. I feel that I will find myself in this position many more times, but so far, this is the musical influence which has accompanied me on this path.

A life in song. A map for a crossroads. A helping hand for a work in progress.

January 8th. Having awoken only moments before, I groggily heard an announcement on my parents’ TV about the death of a celebrity. Asking them who’d died, still blinking the sleep from my eyes, a wave of shock, sorrow and disbelief woke me up when my dad announced just one word – “Bowie.” Not so much a name, I’ve come to realise, but a word. A word which symbolised a pioneer of Glam Rock, an inspiration to an entire generation, an influence in the worlds of art, music and fashion alike. David Bowie’s track record is one which I always pictured to be full of vibrancy, dynamism and colour. He was an incredible musician, developing the art of self-development, creating and recreating time and time again, and rarely going wrong – how could he? Music has no rules; it has no boundaries, much as artists nowadays fail to realise as they steadily become carbon copies of one another – he played this to his advantage, shocking many and inspiring many more. I can’t possibly go into the entirety of his musical catalogue, and definitely can’t do it justice, but I’ve picked a few of my favourite Bowie songs to try and illustrate my point.

Space Oddity gives off an odd sense of foreboding to me, combined with a theme of space travel that I happen to equate with ELO, although the latter certainly runs with this theme in a slightly less abstract manner. The music is very intricate, gradually dissolving into some form of disarray towards the end. It’s not an altogether unpleasant sound – merely strange. If I were my age back in 1969 and I heard that song for the first time, it would certainly give me the sense that this was only the beginning; that something big was to be expected from Bowie; something that hadn’t been seen or heard before.

My appreciation and love for Bowie’s work is not diminished by my saying this, but if I was ever asked to describe his music in one word, I guess the one consistent thought I’ve always had regarding his work is that it’s weird. Very, very weird. Good Weird though, not Bad Weird. The closest I came when I was younger to thinking some of his work was Bad Weird was when I heard Life on Mars? Life on Mars? is probably the weirdest of all Bowie’s songs to me. Probably a combination of watching the music video and not being old enough to understand why he had florescent orange hair and bright blue eye shadow, and what on earth was he saying? I never understood the song, but I always remembered that hook. The song always came across as slightly intimidating to me. Perhaps because whenever I hear it, I know that it’s that song, that song which never made sense but gave off an eerie feeling of otherness, a surreal quality which I found slightly unnerving. Combined with the sheer fame of the track, I dare say it’s one of the most prominent songs in musical history; it carries a weight, a status, a demand to be listened to whenever it appears on TV or radio. It’s a combination of melancholy and nostalgia, the rude realisation that life isn’t how you expect it to be as a child, but the sorrow that you can’t experience the life that you think could exist somewhere out there, the life you’re desperate to find but somehow you just can’t. The weight of life’s realities birth a cynicism that this life doesn’t actually exist at all.

Starman is one of my two favourite Bowie songs. It’s the song I remember hearing most, the one I knew the most before any other. It’s also the song I listened to on repeat the day that he died, when a good friend sat next to me as I cried, the meaning of the song suddenly taking a whole new identity. The gentle acoustic introduction to the song is calming, comforting – it’s ok, I’m here, but I’m warning you, this is a sad song. It’s always been a sad song for me, even before Bowie died. The idea of an afterlife, someone literally waiting for you to join them in death. It’s not supposed to be a sad song, but the lyrics have always struck a chord with me that echoed a somewhat heaven-like vibe. Then again, the idea of a messenger speaking the words of the Starman doesn’t give off an entirely dissimilar impression. The song itself is very well arranged, due to the extreme musical talent of Mick Ronson, but it’s always been difficult for me to escape the sadness I feel whenever I hear it, something which has only become more prominent after his death.

I realise this has been a bit soul-destroying so far, so the next song I picked was Fashion, purely because I love it and it’s so catchy. The snappy guitar riff was an appropriate introduction for Bowie’s next phase, one reflecting the animation and pizazz of the 80s. It’s also an accurate social commentary at the beginning of a decade which did pay such close attention to appearances. It’s not particularly deep or meaningful, but it’s difficult not to get the guitar riff stuck in your head.

