Monkey Picks

MONKEY USA PART 5: SUN RECORDS, MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE

2012-02-01T16:49:00.008Z

Some people are nuts for the Sun sound. I listen to it, like it, respect it, but it lags a long way behind in my affections when compared to Chess, Motown and Stax. Having already visited the sites of those three meccas Sun had its work cut out to compete, yet a combination of me being less pernickety/knowledgeable about the subject and a having the best guided tour of the four meant - bar the shivers of walking into Studio A at Motown – this was possibly the best of the bunch.

I knew Sun Records was at 706 Union Avenue but its surrounding area, a fifteen minute walk from Beale Street, still took me a bit by surprise. Once again my London brain assumed it would be the corner of narrow busy street but it stood alone on the corner of wide road facing what the locals, I believe, call a gas station. With the surrounding buildings knocked down, its uneven brown brick construction like a building left standing after the Blitz; albeit one with a giant golden guitar hanging outside.

Walking through the door we were immediately into a room that operates as the reception, a souvenir shop and a cosy diner; mainly a diner/café. There were a couple of booths by the window and five red leather stools at the bar emblazed with the names Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, Roy Orbison and Elvis Presley across them. I nabbed Johnny’s. Despite the stocks of t-shirts and stacks of gift items it didn’t feel especially touristy; just a cool place to order a bottle of coke and sit listening to the boom-chicka-booming in the background. The big geezer with the big quiff behind the counter was nuts for the Sun sound, it was obvious enough without the need for him to pull up his yellow Sun t-shirt to reveal a huge yellow Sun tattoo across his ample chest. All the people that worked there were undoubtedly Sun freaks first, employees second.

Jason was our tour guide and owner of a fine head of hair and bushy beard. Lord knows how many times he’d conducted this tour but he still sounded so passionate and excited his enthusiasm rubbed off instantly. He led us (a dozen yanks and us two limeys) upstairs to the tiny museum stuffed with old Ampex recording equipment, posters, records, stage outfits, all the usual stuff.

Sam Phillips set up shop here in 1950 as the Memphis Recording Service - he hadn’t yet started Sun as a label - so when Ike Turner and his Kings of Rhythm drove through the rain in March 1951 to record “Rocket 88” (credited to Jackie Brenston and His Delta Cats, a decision that must’ve irked Ike for the rest of his life) it was released on Chess, giving Chess in the North and Sun in the South join claims on what is broadly accepted as “the first rock and roll record”. Jason liked talking about firsts, or to be more accurate, “very” firsts, which is before your bog-standard first. He told us about “Rocket 88” and after giving it a big build-up as “the very first rock and roll record, made in this very building” hit a remote control in his hand and bang, Ike’s tinkling the ivories and Jackie’s honking his sax and bellowing about his jalopy. It was a simple idea yet bought the music and the place together perfectly in a way other studios (and I’m especially looking at you Motown with your singing flunkies) failed to do.

Howlin’ Wolf also recorded here during ’51 and as the unsuspecting punters stood before a cardboard Wolfman they got a blast of “Moanin’ At Midnight”. The look on their faces, eyes widening, as the Wolf’s guttural moans came booming out of nowhere was a sight to behold. Most of these people had never heard such a noise. The kid in front of me looked terrified. Hot on Wolf’s heels was the mighty “Bear Cat” by Rufus Thomas. The gathering had little difficulty in recognising the blatant rip from “Hound Dog” (so blatant the resulting lawsuit almost bankrupt Sun with its first hit), which finally led us to Elvis Aaron Presley.

Public Enemy spat out “Elvis was a hero to most but he never meant shit to me” on “Fight The Power” which is broadly how I feel (although Chuck D followed that with “straight up racist” which I don’t believe) but its churlish to come to Memphis and be snooty about Elvis. Jason told us about the very first time Elvis came to Sun; he played us his very first recording; we hear him played on the radio for the very first time; and we see his very first television appearance. He was all right though that Elvis. Nice voice, good looking lad.

We then shuffled downstairs into the studio. It felt like a studio because it still is. Vintage equipment was pushed to the sides of the small white pegboard walled room and folk were in the control booth looking like they were working. Amazingly when the premises had other uses (including life as a fishing tackle shop) before reopening as Sun in 1987, it stayed relatively untouched (even down to the light fittings), and if you believe Jason the marks and dents and grooves in the original linoleum floor show where the musicians stood and played. He hit his remote again and led us through a succession of classic cuts. They sounded bloody good too, although Mrs Monk and I disagree on whether Roy Orbison’s “Ooby Dooby” is a good record or not. I say yes but know she’s probably right.

The money shot when it came to the photo opportunity was the chance to pose with a vocal microphone used on recordings here in the 50s, in the shadow of an Elvis picture using a similar one. Jason urged people to have a go and recreate the curled lip. Despite feeling a wally I did quickly attempt to channel Johnny Cash recording “Get Rhythm” and due to the mic being used Johnny Rotten in the “God Save The Queen” video. I got it spot on too. Unfortunately Mrs Monk’s trigger finger was far too slow and snapped me looking like an embarrassed girl instead.

If anyone goes to Memphis they have to brace themselves to be asked on their return, “Did you go to Graceland?” We caught the shuttle bus from Sun and had a nose around “The King’s” gaff. I’d love to live there in its mid-70s time capsule: to chill in his TV/record room; to shoot pool in the pool room; to get smashed with my mates in the jungle room; and to have my cook knock up a few burgers in the tiny kitchen. None of the rooms were big and the main building was a lot smaller than expected. I bet Chuck D lives in a bigger house.

Click on the Monkey USA label below for further adventures: Motown, Stax, Chess and Buddy Guy.

NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALL A TOUR BUS

2012-01-30T18:29:00.003Z

I've not been able to find out anything about this photograph but I guess it speaks for itself.

POETRY PICKS #2: THE BLUEBIRD by CHARLES BUKOWSKI

2012-01-25T10:01:00.002Z

If you only think of Buk as a boozing, gambling, potty mouthed womaniser, this might come as a surprise. I include it below not just on its merit but to show this beautiful 2009 animation by Monika Umba from the Cambridge School of Art.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.

then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

The Bluebird by Charles Bukowski is published in The Last Night of the Earth Poems and The Pleasure of The Damned.

JANUARY PLAYLIST

2012-01-22T11:08:00.009Z

Some favourites this month.

1. Henry “The Hipster” Gibson – “Who Put The Benzedrine In Mrs Murphy’s Ovaltine?” (1944)
Mrs Murphy liked a cup of Ovaltine at night to help her sleep, until one night somebody spiked it with Benzedrine. Things were never quite the same again.

2. Screaming Gospel Chordettes – “I Can’t Believe It” (1958)
The Screaming Gospel Chordettes hurtle along chasing an organ accompaniment and surveying the troubles, wars, bloodshed and even sputniks around them.

3. The Alan Bown Set – “Jeu De Massacre” (1967)
Write a bunch of songs for a soundtrack album and then stich them together to make a single instead. The result is suitably madcap not least for the playground gun-shot sounds.

4. The Lloyd Alexander Real Estate – “Watcha’ Gonna Do (When Your Baby Leaves You)” (1967)
Swinging club soul from the Far East: Hackney.

5. Grahame Bond – “Moving Towards The Light” (1968)
By 1968 Graham had taken an E and in his music was all sunshine and flowers, make love not war. His Love Is The Law album is hippy Age of Aquarius claptrap from start to finish yet curiously engaging.

6. Felt – “I Will Die With My Head In Flames” (1986)
Felt’s ten albums neatly straddle the whole of the 80s; not that I was listening. Now, I hear the past and the future in them.

7. Morrissey – “I’ve Changed My Plea To Guilty” (1991)
When the Queen famously accused Morrissey of not being able to sing in 1986 he replied “that’s nothing, you should hear me play piano”. Unbelievers may scoff at the very thought, but here Moz – just backed with a piano – gives the vocal of his life.

8. The Pink Mountaintops – “The Gayest of Sunbeams” (2009)
When I was at school I was accused of making up bands. Whaddya mean you’ve never heard of the Direct Hits? This looks like I’ve made up the band and the song title.

9. Lumerians – “Burning Mirror” (2010)
Hold on tightly, we’re going for a white-knuckle lysergic ride.

10. The Electric Stars – “Between The Streets and The Stars” (2012)
How you view The Electric Stars will depend almost entirely on how you view the Brit-Pop era. “Between The Streets and The Stars” may have got lost in the scrum back then but now it's so out of step it almost sounds subversive. The chorus has most definitely infiltrated my brain.

GOODNIGHT MISS PEACHES

2012-01-21T00:39:00.008Z

To mark the sad passing of Etta James yesterday, here's a lovely picture of her with Muhammad Ali in Zaire during the days before the "Rumble In The Jungle" fight of 1974.
Picture by AP/Horst Faas.

THE BUDDHA BAR by JOSEPH RIDGWELL

2012-01-20T16:50:00.007Z

Regular readers will know I like Joe Ridgwell’s work. If I had a friend down the pub who wrote stories and poems, I’d like to think they’d be like Joe’s. This isn’t to say he writes like a gibbering lunatic, just that he writes like a perceptive mate with a bunch of escapades to tell rather than someone who wants to talk about literature all night; and who’d want to be stuck with them?

I finished The Buddha Bar a couple of weeks back but it was only yesterday when reading Jack Kerouac’s recently published The Sea Is My Brother that it properly fell into place. Joe hits the same theme in 2011 as Jack did in 1943. In Jack’s book Bill Everhart meets Wesley Martin on a drunken night out and the next day, on a complete whim, leaves his job as a college lecturer and hitchhikes to catch a ship and become a merchant seaman. “Look what twenty four hours and a moment of determination can do!” he exclaimed. “I think I realize now why the pioneer spirit always guided me in my thinking – it’s because he’s free, Wes, free!”

It’s that same restless spirit and search for freedom that dominates The Buddha Bar: the need to explore and to experience, even if those experiences aren’t always positive. Similar to his debut The Last Days of The Cross, we find a wandering Joe boozing, birding and becoming infatuated with the type of woman your mother maybe warned you about. When the opportunity of investing in a small bar in Thailand is put to him by some crazy local he has the hots for, and has just met, he doesn’t need much persuading in handing over the last of his money. “If you don’t take it you will regret it for the rest of your life. Fuck it, I thought,” and the dream of being a big shot bar owner puffing on a cigar takes shape. Things of course don’t work out the way of dreams, they never do, but there are funny times, sad times, scary times and dreary times, and once they’re gone, they’re gone. And from that, there's no escape.

The Buddha Bar by Joseph Ridgwell is published as a limited edition by Blackheath Books.
The Sea Is My Brother by Jack Kerouac is published by Penguin.

CAB CALLOWAY - "KICKIN' THE GONG AROUND" (1932)

2012-01-18T19:46:00.003Z

This performance is taken from the 1932 film The Big Broadcast. It’s an amazing song. Watch out for some nifty (now familiar) dance moves around the 2:25 mark.

HYPE & SOUL – BEHIND THE SCENES AT MOTOWN by AL ABRAMS

2012-01-15T12:42:00.014Z

“In view of the national publicity being received by the Detroit sound – may I again request that we register ‘The Detroit Sound’ as a trademark before some 2 bit label does and this humiliates us”. So wrote Al Abrams on a Quicki-Note in the early 60s and stuck it on Berry Gordy’s desk.

That national publicity was due, in part, to the records coming out of Gordy’s Motown factory being pushed by the tireless efforts of Abrams. As an eighteen year old from Detroit, Al became Gordy’s first employee after he impressed by securing radio play for a “god-awful” pre-Motown release in 1959 ("Teenage Sweetheart" by Mike Power if you fancy looking it up). From then until 1966 he worked as a record promoter and publicist for Berry Gordy Jr. Enterprises.

Al diligently kept everything from his time at Hitsville, as can be seen in his recent book Hype & Soul: from his Quicki-Notes; to correspondence with radio and television companies; to press cuttings; photographs; ticket stubs; and exchanges of ideas with his boss. When Berry wrote that the company needed to increase its promotion of Smokey Robinson, it was Al who came up with the famous quote that’s been attributed to Bob Dylan: “Smokey Robinson is America’s greatest living poet”. When Al ran that line past Dylan’s friend and biographer Al Aronowitz asking for permission to use it, Aronowitz reasoned “If Bob sees it in print, he’ll think he said it,” which says as much about Dylan as Smokey, although I’m disappointed it isn’t quite kosher.

That Abrams was a white Jewish kid isn’t significant by today’s standards, nor was it an issue within Motown who used the best people for the job, but reading the old press cuttings race and religion were very much factors back then when newspapers felt the need to end articles with “The administrative staff is about half white and half Negro. Almost all artists are Negro”. One artist who wasn’t Negro was Tommy Good and one of Al’s more audacious publicity stunts involved having Tommy’s placard-carrying friends and family “protest” outside Hitsville demanding the release of a record by Good, in a similar fashion to the on-going civil rights marches; a risky strategy but one which earned the requisite (good humoured) column inches. Race relations and the civil rights struggle are a dominant theme running throughout the book.

Temple Street Publishing have done a beautiful job in presenting Hype & Soul as immaculately as The Temptations stepping out at the Apollo. With nearly 300 glossy colour pages of Al’s memories and memorabilia, it gives a different slant on life within 2648 Grand West Boulevard with loads of new discoveries for even the most well-read Motown fan to enjoy.

Hype & Soul by Al Abrams is published by Temple Street. To order visit http://hypeandsoul.blogspot.com/

LOOKING BACK - 80 MOD, FREAKBEAT & SWINGING LONDON NUGGETS

2012-01-10T18:38:00.009Z

The title of this new 3 CD set does most the review but it’s worth adding a few words by way of a recommendation. It’s been a long time since I bought a compilation like this as I’d been under the somewhat arrogant misapprehension I’d discovered all the worthwhile British 60s Mod stuff. That alone – What is Mod stuff? – is a contentious subject and one the accompanying booklet addresses from the start. Here, “a Mod record might actually be any Sixties track with a swing in its step, a groove in its heart and an ability to make you want to dance.” The validity of that is open to debate but should any track not fall within your own modernist parameters, it’ll fall within the easier to interrupt Freakbeat tag or the catch-all Swinging London Nuggets.

But let’s not get bogged down in semantics, this is a fab collection. 80 songs is whooping amount to wade through but the quality tunes are thickly, not thinly, spread. After five complete plays there are only two or three that grate slightly but nothing that gets me dashing to the skip button. As established, there’s a blend of blue eyed club soul, aggressive proto-punk and a handful of tracks that defy easy categorisation. The familiar nestle comfortably with the less familiar and, in the case of The Knave’s suitably entitled Hammond workout “Ace of Clubs”, a handful of previously unreleased cuts which far exceed expectation. What was surprising though, was how fresh the “oldies” sound. By oldies I mean Mulberry Bush-era Spencer Davis Group, John’s Children, The Untamed, etc. The Syndicats “Crawdaddy Simone” sparkles with a clarity I’d not heard before. A far cry from its inclusion on compilations of dubious legality like the English Freakbeat series that sounded like it they were recorded on a cassette recorder from the room next door. That holds for many tracks here which uncover previously obscured layers of vivacity and imagination, not least on the Alan Bown Set’s “Jeu De Massacre” which is mind-boggling in its audacity.

As well as the tracks themselves (thoughtfully sequenced and brilliantly mastered) the booklet manages to avoid ham-fisted and tired Mod images and uses more inspiring period shots. A thoroughly refreshing package all round.

Looking Back is released by RPM/Cherry Red, priced in my local record emporium at £17.99, and includes The Renegades "Thirteen Women" as featured in the previous post.

THE RENEGADES - "THIRTEEN WOMEN" (1966)

2012-01-06T15:37:00.001Z

Although originally from Birmingham The Renegades enjoyed far greater success in Scandinavia. This clip from the Finnish film Topralli sees them turning the flip of Bill Haley’s “Rock Around The Clock” into a bragging garage classic. The performance by singer Kim Brown is especially memorable. Play loud.

PRIMAL SCREAM and MC5/DKT - "BLACK TO COMM"

2012-01-05T13:04:00.024Z

I didn’t review the Primal Scream and MC5 Meltdown Festival gig at the Royal Festival Hall back in 2008. Not because there wasn’t anything to say, more I didn’t feel equipped to do it justice. It was a rare moment when two bands from different decades and continents not only played consecutively, but simultaneously. In an era when one gig and performance is much the same as another, this was a special night that could only be fully appreciated by those in attendance. Until now. It is finally available as a three disc set: two CDs and a DVD, featuring the entire show.

Primal Scream took a while to get fully loaded. The combination of the early slot and plugging their new LP, Beautiful Future, didn’t help but the final quartet of songs “Shoot Speed Kill Light”, "Swastika Eyes", "Rocks" and "Can't Go Back" threw down the gauntlet to the MC5. Follow that motherfuckers.

With “vintage” acts it’s best to approach with low expectations and take positives rather than dwell on any negatives. With Rob Tyner and Fred “Sonic” Smith no longer with us, it could be argued it’s not really the MC5 anymore. For that reason, I massively respect the remaining members acknowledging this and insisting on being billed as MC5/DKT (for Michael Davis, Wayne Kramer and Dennis Thompson); not that anyone else calls them that, least of all me, as in my mind this was the MC5 and beyond the inescapable, contained no negatives at all. Brother Wayne Kramer in his white suit, stars and stripes Strat and freaky dancing, led the way. I’m a less-is-more kinda guy when it comes to guitar players but Kramer is a near genius when it comes to keeping Guitar Hero solos rooted in the earthy collective groove rather than flying off in spells of indulgence.

William Duvall from Alice In Chains was ideally cast into Tyner’s shadow: seven feet tall from the top of his afro to the sole of his Cubans and with a stage presence even greater. Not many can out-frontman Bobby Gillespie but Duvall grasped the crowd in his powerful outstretched fist and didn’t let go. After the Scream’s first song Bobby berated the audience with “you don’t need to stay in your seats, this is supposed to be a rock and roll concert,” - there was nobody in their seat now.

All that would’ve been enough but the half hour finale with both bands playing together took it somewhere else altogether. “I Can Only Give You Everything” is a song every garage band cuts their teeth on as they try to pick out that nagging riff. My old band, all those years ago, tried it (unsuccessfully) as we dreamt of being the MC5. You can bet your bottom dollar Bobby has dreamt it too, and there he was living out his fantasy as his flippy-floppy dance went into overdrive. It was fascinating to see the contrasting styles of Gillespie and Duvall go head-to-head as the bands laid down a holy racket around them. They ripped the bollocks out of a further two Scream songs and two Five songs, culminating in a fifteen minute John Sinclair, violin, saxophone, kitchen sink, bomb dropping, sensorial assault on “Black To Comm”. “This is liberation rock and roll,” testified Duvall. “The MC5! MC5! The MC5!” repeated Bobby, barely believing his luck.

I still can't get across how brilliant this was. At least now I don't have to.

Primal Scream/MC5/DKT Black To Comm is released by Easy Action Recordings Ltd

DECEMBER PLAYLIST

2011-12-31T14:59:00.019Z

A few things that have been spinning in Monkey Mansions this past month.

1. Jackie Wilson and Count Basie – “My Girl” (1968)
These two cut an album, Manufacturers of Soul, and spruced up this old chestnut with a lovely new arrangement.

2. Dillard & Clark – “Why Not Your Baby” (1968)
I first heard this banjo bluegrass beauty by Velvet Crush and it took years to locate the original until it was added as a bonus track on the CD of The Fantastic Expedition of Dillard & Clark. A good album made great.

3. Wire – “Ex Lion Tamer” (1977)
Wire knew a thing of two about cutting flab from songs; they crammed 21 prime cuts into 35 minutes on Pink Flag.

4. Chas & Dave – “The Sideboard Song” (1979)
I’ve been to many gigs and seen many things but nothing prepared me for being swept along on a sea of boozing cockneys last week as we engaged in a mightily exuberant Christmas knees-up. They played this twice. The second time I thought me old jam was about to pack in.

