Ain't No Love

We all know that Okayplayer is one of the best stables in the business, a truly ground-breaking online community for beat heads and artists alike, with a roster that serves as a veritable who's who of some of the best talent out there, now or anytime in the past 10 years. The brainchild of The Roots, the shining stars at the centre of this luminary musical universe, Okayplayer is still the first port of call for anyone looking for quality music and like-minded recommendations in the digital world.

The community features many artists who have helped define the very best in hip-hop and soul over the past decade but, while many members of this clique, from The Roots themselves, to Jill Scott, Erykah Badu, Common and numerous others have risen to stellar heights of popular and critical acclaim, one artist who I have always felt has missed out on some dues is the fiery but sensationally vocally gifted Jaguar Wright. I have always considered her 2002 debut "Denials, Delusions and Decisions" to be something of a slept on album. Perhaps not an absolute classic, but an extremely strong showcase of her own brand of powerful soul tinged with a hard-edged raw passion and "don't-dare-fuck-with-me" attitude.

And the LP features some absolutely brilliant stand-outs, from the impassioned cover of Patti Labelle's "Love Need and Want You", to signature tunes "The What-Ifs", "Same Shit Different Day" and the quite phenomenal "Self-Love". Follow-up offering, 2005's "Divorcing Neo 2 Marry Soul" was another strong collection, and highlighted the flimsiness of "neo-soul" as a genre-defining term, instead directly revealing it as the marketing tag and brand name category it actually is. A convenient tool for label execs and marketers to define so-called "urban" music by, but never a label that really meant anything to artists or indeed discerning record-buyers. And Jaguar is right, because the music she creates, whether linked to hip-hop through guest artists or production, or defined by any number of sub-genres, is undoubtedly and unashamedly soul music, and what's more she was born to sing it.

But perhaps it is her honesty about this which has meant that her obvious talent has been slightly unrewarded in terms of recognition and sales. Ever since I heard her now infamous backing to the Jigga man on 2001's "Unplugged" album, simply killing the chorus on "Ain't No Love", and making "Song Cry" her own, I have always wanted to catch her live, and have had a few near misses over the years. However I finally got my chance with a recent set at London's consistently brilliant Jazz Café, where she topped a Philly showcase with noble support from the talented MC/producer Hezekiah and the criminally under-appreciated original female titan Bahamadia (don't worry I'll get to her at some future point). And the wait was more than worth it.

Despite the fact that London, normally a discerning and appreciative supporter of the Philly scene generally, did not turn out in huge numbers to show some love, those who did make the effort were richly recompensed. It was truly one of the best performances I have witnessed. Not an explosive gig, and perhaps not one which gives you that rinsed-out, blissful, energised feeling that sometimes follows a killer live show, but that was never going to be the case in such an intimate space. Rather, Wright took the crowd to school with a display of soulful vocal control and raw power that was a pleasure to behold. Coming off like Jill Scott's angrier, ballsier sister, this Philly diva is everything that a soul singer should be, investing each song with a startling raw fire and downright crazy vocal range.

Massive sales and recognition may have proven elusive to Jaguar Wright in the short-term, but my feeling is that as a legacy artist her star will always be high, and given the right material and the right breaks I am sure that there is classic material to follow. Neo-soul may be rightly condemned to the dustbin of history, but soul, done correctly, will always be in the present.

Robotic Hypnotic

If you're a fan of the brilliant Flight of the Conchords you'll already be well aware of the genius that is the "Robot Song (The Humans Are Dead)" and the inspirational binary solo that closes the tune. Just one example among many of this brilliant and unlikely comedy duo from New Zealand. However, this post is not a diversion into the realms of comedy loves and inspirations (there's time for Chris Morris at some future point), but rather a loose, automaton-themed way to introduce Orange County turntablist and beat-maker par excellence, Free The Robots.

Confusing in name (Free The Robots is actually one man band Chris Alfaro, although with heavy collaboration with keyboard/guitar man Phil Nisco) and confusing in classification (his music is undoubtedly hip-hop but could also be equally described accurately as psychedelia, electro, new wave electronic punk, or even straight up jazz), what is not confusing is the straight forward appeal of the music itself. There is a lot of narcissistic crap on MySpace for sure, bedroom artists who quite frankly should have stayed there, but it has also been an outlet to a wave of musical creativity which has served up some absolute quality that previously may have remained criminally unheard, or at best garnered no more than a local following.

And Free The Robots is a prime example of an artist who deserves the global exposure that the web provides. I have to give massive props to our boy Tim up in DC for prompting A Story To Tell to free itself in tune with the robots, huge recommendation, and in turn I can only urge you to also put any machine-based prejudice you may have to one side and step up to press flesh with the androids post haste. And what you will find is some quite brilliantly constructed beats, underlaid with a funky foundation, and wrapped up in a warmly reassuring analog aesthetic, with brilliant samples mixed with original interpolations that firmly puts the mental into instrumental.

Obvious comparisons are with DJ Shadow, RJD2, Cut Chemist, Jel, the Chemical Brothers circa "Exit Planet Dust" or even the downbeats of U.N.K.L.E, but these do a disservice to the original sound of Free The Robots. More fitting similarities might be with progressive producers such as Madlib, Dangermouse or Daedelus and the entire output of Ninja Tunes. But Free The Robots deserves credit for his own crate-digging sound and the evolution that he brings to that particular niche. The Free The Robots EP was released last year and provides a brilliant encapsulation of the new manifesto, but staying true to the roots, MySpace is obviously the best place to sample the samples."Jazzhole" is a great tune, all jazzed-up free flowing keys with a classic swingbeat.

