Ride: Going Blank Again

Kieron Tyler

Stumbling across the perfect pop hit must be its own kind of curse. It’s been two and a half years since Owl City’s “Fireflies” shot its way into the charts, seemingly from nowhere. With its lush, quirky melodies and wistful, lovelorn lyrics, Adam Young’s quirky electronic project seemed almost to have been custom-built by a crack team of pop scientists to appeal to dreamy girls like me.

Even as London partied, the talk was already about legacy. And as Blur took the stage on a Best of British bill that impressively included New Order and The Specials, the open secret that this may have been their last ever gig – “certainly in this country, for a long, long time” – gave a chance to assess the question of what the legacy might be of the band that unquestionably inspired a generation.

Nik Kershaw (b 1958) is best known for a run of hits in the mid-Eighties, songs such as “Wouldn’t It Be Good”, “I Won’t Let The Sun Go Down on Me”, “The Riddle” and “Wide Boy”. He achieved international success and played Live Aid in 1985. Raised in Ipswich, he had a background in local bands before his breakthrough came with 1984’s Human Racing album. His look from the era, all mullet, snood and casual suit, has become definitive Eighties imagery.

The first time I interviewed Marc Almond back in the late 1980s he had a pet snake with him, just one of the many things that sets him apart from today's stars. These days the only reptiles one sees around chart-toppers are the publicists. Almond has been part of the pop furniture for three decades but it was still something of a surprise to discover that he was celebrating his 55th birthday last night. Tempus fugit and all that. Or as the still-nimble black-clad crooner said to his mostly similarly-aged audience, "we are all in it together, dear".

Various Artists: Sound System - The Story of Jamaican Music

Thomas H Green

It was the right venue. Frankie Valli is New Jersey royalty. He might not have been crowned, but appearing in The Sopranos is as good as any coronation. As he leaned into the audience, shaking hands, he spread his magic. Even Jimmy Page had come along for this rare London show by one of pop’s greatest, most distinctive voices.

Sean Paul, the accessible face of dancehall, is back. It’s been 10 years since he rose to the big league with his 2002 breakout album Dutty Rock, and he recently released his fifth album Tomahawk Technique. His mix of dancehall rhythms, bhangra beats and old-school reggae with boyband-cheesy lyrics gave him temporary pop pin-up status during the early 2000s. He brought dancehall to an international audience, and ended up having a huge influence on American hip-hop.

The moment you reach “I Call This Home”, the third track of Saint Saviour's debut album, it’s obvious this is an album to stick with. A pulsing rhythm beds guitars that reverberate like vintage Cure. The voice is quavering, anguished. Then it opens up. Suddenly driving and tense, the dramatic, shimmering song sounds like an anthem in waiting – albeit one with a maverick sensibility akin to that of Fever Ray, Goldfrapp and Marc Almond. It fits that Saint Saviour has played live with Hurts.