5. Pete Townshend – “Rough Boys” (1981)
This needs to be experienced with the promo video to reap the full sleazy, uncomfortable horror as Pete preys on hapless mods and rockers in a snooker hall, wanting to kiss, bite and get inside them. Not for the fair hearted. I’d love to know what Roger and John made of it.

6. Eric B. & Rakim – “Follow The Leader” (1988)
There was something about Rakim’s laid back jazzy delivery that set them apart from the 80s hip-hop herd, but I wasn’t expecting this to still sound so boxfresh (as Westwood might say).

7. Huggy Bear – “Her Jazz” (1993)
Time has done little to soothe the stomach-bending agony caused by this savage kick in the nuts. If you want to see how to play music live on the telly, watch their performance on The Word.

8. Stereolab – “Ping Pong” (1994)
A summer breezy tune cloaking a sardonic attack on economic disasters and bloody wars. 1994 you say?

9. The Lucid Dream – “Love In My Veins” (2011)
A dark, brain rattling, psychedelic stomp that shivers your bones and rises to heat.

10. The Lovely Eggs - “Allergies” (2011)
All the usual offbeat Eggy goodness with the added ingredients of a super furry animal, a gorgeous handclapping break, and a magic swirling sitar finale from the band of 2011.

BIRTHDAY THOUGHTS FOR RICHEY EDWARDS

2011-12-22T14:38:00.004Z

Today is, or would have been, Richey Edwards' 44th birthday. To his family I'm sure it is.

Following yesterday's post when I wrote of the Manics Diorama gig in December 1991, here's a one minute clip of it. How I'd love to see the whole thing again. If you look closely around the 54 second mark you'll see myself and Richey engaged in the campiest tug or war you'll ever see with a microphone stand. I'm the one in a white Levi jacket and the faintest hint of a bald patch the size of a five pence; Richey is the one in the red blouse and immaculate hair.

MANIC STREET PREACHERS at the O2 ARENA, LONDON

2011-12-21T09:49:00.009Z

“In my beginning is my end. In my end is my beginning.” – T. S. Eliot

Two weeks ago I met Jeff Barrett, the head of Heavenly. I thanked him for signing the Manic Street Preachers and releasing my all-time favourite record “Motown Junk” back in January 1991. A chuffed Jeff shook my hand, we chatted and we spent five minutes enthusing about that record alone: from the opening Public Enemy sample of “revolution, revolution”, to the crunch of plugging in guitars, to the scattering of barely comprehensible slogans over an enraged punk racket, to the winding down outro of “we live in urban hell, we destroy rock ‘n’ roll”, it was – and remains – a defining statement. From that moment I was hooked and I’ve been hanging on their line for over 20 years.

Their gigs in 1991 were for me the best of their career and two in particular stand out. A show at the After Dark Club in Reading was especially thrilling. Playing to a small crowd who were hurling abuse and beer cans they revelled in the confrontation, taunting them further whilst ten of us skidded and slipped on the beer sodden floor as we thrashed around to “Sorrow 16”. They looked brilliant, sounded brilliant, were wonderfully provocative and mixed punk with beat writers and politics with glamour. Barrett said of that time, “They weren’t the best band since the Clash; they were the best band ever”. Their Christmas gig at the Diorama was mayhem. By then they’d amassed a devoted following who went crackers within the white walled arts venue. It’s amazing nobody was hurt in the frightening crush in front of the stage. In the clamour to touch or kiss them (straight men attempting to kiss straight men, the Manics did funny things to young lads) people were screaming in agony. My legs were pressed so hard against the low stage I thought they would break. At times it was impossible to move anything other than my head. Utter chaos but the best gig I’ve ever seen.

Twenty Christmases on from the Diorama there wasn’t much chance of injury sat half way back in the cavernous O2 Arena. The only danger was getting tomato ketchup squirted from someone’s hot dog on to the furry coat I’d borrowed from Mrs Monkey. They’re the only band I’d go to such a venue for, and only then because this was a unique event. It was billed very much as a line in the sand, an everything must go event. They’ve released National Treasures, the (not quite) Complete Singles collection and now as a one-off before disappearing for a few years to have a rethink and perhaps come back in a different form (James claims he’s sick of his own voice), they played all “38 of the fuckers” in non-chronological order. I guess a fair few turned up thinking it might be their farewell gig although at the end James said they’d hopefully see us in two years’ time. After all the build-up it seemed perhaps a lot of fuss had been made over nothing; a two year break isn’t uncommon for bands.

The songs obviously weren’t a surprise but James Dean Bradfield donning his Holy Bible sailor garb was; Nicky began by sporting his Generation Terrorists skinny white jeans and pumps before eventually settling on a dress and a Spillers’ record shop hoodie; Sean wore a black shirt, which was quite something for him. Richey loomed large from the video backdrop and looked like the most beautiful man to walk the earth. It was hard not to imagine what he would look like now but it was also difficult to envisage the Manics lasting this long with him there in person rather than as their spirit guide sat on their shoulder.

They played two 90 minute sets; 19 songs in each set. It might have been a test of endurance for the band who paced themselves accordingly (the big screen showed poor Sean puffing like a middle aged man running for the bus after the third song) but it whizzed by for me. By James’ admission before the last song, the 38 singles are a mixed bag, “some great, some not so good, but it was interesting.” He’s right and they mixed them well, during the first set getting rid of the weak “Let Robeson Sing” (sung by Gruff Rhys) yet following it with the Herculean “Faster”; the wishy-washy “Indian Summer” making way for the bold “Stay Beautiful” and so on, before ending with the magnificent “If You Tolerate This Then Your Children Will Be Next” – the great UK number one single.

The second set followed a similar pattern. I was disappointed when I saw them after the release of Lifeblood they didn’t play the funky synth oddball “The Love Of Richard Nixon” but now I hear why as it sits uncomfortably amongst the guitar based songs. If “Tolerate” was an unlikely number one it was nothing compared to the largely forgotten fury of “The Masses Against The Classes”. The record buying public of 2000, take a bow. “Found That Soul” got a lukewarm reception for the type of fizzing energy that harked back to earlier singles but “Revol”, never a band favourite, was as brutal as a song about “group sex in the Kremlin” deserves. If I had to pick one highlight it would be that, although “Roses in The Hospital” was a contender. Even “Some Kind Of Nothingness” sparkled like the giant glitter ball that accompanied it. Nicky was reportedly distraught when last year it became their first single since 1991 not to make the top 40. “Motown Junk” hadn’t lost any of its excitement although it has lost a few words as James refuses to complete the line “I laughed when Lennon got shot”. This irritated me for two reasons: it’s one of my favourite lyrics (although I’ve no knowledge of the context); and James is far too mature, decent, understanding and darn dignified to sing it anymore and I know, deep down, he’s right. The set closed with “A Design For Life” and Nicky half-heartedly and pointlessly breaking his bass in half.

Jeff Barrett thinks they will come back more experimental and maybe on a smaller label; he’d love to have them back on Heavenly. They’ve always been painstakingly protective over their legacy and careers but with the business of selling music unrecognisable from the one they starred in (I had to buy "Motown Junk" simply to hear it), it’s time to shuffle the pack. Without Nicky’s preoccupation with chart positions it might free them from their own history.

In the set of lyrics Richey left behind before his disapperance he wrote of drawing the perfect circle; on Saturday it felt as if the Manics closed one, perfect or otherwise.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KEITH RICHARDS

2011-12-18T18:24:00.002Z

Our Keef is 68 today which is all the excuse needed for this.

SPOTIFY PICK #5: MONKEY PICKS OF 2011

2011-12-13T20:49:00.007Z

Here’s my gift to you dear reader: a Spotify playlist of twenty favourite songs from 2011 sequenced for your listening pleasure. Click on the link after the track listing. You won’t enjoy them all but one or two might catch your ear.

The Lovely Eggs – Don’t Look At Me (I Don’t Like It)
Comet Gain – Clang Of The Concrete Swans
The Primitives – Need All The Help I Can Get
Cat’s Eyes (pictured above) – Sunshine Girl
Crystal Stilts - Through The Floor
The See See – Half A Man And A Horse’s Head
Frankie & The Heartstrings – Possibilities
The Lovely Eggs – Watermelons
Gross Magic – Sweetest Touch
Pains Of Being Pure At Heart – Heart In Your Heartbreak
Art Brut – Sealand
J Mascis – Listen To Me
Thurston Moore – Benediction
Gruff Rhys – Shark Ridden Waters
Pocketbooks – Promises, Promises
The Silver Factory – Tomorrow’s Today
Warm Brains – Let Down
The Lucid Dream – Love In My Veins
Yuck – Suicide Policeman
Magazine – Hello Mister Curtis (with apologies)

Click here for playlist

BLUES AND SOUL HEAVENLY BRANCH

2011-12-11T09:02:00.008Z

The gates of the Blues and Soul Heavenly Branch welcomed two more additions this week.

Hubert Sumlin passed away, aged 80, on Sunday. rarely credited but it was Sumlin’s guitar lines than ran underneath and between Howlin' Wolf’s growl on all those classic Chess sides. Only two weeks ago I posted a clip of the pair performing a mean “Dust My Broom”, which is worth another look.

Dobie Gray ‘s “Out On The Floor” forms an essential part of every northern soul starter kit. I can’t claim to have first heard it at Wigan but I did hear it most Fridays as a fourteen year old at a youth club in Hayes which doubled as a mod night. We’d smuggle in a small bottle of vodka to pour into our cokes; dance to “Out On The Floor” and “The In Crowd”; and then try to negotiate a safe journey home as car loads of casuals drove around looking to beat the shit out of young mods not even old enough to own scooters. Gray died on Tuesday aged 71.

Yesterday, 10th December, marked the 44th anniversary of the plane crash that took the lives of, amongst others, Otis Redding and members of the Bar-Kays. Listening to Otis Blue I came across the great photograph above.

And finally, on this day in 1964 Sam Cooke was shot dead in a Los Angeles motel. If you've not heard Live at the Harlem Square Club 1963, try it; it'll open your ears to Sam in way his more saccharine pop hits barely hint at.

R.e.s.p.e.c.t. to all four.

ART BRUT at the BULL & GATE, KENTISH TOWN

2011-12-09T10:19:00.010Z

Art Brut are now four albums in and each time I see them it's in a smaller venue. At this rate I’ll have to move the settee so they can set up in my flat. It only takes Eddie Argos to midway through their second song to reflect on this. “Here we are, playing in the shadow of the Forum. Why aren’t we playing the Forum? When big bands play there they use this as their dressing room.” For those unfamiliar with London venues, the Forum holds about 2000 and the Bull and Gate about 150. In his words they’ve plateaued, adding they don’t do badly enough to stop altogether just not well enough to make any money. “Buy a t-shirt, a comic, anything. I’ve got no money”. When he does a clumsy version of his microphone wire skipping trick he notes “that would’ve been so much better if we were playing the Forum.” None of this is said with any bitterness just an acceptance that things don’t always work out the way you imagine. Even the star of Eddie’s “My Little Brother” is no longer 22 and out of control; he is now 29 and “he’s a teacher!”

If success could be achieved via the strength of live shows alone Art Brut should be bathing in asses’ milk and arriving at gigs by carriages pulled by the NME’s latest starlets. I couldn’t hand on heart recommend all their records but their shows are always nothing less than brilliant. Argos’s comedic monologues during songs are wonderful self-depreciating interludes and the way the others keep up with instant set-list changes in response to audience requests - or Eddie’s whimsy - shows what a tight unit they are. There are no I’ll-go-the-bar-whilst-they-do-this-boring-one moments as everything is kept in full punk racket mode. Personal favourites like the more ambitious “Mysterious Bruises” and “Sealand” never get an airing but that’s a minor issue when they slaughter the classic Brut templates “Formed a Band” and “Modern Art”.

Right, if you numbskulls aren't going to support this band, someone give me a hand with this settee.

"JACKIE IS A PUNK, JUDY IS A RUNT..."

2011-12-06T15:48:00.003Z

What songs did they make you sing in school? The earliest ones I remember are Kumbayah and something about a farmer getting his shotgun to kill a rabbit. Seems an odd thing to teach a class of five year olds. This class have been learning English with the help of The Ramones. At least they'll know one song more than most wearing the t-shirt.

RECORD ENVELOPE – THE LITTLE LIBRARY OF FACTORY SLEEVES

2011-12-04T08:59:00.004Z

The highlight of last weekend’s Collectionistas exhibition was the back wall filled with a sample of curator Kavel Rafferty’s paper single sleeves; or record envelopes as she more elegantly calls them.

Record collectors love discussing matrix numbers, labels and exotic picture covers with the humble company sleeve usually the poor relation. Kavel’s collection spins that around and puts the focus on the art and design of these neglected treasures.

Check out hundreds of marvellous examples at her site Record Envelope.

NOVEMBER PICKS

2011-12-01T20:12:00.005Z

Yes, technically it is late, but I make the rules around here.

1. Lou Millet – “Shorty The Barber” (1956)
If I were a rockabilly on my way to a haircut I‘d play this before setting out.

2. Brother John Sellers – “He’s My Rock” (1959)
The devil didn’t have all the best tunes; the Lord had a fair few good ones Himself.

3. The Contours – “You Hurt Me So” (1963)
When the Motown barrel looks finally scraped clean, things like this surface. Berry Gordy was insistent the Contours stuck to the fast and furious formula that suited their live performances so this sumptuous mid-tempo magic has, incredibly, sat gathering dust for 48 years before being unveiled on Dance with the Contours.

4. Ronnie Milsap – “Thousand Miles From Nowhere” (1966)
If you’re searching for the lesser-spotted country/northern soul hybrid – look no further than this cotton-picking talc botherer.

5. The Buzzcocks – “Love You More” (1978)
Proof a perfect pop song needn’t be a second over one minute forty five.

6. Crass – “Nagasaki Nightmare” (1981)
The elaborate foldout sleeve is crammed with terrifying accounts from Nagasaki and the record itself is no less chilling. The same sleeve boldly states “PAY NO MORE THAN 99p”, yet those capitalist pigs in Reckless Records charged me four quid. Come the revolution…

7. Tom Waits – “Shore Leave” (1983)
Monkey Snr would attempt to play Swordfishtrombones in the family home when I were a lad. It wasn’t a popular choice. “Daaaaad, we’d sooner listen to Charlie Parker than this!” But, somewhat belatedly, I gotta hand it to the fella; it’s a cracking album.

8. J Mascis – “Listen To Me” (2011)
I wanna come home one morning, smashed out of my head, to find Mascis and Evan Dando sat on my sofa playing guitars and singing stuff like this. Until then, Mascis's Several Shades Of Why will suffice.

9. Pocketbooks – “Harbour Lights” (2011)
As their name suggests, London indiepoppers Pocketbooks are wordy souls, who come dangerously close to tripping over themselves as they crowbar pop-culture references into their lovelorn tales. Here Swing Out Sister get a mention, as do “East Coast 45s in their polythene sleeves”.

10. Gruff Rhys – “Slashed Wrists This Christmas” (2011)
It’s a shame Gruff’s woozy tune mentions Christmas as this misery deserves to be heard all year round.

HOWLIN' WOLF - "DUST MY BROOM" (1966)

2011-11-27T20:50:00.002Z

Here comes the Wolf. Hope you enjoy it as much as Son House appears to.

CROSSFIRE ALLNIGHTER PLAYLIST

2011-11-24T09:08:00.003Z

The latest Crossfire allnighter down by Great Portland Street was a few weeks back but was so good it’s worth a belated mention. As soon as the R&B room opened at 11.30pm people hit the floor and stayed there, making it a pleasure and a breeze to DJ. I even managed to play close to what I’d planned; that seldom happens so was testament to the dancers who were up for a few less familiar 45s mixed in with classic gems. This is what they got from me.

The Pacesetters – The Monkey Whip (Correc-Tone)
The Downbeats – Request of a Fool (Tamla)
Little Bob – I Got Loaded (La Louisianne)
Jimmy Bell – What’cha Gonna Do About Me (Hickory)
King Coleman – Loo-Key Doo-Key (Dade)
Dyke & The Blazers – Shotgun Slim (Original Sound)
James Spencer – In-Law Trouble (Taurus)
Chicago Cubs Clark St. Band – Slide (Chess)
The Dippers – Goin’ Ape (Diplomacy)
Eddie Holland – Baby Shake (Motown)
Reuben Phillips – High-Low (Ascot)
Jimmy McCracklin – Susie and Pat (Ant-Tone)
Mr. Wiggles – Fat Back (Parkway)
Leon Austin – Turn Me Loose (King)
Ronnie Milsap – A Thousand Miles From Nowhere (Scepter)
Walkin’ Willie – If You Just Woulda Said Goodbye (RSVP)
Lonnie Hewitt – You Gotta Git (Fantasy)
Alder Ray – My Heart Is In Danger (Minit)
Jimmy Merchant – Skin The Cat (Bo-Mar)

Big Maybelle – Do Lord (Brunswick)
Ray Charles – Sticks and Stones (ABC-Paramount)
Grover Pruitt – Little Girl (Salem)
Lloyd Price – Who Coulda Told You (ABC-Paramount)
The Gardenias – What’s The Matter With Me (Fairline)
Bobby Peterson Quartet – Mama Get your Hammer (V-Tone)
Freddy King – Now I’ve Got A Woman (Federal)
Buddy Guy – I Dig Your Wig (Chess)
Dick Holler – Mooba Grooba (Comet)
Marion James – I’m The Woman For You (K&J)
Aretha Franklin – Tighten Up Your Tie (Columbia)
Sylvia Robbins – Don’t Let Your Eyes Get Bigger Than Your Heart (Sue)
Jesse Pearson – I Got A Feelin’ I’m Fallin’ (RCA Victor)
Dorie Williams – Tell Me Everything You Know (635)
Roy Roberts – Got To Have Your Love (Ninandy)
Rufus Thomas – Turn Your Damper Down (Stax)
Eddie Bo – Dinky Doo (Ric)

ADAM ANT at THE TROXY, EAST LONDON

2011-11-21T20:32:00.007Z

You can blame Adam Ant for Monkey Picks. He started me off. The first album I ever bought was Kings of The Wild Frontier, from Woolworth’s in Uxbridge, February 1981. I was twelve years old and hadn’t paid much attention to music until seeing him and his Ants on Top of The Tops, twirling around bare chested, drop kicking, and yodelling a cockney apache war cry. Soon after, coming back from a school trip to the Royal Tournament, I managed to instigate the back half of the coach into collectively drumming out the title track on their thighs.

From then, music and collecting records became an obsession and I got hold of his earlier album Dirk Wears White Sox and a couple of pre-Kings singles: “Young Parisians” and “Xerox”. It would suit my purpose here to say I preferred those punkier records but I’m not sure I did. I found them strange and disturbing but when the DJ at the school disco asked for requests it was their B-sides “Lady” (about a naked woman, “I had a good look at her crack”) and “Whip In My Valise” (“Who taught you to torture?”) that I asked for. “I don’t play B-sides” said the snooty DJ. “But they’re better”, I stated in the most petulant what-sort-of-idiot-are-you voice I could muster.

By October I’d bought my first Jam record and for a short time Adam stared out of one eye (he had a patch on the other) from one bedroom wall to The Jam on the other. But then Adam came down for another Jam poster-magazine purchase and was diddley qa qa-ed to the dustbin of childhood fads; untouched for thirty years until I gave Kings a spin six months ago, and Dirk last week. I didn’t appreciate how good an album Dirk Wears White Sox is as a kid. Now it sounds darker and more sordid than I remember it. It was one hell of a leap from playing those songs to a bunch of sexcases in gimp masks one year to having coach loads of kids beating out your rhythms and writing to Jim’ll Fix It the next.

In recent years the only occasions his name has come up has been after his long-standing mental health problems have surfaced. A friend used to love telling me the one about his mate, the market stall, the gun, and a pub full of people singing “ridicule is nothing to be scared of” to tip an already antagonised Ant over the edge. But he is making something of a comeback, certainly as far as performing goes.

