• Japan — Halloween (1979)

• Cowboys International — Here Comes A Saturday (1979)

• Eddie & Sunshine — People Talk
• Bagarre — For Your Pleasure
• Nathalie — Mon cœur qui craque
• Munich Machine — It’s For You
• Pet Shop Boys — Paninaro
• Space Opera — Mandate My Ass
• Fatal Error — Fatal Error
• Living in Texas — Tumbling Values
• Thrift Bakery — Shake Your Jewelry
• The Passions — The Letter
• Mecano — Hijo de la luna

• Eddie & Sunshine — Lines

Jona Lewie. Most people my age or of any age have no clue who he is, and those who do know him know him for one song, “You Will Always Find Me In The Kitchen At Parties”. His one or two hit wonder status obfuscates the fact that he churned out several years worth of inspired new wave songs.

I discovered Jona the same way most others did — from “Kitchen At Parties”, but that song seemed too creative and witty (with lyrics like ‘She was into French cuisine / but I ain’t no Cordon Bleu’) to be the extent of his charm. He was such an unlikely new wave pop star — 10 or 11 years older than fellow Stiffy Kirsty MacColl, and he’s not really all that much of a singer, he’s more of a talker. Not your typical Stiff star, he sings synth-heavy narrations on the now-ness of the late 70’s and early 80’s — an unexcited troubadour of the lounge lizard bildungsroman. He’s kind of like the musical version of Mike The-Cool-Person from the TV show The Young Ones, a bit of an aging hipster, slightly sleazy, occasionally saccharine, but always full of cheeky puns and one-liners.

(Speaking of Kirsty MacColl, she actually sang backing vocals on “You’ll Always Find Me In The Kitchen At Parties” and appeared as one of the bored girls in a few TOTP appearances. They were a bit like an alternative version of the Kate Bush/Peter Gabriel mentor/protege relationship.)

All of this sets him up to be something of a comic pop star, but that doesn’t do justice to his other talents — he’s a fantastic multi-instrumentalist, and was as early of an adopter of synths and drum machines as Gary Numan or anyone else at the time. In fact, his keyboarding skills are so dead simple that they’re devastating in the way they engage. He bangs the Polymoog like it’s a Farfisa and doesn’t apologize for it. He sounds like a lot of different things, but always like himself. Cases in point:

Here’s what put him on the map. It sounds like Ian Dury, Captain Sensible, and the male/female vocal alternation resembles the future Human League.

• click to play: Jona Lewie — You’ll Always Find Me In The Kitchen At Parties

Then there’s this one, which sounds like an amazing synthpop version of the 1950’s, right down to the infectious chant. I hear a bit of Beach Boys and Nick Lowe in there too.

• click to play: Jona Lewie — Louise

Even more shocking, his song “Heart of Steel” is a DEAD RINGER for the band Erasure. Yes, that Erasure — the electronics, arrangement, even some of his vocal delivery is a foretelling of what Vince Clarke and Andy Bell would sound like 5 years later.

• click to play: Jona Lewie — Heart of Steel

He even sounds like a mix between the Beatles and Squeeze in this song. The song title could have been a Beatles throwaway track.

• click to play: Jona Lewie — I Think I’ll Get My Hair Cut

Further expounding on the Beatles-esque vibe, his other widely known song, “Stop The Cavalry”, is the UK’s most unlikely Christmas hit. It sounds like something from a new wave Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, and was only a hit because it has a single line that states on a droll, dry manner: “Wish I was at home… for Christmas.”

• click to play: Jona Lewie — Stop The Cavalry

Jona Lewie might not have been the most serious man to play a synthesizer in late 70’s Britain, but he was one of the most fun and one of the least remembered.

And while I wouldn’t say the album’s contents itself are perfect, it has a brilliant production value that is something akin to the Beatles and Spector in the synthpop age. Listen to “Perfect Hostess”, for example:

• The Korgis — Perfect Hostess

See! Here I am!

Greg Vandike only released a few singles, and none of them went anywhere (the only one that even kind of went somewhere was “Clone” from 1979, and all it seems to do is appear on equally obscure compilations of new wave music.) However, they rank in my own assessment as some of the finest undiscovered pop gems — Mr. Vandike simply must have not been well connected, because I think they beat the pants off of the comtemporary efforts of a shrill, angry Gary Numan. The lyrics are quite inventive and at times extremely endearing, especially in his song “Marie Celeste”. The lyrics are a series of metaphors related to boats and the sea in general, as it relates to a relationship with a girl. It feels like an inspired mix of John Foxx and Squeeze. When the “water water everywhere” stanza of “Marie Celeste” kicks in, the song reaches a level of greatness that makes you wonder why this wasn’t a hit.

• click to play: Greg Vandike — Marie Celeste

Or why anything else he released wasn’t a hit. After a few more singles (some of which I own, some of which I am still trying to find), his success in releasing music commercially ceased. Little else is known about him other than that he’s from Plymouth in Devon and is related to a musical family which included his mother June Marlow, who sang the jingle for a “Fry’s Turkish Delight” advert.

He died unexpectedly in March 2007, too, just a few months before I had discovered his music. His Myspace profile remains stuck in time and a reminder of how the internet, and recorded media in general, leaves behind a fairly haunting reminder of past existence. I am not much of a believer in heaven or hell, but I wonder if Greg would have thought in a million years that people from across the world would still be enjoying what he made even after his death, singles seemingly left to rot in obscurity?

Obscurity, thankfully, does not mean total oblivion. He will be remembered, even if by a few.

What’s a recipe that is repeated over and over yet always sounds pretty good? A certain kind of new wave pop song, which has the following for its ingredients:

• Gated drum — check
• Synth-vibe-glock sound — check
• Dreams of a far off land that doesn’t exist but actually does
  exist somewhere near Merseyside — check

• click: China Crisis — Greenacre Bay

Thanks to the Aaron Aiken for introducing me to this song. I had previously written off most of the band China Crisis heretofore, but the synths in this song pre-date the late 1980’s sound of the Cure by, well, most of the decade.