Chart Music: the Top Of The Pops Podcast - Chart Music #75 (Pt 1): 15.8.74 – Could YOU Be Donny’s Bride?

Episode Date: December 10, 2024

We’re BACK, Pop-Crazed Youngsters, and we’ve foolishly decided to tuck into one of the strangest episodes of Top Of The Pops ever. But first, Sarah Bee, Taylor Parkes and Al Needham have a massive catch-up, which means tangents, a big flick through that week’s NME, and alarming news about the most Plastic item of clothing ever...Video Playlist | Subscribe | Facebook | Bluesky | Twitter | The Chart Music Wiki | Patreon Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Hey, it's Mitch from Side Note Podcast, and I'm here to tell you about the new Google Pixel 9 powered by Gemini. Anyone who knows me knows the Pixel has always been my favorite out of all the phones I've ever had. Now with Gemini built in, it's basically my personal AI assistant. Since I'm truly terrible at keeping up with emails, I use Gemini to give me summaries of my inbox, which is a lifesaver. And if I'm feeling stuck creatively, I just ask Gemini for help and BAM instant inspiration.

You can learn more about Google Pixel 9 at store.google.com This will certainly have an adult theme and might well contain strong scenes of sex or violence which could be quite graphic It may also contain some very explicit language, which will frequently mean sexual swear words What do you like to listen to? Erm... Chart music. Chart music. Hey up, you pop craze youngsters!

Welcome to the latest episode of chart music the podcast that gets his hands right down the back of the settee on a random episode of top of the pops I'm your host Al Needham and standing with me today are Sarah B. Ahoy. And Taylor Parks. Hello. Colleagues, the pop things, the interesting things, what of them? Oh you know, future's so bright I've got to wear a miner's helmet.

I'm attempting to write the award-winning joke for next year's Edinburgh Festival. Oh yeah. With all the publicity and opportunity that flows from it. So I looked at recent winners and I came up with this. I'm putting on weight because I keep cooking myself lamb and apricot tagine with flatbread. The trouble is it's very Mo ish. Do you get it? I was worried it assumes too much intelligence on the part of the audience. I got to dumb it down a bit. Like if I want to be celebrated as a genius. Yeah. I'm thinking of going out there and

doing it in person, actually performing my one man show. Unfortunately, that includes the audience. So come along and laugh. It's a laugh a minute. I don't get it. No, I know the feeling. The trouble is, right, is that that's one of my favorite things to do and I commend it to all is to when somebody makes a very obvious gag is to say I don't get it. The thrill of it comes in making yourself vulnerable to being thought an idiot. Although of course, being a woman, I've never experienced that in my life.

Yeah, unfortunately for you, I'm not the kind of Rube that you could draw out to the point where I'm going, no, like it's a play on words, right? No, I'm sorry, I've been in this going too long. You're too clever for me. Other than that I've just been listening to some of my favorite old records. John McVicar, Hum's the love theme from Caddyshack, Jeff Wayne's musical version of Brexit. Oh you've missed this haven't you, pulp craze youngsters? Sarah, help! Well, never mind what I've been up to, what has Mike Reed been up to? So I discovered that Mike Reed is expanding his Talking Pictures portfolio. Is he now?

Not satisfied with merely the heritage chart, voted on as we know by, in over 80 different countries. Is it over 18 now? I don't know, it's quite a few. Has it been going up? I don't know. I mean, well, border shift, you know, boundaries. As the virus spreads. He now has an all new show, A Good Read with Mike Reed. I don't get it. His surname is Reed and it's about books. Basically you have to go back and forth until one of you

concedes defeat in the battle of I don't get it. So it's Mike Reed trying to reinvent himself in the kind of masterpiece theatre or indeed monster piece theatre, although he doesn't make a very good cookie monster. So it's Mike Reed just reading to the, you think I'm making this up, but he's reading great works of literature. This could be a lovely relaxing old fashioned piece of television were it not for the fact that it's hosted by Mike Reed. This joconore if you will. Don't say I don't get it man, we'll be here all fucking day. So he's reading in the first episode from E.W. Hornung's An Amateur Craxman, a short story collection from 1899 featuring the gentlemen thief A.J. Raffles and it's replete with duplontondras. I

mean if you were going to do a porn version you wouldn't even have to change the title. So as the title comes up Mike is reading intently with his fingers lightly curled against his lower face and then he places the book down as if he's realized that we are now watching him. Pats it fondly, looks up to meet our eyes and smiles. He's wearing a tux and a cummerbund. No! Yes, indeed. Not to smoke it. You see, I would have gone for a smoking jacket, but also I would have... The bow tie is tied as well.

Is it? Yeah, untied untied yeah you've got a fairy a bit haven't you so he's sitting in in uh what is uh supposed to be a library perhaps the corner it's the it's his favorite corner of his own his own library um the lighting is supposed to be dim enough to sort of evoke that Edwardian gas lighting and be flattering as a secondary element to the visage of Mike Reed. Hide that flesh chandelier. Exactly. But it's just eerily kind of cheaply dim. It's the dimness not of a beautifully

preserved gentleman's turn of the century reading room, but a severely neglected mid-century multi-story car park. He has a top hat which he fondles and then hangs on the bookcase. There's a bit, okay, I'm kind of doing this backwards. I'm kind of focusing too much on Mike, but he's so compelling. So there's a bookcase to his right and he fondles his top hat, hangs it on the bookcase where it proceeds to absorb all of the light and take on this kind of menacing flattened half form as if of a small void or portal. And he keeps seeing it and he's like, what the fuck is that?

Oh, it's his hat. It's very weird. So, the bookcase is filled with vintage hardbacks, which an intern has obviously just picked up from the charity shop. Or them video boxes you used to get in the 80s with V the final battle along the spine in gold leaf. They do look like real leather. Atop the bookcase is an old mantelpiece clock which reads 5.50 throughout as if Mike Reeds'

Mike reading has stopped time. Next to the clock is a single cloudy coupe glass and a bottle of unopened presumably studio temperature champagne with the label discreetly obscured because Mike Reed does not seek to flaunt his personal wealth nor give Sainsbury's any free advertising. He wouldn't even patronise that woke grocery after what they did to Lawrence Fox. But he was in a hurry to get to the studio and his Caribbean driver was too laid-back to bother turning up apparently. And the intern had been ushered out of odd bins having forgotten her ID and he would

certainly not forget that. And he was just having a nightmare of a day. He's sitting in a kind of Parker Knoll Chesterfield amalgam with like leather wings and a reupholstered hard-wearing fabric back. A proper sale of the century prize. Absolutely. Again someone has had to go and source that in a rush I think. Yeah from the back pages of the Sunday paper. Yes. Along with the original Breton shirt and some slippers that warm up. And the backdrop is literally a backdrop. It's a canvas painting of some bookshelves

and some floorboards which ends somewhere around Mike Reed's knees and it casts a shadow onto the studio wall behind it. And that is framed by two red velvet drapes and that's a good read with Mike Reed and it's a site to be seen and it's enriching content of the sort that is basically like public access television except it's just Mike Reed. Yeah but it takes you back to the days when bin men tasted like real bin men, before chips went transgenic. I'd rather watch a program called A Good Read? Which is Mike Reed standing in front of St Peter who's just tapping the book and going, Icicle Works?

Well, we've got to make mention of course of our live show at King's Place. Oh yeah. Yeah, remember that Sarah? Yeah, yeah, that was fun. You were there and everything. Yeah, it was an exceptional day, I'd say. Fucking ended it right on the dot of 90 minutes. I couldn't believe our timing.

