"William Burroughs, Ken Kesey, Jack Kerouac, Camus; all books were just as exciting to us as records, there wasn't much difference." - Richey Edwards, 1991
1. Hank Williams – ‘Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain’ (1951)
Although written by Fred Rose and originally recorded by
Roy Acuff this - simplicity of lyric, the aching delivery - still sounds like
pure Hank.
2. Rolling Stones – ‘I Just Want To Make Love To You’ (1964)
New collection The Rolling Stones On Air brings together
the band’s early BBC recordings and for the most part they are curiously polite
performances, as if on their best behaviour, but here, in front of a live audience
rather than studio surroundings, they tear it up.
3. Toni Daly – ‘Like The Big Man Said’ (1966)
Sassy Southend chanteuse warns against dubious men promising
the world.
4. Sun Ra & His Arkestra – ‘Ankhnation (aka Intergalactic
Motion)’ (1966)
From Pictures of Infinity,
this is nine minutes of nutty arkestral elation.
5. David Newman – ‘We’re A Winner’ (1968)
Tenor man Newman takes on The Impressions.
6. Bobby Womack – ‘It’s Gonna Rain’ (1969)
One of Bobby’s best.
7. Ghetto Brothers – ‘Girl From The Mountain’ (1972)
Puerto Rican New York street gang turn to jangly guitars
and irresistible rhythms. Sweet as.
8. Whiteout – ‘Detroit’ (1994)
Scottish moptops really shoulda cleaned up with their string
of splendid singles: ‘No Time’, ‘Starrclub’, ‘Detroit’ and ‘Jackie’s Racing’. No
justice.
9. Kasabian – LSF (2004)
I was taken as a surprise “treat” to see Kasabian this
month. I bought, and enjoyed, their first album back in 2004 but after the disappointing
second one haven’t paid them any attention other than to roll my eyes at their
unconvincing attempt to be rock and roll stars. But, credit where it’s due, the
gig was an enjoyable affair – even in the humongous O2 Arena – and this oldie about
burnt chips from that debut, complete with huge gospel choir, was joyous. Really.
10. Margo Price – ‘Pay Gap’ (2017)
From one of the albums of the year, All American Made, comes this country
protest song urging for gender equality. “In
the eyes of rich white men, I’m no more than a maid to be owned like a dog, And
a second-class citizen”.
Christmas! What is it good for? Now, now, don't say it. There are a few positives: like marvelling at Bob Dylan's treatment of ''Hark The Herald Angels Sing' on his Christmas In The Heart LP; Ma Monkey's Christmas dinner; and the chance to blow the baubles offa this beauty from the Primitives again. Stand by for the bells...
Featured
on Kent’s new Northern Soul’s Classiest
Rarities Volume 6 which is an utterly essential purchase – best soul comp I’ve
heard in a long time. This bunch of army lads cut this lovely ballad for
Romark in Los Angeles.
2. Alton
Ellis – ‘Black Man’s Pride’ (1971)
Title
track from a new Soul Jazz Records compilation “from the transitory phase in
reggae at the start of the 1970s, after the exhilaration of Ska and following
the cooling down of Rocksteady.”
3. John
Gary Williams – ‘The Whole Damn World Is Going Crazy’ (1973)
Williams
recorded for Stax with the Mad Lads, served in Vietnam, then returned to
Memphis. This is what he found.
4. Bottom
and Company – ‘Gonna Find A True Love’ (1974)
Bottom
and Company? Really? Bottom and Company Gonna Find A True Love? Was that the
best name they could find? Fab stab of crossover Motown regardless.
5. Bob
Dylan – ‘Saved’ (1980)
Just
don’t go near that Born Again Christian stuff was the refrain when I first
found Bob Dylan. Was reasonable advice to a young novice but Trouble No More, the latest instalment
of The Bootleg Series, shows what a
rousing period that was. This live version of ‘Saved’ would’ve had them rejoicing
in the aisles.
Released
a couple of years ago on their clunkily titled but impressive The Sweet Pretty Things (Are In Bed Now, Of
Course…), this gets a 7 inch EP release in January on Fruit de Mer Records
along with their version of ‘Renaissance Fair’ plus two late-60’s live cuts:
‘She Said Good Morning’ and ‘Alexander’.
8. The
Galileo 7 – ‘Live For Yesterday’ (2017)
“Today is just tomorrow’s nostalgia,”
sings Allan Crockford. As someone who’s played to packed venues by dusting off
memories in reformed Prisoners, Prime Movers, Solar Flares and cranks out
oldies in Graham Day and the Forefathers you know where Allan’s coming from and
wonder if in years to come his current band will achieve similar
better-in-retrospect acclaim. Based on the Galileo 7’s new pop-psych offering Tear Your Minds Wide Open it’s a
distinct possibility. Crockford has now cracked this song writing lark and with the Mighty Atom,
Mole, moved to his rightful place behind the drumkit, the whole thing swings
with justified confidence. Don’t wait until 2040, check them out now.
9. The
Lovely Eggs – ‘Dickhead’ (2017)
Donning
their new magical cloaks, The Lovely Eggs were on tour this month. Two things
became apparent: they have so many great singles they can afford to drop ‘Don’t
Look At Me’ without it being unduly missed and new songs featured from
forthcoming album This Is Eggland,
including the supersonic, drive-by abusing, ‘Dickhead’ will only add to that
impressive score.