Let’s Dance is probably the most-played Bowie song in my house. Having learnt the art of literary criticism at school, there was one particular line which always stood out for me in Let’s Dance – “if you should fall into my arms/and tremble like a flower” – I’ve always thought that this particular line is very emotive, vivid in it’s imagery. The fact that it was conceived as a folk song before Nile Rogers got his hands on it makes me laugh – its success is really down to the life injected into the song by that guitar riff.

Absolute Beginners is my other favourite Bowie track. I love it because it appears as less abstract, and more of an Actual Song. The melody is my favourite element, and has always reminded me somewhat of the lines of Under Pressure – “This is our last dance…” versus “If our love could fly over mountains…” Combined with the haunting saxophone part, the song is nothing short of mesmerising and quietly wistful. The lyrics are cautious, meaningful – it begins as a vulnerable declaration of love – what other kind is there? – “I’ve nothing much to offer, there’s nothing much to take…the rest can go to hell, I absolutely love you…with eyes completely open, but nervous all the same”. However, the lyrics quickly replace caution with courage, emboldened by the idea that you can do anything because of the support and love of that other person. This emotion is reflected beautifully in the subsequent verses, and combined with an exquisite melody, it demonstrates a more emotional side of his writing, it’s more realistic in terms of its’ sentiments. The song shows us a more human Bowie – not the superstar, not the alien, not the Starman, but the human.

The last song I chose to look at is Dancing in the Street, just because it’s a really feelgood song, and I love the partnership of Bowie and Mick Jagger. It’s not the most amazing cover vocally, but I find a certain charm in the track’s messiness. The song conjures images of summer evenings, festivals, fun, general relaxation and an all-round longing to literally do what the song tells you. With the blatant stage presence of Jagger, Bowie provides the cool to the former’s flamboyance. That sultry tone to his voice can once again be heard, a strange yet incredibly subtle, smooth sexuality which weaved its way into so much of his later work. It’s a quality that I’ll always admire as it added so much to the atmosphere of his songs, no matter what the meaning was behind the lyrics.

I’m merely scratching the surface with Bowie’s work. Plus, in a way, I feel like I’m not entitled to say any of this, to attempt to analyse his work, to pass judgement as I have done. I wasn’t alive at the height of his fame, I didn’t stand pressed against the edge of the stage at the final performance of Ziggy Stardust and I didn’t witness the rise of each and every new persona. However, as is the case with all music worth its salt, it’s never forgotten and acquires new fans as it continues along the road of musical history. I can only try and articulate my own thoughts and emotions of Bowie’s music from my own limited experience. But let me say this: I may not have been around at the time, but there is no mistaking the sheer impact I feel he had on the world, and my age does not, and will never diminish the personal sense of loss I felt at his death. Bowie may have been weird, the weirdest artist I’ve ever come across, but it was definitely, definitely Good Weird.

Brad Paisley is one of the best songwriters in music. Yeah I’m biased, but it’s my blog. Paisley’s style of writing veers from intimate to heartbreaking to hilarious. Sitting comfortably?

Whiskey Lullaby walks the line between despair and intimacy through the vocal contrast of Alison Krauss and Paisley. It describes a haunting story of two lovers and a Wuthering Heights/Romeo and Juliet-style heartbreak. I Wish You’d Stay is a faintly gut-wrenching take on the end of a relationship: “I left a map on your front seat/just in case you lose your way/but don’t worry, once you reach Sallisaw/it’s all Interstate.” There are also some strings thrown in there for good measure, but it’s the story that always gets me. It isn’t angry, there’s no animosity or fire, it’s soft and regretful. It’s about a relationship which, for reasons unknown, couldn’t work out. Sometimes those are the worst of all; nobody’s done anything wrong, you’re just not the same people you once were. The force of having to come to terms with this and the pain involved is perfectly captured in this song.