That was so satisfying. I was just watching it because I was sure that we were going to run over and I was sure that it was not going to be my fault and I was sure that I was going to have to rein you in with a stern hand. But as it turned out, it was like, oh my God, we're actually going to hit the thing. And I was so excited, I almost forgot what I was saying. And I almost cocked it up myself. So there you go. Oh, it was such a fucking pleasure to see the pop craze youngsters once again. If you came to it thank you very much we massively appreciate it. Hope you enjoyed it but I'm gonna say the highlight of the day was afterwards in the beer garden at the pub next door some poor sod just

leant on the corner of one of them big benches and the whole thing fucking collapsed in on itself man. It was incredible. It's like the incredible hulk had leant on it. We need to work that into the act every year from here on in I feel. Yeah, can we commemorate it with a t-shirt for those who were there? I wasn't by the way, I missed this. Oh I got a ringside seat man, it was amazing. Was there a great

whoop of you know ooo. Of course there was. And shock and relief that no one was actually sitting on it at the time because that would have done some proper fucking damage. Oh dear. But yeah thank you very much if you came. Thank you. Really sorry we didn't get a livestream sorted out this time but hopefully next time we will and Yeah, just want to say one more thing next year Something may be happening in the Midlands and the pop craze Patreons will know first Anyway, it's been fucking ages since we did one of these so there should should be loads of popping interesting things to relate, but all of that has been obliterated by a sight I witnessed on a bus in Nottingham a month or so ago, the thought of which still makes the gorge rise to my throat, as it surely will to yours.

Seriously, if you're driving right now, please pull in for a bit, because you may want to plough into a bus queue when you've heard what I'm about to say. Oh God. So, I was on the bus in Titane and I noticed this bloke, slightly younger than me, wearing a black Arrington and I thought, you know what, fair play, anyone at that stage in life who can rock an Arrington without looking like a complete fat bastard is worthy of respect. But then I thought, hang on, what's that on the front of it?

And I looked and it was a motorhead patch. I know. But I looked again and I thought, hang on, that's not a patch at all. It's been professionally stitched in and he's bought it like that and he's wearing a motorhead Harrington and I had to get off the bus to stop early because I thought I was gonna say something because I was that fucking enraged. So I'm on the next bus to where I'm going to and I get me phone out and I look online and yeah this is actually a thing that people can buy and even worse than that it's had a massive snaggle

tooth logo stitched into the back. Okay now. Worse than a thousand madness modness badges. So I get to the pub I was going to and I told my mates about it and they were equally outraged and we all agreed that if you had gone to school in 1980 wearing a motorhead Arrington all the moths Grebs and rude boys would have been drawing lots to determine who was gonna kick the fuck out of you first. Let me say that again a motorhead Arrington. Shit world fuck off. Yeah well on the way home did you see someone in a studded denim jacket with a madness patch on the back? I know, I know. I wanted to buy a Lamberta's leather jacket to see how he liked it.

Yeah. It's outrageous man. You should get in touch with Steve Arrington, inventor of the Arrington jacket. Tell him, feels so fake. Yes. Arrington jacket telling feel so fake. Yes The last year has been like bison shit on toast if the toast was made from your own eyebrows Still attached to your head as they go into the toaster and I mean apart from the fucking obvious There's been loads of stuff going wrong. Just one of those times So when you're in a dark period and your brain

has timed out and gone into standby mode, what else is there to do but develop an obsession with watching American police body cam videos on YouTube? Oh mate. Yeah, a few listeners might remember that during lockdown I got into watching those awful videos of people reacting to things like Americans trying British Chocolate bars and stuff their holiday travel logs of London for about a month

I couldn't work out what was compelling me to watch this banal shit all the time until I realized that it was my neurobroken mind responding to the reassurance and hilarity of responding to the reassurance and hilarity of repeating patterns and the endless Mandelbrot effect of watching all these different people say essentially the same thing in different ways over and over again. Like Cadbury chocolates better than American chocolate. Okay, London always getting excited about going for Nando's like they thought it had four Michelin stars, right? And in lockdown, especially this was simultaneously reassuring and slightly scary, like a lot of

nice things. And then I realized, that's the secret of every genre of YouTube bilge and free access internet bullshit entertainment is the superficial shapes and colors changing around a core of strict familiarity and repetition. So really, watching body cam footage of drunk idiots being arrested in Florida is just the same as watching Bulgarian iron mongers reacts to you tant or alien visitors try Shambhosee hippopotamus, you know, just on a grander scale with a slightly wilder character. But they're fucking addictive.

These body cam videos tend to fall into three categories. Once you knock out the fourth category, which is people clearly going through a mental health crisis in a country where there's fuck all provision made for them and I don't watch those. Beyond that, three categories. Firstly, is common or garden drunk drivers inexplicably and uncontrollably angry with the cops for cutting short their thrill ride. Often upper middle class folk flabbergasted that a mere policeman would have the temerity to enforce the consequences of their mind bogglingly selfish

and irresponsible and dangerous actions. Those clips come with the endlessly entertaining routine of someone who's stone-cold sober trying to reason with someone who's blackout drunk. The secret of comedy dialogue being non-communication. And secondly there's gibbering human wrecking balls on meth, usually causing a disturbance a liquor store or a dollar tree in walkie-shaw or just refusing to leave the quickie mark after being trespassed then lastly everyone's favorites the sovereign citizens you know these are essentially a modern American freemen on the land, right? You know, your laws do not apply to me. Your laws are fraudulent.

I am a free individual. There's a bit with that fatal mixture of a very low IQ and a superiority complex, which accommodation which gives them a problem with any kind of authority and an inability to understand that authority or why it's there, along with zero personal responsibility. So they're drawn to these obvious scams and monetised conspiracy bullshit

in certain corners of the internet about how actually American citizens have the right to travel freely in their private conveyance without let or hindrance without a driving license or a registration or road tax didn't you even know that the Supreme Court has ruled on this and if you meet a policeman who does not understand this they need to be educated on the roadside through a closed driver's side window in the smuggest and most insulting way imaginable until he gets out of baton smashes your window and drags you screaming from your car. That's the good bit. Fucking brilliant. So basically why not send us $50 for a phony ID and fake registration plates

that just say freedom on them and might as well say stop and arrest me. And then when they get stopped, all these people say the same things, the exact same phrases. The endless demands to know what they've done wrong after they've been told 15 times, but didn't hear because they were talking over the policeman.

Always this absolute certainty that the police are somehow not allowed to arrest them and will face a massive lawsuit if they try. Like calmly arresting a belligerent drunk driver is a career ending misdemeanor for an American cop. A profession, lest we forget, where you are sometimes literally allowed to get away with murder. Always this conviction that if they just stand there and insist hard enough that their reality

is objective reality, it shall be so. And you watch enough of these videos and you start to understand why half of America thinks Donald Trump is an inspirational figure. Whenever the cops say to them, you're under arrest, they always say, no, I'm not. There's two people here, which one of them is gonna know this? And my favorite phrase, which they always say, is I do not consent to this arrest.

Like, they haven't considered, if consent was a prerequisite for being arrested, that would be a bit of a loophole in the legal system. That Ted Bundy walk free on a technicality and then when the cuffs finally go on they start screaming don't touch me oh my god you're touching me you have no right to touch me to which I can only think my god you should have been around in the days before body cams. Fuck me. Getting arrested at 4am on a deserted road in Arizona and addressing

the arresting officers as bitch and you pussy ass faggot and then kicking and spitting on them while they're putting you in the back of the car. You have no idea how well this is working out for you now compared to 30 years ago. It's just unbelievable. But that's the most surprising thing about watching these. The rest of the world thinks of American cops as violent trigger happy lunatics, which clearly some are. But from watching this, it seems the majority are more like supermarket security guards out of their depth like pleading with people to get out of their car like a weak dad trying to get

his kids in the bed and it has a really worrying effect on you as a viewer because already you were thinking uh, rare corrective to see raw footage of American police in action where you're squarely on the side of the cops. Yes. That's a refreshing change. But then after a while, it gets to the point where you're practically screaming at the telly, just tase him. Fucking tase him. Really brings out the worst in you. I know. Has this spread to Britain yet, Taylor? Because it's going to. written yet Taylor because it's going to. I think the manifestation of this in the UK has been somebody paid for a load of billboards that just said it's illegal to have a legal name. Yes.

Do you remember these? That's a Freeman on the land thing. That's how it manifested here as far as I know. Yeah, just shelling out for baffling billboard. But the idea is that your legal name, as is on your birth certificate, is part of this whole conspiracy whereby that's oppressive to give you a name because as soon as you have a name, then you can have all the other things that go along with identity, which can be controlled and blah, blah, blah. The thing is they were so baffling that you just look at them and go, what?

But in America, of course, because they're much better at these things than we are. It was like, look, you know, freedom, right? You love freedom. You're a true American. Would you like some ultra freedom? Yeah. And it's like, of course I would. Yeah. What do you know?

