For this year’s Eurovision special, I wanted to do something a bit different. I could have plumped for a Eurovision cover by a credible artist, such as ‘Volare’ by Alex Chilton or Edwyn Collins’ ‘Ding A Dong’, but that would have been too obvious. The same would have also applied to Dana International’s version of Stevie Wonder’s ‘Free’, which was performed during the 1999 Eurovision Song Contest’s interval.
The concept of a former Eurovision entrant covering someone else’s Eurovison entry is something that I find fascinating, though. After all, Bucks Fizz covering ‘Save Your Kisses For Me’ or Gina G revamping ‘Boom Bang-a-Bang’ would have added a bit of life to their careers. Enter, Telex’s ‘J’aime la vie’.
Unfortunately, those who are expecting ‘J’aime la vie’ to match the greatness of ‘Ça Plane Pour Moi’ and ‘Dance to the Music’ will be disappointed. The usual droll humour and irreverence remains, but there’s little end product. It’s aimless and it seems like Telex didn’t know what to do with it.
It also doesn’t help that Sandra Kim’s original was not particularly memorable in the first place, and thus ensuring that any humour is hard to spot. Therefore, unlike ‘Jailhouse Rock’ (which strangely sounds like the ‘Road Rash II’ soundtrack), it lacks immediate appeal. This version also exposes Telex’s lack of progression and some inflexibility; it is pretty similar to 1979’s ‘Rock Around the Clock’, only without the originality and freshness.
Telex can be seen as a misunderstood band – especially as they know that music is about having fun and experimenting – but this is a misstep. It’s an interesting concept, but they picked the wrong song; it may have worked if they had reworked a track like ‘Waterloo’, instead. It’s still better than the original, though. That has got to be worth something, at least.
The origin of the cover: Released as a single
Original recording artist: Edwin Starr
Grade: F
Bandwagon jumping vanity projects are never good things in music. Especially when they involve children’s television presenters.
By the time Michaela Strachan had released her début single, a version of Edwin Starr’s ‘H.A.P.P.Y. Radio’ in September 1989 under the Michaela moniker, it wasn’t uncommon to see the stars of Children’s BBC and ITV release musical offerings. And this was before the likes of Timmy Mallet, Peter Simon and Phillip Schofield infested record store shelves.
In this niche area of music, there were two types of singles. The most common, and well-known, efforts were seen as novelties. Usually, tracks like Roland Rat Superstar’s ‘Rat Rapping’ and ‘I Wanna Be A Winner’ by Multi-Coloured Swap Shop’s musical combo Brown Sauce, weren’t undesirable and flirted with Top 20 success.
The stars that took it seriously and, subsequently, sunk into musical obscurity were part of the second and much rarer camp, mainly because soap stars were becoming regular chart fixtures by the late 1980s. Kim Goody, for instance, relentlessly plugged her version of ‘Don’t Turn Around’ on TVS’ Saturday morning show ‘No. 73’, yet it failed to break into the UK Singles Chart’s Top 100.
Unsurprisingly, for someone who admitted to Smash Hits that she always wanted to be a popstar for the attention, Michaela’s brief music career fell into the latter category. And, despite the fact that ‘H.A.P.P.Y. Radio’ was produced by Mike Percy and Tim Lever from Dead Or Alive, its questionable quality wasn’t surprising either.
The cover rigidly follows the same template that was used by Stock, Aitken and Waterman; even though ‘H.A.P.P.Y. Radio’ sounds cheaper and tackier than singles like ‘Hand On Your Heart’. There wasn’t anything particularly new to be heard, especially if you had already listened to tracks by Sonia and Samantha Fox.
You can forgive a lack of imagination in the production department, especially considering that it is a cover, but there’s no excusing how vapid it is. Percy and Lever were experienced enough to know that adding radio sound effects, in a desperate attempt to tie the cover in with the lyrics’ radio theme, does not make it any more flavoursome.
As for Michaela: she was professional – after all, she blew an inflatable saxophone in the promo video and seemed to enjoy it – but her performance had little life and energy. However, unlike some of her contemporaries in the late 1980s Hi-NRG scene, she didn’t come across as over-enthusiastic or desperate; she seemed canny enough to know that a duffer was being produced. At least this meant that Michaela came out of this whole sorry affair with some dignity intact.
Unfortunately for Michaela, though, its impact on the charts was just as tepid as the cover itself; it only peaked at Number 62 in the UK Singles Chart. However, she was keen enough to co-write the b-side, ‘Time Flies’, and with a bit more luck, she could have had a decent chance of doing well in the music industry.
