FLA 35: Michael Gillette (07/12/2025)

Michael Gillette is an artist, a true artist. Over the past thirty-five years or so, as a painter, illustrator, cartoonist, designer and creative mind, he has produced a boggling torrent of material – in range and volume – primarily inspired by pop music and pop culture. His clients over the years have included Saint Etienne, Elastica and the Beastie Boys, and his work has appeared in a wide range of newspapers and magazines ranging from Select and Q to The Observer and the New Yorker. If you’ve bought any or all of Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels since 2008, chances are Michael’s done the cover art. But it’s a challenge to summarise that kind of career in a single paragraph, so in the first instance, I urge you to check out his website, michaelgilletteart.com, and a book of some of his many highlights, Drawn in Stereo, published in 2015.

I always sensed Michael would flourish as an artist. The clues were there early on, when we were at junior school in Swansea. Just watching him draw anything was captivating. He was amusing and thoughtful. At the turn of the 1980s, just as the lure of pop history dragged me in, so he’d seen the BBC2 season of Beatles films, and connected profoundly with that pop history’s ultimate figureheads. From then on, for several years, we discussed pop a lot. I now realise this was one of the main reasons to go to school.

At sixteen, Michael moved to Somerset with his family, and then gravitated to Greater London, graduating from art school in the early 90s, and soon finding his skills, talents and wit in considerable demand. As an obsessive reader of the music press and broadsheet newspapers, I saw his work everywhere – and yet somehow still didn’t quite connect this with the talented friend I’d known early on. For reasons that will be explained in the conversation that follows.

The penny dropped when I found Michael’s website in the early 2000s. By then, he was living in San Francisco. We had a long catch-up chat on the phone, and have kept sporadically in touch ever since – and then finally, this year, we had a catch-up in person, in the pub. Which inspired me to ask him if he’d like to do First Last Anything. I was thrilled when he agreed, and so one day in November 2025, we spoke via Zoom: me in Swansea, Michael in St Louis, Missouri, where he now lives with his family. Coming up, amongst other things: what it’s like to house-share with Aphex Twin, the outcome of a commission for Paul McCartney (yes, Paul McCartney), and living and working as an artist and how to share that kind of experience as a teacher and educator.   

—-

JUSTIN LEWIS:

So, to begin at the beginning, what music do you remember early on in your home?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

With mum and dad… Mum was listening to mostly classical music, Schubert’s The Trout, and Holst’s The Planets, I recall… and maybe a few pop albums. The Beatles ‘Red’ and ‘Blue’ albums, and the Greatest Hits of the Carpenters on repeat. Oh! And the The Beach Boys, 20 Golden Greats with an airbrushed painting of a surfer on the front. The musical equivalents of having a dictionary in the house.

Dad, I was not aware of his musical preferences. He saw Gene Vincent and Eddie Cochran play in Birmingham as a teen but in those days, you were only allowed to be a teenager for about fifteen minutes, right? He packed it away. He listened to Jimmy Young who would have been on Radio 2, or Radio 1…

JUSTIN LEWIS:

He was on Radio 1 in the mid-mornings when that started and then around 1973 moved to Radio 2.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

So it would have been wall-to-wall Radio 2, that’s what I can remember.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

You’d have Terry Wogan on in the morning.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Oh yeah, for sure. And apart from that, it was just the homogeneity of the 1970s TV –  Top of the Pops for Goalposts.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

It keeps coming up in these conversations for those of us in that generation. And there wasn’t a lot else, really.

—–

FIRST: ABBA: Arrival (1976, Epic Records)

Extract: ‘Tiger’

JUSTIN LEWIS:

We had this album as well in the house, although I think my dad borrowed it off someone for a while. But we were playing it a lot. But I remember coming to your house at the time and you had this album, along with – if I remember correctly – the first Muppet Show album.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Yeah, that makes sense.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Which we put on. So how did you come to Arrival, then?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

I think I had it for my seventh birthday, so I must have asked for it. I just think it was in the culture: Look-In, posters on the wall etc.. I’m sure they were on Seaside Special and things like that. Unavoidable, right? Utterly fantastic. And immediately sticky [laughs].

JUSTIN LEWIS:

The people who are ten years older than us thought ABBA were ridiculous.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

They must be deaf.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Because, firstly, ‘it’s Europe’ and unless it was Kraftwerk, no pop from Europe was meant to be any good, apparently. And then punk rock happened in Britain, even though ABBA were already making brilliant singles, and the Sex Pistols liked ABBA, for instance. And subsequently, there was a critical revival with ABBA – I remember Elvis Costello saying of ‘Oliver’s Army’… I’m sure you know this…

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

You can hear it – the piano.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

He used to cover ‘Knowing Me Knowing You’, live.

—–

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Towards the end of junior school – so this is 1980, 1981 – I remember two or three massive Beatles fans in our year, and you were one of them, and I remember talking to you about it. So you had the ‘Red’ and the ‘Blue’ albums in your house, but what was the next step for you with Beatles fandom?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Aw – BBC, Christmas 1979 – they showed all the films. I remember the Shea Stadium one, and especially Magical Mystery Tour

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Which I don’t think had been on since the first showings [over Christmas 1967 – once on BBC1 which was still monochrome, and days later on BBC2 which had just begun broadcasting in colour].

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

I remember watching that in my grandparents’ house in my Cub Scout uniform [Friday 21 December 1979, BBC2, 6.10–7.00pm], and looking at it – because there’s a bit with a stripper in it which I was watching via a convex mirror because I thought ‘I can’t just turn around and watch this!’

That Christmas was the introduction, really.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

You having your Cub Scout uniform on suggests we must have been to some Cub event, because we were in the same pack. I’m trying to think what that might have been.

[The other showings of Beatles films that Christmas:

Sat 22/12/79, BBC2 1835–2000: Help!

Sun 23/12/79, BBC2, 1740–1830: The Beatles at Shea Stadium [first showing since 1966]

Mon 24/12/79, BBC2, 1740–1900: Yellow Submarine

Tue 25/12/79, BBC2, 1500–1625: A Hard Day’s Night

Wed 26/12/79, BBC2, 1750–1910: Let It Be]

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

They just made me never want to wear a uniform again. It sparked off something :‘What on Earth is this? How do people get to live like this?’ It was the whole package – to see the comedy and the style. I’ve always had these two things together – visual/musical – and seeing them [together] made a massive difference. No regular job plans after that.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

One of the themes of your career, really, is how you’ve channelled pop music into artwork, but with the Beatles, I feel as if you’ve particularly latched on to the fantasy and mythology over the reality of them. I’m not suggesting you haven’t studied the latter! But it’s about setting the imagination free, and Magical Mystery Tour certainly encourages that. As much as something like Get Back would show them making a record in real time, you get this other side to them which has them having adventures. Like they’re comic book characters.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Yeah. Perfect for children, as a gateway. It was the scarcity of it. Even though it was on at Christmas that year, after that, it was gone. Until John Lennon died.

Just before he died [December 1980], I remember you used to write the charts out every week, and I saw that John Lennon was in with ‘Starting Over’, [a brand-new single]. And I was like, ‘What do you mean, John Lennon’s got a new single out?’ When I heard it, I couldn’t equate it with The Beatles, it seemed like a dimmed bulb. So when he died, part of me felt, ‘Oh great, The Beatles are now everywhere!’ I was spending all my pocket money on everything I could get, all that merchandise that appeared!  It’s a terrible way to think about it really.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

But he’d also been away for five years, of course, prior to that single, which is a long time. And were you a John fan or a Paul fan?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

I didn’t know who sang what until later. When I started buying their records, I would look for the albums with the least amount of music that I already knew, to get the best value out of it. The first one I bought was Revolver.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Funnily enough, the critic David Quantick once pointed out [on the superlative Beatles podcast, Chris Shaw’s I Am the Eggpod] that Revolver (along with the ‘White Album’) is probably the least well represented album on ‘Red’ and ‘Blue’.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Yeah, that’s why I would have bought it. ‘She Said, She Said’ – that song really opened things up for me, it’s in my DNA. I don’t think Paul McCartney’s even on that song. 

JUSTIN LEWIS:

An enduring Beatles mystery, so many conflicting accounts and fragments of evidence.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

I read a lot of philosophy and psychology. Partly it’s helped me understand and justify pop’s importance rather than its triviality. Pop’s taken up a lot of my bandwidth!

I learnt a lot from René Girard, who, as an anthropologist at Stanford in the eighties, coined theories around mimetic desire. We’re all porous to suggestions and mimic others. We desire what other people desire. We can also hate what other people desire. This causes tribalism and scapegoatism. Girard’s warnings are important because many Silicon Valley bros, including Peter Thiel, took his class. They saw his cautions as business models. Look at how that’s played out with social media… 

Anyhow, I thought, ‘oh, this is kind of what happened to me with the Beatles and pop music.’ The Sergeant Pepper cover – it’s a mimetic map of culture, religion, art, everything. Probably 90 per cent of my interests all connect back to the Beatles. Ultra mimetic.

We both grew up during the high watermark of youth cults [JL agrees]… music with distinct looks and styles…These are explained by mimetic theory too. We were kind of outside it in Wales – couldn’t get the right clothes [laughs], but it saturated those impressionable years for our generation, right?

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Yeah – you’d look at London or Manchester and you’d think, ‘How do you get to go there then, a city where it’s all happening?’ Because nice beaches that there are, amazing coastline, Swansea didn’t really have that kind of magic. Bands didn’t come very often, and it wasn’t easy to go and see people if you were under eighteen.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Billy Bragg I managed to see in Swansea, a miners benefit gig [7 April 1985 – Easter Sunday, in fact]. At the Penyrheol Leisure Centre. I saw The Alarm there too [16 November 1987].

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Just before we move on from The Beatles, though I’m sure we won’t move too far, can you tell the story about your Paul McCartney album sleeve commission? Because this is extraordinary.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

I’d done some work for the Beastie Boys, an animation for their [To the 5 Boroughs] tour (2004/05). They were signed to Capitol Records. The lady I was dealing with there rang me one Friday afternoon, and said, ‘Paul McCartney is coming in on Monday and we’re going to do a “Greatest Love Hits” – for the first time, a compilation of his Beatles and post-Beatles work.’ They were very specific: ‘We want him doe-eyed and lovely, from ’67, ’68…’ I was like, ‘Can do.’ So I worked over that weekend, so confused at how this had happened. Anyway, I did it, and the next week they got back to me: ‘Oh he’s just come in, and no Love album for him, he’s getting divorced.’ So that was the end of it. They said, ‘Oh he says it’s really great, he really likes it!’ They tried to buy the artwork. That was the closest brush with my obsession.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

I knew you as a brilliant artist even at school, but what sort of sleeve art was inspiring you back then?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Well, anything to do with the Beatles!, so, Klaus Voorman, Peter Blake and then Richard Hamilton – there’s three. My mum would buy me bargain bin books from WHSmiths in Swansea. One of the first was a Rick Griffin monograph. He was one of the San Francisco psychedelic hippy poster artists – all imagery inspired by music. Another was by the artist David Oxtoby, Oxtoby’s Rockers. He was a contemporary of David Hockney, from Bradford. He did incredible paintings of rock stars. I was twelve and had chicken pox when I got it – after two weeks off school itchily looking at this book, this massive door had opened in my mind. I thought, ‘Oh, this is also possible’ [laughs].