Your name isn't actually your name. OK, have a good night, mate. Well, it's true. The world would be a lot less confusing if none of us had names. It'd be really good. What would you go for? I'd go for like a little back of the throat hum, I think. Now, even that oppresses my identity as the living man. Yeah.

Look, I understand sometimes you get these militarized robo-ocops rolling up in an Imperial troop transporter, holding super bazookas in a street where no one can afford a prescription. So it's hardly surprising that people don't appreciate them. But it does seem that for every white supremacist murderer in a blue uniform, there's 5000 of these poor sods standing around like spare pricks in the snow in Portsmouth, Ohio at 3 a.m. trying to scoop up a thrashing spittle fleck moron who's screaming racial and homophobic and misogynistic abuse at them while insisting that they're tyrants because actually he has every right to drive drunk on 700 Xanax bars if he wants to and if you so much as touch him

I will take your badge and all of this in a lot of these well long-faced middle-class onlookers stand around in a semicircle solemnly filming it on their phones sometimes shouting, leave him alone you fascist monsters, because they're so insulated and privileged, they've never had to live around crime or criminals. They don't understand that most criminals are horrible, psychopathic fucking cunts. So they just assume that any arrest which doesn't look like a stately waltz must automatically be police brutality. What a shit job. I wonder it attracts so many idiots. I think all we get here is, um, I pay your wages.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. I mean, what should happen is the police should have an app on their phone. And whenever anyone says, I pay your wages, they get it out and say, okay, then sir or madam, what's your council tax band? And then do a little bit of a calculation and go, oh, according to this, you pay my wages for 12 seconds a year. So I'm going to do a little dance for you for them 12 seconds. And then I'm dragging you into the back of this car.

Yeah. And also that's not sure I them up also it's as if the police don't pay their own wages they pay taxes too right. Yes I never thought that um chart music would end up as a subtle copaganda. Yeah I know yeah blue lives matter pop craze youngsters don't fucking forget it right. You're gonna open the twitter tomorrow morning it's just gonna say Dave Dee followed you No, I gotta get off these videos. It's every year. Yes, fewer good films fewer books attention span shrinking brain not spreading

Something came up my YouTube recently Police were called because a bloke who was completely pissed was having a fight with a bloke who was out of his head on meth. And I looked at it and I thought, hang on, this is just like World War Two. I don't think that anyone who automatically makes that connection is really the intended audience of these clips. So I should probably take the hint and heed Richard Hoggart before it's too late. Although of course it already is far too late. Cheer up, Taylor. No, listen, you want to go back to lovely pictures of abandoned buildings and with everything left as if the people have just stepped out. That's the good stuff,

isn't it? Because stuff you've had too much people, I think. Yeah, fuck people. You need more abandoned shit with no people in it. Just an empty living room, as if I don't see that every day. Never mind. You tried, Sarah. You tried. I did. I did. I did. I've been trying for 25 years. Right then, before we do anything else, you know what comes next.

We stop, we drop and we bow the knee to the latest batch of Pop Craze youngsters who have made our G-strings all lumpy of late. And they are in the $5 section. Rupert Gilbert, Aaron Probin, Ash Preston, Will Sharn, Steve P. Cult member ordinaire, Paul H, Paul Nicol, John Paul Doyle, Aidan Scanlon, Hal Walker, Stig Thundercock, Paul Stillwell, Martin Reilly, Ian, Phil Bailey and Alistair Lowe. Thank you my babies. Mwah, mwah, mwah. And in the three dollar section we have Christopher Bryant, Hal Walker, Will, Ben Hager, Emma

Moret and 72 Heaven. God you're lovely, y'all are fucking hell. And look, I know this isn't the full list of the people who've got on the Pop Craze Charabank this year but Patreon is only letting me see the last few months. So, if you have subscribed since we last met and you've not been mentioned yet you want to be please noise me up And I'll praise you like I should oh And a massive tar to sully for going above and beyond and away of late and Doug Grant you are Mint yeah every day. I thank our patreons for saving everyone else from having listened to David doing readouts for manscapes our patreons for saving everyone else from having to listen to David doing readouts for Manscaped. Top naming below the waist, grooming technology. I know. We should have told him that's what we were doing just for a laugh.

Or Hello Fresh. If you're incapable of chopping your own vegetables, why not get them posted to you? Yeah. And you know what comes next because yes, again The pop craze patreon have gone round the back of the record shop and they fiddled and they've diddled and they've even Twiddled and rigged the latest sharp music top ten. Are you ready for this? Yes We've said goodbye to the Quincy punks and benefits cheap paudiano. May you rest. Meaning it's two up, three down, two non-movers, two re-entries and a brand new entry. Re-entry at number ten, my fucking car.

Hey. Yay. at number 10, my fucking car. Hey. Last week's number six drops three places to number nine, Eric Smallshore of Eccles. He's back! Reentry at number eight for Jeff Sex. Oh, my. No change at number seven for Here Comes Jism. He's still coming. 7 for here comes Chisholm Still coming the highest new entry this week straight in at number six, right said Donna stale

Into the top five and it's no change for Bomber Doc Down one from number three to number four the bent bent cunt who aren't fucking real. Into the top three and it's a one place jump for the provisional oo-aroo-aray. Last week's number one drops down to number two, Ghostface Silla, which means Britain's number one the Birmingham Piss Troll. What a shot. Fucking hell not much movement from outside but lots of movement on the inside I think you'll find there. yeah right said Dona Stone what are they all about what's their stitch yeah I don't know but their pith helmets would be too sexy for them so don't forget if you are

knocked down with the pop craze patrons you need to sort that out right now baby if you can you know what to do. Keyboard! Mash mash mash! Patreon.com slash chart music! Pledge! Be rewarded! It's also the only way you can now experience the live show, I believe. Yes indeed, yes, yes, the latest live show is up there now and of course we're still doing Hit the Fucking Play button where we take one video that was never played on top of the pops and just go at it and any other ramble that we feel like pulling out of our arses. But anyway, this episode, Pop Craze Youngsters, takes us all the way back to August the 15th, 1974 and ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo universe where everything is a bit more weird.

Even by 1974 standards. Even by 1974 standards. Yeah, because we've recently done 1974 and did one of the Christmas episodes, didn't we? But those episodes always give a distorted image of a year, I feel. Even though this is far from your average episode at Top of the Pops what we're about to tuck in I contend is the real 1974 warts and all and by warts I mean loads of warts, boobos if you will in some instances. Sarah this is way way way out of your comfort zone being a mere slip of a gal. I'm going

to come to you first. The music of 1974, what of it? Okay, what springs to mind is a sort of sloppy queen sandwich with a generous Barry White filling and a crisp Sparks garnish. Do I mean crisp as in lettuce or crisp as in crisps? Both. Sloppy Queen. A lot of the songs in the Top 50 have the word rock in them and I don't think that's a coincidence. Like everyone singing the same old song. Not all of those rocks are in the context of rock and roll. So it's a spurious argument but there is something stale and sterile about the current state of things

at which I feel this data point hints. You've got Rock Your Baby, Rock the Boat, don't rock the boat baby, Rockette, It's Only Rock and Roll, Rock and Roll Lady, Banana Rock and Hey Rock and Roll. That's seven out of the top 50 which is at 14% of this week's chart. Whoa! Rock expert Sarah Bee! Yes indeed. There's also Five Baby or babes that she's 10% doesn't seem quite so worthy of comment. Rock your baby, your baby ain't your baby anymore. This is a story of my love brackets baby. Can't get enough of your love babe and beach baby. Also for the sake of completion,

one lady, two girls, one she, one Annie, six yous, one queen, six teens and one banging man and as aforementioned one banana. I think I've seen that on Pornhub. You did say beach baby didn't you? I did. I thought you said bitch baby for about a second and I thought that's the worst time I've ever... Oh right, no, no, that is actually my drag name. It does kind of suggest going in that gloriously, kind of voluptuously 70s as this chart rundown is, it does suggest that a certain amount of regeneration is needed at this point. But also, has there been, though to be mildly serious for a second, has there been a decade that hasn't had a slump in the middle, like since the 1940s?

