Benjamin Judge's judgements

1976-1989

The late seventies and the eighties were not a time of sophistication, or at least, a lot of what seemed sophisticated at the time seems a bit gaudy now. A bit gauche. A bit fucking naff. It was also a time of innovative and challenging art, literature, and music. But who cares, eh? Let’s wallow in the swill a while. Let’s celebrate the unfashionable for just a moment or two.

Starting with Moxy II by Moxy. An album I came across while going down a ‘Canadian rock bands’ rabbit hole on the internet a few years back. Almost entirely forgotten now, they were big enough in 1977 to be supported by AC/DC (and if you had a time machine, that would be a night out, wouldn’t it?). Musically, ‘in the same sort of ballpark as AC/DC’ gives you a decent idea of what you’ll get. Big, brash, not cool in any discernible way, a bit silly, really, really cool. I listen to it most weeks.

And also from 1976, what about this Japanese poster for At The Earth’s Core? Blimey, eh? Proper nice that.

That link is to a shop, so sorry if you had to buy it immediately and now can’t afford groceries this week. I would buy it myself except I bought a painting of a dog for £3 in a charity shop on the Isle of Wight and now don’t have any room on my walls. I think it was painted in 1978, presumably by somebody who had never actually seen a dog. I love it. Genuinely the best £3 I have ever spent.

1979 saw the invention of Ferrero Rocher. Anyone who tells you they don’t like them is a liar and a fraud.

How about two books from the 1980’s that broke my brain as a child? Would you like that? Of course you would.

OK. Try, Choose Your Own Adventure N0. 12: Inside UFO 54-40 by Edward Packard. There is only one truly happy ending and no legitimate way to get to it. It’s only after the five hundredth go, when you start mapping out every possible route with a pen and paper that you get to the book’s truth. Inspired, and postmodern as shit. What every ten-year-old needs.

And, After Man: A Zoology of the Future by Dougal Dixon. It’s a book of animals that, you know, might evolve in the future, but probably won’t. Prove him wrong though, yeah? I know everyone on the internet gets excited about everything eventually becoming crabs but Dixon has no fucking time for that shit at all. He’s a nine-foot tall rabbit gazelles man. A nine-foot rabbit gazelles man and a hero.

Beverley Hills Cop is obviously the best film of the 1980s. I won’t debate you on this. You may as well try to convince me that 2+2=7. Maths is just maths, chum. You can’t argue with facts.

The best album? Probably, Introspective by The Pet Shop Boys. Probably. I’ll happily admit that there are a lot of good ones.

I read The Prague Orgy by Philip Roth last year. I found a hardback in a charity shop and thought, ‘why not give the silly old bastard another chance, eh?’ He’s somewhere between uncool and cancelled now, what with the reports of him possibly being a bit of a shit IRL, but man alive that dude could write. I can’t think of a better argument for separating the artist from the art.

Something that is no way naff or uncool, but has been unfairly forgotten, is Alexei Sayle’s Stuff. Easily the best comedy show of the late 80s and early 90s, but type ‘Alexei Sayle’ into the BBC iplayer now and you get an episode of Celebrity Antiques Road Trip and a handful of House of Games episodes. The man was in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade for Pete’s sake. Put some respect on his name. Put all three series on iplayer, you cowards.

Hugely uncool, but arguably one of the finest singles of the 80s, is Glory of Love by Peter Cetera. I mean, sure, objectively, it isn’t good, but subjectively? Mate. Unstoppable.

What else? Not a lot. But I would like to take this opportunity to say that while I am in no way endorsing a critical reassessment, Superman IV isn’t nearly as bad as you think it is.