NOVEMBER PLAYLIST

The Standells

1.  Mark Murphy – “Li’l Darlin’” (1961)

Ace Records this month issued a new comp, Georgie Fame Heard Them Here First, featuring 25 tracks covered by our Georgie. Such was the vast array of tracks to pick from, this, from Murphy’s Rah, didn’t make the cut.

2.  Brian Auger – “Blues Three Four” (1961)

Pre-Hammond Auger, here demonstrating his jazz chops on the piano. It’s the opening track on a new Brian Auger anthology Back To The Beginning. Unfortunately the collection is let down by poor liner notes which don’t supply details of where this track was taken, so I’ve guessed the year. Possibly recorded with Dave Morse? Answers to the usual address.

3.  The Wanderers – “After He Breaks Your Heart” (1963)

Led by Ray Pollard, the Wanderers had already recorded for a decade before they cut this typically clean New York slice of Big City Soul for United Artists. Now included on the superb new Lost Without You: The Best Of Kent Ballads 2 compilation for Kent.

4.  The Pirates – “Cuttin’ Out” (1965)

Tough switchblade slashing rockabilly punk from a Texan combo who left behind a couple of 45s, this being their highlight.

5.  Jimmy Witherspoon – “Man Don’t Cry” (1965)

From Jimmy’s swinging Spoon In London which attempted to place him in a slightly more pop-soul setting. That said, “Man Don’t Cry” is a haunting, big voiced, big band creeper.

6.  David Bowie – “Let Me Sleep Beside You” (1967)

Recorded on 1 September 1967 for Deram, “Let Me Sleep Beside You” was the first Bowie single produced by Tony Visconti who sat a neat bass and drum rhythm on top of a sweep of strings. I'm generally indifferent to Bowie but like this. 

7.  The Standells – “Looking At Tomorrow” (1967)

The Standells production team went to town on this, creating a clanging echo drenched protest number with composer Larry Tamblyn taking lead vocals and putting his organ high in the mix. That’s not a euphemism.

8.  Miles Davis - "Bitches Brew" (1970)

On any given day the same piece of music (and I'm primarily talking jazz here) can either enthral or infuriate. Depending on one's mood, 27 minutes of this one track could easily do either.

9.  Hollywood Brats – “Sick On You” (1973)

After my effusive praise for Andrew Matheson’s recent memoir, Sick On You, it was little surprise to see Mojo magazine crown it Book of the Year. The song of the same name should’ve similarly won accolades in the year of its completion.    

10.  The Stairs – “Flying Machine” (1991)

From side two of their first EP and the second song played at Thursday’s reunion gig in Liverpool, setting the tone for what was a triumphant return, exceeding all expectations. More about this later.

JULIE DRISCOLL in SEASON OF THE WITCH (1970)

This is a rehash of a previous post but as Desmond McCarthy and Johnny Byrne's BBC Wednesday Play, Season Of The Witch, first broadcast 7 January 1970, is available (for now) on YouTube it's worth flagging up again.

Made in the summer of ’69, Season of the Witch stars Julie Driscoll in her debut acting performance as Mel, who runs away from London, her parents, and her job and heads to Brighton. There she meets various “beats” (interestingly there are plenty of references to beats and beatniks – no one is a freak or hippie) and they mooch about doing very little.

Mel takes tips on scavenging for food (get a skinny dog and plead with the butcher for meat) and sleeps on the beach before hitch hiking to Cornwall, traipsing back to London for a demo, getting arrested, and hanging out with drifters Jake (Paul Nicholas) and Shaun (Robert Powell). 

With plentiful location shots, unscripted segments of dialogue, a few state-of-kids-today moments mixed with real-life interviews and footage (greasy bespectacled longhairs arguing half cocked political idealism and watching drug education films at a youth drop-in centre, filmed in a Ken Loach docudrama style), Season of the Witch is as much sympathetic coming of age documentary as it is "Beat Girl On The Road". As such, it’s aged well, it attitude at least. Da yoof may not say “scenes” and “pads” anymore but the spirit and searching for a sense of belonging can’t be much different.

Julie Driscoll is a far better singer than actress - and isn't helped by having to deliver some clumsy dialogue - she's good to watch. The best line comes from Mel’s Dad (Glynn Edwards), who in a long rant about drugs, coffee shops, long-haired layabouts and the state of young people wanting to look conspicuous says “I saw one of ‘em the other day wearing a cowboy hat. In ‘arrow. There ain’t any cowboys in ‘arrow”. Director Desmond McCarthy has since explained all the lines in that monologue were taken from a real Panorama documentary. He's also confirmed the sign in a B&B window of “We reserve the right to refuse beatniks and other undesirables” was also genuine. 

A soundtrack by Brian Auger and the Trinity and a bit of Blind Faith in Hyde Park adds to the enjoyable. And despite the title it's mercifully Donovan-free.

MAY PLAYLIST

It wasn’t planned but there’s nothing from the last 30 years. That’s a sad state of affairs.

1. Sonny Boy Williamson – “Keep Your Hands Out Of My Pockets” (1958)
“Keep your hands out of my pockets/ I ain’t nothing that belong to you”. Simple yet effective from the Goat.

