When I’m alone in my room, sometimes I stare at the walls

LL Cool J is a true legend of the game, there is little doubt about that. A bonafide innovator, in the halls of fame his reputation is secured. But aside from "Radio", "Bigger and Deffer", “Walk Like A Panther” and "Mama Said Knock You Out", aside from the multi-platinum sales and G.O.A.T highlights of a long and stellar career there is another, slightly more unconventional reason to herald Ladies Love. I am referring of course, to his position as the originator and possibly still undisputed king of romantic rap. Come on now, I know you can rap along to “Hey lover” and of course “I Need Love”. Don't front now that everyone is watching! And a recent listen to “Bigger and Deffer”, the massive album that spawned “I Need Love”, I got to thinking about other love songs in rap. And perhaps surprisingly there are some other classics vying for the title of best rap ballad.

You may have your own favourite, but a quick recall throws up some tunes which, while mostly residing in the cheesier echelons of the game, can also claim to be truly great records. “Song Cry” is immense, a song that moved Jay-Z up a notch in my estimations, the hustler with a heart. And as I have stated before on A Story To Tell the version he kicks on his unplugged set, with the mighty Jaguar Wright on vocals, just kills the show. But there are others. I have always been a fan of the transcendental meditations of PM Dawn’s “Set Adrift On Memory Bliss”, using the Spandau Ballet “True” sample to stunning effect, while at the other end of the spectrum is Biggie's “Me And My Bitch”, as strong a gangster's declaration of affection as you are likely to hear.

But others too from rap's exalted canon can also be included. Tribe and “Bonita Applebum”? Ghostface and Mary, “All That I Got Is You? Meth and Mary, “All I Need”? And the mightiest of mighty, Pete Rock and CL Smooth’s “They Reminisce Over You”. Perhaps itself not a conventional ballad, or a love song at all, but a tune that brings sentimentality of the highest order to the table and serves it with a delicious soul and credibility. As I say I'm sure that there are others that tug on many a thug's heartstrings, make a b-boy bawl and render many a playa pole axed by emotion, or perhaps it is just me.

But for now let's just pause to give some props to the other side of the game, the side that eschews ho-ism for true emotional flowism. You might not agree, but then you're not the one walking around with Ladies Love in front of your name. After all I believe that it was the king of the romantic story, Shakespeare himself, who said “If rap music be the food of love...play on playa!”. Or something like that anyway.

Lemme take you to a place I know you wanna go..

House music is a scene that bursts with seeming one-offs, certainly in its fledgling period. Although many artists from the scene’s early years have matured and gone on to create album length records of note, and indeed dance music generally has evolved into a genre of impressive breadth, depth and innovation, many favourite records of the era are by artists whose best worked seemed to be encapsulated in just 12 inches of vinyl. And of course this is fitting for a music that exploded through and onto dance floors, with the idea of pop stardom or even simple mainstream acceptance or artist visibility anathema to the do-it-yourself aesthetics of the scene, and the rise of the bedroom DJ and producer.

However, as house music developed in the late 1980s and the rave scene grew pace there were records that began to puncture the charts, though again the presence of a face behind the music was less forthcoming, except in the form of novelty acts that watered down the house sound for a radio-friendly audience. To prove my point, think of some of the classic tunes from the early house days. “Can You Feel It?” by Fingers Inc, Kariya’s “Let Me Love You For Tonight”, “Strings of Life” by Rhythm Is Rhythm, Lil Louis’ “French Kiss”. All massive and important tunes, but all essentially faceless. And the list goes on and on. One major exception to this trend however is of course the impeccable, and in many ways peerless, Inner City, a band that slayed the mainstream while retaining a position of pre-eminence and major importance in the development of the underground scene that spawned them.

Far from a crossover act, Inner City were instead a certain type of house music royalty, comprising Detroit techno innovater Kevin Saunderson as producer and composer, and renowned Chicago vocalist Paris Grey. Saunderson’s importance in the history of dance music is a story for another time, but suffice it to say that with fellow “Belleville Three” cohorts Derrick May and Juan Atkins, Saunderson literally changed the face of dance music. But with Inner City a different kind of revolution took place, because here was music with critical and dance floor acclaim, but which also enjoyed unprecedented commercial success. Inner City clocked up 11 UK and US dance chart Number Ones, sold 6 million records, and were in the UK Top 40 eight times.

In fact it was arguably the UK crowd who really provided the initial impetus to such heights of success, with success in the US and worldwide following to differing degrees and heights. And they did so with a sound that simply takes your breath away, bringing the driving technical precision of the Detroit techno sound into the arena of straight up soul music through Grey’s incredible vocals, all with tinges of jazz structuring, gospel aesthetics and of course a pop accessibility. But the popular applications were a by-product to the effect of the music on the dance floors for which it was written.

Because hearing an Inner City record is often to be transformed to a state of sheer euphoria through the epic scale of the compositions and orchestrations, and the uplifting content and vocal sweetness and power of Grey’s voice, like a gospel choir on E, but channelled through one voice. “Pennies from Heaven” is massive, “Watcha Gonna Do With My Lovin’” fantastic, “Hallelujah” is heaven sent, and “Big Fun” is exactly what it says in the title. Debut album “Paradise” is a rare treat in early dance music as I have suggested above, because it works as a whole offering, and although follow ups “Fire” and “Praise” fared less well commercially they still contained moments of genius, including a couple of the singles listed previously. But king amongst their tunes is surely 1988’s “Good Life”, a record which to my ears is some kind of perfection. From the “Paradise” album it just never gets dated or loses its impact.

From the opening electronic bass drum single beat, to the synth melody and chugging twisted out accordion stabs, to the dropped beats and introduction of Grey’s vocals with the immortal line that forms the title of this blog, the song simply takes off for the stars and never looks back. It affirms life and music, and the power of getting lost in the good vibes of both. Inner City deserve a celebrated place as pioneers of house, and also for their role in making the music accessible and acceptable to the masses, a music which now dominates much of pop culture. Life, as they say, is good. Very good.

