Road trip

I have spoken many times on A Story To Tell about the affection I have for a certain era of New Orleans blues, soul and funk, an extended family of musicianship which more often than not featured the genius songwriting , arrangement and production talents of Allen Toussaint somewhere near its centre. Not always, but often. But although Toussaint was often at the centre of an array of intertwined musical solar systems, there is one particular star that he orbited around with particular frequency in the 1960s, a singer who is still criminally under-represented in the soul hall of fame.

Betty Harris worked with Toussaint for a large slice of the mid to late 1960s, hooking up in 1965 when Harris had already established herself as a singer of some repute through work with Jerry Lieber and Mike Stoller, legendary producer Bert Berns and soul great Solomon Burke. Indeed Harris’ deep soul take on Burke’s hit “Cry To Me” in 1963 remains a soul classic, if still relatively unknown in the mainstream. But it was her meeting with Toussaint, and switch to his Sansu Records in 1965, that really provides the meaty filling of the Betty Harris story. For their partnership, she as the brilliant voice to Toussaint’s incredible compositions is to my mind up there with the very best of musical partnerships.

Indeed there have been comparisons with the way Burt Bacharach worked so effectively with Dionne Warwick as his muse, and these are well founded, although the New Orleans connection gave the Harris/Toussaint duo a distinct edge of pure funkiness, and unlike Bacharach Toussaint’s work was a rare find in the commercial charts. But critically perhaps he is seen as an equal at the very least.

Between 1965 and 1969 when Harris abruptly walked away from the music industry (her hiatus has lasted over three decades before a return to performing in the mid-2000s), the duo cut 10 singles. Just 20 songs of soul perfection which give credence to the position of Harris as one of soul’s forgotten royalty. And the song through which I discovered her work, the mighty “There’s A Break in the Road”, was the last of this quite incredible run of singles, and in many ways forms the crowning glory on her claims to the throne. Backed by the core of none other than The Meters, Harris simply tears down the walls on this deep funk workout, proving her voice to be a rich and powerful instrument up there with the very best. Toussaint’s touch is of course recognisable, an innovative funk sound driven by the great musicians at his disposal, and underpinned by the dirty bass of George Porter and insane drumming of “Zigaboo” Modeliste, the core.

And all topped off with Harris’ vocal performance of sheer energy, funk and purpose, a jaw-dropping display of soulfulness. But this record is merely the icing on a delicious funk and soul cake that deserves to be savoured again and again. Other cuts on Sansu include the sensually funky “I’m Evil Tonight”, killer ballad “Nearer To You” (check out Toussaint’s incredible piano), or the brilliantly hard soul of “Mean Man”, and many more besides. Thankfully these are all now available on the fantastic collection “Soul Perfection Plus”, a must-have for anyone with an interest in soul music. If there were justice in the world Harris would never have been allowed to walk away from music, and would be uttered in the same exalted company as some of soul music’s true greats.

Thankfully her work is slowly gaining recognition outside of the Northern Soul and Deep Soul collector circles, and if you want to find the missing route to the pure heart of New Orleans, then look no further. Just don’t drive past the break in the road. You don’t know what you’ll be missing.

Now I’m not one to gossip, i’m not the gossipy type, but...

The last that you heard of 80s soul great Alexander O’Neal may well have been the less than gratifying name-check on Nas’ “Hip Hop Is Dead” set. You know the opening verse on “Blunt Ashes” where Nas alleges that Alex’s role as early leader of Prince protégé’sThe Time was unhinged by a fondness for Beelzebub’s White Blusher. This passing reference to music industry tittle-tattle * other sources have it that O’Neal was ousted by Prince for looking “too black”, and replaced quickly by Morris Day * is fitting however, as it provides a neat link to the album that O’Neal remains most famous for (with very good reason).

The link, of course, is in the title itself. “Hearsay”, released in 1987, is one of the best soul albums of the decade, and cuts like “Fake” and “Criticize” will still murder a dance floor given half a chance. But these two more well-known tunes are themselves only firsts among equals, the most dance floor friendly tunes from an album that has virtually no weak spots. These faster paced tunes, of course, showcase the Minneapolis Funk sound to greatest effect, with Jam & Lewis’ trademark production providing further evidence of their brilliance and distinct creative peaks during this period.

