The greatest musical year that strikes a chord with us
Our team lists favourites
Rachael Bletchly CHIEF FEATURE WRITER 1969
The Beatles crossed Abbey Road, Jimi Hendrix set the world on Fire, and Proud Mary started rollin’ thanks to Credence Clearwater Revival.
But 1969 was also the year of Woodstock, a hippie fest that became a cultural touchstone.
I was five but my baby-sitter had a portable record player and played all the hits. I clearly remember hearing Where Do You Go To My Lovely and dancing to Tom Jones and Elvis.
As my tastes matured, I grew to love The Who’s Tommy, Bowie’s Space Oddity, A Boy Named Sue by Johnny Cash, The Stones, The Kinks and Led Zeppelin.
Like my favourite hit from Abbey Road, 1969 was Something.
Rhian Lubin FEATURE WRITER 1996
When I hear the Spice Girls’ debut single Wannabe, I’m transported to excruciating school discos where the girls danced as the boys cowered.
My friends and I formed a copy-cat group, spending every break-time rehearsing for upcoming parties.
As the only redhead, I landed the role of Ginger.
Our group had squabbles, just like the real band, and a teacher once had to intervene to resolve an argument over who sang which verse.
We weren’t the world’s best singers, just like the real band.
But the Spice Girls taught us the importance of girl power – and taught me it was cool to be Ginger.
Nigel Thompson TRAVEL EDITOR 1974
DAVID Bowie signed off his glam rock era with Rebel Rebel, Sparks flew with This Town Ain’t Big Enough For Both Of Us and we had joy, we had fun with Terry Jacks’ Seasons In The Sun.
We first met Abba with Waterloo, Queen were in a Killer mood, Eric Clapton languidly Shot The Sheriff and Suzi Quatro headed down Devil Gate Drive (had a crush).
The 70s needs disco, so George McCrae took us in his arms with his timeless Rock Your Baby, and all the girls in school sang Shang-A-Lang with the Bay City Rollers.
You are The First, My Last, My Everything, 1974, with a nod to Barry White.
Nada Farhoud ENVIRONMENT EDITOR 1995
Falling slap-bang in an indie explosion of guitar bands, as a 14-year-old this felt like the most exciting time to be alive.
Each Monday after school I’d traipse to Our Price in Bedford armed with my hardearned paper round money to spend on my next Britpop fix – albums I still play continuously.
I wore out Elastica’s debut album, Smart by Sleeper, A Different Class by Pulp, Blur and Oasis. I even had my hair cropped to look like Louise Wener, below, the lead singer of Sleeper (big mistake!). Pal Gemma and I sneaked into our local music venue to see Ocean Colour Scene – the first gig of hundreds.
Gavin Martin MUSIC CRITIC 1965
Musical revolutions came thick and fast as a turning point year for rock, soul, jazz and folk.
Spurred on by The Byrds’ cover of Mr Tambourine Man, Bringing It All Back Home and Highway 61 Revisited made Bob Dylan into an electric rock king.
The Beatles’ Rubber Soul also gave the idea of rock music as an album rather than single art form became reality.
John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme was a jazz masterpiece. The Beach Boys Today! showed Brian Wilson, below, primed for Pet Sounds. And along came The Grateful Dead and The Velvet Underground.
While Otis Redding’s Otis Blue defined the sound of soul.
Paul Routledge COLUMNIST 1958
This year is unforgettable for one name: Buddy Holly.
He released three of his greatest hits, Peggy Sue (I Love You), Rave On (Crazy Feeling) and Oh Boy (You’re With Me).
I was 15, just learning about girls and pop. Buddy was an education. He was up against Elvis Presley and the Everly Brothers, but he roared up the charts every time.
His life was cut short the next year, in a light plane crash flying between gigs. Singers Ritchie Valens and The Big Bopper died with him.
The tragedy is immortalised in Don McLean’s song, American Pie, and “the day the music died.” But the Buddy myth never really died.