1984 Band Aid: Do They Know It's Christmas?

Christmas 1984 will forever and a day be associated with Band Aid in my memory banks. For the whole of December it was everywhere. You couldn't move for one of the 'stars' spouting off about the 'great experience' and the 'good cause' on the TV or on the radio, and wherever they where then the song and/or the video weren't far behind.

There isn't much mileage in criticising the song itself; the main movers Bob Geldof and Midge Ure knocked it out almost overnight with no other goal than having a product in the shops to generate income for their cause. And it shows. But it doesn't matter; there are a lot worse Christmas singles doing the rounds than this one, and it raised millions for a good cause and was the biggest-selling single in UK chart history until 1997. So all gravy to them.

But after all the dust settles, the lyrical tone and message of 'Do They Know It's Christmas?' niggles like a loose tooth. The title for a start - over 50% of Africans are Muslim, so why should they know or care whether it's Christmas or not? The aim of Band Aid was to raise money for famine, not to act as some neo Missionary vehicle and though this would have been furthest from the mind of Geldof at the time, it's still subliminally there.

Further - "And there won't be snow in Africa this Christmastime" Really? Except of course at altitude where there's snow all year round. "Where the only water flowing is the bitter sting of tears" The only water? Except of course the longest river in the world (the Nile) and the river that feeds the biggest man made lake in the world (the Volta).

"Where nothing ever grows. No rain nor rivers flow" Nothing grows? Ever? Africa is the second largest continent in the world, and what irks most about 'Do They Know It's Christmas?' is the way that it brands its entire 12 million square miles as some sun drenched, fly blown, famine riddled hell hole when in fact only a small percentage of it can be accurately described this way. The continent as a whole has wealth enough for all with mainly politics standing in the way of self help. A simplistic view maybe, but no less simplistic than the one forwarded here which actually puts the cause down to circumstance and thereby absolves the country's leaders from any responsibility other than moral.

But I digress. Or rather, I head into areas that are beyond the remit of this light-hearted blog, so I'll stop and just say that 'Do They Know It's Christmas?' marks a different sort of milestone in my musical life in that it's the point where I first started to loathe Bono with the sort of passion usually reserved for child murderers. The impassioned cry of this Christian on the line:

"Well tonight thank God it's them instead of you"

is breathtaking in its absurdity; isn't the attitude the we've spent the past few hundred years being glad it's 'them' and not 'us' part of the problem as Band Aid see it and one which they are seeking to change? And whatever, it's not a very Christian proclamation is it? Bono didn't write it I know, but the fact he was happy enough to reprise his triumph for the re-make of the song in 2004 proved the man has no shame whenever a spotlight is pointed in his direction.

My hatred has only increased as the years have gone by.

1984 Frankie Goes To Hollywood: The Power Of Love

You can't argue with the math - third single, third number one. An impressive record by anyone's standards. What makes it all the more noteworthy is that instead of wringing the last drops out of their tried and tested high energy dance formula, FGTH wrongfooted expectations by releasing an uber ballad that riffed on the theme of 'love' with a dead straight bat.

Building from a strummed acoustic guitar, spare piano and a wistful vocal, 'The Power Of Love' builds with a slow burn into a series of waves that hit the listener with all the force of 'Relax', but which wash over rather than pummel into submission, making it a strangely ambient listen for all its bluster.

Instead of being a pop song dressed up in fancy clothes to try and pass it off as something more worthy or 'serious', 'The Power Of Love' only 'works' by virtue of its total package; it would not be the same song if any of it's internal equation were altered in any way. Lyrically direct, 'The Power Of Love' contains none of the ambiguity of 'Relax' or 'Two Tribes'; it's a love song pure and simple and Holly Johnson's vocal does not need to define the love as homo or hetro because it simply does not matter:

"The power of love
A force from above
Cleaning my soul
The power of love
A force from above
A sky-scraping dove"

Straight, direct and with a clarity that excluded no-one from the party, 'The Power Of Love' is devoid of the cynicism or risqué camp that many thought were FGTH's stock in trade and the band resolutely refuse to give a knowing wink to the camera. And by name checking 'the Hooded Claw' they cleverly ensured that a whole different generation, who perhaps saw themselves as too old or too cool to be involved in all the T shirt malarkey, sat up and took notice.

