Chicory Tip – Son Of My Father

19th February 1972 · 1970s, 1972, Music

Chicory Tip claimed the first UK No.1 to prominently feature a synthesiser when future football anthem Son Of My Father topped the charts in February 1972.

Well here’s a surprise. Not least for those of us who know this song largely through its adapted version on the football terraces.

Number one for Chicory Tip in February 1972, it turns out the song was written by the legendary electro pioneer and godfather of disco, Giorgio Moroder. And it was first released the previous year under its original title Nachts Sheint Die Sonne (In The Night Shines The Sun), by Michael Holm, who also wrote the German lyrics.

The song was given new English lyrics by Pete Bellotte and re-released by Moroder himself under the moniker Giorgio – first as a B-side, and then again as an A-side – but it failed to chart in the UK until it was covered by Chicory Tip.

They recorded it in George Martin’s Air Studios in Hampstead on Christmas Eve 1971 after an advance copy of Giorgio’s version found its way to studio manager Roger Easterby and he smelt a hit single. He was right – it topped the UK charts for three weeks.

As a footnote in music history, it’s notable as the first UK No.1 to prominently feature a synthesiser – although it’s not played by any of the band. The distinctive/annoying six-note Moog bit was programmed and played by recording engineer Chris Thomas, the versatile studio genius who produced albums by everyone from The Beatles and Elton John to Pulp and Pink Floyd, Roxy Music and The Sex Pistols.

In another footnote, they sang the ‘wrong’ lyrics, possibly because front man Peter Hewson misheard Moroder’s words when sung by the Italian on his otherwise identical arrangement.

Chicory Tip went on to have two more big hit singles – What’s Your Name and Good Grief Christina – and later had a crack at recreating this hit by teaming up again with Moroder and Bellotte for a song called I.O.U., but it flopped.

They released only one album before disbanding but live on for ever on the terraces, where my team’s fans regularly pay tribute to the late David Rocastle by singing along to its tune: “Oh Rocky, Rocky – Rocky, Rocky, Rocky, Rocky Rocastle.”

Anyway, here they are on a Dutch TV show, performing for no apparent reason on the promenade of a beach somewhere in Holland.