You Don't Know What It's Like

I have mentioned somewhere before in the vaults of A Story To Tell that, for me, it takes some getting over the power and expression of Aretha Franklin's voice. She is probably my favourite female singer, and I could never tire of hearing her belt out soul classics old and new, but then I'm sure that many people would say the same. However, even Aretha cannot hold a torch in some respects to another female vocal giant from the soul, jazz and r'n'b canon, and someone whose depth and variety of work, and musicianship sometimes just astounds me. I am talking, of course, about Nina Simone and as with many subjects discussed through this blog, it is easy to forget just how incredible her output was. I was prompted to dig out some of her work after hearing what is one of my favourite recordings of all time on a recent film I watched. The film is irrelevant, but the tune is far from it, her outstanding 1969 cover of the Bee Gee's "To Love Somebody" taken from the RCA LP recording of the same name.

Clocking in at a swift 2:42, this record is, in my humble opinion as close to perfect as it gets, and the album that spawned it is no less remarkable. As with a lot of music it is impossible to say why I love it so much. Is it the rumbling gospel tinged drum and piano intro? Is it the uplifting yet plaintive confusion of the love declarations within? Is it that the original tome of the song is melancholy and brooding, while Simone makes it appear so life affirming? The utter magic when the chorus kicks in for the first time at 51 seconds after two verses of teasing brilliance? Probably all of these things, and what is clear is that the Gibb brothers certainly knew how to pen a good song, and my God did Nina Simone know how to arrange and sing one. There are a number of interesting things about this song and album that deserve remark. It was Simone's second big UK hit, following swiftly on from 1968's "Ain't Got No-I Got Life" off the equally stunning "Nuff Said" album, itself a surprise hit and recorded almost completely live at the Westbury Music Fair three days after the assassination of Martin Luther King in April 1968.

So a pretty charged affair all in all and worth digging out if you are unfamiliar. But what is most significant about "To Love Somebody" as an album is its marking of the beginning of a great period of fusion for jazz music. It features all covers, including a selection of songs by The Beatles, Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan, and as she sang herself, clearly shows that the times they were a-changing. The feeling across the album is of spiritual and social revolution and rejuvenation, and equally of musical change. Simone, a classical and traditional jazz virtuoso, is taking steps into the rock and pop world, underpinned with a blues and soul sensibility, and the affects are quite stunning, and in their own way incredibly important in paving the way for jazz's increased popularity and diversity in the 1970s.

If you have not really listened to Simone's late-1960s/early-1970s work outside of the jazz then this is a perfect opportunity. The afore-mentioned "Nuff Said" is brilliant, as is 1970's live recording "Black Gold" and my other absolute favourite cover album "Here Comes The Sun" from 1971. Nina Simone has a life that truly fascinates for so many reasons, and is a subject that we can return to again and again. But for now, sit back and revel in the splendour of a musical great. Seriously, you really don't know what it is like until you have tried it.

White Riot, I Wanna Riot!

I love a good documentary generally, but especially when the subject: a) is one I am particularly interested in, such as music, sport, history, and any number of other interests; b)is challenging and surprising in the presentation of a topic I had not previously considered, and: c) involves scantily clad or naked women in shows of Pompeii style debauchery. That final category aside, imagine my delight when I sat down to watch Julien Temple's much-lauded documentary on The Clash's enigmatic front man Joe Strummer * The Future Is Unwritten * and found that it ticked the first two boxes in spades. Of course I knew it was a music documentary of course, and knew that it was likely to be a particularly good one as all reviews I had read had been more than favourable, but what I didn't expect was just how good it would be, or perhaps more importantly that is would completely revise my view of the band itself, but also of their singer.

The documentary itself is a kind-of follow-up to Temple's previous punk review focussing on the other giant presence of the movement, 2000's Sex Pistols feature The Filth And The Fury. But where the former documentary charted the relatively brief rise and fall of the punk movement through the archetypes of the Sex Pistols themselves, The Future Is Unwritten is a much more intimate portrait of one man and while the music is important within this * I mean he fronted The Clash for goodness sakes!! * it is with an impression of this brilliant and contradictory individual that really leaves an impression. I have personally always been a little bit take it or leave it with The Clash, wondering about the true importance and quality of their overall output, while recognising at the same time their clear status as musical luminaries and the one band to really take their punk roots, cast them aside and turn themselves into a global phenomenon. I have also always been intrigued by their honest championing of social causes and different musical styles, particularly reggae and fledgling hip-hop, but also the contradictions inherent in Joe Strummer's public school background, hippie leanings in early and later life, sandwiching a rampant and vitriolic punk rocker.