Meanwhile you may already have heard the most excellent "Diary", using the same Moody Blues sample as Masta Ace on his own brilliant 2001 "Disposable Arts" album, but spot the Jeru and Geto Boys cuts hidden in there also. The beats are fat and dirty, and selected with the crowd-moving mind of a live-DJ who truly knows how to get heads nodding, in time and in recognition. But if the nodding seems a bit too perfectly synchronised then look again for signs of LEDs and wiring, it might just be the robots are free and taking over.

Flash is fast, Flash is cool*

There is a footballer in the English premier league who as a youngster was a quite brilliant player but whose career has been plagued by injury since. First name Harry, apparently he has now been nicknamed by fans as Debbie, because he used to be really fit but we're all now too young to remember when he was truly great. But this cheap jibe is merely an introduction to the brilliance of Debbie Harry and Blondie, the band led by a brilliant icon who managed to marry a punk attitude and credibility to create pop perfection. Sure, the Harry hip-hop that put the rap into "Rapture" may sound a little dated now, but it is still a classic tune and there is no doubting their cultural and musical significance as a pioneering mainstream outfit with impeccable underground credentials.

Indeed "Rapture" was the first US number one which featured rap vocals and the importance of the tune in hip-hop history and the music's own journey to the mainstream is a small yet important one. That Debbie Harry was such a stunningly beautiful and seductively cool front-woman and era-defining pin-up is undoubtedly another element worthy of note. But it is their musical output which really is why their renown is deserved. Their canon features numerous classic tunes, combining elements of punk rock, reggae, disco, new wave and electronica to produce slices of sheer aural pleasure. Whether they ever produced a truly classic album is questionable, despite the huge success for instance of iconic and very good third album Parallel Lines or their excellent self-titled debut.

It is a matter of opinion anyway. That they dished up some classic singles along the way, however, is undoubted. My own favourite is a toss-up between the paranoid nuclear funk of Atomic, the relentless energy of "Call Me", and possibly the bubblegum charm and explosive joy of Denis. But it is difficult to choose because their formula for success proved remarkably flexible and long-lasting. That Blondie deserve their fame and position as a key band of the late 1970s and early 80s is clear, but as with any well-known group it is surprisingly easy to forget why that came about in the first place, with familiarity breeding not contempt but more a fondly embedded general awareness of them that all too rarely prompts a revisit.

But revisiting Blondie is a rewarding thing to do any day of the week. The music is good enough reason, but for me i'll take any opportunity just to have a look at classic era Debbie Harry pictures. Just don't let anyone catch you in front of the mirror singing along to the Harry rap. I know you know at least some of it.

that's the magic number

There are many people, perhaps this writer included, who felt that trip-hop may have proven to be a genre of music which quickly, albeit brilliantly, ran its course. A fad which, despite some stellar successes, lived and died with the cultural times from which it emerged. And in many ways this has proven to be the case. It depends of course on what you want to describe as "trip-hop" in the first place, and labels such as this are by no means particularly helpful anyway. But there is no doubt that as a collective musical style it's appeal appears to have been relatively short lived, however much of a legacy it has left, or its influence to artists since the early 90s heyday.

It is somewhat astonishing then, that with their third album proper, Portishead have not only created a brilliant comeback from a near decade-long collective musical hiatus, but simultaneously appeared to breathe new life into this moribund old dog. "Third" is an album that is as great as it's two predecessors, the awesomely brilliant debut and queen of the scene "Dummy" from 1994, and 1997's "Portishead", itself something of a menacingly melancholic masterpiece. But what a way to score your hat-trick. The sound is undoubtedly trademark, but somehow invigorated and refreshed, and as with previous vintages the album seems to just improve with age and repeat listens.

There has always, to my mind, been a beauty embedded in Portishead's music, a romantic streak which serves to offer a soft and enchanting route through the darker landscapes conjured up by their music. And "Third" is not short on beauty, the long break (despite solo diversions) appearing to have matured Beth Gibbon's wonderfully tender voice yet further, and increased the already cinematic scope of beat-maker Geoff Barrow's creative vision. And guitarist and co-writer/producer Adrian Utley's contribution should be counted as well, the jazz-like structures a key element of the often haunting soundscape, and on this album coupled with some folky flourishes and proto-punk pseudo riffs that simply serve to extend the already sophisticated palate.

Whether or not "Third" goes down as an absolute classic in the way that their first two albums have done, or indeed their quite magical live NYC Roseland Bowl recording, remains to be seen. But that they have returned at all is grounds for massive celebration, the mastery of the return simply a reminder that these are quite a special band. And with releases this year from celebrated Bristol contemporary and alumni Tricky, as well as erstwhile partner Martina Topley-Bird, 2008 could be the second coming of the music that nearly died. Just don't take it as an invitation to set up the Morcheeba comeback tour.

They Have A Story To Tell

As we have chronicled on a number of occasions in previous posts to this blog, for the record industry, the times they are-a changin'.

Albums from established artists released as download only, rush releases to avoid internet leaks, and distribution deals signed with concert promoters are just some of the many icebergs on which the traditional record industry might flounder in the long run. But Detroit's under-stated super group The Raconteurs have struck a blow of sorts for old fashioned values, with the recent release of their sophomore long-player "Consolers Of The Lonely". Not, it has to be said, in a move to warm the hearts of industry fatcats with their eyes on the profit margin, but rather in the sense of releasing a record which strives to protect the sanctity of the album as a complete entity. And in doing so have performed a neat double-bluff which itself provides them with a new and effective marketing tool. Eschewing all pre-release publicity in favour of releasing a record in its entirety that no one, not even label execs or preview journalists had listened to in advance, is an attempt also to fight against the trend towards isloated tracks being singled out at the expense of the full package, in this digital world.

Indeed, according to the band, the record was only completed a matter of days before being pushed out on all formats simultaneously. On the back of Radiohead's shock news via their own website of the sudden existence of new material, which they then released as a pay-what-you-like download (before following with more traditional distribution), The Raconteur's new offering is as surprising as it is welcome. And of course, in taking a novel approach to the record release, and claiming no advance publicity, they arguably get much more in the way of exposure because of the method employed anyway. Whatever the case, the album is now here, and to my ears continues the great work established by 2006's "Broken Boy Soldiers".

