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Right from the opening bell, The 45's knew they wanted to be a pop group, not a rock band.
Rock bands played groaning rifts and virtuoso solos that threatened to last lifetimes; rock bands had long hair, were badly dressed and released double albums. Pop groups played sharp, melodic songs; they had cute haircuts, looked great and recorded LP's packed with three minute songs that you could whistle when you screwed.
"That's basically what our music's always been about," Phil explains thoughtfully, "Screwing."
Screwing and dancing," John adds eagerly, confident that the maonoeuvre van be realised without lasting damage.
"The other thing, even back then, that we wanted to emphasise," says Phil, "was the singing. Our voices. Harmonies. That's something we all thought had been lost during the seventies. I mean, the archetypal lead singer during the seventies was probably Robert Plant..."
"An absolute screamer," Paul interrupts.
"So we started working on harmonies, real harmonies, we'd work out these arrangements for five voices..." Whipped along on a tide of no doubt harmonic enthusiasm, Phil launches into an explanation of harmony arrangements and octave equations and the various advantages of dropped fifths and loses me in a tangle of mathematical complexity.
"Don't worry about it," John reassures me over another pint, "I don't know what he's talking about either. I just sing what I'm told."
Changing their name to the more appropriate 45's, and waving goodbye to Mick Blowfield, who went off to teach English to convent schoolgirls in The Sudan, the chaps settled down to a two-year pitch in the clubs and bars of sunny Newcastle.
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