Jukebox Junior: Playing records to a girl called Junior
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Singles Of The Year 1990
[1] Primal Scream, 'Loaded'
Oh, sorry. Best record Primal Scream ever made.
A wan, workaday indie-turned-cockrock band transformed into the very daddies of the Balearic dancerock scene. All because of that Andrew Weatherall again. He’s responsible for Bobby Gillespie still thinking he looks cool.
Not even Bobby G was expecting this. Do you remember him on Top Of The Pops? Looking lost and hopelessly skinny for five minutes before mumbling ‘I’m gonna get deep down..’, then looking lost and skinny again. But what a record it was, is. A distillation of everything that was great about the Stone Roses, dub, the stuff Boy’s Own was up to, whiteboy funk, the achingly hip. You’d wear the record like a badge if it didn’t have such a rubbish sleeve.
No dissent from Junior, either, who made herself dizzy again and bounced slowly at the knees, mimicking the rolling/shuffling beat. She mumbled a bit about the Soup Dragons, the Farm, My Jealous God, Bombalurina… but accepted that the year belonged to one band.
Woo. Hey.
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[2] Primal Scream, 'Come Together'
Why bother with the ‘Give Out But Don’t Give Up’ Stones-filleting claptrap? This, the extended standard single version (8.02), is the best 90s example of Southern-fried boogie woogie gospel-infused country rock dance mantra. The Scream channelled the spirit of ‘Exile On Main Street’ four years before they chose to Xerox it.
Junior and I stuck this on as soon as she got up. She laughed and dressed to the slowly building, layer upon layer construction of ecstatic praise to the God of Dance-Rawk. Once decked in jeans and distressed white top, she lip-synched along to the closing choruses, performing to the dining room mirror. Copying her narcissist dad, obviously.
Then it was a short hop to the living room to enjoy the spacey, ambient charms of Weatherall’s 10-minute album mix (also the 12-inch B-side). She had to hear both; together they make up one of the greatest single releases. Junior turned around and around to its spiralling cycles, eventually falling on her backside, like so many of us before her.
This soundtracked a great summer, a spot-on theme for not giving a monkey’s.
Best record Primal Scream ever made.
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[3] Happy Mondays, 'Step On'
Difficult to put this one into words. Um, I kind of thought I owned the Happy Mondays. No, that’s not it. Perhaps it felt as if they were providing the raucous soundtrack to our lives. I don’t know. I had their records before they really went supernova, protective like some trainspotting fanboy, but the real nub was that each single release seemed to mark a milestone for me.
Oh, what a load of balls. Anyway, I remember hearing ‘Step On’ for the first time, waking me up on one of my lazy sixth form mornings, played by whichever sap was manning the Radio 1 Breakfast Show. I can’t have been snug in the Mondays’ inner circle if Simon bloody Mayo was introducing me to their new singles. The intro’s honky tonk take on an Italo house piano was similar enough to that ‘Hallelujah’ remix to tell me it was them.
Junior, with the insouciance of extreme youth, threw in a lope-perfect Bez impression without my prompting and generally gave her all for the first couple of minutes. Attention wandered to the glorious leather uppers, and then to scarpering from her coat. An uncanny tearaway scally accompaniment to a cheeky and inspired cover.
Shaun Ryder, idiot savant, Manc laureate etc. etc. was busy rewriting the language. ‘Twisting my melon’ is now a mainstay of the OED, a regular utterance in Hansard, an occasional Countdown Conundrum, a sotto voce aside in the 1990 Queen’s Speech, Junior’s first words, etched on the edge of the new £2 coin and written in hieroglyph on that image beamed out to our alien friends on the other side of the universe.
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[4] Deee-Lite, 'Groove Is In The Heart'
And YET AGAIN Deee-Lite are denied the No.1 spot. Last time a septuagenarian (probly) noodly MOR rocker stood in their way, this time a dashing thirtysomething young buck has wielded the axe in favour of… WELL, let’s wait and see.
It was a travesty back then. After reported identical sales, top spot was awarded to ‘The Joker’ because it leapt a greater number of places. Ludicrous rule, for a start, and obviously the sales weren’t really identical. The extrapolated, rounded-up figure from a selection of record shops was identical. I’m winging it here, but if sales had been pooled from all UK record shops, I’d guess at a win for ‘Groove Is In The Heart’. It would have the independents sewn up.
Water under the bridge.
Stupid chart compilers.
Junior voted with her classily shod feet and scooted off my lap as soon as the song began, moving on to dazzle me with an astonishing array of 70s New York disco spins. She found the record as undeniable as any of us ever did. Dancefloor crack. The album was- and still is- great too. Although it kind of reminds me of losing my dinner after eight vodka slammers. Sweet memories.
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[5] Pet Shop Boys, 'Being Boring'
The ambient, lightly funky, spy theme, 90-second build-up bears no resemblance to the rest of the song, and had Junior wiggling her behind and doing her hip hop crouch. As the synth harps heralded the melody, she moved on to trying on hats that no longer fit her, a poignant reconstruction of the PSBs’ nostalgia for things passed. It’s one of those songs where the verse far outweighs the chorus; it’s beautiful and stately.
‘Being Boring’ is now recognised as an AIDS anthem, paying tribute to the free spirits now gone, but it feels more universal. It felt more universal. I was in my 18/19s and life was a blur. I was sure about the future, much more sure than I’d be a couple of years later. I never considered, though, that I’d be looking back on these loose and louche days. I was in a niche that I should never leave.
I suppose we’re somewhere between the second and third verses now, hoping we don’t miss too much in our 1990s.
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[6] The KLF featuring The Children Of The Revolution, 'What Time Is Love? (Live At Trancentral)'
Junior’s a wizard at the old cow impressions now, so chanting ‘Mu Mu’ along with the KLF was a breeze. The song moves through phases, hip hop to rave and back, and she modified the tempo of her dance moves to fit; at one point we performed what must be the first ever tap dance duet to a KLF tune. Her new, proper shoes are perfect for that. A hit!
In the Autumn of 1990 this was the one song I wanted them to play at The Studio every Thursday night- well, this one and No.4- and I was usually lucky. At least I think I was. At 80p a pint, I could’ve imagined anything. Point is, even if the tongue was firmly in cheek, even if Jonathan King was right and MC Bello really was some white fellow blacked up, even if people worship the KLF beyond their true standing, even if no one will admit ‘The White Room’ was patchy, even if Bill Drummond is just a grumpy old curmudgeon now with his horribly out of touch old man-ish No Music Day, ‘What Time Is Love?’ is still a great record and top drawer floorfiller.
Come in effect with Kingboy D.
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[7] Sinead O'Connor, 'Nothing Compares 2 U'
Aggro skin Sinead surprised the world with this tender interpretation of a tossed-off Prince ballad, with her real tears and her how-come-we-never-noticed-them-before beautiful eyes. One of 1990’s lasting classics and a great record to boot.
Isn’t it? It certainly betters a Prince original- a feat beyond, say, Tom effin’ Jones- but listening to it alone makes you feel there’s something missing. Sinead’s face dominated the song as much as her voice, the video an inevitable part of the whole. It’s still powerful, sorrow married with a sneer at those who don’t understand. Standard O’Connor, really.
Sorry to say it was another record to take second place to Junior’s breakfast. The clearest reaction was some sarcastic swaying towards the end. I mean, if she’d had a lighter it would’ve been aloft. But I don’t give toddlers lighters, don’t worry. I’m no Sadie Frost.
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