Without fanfare, his new band, The Good The Mad and The Lovely, hit the opening sustained chords of “Plastic Surgery”. Adam wanders on. It can only be him even though his head and face are hidden beneath a large admiral’s hat, some bandanas, what looks like false hair, a moustache, blue and brown war paint, and a big pair of black rimmed spectacles. The choice of song, dating back to 1977 and Jubilee, turns out to be a good indication of what follows. He may have rummaged in his dressing up box for a familiar yet now-too-small hussar jacket but it’s his pre-TOTP era he plunders the most, much to the delight of an audience of old and new punks, goths, people in rubber, flamboyant weirdos and fetish freaks. Oh, and at least three mods. It takes a few songs for his voice to warm up and understandably he's lost a little grace with his heavier movements. He carries the unmistakable vibe of someone whose switch is on the blink; it’s uncomfortable yet compelling. There’s a palpable sense that anything could happen; that he could snap at any time. I’m not convinced that should be served as entertainment but it added an extra layer of edginess and as time went on we both began to relax.

I’ve mixed feelings about the band (guitar, bass, two drummers) as they replaced the taut energy of the early songs (“Cartrouble”, “Cleopatra”, “Zerox”, “Physical”, “Kick”, “Never Trust A Man With Egg On His Face” etc) with a slight heavy-metal sludge, yet it helped beef up the songs I didn’t recognise but having since listened to the originals versions I must say they improved them. The disappointing lack of glamour in his choice of dull session men was abated by the introduction of a two young ladies for “Deutscher Girls”. They came and went through the evening, each time reappearing with fewer clothes until down to their smalls. And guess what? He even sang “Lady” (best song of the night) and “Whip In My Valise”. Wonder what that school disco DJ is doing now, huh?

Of course he does the hits too, but we can excuse him for that. I still think “Kings of The Wild Frontier” is an amazing, unique sounding record and “Puss In Boots” nothing short of utter bollocks but it was a very well chosen set that stretched to an hour and three quarters with rarely a wasted moment.

A new album is allegedly forthcoming early next year. It is entitled - wait for it - Adam Ant Is The Blueblack Hussar In Marrying The Gunner’s Daughter. It’ll be the first new Adam Ant record I’ll have bought for thirty years.

MONKEY USA PART 4: STAX, MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE

2011-11-20T11:38:00.022Z

“Can you take me to Stax please?” Best sentence I’ve ever said to a cab driver. “Sorry sir, I’m not a taxi.” He was driving a something called a medical transportation vehicle. So, if you were in a Memphis hospital last month waiting for a new kidney, I apologise for the delay.

It did mean I got to say it again before we travelled the couple of miles from the tourist drinking dens of Beale Street to across the tracks to the noticeably non-tourist area of East McLemore Avenue. Funky part of town is the white boy euphemism for a poor black neighbourhood where it wouldn’t be advised to wander around alone. I hate saying things like this as it casts aspersions on the folk there, who – like anywhere – will consist of the friendly and not-so-friendly. The vast majority of Memphis people we met couldn’t have been nicer. However, had Mrs Monkey and I walked this particularly residential route we wouldn’t have looked more out of place had we been wearing Beefeater uniforms and whistling God Save The Queen. And quite frankly, if I were looking for an easy target, I’d pick on us. For a start, nobody in Memphis walks anywhere. It is eerie to walk streets so deserted. On the occasions you do see somebody they are immediately conspicuous. Later we’d walk a few blocks from Beale Street to the Lorraine Motel, the scene of Dr Martin Luther King’s assassination and now home to the National Civil Rights Museum (an extremely uncomfortable and moving experience) and the only person we saw was a toothless dude on a bike harassing us for money. I never fathomed how people got around as there were never many cars either. Maybe the locals have exclusive use of a series of underground tunnels. When the cabby dropped us off at Stax he said not to wander from the front of the building. He needn’t have wasted his breath, we weren’t going anywhere.

Back in 1959 Jim Stewart and Estelle Axton transformed a tired theatre on the corner of E. McLemore Avenue and College Street into the Satellite record shop, recording studio and label that would become Stax. The rest, you know. After Stax went bankrupt in 1975 the building went to ruin. Published in 1997 Rob Bowman’s Soulville USA, the definitive account of the label, ends on a sour note. The final page reading, “Tragically, in 1988 the Stax building was torn down. What should have been a national historic site remains in the late 1990s an empty field containing rubbish and junkie needles. It’s a disgrace, and speaks volumes regarding Memphis’s treatment of its African-American heritage.”

A disgrace indeed but Bowman can now have no complaints after a multi-million dollar investment as produced a tremendous turnaround. Stax – the name and the building - has been rebuilt on the same spot; the façade to the design of the original building, and houses the Museum of American Soul Music. Next door stands the Stax Music Academy, a non-profit organisation which uses “music education as a tool to enrich the lives of potentially at-risk children”. There's soul power, right there.

It’s difficult to fault the museum. Unlike other museum tours on our trip, this one was self-guided. It was huge; packed with over 2000 exhibits within a modern, well designed space. It starts with a short film about Stax beginnings, heyday and resurrection. Although not made too long ago it was noticeable how many artists have since passed away. The scale of the exhibition can be demonstrated by the first area which centres on an old wooden chapel that stood in the Mississippi Delta for over a hundred years. They didn’t just recreate Hoopers A.M.E. Chapel; they picked it up and dropped it here. With a gospel soundtrack playing and video archives around the outer walls, it firmly establishes the roots of soul in the church.

From there in, it’s a chronological story. It makes reference to non-Stax artists from James Brown and Aretha Franklin to the Motown stable and Memphis neighbours at Hi, but its focus is on its own acts, with the higher profile ones each afforded their own display of records, photos, instruments and personal items: Rufus Thomas’s funky boots, Mavis Staples’s dress, Otis Redding’s suede jacket, a suit belonging to Sam or Dave, but the most jaw dropping belongs to Isaac Hayes. Much is made of Stax being the perfect embodiment of racial harmony but after the death of Otis Redding, the assignation of King, and driven on by the new leadership of Al Bell, they became a potent symbol of Black Power. Nothing demonstrated power more than wealth and success and Hayes’s peacock blue 1972 Cadillac El Dorado pimp machine, trimmed with real gold and lined with white fur, with a television in the front and a bar in back, portrayed that in a most ostentatious manner. I’m not one for cars, but this was a sho’ nuff afro turner.

In keeping with the attention to detail spent on the exterior, Studio A has been rebuilt to the exact specifications of the original using previous blueprints, photos and surviving memories. I’d estimate the combined studios of Motown, Chess and Sun would fit within these four walls on this carpeted floor. Again true to the original it had been built on a slope (remember this started life as a theatre) with the raised control room where the stage had been. Set up ready to record another smash was the house band's equipment featuring Al Jackson’s drum kit, Steve Cropper’s guitar and amp, Duck Dunn’s bass combo, Wayne Jackson's trumpet, and the Hammond organ Booker T. used on – amongst other things - “Green Onions”.

There was also the “Hall of Records” which displayed hundreds of album sleeves (loads I’d never seen before) and walls filled with, possibly complete sets, of the blue “falling records” single releases and the yellow “fingersnap” ones. When all said and done, it’s the music that matters. It’s great to see where it was created, to see the stage outfits, to read the stories, to pay tribute, but you can’t put the sound, the feeling, the spirit, the emotion, the soul that comes out of those 7 inch pieces of vinyl into a museum. The subject matter alone makes the Stax Museum of American Soul Music the best museum I’ve been to; it’s as good as it gets, but nothing beats the music itself.

Next stop: Sun Records.

COLLECTIONISTAS at THE MILL CO. PROJECT, SATURDAY 26th NOVEMBER 2011

2011-11-14T09:33:00.007Z

Those of an artistic persuasion and within reach of the Bethnal Green/South Hackney border may be interested in this forthcoming Risograph print exhibition, featuring 25 posters by collectors, artists, photographers and designers.

Here’s our good friend and curator, Kavel Rafferty, with some words of enticement.

“I love the obsession inherent in collecting. The completist, whether finding that all-important last football sticker to finish their sticker book or one of those committed men (more often than not) standing on a rainy platform furtively scribbling down train numbers. The amateur hobbyist, complete with vast selection of frogs/bottle tops/records/paper fruit wrappers/tram tickets/ whatever; I always admired those kids at school who had a million different shaped and coloured erasers (they were called rubbers then, before Aids)... I loved their dedication and their neatness and I got dizzy just trying to imagine how much pocket money they got... It's all valid!

There something religious about this devotion. It´s repetitive, inspiring and, well, ultimately pointless. Long live the anoraks!”

In keeping with the theme, records will be played by “connoisseur record collectors” including yours truly playing a MonkeyPicks melting pot from 1-2pm plus Niamh Lynch, Alan Handscombe, Will Bourton and others such as Jeff Barrett of Heavenly Records, or as I like to think of him, The Man Who Signed Manic Street Preachers and Released The Greatest Record Of All Time Motown Junk.

Come join us for a Saturday afternoon drink.

Collectionistas takes place at The Mill Co. Project, Lime Wharf, Vyner Street, London, E2 from noon until 7pm. Nearest tube Bethnal Green. Admission free.

THE STAPLE SINGERS - "WADE IN THE WATER" (1968)

2011-11-09T18:24:00.002Z

In the world of blogging, everything is the best thing since the last best thing. This is no exception.

MONKEY USA PART 3: MOTOWN RECORDS, DETROIT, MICHIGAN

2011-11-06T16:37:00.023Z

Of all the places in the world I wanted to go, one stood out head and shoulders above the rest. Detroit. If you believe what some people say, Detroit is best avoided. It certainly has earned a reputation and it’s not now for its motor industry or Berry Gordy’s assembly line of hit records. But a pilgrimage to one clapperboard house that stands at 2468 Grand West Boulevard has been top of my wants list for as long as I can remember.

The train journey from Chicago to Detroit took longer than the scheduled five and a half hours as it crawled through the likes of New Buffalo and the wonderfully named Kalamazoo, which sits bang in the middle of the two cities. Most places looked small, suburban, with lots of little detached houses proudly waving Old Glory from a flag pole on the front lawn. That’s until you reach the outskirts of Detroit. The difference is as immediate as it is shocking. Fortunately I’ve never been in the remains of a war zone but that’s how these deserted streets with empty, vandalised, burnt out buildings appeared.

People are leaving the city in their droves. Twenty-five percent of the population have left over the last decade and almost a million since Gordy began his Motown Empire in 1959. According to The Economist, “Those who are left are likely to be the poorest, least-skilled and so least mobile. Only 11% of Detroiters aged between 25 and 34 has a college degree; in Seattle, the equivalent figure is 63%. Around 50% of the city’s adult black males are unemployed, and 38% of all Detroiters live below the poverty line.” The problems that create are obvious. Our waitress later in the day would, with a detectable hint of pride, claim Detroit was the second most dangerous city in America and not to go anywhere on foot.

If I was prepared for that bleak scenario I wasn’t prepared for Detroit train station. I was thinking it’d be a busy station yet it’s a tiny two platform affair. It could’ve been any stop tucked away at either end of the Central Line. I also thought there would be plenty of taxis not only one, hell bent on scooping up as many passengers as he could. Could he take me and Mrs Monkey to Motown? “Moo-tun?” he says. No, Mo-town. “Mar-tan?” No, Motown Records. The Motown Museum. Hitsville USA. Dancing In The Street. “You have address?” Incredibly, a cabby in Detroit had never heard of it. Even when supplied with the address he looked totally bemused but that didn’t stop him scooping up an Austrian couple and squashing them in with us. They wanted a completely different destination and direction and despite Mr. Cabby’s promise to drive there afterwards they looked terrified by the prospect. It wasn’t like they had much choice.

A few minutes later – out of the blue - we were there. Motown’s headquarters and home to Studio A, the building Gordy named Hitsville USA. It looked wonderfully familiar, the same as in every picture, frozen in time: white structure, blue signage, and small strips of green lawn out front where the Miracles, the Temptations, the Supremes, Marvin Gaye, the Vandellas, the Marvelettes and all the other magnificent lesser known artists would take a breather from recording the Sound of Young America and hang out amongst friends. The building is pretty and picturesque but because of how it looks in photographs I’ve always imagined it on a quiet residential street, maybe it once was, but it’s in fact on a busy unattractive main road and now untypical of its neighbours.

In through the door marked Studio A, past the small gift shop on the left, and down a short narrow corridor leading to the tour kiosk. We missed the start and after getting the lift up one floor the door opened into the main museum area where a dozen people were listening to an excited guide. I’ll call him Eivets Rednow. He explained how Berry Gordy needed a family loan of $800 to start his label and how Marv Johnson’s “Come To Me” was the first release on Tamla, the first of his many labels under the Motown umbrella. We heard how Gordy swiftly worked his way onto his first national hit, courtesy of Barrett Strong. Eivets Rednow breaks into song. “The best things in life are free, you can give them to the birds and bees…” He starts clapping his hands, and saying he can’t hear us. “I want money, that’s, what I want.” This set the tone for the tour: all singing and clapping and audience participation. I could feel myself and Mrs Monkey mentally moonwalking back to the lift.

We worked our way, as a group, around the room filled with records, photographs, tour posters and other promotional material displayed in glass cases whilst Eivets gave a thumbnail account of the Motown Story. With such a wealth of talent, for all the hits and misses, it was interesting to see which artists were afforded more space in the exhibits and the tour narration. The Supremes, for all their stature, scored lower than I predicted; the Four Tops were lucky to have their photo in a shared collage; whilst Marvin Gaye would’ve felt vindicated to get top billing with three complete cabinets to himself and Eivets bursting into Pop Idol versions of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough”, “I Heard It Through The Grapevine” and “Sexual Healing”.

When Berry Gordy bought the premises he had a clear idea how he envisaged his operation to work: he would live upstairs, have his offices downstairs, and would convert the garage into a recording studio. All of which we see. His living area was kitted out with a mix of his own items and period pieces but it’s when the tour moves downstairs that we are spookily transported back to the early 60s. The reception area and desk where Martha Reeves worked as a secretary is there; a leather sofa where artists would wait is positioned just inside the front door reserved for the elite few; Gordy’s office has a memo pinned to the noticeboard from 1965 warning employees that card games are forbidden until after 6pm; a room filled with master tapes overlooks a candy machine stocked with Stevie Wonder’s favourite bar - fifth button from the right - so he always knew where it was; and there’s the control room complete with the original three-track mixing desk. Visitors were forbidden from taking photographs so I can't show you the evidence.

Standing in the doorway of Studio A – the Snakepit as the Funk Brothers named it – and walking down the few steps into it was a once in a lifetime hairs-on-the-back-the-neck moment. Even Eivets shut up as we silently sucked in the moment. It felt like entering a church. It smelt old and musty and damp. It felt cramped squeezed in amongst the instruments and equipment but here it was. Here was the Motown Sound. Here was “This Old Heart of Mine”. Here was open for 24 hours a day between 1959-1972, recording the greatest collection of music ever to come from one studio. Earlier we’d seen the echo chamber where handclaps and backing vocals were recorded (echo chamber is a grand description of a hole and microphone in the ceiling to create a reverb effect) and presently we’d see the room where the horns where recorded, but this was it. Soul Mecca. There were no flat concrete walls; it was all warm timber angles, soaked with sweat and soul. Amazing.

Now, what would have taken this to another level would’ve been to have some big Motown hits pumped through the studio PA. To hear the snap of Benny Benjamin's snare, the rumble of James Jamerson's bass, to hear Levi soar, or Smokey sing. But no. Eivets lined up the girls and made them curtsey and throw some Supremes shapes. I couldn’t look at Mrs Monkey as felt her obvious discomfort and waited instead for the tables to turn. Us boys had to sing “My Girl” and do The Temptation Walk. In the privacy of my flat I happily dance around like David Ruffin – I could’ve been Motown’s great white hope - but this was embarrassing as I performed a half arsed left to right to left shuffle and mumbled something about the month of May. A couple of my fellow Tempts didn’t share my English reserve.

We can now claim to have sung and danced in Studio A. Berry Gordy might not have signed us but what he gave was more than enough. A dream come true.

Next stop: Stax.

MOVEMBER SPAWNED A MONSTER

2011-11-02T09:26:00.009Z

I’ve not done charity fundraising before. You'll never find me running a marathon or climbing three mountains before teatime but I reckon I can grow a dashing moustache during the month of November. Sorry, Movember.

So please support my David Crosby growing efforts and the 10,000 men who will die of prostate cancer and the more than 2,000 men who will be diagnosed with testicular cancer this year.

This all I’m gonna say. You didn’t come on here for the sound of me rattling my tin. If you wanna know more and/or feel like chucking in a few quid, the full details are at http://mobro.co/markraison.

Thank you. Here’s Morrissey...

SHAM 69 at ELECTRIC BRIXTON

2011-10-31T09:27:00.007Z

The reformed Sham 69 (1977-79 line up) far exceeded my - admittedly low - expectations on Saturday by turning in a fiery set. I’ve never taken their cartoonish yobbery very seriously, always considered them a bit of a comedy band, but they set about themselves with an admirable lack of cabaret and bashed out a surprisingly credible show.

A lean, mean, mop-headed Jimmy Pursey remains a captivating ringleader, directing the overweight, follically-challenged crowd at will, and Dave Parsons, Dave Tregunna and Mark Cain played with such bristling intensity it altered my opinion of the group. Songs I’d previously thought weak sounded stronger, full of energy, and sat comfortably alongside the boisterous anthems. If this had been a new band with these songs they’d have rave reviews splattered everywhere. The Vaccines should’ve been taking notes.

Reformed acts can do one of three things with their reputation: tarnish it, preserve it, enhance it. Few manage that last one. Sham did for me. Comedy? Cabaret? The Cockney Kids Are Innocent.

OCTOBER PICKS

2011-10-30T09:29:00.006Z

This month's turntable favourites.

1. Elvis Presley – “Little Sister” (1961)
Seeing how I pottered about his gaff this month (very nice it was too) it’s only fair to let the old hound dog have his day.

2. Lonnie Hewitt – “You Gotta Git” (1966)
This stick of dancefloor dynamite comes at ya like a super-charged Ramsey Lewis/Ray Charles love-in.

3. Leon Austin – “Turn Me Loose” (1969)
A James Brown production, and apart from the wonky horns, played with a straighter soul bat than JB usually used himself.

4. Neil MacArthur – “World Of Glass” (1969)
Better known as Colin Blunstone from the Zombies, this is equal, or even greater than, anything from Odessey and Oracle; it’s that special.

5. Muddy Waters – “Crosseyed Cat” (1977)
From the album Hard Again where Muddy’s mojo was most certainly rising.

6. Pulp – “Something Changed” (1994)
You had to be there. Maybe you were.

7. Thurston Moore – “Benediction” (2011)
If this opening track from Demolished Thoughts was a season, it would be autumn; in the same way all Nick Drake’s records are autumn.

8. The Silver Factory – “The Sun Shines Over You” (2011)
I’ve championed these jangle merchants for a while so I’m delighted Elefant Records have finally released it on an excellent new limited edition EP. Snap one up quick before they go.

9. Comet Gain – “An Arcade From The Warm Rain That Falls” (2011)
The best titled single of the year, and the song isn’t too shabby either.

10. The Black Keys – “Lonely Boy” (2011)
Oh yeah! Go listen to this and watch the video. I taught him all his moves you know.

MONKEY USA PART 2: CHESS RECORDS, CHICAGO, ILLINIOS

2011-10-27T20:08:00.006+01:00

In his autobiography, Keith Richards calls 2120 South Michigan Avenue hallowed ground. He and other Stones love telling how when they arrived in June ’64 to record in the footsteps of their idols, Buddy Guy was there to greet them, Willie Dixon too, Muddy Waters – they claim – was painting the ceiling and helped lug their gear out of the van and up the stairs into the studio. Etta James was no doubt fixing them up something in the kitchen.

