DARROW FLETCHER at the 100 CLUB, LONDON

Darrow Fletcher occupies a special place in the hearts of many rare soul fans, in particular to the mod corner that has congregated to the left of the 100 Club stage at 6T’s Allnighters for as long as I can remember. Fletcher’s pair of 1966 thumpers “The Pain Gets A Little Deeper” and “My Young Misery” are super-strength mod dancefloor magnets, with the more traditional northern soul of “What Good Am I Without You” and the classy sophistication of “What Have I Got Now” not far behind.

For Darrow to guest at Kent Records’ 30^th Anniversary party was therefore something to savour and an extra week of waiting after his passport was deemed “too scruffy” to travel from Chicago only added to the sense of anticipation. Soul acts can be hit or miss, especially when plonked in front of aficionados after years of inactivity. The night Ray Pollard did a similar performance here in the late 80s will stay with me forever – I’ve never experienced such love and adulation shown to an artist - but others have been less successful although that’s not really the point of these types of event.

Darrow was good, no two ways about it. His voice is understandably a bit rusty and he can’t hit all the notes but he can still hold a tune. I’ve always been amazed that he was only 14 when he recorded “The Pain Gets A Little Deeper” and when he stepped on to the stage it was hard to believe this still youthful man was now 61. Whilst many soul men are all glitz, bling and white suits, Darrow is resolutely “street” wearing nothing more ostentatious than a baggy shirt and pants (that’s American pants by the way). With his tiny stature and small glassy eyes he only needed a hoody and a bike and could’ve passed for a teenage drug runner.

Starting with “Changing By The Minute” he sang nine numbers, each to rapturous applause, including the four mentioned above plus nice 70s ones like “No Limit” and “Secret Weapon” (from his new Kent LP Crossover Records 1975-79: LA Soul Sessions) before returning for an extended “Pain”. It was over far too quickly, which speaks volumes not only for how enjoyable it was but how many great songs like “Infatuation” and “What Is This” were omitted. Kent are putting the finishing touches to a long-overdue collection of Darrow’s 60s material, due out next year; if Darrow can look after his passport they should bring him back.  

Worth a purchase is the excellent CD Kent 30: Best of Kent Northern 1982-2012 which celebrates the label with some old classics and future floor fillers. 

THE STAPLE SINGERS – LIVE IN GHANA (1971)

The awe-inspiring Mavis Staples leads her family through “When Will We Be Paid” and “Are You Sure”, live in Ghana on 6th March 1971. Taken from the film Soul To Soul.  

KONTIKI SUITE - "ON SUNSET LAKE" (2012)

“’I’m gonna hang out with the stars in Hollywood, and look at how far I’ve come… I’ll be part of the LA scene.” - Hollywood by Kontiki Suite.

The distance from Kontiki Suite’s Cumbria to their Californian dream is over five thousand miles yet throughout their debut album they effortlessly glide back and forth between autumn leaves of their home and a sun kissed Laurel Canyon. It’s a gentle romanticism that radiates from an album of extraordinary beauty.

For ease of comparison imagine the space between Younger Than Yesterday and The Notorious Byrd Brothers and fill it with an album the Byrds might’ve made with Moby Grape. Any band picking nervously at a twelve-string Rickenbacker has a Byrds reference thrust on them, usually undeserved as they lack anything like their depth and imagination but its valid here. There’s lovely intricate playing - from mild psychedelia to log cabin country - and such care (and presumably expense) taken over the arrangements, the recording and the production. Everything is crisp and crystal clear, and without wishing to come over all What Hi-Fi? sounds even more incredible through headphones when all the delicate little touches can be heard.

I've previously described "Music Man" as “achingly beautiful” – which it is - but it in no way casts a shadow over the other twelve songs, all of which bowled me over with their magnificence. There’s clarity of vision, a confidence and an assurance in their style that makes the songs flow effortless along with no unwelcome interruptions. There’s no wasted moment, no weak song. On Sunset Lake isn’t an album containing great tracks; it’s an album of only great tracks. Most albums are front loaded with the best tracks coming early; not so here, they are all through it, and if anything On Sunset Lake is sequenced more like a gig with songs competing to outshine the preceding one until the climatic (and only long track) “Magic Carpet Ride" and encore of "The Painter". You'll never find a better track 9, 10 and 11 run than "Watching Over Me", "Autumn Fields" and "Music Man". 

I’m struggling to remember when I last fell in love with a record as gorgeous as this. 

To listen and buy On Sunset Lake click here.

MO BETIDE YOU...

During November each year, Movember is responsible for the sprouting of moustaches on thousands of men’s faces in the UK and around the world. The aim of which is to raise vital funds and awareness for men’s health, specifically testicular cancer and prostate cancer.