When I eventually visited San Francisco for the first time in 1997, the posters of the ‘60s had acted as sirens. I ended up living just a couple of streets away from where Griffin made most of his famous work in the late sixties. I used to pass his old house every day. He was long gone by then. He died in a motorbike accident in the 1990s, he’d been doing covers for The Cult just previously. He became a born-again Christian in 1969 and moved down to Southern California and became a massive influence in that world. An amazing character.

—–

JUSTIN LEWIS:

I’m going to quote from your excellent collection of artwork, Drawn in Stereo. ‘Art wasn’t my first career choice. I wanted to be a pop star.’ Now, I knew you were a good guitarist, that’s what I remember, but I hadn’t quite realised you had that in mind, so I was quite surprised to read that.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Yeah, I wasn’t that good at music. When we moved to Somerset, I did my art foundation year in Taunton. The West Country had a good music scene. PJ Harvey came out of that time and place. In Taunton, bands were everywhere… When I got to Kingston Art School, no-one was interested in forming groups. Disappointing. The thing about getting into colleges that are ‘good’ is people are focused on the job at hand! I wasn’t. I was in a band for the first year… but I just knew: Nope – you don’t got it.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

The thing about being in a band – maybe even if you’re a solo artist – is there’s a career arc you’re expected to follow, and it’s all about compromise. Whereas if you’re an artist, you can surprise yourself. You’ve got the freedom to be inventive. And it seems to me, given what you’ve gone on to do, you’ve just kept changing. You’ve never stuck to one thing for too long.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

I was reared on that Beatles or Bowie [arc] to keep changing and evolving. The visual side of music is such a rich seam to mine – you can tap into two completely disparate things like, say, two-tone and psychedelia and evolve something fresh. But yeah, you’re right. It’s a control thing, and you don’t have that in a band. I didn’t much enjoy being on stage. I got very nervous, I’d play real fast.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Were you trying to write songs, by the way?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

A bit, with bands, but I didn’t have that gift on my own. I thought I would join a successful band at art school. Instead, I graduated off a cliff. At the end of Kingston, in ’92, some student friends knew Richard – the Aphex Twin and we all moved to Islington together. I didn’t know his music at the time, but holy WOW!

JUSTIN LEWIS:

The first time I heard him, that first album [Selected Ambient Works 85–92, 1992]: ‘What the hell is that?’ I was listening to quite a lot of electronic music at the time, but that felt like a real departure from everything.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

I knew he was groundbreaking – anyone with half a tin ear could tell that. I think the groups I was involved with, during Britpop, were fantastic fun, but there was already so much of the guitar pop canon established. Richard was off the maps making his own worlds.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Yes, I love Blur, but… a lot of it was good pastiche, but pastiche nonetheless.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

I can understand pastiche, I personally don’t re-invent the wheel, I just put new rims on.

Oasis… I never saw them as Beatles-like, more Slade in Cagoules.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

But they weren’t going to reinvent themselves with every record like the Beatles did. We’ll come back to Aphex Twin in a second, but I just wanted to ask you about something else that happened in summer ‘92 when you’d just graduated from Kingston. You stuff an envelope of your stuff through the letterbox of Saint Etienne’s house in north London. I know that you’d really enjoyed Foxbase Alpha, their first album, but what made you think of choosing them to approach?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

When did that album come out?

JUSTIN LEWIS:

October ’91. I remember I bought it the day it came out.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Okay, I must have too. In late 1991, I was in Russia on a month-long student exchange, I had it on tape, and listened to it there. That album’s very atmospheric and kaleidoscopic – it fit Moscow. Back in London, I listened to it driving around, it fit there too. ‘Nothing Can Stop Us’, what a fantastic song. Bob Stanley told me they paid £1,000 to clear the Dusty Springfield sample. Money very well spent.

Meanwhile, I fell out of Kingston. I wasn’t ready to leave college, I’d been expecting to do an MA – at the Royal College of Art, but they passed. In that last month of Kingston, I realised I’d better start approaching people. It was almost a desperate thing. I knew Saint Etienne were working on another album. But there was some magic involved, definitely – Foxbase Alpha, finding their home address on the back of the ‘Join Our Club’ single, picking them to stalk … They understood my fandom.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Yeah, that first album, in the booklet, you’ve got all these photographs of icons, so Micky Dolenz is there, Billy Fury, Marianne Faithfull… Eight or nine of them.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

It’s another mimetic gateway. The glamour of formica caffs that’s open to all. It wasn’t like the eighties, where you needed a zillion dollars to go into the studio and make some shit, atmosphere-free record; all boxy drums and Next suits with padded shoulders. Instead, it was the longings of the fan, lost treasures and pop theories. That record has a dreamy hiraeth.

I stuffed that envelope through the letterbox, went back to Surbiton for the last couple of weeks college. Next, I went up to Heavenly, their record company, rang the bell. Martin Kelly, their manager, opened the door and said, ‘Oh, they told me about you. Come on up!’ I thought, ‘My god, it’s this easy?! This is great! Is this how it’s going to work?’ And of course it doesn’t often work like that. Magic was afoot. You have to knock though.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

They’ve always been very interested in the contemporary, but shot through with something of the past at the time.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Yeah. Reinterpreting the past, excavating and curating. Bob Stanley was like meeting an older cousin who knew everything about pop. So anyway, that’s what happened, and they paid me £2,000 which was a lot of money straight out of college. I didn’t see money like that again for a long time.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

And then you started to do bits for Select magazine, right? Which was a sort of indie-dance version of Q magazine, for those who may not remember.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

My flatmate Stu’s brother [Andrew Harrison] was the editor of Select. Andrew had a ‘no nepotism’ rule, he couldn’t be seen giving jobs for the boys. But when he found out I’d worked for Saint Etienne, he was like, ‘You must be bona fide.’ So that’s how I got the job doing the illustration for the Stuart Maconie article about Britpop [Select, April 1993 issue].

JUSTIN LEWIS:

And then you did this regular feature called Pop Tarts, every month, and it’s reminded me how much you made me laugh in schooldays. Because you found room for humour and irreverence as well in many of these pieces.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Definitely. When I left college, I was a headless chicken, didn’t know what to do, and was thinking, ‘I’m only going to make serious work, try and do stuff for Faber & Faber’. Then I thought: ‘That’s not who I am – humour is really important.’  That’s yet another lesson from the Beatles – they could reach the highest rung of an artform and still be silly.  I can’t bear serious pretension – when the scene gets pretentious, I get really uncomfortable. I did fifty Pop Tarts. By ’96 I couldn’t take it anymore, but it was a good calling card for a while.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

That might be the longest-running thing you’ve ever done, then.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

It probably is, yeah.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

And then you’re doing newspaper commissions, you’re in a lot of the broadsheets in the late nineties, doing accompanying illustrations for things. I found a thing in the Telegraph archive of all places, a culinary feature.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

I did The Observer for a year, too. I did their back page column called ‘Americana’. Louis Theroux wrote many of the articles. I came back to London this last summer, went to Bar Italia, and there’s a drawing I did – maybe for the Telegraph – framed on the back wall! It was about Italian clothes culture, and I had decided to include Bar Italia. Not a work of genius, but when I saw it, I was thrilled [laughs]. I couldn’t think of a better place to hang!

JUSTIN LEWIS:

How do you feel in general now, seeing work you did thirty years ago or longer?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

I’m just glad to be alive, and to have been able to make a creative living. Sometimes I have barely any recall of pieces – the Bar Italia picture for example. I’ve made so much stuff, it’s a rodeo schedule. I chose pop media – magazines, books, records, videos – rather than gallery art where ten people might see it. I wanted to be seen. It’s a really proletarian art form. Masses of art for the masses.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Your stuff did get everywhere, and I saw a lot of it, although somehow I didn’t make the connection that it actually was you for some time. I should explain here that your surname has grown an extra ‘e’ at the end since we were at school.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Either Select added that to my name or maybe Saint Etienne.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Was it in error?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

It was, yeah. But I wasn’t going to argue with that. I just let it go. Everyone was dropping Es in the nineties. I picked one up.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

So what did you do for Saint Etienne’s So Tough album? You certainly came up with the logo, right? And you designed the cover?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

I initially did a painting of the 1970s photo of Sarah, which her father took. They went with his photo for the cover, which was the right decision. I did paintings of Bob and Pete for the inner sleeve. I wasn’t match fit yet. I hadn’t advanced much at college. I comped together some logos and they went with one set in a font called Bunny Ears.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

And that was the logo they used when they first went on Top of the Pops, for ‘You’re in a Bad Way’.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

I was so excited: ‘My logo is up there.’ A little bit of me is on TOTP.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

So, with Aphex Twin, you were living in the same house around this time, 1992–95, three years or so. Was that a creative environment, a chaotic one, or both?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Both, definitely. We lived in two different locations. In the first one, he and his girlfriend lived above us. So my introduction to him was through the floorboards, really. He was right above my bedroom, it would be very quiet for long periods of time, when he was listening through headphones making stuff, and then it would be uproariously loud and sometimes terrifying, sometimes beautiful.

Then we moved to Stoke Newington and he had a tiny studio in the midst of the flat, so there was no separation. There were a lot of people coming and going, hangers on, and basic early twenties bad behaviour from young creative types. We all wore each other out because we were so much in each other’s pockets. But everybody was interesting and funny. And for all that people think of Richard, he was not a pretentious human being.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

I always think there’s quite a lot of humour in what he does anyway.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Yeah, often puerile!

JUSTIN LEWIS:

How did his remix for Saint Etienne’s ‘Who Do You Think You Are?’ come about? Is it true you were a sort of messenger with that?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

I asked him, yeah. I hadn’t known him for long – and I wouldn’t say I had the capability to sway him in any way, but he was open to doing stuff at that time. I think he did a good job.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

I find it quite funny he did it, given the choice of song. Because I can imagine him being offered ‘Avenue’ to remix, for instance, but ‘Who Do You Think You Are’ (nothing to do with the Spice Girls by the way, this was earlier!) was a cover version of a song recorded by the Opportunity Knocks-winning comedy showband Candlewick Green in 1974, and the Saint Etienne remake had the potential to be a huge hit. And it’s not a remix you’d expect from a commercial single at all. But then Saint Etienne were great at being leftfield pop stars.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

I’m sure they were elated with that remix. I don’t think they were looking for a Fatboy Slim banging track.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

And you did some video work for Elastica too.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

I did two animations for their videos, which was very stressful, and some sleeve work for them too.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

The ‘Connection’ single.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

I did a painting for that, so I saw them from lift off to stratosphere. Justine [Frischmann] moved to Northern California in the noughties. We wound up living in the same neighbourhood – she helped us out to move there after we left San Francisco, so that was an enduring connection from that time.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

In 1997-ish, you finally got to visit San Francisco because, as I understand it, you had a show on at the Groucho Club in London and lots of wealthy people bought lots of your work, and so you could afford to go. Is that true?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Yes, that is exactly what happened. I had a show at the Groucho the same week that Labour were elected – a high watermark and possible end of Britpop – and I sold 14 out of 20 pictures.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

And Jarvis Cocker bought one?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Well, you know Ant Genn? He played with Elastica, he’d been in Pulp [and now writes scores for film and TV, including Peaky Blinders]. He bought three, one of which was for Jarvis, but Jarvis ended up paying for all three. I don’t know why. Who else bought one? Graham Linehan, who was then working at Select, Damon Hirst’s manager…’90s Soho.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Do you ever miss Britain? You’ve been living in America a long time now.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Yeah, twenty-four years. Pound for pound, Britain punches harder than anywhere else. Music, comedy, history… I do love it. I feel a bit claustrophobic there now. I wish I’d spent more time visiting antiquity. I guess you always want what you haven’t got, right? Here, I want something pre-Victorian. I want to get my hands on something ancient!

