CROWDED HOUSE
(Australia/New Zealand, one Top 40 hit, no Top 40 albums)

Their halycon days would arrive in '91 and the outstanding "Woodface" album, an all-time great long player, but the brothers Finn, long after Split Enz had died a death, and their back-of-stage cohorts flirted briefly with the charts in '87 with what remains their best tune of many, the sweepalong "Don't Dream It's Over" ("there is freedom within, there is freedom without trying to catch the deluge in a paper cup"), later destroyed by Paul Young, taken back to dizzier heights by the Finns and named as one of the 100 greatest singles of all time by Q magazine readers. We need say no more.

Biggest Hit: "Don't Dream It's Over", No.27, 1987
Defining Moment: "Hey now, heyyyyyy now..."

CULT
(UK, ten Top 40 hits, five Top 40 albums)

Consistent but low-profile Goth haranguers led by hippyish, open-shirted frontman Ian Astbury, who added his hyper-rough tones to a collection of very loud and quite brilliant hits, without ever making the Top 10, to the chart's detriment. Best known was the career-making "She Sells Sanctuary" in '85, containing one of the finest guitar riffs ever written (played on one of those enormous fat white ones) and used on a million big-deal Sky Sports adverts ever since. Follow up, the still axe-dominated but much more digestible "Rain" ("hot sticky scenes, you know what I mean") which put the band on TOTP and confirmed Astbury, smiling sweetly through his black make up, tall hat and open jacket, as a pretty damn terrifying figure, yet one with a phenomenally charismatic voice whom you couldn't help but like. Further Top 20 safety net hits traipsed through the production line until '87 when the ballsy "Lil' Devil" peaked them at No.11, from when their ever-so-slow downward spiral began, though they kept finding the Top 40 by a whisker each time (exception being "Fire Woman" slap in the middle) right through until '89. Super woofers were made for them.

Biggest Hit: "Lil' Devil", No.11, 1987
Defining Moment: That awesome solo on "She Sells Sanctuary".

SMILEY CULTURE
(UK, one Top 40 hit, no Top 40 albums)

London rapper-cum-reggae-squealer whose solitary vinyl stomp took a not-so-thinly disguised swipe at coppers who stop black motorists for no reason other than their skin tone. The tune was "Police Officer" ("no give me producer") and it got close to the Top 10, unlike any of his future efforts.

Biggest Hit: "Police Officer", No.12, 1985
Defining Moment: Being quoted ad infenitum by crap comic duo Curtis and Ishmael.

CURE
(UK, twelve Top 40 hits, ten Top 40 albums)

Gothic Gods with a sizeable mainstream following too, uniquely fashioned via a make-up artist with Parkinson's Disease and a protest against combs. Head honcho Robert Smith, he of the skewiff slap and whiney, pleading, hurting voice (he either did minimalist melody or pained warbling as if he'd trapped his fingers in a car sunroof), hooked up at the end of the 70s with three others and proceeded to build up a small chunk of loyal and fiercely proud fans, having a few near misses in the process before the typically dark ambience of "A Forest" ("come closer and see, see into the trees") made it to No.31. Life didn't change though, with several more acquired-taste releases missing out on kids telly plugs until "The Walk" ("I kissed you in the water and made your dry lips sing") in '83, synonymous with one of the most bizarre synth riffs of the decade, took them to No.12 and paved the way for their most recognisable tune and the only one to this day which 80s parents actively admit to liking. So in came "The Lovecats" ("we should have each other to tea, we should have each other with cream") which still gets regular MOR airplay and made Smith and his cohorts the closest they had ever been to an acceptable face of pop. Their image let them down, groovy and unique but scaring off the over-judgemental, even though they were never anything remotely like the yobs some tried to make out. Smith's lyrics, laden with unequalled skills in metaphor and personification, made him stand out as a songwriter of special gifts and, nicking a classical piano glissando as an intro, the next hit "Caterpillar" ("flicka flicka flicka flicka flicka flicka flicka flicka here you are") kept them in the Top 20. Perhaps the less obvious admirers would jump forward into '85 to cite the heavy acoustic anthem "Inbetween Days" ("yesterday I got so old I felt like I could die"), less than three minutes long but instantly catchy, as their most accessible and memorable tune to date, though the follow-up "Close To Me" ("I've waited hours for this, I've made myself so sick I wish I'd stayed asleep today"), takes some beating for signature status. Simplistic drumbeat eventually joined, in order, by thumping bassline, single-finger organ riff, xylophone overview and brass crescendo, all before Smith's semi-spoken vocals (car sunroof variety) rounded off the job. It's star was lost in '90 when an unwise and abysmal remix was released, but that's another angle altogether. During a break in '86, their pre-fame tour de force "Boys Don't Cry" ("I try to laugh about it, cover it all up with lies") finally got the wider audience it deserved before Smith and friends returned in '87, scoring three more hits until, finally, they got the Top 5 smash their patience and honest endeavour had deserved all those years. And what a belter it was. The slow, thudding, acoustic crowd-calmer "Lullaby" ("Spiderman is having me for dinner tonight") hit the No.5 spot in '89, followed by Smith's one unadulterated venture into pure, simplistic romance "Lovesong" ("however far away, I will always love you") which finished off the decade in some style. Continued 'instant chart' status would be afforded to them throughout the 90s, with Smith's lacking of happy tunes satirised to great effect by Rob Newman (though the singer took it the right way by appearing on The Mary Whitehouse Experience and then promptly wrote "Friday I'm In Love", which made "Flashdance" sound like "Lonely This Christmas") and although a sad bust-up led to the departure of long-serving batman Lol Tolhurst, the Cure remain a band who stand proudly on their own as one unafraid to take risks, set trends and not fall to the image consultants. Their lipstick is still halfway up their cheeks and their hair is still fresh from the nearest electrical socket. Jason Donovan's favourite band are in a class of their own.

