A defiant cry for connection forged in sweat, volume, and the raw urgency of early British rock
When Slade tore through “Hear Me Calling” on Belgian television for Popshop in 1971, the band were still in the process of becoming the force that would soon dominate the UK charts. The song itself had already made its mark earlier that year, reaching the UK Singles Chart Top 20 and signaling a decisive shift in the group’s direction. Originally released as a standalone single, “Hear Me Calling” also found a natural home in the era captured by Slade Alive!, even if this Popshop appearance predates that famous live document. What matters most is that this performance freezes Slade at the exact moment their raw power began to translate into national impact.
On the Popshop stage, “Hear Me Calling” is stripped of artifice and studio gloss. What remains is muscle, volume, and intent. Noddy Holder’s voice is already unmistakable, hoarse, commanding, and emotionally direct, cutting through the television speakers with startling immediacy. He does not sing so much as proclaim, turning the song into a challenge hurled outward. Dave Hill’s guitar snarls with sharp-edged authority, while Jim Lea’s bass anchors the performance with a relentless forward drive. Don Powell’s drumming pounds with almost military insistence, pushing the song like a battering ram.
Lyrically, “Hear Me Calling” is built around a plea that borders on confrontation. The repeated demand to be heard is not romantic in the traditional sense, nor is it introspective. It is physical and urgent, rooted in frustration, desire, and the need to break through indifference. In this Popshop performance, the song feels less like a narrative and more like a force of will. Holder’s delivery turns the lyrics into an act of insistence, a refusal to be ignored by lovers, audiences, or the wider music world.
This performance also reveals Slade’s position in the shifting landscape of early 1970s British rock. Glam had not yet fully crystallized, but its foundations were being laid. The exaggerated volume, the confrontational stance, and the communal energy were all present. “Hear Me Calling” sits at the crossroads between the working-class grit of late 1960s rock and the flamboyant dominance Slade would soon unleash. On Popshop, the band look like a live wire barely contained by the format of television, their intensity threatening to burst beyond the frame.
What makes this performance endure is its honesty. There is no polish, no calculated pose, no attempt to soften the blow for a polite audience. Slade play as if they are still in a packed club, fighting to win every listener in the room. That hunger is audible in every shouted line and every crashing chord. It explains why Slade’s rise was not merely a matter of catchy singles, but of absolute conviction.
Seen today, “Hear Me Calling” on Popshop stands as a crucial artifact. It captures Slade before superstardom hardened into mythology, when their power came from urgency rather than certainty. It is the sound of a band demanding to be heard and proving, in real time, that ignoring them was no longer an option.