You know, the realisation that things are not actually going to change in the way that you want, and you feel a bit foolish and sad. So that's, we're heading into that territory, I think. People always say that the 50s and 60s had a decent mid. Yeah. But since then, yeah, I think you're right, Sarah. It's just what tends to happen

I would say the 1940s definitely improved in the middle Yeah, this period is always the gummed up cog at the center of the 70s, you know It's neither one thing nor the other it's just a thing of its own all pale blue and washed out and gray and shabby and In some ways this is the early modern period, like beyond the postwar optimism, right? This is now a cynical place without illusions, you know, but also still mired in the past. If you watch episodes of family fortunes from as late as the early eighties. It's amazing the answers that you get from the surveys because it's all people who were still alive and influencing

culture to some extent. But they're from another age. Like there's that famous moment on family fortunes where the question is name of famous Scotsman. And it's the only time in history where the contestants get timed out because neither of them can think of a famous Scotsman. But then when the answers finally come up on the screen, it's not like Billy Connolly or Kenny Dalgliesh or Richard Jobston or any famous Scotsman of the era. Jimmy Cranker.

The answers are things like Sir Harry Lauder and you realise to score big on family fortunes in 1982 you have to think like you were born in the 19th century. But yeah, 74, still quite free in terms of lifestyle for better or for worse. You're allowed to smoke anywhere, even in a barrel of petrol, nobody minded. Nice glass of scotch in a low glass, loads of male jewellery, tinted prescription glasses, slip-on shoes, step outside, get into an MGBGT and drive off across the crunching gravel in a bushy high street. That was as good as it got but for the rest of us we were lucky if we could just find a nice quiet pub called the cricketers on a warm

Sunday evening you know single brandy and a wine glass fourpence and back to the peeling wallpaper cook yourself some dinner 20 Rothmans fried in lard just slice a quarter of the block of lard off with a butter knife so it drops directly into the crooked black frying pan. Better days, better days. Or you could hang on to the hippie dream, the apparently still inevitable future utopia, which a load of middle class people under 35 were still waiting for and Yeah, it would be a peaceful world, but there would be a lot of stuff on the floor So yeah, it's all go unless you're a kid in which case you're doomed to get run over by an orange

Allegro under leafless trees on underexposed 16 millimeter film and then fall into a slurry pit of barbed wire and electricity. I'll tell you what, it's funny as a kid in the early 80s, I'd go past greasy spoon cafes and look at the pictures of the food that they'd put up in the windows, right? And they were all from about the mid 70s and by this point they were all sun faded so you were looking at a grey omelette with olive coloured peas and it was really unappetising. Imagine when this episode was recorded all those photos would have been new and bright and all that food would have looked like the right colours and I might have been foolish enough to go in there and get fucking Listeria.

1974, the time when food was proper colors. Hey, it's Mitch from Side Note Podcast, and I'm here to tell you about the new Google Pixel 9 powered by Gemini. Anyone who knows me knows the Pixel has always been my favorite out of all the phones I've ever had. Now with Gemini built in, it's basically my personal AI assistant. Since I'm truly terrible at keeping up with emails, I use Gemini to give me summaries of my inbox, which is a lifesaver. And if I'm feeling stuck creatively, I just ask Gemini for help and bam, instant inspiration. You can learn more about Google Pixel 9 at store.google.com. Throughout history, the really interesting conversations have always happened over a drink. So pour yourself something suitable and join us at History's Ultimate Drinks Party.

I'm Henry Jeffries. And I'm Tom Barker Bowles. Welcome to Intoxicating History, your invitation to the greatest bar in time. Acast helps creators launch, grow and monetize their podcasts everywhere. Acast.com Onward! In the news this week, Gerald Ford has had his first week in his new job as President of the United States after Richard Nixon fucked off a week ago. Turkey has had another go at invading Cyprus, taking nearly 40% of the island and dividing

Nicosia. In response, the Greek Cypriot terrorist group EOKA-B invade the Turkish Cypriot village and murder all 84 of the men who live there, as well as taking 126 hostages from other villages. 126 hostages from other villagers. The East Asia Anti-Japan Armed Front have had a go at assassinating Emperor Hirohito by blowing up a railway bridge he was due to travel over, but their attempt was foiled after one of them was spotted and they all legged it. But never mind, they managed to get all the explosives back and use them to blow up the Mitsubishi building at the end of the month. Spain finally allows female

bullfighters after a three-year court battle spearheaded by the 27-year-old Angela Hernandez. Paul Trevillian, the You Are the Ref artist who's made a fortune across the Atlantic as a golf hustler has caused a riot in Northampton when he rolls through town in his Happy Loray which contains a mobile disco and dancing teenagers and starts throwing packets of fags and pound notes at the oldens. Since returning to the UK he's billed himself as the world's most eccentric millionaire as Vout elect Darlington supporters pelt him with 2,000 tomatoes if they lose to Cambridge United they beat them 6-0 has put out the covers LP bad vibrations has run

the smile on contest a search for Britain's best smile and has been touring the chicken in a basket circuit of Yorkshire with his own cabaret show featuring Gypsy Romany Jones and someone called Kinky Dink. Oh, Paul Trevillian, where are you now? A kind word would be irrepressible. There's a new film set to open up in London tomorrow that promises to be even fruitier than last tango in Paris, Emmanuel. Initially banned by the government of President Pompidou, it's been released uncut after his death by the new French regime and three quarters of a million Parisians have already

seen it in 25 different cinemas across the capital. Just how many of her experiences will actually avoid the British censor scissors remains to be seen, says Ken Elm-Geneux of the Daily Mirror. Oh, Heron Wynne makes love on a transatlantic jet with two strangers, on a squash court with a lesbian opponent, in an opium den with a drug crazy dropout In between, she still has the energy to indulge in open air, do it yourself activities Far removed from building bird baths in the back garden But perhaps the most bizarre incident of all involves a cigarette. What happens next does not bear description.

It's been announced that George Harrison and his wife Patti Boyd have split up and while she's in America with her new bloke Enoch Clapton, the quiet one is consoling himself with one of Rod Stewart's old girlfriends in the West Indies. They would get divorced in 1977. The Windsor Free Festival is looming on the horizon and Windsor and Maidenhead Council have announced plans to stop the Windsor Great Park becoming a hippie ghetto by deploying undercover police in loons and Afghans, spreading quicklime in the park and having barrels of sludge from slough sewerage works on site. Festival organisers say that they expect up to 100,000 of the gentle people

in the park over the bank holiday and expect no trouble. And in any case, the hippies can always put their shoes on. Kevin Keegan and Billy Bremner become the first league players to be sent off at Wembley after they started fainting and falling out at the charity shield between Liverpool and Leeds United. Oh, the unacceptable face of British football there. But the big news this week, the Osmonds are back in the country, but not to conduct a UK tour. They're going to be the sole property of the BBC, putting out a live show on BBC One every night from Monday till Saturday, but not this night, Pop Craze craze youngsters because they're going to be taking over top of the pops in a rare live non studio

Transition and all this is the episode we're going to cover a major shakeup of the form. Yeah It really is as a young head. There's no doubt you would have been you wouldn't have been happy about this Would you know little too young a head to notice at this point. But no, I wouldn't have been. If this was a couple of years later, I'd still have got annoyed about it. It would be like, I don't know, Kajagoogoo taking over top of the post. Yeah, yeah. That would be right. All that blazing charisma, yeah.

Yeah, a whole week of programmes for the Ottmans, like they were human Christmas. But they never did that for Edison Lighthouse, did they? No. It's weird as they're one of the very first teen sensations to mean nothing as well. Do you know what I mean? Like no suggestions of rebellion or deliverance or different kind of life

or anything kind of interesting that you can latch onto. They're just these corn-fed country cousins, you know, with their grotesque American teeth, like strip lights under their lips, you know. It's just cornball showbiz, right? Not even good-looking, just attention seekers. It's very odd that they've got a whole week of programs. And we mentioned before, right, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the mainstream Mormon denomination to which the Osmonds belonged,

at this time was still four years away from permitting black people to participate in the organization because they believed black people didn't have fully developed souls something which I've said before is musically very evident in the Osmond's output but their sincere religious belief was that any black person who prays hard enough that they're allowed in heaven will be made white in the afterlife so that they're allowed to sit with God and Jesus and all the little angels. A sincere belief that the church would abandon abruptly

in 1978 according to the church leaders as a result of a personal revelation from God who took his time although secular cynics would point to the fact that in 1978 the church was threatened with having its tax exempt status revoked if it continued to violate the civil rights of black people who for some reason wanted to join up with this obvious racket and sit unwelcome in a Mormon church. But it's really hard to imagine the BBC in the 1970s giving over this much airtime to representatives of any other organisation with similar or equivalent beliefs.