No One Can Do It Better

Mary might have the unrivalled rights to the title queen of hip-hop soul, but there is no doubt that Ms Erykah Badu is soul royalty in her own right. When she first burst onto the scene with her stunning debut “Baduizm” in 1997, it was clear that here was an artist or rare talent and rare vision. Like fellow luminary D’Angelo here was an artist for whom the tag neo soul was almost an insult, so restrictive were its boundaries. Effortlessly merging elements of hip-hop, r’n’b, funk soul, jazz and even Gospel, African and reggae roots music, the record declared the emergence of an artist who may have initially grown out of the hip-hop world, but whose scope clearly went way beyond it.

These roots are still important however, and in terms of her core audience is the place that she will always find a welcome home. And so it was true as Badu brought her Vortex tour to the UK this summer. For soul and hip-hop artists who have outgrown the small but perfectly formed walls of the Jazz Café, and who are not likely to enter the world of the soulless arena, Brixton Academy is always something of a mecca. In the heart of black London, the crowd at the Academy is always a place to give love to its musical heroes, and Badu is certainly one of these. Touring her quite brilliant new album “New Amerykah Part One (4th World War)”, she delivered a show that smouldered and threatened with fantastically funky intent, before bursting into a distinctly show-stoppingly great finale.

That it took a re-visit to old favourites such as “Bag Lady”, “Love of My Life”, “Times-a-wastin” and the immense “Tyrone” and a journey into the loving arms of the crowd to really take things to boiling point was an interesting element of the show however, and got me thinking a little bit. As I said previously, “Baduizm” and it’s “Live” counterpart showed from a very early stage in her career that there was much more to Badu than was contained in even these virtually perfect gems. 2000’s “Mama’s Gun” proved that point still further, but there were indications even in this brilliant record (mention it quietly, but perhaps even better in my mind than “Baduizm”) that the singer’s own creative and experimental urges were taking her to new and slightly frightening new areas.

The self-imposed family break, return to touring, and seeming writer’s block of the early 2000s seemed to further assert this theory, with the rambling and sporadically great funky jam of “Worldwide Underground” testament to the work being put in to define her own direction. And in live shows also her innovation and desire to push the boundaries of her art and her own talents are also always evident. And this, for me is where the conundrum lies a little bit. There is no doubt that her new record, slated as part one of a double-hitter, is a phenomenal piece of work. Indeed if the second part follows in the same vein we will be sitting on an undoubted classic record. Bursting with a hip-hop sentiment and hard-edged attitude, the record is at the same time a statement of the state political and social world in 2008, but also an exploration of the inner world of the singer herself. Poetic lyricism mixes with blatant statements of intent, unedited commentary and vocal gymnastics.

The musical backdrop melds psychedelic space soul, funky jams, doo wop and straight-up beats. And throughout there is Ms Badu’s own seemingly unshakeable inner strength and confidence, qualities which emerge through her voice and imbue her music with an impressive credibility. But the question is whether an artist who strains at the leash of her own musical boundaries, can continue to connect with the world from which she came. The crowd at Brixton Academy were willing participants in the show, allowing with fondness the times when Badu chose to stretch the arrangements and her singing to the point of over-indulgence. But there was also an evident yearning for the old and familiar.

At the moment, Badu provides that, but even in the sing-along favourites she messes with the parameters of her own work, such as with the live Planet Rock souped up version of “Apple Tree”. For many, including this writer, the innovation in her work is what makes her such a standout artist. Just don’t expect a greatest hits tour any time soon.

I forgot my favourite man sittin’ over there

The unforgettable opening to an unbelievable tune, Del the Funkee Homosapien's “mistadobalina”, from 1991's killer album “I Wish My Brother George Was Here”. Take this along with the great 1993 offering from fellow Hieroglyphics crew members the mighty Souls of Mischief's “93 Til Infinity”, and I’m sure you have two records that mean a lot to many of our generation’s rap upbringings. And indeed, in my case the former of these albums particularly, marked something of a watershed in the development of my own fledgling tastes. Nothing too dramatic, but I always remember an increasing love for this record as marking a distinct step in cementing hip-hop as a first in my musical affections.

The shift was subtle, but like I say it is an album that brings back fond memories of a happy discovery of the great feeling that comes with hearing the creativity and invention of good lyricism over dope beats. The fact that Del was Ice Cube's cousin, the rapper who up until that time had been my hero on the mic, only served to bolster the sense of affinity with the album, especially as Cube took Executive Producer credits. From standout offerings such as the brilliantly off-beat “mistadobalina” (believe it or not a critique of capitalism and rampant money-making as an ethos), to the funk of “Pissin’ On Your Steps”, the quirks of “Sleeping On My Couch” and the brilliant story-telling of “Wacky World of rapid ransit”, the album is a more laidback approach to life on the West Coast.

A formula soon to produce other classic for the likes of the afore-mentioned Souls of Mischief, Freestyle Fellowship, the Pharcyde, and on into the likes of the Coup or Jurassic 5. Indeed Del’s influence on this scene, and thus on rap more generally is perhaps often criminally over-looked, especially given his refusal to pigeon-hole himself stylistically, creatively or musically. And as you will know Del has been far from inactive since this 1991 opening salvo. Of his solo albums however, coming in between record company wrangles and psychedelic adventures, the best is ironically perhaps a collaborative concept album. “Deltron 3030” released in 2000 was, and still is, an outstanding record, combining the considerable talents of Dan the Automator, Kid Koala and Del.

The cinematic, futuristic comic book tale of hip-hop heroism against flagrant capitalism and corporate dominance in the year 3030 (see a pattern?), imminently to be re-released, is a proud member of the list of the best hip-hop records of all time. Not top of the list, but solidly entrenched nonetheless. And in many ways remains ahead of its time, for production quality, diversity of beats and downright vision. A follow-up has been slated for release for the last couple of years, but is yet to see the light of day, but for me “Deltron 3030” is one of those hip-hop albums that transcends its genre somewhat, to stand alone as a significant record of itself.

