Fountain of youth: Gary Crowley's lost ’80s continue

An unwritten convention in music appreciation circles is that the 1980s are to be maligned. Probably something to do with Thatcherism, yuppies, conspicuous consumption and hair. I generalise horrendously, of course, but somewhere in the mix, in music terms at least, the ’80s remain perceived as weak by comparison with the foundational ’60s, or the inspirational early ’70s and that decade’s raucous end, and the #madforit ’90s (during which any band with a guitar dipped its toes into those previous decades for reference ) that came after the party balloons in between had been swept up. 

It’s an issue that mildly sticks in the craw of Gary Crowley, an undoubted ‘face’ of the 1980s, who’d gone from fronting the reception desk at the NME to fronting his own show on London’s Capital Radio and the early Channel 4 music magazine Ear Say while barely out of his teens. 

“It was an exciting time,” Gary says now. For all of its reputation for confected frivolity, the early ’80s had a surprising edge to it: “I mean, half of those artists were all punks anyway,” he adds. “One of the positive things about punk was this kind of have-a-go, DIY attitude that continued into the ’80s.” Many bands had progressed from art colleges and the punk scene, but rather than simply continue with the Angry Young Man schtick, they put on designer suits, scooped up handfuls of hair gel, and brought the punk philosophy to soul music. “Just look at old episodes of Top Of The Pops from the time,” says Gary. “You’d have Dexys [Midnight Runners], and Adam And The Ants and The Jam. Of course, you’d still get novelties like your Joe Dolces and There’s No One Quite Like Grandma popping up every now and then, but it was mostly an exciting time.” 

The dancefloor, in particular, was where some of that punk energy migrated to. “From Orange Juice to The Pale Fountains to Animal Nightlife - everybody started talking about the soul music they grew up with,” recalls Gary.  “Along with the excitement in soul you had the beginnings of what became rap, as well. I mean, The Adventures Of Grandmaster Flash On The Wheels of Steel in 1981 and Planet Rock by Afrika Bambaataa. It was just like, ‘Wow! Where is this going?’”. 

Crowley’s excitement was galvanised by the much-respected Tony Hale, then head of music at Capital. “He was the guy who gave me this chance. He said, ‘Listen, I want you to play what you want to play. I can promise that there won’t be any sort of restrictions’. And thankfully he really was a man to his word as well.” 

“I was never a musical snob,” Crowley reflects. “I mean, obviously I love punk and I loved new wave as a kid. But I was never an expert on soul or dance music. That was more of my sister’s kind of thing, really. But I would hear that stuff when she was playing it with her mates in the bedroom, so there was an awareness. Fast-forward to ’81, ’82, and I’d be buying Philadelphia or Motown compilation albums, just discovering that stuff for the first time.” Hip-hop was still an unknown. At a Camden Palace DJ gig on his 19th birthday, Crowley introduced ‘PAs’ from The Higsons (fronted by, no less, Charlie Higson of The Fast Show fame), Culture Club, Bananarama, Steve Strange and Spandau Ballet. When he played Planet Rock the crowd didn’t get it. “I played it on the radio show a couple of times but for most people it seemed to go over their heads. I thought it sounded great in the club, absolutely fantastic.”

It’s an approach to playing music on the radio that Crowley has never shied away from. His Wednesday night ‘People’s Choice’ slot on Capital would tie-up household phone lines as teenagers like me camped on (as one did in those days) to the only phone in the house, trying to get on a panel of listeners judging the week’s best new releases. I never did get through, but once I’d decided that music journalism would be my career, the 17-year-old me managed to secure an interview with Gary that I’d use to show potential employers what I was capable of. That led to him introducing me to the NME’s Mat Snow, who commissioned me to write some live reviews. 

My original approach was the same sort of chutzpah that Crowley himself had employed at a similar age, when he ran into Joe Strummer on the street and got himself invited to a Clash tour rehearsal (along with a gaggle of Lisson Grove schoolmates). That same MO landed him an interview with Paul Weller in 1977 for his fanzine, breathlessly contacting the Weller residence in Woking from a West London phone box, to be put through to the Modfather by his mother Ann. On leaving school Gary landed a job at Decca Records before moving to Carnaby Street and the NME, where he was put on reception duties after the previous receptionist - one Danny Baker - got promoted to a writing position. 

This was the time of punk, and that spirit was still in the air when the still-teenage Crowley broke into radio, embarking on a 40-year broadcasting career that continues today with his Saturday evening pleasurefest on BBC Radio London. There he enjoys much the same freedom afforded him at Capital and GLR [London’s BBC local radio station which took a proudly independent approach to music], unrestrained by playlists and algorithm-dictated scheduling.

