No streaming stats — just the suspense of Sunday evening on Radio 1.
A long, long time ago, before Spotify charts, YouTube views or midweek updates on social media, there was just one moment in the entire week when Britain found out what the biggest hit songs in the country were: Sunday evening, on Radio 1, the new Top 40 was revealed in real time.
The Weekly Appointment Everyone Kept
Imagine a typical Sunday evening back in the 1970s. Tea was over, or about to be served, homework for school (I hoped) done, and the house settling into that slightly melancholic weekend-almost-over, work-tomorrow vibe.
Then came the build-up: the Radio 1 jingle and the DJ’s voice of the official chart show would begin. At the time, the DJ’s were big names, Alan Freeman, Tom Browne, Simon Bates and Tony Blackburn.
This was a world where listening to the chart countdown actually felt like an event. A collective experience that would be shared by millions of households up and down the land. No algorithms, no real-time stats, no leaks. The whole nation found out at the same time who was going up, who was going down, the new songs that made the top 40, and who sat on top — the nation’s number one.
And then it began — the official countdown of the nation’s favourite music. At first, it only covered the top 20, but from 1978, it was expanded — Top 40 down to 1. In an age of instant information, it’s hard to convey just how exciting the slow drip-feed of the countdown was. The slow reveal. The rising tension.
We all had a favourite artist, the bands, and singers that we hoped would get in or move up. And the ones we didn’t like, we hoped would fall. The top 40 was the ultimate chart of mainstream music; it was based on actual sales in the shops. No downloads, digital or online listening — just the sale of records — and they were vinyl records — the old seven-inch single. You had to go out and buy them at an actual shop for it to count!
And vinyl records back then sold in their millions.
The Mystery of Chart Movement
Sometimes we wondered why a record was successful.
Here are a few typical comments that might be heard as the weekly chart revealed itself.
“Why’s that gone up seven places?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“How on earth has that dropped to 18?”
“Who is buying all these records?”
“Why would anyone waste their money buying that?”
But the chart was open to anyone who could sell records. Alongside the big names like The Beatles, Queen and ABBA, one-hit wonders could make their mark. Novelty records often became big hits. There was always a surprise or two making the charts.
Here’s a selection.
Bobby “Boris” Picket and the Crypt Kickers had a hit with Monster Mash in September 1973.
Sylvia had a holiday-themed hit with Y Viva España in August 1974, reaching number 4. “We are off to sunny Spain, Y Viva España…”
Actor Telly Savalas, with his lollipop and “Who loves ya, baby?” got to number one with If in February 1975 due to the popularity of his Kojak character on the telly.
And actor David Soul, who played Hutch in Starsky and Hutch, did even better than Savalas. He had a million seller with Don’t Give Up On Us in 1976. Actually, he sold a lot of records. Between 1976 and 1978, he had five UK Top 20 singles, two at number one, and two Top 10 albums.
Jilted John, otherwise known as comic actor and singer Graham Fellows, (John Shuttleworth), had a hit with Jilted John reaching number 4 in August 1978, singing that Gordon was a moron.
The Art of the Home Recording
Before streaming playlists and “save to library” options, you had to record your favourite songs yourself. When the first cassette recorders arrived in the early 1970s, they were single tape decks, which meant sticking a microphone in front of the radio. We would hope for silence, two to three minutes of no background noise, or try to find an empty room in the house.
We often failed.
The Sunday chart show was the perfect opportunity to break the law and record your favourite music. You’d sit there, concentrating, waiting to press record at exactly the right moment. We would hope that the DJ didn’t talk over the intro. Time that right, we then needed silence.
Inevitably, you’d end up with DJ chatter, a bit of static, and noise in the background — the dog barking, the occasional family argument, a bout of coughing, or someone shouting out “Turn that down!” But it didn’t matter. You had your own copy of the latest hit. Admittedly, it was a poor copy, and it remained that way until the cassette radio recorder and then the music centre arrived.
But we had recorded our own ‘free’ music.
In 1980, a band named Bow Wow Wow released a song about it, C30 C60 C90 Go! It was the world’s first cassette single. Their record label, EMI, didn’t promote it because of the lyrics that were seen as promoting home taping.
“Off the radio I get constant flow/Hit it, pause it, record and play/Turn it, rewind and rub it away.”
The Slow Fade into Memory
By the late 80s and 90s, the charts began changing. Faster compilation times, early sales updates, and finally the internet made the weekly reveal less of a surprise. Streaming finished the job. Now the charts change by the minute, and the Sunday night drama of the Top 40 countdown no longer has the same feel to it.
I haven’t listened to a chart countdown in years.
But that Sunday night ritual remains one of the defining moments of the past: the fading weekend, the disappointment of another school, or work week ahead, the crackle of the radio, and the big build-up as the DJ finally announced…
“And this week… at number one…”
Photo by Rod Flores on Unsplash
No comments:
Post a Comment