Even when Michaela collaborated with Ralf-René Maué, best known for his work with the London Boys and Sinitta, she could not make a dent in the charts. The German music promoter was behind her follow-up single, ‘Take Good Care Of My Heart’, and while there was a slight improvement quality-wise, it still faltered at Number 66 in May 1990.
It was not just the terrible first impression that put an end to Michaela’s musical aspirations, though. The Eurobeat sound, that was made popular in the UK by the likes of Maué and SAW, was going out of fashion. Even though SAW had seven UK Number 1 singles in 1989, for instance, their sovereignty was starting to show cracks.
By late 1989, Donna Summer and Sonia were struggling to replicate the success of their SAW débuts, and by mid-1990, it was Big Fun and Jason Donovan who were running out of steam. Furthermore, in February 1990, SAW released what was regarded as their biggest mistake, Kakko’s ‘We Should Be Dancing’. This was a blatant attempt to tap into the Japanese market, as shown by its oriental pentatonic hook, and it flopped at Number 101.
It was a far cry from the success of Rick Astley and Mel & Kim in 1987 and, if Michaela had reacted a bit quicker to the bullet and teamed up with her “Hitman”, she may have faired better in the charts. But, given the quality of ‘H.A.P.P.Y. Radio’, its lack of success was deserved. For Michaela Strachan, chart dominance wasn’t meant to be.
The origin of the cover: Released as a single
Original recording artist: La Ragazza 77
Grade: D
Without a shadow of a doubt, Cheryl Baker is a shameless self-promoter. Just look at the television shows that she has presented: ‘The Saturday Picture Show’, ‘Record Breakers’ and ‘Eggs ‘n’ Baker’. Bucks Fizz appeared on all of them at the drop of a hat.
And nothing changed when it came to her irregular solo recordings. In 1987, Baker was the resident cookery expert on BBC One’s Saturday morning kids show ‘It’s Wicked’. Yes, you’ve guessed it; she also performed her début solo single, ‘If Paradise Is Half As Nice’, on the show.
Unsurprisingly, ‘If Paradise Is Half As Nice’ is the same vein as the likes of Journey and the track is also depressingly predictable. It pretty much ticks every cliché possible in rock music.
Even though it’s competently performed, you can spot the anthemic keys and riffs from a mile off (the same can also be said for her performance of Barbara Dickson’s ‘If You’re Right’ on the gameshow ‘3-2-1’). I can’t help but think that this cover could have been half-decent if a few risks had been taken in the production department.
There’s no doubt that Baker wants to do a good job, down to her costume choice and posture in the embedded clip. She could be accused of being too much of a try-hard, but her enthusiasm is worthy of faint praise.
‘If Paradise Is Half As Nice’ was unashamedly jumping on the soft rock bandwagon in the 1980s, but it could have been far worse. This version will appeal to fans of MOR rock, even if its cheese and unoriginality is noticeable.
But there’s no denying that this was very run-of-the-mill and added nothing to a genre that was greatly saturated by 1987. No wonder it failed to peak beyond Number 94 in the UK Singles Chart.
The origin of the cover: Album track on ‘Songs of Joy’
Original recording artist: The Drifters
Grade: F
Do you remember that piece I did about Phil Collins’ version of ‘The Times They Are A-changin’? You may have thought it wouldn’t have been possible to record a cover version that’s even worse.
However, there are over 20 cover versions (and that’s not including three Kool and the Gang, Beach Boys and Move melodies) that are even worse. And they’re all by the same person: Russ Abbot.
These versions came from two albums: ‘Songs of Joy’, which was released in 1990, and 1985’s ‘I Love a Party’. The latter of the two is probably the better album – and that’s by the smallest of margins.
It’s never a good sign when an album contains versions of ‘Y.M.C.A’, ‘Monster Mash’ and ‘I’m in the Mood for Dancing’. Especially when it also the home of the 1980s’ most bizarre synths. It says it all when ‘Atmosphere’, a song that’s bad enough to give anyone a nervous breakdown, is one of the best tracks on ‘I Love a Party’.
Abbot ‘outdid’ himself with ‘Songs of Joy’, though, as the LP is full of cover versions (with the sole exception of the album track). Suffice to say, it makes Duran Duran’s ‘Thank You’ look like ‘Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band’. The critical question, though, is what’s the worst song on the album?