New Favourite Memory. “You’re fumbling round in the bedroom/trying to put on your shoes/hair half down, dress half on/looking like you’re about to blow a fuse.” It’s so simple. It’s also completely accurate if you’re a woman and you’ve had to get ready for something in a rush, but that’s the beauty of it. It perfectly romanticises the quiet security that comes with a happy, long-term relationship. The verses and chorus flit between time signatures (4/4 and 3/4 respectively) and it’s this waltzy rhythm in the chorus that lends another texture to the serenity of the images conjured.

I legitimately don’t know where to start with the hilarity of some of these songs. High Life, a song about a white trash family who will sue anyone for anything; I’m Gonna Miss Her, when a man chooses between his love for fishing and his girlfriend – “I’m sure it’ll hit me/ when I walk through that door tonight/ that I’m gonna miss her/ oh, lookie there, I’ve got a bite.” Camouflage, taking the mick out of the invisibility joke and Online and Selfie #theinternetisforever are commentaries on internet dating and the tastelessness of Instagram culture. The first time you listen to these songs is joyous because you don’t think they can get funnier as they go along, but they really do.

A third category that Brad Paisley excels in is the social commentary song. Take Those Crazy Christians – “A famous TV preacher has a big affair and then/one tearful confession and he’s born again again.” The song draws attention to a really interesting topic, as well as inviting an unexpected examination of one’s moral compass. Welcome to the Future expresses amazement at the developments of the world around us compared to fifty years ago, also paired with a sombre reminder of the difficulties surrounding race relations in America.

After examining the lyrical aspect of a lot of these songs, it’s also impossible not to mention the obvious; Brad Paisley is also a shit-hot guitarist. Play, his album from 2008, is mostly instrumental and contains some of the most infuriating chicken-picking known to man – Cluster Pluck is basically the Eruption of the country music world and features a smorgasbord of guitarists renowned for their finger-picking prowess .

I could go on and on about so many of Brad Paisley’s songs, but I’ll leave it at this, hoping that someone will go away and find a song of his which resonates with them. Believe me, you’ve got a wide variety of themes to choose from.

Once again, my youth is a hindrance when assessing the bands that I like. However, from what I know, it’s difficult to imagine 1970s music without Led Zeppelin in the frame. I went through my own Zeppelin phase, and also wondered what everyone else must have thought around 1975 – was there a better band around? Were there, in fact, any other bands around apart from Led Zeppelin? Was there a better guitarist around than Jimmy Page? The answer to ll three of these questions is yes, of course, especially to the last. The answer comes mostly in the form of two words – Brian May.

Jimmy Page has co-written some great songs. Whole Lotta Love – great. Rock N’ Roll – great. Stairway – overplayed, plagarised, but still great. However, on a technical level, there are so many better guitarists (I’ll try and make my point clear over the indignant shouting of every 12 year-old guitarist currently attempting Stairway to Heaven in every guitar shop across the country).

On that note, let’s talk about Brian May. Style, attention to detail and tone are his main forte. May writes and performs each song with the utmost precision – you only have to listen to the solo in Killer Queen and you’d see what I mean. It’s neat and tidy, but turns this set of seemingly uninteresting qualities for a guitar solo into an unmistakable and incredibly stylish formula. A classic player needs a classic amp, and the tone of May’s Vox AC30 reflects his playing – clean but also incredibly powerful. I saw the band with Adam Lambert in January and I can safely say that if I heard Jimmy Page’s guitar tone, I wouldn’t think much of it, whereas May’s is unmistakably his. Plus, the hair…

The songs. Despite the huge success of Led Zeppelin, it would be easier to name a greater number of Queen’s songs initially. Why? Maybe due to the influence of Freddie Mercury as a performer, maybe the fact that their vocals of were so unique in their arrangement – the layering of harmonies which created a wall of operatic singing gives the band it’s recognizable sound. From a technical point of view, Queen were more on point than Led Zeppelin – they sound much sharper and much more distinct. Furthermore, John Deacon and John Paul Jones have both been remarkably underappreciated in this area – both are magnificent bassists, but their talents as songwriters cannot go unnoticed; Deacon as the author of some of Queen’s greatest songs – The Show Must Go On, You’re My Best Friend and I Want To Break Free, and Jones being behind Black Dog and Trampled Underfoot, among others.

