Zippin up ma boots, going back to ma Roots

There are many reasons why I love London’s own Rodney Smith, better known as Roots Manuva, simply one of my favourite rappers full-stop. One is that he shares a first name with my other all-time favourite Brit MC, Rodney P, formerly of London Posse and now a solo artiste with a consistently brilliant output and incredible vocal style and delivery. Don’t ask me why, I just like the symmetry and sheer unlikelihood of that serendipity. There is also the fact that he records for the brilliant Big Dada label, Ninja Tunes’ own British hip-hop imprint, who should always get props for their approach and championing of the UK scene. Also, in a purely homegrown type of way, there is obviously a bit of brazen nationalistic pride in supporting one of your own, a pleasure in a British artist who, to my mind, can truly cut it with the best of his American cousins in terms of lyrical invention, content, delivery and showmanship.

And more than that, there is some local pride at stake also, with Roots Manuva’s stomping ground of Brixton and Stockwell in London’s south west, doubling as my own domicile in this lovely old city, and thus his music in some ways seems to provide something of a soundtrack to my daily life. Not that I share actively in his tales of urban mischief and philosophising of course, just that there is a neighbourhood affinity that imbues his music with the familiar and therefore the comfortable. And then there is the music itself, so far three albums deep and of a quality which, in my humble opinion, puts him up there in the high echelons of rap heritage, such is the artistry, uniqueness of style, and consistency of flow and provision of coherent pieces of work of the highest distinction.


Manuva seems to have blended the inherent traditions of American hip-hop with his own personal history and a very British sensibility which combines elements of his West Indian heritage, with influences from black London in the 1970s and 1980s, “Carry On” and Ealing comedy, religious moralising, and distinctly UK musical styles such as ska, British electronica and northern soul, along with more universal sounds of dub and roots reggae, funk and even some Afro-centric leanings, and all seen through a philosophical, meandering, slightly paranoid prism of the finest London skunk fumes.


But his music, and lyrical content, is also sometimes rather uniquely written under the black cloud of depression and bouts of mental confusion, his rhymes often a refreshingly honest confessional that gives his music an appealingly raw accessibility, an intriguing insight into the internal battles of light and dark that surely, to a lesser or greater extent, sometimes afflict us all. Whatever the ingredients are in this heady concoction, for me the result has always been a stew worth tasting and savouring, and a recipe worth returning to. Debut offering, “Brand New Second Hand” gave British hip-hop at the turn of the new millennium a welcome shot in the arm, an injection of rough bass and gruff vocals which bangs and elbows its way into contention with a freshness and swagger, not to mention originality, which suggested a great new talent was born. But his opus to date came with 2001’s “Run Come Save Me”, quite simply a brilliant album from start to finish.


The thinner production values of his debut were replaced with a sophisticated and fully realised aural landscape (Manuva carries production duties on much of his output), and this record gave voice to the fully-realised Manuva manifesto, itself a darkly sophisticated dissection of the ills of the Western World, an Orwellian-like take on the evil powers embedded in the inexorable forces of globalization. It is a classic and a landmark in British hip-hop, and should be one for hip-hop generally. If there were any justice in the music world, Roots Manuva would already be a household name, and certainly known more widely in hip-hop circles beyond these shores. It is not perfect, but then perfection often isn’t, if that doesn’t sound too crazy.


My point being that the album has to have rough edges to truly realise its ambitious reach. And of course the album spawned one of the greatest UK hip-hop cuts of all time, “Witness (1 hope), with its spacey electro and syncopation, skittering off-rhythm, and ridiculously infectious chorus. And here we find the other reason for my love of Roots Manuva, the video to this song. If you don’t know it, have a dig online and you’ll find it easy enough. Just an incredible concept, simple and downright hilarious. Fitting the song perfectly, and incongruous at the same time, the offering epitomises the square peg in a round whole that is Roots Manuva. Take time to witness the fitness, and like the man himself said on his third long-player offering, you'll soon be getting awfully deep

These are the days of miracle and wonder

I went to a good friend’s party recently, and was spinning some tunes in the time-honoured tradition. As the party wore on and the messiness increased, inevitably more and more people came with requests, and offers to spin some disks themselves. T’was ever thus, the heady mix of alcohol, ego, and heaven knows what else, turning seemingly 50% of the room into vocal critics, and proficient DJs to boot. However, someone that you never turn down a request from is my man “Al Fingers”, the man with the golden touch at the end of a night, when the party clamours for the nostalgic, the sometimes cheesy, the often-rooted-in-the-80s, the straight-up banger. You can picture the scene for yourself. And so in this maelstrom of sweat and musical desires, nay demands, Mr. Fingers keeps his cool and simply kills the crowd with his selection.

Many familiar, dropped at just the right time, many expected even (All Night Long is always a huge finisher, Cheryl Lyn’s Encore, huge!). But there was one inspired selection, one curve ball that comes from a record I absolutely love, but I would never have thought to drop at such a time. And of course, being Al Fingers, it worked beautifully. The track in questions is “The Boy In The Bubble” from Paul Simon’s awesome 1986 album “Graceland”. Now there is no doubt that this is a massive album, and is rightly regarded as a classic, far and wide. You can scoff at Simon’s appropriation of different cultures’ musical traditions throughout his solo career, his filtering of these influences and dilution into mainstream western acceptability. But I think that this would be unfair as there is little doubt for me that Simon’s absorption of these influences has always been whole-hearted and committed, and his use of them musically often inspired and actually far from a westernised hybrid and tokenistic approach that some less-committed may have taken. And this is true whether South African mbaqanga pop music as on this record, or reggae, doo-wop, Blues, Gospel and numerous other traditions on other of his recordings.