10. Mavis
Staples – ‘If All I Was Was Black’ (2017)
Mavis
tells us she’s got love to give. She sure has. Oh God, this is wonderful.
When
Daniel Romano released Modern Pressure
earlier this year I phoned my local record emporium to ask if they had it in
stock. Sister Ray has been in Soho for decades and have furnished me with
countless new independent releases. “Never heard of him,” was the snotty reply.
“What is he?” Well, in fairness, this was a reasonable question as record shops
like to file goods in easy-to-manage categories but not an easy one to answer.
I muttered something about he used to be country (which I knew was gonna
conjure hideous visions in the already dismissive mind of said employee. I know
it’s offensive to use the C-word in polite company but stay with me, think of
Hank, Merle, Gram) but is now more, er, rocky. Tap-tap-tap into his little computer and “Did
he have an album called Mosey?” Yeah,
that’s him. “Right. I can see why we’re not stocking him, we didn’t sell a
single copy of that.” Oh.
I
share this story, dear reader, so you don’t feel bad if Daniel Romano isn’t as familiar
a name around your family dinner table as it is mine. If “hip” London record
shops are largely ignorant to his oeuvre, and if on a Saturday night in the
West End one can rock up to pay a mere ten quid on the door to witness his act
in the intimate surroundings of the Borderline, then a six-page feature in Mojo
magazine and an appearance on Later With Jools Holland are still , unjustly, some way off.
A
brief history: From Welland, Ontario, Romano was in Canadian punk band Attack
In Black (I still haven’t listened to them), and has released eight albums
since 2009. He began on a folky-country path, went full-on pedal steel and
fiddle country, then swerved into a sprawling hotchpotch of styles he calls “Mosey”,
incorporating elements of Stonesy rock, Americana, new wave, psychedelia, piano
ballads, a mariachi namecheck to Valerie Leon, strings, horns and, if that
wasn’t enough, Romano also trades under Ancient Shapes, his punk offshoot. Oh,
and he plays almost everything on his records, he’s a talented artist, a leather
tooler and can no doubt replace the steering column in a ’57 Chevy while
reciting Les Fleurs du mal by Baudelaire.
Last
year I saw him play two gigs in one night. Joined by a second guitarist, they
sat on stools and played a breath-taking acoustic set where you could’ve heard
a pin drop, then a couple of hours later across town a rock and roll set with almost
every song from an album nobody had heard. For punters (like me) expecting
pedal-steel weepers it was audacious and brass-necked. Brilliantly so. Newport
’65 had nothing on this.
Which
moves us along the dictionary to the D-word. As well as the obvious musical
influences, from Freewheelin’ to Highway 61 Revisited to Street Legal, Romano’s willingness to
change horses midstream, to defy expectation, to change image (he’s had more
looks than Carlos The Jackal, and currently appears to be wearing a pair of his
old sunglasses), and for his songs to remain living entities in that can be
played in a variety of ways, makes him comparable to Bob Dylan. As a Dylan
completist that’s not something I’d say lightly. A squiz at YouTube will throw
up loads of different versions of songs and, such is Romano’s prolific nature,
loads of unreleased songs as his two labels can’t kept pace. For example,
‘Fearless Death Tomorrow’, released on the Ancient Shapes album as a dirty punk
thrash is, months later, played acoustically with tinkling piano and double
bass.
The
Borderline gig last weekend was his last show of the year and executed with the
passion of the last show of his life. Opening with “Modern Pressure”, in which Romano
unleashed a blood curdling primal scream, he was in scarily blistering form. Not
one for looking back, the set was mostly tracks released in little more than a
year, yet the manner they were performed was astounding. The album Modern Pressure has a springy,
elasticated feel, yet here they were played as heavy, tight rockers with a
furious intensity peak Clash or White Stripes might’ve managed. It felt like a
skin-shedding, cathartic exercise with songs from the latest album (‘Sucking
The Old World Dry’, ‘Impossible Dream’, ‘When I Learned Your Name’ etc), and a
few from Mosey including a
spirit-raising ‘Dead Medium’, all given a similar treatment. ‘(Gone Is) A
Quarry of Stone’ was transformed from a mournful ballad into a terrifying exorcism
complete with a guitar solo, effortlessly tossed in, that made my eyes widen and
brow arch in admiration. The foot was taken off the gas fleetingly. ‘Roya’, is
the most beautiful song of 2017, and in a rare delve into the past (2013 is
several Romano lifetimes ago) the tear jerking ‘A New Love (Can Be Found)’ sent
shivers down the spine.
Billed
as Daniel Romano and Jazz Police (his band featured bass, drums and Farfisa
organ), there was zero jazz in a pulverising set (no chat, nary a pause), but
should Romano one day pull a trumpet out of his backside to play a few Chet
Baker numbers no one will die of shock. Where he’s heading next is a fun game
to play and one new song had a 60s garage vibe which then segued into the final
verse of The Who’s ‘My Generation’. Perhaps a cheesy choice but the power was
up there with anything those Shepherd’s Bush geezers ever did and was about as
far from a Porter Wagoner cover Romano could’ve found.
It’s
difficult to gage how successful he is back home in Canada, and I’d love to
know the reaction of purist country fans to recent developments, but the UK
needs to wake up to the mastery of Daniel Romano. As the master of all trades
and jack of none, the man is a damn genius.
