The Soundtrack to a Life: Rewinding NOW!

Music has always been a massive part of my life. It is probably a big part of yours, too. It’s absolutely everywhere, from Pop Goes the Weasel in the nursery to the soundtrack that marks the end of a life at a funeral.

Growing up, my parents’ house was always full of music. It was mainly Radio 1 playing in the background, but we also had an old Dansette-style record player. It featured a clever stacking spindle that let you pile up about five singles at once; as soon as one song finished, the mechanism automatically dropped the next disc right on top of it, keeping the music going without anyone having to lift a finger. It was brilliant for convenience, though certainly not one for audiophiles numb numbs!

Mum had a stack of glam rock singles, and I absolutely loved that raw, heavy sound of The Sweet, T. Rex, Mud and Status Quo. I used to sit in the dining room playing her records, doing my absolute best impression of Noel Edmonds hosting the Radio 1 Breakfast Show. Dad, on the other hand, owned just two cassettes. One was K-tel’s Jukebox Jive, featuring the likes of Del Shannon, Gene Pitney, and Bill Haley. The other was Big Big Movie Themes by Geoff Love and his Orchestra, which filled the room with the dramatic sounds of James Bond, Jaws, and The Magnificent Seven.

But as much as I loved those sounds, that music wasn’t mine. It didn’t belong to me—not in ownership, and certainly not by generation. I was borrowing my parents’ past.

That all changed right when I turned twelve, thanks to a bit of music industry frustration. Back in the early eighties, third-party compilation labels were making a killing using other people’s music. Virgin Records, dominating the charts with massive acts like Culture Club and The Human League, finally decided enough was enough. They wanted to keep the profits for themselves and launch their own definitive chart album.

So, Branson parted his virginal whiskers and invited EMI’s throbbing catalogue to collaborate. The historic corporate hook-up was finalised on a boat in Little Venice. Now, they just needed a title. The inspiration came from an unlikely source: a 1930s Danish Bacon poster of a pig listening to a cockerel, which hung on an office wall. The caption read, “NOW That’s What I Call Music!”

On 28th November 1983, in time for Christmas, that first triple-platinum double album was born, with many, many a sibling to follow.

I’m nearly 55 now – sniper’s alley! This blog is my attempt to look back. I am going to revisit every single Now! compilation album, track by track, volume by volume. This isn’t just a music critique; it’s part memoir and part history lesson. It’s a look at what was going on in the world at the time, what these songs tell us about the eras they defined, and the deeply personal memories they conjure up from my own life.