All the real action in ’88 was on the dancefloor, where innovation, eccentricity, joy and love could be found in abundance. There is no sight more bizarre than walking into an acid house club where hundreds of colourfully dressed youths wobble and wave in an absurd attempt to find the beat!

Technology, in the guise of sequencers, has heralded a transfer of musical initiative – from musicians to DJs and engineers and, in the British singles market, a transfer of power from the music business to the record makers. Never has a state-of-the-art dance record been so cheap to make, leading to an awesome number of independent chart-toppers in the last year. This is as radical as punk, if we could only see it, but it is too often ignored by large sections of the music press because it is entirely un-lyrical.

These people have nothing to say … but they’re having a damn good time! they are fans (as DJs always have been, and the motivations of fandom are always the most pure. They also (not being musicians) know no rules. My good friend Jack (of Jack’n’Chill) recounted to me how he was in the studio one day when The Cold Cut Crew were creating a new waxing. They were almost done but they had no chorus (demonstrating a rather unusual approach to songwriting). Someone ran off and got a copy of an old recording of “Joshua And The Walls Of Jerico’ and hey presto … it fitted! The result was a mighty dance-floor smash and one of the most bizarre records ever to chart: ‘Stop This Crazy Thing’ (featuring Junior Reid and the Ahead Of Our Time Orchestra).

The British dance scene produced too many wonderful slices of life to mention: disposable pop commodities that will be forgotten in ’89 but have no less value for that. American black rap was equally innovative, with the likes of Eric B. & Rakim making ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’ sound positively tongue-tied. The British re-mix of ‘Paid In Full’ had to be the rap track of the year. For a lyric-based form, however, it is significantly weakened by the banality of its constant boasting. There were positive developments by the likes of Public Enemy and Ice-T, a sign that rappers may yet prove to have something to say once they’re all through talking about themselves.

“Gonna rap about this, gonna rap about that/Gonna tell everybody where it’s at/All over the world people gonna say/You got to dig the Masterman and Baby J”.

Randy Newman deliciously skewered rap-vanity on ‘Masterman & Baby J’, a track from his superb album, ‘Land Of Dreams’. It was just one of many top rate LPs by songwriters who defy fashion and transient pop and rock pleasures by following their own muse. The crazed innovations of the singles market do not really translate to a Long Player (unless, for variety’s sake, it’s a compilation), for me, the finest albums of ’88 were produced by essentially conservative but indisputably well-honed talents. Kevin Hiatt, Crowded House, Bobby McFerrin, Graham Parker, The Waterboys all made crafted passionate and satisfying records, but none quite as impressive as an ageing romeo in a lived-in suit and a gravel voice: Leonard Cohen. ‘I’m Your Man’ was a stunning album, a collection of clear, concise songs brought to life by penetrating language and performances of conviction. It is a testament to the fact that talent can mature with age even in the arena of contemporary music, that old does not have to mean lazy, that conservative does not have to be equated with dull. As Leonard intones in ‘Tower Of Song’: “I was born like this, I had no choice/I was born with the gift of a golden voice”. It seems you never can stop this crazy thing.