‘Don’t Turn Around’ and ‘Woyaya’ are haunting for the wrong reasons, mainly because it sounds like that they have been recorded with the settings of a Casio PT-100 keyboard. ‘I Just Called to Say I Love You’ and ‘On the Wings of Love’ are slushier than the slushiest of Slush Puppies, while ‘White Sport Coat (And A Pink Carnation)’ is reminiscent of Jason Donovan’s worst musical crimes.
His worst cover, however, is ‘Saturday Night at the Movies’. Like his versions of ‘Everybody Needs Somebody to Love’ and ‘Two Hearts’, Abbot wants to croon like Elvis Presley. The problem, though, is that his vocals have a very deep echo, and thus ensuring that they are rather unsubtle.
The session musicians’ efforts are even worse. Being similar to a dodgy working men’s club act doesn’t even come close to describing them. As the plonkiest keyboard and weakest jazz synths have been used, the track ends up sounding like a bad ZX Spectrum soundtrack.
The worst thing about it is that Abbot took this whole charade seriously. He could have redeemed himself if he treated these covers as a novelty and joke (like the ‘Russ Abbot’s Madhouse‘ LP), but they aren’t. He probably thinks that he has recorded something worthwhile. Rarely has a cover version been more wrong than this.
I’d prefer to hear Robson & Jerome’s version of ‘Saturday Night at the Movies’ on a continuous loop, rather than having to hear Abbot’s songs again, and that’s saying something.
NB: For those who are interested, Abbot’s music career is profiled at the CosmoBells blog. ‘I Love a Party’ and ‘Songs of Joy’ are also available via Spotify.
The origin of the cover: Appeared on the ‘Lit Up’ demo, a flexi disc that was included in a fan mailing circa December 1993.
Original recording artist: Jackie Lee
Grade: B-
There are some artists, who have done so many covers, that would need a whole blogging series dedicated to them.
Lush is one of them. The quantity of cover versions nearly reached double figures, in the form of demos and b-sides, and their pattern of quality represented their musical journey. Even if their earlier material was far from perfect, they became nifty in their later years. And, as it was recorded during the middle of their career, ‘Rupert the Bear’ represents a turning point.
At first, and perhaps unfairly, Lush seemed to be pigeonholed as a student band. You could argue that there was an air of pretension surrounding them, while lacking substance at times. Their output could be variable in quality, too.
For instance, their version of Wire’s ‘Outdoor Miner’ (which appeared as a b-side of 1992’s ‘For Love’) was a safe choice, but it added depth to the original. There was talent and skill; it was too well crafted for it to be a fluke. Others, however, were less impressive. Their version of Dennis Wilson’s ‘Fallin in Love’ (a b-side of 1991’s ‘Nothing Natural’) was dull and lacked inspiration.
Meanwhile, ‘Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep’ (a track on the ‘Alvin Lives (In Leeds)’ compilation in 1990 for the Anti-Poll Tax Campaign) was always going to be a difficult one. It avoided the classic mistake of not playing it straight but, like the original, it was a bit naff.
By the time their second album, ‘Split’, was released in 1994, there were signs of progression. Gist’s ‘Love at First Sight’ (a b-side on ‘Hypocrite’) lacked sparkle, but ‘Rupert the Bear’ had lots of nice touches. It was twee, without sounding kitsch, and felt teasing. They played it too safe – it was crying out for a punk-pop vibe and some heavy guitars, in particular – but you could appreciate what they were trying to do. At the very least, there was some sincerity.
In early 1996, though, Lush had cracked it. In ‘Lovelife’, they had found the consistency that was lacking in their previous two albums. Their versions of the Zounds’ ‘Demystification’ (a b-side of ‘Single Girl’), The Rubinoo’s ‘I Wanna Be Your Girlfriend’ (which appeared on the 7” of ‘Ladykillers’) and Magnetic Fields’ ‘I Have the Moon’ (yep, you’ve guessed it, it was a b-side of ‘500’) had the right mixture of garage pop and shoegaze.
Furthermore, a cover of Elvis Costello’s ‘All that Useless Beauty’ (which appeared on Costello’s ‘Distorted Angel’ EP) was thoughtful and did the original justice. They finally sounded like they were comfortable in their own skin and the poppier covers were also punchy.
‘Rupert the Bear’ wasn’t their finest moment and, to be quite frank, it was never going to be that way. Take ‘Hypocrite’, for example, which is probably their finest recording. It was simple and sharp, while having layers and multiple choruses.