There is controversy also around Simon’s work with South African musicians during a time when the Apartheid regime was correctly politically and economically boycotted by the UN, but arguably his championing of South African musical traditions and use of local musicians, particularly the harmony group Ladysmith Black Mambazo, were important in raising awareness of political issues in South Africa, and the vibrancy and relevance of black culture, thriving despite the restrictions of the regime. Political and moral issues aside, however, the album is a stone cold brilliant piece of work, from the afore-mentioned funk of “The Boy In the Bubble” to the sublime title track, and beautiful harmonies of cuts such as “Diamonds on the Soles of her Shoes”, “Gumboots” and “Under African Skies”.

It is truly difficult to pick fault with the record, and it never tires no matter how often I listen to it, and for me is the peak of Simon’s career, period, which is no mean feat given the successes he has achieved commercially and critically. Quite rightly he is a legendary figure, whether or not you are a fan of his music. There is time at a future date to talk about another amazing moment in Simon’s career, the brilliant “Fifty Ways To Leave Your Lover” and particularly Steve Gadd’s ridiculous drum line, but for now if you want to warm your spirit a trip to Graceland is always worthwhile. I just never thought I’d hear a song from it at a party. Massive. Call it uncool if you like, or more on point, call it inspired. And as for Mr Fingers, well, you can call him Al.

Not bad meaning bad, but Badarou meaning good!

The world of the movie soundtrack is one that has always fascinated me. Take for example Scorsese's use of music in his films. Stemming from a great knowledge and love of various songs and styles of music, the songs he chooses to add to the narratives of his films are often so perfect as to be vital ingredients in confirming plot and progression, effortlessly intertwining with the script and action to create an incredible holistic effect on viewers. Tarantino is another obvious example of a well-known director with a knack for picking the perfect, often obscure, gem from his record collection to drop into his films at just the right time. Who can ever forget the ear-slicing scene in Reservoir Dogs and the accompanying "Stuck In The Middle With You" by Stealer's Wheel?

However, these glorified compilation tapes are really just the mere icing on the cake of what the world of cinema can offer the music lover, and only go a small way to illuminating the power of music in cinema, and our appreciation of film. For it is the background and the incidental that is often truly the star of the show, often without us even realising it. The difference between the soundtrack and the score. Think Star Wars without the John Williams theme, and the ebbs and flows that it provides to the narrative.

Think Jaws without the chilling string section heightening the tension with the unforgettable "derr-da" motif, now itself a cultural touchstone for terror. Watch a Tom & Jerry cartoon with the sound down and you'll soon see how clear the slapstick action is dependent on the aural soundscape, and on turning the volume up will also see how incredible this orchestral work often is (something true of many cartoons, actually). And the point of this admittedly amateur dissection of music in the movies? Well, it is a long-winded introduction to the work of French-born Benin-raised producer and synthesizer wizard Wally Badarou, and in particular his significant contribution to the soundtrack to the 1985 film "Kiss of the Spiderwoman".

Though only delivering a handful of tracks on this album, directed by John Neschling (now conductor of the Sao Paulo State Symphony) and incredible Brazilian guitarist Nando Carneiro, the work is simply breath-taking. Released through Island Records (Badarou was a key component of the Compass Point All-stars stable in Nassau under Chris Blackwell, and as such contributed to some incredible recordings from Grace Jones to Tom Tom Club, alongside Sly & Robbie and many others) the album is inexplicably difficult to get hold of today. But it is a bonafide classic, a combination of intoxicating bossa nova, samba and salsoul rhythms, emanating from the film's South American origins, and wrapped in sophisticated arrangements that stem from Badarou's own impeccable classical heritage and Neschling's overall direction.

The work is seductive, sensual and wonderfully layered, with a jazz-funk element that secures its appeal. And if this is a starting point, then Badarou's own solo work is ever worthy of exploration. 1982's "Echoes", again on Island, is immense, a more danceable offering, and simply dripping in mellow funky sunshine, with the trademark harmonic and synth-led layering, giving the record a real depth and intoxicating power. It is a real must-have. And Badarou's influence goes beyond his impressive recorded output. Knowing he is unofficial 5th member of British proto-funk popsters Level 42 might put you off, or if you are sensible give you an opportunity to reassess some of their work. Say what you like, but Mark King is an incredible bassist.

And then there is the afore-mentioned work on Island, not to mention pioneering of home studio technology, and incredible Afro-Jazz-Funk outfit Voodoo Family, alongside the "French Herbie Hancock", the criminally under-rated and lesser known Philippe Dambury. Wally Badarou, in addition to having one of the best names in music, is an absolute living legend, and well worth an investment of time in exploring. He's even contributed to the New Jack City soundtrack for goodness sake. He played synth on Gregory Isaac’s “Night Nurse” LP!! Bad to the bone, plain and simple.

Phoenix from the flames

I have spoken on these very pages, quite recently in fact, about the brilliance of Air's "Moon Safari" album, and also of the genius of legendary French producer Cerrone. However, at the risk of revealing myself to be a raving Francophile nutter, I wanted to put my camembert, model eiffel tower and string of onions down for a moment, take off my beret and stripey top, and pause briefly to mention another Gallic offering which takes pride of place as perhaps my favourite French record. (Don't we all have favourite French records? No? Aah. Bit awkward*).