But as I say, have never delved beyond the obvious musical output, and the accepted history of the band gleaned from the standard music press. But now I will definitely look further, because what is revealed in this portrait is all of those things, but so much more. The story of Strummer's early life is poignant and beset by sadness and tensions, the move from hippie squatter and rockabilly to ardent punk shocking in its ruthlessness, the growing tensions in the band, the global mushrooming, the taking of New York and the US are all ingredients of a classic tale of one band, and all topped off with the eventual retreat into himself and subsequent spiritual and musical rebirth which is nothing short of enlightening and wonderful.

Strummer was not an all around good guy by any means, but what this documentary shows is warts and all, and from that emerges a picture of a man with a turbulent past who, despite tensions and pressures internal and out, lived his life singularly and touching deeply virtually all he met, and with a staggering kindness and faith in humanity. Temple clearly loves the subject of punk and Strummer himself, and the incorporation of Joe's drawings and notes and interviews around the campfires with friends and players in his life story is cinematic gold. If you are a Clash fan, like so many out there, I'm sure you will have seen it already. If not then don't let it pass you by, it is simply too good for that.

Dub be good to me

If you'll excuse the pun, the work of UK producer Burial has always been pretty much an underground thing. But if you are willing to do a little bit of digging, what you will be rewarded with on new album "Untrue" is one of the greatest slices of electronic beat-making you will hear this or any other year. Spawned from the UK dubstep/2-step/garage/drum n bass scene, a scene that is confusing in its definitions and inconsistency but occasionally brilliant in output, Burial's true identity is unknown to all but a handful of his closest friends and family. The mystery behind his moniker is added a slightly sinister air by the moodiness of the music itself, but in fact appears to just be an effort for the artist to remain in the background and let the music do all of the talking.

And talk it does, with an electronic eloquence that only twisted urban dance music can muster, the sounds of a million nights out filtered through one man's recollections. Burial's 2006 self-titled debut album, put together over 6 years, was a dark and melancholic wander through London's nightlife, capturing the desolation and often narcotic wondering of the 5am washout, basslines still fuzzing in your ears, and beats skittering off into the near distance. Restless and insistent it was an album that not only defined the dubstep genre, but went beyond it and blew it wide open. And instead of suffering from second album paralysis, Burial has simply sat down and created a masterpiece to follow-up with. Building on the successes of the first release, but more vocal-laden, the album is almost euphoric, but in a completely downplayed fashion, and skirting around being downright desperate.

Addictive and filled with familiar yet elusive noises and the crackle of vinyl, the soundscapes are classical in their ambition, and pulled off with a real verve, creating an almost dreamlike environment. Borrowing from the sensitive vocal stylings of R n B, this album has soul in abundance and as such is also surprisingly emotive and startlingly joyous, despite dripping in a peculiar kind of melancholy. But what really sets this album apart from others in the disjointed genre, and from other albums more generally, catapulting it to instant classic status in my view, is the innovation of the syncopation and beat-making. It truly is like nothing you have ever heard before, and yet sparkles with the memory of your favourite tunes from the dirty dance floors you have visited and revisited over the years. If rave music is long dead, which of course it is, Burial is holding a very strange séance and dancing a jiog on its grave very much of his own making.

Don't sleep on this album and believe the hype. All of it.

Maybe showers remind me, of psycho too much!

This may sound like a fanciful tale, and unnecessary detail at the beginning of the post, but it is all true and does have a point. Back in the early 1980s, resulting from a quirk in my parents' employment, I lived in the Far East, on the island of Borneo. A wonderful place to spend your childhood I can assure you. Anyway, this period also corresponded with the development of my own keen enthusiasm for music, but also with the rise of Michael Jackson from teen pop sensation to global superstar with the monster that was Thriller, and all it unleashed for him and the world. Being a slight commercial backwater we used to get a lot of our music tapes from the Chinese markets, and what I now know, but didn't at the time, is that many of these tapes were black market pirate copies. Hence my earliest versions of albums sometimes featured bizarrely translated song titles (Hum And Nature anyone) and some confusing track listings. One of these quirks came with the procurement of an album, ostensibly by Jackson himself, but which actually turned out to be the full album "Somebody's Watching Me" by Rockwell.