As a song it's always predictable, even on first listen, and you always know exactly where it's going. Though a power ballad at heart, you can't imagine it stripped down or 'unplugged' to acoustics as it would just get repetitive, boring and end up chasing its own tail. But Trevor Horn's production is again the key to the success of the song and the anticipation of a reprise of the previous verse with added gusto and the slam of the orchestration adds a genuine frisson to the experience. Even if a Sinatra was to tackle it he'd need to retain the arrangement to retain the power.

And yet for all of the above, 'The Power Of Love' represents the first time that team Frankie put a foot wrong. By wrapping the single in a sleeve of religious iconography and promoting it with a video that featured the nativity, 'The Power Of Love' has wrongly been branded a 'Christmas song' and is now rarely played outside the festive season. No doubt such cynical promotion helped to blast the song to number one in December 1984, but the intervening years have seen it relegated to almost an also ran status behind the first two singles whereas it is in fact my favourite of the trio. But no matter, the lack of contemporary airplay means that out of the three it's the one that still sounds the freshest. At any time of the year.

1984 Jim Diamond: I Should Have Known Better

Diamond first came to the attention of UK record buyers as a third of Pd.D who had a number three hit with 'I Won't Let You Down' in 1982. It's rather ironic that his second appearance in the charts was with a song that showed he broke that promise big time.

There's no point in my beating around the bush with this so I'll say right upfront that I cannot abide this song. I didn't like it in 1984, and if anything I like it even less now. Why do I hate it so much? Well not primarily because of Diamond's insistence on randomly singing along to a melody that only he can hear and one which does not follow the simple synthesised plod of the music.

Neither because of the ghastly lyrics that are meant to portray some heartfelt confession but instead clunk like a seatbelt and sound like a drunk burbling to the barmaid at last orders (the bad grammar on "I've never loved no one as much as you" grates like sand in vaseline too). And not because of the general way the song so obviously models itself of Nilsson's arrangement of 'Without You', albeit by someone who has only read about that song second hand and hasn't actually heard it for themselves.

And it's not even because of the overall conceit and overbearing self centred, self pity that runs through the song as a whole which I admit passed me by in 1984 but which now throbs like a hammered thumb: Jim has obviously been horsing around and telling lies to his wife/girlfriend/lover and now she's dumped him because of it:

"I should have known better to lie to one as beautiful as you".

he whinges, but what do you mean Jim? Are you saying that it would be perfectly ok to lie to her if she was ugly? Surely a lie is a lie and you should know better than to lie to anybody? It goes on:

"I saw you walking by the other day.
I know that you saw me, you turned away and I was lost.
You see, I've never loved no one as much as you.
I've fooled around but tell me now just who is hurting who"?

Who is hurting who? What on earth is that meant to mean? Does he think she's ignoring him out of spite? Obviously he does, because he goes on:

"I cry, but tears don't seem to help me carry on".
Now there is no chance you'll come back home, got too much pride"

Again, the egotistical view that only her pride is keeping her from falling back into his arms is breathtaking in it's arrogant self delusion. Not once in the lyric does Jim say he's sorry, it's just one long stream of head in hands self pity and the only thing missing is the usual weak and last resort threat of the coward that he'll kill himself if she doesn't come back. Those supremely irritating "I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I's" on the chorus (which I DID hate in 1984) would be far more honestly expressed as "me me me me me me's" because that's all that Mr Diamond is thinking of here - just who on earth was falling for this rubbish back in 1984?

No, what raised and raises my hackles more than any of this catalogue of annoyances is the strange, grunting exclamation that Diamond makes at 3:08. I have no idea what he's trying to say or what emotion it's meant to convey, but if that's the way he usually carries on then no wonder she dumped him. Good on her I say; if she's as beautiful as he makes out then she can do better than a midget who looks like a spring onion and she's better off without.

1984 Chaka Khan: I Feel For You

'I Feel For You' was a cover version of a Prince track which, in the form it originally appeared on his debut album, was a synthesiser heavy pop song typical of his early output which took none of the form, content or production risks of his mid to late eighties work.

Though never a premier league vocalist herself, Khan nevertheless has chops enough to get stuck into material like this, and letting her loose on 'I Feel For You' should be a no brainer in terms of upping the soul quotient that Prince's version lacked. Should be, but it isn't; too many cooks are at work on this and the end result is much less than it could have been.