Anyway, I would probably go so far as to say that this record is more than that, it is simply one of my favourite tracks of all time, and melts my hard old heart on each repeated listen. And the track in question? Phoenix's disco-tinged and soulful slice of aural sunshine, wrapped up in a housey ribbon of pure joy, 2000's "If I Ever Feel Better Love" from the equally great "United" album. There is nothing overly sophisticated about this tune, nothing particularly innovative in its aspirations, and yet for some reason I just love it. There is an incessant quality to the beat, up-tempo and uplifting and yet somehow mellow in its mood, and the filtered sweetness of the vocals is just like an aural spongebath from a stunning French maid. Except it is sung by a man who sounds like he has just stepped out of the Californian surf circa 1973, and in an accent that defies categorisation. And yet it works so beautifully.

It is seductive and winsome, it is warm and drenched with the best type of love-based sentiments as to induce unadulterated fits of swooning. Perhaps that is just me again. But the point remains that Phoenix are a unique band who are capable of producing music that comes from an incredible diversity of influences and reference points, and yet make it sound so coherent, so accessible and so different, but still with quality and verve. The debut album that this song of choice comes from, 2000's "United" is an absolute belter of a record, marrying these influences, from country to house, and from riff-tastic 1980's rock, to hip-hop and soul, to create an album that shines from start to finish.

The title says it all really, uniting and knitting together strands of musical history to make a colourful pullover of aural brilliance, but one which screams "Parisian sophistication, cool and savoir-faire" rather than "Granny's unwanted Christmas present". Phoenix started life as Air's studio band, and also have strong links to Daft Punk, but such is their pedigree that they are correctly seen in their own right, as opposed to a footnote to other French successes, or riding on the bandwagon of nu-wave filtered French funky disco. It is almost like the best compilation album that you never received from that cool French chick you never met on a school exchange programme when you were fifteen (remember the one you actually spent with some spotty librarian-type dude on the outskirts of some industrial French town pretending to enjoy smoking and wondering when the family food would become edible). Anyway, "United" is a brilliant album and well worth checking out at any time, but particularly as the spring turns to summer and heart-warming melodies seem to make balmy evenings last forever.

Cheesy as a Frenchman's larder, yet as cool and laid-back as their wine-cellar, for me it remains the best example of disco-tinged pop rock country soul with a funky house undertone that I own. Just because it is the only one is irrelevant, because even if my whole collection was of records meeting this crazy criteria, "United" would still stand proud at the top of the pile.

Space soul oddity

I know that many people, from many generations, have been huge fans of David Bowie, the master musical chameleon who has influenced hundreds of musicians across many years and who is an undoubted superstar. Indeed there are many for whom he remains the ultimate artist, their favourite rock star, and he has always elicited a stunning degree of devotion. And all this despite the horror of side project Tin Machine, his drum'n'bass phase, and not to mention more direction changes than a blind man playing Super Mario Kart. However, for this writer he has never exerted much of an influence, and for a long time I considered him to just be over-rated. Put simply I couldn't see what the fuss was all about.

In my early musical upbringing the only Bowie tunes I was really aware of were "Changes", "Sound and Vision" and "Young Americans", all of which I thought were absolutely brilliant and still do, but none prompted me to explore further. Nor could I ever get a grip on the context for these songs, the phases they came from, or their internal chronology. As I got older, of course, I also knew in passing about Bowie as Ziggy Stardust and a few of the songs from that seminal album, and was vaguely aware of his more Teutonic period in the 1970s and influence on artists such as Lou Reed and Iggy Pop, but again it just never translated into any kind of deeper fascination. However, as is often the case in our fickle lives, it was the influence of a special lady who convinced me to really give Bowie a proper chance. And what I found was less a trumped up follower of fads, an astute manipulator of musical fashions and marketing, but instead a man who, in many ways sometimes verges on creative genius.

Here is not the place to go into the history and influence of Bowie's music, facts that can be found easily elsewhere and a path very well trodden, but suffice it to say that if you too are a hater, or dismissive of Bowie, I would urge you to try again. You might still find it to not be to your taste, but don't let a confusing array of offerings put you off from diving in fully-clothed, as I am sure that there is something for everyone in the Bowie canon. And once you are in, it is surprisingly easy to find yourself seduced into further exploration and develop a real liking for his work. I realise of course that many people reading this will be wondering why I am stating the obvious, surely no one can be ignorant of Bowie's work I hear you say, but experience has shown me that he is still an artist who seems to split opinion quite cleanly.

Anyway, the point I really wanted to make was that an interesting entry point, and one which I followed myself, came from one of my afore-mentioned tunes I could really claim to love, and probably the one I liked best. "Young Americans" from 1975 is a quite astonishing album, even more so when one considers that it follows the dispassionate Orwellian funk of precursor "Diamond Dogs" (itself an album that has grown on me greatly). But rather than following through with his Dystopian vision, Bowie instead kept the funk element of this earlier work alive, and combined it with the sounds of Philly soul to produce a sublime album of blue-eyed and commercially viable soul. The title track stands out, but also quite brilliant are many other of the tracks from the album including the huge-selling "Fame" which broke Bowie fully in the states, "Win", "Somebody Up There Likes Me" and "Fascination". Bowie's collaboration with producer Tony Visconti continued on this album, but significantly the album was recorded at Gamble & Huff's legendary Sigma Sound studio, with members of the incredible house band collective MFSB contributing to backing. Not to mention the first significant musical recording of a young Luther Vandross as a backing singer, adding his own smooth vocal stylings to proceedings, and even co-writing "Fascination".