Their version of Jackie Lee’s theme music was never going to have the complexion of ‘Hypocrite’; after all, you can’t recreate a watercolour painting with crayons. It isn’t that kind of song to be a career highlight, but Lush covered that song with dignity. They didn’t take go down the ironic or comedy route and, to a certain extent, they took it seriously.
As with all of their covers, even if they didn’t get it right, they always took something similar from the original, while adding something new to it. They deserved some sort of credit for that; a lot more than they got, anyway.
NB: The version on the embedded clip doesn’t start until 0:50; it’s just the band talking at the beginning.
Believe it or not, a romantic comedy about surfing provided one of the best cover versions of the 1990s.
This version of Primal Scream’s ‘Movin on up’ won’t win any extra marks for originality, but it does not stop it from being superb. No one can deny that it is a faithful rendition; its similarity to the original is blatant. However, it is perfectly suited to Edwin Starr’s strengths.
Primal Scream’s original, while excellent, was probably too production heavy for its gospel elements to stand out from the blues rock tone. Starr’s version, however, is more stripped. For a Northern Soul cover, the C-major riffs aren’t overly important; these chords are rightly shunted into the background.
What matters is the soul of the vocals and overall sound. It needs to be raw and passionate without sounding earnest and preachy. And it works very well: it has the sincerity that was lacking from the original and has some good but underused touches, such the brief usage of an organ.
No matter how good this cover is, though, it would be unfair to say whether it is better or worse than the original. This is because the full version is impossible to find – mainly because the ‘Blue Juice’ OST was never commercially released. And, unless you have access to the master tapes, you will never hear more than the first 150 seconds of the song.
It is a shame because it deserves a wider audience than being shunted to the end credits of a rarely remembered surfing flick. But, because of this, there is an aura of mystery surronding it; no one knows where it falters or thrives beyond that halfway point. Whether that makes it better or worse is debatable, but the magic of this version isn’t.
That’s why it was disappointing to read the NME’s “10 Worst Songs Of The 90s”. Out of the sheer number of bad recordings they could have chosen, the NME picked songs that did not deserve to be there. Tracks like ‘Lifted’, ‘Zombie’ and ‘Praise You’ were overplayed, but they were never awful. The NME didn’t even begin to look at the worst of the worst.
I’m not thinking about songs, including ‘Christmas in Blobbyland’, that didn’t attempt to hide their awfulness, but the songs which aspired for greatness or longevity and failed miserably; there’s something more tragic associated with the latter set of songs. At least charity records – such as ‘The Stonk’ and ‘The Millennium Prayer’ – had some redemption.
For me, the following songs are indefensible in every way.
10. ‘True to Us’ by Vanilla (1998)
Forget ‘No Way, No Way’ – this was the point when things went wrong for Vanilla. Unlike their debut single, which had a “we’re crap and from Barnet so take it or leave it” attitude, they started to take their music rather seriously.
Produced by a pre-fame Xenomania, it’s limply performed and mind-numbingly predictable. ‘True to Us’ would be forgivable if it just lacked substance, but this sorry number has nothing going for it at all.
9. ‘Today’s the Day’ by Sean Maguire (1997)
I’m almost convinced that this plagiarised Blur’s ‘Sunday Sunday’. You knew that the Britpop bandwagon was running out of stream when the likes of Sean Maguire tried (and failed) to jump on it. Think of ‘Wake Up Boo’ without the exposure, and with the extra smugness and shiteness – and that is ‘Today’s the Day’ in a nutshell.
From the repetitive beats and windpipes to the “Hi dee hi” cries and obligatory guest rapper (which doesn’t come close to reaching the standards set by Jazzie P’s rap on Kylie Minogue’s ‘Shocked’), it tries to pull every cheap trick out of the book without succeeding. ‘Big Time’ is cynically produced pop music at its very worst.
7. ‘What’s Up?’ by 4 Non Blondes (1993)
‘What’s Up?’, without a shadow of a doubt, is the most cringe-worthy, screechy and pompous middle-of-the-road rock song from the 1990s. Even the likes of the Spin Doctors and Crash Test Dummies aren’t this atrocious. It really isn’t cool.
6. ‘Bingo’ by Catch (1997)
If there’s one thing that Britpop should be derided for, it should be for allowing this brattish trio to infect our ears. ‘Bingo’ should rightly be slammed for being a lazy and shameless Pulp knock-off without showing any signs of talent or imagination.