The heart of the song doesn't present too many problems. Opening with a Melle Mel rap, the same basic rhythm and structure is carried over from the Prince template, only the production is more compressed and crunchy on this, rather like Prince's own sound in his 'Parade' era. Ironically, it has the effect of making Khan's version sound more 'like' Prince than his own version does.

Would they had stopped there then 'I Feel For You' could have become a classic of the decade, but instead of a straightforward cover version that promoted Khan's voice as the star, the end result is a failed experiment of trying to be all things to too many people by covering as many bases as possible.

The recurring rap works well enough, even if it does now date the record as concisely as if it wore deely boppers and leg warmers, but this attempt to build 'I Feel For You' on a hip hop foundation to make it as contemporary as possible is almost immediately sabotaged as soon as Stevie Wonder's soaring R&B harmonica riff starts up.

The schools old and new proceed to grind against each other throughout the song's entire running time like Tectonic plates, and neither of them sit particularly well against the slap funk bass and busy Hi-NRG snyth effects courtesy of The System that are heavy on the cheese and light on substance. Khan's voice too is needlessly processed through a slight echo chamber that gives it a metallic edge and causes it to float curiously above the mix instead of engaging with it at the heart. In terms of soul, it's rather like putting go faster stripes on a Ferrari in that it detracts far more than it adds.

The resultant pick and mix sound is a bit of a mess to be honest, and in what seems to be a recurring theme with a lot of eighties singles, it's not helped by the fact it endlessly recycles all of the above for over five minutes, making the end product more reminiscent of the riot of smudged colour on an artists palette instead of the finished canvas. Rather than sounding truly joyous and celebratory, 'I Feel For You' sounds akin to the forced humour and jollity of a minor celebrity getting a custard pie in the face on Red Nose Day. Spoiled broth indeed.

1984 Wham!: Freedom

Now on a purple patch that saw him writing every other UK number one, George Michael's next outing under the Wham! banner was yet another musical homage, this time to the classic Motown sound crafted by Holland–Dozier–Holland.

From the moment the slightly behind the beat drums, handclaps and descending bassline starts up, then 'Freedom' could be mistaken for a mash up of 'Baby Love', 'Nowhere To Run' and 'Stop! In The Name Of Love', and the aggregate of influences ensure the opening verses are an upbeat gallop in the sunshine.

If you're going to steal then steal from the best, but alas! with 'Freedom' Michael only seems to have part of the map to the treasure. The opening bounces along with confidence for sure, but it doesn't know where it's bouncing to and ends up coming unstuck. Shifts of key crank up the tension and expectation as the track builds to the chorus:

"But you know that I'll forgive you just this once, twice, forever"

making 'Freedom' run breathlessly through narrow corridors toward an exit door that never appears:

"I don't want nobody, baby, part time love just brings me down".

With no way out, it hits a brick wall dead end of silence where it drops its payload of the payoff line:

"Girl all I want right now is you"

A more anticlimactic resolution to the building excitement you couldn't imagine, especially after Michael had already shown how it should be done with the pop perfection and fish hook chorus of 'Wake Me Up Before You Go Go'. Even the brass arrangement, so effervescent and playful throughout seems to give a surprised 'What the.....?' as it jerks back into life to try and regain the lost momentum. Which it does, only to lose it again the next time the chorus comes round.

And it comes round an awful lot, because another of the problems of 'Freedom' is that at over five minutes long, it outstays its welcome by a good two minutes and bores in its repetition. Michael would perhaps have benefited from taking a different leaf out of the Holland–Dozier–Holland book in that the three songs referenced above were short, sharp shocks that came in at under three minutes apiece and by leaving the audience wanting more were all the better for it. By the time 'Freedom' fades into silence there can be few not glad to see the back of it.

1984 Stevie Wonder: I Just Called To Say I Love You

Spare a thought for poor Stevie Wonder: despite a run of copper bottomed, classic five star singles stretching back to 1966, his first taste of a UK number one came through hitching a ride on the back of a wretched Paul McCartney ballad. And if that wasn't ignomy enough, he then has to rely on 'I Just Called To Say I Love You' to mark his first solo appearance at the top.

