One of my Facebook groups put up a post of what looked like an old newspaper – yellowed, crumpled – with a headline about miming on Top Of The Pops.
Turns out it was dated January 4, 2015. Yes, January just over a year ago.
Forgive me for being churlish, but the idea of Top Of The Pops making a comeback and the headline TOTP: THE MIME HAS COME didn’t fill me with joy.
It’s a spent force whose audiences slumped from a peak of 19 million to a low of barely one million by 2005. It was cancelled a year later.
It was also a horrible programme to be on.
But first, the audience. And also, why the programme’s not worth resuscitating.
Audience problems started when Matthew Bannister took over as Controller at Radio One. The station was peopled with the big beasts of pop radio – Dave Lee Travis, Simon Bates, Johnnie Walker, Alan Freeman, Steve Wright.
They were not, as Bannister noted, in the first flush of youth. But they were attracting audiences of 16m-plus.
From the 60s on, mainstream pop was exactly what it said on the tin: mainstream. Records sold in their millions. You frequently had to sell half a million in a week to hit the top spot.
So you, your mum and dad, and quite likely your Gran and Granddad were watching Top Of The Pops. And many of them were also listening to Radio One.
And that presented a problem in Matthew Bannister’s world. The BBC has an almost pyschotic attachment to the notion that R1 is for 13-24 year olds. Thirty is pushing it. R2 is aimed at 35 upwards. As you move through the age range, their belief is some of you will start also listening to R4 in your 40s and 50s.
But people don’t behave so predictably, particularly generations X and Y.
Anyway, Bannister programmed to get rid of the oldies. Mainstream – out. Genre – in.
He was right about one thing. Not many of us wanted to listen to rap. Or hip hop. Or grime. Or house. Or drum’n’bass.
The unintended consequence of his policy was that as fewer people listened, so he narrowed the audience, and thus he narrowed the market for record buyers. Pretty soon, there was no mainstream.
And there was a further unintended consequence of his unintended consequence. As the pop market split into sub genres of specialist tastes and the mainstream drained away, Top Of The Pops – which wasn’t even his remit – found itself booking artists who had sold 10,000 records in the week.
Now, it’s not rocket science, is it, that many records selling hundreds of thousands of copies in a week = a programme that many millions will watch.
Whereas, a bunch of one hit wonders selling a few thousand copies in niche markets = not much of an audience.
Coincidentally, at the same time in America, FM Radio – another genre medium – was knocking AM Radio out of the ballpark. AM was mainstream radio, and stations throughout the country played much of the same music, creating enormous selling megahits.
In the following period, the music market became even more fractured by genres and sub-genres. Music sales have slumped from $30bn in 1998 to less than half of that today.
Does that sound like a recipe for an exciting return of a programme that had already outlived its usefulness?
Plus the miming. What a joke. This was the Top Of The Pops scam. They pretended everyone was playing live. You had to go back into the studio (at your own cost) the night before filming, and re-record especially for the show, and put on a new vocal.
To make sure you did this, they’d send a Musicians’ Union rep down to the studio to watch you do it. Except they didn’t. They were easily distracted by pluggers and record company types. So you’d go through the motions, do a quick desk mix from the master, and off they’d go with their ‘live’ track for next day’s recording.
The next shock was getting to the studio the next day. Pete Zorn and I turned up with full band – all of us fully paid-up MU members, and certainly (me excepted) exceptional players, ready to do their stuff.
Time for run through. I strap on my guitar and get ready to sing to the track. A very cross man in a very cross shirt strode across the studio in his horribly cross trousers saying, “No, no, no, that’s not what we’re doing”.
He didn’t even introduce himself. He just told me they were setting up a ‘controller’s desk’ with phone and other props and I would do the talking bit live in the studio.
I say live. They wanted me to mime.
I’m sorry – you want me to mime to a spoken part while a bunch of pubescent girls pretend to dance around in front of me?
Yes. He did.
And what about the singing bits? “When the show’s over, you’ll stay behind” (what is this? Fucking school?) “and we’ll bring in a car and shoot you through the screen”. Isn’t that going to look a bit odd – where will the microphone be? “We don’t want you to sing it. We want you to mime”. Oh dear God.
I watched all day as they treated everyone like cattle. It was appalling. Old hands like The Shadows were used to it. But there were several of us newcomers for whom this day was supposed to be a dream come true. The BBC staff were officious, apparently power mad, had no interest in music, and certainly no interest in what a prat I was going to look.
Furious, I phoned my record company boss and said I didn’t want to do it. “Well Paul,” he said, in a very reasonable voice, “that’s entirely your choice. And I sympathise. I really do.
“But let me just put this thought in your head: at the moment, you’re selling 5,000 copies a day. Once this show goes out, you’ll be selling 20,000 a day.”
It didn’t take me long to figure out that 20,000 copies a day over a six-day week meant I would be Number One next week. So I went ahead, made a prat of myself.
Most of you know how this story ends. Yes, we got orders for 20,000 a day. 120,000 in the week. Only the record company got stuck in the queue at the pressing plant. So instead of going to Number One, we dropped down to Number 11.
And don’t get smart and tell me there’s two number ones in 11.
I couldn’t give a toss for Top Of The Pops coming back. It looked good when you watched it, when everyone on it was selling bucketloads of singles.
But when you were on it, it was disgusting.
And it didn’t look so good when no-one on it was selling worth a bean. And then everybody stopped watching.
Leave it where it is. Don’t embarrass yourself.