I always thought that this album, from the Detroit group comprising twin figureheads of The White Stripe's irrepressible electric bluesman Jack White and famed local singer songwriter Brendan Benson, and worthy support from The Greenhorne's rhythm section of Jack Lawrence and Patrcik Keeler, was slightly under-appreciated. Not that it was not critically well acclaimed, and deservedly so, but rather it slipped under a lot of people's radar. This is perhaps because people saw it as White Stripes-lite or some kind of Jack White vanity project, or that it sounded too derivative. The latter may be true to a degree, but it was always imitation displayed through innovation and not a straight copy.

And as for the former statement certainly not. This is a wholly different band to the Stripes, but no less a serious entity of itself, and formed through musical kinship and true friendship which, for me, actually strips the music of ego. It just sounded like a great band playing great music, a view reinforced by catching them live. And if Jack White is not one of the best lead guitarists around at the moment then I don't know who is better. Anyway, new album "Consolers of the Lonely" on first listen seems to develop The Raconteurs' sound and confidence, and build cleverly on musical and lyrical themes from the first offering. It is slightly more up-tempo and almost more raucous in tone, but full of musical wizardry borne of great skill and a diversity of influences.

You can almost feel the extra money of a bigger production budget as the band, led perhaps more strongly by White on this album, switch genres and styles with unaffected nonchalance. The result is an album that rocks in all the right places, but also deserves its protection of completeness, working nicely as a piece to savour from start to finish. And throughout are the two songwriters' brilliant narratives, extracting the best elements of the tales of blues, country, bluegrass and American rock and roll, and giving them a twist of sardonic modernity. Whether or not they can champion the LP to such an extent as to effect an industry change is questionable, but as independent record retailers everywhere will be saying, you have to tip your hat to them for trying.

Papa don't, papa don't, papa don't*.

It is no surprise, given the sheer vastness in scale of the output from the late Godfather of Soul, that there remain some overlooked gems in the back catalogue. But one album which it always astonishes me is not held up as more of a classic is James Brown's brilliant 1974 double-album release "Hell". Now, there are many reasons why this album deserves to be heralded as a classic, even amongst an oeuvre as outstanding as Brown's. For one it is among the last albums which features perhaps the best JB's line-up, led by the brass of Fred Wesley, Maceo and St. Clair Pinckney, and including Jimmy Nolan on guitar, "Jabo" Starks on drums and John Morgan's percussion.

And then there is the album artwork, a brilliant package of colour and cartoon imagery, centred on the arch-funkster himself being pursued by the devil whose superhuman powers aren't even enough to stop the Godfather from spreading the funk. But most importantly are the tunes, culminating in the sidelong opus "Papa Don't Take No Mess", clocking in at just shy of 14 minutes. And what a 14 minutes it is. This jazzed-out funk rap is one of Brown's all-time classic cuts, and for me is an archetype of James Brown at his absolute peak. Musically tighter than tight, the guitar lick is absolutely irresistible as Brown gives us a lyrically funky insight into his daddy's parental style. Just brilliant.

And the rest of the album is equally great, except perhaps for the bizarre rendition of "When The Saints Go Marching In" and a latin reworking of "Please, Please, Please", but even these have some kitsch appeal. "Hell" also features a stunning array of ballads which, though not everyone's favourite type of JB music, for me is an under-rated element of his work generally. There are few people, to my mind, who could inject a ballad with more soul and dramatic realness than JB, and on this album "A Man Has To Go Back To The Crossroads" is a true case in point. And then there is the heavy, heavy funk sound of classic cuts "Coldblooded" and "Sayin It and Doin It", and even they seem like light relief compared to the ridiculously hard-hitting and hard-driving "My Thang", an absolutely belting tune.

"Hell" was the follow-up release to the equally brilliant and yet much more-heralded "Payback" album, which perhaps explains why it is something of a forgotten classic, but for me it encapsulates much of his genius, and much of what I love about his music. Indeed, if I were ever asked to introduce an alien to the work of the Godfather of Soul, for who else but an extra-terrestrial would be unaware of Brown's work, I would have little hesitation in sending him directly down the highway to hell. At times his music is so damn funky you think he must have been in league with the devil anyway. But no, he was just in a league of his own.

Time to Shine?

That the latest single from UK hip-hop/soul girl Estelle - the Kanye featuring, Will.I.Am produced "American Boy" - has hit the top of the charts in the UK is some cause for celebration, and no doubt very much deserved for this hard working London girl. Taken from new long player "Shine", "American Boy" is a very good tune that showcases Estelle's clearly considerable talents. Her song writing deserves props for its intelligent, socially aware and often humorous content. Meanwhile her ability to switch between undoubted rap skills, and a surprisingly strong and sweetly soulful singing voice, is a clue to her attractiveness to a potentially wide audience.

However, her ongoing success, not to mention glittering list of high-profile US collaborators that added their performance and production skills to "Shine" and a growing profile stateside, does offer up some issues that are worth pausing for a moment to chew over. Because Estelle's route to the top is one which sums up something that continues to go shockingly unresolved within the British music industry, namely the inability or downright refusal to get behind black British talent. And this is something that continues to be galling because there is so much talent there to be enjoyed. Why is it that, at a time when the music press and record-buying public are going crazy for the white soul of the likes of Amy Winehouse, Adele, Duffy and others, a black singer of equal marketability has to go to the US in order to get a record deal and promotion that she deserves?