I say ignomy, for although I would dearly love to be able to report that the success of this song was due to it trumping all his previous singles (such as, lest we forget, 'Uptight (Everything's Alright)', 'I Was Made To Love Her', 'Superstition', 'Higher Ground' and 'Living For The City' etc) and being the best thing he'd ever released, I can't.

And I can't because it's not; Wonder had always utilised the most up to date technology in his output, but by the time of the mid eighties his growing obsession with synthesisers and all things electronic had ceased to compliment his music and instead became all consuming and detrimental to it. And this detriment is nowhere more evident than on this song.

With a rhythm set down by an electronic drum beat and percussion straight out of the pre-set options of the nastiest, tackiest home organ money can buy, 'I Just Called To Say I Love You' plods along a narrow, four and a half minute road in virtually the same key and time signature from end to end.

Gone was the rootsy feel, intricate chord structures and sharp, jazz like key changes of old and in their place comes a woozy synthesiser hum that oozes out of the speakers like treacle poured slowly from a tin where it settles like a gooey shroud, smothering any excitement or unpredictability that may have dared to show its face. And when something different does finally come along, it only extends to Wonder singing backing vocals through a vocoder. Rather than revitalising the song, it's the gimmicky headshot that kills it stone dead.

Not since Chuck Berry hit number one with 'My Ding A Ling' in 1972 has an artist of stature scored their biggest hit with such a totally unrepresentative song. 'I Just Called To Say I Love You' is the sort of effort the Wonder of old could have dashed off in his bed before he even woke up and then rejected as being too boring. Simplistic, trite, repetitive, saccharine sickly and overly sentimental; it's tempting to think that his experience with McCartney had shown him that maybe he'd been trying too hard in the past and that success would follow a radical dumbing down:

"I just called to say I love you
I just called to say how much I care
I just called to say I love you
And I mean it from the bottom of my heart"

Maybe that's a cynical view, but though the Hallmark greeting card verse may be direct and to the point, Wonder has proved himself capable of far better than this. Hell, a ten year old child would be capable of better. And at least with a ten year old child the result wouldn't be accompanied by the crushing sense of disappointment coupled with the faint gurgling sound of a talent being pissed down the drain.

1984 George Michael: Careless Whisper

Although it's parent album was Wham!'s 'Make It Big', George Michael obviously thought enough of 'Careless Whisper' to justify its relase as a solo single under his own name. In hindsight, it's easy to see why; far less poppy, far less bouncy and far more brooding and 'grown up' sounding, 'Careless Whisper' distanced itself from the rest of the Wham! oeuvre and pointed the way to the solo career that Michael would shortly embark on.

And right enough, it doesn't sound much like Wham! Whatever else Michael's previous hits may have had, they never had any prominent saxophone riffs, and the one thing everyone remembers about 'Careless Whisper' is the riff that opens it and then re-appears throughout at the end of each chorus. It's as memorable and distinctive as Raphael Ravenscroft's work on Gerry Rafferty's 'Baker Street' and serves as a stement of intent that everything has gone AOR. But while Ravenscroft was allowed an almost free jazz blowout in the course of his song, the riff in 'Careless Whisper' is mechanically repeated note for note as if it were on a loop, making it's appearance rather monotonous and less of a joy after the intro.

And that, in truth, can be taken as a general criticism of the song as a whole. Yes, it is a far more mature and 'grown up' sound than anything previously offered up by Wham!, but in attempting to put clear water between this and the bubblegum of 'Bad Boys', 'Careless Whisper's soul lite sounds fussy, plastic and overproduced to the point of blandness; it's as if Michael was too afraid or unsure of his talent to 'let go' and swing out on a genuine limb for fear of putting a foot wrong and sabotaging a solo career that he was determined to be taken seriously in.

Vocally it's all there, as good as Michael has ever produced, but the backing music is a playsafe blend of muted bass notes and echoed percussion that would sound more at home in a hotel lift than supporting a genuinely heartfelt lyric that ends up being smothered rather than carried. And against such a smooth palette, the saxophone bursts sound out of place and end up jarring rather than invigorating.

'Careless Whisper' is a solid enough song that sticks out in the Wham! canon like Chandler's tarantula on a fairy cake. Solid, but it's one that doesn't warrant the 'classic' status that posterity has awarded it. It may have been a bold step into the future for George Michael in 1984, but in truth the history of soul music is littered with similar sounding, far more worthy tracks that were granted neither the fame or fortune afforded to this one.