Bristolians Sara Dallin and Keren Woodward were the founding members of Bananarama. From teen punks to club kids and mainstream pop mainstays, the childhood friends, along with Siobhan Fahey, went on to become one of the most successful girl bands of all time with hits such as Venus, Love in the First Degree and Robert De Niro’s Waiting. As well as holding the record for the most international hits for an all-female group, they’re renowned for their shifting lineup: Fahey left in 1988 and Jacquie O’Sullivan took her place until 1991, and Dallin and Woodward relaunched as a duo the following year. Their 12th album, Masquerade, is released on 22 July.
Keren
This photograph was an important moment for us. We were on set for Movin On’, our first hit as a duo. The designer Roland Mouret was our art director and it was his idea to dress us in these outfits – they were fitted with chicken wire and totally extraordinary. I remember him saying that I had “a low waist” and wondering what to make of it. Did I have short legs? Was it an insult or a compliment? It’s funny how things like that stick with you.
We’d had a successful career with Siobhan and Jacquie, and while we always got on with them, there was a sense of freedom in it finally being just us. You could say it was a long time coming. Since school, we’ve always been each other’s sounding board.
I can remember seeing Sara for the first time across the playground. She had this magnificent thick, wavy hair that was tied up in a ponytail, whereas mine just hung lank around my ears. I was envious, but also drawn to her. I thought: “I want to play with this girl.” So we started hanging out at lunch and joined the choir together. We were mischievous, too, a little bit cheeky. Doing silly stuff like throwing paint out of the window on to the younger kids. As we became teenagers, it wasn’t really about getting drunk – we wanted to see bands, experiment with fashion and go clubbing. At the end of the night, one of our dads would always come to pick us up.
When we were 18, the world was our oyster: we moved from Bristol to a YWCA in London, and then stayed in Paul Cook of the Sex Pistols’ place for a while on Denmark Street. It was a bit of a hovel. There were no proper facilities – we’d have to boil an egg in a kettle, and the roof was always leaking – but it was just so fantastic to be in the West End. It’s when this all started. Paul suggested we do backing vocals for his band with Steve Jones, and said: “Why don’t you make a demo?” That was it. Right place, right time, thank goodness. Otherwise I’d still be working in the financial world doing pensions.
My core memories of the 80s with Sara are just how much we laughed. We had some ridiculous dance routines, and I wouldn’t have embarked on it if it wasn’t fun. I can’t even comprehend doing this with someone who wasn’t my best friend. Obviously when things went wrong we’d have a moan, but we’ve never really fallen out. Our personalities just work well with each other – Sara’s quite impatient; I’m quite laid-back – but it’s a relationship that gives and gives as it grows, a bit like a marriage.
People have said we are a bit intimidating. They see us moving as one being: twice the power. It’s strange to me, as I think we’re pretty normal. We were probably a bit shy when we started out and I think people assumed that was us being surly. But we just don’t have airs and graces. We are not stage school types. Even now, when we’ve got to do social media videos, rustling up fake enthusiasm doesn’t work for us. We’re really into timekeeping, though. Always the first to arrive.
When I lost my parents, Sara was there to put her arm around me. I get quite emotional thinking about it, as it means a lot to have someone who’s been there since childhood. No one else can understand everything I’ve been through, what we’ve done together. There’s no subject we can’t talk about. It’s very special – and in many ways I’m the happiest I’ve been. Finally we’ve got nothing to prove.
Sara
I mostly remember Roland Mouret on this shoot. Every girl in the room was like: “Wow! Look at this gorgeous Frenchman.” They were all in love with him. We were on a high at the time – Movin’ On was a big hit for us and we hadn’t really acknowledged the pertinence of the track name. Siobhan had just left and the record company was worried about losing the power of three: “Three looks good in pictures!” they said. We thought that was kind of irrelevant.
Keren grew up two streets away from me, so we were always aware of each other. She had poker-straight hair tied up with stripy hair bands, and always had these brilliant short skirts her mum made her. Her nickname was Jumping Jelly Beans. Our friendship really took off when we were 11. Keren and I would pool our Saturday money so we could buy records, and we’d learn every word and the backing vocals to Stevie Wonder and Roxy Music songs.
Punk was a pivotal moment for our friendship, too. We were 13 and trying to find our own identity. We thought we were really wild, going to see Generation X and the Ramones, especially because we technically weren’t old enough to get into the venues. Once we got trapped in a crowd while pogoing and ended up on the floor. It was quite embarrassing.
We’d also spend a lot of time walking up and down Kings Road gawping at these hardcore punks with their spiky hair and mohair jumpers, while Keren and I were in our little ties and shirts and plastic sandals. When we got older we started going to clubs and meeting people like Boy George – creatives with a similar outlook to us. We played netball with Sade at weekends and then would head off to the Wag Club, where we’d hang out with Spandau Ballet, Fat Tony and Jonathan Ross. Everyone made their own clothes. In quite a few of our videos we’re in homemade outfits. They were not very flattering.
There were times we went in different directions: Keren moved to Cornwall in the early 90s, so I found a new circle of friends. She would still come up to London a lot to go out and to work, but it was a big change. It didn’t affect our friendship, though – we just saw slightly less of each other. The beauty of knowing her for so long is that distance doesn’t really matter.
Keren went through a lot when her parents died around the same time, and two of our good friends died – one of them George Michael. It was a difficult period, but we looked after each other. People might think we’re tough; we’re actually quite sensitive.
These days Keren is quite keen for us to take off to France in a campervan, do a holiday together – she’s wanted it for years. I’d prefer a spa, but I don’t mind. So long as we can stop off at a shower at some point. That’s another key factor of our friendship: compromise.
• This article was amended on 25 July 2022. A last-minute change meant the makeup for the 2022 photo was done by Olivia Todd, not “Kim” Darnell (which should have been Karin Darnell) as stated in an earlier credit.
