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Seven
A Handful of Songs, Tommy Steele, 1957
Itâs hard to remember when pop music became a central part of your life, both at school and at home, and equally difficult to know when it stopped being so as your priorities gradually change. During these school years it formed a large part of our conversation and we were most competitive in being the first to spot a particular singer or group; itâs certain that nobody wanted to be the last to know about the latest musical fad. For teenagers all over the country, schooldays were illuminated by a series of recordings. These meant so much to us at the time and came to represent those years; they can still bring a smile and a tear some fifty years on. Not all of them were songs, in fact there were a lot of instrumentals.
Up in Liverpool in 1958, the year that we started grammar school, John, Paul and George were forming The Quarrymen, but nobody would hear of them for four years, by which time theyâd become The Beatles. The Shadows were still the Drifters and two of the best-selling records were Perry Comoâs Magic Moments and Move It, the first hit from a soulful and rather plump teenager called Cliff Richard.
The faintest hint of dampness in the air over lunchtime was eagerly exploited. A scout would be sent outside to test the weather and, needless to say, she always reported that there was rain about. We had to wait until all the tables and forms had been cleared away in the hall and then weâd get out the portable record player that was used for music classes. One memorable day in 1961 someone discovered a few ancient plastic records, one of which was Youâre Driving Me Crazy, the Temperance Sevenâs new version of which was currently in the Hit Parade. Someone always brought in a couple of singles on the off chance, and there were usually one or two more in lockers. The most-played ones stand out as being Chubby Checkerâs Letâs Twist Again and Gerry and the Pacemakersâ How Do You Do It? and I Like It, backed up by plenty of The Shadows and, of course, all The Beatlesâ latest. What just about summed up our feelings when we were in the third year, though, was hearing Helen Shapiro belt out Donât Treat Me Like a Child.
The records that we treasured were rigid, breakable, easily chipped and scratched by a blunt or jumping needle and heavy to carry around. Treasured loans returned and found damaged in this way could immediately end the most beautiful of friendships, and refusals to lend aborted many a promising one. Anyone who hasnât been through the agony of having a favourite record can have no concept of the joy of compact discs. The oldest singles were 78s (revolutions per minute), later replaced by the smaller 45s. There were also EPs (extended play, with four tracks) and LPs (long-playing 33.5rpm records), also called albums. Both of the latter came in cardboard covers with designs, which sometimes became works of art in themselves. These might be pinned on the wall like posters as a form of decoration, especially at parties.
We bought our records from a number of outlets, such as the stall at the market that sold 78s from cardboard boxes. Inside the covered market in the city there was a booth which stocked a wide selection of records, from old standards to the latest pop LPs. In most towns there was an electrical shop which sold a limited number of LPs, as well as radiograms, record players and radios. There were also specialist music shops where you could go into sound-proofed booths and listen to what you wanted to hear, even if you had no intention of buying. The record centre advertised in the local paper, offering to send off new releases by post. In the larger towns there was a branch of Woolworthâs, who did their own cover versions of chart hits for a smaller charge. One of the most exciting places to visit was the indoor market at Blackpool, where all the latest records were available much more cheaply and formed part of many a holidaymakerâs luggage.
Right at the top of the present list for any self-respecting teenager was a trannie (transistor radio) and there were plenty of radio programmes which indulged our craving for pop music. These had started as early as 1955 with Pick of the Pops, the best-known presenter being Alan Freeman who took over in 1961. Easy Beat with Brian Matthew began in 1959. On television, Cool for Cats with Kent Walton, which ran from 1956 to 1961, was a once-a-week, fifteen-minute rundown of the latest records. Six-Five Special, so called because it was broadcast at 6.05 p.m. on Saturdays in 1957â58, was the first rock and jazz live show, presented by Pete (later Peter) Murray. The following year Oh Boy! (1958â59) featured live performances by top British and American performers like Tommy Steele, Cliff, Marty Wilde and Billy Fury. Much more long-lasting was Juke Box Jury, which started in 1959 and went on until 1967. It consisted of a panel, hosted by David Jacobs, with four celebrities who commented on new releases and voted them a hit or a miss.
Two years later, in 1961, ITV launched Thank Your Lucky Stars, which was more like a variety show with a high concentration of the emerging Merseybeat groups â notably Billy J. Kramer and the Dakotas, and Gerry and the Pacemakers. Before Lucky Stars finished in 1966, it saw a host of presenters who would become household names, including Keith Fordyce, Jimmy Savile, Pete Murray and Jimmy Young. Among the leading performers of the day were Tom Jones, Lulu, The Ronettes and The Supremes. A popular part of the show was âSpin a Discâ, in which a panel of record-buyers judged new releases with a score of one to five. In 1962 a 16-year-old participant called Janice Nicholls created a catchphrase with her approving âOiâll give it foiveâ delivered in a Black Country accent. The Beatles performed their latest single, Paperback Writer, on the very last programme, Goodbye Lucky Stars, on 25 June 1966.
âThe Weekend Starts Hereâ, the introduction to Ready Steady Go (RSG), which went out live at 6 p.m. on Friday nights from 1963 to 1966, summed up our enthusiasm for the next couple of days. Its first signature tune was Wipe Out by the Surfaris, but was replaced by Manfred Mannâs 5-4-3-2-1. The launch of the programme coincided with the British beat explosion and youth culture, in which The Rolling Stones, The Who and, of course, The Beatles played leading parts. The official presenter was DJ Keith Fordyce but the real celebrity was co-host Cathy McGowan, famous for her deep fringe, long shiny hair and even longer legs, who later gained the title of âQueen of the Modsâ. The BBCâs Top of the Pops, which started in 1964, hosted by Jimmy Savile, showcased top chart hits and British groups. The programme saw the first television appearances of, among others, Eric Burdon and the Animals, the Kinks, Donovan and The Pretty Things, as well as well-established American artistes making their British television debuts.
Those who got the opportunity to see their idols live on stage jumped at the chance. The cost was nowhere near as much as it is nowadays, and stars on tour would visit cinemas that put on shows, not just the larger theatres ...