There is no doubt that the British white neo-soul brigade are talented in their own right, but in the UK it seems that a black artist has to be classified as "urban" (whatever that means) rather than soul, and once having been classified in this way, is given up on as nobody has a clue how to present, or represent them, properly. Being an "urban" artist is fine because it is edgy, underground and not expected to sell in great quantities. But ask a label to promote a black artist as a mainstream success and it is a whole different story. It is difficult, and utterly distasteful, to believe that the failure is down to an inherent racism in the industry. I don't believe that. Britain, despite pockets of right wing madness, is generally celebratory of its diverse population and I think, if anything, it is more down to an attempt to almost be too politically correct, a fear of offending people leading to offence in itself.

Or maybe it is just a lack of imagination and vision, both among the labels themselves, and the public at large. It is a lot easier to market a artist as a Mach II version of something that has gone before, rather than something fresh and new, and which may take a shift in mindset to appreciate, and an investment of some time to really pay dividends. But time to prove themselves is something which black artists are rarely given, and increasingly so as record labels' own profit margins are shrinking in the digital revolution, and a sure-fire formula for success is a safer bet than nurturing a long-term prospect.

I'm not sure that I have a point to make here, and certainly no suggested answers, it just annoys me that a home-grown gem such as Estelle has to travel overseas in order to properly shine. And who knows, maybe this will be a wake-up call of sorts, illustrating to the perennial doubters that British soul music can have a black voice and still sell enough to keep the industry interested. However, I wouldn't hold your breath.

Traffic Jamming

Grace Jones’ “Pull Up To The Bumper” is, I hope you’ll agree, an absolutely ridiculous tune. The album it comes from, 1981’s “Nightclubbing” is itself a brilliant record, from the outstanding cover of the David Bowie penned title track to the reggae tones of “I’ve Seen That Face Before” and the sensational ballad that closes the album, “I’ve Done It Again”. It is a record that flows brilliantly and works wonderfully as a cohesive whole, while also being innovative and featuring an array of seemingly incongruous styles. Grace Jones, it is difficult to deny, is a fascinating artist. But while her carefully crafted and consistently intriguing and slightly menacing public image may in itself be worthy of note and consideration,

I have always felt that her music has been somewhat overshadowed by her persona. And this is a great shame because in fact her recorded output is often highly inventive and progressive, unique in some senses, and technically very accomplished. Her vocal range is relatively wide at 2 1/2 octaves, and her mastery of technique is more impressive than she is given credit for, with her almost spoken monotone delivery in some songs itself an interesting instrument, and in stark contrast to her other soprano singing style which is surprising smooth and soft. And her early 80s output, working closely with the legendary Sly and Robbie rhythm section, the incredible Wally Badarou on keys, and enjoying the considerable production talents of Chris Blackwell and Alex Sadkin, is always interesting to behold, often diverse and ground-breaking, and quite simply downright excellent. But “Pull Up To The Bumper”, as well as possibly her most well-known track, is also an absolute stormer.

There are numerous tunes that are guaranteed to move a crowd, and this is a particularly prime example of a massive crowd-pleaser. But it somehow adds something different to the mix, providing an incessantly funky groove, but one which also filters the most extremely dark and dirty elements of the sensuality and sexiness of disco. If Donna Summer's I Feel Love is an extended audio orgasm on vinyl, played out in dreamy comfort on satin sheets, "Pull Up..." is the stripped down, raw passion of a wild night in the midst of urban jungle. A calculated and slightly disturbing seduction. Jones' outright sexual confidence, her clear beauty coupled with an almost androgynous kind of detachment is as beguiling as it is intimidating.

Like I say I think her music is underrated, but more than that I think she is that rare kind of star who seems to transcend easy categorisation or description. Part performance artist, part disco diva, part model, part singer, part actress, and part muse, but never less than wholly impressive in all categories. There are rumours of a new long-player to be released this year, but whether it will see the light of day is a matter of debate as two full-length albums still remain recorded but unreleased from the mid-90s. Whatever the case, whether it is your cup of tea, you can bet your bottom dollar that whatever she chooses to do it will be interesting, and an artist of such individuality should surely be celebrated. That having been said, I sure as hell wouldn’t want to meet her in a dark alley. She has always scared the bejeezus out of me!

All I Need To Get By

There are myriad reasons to love the song "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" as sung by the incomparable duet of Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell. To begin with there is the sheer magic of the chemistry between the singers, to my mind one of the greatest duos in recording history. This performance, along with fellow classics such as "You're All I Need To Get By", "Ain't Nothing Like The Real Thing" and "Your Precious Love" display a lyrical and harmonious interplay rarely captured on vinyl to such stunning effect, before or since. Gaye had a string of singing partners in the Motown stable, and he was certainly a brilliant duets singer, but his partnership with Terrell was of a much different and superior vintage to anything else he or anyone else did.

A great duet is itself a wonderful thing, but actually surprisingly rare. There have been some great hip-hop and r'n'b collaborations over the years, and every genre from Country & Western to pure pop has seen great team-ups. But how often do you hear such organic and natural synergy, both in voice and sentiment. Rumours always persisted that Gaye and Terrell's relationship was more than platonic, but the evidence available does not really support this, and I for one believe that they just enjoyed a truly great friendship, and one which allowed them to summon the pure sentiments of romance and love with a warmth and genuine affection that perhaps real-life lovers would not have been able to. Rarely does the passion of a true love affair cross over well to vinyl, or for that matter celluloid.

And then there is the song itself, a Motown classic, and written by the other great double-act in this little story, Nickolas Ashford and Valerie Simpson. Now these two were a real-life partnership, and soon to be man and wife as well as a successful recording act themselves, and are responsible for some absolute classics, both at Motown and beyond. As well as the majority of the Gaye-Terrell output, Ashford & Simpson have also provided us with such classics as Diana Ross's disco anthem "The Boss, Chaka Khan's "I'm Every Woman" and the cheesy yet somehow alluring 1984 hit "Solid". This is amongst countless others for artists from Teddy Pendergrass, Rufus and Quincy Jones. Quite a pedigree. But it is "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" that will always be the standout track. The lyrics, as with much of the Motown formula, are not spectacularly sophisticated, but they seem to take on a life of their own when sung by Gaye and Terrell, and the backing track is pure popsoul brilliance. Indeed if you have heard Amy Winehouse's brilliant "Tears Dry On Their Own" you'll possibly have realised that the backing track is an interpolation of the Gaye and Terrell version of "Ain't No Mountain", itself an inspired take on it.