I know what we fellas are like: ignore something and hope it’ll go away, but when caught early these things are treatable. I’ve been checked for both recently and I'm among the world's worst for putting things off. The first one ended up with a trip to the hospital to have my knackers gone over with one of those ultrasound thingies, not an unpleasant experience (bit weird I’ll grant you), and as for the prostate exam, well, some folk pay good money to ladies of dubious virtue for that sort of carry-on yet it was free from my GP.

If you wish to sponsor my whisker growth - can't promise a Dali in a month - please use the following link. Thank you.

Monkey's Movember Page

THIRTY YEARS OF THE TRUTH: FROM THE MARQUEE TO THE BORDERLINE (AKA MY MOD STORY, 1982-83 SEASON)

I wish the first gig I went to was The Jam on their farewell tour in December ’82. For years that’s what I told people but in fact it was The Truth at the Marquee the following year. It should’ve been The Jam but by the time Monkey Snr drove to Wembley Arena they’d sold out. If that wasn’t disappointing enough a group of lads from school went, most of who had previously shown no interest in the band, whereas I’d been a die-hard fan for, ooh, over a whole year. It was so unfair.

In those days all the cool kids “turned” something: be it mod, skinhead, psychobilly, soulie or slightly later, heaven forbid, casual - our football team was full of bloody casuals. It wasn’t uncommon for kids to switch sides on a whim but I eased my way into mod gradually. Following The Jam over that year (more about it here) got me interested, especially after a two-page feature in Smash Hits where Paul Weller discussed his favourite things: sunglasses, cufflinks, the Small Faces and so on. That was a big influence, as was my mate Lee, the goalkeeper in our Sunday football team, who was a young (thirteen/fourteen year old) mod. After training one Saturday Lee sold me a parka. It was gigantic, the pocket was hanging off and it whiffed of Rothmans. My mum wasn’t too impressed when I sheepishly stepped through the front door. “You’re not going out in that. We don’t pay good money for nice clothes for you to look like a tramp.” Mum had a fair point (not that I thought so at the time) but I wondered if she was concerned I was getting myself mixed up with yobbish mods.

This meant I hid the parka in a bin liner over the park that backed onto our house. On the way to school I’d rescue it from inside the tree it was hidden in and return it on my way home. I added some Jam badges to it including a good “Funeral Pyre” and a Who one in a target. This worked fine until the first time in living memory the London Borough of Hillingdon chopped down the trees, gaining themselves a tatty parka in the process. 

School uniform consisted of Fred Perry jumpers, sta-press, tassel-loafers or DM shoes, and the tie tied with the skinny side showing and the kipper tucked inside the shirt, so it wasn’t a huge leap to mod it up a bit, especially with the parka. Out of school the clincher - to seal allegiance to the cause - came with the purchase of my black and white Jam shoes. The badger ones, in leather rather than the more popular suede. That spring of ’83 I proudly wore them to my uncle’s wedding. “Why are you wearing your football boots?” he asked.

With The Jam out of the way, by accident or design (and the timing did seem fortuitous) Dennis Greaves abandoned the pub R&B of Nine Below Zero and moved into modish pop-soul territory with his new group The Truth. Their debut “Confusion (Hits Us Every Time)” entered the charts in early ’83 (bearing more than a passing resemblance to “Beat Surrender”) and was followed by “A Step In The Right Direction”. For us kids too young to really have had The Jam as our own, we had The Truth. It suited both parties for a while; we had a band and The Truth had an eager young audience.

The chance to see them, to go to my first gig, came on Saturday 24^th September 1983 on their Sounds Like The Truth tour. They played an under 16s matinee show sponsored by music paper Sounds who printed a 50p-off voucher which I cut out and took along. I went with Lee The Goalie who, in every respect, lived across the tracks from me. I rode round to his house in Ruislip Gardens on my Commando (at fourteen too young for a scooter and, quite frankly, too old for a Commando but it was a couple of miles from Ickenham). I was wearing a dark blue short-sleeved Brutus shirt, blue sta-press and, of course, my Jam shoes. With my wardrobe having not caught up with my new found ideology I still hadn’t a decent jacket so wore this rather plain reversible zip-up blouson. It was grey, or if turned inside out, blue. I had it the blue side.

