Jukebox Junior: Playing records to a girl called Junior
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Singles Of The Year 1996
[1] Gabrielle, 'Give Me A Little More Time'
I remember the tail-end of 1996, when I sat back on the communal sofa, glass of wine in hand, pen and pad in, erm, other hand and considered what the very best singles of the year might be – it came as quite a surprise when I realised that Ol’ Cap’n Gabrielle Me Hearties had scooped the gong. There I go, thumbing my nose at conventional wisdom again, I thought. I was wrong. Wrong that it was so wildly out of step: the NME canvassed a few shonky pop stars about their faves and a good, ooo, three out of seven marked this as single of the year too. I don’t know if that makes me right or wrong. I know it makes me agree with Nicky Wire, which is an odd sensation.
I just think this is gorgeous and poignant, a soul pastiche that ended up real. Gabrielle has a voice that can sound rotten, but more often it pierces the heart. I sing along to this until it hurts. Junior swayed with feeling, squeezing the doll with the dungarees up close and offering me the babygro-ed toy baby so I didn’t get lonely.
Oh, and “Don’t you think it complicates things, or is it just me?” is a brilliant line to wedge into a pop-soul string-tugger.
Right, I’m off to get spliced, conquer the Greek islands, plough on to Glastonbury and have a crafty cig in a pub for the last time. See you cats in July.
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[2] Blackstreet, 'No Diggity'
It’s the passing of the r’n’b baton, from Teddy Riley (never to have any sort of profound influence again) to Dr Dre (already fabulously well-ensconced in the arena but about to go ballistic), and it is sublime.
Well, I think so anyway. Young Junior was enamoured of the rumbling piano riff – as any right-thinking person is, as anyone who HEARS this is – but didn’t stick around to hear the whole song. Nursery time was approaching which naturally means that fleeing coats and shoes-time was upon us. Obviously, you want your children to have strength of purpose and solid character, but it doesn’t half knacker you out.
Blackstreet were a boyband, pretty much; an anonymous set of faces who suited this showtune-in-waiting down to the ground. Dre is a guest, but a heavy influence. The song is tight, fearlessly catchy and effortlessly groovy – and a worthy runner-up. What could be better?
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[3] George Michael, 'Fastlove'
George came back after a lengthy absence with the dull – yet admittedly poignant – ‘Jesus To A Child’. It would’ve been easy to write him off at that stage as a dreary balladeer now he was settling into his 30s, but ‘Fastlove’ blew that idea right out of the water and he’s never looked back.
Ok, he probably has looked back, what with the massive deterioration in quality of his output after this, but, you know, at least he’s always tried to keep the funk alive, even slumped over a steering wheel or cavorting around some park loos. Good old Giorgios.
Where were we? ‘Fastlove’ is dangerously smooth and leather-interiored, but somehow it retains an edge. For all his out-and-out popness, George has always had cred; he knows where it’s at, what it looks like and how it should sound. This record had a groove appeal from the Patrice Rushen sample on down, and it flaunts this appeal with huge sass and huger confidence. Even the corny lines – “Why don’t we make a little room in my BMW, babe”, “I do believe that we are practising the same religion” – only serve to underline the song’s chutzpah. George gets a wry smile, not a head-in-hands cringe.
From Junior, he gets a perfunctory shimmy, a dancing toy baby and a flat refusal to leave the waste bin alone. In short, a blistering satire on his recent output.
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[4] The Charlatans, 'One To Another'
Loaded magazine (RIP) named this their single of the 90s – or single of the mag’s lifespan, but you get the point – and it’s easy to see why: ‘One To Another’ is boisterous, scruffy, loud and, crucially, not Oasis.
It’s also a bass-booming Chemical Brothers collab, a baggy revival with big beat bells on. The Charlatans were comfortable in their trademark swagger by now, turning out likeable anthems with every single before the spark slipped tantalisingly away a couple of years later. I don’t love ‘One To Another’ like I love ‘North Country Boy’ but as its pulse quickens and the octaves rise, I still get a shiver. Junior was pretty hepped up on it too, withstanding the gross aural assault of the intro in style, rocking and a-reeling before abruptly losing interest.
No more rock songs now. After a massive six weeks revisiting 1996, I plan to get out on Friday, trailing a top three of r’n’b/pop in my wake.
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[5] Spice Girls, 'Wannabe'
Exactly 15 months ago, we said this:
“Slam your body down and zig-a-zig-ahh. Euan, Paddy, OP and I did some impromptu street theatre on the Edinburgh Fringe the best part of 10 years ago, trying to show how the Spice Girls’ orders could be carried out. We decided that you couldn’t really slam your own body down, assuming that you had to land with said body horizontal to the floor for full slamming effect. You couldn’t get the full force behind you; it would be mere falling.
I didn’t ask Junior to replicate the slam but, like many little girls before her, she found the Spices’ song and message beguiling- although the fact that she was managing to do the zig-a-zig move as demonstrated in the video was more down to maternal manipulation than free will.
So, whatever happened to the Spice Girls? One minute it was world domination with infectious tunes and sketchy empowerment poses, the next it was, well, we know what it was. Eye-wateringly bad solo careers, babies with silly names (Junior’s a very sensible name) and desperately misguided attempts to bed George Michael.”
And now? Now we know they’re going to reform – yeah, Mel C, whatever – and Junior thinks the song is groovy beyond all reasonable human feats. Jumping was the chief reaction, but we also had spinning around and hip-wiggling. The Girl Power “V” signal that Geri Halliwell sent shining into the night sky 11 years ago still holds astonishing power. And No.5? The record’s cultural resonance should place it higher and it still has its synthetic wah-wah appeal, but, well, we need room for ‘Grateful When You’re Dead’, ‘Govinda’, ‘Tattva’ and ‘Hey Dude’.
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[6] Manic Street Preachers, 'A Design For Life'
The MSPs enjoy a healthy presence on Jukebox Junior, particularly for a band that’s made some of the weakest, most bombastic, offensive tripe of the last 10 years; I suppose they were a decent singles band for a while, understanding the cultural import and potential of the one-song manifesto. They certainly gave it their best shot, the po-faced self-taught Boyo Marxists.
‘A Design For Life’ was the earliest real sign of the lads flexing their dormant stadium muscle. Junior can hear this, punching the air in the first couple of bars. She doesn’t react again until the lone drum turn sees the song off at the end: that’s worth a sway, but no round of applause.
The song does still have a lovely swing to it – it’s almost stately, but maybe insidious too. I mean, for a moment, Stadium Manics didn’t seem such an awful prospect. As the strings take over at the end of the second verse, there’s real power to a simple rock song and the chorus swells to something of real meaning – even if they were winging it, as ever. The rhythm makes the usually unwieldy Manics polemic sound like poetry.
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[7] The Bluetones, 'Slight Return'
‘Slight Return’ sounded like a shot from a bygone era, an 80s indie pop single – economical, sprightly and sweet, and not a hint of a dance element to its sound. It was as if Madchester never happened, even though they were so clearly in thrall to The Stone Roses. It’s faint praise, but it shouldn’t be. The song is a perfect pop single, melodically lithe, simple and catchy as hell, not an iota longer or shorter than it ought to be, and completely at odds with anything else The Bluetones ever did.
Junior actually thought it was a waltz, wanted to take a turn with her dad around the dining room as the song played through the laptop’s speakers. No idea where the album went – not that I miss the sappy thing – it probably merged with the reproduction wood of the CD shelves, tepid anonym that it is. We just revel in the coy beauty of ‘Slight Return’ and Mark Morriss’ awkward “hey!” before the last chorus.
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