There is of course, plenty more to praise about Del’s career thus far, not least his recent return to solo work with “11th Hour” after an 8 year hiatus, on the always interesting Definitive Jux Records. In the meantime he has gone platinum with cartoon concept band Gorillaz, incredibly writing smash hit “Clint Eastwood” using a formula from a free book he got through coupons from his mother entitled “How To Write A Hit Song”. But whether following a formula, or more usually just pushing at the creative limits imposed by outsiders, Del is always Funkee, but more importantly always one evolutionary homosapien.

Times done changed for the Emcee

I have written before about a rapper who I think is criminally overlooked as a true legend of the game, and of albums he has created which have not had the props that perhaps they deserve. The man is Masta Ace, and although his Cold Chillin’ output and Marley Marl collaborations, as well as “Slaughtahouse” and “Sittin’ on Chrome” manifestations are well regarded, the 2000s have not been so kind to the Brooklyn veteran, at least in terms of critical acclaim. But 2001's “Disposable Arts” and 2004's “A Long Hot Summer”, both innovative, interesting and imminently listenable concept albums, underpinned by tight lyrics and flow that you would expect from the Ace, are relatively little commented on at least outside of purist scenes.

Indeed they were, according to Ace himself, intended to be something of a swansong, critiques in part on the rap game itself, they seemed to be the resignation letters of a man who had tired of the vicissitudes of the hip-hop game. However, Masta Ace is back, and one listen to new project eMC is immediate recognition of the fact that rap music would be a much poorer place without his input. Masta Ace has teamed up with two of Brooklyn’s finest underground emcees, Wordsworth and Punchline, who of course you will recognise from Tribe's Love Movement set, as well as perhaps more stellar appearances on Black Star and the famed Lyricist Lounge Vol 1 collection. And the new quartet is completed by Milwaukee mixtape master Stricklin. All three you may recognise also from the aforementioned Masta Ace concept projects.

Indeed, eMC's “The Show”, released early this year, carries on in many ways where those two records left off, this time chronicling life on tour and all its ups and downs. But it is the beats and words which really make this standout, a grower of an album that just seems to improve on each play, with a solid mix of jump-up tunes and more mellow flows combining to deliver a great album. Fitting that the concept of the piece is the show itself, as the four really cemented their group dynamic and friendship touring the Masta Ace albums, before going the whole way and forming as a group in 2005. A guest slot on “The Show” from Little Brother can give you an indication of the style of this album, yet another example of an undercurrent of insightful writing over impeccable production that seems to be running through the scene.

Like LB, or Justus League cohorts like Chaundon, or Murs, or the undercover work of 9th Wonder, this is a welcome change in aesthetics as far as I am concerned. So Masta Ace has not retired. Like a great champ he has picked up his training, assessed his options, and come back fit and strong for new challenges. When I discovered this project I wondered how I could have slept on it for so long, but it appears that many have been taken by surprise. Three years in the making, the chemistry in the group has bubbled away and reached a boiling point of brilliance. EMC have produced a balanced and inspiring set to reawaken your ears and mind. Welcome back Ace, but then you never really went away.

Mud-slinging

As a boxing fan there is nothing, for me, like the build up to an eagerly awaited dust up. Often months in the hype and build-up, and bristling with necessary hubris, the barely contained threat of impending violence and cagey verbal pot-shots, the excitement, at times, is almost touchable. And so, here in the soggy summer of the UK do we witness a similar phenomenon, but this time to be played out on a stage in the countryside of deepest Somerset, rather than a glitzy ring in Sin City.

There will still be celebrity ring-siders a-plenty, but the battle being waged is not pugilistic, but rather a battle of cultures, a very real war of words, and the music that supports them. For this weekend sees the annual Glastonbury Festival, an occurrence of such legendary status in the musical calendar, in the UK and beyond, as to be virtually sacrosanct. Up there with the right to have a cup of tea and a biscuit at will, and to moan about the weather, in the list of non-assailable British cultural rights. But this year, all is not well down on the farm, for chosen to headline the iconic main stage on the second night of the three-night jamboree, is none other than the ruler himself, Jay-Z. And to judge by the controversy this has stirred here in the UK you would have thought that Hova had bum-rushed Buckingham Palace and given the Queen the "good news" on the royal balcony.

But no, instead he has just agreed to do a gig. And yet the stalwarts of the festival are up in arms, claiming a betrayal of the festival's long and proud history by this choice of act. You see Glastonbury, with its self-styled hippy origins, is traditionally focused on guitar-based music. Indeed it is the grand-daddy of such festivals, an indie Mecca, and the archetype of outdoor mayhem. As such, it is rare that the choice of headline acts is not commented on, but few line-ups have ever caused such heated wars of words, spurred on by the vox populi of the internet of course. Indeed there is a nasty undercurrent to some such comments, a disdain for Jay-Z and hip-hop that borders, and sometimes crashes right into a bizarre form of musical, but more alarmingly ethnic bigotry.

However, that is just the idiocy of some people and not for investigation here. The vitriol unearthed is interesting though, even prompting Jay himself to dedicate a section of his website to it, if only for the traffic. Of course, the man himself may be surprised by the level of controversy, but is unlikely to be fazed. My bet is that he will perform a stormer to slay the crowd and silence any critics. Of course it will not be enough for some, but then we all know that determined haters exist everywhere, even muddy fields in the British countryside. But with rumours that the Roots are due to perform backing details, don't bet against a classic show.

The festival has some previous form for alternative acts stealing the plaudits, most usually dance acts such as Orbital's killer set in 1994, as well as the Chemical Brothers, Basement Jaxx and Moby, as well as a history of rappers performing well. It's just the hip-hoppers were always lower down the bill. Whatever the case, expect the controversy to continue whatever transpires, because where Glastonbury is concerned, usually washed out by the rain of British summer, mud-slinging is the only real tradition that sticks.

That's Entertainment

For me, to have a Roots revival usually means a reunion with those most consistently worthwhile Philly cats The Roots. However, recently the meaning has been slightly different, with a current burgeoning interest in roots reggae. And a current favourite and a man who has always been a true stalwart of roots and culture is Triston Palma, and in particular his 1981 classic player “Joker Smoker”.

