The first edition of Top of the Pops was broadcast from Dickenson Road in Rushholme, Manchester in 1964 and featured the Rolling Stones, The Beatles and Dusty Springfield. It was presented by Jimmy Saville.
We can’t watch it now. It was the BBC’s habit to wipe broadcasts of ‘no particular significance’ and that first
show was a victim of that policy. From that debut, TOTP ran until the Summer of 2006, when it was pulled from the schedule (barring a Christmas Day edition).
Since then, rumours of a resurrection have persisted but have been unfounded. Even a campaign by Andy Burnham and the Ting Tings failed. But now something stirs.
BBC4 has announced it will show every episode still in the archive (starting in 1976), in its original Thursday night slot. They’ll have already launched the parade with an evening of TOTP shows, by the time you read this.
I may well be dead by the time the entire stash has gone out, but the whiff of nostalgia pouring from anyone over 30 is already palpable.
A wise man once pointed out that the BBC is always burning with a desire to impress the edgy kids. Something it can’t really achieve, but drives it to make foolish decisions nonetheless. Hence the Brand and Ross affair, the less than talented but hip callow youths with shows on Radio 1, Dr. Who being taken away for years and, yes, Top Of The Pops' cancellation.
But, like the BBC itself, TOTP was never cool. To the groovy folk in the 60s, the punks in the 70s, the Blitz Kids in the 80s and indie troops in the 90s, it was always there to be mocked and derided. It was too brash, too crass, too cheesy, too much like a wedding reception, never enough like a nightclub.
But, without fail, we watched it. We watched it because here was the chance to see bands who were genuinely credible (to our ears at least) flash across BBC1 at peak time. Watching The Cure, The Stranglers, David Bowie, The Specials, The Damned or Dr. Feelgood – preening or leering into the camera, ten minutes before Tomorrow’s World, felt great. The ‘rubbish’ format was there to let us feel smug and superior, the lesser ‘novelty’ pop acts appeared for our sneering and the great bands clattered in to subvert the whole farrago. The feeling was akin to being a guest at a juvenile, prissy party when suddenly, some very exciting gatecrashers show up.
After its demise, Simon Cowell expressed an interest in buying the rights to the show, but that would have been as hopeless. Only the BBC could produce TOTP and make it work, because (Coronation Street excepted), only the BBC can generate shows that stand as cultural monuments. When ITV attempted to carbon copy the show in the 80s (it was called ‘The Roxy’) it crashed. It was all but identical but we couldn’t accept the format from any other broadcaster.
Of course, tweaking the formula wasn’t unknown. At one point it was decided to dub whooping party noises over the bands (who were in turn miming over backing tracks). There was a surfeit of balloons and streamers and clapping. All the more entertaining when Sisters of Mercy appeared.
Another phase saw the instrumentalists mime while the vocals were performed live (exposing one or two underperforming singers in the process). The artists’ miming was always a source of consternation amongst the music purists and always the blunt end of the argument against the programme’s existence. Introducing the live singing was intended to be some sort of sop, but the miming debate was a red herring. Now we have X-Factor where every vocal is live and the snobs are even less content.
TOTP was removed when its ratings had declined to around a fifth of their peak and at a time when it felt particularly out of step. The MP3 revolution was in full swing, it was being asserted, adamantly, that the ‘single’ no longer really existed and that pop music was being overwhelmed by gaming platforms anyway. The Beeb responded by giving the show a couple of ineffectual re-brands, moving it to a Friday and ultimately to Sunday night to give it more proximity to the release of the chart. All this was designed to make TOTP more urgent, relevant, dynamic and aligned with ‘da kids’. It didn’t work, the Beeb blinked and it was all over.
As it turns out, those knee jerk reflexes were unnecessary. Singles are now selling in a brisk fashion (albeit as downloads) and acts like The Script and Adele are as popular with young folks as Medal Of Honour or Angry Birds will ever be.
It‘s true, other music programmes have tackled contemporary music with more style, wit and insight than TOTP every did. ‘Later’ would never dream of allowing miming, ‘The Tube’ had its finger firmly on the pulse for a good decade, ‘The (Old Grey) Whistle Test’ was always very earnest and The Culture Show now frequently elevates popular bands to their rightful place in the country’s consciousness. No wonder we often thought TOTP deserved a right good shoeing.
But with 20/20 hindsight, it’s obvious that slating TOTP, while a national sport, was completely pointless. The show never existed to explore the hidden depths of experimental music. It wasn’t there to muse on the subtle appeal of dub, progressive rock or world music. Its remit was simple – to give a platform to the singles performing particularly well on the national chart in any given week, and put the number one at the end.