—–

LAST: THE LEMON TWIGS: ‘Ghost Run Free’ [2023, from Everything Harmony album, Captured Tracks Records]

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Lemon Twigs have come up before on this series, and rightly so [FLA 24, Alison Eales]. What was it about ‘Ghost Run Free’ in particular?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Well, it’s like the offspring of The La’s and Big Star, isn’t it? I’d adopt that kid and bring them up as my own. Just instant ear candy, pressing all my buttons. I’ve played that song a lot – I like the rest of the album, but something about that song absolutely chimes. I was lucky to see them play here in St Louis – people tend to skip over the Midwest. I decided to wear a hat and stand at the back, not to spoil the kids’ fun. But the audience were all older than me! It was almost like a vampiric ritual… the band’s so young, what must it be like for them, looking out at the Night of the Living Gen Xers?

JUSTIN LEWIS:

It’s a breath of fresh air, this album, and while there’s lots of stuff I like at the moment, you don’t tend to get things that are big on chords, harmonies or melodies charting particularly highly. It’s unusually tuneful – the last time they got picked on this, I was referencing early seventies Beach Boys and Todd Rundgren, but now I can also hear Crosby Stills Nash and Young in it, even Roy Wood’s Wizzard.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

They can all play, the band’s been together a while. They look like they were made in a pop culture laboratory. Live, they’re all swapping instruments. And then you’ve got the two D’Addario brothers, like the Everlys, Kinks or the Bee Gees. I’m going to quote Noel Gallagher here – ‘brothers singing is an instrument you can’t buy in a shop’. Like ABBA, where harmony and melody is absolutely everything. There’s always a chorus with multiple voices, so you feel like you’re included in the song. That’s one of Brian Eno’s pop observations/recipes.

Most songs I really love have got harmonies. Apart from The Smiths – I don’t know why they never had that.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

That’s a good point. I suppose with them, the harmonies are in the guitars.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Yeah, but Johnny Marr can sing – he’s got a good voice. Why did they never sing together? I suppose Morrissey won’t share his crisps.

—–

ANYTHING: JOHN O’CONOR: Nocturnes of John Field [1990, Telarc/Concord Records]

Extract: ‘Nocturne #1 in E flat Major’

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

I came to a point where pop music was just frazzling me. To quote that ‘Alfred Prufrock’ poem by TS Eliot: ‘I’ve measured my life out in coffee spoons’, whereas I’ve measured my life out in poppy tunes. There just came a time, especially working and reading, for [something else] and hearing these Nocturnes…

JUSTIN LEWIS:

What sort of age were you?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Oh, late forties. I’d always listened and worked to lots of soundtrack stuff, John Barry, Lalo Schifrin… But here, just the solo piano is so peaceful. Going from a world where I know everything about a musician, to this, where I didn’t know anything. I just listened without any baggage – a blank slate.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Can you remember how you came across it, then?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

I really don’t know. Maybe through YouTube’s algorithms… do you know anything about John Field? [Born in Dublin, 1782, lived till 1837] He had a riotous life. He was basically a rock star. His life would make a great film, Barry Lyndon-esque. Eventually I looked him up, but for years I knew nothing but the music.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

I knew the name, but it transpires he invented the nocturne form. Chopin was a fan. So he’s an innovator.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Yeah, I’m no connoisseur. I’ve listened to Chopin’s Nocturnes, I don’t enjoy them as much. Satie’s are good too, but Field’s are like an instant warm bath, reliably calming.

I’ve been thinking about the Aphex Twin this last couple of weeks because one of my students at college was drawing his logo over and over.

‘Oh, the Aphex Twin,’ I said.

‘Do you know that guy?’

‘Actually, yeah, I do know that guy.’

Then yesterday, my screen printer was wearing a homemade Aphex Twin T-shirt, with a picture of Richard in the Stoke Newington house studio. I’ve found folks want to keep the mystique of him intact. We are so overloaded with information. I think the mystery allows for purer engagement.

I feel like that about classical music. I won’t reach the point where I need to know what the third horn player had for his tea and how that affected anything. You know what I mean?

JUSTIN LEWIS:

When we were at school, the running joke about pop trivia knowing no bounds would be ‘What colour socks was Paul McCartney wearing when they recorded “Get Back”’?, and now the Get Back film exists, you can bloody well find out! It’s ridiculous really. I suppose thirty, forty years of reading the pop music press has created this frame of mind, and you can’t do that with everything. One of the nice things about new music now is I often come to things and I don’t know anything about them, who they are, nothing beyond the bare bones. It’s like being eight again.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

It is. What I see with my children is they’re not interested in context, it’s all delivered scrolling on a phone. Recently, my daughter learnt to play ‘Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes’ on the violin, and I asked:

‘How do you know that song?’ 

‘Instagram… How do you know it?’

‘It’s from the late 1960s.’

‘Oh I thought it was new.’

It’s trending audio… stuck behind reels. Folks use trending audio, and the algorithm boosts the post. It’s kinda greasy. My daughter was humming ‘Golden Brown’’, same thing – it’s used on medieval themed reels.

We were groomed [laughs] to be obsessed with pop minutiae. Now, it’s just another bit of content in the feed. They do introduce me to some new music though, Olivia Rodrigo I enjoy.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Well, we were in the analogue age where knowledge was difficult to come by, so you’d collect fragments of information until you had far too much of it all. [Laughs] That’s what happened.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

YES! – the scarcity back in the day. So maybe what I’m trying to do with jazz and classical music is to go back to pre-knowledge. I love Lou Donaldson, I love his music, but I wouldn’t know him from… Donald Duck. I know he’s Mr Shing-a-Ling. But I don’t really have any interest beyond listening and enjoying.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

And it makes it more random, you can make your own connections with it. For a long time, we got used to other people shaping music history, and now I guess you can create your own experience.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Totally. That’s the big difference. When you used to bring Smash Hits in to school, and we’d pore over it at lunchtime, Mark Ellen was the editor at the time. That Britpop illustration I mentioned earlier… Mark Ellen [by 1993, the Managing Editor of Select] was who I handed it over to. Did the obsession bring that to pass? I suppose what you give your attention to grows.

—- 

JUSTIN LEWIS:

You’ve designed [in 2008 and again in 2024] two very differently styled series of covers for Ian Fleming’s collection of James Bond books. Did you read the Bond books as a kid, or did you connect with the films first?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

My dad had the books, Pan paperbacks from the sixties – great covers. They were stashed away in my bedroom in a little attic space. I read them when I was probably 12, 13… but the films… apart from occasional Bank Holidays, I don’t really remember them being on much. Do you?

JUSTIN LEWIS:

I don’t think they were on TV much before the eighties.

[Note: The first Bond film to be shown on British TV was Dr No, on ITV, on Tuesday 28 October 1975. In January 1980, the UK TV premiere of Live and Let Die attracted 23 million viewers on ITV, still unbeaten for a single showing of a film on British TV.]

JUSTIN LEWIS:

The main thing I remember with Bond was going with my dad and my brother to see a double bill at the Swansea Odeon on the Kingsway [don’t look for it, it’s not there anymore], this would have been Summer ’78. It was Live and Let Die and The Man With the Golden Gun, a double-bill. Two hours long, each of them, that’s a long afternoon. Especially when you’re eight years old. It’s actually a long time since I’ve seen a new Bond film. But I was also wondering to what extent the music of Bond films inspired those designs of yours. Were you thinking a lot about John Barry scores?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

I do absolutely adore his music, yeah. Because I’m involved in the Bondiverse, I understand people are as passionate for 007 as we are for bands. I understand the draw of Bond. My job as a designer is to translate visually as a composer would do musically. The most enduring Bond thing for me is Barry’s scores, so sophisticated and timeless.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

They really hold up, as do the themes which generally hold up better than the films. Not many duds, surprisingly.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

With John Barry, it’s the whole score… Things like Petulia from 1967, that’s a great soundtrack, or The Knack, and The Ipcress File. I listen to those more. I’m not an obsessive in the Bond world. And that possibly helps because you can get lost in detail. It helps to take a wider view.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

I was just thinking: have you ever tried to pastiche the Beatles’ album sleeves?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

The only thing I remember doing, and it’s in Drawn in Stereo, is Oasis as the Yellow Submarine characters for Q.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Of course, that’s right.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

But otherwise, for years, I felt like I didn’t have enough skills to represent what they meant to me.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

You were too close to it!

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

But record sleeves remain the same and book covers keep changing. It’s interesting why that is.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Why does that happen, I wonder? Even modern books do that – often the paperback edition six months later looks nothing like the hardback.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Music and visual culture are so locked together, I can’t disassociate them. I can’t imagine 2-Tone without that Walt Jabsco image. With a book, you don’t just stare at the cover for hours while you’re reading it. But a record… think of that bus journey between HMV in Swansea and home, where all you’ve got to look at is the sleeve.

Doing the Bond covers both times… immediately the reaction from some fans was that I’d performed an act of heresy. Changing record sleeves would cause a riot, unless you are Taylor Swift, but like many things about her, she defies logic and gravity.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

What’s your working routine like now? Do you sit at the desk every day, working on something, even if you’re just sketching?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Things have changed since COVID. My career has been mostly that of a rodeo illustrator: showing up every day, seven days a week, moving between clients, which went on for a quarter of a century plus. I don’t quite do that anymore. Now, I teach and do more selective commissions, because the world’s changed and I’ve changed. You know what it’s like with deadlines, right? For four years I worked for the New Yorker pretty regularly. I’d be about to clock off on Friday afternoon, and they’d e-mail and that’s the weekend done. For many years of my life, I leant in very hard.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Are there things that surprise you about the young generation of new artists – in a good way, I mean?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

I feel that we are fed a story that this generation is ‘hopeless and weak’. It’s been the same call since biblical times. By the end of teaching a class, or seeing my kids create, I have hope for us as a species. I believe in magic. I believe there’s an indomitable spirit of creativity that everyone’s got. We’re born with it, and we’re here to represent it the best way we can. I think that’s why people get unhappy when they don’t have outlets for their creative energy.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

It worries me in this country that young people are now supposed to only foster the talents that are going to get them a job or are going to get them a way of making money for other people rather than what they might actually be good at. And that’s really kicked in, in recent years. Obviously, education and passing exams is important, but what about the imagination?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Well, when you saddle people with debt in college, that puts an entirely different slant on it. The two grand from Saint Etienne paid off my student debt. I worked all the way through college to keep it low, but that’s the difference – I could afford a London life, albeit a tight one. Two thousand pounds at a time when my rent in Islington was £55 a week. That kind of maths wouldn’t work now with London housing. The pay for a similar gig in 2025 would be more or less the same, and cover about five weeks’ rent.

I’ve had a career, but it wasn’t encouraged, it was unlikely even then. Most folks who studied illustration didn’t become illustrators. Not saying that being an illustrator is the high bar of anything. We’ve saddled students with middle-aged debt and the anxieties that go with it. It’s unfair. As a teacher, I try to help as much as I can. My teachers were often art school bullies who’d give you a good kicking. Maybe that was the point; maybe if you survived that, you were strong enough for the outside world! But I try to do the opposite, I hope to encourage.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

What sort of age are your students?

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

19, 20, 21. They’re super-young, but the same impulses are inherent. There’s that beauty of openness and that’s why avoid telling them ‘it’s like this’ and ‘you have to do that’. You make it up [for yourself]. I made it up by knocking on Saint Etienne’s door. 

