Mobilised in part by Geldof’s outspoken outbursts, his frenzied on-stage performances, and the persuasive fact that the band had not only signed but were now having more than a modicum of success, Belfast, Dublin, Derry and elsewhere morphed into rocking boomtowns of their own, giving birth to bands who would keep the home fires burning while Bob and co were busy terrorising neighbourhoods around the globe.

The list of bands of real calibre who emerged in the slipstream of the Rats includes The Radiators From Space, The Vipers, Ruefrex, The Atrix, The Undertones, The Blades, Stiff Little Fingers, Rudi, Protex, Revolver, The Moondogs, DC Nien, The Bogey Boys and a little band called The Hype (who still seem to be around).
The Rats global assault proper started with their self-named Boomtown Rats album in 1977. While the punk ethic in theory eschewed any idea of stardom, Bob Geldof had put stardom, and its perks, top of his agenda. He used the media effectively to generate controversy, but was ever a band’s manifesto more crisply enshrined in one song than in the debut single, ‘Looking After Number 1’?
Thee was a strong amphetamine-driven R’n’B influence in the air in the UK at the time, and to an extent the Rats were under its sway. Wearing their influences on their sleeve, ‘Never Bite The Hand That Feeds’ was reminiscent of the roughhouse Dr Feelgood feel that had been a part of their sound since gig one. ‘Joey’s On The Street Again’ owes a debt to Bruce Springsteen, while ‘I Can Make It’ had echoes of Mott The Hoople.
Here, however, music of the recent past was being recycled to create an exciting new brand, in the process sounding a wake-up call that resonated with disenchanted Irish rock fans.
So by the time the second long-playing opus appeared, the band had joined, and were often outshining, the leading lights of the new wave scene. A Tonic For The Troops was a revelation nonetheless, bringing a new melodic sophistication to the Rats’ basic pop punk blueprint.
Single-mindedly opting for a more traditional rock ethic than their new-wave opposition, Geldof was now an undeniable star with his own firmament. A growing confidence brought polish to ‘Living In An Island’, ‘Me And Howard Hughes’ and the Sparks-like ‘Like Clockwork’, a Top 10 hit.
‘Rat Trap’, with its graphic portrayal of the downside of Dublin, was another Springsteen-influenced anthem and triumphantly knocked John Travolta and Olivia Newton John from the number one singles spot – the image of Geldof ripping up a picture of the winsome duo live on Top Of The Pops is one that will linger for anyone, especially from Ireland, who saw it. Meanwhile, ‘She’s So Modern’, another top tenner, was a kind of reprise of ‘Mary of the Fifth Form’. All told, the album spent nearly a year in the UK charts.
The push into the US market was proving more difficult to manage at the tempo the Rats wanted. It was against that backdrop that hey released The Fine Art of Surfacing in 1979 and it had a lot to live up to, but scored on technical expertise and cocky confidence.
In terms of song quality here was a band neither waving nor drowning. ‘I Don’t Like Mondays’, possibly their finest moment, is an audacious, epic hit single that still resonates when it is played on radio, all the world over. It followed ‘Rat Trap’, to become their second successive UK No.1.
‘Someone’s Looking At You’ is endearingly rambunctious, and ‘When The Night Comes’ features a Latino-tinged guitar and classic Geldof lyric. ‘How Do You Do’, a former b-side included here, reminds you of what had gone before.
By now punk, if not actually dead, had begun to go septic and was beginning to create a nasty smell. Geldof sensed that changes were needed to avoid lapsing into the kind of self-mockery that was endemic when a movement got stuck in a moment that it couldn’t get out of.
Those changes meant that album number four, Mongo Bongo, released in 1981, wasn’t as immediately accessible as its predecessors – but it grew over time. The Caribbean-tinged ‘Banana Republic’ was an angry yet infectious stab at their homeland, while ‘Up All Night’, ‘The Elephant’s Graveyard’ and ‘Don’t Talk to Me’ recalled the band’s earlier influences but with a fresh clarity of purpose. Geldof’s political concerns shone through in ‘Another Piece Of Red’.
For some, the album was dismissed as a (hopefully brief) detour from the band’s priorities, but its collage of reggae, metal, synths, acoustic and African rhythms made it arguably the most challenging and rewarding of all their albums.
That didn’t stop Gerry Cott, who had become disillusioned with the life of a pop star and all it entailed, asking for his P45, ahead of the next album V Deep in 1982. The now quintet’s offering was misjudged by many as the work of a band treading water for the first time. With the benefit of hindsight, what you hear is a band taking risks, on a record that featured some truly triumphant works, notably ‘Talking In Code’. Geldof’s voice was more restrained and more mature, but that didn’t stop the speculation that the game might be nearly up, and the band soon entered a slough of despond before and during the recording of what was to the last gasp, In The Long Grass in 1984.
Yet this was a band willing to go down fighting and, if necessary, in flames. From the safety of 20 years on, it’s remarkable that although running out of money and steam they could produce such a defiant album and tracks of the brilliance of ‘Dave’, ‘Drag Me Down’ and ‘A Hold On Me’.
The musicianship is crisp and snappy, and the songs reflect the acerbic side of Geldof. Some bands don’t know when their time is up. The Boomtown Rats did, and In The Long Grass was a terrific parting shot with which to bring the curtain finally down on what had been, in many ways, a brilliant adventure.