18 NOVEMBER 1972, Page 39

Pop

Up memory) lane

Duncan Fallowell

If you hadn't noticed (and of course you had) the nostalgia freaks are at it again, making sorties into the recent past for anything cute, trite, tricksy and too kitsch for words, as if the century had moved forward too fast for its own digestion and we now want to go back and reabsorb some of the earlier iconography, play games with it, rock and roll it a little, strike postures from our favourite revivalist movies. And because we are a bit naughtier than we used to be this can be awful fun.

Across the bemused features of the metropolis an outrageous game of charades is under way. Today Barbarella, Bette Davis and Cleopatra serve in shops. Tomorrow it may be the Queen Mum, who knows? The dreams are taking over, friends, so don't be caught napping. If in the 'sixties they said anything goes the next logical step has been crossed. Everything goes (at which point logic politely steps down), unless someone decides to engineer a 'sixties revival. Remember Flower Power? There is life in the old girl yet. By 1980—or is it '84? — we might have caught up, and beyond this the future is impossible to envisage. Already parts of London make Clockwork Orange seem in its style like one of last year's worn nappies and, remember, Burrough's Wild Boys are just around the corner. Maybe after so many false alarms, like 1914, 1939, 1945, the Great Implosion is actually on the cards. So three cheers for the kids who want to go out laughing. Do you realise that in this the English kids have shown more invention and drama than anyone else? Falling somewhere between the hippies and the straights they turn out to be the most exotic of the lot. Look round next Saturday night. And not only London. I was in Bristol recently and it was wild. No, this is not your prophet of doom speaking. Like a cloud of champagne bubbles we shall fade slowly into the cOsmos to the sound of Johnny and the Hurricanes.

Pop music is a particularly sensitive seismograph on these wavelengths, that being very much part of its job, and it has recently acquired sufficient strength to reintroduce itself to its past. Paul McCartney wrote a lot of pastiche songs, Hurricane Smith's recent hit singles have been very 'fortyish, and of course the rock 'n' roll era is always with us. But these are only random samples from an immense organic process. There is also the simple re-release which over the last few years has developed into a substantial part of the business. RCA are currently in the throes of a big 'back to the vaults' campaign, from the 'twenties on, with a dozen or more new budget albums on RCA International (99p) and RCA Victor (£1.69). For one who was swinging to Jessie Matthews as well as the Velvet Underground in the 'sixties much of this material is disappointing. Was Rudy Vallee ever anything other than frightful? Bing Crosby never gets through to me either. I can't handle the vibes. On the other hand, Ray Noble's 'Slumming on Park Avenue' is ultimate something and Fred Astaire makes me faint. Also available again are Paul Whiteman, Fanny Brice, Helen Morgan, Russ Columbo, Fats Waller (never out of favour though), Artie Shaw, people with names like The Happiness Boys, Coon-Sanders Nighthawks, Vaughn De Leath, and several splendid anthology albums like Hooray for Hollywood (Monroe, Dietrich, Astaire, Cagney, Rooney, Hope etc). The kids won't buy them. They will be grooving on Slade and Gary Glitter (who, by the way, has a stunner of an album out on the Bell label for just over £2). But they might just be wearing the clothes.