Since 1990 the site of Chess Records has been designated an official Chicago landmark, and since 1993 home to the Willie Dixon Blues Heaven Foundation. When we turn up around midday we weren’t afforded such a welcome. The glass front revelled little of what’s inside and the place looked empty, so we rang the bell. After a while a man languidly comes to the door. I worry we’ve got him out of bed. His name turns out to be Kevin although we didn’t know that at the time. Didn’t know who or what he was. He picks the post off the floor and asks “you here for the tour?” Yeah, is that alright?

He leads us into a room with a desk and some mugs and t-shirts on display. It would stretch things to call it a gift shop. “You musicians?” he asks. Now, whenever I’m asked this, I always take it as a compliment but it’s not really is it? In my head all musicians look like The Action in ’66, The Stones in Green Park, the house bands of Motown and Stax, the dudes on Blue Note sleeves, where in reality, most are lucky to play a regular pub gig and inevitably wear a faded tour t-shirt and jeans that don't fit properly. “No, but I DJ in London and play old rhythm and blues records including, of course, loads of Chess stuff”. This was the second night in a row I’d thrown in the DJ line and felt myself squirm with uneasy self-consciousness saying it, but in my defence it was to (a) demonstrate we knew why we were here and (b) hope to engage Kevin in some conversation. It didn’t work. He said something about costing us $10 each and watching a video. We paid up.

He led us upstairs to a room filled with stackable plastic chairs and sat us in front of a big television and put a well-worn VHS cassette into the video player. “You watch this and when it’s finished I’ll come back and answer any questions.” With that he was gone. Looking around it was apparent we were in what was once the main recording studio of Chess. There wasn’t much beyond the white pegboard walls to give this impression but the big control room window in front of us gave it away. The video whirred into action and started to play a documentary called Sweet Home Chicago. It told of the blues, Chicago and Chess. It was probably made in the early 90s and was all right. It set the scene. But it went on. And on. We had no idea when it would end. Maybe it was a full 90 minute feature film? It was like watching BBC4 on a Friday night minus the bottle of wine and packet of Twiglets. There we were, sat alone, in the room where hundreds of amazing R&B and soul numbers were wrung from the sweat of incredible musicians; watching the telly.

After about an hour it finished and Kevin popped back. “Any questions?” Er, about the film or Chess in general? “Whatever you want.” I take it this was the studio? It was, and the control room was indeed the other side of the glass, and at the back the two rooms were the audition and rehearsal rooms. How long did Chess use it? Kevin said right up until 1969 when Leonard Chess died. The plaque outside said 1967 when I’ve read they moved to larger premises. Can we have a look around? “Sure, I’ll go back downstairs, come down when you’re ready. Take as many pictures as you want”.

It was difficult to get much sense of what recording in that room was like. It was now simply a rectangular room, high ceiling, with flat walls, and an old piano in the corner. There’s a distinctive echo to Chess records; an open, sparse feel. I tried to hear Little Walter’s harmonica in the walls, feel the stomp of Chuck Berry’s duck walk across the floor. It was difficult. The two back rooms contained some items of memorabilia but nothing much to write about: Dixon’s jacket and hat, KoKo Taylor’s dress, a few guitars, records and various odds and sods. The control room contained a couple of ancient pieces of recording equipment. One, bizarrely, was perched in a metal serving tray on top a wooden cross frame. I’ve no idea whether these were from the original control room or put there for illustrative purposes.

Back downstairs Kevin was sat behind his desk. When asked what the Willie Dixon Blues Heaven Foundation is, he came to life and passionately explained how it was set up at Dixon’s request, to educate blues musicians about the music business, to help those who needed assistance in understanding contracts and the legal implications of what they had signed, to help find work and act as intermediaries when third-parties were looking for performers, to help those in trouble etc. “Musicians are artistic people. They need to be free to create. They can’t do that when dealing with contracts they know nothing about”. It was good to hear. He also admitted that they more or less keep the upstairs open for fans to come along, just so they can say they’ve been before getting on a roll about the standard of blues clubs in the city. We mention we went to Buddy Guy’s club and met him. “What was he like?” I think he’d had a few drinks. Was quite sweary. “That’s Buddy. But what were the chances of that? Back in the day, you could see Howlin’ Wolf, Muddy Waters, Willie Dixon; they all lived here and played here. In those days you had to reach a certain level before they’d even let you in those clubs. Now they put on anything just for the tourists”.

As we leave the buzzer goes. Kevin lets in a couple of fellas. “You musicians?”

Next stop: Motown.

MONKEY USA PART 1: BUDDY GUY'S LEGENDS CLUB, CHICAGO, ILLINIOS

2011-10-23T20:54:00.005+01:00

Chicago likes to call itself the Home of the Blues, even if there aren’t too many bluesmen left at home. Buddy Guy moved to the Windy City in 1957, started cutting records as a session man for Chess in 1959, and is still doggedly keeping the blues alive with his own club, Buddy Guy’s Legends, situated at 700 South Wabash in the studenty part of the South Loop area.

The first things you notice as you approach the club are the large blue and white checker mosaics on the outside wall depicting the likes of John Lee Hooker and Howlin’ Wolf. Inside, it’s much how you’d expect, with photos, memorabilia and signed guitars hung on plain brickwork. It’s not dissimilar to a better equipped 100 Club with its wide but narrow layout and a bar at both ends and a low stage in the middle.

Me and Mrs Monkey popped in for a look on a lunch time and ended up eating catfish tenders, bourbon shrimp and having friendly locals offering us drinks. None of which is ever likely to happen on London’s Oxford Street. There were a couple of blokes on stage performing for the handful in there and luckily for them I didn’t catch their names. They did an atrocious version of “Goodnight Irene” - not that there has ever been a good version of that hideous song – and some other faux blues like every tin pot bus station busker from here to Timbuktu thinks is acceptable to pass off to the ill-informed or cloth-eared. It did though make us think that it would be a good venue to see someone half-decent.

So we went back that evening and Jimmy Johnson, a long standing Chicago blues guitarist and brother of Syl Johnson (got a couple of his singles tucked away somewhere), was on stage playing Junior Wells’ “Little By Little”. He had a cool laid back soul-blues style about him. Neat playing: nothing too showy, no face twisting histrionics. We stood at the bar with a beer and dug him. “Don’t turn around but I think that’s Buddy Guy behind us,” says Mrs Monk. I naturally turn around immediately and there’s a dude in the corner wearing a hat, blue smock, slouched on his stool, nursing a drink and chatting to a lady friend. We couldn’t get a proper look of his face but if he wasn’t Buddy he had the unmistakable look of being somebody. Not that we waited long for confirmation, it was him all right, as he soon climbed stage to hold court. You know in Raging Bull when Jake La Motta’s boxing career is over and he opens his own nightclub and drunkenly chats to the audience? It was a bit like that. I’ve no idea what got him on to the subject but he told how when he and Junior Wells arrived in Chicago (“you remember this too Jimmy”) the entire Chess crowd called them motherfuckers. “We thought it was our name,” he says, effortlessly breaking the Richard Pryor record for most motherfuckers and shits in a ten minute spell, only interrupted by singing his way through a couple of blues vamps. He also railed against the lack of blues played on the radio and how he keeps the club open as that’s the only way folk get to hear the blues in the city. Unfortunately he didn’t pull a guitar from the wall before the band went into the interval and he went into a photo and signing session by the club entrance.

It wasn’t possible to engage him in much chat but he was gracious in having his picture taken (one had to give their camera to his burly security guy to do the honours) and I did manage to tell him how I and others play his “I Dig Your Wig” single in clubs around Europe. It’s a popular tune. He pauses for a moment as if wondering what the earth I’m on about before a flicker of recognition hits his face. “Man, that’s from waaay back”. We shake hands. It’s a great moment. For me anyway.

Back in the main part of the club Jimmy Johnson was sat by himself with a coffee. He’d almost been upstaged at his own gig so we took the table next to him and asked him how he was doing. He said he was bit bored, which wasn’t the kind of answer we were expecting, but would be okay once he got back on stage. Jimmy turned out to be a lovely bloke and seemingly happy to chat to us. He said he’d been a professional musician since 1959. “What’s that been like? Bet there’s been some ups and downs?” I said, unaware that in 1988 his band’s van came off the road killing his bassist and keyboard player. It was hardly the right time for him to mention that horrible incident, and he struck a very positive note instead. “I been all around the world and I ain’t never bought no plane ticket.” I asked him about Buddy’s cussing; did everyone really call each other motherfucker? “Sure, that’s just how we spoke. We all call each other nigger too, like ‘hey nigger, how ya doing?’ Just how it was, don’t mean nothin’. Except say if you say it, there might be some meaning behind it. You know what I’m sayin’?” I knew what he was saying.

Jimmy asked where we were from and so told him London and that we got married on Saturday. When a man of 82, married for nearly fifty years, offers you advice, you listen. To me he says “you gotta learn to say ‘yes dear’” and to Mrs Monk he says “you’ve got to remember it’s we not me”. He also offered us advice about looking after ourselves when we travel to Detroit, and when back on stage he dedicated a couple of Motown songs to us, thoughtfully doing “I Wish It Would Rain” and “Get Ready”.

It’s hard to imagine how a night out looking for the blues in Chicago in 2011 could’ve been any better. Next stop: Chess Records.

COMET GAIN at the SILVER BULLET, FINSBURY PARK

2011-10-21T10:53:00.010+01:00

I bought a Comet Gain record in 1996, “Say Yes! (To International Socialism)”, and then not another until this year’s Howl of The Lonely Crowd, which gets a lot of action in Monkey Mansions. Any band who name a song the same as I named my goldfish - Herbert Huncke - is all right with me. I’ve no idea why I lost fifteen years but I'm gonna enjoy catching up. They were good last night; hanging a poetic lyric on a resolutely ramshackle and wonky beat. You'll find more polish in QPR's trophy cabinet - which is how it should be. They were thoroughly nice folk too, giving me their fab new single ("An Arcade From The Warm Rain That Falls") and chatting about The Left Banke.

I was on record duty, and as it was a gig rather than club meant my role was that of human jukebox, albeit a slightly self-indulgent one. These got pulled from the box:

The Impressions – Meeting Over Yonder (1965)
Arthur – Garnish Fantasy (1993)
High Priests – Baby Diamond Mind (2007)
The Choir – It’s Cold Outside (1967)
The Ronettes – Do I Love You? (1964)
Camera Obscura – Let’s Get Out Of This Country (2006)
The Lemonheads – Galveston (1997)
The Silver Factory – The Sun Shines Over You (2011)
The Left Banke – I Haven’t Got The Nerve (1966)
The Lovely Eggs – Watermelons (2011)
Dinosaur Jr. – Freak Scene (1988)
The Who – Doctor, Doctor (1967)
The Action – Twentyfourth Hour (1967)
Johnny Cash – The Lady Came From Baltimore (1974)
Hank Williams – I Can’t Get You Off My Mind (1951)
Love – Alone Again Or (1967)
Slim Harpo – I Need Money (1964)
Ko Ko Taylor – Wang Dang Doodle (1966)
Bob Dylan – Positively 4th Street (1965)
Pete Molinari – It Came Out Of The Wilderness (2008)
Maurice and the Radiants – Baby You’ve Got It (1966)
Mark Markham and the Jesters – Marlboro Country (1966)
Mouse and the Traps – Cryin’ Inside (1968)
The Horrors – Count In Fives (2006)
Betty Lavett – Witchcraft In The Air (1963)

CROSSFIRE ALLNIGHTER, SATURDAY 22nd OCTOBER 2011

2011-10-19T21:28:00.005+01:00

The latest Crossfire allnighter is on Saturday and although you wouldn't know it from the selective flyer above it features a live performance by 60's UK psych sensations July. If you don't own their eponymous 1968 LP, you really need to remedy that fact. I'll be spinning some tunes in the R&B room later.

Doors open at 2030, July are on at 2200, and it'll cost you £15 with admission to the allnighter after the band. If you miss the band and come after eleven the price drops to £12.

IDLE FRET OXJAM BENEFIT, LONDON, THURSDAY 20th OCTOBER 2011

2011-10-17T00:32:00.010+01:00

If you're free in London Town this coming Thursday you could do a lot worse than get along to the Silver Bullet opposite Finsbury Park tube for an Oxjam benefit show put on by Idle Fret Records. Certainly looks an interesting mix of bands and DJs (Comet Gain, Pete Wiggs etc). I'll be playing a few records early doors and seeing as how I'm listed with reference to Monkey Picks it'll be a ragbag mixture of 45s that kinda encompass what you get on here. They may regret uttering the words "play whatever you like". Should be good fun and certainly good value for a fiver or so.

ON THE ROAD

2011-10-08T12:54:00.006+01:00

Monkey Picks is on the road. Will be back shortly with a whole bunch of new stories for y'all. S'laters.

SEPTEMBER PLAYLIST

2011-09-30T09:53:00.006+01:00

A selection of tunes from Monkey Mansions.

1. Champion Jack Dupree – “Drunk Again” (1954)
He might’ve been the one sounding sloshed and high but it was Jack’s woman who - with a face like an old sea hag - was so drunk from December to July she couldn’t remember a thing.

2. Jimmy Merchant – “Skin The Cat” (1965)
“Go skin a cat – hit it with a bat. Meow!” It’s a good job our cat is deaf.

3. The Zombies – “What More Can I Do” (1965)
There’s more to the Zombies than Odyssey and Oracle. Check out Rod Argent pre-dating a Ray Manzarek style keyboard solo on this from the terrific Live at The BBC collection.

4. Jimmy Witherspoon – “I Gotta Girl (Who Lives On The Hill)” (1966)
The Spoon backed by the crème of UK jazzers (Morrissey, South, Seamen and Bates), dishes up a dollop of Joe Turner’s staple tune with, according to the sleeve notes on Spoon Sings ‘n’ Swings, “a smoking hot freshness”. Monkey Snr was there at the Bull’s Head on the night this was recorded. I can feel the breeze of his nodding head at the bar and faint echoes of “Oh yeah” ripple through my speakers.

5. Jake Thackray – “Lah-Di-Dah” (1967)
I’ve picked this before but with my wedding tomorrow it sprung to mind again. I should stress that all of Mrs Monkey’s family are lovely folk.

6. B.J. Thomas – “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head” (1969)
An all-time favourite.

7. Bobby Charles – “I Must Be In A Good Place Now” (1972)
If you wish there were more albums by The Band, check out Bobby’s eponymous debut which has them moonlighting throughout.

8. Little Beaver – “Listen To My Heartbeat” (1976)
When the flat is otherwise empty, in the privacy of the front room, with the curtains drawn, I like to hook up the glitterball and get down to some funky camp disco. Not a sight for the fainthearted.

9. Five Thirty – “Automatons” (1991)
Five Thirty’s Bed is now twenty years old. Where’s the deluxe double CD plus DVD set? Where’s the two hour radio documentary? Where’s the glossy collector’s edition of Mojo or Q? It sounded brilliant then and sounds equally brilliant now. In my top 5 LPs. Robbed they were, robbed.

10. The Flaming Lips – “Race For The Prize” (1999)
The Flaming Lips have a new song out. It is six hours long. That time could better be spent be playing “Race For The Prize” 84 times.

THE RIFLES - FREEDOM RUN (2011)

2011-09-25T09:51:00.017+01:00

Despite having the whole history of recorded music at my fingertips there are moments when I don’t know what to listen to. Those moments are inevitably filled by sticking on The Rifles 2006 debut No Love Lost. Not because it’s the best album ever made but its snappy bursts of mid-period Jam wears its heart on its sleeve, gets the head nodding and invites an exaggerated cockney sing-along whilst doing the washing up or pottering around the flat. ‘Andsome. The follow-up Great Escape didn’t quite match that standard but it’s still a decent album, strong on melodies and hooks, and now we come to Freedom Run.

On first play I was so bored it was a feat of endurance to last the course. For something so innocuous it was riling me. I’ve never heard a Snow Patrol album but this trudge through mediocrity is exactly how I imagine one; a stodgy production cloaking a lack of ideas. In the interests of fairness and loyalty I’ve played it another three times. That’s three hours of my life gone. The “Shout to the Top” style strings on the single “Tangled Up In Love” raise it an inch above the others and “Love Is A Key” (terrible title) will translate well in a live setting, but that's all and not good news for a band who’ve built their live shows around a geezerish, beer chucking audience. I’m not suggesting success is measured by the amount of wasted Stella but they’ll be plenty of uncomfortable periods at gigs now when punters are desperate to jump about to oldies rather than stand around arms folded.

The artwork is a giveaway: all moody photographs of mountains and desert highways, which fits the sense of nothingness these tracks evoke but The Rifles aren’t at home driving through Death Valley; their natural habitat is in Walthamstow pubs telling their mates about the latest argument with the girlfriend or their shitty day at work or how West Ham got beat again. To pretend otherwise fools no one and frankly makes them look a bit desperate.

There’s nothing strong enough on Freedom Run to give them the breakthrough hit and win them a legion of new fans; but there’s plenty weak enough to lose them a lot. They could shortly find they do have freedom, only not the kind they were searching for.

THE OLD DISTRACTION ROUTINE

2011-09-22T15:11:00.005+01:00

Sorry to neglect you gentle reader but I've been busy, so here's another picture of Diana Rigg. Gotta be better than me slagging off the new Manics single or Rifles LP hasn't it? Not that either are outta the woods yet...

THE TELESCOPES - "TO KILL A SLOW GIRL WALKING" (1990)

2011-09-15T08:54:00.002+01:00

I wish I'd made this record.

RHYTHM AND BLUE BEAT - FRIDAY 23rd SEPTEMBER 2011

2011-09-13T09:18:00.006+01:00

It’s been a while since I’ve been behind the decks, so with a clutch of new purchases adding strength to the box and competition for places, I’m raring to go once again.

First game of the new season is next week thanks to the Rhythm and Blue Beat Club in Camden Town. I’ll be in the team alongside Smart Phil, Southern Sam and Si Cheeba spinning sweet smelling dusty old records for hipsters to dance, drink and listen to. Between us covering R&B, Rhythm and Soul, Mod Jazz, Popcorn, Hammond Grooves and Latin Boogaloo, and if anyone creates a hip new genre by then with its roots in the blues, we’ll maybe play that too. I might even take along Monkey Snr’s copy of Georgie Fame's Rhythm and Blue Beat EP – which is in much nicer condition than the one pictured above.

You’ll find us upstairs in a room away from the oi polloi at the Camden Head, 100 Camden High Street, London, NW1 from 9pm-3am. £5 entry.

JUMPING THE SHUFFLE BLUES: JAMAICAN SOUND SYSTEM CLASSICS 1946-1960

2011-09-11T11:08:00.009+01:00

Spread across three CDs Jumping The Shuffle Blues compiles records spun by Jamaican sound systems after the second world war until 1960; which isn’t to say they were Jamaican in origin. If the well-to-do of Kingston could patronise exclusive clubs to hear live orchestras, the rest made do with sound systems rigged up in rooms to play 78s imported from America. In a practice later familiar in northern soul circles, the DJs – or selectors – would be fiercely competitive, disguising their finds by scratching off the titles of popular plays or even conjuring up new titles and claiming them as their own.

Some of the songs and artists here (Louis Jordan, Wynonie Harris, Roy Brown, Lloyd Price, Lowell Fulsom, Etta James etc) have been featured on hundreds of collections but only those well versed in jump blues, shuffle blues, call it would you will, will know anything close to all 85 tracks. An infectious rhythm tied to a catchy ballin’, brawlin’ or boozin’ lyric is always irresistible and whacking up the volume to “Too Many Women”, “No More Doggin’”, “But Officer”, “Hey Bartender”, “Bloodshot Eyes” and “Drunk” worked for sound systems, juke joints and house parties then and still bring a smile to the face and an itch to the feet now.

Of the three CDs the second one covering the years 1951-1954 is the most raucous and therefore best but the whole collection, with accompanying 24 page booklet, makes a novel way of a repackaging honking stateside R&B and providing something of a Jamaican history lesson along the way.

Jumping The Shuffle Blues is released by Fantastic Voyage, priced around £8.