Although the Osmonds did not make Mormonism the focus of their every utterance, it doesn't come up on this programme for instance, but they weren't exactly fucking quiet about it either, were they? It was their tartan gimmick, right? The hilariously unconvincing trust me bro tale of a convicted fraudster whose virulent racism became a pillar of the faith. Now to this day, members of every major world religion

do get away with saying and believing and sometimes doing terrible things, many of which become triggers for real world violence and oppression. But at least they don't work into a song and dance act. We don't have to watch ISIS and the pop people. David Duke presents the five songs in the great American songbook that weren't written by Jews, you know what I mean? You don't turn on the radio and hear sing something simple with the West Bank settlers. It just doesn't, it's probably a good thing, right? If the Ayatollah Hamedi finished his speech, unhooked the mic from the mic stand, wandered out from behind the lectern and started going, well, you've been a wonderful audience. Please drive home safely, ladies and gentlemen.

Oh, sorry, please drive home safely, gentlemen. To send you on your way, here's a little number called Swanee River. I don't think that would be an improvement. And I don't think he would get on the one show, but here we are, looking at Osmond's, they're clean and wholesome. And I'm all for free speech, right? But this needs a community note urgently.

Yeah, they didn't directly propagate their religion. But apparently the the older brothers got let off from doing mission work, which they were supposed to do, because the band itself constituted a mission, because it drew so much attention, positive attention. They were ambassadors for it. Basically the Osmond's entire career was the musical equivalent of Bonesburg. Yeah, yeah, yeah. This is actually how Mitt Romney got into being a Mormon. He had crazy

horses and went, I've got to get him with this. On the cover of Melody Maker this week, yes. On the cover of Record Mirror, The Osmonds. On the cover of Music Star, Rob Davis of Mud. The number one LP in the country is Banned on the Run by Paul McCartney and Wings. Over in America, the number one single is Feel Like Making Love by Roberta Flack and the number one LP is Back Home Again by John Denver. So me dears, what were we doing in August of 1974? I was minus four years old at the time. Good Lord.

I was part of the universe. It's floating in the ether waiting for your moment. We don't get you, you're part of the universe. Yeah, as I will one day return to. God, imagine that. What were my parents doing doing they hadn't met yet um all right dad had I think my dad was had he moved to London from the States yet I'm not sure I think he might still have been in Denver at the time right

yeah and my mom I think was was in London enjoying the fact that she hadn't yet met my dad. Did I tell you how my parents met? No. My mum was working at a restaurant, she was like a hostess, and my dad ate there and complained about the food. So she should have known right away, but it's probably just as well for me that she didn't. So you know, thanks mum. And I guess thanks dad as well. Taylor? Yeah like Sarah I was in a state to which I will doubtless return in the future being wheeled around the park by a long suffering

woman. Well no I would have returned to that in later life except that provision is no longer made for that so I'll just have to remain motioned. Well being the elder statesman of this episode I'm six years old at this time and I know for a fact that I didn't see this episode because it's a school holidays so I've been carted off across the city to stay with me Nana and grandpas on Arcwright Street in the meadows, which was fucking mint because I got spoilt rotten. So while this episode's going on, I know it's not going to be on the teller, but I'm sort of in the back of the living room on a big table replaying the 1974 World Cup on Stryker with a big stack of comics on one side of me and a bag of fun-sized Milky Way's as big as me head on the other or

I'm having an actual centrally heated bath, which was like being in the 21st century 1974 not like my 21st century They had a house that was built on top of the trustee saving bank But no bathroom so they had a bath built in the kitchen next to the cooker with a big wooden lid that swung up and down. So it could also act as a breakfast bar. So I could well, while this is going on, I could well be sat in it watching me non-o at my feet, working on a spitting chip pan, which is a bit dangerous, but hey, it was

1974. Fuck it. working on a spitting chip pan which is a bit dangerous but hey it was 1974 fuck it they still had an outdoor bog though which was terrifying because it had the most massive spiders in it but you know good times there's nothing like chips from an actual chip pan oh you can't whack it man yeah my nanny used to make them and I was never worried at all despite being a nervous child who was a you know deadly afraid of things like fire. Oh like Charlie the cat looking at the sausages spitting in the pan all over him. Yeah it was just like a good foot of boiling fat and just out of it came the most beautiful

chips and we shall never see that again. So Pop Craze youngsters round about this time we're a pair to the Charm Music crap room and we pull out an issue of the music press from this very week and this time I've gone for the NME dated August 17th 1974. Chaps shall we have a lead through? No why not? On the cover, Roxy Music. The news section. The biggest gig of the year has been announced. Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young have been confirmed for Wembley Stadium in September

and they're bringing along Joni Mitchell and the band. It's going to be CSN and Y's only European show, it's the last date of their reunion tour, it's going to last for 10 hours and a British name band is going to be added to the bill next week. Oh, hope it's the Wombles. Tickets will be limited to 72,000 and there should be enough space for everyone to enjoy the concert in comfort," says promoter Mel Bush. The food and toilet facilities will be the best ever, and CSN and Y will be bringing their own PA, which is amongst the best in the world.

The British name band turns out to be Jesse Colling Young, who was American. The PA was Ramel. The band spent at least an hour of their two-hour set tuning up Joni Mitchell was skill and Crosby stills national were all right if you like that sort of thing Except I do and they weren't No, the whole of that gig was filmed and it's been knocking around on bootleg fears and it's on YouTube Oh, is it now set is fucking horrendous. Is it?

You know that thing you get with cocaine where people are simultaneously over-energetic and jumpy but also seem deeply, deeply exhausted and that's what this gig is like. They end with a jam on the song Carry on and i would rather watch carry on england than live at wembley stadium with graham nash looking like a wood sprite that spent four years in a gulag neil young never takes his shades off for the whole gig it's like he's hoping no one will recognise it. And I don't believe it. The other big tour news, Roxy Music, who are currently putting the finishing touches to their fourth LP, Country Life. And have announced a UK tour,

which will kick off in Cardiff in three weeks time. Do you know the original title for that LP was, You Can't Put a Better Bit of Butter on Your Knife. It'll feature an as yet unknown new bassist, which is rumoured to be Willie Weeks, who's been working with Keith Richard and Ronnie Wood on their recent solo gigs, but turns out to be John Weston, previously of Famle and King Crimson. In other Roxy news, Eddie Jobson has been approached by David Bowie to join his band for the second stage of the Diamond Dogs tour, but has politely declined, saying, I am a

member of Roxy Music. He's also knocked back an approach from Steve Harley to join the new version of Cockney Rebel, choosing to stay with Brian and the lads until 1976 when he links up with Frank Zappa. Meanwhile, Boe, who is currently undergoing line-up-related myther, what with Herbie Flowers, Tony Newman and musical director Michael Kamen walking off the diamond dogs tour, has been spotted in Sigma Studios in Philadelphia, laying down tracks with Norman Harris and members of MFSP for what would become the Young Americans LP.

Yes, I've finally found a replacement for Rick Wakeman. It's Patrick Maras, the Swiss keyboard virtuoso from the prog band Refugee, who was initially at the top of the Yes shortlist until Vangelis made a Come and Get Me plea. But when it became impossible to get a work rock band Refugee, who was initially at the top of the Yes shortlist until Van Gellis made a come and get me plea. But when it became impossible to get a work permit for the freaky Greek, Maraz got the job leading to Refugee splitting up. Maraz is also on the cover of Melody Maker this week as he's sporting an astonishing bouffant. That really is something innit? Fucking hell.