Thanks to Michelle Raison for the photos and thanks to Daniel for allowing us to gate crash his dressing room. A few faces of Daniel Romano below. Enjoy.
“Suddenly it was like the whole world hated us. Which I
was perfectly fine with, it meant we were doing something right.” John Lydon
As public enemy number one – attacked in the streets, arrested,
vilified in the press, banned from venues, banned in shops, banned from the
radio, bouncing between record labels, heroin addiction, hepatitis, at war with
McLaren – 1977 was, to put it mildly, a tumultuous year for the Sex Pistols.
The Sex Pistols
1977: The Bollocks Diaries recounts the events, blow-by-blow, in a hard-back
album-sized new book published to coincide with the 40th anniversary
of Never Mind The Bollocks.
Starting the year with the Grundy, “You dirty fucker”, incident
still reverberating from December and Glen Matlock soon replaced by Sid Vicious,
and ending flying to the US for a tour that’ll see Rotten, “Ever get the
feeling you’ve been cheated?”, spilt the band two weeks into ’78, there’s rarely
a dull moment.
Told through photographs, cuttings, memorabilia and interviews
with the band and their entourage, it’s a chaotic tale of no fun. For all the
uproar and agitation they caused – deliberately and inadvertently – at the
heart of the Sex Pistols was a band, and Lydon in particular, who wanted to
make music. The distractions and hullabaloo meant even surviving the year and
recording Bollocks was something of
an achievement, that it still sounds today like a tremendous “grinding
juggernaut” is a minor miracle.
Film and television documentaries, CD box sets, reunion
gigs, mugs, lanyards, coffee table books and whatever else might not be “punk”,
and the Sex Pistols have been systematically homogenised, but sticking on that
near-perfect album and reading through The
Bollocks Diaries is a welcome reminder of when – and setting aside all the
lasting cultural influence for a moment – the simple act of being in a band was
dangerous, thrilling, challenging and a right pain in
the bollocks for everyone.
The Sex Pistols
1977: The Bollocks Diaries as told by the Sex Pistols, is published by Cassell Illustrated.
Out now.
Apologies for the late postponement a couple of weeks ago but the fine folk at Fusion have juggled the schedule so, if the good Lord's willing and the creek don't rise, Monkey's Wandering Wireless Show will return to the airwaves this Sunday.
As usual it'll be an hour of great music (mostly but not exclusively from the 60s) interrupted on occasion by a barely coherent Bailey's-soaked gibbon.
If that sounds like your idea of fun then tune in. Hit the link below in time for a 8.30pm lift off. And if you fancy it, sign up to Mixlr beforehand or during to join the chat throughout the show with fellow Fusion comrades.
Jim Jones & the Righteous Mind, E17, 10 November 2017
If a ten-piece rock and roll gospel group can’t lift yer
spirits, especially when it’s The Future Shape of Sound, then the musical
component of your soul is sorely malfunctioning. The sight alone – five sleek and stylish
ladies and five dapper hatted gentlemen– is heavenly and their testifying, boogie
blues for Jesus, with titles such as ‘Joy’ and ‘Rise Up’ soar and keep lifting
higher and higher. A corner of East London transformed into a Louisiana chapel.
Good God almighty.
It’s been a gradual process, but Jim Jones & the
Righteous Mind are becoming sufficiently distanced from their predecessors, the
Jim Jones Revue. The bands aren’t a million miles apart, more like neighbouring
towns, but their method of attack differs. The Revue would slash and burn, inflict
wounds with razor sharp knives; whereas the Righteous Mind bludgeon using a relentless
rhythmic assault with sticks and stones. The Revue meshed the MC5’s manifesto
with Jerry Lee Lewis’s great balls of fire; the Mind conjure gothic spells, summon
witches and dark spirits, boil your blood, shake chicken bones and rabbits’
feet.
Jim Jones, like in all his previous bands, commands every
nook and cranny of the stage, the audience, the room and your blackened soul. This
is a man calls, “Let me hear you say yeah!” boarding a number 48 bus and
passengers respond "YEAH!" automatically. It's a gift. Tracks from recent debut album Super Natural - ‘No Fool’ ‘Aldecide’, ‘Heavy
Lounge, Part 1’, ‘Til It’s All Gone’ - with Jim’s throaty demonic howl and chanting
Minds, cook up a spicy gumbo stew greedily devoured by the congregation
locked in a foot stomping and hand clapping voodoo trance.
Two bands - one shining a light, the other flicking it
off – making a believer in the Church of Rock ‘n’ Roll outta me.
The
latest Heavy Soul collection brings together acts from its own label and other
combos loosely inhabiting the edges of the Mod universe.
Originality
isn’t the name of the game but those expecting Rickenbacker bashing and songs
about kids looking for a direction will be disappointed or delighted to hear
next to nothing along those lines. The bands fall broadly into two camps: shiny,
blue-eyed soul popsters and slightly down at the Cuban heel, grubby beat
merchants.