One of the benefits of a domicile in London's Brixton is access to some great Saturday record jaunts. Red Records is always a spot that delivers and a recent gift from my other half from the Red vaults was none other than this brilliantly chilled album. Released at a time when critics would probably claim that reggae was in something of a musical cul-de-sac, in fact the back to basics approach of this record represents something of a hidden highpoint for reggae. A time when stripped down reworkings of classic rhythms, and the advance of electronic affects over funkily pedestrian and penetrating bass lines, mixed with high quality instrumentation.

Other albums of that year such as Augusto Pablo's “East of the River Nile” and Scientist’s “..Meets the Space Invaders” are other great examples. But “Joker Smoker”, with its mix of sweet vocals and sardonically good vibes is my favourite mixer for a perfect summer Sunday. Recounting tales of chancers and ne’er do wells of a decidedly green smoke-filled Kingston scene, Palma hits the high points with brilliant ease.

Heads might also know Triston Palma through his bonafide Dancehall classic "Entertainment", but if you are looking for a mellower pleasure sit down and drift away to this collection of stoned immacutlates. The title track is a standout, but “Give Me Give Me Your Love” is also huge. In fact the whole piece sparkles like the hidden gem it is. Just add sunshine.

Firenze dub frenzy

I was lucky enough to have a brief holiday in the Italian city of Florence recently. What an amazing place. I studied renaissance Florentine history whilst a grubby student and have always wanted to go, and thank the lord it lived up to expectations. Fantastic. And of course, forgetting all of that history and culture guff, one of the other joys of travel is surely the chance to ferret around in the record shop of some foreign corner. And so it was in Tuscany, and big up to Super Records in Santa Croce, a second hand crate-digger's paradise.

Vinyl delights, CD wonders and books, posters and assorted memorabilia to really get the taste buds going. You know the Italian deal anyway though right? Why have one course piled high on your plate when you can have four delicious ones and take your time to savour the flavour. And so whilst my better half satiated her (I must say brilliant) artistic thirst at the Uffizi Gallery (what a place by the way!!), I popped into Super to have a leisurely rummage. And one of the morsels I discovered is itself a sheer delight, the Trojan Motor City Reggae box set . I have spoken before about the recent run of Studio One compilations providing ready made classic choices with which to enhance your reggae collection.

But another set always worth picking up is the series of classically designed and wonderfully curated box sets from the mighty, mighty Trojan Records, from right there in good old Blighty. Specialising in ska, rocksteady, dub, and straight up reggae the label was founded in 1968 by none other than Chris Blackwell collaborator Lee Gopthal, and started as a sister development label for Island. Trojan emerged briefly in the early 1970s as a powerhouse in its own right. Despite a decline in the mid 1970s, following the withdrawal of Island in 1972, Trojan can still claim to be the home of some brilliant and classic recordings. Indeed the label was revitalised, first by Colin Newman in the late 1980s and 1990s, and then following acquisition by niche specialists Sanctuary in 2001.

And it is Sanctuary who is responsible for the sensitive, and sensible, tapping of the rich back catalogue in the Trojan vaults. I had known of some of their box sets, such as Trojan Singles and Trojan Rarities, but had not realised quite how far their range had stretched. And it is a veritable feast of music, and far too detailed a menu to enter into here. And the Motor City Reggae set, picked up for a bargain 5 euros if you please, is a brilliant and slightly exotic main course, providing as you might imagine, covers of Motown classics, from artists as diverse as Jackie Edwards, the consistently brilliant Heptones, Alton Ellis, John Holt and two brilliant cuts from the previously unknown to me Darker Shade of Black.

Their cover of The Temptation’s “Ball of Confusion” is simply awesome and hypnotic in its mesmeric groove, while a cut of Edwin Starr’s “War” is equally strong. But at over 50 tracks long, it is the range and value for money that the sets offer which really make them stand out, as well as the consistency of quality. Reggae covers of familiar and forgotten Motown tunes will always be likely to slip into pastiche on occasion, but the standard on this collection manages to keep such slips to a minimum. And as I say, the range of collections available just keeps growing, but never ceasing to intrigue. One thing is for sure, next time it is unlikely to need a trip to Florence to satisfy this particular hunger.

I couldn't ever bring myself to hate you

When I was about 17 I went to work in a record shop. A marvellous way, I thought, of mixing a passion with a practical method for putting some badly needed coins in my pocket. Sadly I was wrong as the wages were pitiful and the store manager a completely joyless fascist whose idea of the heights of musical achievement was the prog rock dirge of Yes. In a word*NO! But you win some, you lose some. For some reason, however, I have always remembered the application process, and particularly a question whereby you had to name five albums you considered to be influential, and explain why.

A cunning ploy to weed out any would-be workers with a penchant for Rick Astley over Rick James I supposed, my naïve young head still filled with the notion that here was a shop that valued the tastes and musical knowledge of its staff. I revelled in the task at hand, my first attempts at justifying and explaining records I loved. And as you can see, writing about music is still something that gives me great pleasure. Whether I have improved any is a matter of debate, of course. But for this posting I find myself returning to that very first dip into the waters of critical review.

For the first record on my list, and still sitting high in my albums of prime choice, is the eponymous debut from Indie giants The Stone Roses. I don't recall what pearls of wisdom I spouted in my ill-fated application form, but suffice it to say that “The Stone Roses” released in 1989 was, and is, one of the greatest records of all time, and as such the prose that appeared was probably of a similarly gushing ilk to that which now follows. When I first wrote about this record a few brief years after it was released, to my mind it was already a classic and stood out from other offerings, even the brilliant work of fellow Mancunians the Happy Mondays, or the Las, My Blood Valentine, or any number of similar high-points in the Indie canon. It is just peerless and magical, from guitarist John Squire's virtuoso display, to the flawed vocal range yet utterly convincing iconic swagger of singer Ian Brown, and the funk of Mani and Reni's groove as backing.

