As someone once wrote,
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”
What you were doing in the 1980’s pretty much depends on how old you were and where you were at the time. (If you were three years old, stop reading now) And it was nice if you had ‘Loadsamoney’ - a reference to the satirical character developed by Paul Whitehouse and Harry Enfield that typified certain mores of the time, and in particular avarice. I was approaching 30 - not exactly the first flower of youth but not much more than a lost, indolent boy, adept at faking it when necessary (being polite in a suit) and taking it as it comes. I worked in newspapers and broadcasting for a short spell, but drifted off to Rotterdam, as you do. The trades unions still had Fleet Street in their iron fist and because I had refused to join a closed shop on principle, it was quite hard to get work. Later I went from sleeping in a burnt out Austin Maestro one night with nowhere to go, to relative wealth - all in the course of a year. And it continued to get better for some time. You could do that then; a flat in a pleasant part of London with a manageable mortgage, a nice car, smart clothes and accessories, weekends away and dining out. People were in demand. Joan Collins was a still a MILF. Jobs were easy to come by. At least in London. Most people agree that there was a clear North/South divide.
The economist’s answer to this is fairly simple and well known; low taxation -Nigel Lawson, Thatcher’s Chancellor, cut income tax in 1986 and 87 - low unemployment, halved between ‘83 and ‘89, and a treasure chest of money from privatisation. The City traders got de-regulation. Inflation was taking hold but, for the moment, some never had it so good.
Smack in the middle of this decade was Live Aid, the mega concert at Wembley and Philadelphia that came out of a television report by Michael Buerk, which in turn spurred Bob Geldof, Midge Ure (and Boy George) to do a charity single with a raft of pop stars who were currently flying high - or hoping to. The event took place on a day when there had been a period of sunshine. I spotted Midge driving down Putney High Street in an open top vintage sports car just the day before. It was perhaps the best of times but a lot of big acts didn’t do it. U2 did; there was Bono in a pointy hat and a preposterous hair do. Who knew they would go on to become the most pretentious band in the Universe? There was more than a measure of guilt about us having so much fun when people were starving, but giving Bob the fucking money sorted that out nicely. Giving Bob the money meant we could do our bit and carry on consuming. Ten quid, goodbye guilty conscience, pass the Dom Pérignon.
Of course the decade was satirised. Not everyone bought it. Not everyone even recognised Loadsamoney for what he was; we knew people like that. He still enrages the commentators.
While we partied, the Soviet Union and its satellites crumbled. A killer virus appeared; in June of 1981 an article in the journal of The Centres for Disease Control reported Pneumocystis pneumonia in previously healthy, gay men in LA. This is the first official reporting of what became known as the AIDS pandemic. When Freddie Mercury and Queen stormed Live Aid with what was arguably the best performance of the concert, if not of all time, he was already exhibiting signs of the virus that would ultimately take his life.
Musically the Nineteen Eighties was a lost decade for me. I found myself caught between a sort of post hippie malaise of incense and California Soft Rock and folkery, a need to hear more classical music and jazz, and a distrust of men with make-up. Much of it was lost on me, even the satirical elements. I well remember seeing the album cover of Penthouse and Pavement by Heaven 17 and thinking, “I am not buying that, they look like wankers.”
That decision took less than a second as my eye flicked over the racks of vinyl, but I wonder if anybody else made the same mistake. Tracks like Let’s all make a bomb had similar problems when it was taken up as an anthem by city traders.
The earlier song by former bandmate Phil Oakey of Human League, Don’t you want me? made me cringe. It seemed to be a cynical song about throwaway relationships and grabbing the limelight. In Oakey’s own words, "a nasty song about sexual power politics." It didn’t go down well with the Patchouli and Vashti Bunyan set, I can tell you. Personally I was keen on The Sensational Alex Harvey Band and Jethro Tull and the almost inevitable Bowie during his Neuköln phase.
So there was a kind of tension for me with the pop scene of the time. I think Live Aid reflected it. Nowadays I can appreciate Heaven 17, Madness, Squeeze etc., for musical ability and longevity (none of which did Live Aid). We can see those bands of 40 years ago with the objectivity that comes with hindsight and old age. Live Aid was a turning point of sorts but perhaps not the event of the decade; the 80’s meant misery for many people for all sorts of reasons, which even today has left a lingering bitterness.
I do remember being a bit fashionable. I had the wedge hair cut, the thin tie and the shirts with the tiny collars and Buggles spectacles. I will not admit to rolling my jacket sleeves up or tucking my jumper into my trousers unless someone provides irrefutable photographic evidence. There may have been white socks involved. And leg warmers.
.
There were Walkmans, digital watches, Sinclair Spectrums, Filofaxes and something called a mobile phone. How mobile it was was dependent upon your ability to carry the phone and a large battery pack, and at least two grand to spare, but it appears to have caught on.
photo: superlumination.media
Of course, it was never that rosy and never as affordable elsewhere in the country
photo by Chris Killip. North Shields, 1981.
I lived in North Shields for some months in the mid Seventies. This moving picture shows that it had not improved. Shields was degraded and dying, vast council estates laid waste - given to outbreaks of violence and rioting, the fishing industry in terminal decline. It was not a pretty sight. But you could get the get the best fish and chips - with fish landed that day.
I am embarrassed that none of this bothered me in 1985. Perhaps because I was starting a family. Perhaps it was my relief at being comfortably off after some impecunious times. Perhaps it was my fascination, along with many others, with the huge amount of stuff you could suddenly get. I was ready for it and it was ready for me.
I don’t view the era with rose tinted glasses, but seen from 2023 it has some innocent charm. There was no social media, no public bickering, nobody was glued to their phones. There was no Autotune, which to some extent explains why certain lead singers of certain 80’s bands appear not to be able to sing at all. There was no Sunday trading - shops were not allowed to open on Sundays. When the great Covid lockdown took place I was reminded of the relative peace we all enjoyed then, once every seven days.
If there is one more thing that I miss, it is the pace. It is the rhythm of a seven day cycle, when you could re-charge your batteries. Life runs faster. Mistakes seem to happen in seconds. Far reaching decisions appear to be determined by a 24 hour minute by minute news agenda. Prime Ministers last days, not years. You cannot go back, and I tend to live in the present, but once in a while I play my vinyl copy of ‘Touch’ by Eurythmics because it is very good. Less complicated times, eh?
photo: superlumination.media