The
abysmally named Cow redeem themselves by kicking off proceedings with ‘Hit Me
Inside’, a gloriously sunny northern soul style gem to warm the heart. The Sha
La Las sing from a similar hymn sheet to Stone Foundation with the mellow soul
groove of ‘Leave The Hurtin’ Inside’; less gloss and polish than their more
illustrious peers which is no bad thing. Aunt Nelly pounds her funky organ to
bring back BritPop memories of the Charlatans and Kula Shaker mixed with Marsha
Hunt on ‘Move On’ while King Mojo’s recruitment of Graham Day on production
duties is an indication of where they’re coming from (stylistically that is;
geographically they’re from North Yorkshire) and the rollicking ‘Glad!’, with
the ol’ blues harp accompaniment, adds to their feverish R&B. Four songs
in, all using Hammond organ, all very good.
The
continental flair of French Boutik’s ‘Le Casse’ is no less a treat and a fine
entry point for those unfamiliar with 2016’s Front Pop. As for The Deep 6, it’s not the song so much as the recording
quality that lets ‘Don’t Worry About Me’ down. Some bands suit a cheap,
recorded-in-the-shed-on-a-4-track lo-fi sound whereas The Deep 6’s Freddie
& the Dreamers/Herman’s Hermits pop could do with a more punchier production.
Even without knowing anything about The Lost Boys it’s apparent these are a product
of a later generation than the rest of side one. ‘China In The Sink’ isn’t a
political observation on assertive state capitalism driven by Beijing but a
fusing of Oasis and Arctic Monkeys influences.
Side
two is more beaty and Logan’s Close more (early to mid-period) Beatles than
anyone else here with ‘Listen To Your Mother’, who, I guess, should know. The
Pacers caveman stomp their way to ‘A&E’ and The See No Evils get their
jangles out for ‘The Love Has Gone Away’. The Beatpack head to the Ealing
Club/Eel Pie Island for ‘I’ll Dance’ and The Mourning After follow a similar
route with the maraca shaking noise of ‘Cross My Heart’. Best of this bruising
bunch is The Chessmen who, despite choosing a title (‘Cunning Linguist’)
amusing to only 15-year-old boys, hurtle through their punky adrenaline-soaked romp spouting indecipherable gibberish at unsuspecting passers-by. The
Galileo 7’s broadly pop-psych ‘Cold Hearted Stowaway’, is the hardest track to
pin down due to not wearing its influences so obviously; perhaps no coincidence
it’s the strongest track on side two and among the best tracks the band have done
so far.
Listeners
will pick their favourites - there’s nothing I particularly dislike here, no tracks requiring a leap from the settee to skip - and while the majority of the bands seem comfortable occupying their own little niche a few offer more ambition. The personnel
across the volume is peppered with familiar names from bands stretching
back to the 80s and 90s (The Prisoners, Makin’ Time, The Threads, The Clique,
The Mystreated etc), reflecting an aging scene, so it’s a pity Heavy Soul’s prodigious
young talent, the prolific Paul Orwell, is conspicuous by only providing the
artwork. A short version of this review appears in the current issue of Shindig! magazine. I Know That I Got A Heavy Soul Volume 3 is available on LP and CD (with six extra tracks) from Heavy Soul Records.
Wow,
look at these. Short and silent film rushes from Swingin’ London: The West
End, Carnaby Street, King’s Road.
These have recently been made available by The Kinolibrary, an independent agency specialising in archive footage from around the world. How brilliant everyone and everything looks. See for yourself.
Clockwise from top: Paul Weller (Style Council), Zoot (The Z), Tim Burgess (Charlatans), Paul Orwell
Jerry Dammers (The Special AKA), Simone Marie Butler (Primal Scream), Jazzie B (Soul II Soul), The Lucid Dream
Musicians, your help is required. Not in this case to
enrich our culture and lives with your creativity and artistic flair but to add
support to the NHS1000Musicians campaign. The project has been run with a
series of NHS fundraisers and aims to promote the wider issues around the NHS.
Initiated by music journalist Lois Wilson, whose
contributions to Mojo I always gravitate
to first, the premise is simple: musicians take a photo of themselves with a
sign in support of the NHS. It can be something personal or something simple
like #OurNHS. The plan is to get 1000 musicians taking part and is currently
200 from reaching the target. You don’t need to be a household name like Paul
Weller, Jerry Dammers, the Lucid Dream or Tara from Five Thirty, only a
musician of any kind with a wish to publicly demonstrate your support of the
NHS.
There will be the cynical and sceptical amongst you but to
my mind any small thing to keep the NHS in the public eye and to demonstrate solidarity
with its workers can only be a good thing.
The Twitter account to send pictures to is
@NHS1000Maestros or, if not on The Twitter, I can pass them on. Please feel
free to share this post. Thank you.
Rachel Jean Harris, Mick Talbot (Merton Parkas), Cabbage, Diane Shaw
Richard Hawley (Longpigs), Vic Godard (Subway Sect), Tara Milton (Five Thirty), Rhys Webb (Horrors)
Johnny Marr (Electronic), Edgar Summertyme (The Stairs), Katie Pooh Stick, Debbie Smith (Echobelly)
Roy wants a big fat mama, big and round, who can really
go to town, a fine butterbowl, plenty mama to hold, who knows just what to do. I
dare say he didn’t go short of offers after this.
2. Gladys Knight & the Pips – ‘In My Heart I Know It’s
Right’ (1966)
Of yes! Unreleased uptempo Gladys from 1966! That’s gotta
be right!