As one YouTube user states: “A song made famous by one of the greatest tragedies of the nineties [Ed: for those who aren’t in the know, Catch’s appearance on the late night repeat of ‘The Chart Show’ was interrupted by the announcement of Princess Diana’s death]. Ironically enough, the song itself seems to be one of the greatest tragedies of the nineties…” Never has a truer word been spoken.
5. ‘Somethin’ Stupid’ by Ali and Kibibi Campbell (1995)
If you thought that the session musicians on Robson & Jerome’s ‘Unchained Melody’ got repetitive strain injuries, please spare a thought for those who helped to record this song.
Overly twee and sentimental, arrogant, complacent, painful, boring, unstructured and incoherent are all words that can describe this ghastly version of ‘Somethin’ Stupid’. And that’s before mentioning Kibibi’s contributions. Whoever thought of this idea deserves to be banned from the music industry for life.
4. ‘Wear My Hat’ by Phil Collins (1996)
Billboard once said that this track “bears such an uncanny resemblance to Paul Simon’s You Can Call Me Al”. That may be true but surely, with its Latino pop and jazzy beats, it’s also a tribute to Saturday Superstore’s favourite guest Matt Bianco? And you’ve guessed right; it does everything Matt Bianco did, only a million times worse. If there’s any justice, then this self-indulgent mess will be erased from musical records with immediate effect.
3. ‘Chapel of Love’ by London Boys (1990)
Also known as: ‘Requiem’ meets the ‘GamesMaster’ theme tune with added church bells. There’s nothing redeeming about this: it’s all of your worst nightmares rolled into one. If this is what love is meant to sound like, then I want nothing to do with it.
2. ‘Surfin’ USA’ by Aaron Carter (1998)
While Rebecca Black was wearing nappies and Justin Bieber was attending kindergarten, Aaron Carter recorded this song. It wouldn’t surprise me if the collapse of Western civilisation was blamed on this montrosity. ‘Nuff said.
1. ’911 is a Joke’ by Duran Duran (1995)
Something special was required to topple Mr Carter from the top spot and Simon Le Bon et al pulled out all the stops. Yep, that’s right, they once recorded a distorted version of a Public Enemy song, which sounds like a pitiful Beck tribute act. This song has to violate at least one taste and decency law, for sure. 911 is a joke? No, Duran Duran, you are a joke.
Imagine Phil Collins doing a cover version of a Bob Dylan track; specifically, ‘The Times They Are a-Changin’. Now imagine that very song appearing on an upbeat Phil Collins album which features “afro-beat rhythms”, “jazzy pianos” and “uncharacteristically subtle horn sections”. ‘Dance into the Light’ was such a bad album that the public voted it as the ninth worst ever long-player in the third edition of Colin Larkin’s ‘All-time Top 100 Albums’.
Although it’s only an album track, this cover version feels out of place on a LP – even one that’s as bad as ‘Dance into the Light’. It doesn’t even meet the standards required for an inclusion on a mediocre OST; despite the fact that you could expect it to feature during a sentimental scene in a film like ‘Marley & Me’ or ‘Made in America’. That’s the sort of level that this recording aspires to be at and, even then, it fails to make the grade.
Considering the overall sound of Collins’ LP, this recording does what it sets to do: being earnest to the nth degree. From the amateurish piano chords to the sugar coated guitar riffs, this makes you queasy to the bottom of your gut. And, if Collins’ whines aren’t bad enough, he does the unforgivable at the halfway point. He includes bagpipes. And not just normal bagpipes; it has synthesised bagpipes. Misjudged doesn’t even come into it.
The main problem with Collins’ version, though, is its lack of context. People associate ‘The Times They Are a-Changin’ as a protest song with political themes; they see the song’s meaning as being prepared for change, no matter what. But this recording is on an album that celebrated Collins’ break-up with Genesis and his wife.
It seems self-centred and pompous for Collins to suggest that the meaning of this song could be comparable to Collins’ experiences. The singer not only shows a complete absence of self-awareness, but it’s also one of the 1990s’ worst self-indulgences. Whatever this piece of narcissistic cack is meant to be, it’s excruciating and nothing more.