THE PRIMITIVES - NEVER KILL A SECRET EP (2011)

2011-09-08T18:01:00.015+01:00

If you’re of an age to remember The Primitives, news they are back will bring two thoughts. Initial excitement swiftly chased by wondering what Tracy Tracy now looks like. That shouldn’t be relevant of course but - and I’m digging myself an even more precarious hole here – who doesn’t look at Debbie Harry and grimace ever so slightly. Richey Edwards missed an opportunity not spray painting William Burroughs’s “Beauty is always doomed” on his big girl’s blouse.

Back in ’88 at the Town and Country Club in Kentish Town, cute as a button Tracy – our Nico fronting her own Midlands mopheaded Velvets - looked me dead in the eye. I’ve forgotten more gigs that I can remember but those two seconds are beautifully frozen in time. As I pogoed frantically to the bubble gum blitz of “Spacehead” she was captivated by my sweaty face and unruly bowlcut. She wanted me. Oh yes. I was too young to realise bands actually pity or loathe most of their audience.

Despite not being able to capitalise on this encounter, I followed them through all three albums, even if they lost most of their sparkle by the end the early 90s when they spilt. I’m the first one to mock old bands reforming and mock even harder any one that takes any notice, but I did get a copy of their recent Never Kill A Secret EP, which has been out a few months but escaped my notice until now. It sounds exactly like it should, only better. “Rattle My Cage” puts a killer hook to a fuzzy riff and garage chug; when an acid dropping Peter Fonda turns up at the inevitable go-go party scene, Lee Hazlewood's “Need All The Help I Can Get” would be playing; the dreamy folk rock jangle of “Never Kill A Secret” brings the sunshine through the flowers; and Toni Basil's northern soul “Breakaway” swings and shimmers in all the right places. Only one track falls the wrong side of three minutes and there’s no picking a favourite; they’re all equally good and, amazingly, improve the overall quality of their output. I’ve had it on constant repeat for over a week and prefer it to almost all their original records, the majority past the first couple of years now sound hollow and joyless.

If they were a new indiepop band they’d be my favourite new band; as it is, they’ve my new favourite old band. As for Tracy Tracy, on the strength of this it wouldn’t matter if she was now right fugly. She isn't.

Never Kill A Secret is released by Fortuna Pop!

THE ZOMBIES - "THIS OLD HEART OF MINE" (1966)

2011-09-04T09:45:00.003+01:00

The Zombies take my favourite Motown record and perform it in the style of The Action to a room of dandified hipshaking Parisians in 1966. Beat that.

BEAT SCENE - ISSUE 65, SUMMER 2011

2011-09-03T11:34:00.004+01:00

Every quarter Beat Scene magazine turns up at my door, more like a groovy uncle than a foxy new girlfriend, but it’s fiercely loyal, dependable, and I always put the kettle on to enjoy a few hours in its company.

It brings me news and tells tales of days of yore. For example, it reports there will presently be two film adaptations of, in my opinion, Jack Kerouac’s best two books: On The Road and Big Sur. I’m fairly ambivalent about these types of projects. Whether good or bad, they’ll come out and disappear, most won’t even notice, but a handful of observers will go back to Jack himself and possibly the Beats in general. They need all the help they can get these days. When Jack needed help he didn’t get much. As far back as 1959, Beat Scene editor Kevin Ring observes in his thorough account of Jack’s relationship with his agent Stirling Lord, “Jack was disappointed that film adaptations of his books seemed slow in materialising”. Jack, at the time his star shone brightest, already needed the money; ten years later in near poverty and tatters, he drunk himself to death. Ring’s account is close to a classic be-careful-what-you-wish-for story.

Happier news comes in the shape of an excerpt from a forthcoming Charles Bukowksi collection; lots of book reviews; articles about Ed Sanders, Gary Snyder, Janine Pommy Vega and more; and, especially for David Beckham, a 1987 interview with Allen Ginsberg.

A bumper 68 A4 page edition for a four pounds sterling. I’ll drink to that. Find ordering details at beatscene.net

"I SAW THE BEST FOOTBALLERS OF MY GENERATION DRESSED BY STYLISTS"

2011-09-02T16:10:00.013+01:00

Although no Joey Barton I quite like David Beckham, but here we see him displaying what appears to be a severe case of Ramones T-shirtitis.

I may be doing him a disservice. He and the missus might sit on their monogramed thrones chucking Allen Ginsberg references at each other for a laugh. Victoria says “Oi Goldenballs, ain’t it time you put your queer shoulder to the wheel and got on with the washing up?”, before he mumbles something about preferring to sweeten the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset.

Whether David will strip to conduct his next post-match interview with his undercrackers on his head remains to be seen.

For a nearly daily dose of everything Ginsberg related go to the excellent Allen Ginsberg Project; from where I pinched this photo.

THE ACTION - IN THE LAP OF THE MODS

2011-08-29T09:55:00.004+01:00

The very long-awaited book by Ian Hebditch and Jane Shepherd telling the story of The Action is finally inching towards daylight, with publication now due in early 2012.

The previously mooted narrow title of The Sound of the Birdcage has thankfully been replaced with the more encompassing In The Lap of The Mods and promises contributions from all members of the band – Reggie King, Mike Evans, Pete Watson, Alan King, Roger Powell, Ian Whiteman and Martin Stone; rare informal and promotional photographs and memorabilia; recollections from former club regulars at the Marquee, Watford Trade, the Goldhawk, the Cavern and Portsmouth’s Birdcage; foreword by Sir George Martin; and, a comprehensive chronology of the band including events, gigs played and details of recording sessions at Abbey Road.

If that wasn’t exciting enough, in addition to the standard softback there’s a limited edition hardback including the single “(Girl) Why You Wanna Make Me Blue” – the previously unreleased track cut for a (failed) 1965 audition for Decca Records.

More news and ordering details can be found, from 1st November, at www.theactionbook.co.uk.

FREDDIE KING - "PAPA'S GOT A BRAND NEW BAG" (1966)

2011-08-27T12:08:00.001+01:00

By way of compensation for yesterday’s football related post, here is something everyone can enjoy. Take it away Freddie…

WELCOME TO LONDON JOEY BARTON

2011-08-26T18:17:00.007+01:00

There are many reasons to dislike Joey Barton but at least three to think him not all bad. In reverse order:

3. When Frank Lampard refused to sit next to him on England duty, Barton reportedly said “It’s alright, I’m not going to steal your breakfast, you fat prick”.

2. For a footballer, he has surprisingly acceptable music taste. His Twitter profile quotes lyrics from "Still Ill" by The Smiths.

1. Today he signed for Queen’s Park Rangers.

Gonna be fun. Good luck Joey. Good luck QPR.

KEITH MOON - PREVIOUSLY UNPUBLISHED PHOTOGRAPHS

2011-08-23T17:18:00.008+01:00

Today would be Keith Moon’s 65th birthday, so a perfect opportunity to share what I believe are previously unseen pictures.

I bought them some years back from a chap who had a box of photographs taken backstage at various mid 70’s gigs in America. He couldn’t be any more specific but Keith wore a series of motor racing tops during 1975 so safe to say they are from then.

As they seem to show another other side of Moon The Loon, I love them. Here's to you dear boy.

AUGUST PLAYLIST

2011-08-21T12:12:00.008+01:00

Current favourites in Monkey Mansions.

1. Billie Holiday – “Gloomy Sunday” (1941)
A declaration to commit suicide would take the shine off anyone’s weekend.

2. Etta James – “Tough Lover” (1956)
As if she hadn’t lived an incredible enough life already, Etta seemingly managed to rise from the dead this month. A false report of her death saw obituaries and RIP messages swamp the internet. She’s tough and will go when she’s ready, not when any damn fool tells her.

3. Ann Cole – “I’ve Got Nothing Working Now” (1957)
Hands up who thought “I’ve Got My Mojo Working” was by Muddy Waters? I did, but no, Muddy heard Cole perform the song and then wrote his version around it. This follow-up, although not as good, stuck to the formula.

4. Don Gibson – “Don’t Tell Me Your Troubles” (1959)
The excellent new Gibson compilation in the Complete Country series is titled Lonesome Singer Songwriter With Rockabilly Flair. What it lacks in snappiness it makes up for in accuracy.

5. Guitar Crusher – “The Monkey” (1962)
There are never enough monkey songs. This exuberant swinger shows why.

6. Kenny Lynch – “Movin’ Away” (1967)
You bet. Orchestra conducted by Johnny Harris. No idea who Johnny was but I love his arrangement.

7. James Brown – “Why Did You Take Your Love Away From Me” (1968)
James Brown, like Bob Dylan, is a one-man genre but that doesn’t stop him bullishly shouting and shimmying into northern soul territory.

8. The Slickers – “Johnny Too Bad” (1970)
The still relevant sounding early reggae classic featured in The Harder They Come.

9. Pentangle – “So Clear” (1971)
I usually give a wide-berth to the Aran sweater folk brigade but in a moment of self-flagellation I bought Pentangle’s Reflection. When Jacqui McShee concentrates on stirring her cauldron and leaves the vocals to others it’s not entirely dreadful.

10. Nirvana – “Molly’s Lips” (1991)
Easy to forget that once upon a time Nirvana could bash out two minute pop nugget covers just for fun. Yes, fun.

THE IMPRESSIONS AND A YOUNG SHEPHERD’S BUSH MOD’S FORGOTTEN STORY

2011-08-15T17:01:00.020+01:00

By chance I happened upon a record fair on Saturday at the Shepherd’s Bush Village Hall. Much of it was overpriced tat but in a green plastic crate marked “Soul/Disco”, and nestled next to Lionel Richie, War and 1980s Motown LPs with garish artwork, was The Impressions Big Sixteen. Sixteen lessons in understated, lilting soul music, as immaculate as the cut of Curtis, Sam and Fred’s one-button suits, released on His Master’s Voice in the UK in 1965; all of which I already own at least once, most as singles, but not on this actual album. It was on sale for the not unreasonable sum of £20, but in these austere times and with no new music on offer, expensive enough.

Its condition was only marred by the black biro of one Jeremy Pearce. I recall, many moons ago, mentioning to my mother the practice of writing names on record labels and record sleeves. I was shocked people would deface them in such a way. She explained her friends did it in the 60s when taking records to parties at friends’ houses. Jeremy had gone further than that, not only writing his name but adding “This is my most valued possession. Respect it as such please”. I liked Jeremy immediately. Being hip to The Impressions in mid 60s London marked him as a man of discerning taste and referring to their LP as his most valued possession, well, he would’ve been the one of the faces in my book. My first thought was he’d given it to a girlfriend as a dramatic romantic gesture but the testiness of the message makes the party option more likely.

I thought about buying it. Not only because it’s a marvellous record but because of Jeremy. It felt sad to see something he loved abandoned in a village hall sharing a crate that also had a section marked “Depeche Mode/Erasure/Pet Shop Boys”. But I was on my way to QPR around the corner and if you’ve ever experienced the cramped conditions at Loftus Road you’ll know they aren’t conducive to taking care of anything valuable, plus I was hoping for moments of wild celebration as QPR scored their first goal back in the top flight of English football after a 15 year absence.

Watching the game I kept thinking about that record and its history. Being born a mile away I’m biased, but I’ve always considered Shepherd’s Bush as Mod's birthplace. A short walk from the village hall, across the green, stood the Goldhawk Road Social Club (it’s still there, now renamed the Shepherd’s Bush Club), the legendary haunt where local boys The Who cut their teeth on soul and R&B covers, and where Ready Steady Go recruited 100 Faces to showcase the latest mod dances and fashions to the nation early every Friday evening. In the mid-80s on the corner of the green was Sneakers, now regarded by many as the mod club of that generation, which I went to a couple of times as a wide-eyed teenager. Jeremy would have gone to the Goldhawk and one night after seeing The Action cover “Meeting Over Yonder”, “People Get Ready” and other Impressions songs there, he nipped home on his Lambretta en route to a party down the Kitchener Road, and picked up the original versions on Big Sixteen. He liked The Action better than other groups but preferred to go directly to the source. His fellow mods duly treated the LP with sufficient reverence if its current condition is anything to go by: no scratches, no finger prints, no bends, only tiny surface marks where it has been carefully removed countless times from the inner sleeve.

By this stage, having created a whole life for Jeremy, I felt terrible for not rescuing his record. The fair ended at five o’clock and the match was due to end about five to. I’d never make it. Now, the only upside in seeing QPR get thrashed 4-0 at home by Bolton Wanderers was it meant I could slip away a few minutes early. I ran through the streets, huffing and puffing, giving myself a stitch, but got there in time and the LP is now mine. I can’t help but wonder what happened to Jeremy Pearce and how he became parted from his most treasured possession. If you’re reading this Jeremy I’d love to reunite you with Big Sixteen but if not, I promise to look after and respect it the way you wished.

LORETTA LYNN - "FIST CITY" (1968)

2011-08-14T09:02:00.003+01:00

And now for something completely different. You mess around with Loretta's fella, and you'll end up in Fist City. Take it away...

OUR BEAT CORRESPONDENT WILLIAM BURROUGHS REPORTS FROM HACKNEY

2011-08-09T09:12:00.012+01:00

As my Hackney, and others areas in London and beyond, yesterday further descended into anarchy and lawlessness with rioting gangs looting, burning and mugging, scenes from William Burroughs’ Naked Lunch, first published in 1959, came to mind as I navigated myself away from chaotic and ugly streets to eerily deserted ones. What made these "disturbances" different from the usual ones was their undiscriminating nature. Storming the Bank of England or putting through the windows of McDonalds might pass for political protest but attacking family businesses and destroying homes? There are a number of appropriate passages but I’ll share this, as in typical Burroughs style it mixes horror with dry humour.

“From the roof of the R.C. we survey a scene of unparalleled horror. INDs stand around in front of the café tables, long streamers of saliva hanging off their chins, stomachs noisily churning, others ejaculate at the sight of women. Latahs imitate the passers-by with monkey-like obscenity. Junkies have looted the drugstores and fix on every street corner… Catatonics decorate the parks… Agitated schizophrenics rush through the streets with mangled inhuman cries.
/…/
“Gentle reader, the ugliness of that spectacle buggers description. Who can be a cringing pissing coward, yet vicious as a purple-assed mandrill, alternating these deplorable conditions like vaudeville skits? Who can shit on a fallen adversary who, dying, eats the shit and screams with joy? Who can hang a weak passive and catch his sperm in his mouth like a vicious dog? Gentle reader, I fain would spare you this, but my pen hath its will like the Ancient Mariner. Oh Christ what a scene is this! Can tongue or pen accommodate these scandals?”

Naked Lunch: The Restored Text by William Burroughs is published by Fourth Estate, priced £9.99.

MAGIC TRIP (2011)

2011-08-07T11:22:00.008+01:00

In 1964, Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters clambered on their freshly painted psychedelic bus to travel across America loaded on LSD. Destination: Furthur.

Already immortalised in Thomas Wolfe’s book The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, 100 hours of previously unseen home movie footage have now been edited into a new film, Magic Trip, by directors Alex Gibney and Allison Ellwood. Released stateside last Friday, here’s the trailer. Look out for Cassady, Kerouac and Ginsberg.

THE VINTAGE SOUL REVUE at VINTAGE

2011-08-03T09:26:00.007+01:00

The Vintage Soul Revue, as part of the Vintage Festival within the Royal Festival Hall was the live equivalent of purchasing a cheap soul compilation from a service station or corner shop: some popular hits to attract the passing punter; a bunch of middling filler tracks nobody really wants; the occasional unexpected highlight; and, most frightening, the small print tucked in the bottom corner reading “some of these songs have been re-recorded by at least one member of the original artists”.

Backed by a fourteen piece orchestra, a variety of acts trotted out to do a few numbers each. Joe Harris of The Undisputed Truth wasn’t a name to set many pulses racing but his version of The Impressions’ “I’ve Been Tryin’”, with sweeping strings and soaring vocals, and the Truth’s 1971 hit “Smiling Faces Sometimes” set the bar sufficiently high it wouldn’t be troubled too often for the rest of the night. Jimmy James was okay in a pedestrian, end of the pier, way. I hadn’t realised “I’ll Go Where Your Music Takes Me” was his. Hearing that, “Red, Red Wine”, and seeing mums and dads, boys and girls, half-heartedly clapping along only added to his Seaside Special vibe.

The audience was a strange mix and by the very nature of the event, not a connoisseur crowd so many were unfamiliar with The Flirtations. Even curator of the event Wayne Hemingway forgot to mention them in his introduction. Having seen them a few times I’d say this was their best yet, thanks to the grand backing of the orchestra. From their out of synch dancing, to their out of key vocals, to their dodgy wigs, they’re ropey but there’s something endearing about the way they don’t take themselves too seriously. They knocked out half a dozen songs including “Nothing But A Heartache”, “Little Darling”, “Stronger Than Her Love” and threw in a new song. If I never hear any version of “Do I Love You (Indeed I Do)” ever, ever, ever again I’ll be delighted, so to be trapped with their caterwauling was frankly torturous. Sorry ladies, not entirely your fault.

Gwen Dickey, of Rose Royce, had to be helped to the stage and her stool. Now, although I've watched The Royal I’m no doctor, but her legs/hips seemed right royally fucked. Obviously knowing everyone was wondering she explained it was due to falling from a ladder. “Ladies, when your man says he’ll do something tomorrow, let him, don’t do it yourself”. She sure could sing and got a rousing reception for “Is It Love You’re After”, “Wishing On A Star”, “Love Don’t Live Here Anymore” and especially “Car Wash”. I’ve never thought of that song as anything other than hen night fodder, but it is pure unadulterated Norman Whitfield. Had the Temptations or the Undisputed Truth tucked it on a B-side in 1974 it’d be listened to totally differently. Again, a word about the orchestra who bought it to life in a way I’d not noticed before. Every bugger got out of their seats and started “dancing”, which forced me to stand uncomfortably and very slightly sway and bob my head. Arms folded.

Out next came Hamish Stuart from the Average White Band. Someone in the audience shouted for him to play something lively. He didn’t. After Dickey upping the atmosphere he came across as far too earnest and let’s face it, who wants a scary bearded Scotsman playing something from his 1980 Brazilian influenced album? Not me and not many others. I amused myself with the old game of thinking of different names for AWB. Acute Wanking Ballache was rubbish, technically a dubious entry, but still won and took my mind off the stage.

Percy Sledge entered the fray wearing a tuxedo and what looked like a scouse calm down-calm down wig. If Eddie Floyd earlier in the week made a mockery of his passing years, fellow Alabaman Sledge had no qualms about playing the elder Soul Man. “People ask me, Percy Sledge, how come you talk so much when you used to just burn it up on stage. Well, I tell ‘em, I need to get my breath back”. He flashes that famous gap toothed grin of his and gets away with anything, including a bizarre, and very funny, Ride Your Pony type dance to one song. I can’t believe though he ever burned it up on stage even as a young man. The churchy chord changes to his Muscle Shoals ballads had a different quality, dramatically described by Gerri Hirshey in Nowhere To Run as “his voice sliced through stone, bronze and petrochemical ages of human love”. Time has eroded some of the edge but he was sweet and “Take Time To Know Her” and “Dark End of The Street” were great to hear. “Nights in bloody White Satin” less so, but “When A Man Loves A Woman” was the big money shot and didn’t disappoint. Never have I seen a man fall so gingerly to his knees. He clambered up, did a false exit, milked the standing ovation, and was gone.