Indeed O’Neal was perhaps the best male vocalist that Jam & Lewis worked with, a deeply soulful singer with impressive range and power, who could turn his attention to pure funk, as well as passionate balladeering, with equal finesse. Always massively popular in the UK (O’Neal is the only singer to sell out the huge Wembley Arena for a successive six-night run), even here he has fallen into a semi obscurity (although more recently has been seen on some celebrity reality TV nonsense and can still sell-out big shows). And with it, it seems that Hearsay’s reputation has also floundered somewhat, which is a gross injustice. Purposely echoing Marvin Gaye’s party skits from “What’s Goin On?”, the album is a sophisticated concept album of its own. Perhaps not the social conscious drive of Gaye’s ultimate classic, but an interesting take on love and romance and the fickle fortunes of attraction nonetheless.

Opener “(What Can I Say) To Make You Love Me” is under-rated pop excellence, a mid-tempo Jam & Lewis tune that bristles with their horn-led party vibes and popping snare, and lyrically is deserving of much higher praise. For O’Neal’s takes on the fluctuations of love are insightful, witty and intelligent, and worthy of far greater attention than people might suggest who write him off as a smooth loverman only. There is that element, of course, but this is no reason to dismiss his work. The slower cuts on the album, of which there are plenty, are testimony to this sophistication, with the heartfelt apology of title track “Hearsay”, a fine slice of “begging soul” that Teddy Pendergrass himself would have been proud of. “The Lovers” is a fantastic tune which brushes the allure of romance with a tinge of melancholy, played out in its strings and electronically regimented detachment, while “Sunshine” and “Crying Overtime” are simply great soul songs in the truest sense, particularly the former which again has an impressive depth to it.

And then there is another perennial favourite with the massive Cherelle duet “Never Knew Love Like This”, featuring stirling support from these other Jam & Lewis stalwarts and stablemates, reminiscent of their brilliant earlier collaboration “Saturday Love”. “Hearsay” is one of those rare albums that you can listen to from start to finish and feel like you have been through a coherent piece of work, tied together musically and thematically, refreshing in the days of one-off download and production for hire. If you only know O’Neal because of a fondness for “Fake” then you really should work around to the full album that produced it. Like the man himself says in the opening skit, this is Alexander O’Neal’s party, and when I say party, you gots to party. Persuasive stuff. Or maybe that is just where we came in and Nas had it right all along. Either way, i’d like an invite to this partiuclar jamboree.

When I first stepped on the scene

We have spoken before about rating the Wu, the constant jockeying for position in your mental checklist as to what the best cut produced by the group or affiliate members is, what the best Wu verse of all time is, the best line, the best Rza beat, the best solo album, and on and on the questions can rumble, like a subjective and endless rollercoaster of debate. It is impossible to choose in virtually whatever category you care to come up with of course, such is the bountiful pleasures the group have provided in their various forms and incarnations over the years. For me though the first album that I really fell for, along with many other fans I would guess, was Method Man’s 1994 solo release “Tical”.

This wasn’t difficult of course being the first solo album from any of the Wu under their ground-breaking solo record deal, but even though other stellar offerings followed on an unprecedented run of success for the Wu and particularly the production skills of Rza, “Tical” was the album that had pride of place and still rates extremely highly if I ever muse on my favourite hip-hop albums of all time. There are many reasons, well documented elsewhere, as to why this is such a great album, and an unquestionable classic of it’s genre, but to me it is simply the grittiest and heaviest of them all. Meth’s voice is, of course, distinctive, the crackled skunk-withered rasping drawl taking on an almost cartoon-like quality, but it is his metaphysical and metaphorical prowess that really makes him stand out for me. Being able to drop similes of genius is of course a stock in trade of great rapping, but Meth always seemed to drop subject matter that existed on a slightly different plane.

It is dark and brooding, but with a sense of the mysteries of the outer reaches of the black nothingness beyond our immediate existence that gives it a stellar quality in more ways than one. Coming from a boy from the roughest streets of Staten Island this is some truly deep shit. But even Meth’s universal rhymes are rooted in the streets, his sheer griminess infusing the music with a raw energy that the Wu had first displayed to such stunning effect on 36 Chambers.
For me every tune on this album is worthy of attention, with barely a drop in quality from the kung-fu flipped opening skit through the self-titled banging opener. What’s that shit that they be smokin’? It’s Tical, and so the tone is set for a buzzed out hazy, slightly paranoid tale of New York thuggery and urban existence. “Bring the Pain” is awesome and an insight into Meth’s “astral plane”, and sets the lyrical standard at a ridiculously high mark. “PLO Style”, dark and menacing, “Biscuits” a classic diss rhyme. “All I Need” is clearly an instant classic, both the original and Mary J collabo, while “Mr Sandman”, the one posse cut on the album, revels in its Wu-aesthetics and features a quite brilliant Inspektah Deck verse. But the real of the crop is surely the signature tune, “Release Yo Delf”. When I first heard this record I was literally blown away, and it still sounds urgent and fresh today.