My discomfort at this outfit wasn’t helped when I turned up at Lee’s only for a load of his mates I didn’t know to already be there and kitted out far smarter than I. I sat quietly on the settee until one of the lads turned to me and said “You can’t wear those.” Those what? “Those shoes. Jam shoes, they won’t let ya.” Eh? “Takes the piss, don’t it? Jam shoes, when they’re The Truff.” You’re joking. Aren’t you? Lee wasn’t a great help, “It’s true, they said in Smash Hits none of their fans wear parkas or Jam shoes”. So what am I supposed to do? “Just have to leave them in the cloakroom.” Oh great, going to watch my first gig stood in white towelling socks.

We eventually got the Central Line into town and after knocking about Carnaby Street went to the gig on Wardour Street. The band were hanging out in the foyer meeting us fans. I had my 50p-off voucher signed by singer/guitarist Dennis Greaves, bassist Brian Bethell and Hammond man Chris Skornia. The gig itself was hot and sweaty as we all leapt around like little mod loons. At some point during the day I’d acquired a navy boating blazer with thin mauve and sky blue stripes. As boating blazers went it was tasteful but meant I was wearing it with that bloody blouson thing tied around my waist. Not a good look but at least I wasn’t required to remove my shoes. I was impressed the band put everything in their performance even though they had an evening show directly after it. Like The Jam before them they didn’t act like pop stars and they didn’t treat us like kids. We all went home in very high spirits.

My next gig, and first grown up one, was also by The Truth (being an archetypical Virgo I created lists of everything including gigs, see above), this time at the 100 Club when they recorded their Five Live EP. The Jam shoes had been replaced by white bowling shoes and I had my mum sew a large patch “The Truth – A Step In The Right Direction” on the back of my green flight jacket. “This will be like having your name on your coat,” she said, “if you get in any trouble you’ll easily be identified.” That was another great gig, as were a few more but they were backpedalling hard to get away from being associated with mods and it created an increasingly acrimonious atmosphere between the two camps.

That was that until last Friday when celebrating their 30^th anniversary The Truth were back on stage at the Borderline, only a few street away from the old Marquee, with their original pre-“Confusion” line-up. On the rare occasions I’ve tried to listen to their records since the mid-80s I’ve winced at how of-the-time they sound but hearing them played live again they sounded so much better, much fuller. “Love A Go Go” was pure sing-along Marquee memories; I’ll always associate “Nothing’s Too Good For My Baby” with The Truth rather than Stevie Wonder; “I’m In Tune” was another rollicking Hammond workout; “Just Can’t Seem To Stop” had Greaves – still big on audience participation – engaging in some call and response with the crowd, not all who’d seen them back in the day. It was a nostalgia show but far more enjoyable than I’d expected with most songs sounded fresh and full of life. They were having fun but had obviously put in a lot of rehearsal hours. “Not bad for old cunts,” said Greaves. Not bad at all. Oh, I suppose you're gonna ask: APC black corduroy Nehru jacket, Peckham Rye scarf, bespoke dogtooth trousers and black Chelsea boots.   

OCTOBER PLAYLIST

Popular spins in Monkey Mansions this month include:

1. Grant Green – “Have You Ever Had The Blues?” (1963)

Guitarist Green may have had top billing but Big John Patton’s Hammond takes centre stage. Taken from the excellent Blues For Lou LP which incredibly had to wait 36 years before release.   

2. The Action – “Why Do You Wanna Make Me Blue” (1965)

Talk about unearthed treasure. This was the audition disc The Action cut for Decca on 31^st May 1965 and the earliest evidence of their brilliance. They attack The Temptations at quite a lick but once they settle down it has everything we’d come to know and love from our Kings of Kentish Town: Reggie King’s passionate vocal, the three-part harmonies and the chiming guitars. Only available as part of the deluxe edition of the In The Lap of The Mods book which is utterly essential. Full review to follow.

3. Clarence Carter – “Snatching It Back” (1969)

The sound of Muscle Shoals. The whole Testifyin’ album is a bristling soul cracker.  

4. Tony Joe White – “The Daddy” (1971)

Can’t help but think of Stanley Road era Paul Weller. But don’t let that put you off.

5. James Brown – “It’s A New Day” (1970)

“Hair is the first thing. And teeth the second. Hair and teeth. A man got those two things he’s got it all.” – James Brown.

6. The High Llamas – “Checking In, Checking Out” (1993)

With the vogue for bands marking anniversaries by performing “classic” albums, I’m hopeful The High Llamas will play Gideon Gaye next year, for it’s an album worthy of such an accolade.    

7. Andy Lewis featuring Keni Burke – “(Love Is) Alive In My Heart” (2005)

The best soul-pop song The Style Council never made.

8. Tame Impala – “Feels Like We Only Go Backwards” (2012)

Second album Lonerism works best as a whole rather than piecemeal but the revolving psychedelic glitterball of “Feels Like We Only Go Backwards” is a typical of its giddy feel.