But there is one final, if downright tragic and a little tenuous reason for loving this track, and the partnership that provided it. Terrell's life was cut horrifically short in 1970 at the age of just 24 by a brain tumour, and was able to record only sporadically from 1967 onwards. She was cut off in her prime and to my mind had the skills, beauty and character to be a major star in her own right. Sadly we will never know. The effect of Terrell's illness and death hit Marvin Gaye massively hard and, along with his crumbling marriage to Anna Gordy and disillusionment with Motown generally, led to him withdrawing from recording and live performances for over 2 years.
However, it was in this enforced seclusion that he created one of the truly greatest albums of all time, 1971's "What's Going On?", giving the story a poignantly uplifting ending of sorts. There is much to say about this magnificent album, but for now treat yourself to a time when things were much simpler for Marvin Gaye, and enjoy the partnership who were surely born to sing to one another. We're just lucky we were allowed to watch.

Gotta lot of rhythm, and style, and finesse

It is an obvious statement to say that there are a lot of great producers in hip-hop, many brilliant emcees, and countless hot DJs. But it is much more rare to find someone who performs all three disciplines, let alone excels at them. Step forward then, the incomparable Lord Finesse. I was listening to sophomore album "Return of the Funky Man" the other day, reminding myself of how good this album was, and just revelling in the nostalgic beauty of the early 90s when every East Coast release seemed to be a bonafide classic.

You now the time of X-Clan's "To the East, Backwards", of Black Sheep "A Wolf In Sheep's Clothing", Brand Nubian's "All For One", of "Mecca and the Soul Brother" and Tribe's three album opening salvo, itself a huge high point in rap's history. The list goes on and on. But, despite being the originator and unofficial leader of the brilliant Diggin' In The Crates crew, unearthing some of rap's great lyrical and beat-making talents along the way, it seems to me that it is not often that Finesse is really given his full props, or the respect he deserves. And this is respect that is truly deserved, for his consistency, originality and skills, whether on the mic, turntables or in the studio.

Arguably one of the first rhymers to really throw down full-on metaphors and punch-lines, Finesse's rap style is often hilarious in content and his flow is always on point, to my mind illustrated most fully on the "Return of the Funky Man" album. Debut album "The Funky Technician" is a classic as well. As producer, aside from backing his own solo works, Finesse has cranked out classic cuts for numerous artists from Dre to Biggie, Show and AG to Big L, and countless others in between. As a DJ, along with fellow DITC luminary Buckwild, he was one of the first to really focus on the power of the mix-tape as a way of getting his own music heard, but also as a commercial product, and was top of the tree in a time when the tapes were actually tapes and were actually mixed by hand, not through a Protools desk.

He's still top of the tree for my money. You can now find many of his original mix-tapes online and believe me there is an absolute treasure-trove out there (look for the Stax set, incredible). And so I just wanted to take a moment to shout out to Lord Finesse, one of the true lords of the underground, who plies his trade with mastery and treats hip-hop as a true vocation, not just a route to fast cars and an MTV crib. And if you find yourself idly digging in your own crates, pull out your old copy of the funky man's best and get right back to the golden age.

Original Gangster

If I told you that there was a link to be made between hard-kicking right-winger Chuck Norris, 1984 hollywood-breakdance-lite movie "Breakin'", Chaka Khan, Dr Dre's bonafide classic "The Chronic", and Nas's short-lived The Firm project you may well justifiably ask me to please share whatever it is I am on. But link them you can, albeit rather tenuously, and like all good riddles, the answer to this one lies at the bottom of a rambling tale of exploration. There is a 12" record that I have been hunting down for years. You know those elusive tunes that are so remote in the reaches of your mind that you almost feel as if you might have just dreamt them up. Maybe you heard it in a club once, asked its name and then forgot in the mists of a raucous party, had a mix-tape with no track listing from back in the day that got chewed up in an old cassette deck, or once got played a monster tune by one of your boys with whom you are no longer in touch?

Maybe you have always had all of the record's details, a scribbled note that has remained a mainstay of your wallet for the last 17 years, only seeing the light of day on those increasingly rare beat-finding missions round record shops and charity sales? Or perhaps you think you know the title, but have no idea who the singer or label was, the only piece of the jigsaw available to you being that relentless hook or snatched lyric that pops up unannounced and runs around your brain at odd times of the day and night, teasing you with it's incompleteness? Sometimes the search is coupled with an element of fear and danger, a sense that asks, what if the reality isn't as great as I remember? What if the Holy Grail I have sought turns out to be made of fool's gold? What happens then?? Trust me it can happen, I know the pain of seeking out "Informer" by Snow and realising that the bespectacled Canadian rhymester is not the saviour of hip-hop!!

Before you get all concerned, I'm kidding about Snow. No really. But you know the feeling I mean. Just like the facebook-driven rekindled contact with a fondly recalled college ex. Next to the flush of excited curiousity in meeting up, there is always the danger that time and nostalgia will have made what was really a two minute drunken fumble at a house-party in south London, into an extended 9 1/2 weeks of never-to-be-bettered passion in your rose-tinted memory. The reality of the reunion can be a cruel blow to many a fragile ego. But sometimes the reunion is fantastic, the rush every bit as good, and sometimes even better than you remember. You put the needle on the record and the first bar jogs something dormant in your memory, giving life to lines and beats you never even knew that you knew. The verse is like the credits to your favourite cartoon as a kid, a medley of anticipation of the joy to come. And then the chorus kicks in, that line you have repeated in your head for what seems like forever comes back out of the speakers at you and it is good. Really damn good.