With Booker T scheduled next, the house lights suddenly came on. There was no announcement and confusion reigned. The stage crew began packing away. Was that it? The advertising more than eluded to Booker T performing with an orchestra, which was the draw for me, at considerable expense. The cheapest tickets, at the back of the circle, were £75, and went up to £100 (due to a kindly tip-off and a half-truth I paid half-price). That did give access to other things at Vintage, mainly lobbies in the Royal Festival Hall masquerading as themed clubs, but meant there were lots of empty seats. There were three people in my row. With the orchestra packed away Hemingway introduced “Booker T. & The MGs”. They were no such thing as the drummer pointedly remarked. They were his current touring band (drums, bass and guitar). With the earlier momentum killed and the stage in almost darkness, Booker and co set about their standard set which I’d seen last year (see here). In a way it was an admirable stance to stick to their guns and do their own thing but it sat awkwardly with the revivalist natural of what preceded it. “Green Onions” was the second song to get it over with and if I thought Steve Cropper had overplayed when I saw his Stax show on Wednesday then he was positively the model of restraint after the sub-Hendrix fiddley-diddley wankathon of this guitarist. I read somebody tried to steal his effects pedals after the show; pity he wasn’t successful beforehand. Also, on Wednesday I heard “Soul Limbo” with a lengthy drum solo, this time around not only did it have a drum solo but the drummer rapped through it too. Oh man. Admittedly not in the Bob Dylan Name That Tune league of reinvention but unwelcome nonetheless. The other two people in my row had gone by now, as had many others, and when Booker T swopped his organ for a guitar and started singing “Take Me To The River” I left him to it.

THE JIM JONES REVUE at VINTAGE

2011-07-31T12:20:00.010+01:00

Quite rightly, the Jim Jones Revue are now selling out large venues so it was fantastic to see them last night at close quarters once again, in a sweaty low ceiling space within the Royal Festival Hall, as part of the Vintage Festival. They were incredible. I’m struggling to think of a better live band, not just now but ever. These pictures capture it quite well I think; only a lot, lot, quieter.

STAX! with EDDIE FLOYD at the 229 CLUB

2011-07-29T18:16:00.016+01:00

This was Eddie Floyd in London on Wednesday night. It was difficult to get a better photograph as he refused to keep still. From one side of the stage to other he stomped, clapped, pointed, danced, wiped sweat from his brow and flicked it out with his fingers; the energy he produced was incredible.

After the Stax house band of Steve Cropper, Duck Dunn, Lester Snell and Steve Potts had raided the Booker T. & The MGs catalogue, there was a palpable sense of impatience festering in the room. “Melting Pot”, “Green Onions”, “Soul Limbo”, “Hip-Her-Hug”, “Summertime” and others were all decent, even if a deaf ear had to turned to the occasional drum or guitar solo. What makes Steve Cropper so respected is his crisp and economic guitar playing, so when one witnesses him squinty eyed and gurning, pulling an axe solo, it doesn’t warrant much of a soul clap. Not that I blame him after knocking out the same songs for fifty years, but after 45 minutes and when time is tight, it needed fresh impetus.

That came once Cropper introduced Eddie “The Alabama Slammer” Floyd to the stage. 75 years old but in his movement and strength of voice, could’ve been half that. I make allowances for classic acts; they can’t be expected to match their peak years, but if Eddie Floyd was better than this in 1967, then histories need rewriting. Considered a rung below the soul ladder to Otis, the Wicked Pickett, Sam and Dave, his contribution has been unfairly overlooked. As well as his own stormers like “Raise Your Hand”, “Big Bird” and his anthem “Knock On Wood”, he wrote and produced for others and his career at Stax career lasted well into the mid-70s. As one of the last remaining true soul men he went up a few notches in my estimation after this performance. Fingersnapping good.

ROGER DALTREY PERFORMS THE WHO’S TOMMY at the INDIGO2

2011-07-25T19:43:00.020+01:00

It’s all right for art school Pete Townshend. He can potter about at home writing new songs. He can plod on with his autobiography. He can blog and blither on about his wife’s music or over-analyse his belly button. He has stuff to fill his time even if his ears are so shot that playing live is a no-no. After the rigmarole of his Unfortunate Incident had died down, he made a concerted effort to get a seat for The Who back on top table, saying he realised what a valuable brand The Who were. Yes, he said brand, not band. Not how I want to think of The Who but he thinks too much, that Peter, the head.

It’s not the same for sheet metal worker Roger Daltrey, the Shepherd’s Bush geezer who wanted everything to be a laugh and got terribly upset when it wasn’t. He gallantly does his Teenage Cancer Trust work but can only throw trout back in the water so many times before they get concussion. He is a singer, one of the boys, the heart. And despite his solo records he is The Singer From The Who; the vehicle for Townshend’s songs. Give him anything else and it doesn’t work, in a way he’s lumbered.

So, it’s Roger that’s out on the road with Tommy in what is billed, pointedly, as Roger Daltrey Performs The Who’s Tommy. The brand dear boy, don’t forget to mention the brand. The band includes Simon Townshend. I’ve often wondered about the Townshends. Simon is the substitute for another guy, his older brother. Pete can’t do it; bring in Simon. Roger is sweet and says he hasn’t got a brother, but if he did have, “it would be Simon Townshend-Daltrey.” Must be hard doing the same job in such shadow. Even in the battle of two bald men fighting over a comb, Pete won.

From the outset last night Roger, with cup of tea in hand, was keen to explain he was nasally due to the “fucking freezing” Norfolk winds blowing in his face two nights earlier. Therefore he did a few numbers to get his voice warmed up before tackling the main event. “I Can See For Miles” and “Pictures of Lily” got the (pin)ball rolling, followed by a chirpy, self-penned, “Days of Light” before talking about the music he listens to at home, how great it was to work with The Chieftains, and how pleased he was that Mumford and Sons were huge. That ominous warning over, he knocked out a couple of fiddly-diddly Irish folk tunes in “Gimme a Stone” and “Freedom Rider”, and subsequently scared off anyone thinking it was time for a new LP.

The introduction to Tommy paid tribute to Kit Lambert and Chris Stamp for believing music was more than just the three minute pop song (hmm, might need to have a word with them about that), and said when The Who had previously performed it, it was more like a circus act and not in its “pure form” like tonight. With that, it was a straight through, start to finish, “Overture” to a climatic “We’re Not Gonna Take It”. True to the album yet meatier and beatier. Listening to the record today it sounds tame by comparison. The fact I’ve gone back to the album tells you almost all you need to know. Tommy’s got it’s knockers but I’m not one of them. Putting “rock” and “opera” together is a hideous concept yet works here, especially when taken as a whole and hearing it live made me appreciate again what an ambitious and, for its time, daring album it was. Back in ’69 it was a tough cookie for a young man to sing and nasally Roger gave it his all, and when occasionally not hitting a note a look of “ah, bollocks, sod it” ran across his face as he lassoed his microphone around his head one more time.

Tommy over, “”Who Are You”, “Behind Blue Eyes”, “Going Mobile” and a cracking “Young Man Blues” and “Baba O’Riley” followed. By now Roger had all but totally unbuttoned his shirt and his still magnificent chest was on show. As he fumbled putting his mic back on its stand he joked “I can’t even get a screw”, to which Mrs. Monkey, to my left, bellowed “I WILL ROG!” much to the amusement of those around us. Luckily for me he was just out of earshot and I got to go home with Mrs. M. If those choices were predictable, a playful Johnny Cash medley wasn't, neither was “Without Love” from McVicar. After a full two and a half hours that flashed by, it looked like the end until there was only Daltrey left on stage to pay a touching tribute to John Entwistle and sing, to everyone’s amazement, “Blue Red and Grey” from The Who By Numbers.

He’s a nation treasure, Roger Daltrey. Someone should bottle him. He’d make a great brand.

JULY PLAYLIST

2011-07-24T10:02:00.009+01:00

Current spins in Monkey Mansions.

1. Margie Day – “Take Out Your False Teeth Daddy” (1953)
“Take out your false teeth Daddy, your Mommy wants to scratch your gums, Oh you’re gonna feel good after I’ve rubbed them some”. Now, I’ve no degree in bluesology but I’m thinking Margie had something other than her fella’s dental work on her mind.

2. The Martinels – “I Don’t Care” (1962)
This punchy rhythm and soul house shaker was released on Success records out of Des Moines, Iowa. The label proudly boasts of it being an “unbreakable 45 RPM” and fifty years later it’s been as good as its word.

3. Wanda Jackson – “Memory Mountain” (1963)
No need to choose between Wanda’s rockabilly years and her country years; have ‘em both.

4. Jimmy Witherspoon – “Drinking Beer” (1964)
“Let’s have party and drink up lots of beer/ Well, wine is fine but give me lots of beer/ Wanna drink some beer, talk some trash this mornin’/ Let’s drink some beer ‘til the rooster crows at dawnin’/ Well, wine is fine but give me lots of beer.” What he said.

5. Derrick Harriott – “Monkey Ska” (1965)
Irresistible.

6. John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers – “Snowy White” (1967)
Fear not the white boy blues band. Co-written by Mick Taylor - who plays lead - this Hammond and horns instrumental from the surprising warm Crusade LP is more reminiscent of the Small Faces than Bukka White.

7. The Rolling Stones – “Far Away Eyes” (1978)
Hard not to think of Gram Parsons and, for maybe the last time, hard not to think of Jagger and Richards having a right old laugh writing and recording this.

8. The Stone Roses – “Good Times” (1994)
Striped of context and nostalgia, the more muscular groove of Second Coming has dated far better their first album, and now sounds better than ever.

9. The Horrors – “Sheena Is A Parasite” (2007)
Thorny critic Everett True wrote a scathing piece on the new Horrors album, saying they sound exactly like U2. He over-egged the pudding but there are a couple of tracks where they're more U2 than Q65. Pity by his own admission he’s never heard the majestic tinny dustbin rattle of their debut 45.

10. Yuck – “Holing Out” (2011)
There is something comfortably reassuring about Yuck’s eponymous LP, sounding as it does like an record I would’ve bought in the early 90s next to Dinosaur Jr., Swervedriver, Sugar, The Pixies, Pavement and Teenage Fanclub.

MRS. PEEL, YOU'RE NEEDED

2011-07-21T09:26:00.004+01:00

Typical. I've been waiting months for an excuse to use this picture and then flipping well missed Dame Diana Rigg's birthday yesterday. Oh well, if MonkeyPicks did pin-ups, this would be number one.

GROSS MAGIC - "SWEETEST TOUCH" (2011)

2011-07-17T11:18:00.004+01:00

This week I’ve been seeking out new bands. It’s been a mixed bag but my favourite so far - thanks to Darren Brooker from Idle Fret Records for the recommendation - is Gross Magic. Taken from the forthcoming debut EP “Teen Jamz", released 8th August on The Sweet Sounds of Nothing label, this is “Sweetest Touch”. Notice I sounded like a radio DJ then. News and weather up next.

DUFFY: A VISUAL RECORD OF A PHOTOGRAPHIC GENIUS at the IDEA GENERATION GALLERY

2011-07-14T19:17:00.006+01:00

In 1979, in a not uncommon fit of pique, and after an assistant had dare tell him he was out of toilet paper, Brian Duffy (known simply as Duffy) took his negatives and contact sheets in to his back garden and angrily set them on fire, incinerating twenty years of work. Along with contemporaries, competitors and drinking buddies David Bailey and Terence Donovan he had not only documented the Swinging Sixties but, through his innovative style and force of personality, helped shape it too. Bailey has since claimed the only thing the Black Trinity – as they were dubbed by Norman Parkinson – had in common was their working class backgrounds, but looking now at Duffy’s photographs it seems to me he was being more than a tad disingenuous.

That there are enough pictures to fill a new book and have an associated exhibition is down to the efforts of Duffy’s son Chris who has diligently assembled a collection from the archives of publications around the world. Fashion models, pop stars, actors and actresses, designers and gangsters all flaunt a confident, wealthy glamour, and if Duffy can squeeze in a Jaguar E-Type that’s all the better in my book. William Burroughs sitting in his Beat Hotel hovel is one of the few shots that contrast sharply, something that wouldn’t have been lost on either man.

The Idea Generation Gallery continues to show tremendous taste, with one hip exhibition after another; this is the latest in a long line. If you can get there, you should, but not everyone lives around the corner from their East End hideaway so you might need to get hold of the book, “Duffy”. Unfortunately it costs £45.

Duffy: A Visual Record of a Photographic Genius is at the Idea Generation Gallery, Chance Street, Bethnal Green, E2 until 28th August 2011, admission free. “Duffy” edited by Chris Duffy is published by ACC Editions.

STAX HITS LONDON - WEDNESDAY 27th JULY 2011

2011-07-13T18:36:00.003+01:00

A couple of readers have recently pulled me up about reviewing gigs they hadn’t known were happening. With that in mind, here’s notice of a special night in London Town. Playing under the banner of simply “Stax”, Steve Cropper, Donald "Duck" Dunn and Eddie Floyd, plus Lester Snell from Isaac Hayes’s band on Hammond, and Steve Potts – Al Jackson’s replacement in the MGs – on drums, they’ll be playing numbers from their label’s immense back catalogue, so expect all the classics. Even better, it’s in a large dancefloor space rather than the seating venues these things tend to take place in these days (see details on flyer). You’ll spot me at the front shouting for "Things Get Better" and "Melting Pot".

OUT ON THE FLOOR

2011-07-10T16:45:00.011+01:00

It's been a slow week so let's chortle at these chaps attempting the art of the northern soul backdrop years before every moustachioed speed freak was doing it in the Wigan Casino.

Listen to Art Freeman's 1966 mover "Slipping Around" here

THE REAL... JOHNNY CASH

2011-07-04T17:04:00.003+01:00

There was a knock on my door last week. Two women. Do you believe in God? No. They smiled sympathetically. How do you think we were created? Er, biology I guess. Ah, they smiled again, some people do think that. They offered to leave me a booklet to read which I politely declined. To convert a confirmed atheist it was a feeble attempt. Their good Lord alone must know their success rate. Not high I shouldn’t wonder. Now, had they left me with Johnny Cash singing “God Must Have My Fortune Laid Away”, “It Was Jesus” or “When He Reached Down His Hand For Me” they would have stood a better chance.

Does the world need another Johnny Cash collection? Sony Music think they can squeeze out a few more bucks from repackaging his catalogue, and in the case of this new budget priced 3-CD collection, they’re right. What’s on offer is six complete albums: The Fabulous Johnny Cash (1959), Hymns (1959), Songs of Our Soil (1959), - yes, three albums from one year – Ride This Train (1960), Now There Was A Song (1960) and Hymns From The Heart (1962), plus associated bonus material from the period, and a few earlier hits tacked on the end. That’s 88 songs in total and apart from a handful where he adopts an annoying narration approach they are all equally good; featuring loads of unfamiliar tracks. There’s little difference in quality between the two gospel LPs and the four secular ones. There’s no booklet but the packaging is smart and the mastering has the voice of the Big JC booming out.

Sister Ray in Berwick Street has it for a piddling £3.99. A certain on-line retailer has it for less than three quid. If you don’t believe that’s amazing value I pity those ladies if they knock on your door.

The Real… Johnny Cash is released by Columbia/Sony.

HARMONICA HEAVEN (1965)

2011-07-03T00:24:00.004+01:00

Nothing I write would be as good a use of your time as watching Big Mama Thornton, John Lee Hooker, Doctor Ross, JB Lenoir and Shakey Horton cooking up something they call the "Down Home Shake Down" in 1965. This is special. Enjoy.

DOUBLE BREASTED - ISSUE TEN

2011-07-01T09:08:00.006+01:00

The early excitement of running a fanzine soon wears off so credit to Double Breasted for keeping their enthusiasm and reaching double figures. As ever it’s neatly put together and covers the current mod scene with an occasional glance over its well-tailored shoulder. Next to the usual reviews are pieces on a new Reading, Steady, Go exhibition in deepest Berkshire, the Terracina Mod Weekender, the London International Ska Festival, band Groovy Uncle, and The Impressions’ classic Young Mods’ Forgotten Story LP. Plus there’s a free five track live CD by Scottish beat combo The Laynes.

Price (including P&P) is £2.75 for UK customers and available by PayPal from doublebreasted@hotmail.com. Use that address for any other enquiries too.

JUNE PLAYLIST

2011-06-26T16:38:00.009+01:00

1. Johnny Burnette Trio – “The Train Kept A-Rollin’” (1956)
The Yardbirds famously tore this up but check this raw and raucous rockabilly version.

2. Jessie Hill – “Ooh Poo Pah Doo” (1960)
Jessie created a disturbance in the mind of the whole of New Orleans and beyond with his nutty call and response smash.

3. The Small Faces – “The Autumn Stone” (1968)
Sheer perfection.

4. George Jones – “Heartaches and Hangovers” (1968)
Thought this was Merle Haggard but like Merle boozy four-time-married George knows a thing or two about heartaches and hangovers.

5. The Byrds – “Your Gentle Way Of Loving Me” (1969)
Pulled from the back of the shelf, Dr. Byrds and Mr. Hyde isn't quite the unmitigated disaster I remembered it as.

6. Ella Fitzgerald – “Yellow Man” (1969)
In no way is this a recommendation but the racist scat singing needs to be heard to be believed.

7. Elastica – “Smile” (1995)
I hadn’t listened to Elastica’s album until the other week. Should’ve paid more attention.

8. Lampchop – “Nashville Parent” (2000)
It doesn't work so well the rest of the week but on sore head Sundays Lambchop’s Nixon does the trick.

9. Art Brut – “Sealands” (2011)
In which Art Brut successfully navigate away from their usual stormy sea into fresh calmer water.

10. Comet Gain – “Herbert Huncke, Part 2” (2011)
Naming your song after a Beat Generation icon almost guarantees a Monkey Picks mention, especially when put to a chugging Velvet Underground rhythm.

JOHN SQUIRE: CELEBRITY at the IDEA GENERATION GALLERY

2011-06-23T17:44:00.010+01:00

No matter what John Squire does he’ll always be best known as the art-dabbling guitar hero who helped alter Britain’s musical and cultural landscape after the post-Smiths wilderness years. His plasticine jigsaw globe on the sleeve of Do It Yourself is almost as iconic as his riffarama on “Love Is The Law” or “Happiness Is Eggshaped”. But there is more to life than The Seahorses, as this new exhibition of paintings show.

His illuminating collection of completely new works examines how modern Western society’s idolisation of celebrity culture has devoured our traditional symbols of salvation and replaced them with new gods. Not my words, as you can tell, but from the gallery’s blurb. It then goes on about Babylonian Star Cults and Ancient Sumerians before losing me completely. Squire more helpful says “It’s a brief respite from the endless bombardment of celebrity images. It asks: How often do we really need to see copies of complete strangers’ faces, and why do we collectively choose those particular people?”

The works are all abstract representations of household names, often composed using eight pointed stars to create a mosaic feel. Although it’s near impossible to guess from the paintings who they represent (it’s tempting to try), once you read the caption, the recognition slowly dawns: Sugar Ray Leonard’s boxing-glove-red supernova; Lindsay Lohan’s shambolic scribbled mess; Cheryl Cole’s thinly decorative fluff; a disintegrating Woody Allen; the dark claustrophobic descent of Richard Pryor; Phil Spector’s swirling madness; and, as they used to say on television commercials for albums of all your favourite pop hits, many many more. I couldn’t fathom Alison Steadman (above) but if I were her I’d buy it (£6000) to hang over the fire place, Jock Ewing style. It's testament to Squire all his images live longer in the memory than anything carrying the same name in the Sunday tabloids.

Now, how about another Seahorses record? The gap’s nearly been as long as the one between albums by that other group.

John Squire: Celebrity is at the Idea Generation Gallery, Chance Street, Bethnal Green, London, E2 until 3rd July 2011. Admission free.

PRIMAL SCREAM - "GENTLE TUESDAY" (1987)

2011-06-22T17:36:00.006+01:00

Bobby Gillespie begins the final year of his 40s today, still with more to offer and looking better than most folk of any age. Here he is at precisely the mid-point in his life to date - clearing the path for the Stone Roses.