Now then, of course we all know the tune itself, and it is a gem of sorts, but it has always intrigued me as to who the hell Rockwell actually was, and why after such a global smash, he virtually disappeared. And also, how did this one-hit guy get the biggest star on the planet to sing on his record, thus guaranteeing him a smash-hit. Well now I know and the truth is more interesting than I had hoped. Rockwell, real name Kennedy William Gordy, son of Motown supreme Berry Gordy, step-child of Diana Ross, half-sister to Ross' daughter and now actress Rhonda Ross Kendrick, brother-in-law to Jermaine Jackson, and clearly a friend of Michael himself, friendly enough to persuade him and Jermaine to do backing vocals. But not any more it would seem, as Rockwell was last heard of testifying against Jackson at his 2005 child molestation trials. And it gets even weirder, with Rockwell alleging that the entire song was about Jackson and his behaviour around children, and as seen through the eyes of a child, with the video itself also a metaphor for Jackson's behaviour.

Now I don't know if you have seen the video recently but it is absolutely hilarious, and features amongst other things a half-zombie mailman, a pig-dog, Rockwell showering with his boxer shorts on and a variety of ghoulish characters. Kind of like a really bad attempt at achieving the chills of the Thriller video. Now I am not commenting in any way about the trial or allegations, or making light of them, but when I read the quotes from the court case I had to chuckle. Here is the best; ""All those shots you see of me hiding in the closet, or standing in the shower with my boxers on, or running through the house trying to get away from that pig-dog, that's all Michael," said Rockwell. "Seriously. You wouldn't believe the stories I used to hear about him in the studio. My little nephew said every time he turned around Michael was sneaking up on him, dropping a bar of soap and asking him to pick it up, that sort of shit.Thank God by the time I recorded the song with him I already had my pubes, that's all I'm saying". Check it out on youtube and I suppose you can make up your own mind. Or you can just ignore all that and enjoy the creative peak of Kennedy William Gordy. Just don't bother with the full album. No*really!

Extinction Level Event?

Now I admit that this posting isn't brilliantly current, but as i am the author, you'll just have to live with it. And besides the discussion at hand is one that will just run and run. I have been thinking recently about the fuss made over the recent release of Radiohead's new album "In Rainbows", made available online by the band for as much as people want to pay for it. A brilliant marketing move? Disastrous business case? A sign of the times? A natural progression?
Time will tell but media has abounded with the news that it has finally happened, the music industry is dead. To paraphrase Monty Python's famous Dead Parrot sketch, it has passed on! This industry is no more! It has ceased to be! It has expired and gone to meet its maker! It's a stiff! Bereft of life, it rests in peace! In every sense it is an ex-industry!!!

2007 saw, in addition to Radiohead's move in October, Prince releasing his new album and announcing a UK residency through a national newspaper, Madonna ditching giants Warner to shack up with LiveNation the concert promotion firm, numerous heritage acts releasing material through coffee shops, and large and smaller acts releasing music to fans direct from their own webspaces. Not to mention, of course, the onward march of file-sharing and free downloads, both increasing in popularity and becoming second nature behaviour to larger and more diverse populations and demographics. But is the industry dead or just changing beyond recognition, which is not the same thing.


What has actually happened, it seems to me, is that the business model has changed and the big dominating corporates, slow to embrace the digital world and its possibilities, are now being forced to face up to the possibility that their dominance may be irreversibly on the wain. Corporate fat cats with smaller and smaller profit margins - my heart bleeds. But the existing model has long been creaking, with large acts less and less able to keep the others afloat with their big releases.And this is why the Radiohead move is significant and that EMI's new owners, Terra Firma, are so up in arms about their previous big hitters' audacious bid for digital freedom. How dare the band take the music that they create and give it to the people who appreciate it and have supported them throughout for whatever they want to pay? Well they do dare, and rightly so. Copyright has changed, ownership has changed, business had changed, consumerism has changed. It is just that the "industry" forgot to change, o thought it was too big to need to.


Where it will end I don't know, but I for one am excited by the changes that are happening on a daily basis. Sure MySpace may be full of hopefuls and there may be a lot of dirge out there, but for the music fan choice is all, and competition, as with all walks of life, is a good thing. And what is often missed in all the coverage of the death of the industry is that Radiohead's new album is great, a massive return to form for these rock monsters who tread their own path of innovation and creativity. A record that teams up the stadia-riffing brilliance of "The Bends", otherworldly and conceptual greatness of "OK Computer" and the technical experimentaion and symphonic glimpses of electronic brilliance of recent works. I don't care what it costs me, frankly, I'm just glad to have it to listen to. As the band themselves might say, Hail to the Thief!

Dopest Ethiopian

Ethiopia is a truly fascinating and complex nation. Western conceptions of what the country is all about may range from the images of famine-starved children of the mid-1980s, the classic Live Aid pictures seared into our collective consciousnesses but long forgotten by many. Or perhaps it is the kingdom of Emperor Haile Selassie I that it conjures images of, with the links to Rastafarianism through Jamaican culture and ultimately reggae music. Maybe it is just a mysterious African country, unknown like so many nations in the cradle of life, and of little interest to the majority of people. The point is that any such conceptions fail to do the place any justice whatsoever. There is a snobbery, perhaps even an unconscious racism or superiority complex, that I think pervades many people's view of African music.