3. Eddie Gale – ‘Black Rhythm Happening’ (1969)
Imagine if the kids who lived Sesame Street joined forces
with the Black Panthers and called on trumpeter Eddie Gale to lead the party.
4. Hugh Masekela – ‘Gettin’ It On’ (1969)
Slipping and a’sliding funk bomb. If ya can’t get on this
groove you’re beyond help my friend.
5. PP Arnold – ‘Born’ (1970)
Languishing in the vaults all this time, PP Arnold’s The Turning Tide album was released this
month and sounds fresh as a daisy. Written and produced Barry Gibb, ‘Born’ steps out of church with a Stonesy swagger.
6. Leroy Hutson – ‘Could This Be Love’ (1974)
Out now on Acid Jazz, the double LP Anthology 1972-84 offers a superb introduction into the slick soul
moves of The Man, Leroy Hutson.
7. Girls At Our Best! – ‘Getting Nowhere Fast’ (1980)
“I am pretty smart, I don't do what they want me to/ I
don't and nor do you, that's what the general public do”. Proper old post-punk
indie classic.
8. Manic Street Preachers – ‘No Surface All Feeling’ (1996)
With nothing to promote it’s been a quiet period for the
Manics so thought their Q Awards show last week might be a little lacklustre
but far from going through the motions they played a blinder with Nicky Wire is fine spirits (usually a gage to Manics performances). Could quibble
with song choices but hearing this, and ‘Everything Must Go’, always
brings a lump to the throat and ‘A Song For Departure’ from Lifeblood was a welcome surprise. Oh, and Sleaford Mods were tremendous fun.
9. The Solar Flares – ‘Moonshine of Your Love’ (2004)
The two special shows by the Solar Flares this month
highlighted how unjustly they fell through the gaps – particularly the second
half of their tenure. ‘Moonshine of Your Love’ from the overlooked Laughing Suns mixes pulsating Deep Purplesque
rock, sci-fi theme tunes and Memphis-style horns.
10. The Lovely Eggs – ‘I Shouldn’t Have Said That’ (2017)
Holly and David Egg’s style of apology is to batter the
ears with a two-minutes of gobbing, gobby fuzz mayhem. You are forgiven.
Barkley L. Hendricks - Icon for My Man Superman (Superman Never Saved any Black People - Bobby Seale) 1969
A major exhibition at the Tate Modern in London, Soul of a Nation: Art in the Age of Black
Power, closed last week. Looking at the two decades from 1963 it explored
how black artists responded to and reflected the civil rights struggle, the
Black Power movement and political and cultural changes in America. It was a
soul stirring collection from both an aesthetic angle of the art displayed and
the background to the work and artists which invited further investigation. Photography was tolerated in the gallery so I took a few pictures and spent several days afterwards digging around.
Romare Bearden - The
Street and The Dove (both 1964)
The opening exhibits in Soul of a Nation were from 1963 - the year of the March on
Washington and Martin Luther King Jr.’s I Have A Dream speech – and focussed on
Spiral, a group of artists in New York looking to produce work within the wider
context of the Civil Rights Movement. One of the founders, Romare Bearden, born
in 1911 and an experienced artist, writer, poet, musician and social worker, suggested
the group produce collaborative collages. The idea was rejected but Bearden
went ahead and produced a series alone. As a lover of collage, particularly
photo-montage, the exhibition couldn’t have got off to a better start for me
than with a half a dozen of Bearden’s pieces including the bustling Harlem scenes
portrayed The Street and The Dove.
Emory Douglas – All
Power To The People (1969)
As Minister of Culture for the Black Panther Party, Emory
Douglas helped design the party’s newspaper and provided a series of posters
for the back page as an effective way of distilling and taking concerns of the
party to the streets. Douglas’s comic book style was as instantly recognisable
as the Panthers themselves who knew a thing or two about image and branding.
“Revolutionary art, like the Party, is for the whole community and deals with
all its problems. It gives the people the correct picture of our struggle
whereas the revolutionary ideology gives the people the correct political
understanding of our struggle,” wrote Douglas. There were far more striking
examples of Douglas’s work – lot of firearms and Pigs - displayed but such was
the scrum of people around them this was the only snap I took. For more, see Black Panther: The Revolutionary Art of
Emory Douglas, published in 2007.
Dana C. Chandler – Fred
Hampton’s Door 2 (1975)
Within a year of joining the Black Panthers in Chicago, Fred
Hampton rose to the rank of national deputy chairman and was instrumental in
creating the Rainbow Coalition, working with local gangs of various ethnicities
to reduce crime and violence which Hampton saw as self-defeating and
detrimental to the plight of all the poor and oppressed people. Hampton’s
influence both inside and outside the black community made him especially
dangerous in the eyes of the FBI.
In 1967 Hampton allegedly assisted a group of schoolkids
to help themselves to $71 dollars’ worth of tasty treats from a Good Humor ice
cream van while he restrained the driver. The judge didn’t see the funny side
and sentenced Hampton to a brain freezing two to five years. On bail, in December
1969, at home sleeping, Hampton was killed/murdered/executed by the Chicago
police who fired nearly a hundred shots threw his door and throughout the flat
– without return - in the raid, including two straight to the head from point blank
range.
