Countdown
My adolescence absolutely revolved around this show. But then, just
about everyone in Australia would congregate in the lounge room on
Sunday night to see Hush on Countdown.
Of course, I was too young & innocent at the time to realise that Molly
Meldrum was drunk, stoned or speeding much of the time (let alone to
realise that he was gay). I just assumed he was overwhelmed (which he
very often was).
Countdown provided the soundtrack to the most important years
of my life. From ABBA, Sherbet
& TMG to The
Cars, Blondie & KISS.
I heard most of the music I still adore today for the first time
courtesy of this show.
When Countdown first went to air in November 1974 it began a path that
would take Australian music fans from the innocent utopia of the 60s to
the consumerism of the 80s via the wonderfully lavish and visual 70s.
Before Countdown there was no truly national TV program for
Australian music. But Countdown was more than just a TV show, it
was the cultural backdrop for the generation of Australians who grew up
in the 70s. I understood the necessity to slag Countdown off at
school and yet (like most of my peers) I would never miss an episode.
I saw Rabbit, Finch
(aka Contraband), Ol' 55, Leif
Garrett, Skyhooks, Duran
Duran, The Radiators, Split
Enz, ABBA, Suzi
Quatro, Gary Glitter, William
Shakespeare, Kate Bush, Mother
Goose. . . even Dave & the Derro's and the interminable Mondo
Rock (like an Australian version of Huey
Lewis and The News but even more mediocre).
While Flashez may have been cooler
(despite Ray Burgess), Countdown was still the forum for the bona
fide pop god or goddess.
One of the most potent cultural imperatives of young people in
Australia in the 13 years between 1974 and 1987 was that wherever they
were, whatever they were doing, they had to achieve a feat that would
enable them to watch the greatest show on television. On Sunday
evenings, they had to be home by six.
Countdown began life as six half hour black and white programs
broadcast in late 1974. The first hour long colour edition (hosted by Johnny
Farnham) went to air in early 1975. Instantly it became a neat
distillation of everything that mattered musically - a cultural petri
dish around which swam some of the most beautiful, ugly, energetic,
has-been, misjudged, well timed, meritless, superb musical specimens of
our age.
It was rewarding to see international guest hosts (such as Suzi
Quatro) introducing local acts they had never heard of (and invariably
gushing profusely while getting the name of the band/artist wrong). And
what would Countdown have been without the pre-pubescent girlies
swaying back and forwards waving their arms and scarves slightly out of
time to a song they had never heard before (and pissing their pants
waiting for Sherbet or John
Paul Young or Ted Mulry Gang to
appear).
In England, the long running Top of the
Pops had a similar influence. Every now and then, a song will
pop into your head from the Countdown era. The song will signify
nothing except the mind's extraordinary capacity to retain ephemera.
What's surprising is not the affection you felt for the song, rather it
can be startling how much of a Countdown song you actually know,
from the lyrics to the vocal nuances, right down to the lead guitar
break.
Themes developed gradually as the years went on. Glitter made way for
grime, Suzi made way for Siouxsie
and even the Elvis baton was passed from Presley
to Costello. Puff sleeves
gave way to leather jackets.
And then there were The Countdown Dancers - Australia's answer to Pans
People. Yum yum!
Certain conventions were cemented on Countdown, not the least of
which was classic stage actions; Drummers, hyperactive through sitting
at the back and not getting enough attention, developed the habit of
spinning their drumsticks in one hand while not otherwise engaged.
Molly Meldrum presided over
the show as the eternal father figure. He was not beyond admonishing an
act on air for being late. Molly was a confessor, a shoulder to cry on
and an energetic supporter. He would also congratulate performers on the
thinnest of rationales.
 Ian
'Molly' Meldrum was a former rock journalist who had worked for The
Beatles at the Abbey Road studios, been thrown out of The Beatles
concert at Melbourne Festival Hall for overly exuberant behaviour and
decided that rock and roll would be his life.
He got the job as Talent Coordinator on Countdown which turned
out to be an inspired decision, although Molly was not an obvious
choice. He was a bit of a stumbler, an endearing, all-too-human pop fan
whose passion for music often gave rise to superb mangling of the
language.
At times he was just a boob. Not a man obsessed with syntax, Meldrum
blurted out exactly what he was thinking at any given moment. It gave Countdown
a dimension that teenagers could relate to - A guy who was just like
them, only older. And not only did he know all the stars, he got to pat
them or kiss them or congratulate them.
Many of Molly's intros to songs were brain-teasers, leaping around
from one idea to another, resting momentarily then darting off in
another direction. In an interview with Ultravox,
singer Midge Ure was on the back foot from the start:
"This is what Spandau
Ballet were saying of where, like, you know, um, it's back to
where people are proud of what they're wearing, the clothes, the
fashion and everything like that. Did you fell that, um, that within
music again, um, that there could be some sort of progression"
Being economical with language was something that eluded Molly. If it
was worth saying, it was worth saying three or four times.
"This particular album is an excellent album, it's a double
album. Have a listen to the album, and if you happen to buy the album,
it's going to a very good cause"
At it's peak, Countdown had an audience of three million.
Because of this it became literally a monopoly whereby bands could be
frozen out if they dared give their film clip to another music show. If
it was happening, it was happening on Countdown first.
A kind word from its host would literally send a song scurrying up
the charts or fill a pub with paying fans. Every part of the music
industry fed off Countdown. It was fully aware of its own power
and its huge, appreciative audience and it wielded the power with a
verve and arrogance consistent with its stranglehold.
One of the great tragedies of the Countdown era was the wiping
of a large number of master tapes, orchestrated by ABC bean counters to
save money. The bulk of Countdown was erased . . . It was an act
of cultural vandalism, a dreadful mistake, a complete failure by
faceless bureaucrats to understand that these tapes would one day be
important social documents. Couldn't they see that?
Countdown finally shut up shop on 19 July 1987. Molly removed
his famous cowboy hat at the Sydney Entertainment Centre to reveal a
shaved bonce, and that was that!
The ABC tried keeping the flame alive with a new youth program
launched in July 1989 called Countdown Revolution. The show was hosted
by Tania Lacey and Mark Little. It received only a modest following and
was axed the following year.
LANDMARK MOMENTS IN COUNTDOWN HISTORY
- Molly becoming "tired and emotional" to the point where
he failed to return to the stage and was covered for admirably by
Daryl Braithwaite and JPY.
- Iggy Pop spitting at Molly and calling him "dogface"
before terrorising the young audience with the microphone and
finally sticking it down the front of his pants.
- Billy Idol announcing "I've had some really heavy sex since
arriving in Australia" at one of the Countdown awards
ceremonies.
- Molly "interviewing" Professor Rubik about his
infamous
cube on Countdown Sunday : "I bet you can't do it!" -
yeh,
nice one Molly!
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