JUSTIN LEWIS:

You find a way.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

You find a way, be creative. Where one person will walk into a room and see nothing but walls, another will find an open door. That’s why I believe in magic – it’s very mysterious how it all works. We’ve known that from all the music stuff we’ve read, the connections and the odd chances of luck.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Nobody really knows where ideas come from.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

Hundred per cent, yeah. Writer’s block, artist’s block… who’s doing the blocking? It’s not the universe, it’s the writer and the artist. You can shut it down really easily. [With creativity] it was never encouraged, but now it’s probably worse, it’s harder to freelance. But where there’s a will… I needed a period of time to be able to make mistakes, be slack, be lost and not worry about finances. Talent will out, but it needs support.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Yes, particularly the process of trying out things and making mistakes. Unless you have particularly wealthy parents now, it’s difficult to do that. And especially when you’re young, you have the energy – you can stay up till three in the morning doing creative things.

MICHAEL GILLETTE:

You get an era where you can batter yourself almost to death and continue working and somewhat thriving. I’ve lived in two of the most expensive cities in the world – London and San Francisco – and managed to survive making artwork. It’s a bloody miracle. For younger people, maybe they’ll think in a different way, and it’s not about London or San Francisco, because those are overrun with investment bankers and tech workers… St Louis, where I’m living now, is different, it’s a post-industrial city, there are opportunities to live creatively.

In London, the generation before us had studios in Covent Garden. Our generation… my studio was in Hoxton Square. Now… Pushing out people who are regular human beings, let alone artists from a metropolis like London – that’s tragic. It’s everyone’s loss. But the fundamental soul of creativity that I see in young people is exactly the same. It’s like a timeless river. That spirit always makes me feel hopeful.

————-

All images in this piece (apart from my usual FLA header and cassette inlay) are (c) Michael Gillette. Thanks so much to him for allowing FLA to include them.

Much more on Michael Gillette at his website: https://michaelgilletteart.com

You can order the book directly from his website, here: https://michaelgilletteart.com/products/drawn-in-stereo-book

You can also order art prints for Michael’s James Bond book cover designs (pictured here): https://michaelgilletteart.com/collections/prints

You can follow Michael on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/michaelgilletteart/

——

FLA Playlist 35

Michael Gillette

(For the time being, this site and project uses Spotify for the conversation playlists, but obviously I disapprove that Spotify doesn’t pay artists and composers properly, and other streaming platforms are available, as are sites to buy downloads and buy recordings. For consistency, you can also listen to the selections via YouTube (where available), and links are provided in each case, below.)

Thanks to Tune My Music, you can also transfer this playlist to the platform or site of your choice by using this link: https://www.tunemymusic.com/share/5yuhEgpQ6o

Track 1:

CARPENTERS: ‘We’ve Only Just Begun’:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xeBoRF5tgDo&list=RDxeBoRF5tgDo&start_radio=1

Track 2:

ABBA: ‘Tiger’:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=htziQt0pCAQ&list=RDhtziQt0pCAQ&start_radio=1

Track 3:

THE BEATLES: ‘Baby You’re a Rich Man’:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i5m-sgtwFck&list=RDi5m-sgtwFck&start_radio=1

Track 4:

THE BEATLES: ‘She Said, She Said’:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NZOBWYHgZjw&list=RDNZOBWYHgZjw&start_radio=1

Track 5:

BILLY BRAGG: ‘Walk Away Renee (Version)’:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iHrFkSeLukA&list=RDiHrFkSeLukA&start_radio=1

Track 6:

APHEX TWIN: ‘Xtal’:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2tOutF8B3f8&list=RD2tOutF8B3f8&start_radio=1

Track 7:

SAINT ETIENNE: ‘Nothing Can Stop Us’:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RAZUwvYqhpg&list=RDRAZUwvYqhpg&start_radio=1

Track 8:

LEMON TWIGS: ‘Ghost Run Free’:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ewKdcUl3J7c&list=RDewKdcUl3J7c&start_radio=1

Track 9:

LOU DONALDSON: ‘One Cylinder’:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F8RCGr8FEt0&list=RDF8RCGr8FEt0&start_radio=1

Track 10:

JOHN BARRY: ‘The Knack (Main Theme)’:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k3utY_mJjK8&list=RDk3utY_mJjK8&start_radio=1

Track 11:

JOHN BARRY: ‘Petulia (Main Title)’:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qhKQ1UT-MjE&list=RDqhKQ1UT-MjE&start_radio=1

Track 12:

JOHN FIELD: ‘Nocturne #1 in E Flat Major’

John O’Conor:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2YJXgmLXTew&list=RD2YJXgmLXTew&start_radio=1

FLA 30: Ian Wade (07/09/2025)

Ian Wade is a pop writer and DJ who is obsessed by its past, its present and its future. His superb and acclaimed book 1984: The Year Pop Went Queer, first published in the summer of 2024, has been a Guardian Book of the Year and a Clash Book of the Year. It documents a twelve-month period in which, despite a largely homophobic mass media, bands and artists like Frankie Goes to Hollywood and Bronski Beat became best sellers by being themselves. High-energy music popular in gay clubs crossed over to the top ten to be absorbed by the work of future hit machines Stock Aitken Waterman and Pet Shop Boys, while emerging figures like Madonna and Cyndi Lauper championed tolerance and awareness in a mostly hostile climate when it came to sexuality.

After training as a chef, and working at Our Price Records, Ian’s real entrance into popworld came in the 1990s at the age of 24 when, as part of a media course at Suffolk College, he landed some work experience at Melody Maker in London, where he worked alongside the likes of Caitlin Moran, Pete Paphides, David Stubbs and the late Neil Kulkarni, and set about making himself useful to the point of being indispensable. Stints at Vox, Smash Hits and The Face followed, as well as on the Music 365 website, before he became a press officer, which led to work on Later… with Jools Holland, Top of the Pops, and BBC Radio. He currently writes for Classic Pop, The Quietus, Record Collector and MusicOMH, among others. He also occasionally DJs at various joints around London, is very slowly working on a new Blood Everywhere album, ‘helps out’ at What A Fucking Record and has begun writing another book.

In short, Ian is a busy bee, and is fantastic and funny company. I was so grateful that he spared quite a bit of time to talk to me over two sessions in one day in late August 2025, about his career, his book, his passion of pop, and just some of his numerous key record purchases. We hope you enjoy it as much as we did.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

First question I ask every guest: What’s the earliest music you remember hearing in your home, what did your parents have in their collections?

IAN WADE:

It was a mixture. There was a piano, which was there for my mum, although she never played it when I was growing up. My dad was like an ‘MFP [Music for Pleasure] and instrumental ‘nice-bit-of-music’ type chap. And I was the youngest of five kids. My eldest sister, Janet, was about sixteen when I was born – and so in the early 70s she was into Deep Purple, Rod Stewart, Alice Cooper, that kind of thing. Next there was Pauline, very into Motown, and reggae – lots of Trojan compilations. With Christine, I always think of Hot Chocolate, Real Thing and Stylistics, but all that mid-70s pop and soul. And then Cathryn came in with disco, Chic, Shalamar, ‘Rapper’s Delight’ and stuff like that.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

So you’ve got four sisters.

IAN WADE:

Yeah, well, there’s only two now, sadly. But all of them fed into my love for music, early on. Each birthday Pauline would ask me what I liked in the chart and would buy me three singles. Christine took me to my first record shop and also bought me the Guinness Hit Singles books. Janet bought me my first copy of Smash Hits, and when she moved out and got married, she gave me some of her singles, and had written ‘IAN’ on about ten of them – things like Sparks’ ‘This Town Ain’t Big Enough for Both Of Us’ and ‘Hey Rock’n’Roll’ by Showaddywaddy, which is a banger.

—-

FIRST (1): VARIOUS ARTISTS: 22 Dynamic Hits Volume II (K-Tel, compilation LP, 1972)

Extract: ‘Son of My Father’ by Chicory Tip (CBS, single, 1972)

IAN WADE:

But the first album I remember being obsessed by was 22 Dynamic Hits Volume II. I must have been about three or four. I remember everything on this LP sounded so quiet, obviously later realising that that’s because they were trying to get eleven tracks on each side.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

And unedited too, I believe, is that right? There’s a couple of five-minuters on there. And it has a most unlikely opening track.

IAN WADE:

Yeah, ‘Sylvia’s Mother’, which is not terrifying, but still slightly disturbing for young ears.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Feels like it should be a side-ender. Yes, the sequencing feels like the FA Cup third round draw panel are just fishing records out of a hat.

IAN WADE:

But then, when I looked at it again a few years later, I thought, ‘Oh this is all over the place’ probably because K-Tel was in its infancy in the UK and there was no real care taken. K-Tel and Arcade had this rivalry in the early 70s in the album charts with these compilations, a bit like the NOW/Hits Albums [in the 80s]. And in Christmas week 1972, the top three albums were all K-Tel compilations. Number one was 20 All-Time Greats of the Fifties, which was flicking back to records that were fifteen years old, the equivalent of looking back to 2010 now. Number two was this 22 Dynamic Hits compilation. Number three was 25 Rockin’ and Rollin’ Greats which we had as well. Oh and number four was Arcade’s second volume of Fantastic Hits.

We weren’t an artist albums family as such – it was Motown Chartbusters, Joe Loss having a crack at stuff or Marble Arch. Oh and lots of Hammond or Tijuana brass things – but there wasn’t a copy of Hunky Dory or The Dark Side of the Moon. The only one I really remember like that was Bridge Over Troubled Water, which I think everyone had to own by law.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

That or Simon & Garfunkel’s Greatest Hits.

IAN WADE:

And the rest of that album chart had David Cassidy and Slade, but I would be interested to know what the music industry’s vibe towards it all was at the time, whether they thought these compilations were good or bad.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

But also… November 1972 was the 20th anniversary of the first NME charts. So pop has its own proper history by now, it’s been growing, and then you get these what I suppose you’d call post-modern bands. Roxy Music quoting old riffs, 10cc, Steely Dan in America to some extent – all taking the influences and mixing them up. And Charlie Gillett had just written Sound of the City [first published in the US in 1970]. The first of those story arcs about pop music, no-one had quite done that before.

IAN WADE:

And meanwhile, around the same time, you had the big rock’n’roll festivals at Wembley with people like Wizzard and they unearthed Little Richard.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

And Chuck Berry at the Lanchester Arts Festival. But going back to this compilation… I mean there are two Chicory Tip singles here – which is like the two Kajagoogoo singles on the first NOW album. But apart from the weird sequencing, I was struck by how many straight lines go from this album to the other records you’ve selected for this, the things I know you’re really into. There’s some reggae here, there’s some funk – Billy Preston’s ‘Outa Space’, fantastic record, but I don’t think a ‘hit’ as such.

IAN WADE:

When I look at this album, this is where all my essential music food groups throughout my life come from. Chicory Tip, well the whole Giorgio Moroder thing [starts there]. T Rex, who, whenever your favourite pop stars in Smash Hits did a ‘My Top Ten’, T Rex and Bowie and Roxy were always in there. And there’s tracks I love by Sly & the Family Stone, Carpenters, Bill Withers, and like Hot Butter’s ‘Popcorn’…

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Having that straight after Johnny Cash’s ‘One Piece at a Time’!

IAN WADE:

I might actually have to go on to Spotify and make it more palatable. Because it’s… just off. I seem to remember Joe Cocker[‘s ‘With a Little Help From My Friends’] going on for about eight hours.

—-

FIRST (2): CHICAGO: ‘If You Leave Me Now’ (CBS, single, 1976)

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Tell me about buying your first single, then.