The whole effect is like a rear view of a black poodle with a man's face poking out through the arse. Yeah, he's fucking terrifying, isn't he? If Noel Edmonds had strayed from the herd and was found dead on a hillside and his hair continued to grow out, that's what he'd look like. And the thrills gossip section reveals that the comeback gig of Mersey Beat legend King Size Taylor at the Speakee's, backed by members of Deep Purple including Richie Blackmore, was cancelled at the last minute because he couldn't find someone to look after his butcher

shop in Southport. And the news of Nixon's resignation was broken in the UK by Alan Osmond at a press conference in Hounslow and then confirmed by little Jimmy, who had been told it had happened half an hour previously. They were wrong at the time, but proven right the following morning. Oh Or what did them Osmonds know? As usual. Features. James Johnson nips down to Churtsie to pay a visit upon Denny Lane, who is living there in a converted torpedo boat on the Thames in order to address the rumours that wings

are splitting up and according to him it's all bollocks. In the last two months wings have been rehearsing and recording in Nashville. During this time there were various arguments slash discussions, the outcome of which had become a more stable band and a more equal position for Lane, writes Johnson. Yeah, notice that Lane didn't say that. But what he did say was, all I can say is Paul and I have had our arguments just like everyone else, but I couldn't stay in a band with someone I didn't like. They stay together for another seven years. Pop rock is starting to become a thing and Pete Erskine catches up

with the genre's hottest prospects, the Winkies, who have just put in a stint as Brian Eno's backing band on his first solo tour, which ended after six gigs when Eno suffered a collapsed lung in Guildford. When Erskine brings up the speculation that it was all a cod to end the tour earlier, frontman Philip Rambeau puts him right. Sure, it was true. He was in the middle of setting a record. He was trying to err number of ladies per day and he was doing very well. The Winkies

would put out one LP in early 1975 and then immediately split. What was Eno doing to fuck his lungs up with the ladies? Yeah, I dunno, but Collapse Lung in Guildford sounds like the title of a track off one of his collaborations with Harold Budd. Barbara Chiron finds herself at a holiday inn in Memphis with Yvonne Ellerman, who has been off playing the Nazarene's knock-off in Jesus Christ Superstar in favour of joining Eric Racist Band. I got very bored with Broadway doing the same thing every night, singing to a bunch of penguins.

You have to stand in one spot. It's so strict there's no chance of any freedom. Whenever I tried to sing I don't know how to Love Him Differently, the audience would groan and make noises and probably flap their flippers until they got a fish. I dunno. They wanted to hear exactly what was on the record. Then suddenly I started getting all this mail addressed to Mary Magdalene. I mean even from my mother. They actually believed I was Mary of modern times. On the concert

tour there would be cripples and blind people backstage asking me to touch them. I didn't believe I was Mary for one minute. I mean, I still don't know how to love him. Yeah. Mind you, I got sick of singing to a bunch of penguins too. Also, the zookeeper told me he'd call the police if I didn't go away. I would have thought penguins would quite like the Mack lads, but apparently not. Andrew Taylor gets sent to Las Vegas to investigate the newest attraction in town, the Osmonds, who have taken up residency in the Tropicana. After describing the venue as a giant sterilised whorehouse, as if that was a bad thing, he focuses his attention upon the audience. Most of them are in the post-weeny sub-teen bracket, the age where the teeth are still

harnessed by yards of steel rigging and body coordination is not all that it might be. Yet these little girls in their A-line print gowns and slash-back silver shoes want to move around like old ladies of 25. These are the kids from middle-class American homes who never get to be teenagers. Daughters of dentists and insurance brokers from California's delectable suburban basin. But tonight they're entitled to act like dopey 12 year olds. There's a fanfare and a treakily voice says, ladies and gentlemen, the Tropicana Superstar Theatre welcomes... and out comes a comedian called Kelly Monty. After

being massively impressed that he's not seeing big fat roadies fucking about with wires for three hours as is the style with the gigs that Tyler's used to, he's treated to the same old routines that have been on BBC One all week, albeit with less screaming. After trying, and failing, to get an interview with the band's mam and being told that they're about to move away from bubblegum into a blacker, more Philadelphia sound, he's not entirely convinced. Classy as it might be, there's only a modicum of genuine talent there. The rest is sweat and mormon fervour.

The Osmonds are seven little synchronised Gene Kelly's, and all those dribbly girls who have been screeching like wild birds might just as well save it for an authentic bad boy combo. I prefer my whorehouses riddled with cholera. Mick Farron is made to sit at a phone all day, ring up all 15 ITV regional companies, and demand to know why none of them are bothering to create new music programs for the heads and the kids.

He starts by hassling Granada, who tells him to have a word with Muriel Young, the head of children's programming. When he asks if they're doing anything for adults he's told that they did a special on the songs of Lennon and McCartney eight years ago but neither of them were involved. After pointing out that Ronco and KTEL are massive advertisers in the UK and there really should be a music show in the evening. He's told if we put on a show like that in prime time we would have a lot of complaints.

To most parents this is just a din. He then has it out with the director of light entertainment at LWT, a certain Michael Grayed, who the enemy think is called Michael Grayde, and asked why real kids issues aren't being addressed. Grayde immediately responds by saying, let's be serious shall we, people don't want to see this sort of thing. If I put rock and roll on London Weekend there'd be a switch off. The people who buy records are in a tiny minority. How many does a record sell? A million at best. I deal with 24 million viewers on a network show. When Farron trots out the KTEL argument, Gray said there's no relationship between advertising

and programmes. Just because there are ads for rock records doesn't mean people want to watch it on television. You might as well ask us to put out shows on dog food. Oh, fucking I'm out. If there was a load of 70 shows on dog food on YouTube, man, I will watch the shit out of all of them. And you would as well Taylor, wouldn't you? watch the shit out of all of them and you would as well Taylor wouldn't you? Be honest. After being fobbed off by ATV and assorted minor networks he finally comes across a glimmer of hope when he talks to the PR manager at HTV. After reassuring him that they already do have their own regional music programme, the great western musical Thunderbox, hosted by Fred Wedlock and featuring the Wurzels, Isla Sinclair and the Pigsty Hill Light Orchestra. He tells Farron that Michael Gray was talking

out his arse and there was more than enough of an audience out there to make a late night music show work, but such a thing would be too expensive to produce for the likes of HTV. They both agree that nothing will change until a fourth channel is created in the UK, leaving Farron to muse ruefully that the big American music show stole everything from Ready Steady Go and Top of the Pops, but no one here has the bollocks to create new shows that will benefit the entire music industry oh so right mr hdv and julie webb and roy car have pulled together an article which catalogs the choicest demands from the riders of our pop faves and wonders if this is why ticket prices have suddenly shot up shall we leave through that chaps?

So the Rolling Stones, Tequila, American and Scotch whisky, cold cuts of meat and freshly squeezed orange juice. No rise and shine for Mick and Keith. I'll have you know. The Facers, two bottles cognac, two bottles leaf-row milk, one bottle teachers, one bottle Pims, one bottle port, twelve bottles lemonade, twelve bottles coke, tea, coffee, milk and sandwiches in the day and two limousines available outside the hotel one hour before the start of the gig. Alice Cooper, he only asked for a canned Budweiser, a mariachi band and some midgets.

Cockney Rebels rider includes four local lads to help with loading and out. Direct access to stage from dressing room, promoter to arrange supply of local bouncers who report directly to Steve Hawley's bodyguard and two dozen bottles of coke. Suzy Quatro, a mirror in the dressing room no smaller than 20 by 30 inches. Paul McCartney, someone in the wings with a clean towel throughout the gig. Mott the Hoople, plain clothes bouncers supplied by the promoters to find anyone bootlegging the gig and the right to stop the gig on the spot if any tapes are

found. The New York Dolls. Two quarts of Remy Martin or Courvassier. Six bottles of French Champagne. Two dozen bottles of beer on ice before the gig and another two dozen after. A pitcher of ice water on the stage. 50 pounds of ice cubes. 100 paper cups. Two quarts of orange juice. A dozen bottles of Coke. And the key to the dressing room, which must be locked at all times and kept by the band's personal valet.