Similarly, the genre World Music can have many music fans scratching their heads in ill recognition, with many scrambling for cover and downright hostile to it. Images of tie-dye trousers and joss sticks abound. But this is a shame as it is perhaps the most original and growing sub-section of music, with a world of delights to be unearthed. Whether as the true source of the Blues in West Africa through any number of artists from Ali Farke Toure to Tinariwen, the funk work of Fela Kuti and his followers, the mysticism and beauty of Moroccan Sufi music or vocal magic of Q'waali singers such as the late great Nusraat Fateh Ali Khan, and so much more besides. It's not just Paul Simon and Graceland you know.

All of this is a roundabout way of drawing attention to one of the best releases of 2007, the compilation "The Very Best Of Ethiopiques". Here is not the place to give a potted history of the Ethiopian music scene, and particularly that of the capital Addis Ababa, in the late 1960s and early 1970s. A google search for this title can give you that. But if you want to listen to one of the most infectious, joyful and downright brilliant slices of jazzy, funky soul music then this is the place for you. To pick out a highlight is impossible, to describe the affect that hearing it will have on you is similarly pointless. Just get it and have your horizons broadened in the best way possible. You may be initially unsettled, but also comforted by the strangely familiar melodies and rhythms. What is certain is that you will be transfixed, and an exciting new adventure of discovery will await you. Isn't that what good music is all about after all? And the world is a damn big place!!

Most valuable poet on the M.I.C

The debate over who is the greatest rapper of all time is one which will perhaps never properly be solved. Jay-Z's claims to be the best rapper alive is typical of his braggadocious approach to his life and work, but is as good a claim as any, although many from Eminem to Nas to Rakim may beg to differ. Possibly even less easy to settle is the position in top pound-for-pound lists of those lyricists who have been taken from us all too early and so have no further oppotunity to earn their plaudits. Top of the pops, no doubt, is of course Frank White himself, Biggie Smalls, claimed by many to be the best of all time, period.

My own feeling is that this is probably true, although I also have a sneaking theory that he may have had limits that we never saw exposed because of his untimely demise. Controversial maybe, but an idea I will expound on at some future point. One name which only ever pops up amongst hip-hop heads however, as his fame never went far beyond that genre, is the mighty Big L, and here is as good a place as any to sing his praises. Lamont "Big L" Coleman was shot and killed in Harlem, New York City in February 1999, aged only 24. The reasons for his murder, like so many US street tragedies, has never been solved. But what he left behind by way of his recorded output is testament to the fact that he deserves to be mentioned amongst the most exulted company.

His brilliant debut, 1995's "Lifestyles ov da Poor and Dangerous" is simply brilliant, virtually inventing so-called horrorcore rapping, telling brilliantly dark and humourous stories of life on the streets, often finished with inspired and hilarious punchlines. And if "Born Again" is a sad indictment of the desperation to squeeze dollars out of Biggie's studio offcuts, Big L's posthumous release, 200o's "The Big Picture" fares much better. Still raw, but a blinding reminder of his talents. Big L was a stellar member of the Diggin In The Crates crew, and if you are unfamiliar with his work I urge you to dig it out. Interestingly enough, youtube also reveals some gems, and a fitting reminder of his position amongst rap greats can be seen in a radio battle with his friend but competitor in the rap game, a young Jiggaman himself. Put simply, Big L slays the man famed far and wide for his freestyle skills. Have a listen and then remind yourself that rap has lost a great deal more than just Biggie and Tupac over the years. Rest in peace Big L.

Mama, just killed a man...

They say that familiarity breeds contempt and the maxim is most definitely true when applied to pop music. Such is the ubiquity of classic songs from the hit parade over the years, and such is the way that certain songs have cemented their place in the collective consciousness by constant rotation on radio, MTV, movies and now over the internet, that it is easy to forget that the reason why these songs achieve that end in the first place - namely that they are often simply slices of pop perfection.

Often, as for example with Motown classics, it is because they follow a winning formula, while sometimes it is the capturing of a cultural mood or historical moment that earns their immortality. Sometimes they are just damn catchy. Occasionally however it is because they completely rip up the rule book and recreate the musical landscape for ever more. On hearing Queen's 1975 single Bohemian Rhapsody, people of a certain generation will almost certianly think of the headbanging scene from Wayne's World. Others may think of Freddie Mercury's 1985 performance at Live Aid, or of the groundbreaking video that accompanied the song. Most people, however, will shrug and sing-along unthinkingly, the lyrics seared into their memory by forces unnoticed. Many may just ignore it. A lot will detest it. As I say familiarity often breeds contempt. But if one is to take a second to analyse the song, it soon becomes clear that it is simply one of the greatest pop records ever made.