From the brash confidence of the group's music, to the epic status of their sound and lyrical content, and from the nonchalant coolness of their imagery to the Squire-designed sleeve work. This album is just brilliant. Considered to be the band that really fused guitar music with the drug-induced joy of the emergent rave scene, in fact this label does them an injustice. Though clearly an influence on them collectively and culturally, the so-called rave scene and it's influence on the music is only subtly suggested, rather than explicitly evident. Rather, this is an album that harks back to bands like Love and Big Star, with a psychedelic swirl of genius on a grand scale, pop accessibility and musical brilliance, albeit soaked in the sweat of legendary Manchester nightclub The Hacienda.

Consistently rated as one of the best British albums of all time, the irony is that the Stone Roses, through record label, legal and internecine struggles, could not follow up their debut sufficiently quickly to cement their position of greatness. Follow-up “Second Coming” arrived over 5 years later, and while itself under-rated and containing some moments of brilliance, represented a band with perhaps too many pleasures up their noses, and creatively searching for a direction that never came. The moment was lost and thousands of fans still feel the pain of these missing years. As Oasis themselves asked on “Champagne Supernova” from the record-breaking “What's The Story” album and reputedly towards their fore-runners, "where were you while we were getting high?".

This from a band who surely could not have existed without the Roses let alone achieved their eminent status as kings of "Britpop", pretenders to the throne of the mythic monarchs of 90s British guitar music. And the Roses, in their own absence have assumed an almost mythic status, the curse of the what-ifs. But perhaps, as with other things in life, some things are best left unknown. Could the Stone Roses have ever matched the sublime output of their early years. Was their debut album, and uniquely fantastic single releases such as “Sally Cinnamon”, “Fool's Gold” and “One Love”, just a reflection of a moment in time when four musicians gelled in a quite inspired and inspiring burst of creativity, a moment best appreciated for what actually resulted, rather than what might have been? Probably so.

And if a band are going to burn brightly and then fade away, this album is probably the archetype of how to do it. As Ian Brown demands on the opener, "I wanna be adored". He was, and they remain so for a whole generation of fans. As for his claims that he and the band were the resurrection? Probably that too.

Baby I’m Sure Hard To Handle

The song which catapulted Otis Redding to worldwide fame is of course the beautiful and enchanting ballad, “Sittin’ On The) Dock of the Bay”, a song so well known as to be firmly embedded into the collective musical conscience. Perhaps the best-known element of the song is the wistful whistling that closes the tune, itself an irony given the circumstances of its recording. Cut in the studio just three days before Redding’s tragic early death in a plane crash in December 1967 at the tender age of 26, the whistled verse was intended as a place-holder for the unfinished song which Redding hoped to complete with added lyrics at a later date.

He never got the chance, but the song itself served to provide him with a posthumous worldwide smash hit, and opened up a rich and varied back catalogue to fans everywhere. But the second irony of the song is that “Dock of the Bay” is itself something of a departure for Redding, a song different in style and approach to much of what came before. For Otis Redding, recording on the Stax label with Booker T and the MGs as his improbably brilliant backing band, was a singer and performer of incredible energy and funk.

He could of course sing a ballad with incredible emotion and stunning delivery, as classics such as “Try A Little Tenderness”, “I’ve Been Loving You Too Long”, “That’s How Strong My Love Is”, and an inspired cover of Sam Cooke’s “A Change Is Gonna Come” will testify. But Redding’s real renown was for turning out a crowd, for rocking the show with a horn-led R’n’B, indeed even covering rock’n’roll songs such as the Stone’s “Satisfaction (I Can’t Get No)” and making them his own. Staples such as “I Can’t Turn You Loose”, “Love Man” “Hard To Handle” and my own personal number one “Shake”, illustrate his brilliant timing and feel for a rollicking groove, and underlay his gritty and yet incomparably soulful voice.

For Redding’s was a voice of rare greatness, cracking with intensity at times, but divine in its purity at others. A foil in many ways to the Queen of Soul, Ms Aretha Franklin. And in live performance is where he really seems to shine. By all accounts his live shows were pure dynamite, and bursting with effervescence and boundless energy. Redding famously won over the crowd at the 1967 Monterey Pop Festival, his own legendary performance on a par with the other greatly remembered display from the festival, that of a guitar-burning Hendrix. And an album of his part of the Stax tour of Europe in July 1967, “Otis Live In Europe” is further testament to his power and appeal on stage. Of course it also displays a man on top of his game, a game to be ended, so sadly, soon afterwards.

And yet, for all of these plaudits and undeniable talents, there remains the feeling that Otis Redding is slightly overlooked as a true musical great. As permanent a reminder as “Dock of the Bay” is, and as established a part of our musical heritage, it tells only a small part of a beautiful and inspiring musical career. To me, Otis is in something of a rare league in terms of soul singers, and the saddest part is that his potential was only really hinted at. But live is where it shines most brightly, and if you needed an excuse to stop sitting there resting your bones, then get up and check out Otis in performance for a lesson in the ability of soul music to shake you down to your core.

Slow love

A great friend of mine, the Beeznutz, once told me an amusing little story about a conversation he had been involved in at a party. The musical discussion had turned to our favourite little funkster, Prince, of whom Beeznutz is something of an obsessive. I mean we all like Prince of course, worship him even, but Beez has a great knowledge of the man and his music.

Anyway, the two party guests were swapping tales of their devotion and generally engaging in some light-hearted one-upmanship of the ilk that boys tend to do, displaying their own depth of knowledge to themselves and each other. It is like some modern male competition ritual I suppose, instead of spears and war paint, settled by knowledge of obscure 12 inches. As the jousting went to and fro a third guest entered the fray, edging his way into the conversation claiming also to be “into Prince”. Beez and his colleague, having established their own credentials in this verbal contest were ready to dismiss this young pretender forthwith, and asked him which parts of his purple canon he particularly enjoyed. Without skipping a beat he replied in one of the most sincere and inspired statements ever, before turning and re-entering the party.