David Hammons – Injustice
Case (1970)
Bobby Seale, co-founder the Black Panther Party, and was
one of the “Chicago Eight” arrested and charged with conspiracy and inciting a
riot during protests at 1968 Chicago Democratic Nominating Convention. The only
black man on trial – the rest were white activists, anti-Vietnam protesters and
Yippies including Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin – Seale’s request the trial be postponed
as his lawyer was undergoing gall bladder surgery was refused, as was Seale’s subsequent
request to represent himself. Throughout the early weeks of the trial Seale
repeatedly interrupted the court to express his constitutional rights were
being denied. Judge Julius H. Hoffman ordered court marshals to chain Seale to
a chair with a gag in his mouth and tie his jaw shut with a strip of cloth
wrapped from the bottom of his chin to the top of his head. This continued for several
days until Hoffman found Seale guilty of 16 acts of contempt of court and
sentenced him to four years in prison. The 1987 television film Conspiracy: The Trial of the Chicago 8
is excellent and well watching.
Hammons’ piece looks like an x-ray but was made by
rubbing himself in margarine then pressing his body against the paper before sprinkling
black powder on the grease to reveal the image. The American flag has been cut
away and a man is boxed in, bound and gagged. As for Bobby Seale, in 1970 he
published Seize the Time: The Story of
the Black Panther Party and Huey P. Newton and in 1987 wrote Barbeque'n with Bobby Seale: Hickory &
Mesquite Recipes. “I've developed my own contemporary southern-style,
hickory-smoked barbeque recipes that have delighted the taste buds and
appetites of politicians, writers, community activists, movie stars, family and
friends, and thousands more at numerous barbeque fund-raisers.”
Benny Andrews – Did
the Bear Sit Under the Tree? (1969)
Using the ‘rough collage’ style Andrews favoured, this is
an oil on canvas painting given an extra dimension by the rolled-up fabric stars
and stripes and the man’s mouth made from a zipper (unzipped). The man is
waving his fists but doesn’t look threatening or angry to me; more scared and
weakly defensive. Andrews explained he is “shaking his fist at the very thing
that is supposed to be protecting him and that he’s operating under.”
Wadsworth Jarrell – Black
Prince (1971) and Liberation Soldiers
(1972)
AfriCOBRA – African Commune of Bad Relevant Artists – were
a Chicago artists’ collective and these paintings were made for their
exhibitions. AfriCOBRA’s images would, according to their manifesto, embody “the
expressive awesomeness that one
experiences in African art and life in the U.S.A” and have an emphasis on “Color
color Color color that shines, that is free or rules and regulations”. The
bright Kool Aid acid colours used here would make eye-catching posters.
Malcolm X in The
Prince is largely depicted using the letter B for Black, Bad and Beautiful
and if you look closely at Liberation
Soldiers, the figure of Huey Newton on the left has ‘Badest Mothefucker
Alive’ coming straight out his head. Stick that on yer wall.
A double-album,
Soul of a Nation: Afro-Centric Visions in the Age of Black Power, featuring Gil Scott-Heron, Joe Henderson, Roy Ayers, Doug Carn and many more is available on
Soul Jazz and a book of the exhibition is published by Tate. Both highly recommended.
French Boutik have a new single coming out, a rather elegant
version of The Jam’s ‘The Place I Love’. Taken from Gifted, a 4-CD set of Jam covers by bands from 14 countries, it
comes as a gatefold sleeve 45 split single with an enchanting ‘Tonight at Noon’
by their keys man and artist in his own right, Popincourt, on the flip.
All profits from the single and compilation go
to Specialized, a musical community concept created in 2012 to raise funds to improve the lives of teens and young adults with cancer or who are living in difficult circumstances. Since 2012, Specialized has released tribute albums celebrating The Specials, The Beat, Madness, The Clash, Bob Marley and now The Jam to provide funds for the Teenage Cancer Trust.
International Times
began publishing in October 1966. Taking inspiration from US titles including Village
Voice, Los Angeles Free Press and East Village Other, based in London IT was Europe’s first underground
newspaper and central hub for the expanding counterculture.
The brainwave of Barry Miles and John Hopkins - Miles and Hoppy - IT provided communication channels to
service the growing “creative, underground, grass-roots free-thinking
communities”. Music, sex, drugs, police activities, corrupt businesses and political
protest all featured heavily and in its first six months alone, outside of domestic concerns, featured
literary contributions from Allen Ginsberg, Norman Mailer, Jean-Paul Sartre and Ezra
Pound.
Poking the The Man was never going to pass without the authorities
becoming hostile so when IT quoted comedian,
civil rights activist and candidate for Chicago mayor, Dick Gregory, using the
word ‘Motherfucker’ in a Q&A, they were promptly and gleefully raided. On 11 March 1967 their
offices were completely stripped: back copies, files, address books, everything
removed and replaced with the threat of costly court action. Six months later,
with no charges and after failure to close IT down, their stuff was returned, all
chucked back in at the bottom of the stairs.
After IT led
the way, others – most notably Oz –
followed suit; increasingly creative with their design and provocative with
their content. An exhibition to coincide with the publication of The British Underground Press of the Sixties,
edited by Barry Miles and James Birch, runs at the A22 Gallery in Clerkenwell, London
until 4 November 2017.
For the first time, every issue of all the most
significant underground papers – IT, Oz,
Gandalf’s Garden, Black Dwarf, Friends, Frendz, Ink, Nasty Tales and cOZmic
Comsic – plus posters and paraphernalia from the period are on display. Space
restrictions mean it’s not possible to view the cover of every edition
(many are folded over or overlap), but they’re all included in the book alongside commentary
from Miles.