Surely reasons indeed to give this album a second chance if you are not yet convinced. I still have some issues with Bowie's work, but I think that these are simply residual from my earlier lack of interest as actually, when I think about it now, I love a lot more of his work than not. And one simply cannot deny his own musical curiosity and aptitude, a creative mind always searching for new sources of fascination and expression and often pulling these quirky direction changes off with aplomb. Or maybe that restlessness was just the narcotic mountain he consumed throughout the same period. But whatever the case, "Young Americans" remains a touchstone for a huge amount of music that followed, setting an oft-subscribed-to aesthetic and luxurious soulful sound, not to mention slightly shallow rhetoric of excess and celebrity that continues to be aspired to in pop music today. So still not everyone's cup of tea, but you have to give credit to the man for attempting such a strange brew in the first place.

Turn me over to the hands of the law

Despite being a perennial favourite of virtually everyone I know, a record that you rarely see actually being actively praised and held up as a classic of its time is Colonel Abrams' 1985 monster cut, "Trapped". I know it gets critical acclaim and has had its fair share of plaudits, but it is never a song that is referenced perhaps as much as it should be, whether in pop terms, or as a key offering in the emergence of house music as a commercial and credible genre of music. Similarly Colonel Abrams has never really been given full dues as an artist who is far from a one-hit wonder, and rather has provided some quite brilliant music throughout a career that has spanned over three decades and is still ongoing today.

But let us begin with "Trapped", simply a stormer of a song in any timeframe. From the incredible synth-led opening and hand-clap snare beat, to his Pendergrass-esque vocal delivery and amazing gospel-tinged echo of the chorus, the song is a perfect merging of pop accessibility and emergent house sensibilities. And, as I say, it is far from the only achievement of this Detroit-born, Brooklyn-raised funk-merchant. As far back as 1976 Abrams was a singer with an outfit called 94 East, featuring none other than Prince on guitar duties, and in the early 1980s he was an active part of the scene which would soon become house music, taking disco's club-based aesthetic, classic funk and soul and mixing in the technology and drive of electronica to create a relentlessly funky hybrid.

His 1984 12inch release "Music Is The Answer" is a classic example of just this mix, and 1985's eponymous "Colonel Abrams" album served up more of the same, giving us the title track as well as the brilliant bonafide classic "I'm Not Gonna Let You", and other gems such as "Speculation" and "The Truth". Produced in large part by none other than the legendary Cerrone, the album still stands up today, and even features some nice ballads for those post-club moments.

If you are able you should also try to find the Cerrone-produced "How Soon We Forget" 12 inch. Fantastic. As stated, Abrams is still delivering music today, and while he has never punctured the mainstream as he did with "Trapped" his music remains creatively interesting and his influence undimmed. Criminally his music is not the easiest thing to find, even in the internet age, but any efforts will be richly rewarded. And so if you, like me, were always curious about what the Colonel did when he did finally escape from his amorous incarceration, you can now rest easy. He was simply lost in the music and like a fool he couldn't escape.

Well umm, boom, shak-a-lak, I got the flavas*

Nas' "Hip Hop Is Dead" album, as has been said on A Story To Tell previously, was a pretty impressive return to form for the street's disciple, and hip-hop's increasingly cantankerous elder statesman. More than just being a collection of dope tunes and the deft, hard-edged, street-wise yet metaphorical lyricism that Nas is famous for however, I think that one of the things that is interesting about this record is that it set about raising some key questions about the state of rap in the modern age.

Now, Nas is too shrewd a player to label an album with such a controversial title without recognising the marketing potential of such a move (his new album clearly shows us that, if we were in any doubt!), but if you put the shock factor to one side, what is significant is that in listening to the album you soon realise that he has also tried to answer some of these questions, and for that he was rightfully applauded. The album, in part, is a criticism of laziness in rap, a commerce-over-credibility mentality that has stripped the music of its core values, and thus power. But it is also a committed paean to a time when rap had something key to say, and people actually listened.

In many ways, Nas was showing himself to be a fan just like the rest of us, and in harking back to the good old days but in a forward thinking rather than pessimistically nostalgic fashion, he served to highlight just what we have been missing, but also how we might get it back. One such tool in this armoury of self-improvement was of course the stellar "Where Are They Now?", asking the same questions many of us have thrown around in late-night discussions, with a name check of the great and the good, many of whom then cropped up for cameos on the 3 brilliant remix versions of the song. All potentially worthy of attention, but for me one of the greatest reminders of brilliance came in the shape of subterranean excellence * the mighty, mighty Lords of the Underground.

Of course no one would ever forget the Lords, for me, albeit momentarily, the undisputed kings of early 1990s hip-hop and of course forever immortalised in Biggie's "Machine Gun Funk". But a reminder of why is always welcome. The sheer power and energy of 1993's debut album "Here Come The Lords" was astonishing at the time, and still holds up today, immediately conjuring up images of the best of Yo! MTV Raps and valuing banging, good*time, bass-shaking and funky hip-hop above all else. A time when Das-EFX could riggeddy-rock the mic with out sounding in the least bit wiggeddy-wack, different times indeed, but ones we all remember fondly I am sure. With their initial offering, the New Jersey trio * DJ Lord Jazz (hit me one time, make it funky), and rappers Mr. Funke and DoItAll * served up one of the key recordings of the East Coast canon, and the run of classic cuts including the scene-stealing "Chief Rocka", traffic-stopping "Here Come The Lords", and impeccable stand-out "Funky Child" are great examples of the energy and styles this crew brought to the scene.