IAN WADE:

Yeah, Chicago’s ‘If You Leave Me Now’. It was meant to be ‘Dancing Queen’ by ABBA, which in retrospect might have been a bit too on the nose for me.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Had the shop sold out of that?

IAN WADE:

Yes. So that was like: Uh, typical! But this was the first time I was taken to a record shop, so the disappointment wasn’t huge as I was overwhelmed. Lots of previous times, I’d like a song, and people would buy it for me. But this was the first time I was taken to a record shop. It was Debenhams in Ipswich, and it felt like this glorious dark silvery cave of wonder. My mind was blown. ‘This is where all the records are. This is everything.’ Of course, we learn later… But I remember following my sister Christine around this shop. She was showing me bits and pieces, and she bought this Invictus Chartbusters album, which had this amazing mirrory sleeve. And I got ‘If You Leave Me Now’ – this must have been just after my birthday when my sister Pauline had got me ‘Couldn’t Get It Right’ by Climax Blues Band, Sherbet’s ‘Howzat’ and Lalo Schifrin’s ‘Jaws’.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

That completely conjures up the soundtrack to the Swap Shop swap top ten. And this would have been autumn 1976, the point where I would have properly been watching Top of the Pops every week. I remember with Chicago, they didn’t come into the studio, they had some film clip of them performing it somewhere, with a full orchestra behind them.

IAN WADE:

Yeah, and it always looks slightly out of focus and kind of cosy and warm because, I mean, yeah, that’s sort of September, October… When seasons were seasons, Justin.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

A ‘clocks going back’ record.

—-

JUSTIN LEWIS:

I’m just going to read out a quote from your book – 1984: The Year Pop Went Queer – which you move on quickly from. ‘Music was going well once I’d binned the violin’. Now – had you got so far with it, and realised it wasn’t for you?

IAN WADE:

When I started school, I thought, ‘I’ll learn violin’ but also during that ‘autumn of the futurists’, in 1981, I wanted to learn keyboards because obviously synth-pop was in the air. I wanted to be Ian Burden in the Human League and pressing buttons, or Adrian Wright [with his slides]. And so my parents took me to do organ lessons, because I felt like piano was perhaps too difficult, but also because organs had built-in beats and melody. Plus my dad was a huge fan of the sound of the Hammond organ.

So, with electronic music, I found it was so much easier to put on a little beat as there were always these pre-programmed rhythms and basslines. And I realised it was far easier to make a piece of music with this than scraping across a couple of strings on the violin, though I got up to Grade 5.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

That’s not bad. It’s a hard instrument.

IAN WADE:

But that was more by applying my keyboard skills to the violin. I managed for about a year, but the teacher would say, ‘You haven’t practised’. And I hadn’t. But with the organ, there were these The Complete Organ Player books and I managed to go through those a lot quicker than the stuff at school.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

What sort of repertoire are we talking here, with The Complete Organ Player? Was it a bit of everything?

IAN WADE:

It was. My dad always loved me playing ‘Amazing Grace’, and that was in Book 1, so it got slightly harder after that. ‘I Love You Because’ by Jim Reeves, ‘Hava Nagila’ which was a favourite because it just gets frantic. ‘El Condor Pasa’ as well. I did feel, though, none of this was particularly recent, given I wanted to be the Human League.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

On the upside, you could easily have won the £1000 jackpot on Name That Tune.

IAN WADE:

But when I was at high school… we’re similar ages, so did you have options, after the third year?

JUSTIN LEWIS:

O levels [now GCSEs]? Yeah, that’s right.

IAN WADE:

Four people wanted to do Music as a first choice, but apparently they needed another person, otherwise it was pointless them doing it. So, I think I was only the fifth person in the rest of the year to put Music as one of my five options, and as art was oversubscribed they asked me to consider changing.

But my music teacher was really switched on. A real cool cat, he wasn’t ‘hey kids’ and he wasn’t trying to be a mate, but he knew what to teach us. For the final exam, you had to make your own music, come up with a piece.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Wow, that’s extraordinary. We were never asked to compose anything, it was so weird.

IAN WADE:

I was trying to play guitar, but guitars hurt your hands, you know. Whereas at home, I’d been mucking around with tapes and things, and I had this tape-to-tape, which also had a voice recorder and stuff. I was into things like Art of Noise, Cabaret Voltaire… so I was making these little soundscapes, and taping my organ beats, like that Hammond/Jerry Dammers thing. I made all these tapes under the name Industry and brought one in to play to my music teacher, and he was like, ‘Whoa, yes! You can enter this!’ We’d have these one-to-one chats where he’d talk to me about Music Concrete, [Edgard] Varèse and [Karlheinz] Stockhausen… It’s like I’d unlocked something in him about his passions which were off the curriculum. And he could see that the people I liked, like Art of Noise, were equally inspired by those figures. He played Stimmung by Stockhausen in the class once, which made you giggle but you were also almost in awe that somebody’s managed to have this idea and do it. But I haven’t really sat down properly with actual keyboards for years.

—-

JUSTIN LEWIS:

1984 – The Year Pop Went Queer seems such an obvious subject for a book, it feels faintly incredible that no-one had really done it before. And the only thing I could put that down to might be that for a long time, music criticism wasn’t very keen on the 80s – and certainly not the mid-80s unless it was the indie scene. And yet, 1984 is the top selling singles year of the decade in Britain. Six singles sold at least a million copies, which had never happened before. So, had you been waiting or wanting to write a book like this for a while?

IAN WADE:

I always felt like 1984 was my year growing up after 1981. The book I wanted to do, first of all, was like a Gay Jukebox. To coincide with 50 years of Stonewall [in 2019], I wanted to do one of those 1001 Albums projects or the records of each year, covering people like Bowie, or Suede, or kd lang almost like the LGBTQ+ Record Collection. I listed all the years in a document, and then went through everyone who I might write about in those particular years. So,1970: Kinks, ‘Lola’, you know… And Jobriath and Bowie and Lou Reed, ‘Walk on the Wild Side’ and glam… But for 1984, that was the section that was growing and growing and growing. There wasn’t just Frankie Goes to Hollywood and obviously Bronski Beat… there was the rise of high-energy, Madonna, all these sorts of things. And so when I mentioned this to my publisher, he said, ‘Yeah, focus on that.’

You see, some people have said, ‘But there was already Annie Lennox and Boy George and Soft Cell [before ‘84]’ but I think 1984 was the most explicit year for gay acts. Boy George and Marc Almond were still perceived as ‘still haven’t met the right girl yet’.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

And it wouldn’t have occurred to me that George Michael, for instance, was in the closet.

IAN WADE:

I look at this book very much through two lenses: there was what they were saying at the time, and there was what we were seeing. So, you’d get Holly Johnson’s Personal File in Smash Hits [January 1984] where he’d talk about going to sex shops – whereas two years earlier, you had Marc Almond and ‘Sex Dwarf’ and all that and yet none of that was kind of hinted at anything other as ‘disgusting’ or whatever. And then you had Bronski Beat who were so revolutionary, by talking unapologetically about being gay, but there were no frills. There was no drag or eyeliner – they just looked like you, or your neighbours or your relations. And so those two acts – Frankie and Bronski Beat – just seemed like the big ones. Then there’s high-energy coming through, and Stock Aitken Waterman getting together at the start of 1984. During that year, they have their first big chart entry with Divine [‘You Think You’re a Man’], their first top five single with Hazell Dean [‘Whatever I Do (Wherever I Go)’] and by the end of the year, they’ve made ‘You Spin Me Round’ with Dead or Alive – previously this chart-allergic band – which is on its way to Number one in 1985, and so they’re preparing to revolutionise pop for the rest of the decade.

I wanted the book to be very much from a chart point of view. Everybody in it had to have actual chart hits that year, and that allowed me to bring in Sylvester, who came back with this really amazing album [M-1015], but everyone was just asking him about Boy George, you know. And he was a bit pissed off by that.

But then, people like Rob Halford and Judas Priest, and especially George Michael, through the benefit of hindsight, when you see what they were up to at that time. During research, I discovered that George had come out to Andrew and Shirlie on the set of Wham!’s ‘Club Tropicana’ video [summer 1983]. I realised that with Wham! in 1984, you can see in George a very, very driven person wanting to be as huge as possible in pop regard. So he’s parking his sexuality, because you look at ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go’… Even when you look at the videos, and you look at his eyes while he sings to you… he’s so driven. It’s like he’s got everything planned, even down to splitting up.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Some of it’s confidence, too, isn’t it. Andrew is arguably the real pop star at the beginning of Wham!, I think, he understood image really well, and pop in general. He wasn’t a songwriter but he was as lucid and thoughtful about the presentation as George was. You can see he’s been watching everything. But I guess the other thing about Wham! in ’84 is they had that terrible recording contract they’ve managed to extricate themselves from, and there’s that feeling of ‘Right, we’re going to do this properly now’.

IAN WADE:

Yeah – ‘We’ll show you.’

JUSTIN LEWIS:

I love the first album, Fantastic!, but it’s clear in retrospect that that’s everything they’re prepared to put out for the time being, they’re holding back a lot of the best stuff for later. To know that you’ve already got ‘Careless Whisper’, for instance.

IAN WADE:

That’s what I love about Fantastic! John Peel likes them, the NME likes them, but it isn’t really till ‘Club Tropicana’ when Smash Hits puts them on the cover, and they actually look like a pop pin-up force. So then it all goes to shit because of all the legal stuff, but what felt like forever then was only, what, six months.

But yeah, with George, I wanted to reflect on how a lot of gay people live and work and exist – do you have to park your true self, and your sexuality in order to become successful? It’s like that for a lot of people in general. Even though there were these bitchy barbs from Boy George towards George Michael when you read between the lines.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Oh, looking back, you can see it, can’t you?

IAN WADE:

Oh yeah, and I also wanted to include people like Madonna and Cyndi Lauper… both of who would do so much for gay causes and AIDS awareness, that’s why I used ‘queer’ as the angle of the book. ‘Queer’ was something that suggested something else rather than the sex.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Going back to Frankie Goes to Hollywood and Bronski Beat… it’s interesting to consider how Radio 1 reacted so differently to those two acts breaking through. Once they realised what ‘Relax’ was about, and banned it after playing it quite a lot for two months, and yet I remember being slightly surprised that they had no problem with Bronski Beat whatsoever, who also promoted ‘Why?’ on Saturday Superstore. Was it because the Frankie approach was hedonistic and the Bronski approach was… responsible?

IAN WADE:

That’s possibly it. Because a lot of the arguments, certainly part of Mike Read’s reasons, for banning ‘Relax’ were about the video. ‘Relax’ as a record is an exuberant disco romp, really. But when you see the video, when you see what’s going on with some of the extras… And also the cover art. ZTT were perhaps testing the waters and didn’t quite realise what they were doing, but yet they went with it. Whereas, with Bronski, when you watch the video for ‘Smalltown Boy’, which is like a Mike Leigh-type clip, there’s homophobia there and you can see the message going on – hanging round a swimming pool mooning over a hot guy in Speedos, you know. But I guess, as you say, because it wasn’t quite so explicit, and wasn’t about the sex… But both those videos are directed by the same guy.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Really?! Bernard Rose also directed ‘Smalltown Boy’?! And he did UB40’s ‘Red Red Wine’ before ‘Relax’. While we’re on the subject of ‘Relax’, I’ve never managed to track down a recording of Mike Read announcing on air that he wasn’t going to play it [c. 8am on Wednesday 11 January 1984].