The interpolated sample of brass-man Herb Alpert is inspired to provide the militarily frenetic horn and drums that drives the song, while the Blue Raspberry take on “I Will Survive” is ridiculously innovative and inspired. And Method Man is simply on fire lyrically, seeming to almost burst out the recording booth such is the desire to spit the illest flow. There is even a Prodigy remix of this tune that I love if you need more than the original, but for now if you ready to spark up the Meth-Tical let me here you say stimuli. Huge.

Ready Steady Go

A fairly common quote about British soul and pop diva Dusty Springfield is that people say she sounded black, her rich and dusky voice and heartfelt passion custom-made to sing the black American soul music that she so adored with a rare authenticity. The legacy that has followed her quite brilliant career is largely that she is one of only a handful of white soul singers who have been fully accepted by a black audience. This always seems to me a strange type of compliment, and a baffling statement in many ways, a kind of double-standard mixing of racial stereotypes and reductive classification applied to music. As her friend and music industry stalwart Simon Napier-Bell has stated, Dusty just sounded like Dusty, and the diversity of her pop sound throughout her career is testament to her versatility as opposed to some reductive single label.

But the inference of the epitaph that continues to follow her does have some resonance, that Dusty Springfield was a singer of rare talents who was able to infuse her music with a soulfulness of the highest calibre, justifying comparisons with the very best female soul singers around, including her idol Aretha Franklin. She really was that good, and her famous "Dusty in Memphis" album of 1969, recorded with Franklin's own Atlantic label under the guidance of Jerry Wexler is just one testament to this fact.

And it is also the case that Springfield had another significant role in raising awareness of the music that inspired her, a role that goes beyond her own recorded work. For Dusty Springfield also campaigned tirelessly in the early 1960s to give exposure to the American soul singers she loved, especially those on Motown, efforts that culminated in her hosting a two-part Motown special on primetime Uk variety show "Ready Steady Go!" in 1965. Featuiring legendary studi band The Funk Brothers and featuring true greats such as Marthe Reeves and the Vandellas, Stevie Wonder. the Temptations, the Supremes, Smokey Robinson adn teh Miracles and marvin Gaye.

Incredible to think that these names were still, at that time, virtually unknown in the UK, but Springfield stood as an evangelist at the vanguard of the so-called sound of young America. These shows really are quite remarkable, and it is no understatement to say that they were pivotal in the cultural exchange that came about in music in the mid-1960s that led to the so-called British invasion of the US (with the Beatles at the front of the pack) as well as fostering a home for soul, r'n'b and blues music here int he Uk which has remained strong since.
Dusty Springfield's career is truly one of great interest, and if you only know her work through the massive "Son of a Preacher Man" or indeed pop classics such as her Bacharach/David songs "The Look of Love", "Wishin’ and Hopin’" or the incredible "I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself" then there is much more besides.

I was inspired to write this post by a listen to the until recently quite unknown 1970 tune "Spooky", a cut that doesn't seem to appear to be on any album, but is now something of a recognised cult through use in films and advertising. Still, increased awareness need not be a barrier to enjoyment as this song showcases her voice, and sultry, sensual soul to perfection. The woman had a groove, plain and simple. Black, white, blue, green, it doesn't really matter. She was just Dusty.

Bollywood or bust

We can all remember Dr Dre’s seemingly one-hit wonder and short term protégé Truth Hurts, who momentarily slayed things with the aptly named “Addictive” cut in 2002, featuring a return to form rhyme from Rakim. Produced by DJ Quik, this tune suggested a promising career of sorts for Truth Hurts but since then she has barely made a ripple commercially, despite still being active in the recording game and hitting critical praise for her follow up long player “Ready Now” released in 2004 on Raphael Saadiq’s Pookie Enterntainment imprint. An undiscovered gem to explore perhaps.