1993 was already pretty frenetic, but somehow the Lords came and injected yet more life into the party, a quite astonishing feat really. Lyrically the Lords aren't the most accomplished by any means, but any technical deficiencies are more than outweighed by an undoubted enthusiasm and panache in delivery, with a mixture of the humorous, the tongue-twistingly eloquent, and the downright loudness that is an infectious and heady mix. And then of course there is the production. Because "Here Come The Lords" is noteworthy also for providing us with an example, arguably his last of real note, of the brilliance of the legendary Marley Marl. Along with his protégé K-Def, Marley provides an impeccable lesson in horn-led, sample-heavy, hook-laden funk of an absolutely outstanding quality. Listen again to "Funky Child" and get lost in its aural majesty, sinister yet uplifting, complex yet simple in its impact.

Despite stand-out follow-up single "Tic Toc", and a sizeable period of grace and favour, the Lords never matched the success of their debut, and despite the fact that three albums (including 2007's "House Of Lords") followed, have slipped out of consciousness somewhat, easy to do in rap's sometime cruel and inexorable onwards flow. But their place amongst the top table is still guaranteed, such is the significance of their early work, and whether enjoying mainstream and critical success, or on the down low, they will never be dead and buried, the undisputed Lords of the Undergound.

The Native Tongue family consists of...

Surely I speak for the vast majority of readers of A Story To Tell, and heads across the world, in proclaiming Black Sheep's 1991 album "A Wolf In Sheep's Clothing" to be an absolute, cast-iron classic. There is of course nothing revolutionary in this statement, or anything remotely slept on about this album, but sometimes you have to just re-state the bleeding obvious. There is just no doubt about it, from start to finish, it is to my ears virtually faultless and the only reason I haven't posted about it up until now is that I just don't know what to say that will do it justice that hasn't already been said.

So instead let's just revel in the reasons why this album remains a sparkling gold nugget in the rap firmament, and one of the undoubted greatest hip-hop albums of all time. The humour, of which there is of course plenty, still makes me laugh out loud, and I know the album's lyrics and vocal punchlines inside-out and back outside-in again. Even most of the skits retain their come drum breaks high up in the mix, and jazzy stylings and guitar lines adding a sophisticatedly seductive value to many of the mid-tempo numbers, and some killer bass keeping the groove heavy.


The production is high value, and the album is undoubtedly a longplayer in the proper sense of the word, working brilliantly as a complete entity. And then there is the intricate and inspired lyrical wordplay, dominated of course by Dres, but with remarkably good support from Mr Lawnge. Dres' lyrics on this album are among the best I have ever heard, with a perfect mix between sensitive and socially aware messages, metaphorical madness, the afore-mentioned comedic timing, alliterative inspiration, and all tied together with a smooth, smooth flow and arrogance that somehow serves to ingratiate rather than grate.

And of course there are the bizarre vocabulary inventions, from the brilliant exclamations throughout of "Van Daaaam" to "sexual chocolate", "c'est la poo poo" and even the title of the standout "Similak Child" is itself a worthy addition to any lexicon. Come to mention it, how many rap tunes could pull off a beat built on a sample of a dog barking, indeed how many people would even think to attempt it. And let us not forget that the album also spawned some absolute dance floor killers, some as remixes, from the huge "The Choice Is Yours", to the perennial favourite "Stobelight Honey" and "Flavour of the Month".


Follow-up, 1994's "Non-Fiction" despite some real highlights, could perhaps never live up to the expectations raised by their debut, and I have never been able to find Dres' 1999 solo offering "Sure Shot Redemption" or Mr Lawnge's own 2006 offering "Class of '89", or their final collaboration "8WM/Novakane". The two have now disbanded, apparently amicably, and so what the future holds is unclear, though there is hope in the myspace world of distribution that future works could still be forthcoming.



Whether new work is relevant to the modern scene or not is pretty much an irrelevance in itself, because Black Sheep will always, like fellow classic album creators and comedic frontrunners The Pharcyde, have a place deep in the hearts of fans everywhere. So if you are looking for a route back to when hip-hop actually made you smile as well as nod your head, pull out the Black Sheep of the family. I know that's what I'm off to do. I said...latah man.

Muddying the Waters

There is no doubt at all that Muddy Waters is one of the greatest bluesmen of all time, and perhaps the most influential. His music is legendary, full stop. However one album in his consistently impressive canon that is always likely to stir up some heated debate is 1968's psychedelic blues-rock experiment "Electric Mud", whereby the father of Chicago Blues and the king of the amplified urban sound went all fuzzed out wah-wah pedals on our collective asses.

"Electric Mud" features heavy rocking and heavily psychedelically influenced versions of Waters classics, such as "Mannish Boy" and "Hoochie Cooche Man" as well as a couple of new compositions and a re-working of the Rolling Stone's rollicking "Let's Spend The Night Together" (itself surely a wonderful irony for the Waters-adoring Stones who themselves had taken the blues as a springboard to the mainstream in the psychedelic sixties). The album splits opinion cleanly, with purists deriding the commerciality of such a selling-out, which they say aimed to capitalise only on the new white audience who had recently begun to embrace Waters' Chess recordings after a long period in the wilderness. For this many despise it. For others it is a brave step into experimental territory, a groundbreaking concept album that was ahead of its time and offers an interesting and rewarding diversion to Waters' more traditional recording career.

