The 1970s was British music at its most exaggerated. The most theatrical stars. The loudest guitars. The longest albums. The shortest songs. It was the decade of Ziggy Stardust and Sid Vicious, of Dark Side of the Moon and 'Anarchy in the UK', of ABBA (Swedish but essential), the Wombles (don't ask), and Queen becoming the biggest band in the world.
1970: The Beatles Are Dead, Long Live the 70s
April 1970. Paul McCartney announced the Beatles had split. The greatest band in history was over. And the 1970s began without a centre.
What filled the void was variety. In 1970 alone, the UK number ones ranged from Lee Marvin's 'Wand'rin' Star' (a film score) to Freda Payne's 'Band of Gold' (soul) to the Jackson 5's 'I'll Be There' to 'Grandad' by Clive Dunn (a 50-year-old actor from Dad's Army singing about being old). The charts had no idea what they wanted to be.
But 1970 also gave us 'All Right Now' by Free. A simple, bluesy rock anthem that still fills dancefloors. 'Paranoid' by Black Sabbath, which invented heavy metal. Both British. Both built for the 70s.
1971-73: The Glam Takeover
Then came the platforms. T. Rex, led by Marc Bolan, kicked glam into gear. 'Hot Love', 'Get It On', 'Telegram Sam'. Glitter, stomp, and an androgyny that confused parents and thrilled kids. 'Ride a White Swan' reached number two in October 1970. By 1971, glam was everywhere.
David Bowie was watching. And planning. In 1969 he'd had 'Space Oddity'. In 1972, he created Ziggy Stardust — a persona, a concept album, a stage show, a complete reinvention. 'Starman' on Top of the Pops. Bowie pointing at the camera. A nation of teenagers suddenly wondering if it was okay to be strange.
Queen emerged in 1973 with their self-titled debut. 'Seven Seas of Rhye' was a hint of what was coming. Nobody knew yet. Glam also gave us Roxy Music (art school and style), Slade (a new year's eve staple), Mud (the novelty end), Gary Glitter (now cancelled, then massive), and Suzi Quatro (leather-clad bassist who proved women could rock).
1974-76: The Interim Years
The mid-70s were strange. Glam was fading. Punk hadn't arrived. What filled the gap was a peculiar mix: the Bay City Rollers (teenybop tartan pop), Wizzard (Roy Wood with a big beard and bigger orchestra), the Wombles (yes, from the children's show — 'Remember You're a Womble' went to number one).
But beneath the novelty, serious music was brewing. Queen released 'Bohemian Rhapsody' in October 1975. Six minutes. Opera section. No chorus. No radio edit. It spent nine weeks at number one. Freddie Mercury, then, was simply the most magnetic frontman in rock.
'I was born in 65, so I caught the tail end of the 60s and grew up with the 70s. The first singles I remember buying were in the early 70s. Glam was my childhood. T. Rex, Slade, Sweet — that's what I knew before punk. Then punk came and I was old enough to understand, young enough to be excited, too young to get to the gigs.'
— Robbie Williams
1976-77: The Punk Explosion
And then everything changed. The Sex Pistols. 'Anarchy in the UK'. December 1976 — a now-legendary interview with Bill Grundy on the tea-time Today programme. A four-letter word. A national scandal. The front pages for days.
1977 was punk's annus mirabilis. The Sex Pistols' 'God Save the Queen' — released during the Silver Jubilee — was banned by the BBC, banned by radio, refused by WH Smith and Boots. It went to number one anyway. Never Mind the Bollocks, the only studio album the Pistols released, is a masterpiece of rage and energy.
But punk was more than the Pistols. The Clash wrote songs about politics and unemployment. The Damned were first to release a single and an album. Buzzcocks brought pop melodies and DIY ethics. The Jam were mod revivalists, political and sharp. In Manchester, the Buzzcocks started a scene that would lead to Factory Records and Joy Division.
1977-79: The Aftermath
Punk didn't last long as a movement. By 1978, the Pistols had split. Sid Vicious was dead. But its influence spread everywhere. Post-punk took punk's energy into stranger, more experimental places. Joy Division. Gang of Four. Wire. The Fall.
Meanwhile, the mainstream kept turning. ABBA dominated the late 70s. The Bee Gees defined disco. John Travolta defined Saturday Night Fever. Boney M. Donna Summer. The charts were full of platform shoes and white suits.
And then there was Kate Bush. 'Wuthering Heights' — number one in 1978. A 19-year-old woman singing about a Victorian novel over a piano. No precedent. No imitation. Just astonishing originality.
The Songs That Defined the 70s
David Bowie — 'Starman' (1972)
The moment Ziggy Stardust arrived on British television. Bowie's finger pointed at the camera. A generation discovered it was okay to be different.
Queen — 'Bohemian Rhapsody' (1975)
Six minutes. Opera. Hard rock. Nothing like it before. Nothing like it since. The greatest single ever released.
Sex Pistols — 'God Save the Queen' (1977)
Banned, suppressed, number one anyway. A three-minute blast of rage that told the establishment the party was over.
Kate Bush — 'Wuthering Heights' (1978)
A teenager from Kent, a song about Emily Bronte, and one of the most extraordinary debut singles ever released.
Abba — 'Dancing Queen' (1976)
Swedish, yes, but the sound of the 70s dancefloor. Pure pop perfection.
Why the 70s Matter
The 1970s was when British music became unpredictable. The 60s had a narrative — the British Invasion, the Beatles, the rise. The 70s had no single story. It had Ziggy and Sid, Freddie and Kate, prog concept albums and three-chord punk riots.
It was the decade of real and fake. Authenticity and spectacle. ELO's orchestral pop and the Damned's DIY racket. The 70s proved British music could be anything. And often was.