Wonder why. David Cassadet, a selection of vegetarian food and two bottles of wine. That's the most fucking demanding one of the lot, isn't it? A selection of vegetarian food in 90s, 80s. No mate, sauce mix and deal with it. Yeah, there's a bowl of lettuce and a bowl of tomatoes there you go. Gary Glitter, five motorbikes with riders, is the fucking big one. Yes, locally grown chemical free organic food, two gallons of spring water, two gallons of goat's milk, wholemeal bread, organic cheese and butter, fresh fruit, brown rice, lemons, honey, a gallon of pure apple juice, a gallon of pure orange juice, a selection of nuts, two

bottles of 1964 Dom Perignon, limos that are dispatched to the airport, permission from the airport to allow the limos to access the landing strip and pull up right beside the plane so the bank can step directly into them and a hot meal for the road crew at 4.30 on the dot that isn't hamburgers or similar takeaway food. And the moon and a stick for it. However, yes with Rick Wakeman in the band, all of the above plus a curry, six dozen cans of beer, two bottles of red wine and two bottles of white. I used to get sick to death of hearing about Rick Wakeman demanding a curry but after reading what yes fucking one I just say good on you mate.

Yeah it's a good job no one was reporting on our rider for the last chart music live. Yeah. Like a Gaviscon and Victory V bottle of Synatogen. A jar of settlers Tums with all the orange ones taken out. Single reviews. In the chair this week is Steve Marriott. Yes, that's Steve Marriott who is still clinging on to Humble Pie Even though their last LP wasn't even released in the UK and is photographed in a back garden

Bothering some ducks and not looking very well at all Poor sod. The single of the week or at least the first one mentioned is Love Me Forever Which is actually the new Osmond single love me for a reason fucking hell you can't blame the enemy for that though Polidor have listed love me forever as a song title in their own Osmond's advert in this issue Tall smooth and treacil air with a good head of teeth, says Marriott. Very professional, which you would expect from the Osmonds, but I just can't forgive them for stealing from the Jackson 5, despite what they say to the contrary. A drone of Mormons.

Oh, I like this record, I like it very much, says Marriott of Kung Fu Man by Ultra Funk, the up tempo shoe shuffling rocker beat boogie that is destined for the number one spot and I haven't even played it yet. You heard that, ain't you, Kung Fu Man? No. It's the one they play over any documentaries about Kung Fu in Britain in the 70s that isn't Kung Fu fighting if they can 70s that isn't Kung Fu fighting if they can't get the rights for some reason. Kat Stevens is back with another Saturday night and Marriott slightly reckons it. One of my favourite Sam Cooke songs was

someone going divvy on the Timpani's. I admire him for taking time out to do something he really likes. He's taking a leaf out of Rod Stewart's book and although it doesn't come off like Twisting the Night Away, I like it, although not that much. Nice one Steve, I'm not going to call him cat, he ought to drop all that bullshit. Oh he will Steve, he will. But it's a coat down for Andy Warhol by Dana Gillespie. She sings better than she looks in her publicity picture.

I'm sure she's not into looking like a tart. She deserves a better song to sing, better publicity and a better deal all round. Someone is going all out to make her a new image, but it don't fit darling. Marriott doesn't even bother to play Country Girl by Ozark Mountain Daredevils because he's been rinsing the album it came from all summer. I can see why they chose this as a single, but there's much better material on the album. Go out and buy it. No. There's a meaty thumbs up for Give It Everything You've Got by Carol Grimes, formerly of Canterbury

Scene Pioneers Deliverer, but that's mainly because her producer is now working with Humble Pie. Very pleasing. Her mum should be proud of her. A lovely Sheila and not at all stuck up. Glad His Night and the Pips have escaped from Motown and have linked up with Curtis Mayfield and their new single On and On is applauded by Marriott. The combination really works. She's got back to that raw feel I love. Curtis is really staring her in the right direction.

Oh, good on you, Curtis. And talking of which, the impressions I've put out finally got myself together and Marriott agrees. It's the best thing they've done since Curtis left and could be even better because they are so good. I'm getting the feeling these records have slipped in because someone knows what I like. However, first class have followed up Beach Bay Bear with Bobby Dazzler, a rueful comment upon the current pop scene which is an open letter about an aging rocker jumping on the

glam wagon. A nice, interesting story with a fine sentiment, even if the record is a little weak. Perhaps a surprise sleeper. That's supposed to be about Alvin Stardust, isn't it? I don't know, is it? Someone who was a rock and roller who got glammed up and sold his soul. How dare you say that about fucking Alvin. Fuck off.

If only he could have hit the heights of first class. Yes, exactly. Is that like how Toxic by Britney Spears is actually about the superfit? Because it was written by Kathy Dennis who used to go out with him. Oh, Arrow scored a top 10 hit with their debut single Touch Too Much in June and they've reunited with Mickey Most and Chinny Chap for the follow-up, tough up, and Marriott immediately spots subterfuge. A blatant nick of the stones does not fade away, but a nice nick all the same. A very obvious record, but a good one. And Marriott takes time out to sympathise with another blue eyed soul

man of the 60s who's finding the going hard in the new age. In his review of Something Bout Ya Baby I Like by Tom Jones. Still on decker? Hell! This is a good example of a great voice being abused and misused. I know there is more inside this man than what is getting out. I don't like it and I don't like the soft drug image they have given him, but I like him. Tom Jones with a soft drug image? What? The Viagra.

In the LP review section, well, one and three quarter pages are given over to Ian MacDonald's review of Neil Young's fifth album On The Beach and he believes it's his best yet. It's his equivalent of Lennon's plastic Ono band in terms of being a reaction to and rejection of his earlier work. Personally I think Young heard Dylan on tour recently, copped for what the new version of It's Alright Marr was all about and decided he'd been jerking off too long. But the more important thing is that though Dylan and Young may have taken a parallel path recently, Young sounds actively dangerous while Dylan's just singing his own peculiar gospel.

This is a fairly mighty statement in its own terms and perhaps we shouldn't categorise him. What's that like, Taylor? It's his best album, yeah. It's got a sort of mid 70s Watergate, malaise feel to it. It's great. Joe Cocker is currently in hiding in California after his disastrous gig at the Roxy in LA, but the enemy hope that Bob Woffenden's review of his fourth LP, I Can Stand A Little Rain, will cheer him up. It's been a long, bitter road, and that's why he's been a recluse so much of the time,

contemplating both the meaty triumphs and abject failures, writes Wolfenden. And yet the moments of cock-a-magic inevitably make up for all that's not quite right, and the new album marks an interesting departure with supper club material that seems at odds with what we've come to expect of him. There's no way that Joe Cocker could ever be classed as easy listening, but the man who grew up on Tetley's Bitter could yet become the phenomenon of the northern cocktail circuit. That's the one with the You Are So Beautiful on it, which is not mentioned in the fucking review at all.

Symante have put out their third LP, Promised Heights, and Roger St-Pierre desperately wants to reckon it and them. Rhythmicler, there are few American bands who can beat this lot Perhaps some of their material could be stronger and the vocals really fall rather short, but all in all this is a fine Inventive album. I love that Roger St. Pierre. Yes wasn't that Patrick Mowers character in Bergerac No, that was Eddie St. Pierre. Wasn't it now?

That must be his brother, yeah. The first two Tim Harding LPs, Tim Harding 1 and Tim Harding 2, have been dusted off and welded together as a twofer, and Charles Sharmoury implores the youth, particularly the maudling youth, to get involved with them. Generally speaking, he suffers quietly to rather watery accompaniments, but the durability of the songs and the convincing quality of his mournful grunt renders the package worthwhile if more than somewhat depressing. Almost once every eight months you'll be glad you got this album.

