the month of me: 1983
1983 was the year I turned 12.
1983 was the year I started Grade 7 at Oxford Junior High.
1983 was the year that both my mother and father both moved into separate flats, one block apart, on Willow Street.
1983 was the year that I got my first “ghetto blaster”.
1983 was the year that I discovered taping songs from the radio.
1983 was the year that I discovered music videos.
1983 was the year that I became a music fan.
1983 was the year that I discovered The Police, U2, The Eurhythmics, Duran Duran, David Bowie, Tears For Fears, Thomas Dolby, The Pretenders, Human League, The Clash, Madness, The Go-Go’s, The Kinks, Joe Jackson, Spandau Ballet, Talking Heads, Elvis Costello, Big Country, Peter Gabriel, The Style Council, The Romantics, Billy Idol, The Fixx, Nena, Ultravox, Dexy’s Midnight Runners, and Siouxsie and the Banshees.
1983 was the year that every Saturday night, C100 FM (at that time not the bastard radio child it is now), used to have a radio show syncronised with a TV show where they would cover the top 20 albums of the week, plus other music that they managed to squeeze in. Because it was synched up, you could watch the videos on your TVs (which weren’t the multimedia behemoths they are now) while actually listening to the audio over your stereo, thereby getting a much better sound. And a louder one. It was through the “other music” that I got the distinct impression that whoever was responsible for programming the show did their damnedest to get some of their own personal favourites in, because in between the actual charting artists, the Michael Jackson’s and Hall and Oates’, they would always manage to squeeze in a few videos that no one had ever heard of… at least not if you were 12 and living in Nova Scotia. I think I can definitely credit the fact that “You’re The Best Thing” by The Style Council was the last dance at our wedding (let alone knowing who The Style Council even were), to seeing the video for “Long Hot Summer” one Saturday night while lying on the couch in the living room on Willow Street.
I’ve listened to a lot of music over the years since then, and gone through some periods where my taste got… questionable. (We won’t discuss my musical theatre period. I was a theatre nerd. I’m clean now, I promise.) But the roots of all my musical taste came from that year. It is the bedrock upon which all my likes and dislikes were formed. It is why I still tell people that British New Wave is my favourite musical genre. It is why I can forgive Sting much of his solo career. It is why “Mr. Roboto” makes me smile like someone just handed me an ice cream. It is why I always think of David Bowie as the Thin White Duke first. It is why “Our House” by Madness will always be on my top 5 list.
It’s why I always tell people…1983 was the best year in music.