IAN WADE:

It’s weird. I remember hearing it.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

There are no direct quotes in the papers of the time of what he said, just press statements afterwards. No-one seemed to record it, although I suppose why would you be recording medium-wave era Radio 1 at breakfast time?

IAN WADE:

So, is Chris Barrie’s Mike Read impression taking the piss out of the ban on the ‘Power of Love’ 12” version [released November 1984] the only citation?

JUSTIN LEWIS:

And even that isn’t strictly correct, because Barrie’s impression claims that ‘Relax’ is number thirty-five, whereas on the day of the ban, it was at number six.

—-

LAST: SAINT ETIENNE: International (Saint Etienne/PIAS, album, 2025)

Extract: ‘Glad’

[Note: Ian and I spoke on 26 August 2025, ten days before the official release of this record, on 5 September. You can read his review for The Quietus here.]

JUSTIN LEWIS:

As you’ve selected this, I’d like to talk about farewell records. Because if something is trailed as ‘this is our last record’, you can’t help but listen with different ears, as opposed to a band splitting six months or a year after an album release. So obviously, Wham! spring to mind [‘The Edge of Heaven’ single, 1986] and The Jam [‘Beat Surrender’ single, 1982] – but, given that you have heard an advance copy of this, and I haven’t yet, apart from two tracks, how did it feel listening to International, the final Saint Etienne album?

IAN WADE:

Strange and sad and yet happy. When Saint Etienne first came along, in 1990, their ideas and references suggested so much, they were setting out their stall on records like Foxbase Alpha [1991] and So Tough [1993] – ‘This is who we are.’ Now, 35 years on, they have their own club. They’ve explored all those areas really well. It’s not like they kept themselves in a rut – and this has got a nice circular element with its in-between track references from people like Katie Puckrik. There are lots of little motifs in various tracks which remind you of this or that [from their back catalogue]. So whether that was a conscious decision when they were making this, because I know they were making the previous album, The Night, at the same time. And The Night is a very different album to International. While they’ve always been a really good pop band, this one – while not ‘He’s On the Phone’ twelve times – is very much them in ‘classic pop’ mode.

I love what’s in Bob Stanley’s head, and Saint Etienne’s outlook. There’s that spirit of having grown up with them. Foxbase Alpha was all about being in the centre of London: ‘We don’t have much money, but we’re just going to have an adventure, we’re going to have a great time.’ And that’s how I felt when I first moved to London, I went and visited all these places that were mentioned in their songs, all the tube stations and so on.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Sometimes I wonder why weren’t they bigger than they actually were. I think you put your finger on it when you said they didn’t stay with one thing for too long. But also, most of their records have got a weird bit in them. Even ‘Glad’, the first single off this, has a dead stop after the first chorus, which you wouldn’t get on, say, a Sophie Ellis-Bextor single. Saint Etienne never lost that indie ethos of making things a bit odd.

IAN WADE:

There’s that thing in your own pop world where Saint Etienne are number one, whereas they’re sadly nowhere near in the real world. There was a recent interview where they said, ‘Oh it’s a shame we never had a top ten single.’

JUSTIN LEWIS:

‘He’s on the Phone’ (1995) and ‘Sylvie’ (1998) came close.

IAN WADE:

Yeah, it seems silly that Cola Boy [a Saint Etienne alias project] did manage it [‘7 Ways to Love’, summer 1991], but they never managed it as Saint Etienne.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Unless you count ‘Tell Me Why’, the Paul van Dyk collaboration (#7 in 2000).

IAN WADE:

But I think eventually there wasn’t anything for new fans to get hold of. They didn’t seem to attract new people. ‘He’s on the Phone’ was a major crossover in terms of being a banging top record, but…

JUSTIN LEWIS:

I wonder why they disappeared for two years after that, although they did that weird thing of putting out an album only in Japan [Continental, 1997, but out as a deluxe edition everywhere now], when if they’d put it out here as well, that could have taken off. Why didn’t they put out ‘Burnt Out Car’ as a single in early ’96? Surely a lost massive hit!

IAN WADE:

They were their own A&R team, they’ve always picked canny remixers for their remixes. But there’s also the indie ethos where they wouldn’t pull loads of singles off an album. I wish they’d been a lot bigger. It amazed me that I’ve Been Trying to Tell You (2021) was their first top twenty album in over twenty years [since 1998’s Good Humor].

JUSTIN LEWIS:

I must say, I love that side of them, I loved I’ve Been Trying to Tell You – and I loved Sound of Water, which I know divided the fanbase somewhat.

IAN WADE:

All the people I know and love a lot: friends and lovers and whatnot, we’ve been there together through Saint Etienne, but yet I’ve rarely known of anyone coming into that circle. Saint Etienne’s way is curating and keeping that audience going. It’s not like Oasis, where suddenly a whole new generation of kids gets into them, or even Blur when I saw them live a couple of years ago – I was surprised how many youngsters were there.

I sound ancient, but I think that’s been the downside with Saint Etienne. They could have crossed over, could have pulled in more people, but after ‘He’s On the Phone’, they deliberately kept away from the whole Britpop thing, even though they were initially mentioned when the term was first coined in that Select feature [spring 1993]. When Britpop encompassed the Auteurs, and Denim and Pulp. Also, they never really slogged themselves around the live circuit – even the past 10 or 15 years – they’ve not done massive tours. And there have been quite big gaps between albums.

But to me, they are superstars, for everything they represent, and the people I know through them. You know, even I, I guess my partner is kind of somebody I’ve got into Saint Etienne and that was kind of make-or-break. But there hasn’t been anything for a while that’s brought people in.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

I remember a few years back, when Graham Norton still did Saturdays on Radio 2, one morning he played ‘Only Love Can Break Your Heart’, their very first and probably still their most played record from 1990. And it sounded exciting to hear it there, but it sounded lo-fi, it sounded weird, it sounded indie. It really didn’t sound like it belonged there.

IAN WADE:

And that’s the thing. They don’t really fully sit anywhere, but that’s pop. The catalogue is all very shifty, good in a way, and bad in a way. It’s a shame, really. But they’ve said, ‘Look, we’re not splitting as such, we just decided [to stop]…’

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Because they are still friends.

IAN WADE:

Yeah, and maybe more people should know when to stop. We’ve all been fans of bands where eventually we’ve collected the albums on autopilot. Yet you don’t get that with Saint Etienne. Nothing sounded automatic. And with Saint Etienne, they’ve all got kids, they’re all about sixty, well Bob is. Virtually everyone I know has been facing various challenges to do with age recently with illnesses and bereavements and all that, and Saint Etienne have reminded a lot of those people of that kind of post-ecstasy carefree time…

JUSTIN LEWIS:

What really scares me is that the song ‘Teenage Winter’, a song about growing older, is itself now 20 years old.

IAN WADE:

Exactly! And ‘He’s On the Phone’ is 30 this year.

—-

ANYTHING (1): CHICKS ON SPEED: Will Save Us All (Unicat Records, album, 2000)

Extract: ‘Euro Trash Girl’

JUSTIN LEWIS:

I didn’t know this at all, I must confess. I’d heard of them, but I’d not heard them, I don’t think. It’s brilliant.

IAN WADE:

This dates back to a period in the late 90s when I first heard like a split single with them and DJ Hell covering [The Normal’s] ‘Warm Leatherette’. I liked them as they felt a bit like The Slits where it was art and ideas over ability, and I just absolutely loved it. It’s pre-electroclash… almost just pre-Internet, really. I didn’t even have an email address until around then. Around 2000 I was working at Music 365 and Angus the reviews editor would say, ‘Look on the review shelf and see if there’s anything you fancy covering’. I saw Chicks on Speed Will Save Us All, and convinced Angus to let me write about it as he had no idea of what it was and was won over by me being a bit deranged about it. I reviewed it under the name ‘Dixon Crack’ [Laughter]. That was around the time I reviewed Glastonbury while on E, so… ah, halcyon days.

It’s just so amazing though. ‘Euro Trash Girl’, the cover of The B-52’s’ ‘Give Me Back My Man’. At the same sort of time, Peaches were coming through, and then eventually Fischerspooner became seen as the big electroclash act with ‘Emerge’ a few months later. But it definitely felt as if there was something happening, you know? This kind of European art-pop thing.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

I don’t know if this is just because it was from abroad, but it made me think of Pizzicato 5 from Japan. I’m not sure how I missed this at the time though.

IAN WADE:

I think that there’s a line from this sort of thing, via mash-up culture, then to the sort of Xenomania stuff being made for people like Rachel Stevens and Sugababes and it leads to something like Charli XCX’s Brat album – that kind of ‘up yours, I don’t care what you think’ vibe. I guess, although Chicks on Speed might be horrified by all that.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Did you know that ‘Mind Your Own Business’ was a cover back then [Delta 5, post-punk classic from 1980]? I don’t think I’d have known.

IAN WADE:

No, it sounded familiar but I had no idea that ‘Euro Trash Girl’ was a cover of the record by Cracker, who’d been Camper Van Beethoven. I didn’t realise that half these songs were covers, but when you hear the originals, you can see what the attraction was.

There’s a boxset of electroclash coming out in October [When the 2000s Clashed], compiled by Jonny Slut, who ran the Nag Nag Nag club. It’s got all this kind of stuff on it but also people like Kylie, LCD Soundsystem and Soulwax. And the fifth and final disc has the origins, so like Cabaret Voltaire and Human League and so on. Electroclash felt like a very American-European thing, and the nearest British act to the scene felt like Ladytron. And then maybe Goldfrapp a bit later, that kind of sexy electronic sound. But I’m really glad electroclash is having this revival. Felix da Housecat, and Chicks on Speed have both recently come back with new stuff. But we’re also getting a throwback to it with current people like Decius – sexy, randy dance music with minimal electronics, which seems and feels very 1981, 1988 and 2001.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

We’ve used the term ‘perfect pop’ but I often think of this kind of thing as ‘imperfect pop’, this element of the music that threatens to sabotage it. It might be a strange sound, or humour, or the singer might not be technically brilliant. Do you know what I mean?

IAN WADE:

Yeah! It’s like The Hacker and Miss Kittin track, ‘Frank Sinatra’, it just makes me laugh, the bleak humour of it. Kittin goes ‘You know Frank Sinatra? He’s dead’, and she sort of laughs this really cold laugh, this dominatrix lick-my-legs-in-an-airport-lounge vibe. Or maybe it’s nervous laughter, maybe it’s not meant to be as cold as that, but yet it is so perfect for that.

—-

ANYTHING (2): AMANDA LEAR: Sweet Revenge (Ariola Records, album, 1978)

Extract: ‘Follow Me’ (Single Version)

JUSTIN LEWIS:

How to define Amanda Lear – forming the connection between Salvador Dali and Bryan Ferry. How has there not yet been a full-length biography of Amanda Lear?

IAN WADE:

It is an amazing story.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

And we still don’t entirely know which bits are true, and which bits aren’t.

IAN WADE:

Not officially, no. For years, I’ve been fascinated by the kind of artists who are huge in certain territories. A few years ago, during lockdown, Steve Wright – God bless him, but at the time, I was furious – played ‘Do It Do It Again’ by Raffaella Carrà, and he was taking the piss, as if it was this comedy naff piece of shit. And while that record is not ‘full’ Raffaella, when you watch things like the performances of ‘Rumore’ where she’s just really going for it, it’s just incredible. There’s a documentary which was on Disney [Raffa, 2023], and you realise she was bigger than Madonna and Elvis combined. Massive. But over here, there’s just this one song. And then there’s people like Dalida, in France, who has statues and areas of Paris named after them. I follow this account on Instagram called Disco Bambino, which puts clips of late 70s/early 80s performances from Italian entertainment shows. And Amanda Lear is always on those and she always looks absolutely amazing, fantastic. She would really benefit from a book, yes, but also the type of compilation Grace Jones got with Island Life [in 1985], because people knew all the Nightclubbing songs…

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Yes – I didn’t know her early disco stuff at all.