Diane Carroll, currently best known for breaking off her engagement with David Frost so she could get married to the owner of a boutique in Vegas last year, has signed up to Motown and put out the LP Diane Carroll. But Chris Salowich fucking hates it. This is not for me, and almost certainly not for you or any of your brothers and sisters. On the other hand, if you're a thrusting mid-30s executive poised to make that leap to the boardroom, then Miss Carol's voice would be just perfect to have on the 8-track in the Jensen. She consistently fails to rise above the cocktail lounge limitations and the LP becomes just another chunk of

irritatingly dissatisfying black music. And Charles Sean Murray tells us that he once spent six hours on the plane from New York to LA playing Jolene by Dolly Parton on constant repeat and can't think of a single he currently likes more. So he's been frothing at the gash to review the LP of the same name and he opens up review with the words. It's merely magnificent. Sure. It's a sentimental album and it's grade a Nashville sl sludge but nonetheless she makes it. Was there a better single released in 1974 than Jolene? I don't think there was. In the gig guide, well, David could have seen Heavy Metal Kids at the Marquis, Stackridge

at the Roundhouse, Camel at the Marquis, Dr Feelgood at Dingwalls, The Temperance Seven at the 100 Club or Chris Stanton's Tundra at the Marquis, but probably didn't. Taylor could have seen Hank Marvin at La Dolce Vita, the Heavy Metal Kids at Barbarella's and fuck all else. Neil could have seen the root bets at the Locarno or Callum Bryce at Mr George's. Sarah could have seen Vince Eager at the Monk Breton Social Centre in Barnsley, Limeon Family Cooking at the Fielly Blue Dolphin, Gasworks at the Scarborough Penthouse

or Paper Dolls in their week-long residency at Bailey's in Sheffield I'll could have seen the Alan Elston band at Treadbridge Hotel Winkies at the boat club or nipped out to see paper lace at their week-long residency of Bailey's in Darby or Alvin Stardust or weakly atillies in Leicester. Yes! Fucking Winkies. East Midlands representing. When the East Midlands is in the house, oh my god, danger. And Simon could have seen Jigsaw at Fagans in Wrexham, Sassafras at Llanharan Rugby Club

and that was his lot, but he would have been very pleased with the sight of Jigsaw and Ducky Desz no doubt. In the letters page this week, well Charles Shaw Murray is at the controls of Gasbag and the main topic of conversation is Bebop Deluxe. I would like very much to thank Bebop Deluxe for being so considerate to their fans at Guildford Wright's Key of Farnham. I am very grateful to Bill Nelson for letting Gin Mill Club officials know well in advance that the group would not be turning up.

Readers who were not at the gig at August 7th may like to know that Mr Nelson could not possibly play because he had too many pimples. He rang us up and told us at 9pm, very considerate, taking into account that the gig had started at 7.30. Take heed Mr Nelson, Woolly's make up is very pretty at the time, but the after-effects aren't quite so nice. With reference to your article on Bill Nelson in the August 3rd edition of the NME, may I say, what a load of crap, writes Steven Naylor of Manchester. Nelson has a totally misconceived assessment of his talent, which is very little. His playing consists of nothing but 100 notes a second solos.

These solos are long and boring and the band is nothing more than a vehicle for his own egomania. If Bill Nelson thinks he's going to make it, he'd better ponder again. And for my final point, if Enemia going to stop patronising Bowie semi-lookalikes, I'm going to buy Melody Maker. Hey, I met his daughter once, Bill Nelson, and his son actually. Really? Yeah, who, being a massive spoil sport, he decided not to call Alf. The big music paper transfer of the season has been Pete Erskine's move to the enemy from Sounds, but the readership aren't impressed thus far, particularly after his coat down of an Emerson

Lake and Palmer gig. What an unreasonable, condescending, vastly stupid, nauseating, excruble, snide, tedious load of utter bullshit! There! Payment back in kind, Erskine!" writes Peter Davies of Hillhead. Hunt. Now, let's be a little more constructively critical, shall we? First, why on earth can't you participate

as an ELP gig, matey? Are you totally paralysed? That's the only reason I can think of. God Earth skin mend your ways. This horrible review is not only unreasonable, it is also inconsistent. I have on my wall a two page report of yours on ELP in, dare I say it, sounds in which you say you actually found parts that you really enjoyed. Condescending swine! Given a right to reply, Erskine points out that he's always thought ELP would catch it, but felt sorry for them after their relentless coat downs in the British press and wanted to commend them at least for their ability to put on a show in an American enormous dome. Angry letter to music press, never complete without huge stack of adjectives and overuse of the word actually. And half of the letters page is taken up with a discussion about Ian Mcdonald's article about

preservation act two by the kinks and if it's possible to write a true rock opera but I couldn't be asked to read it let alone transcribe it. 40 pages, 10p, and never knew there was so much in it. It does have the whiff of a common room to it, this issue of NME I'm afraid to say. So what else was on telly this day? Well, BBC One begins the day at 10am with repeats of the adventures of Tintin and Daktare because it's a school holidays but then they remember it's the 70s and close us down for an hour and 55 minutes so tough shit kids.

After Hindenwa Clunio, a Welsh programme about an old photographer in Liverpool, there's a new summary followed by the documentary series In the Town which visits the Welsh market town of Conwy and knocks about with the local fishermen. At quarter to two we're whipped over to Hickstead for two hours and 23 minutes of international show jumping then it's regional news in your area. Play School opens up at 10 past four, then Keith Barron reads part four of The Discovery in Jack and Ory, and then we're exposed to the psychedelic brilliance of the banana splits fucking yes. At twenty past five, an insurgency movement of youths break into a studio, inform us that television is shit and we should throw off

our mental chains and collect bus tickets or something in Why Don't You? Then it's Hector's House, the news and regional news in your area. The Age of Innocence, the documentary series about all the rubbish that's currently floating about in kids' heads, examines why they're so obsessed with a supernatural. Then Delia Smith shows your man what she can do with a bit of fresh salmon in Family Fair. And they've just finished a repeat of the cross-wordy game show Password with Polly James facing off against Bernard Cribbins. BBC2 starts at 6.40am with Open University and then closes down again for four and three

quarters of an hour before picking up the show jumping from BBC1. Then there's another two hours of the Open University and they've just started the new summary. ITV comes alive at 5 past 10 with Elephant Boy where said tranquil lad helps a work colleague to break into a palace so he can try to cop off with the girly fancies. After a repeat of Tom Falery in a cartoon, the kids are treated to a thrilling hour of the Benson and Hedges Golf Festival in York, followed by regional news in your area. Pig, Top Off and Hartley Hare discuss the financial problems of running a small business

staffed by puppets in mid-70s Birmingham in Pipkins and then it's play it again Stew Pot, the pop show host about the foul breath looking columnist which features film of the Osmonds in concert of course and performances by puppets of Cliff Richard and Gary Glitterfucking-Hellman. What I wouldn't give to see some of that. After first report ITV's still new midday news bulletin which will become news at one in two years time, it's another half an hour of the fucking golf and then someone goes on trial accused of suffocating a wealthy hypochondriac in his own chest freezer in Crown Court. After General Hospital, Joan Bakewell and Jan Leeman introduce Women Only where they review Alexander Schultz and his skins new memoir

Gulag Archipelago fucking out. Can you imagine Lorraine Kelly doing that? Then there's even more fucking golf. Miss Roslyn invites the kiddies into the romper room. Then David Cassidy is worried that his sister's new boyfriend is actually an international dual thief in a repeat of the Partridge family. Have you ever seen that program the romper room? Yeah. It's just a bunch of small children playing. This lady with them right, it's like their guardian or whatever she is and it's really off putting because she's really sexy and it's like that just doesn't feel right somehow. Isn't that the one that was always in it will be alright on the night when one of the toddlers starts looking up a dress?

Oh almost certainly yeah. After a repeat of I Dream of Gina, it's the news, then regional news in your area, then the aftershock of Miss Diane's engagement resonates throughout the Crossroads Motel. Then at 7 o'clock, 7 o'fuckin' clock, Marku, it's another chance to enjoy Love Thy Neighbour. When Eddie Booth gets massively religious, joins the Salvation Army and his missus and their neighbours conspire to get him back to his old racist self as she's missing out on the sex and they've just started a repeat of Kung Fu. Oh what a smorgasbord of television beauty there Taylor. Golden age of British television. Well me dears I do

believe that a table has been laid for the episode of Top of the Pops we're going to indulge in over the next few episodes. It's a big table and it needs to be because I get the feeling it's going to be a very groaning table full of popular fare. So I think we should break off there, come back hard tomorrow and really tuck into this episode. So thank you very much Sarah B. No problem. God bless you very much Sarah B. No problem. God bless you Taylor Parks. Alright.

I'm Al Needham, you're you, and you are staying pop crazed. Chart music. Hey it's Mitch from Side Note Podcast and I'm here to tell you about the new Google Pixel 9 powered by Gemini. Chalk music. I use Gemini to give me summaries of my inbox, which is a lifesaver. And if I'm feeling stuck creatively, I just ask Gemini for help and BAM instant inspiration. You can learn more about Google Pixel 9 at store.google.com.