Waters himself seems to have not been a fan of the recording, in some subsequent instances disowning it almost entirely. I think this is a shame and am probably more in the latter camp as, while i accept the charges of selling-out levelled against it, feel that this should not be a reason to dismiss it so vehemently. Mind you, some people still wish Dylan had never gone electric at Newport but that is their loss. For "Electric Mud" is an album that I really love, not for its straight-up blues qualities because you can easily find that elsewhere, but more as a daring testament to a time when music was branching off in all sorts of exciting directions. And to my ears the experiment works brilliantly. Not all the time, but enough to provide a thrillingly raw workout of an album, with many songs one-take wonders, and Waters' drawling delivery merging fantastically with the loose fuzzy drone of his electric band.

There is an energy to the record which is immediately entrancing and the drums drive it forward at an incessantly rocking pace, and there is no small amount of Funkadelic-style grooving. And while Waters didn't contribute guitar to the project, his voice is by no means out-powered by the effects laden production and instead fits naturally and confidently with the sonic banquet laid on for him. Some of you may reading this may have come across Chuck D's championing of the record, and indeed his filmed rediscovery of Chess' heritage and the story of this record in Scorsese's brilliant The Blues documentary series is well worth watching. Just don't bother with the rock-rap tribute he fronts as part of this film. For that truly is a musical experiment that I could have well done without.

Timeless?

London, like any city worth its salt, loves a "scene". Whether or not we care to admit it, we all love capturing a faddish eruption of creativity, often driven by art or music or a combination of the two, that we can tap into and feel part of something bigger and, well, cooler than that which came before. Playing out in the shadows of the city at night, life on the cutting-edge is an admittedly shallow yet sometimes strangely fulfilling place to reside. New York is perhaps the king of the faddish scene, with hipsters seemingly always on the move to the latest bar/club/party/gathering, and the mainstream losers of the world, as the hipsters would have it, always just one step behind. Too often arriving at the place to be seen just as the party bandwagon rolls off to pastures new, that is the life-cycle of the scenester, forever to hear the timeless refrain that things were much better 3/6/9 months ago.

But London Town has its moments as well, those times when an area literally seems to buzz with the energy of the new. Hoxton, in London's East End, is now a bustling haven for creatives, artists, media whores and pseudo-debaucherous annoyances with bad haircuts. But before it became this alcohol and narcotic-fuelled theme park for the "cool" crowd it was just a slightly grey and nondescript area on the outskirts of the financial district. And also momentarily the focus of a musical revolution which will forever be a key part of this writer's musical schooling and heritage, home as it was to the legendary Metalheadz Sessions, Sunday evenings at the Blue Note.



There was a period in the mid-1990s when it appeared that drum'n'bass music would take over the British urban music scene, and perhaps the mainstream as well, and at the forefront of the movement was Goldie and the Metalheadz collective and record label. Goldie has often been cast as the leading light of the scene, and certainly his was the name that stamped itself on the collective mind of the mainstream, and for good reason. "Timeless", his 1995 ground-breaking opus, has become the definitive statement of the music and is an absolutely epic piece of work, still sounding fresh and exciting today.

But there are other key figures also worthy of note, many from within the same crew and some without, as well as other key gatherings of note, from Space, to Speed, to AWOL, to any number of grimy jungle raves across the city and beyond. "Timeless" producer and head of the incredible Moving Shadow imprint Rob Playford is key, but 4 Hero, engineers on that album are also worthy of mention, making an important contribution to the album's sound, as well as Goldie's own musical schooling. Vocalist Diane Charlemagne should also be recognised for her role in the sonic reach of the music, as well as the brilliant female duo of Kemistry & Storm, the former tragically killed in a freak motor accident in 1999 having been a key element of the scene for years and arguably the driving force behind Metalheadz success through her own musical talent alongside Storm, network of associates and business acumen.



And then there are the scene's other leading DJs and musicians, a list which it is impossible to do justice to in print, but which features absolute heroes of mine from Metalheadz co-founder Doc Scott, to the massive, oft-intertwined Fabio and Grooverider, Dillinja, LTJ Bukem, Roni Size, Alex Reece, Lemon D, DJ Hype, Photek, J Majik, Ed Rush...the list just goes on and on. Clearly this posting does nothing more than begin to just scratch the surface of a musical heritage with its own fascinating roots, intermingled histories and key figures, not to mention musical masterpieces. And "Timeless" is just one of those.


But it was the one which truly popped its head above the parapet of the underground and pierced a hole in the mainstream, and showed that this often frenetic and exciting mixture of breakbeats, jungle, rave and hip-hop sensibilities was not a passing fad, not a joke music, not just the sound of the fringes of society, not the sound of violent youth culture, but an honest and relevant expression of true musical creativity. Absolutely timeless.

K.O Player

Compilations can be something of a hit and miss affair as a listening experience, often disjointed and variable in quality, and promising more than they deliver. As a method of discovering new music, however, they can be of great value, and when they work can be a prized addition to any discerning collection. You know that feeling when you are randomly browsing the stacks in search of inspiration and happen across a CD that piques your interest for some reason. Maybe because of the cover art, or because it is a label that you know and respect, or features a track that you have been after for a while, you buy it on a whim only to then find that new avenues of musical discovery stem from the morsels served up by someone else's selections.


