By Dickie Felton
If I could time travel to any year in my life I’d have a re-run of 1991.
We were penniless but about to experience a year of perfect pop.
It’s hard to fathom that 30 years have passed since my quiff and me were in Near Wild Heaven.
I was 17 at the start of the year, in sixth form, and was fast discovering girls, gigs and games.
Me, aged 17 in 1991
In 1989 I’d left my strict Christian Brothers school with a paltry three GCSEs, and joined the local comprehensive.
School life consisted of exam re-takes as it was dawning on Dickie that I wasn’t going to be a rocket scientist.
Dad suggested a career on the railways. Which given my fondness for the National Railway Museum, seemed like an option.
I went for a day of assessment at Lime Street train station. They didn’t invite me back.
But none of this mattered one jot because I was finding music which was about to change my life.
Three decades ago this week REM released Out of Time – one of the greatest albums in history.
If a song has ever stood the test of time as much as Losing My Religion I’d like to hear it.
I’d already discovered The Smiths a couple of years earlier – but they’d already split up.
With REM suddenly had a band I could follow in the here and now.
Out of Time is the LP that made them global superstars and was the record that encouraged me to pick up a guitar.
Although I didn’t see REM live until 1995, I spent 1991 trawling record shops for their early releases and began worshipping Saint Stipe.
My appetite for music was insatiable.
I was buying the New Musical Express, Melody Maker, Select and The Face magazine for news of gigs and new album releases.
Partly inspired by REM, I’d look out for American artists and exactly 30 years ago I watched crooner Chris Isaak at Liverpool Royal Court.
Isaak’s moody and magnificent Wicked Game first appeared on his 1989 album Heart Shaped World but reached a mass audience with David Lynch’s Wild At Heart film in 1991.
In April I saw Morrissey live for the first time at Aberdeen Capitol Theatre. The first British show of his solo tour. We travelled for what felt like years from Liverpool to Aberdeen for the gig.
Me and Dan were on the front row that night and I can still remember the total butterflies in stomach thrill of seeing Morrissey in real life – about one metre in front of me.
We then saw Moz at the Liverpool Empire and in Blackburn. That was the start of a 30 year career attending Morrissey shows.
It was a good move me switching schools.
In the summer of 1991 a lad called Spike organised a coach trip to see INXS at Wembley Stadium*.
That kind of ‘school trip’ would never have happened under the watch of the uber strict Christian Brothers.
A load of my new classmates bundled onto a bus and travelled to the mecca of football for the biggest gig I’ve ever been to.
It was not so much a show as an all day extravaganza of music from bright young things and rock legends.
It was a baking hot day. There were 72000 people there. Including me and then girlfriend Nikki.
The support acts were phenomenal: Jellyfish, Roachford, Jesus Jones, Deborah Harry, and Hothouse Flowers.
INXS were amazing, with Michael Hutchence in black and white stripy pants singing Never Tear Us Apart. In a sense he was our Mick Jagger – or it certainly felt like it that night.
We had stash of Miller Light lager for the long journey back home. I think I was sick somewhere north of Oxford.
But it wasn’t all greatness.
In October an ill-fated two-night convention celebrating The Smiths in Manchester and Paris was nearly the death of me.
The hotel for two days was to be a battered coach – the likes of which you can still see in Carry On films from the 1960s.
Even at 18 years old it was a tall order to go to a club – Manchester’s Richfields on Deansgate – and then board a coach to France at 2am. There were no less than 13 pick-up spots along the black as night M6, M1, M25 and M2.
I didn’t envisage so much stamina and mental resolve was required to survive such an ordeal.
I can still remember the one hour ‘break’ at Watford Gap at 430am questioning why I’d signed up for such an arduous weekender in the first place and pondering the meaning of life.
If I was to ever bump into Nikki – who I conscripted on this torturous trip – I’d pardon profusely.
My pass for the Smiths Convention 1991
I think we started to raise ourselves enough to actually make conversation come the 11am ferry crossing to Calais.
I slept as we arrived in Paris and drew back the coach curtain to cast eyes on this beautiful city for the very first time.
Expecting to see boulevards, my first panorama was a wino going to the toilet behind a graffitied dual carriageway.
The second stint of The Smiths disco was at the legendary Locomotive Club in Pigalle – the red light district of Paris.
We’d been warned in the pamphlet: “You must not take your T-shirt or top off at any time while in the Locomotive Club. No matter how hot it gets. Please respect these requests.”
There was zero chance of me taking my top off as the iconic club was empty. And freezing.
I think we may have bailed early and took our weary young frames to an all might coffee shop.
The Locomotive Club ground to a halt at 6am and the bus was then to take us to Père-Lachaise cemetery.
We had now been awake for something like 48 hours and we looked more dead than the people resting in the graveyard. Anyway, it was shut.
A lad from the back of the bus shouted: “We want our money back!”
I think sitting on coaches for days on end was the thing to do in 1991. Trains were too expensive. I’d only been on one plane trip in my life up to that point.
A year later me and Nikki went to San Sebastian in northern Spain. On a coach. From Liverpool.
It was a one thousand mile journey. Or sixteen hours sat on a Eurolines bus. This was three decades before shows like Race Across The World were popular.
Still, it was worth it on arrival. San Sebastian is a lovely city. I must go back one day. By plane.
I think the music took over from the football passion that year. Liverpool FC were starting to fall from grace.
It was my second year as a season ticket holder on the Kop but the Reds had a rocky season.
The campaign will largely be remembered for three FA Cup ties contested between Liverpool and Everton.
A bore draw at Anfield was followed by a 4-4 ‘classic’ at Goodison Park. Everton would eventually go on to win the second replay. I was at all three matches.
Stood surrounded by Evertonians in the Gwladys Street end the 4-4 felt far from a classic.
Liverpool’s defending, so often solid, was chaotic, and we just couldn’t kill off the Blues.
Kenny Dalglish resigned as manager after the game. He cited pressure of the job and impact of the Hillsborough disaster on him.
Things scarcely feel like it at the time, but we were witnessing football history back then.
It was the end of an era for Liverpool FC.
That defeat to Everton signified the end of a decade of dominance. And the game was entering a new dawn of Sky Sports and The Premier League which would change football forever.
I’d passed my driving test (third time of asking) in late 1991 and thought I was the bees knees driving around in my dad’s black Nissan Micra. Electronic’s Get The Message would shake the tiny car to its core.
There were gigs by the likes of James at the end of the year. James seemed to play Liverpool every other week back then. They were so good live, with so much energy and stunning songs.
I’ve kept a copy of Select Magazine from September 91.
A quick flick through indicates how amazing the music was back then.
There’s five pages afforded to reviews of new albums and list upon list of new releases.
Blur’s Leisure was about to come out as was Primal Scream’s Screamadelica. I wouldn’t catch those bands live in 91 but would do in later years.
It’s long gone, but 1991 was a great time to be alive.
For all the bonkers bus trips, and club all-nighters, I’d go back and live it all again.
In a flash.
*In a few months I’m going to write a separate feature on INXS at Wembley 1991 – as it deserves it.