On the long list of things that make the mid-60s such an
idyllic fantasyland to young pups such as I is the prominence of the musicians
willing to lug a Hammond organ around seven days a week to play tiny pubs and clubs.
There’s nothing like it, that sound, played through a Leslie speaker, swirlin’
and a-whirlin’. Bands these days either aren’t interested or can’t be doing
with completing out a risk assessment to carry a ten-ton weight up some stairs
and down again when smashed out of their skulls on pints of brandy. Only the
other week I witnessed Jim Jones and the Righteous Mind disguise their use of a
common-or-garden keyboard by quickly constructing a faux wood contraption to
give the impression they were rocking an ancient organ. No backbone these
bands. Or maybe it’s the old timers like Zoot Money who no longer have one; years of poor manual handling practices taking their toll.
Some of the hard labours Zoot Money and his Big Roll Band
put in are collated in Big Time Operator,
a new 4-CD boxset, boasting their entire (original period) recorded output plus
gigs and live performances for the BBC.
It’s clear Money comes alive whenever in front of an
audience as the ebullient 1966 performance on Live at Klook’s Kleek which opens disc one demonstrates. You can
almost feel the sweat of the band, the condensation running down the walls, as
the audience soul-clap along to Ray Charles, Otis Redding and Curtis Mayfield
numbers and go crazy for a throaty James Brown medley. This is an archetypal
Hammond and horns stew, London (via Bournemouth) style, yet despite their full-blooded
rambunctiousness the occasional use of flute, included on the fabulous instrumental
‘Florence of Arabia’, adds a shade of subtlety. The night closes with
‘Barefootin’’, a song Zoot would frequently take literally and remove not only
his shoes but those of as many members of the audience he could, a procedure
that invariably turned to chaos as Denson’s and Mary Janes flew through the
air.
This colourful showmanship defined Zoot’s shows. You were
gonna shout and shimmy, have fun, and Zoot would make you laugh even if it
detracted from the band’s musicianship. Georgie Fame exuded an air of stand-offish
cool sophistication; Graham Bond and his Organisation were dangerously unhinged
madmen loaded with violent virtuosity; Brian Auger was happy to share the
spotlight; George Bruno Money, meanwhile, jumped on tables, leaped on cars at
festivals, gurned, dropped his trousers and knocked over glasses of whisky and Coke.
Another show from the same year, Live at The Flamingo, the venue where the band took over Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames' residency, features on disc two. The
nineteen songs, all different from the Klook’s set, recorded by saxophonist
Nick Newall on a Grundig tape recorder with two little plastic microphones
barely a foot apart on the stage, are a riot of raucous rhythm and soul.
Despite the low-tech recording technique the sound quality is very good and
captures the atmosphere superbly as they tear through ‘Oh Mom (Teach Me How To
Uncle Willie)’, a rip-roaring ‘Hallelujah I Love Her So’, ‘Hide Nor Hair’, ‘Ain’t
That Peculiar’ and more. Although the band’s main preoccupation was unearthing
American recordings to bring to British audiences they did, with the help of
Tony Colton, have a few fine original numbers. ‘Big Time Operator’ the most
obvious, gave the band their only chart single; the record buying public
weren’t entirely stupid, it was by far the most hit-sounding. The mod-club
friendly ‘Train Train’ could’ve been another but sadly was never completed in
the studio.
Disc three’s Live
At The BBC is wonderful. Eighteen songs (including many not appearing
elsewhere in the box – ‘Picture Me Gone’, ‘I Can’t Turn You Loose’, ‘The
Morning After’, ‘Cool Jerk’, ‘Ain’t That Love’, ‘You Can’t Sit Down’ etc) with plenty
of chat with presenter Brian Matthew. By January 1967, Zoot’s discussing his
interest in the emerging psychedelic scene, only to then perform ‘The Star of
the Show’, which belongs in the same chicken in a basket cabaret bag as ‘Ballad
of Bonnie and Clyde’ and ‘Simon Smith and his Amazing Dancing Bear’; even Brian
Mathew cheekily ribs Zoot about its chart failure and being ‘best forgotten’. Within
months Zoot got with-it, bought a kaftan, the Big Roll Band lost a few wheels, painted
their equipment white and rode into the burgeoning underground scene as Dantalion’s
Chariot on a wave of LSD.
Back to 1965 and It
Should’ve Been Me, the Big Roll Band’s solitary studio album, is placed on
the disc four; a typical collection of rhythm and blues tunes with a touch of
jazz (John Patton’s ‘Along Came John’ and Jimmy Smith’s ‘The Cat’). Compared to
the flat sounding lookalike reissue I’ve had for years it sounds miles better
and comes to life in way I’d not expected (vinyl is not always king kids).
‘I’ll Go Crazy’ and ‘Jump Back’ get things off to a storming start and apart
from a couple of bluesy numbers that drag it’s enjoyable if seldom catching the
personality of the band like the live recordings.
Across the discs are spread the rest of the band’s
singles, B-sides, EP tracks and rarities. Housed in a hardback book-style package with Zoot
providing a track-by-track commentary plus guitarist Andy Somers/Summers
sharing his Flamingo Club memories, the set is the same style as Repertoire’s Graham Bond Organisation: Wade In The Water
and makes a welcome companion.
Zoot Money’s Big Roll Band haven't been as well served
by the reissue market as their peers so Big
Time Operator puts that straight. Nearly five hours of music, over 80 songs
(very few repeated), the much-missed Brian Matthew brought back to life, and
Zoot and co having the time of their lives, this joyful stuff. With no danger
of losing your shoes, getting drinks spilled on your new strides or having a
bulky Hammond player land on your head, enjoy Big Time Operator from the safety of your own home now.
Big Time Operator
by Zoot Money’s Big Roll Band is out now on Repertoire.