Now there should be no surprise when an Okayplayer compilation dishes up high quality flavours, such is the esteem in which the stable is correctly held, but their "True Notes Vol.1", from 2004, is still a collection worthy of note for a number of reasons. Fair enough, many of the tracks can be found elsewhere (isn't that the point of a taster?) and some are hardly brand new, but that shouldn't take away from the fact that the album features some real standouts. Indeed, any uninitiated reading this could do much worse than pick up this compilation for a strong introduction into some fine hip-hop from artists who consistently come correct. More than that though, for me it has also added missing pieces to rap stories that I have digressed away from and served as a timely reminder to get back on the cases of some of my favourite artists.



Prime among these is courtesy of track 2, the quirky "O.K. Player" from Aceyalone and Madlib.
Now we should need little reminder of Madlib's talents, or indeed his consistently brilliant output, but sometimes a memory reboot in the form of a perfectly constructed beat such as that on "O.K. Player" can be welcome. More than that though was a reminder of the smoothly nonchalant flow of LA legend Aceyalone, who I am afraid to say had slipped off my radar somewhat. The work of the Freestyle Fellowship, of which Aceyalone is a founding member, is worthy of far more attention than is possible here, and I have been meaning for some time to do a posting on classic album "Innercity Griots". But for now let's just give props to a truly great MC. Rediscovering a lost love can be a demoralising affair, with happy rose-tinted memories failing to live up to the realities of today, but gladly Aceyalone is well worthy of an amorous rekindling of affections.



His output throughout the 1990s and 2000s has been impressive, and worthy of praise indeed. Aside from his championing of West Coast talent through the Project Blowed imprint, there is his stellar work with both Madlib and RJD2, and membership of The A-Team and Haiku D-Etat groups. And then there is his sickly prolific debut work.1995's solo debut "All Balls Don't Bounce" is a bonafide, absolute classic, gladly now back in production, and not far behind is follow-up "A Book Of Human Language". I haven't yet made it through all of the solo releases, but suffice it to say that I feel like an idiot for sleeping on Aceyalone for so long.



Conversely, however, there is also something of a smug satisfaction in rediscovering an artist who, while slipping off the radar for many (or is that just me?!), continues to do their thing to a ridiculously high standard. Like I say, revisiting past loves can be a painful reality-check doomed to disappoint, but sometimes you just pick up right where you left off and spend the rest of your happy lives together wondering how on earth you fell off course in the first place.

Must be Hercules

Many readers of A Story To Tell will perhaps be most familiar with the work of New Orleans' Aaron Neville through his brilliant and oft-revered 1975 cut "Hercules", an absolutely fantastic slice of down-tempo funk. Heads may also be aware of roles with the Meters, surely the very funkiest of the funky, and although few might admit it, we all know of his late-80's cheese-fest duets with Linda Ronstadt, led by the massive-selling "Don't Know Much". My own introduction to Aaron Neville involves none of these routes however, but comes through a somewhat bizarre but incredible 1970s side project for Neville, with the one-off formation in 1976 of The Wild Tchoupitoulas.

This album, with its cover art of Mardi Gras Indians in full dress, and it's deep down dirty Louisiana funk and celebratory theme, was a key record in my childhood and as such was seared into my memory from an early age. I have spoken before on these very pages about the special fondness held for New Orleans, and especially the R'n'B and funk music that emerged from there in the late 1960s and throughout the 1970s, and it has always amazed me what a connected scene it was, giving the impression of an ongoing musical jam where everyone knows each other and the good vibes and great music emanate from this interaction and familiarity.

Legendary names such as those of the various Neville Brothers, Allen Toussaint, George Landry (the Nevilles' uncle), Lee Dorsey, Dr John, amongst many others, crop up again and again on each others music, and The Wild Tchoupitoulas is no exception, with Toussaint on production, the Meters as the backing band, Landry on chief vocals, and the Neville Brothers combining brotherly efforts together for the first time. They only produced the one self-titled album, released in 1976, but if you are able to get hold of it, this is simply remarkable. Featuring the call and response chant-based vocalising of the traditional songs of the Mardi Gras Indian tribes, a key feature of the Mardi Gras festivities, the album is guaranteed to get you shaking your rump.
Songs are of a similar type and sound but that turns out to be a strength, with the album best listened to as a whole as it blends each track together brilliantly into an organic masterpiece that seems to take in influences from the afore-mentioned Mardi Gras Indian traditions as well as blues, early raw R'n'B, jazz, funk and even calypso and early reggae. It is quite literally a funky gumbo stew, a short and brilliantly simple Cajun party from the Big Easy. I recall being obsessed with the tune "Meet De Boys on de Battlefront" as a young toddler, but it was only as an adult that I really came to appreciate the true worth of this long-player, once more tracing family and musical connections from disparate jump-off points to increasingly interesting unions.

I originally intended this posting to be about a hugely contrasting but equally brilliant Aaron Neville recording, his 1966 ballad "Tell It Like It Is", but for now this will need to be placed on the back-burner. Instead let us just pause and reflect on a truly Herculean effort of musical wonderment. So go get your feathered head-dress, this party really won't stop until the breakadawn.

Sky High and Beyond

Riding high on the Twelve Bar playlist at the moment (track 10 I believe), is an all time jazz-funk classic, Donald Byrd's "Wind Parade" from the equally stunning 1975 album "Places and Spaces". If you don't know this record in its entirety then I urge you to dig it out as an entry point to the work of jazz-fusion trumpeter extraordinaire Byrd, a combination of the funkiest, disco and soul-tinged, r'n'b with a jazz foundation you are ever likely to come across. It is quite simply awesome. And while you are there, why not also dip in to Byrd's similarly classic early 1970's albums, from 1972's "Ethiopian Knights", to 1973's huge-selling "Black Byrd" and "Street Lady" (amazing cover art by the way) and 74's "Stepping Into Tomorrow".