Here’s a question for you: what do Steps, Suede, Ultrasound, Spandau Ballet and Fuzzbox have in common? The answer is that they have all reformed in recent years. Some groups – such as Spandau Ballet– have recorded new and original material, while the likes of Suede have stuck rigidly their former days of glory
However, you could say that Fuzzbox may have been a tad astute when they marked their comeback in 2010 – albeit in the absence of original drummer Tina O’Neill – with a cover version of M’s ‘Pop Muzik’. They could’ve returned to the pop scene with no strings attached, and no commitment to write and record an album; just a cheap cash-in to jump on the bandwagon. The problem, though, was that Fuzzbox have never been any good at covering songs.
During the “We’ve Got a Fuzzbox and We’re Going to Use It” era, the group went through a phase of recording a series of ill-conceived covers. It kept to their DIY punk ethos and free-spirited nature but, unfortunately, Fuzzbox put very little thought and effort into them.
Their hopeless recording of ‘Spirit in the Sky’ (which was originally a b-side to ‘Love is the Slug’ and later resurfaced as a b-side to ‘Pink Sunshine’) had an interesting – if somewhat dirty-sounding – bassline, without any other redeeming features. Similarly, their cappella of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ (which appeared as a b-side to ‘Self’ in 1989, after being recorded 1987) was out-of-tune and treated as a lazy joke.
Some people may class these versions as ironic or tongue-in-cheek, but cockiness and a lack of talent were far more prominent. And when then they took their covers seriously – as seen in 1989’s flop single ‘Walking on Thin Ice’ – it came across as cold and forgettable.
Therefore, given the omens, it shouldn’t surprise you that their version of ‘Pop Muzik’ is just as bad as their other covers. From the start, it’s hackneyed and laboured; at least their covers in the 1980s had some misplaced enthusiasm. The track has the inevitable attempts to modernise Fuzzbox’s sound with subtle electro-pop undertones, but there’s a distinct lack of freshness. However, what’s surprising – for a group that seemed to pride itself of its energy – is that their acceptance of their blandness. They’re clearly jaded, but the spirit and ideas have gone; it almost sounds like that they didn’t want to reform in the first place.
Fuzzbox peaked when they were a bubblegum girl band with guitars and no pretension, and this version of ‘Pop Muzik’ may have worked if it had retained the slick production values of tracks like ‘Pink Sunshine’. The brash arrogance has gone, but the lack of effort to hide their apathy is telling. This is not pop music, it’s nothing.
The great thing about cover versions is the notion of unpredictability: anyone is capable of covering any song at any time. In fact, the concept of some covers are so implausible, sometimes they just have to work. Su Pollard’s cover of The Beatles’ ‘Back in the USSR’ definitely ticks that box.
As you may expect, this version of the track is characteristically Su Pollard: it’s loud, garish and camper than a row of tents at Maplins. It has all of the makings of being irredeemably bad, but out of nowhere, the ‘Hi-de-Hi’ star manages to perform a pretty respectable version. Surprisingly, Pollard’s version is structurally similar to The Beatles’ version – the tempo is kept in time and the piano chords also remain.
While it stays faithful to the original and treats it with enough respect, it has its own style and voice. There’s a cabaret feel to the backing track, which makes it sound tackier than it should, and Pollard also lacks subtlety; ensuring that the performance is a little too raw. Although it lacks polish, the actress shows enough self-confidence to carry the song and she comes out with her dignity intact. It’s not great by any stretch of the imagination, but it achieves what it sets out to do: it’s buoyant and the song’s tongue is firmly in cheek.
Given that Pollard’s version of ‘Back in the USSR’ showed some occasional touches of genuine talent, it wasn’t a surprise when she was commissioned to record ‘Starting Together’ for the BBC’s fly-on-the-wall documentary ‘The Marriage’. It was also released as a single in 1986, peaking at Number 2 in the UK Network Chart, and a number of singles were released during the 1980s and 1990s.
What remains surprising, though, was that a record label never released her version of ‘Back in the USSR’ as a single; it didn’t even appear as a b-side or album track. This was despite the fact that her discography was, perhaps predictably, cover-heavy with recordings like ‘Band of Gold’ and ‘You’ve Lost that Lovin Feeling’. But these lifeless versions weren’t the same: it lacked the sense of fun that ‘Back in the USSR’ had.
In fact, the only time Pollard came close to matching those two minutes of controlled spontaneity was when she hopelessly covered ‘Walking on Sunshine’ on BBC One’s ‘Songs of Praise’. She may struggle to hold a note, but it’s clear that the small screen gets the most out of Pollard’s affable nature and limited vocal capabilities. Don’t give a recording contract; let her appear on a televised celebrity karaoke contest, instead. She’d come out of it well, for sure.
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