British Underground
Press of the Sixties, edited by Barry Miles and James Perch, is published by Rocket 88 and out now.
“Slaves to consumerism, the world’s population exists in
a zombie-like state of constant connectivity, their only music corporate
sponsored pop pap.”
But fear not dear earthlings, from a galaxy far far away,
come The Z to lead us by the hand to a place free from the shackles of the modern world. For the Z are People of the
Mirror World, a reflection of music not as the soundtrack to supermarket
shopping but as a lifeforce, powered up to the mains, pumping energy back into weary
hearts and sapping souls.
It’s pop music Captain, but not as we know it, at least not
these days. The Z go back to the future, plug in to their analogue docking
station, and slip ten capsules of intergalactic new age boogie dreams straight under
our collective tongue. It’s a trip, higher than the sun, where space is the place.
Personnel details and background information is scant and
with the most unsearchable name on the internet deliberately so. No one ever
said it was gonna be easy. The crew are fronted by Zoot, an Italian practicing
high priestess, who channels elements of Grace Slick, Julie Driscoll and even Siouxsie
Sioux; Gabrielle Drake in a purple wig in UFO. With Zoot’s co-pilots,
The Z travel the spaceways, navigate magical swirling seas, shower excess glitter
on glam stomps, cast spells with black magic queens and ask to be saved, all in
little more than half an hour and with a spring in their step and twinkle in their eye. It’s music for
the mind and body, free your mind and your ass will follow.
People of The Mirror World by The Z is due to land on earth, 1
November 2017, via Detour Records.
Before Noel Fielding bothered cakes for money he played
Vince Noir, zookeeper and King of the Mods, in The Mighty Boosh. In the ‘Jungle’ episode Vince comes face to face
with Rudi, a jazz fusion guitarist with the Bongo Brothers and High Priest of
the Psychedelic Monks who, with a tiny guitar and door in his afro, says with
the air of studied mysticism, “I go by many names. Some call me Shatoon,
Bringer of Corn; others call me Mickey Nine, the Dream Weaver; some call me
Photoshop; others call me Trinew, The Boiler…”. This scene goes on and on, you
get the picture.
Some call Graham Day, Allan Crockford and Wolf Howard,
the Prime Movers, Escapee Prisoners; others call them Graham Day and the
Forefathers, Partytime Songbookers; this weekend, for the first time in
well over a decade, they are the SolarFlares, the Great Returners.
With three of the five SolarFlares albums (four proper ones and an odds and sods comp) recently reissued
on Damaged Goods they entered the Water Rats’ Zooniverse, incidentally the
building that hosted the Prisoners – complete with Star Trek outfits – for Channel
4’s The Tube in 1984 which introduced them to so many.
Taking back to that stage on Friday, sporting the same hair style and similar guitar, Graham welcomed back Parsley, who joined
the band after a couple of LPs, on Hammond adding “apart from that, it’ll be
the same old shit” suggesting a more recent Forefathers set, drawing from their
various incarnations, was in store but they stayed in character and stuck to
the script, keeping to Flares songs.
They began with the opening track from their 1999 debut Psychedelic Tantrums, a tribute to
Graham Day’s mum, ‘Mary’. “Mary, do you
approve of the things you see? Mary, can you hear me?” I’ve no idea if the
late Mrs Day was a fan of ballsy late 60s styled melodic rock but she probably
could hear them and if looking down, at the first of two shows that sold out
before even the posters had been designed, and heard the rapturous response to
every track she would be a proud lady.
Both Graham and Allan have spoken fondly about the music
they made as the SolarFlares. Graham being of the view he wrote some of his
best songs then and, in his words, “learnt how to sing properly”. There was much
rejoicing when, after the Prime Movers disbanded circa 1993 in a sea of
prog-rock noodling and members embarked on separate projects, the SolarFlares appeared
and focused on their strengths: snappy songs with rollicking elements traceable back to the Small Faces/Who/Kinks (okay, and sounding close to the Prisoners) and
scattered them with groovy go-go instrumentals from would-be spy and sci-fi films.
Hearing a full set of those songs underlined those
opinions, a fact overlooked by many at the time (including, I hold my hands up
here, myself) whose interest in the band quickly dwindled after the initial
excitement died away. It’s difficult to say why, maybe it was timing, (I was fixated on R&B
during the early 00’s and wasn’t seeing bands) but there were rich pickings to
be had to latecomers and diehard returnees alike.
‘Medway’, ‘Cant’ Get You Out of My Mind’, ‘Laughing Sun’,
‘Hold On’, all zipped by with considerable groove . I’m rubbish
at remembering titles of instrumentals but pretty sure there were four
including Parsley let loose on ‘Angel Interceptor’ and ‘Girl In A Briefcase’
plus the ‘Hush’-recalling ‘Moonshine of Your Love’. ‘Miles Away’ and 'It's Alright' from 2000's That Was Then... So Is This stood out as superb slices of catchy 60s pop and ‘Sucking Out My Insides’ as blood curdling as the
title suggests.