Now an infuriatingly youthful 59, Crowley remains the effervescent music enthusiast he’s been throughout his adult life, and highly knowledgeable, too. His mental record library is as deep as his anecdotal archive of stories from myriad encounters with musical heroes like Paul McCartney (a supposed 20-minute TV interview was once extended to 40 - “He likes you,” explained a Macca aid).

Having been in the front row of the music scene in the early ’80,  Gary is perfectly placed to launch a second volume of Gary Crowley’s Lost ’80s, a sumptuous, 65-track, four-CD box set featuring a 32-page book with Crowley’s own notes detailing the frankly incredible track listing he compiled. A 21-track, clear vinyl, 180g double-LP is also available. Most ’80s compilations will be a predictable parade of the usual suspects but Crowley discovered a formula, with 2019’s Volume 1, to tread the path less followed. Relative obscurities from Wham!, Depeche Mode, Prefab Sprout, Spandau Ballet, Culture Club and Bananarama sat alongside truly lost acts like The Suede Crocodiles and Strawberry Switchblade. Volume 2 is equally stuffed with the familiar and the unfamiliar, such as the opening track of Disc 1, The Style Council’s instrumental Mick’s Up from their Introducing... EP. “Expect a selection of not only the bigger names, with some of their ‘lost’ gems, but also a raft of lesser-known artists,” says Gary. “Many of the latter came nowhere near the mainstream but most certainly - in my honest opinion - deserve another chance to shine under the spotlight.” 

So, along with staples of the 1980s’ first half, like Altered Images, Madness, Swing Out Sister, The Blow Monkeys, Elvis Costello, The Undertones and Nick Heyward (albeit with delightfully lesser-known examples of their work) - there are, again, ‘lost’ entries that made their impact on Gary at the time, like Pressure Point, Polecats, Stephen ’Tin Tin’ Duffy and Funkapolitan. There’s also a healthy nod to the early ’80s cod jazz-soul movement (which seemed to provide a Soho soundtrack that culminated in the flawed, but still cherished film adaption of Colin MacInnes’ coming-of-age novel Absolute Beginners) with Working Week, Marine Girls, Dee C. Lee, Sade and the very mighty Animal Nightlife.

“When I was compiling Volume 1, one of the things that really stood out for me was the influence of the ’60s and ’70s,” Gary recalls. “Whether it was George Michael or Paul Weller, or Mick Head from The Pale Fountains, they were aspiring to be Burt Bacharach or [the Small Faces’] Steve Marriott and Ronnie Lane.” Volume 1, he adds, somewhat suggested its follow-up: “I must be honest and say as soon as I delivered the track listing for the first compilation I already had a selection in mind for a sequel.” That first package came out of a similar compilation of punk and New Wave music he put together with his Soho Radio pal Jim Lahat. “I said to Demon Records - almost before the finished copies of GC’s Punk & New Wave were delivered - I’ve got a great idea for another box set: the music that I was playing on the radio show or a lot of the bands that were appearing on Ear Say.”  

“In a way,” he adds, “it’s trying to reclaim the ’80s, and take the decade away from that easy, lazy, naff version with the poodle hair. I hate slagging off bands, and you know what? If it works for somebody, fine. Not everything was my cup of tea back then - Nik Kershaw and Howard Jones were never my ’80s. The ’80s that I was into was this eclectic group of bands, like The Style Council, Everything But The Girl, The Pale Fountains and Grandmaster Flash. That period,” he stresses, “was my ’80s”.

Gary recognises that the decade can be compartmentalised into the period before and after Live Aid: “It did get a little naff in that middle part. I’ve said before, in a reverent way, that Live Aid had a little to do with that. Because with a lot of those sort of bands, those artists, the hair got bigger, the shoulder pads got wider, and they all started looking like Princess Diana - and started hanging out with her as well!” he quips. 

Even now, in the mind’s eye, the second half of the ’80s seems dominated by the rock chumocracy’s Prince’s Trust gigs and their Armani suits, and a somewhat slicker brand of music and pop star image. Again, a horrendous generalisation, but Gary says the period still had much going for it. “I think the mid-’80s did start to sound a little bit homogenised, but thankfully in ’87 and ’88 an edge started to come back.”

“It got good again towards the end of the ’80s, with Guns N’ Roses, The Happy Mondays and so on. A very important band for me at that time was The Wonder Staff. I always remember going to see them just after they’d signed to Polydor but hadn’t yet released anything. I was like, ‘Oh my God! This is amazing!’. They had this energy in the club that night. It was like a punk gig. Miles Hunt was a great front man. That was an exciting time, especially to be on air at GLR. It’s certainly an idea for another compilation...” he adds. Knowing Gary, he’s probably already put together the track listing. Someone at Demon Records should be getting a phone call any time soon.

Gary Crowley’s Lost ’80s Volume 2 is released on Friday 23 July.