GLEN CAMPBELL - "GUESS I'M DUMB" (1965)

If you’ve not heard this before, you’re in for a treat. Brian Wilson wrote it with Russ Titelman for the Beach Boys’ Today LP but then gave it to Campbell as thanks for helping out the band’s live shows in his absence. A master class in how to craft a perfect grown-up pop record.

BEN E. KING at the JAZZ CAFE, LONDON

He must be old. He’s 73, seeing how you asked, but could be older; not because of his appearance – he still cuts a dash in his light suit and dark shirt – but because “Stand By Me” seems to have been around forever and is everywhere. It’s in the night, the land, the moon, the sky, the mountains and the sea. When Ben E. King with Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller wrote it at a piano in New York during 1960 they could’ve had no idea it would remain so omnipresent for much of the following 52 years (and counting).

According to the American performing rights organization, the BMI, it was the fourth most performed song of the 20th century with about 7 million performances. For all the countless versions (Wikipedia says over 400) and its familiarity, hearing it sung in a club by its creator is a surprisingly moving experience. There's something about live music that allows the listener to connect in ways not previously encountered, even on a song as simple and as uncluttered as “Stand By Me”.

What makes it surprising is it comes in an otherwise unremarkable set. King delivers what’s expected rather than what’s hoped, but I don’t blame him too much for giving the majority what they want. After all, he’s playing one of London’s most touristy venues and they don’t give a hoot when he sings Sam Cooke or Wilson Pickett hits at the expense of his own as the smell of burgers and chips waft down from the restaurant. If he was playing a northern soul weekender I’d hope for “Cry No More” or “I Can’t Break The News To Myself” but it still wouldn’t go amiss to heard his wonderful Drifters 45 “I Count The Tears” rather than a plodding version of “How Sweet It Is”.

He only spent two years in The Drifters and the average Joe has no idea which hits he sang on and which ones he didn’t, a fact exploited by King as he covers “Up On The Roof” and “On Broadway”. A recent Monkey Picks investigation discovered that an incredible 72% of black male singers over the age of 30 have at one time performed in a line-up calling themselves The Drifters. Every petrol station, discount book shop and charity shop has a Best of The Drifters CD on sale, all different cheap re-recordings by blokes with wet-look mullets and given a nasty makeover; not dissimilar to the supper club treatment most of the songs get tonight. The band knock out cabaret arrangements and whilst his two backing singers might be a pleasant distraction in other circumstances, here they are too up front, too intrusive and too annoying. The material from what he calls his Disco Years fares better with 1975’s “Supernatural Thing” cutting a rare groove.

For all that, it’s difficult to be harsh on King himself as he is still good. He's retained his natural, unforced baritone and a career spanning seven decades has taught him how to charm an audience. He smiles a big smile, has a twinkle in his eye, exchanges banter with the crowd, and comes across as a lovely fella (especially when he shakes my hand), yet I can’t help think he’s selling himself short. A sympathetic backing and some different material (even jazz and blues standards) would, I expect, be more satisfying for himself - if not the burger munchers of the Jazz Café.

THE MUMPER by MARK BAXTER and PAOLO HEWITT

The Mumper was first published in 2007 and is a mainly autobiographical tale by Mark “Bax” Baxter, now taken up by a major publisher to tie-in with a new film.

It tells of Bax and his six mates, whose ages span fifty years, that meet every Sunday in a South London boozer. They rip the piss out of each other, bemoan Millwall’s latest result, talk nonsense, and enjoy each other’s company. Whatever else goes on in their lives, it's put to one side when the notes are chucked in the whip when Sunday comes. Bax (in real life) comes from solid mod stock, who I’ve sometimes said hello as he busies himself in the back room of my tailor George Dyer (Threadneedleman, 187A Walworth Road, SE17 for all your bespoke needs). Although there are the occasional references to mod (and George) they aren’t at the heart of the story.

The story isn’t far off an episode of Only Fools and Horses, or anything else from John Sullivan, with its comic yet loving portrayal of everyday folk, especially when a stranger enters the pub trying to offload a racehorse, which the group buy, name The Mumper, and dress in Millwall colours. “This time next year Rodney…” The story might (or might not) be a predictable one but the fate of The Mumper is secondary to the friendship and bonds that tie these seemingly disparate bunch of blokes.