9. The Urges – “Fire Burning” (2012)

Irish bowlheads add a touch of brass to this frantic and infectious Whiskey-A-Go-Go-esque club shaker.

10. Andre Williams – “Stuck In The Middle” (2012)

Since the mid-50s Williams has been around the musical block and in some dark alleys but he’s back in Detroit and in good shape on his new LP, Life. Opener “Stuck In The Middle” is the best track with Andre’s trademark laconic vocals set against a bar-band Funkadelic groove.      

JACK KEROUAC’S ON THE ROAD: IN THE CINEMA and IN THE BRITISH LIBRARY

Having read On The Road half a dozen times the odds were stacked against liking the new film adaptation, and the bookies are seldom wrong. Director Walter Salles had a difficult task capturing Jack Kerouac’s poetic prose, so didn’t bother, instead he went for a stylised fashion-shoot/drinks commercial/pop video look and threw in some extra tits and arse.   

I don’t know how Sam Riley gets these parts; someone must think he’s kinda cute. He was okay as Ian Curtis in Control but as menacing as a bag of greasy chips as Pinkie in Brighton Rock, and here as Sal Paradise (Kerouac's pseudonym) his whole shtick is to look vacant and watery eyed. Jack might’ve been shy but was keen-eyed, even when drunk or stoned, famously logging everything in his prodigious memory. Whenever he’s a bit off his head in the film Salle shakes the camera, just to make it clear. Genius. Riley, I’m told, didn’t bother to read the novel and neither it seems did he listen to how Jack spoke, choosing to adopt a flat, generic American accent. His opposite number Garrett Hedlund as Dean Moriaty (real life Neal Cassady) was better - faint praise - but where was the drive, the burn-burn-burn? Kirsten Dunst was well cast as Camille and Viggo Mortensen got the easy but entertaining role of Old Bull Lee.

It makes no real difference what the film’s like, there’ll always be the book, but the worse thing is it won’t encourage many to read Kerouac. There was one short scene when Sal receives Carlo Marx’s (Allen Ginsberg’s) poem Denver Doldrums. He reads the lines, they appear on the screen, and it came alive. People will now be discovering Ginsberg; will they pick up On The Road or Visions of Cody? The film adaptations of William Burroughs's Naked Lunch and Allen Ginsberg's Howl worked as they used the classic Beat Generation texts to create something new and interesting. Salles only creates a poor imitation. 

Jack’s novel has shifted in meaning for me over the years. When I first read it I honed in on the energy, the excitement, the free-wheeling search for kicks. It’s like the opening scene in Easy Rider when Peter Fonda throws his watch to the ground and kick-starts his bike. It’s not the destination; it’s the journey, the experience. On The Road reads much sadder and gloomier nowadays. Jack’s lonely quest for love and belonging in a world “where we’re all going to die anyway” rises closer to the surface.

The original manuscript of On The Road is currently on display in the British Library and is amazing to see. According to legend, Jack wrote it in one three-week spontaneous burst of inspiration and perspiration at his kitchen table to tell his new wife about his travels. To negate the need to interrupt his flow he taped together sheets of tracing paper, loaded up the typewriter and off he went, fuelled on coffee and Benzedrine. When he unravelled the 120 foot long scroll for his publisher he was told where to go and had to wait another six years and make many changes before it finally saw publication. The truth isn’t quite as dramatic as research now shows On The Road was worked on for years until he typed that version. Although punctuated it’s written as one solid block of text with no paragraphs which makes it difficult to read within the special glass case in the library; it was nigh impossible for my eye to follow the next line. Made it like reading a Burroughs cut-up.

Howard Cunnell, editor of On The Road – The Original Scroll (published in 2007) gave a very persuasive lecture at the British Library the other weekend when he argued the exaggerated myth Jack created around his spontaneous prose technique harmed him as it enabled critics to easily dismiss him and his style. Truman Capote’s put-down “That’s not writing, that’s typing” is almost as well-known as any of Jack’s lines. However, the main thrust of Cunnell’s hour-long talk was to champion Visions of Cody as “the real On The Road” and as Kerouac’s masterpiece. The link between the two – both centred on Neal Cassady and covering much of the same ground but in a different style - is complicated so I won’t recount it here but will read Cody again. When I read it 20 years ago I didn’t get it at all – thought it was a mess - and remains the only main Kerouac book I’ve read just once. Salles’s film didn’t inspire but the British Library has.

On The Road: Jack Kerouac’s manuscript scroll is on display at the British Library, 96 Euston Road, London, NW1 2DB until Thursday 27^th December 2012. Admission free.