His reply? Simply “the ballads”. And there you have it, two men reduced to silence by a surprise broadside into their ships of smugness, reducing their own previous discussion to futility. For here was a man who had burst the bubble of train-spotting that often comes with the music fan. Not for him some obscure live funk jam from a Prince after-party, or a lost album from the late-80s purple patch of creativity. Not a b-side or bootleg. No, just Prince’s many and varied, and it is true, often incredible ballads.

This tale has always made me chuckle, but is actually a good introduction into an area of Prince’s work that it is easy to overlook, but in fact is as a valid an element of his work to admire as any other. If you count the hypnotic funk of the “Ballad of Dorothy Parker” as a slow song, then the stakes could hardly be any higher. But then let us consider also the falsetto genius of “Adore”, the reclamation of “Nothing Compares 2 U” live, the epic scale of “Purple Rain”, the unbridled brilliance of “The Beautiful Ones”, the sheer beauty of “Sometimes it Snows In April”. And these are only the beginning. “When We’re Dancing Close and Slow must be the soundtrack to a million conceptions, while the instrumental charm of “Venus De Milo” always stands out for me. “Do Me Baby”?, “Slow Love”?, “Insatiable”?.

Damn the man even dropped “Sacndalous” on the Batman soundtrack. You could even argue that “If I Was You’re Girlfriend” deserves inclusion. And so you see, what seems like a flippant comment, post-post-ironic even, actually stands up as a statement of genius. All I’m waiting for now is for the same conversation to play out, but upon being questioned as to their favourite Prince work, the respondent just says, “Oh, you know, the new stuff!”. Then we know that we have a serious aficionado on our hands, and the game is won.

She Came, She Saw, She Conquered

While reggae dancehall has never been particularly known for its prudishness or reserve, often extolling pure braggadocio and sexual prowess with explicit abandon over powerful and raw riddims, it has also generally been a male preserve. There stands, however, a female titan in the arena, a performer of incredible vibrancy and sexual charm and strength, with an ability to toast and roast with the best, and also to slay you with a voice of pure sweetness. Step forward and take a bow Lady Saw, the undisputed First Lady and Queen of Dancehall. I first heard Lady Saw on Missy Elliott’s “Mr DJ” from her own incredible “Da Real World” album of 1999, but little did

I know that this impressive female deejay cameo came from an artist with huge credentials and with a recorded output to make a grown man weep due to its sheer greatness. Indeed, my discovery of Lady Saw’s material has come very much back to front, and started in earnest when my good lady brought home her most recent album “Walk Out”, released in the spring of 2007 and her eighth studio offering. First off this is just a wicked album start to finish. Mixing the slackness for which Lady Saw is famous, with lyrics of sexual dominance and audacity to make this writer blush, the record also provides an example of why it is that she is so well revered.

The mellow soul of “Baby Dry Your Eyes”, a beautiful song with an addictive ska break, stands out for me amongst the slower cuts, while “The Power of the Pum”, “Chat To Mi Back”, opener “Hello Lady Saw” and rougher than rough “Me and My Crew” just kill it with straight up dancehall beats and chats. The album is interesting also for working as an album of itself, as opposed to many earlier offerings which have an almost compilation feel to them. Special mention should also go to the Sly & Robbie produced muse on inner beauty “World’s Prettiest”, and particularly the self-produced and self-referencing “No Less Than A Woman (Infertility)”, a moving and private document to her own situation, and an absolutely divine one which just stops you in your tracks for its sincerity and power. “Walk Out” is brilliant, but as I have discovered, merely the tip of a quite dazzling iceberg.

Lady Saw’s recording career dates back to 1994 when she burst on to the scene with her sexually explicit “Lover Girl”, a record of bawdy intent, showcasing her lyrical and vocal ability to an unsuspecting audience. Many have come and tried to claim her title since, but Saw is a rare act whose talent serves to transcend the genre she exists primarily within. Her 1998 best of collection “Raw, the best of Lady Saw” is probably the best starting point, collecting together 19 faultless gems, including monster hits “If Him Lef”, “Find a Good Man”, “Hardcore (It’s Raining)”, and “Stab Out De Meat”, a tune which quite wonderfully leaves little to the imagination.

But it is difficult to pick out highlights as this is one of the rare collections that really does shine from start to finish. It should be a must-own, and is the sound-track to the best pre-party, party and after-party all in one, all drenched in Caribbean sweat. Since this collection Saw has released two other albums, with a 6 year hiatus in between * 1998’s fantastic “99 Ways” and 2004’s consistently impressive “Strip Tease” * as well as the highly anticipated “Walk Out” that we began the account with. Lady Saw is a truly genuine star in her native Jamaica, but also has real worldwide credentials.

She is a Grammy winner, the first female deejay to be honoured thus, and has also gone triple-platinum, an incredible achievement. She is also the first female dancehall act to headline shows outside of Jamaica, and I for one am itching to see her perform, though this may yet be an unfulfilled desire. In the meantime I will satisfy myself with the discovery of an artist of unique charms and an aura to bring you to your knees. Indeed, chance would be a fine thing.

Going on a trip to Mic-a-delphia

Whenever I find myself behind the ones and the twos at a party or evening soiree, there is a 12 that I virtually always drop. A tune which pleases me immensely every time I hear it, and even if others in the room are criminally unfamiliar with the sounds of Brand Nubian’s classic cut “All For One”, it is always a song that will get floors bouncing. The sample of James Brown’s “Can Mind” and “All For One” combine to create an incessantly funky backing, with the metronome high-pitched beep driving the groove forward inexorably. And then there is the rapping, three verses of tight and inspired rhyming from three MCs at the top of their game.

It is difficult to see past Grand Puba’s incredible opener which has always struck me as one of the best verses ever laid down, but Sadat X (or plain Derek X as he still was then) and Lord Jamar more than compliment it. Just a brilliant tune. But it has been a while since I dug out the same-titled album from which it came. And this is a shame because “All For One”, as we all recognise, is a stone cold classic. And as I gave it a full play-through recently I was given to reminiscing about how this was an album of real significance, and that this influence is easy to forget. Fair enough we had already had De La’s revolutionary “Three Feet High And Rising” and Tribe had dropped “People’s Instinctive Travels”, as well as X-Clan’s similarly socially militant “To The East, Backwards”.