The truly interesting element of her brief time in the spotlight however was the use of the backing track for “Addictive”, taken virtually wholesale from Hindi artist Lata Mangeshkar’s hit song “Thoda Resham Lagta Hai”, and particulalry a modern danceflorr version, the uncleared use of which cost Aftermath and parent company Interscope more than a few dollars in damages. The morals, or even legal awareness, of DJ Quik in appropriating music wholesale and passing it off as his own are questionable at best, but the use of this music did serve to shine a welcome light on the rich and varied music that is produced in the Indian sub-continent. Hey, a billion people and a music based film industry of immense proportions can’t be too far wrong? And without this foray perhaops we would never have got to Jay-Z’s awesome collaboration with the UK’s own Panjabi MC on the 2003 remix of “Beware of the Boys”, itself a high-point of fusion.

This is going off point slighty however, as the real reason to write about the Thoda Resham rhythm was to place it in its follow up context as a basis for a slew of Dancehall tunes. One of the great things about dancehall is that when a rhythm is hot there is no pussy-footing around in making interpolations or varied takes on it. No the rhythm is just given a name * in this case the Bollywood rhythm * and acts simply do their best over the top, with surprisingly varied and sometimes brilliant results. And such is the mellow understatement of the Bollywood rhythm that it has proven to be a rich carpet upon which a variety of artists have cut huge tunes. The high-pitched squiggle of the vocal and accompanying synth with heavy bass are poles apart from the usual dancehall style, but this seems to spur artists on to exceptional heights of vocal creativity and delivery.

The UK label Greensleeves is particulalry great at collecting together the versions of a tune on their exceptional Rhythm series (Bollywood is number 30 in the series as an indicator of how far this approach can take you). Mr Vegas’ “War” is big, and Sizzla’s “Trouble In The Streets” is predictably huge from the man who never seems to miss. But winning the battle on this occasion is surely Capleton’s “Lock Up”, just a monster of a tune that perfectly ridesthe tune with its sweetly soulful hook and machine gun toasting. It is huge, and a song to drop as a mystery banger at any good party.

I’m telling you, it goes buckwild. Imagine the thought of buying a hip-hop album with 15 rappers all rapping over the same beat on 15 different tunes. It would never work, but somehow for dancehall it does, and on the Bollywood beat, to wondrous effect. As Rakim perhaps should have said on “Addictive”, time's up sari I kept you.

Never Too Much

Kanye West, mainly as a producer but also as a performing artist, has done more than a few things which can justly be described as inspired. Such is his trademark style of production, however, that many of these winning moves are little more than the brushing off of some musical gem or another, sped up and filtered into a pristine chorus around which to construct another classic beat. Simple you might think, but credit to him for the consistency of quality of approach, and as I say, often genius choice of source material. It is fair to say also that West is far from just a poacher of ready-made beats, and I for one have great admiration for him and a large part of his output.

All of that aside, what I really wanted to talk about here is not Kanye but perhaps his most inspired use of a sample of all. And to my mind this is none other than his repurposing of the Luther Vandross’ free-form scat from the imperious and incredible “A House Is Not A Home” on Kanye and Twista’s “Slow Jamz”. The speeded up chorus backing within this already rougher than rough crawl-tempo monster tune, and tribute to the best of soul balladeering, is of Luther’s plaintive yearning at the end of his version of “A House Is Not A Home”.

Say you gonna be, are you gonna be, say you gonna be*well well, well well. As Luther himself might have said, so amazing. Listening back to the original and it is difficult not to be blown away by the sheer passion of Luther’s delivery, all wrapped up in that smoothest of smooth voices, and you just have to give props to West for spotting the potential in this minor element of an epic song and transforming it into a repeated motif of such distinction.

But, as with this post, the sample itself is merely a gateway to the greatness of the full blown song, an absolutely brilliant re-working of a little known Burt Bacharach and Hal David song first recorded by Luther’s own muse and inspiration Dionne Warwick in 1964. That Luther took this oft-overlooked, and it has to be said complex song, and infused it with his own stunning interpretation to such an extent as to surely own the damn thing outright, is itself testament to many of Luther’s finest qualities. His love and knowledge of soul music, his trademark ability to transform cover versions into things of wonder, and of course his immense talents as a straight up soul singer, but also his virtuousity as a producer, of both his and others’ material.