"When The Glove is on the Wheel's of Steel, he's Reckless" raps the familiar voice, the raw rasp of a young O.G on top of his game, before the tune explodes into cuts and scratches that threaten to tear your speakers apart right there. You resist an urge to pull out a windmill right there on your lino square and instead slump back in your seat with a grin, your appetite finally sated, your long held hopes vindicated. This, you say to yourself, is truly a killer tune. And if you have not yet worked it out, the 12" in question, which I now hold in my grubby mitts, is none other than Ice-T and Chris "The Glove" Taylor's 1984 electro monster, "Reckless", with additional input from Dave Storrs (aka The Alien Wizard). B-Side is the equally phenomenal "Tibetan Jam". The Chuck Norris connection comes with the inspired use of this B-side as a backdrop to a scene from his 1984 movie "Missing In Action" (search on Youtube for a reminder. It is worth it).

You will know "Reckless" also, possibly from the 1984 movie "Breakin'", where Ice-T appears as a party MC. But don't hold that questionable introduction against it. Although "Breakin'" and a number of other movies and documentaries of the time mined the emerging hip-hop scene for inspiration, or straight up stole from it, to different levels of artistic and critical success, and indeed with different agendas to pursue, they also played a major part in the growth of the music, whether you like to admit it or not. How well many have dated, and how relevant they remain, is a different question entirely, and one for a future posting on A Story To Tell. For now just revel in a tune which, with its sparse yet intricate production and perfect unison of rapper and DJ in head-to-head harmony and mutual musical appreciation, serves as a perfect reminder of hip-hop's nascent early power and sheer originality of sound. But what of the second part of the riddle we began with?

We all know what happened to Ice-T, a fascinating road of original gangstability, rap stardom, political baiting, movie-making, heavy-metalling, and televisual pastiche. But what of the magical hands in The Glove? Well the full story is too long to go into, plus I don't really know it. What I do know, however, is that Chris "The Glove" Taylor was a key player in the early West Coast hip-hop scene, alongside fellow pioneers DJ Flash, Kid Frost and The Egyptian Lover. Along with Ice-T he was part of pioneering group The Radio Crew on the equally significant Electrobeat Records, and with the crew released the ultra-ultra-rare EP "Breaking and Entering", accompanying the 1983 documentary of the same name.

It was The Glove's hand that you see at the beginning of Chaka Khan's 1984 Melle-Mel intro-ed classic cover of "I Feel For You", and throughout the video. And it is The Glove who has extensive mixing credits on "The Chronic" as well as production rights on 1997's The Firm album. And so there you have it. Chuck Norris to Nas in 5 easy moves. Now that really is reckless.

Supergroup?

It's taken me a while to get around to talking abut it, but clearly we have all now heard the single "Us Placers" by rap super-group CRS (Child Rebel Soldiers), sampling Radiohead frontman Thom Yorke's sparse piano-led chorus from solo project "The Eraser". We've also viewed the Va$htie video featuring child versions of our modern-day heroes who make up the group, Lupe Fiasco, Kanye West and Pharrell Williams, and nodded our heads along sagely, marvelling at the audacity of the sample and the lyrical sophistication and mature subject matter of the track.

Meanwhile we have perhaps smugly congratulated ourselves on our knowledge and appreciation thereof, certainly when the track was more of an underground mystery to unearth, taking time out from scouring youtube links and internet forums to slap our own backs in recognition at how eclectically clever and post-modern we are to be into straight up hip-hop, as well as indie music, and now the combination of the two. And I include myself very much in this sweeping statement. Indeed, maybe it is just me who this applies to. But hopefully you see the point I am making, which is that the CRS project, and this tune in particular, is a prime example of rap music that is perhaps tainted slightly by a sense of self-satisfaction.

You know that feeling of slight irritation, which is perhaps an extension of the music's close link with sampling and the train-spotter tendencies that make finding the most obscure tune to build a track around some kind of bizarre badge of honour. The song which says, look at how much I know, and how diverse my record collection is, surely you must immediately herald me as a creative genius. Kanye I suppose is a prime example, and before you say anything, I am also aware of the irony of such a judgement from a blog which itself spends much of its time warbling on about its eclectic tastes and recommending tunes for you to discover.

Hopefully A Story To Tell remains informative rather than condescending in its tone, and I am sure that Mr West and others feel the same about their product. And in many ways, as I have stated on here previously, West's production skills and choice and manipulation of beats are often truly inspired. But this is a digression to the central argument that there is just something about "Us Placers" that smacks of slightly superior self-satisfaction. Now don't get me wrong. This is a great tune, and I am truly a big fan of all three members of the fledgling project. All three verses are strong, the beats are original and I am licking my lips as much as the next man at the prospect of a full-length product that combines their doubtless talents. I am just a little wary of tunes that are heralded as brilliant by dint of the fact that they step away from the norm. Yes it is good, but let's also keep it in perspective and not succumb unquestionably to the lazy equation which says hot rapper plus falsetto indie singer plus grown-up lyrics equals instant classic.

The term, "written with Chris Martin of Coldplay", seems to be used by the critical music press as some kind of kitemark for quality, and I am a bit tired of it. It is also condescending in itself, and patronizing in the extreme, when said critics seem to be suggest that rap becomes immediately more sophisticated as soon as it takes on some indie sensibilities. "Oh Rupert, Jay-Z is great as a voice of the urban youth but doesn't he simply rap about money, girls and crime?". "No, no Sebastian, you should hear his latest work, it has a real depth to it. Chris Martin from Coldplay does a chorus wouldn't you know! It's quite brilliant". I'm not saying that these, or any other collaborations shouldn't excite us, just that we should apply the same levels of critical awareness to them.