If you are immediately put off by the very notion of jazz-funk then again I would urge you to start with Byrd and open your ears because the discerning music lover will always be richly rewarded by this sub-genre, itself a treasure trove for hip-hop heads over the years. Although it is true that some aspects of this fusion, at its peak in the early 1970s, are painfully hard work to listen to, with technical excellence and exploration at the fore to the expense of accessibility, it is also true that listening to the work of Donald Byrd, or contemporaries such as Roy Ayers, Lonnie Liston Smith, Herbie Hancock and Bobbi Humphrey can also be an extremely riveting introduction to more traditional contemporary jazz, again a rewarding detour to make. And, besides, whether you know it or not you are probably already familiar with the other key players in the Donald Byrd story, the production duo of Larry and Alphonse "Fonce" Mizell.

The Mizell Brothers are criminally under-appreciated as musical pioneers, due perhaps in part to their own retirement from the music industry in the early 1980s. But if ever there was a duo who deserve some hype it is these two. A recent retrospective of their years on the Blue Note label, coinciding with Byrd's purple patch as outlined above, where they wrote, performed and produced the records through their own Sky High Production for the label, is a testament to their brilliance. Itself taking content heavily from the "Places and Spaces" album, this collection is solid gold. But the Mizells' influence and input goes far beyond Byrd. Within the jazz-funk scene they also contributed significantly to career-peaking work by Gary Bartz ("Music Is My Sanctuary", Bobbi Humphrey "Blacks and Blues", Johnny Hammond Smith ("Gambler's Life" and "Gears"). And before that Fonce Mizell was a key component of Motown's Corporation production team, providing many of the Jackson 5's first hits including "I Want You Back", "ABC" and "The Love You Save", as well as a range of material for acts such as Marvin Gaye, Gladys Knight and Diana Ross. Damn it, the brothers even had time, before their self-imposed retirement, to pen A Taste Of Honey's classic disco hit "Boogie Oogie Oogie".

And if that wasn't enough, you will already have fallen in love with their music through samples by Tribe, Black Moon, De La, Stetsasonic, J Dilla*.the list just goes on and on. The Mizell's style is tantamount to musical perfection, with a seamless interweaving of melodies, sophisticated yet elegant and accessible rhythms, and lush soundscapes, which lend themselves equally to dancefloors or hazy lazy summer nights. As I said earlier, fusion music can be painful, often because the seams are still horribly visible.

With the Mizell's the joins are invisible, and that is their truly finest achievement. And as if combining to push the boundaries of what is possible musically, while Fonce was at Motown the younger of the brothers, Larry, was working as an electrical engineer at NASA, carrying out testing on the Apollo Programme, and thus quite literally pushing the very boundaries of human endeavour and giving an amazing credence to their soon to be launched Sky High moniker. And that, is just showing off!

Hands in the air!!

The band Utah Saints may sound like a God-fearing sect of the Mormon church coming straight out of the mid-west, but the truth could not be more different, hailing as they do from provincial Harrogate in the north of England. However, the religious theme is one worth pursuing because for many people of a certain vintage the one true religion that guided their path through adolescence was house music, a tent in a field somewhere in the English countryside was their place of worship, and bands such as Utah Saints the messiahs.

Here is not the place for a brief history of the Acid House and rave scene of the late 1980s and early 1990s, but it is undoubtedly a subject worthy of a great deal of attention for all music lovers, as indeed are the acts, and possibly more importantly DJs, who led the vanguard of what was as much a social as musical revolution. But for me Utah Saints are a band who have always been a little bit misunderstood and maligned, caricatured as something of a novelty act, when in fact they were in many ways pioneers of their scene with an influence which reached far into other genres of music also. They were front-runners in the use of sampling technology in dance music, a move which had profound repercussions for the jungle, hardcore and drum'n'bass scenes that followed, not to mention cross-over influence into hip-hop also.

They were also the first house music act to really appeal on a massive scale to the mainstream, and certainly the first to take an essentially faceless electronic music and turn it into a live music event. Fellow pioneering artists the KLF even refer to them as the first true stadium house band, and their augmentation of their electronic instrumentation with decks and live instruments can itself be seen mirrored in the sets of both rap acts and superstar DJs since. Merging elements of dance music, industrial rock, trance and a pop sensibility the Utah Saints can also claim to have influenced a range of artists from Nine Inch Nails at one extreme, through Underworld, the Prodigy and KLF, to Moby at the other.

Some of their early 1990s output may appear dated now, but the best moments are still well capable of sending a shiver down your spine, and take you straight back to that muddy field and manic grin. Prime example is the Kate Bush-sampling "Something Good", itself now the subject of a 2008 remix. However, you should eschew this reworking for the original recording, a blissful, uplifting, stomper of a track which makes you smile and want to move as soon as the needle hits the record, as all good house music should.

My personal favourite though has always been "What Can You Do For Me?", if not for the audacious introductory sample which splices up the already brilliant opening to the Eurythmics' "There Must Be An Angel", then for the stunning sample of Gwen Guthrie's "Ain't Nothin Going On But The Rent", turning an r'n'b slow-burner into an incessant house attack. Brilliant stuff. Just no need to get out the loon pants, glow stick and bandana just yet. The rave finished some time ago, and the field is now just a field again, no matter how hard you look for it.