But Brand Nubian’s debut long player, to my mind, did more to set the template for early 1990s hip-hop of a socially conscious bent than any others. Never formally affiliated to the Native Tongues family, nonetheless the messages and sound of “All For One” sets numerous templates for the style that dominated large aspects of hip-hop in the early 90s, and is a golden period for many fans. And this is not just for stand out singles, “Slow Down” and the title track. This album is one of a large-ish but still elite group to be given 5 Source mics, not necessarily always an arbiter of good taste, but a sign of its consistent strength throughout. And this is something I had forgotten.

How inspired Derek X’s solo joint “Concerto in X Minor” is, how I love the patois toasting and light dancehall groove of “Who Can Get Busy Like This Man”, how “Drop The Bomb” breaks lyrical taboos, providing 5 percenter rhetoric over a cowbell driven funk of immense proportions, waking this listener up to the consideration of issues previously disregarded. Or the languid soul of “Wake Up”, “Step to the Rear” and “Grand Puba, Positive and LG”, or the bass-heavy and quite brilliant “Brand Nubian”. It is a powerhouse of creativity throughout and well worth digging out for a full listen every day of the week. In fact since I picked it up again it has been on repeat in my car, coaxing the sunshine out from the clouds and looking like it will be sound-tracking another summer.

It is worth pointing out that I still have issues with some of the content. It is not so much the militant stance of the Afrocentric message which can easily slip into sheer anti-Caucasian sentiment, for this is very much of its own social and political context, and reasoned in its presentation to a certain extent. But I do have issue with the explicit homophobia and misogyny, although all rap fans will have a view on the prevalence and acceptance of this within the genre, and people’s views are their own affair I suppose. All of that aside, it is still difficult to take anything away from this seminal offering.

It is a blueprint and a definitive document in hip-hop’s rich and varied history and while I will still drop “All For One” as a single at every chance I get, at least I have reminded myself that there is plenty more to enjoy myself with when the party’s over.

The Game of Chess, Is Like A Swordfight

I have spoken before in these very pages about the admiration I have for the RZA. Who doesn’t, right? Indeed, it is hard not to, from production, to MC skills, to acting and soundtrack composition. Indeed it would appear, from what I know of the man, that he seems to be a very interesting and likeable chap. His interest in martial arts is of course legendary, and intrinsic to the Wu as an outfit. But another pastime that seems to have infused the Wu-credo is that of the ultimate test of mental skill and strategy, chess.

Now I like to test my mettle on the squared gig as much as the next man, but of course the WU and their leader like to do things on a grand scale. And so through comes the news that the Wu Tang Clan have set up the world wide web’s first Chess and urban social networking site, WuChess.com. According to the site’s mission statement, it’s main aim is to use chess, music and martial arts as a way to promote unity, strategy and non-violence. Incredible. Only the Wu could take such a geeky sounding concept and infuse it with any semblance of cool.

I for one will be checking it out (checking as in check mate, you see what*oh forget it). Anyway, the news of this online venture of course conjures up other Wu-related thoughts, with the prime one being a reminder of just how incredible “Da Mystery of Chessboxin’” is. And in musing on this tune, I also just had to take time out to ruminate on a few things, notably how this song includes three of the sickest verses ever, on an album full of bonafide classic stanzas. To begin with there is U-God’s opener, barring his four line burst on “Protect Ya Neck”, his only appearance on the album (due of course to an incarceration). U-God’s gruff and raw delivery is, to my mind, key within the whole album as I have always felt that it just amps up the gritty elements of the group’s sound.

Not a big contribution in terms of words, but every syllable is totally on point, and as he has demonstrated since, here is an MC with more than just a bass-heavy voice in his arsenal. And then there is a reminder of just how incredible ODB could be, with his verse on this song providing an absolutely crystal clear example of his uniquely brilliant talent, and why he continues to be missed so dearly. I mean, seriously, “Jacques Cousteau could never get this low”. Come on now, that is inspired. And finally there is the verse from Masta Killa, his only appearance on the whole of “Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers)”, and a flow that more than holds its own, not only in this song, but across the whole piece.

I have always wondered why Masta Killa, who appears so frequently on future Wu offers, was so under-utilised on this album. The answer comes in the fact that he was one of the junior members of the Clan, and not even a rapper when the group was formed. Intensive schooling from the Gza honed his craft swiftly, and the story goes that there was intense competition for the available slot on Chessboxin’, particularly with Killah Priest.

Ultimately it was stamina that won the day in the studio, with Priest falling asleep late the night before the track was due to be laid down, and Masta Killa working through the night to style his verse, which he then nailed the next day. And what a verse, intricate and exquisitely structured, carefully planned and brilliant executed. Just like a killer chess move in fact, and that’s where we came in.

Who Do You Love?

Words such as legend, pioneer and ground-breaking are relatively frequently applied to musical figures and pieces of work. But few can truly claim these epaulets with more authority than the incomparable Bo Diddley, who has sadly just left us to join that great blues train in the sky at the ripe age of 79. For Bo Diddley was a man who arguably did more to make the world-changing transition in music from Blues and R’n’B to fully-fledged Rock’n’Roll than any other, and has influenced virtually everyone who has picked up a guitar to write rock music since the mid-1950s.

His legacy is that profound. And yet, it is only in his later years that his true worth to musical culture was really given the wide recognition it deserved, and as Diddley himself would often complain, this recognition, though welcome, did not put any bucks back into his savings, money and royalties that he always claimed he never received, despite his importance and lengthy recording career. For Diddley rose up at a time when exploitation in the music industry, especially of black musicians, was at its height. Segregation still reigned, and while white acts from Buddy Holly to Elvis, and especially their managers, exploited the new Rock’n’Roll sound, many black artists struggled for recognition and rights to the music they created. As Diddley himself said, “I’ve never got paid.