In the case of "Us Placers", it is a combination which works to quite stunning effect, a haunting and modern rap tune for the I-pod generation, and as an opening salvo for CRS, a potentially great omen of what's to come. Let's just hope Coldplay are busy with ther commitments when it comes time make the album.

Loose Booty

There are some songs that simply make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up every time you hear them. Often these are not even songs which you purposely listen to all that frequently, but will occasionally pop up on your shuffle, at a bar, on the radio or just as the momentary backdrop to an otherwise humdrum day. But for that moment you are instantly reminded of the power that music has to just grab and hold you at some guttural and primitive level, some place that you are unaware of, and shake you with a force of elemental joy. It can literally transform your day.

Imagine then the power of hearing a song that sounds like nothing you have ever heard before. Not some experimental guitar solo that you marvel at for its technical wizardry, or some sampled beat that cries freshness and innovation. No, a song that sounds literally like nothing you have ever heard before. It is difficult in this age of musical recycling, of sampling and stretching, of derivatives and covers, to imagine such a scene. You have to step into the far reaches of musical genres to discover something truly new nowadays, and even then it is often so fresh and innovative as to render it quite unbearable to listen to. Well imagine then what it must have been like to be a music fan in late 1955 and hearing this incredible sound flying out of your wireless.

Out of nowhere a soulful and impossibly sexually charged half-scream, half-exclamation cries out "A-wop-bomp-a-loom-op-a-wop-bam-boom!", before a pounding and rollicking piano led music of unadulterated good vibes is unleashed on you. With the impenetrable but somehow lucid couplet "Tutti Frutti, aw rudy" repeatedly chanted and increasing in intensity, before the vocal drum roll hits again, followed by a verse of raucous tale-telling. To start a song off with a chorus is in itself pretty audacious, but when it is a chorus with such other-worldly charms it borders on downright genius. Little Richard was not the inventor of rock'n'roll, nor is "Tutti Frutti" the first record of the fledgling new music, but there is something about it that takes the music on to a new level and changes the game subtly but crucially.

The twelve bar chord progression and hard-driving music is significant as a model for future records. But more than that, "Tutti Frutti" sexes up the music in an unadulterated fashion, and gives voice to a new, unashamed, confident and flamboyant black star, the repercussions of which have hit far and wide since. That Richard was gay (if not openly then certainly not hiding the fact as far as the times allowed) and as wonderfully camp as a tent convention is also significant. Imagine that, a gay, black, sexually charged pop star in 1950s middle America. Like I said before, it is difficult to consider now quite how ground-breaking this was. Those in the know also were aware of the fact that the original song, a staple of Little Richard's live shows prior to the unplanned studio recording in late 1955, had the chorus "Tutti frutti, loose booty", with tutti frutti a street slang term for a homosexual male. If music and society were not quite ready for an all out overt celebration of gayness, the so-called cleaned up version still remains one of the archetypes of rock'n'roll music and is simply a killer tune that refuses to date, and never loses its impact.

The early history of rock'n'roll is a fascinating story to tell, and can never be dated to one song or one artist. It is a progression and amalgamation over time that became a social and cultural revolution, with key players and moments too numerous to mention here. In many ways Little Richard came at the end of this process, and was a culmination of a many number of elements that came before. But he took those elements and added something new to the mix. It could be said that he added the funk to it, and thus paved the way for much of the great soul and r'n'b music that followed, and all that this in turn influenced. His original recording career was brief, but this does not detract from its enormous impact. In some ways it makes it even more stunning. So don't wait for the next time that "Tutti Frutti" turns up on your radio. Dig it out. You're day will always be a better one after it.

Debut, See?

As far as I am aware, and I should be given that I write it, this is a first for A Story To Tell. For today we are going to delve, albeit briefly, into the confusing, slightly scary and yet infinitely beguiling world of Classical music. We often try to take you back, and sometimes strive to remind or inform you of a box of musical history that has perhaps lain neglected at the back of your cupboard. Of people or musical recordings of repute that deserve to be the subject of re-acquaintance for whatever reason. But rarely do we go this far back, or step so far across the tracks. But a lack of expertise should not be a hindrance to learning, it should be one of the best reasons for it.

Now I am the first to maintain that there are vast, vast gaps in my musical knowledge. We all have them, and as I have said before it is the variation in tastes, and the ongoing, seemingly endless, discovery of the new that makes the appreciation of music such an enduring pastime. And classical music is one such world. It seems so big a topic that it is almost too difficult to know where to start, a massive musical universe that is intimidating in its intricacies, and yet so much a part of all of us, of our collective musical heritage and consciousness. Surely we all have a piece of what would be classed classical music that we instantly recognise and love, even if we don't know the composer, performer, symphony number, or age from which it came. Maybe we hear it occasionally on a TV advert, or in a favourite film. Maybe we wish we knew more about where it came from but don't know where to start. Maybe it is just an area of music that we just haven't got around to starting with properly, just like jazz, country and hardcore Dutch gabba techno. Okay, maybe we'll never get around to the last one, but you get the point.

However, I do know what I like, and there are certain classical pieces, and in rare cases, classical music figures, that I have expanded my flimsy knowledge of as a result of simply being besotted by their sheer beauty and creative brilliance. And one such figure is French composer Claude Debussy. My brother is a brilliant pianist, and has always been a fan of Debussy's work, and it was through him that I first heard Debussy's work and was tempted to find out more. I also had an equal fascination with French contemporary and friend Erik Satie, which acted as another motivation. Satie's "Les Trois Gymnopedies", perhaps his most famous work, is a stunning piano piece of incredible beauty. Melancholic and yet uplifting, it is simply wonderful, and you will almost certainly know it yourself. But it is Debussy who has the greater significance. His life and work span the turn of the twentieth century, and his influence both to contemporaries and in the time since is profound. It serves to underpin and characterise the huge cultural, technological and social shifts at work during this period, as the western world searched for an identity and to define what modernity would mean for us as a society. And it was his innovation and rampant desire to look outside of the western tradition, to ignore convention, which really provides his importance.

