- Music
- 22 May 01
John McKenna's 1983
This was a year for individuals. Movements of one sort and another buckled under that great independents: Waits, Crenshaw, Was, (Not Was), Creole, Chevron, Smiths, Dave and Annie, The Blades, Boy O’Dowd and others who dealt from the bottom of the deck and the tip of their tongues. Of course a liberal socialist such as I finds this satisfactory, indeed, though I would have welcomed a little more hot jazz. Therein, Wynton Marsalis gets my nomination: ‘Think Of One’ is cool, graceful, eager, and more mature than 82’s first outing. Sadly Miles Davis became more irrelevant. Yet I anticipate interesting things in the new year.
A greater loss was the unfortunate death of fine reggae music. I can’t get into the African swing of things, so JA sounds have been missed in this abode and Bunny Wailer worn out. The death of Michael Smith was so sad, so pathetic.
So I tuned to pop music and those who are expert at it. Lionel Richie for ‘All Night Long’, Michael Jackson for ‘Billie Jean’, Kid Creole still impossibly wonderful, The Eurythmics so warm and open, The Polices’ ‘Every Breath’, and The Blades ‘Downmarket’. My man was Crenshaw, Marshall, for Sheriff of this burg, and to those dying for good pop tunes, do secure ‘Field Day’ and die a little bit more.
‘Swordfishtrombone’ allowed Tom Waits to be reborn (grateful, thank you).
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In cinema, ‘Yol’ practically destroyed me and ‘Diva’ delighted, Burdocks fish’n’chips were a balm for boys, even ‘Pseud Of The Year’ such as I. The International Bar is the only place for drinking and Philip Larkin is the only man for poetry.
Not much happened.