2. The Little Red Riders – “Juicy” (1958)
From the less-than-legit looking compilation Titty Shakers Volume 1 comes this twangy John Lee Hooker-goes-surfing breast mover. I’ve been standing on a chair wobbling my beer gut and swinging my man boobs like there’s no tomorrow. (Note: The references to beer gut and man boobs are merely for comedic effect and bear no resemblance whatsoever to the author’s Apollonian physique).

3. Marion Jones – “I’m The Woman For You” (c.1965)
She has a name like a Welsh dinner lady from the 70s but the only dish served here is a spicy concoction of call-and-response R&B, soulful testifying, and dollop of showbiz pizzazz, all gobbled down in a greedy one minute and fifty five seconds.

4. Julie Driscoll, Brian Auger and the Trinity – “A Kind of Love-In” (1968)
Not only did the NFT show Driscoll in Season of the Witch the other night, they also showed a fantastic live version of this recorded for Frost On Sunday in August 1968. Can’t see it on YouTube so you’ll have to take my word for it…

5. The Penny Peeps – “Model Village” (1968)
Hold tight to your floppy hats and penny collars as the Peeps whizz around their plasticine model village fuelled on heavy Hammond and super strength Who inspired freakbeaty psychedelia. Whooosh.

6. The Gaylads – “There’s A Fire” (1969)
What I know about Jamaican music can be written on Nick Griffin’s knob with a Stanley knife but rocksteady like this is simply soul music by another name.

7. The Rolling Stones – “Plundered My Soul” (1972)
If Exile On Main Street wasn’t bloated enough already, it now has another ten tracks. Scraped from the barrel maybe but most are still pretty good. “Plundered My Soul” has a “Tumbling Dice” vibe and however hard the Faces, the Black Crowes, the Scream tried they never matched the easy rock and soul charm of the Stones on top form. (Their best album is still Goat’s Head Soup though).

8. The Ruts – “H-Eyes” (1978)
There is a horrible irony that the flip of the Ruts first single contained the lines “You’re so young, you take smack for fun/ It’s gonna screw your head, you’re gonna wind up dead”, when singer Malcolm Owen would do just that a mere two years later.

9. The Chords – “Maybe Tomorrow” (1980)
Like flesh eating zombies The Chords are the latest band of decomposing carcasses to rise up uninvited and drag their lingering remains of life back on stage. That said the only time I’ve got for the whole sorry Mod Revival Class of ’79 is the time it takes to play their convincing Jam pastiche. How Weller must still be pissing himself.

10. Magazine – “A Song From Under The Floorboards” (1980)
“But it’s got a synth on it,” I hear you cry. True, and that’s usually enough for instant dismissal, but I’ll let this one pass due to Howard Devoto’s lyric (“I am angry, I am ill, and I'm as ugly as sin/ My irritability keeps me alive and kicking”) and John McGeoch’s unmistakable guitar colouring. McGeoch would next use his plectrum on Siouxsie and the Banshees’ masterpiece JuJu. Add Public Image Ltd to his CV and you wonder why he’s never on Guitar Greats lists.

SEASON OF THE WITCH (1970)

May’s cultural highlight came yesterday at the NFT for the Flipside screening of Season of the Witch, a BBC Wednesday Play made in the summer of ’69 with Julie Driscoll playing Mel who runs away from London, her parents, and her job and heads to Brighton. There she meets various “beats” (interestingly there are plenty of references to beats and beatniks – no one is a freak or hippie) and they mooch about doing very little.

Mel takes tips on scavenging for food (get a skinny dog and plead with the butcher for meat) and sleeping on the beach before hitch hiking to Cornwall, traipsing back to London for a rally, getting arrested, moving on again, getting a pad with Jake (Paul Nicholas) and Shaun (Robert Powell), and upping sticks again.

With plentiful location shots, unscripted segments of dialogue, a few “what’s it all about?” moments mixed with genuine interviews and footage (greasy bespectacled longhairs arguing half cocked political idealism and watching drug education films at a youth drop-in centre), Season of the Witch is as much sympathetic coming of age documentary as it is Beat Girl On The Road. As such, it’s aged well. Da yoof may not say “scenes” and “pads” anymore but the spirit can’t be much different.

Julie Driscoll is a far better singer than actress but the role suited: neither ditzy dolly bird nor down at the heel desperado; it made a change to see a portrayal of a together, likeable and eminently sensible young woman in a 60s film.

The best line came from Mel’s Dad (played by Glynn Edwards, better known as Dave from the Winchester Club in Minder), who in a long rant about the state of young people today said “I saw one of ‘em the other day wearing cowboy hat. In ‘arrow. There ain’t any cowboys in ‘arrow”. Director Desmond McCarthy gave a good Q&A session afterwards and explained all the lines in that monologue were taken from a real Panorama documentary. He also confirmed the sign in a B&B window of “We reserve the right to refuse beatniks and other undesirables” was also genuine.

Add to all that a soundtrack by Brian Auger and the Trinity and a bit of Blind Faith in Hyde Park and you’ve a real treasure that’s screaming out to be issued on DVD.