Biggest Hit: "Lullaby", No.5, 1989
Defining Moment: "Into the sea, you and me, oh years and no-one heard, I'll show you in spring, it's a treacherous thing, miss you hiss the lovecats!"

CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT
(UK, four Top 10 hits, two Top 40 albums)

Another of those chuggalong all-male bands led by a lead singer whose presence rendered the rest anonymous. Foggy vocalist Ben Volpelierre- Pierrot (we think, we'll check up on that) was gangly and bony and insisted on wearing a jet black beret all the time, sparking false rumours that he was completely bald but trebling sales of the headgear overnight once debut hit "Down To Earth" ("straight back down, come back down, straight back down"), a gently uplifting piece of uncontroversial pop, took them to No.3 at the beginning of '87, a feat never to be equalled until a one-off cover of Johnny Bristol's "Hang On In There Baby" nine years later, which took all by surprise. The second single was the less inspiring "Ordinary Day" - as George Michael put it when he did the Smash Hits reviews, "you can't expect a song with 'ordinary' in the title to be any good" - but Vol-Pierrot and friends got back to tournament pitch soon afterwards with their chirpiest pop melody "Misfit" ("how long, how low, how higher can you go?") which peaked at No.7. After their fourth single "Free" flopped, a break was needed to find the ammunition to equal the exceptional first album "Keep Your Distance" which got to No.1. They couldn't manage it, tragically - their bout of the killer 'second album syndrome' produced no more Top 10 hits - indeed, their '89 comeback (now as less awkwardly renamed Curiosity) only produced one devastatingly cheesy single, "Name And Number" ("hey, how you doing, sorry you can't get through") which reached a mere No.14 and made Vol-Pierrot look somewhat peeved at having to impersonate an answerphone. Helped initially by their singer's millinery gimmick, this was a band who struck gold and then fell victim to a highwayman on the way back. Their brief '92 swansong was spectacular but their days were numbered the moment they got famous.

Biggest Hit: "Down To Earth", No.3, 1987
Defining Moment: That beret.

CUTTING CREW
(UK, three Top 40 hits, no Top 40 albums)

Bands are only as good as their tunes, and the uninspirational Cutting Crew only ever had one tune. Written by raucous singer Nick Van Eede, the outstanding moodfest "(I Just) "Died In Your Arms" ("it must have been something you said") was banned from hospital radio playlists all over the country for fear of upsetting the inmates but still climbed, deservedly, to No.4 in '86. Then they looked around for up-to-standard follow ups and realised they didn't have any. The only other song to pierce the Top 40 was the extremely dull "I've Been In Love Before", which actually charted three times in total, the first and third times to No.31 and No.24 respectively, which in itself was a good enough signal that perhaps things weren't working out. Two left-over releases scaled their way to No.52 and No.66 respectively. They got the message after that.

Biggest Hit: "(I Just) Died In Your Arms", No.4, 1986
Defining Moment: "I shoulda walked awaaaaay...."