Now I am not a Queen fan by any stretch, although I admire them as musicians and what they achieved as a band, but whether a fan or not there is surely no sane view from anyone who appreciates music other than that Bohemian Rhapsody is a quite startling and brilliant piece of work. There is no place here to dissect in detail this 6-part masterpiece, but when you do look beyond the obvious the pure genius comes through. One of the most moving ballad melodies of all time, a quite extraordinary guitar solo, lyrical overdubs the like of which were unseen before, and all tied up in a lyrical fantasy of poetic wonderment.

Couple that with the ground-breaking visual accompaniment and the fact that at 5 minutes 55 seconds it simply blew the notions of what a pop single could be out of the water, and you have a remarkable record. The album that spawned it, 1975's A Night At The Opera, is a bonafide classic, and influential beyond some measure. It marked the emergence of Queen as a true supergroup, complete with melodramatic pretensions and a stunning live show. Don't let familiarity, or a fear of head banging dissuade you. Listen closely and the rewards are palpable.

Girl, i been watching you...

The title of the blog forms the opening line of one of the greatest pop ballads, r'n'b slow smooch numbers of all time, Gregory Abbott's 1986 smash "Shake You Down". I hadn't heard this tune in years and years, until the magic of youtube and a similarly musically disposed friend combined to provide a reminder of the hugeness of this tune, and all in ready to view video format. Youtube has become such a relatively instant smash it seems odd now to even think of life without it, and for the crate-digging music fan, or even the ironic cheesy pop searcher, it is a godsend. But what of the tune itself? Well it is simply a great example of its type, cheesy as a Frenchman's larder but with that soulful core that stops it from verging into complete ridicule. I first heard it on a compilation I had as a younster. Back in 1988 the summer album charts in the UK were topped by a soul compilation called Nite Flite, and it is still one of the most brilliant compilations I have ever owned.

Sadly now long lost to the annals of history, this album was my introduction to so many amazing artists. I already knew and loved Luther, but this album brought me into contact for the first time with Minnie Ripperton, Randy Crawford (how incredible is Sweet Love by the way, or Almaz for that matter!?!), Atlantic Starr, SOS Band, George Benson and Champagne. In many ways it was the beginnings of a love affair with the cheesier side of r'n'b that I am never too ashamed to admit that I love. But bizarrely, given that it was my favourite amongst the assembled tunes, I never looked more into Gregory Abbott. And so here I am full circle, utilising the Internet to track down more information on this oft-overlooked soul man. I'm not sure at this point whether he ever topped "Shake You Down", even in the multi-platinum and well-lauded album of the same name, but I'm going to enjoy finding out!

The Bells for the Fallen

So another new year and another chance to take stock of things while looking ahead to what a new cycle of 365 might bring. Almost certainly there will be some musical monsters for us to get our teeth into. I for one am itching to get into Lupe Fiasco's The Cool, and perhaps even more excited by the prospect of his Kanye West and Pharrell collabo project, Child Rebel Soldier. 9th Wonder drops again, as does Rhymefest, and who knows what will be the summer's bangers, or if Hova will drop another winter wonderland later in the year. Plenty to look ahead to for sure and A Story To Tell will be doing its best to muse on what's current and the best of times past in this musical journey we all seem to have tickets for.

However, as the annual page turns it is always worth looking back at the period just gone and spending a small moment remembering those musicians whose own journey has recently concluded and who didn't make it to see a new year dawn. A recent post spoke of the sad passing of true legend Ike Turner, but other pioneers and stalwarts have also sadly left us. Amongst them were the simply brilliant jazz pianist Oscar Peterson, underground rap superstar Pimp C of UGK, South African reggae legend Lucky Dube, Jazz vocalist Jon Lucien, Motown Funk Brother Joe Hunter, and the brilliant jazz artiste and wife of John, Alice Coltrane. All worthy of their own detailed exploration, and just a few of the goods and the greats who shuffled off the mortal coil in 2007.

Special mention should also go to the self-styled king of Manchester, England, Tony Wilson, founder of the massively important Factory Records and creator of one of the most significant nightclubs in English music history, with Manchester's Hacienda. All sadly missed, but if there is a plus side to the loss of musical favourites it is the knowledge that their output lives on int he recordings they have made, and so raise a glass and enjoy, while getting your 08 dreams on!