A dude with a pencil is worse than a cat with a machine gun”. But later recognition, including Hall of Fame induction, Grammies and other awards did come his way, and one thing that was never in doubt was the reverence with which other musicians held this great bluesman. And yet his style, so distinctive and powerful, was also relatively simple, or that is how it appeared. The chugging rhythm that he developed and made his own is a deceptively simple and yet equally elaborate approach. His records often featured no chord change at all, a style that brings a drive and excitement to the rhythm that would usually be created by the harmony. And then there is his voice, so big and gruff, so booming, and with lyrics which have an over-whelming authority to them. ON classic song “Who Do You Love?” he taunts the listener and provides boast after boast, toasting and roasting with a swagger that would cause even the biggest ego in the rap game to wilt under its onslaught.

It was his style that provided the sound around which everyone from the Beatles and Rolling Stones, to the Doors and the Who, and more recently even the White Stripes have built their own efforts. And that is only the tip of the iceberg. Indeed it is impossible to do the man’s influence justice in words alone, and the best way to appreciate him is of course in the music he has left behind. One of my own favourite offerings is the 1961 album “Bo Diddley Is A Gun-Slinger”, a brilliant offering from stat to finish. Not to mention the cover artwork with Bo, you guessed it, dressed as a gun-slinger.

But from the driving funk of the title track, through the guitar wall-of-sound of “Do the Crawdaddy” and the slower groove of “Better Watch Yourself”, it is a prime example of the Diddley trademark, but also highlighting the sheer breadth of his talent. Tributes will undoubtedly and correctly now pour in for Diddley, who kept a busy touring schedule right up until his death, and his legacy and place in musical history is secured. In all of these words, however, the magical ingredient, the sheer electricity of the man’s music will not come out. There are no words for it.

The only way to find it is to listen to the music itself, and revel in the fact that there is so much to explore. Sadly missed, there remains only one real question. Who do you love? Just like the famous Nike ads said. Bo knows.

Do Androids Dream

I’m sure that there is a time when all of us, no matter how brash and confident, have felt a sense of alienation from the world around us. You know those days when a sense of blue takes over, and the city closes in a little, when the rat race gets a bit too much to take, and you’re left a little detached from your world. A world which ordinarily seems so familiar and comfortable to exist in. You just can’t see where you fit in anymore. But hey, don’t worry, it is only natural and happens to everyone.

It is healthy to stop and re-evaluate where you fit into the bigger picture sometimes. It will pass. Come here and give old Uncle Story To Tell a hug ya big softie! There, that’s better. Few of us, however, embrace this state of mind as one we would like to dwell in for more than a short period of introspection, let alone use it as a basis upon which to forge a musical career and with it pioneer a whole new style of music. But in a way, this is exactly what electronic pop maestro Gary Numan did, with his post-punk synth rock and early new wave electronica providing the aural backdrop to a dystopian vision of a paranoia fuelled half-man half-machine world of electronic detachment.

Strangely, however, given the prevalence of electronic music now, it is only relatively recently that Numan’s influence on a whole range of artists has begun to be acknowledged, including on our own beloved world of hip-hop. For it is none other than a pioneer within that scene, the The Father of The Electro Funk Sound DJ Afrika Bambaataa, who cites Numan’s early work as a key sound for fledgling US hip-hop DJs, and the beats he created as highly sought after by DJs and dancefloors alike in the late 1970s and early 1980s, the key developmental years of our beloved culture. Part of this lack of recognition is down to the very image that Numan created, an androgynous and cold electronic pop star, whose music was unapologetically pessimistic and doom-laden, haunting and spooky despite being quite brilliant in many cases.

Also, his ascent to stardom was steep and unexpected, bursting from the post-punk scene with his band Tubeway Army, and honing his synth-led sound and image at a time when punk’s starburst of energy and creativity had dwindled, and before New Wave and New Romantics had begun their dominance of the pop scene. While bands like Human League and Depeche Mode among others have gone on to be feted, Numan’s own role as fore-runner to them and a host of others was conveniently over-looked.

The other factor in this was his own slightly strange relationship with his own fame. Announcing his retirment with a series of sell-out Wembley gigs in 1981, tired of the pressures of fame, Numan would almost immediately regret his decision. But the damage to his audience and critical reception had been done, despite the fact that he continued to produce music, with virtually an album a year in the following period, some to commercial and critical success, but never reaching the heights of his earlier purple patch.

Numan has since been diagnosed with a mild form of the autistic condition Asperger’s Syndrome, which helps explain much of the authenticity of his detached image, and perhaps also the desolation and sense of sapce and isolation in his music. And, as I say, some of this music is just inspired. In the US his only big hit was “Cars” taken from his first solo album, 1979’s “The Pleasure Princile”, but this was also a worldwide smash, and and ithe UK his fame was huge. Dominated by the sound of the Minimoog synth and Polymoog keyboard, Numan did away with the guitars that had featured on his Tubeway Army work on this third album, and went all out for the electronic soundscape interspersed with viola strings and effects-laden high production.

It is simply an astonishing album from start to finish and is difficult to find fault with even now. The second Tubeway Army album “Replicas”, released earlier the same year, had hinted at the brilliance to come, with several highlights such as the fantastic “Are Friends Electric?”, “Replicas” and strangely beguiling “Down in the Park”. But “The Pleasure Principle” transcends these to offer a coherent whole with no weak points, a sophisticated musical journey that somehow seems to provide a warmth and depth of emotion behind the industrial and robotic cool of the concept itself. It is good news that Numan’s influence on a huge and diverse range of artists, from industrial bangers Nine Inch Nails to goth-rocker Marilyn manson, and from Armand Van Helden to Bambaataa, is now being recognised.

It allows a reassessment of his whole canon, beyond the brilliant run of opening albums, and into music which experimented with jazz and funk, as well as more etherael pop and techno. Music often runs in cycles and fads come and go. One thing is sure, though. Whether in vogue or not Numan’s unique and haunting vision will always be cool. Wonderfully, metalically and icy cool.