The song is also a king amongst equals, a standout on an album of virtual perfection, 1981’s “Never Too Much”, and Luther’s first debut offering after years in the business as a backing vocalist, writer, producer, arranger, collaborator, actor, advertising jingler, and frontman who never quite broke through the ranks. There is so much to note of interest about the career of Luther Vandross that to begin here is futile, but suffice it to say that his opening offering (if one omits his brilliant work with Change and indeed other earlier incarnations including one called simply Luther) is a work worthy of distinct attention itself. In fact I would say it is a classic.

The title track is of course one of his most famous, a staple of parties and radio rotation still, and a tune it is difficult to tire of. And rightly so, such is its perfection as an example of pop R’n’B and post-disco aesthetics. Who can resist the smooth bass note that breaks into the ridiculous groove of this song, guaranteed to slay a floor on every play. But this is just the opening to an album that is just a delight to listen to. Concise but consistently great, the tunes are like perfect archetypes of the best that early 1980s R’n’B was, and would be. Perhaps surprisingly given Luther’s reputation now as a smooth soul ballad exponent extraordinaire, “A House Is Still A Home” is the only true slow number on there, although “You Stopped Loving Me” would perhaps fit that description also. Rather the album is largely a collection of mellow and mid-tempo grooves, similar in fact to the brilliant work with Change, but with each song refreshingly distinct in its style and production. “Sugar and Spice” is a perky and poppy little funk number, while “Don’t You Know That” is a seemingly simple down-tempo song which in fact is a pure gem of layered vocals and well-judged off-beat syncopation.

It is a true grower that I still find gets better on each listen. “She’s A Super Lady” is further proof that Luther could ride the funk when he chose, and then “I’ve Been Working” is simply majestic in its uplifting groove and light but deep backing. As I say, Luther seemed to be a genius at making the complicated seem so easy, and his records reveal true depth on virtually every cut. But of course, the stand out is the heart-breaking ballad that we entered the fray with, just a song to destroy you with its controlled emotion and sublime delivery. Awesome.

It is incredible, given Luther Vandross’ quality of output through the 1980s, that he had to wait until virtually the end of the decade for his first true crossover hit, “Here And Now”. It is strange to me also that his work is not even more lauded than it is. Truly one of the greatest male vocalists of his or any era, but a man of varied and rich talents. Whatever the case, a house is definitely not a home until it has some Luther Vandross in its record rack, and that’s a fact.

A Story To Tellier

France is a beautiful country, there is no doubt about that. From the gentle grace of the north and Normandy and Brittany, to the rugged beauty of the immense Atlantic west coast, the Alp-tinged east, the historic cities and medieval towns, the gastronomic expertise, the vineyard riddled interior, and the glitz and downright glamour of the Med in the south, topped off with the A-List encrusted jewel in the crown, St Tropez. France is large and in charge, a country fully comfortable with its own place in the world, a country of dynamic urban life, with its traditions and culture very happily existing with no need for reliance or input from anywhere else, merci beaucoup.

Sure it has its social tensions, and one can question its attitudes to migration and integration and treatment of the working classes and migrant communities, but even these have served to galvanise social groups and lead to a multi-cultural ferment of rare energy, if occasionally with an unwelcome edge of nastiness and tension. But the celebration in large part of a multi-ethnic identity and the famed love of egalité, not to mention an innate sensuality, makes France an inherently intriguing place to spend time. And having been lucky enough o have a couple of weeks down on the south coast myself this summer I am once more infused with a Gallic fondness, that has seen me reaching back into my record collection for a little ooh la la.

French music, as we have mentioned before, is an interesting phenomenon. There is much to be said of note about French hip-hop and its high quality and significance, and this is a subject to return to. But in terms of pop a lot of it is, well, just quite bad. And what is good is often controversial in France itself because it is sung largely in English. Think Air, Daft Punk, Phoenix, Cassius, even Bob Sinclar, Etienne De Crecy or Dimitri from Paris. All have displayed a significant love of the English language in their work, or at the very least have used the English language to communicate their music most fully.

And another artist directly related to this creative group I sthe consitently intriguing and often simply beguiling Sebastien Tellier, an artist who found himself squarely at the pointed end of the French vs English language debate recently. The battleground was the bizarre pop circus that is the Eurovision, a competition of such bizarre magnitude and camp delight as to be almost difficult to describe to the uninitiated. Certainly it is not somewhere you would normally find any right-minded music lover, except perhaps with their tongue firmly in their cheek (and their head in a bucket of strong moonshine). But this year’s French entry to this strange political war game with synths for tanks and cheesy melodies for ammo, was none other than Tellier himself with the aptly named song “Divine” from his quite stunning new album “Sexuality”.