IAN WADE:

No. But that really contextualised her work in how she got to ‘Slave to the Rhythm’. But Amanda only had her first chart hit in the UK a couple of years ago because ‘Follow Me’ (which peaked at #68 in November 2023) was on the Coco Chanel Mademoiselle advert. And then there’s ‘Enigma (Give a Bit of Mmh to Me)’, which is on a dog food advert. And both of them are on this album, Sweet Revenge. Early last year, I didn’t have any of her records other than on download, and when me and my other half went to Stockholm, we were in one record shop, and the guy had a Discogs account, and I left with five singles and an album – and this was in Sweden! And then a few weeks ago, when my boyfriend was out of town, and I could spend more than five minutes in a record shop, I was in Crystal Palace, digging through the crates, and I found another Amanda Lear album. So suddenly I had gone from zero to about a dozen Amanda records. I mean, they’re an acquired taste, you know. Her cover of ‘Back to Black’ is… quite something.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

I really enjoyed listening to Sweet Revenge for this.

IAN WADE:

I do love that Eurodisco pop from the late 70s, there’s that kind of space fantasy about it.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Yes, yes, it is like everyone’s in space. There’s Space’s ‘Magic Fly’…

IAN WADE:

Nightflight to Venus by Boney M…

JUSTIN LEWIS:

‘Automatic Lover’ by Dee D. Jackson.

IAN WADE:

It’s a kind of cosmic disco. Every time I do a Eurodisco compilation, I find there’s another hundred things to discover on the playlist.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

For a long time, we tended to look down on European pop in this country. We were even pretty grudging about ABBA, or at least the music gatekeepers were. But I wanted to mention this Seaside Special special from August 1979, recorded in Belgium – you might have seen clips from this on that Instagram account, actually. It went out on BBC1, and ITV was on strike at the time, so there was almost nothing else to watch on TV at all, so this must have got huge ratings. But it was a cast of European pop stars in one venue. So you’ve got the Gibson Brothers, Dalida who you mentioned earlier, Plastic Bertrand, Eruption… and Amanda Lear. And the whole kaboodle was linked by, of all people, Rod Hull and Emu.

IAN WADE:

Oh my god, I’ve got to see this.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Michael Hurll, the entertainment producer at the BBC, was often trying out these pan-European specials.

—-

ANYTHING (3): KING TUBBY & AUGUSTUS PABLO: King Tubby Meets Rockers Uptown (Yard Music International, album, 1976)

Extract: ‘Keep on Dubbing’

IAN WADE:

Lately, I’ve been finding myself listening to lots of minimal music because I want to have something to drown out my own thoughts. After my sister Cathryn dying suddenly in February, and then my mum died in April, it’s been no end of family history and obsessions and collections to go through clearing out the house. Mum was ninety-five and had been there 68 years and so it was just heartbreaking as first I cleared all the stuff of mine I had there – about 90 per cent of my record collection and all sorts – then her everyday stuff, and then we’re going through cupboards, where you’ve got family stuff – cards, letters, photos, no end of things that mum kept hold of. So I’ve been almost assaulted by all this ephemera and memories that I grew up with… all these associations, like a crash course. And a family record collection that had all our names on whose record belonged to who, so it’s been an onslaught of memories.

I found myself wanting to listen to something detached from it, something which didn’t throw up any of those memories. I don’t want to sound too Bobby Gillespie about this record, but in a way, for all his faults, sometimes he’s on to something with what he recommends, and this really is amazing.  

Also, as if this year hasn’t been difficult enough, I had an operation on my ear, and had a grommet put in. For years and years, I thought my hearing had been affected by seeing My Bloody Valentine at UEA in Norwich on the Loveless tour. I was at the front even when my mates fled to the back. I assumed it was that, and I thought, ‘Well it’s a small price to pay, at least I lost my hearing to something worthwhile eh’.

But over the years, I’d be in bed listening to the radio, and when lying on one side, the sound was getting increasingly mumbly. And with sinuses and colds in recent years, it was becoming really painful. It turned out that my ear canal is very strange and there’s a couple of tiny bones that are fused together, which has actually stopped me being able to use my ear properly. I could hear around the ear, but not directly through it.

But since the grommet’s been put in, I can hear things again! I feel like I have to apologise for all the albums and artists I’ve slagged off over the years because my ears have been impaired. I was also tested for my ears when I was five or six because my parents thought I couldn’t hear properly even then, but I’d never really thought about it. I just played everything really loud.

So anyway, I’ve been re-listening to music because of going through all that, and dub – because of all the space in the music – was something I wanted to try and get lost in again. This particular King Tubby album has got lots of space, echo, dimension, and it also just took my mind off everything else going on.

I’ve always been a toe-dipper with dub. If you remember those Blood and Fire compilations which Mick Hucknall bankrolled, the King Tubby things – I had those and loved them. And there’s lots of Lee Scratch Perry and Adrian Sherwood stuff I like. It’s also the perfect music, I find, when you’re on a plane. I don’t know why, but hearing Prince Jammy as the plane was just taking off sounded perfect.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Listening to what you’ve just been saying, looking at my prep notes, do you know the first thing I’ve written for this bit? ‘Is this the music I find most comforting when I’m grieving?’

IAN WADE:

Oh my God.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

In my case, the record I listened to a lot after my father died, which was late 1994, was the Mad Professor version of Massive Attack’s Protection album. The Massive Attack singles at the time always had some dub versions on them, slightly unsettling some of them, but I loved that album. I loved the original Protection album as well, but I loved the way this emphasised different things in the music. I loved how dub takes things away, or amplifies something else. And what I find charming about this King Tubby album is how tracks just stop, it’s like a tape has run out, you don’t get these elegant fade-outs.

IAN WADE:

It’s like they’ve been uncovered and done on the hoof. There doesn’t seem to be any ego in it. There isn’t a main singer, or a key vocal, and I’ve always liked minimal dance and acid house in the same vein for the lack of ego. I mean, it drives my other half mad if I’m listening to something for about twelve minutes and nothing is happening. He looked like he wanted to open a vein when we were out the back in Space Hall in Berlin where they keep all the dance stuff.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

But the other thing I wanted to mention with dub is that when I started buying 12” singles in the 80s, they’d often have a ‘dub version’ on the other side, or in the case of Scritti Politti singles, they’d call it ‘version’, and I didn’t at that point know what all this was referencing. I didn’t know the tradition, I barely owned any reggae at that point. In fact, Scritti’s ‘The Word Girl’ – the flip side which was called ‘Flesh and Blood’ with Ranking Ann – was where the penny dropped and I went, Oh okay, that’s what this means.

IAN WADE:

I didn’t really think of it as dub at the time, but we had things in the house like the Dave and Ansel Collins singles, ‘Double Barrel’ and ‘Monkey Spanner’, which had ‘Part 2’ on the other side, which was either a continuation or a version minus the words.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

And obviously something like Love and Dancing by the League Unlimited Orchestra, effectively a dub version of Dare by the Human League. Which I don’t think I knew about for quite a long time after it came out (1982).

IAN WADE:

Dare is my favourite album of all-time, and I’m so in awe of Love and Dancing – the fact that it was all manually done.

JUSTIN LEWIS:

Martin Rushent trapped in a room for weeks sticking bits of tape together.

IAN WADE:

The way he became so obsessed with that record. They’ve just reissued the first two Pete Shelley albums – Homosapien and XL-1 – and Martin Rushent produced the first one. I knew the ‘Homosapien’ single, but I’d never really known the albums. They sound so fresh for things that are nearly 45 years old. Probably my favourite reissues this year.

—-

IAN WADE:

My ethos, my worldview… I’ve always wanted to be a DJ, I guess, in a club or on the radio. In writing about music or making playlists, and I’ve always been making tapes and stuff like that throughout my life, saying to people, ‘Listen to this.’ I like being enthusiastic about things. This morning, my other half was telling me about when we first met, and the CDs I made for him, where I was basically saying, you know, ‘Here are twenty songs that say a bit more than me talking for an hour and boring you.’ And that’s been the icebreaker for how I’ve made half my friends. I was always a bit awkward and shy, but music helped me with all that.

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Ian Wade’s 1984: The Year Pop Went Queer is published in paperback by Nine Eight Books/Bonnier Books. It will be published in the US in October 2025. You can order it from loads of places, but let’s say Bookshop.org.

You can follow Ian on Bluesky at @wadeywade.bsky.social and on Instagram at @ianedwardwadeywade.

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FLA 30 Playlist

Ian Wade

(For the time being, this site and project uses Spotify for the conversation playlists, but obviously I disapprove that Spotify doesn’t pay artists and composers properly, and other streaming platforms are available, as are sites to buy downloads and buy recordings. For consistency, you can also listen to the selections via YouTube (where available), and links are provided in each case, below.)

Thanks to Tune My Music, you can also transfer this playlist to the platform or site of your choice by using this link: https://www.tunemymusic.com/share/CLVcuTUYfY

Track 1:

CHICORY TIP: ‘Son of My Father’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x8mf4i_10mE&list=RDx8mf4i_10mE&start_radio=1

Track 2:

T REX: ‘Get It On’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GuIOfvAFQqs&list=RDGuIOfvAFQqs&start_radio=1

Track 3:

CHICAGO: ‘If You Leave Me Now’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-9_d-sFhmRM&list=RD-9_d-sFhmRM&start_radio=1

Track 4:

THE HUMAN LEAGUE: ‘Love Action (I Believe in Love)’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wRo27TwTaWg&list=RDwRo27TwTaWg&start_radio=1

Track 5:

KARLHEINZ STOCKHAUSEN: ‘Stimmung: Model 44: diffffdaffffdiffffff’

Singcircle, Gregory Rose: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y3EU35xWLrw&list=RDy3EU35xWLrw&start_radio=1

Track 6:

FRANKIE GOES TO HOLLYWOOD: ‘Relax (Come Fighting)’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AKBbMlp0nEA&list=RDAKBbMlp0nEA&start_radio=1

Track 7:

BRONSKI BEAT: ‘Smalltown Boy’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E5i2Wa7daDA&list=RDE5i2Wa7daDA&start_radio=1

Track 8:

SAINT ETIENNE: ‘Glad’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5fWxY9IHkw&list=RDh5fWxY9IHkw&start_radio=1

Track 9:

SAINT ETIENNE: ‘Avenue’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AAjgW-q-IeQ&list=RDAAjgW-q-IeQ&start_radio=1

Track 10:

CHICKS ON SPEED: ‘Euro Trash Girl’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JBXoZQmZoQw&list=RDJBXoZQmZoQw&start_radio=1

Track 11:

PEACHES: ‘Lovertits’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wZz5nBc2_Bw&list=RDwZz5nBc2_Bw&start_radio=1

Track 12:

MISS KITTIN & THE HACKER: ‘Frank Sinatra’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXN2UrmdRHY

Track 13:

AMANDA LEAR: ‘Follow Me’ (Single Version): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F9ajaniHukc&list=RDF9ajaniHukc&start_radio=1

Track 14:

RAFFAELLA CARRA: ‘Rumore’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nD8Gb8VkhME&list=RDnD8Gb8VkhME&start_radio=1

Track 15:

KING TUBBY & AUGUSTUS PABLO: ‘Keep on Dubbing’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=spD6nZehlzI&list=RDspD6nZehlzI&start_radio=1

Track 16:

PRINCE JAMMY: Jammy’s a Shine’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7zknELG5yQE&list=RD7zknELG5yQE&start_radio=1

IN PIECES

IMG_1657As we get older, we cannot help but look back more and more. It’s inevitable – life is mostly about memory, and it’s often not even for nostalgic reasons. We’re faced with endless revivals and reissues and reboots, and Facebook reminding you it’s exactly eight years since you wore that hat, but it’s also that, in the digital age, the present is full of the past. There has never been so much ‘past’ hanging around before, and even if you are determined to keep up with new albums, TV shows, books and films, elements of them will still ping inside your head: motifs, emblems, patterns, that unavoidably hark back to past experiences.