GENO WASHINGTON in the ROYAL FESTIVAL HALL FOYER

2011-06-17T16:09:00.015+01:00

Ah, the arrogance of youth. I last saw Oooh-oowoah-Geeenoo in 1984 at the Hammersmith Clarendon. It was my third ever gig and I was snooty fifteen year old ace face in my dog tooth trousers and bowling shoes. Top that up with a lashings of scornful teenage attitude (my school report called me a cynic) and I was ruthlessly dismissive. He was merely an ancient bald geezer (two heinous crimes in one) stomping around in cowboy boots doing covers of standards like “Knock On Wood”. Had it been Eddie Floyd himself I’d have considered him a boring old fart, so Geno didn’t stand a chance. He worked the crowd, had them joining in his hand clapping routine, was an enthusiastic and energetic performer, but so what. Even with a pitiful collection of Kent, Ronco and K-Tel compilations I boldly proclaimed it wasn’t real soul music. It was soul club cabaret. So there.

Times change. As the years tick by I’ve come to view musicians, and ageing - and especially ageing musicians - in a different light. I see acts way past their prime: some still cut it, some are passable, and a few are ropey, but I usually I get something out of it – even if only the delusional feeling I’ve paid my respects and they’ve appreciated it in return. According to his error strewn Wikipedia entry Geno Washington and The Ram Jam Band’s Hand Clappin’, Foot Stompin’, Funky-Butt… Live! was in the UK charts for 38 weeks during 1966 and was the third best-selling album that year. The earlier elite mod pioneers laid the R&B foundations that allowed Geno to reap the rewards when the movement evolved into a mass market. Credit for that. That Dexys Midnight Runners saw fit to pay tribute shows the esteem he was held in, and I’d rarely argue with Kevin Rowland’s judgement: apart from maybe his garb on the sleeve of My Beauty.

Which brings us to this gig. I’m now older than Geno was in ‘84 and my stance is far more tolerant than my fifteen year old self who argued with his mother that anyone who didn’t know Sam Cooke was the greatest singer ever was an idiot, but – for once – as far as Geno was concerned, I was right all along.

THE IMPRESSIONS at the BARBICAN

2011-06-11T10:37:00.012+01:00

Can you feel the love? Nobody said it but everybody sure could feel it. For the first time ever, The Impressions walked on to a London stage and received the rapturous reception they thoroughly deserved. Northern Soul fans who’ve treasured them for as long as they can remember, who first heard them in youth clubs, all-nighters or on Kent albums could now finally witness them in person. If you think for one moment that an Impressions without Curtis Mayfield was going to temper that excitement, you’d be wrong. Very wrong.

The Impressions have always been the vocal group of choice for the discerning soulie. Their phenomenal string of imperious recordings neatly spans the whole of the ‘60s. Their consistently was matched by their quality. There isn’t one poor single in that time. As a group they didn’t have the moves of The Temptations or the power and energy of The Four Tops but they had an understated elegance, a quiet dignity, and of course, the genius of Mayfield whose songs, voice, playing and business acumen made them a self-contained unit unreliant on outside forces or influences. Although Curtis left in 1970 they’ve soldiered on with a variety of lead singers joining Fred Cash and Sam Gooden; Reggie Torian who first joined in 1973, and after spells out the group, is now back at the helm.

The three debonair gentlemen stroll on and with a florish ease in to “Gypsy Woman”, sweeping their arms from left to right and right to left. Within thirty seconds a tear is running down the side of my face. There’s Fred Cash! With the friendliest bullfrog smile you’ll ever see. And there’s Sam Gooden! Like the kindly southern doctor in a spaghetti western. Reggie Torian has his own voice, close enough to Curtis not to distract and different enough not to imitate. Everyone is clapping along to “It’s Alright”. Even me briefly, and I never join in audience participation stuff. By now I’m wiping tears from both eyes and I couldn’t have been the only one judging by the obvious thrill being experienced around the hall. It’s unusual to be in a situation where nearly everyone was in the same boat. This was new ground. The Impressions. On stage. In London, England. Where had they been all this time? An orchestra of Acid Jazzers drawn from the likes of the Brand New Heavies and JTQ treated the music with love and respect and the group sang their hearts out. No other backing singers doing the work. Honest soul music from honest soul men.

I could try to pick out highlights but it was all one big highlight so I’ll list the songs at the end. The set was chosen wisely, there was nothing they shouldn’t have sung, and plenty more they could’ve. Special mention though for “You’ve Been Cheatin’” as it caused a spontaneous outbreak of dancing in the aisles and seats. If you’ve ever tried to execute northern soul moves in the tiny space you get in theatres you’ll know how difficult it is – but the urge was too great for many. Also “I’ve Been Trying” was especially good as it gave a chance for Gooden to take a greater share of the lead lines. Mayfield’s is naturally the voice most easily recognizable when listening to the Impressions but those records wouldn’t have been the same without Gooden and Cash and their contribution should never be underestimated. They have their own distinctive qualities and to hear them on “People Get Ready”, “I’m So Proud” and “Woman’s Got Soul” was a very special experience. No other soul group touch as deeply and as emotionally as the Impressions. I was lucky enough to see Curtis a few times before his tragic accident and those nights have stayed with me and this one will too.

After the show they remained behind to sign autographs. If the British are supposed to be a nation who love waiting in queues you wouldn’t have thought so from the chaotic and tetchy scrum that ensued around their table. I’d like to report I engaged them in a chat about growing up in Cabrini-Green but simply to shake their hands and say thank you was more than enough to feel the waterworks stirring again. They didn’t play “You Ought To Be In Heaven”; they didn’t need to.

Setlist: Gypsy Woman, It’s Alright, Talking About My Baby, I’m So Proud, Keep On Pushing, I’ve Been Trying, Woman’s Got Soul, People Get Ready, You’ve Been Cheatin’, We’re A Winner, I Loved And I Lost, This Is My Country, Choice of Colors, Superfly, Mighty Mighty (Spade and Whitey), Move On Up.

THE LOUVIN BROTHERS - "KNOXVILLE GIRL" (1956)

2011-06-09T18:21:00.007+01:00

I’ve been listening to a new double CD called Music To Die For: Death Discs 1914-1960. It contains 52 songs about death. Most of them pretty violent deaths too. Kentucky sounds like a perilous place to live and if you're offered a lift in a motor vehicle be prepared to meet a grisly end. Among the many highlights is a tune about a father drunkenly driving over his own son, a two hour honeymoon, and a school bus swerving off the road killing 27 children.

This one sung by the Louvin Brothers is the best. Look at them. Those haircuts should've been a warning. They think nothing of beating a lover to death with a stick as she pleads for mercy, dragging her by the hair, chucking her in the back of a truck and dumping her bludgeoned body in the river.

Plus, without any trace of irony, they warmly dedicate it to the people of Knoxville.

Music To Die For: Death Discs 1914-1960 is released by Chrome Dreams.

MICK JAGGER: YOUNG IN THE 60S at the NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY

2011-06-07T18:01:00.003+01:00

It’s hard not to snigger slightly at the title of this small exhibition within the National Portrait Gallery. Yes children, believe or not, that old turkey necked pensioner was once a dashing young man. That’s unfair of course; I’m assuming most 67 year olds wouldn’t say no to look like he does now. I wouldn’t mind his waist and I'm not quite 67.

There isn’t much among the sixteen or so portraits you’ve not seen before: shoots for Their Satanic Majesties Request, Out Of Our Heads, Between The Buttons, Beggar’s Banquet and pouting for Colin Jones, Terry O’Neill, Cecil Beaton and co. All very familiar but I never tire at looking at Brian Jones’s suede shoes or Charlie Watts’ seersucker or even Mick’s mauve jumbo cord hipsters in Performance. All of which helps plug Mick Jagger: The Photobook which strays and then stays in less sartorially pleasing territory. Who’d pay fifteen quid for it is anyone’s guess.

But if you’re passing, the exhibition itself is worth ten minutes of your time.

Mick Jagger: Young In The 60s is at the National Portrait Gallery, Trafalgar Square, W1 until 27 November 2011, admission free.

BEAT SCENE - ISSUE 64, SPRING 2011

2011-06-03T17:18:00.007+01:00

It seems a long time since Monkey Picks covering anything Beat Generation-related, so with impeccable timing the latest issue of Beat Scene has landed on the mat.

As usual it wastes nary an inch of space in its 64 pages, as the big hitters jostle with less celebrated writers and activists. Book reviews, interviews and analysis of names including Diane Di Prima, Sinclair Beiles, Gary Synder, Michael McClure, William Everson, plus and an in-depth look at the cinematic experiments of William Burroughs, Brion Gysin and Anthony Balch should keep both the beat intelligentsia and novice off the internet for a couple of hours.

Great value at £4. For ordering details see beatscene.net

ART BRUT and THE LOVELY EGGS at THE LEXINGTON, ISLINGTON

2011-05-31T11:45:00.017+01:00

Here’s a picture of Art Brut beginning their five night residency at the Lexington yesterday. Not a good photo but it does capture a little of the atmosphere.

I love how bass player Freddy Feedback (unfortunately missed off the photo) beams and sings along to herself as if Jim has fixed it for her to play with her favourite band, and with ringmaster Eddie Argos shouting his drunken confessionals and ad-libbing the songs into unexpected directions, like the ten minute improvised version of “Modern Art” when he goes into the audience and gets everyone – bar us and a couple of ex-These Animal Men – to sit down, more Jackanory than James, there’s not a moment you’re safe to nip to the loo without fear of missing some tomfoolery. Argos wonders aloud why people don’t take Art Brut seriously…

Fourth album Brilliant! Tragic! is still seeping in to the memory but rowdy newies like “Axl Rose” and latest 45 “Lost Weekend”, which although rehashes a stack of familiar Argos themes centred on drunken sex, adopts a more Cockeresque delivery, slotted in next to old singles and swathes from what must now be considered their “classic” debut Bang Bang Roll & Roll.

In a pairing as perfect as Eric and Ernie, earlier in the evening were The Lovely Eggs. I wrote last week how they won over a pub of drunks on a Friday at midnight but more impressively they repeated the trick to a sober room on a Monday at half eight. Opener “People Are Twats” was met with an awkward and confused silence but song by song people cottoned on, and from an ugly duckling grew a beautiful swan. Fucking hell. On that shamefully dreadful analogy and until I think of a better way to end this, here’s another blurry photo.

MAY PLAYLIST

2011-05-29T16:27:00.008+01:00

From the offices (that’ll be the kitchen) of Monkey Mansions this month.

1. Al Tousan – “Whirlaway” (1958)
Allen Toussaint’s first single. A rollin’ and a tumblin’ New Orleans piano boogie that would have Jools Holland frothing at the mouth and even more incomprehensible than usual.

2. Brother Jack McDuff – “What'd I Say” (1966)
Brother Jack’s A Change Is Gonna Come is a hipster’s shady: half a pint of jazz and half a pint of soul; with a swift blues chaser for good measure.

3. Spencer Wiggins – “Lonely Man” (1967)
Wiggins was, and is, even less celebrated than his Memphis soul brother and Goldwax label mate James Carr. Both shockingly under appreciated.

4. Big Maybelle – “Do Lord” (1968)
It says 1968 on the label but this gospel belter could be from ten, twenty years earlier or ten, twenty years later. Record of the month. (Type it into YouTube).

5. Ann Bailey – “Sweeping Your Dirt Under My Rug” (1973)
From the new Kent compilation Manhattan Soul. Not played the rest, just went straight to this due to the title and wasn’t disappointed.

6. The Rezillos – “Somebody’s Gonna Get They Head Kicked In Tonight” (1978)
Not sure the sight of a bunch of camp glam punkers is very threatening but this is infectious stuff; as is the whole of Can’t Stand The Rezillos. They even polished one of Dave Clark’s turds which is some achievement.

7. Suede – “Killing Of A Flash Boy” (1993)
Seeing as I saw Suede play three different albums this month, it’s only right to pick one of theirs. They did this as an encore on two occasions. Not bad for a B-side.

8. The Balcony Shirts Band – “Taarabt’s Too Good For You” (2011)
A song made by suburban shopkeepers, about a West London football team, named after a maverick Moroccan, makes the iTunes Country Top 20. The reviewer from the Guardian called it “the ‘Hickory Wind’ of football songs.” I so wish I’d thought of that.

9. John Baker – “Rain Falls Down” (2011)
The ghost of Ronnie Lane smiles knowingly over John Baker’s shoulder on his fine debut Merry Go Round album. That said, “Rain Falls Down” is more “Dead Flowers” than “Debris".

10. The Silver Factory – “Tomorrow’s Today” (2011)
The forthcoming Silver Factory LP is the Stone Roses/Byrdsy record I’ve been desperate for someone to make – now they have. When it comes out I’ll tell you more, but for now make a note in your moleskin.

GIL SCOTT-HERON - "ME AND THE DEVIL" (2010)

2011-05-28T09:51:00.006+01:00

From I'm New Here, one of the albums of 2010, Monkey Picks salutes the late, great, Gil Scott-Heron. He left on a high.

THE LOVELY EGGS at the PRINCE ALBERT OFFLINE CLUB, BRIXTON

2011-05-25T09:45:00.009+01:00

Of all the things I’ve posted on here, the most successful in terms of response has been The Lovely Eggs video “Don’t Look At Me (I Don’t Like It)”. Everyone loved it. Others posted it on their sites and blogs, cynical aging indie heads became misty-eyed, parents claimed their kids sing it in the playground, even punters in northern soul clubs told me how brilliant they thought it. It just goes to show the universal appeal of a noisy racket with daft lyrics and a catchy tune.

Further proof of The Lovely Eggs charm was in evidence on Friday night. Holly (singing and guitaring, David speaking and drumming) stepped on to a dark stage in a pub full of non-paying customers, most of whom didn’t know who they were (nor care), and immediately hooked everyone with the tone-setting “People Are Twats”.

They plundered LPs If You Were Fruit and Cob Dominos, scattering a ramshackle mix of what old fuddy-duddies might call “proper songs” and random nursery rhyme nonsense like the 13 seconds of “Muhammed Ali and His Friends”. The albums make a wonky kind of logic but here Holly helpfully explains what some songs are about: mostly the boredom and drudgery of shit jobs like working for a print shop or local newspaper. “I Want To Fall Off My Bike Today” chuggingly repeats the title for a minute and was inspired by a friend breaking his collar bone and getting six week off work, so they wrote about it. “There wasn’t much more to say”, says Holly. Songs can start sweetly sung sing-song style but soon switch to a grungey Sonic Youth/Hole temper tantrum. New single “Fuck It” burns slowly then catches fire in the brain like that poor woman in the stroke advert. Others – some even without swearing - are instantly memorable odes to unlikely subjects like beef bourguignon or collecting snails.

The whole set was impossible not to love. I’ve not smiled at a gig as much since I first saw Eddie Argos use his microphone lead as a skipping rope in Art Brut. They aren’t a comedy act as such; just naturally funny and deliver madcap songs with unexpected comic twists and simple truths. They received a well-deserved and genuine encore for their trouble. Not the usual one bands give themselves because two mates clapped either, but one from strangers desperate for more. “We don’t get that at home in Lancashire. That’s why we’re on tour – we’ve been run out of town”.

HAPPY 70th BIRTHDAY BOB DYLAN

2011-05-24T16:33:00.004+01:00

As YouTube is a Dylan-free zone, here instead is a picture of the birthday boy enjoying himself, and a list of the first ten songs that spring to mind. If you don’t own them, have a word with yourself. Happy birthday Bobby.

Positively 4th Street
Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright
Sad-Eyed Lady of The Lowlands
Idiot Wind
She’s Your Lover Now
Talkin’ Bear Mountain Picnic Massacre Blues
Ballad In Plain D
Not Dark Yet
Tonight I'll Be Staying Here With You
Love Minus Zero/No Limits

SWAMP DOGG - IT'S ALL GOOD: A SINGLES COLLECTION 1963-1989

2011-05-21T16:03:00.005+01:00

In 1971 Swamp Dogg triumphantly rode a giant white rat on the cover of Rat On! to an unimpressed public. Before then, as plain Jerry Williams (or variations of) he flitted between record labels cutting a string of 45s with varying degrees of commercial failure. Even now, still working hard, he largely evades the soul radar.

It’s All Good gathers a selection of his singles (from both eras) and a couple of unissued tracks to give a handy introduction or another chapter, depending where one joins us, to his story. Anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of northern soul will be familiar, over-familiar perhaps, with “If You Ask Me (Because I Love You)” recorded as Little Jerry Williams in 1966, which opens proceedings here. It’s a good song, no question, but I’d love to meet the person responsible for the production and the recording. It’s so bad I always thought it was down to badly pressed bootlegs but Kent’s expert mastering still can’t rescue it. The backing vocals sound like they were recorded a bathroom, the majority of the band were next door with a microphone pressed to the wall, and Jerry was stood in a vast gymnasium with only the drummer for company. This is more a mystery when you hear the earlier “Baby You’re My Everything”, also cut for Calla Records, where the production and arrangement work beautifully to compliment Williams’s soulful yearning. Also on a soul tip is “Baby Bunny (Sugar Honey)”, far more graceful than the horrific title suggests, and his reading of “Oh Lord, What Are You Doing To Me?” is a stop-what-you’re-doing three minutes.

Throughout the rest of the 60s tracks Williams tries his hand writing exuberant Little Richard style rockers, dance fad numbers, soul shakers and anything else to bring in a buck. It’s all enjoyable but in truth had little to elevate him above hundreds of similar acts at the time. Not that that bothers us now and he does possess a distinctive voice, somewhere south of a down home Jackie Wilson, and the jazzy swing of the offbeat “The 1965 King Size Nicotine Blues” had a uniqueness that might’ve caught on had it not been stuck as a flipside. For the enterprising club DJ It’s All Good gives a nudge in the direction of a handful of other possibilities.

Creating the larger than life persona of Swamp Dogg didn’t provide label stability but it did secure a more distinctive character. With his tongue often planted in his cheek, there’s loads of humour in “Wife Sitter”, where with a Joe Tex cackle, he mocks “Why should I get a wife? As long as you got one, I’ll use yours” and the bizarre “Right Arm For Your Love” (“Bop-shoo-bop, Baby I’d chop, off my right arm for your love”). His disposition to giving albums silly titles and being photographed in shorts with rats, maggots and dustbins overshadow some seriously good music. The mellow southern soul groove and eyebrow raising lyrics of 1975’s “Did I Come Back Too Soon (Or Stay Away Too Long)” being a prime example. As cheating songs go, this one has an unexpected twist. Let’s just say his lady was not found with another man.

Although covering the years until 1989, there’s only one track from that decade – so fear not, and that’s tucked at the end, track twenty four. What precedes it, as the title so accurately states, is – and you know this is coming - all good.

It’s All Good by Swamp Dogg is released by Kent Records. Review written for, and first appeared on, Modculture.

IT WAS TWENTY YEARS AGO TODAY

2011-05-15T08:39:00.001+01:00

In Norwich, of all places.

ONE TWO FIVE - ISSUE TWO

2011-05-14T15:02:00.006+01:00

Whenever I read a fanzine I briefly hanker for my old fanzine producing days. Then I remember how much easier it is doing Monkey Picks and the idea gets dismissed, so full credit to those keeping the faith.

One Two Five comes from a mod/60’s direction but with a focus on new bands is firmly set in the present day, with a strong local (County Antrim) flavour. It won’t win any design prizes, very much a made-and-printed-at-home affair but its spirit and enthusiasm overcome that. It also makes a pleasant change to read someone prepared to tell it like it is. In a small scene like the mod one it’s not easy to do without ruffling peacock feathers, so again, credit for that.

Among all the bands are a few that caught my eye and look worthy of further investigation. Top of the list is Argentinian combo The Omelettes. Well, with a name like that. And with a shop name like Mike Hunt Classic Clothing, the next time I’m in Belfast, I’ll pop in. But the highlight is an interview with the late Mark Tulin of legendary (think they’re just about worthy of that title) garage psychsters, The Electric Prunes. Their relationship with producer Dave Hassinger makes interesting reading. “He discouraged us from writing songs. He told us we stunk. As a matter of fact, for some of the songs that are on the album, we had to go in and cut demos, bring them in and tell him someone else wrote them.”

Twenty four full colour A4 pages, priced three quid. Search for it via eBay or contact onetwofivemag@btinternet.com for further details.