Away from the pub Bax prints the daily newspapers on Fleet Street, an occupation shared by my own Granpop (who was no doubt one of the “Dad’s Army” referred to). I found those sections – set against the ugly mid-80s trade union dispute with Rupert Murdoch and the eventual sacking of 6000 workers – particularly interesting and dealt with commendably even-handedly.

The Mumper has now been made in to a film, Outside Bet, starring Bob Hoskins, and is released in cinemas on 27 April. The book is a light easy read (although the parts about the father did choke me) and I imagine the film will be a pleasant, quintessentially British affair worth a look (not least because Rita Tushingham and Dudley Sutton make appearances and Paul Weller wrote the title song). The makers are bound to take a few liberties with the story though. For a start, there’s no love interest in The Mumper; there are next to no women at all apart from Bax’s mum, unless you count barmaids. The book is very much a tale of male friendship and the way blokes deal with both happiness and sadness, and when they’ve the balls, how they follow their instincts. I liked it a lot. Go on The Mumper my son!

The Mumper by Mark Baxter and Paolo Hewitt is published by Orion, priced £7.99. Outside Bet is released by Universal Pictures UK on 27 April 2012.

THE JIM JONES REVUE at LE BEAT BESPOKE, LONDON

As unbelievable as it seems, back in 1980s Ben Elton was a fresh and seemingly savvy stand-up comedian. His Motormouth LP included a routine railing against audience participation, saying it was the performer’s job to perform and if someone asks you to pull a rabbit from their arse you should tell them to fuck off. “Do I ask you to come and polish my lathe?”

This isn’t an attitude shared by the Jim Jones Revue who request a few hundred people to work the elbow grease on their rock and roll machine. They aren’t even through their first song and Jones is breaking it down, imploring folk to “Let me hear you say YEEEAAAHHH!” He cups his ear. “I can’t hear ya!” he lies, but like his infamous namesake he’s a confident and persuasive leader. They shout “YEEEEEEEAAAAAHHHHH!” just that little bit harder.

Bands are never loud enough in the soulless 229 Club and tonight is no exception but, as always, the JJR put their shoulder to the wheel and furiously work the stage and the crowd: every song a high octane blast of raw power. The Little Richard/MC5 comparison has been done to death but they’re in no danger of shrugging it soon, even if they wanted to. The new songs being worked on for their third album follow the same blueprint as repetitive hammer blows “The Princess and the Frog” and “High Horse”. They might be a one trick pony but it’s a winning trick.

Jones introduces their final song and crowning glory, the magnificently raucous “Elemental”. He teaches the words. “It goes, Elemental… Elemental… Elemental”. His paid co-workers do their job, he gets a raft of free labour, and leaves the club with the most gleaming lathe in the factory. Job done.

SISTER ROSETTA THARPE - "JESUS TAUGHT ME HOW TO SMILE" (1943)

It’s Easter. Here, beneath the static and crackle of an old 78, is Sister Rosetta Tharpe.

SLOW NEWS DAY: DIANA RIGG AND A CAT

Yesterday, a post by Include Me Out prompted suggestions of ways to keep blogs ticking over when the blogger hasn't anything to say. I always stick up a picture of Diana Rigg and noted anything to do with cats will always increase site traffic. Here's Diana and a cat...

THE RIFLES at THE TROXY

As geezerish cockney Saturdays go, yesterday took some beating. The players of Queen’s Park Rangers finally delivered what they’re paid to do and put in a committed performance resulting in a 2-1 win over in-form Arsenal; and East London band The Rifles provided a knees-up dahn Mile End where the conversation in the pub beforehand and in the Troxy was predominately football related. It was good to chat to blokes who’d been to West Ham (grumbling), Fulham (indifferent) and Rangers (delighted). I often wonder how well The Rifles do outside of the capital as they seem a very London band, albeit from the disappearing "working class" London where everyone is “mate” or “son”, rather than the trendy London of wannabe media types wearing moustaches and red jeans rolled up to their shins.

The band put in a typically workmanlike performance, there's nothing poncified about them. In Alfie, Michael Caine says he wants "proper grub, like Spam" - The Rifles are Spam. The crowd jumped about and heartily sang along to stuff about wanting a little peace and quiet from their bird. Drinks and plastic cups were lobbed in the air (there is even a Rifles branded beer). A stray shoe landed on the stage. My mate got punched in the head and had his glasses broken. It was a good night topping a good day. All that was missing was a bloke flogging cockles.