Two recent events I attended found their respective creators also wrestling with memory and how it floods their present day lives. David Baddiel’s My Family: Not the Sitcom, a jet-black but celebratory show about the eccentricities of his family background, has just completed its third theatrical run in London. I saw it two nights before it closed. Baddiel’s mother died just before Christmas 2014, when his father was already in the advanced stages of a dementia illness called Pick’s Disease, and the show finds Baddiel grappling with the dilemma of how to remember and portray those who are no longer ‘with us’, either literally or figuratively. It’s a complex show (but very funny), and it uses a variety of illustrative sources: photographs, documents, footage and correspondence.

I first encountered David Baddiel’s comedy on The Mary Whitehouse Experience in the early 1990s; his stand-up was a combination of pop culture and sport (much of it exhuming the forgotten flotsam of his 1970s boyhood) and a frank, often unflinching gaze into ‘difficult’ areas: death, sex, illness, and even occasional glimpses into his own family life when growing up in North London. I sometimes wondered how his parents might have reacted to this particularly confessional type of comedy, but as he outlines in the new show, they seemed fine with it – after all, they came to lots of recordings, especially his mum. But I also found myself thinking about how pop culture is not mere nostalgia in our formative years – it’s a kind of furniture around us, a way of connecting us to the wider outside world.

The night after I saw David’s show, I saw the pop trio Saint Etienne perform live at the Royal Festival Hall, the same day that they released a new album, Home Counties. As ever, they continue to blend the contemporary (glossy, tuneful, often danceable) with elements that yearningly evoke the past. In their case, they use folk elements, mood music, what used to be called ‘easy listening’, and a smattering of references to TV, film and trivia. The effect can be both delightful and haunting.

Like Baddiel, Saint Etienne also use evocative visual accompaniments in their live act: archive film, animation, montages and graphics. During one song, ‘I’ve Got Your Music’, complete with period footage of Sony Walkmans, I kept giggling – sometimes a little nervously – at the recurrent use of Cliff Richard on rollerskates from the ‘Wired for Sound’ video. You can’t get rid of memories, not even – in fact, least of all – trivial ones. Least of all trivial ones. They keep nudging and distracting you.

On Home Counties, there are some short interlude tracks which allude directly to broadcasting that celebrates the past: The Reunion (a Radio 4 discussion about a past event) and ‘Popmaster’ (Ken Bruce’s enduring phone-in quiz on Radio 2). But on some earlier records in the 1990s, they used lo-fi samples from television and film: Peeping Tom, Billy Liar, Brighton Rock, House of Games, a Chanel No. 5 TV advert from 1970, a record about understanding decimalisation, and a pioneering fly-on-the-wall documentary called The Family, about an ordinary suburban family in Reading.

The effect of these extracts was disorientating. It evoked the feeling of how, as young children, our encounters with popular culture – the world at one remove – are often accidental and out of our control. At some point, I suppose when school enters the picture, when we have to start remembering things, we progress beyond a few snapshots and start to find ourselves living a more or less linear experience. From there on, it’s not that we remember everything; it’s just that we start to piece things together, and try and make sense of our surroundings.

For me, this point would lie in the summer of 1974, the long break between nursery school and actual school. I had just turned four years old, an age when you’re still mastering the basics of early life and so you’re forever in the present. You have no idea what is going to register so strongly in your subconscious that you will never forget it. Quite often, it’s not the big events, but the trivia. Forty-three years later, I can isolate actual moments in my memory. And they’re nearly all related to television, or at least contexualised by television. Yet they’re not the big events. No memory of the World Cup in Germany, or a US president forced to step down in disgrace, or either of the two General Elections. I’d like to be able to claim that I recall Victoria Wood winning the talent show New Faces, or Abba winning the Eurovision Song Contest – but I don’t. And I didn’t see The Family either, at least not till the repeats in the late 1980s.

So I was fascinated by television – indeed, I cannot remember a time when I wasn’t watching television, just as I cannot remember a time when there wasn’t music in the house, or a time when I wasn’t reading books. And so, my early memories – even if they don’t feature TV or pop or books – are determined by those contexts. For some reason, I have an unusually vivid memory for date recall – not faultless, but I can usually work out to the day when something happened. And because the Internet now exists and there are sites like the remarkable BBC Genome project, which has every BBC TV and radio schedule between 1923 and 2009, it is actually possible to cross-check these kinds of early memories to the exact day. (If I were a child now, in the on-demand world, this would be practically impossible to monitor.)

It was relatively easy to be obsessed by television in the first half of the 1970s as there wasn’t that much of it. There was no CBeebies or Nickelodeon. There were three channels, there was at most about 12 hours of children’s television a week, mostly in the late afternoon, and there were lots of intermissions and interludes, a lot of waiting. You even had to wait a few minutes for the television to warm up when you switched it on.

I felt like I wanted to own television, the way I owned books. And, in the days before video, not everything had a spin-off book or LP record. So how did I do that? Well, the answer is obvious: I tried to reproduce logos, graphics from TV shows and station idents. (I did play with Lego as well, honest.)

My favourite programmes were mostly visually driven: cartoons, Sesame Street on Saturday mornings, and a lunchtime show on ITV called Pipkins, which was like a comic serial for the under-fives featuring actors and puppets, and which on 5 August that year dealt with the death of the programme’s lead actor George Woodbridge by confronting the death of his character head-on. Quite groundbreaking. Did I watch that one? Frustratingly, I’m not sure – that memory is not there.

But my very favourite programme was called Vision On, ostensibly for hearing-impaired children but which appealed to them – and consequently a wider audience – by disregarding verbal content and concentrating on visuals: short films, animation, mime, surreal and comic sketches, and art demonstrations by the brilliant Tony Hart. Any speech that did remain was accompanied by sign language from his co-host Pat Keysell.

At the heart of Vision On was, I guess, was an early exercise in interactivity. ‘The Gallery’ was an invitation for young viewers to send in original artwork to the BBC and be rewarded with five vital seconds or so onscreen. The accompanying music is now an obligatory soundtrack to anything to do with painting: to those of us of a certain age and above: ping, Vision On.

I wasn’t particularly good at drawing, but I was already somehow skilled at lettering – and I was fascinated by the Vision On logo. Tony Hart, who created it, named it ‘Grog’, a symmetrical cross between a grasshopper and a frog. I could have just painted Vision On on some paper or card, and then folded it over to get a mirror image, but that would have been much too straightforward. Instead, I actually tried to copy the Grog from memory, without the image in front of me. I now realise that trying to copy something exactly can be harder than creating something. I was so committed to getting it right that I momentarily considered sending my best result off to the programme, before reasoning that they probably wouldn’t have needed it. Vision On already have their own Grog, Justin. It’s a big one, on their wall, behind them, every week.

Sometimes I found television funny; sometimes it made me feel funny (Samantha off Bewitched, that woman off Hickory House, and a classical violinist I kept seeing on BBC2 – probably  the young South Korean virtuoso, Kyung Wha-Chung). At other times, in the blink of an eye, it could turn into something utterly anxiety-inducing. There were public information films straight after children’s programming which alerted you to a world of road accidents, rabies, drowning in lakes full of shopping trollies, glass on the beach. There were other alarming things in the world: people also seemed to find The Osmonds dangerous and kept screaming at them on TV. (You remember that public information film: BEWARE OF OSMONDS.) I didn’t like the look of the ATV logo at all, and it was hard to draw. The dubbed monkey shrieks on Daktari – horrid.

Furthermore, there was some frightening regional thing after Sesame Street on Saturdays called Orbit, in which a doubtless well-intentioned announcer called Alan Taylor pretended to be in space (rather than a weather forecast studio in Bristol) with only a buzzing gonk called Chester for company. Alan Taylor, for reasons I have never quite processed, absolutely put the fear of God into me. The three minutes of Orbit that survive here – and I defy you not to sing along with the opening theme – provides no clue about what they might have filled the rest of the half hour with. Cartoons from Spain? Showjumping highlights? It’s going to be birthday greetings, isn’t it?

This was all disorientating and scary and yet I couldn’t back out. I had joined a story I didn’t yet begin to understand, but was determined to make sense of. Is that Bernard Cribbins singing the Wombles theme? Why do we keep being told ‘watch out watch out watch out watch out there’s a Humphrey about’? Why is television closing down now with some music – is it tired? Why is Alan Taylor doing this programme as well? Does he ever go home, and please can he do that? And oh god, why ‘The Laughing Policeman’, at all, ever?

And then, somewhere in the background which perhaps should be in the foreground of these memories, there was real life. And I strangely don’t remember much of that. I’m sure I went to the beach a lot with my family, and shopping, and played games with my brother and so on. My twin cousins were born that summer – they lived nearby but I don’t remember the event itself. Maybe I was too busy watching Wait Till Your Father Gets Home to notice.

But all my early hazy memories have television in there somewhere. The first definite early memory I have is of my nursery school teacher, who owned two Labradors, telling us it was time to watch Play School. So that can’t be later than about June or July 1974.  I can remember being on the back seat of a relative’s car snoozing while they went into a shop, and for some reason I can remember it was a Wednesday, and for some even stranger reason I remember that I’d just watched an episode of the stop-frame animation series Barnaby. (Summer 1974, but no later.)

In late August 1974, one week before I started school, we visited Birmingham, partly to stay with friends of my parents, but also probably because my paternal grandfather lived nearby, in Sutton Coldfield. I remember arriving in Birmingham on the Sunday afternoon: 25 August 1974. You must remember!: The Golden Shot was about to start. Three days later, on Wednesday 28 August, after Teddy Edward and Derek Griffiths’s Ring-A-Ding and that’s how I can be sure, we visited my grandfather. Or at least we visited his house. I do not remember my grandfather – I just remember a rather messy house. I sat in some kind of living room area – the decor was brown as most things in the seventies were. My brother may have also been there. My mum definitely wasn’t. I don’t remember much else – perhaps it was because the television wasn’t switched on.

This is all a bit embarrassing. Maybe I had tunnel vision, and didn’t like people very much. Or maybe it’s just that it’s harder to put a timeframe around real life. Unless you were diligent enough to put a date on the back of a photograph back then, you’d have to guess, and that’s not always easy. But in fairness, television is a powerful medium: colourful, urgent even in those more languid days, and yes addictive. But it taught me a lot, and one thing it did was start to explain things to me. Like music, it has frozen memories in time, a counterpoint to everything else that was going on.

I started school on Monday 2 September 1974, but I still went home at lunchtime to watch Pipkins. My grandfather died on Saturday 19 October 1974. But I have no memory of that.

Saint Etienne’s Home Counties is out on Heavenly Records.

David Baddiel’s My Family: Not the Sitcom has completed its London run, but tours the UK in 2018 and 2019.