For it was through Debussy that modern music was given the license to become the multi-headed beast of variety that we all know and love. As with many advances, it took a far-sighted pioneer to dare to be different, to stand on the shoulders of the giants who had gone before and aim for a different horizon. Debussy is often characterized as a musical "Impressionist", a term which he disliked and disagreed with, which saw him placed within the contemporaneous artistic tradition of the likes of Monet and Renoir. This tag was partly because of his evocation of tone and colour, his layering of sounds, as well as this repudiation of traditional norms in his compositions, favouring dissonance in sound and unlikely scales and chord structures. Debussy was also a great believer in seeking inspiration from Eastern traditions, as well as from the vaults of antiquity, and it is all of these things, this ability to synergise diverse inspirations and make new rules which is the key to his importance for music.

Pop music, from its inception, has always followed set formulae for success, a state of affairs which has led to the blandness and reality-show-type manufacture of much of the output we hear on the charts and on the radio today. But, if pop is the constant in our cultural world, it is also the norm which works of true brilliance and innovation rail against, and it is this for which we must thank Debussy. He is one of the main reasons that those hidden albums of non-convention exist, why musical gems can appear out of their context, and keep music evolving and reinventing itself. Why pop itself can be turned on its head repeatedly and yet retain its pre-eminence. Why artists everywhere continue to bend and break rules and feed our own ongoing desires for new sounds. Debussy's work is not everyone's cup of tea at all, but for me it is often simply beautiful.

Listen, for example to "Claire de Lune" from "Suite Bergamesque" and it is difficult not to be captured entirely by its seemingly simple charms. And so, next time you are wondering why that obscure album you love, of whale song set to afro breakbeats, didn't make it up the charts and isn't essential listening for everyone, wonder no more. Just raise a glass to Debussy and accept that it is because we all have different tastes, and if all music played by the same rules then life would be a pretty boring place. Plus Simon Cowell and his ilk of identikit pop manufacturers would be even richer, and perhaps have achieved their clearly transparent evil
plans of global dominance through pop dross, the opposition of which we can all drink to.

Dap dappin'

Whether you know it or not there is a revolution going on and it is one which you should consider hitching yourself to with the utmost haste. If you are yet to discover the funk and soul gold of Daptone Records' Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, as I was until relatively recently, then time is even more of the essence. Music this good deserves to be unearthed and revelled in. I had been aware of the group for some time but, as is sometimes the way in my world of lethargy, I had neglected to look into them properly. And this despite the fact that what I knew of them already I liked immensely. Dripping in the retro sound of the best of 1960s and 1970s soul and funk, one of my favourite places to dwell, the group eschew digital recordings and stick to an analogue technique, also limiting themselves to the other instruments and recording styles of the era. No pro-tools wizardry for this outfit.

When I discovered that they contributed significantly to Amy Winehouse's much heralded Back to Black LP, itself at one, albeit mainstream, vanguard of this retro renaissance, I didn't bite. Mooted current projects with Questlove, Jay-Z and Kanye didn't up my priorities any. Recommendations from trusted acquaintances did not even move this lazy old lump to investigate further. It wasn't disinterest, just a lame inability to get around to it, and in my defence there is a hell of a lot of worthy music out there. But now, dear reader, I have finally seen the light. And what a bright light it has proven to be. A chance inclusion on a free compilation and then, wham, I'm hooked in. And like a Depeche Mode addict, now I just can't get enough.

The song that I first heard was a modest opening gambit but carried an element of fate, 2005's cover of Kenny Rogers and The First Edition's "I Just Dropped In (to see what condition my condition was in)". A great start for any Lebowski fan I'm sure you'll agree. But when I found their original work it really clicked for me. Their three full length LPs have the feel of instant classics. They really do evoke the era that inspires them, to the extent that it is almost impossible to believe that they are not reissues from some vault of precious musical gems at Stax or Curtom. But original is what they are and if you think that borrowing heavily from your influences is some kind of short-term gimmick then you couldn't be more wrong.

This is no Acid Jazz scene and in my opinion the time is coming for a more populist conversion to their cause. For though they wear their influences on their sleeves, and indeed their record sleeves (with even cover design taking on the appearance of old classics) their music is innovative, crazily soulful and downright funky. It might hark back to the good old days, but is also somehow definitively modern in its sound and sentiments, a stunning feat if you can pull it off. It is helped by the fact that the Dap Kings are no average house band but rather made up of some of the best funk and jazz musicians from the New York scene, and especially the Deep Funk movement that has coalesced around Daptone Records (and previous incarnation Desco Records), including such key players as Neal Sugarman on saxophone and Bosco Mann on bass.

And then there is Sharon Jones herself, a heaven-sent voice of such sweetness and power as to be almost improper. Jones's own career has been a story of ups and downs, the fickle music industry over-looking her major talent because she did not fit their aesthetic. And now, in her early 50s, Jones's own renaissance is at full tilt, where she seems to make up for the forgotten years with every vocal performance, live or on disk. Jones brings raw fire to the microphone, and sings with a soul voice drenched in passion, heartbreak, commitment and sometimes pure sex, some of the finest ingredients of any soul stew. Pick anyone of their three LPs, 2002's "Dap Dappin' with Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings", 2005's "Naturally" and 2006's "100 Days, 100 Nights", and I challenge you to find a weak track.

From all out funk jams to mellower sultry soul, this band have it all in abundance, and the soul resurgence may just see them get the recognition they deserve. For these are no hipsters, catching a ride on a wave of faddish enthusiasm. They are the real deal, and if ever the old adage was true it is when applied to the new hardest working band in show business. Form is temporary, but class is permanent.