That’s not to say at all that Led Zeppelin don’t sound good. They do, simply in the opposite way. Almost all of the material by Queen is meticulously detailed in composition and execution, but Led Zeppelin are much, much more prone to improvisation (Jimmy Page recorded the solo in Rock N’Roll in a corridor as improv). Zeppelin sound grittier, rougher and dirtier than Queen.  However, it wouldn’t be fair to compare Dazed and Confused with Bohemian Rhapsody, or Kashmir with Inneundo. Led Zeppelin represents the 70’s as being the decade which said goodbye to flower power and instead smacked you across the face with a steaming pile of filthy, felonious, good old fashioned Rock N’ Roll. Queen, on the other hand, exploded after 1975 and were hailed as being a powerhouse of quality and dynamism, particularly in terms of vocals. Which brings us onto the next element to consider: frontmen.

The fact that Led Zeppelin just exudes sexual magnetism is mainly down to the lyrics by Plant which do nothing but fertilize ideas about sex (I shan’t go into detail about lemons). Whilst it is an undisputed fact that Freddie Mercury is simply outstanding as a musician but also in vocal performance and stage presence, how good is Robert Plant in comparison? His raspy, screaming vocals are a staple of every Led Zep track, and I can’t lie, they’re still very effective. However, the early 1970’s were the height of the band’s success. I.e, not the time at which Queen were also at the height of theirs, but were just beginning. Therefore, it isn’t necessarily fair to pit Plant and Mercury against each other, as they were both at the top of their game at different times in music history. Although, if we were to pit them against each other, it would be very, very difficult to choose a better frontman. Robert Plant has a raw, sexually-charged delivery, whilst Freddie Mercury is outright mind blowing. Take The Show Must Go On, for example; the sheer amount of power in Mercury’s voice sends chills down my spine whenever I hear it, and I’m sure I’m not the only one.

Led Zeppelin are an amazing band. Queen are an amazing band. It wouldn’t be right to try and decide which one is better – there are too many aspects to consider. Both influenced the members of Def Leppard among many other bands of that era, and continue to be cited as influences to artists today. I think that if a band can do that, then both are equally successful – Led Zeppelin and Queen have both left legacies which will be ingrained in rock history forever, and that is the true measure of success for them.

My love for/minor obsession with Def Leppard began with a fuzzy clip from In The Round In Your Face, 1988, on a dusty VCR tape from the Cupboard of Forgotten Music Programmes. And so began my second love affair with classic rock. Where do I start with Hysteria? I can’t find one bad song on the record (not even Run Riot).

Let’s start with the most obvious one; Pour Some Sugar on Me could not have more testosterone in it if it tried. The distorted riff explodes in a fit of “I am man, I have loud guitar, listen to THIS.” This is helped along by the Man Grunt which furnishes the first verse. This track was made for stadiums.  It’s punchy and confident. The backing vocals are deep and rough, creating the gritty sex appeal which enticed Floridian strippers in the late 80s and cemented it as probably one of the catchiest songs ever. As well as this, it sounds hilarious sped up.

Love Bites manages to prove the strength behind softness and emotion. I hadn’t heard lyrics like those before in any other song I’d ever listened to. It’s so blatantly sexual but interweaves the emotion which often goes hand in hand with intimacy. The power of wanting to touch somebody you know you can’t brilliantly highlights the power of sexuality in love and captures the emotion behind the lust. It’s an incredibly mature approach to a love song. It sounds real, raw and emotional. This also comes through in the music – the long chords, slow tempo and minor key stretch out the deep sensuality of the track. The constant vibrato in the chorus played by Phil Collen is actually both him and Steve Clark playing, as it was too difficult for one person. The technique worked well to produce a unique, powerful resonance and a hauntingly beautiful song.

Armageddon It has possibly the happiest chorus ever. It’s another of those songs that evokes a sense of euphoria, stemming from the harmonies and chord progression. The verses are studded with punchy guitar parts, giving way to a pre-chorus which builds and explodes in enough harmonized happiness to envelop even the most miserable of souls.