The whole appearance on the show is so wonderfully bizarre as to border on genius, and while not the best rendition of a song that has much more going for it when heard in full production, you have to just admire the man’s cool. And he has received flak galore for the fact that the song is entirely in English, forced by none other than government to agree to input a French couplet or two. Very odd. And yet this is just really a side note to what is a recognition of Tellier’s often unique and extremely appealing music, displayed to impressive effect on his new long player, produced by none other than Daft Punk’s Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo. This follow up to 2005’s beautiful electronic dream “Politics”, featuring the all-conquering cut “La Ratournelle”, and the equally comforting acoustic “Sessions” set from 2006, “Sexuality” is a record that seduces and teases you with its sheer sensuality and subtle funk.

Erotic and electronic, the record harks back to the magnetic charisma of Gainsbourg and the pure sex of Ceronne, all fused with a synth-led arrangement that gives it velvety texture and lushness. And the language veers between Enlgish and French, signifying emotions and playing out like some passionate courtship. Perhaps not quite the masterpiece that Tellier is clearly capable of and regularly seems on the verge of, “Sexuality” is a record that is easy to fall in love with, and another prime cut to add to the Vive La Francais section of your collection. And if there is a better album cover produced in 2008 I’ll look forward to seeing it, as bizarre as it is brilliant. Just like Sebastien Tellier in fact.

I think that people are the greatest fun

1967 is often seen as a year of massive importance musically, and as mythologised through the so-called “Summer of Love” has a significance of perhaps even greater note in terms of its social, cultural and political repercussions. But the music and the wider socio-political are so intrinsically intertwined as to make any separation counter-productive in trying to understand the influences that the music scene was having on the wider forces at play in society, and vice-versa, how the world outside the recording studio window was being reflected within the musical output of the time. Quite how important or remarkable it actually was as a single year of far-reaching events and of definitive musical recordings is questionable, history happening as an ongoing process as opposed to convenient blocks of time in a vacuum, but as I say it is the mythology that counts really, and 1967 is easy shorthand for an apparent culmination and high-point of the psychedelic ideals.

And often top of the pile of records that represent this high watermark is of course The Beatles’ “Sgt Peppers’ Lonely Hearts Club Band”, itself the subject of an unhealthy amount of mythology and worship. Don’t get me wrong, it is a solid album, but as I have said before on these pages I am not one to overly praise The Beatles as the Zeus of the deities of popular music, the chief God amongst Gods. I recognise their song-writing genius, their impact on pop culture, their musical skills and I like much of their work, but I just don’t subscribe to the fact that they are the undisputed champs. That’s all. And Sgt Pepper is a prime example of why. Not because it is a bad album. Far from it. But because there were other recordings of that year which knock spots off it musically, and have more significance as a reflection of the times.

The true connoisseurs weren’t arguing about whether Sgt Pepper was better than the Beach Boys’ “Pet Sounds” from the previous year, another record of boring rock myth, but salivating over the coming of the Jimi Hendrix Experience’s debut “Are You Experienced”, before being knocked sideways by it. The Door’s own highpoint self-titled debut was from 1967, as well as debuts from Buffalo Springfield, The Velvet Underground and Nico, The Grateful Dead, and David Bowie. Toots and the Maytals recorded “54-46 That’s My Number”, Otis recorded “Dock of the Bay” and died three weeks later, Aretha recorded “Respect”, the Four Tops hit with “Bernadette”, the Kinks released the wonderful “Waterloo Sunset”. Donald Byrd dropped killer LP “Slow Drag, McCoy Tyner killed it with “The Real McCoy”, Albert King released the incredible electric blues of “Born Under a Bad Sign”.

All worthy of note and a mere drop in the ocean of creative brilliance in 1967. But the cherry on top of the pile, the recording that to my mind deserves pride of place in this year of bountiful fruits, is “Forever Changes” by LA rock collective Love. Commercially a failure when released, it has gone on to become a favourite of music critics and all time great lists since, and with some just cause. If Sgt Pepper gave a British music-hall take on the psychedelic scene, and Hendrix filtered his through an acid-drenched guitar like a creature from another planet, Love dished up an album that more than any other seems to represent the times that spawned it. No flowers in your hair with this album, more a paranoid look over your shoulder, romance and beauty a-plenty but served up with a wanton nihilism and played out against a backdrop of social oppression and cultural confusion.