Watch the BBC4 re-runs and I think you’ll find they did it pretty well.
We can’t watch it now. It was the BBC’s habit to wipe broadcasts of ‘no particular significance’ and that first
show was a victim of that policy. From that debut, TOTP ran until the Summer of 2006, when it was pulled from the schedule (barring a Christmas Day edition).
Since then, rumours of a resurrection have persisted but have been unfounded. Even a campaign by Andy Burnham and the Ting Tings failed. But now something stirs.
BBC4 has announced it will show every episode still in the archive (starting in 1976), in its original Thursday night slot. They’ll have already launched the parade with an evening of TOTP shows, by the time you read this.
I may well be dead by the time the entire stash has gone out, but the whiff of nostalgia pouring from anyone over 30 is already palpable.
A wise man once pointed out that the BBC is always burning with a desire to impress the edgy kids. Something it can’t really achieve, but drives it to make foolish decisions nonetheless. Hence the Brand and Ross affair, the less than talented but hip callow youths with shows on Radio 1, Dr. Who being taken away for years and, yes, Top Of The Pops' cancellation.
But, like the BBC itself, TOTP was never cool. To the groovy folk in the 60s, the punks in the 70s, the Blitz Kids in the 80s and indie troops in the 90s, it was always there to be mocked and derided. It was too brash, too crass, too cheesy, too much like a wedding reception, never enough like a nightclub.
But, without fail, we watched it. We watched it because here was the chance to see bands who were genuinely credible (to our ears at least) flash across BBC1 at peak time. Watching The Cure, The Stranglers, David Bowie, The Specials, The Damned or Dr. Feelgood – preening or leering into the camera, ten minutes before Tomorrow’s World, felt great. The ‘rubbish’ format was there to let us feel smug and superior, the lesser ‘novelty’ pop acts appeared for our sneering and the great bands clattered in to subvert the whole farrago. The feeling was akin to being a guest at a juvenile, prissy party when suddenly, some very exciting gatecrashers show up.
After its demise, Simon Cowell expressed an interest in buying the rights to the show, but that would have been as hopeless. Only the BBC could produce TOTP and make it work, because (Coronation Street excepted), only the BBC can generate shows that stand as cultural monuments. When ITV attempted to carbon copy the show in the 80s (it was called ‘The Roxy’) it crashed. It was all but identical but we couldn’t accept the format from any other broadcaster.
Of course, tweaking the formula wasn’t unknown. At one point it was decided to dub whooping party noises over the bands (who were in turn miming over backing tracks). There was a surfeit of balloons and streamers and clapping. All the more entertaining when Sisters of Mercy appeared.
Another phase saw the instrumentalists mime while the vocals were performed live (exposing one or two underperforming singers in the process). The artists’ miming was always a source of consternation amongst the music purists and always the blunt end of the argument against the programme’s existence. Introducing the live singing was intended to be some sort of sop, but the miming debate was a red herring. Now we have X-Factor where every vocal is live and the snobs are even less content.
TOTP was removed when its ratings had declined to around a fifth of their peak and at a time when it felt particularly out of step. The MP3 revolution was in full swing, it was being asserted, adamantly, that the ‘single’ no longer really existed and that pop music was being overwhelmed by gaming platforms anyway. The Beeb responded by giving the show a couple of ineffectual re-brands, moving it to a Friday and ultimately to Sunday night to give it more proximity to the release of the chart. All this was designed to make TOTP more urgent, relevant, dynamic and aligned with ‘da kids’. It didn’t work, the Beeb blinked and it was all over.
As it turns out, those knee jerk reflexes were unnecessary. Singles are now selling in a brisk fashion (albeit as downloads) and acts like The Script and Adele are as popular with young folks as Medal Of Honour or Angry Birds will ever be.
It‘s true, other music programmes have tackled contemporary music with more style, wit and insight than TOTP every did. ‘Later’ would never dream of allowing miming, ‘The Tube’ had its finger firmly on the pulse for a good decade, ‘The (Old Grey) Whistle Test’ was always very earnest and The Culture Show now frequently elevates popular bands to their rightful place in the country’s consciousness. No wonder we often thought TOTP deserved a right good shoeing.
But with 20/20 hindsight, it’s obvious that slating TOTP, while a national sport, was completely pointless. The show never existed to explore the hidden depths of experimental music. It wasn’t there to muse on the subtle appeal of dub, progressive rock or world music. Its remit was simple – to give a platform to the singles performing particularly well on the national chart in any given week, and put the number one at the end.
Watch the BBC4 re-runs and I think you’ll find they did it pretty well.
