seasons in the sun

844. ‘I Have a Dream’ / ‘Seasons in the Sun’, by Westlife

/ UK #1s blog / 9 Comments

I’m sure many readers think I’ve been a little soft on Westlife in my posts on their first three chart-toppers. ‘Swear It Again’ was fairly bland, but I enjoyed ‘If I Let You Go’ more than I was expecting to, and ‘Flying Without Wings’ has an overblown charm to it. But no more. The Westlife love-in stops here!

I Have a Dream / Seasons in the Sun, by Westlife (their 4th of fourteen #1s)

4 weeks, from 19th December 1999 – 16th January 2000

Just five seconds into ‘I Have a Dream’ and I’m feeling nauseous. The sleigh bells, the tinkles, the choking clouds of saccharine. It is so cynically programmed for the festive season that I’m imagining a big red button on a mixing desk, sealed in a glass box, with a sign that reads ‘Smash for Boybands in Desperate Need of Christmas Number One’. I’d make my usual comparison to karaoke backing tracks, if that wasn’t a horrible insult to the people who make karaoke backing tracks.

It doesn’t help that it’s an ABBA cover. Even though ‘I Have a Dream’ has never been one of my favourite ABBA songs, this feels like an act of sacrilege. But then it’s not so much a ‘cover’, more a pillaging mission that would make even the blood-thirstiest Vikings blush, leaving behind a smouldering ruin where once stood a much-loved ballad.

With grim inevitability a choir appears, for the second chart-topper running, as we lurch towards what the producers must have hoped would be a soaring climax. The best bit of the entire business are the closing two seconds; not just because the song is ending, but because one of the boys finishes on an oh-woah-owah that I think was meant to sound profound, but that sounds to me like the noise a murderer would make as they drop their bloody knife, realising exactly what a terrible crime they have just committed.

‘I Have a Dream’ finishes, yet we barely have time to rinse the sick from our mouths. There’s another massacring of a seventies hit to contend with. ‘Seasons in the Sun’ was a fairly shite record to begin with, so this cover doesn’t offend the ears quite as badly. Still, it tries its best. To kick off, we get a blast of the ol’ Oirish pipes, in the finest B*Witched tradition, to remind us exactly which nation to blame for this offence.

The rest of the song plods by fairly slowly, and the Westlife boys sound largely bored. The production is just as cheap and tacky. I’ve tried, in the comments, to defend late-nineties pop music from accusations that it was too ‘push-button’, but I can offer no defence here. All the worst pre-programmed touches and flourishes of the era are on display here. We end the decade on the lowest of low notes…

Again, I wonder if Westlife actually counted many teenage girls among their fans, as this seventies double-header seems unerringly aimed at the mum market. And the tactic, of course, worked. As terrible as this record is, it was an inevitable Christmas number one, and the only Westlife single to spend more than two weeks at the top. It was also the last number one of the decade, of the century, and of the millennium. It meant that Westlife joined the Spice Girls and B*Witched in reaching #1 with their first four releases. It also meant that they scored four number ones in a calendar year, a feat managed just twice before, by Elvis in 1961 and ‘62.

So, here end the 1990s. I wouldn’t call it the best chart decade (the 1960s will never be topped), but was it the most interesting? It was a decade of extremes: the longest continuous run at #1, the best-selling #1 of all time (and some of the lowest selling #1s too), as well as the two longest-playing #1s. We’ve had classics that have come to define modern British pop culture, and some of the most notorious novelties. We’ve had Take That, Oasis, and the Spice Girls. We’ve had our first ‘fuck’ on top of the charts. I will be doing a deeper dive into the decade very soon, when we do our ‘Nineties Top 10’.

But I’ll leave things here, on an important question. There’s no doubt that the ‘90s have ended at a tragically low ebb. But what record is worse? This, or ‘The Millennium Prayer’? It is probably a question best answered when I hand out the next ‘Worst Number One’ Award, but for me there’s only one winner…

347. ‘Seasons in the Sun’, by Terry Jacks

/ UK #1s blog / 18 Comments

From one mawkishly sentimental #1, to another…

Seasons in the Sun, by Terry Jacks (his 1st and only #1)

4 weeks, from 31st March – 28th April 1974

Let’s not pull any punches: this record is seen by many as one of the worst songs, ever. And I can understand why. From the opening riff, both ominous and irritating, to the nursery rhyme lyrics that don’t quite scan: Goodbye to you, My trusted friend, We’ve known each other since we were nine or ten…

It’s the swan-song of a dying man, a man who has lived quite a life: drinking, carousing, chasing girls… The self-confessed black sheep of the family. He lies upon his deathbed, smelling spring in the air, hearing children playing outside. There’s a verse for his friend, his father, and his daughter Michelle.

Jacks’ voice is perhaps the biggest problem here. It’s reedy, and at times sounds like bad impression of Kermit the frog. But it’s far from being the only problem… There’s an early key-change, and then another, and another, and another, until you’re left wondering if the song might continue until it’s reached a key that only dogs can hear. And then there are lines like: we skinned our hearts and skinned our knees… and like: but the stars we could reach were just starfish on the beach…

‘Seasons in the Sun’ is in many ways a terrible song. Saccharine, cloying, cheesy, simplistic… throw all these adjectives at it and they stick in the sentimental gloop. But I’ve never been able to hate it. I quite like this record. In reflective moments I picture myself singing it on my own deathbed… I find the Goodbye papa, It’s hard to die, When the birds are singing in the sky… line very moving, and a reminder of our own great insignificance in the grand scheme of things. The birds don’t give a shit if you live or die – they’ll go on singing regardless. And Jacks was inspired to write his version of the lyrics when one of his friends was diagnosed with terminal leukaemia, so that’s very sad.

In the right hands this could be a powerful song. Unfortunately the only other version I can think of is Westlife’s – a version we will meet atop the charts one day – and they are certainly not ‘the right hands’. The very first version had come in the early sixties as ‘Le Moribund’, in French, sung by Jacques Brel. In it the singer is ‘dying’ from a broken heart, and he sarcastically dedicates the final verse to the girlfriend that cheated on him. It sounds so unlike ‘Seasons in the Sun’ that you wouldn’t instantly connect them.

The first English version was recorded by folk act The Kingston Trio. It’s just as strident as Brel’s. Meanwhile, the Beach Boys were working on a version at the same time as Terry Jacks and his wife. Sadly it never saw the light of day. But what’s this I’ve found…? A demo version? By Nirvana? With Kurt Cobain mumbling, and making up half the lyrics, including a line about ‘foggy turds’…? Still not convinced they’re the right hands, but I like it…

Terry Jacks doesn’t quite make it as a one-hit wonder – his follow up to this chart-topper made #8. He lives in his native Canada, where he semi-retired from the music industry in the eighties, enjoying many a season in the sun, and where he has won several awards for his environmental campaigning.