An expansion and freedom of the mind, hemmed in by a bleak vision and despairing lunges at relief. And all somehow wrapped up in music that is quite simply gorgeous, lushly arranged and orchestrated, complex but concise, it is a genuine masterpiece and utterly compelling in its listening. There is not a dud track on it, and even if the lyrics are sometimes identifiably written by people with a healthy (or unhealthy) acid intake, the depth of insight and beauty of the wordplay are sometimes staggering. And opened “Alone Again Or” is itself a mini-masterpiece within and one of my all-time favourite songs. Soft acoustic melodies, giving way to an urgent and plaintive bass-driven flamenco groove, and then there is the mariachi horns and brass, a trumpet solo of rare delight. Inventive, informative and incredible, “Forever Changes” is simply timeless. Except of course it isn’t. It was recorded in 1967, but that’s where we came in.

: Ray of light

There have been occasions previously within the humble pages of A Story To Tell where we have touched upon the various musical gems to have emerged out of the north-western English city of Manchester in the golden decade of the 1980s. Whether the guitar pop brilliance of The Smiths, the indie electronica and post-punk drive of first Joy Division and then New Order, or indeed the ethereal magic that is the rave-tinged music of The Stone Roses. And these are merely the acts at the tip of a large and brilliant iceberg of creative and musical excitement, of personalities and musical collectives too numerous to list here.

The 2002 film 24-Hour Party People is an enjoyable and sometimes informative, if exaggerated biopic of the Manchester music scene in the late 1980s, as centred around Factory Records and the now legendary Hacienda nightclub (and guiding light to both the late, great Tony Wilson), and many of the acts listed above feature amongst a cast of musical brilliance. One figure however who you will not see represented in the film, but whose music is pivotal (in the film and the real-life it portrays) is producer Gerald Simpson, a.k.a A Guy Called Gerald. It is his seminal 1988 release “Voodoo Ray” that is the backdrop to one of the key “Hacienda moments” in the film, but the composer himself barely elicits a passing nod. And in a way this is itself fitting, because Gerald Simpson was always someone pulling the boundaries of the scenes he existed in from outside, as opposed to remaining hemmed in on the inside.

To have a significant and long-lasting influence on one key musical scene is impressive enough, but to have two is bordering on downright greedy, even if the scenes or genres that you have left your imprint on are indelibly linked themselves. But this is precisely what A Guy Called Gerald has done. All ravers of a certain age (indeed many music lovers more generally beyond that confined description) will be aware of the enormity of “Voodoo Ray”, a record that served to smash acid house and “rave” music truly into the UK mainstream. Other records of note preceded it but “Voodoo Ray” is widely regarded to be the record that started the dance revolution proper.

And what a monster it is, the synth lines of the Roland TB-303 merging with the unforgettable chant-like filtered and reversed vocal, imbuing the record with a hint of asian mysticism, and slaying dancefloors with it’s trance-inducing groove. Sounding of its era when listened to today, but equally modern and fresh, it is a record that transcends time, and simply bursts with more ideas in its 4 minutes-plus than is decent. That Simpson was also behind the similarly significant and quite jaw-droppingly beautiful “Pacific State” when part of fellow Mancunian collective 808-State would be enough legacy for any one person to cope with.

But what is truly astonishing about Simpson is that, having turned his back on the scene that spawned him before spitting him out disillusioned and dissatisfied, he returned 3 years later with a record of perhaps even greater importance, if far less renown. 1992’s “28 Gun Bad Boy” is ridiculously rare and little known or referenced, and yet it is arguably the blueprint to the jungle and drum and bass sound that burst into life 3 years later and took dance music in a brilliant and astonishing new direction.

A relative flash in the pan perhaps, but a genre of huge significance socially and musically. It is the first full length drum and bass record ever, and from the snatches I have heard over the years is just astonishing in its minimalist rhythmic assault on your ears, a hardcore record that grooves and pulsates, throbbing with malcontent.

A Guy Called Gerald’s place in dance music history, certainly in the UK, is assured, and he has continued to release music of interest and variety in the years since he unleashed his original and perhaps greatest masterpiece as a fresh-faced 20 year old. Manchester was never the same after “Voodoo Ray” and if you are looking for the tune that put the 24 hours into the rave scene, then this is it. And the very best thing about it. The “Voodoo Ray” of the title is a sample of comedy legend Peter Cook. Now that my friends, is true genius.