THE SEEDS - "EVIL HOODOO" (1966/2011)

2011-05-10T16:45:00.015+01:00

Four songs into The Seeds eponymous debut album came “Evil Hoodoo”. On a record stuffed with searing garage punk it stands as its highlight, even overshadowing the certified classic “Pushin’ Too Hard”. Clocking in at five minutes, it’s twice as long as the rest of the tracks and like most Seeds songs is simple and repetitive, yet here breathtakingly effective: rib shaking fuzzed up bass takes off like a jet plane with a broken engine; Sky Saxon yodels and babbles a steam of incomprehensible lyrics; disembodied chanting floats in and out of earshot; a tambourine is shaken to an inch of its life; razor sharp guitar lines pierce the skin; an organ and piano take alternate poundings; a harmonica is blown by a force nine gale; and a drum kit is bashed over a fiery cacophony of satanic stirrings.

Recorded on 1st April 1966, that five minutes now – thanks to a new limited edition 10 inch single release by the saints at Big Beat/Ace Records - turns out to be a mere edited version. The full length one is an incredible FOURTEEN minutes. Now, I’m usually the first to champion brevity, and one song the best part of a quarter of an hour is frankly an indulgence best avoided, but not in this case – it simply makes it three times better than the original. It is relentless. Not once does it slow down and pause for breath. Sky never considers saying “I wanna take it down one time”. The band never breaks into a trippy interlude. They chug away at a frantic pace until they’re spent. An exhilarating once in a lifetime ride.

If that wasn’t enough, side two features another couple of unreleased gems in “Satisfy You”, (without the dubbed crowd noises that blighted Raw and Alive), and an alternative take of “Out Of The Question”. Ordinarily I’d be raving about these – they’re both excellent – but fourteen minutes of “Evil Hoodoo” is, and I know I’m prone to exaggeration but you gotta believe me this time, the final word in psychotic garage punk.

“Evil Hoodoo” by The Seeds is released by Big Beat Records.

TAARABT'S TOO GOOD FOR YOU - QPR PROMOTION SONG

2011-05-08T14:42:00.007+01:00

This was made by the staff at Balcony Shirts, who downed their t-shirt making tools to produce a tribute to QPR’s promotion to the Premier League. Football songs are almost exclusively rubbish, especially if not for your favoured team, but not many sound like The Band and Teenage Fanclub huddled around a barbecue on Shepherd’s Bush Green. I promise this’ll be the last football related post for a very long time, so kindly allow this indulgence. Any involvement by the Raison family is entirely coincidental.

MONKEY PICKS DELIVERY SERVICE

2011-05-07T10:07:00.005+01:00

Been suffering from laptop trauma this week, hence the lack of posts but I've now added a box on the left hand side of this page where readers can type their email address and receive all new posts directly to their inbox.

So, if you're desperate to know when a barman who served Jack Kerouac publishes his memoirs; it's the birthday of one of The Temptations; or that I've found a 1991 YouTube clip of Birdland at the Windsor Old Trout - sign up now.

THE DAMNED - "LOVE SONG" (1979)

2011-05-02T11:20:00.003+01:00

It's 1979 and The Damned are let loose on German TV with their new guitarist "Idiot Arsehole". It can only go one way...

QUEEN'S PARK RANGERS - CHAMPIONS

2011-04-30T18:44:00.007+01:00

With a game to spare, Queen's Park Rangers this afternoon won the Championship. The last time I witnessed this was in 1983 so I am very excited but not quite as excited as Patrick Agyemang (centre) appears in this photo by taken by defender Peter Ramage.

LOOKING FOR A FOX

2011-04-28T08:52:00.005+01:00

The issue of rampaging urban foxes causing death and destruction around here in Hackney was big news last year after nine month old twins were attacked in their cots. The media couldn’t get enough of the story with folk like Ali Bradwell, a victim of a fox attack, stepping forward to dramatically declare "Today rather like hoodies they hang around in groups of four to six on street corners." Smoking crack. Pleas for Londoners not to feed the foxes appear to have fallen on deaf ears judging by this monster I spotted on Waterloo Bridge yesterday.

Click here for Clarence Carter's 1968 thumper for Atlantic Records, “Looking For A Fox”.

THE FLIPSIDE PRESENT: DUFFER (1971)

2011-04-26T09:21:00.009+01:00

I’d religiously bought all the BFI/Flipside series of weird and wonderful British films from the 60s and early 70s but stopped with the all-too-familiar Bronco Bullfrog and Here We Go Round The Mulberry Bush, which also altered the packaging and screwed the symmetry of the DVD shelf. All that is now forgiven thanks to Duffer, number 15 in the series and one of the best. Wonderful wouldn’t be the right word but weird most certainly is.

The title character (played by young Martin Freeman lookalike Kit Gleave) is a sensitive youth who divides his time between the dominating Louis Jack, who in his grubby hovel tortures him, buggers him, stars him in dodgy home made films, sticks worms over him and even attempts to get him pregnant; and a cuddly prostitute, Your Gracie, who offers him candlelit bangers and mash and warm protection in her flouncy sheets and jelly breasts. The parent-less Duffer narrates the film throughout and the relationship with his older companions is, as he says, “one for you with your psychology books”. Of Your Gracie he unconvincing offers “My mother and I never had sex together, it never entered our heads” and whilst Louis Jack performs one disturbing routine after another on Duffer he doesn't leave him. “He needed me. I knew it was important to have human sympathy for other people. I had to let him do what he liked to me because it gave him so much pleasure. Who was I to deny him his little pleasures?”

Duffer knows he can’t be pregnant yet his stomach swells (possibly down to being force fed endless jars of apricots). When the “birth” turns out to be a phantom pregnancy, events spiral out of control as a disturbed and confused Duffer struggles to separate fact from fiction, seeking refuge by Hammersmith Bridge where “Louis Jack was a dream, not a reality at all”.

Duffer was made by directors Joseph Despins and William Dumaresq for only £2,500 and shot to a Galt MacDermot (Hair) piano accompaniment in grainy black and white throughout crumbling West London streets inhabited by shady stalking characters and feuding couples. It’s not comfortable viewing but totally absorbing and unlike anything else I’ve seen. Many period details stick out: the deliberate placing of a box of Omo washing powder in Louis Jack’s flat gave me a childish titter; as did the billboard poster “Talk Him In To A New Gas Cooker”; whilst I’d completely forgotten about open air urinals at the side of roads.

The set includes another Despins/Dumaresq film, The Moon Over The Alley (1975), which far from being a tacked on “extra” is worthy of its own billing. Centered around the lives of the multicultural residents in a Notting Hill boarding house it looks and feels like a kitchen sink drama from ten years earlier, albeit one where the characters occasionally sing their stories. That sounds like a terrible concept but mercifully doesn’t detract too much from a warm yet ultimately depressing tale.

Duffer/The Moon Over The Alley is released as a combined DVD/Blu-Ray set by BFI/Flipside.

APRIL PLAYLIST

2011-04-24T12:24:00.007+01:00

1. Carl Perkins – “Put Your Cat Clothes On” (1957)
Cos yer gonna need something to go with those blue suede shoes.

2. Jerry Butler – “Giving Up On Love” (1964)
When The Iceman jumped from The Impressions he created a wonderful two-for-the-price-of-one deal with both acts lavishing us with treasures. This stunning ballad will stop you in your tracks, especially when Jerry delivers the line “I’m giving up on love, before love gives up on me”. Listen out also for the “My Lovely Horse” sax solo.

3. The Granville Williams Orchestra – “Honky Tonk Ska” (1965)
The title only tells half the story. Jazz and soul tell the other half. Works though.

4. Manfred Mann – “If You Gotta Go, Go Now” (1965)
Years before anyone got to hear Dylan’s original the Manfreds slayed it with this high speed version.

5. Nina Simone – “Don’t You Pay Them No Mind” (1967)
From her modestly titled High Priestess of Soul LP. It sacrilege in some circles but her warbling style often grates with me, but I’ll give her this one.

6. Swamp Dogg – “Total Destruction To Your Mind” (1970)
Jerry Williams is best known in northern soul circles for his crusty 1966 classic “If You Ask Me” yet when he reinvented himself in 1970 as a giant rat riding Swamp Dogg he came up with something altogether more interesting. Swamp’s first LP runs through seriously good southern soul which belies his nutty persona, and lowdown psychedelic funk like this title track.

7. Link Wray – “Fire and Brimstone” (1971)
Sanctified country soul isn’t what Wray is best known for, but it’s what he delivers throughout his terrific eponymous ’71 album recorded in a chicken shack on his farm. If you ever end up round Bobby Gillespie’s gaff after a night on the razz, I’ll bet you’ll find him sticking this on and doing his demented pterodactyl dance.

8. Johnny Thunders and the Heartbreakers – “Born To Lose” (1977)
Remember Vaughan Toulouse from Department S? Try listening to this without singing “Vaughan Toulouse, Baby I’m Vaughan Toulouse” on the chorus.

9. Senseless Things – “Too Much Kissing” (1989)
During the great indie long-sleeved t-shirt wars of the late 80s/early 90s the Senseless Things’ own Pop Kid creation - a star shaped mod target – was, relatively speaking, a design classic. They were at their best as a full throttle bash-bash-bash live act but had a few memorable tunes as “Too Much Kissing” shows.

10. Cat’s Eyes – “I Knew It Was Over” (2011)
Mesmerizing.

OTIS REDDING - "SHAKE!" (1966)

2011-04-23T20:16:00.002+01:00

Have you ever thought about the greatest five minutes of your life? I have, and nothing even comes close to the five sensational minutes Eric Burdon and Chris Farlowe spent on Ready Steady Go singing the shit out of Sam Cooke’s “Shake!” with Otis Redding to an audience of London’s sharpest raving mods. I mean, life cannot get any better than that.

STEVE MARRIOTT: LONG AGOS AND WORLDS APART

2011-04-20T08:42:00.016+01:00

Steve Marriott died twenty years ago today after tragically demonstrating the dangers of drinking, smoking and poor fire safety awareness.

I clearly remember seeing Paul Weller at Brixton Academy that night and being told of Marriott's death outside the venue beforehand. It felt more a rumour than fact and Weller opening his set with "Tin Soldier" (which he often played anyway) only added to the nagging was he/wasn't he feeling.

At the time I thought, as much as I loved the Small Faces, he was ancient yet he was only 44, which makes his death more upsetting for me today than it did in 1991. Rest easy little fella.

BOB DYLAN – IN CONCERT AT BRANDEIS UNIVERSITY 1963

2011-04-17T12:24:00.008+01:00

This is a public service announcement rather than a review. It ain’t no use to sit wonder why babe, if you don’t know by now. A recording discovered in 2009 and previously only available as a box set bonus disc, Brandeis University 1963 now gets a merited stand-alone release.

Saturday 10th May 1963 and Dylan had one album in the shops, which scarcely hinted at what was to come two weeks later with Freewheelin’, when he’d enter the public consciousness in dramatic fashion. Here, low down the bill in a university folk festival, Bob has the audience hanging on every masterfully annunciated word. Within two short sets you’d think he’d be eager to showcase “Blowin’ In the Wind” or “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall” but, luckily for us now, he opts for “Talkin’ John Birch Paranoid Blues” and “Talkin’ Bear Mountain Picnic Massacre Blues”, songs that wouldn’t even feature on future studio albums such was the pace and quality of songs flowing from his pencil.

“Ballad of Hollis Brown” and “Masters of War” is heavy, hypnotic Bob, but elsewhere it's jokey, playful Bob providing plenty of laughs, illustrating his songs with witty surreal adventures delivered with perfect comic timing. The aforementioned “Talkin’ Bear Mountain Picnic Massacre Blues” tells of a New York boat trip that was cancelled after too many people turned up and the boat started to sink. In Bob’s fanciful version of a real event, he gets washed ashore where his arms and legs are busted, stomach cracked, feet splintered, he couldn’t walk, talk, see or smell, feel, touch, crawl, “I was bald, I was naked. Quite lucky to be alive though”.

Seven songs, over 38 minutes, less than five quid. Announcement ends.

Bob Dylan In Concert – Brandeis University 1963 is released by Columbia Records.

ETTA JAMES – WHO’S BLUE? RARE CHESS RECORDINGS OF THE 60s & 70s (2011)

2011-04-13T21:06:00.010+01:00

Much as there is to commend Etta James’s honking 50s recordings, it’s her later time at Chess that produced her greatest work and those most synonymous with her name. Even when she was locked in the arms of bad men, heroin addiction, cashing bad cheques with partner in crime Esther Phillips (if you’re gonna be ripped off…) and jail, Leonard Chess ensured she had a roof over her head and kept her from starving; even if he, in Etta’s own words “ripped off copyrights” and “fucked you on royalties”. She counted herself lucky and paid him back by always cutting the mustard in the studio.

Who’s Blue? collates 24 tracks recorded between 1961 and 1976: a smattering are well known but the majority - on CD for the first time – will be fresh listening to many an ear. Two thirds were cut in the 60s and they range from string laden ballads, danceable rhythm and soul, and stabbing funk. They aren’t sequenced chronologically but are more or less batched together by style.

Her personality is striking on her best records and is evident here too as she pours herself in to the songs with that unmistakable phrasing of hers that swings between her overlooked vulnerability and often mentioned toughness. James Brown sang “I Don’t Want Nobody To Give Me Nothing (Open Up The Door I’ll Get It Myself)”; Etta James would open that door herself.

It’s pushing it to call “Seven Day Fool”, “Fire” or even “Street of Tears” rare to anyone with a few Etta singles in their box but it certainly applies to “Can’t Shake It” – a previously unissued girl group dancer from 1964 which had it been available as a single would now be as instantly recognisable in R&B clubs as “Mellow Fellow” or “Something’s Got A Hold On Me” (neither included here). Album track “Do Right” is another in the same club friendly vein. The pair would make a killer 45.

Not every track over the 70 minutes is essential; I still wish comps consisted of a maximum of sixteen tracks but the occasional boring one towards the end is excusable. Kent Records have, as always, packaged it with loving care: great sound and a super illustrated booklet. Now, if only someone would do the same and put out a quality "Best of" to counteract all those poor quality CDs that litter bookshops and garages and do an artist of her magnitude a disservice.

Who’s Blue: Rare Chess Recordings From The 60s and 70s by Etta James is released by Kent Records.

KEITH MOON AND OLIVER REED

2011-04-10T09:37:00.002+01:00

Cheers!

SHAM 69 on JIM'LL FIX IT (1978)

2011-04-07T17:32:00.005+01:00

Dear Jim, Please can you fix it for me to singalong with terrace toerags Sham 69...

JAPAN DISASTER BENEFIT GIG at the BRIXTON ACADEMY

2011-04-04T14:15:00.015+01:00

Warm hearted Liam Gallagher was reportedly the brains behind this benefit gig for the victims of the Japanese earthquake and tsunami. He personally organised it. "Paul, wanna do a gig for them people in Japan?" Grunt. "Sound." And we’re off…

First up were The Coral. They chimed their Rickenbackers in unison to tracks from Butterfly House and earlier. The lush Wirral West Coast harmonies of “1000 Years” one minute and the heavier Fillmore wig-out of “North Parade” the next. They played their biggie “Dreaming of You” and even did “Ticket To Ride”. It seemed a shame to waste their stage time with that, which dragged like they were pulling the rotting carcass of Merseybeat around with them, when their own stuff is better. I wondered if Liam had stipulated everyone had to play a Beatles song. I braced myself. As performers, The Coral offer nothing beyond their songs and musicianship - there’s more movement in George Harrison’s slippers - but they put down a solid marker for the evening and this morning I’ve been listening to them again.

Graham Coxon was the most surprising name on Liam’s wish list and what he made of Coxon’s set is anyone’s guess. From the start he promised/warned he was going to play some old songs and some new songs. Old songs would mean old solo songs, not old “Coffee and TV” songs. He kicked off with something akin to a child’s messy bedroom. There was stuff jumbled all over the place. “Confusing, weren’t it?” he acknowledged. He continued in this vein like an angry teenager playing his New York CBGBs punk records in one room and his Buzzcocks, Jam and Clash records in another down the phone to his mate in Seattle at top volume to annoy his parents. His wasn’t a singalong set, even “Standing On My Own Again” and “Freakin’ Out” seemed obscure to most, but he went down well. I mean, it’s the geezer from Blur innit?

I hadn’t expected The Coral to be on first so it made the running order a fun guessing game. Not many guessed Paul Weller. The last time I saw him was twenty years ago, stood on the same spot, with one Japanese issued solo album to his name but I’ve kept tabs on him. I can trace almost every twig and branch on my musical tree back to the acorn planted when I bought The Jam’s “Absolute Beginners” as boy breaking into mod and spots. With his grey Uncle Bulgaria mullet, tonight Lord Welly clears up. He struts his slim line frame and kicks out a flared trouser leg and juts his head like a startled tortoise. Set wise he plays thirteen songs: three Jam songs, including “Art School” which somehow now requires three guitars and a feisty “Eton Rifles”, solo stuff, but unfortunately nothing from the Style Council era. If I never hear the likes of “Whirlpool’s End” or “The Changingman” again it’ll be too soon but it doesn’t detract from the performance and his commanding presence. He is an absolute class act, no doubt, and in the bonkers “Fast Car, Slow Traffic” can still joyfully rub against the grain. “From The Floorboards Up” and “Come On/ Let’s Go” burned brightly but my eyes rolled to the back of my head for the next Beatles karaoke moment, “Come Together”. Argh.

Kelly Jones is from a band called The Stereophonics. He played three songs on a guitar. Wayne Rooney has a Stereophonics tattoo.

Of all the acts, Primal Scream are the one I’ve seen most down the years. Usually they’re good, sometimes great, although the last time, off the back of the glittery disco balls-up Beautiful Future, they were going through the motions and frankly rubbish. From the thundering opening of “Accelerator” they were in the mood, and some. At first I thought Mani had been replaced on bass by David Hasselhoff before realizing it was Glen Matlock. Phew. Anyway, the Scream totally smashed the place, with Bobby Gillespie, still wearing that red silk shirt from 1991, pulling out all the stops - all flailing limbs and hair. “Movin’ On Up” will always be a winner, “Loaded” still sounded fresh, “Country Girl” was blistering, and I’ve never heard them do “Rocks” with such conviction. Beatles cover? Do me a favour. For them it was a grubby Stoogesy version of Billy Boy Arnold’s “I Wish You Would” leading into Bo Diddley’s “Who Do You Love”. Like I say, totally smashed it.

Richard Ashcroft’s three song acoustic spot allowed some breathing space. In the days of indoor smoking “Sonnet” and “Lucky Man” would’ve bought a sea of lighters to the air as everyone swayed along. He did a new one which sounded like an old one and was gone. He was in fine voice but didn’t do “The Drugs Don’t Work”. The bastard.

I’ve tried listening to Beady Eye’s album but haven’t yet made it until the end. It’s predictable, overlong, but not – if I’m being generous - especially terrible (although there are some songs which are precisely that). If released in 1997 it would’ve been the third best Oasis LP. The problem they have is following four hours packed with classic moments and memories from people’s lives with only their tepidly received album. So when Liam sings “I’m gonna stand the test of time like the Beatles and Stones”, you feel like patting him on his head. He of course prowls around like a gibbon in an oversized parka and still hasn’t cottoned on that if he actually touched the mic stand he could raise it a couple of inches so he didn’t need to bend his knees and tilt his head to sing. Bless. “Four Letter Word” and “Bring The Light” are brash and ballsy and work well but any (relative) subtlety in more thoughtful tracks like “Millionaire” are bludgeoned out of them by the thick wall of noise and constant thump-thump-thumping. Liam, just because you turn it up, it doesn’t make it sound any better and flashing lots of bright lights won't distract us for long. After a while it gets so damn monotonous and a test of endurance that beats many as they head to the door with ears ringing. Those who sneaked off missed a cover of the Beatles "Across The Universe".

Over £150,000 was raised for the British Red Cross to help the people of Japan.