Think you might lose interest halfway through the B Side? Nope, you get smacked across with face with Run Riot and Don’t Shoot Shotgun, the most energetic fillers I think I’ve ever heard on a record. The electricity of Run Riot is utterly contagious, whilst Don’t Shoot Shotgun is less energetic but more melodic, but both make you feel equally exhausted after only listening. That doesn’t matter because you then have the calming serenity of the title track itself.

I’m beginning to sound like a broken record (geddit) but Hysteria is an exquisite song, and one of my favourites on the album. The moment the first bar of the riff starts, it’s impossible not to melt into a delirious puddle of relaxation. It’s something in the riff, the chord progression, the resonance – it’s so difficult not to fall in love with this song when it’s a song about falling in love. Not just falling in love, going mad with love. “Dream me off my feet” is the line which, for me, perfectly captures the feeling of dancing through the feeling of loving somebody.

I’ve mentioned nearly every track on the album, but Gods of War has always felt slightly separate from the rest of the songs. This album really has it all – strip club vs heartbreak, the restless impatience of youth and nuclear war! Gods of War is certainly topical for the period during which it was written, containing audios of ‘Maggie Thatcher, milk snatcher’ and the sounds of machine gun fire and falling bombs. Nearly a whole minute of anticipation before that bass kicks in, followed by one of the best riffs I reckon Steve Clark ever wrote. The riff is one of the standout elements of the song for me; I mentioned before about that feeling of euphoria, and this guitar riff has it in spades. The song carries this feeling right through to the last chorus and the delicious Photograph-esque descending scale sung by Mr Elliott. It’s genuinely hard to quantify the sheer wall of power that is this song. It’s the perfect balance of meaning and melody.

Hysteria is an incredible, incredible album. It’s well produced, well written and worth the four-year hellfest that was its’ creation. Try to find somebody who doesn’t like even one song on the record –  bet you a tenner you won’t find anyone.

I only recently got properly into Toto – I’d grown up listening to Rosanna and Africa, but I wasn’t aware of many other songs of theirs. It wasn’t until I heard Africa properly that I went away and found more of their songs. Suffice to say, I’m glad I did. I found many songs by them that I adored, but Stop Loving You stood out the most. Primarily because of the melody, the sheer euphoria I feel whenever I hear it, and the vocals..

 Joseph Williams’ voice is exceptional – I loved his singing even before I found out that he voiced adult Simba in Hakuna Matata, a fact that increased my general happiness by approximately 78%. Lyrically, I’ve always been caught between wondering if Stop Loving You is sweet or vaguely obsessive, (“I won’t stop till I’m through loving you”) but even if it does ere on the creepier side, Williams, unlike Sting, manages to make an obsessive song sound happy and not like he’s looking through your window with a telescope. This is probably my favourite Williams song, tied with Pamela, possibly the snazziest take on a guilt trip I’ve ever heard (“don’t break this heart of mine, it may not heal this time”).

As well as the main vocals being clean and precise on this record, another element to note is those legendary Toto harmonies, also exhibited on tracks from Africa to I’ll Be Over You to Dying On My Feet. The combination of Lukather, Paich and Porcaro result in a unique sound which has become part of the Toto trademark. These harmonies are present on Stop Loving You, combined effortlessly with an irresistible melody which in turn produces a beautifully intrinsic wall of vocal loveliness.

Perhaps the fact that each member was a well-respected session musician means that there is no shortage of songwriting talent in Toto; they’re one of those bands at whom I’m amazed at their unending originality, which is helped of course by the instrumentation. Steve Lukather’s distortion amp is a perfect contrast to the soft keyboard sounds created by Paich. The synthesizers manage to give the tune an overarching tone of happiness and jollity, despite the message of the lyrics being one of frustration. All of this is tied together by the unique and world-class drumming of Jeff Porcaro, resulting in a stellar level of timeless music.

Stop Loving You is an amazing song, which can be played over and over, and yet one can still find something new within it. There really is little I can find that’s wrong with this song. Aside from anything else, Joe Williams’ mullet in the music video is just magnificent.