Graham was concerned the supercharged, 100mph encore ‘Out
of Our Minds’ would give them a heart attack but as Allan said, with the world
reportedly due to end in two days, “we’ll give it a go”. They fortunately
survived and egged on by promoter Steve Worrall of Retro Man Blog they came back
to plunder Wimple Winch’s freakbeat classic ‘Save My Soul’.
There were a few quips about this show being the
rehearsal for the Saturday night but, as magnificent as that would certainly
be, it could surely only be equal – not greater – than this. The SolarFlares,
they go by many names, on this form I call them Bloody Brilliant.
Andrea Dunbar is best known for writing Rita, Sue and Bob Too, a play depicting
the relationship between an older man and his two babysitters, made into a film
by Alan Clarke in 1987.
Andrea was far from the stereotypical playwright. Growing
up on the notorious Buttershaw Estate – reputedly the toughest part of
Bradford’s toughest area – Andrea’s exceptional writing talent, particularly
for dialogue, brought her to the attention of Max Stafford-Clark, who put her
first play – The Arbor, written in
green biro at the age of 15 – on at the Royal Court theatre in London’s West End.
After three plays, all drawn from lives around her estate, Andrea died in 1990,
aged 29, from a brain haemorrhage in her local pub.
Andrea’s story is now the inspiration for Adelle Stripe’s
debut novel, Black Teeth and a Brilliant
Smile. The introduction insists it’s a work of fiction – populated by real
and imagined characters – but this exceptional book is clearly biographical, the
main events undoubtedly true.
It’s a tale of contrasts: acts of brutality and occasional
kindness, of rich and poor, belief and doubt, north and south, even stage and
screen. That Andrea’s life story – punctuated by sex, domestic violence and alcoholism
– mirrors her work is no surprise but she deals with even the worst events with
stoicism. There are though, fear not, moments of humour - both in Dunbar and Stripe's telling.
Although dimly aware of the film adaptation, and the
furore that surrounded it, Andrea Dunbar’s name meant nothing to me. I’ve not
seen the plays, read them or watched the film. I bought Black Teeth and a Brilliant Smile because I’ve always enjoyed
Adelle Stripe’s writing and poetry for the independent press and trust her
judgement. Such faith did not go unrewarded. Not only is this Adelle’s best
work to date - it’s a tremendous stand-alone “piece of kitchen sink noir” – it
also serves as a very welcome introduction to the life and work of Andrea
Dunbar.
Black Teeth and a
Brilliant Smile by Adelle Stripe is published by Wrecking Ball Press.
A little over a week ago, I’d never heard of The Limiṅanas,
now they’re my favourite new band. Only they aren’t new, having been around
since 2009 and with a handful of albums under their belt, I’m just slow off the
mark.
After being tipped-off they were playing their
first ever London show, which would be “one of the gigs of the year”, a crash course ensued. What revealed itself was The Limiṅanas, from Perpignan, are French
couple, Lionel and Marie Limiṅana, who I’m told rarely play outside
France/north-east Spain. Marie sings and drums, Lionel sings and plays the
other stuff. They don’t fit in one tidy box: they can caress with dreamy pop, the
vocals can be his or hers, sung in whispered French or English, they can hit the fuzz, they can
take you down the Velvet Underground Says route, whip ya with the Mary Chain, invoke
spaghetti westerns, spy movies, La Nouvelle Vague, sitar stylings and, by French law, the
smoke of Serge and Jane frequently wafts across the senses. Anton Newcombe of
Brian Jonestown Massacre provides guest vocals on rattling new single,
‘Istanbul Is Sleepy’, and Peter Hook lent a very Peter Hook bassline to last
year’s ‘Garden of Love’ on their Malamore
LP.
The thought of watching yet another guitar/drums duo
didn’t appeal yet I didn’t know how they’d transfer to a live setting; whether
they’d use backing tapes or be accompanied on the extra instrumentation that
give their records the extra, sometimes exotic, flavour.
What appeared on stage on Thursday night was seven-piece
band - four at the front, three at the back – who for 75 minutes rocked the living daylights out of a corner of Hackney. Neither Lionel or Marie sang;
those duties were handled by a tambourine punishing Monica Vitti lookalike and a
curly haired bloke on guitar. Big hipster-bearded Lionel led with his guitar scrunching,
propelling songs until a climax when he’d shoot a look to Marie who’d cease
proceedings with a sharp emergency break. Marie, positioned stage-left, was the
heartbeat. Playing a small drum kit –bass, snare and tom, no cymbals or hi-hat
– she struck, with Moe Tucker simplicity, a thumping beat, so effective it made
other drummers look silly with all that fancy darting around their kits,
crashing cymbals and playing elaborate fills.
The sheer power was astonishing, especially as their records can sound sparse and airy. Tough guy opener ‘Malamore’
- “I’m Robert Mitchum, I’m Bob Duvall” –
stomped hard as they asserted “Sit
yourself down, and shut your mouth”. ‘Down Underground’ followed (which
would’ve fitted nicely on the last Primitives LP) and destroyed the recorded
version. Even lighter songs ‘El Beach’ and ‘Garden of Love’ were electrifying.
The further down the line it got the more I was sucked
into a hypnotic, wah-wah pedalling, head spinning, metronomic trance; the heel
on my right boot worn down to the leather as it hit the floor BANG-BANG-BANG.
Beyond Lionel’s occasional ‘thank you’, they didn’t say
anything; they didn’t need to. It was one of the gigs of the year as I’d been
promised.
