When I was young I had no time for Cliff Richard. This was partly due to the fact that he appeared on ITV in Oh Boy! and we only had BBC ( we had 6.5 Special and Tommy Steele), and also because of that greasy hair and the mock sneer. One of my cousins, also called Sandra, who we rarely saw, came to our house once. Out in the street, even before they came indoors she said that she had been to a concert of Cliff’s and run her hand through his hair. She said she would never wash her hand again which I thought was the most exciting thing possible. Timidly – she was older and sophisticated – I asked what she thought of Tommy Steele. She said, ‘He’s bloody awful – excuse my French.’ I mean, she really was sophisticated. And somehow that view of Tommy Steele I felt was almost Cliff’s view.
It was a confusing time. Later I would come to laugh at Cliff’s films, although secretly I enjoyed Summer Holiday. But the songs were so bland, though (friend) Sandra and I were adept at the Shadows dance moves.
But it is only now, listening to Move It, that I realise that it was a really good rock’n’roll record.