Have mercy

I am a huge fan of Marvin Gaye, and have been since very early days when a childhood fixation with Motown zeroed in particularly on his brilliant duets with Tammi Terrell, songs which still remain among my favourites today. Of course I know I am not alone as a fan of Marvin Gaye, how could you be for one of the most enduring artists of the twentieth century and one of soul music’s true greats? And when you begin to speak about affection for one of the greatest albums of all time, his 1971 opus “What’s Going On?”, the question of exclusivity is even more redundant.

And yet discuss it we must, but only in specifics. Because what I actually wanted to ruminate on today is a song from the album that is also widely famed, but which is truly astonishing, and perhaps my favourite from the album. Certainly when I hear it, this song is just one of those that I think is utterly stunning, a showcase for Gaye’s incredible voice, an instrument that honestly deserves the epithet beautiful. And a song also that, amongst all of the still relevant social issues raised on the album, perhaps has a more poignant prophetic quality than any other. The tune of course is “Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology)”. Too trite for some perhaps, too simple lyrically for others, not deep enough, too similar to the title track musically.

All valid, but for me there is always something about the plaintive desire for man to care more for the planet which reverberates through Gaye’s voice, and which I just find utterly moving. And musically I think it deserves more praise than it gets. Motown’s brilliant backing singers The Andantes pull off a remarkable choral duty, echoing in a sense the cries of planet earth itself with an ethereal haunting, while the Funk Brothers imbue the instrumentation with a down-played funky tempo and perfectly smooth sound. Off-beat guitar chords, a wandering bass-line, echoed, almost doubled, snare, Wild Bill Moore’s distinctive sax break. And then there is Gaye’s leading piano and multi-layered vocal arrangement, and a performance that seems to flow and bleed into the very song itself.

The song almost has a free-form jazz element to it as well, especially its slightly off-kilter ending, and as I say simply melts me a little each time I hear it. Like I said at the start of this post, obviously I’m not alone in this view, but as I sit here in a slightly altered world, where an African-American of seemingly strong and true social and moral virtue stands at the precipice of real change, it is just a song that has floated across my mind a lot.

Not much might have changed, and who knows what the future will bring, but things ain’t what they used to be, no no. You kind of get the feeling that Marvin would have liked the hope though.

Pharaoh for Mayor

If you knew me beyond my blogging exploits here on A Story To tell, you’d know that it is not particularly hard for me to become confused. And so it is with this posting here, because I began the rumination of ideas that led to this little block of prose wanting to talk about one thing, and now realise that there are actually maybe three things, all inter-related, that I need to discuss. Perhaps by the time I get to the end of my scribbling there’ll be even more. See I’m confusing myself even as I type.

But let’s start at the beginning, and that beginning is the monster track by the rapper who is perhaps becoming one of my favourite Emcees of all time. Not by dint of a particularly prolific record or large back catalogue, but just because everything the man does lyrically is touched by a unique genius of sorts. And I am only now, despite long-held appreciation, coming to realise it. I’ve written before about Pharaoh Monch, for it is he, and each time I study his work closely I am just bowled over, not only by his lyrical content, but also his flow. It is just brilliant. He is a rapper’s rapper, a man for whom words and how they wrap around one another are important, as much as what is actually said. Intelligent, great story-telling, metaphorical, witty, and a vocabulary that is up there with the very best.

It was Jay-Z who said that lyrically he’d be Talib Kweli, and I agree with that also, but Monch is up there as well. And to bring this intro to a close, and indeed continue the Talib link tangentially, I was listening the other day to that awesome Rawkus collection “Soundbombing II” from 1999. Just brilliant, and together with the Lyricists Lounge sets, marking something of a coming of age of a new generation of rappers who are always worth listening to. These compilations are worthy of posts by themselves for all types of reasons. But I digress. For I was listening to Pharaoh Monch’s “Mayor” and just revelling in how tight the whole recording is. His story-telling and choice of subject matter is inspired, the sample is off the hook, and the lyrics just first rate. A wicked, wicked tune.

And then I remembered how much I like the sampled tune itself, “Shine” from Lamont Dozier’s “Black Bach” album from 1974. I have mentioned the legendary Dozier and his solo work on these pages before, but damn the guy is incredible, and this tune is off the hook, with an intro of massive funk beauty.. So then I thought I’d just write about that, and use the Pharaoh tune as an intro to “Shine”. But I also realised that “Shine” has been used in another killer tune of rap story-telling, this time by another hero. For it is Ghostface who utilises the sample brilliantly on “Saturday Nite” from 2000’s “Supreme Clientele”, and arguably tops Monch’s earlier use.

So maybe this was what I should really focus on. But no, Monch is where I began, I thought, and so Monch is where I will end. And ultimately it is this track which led me to the other two anyway. There is always time for Dozier and Ghostface, but for now I have cast my vote...Pharaoh Monch for Mayor.

Honey suckle chocolate dripping kisses full of love for you

I was lucky enough, earlier this autumn, to achieve something of a musical dream. That dream was to witness Stevie Wonder live in concert, and like last year’s incredible concert run from Prince, it really was a dream that was better when you opened your eyes and realised it was real. And the man is just incredible. His voice may have weakened slightly over the years, but it really is only slight, and of course his musicianship is still of the highest order, and perhaps gets even better as the years pass. And his stamina is astonishing, not just for a man pushing 60, but for any performer.

Certainly a lot of performers half his age that I have seen live could do with taking a leaf out of his book, as he jammed and sang for close to three hours, with no breaks and no let-ups in quality. Mind you, few artists have his back catalogue to call on, and what a back catalogue it is. We have spoken numerous times about this already on these pages, but when you see some of the greatest hits, and killer album tracks, being laid out in one procession of brilliance it really is quite awe-inspiring.

One of the things that intrigued me most about the evening, however, was the audience reaction to the songs he had chosen to perform, and particularly the fact that the tunes I was holding out for, almost appeared to produce the most muted responses. “Golden Lady” got a smattering of appreciation, but nothing like other’s plucked from “Innervisions”. “All I Do”, surely one of his greatest tunes, was revealed early and seemed to pass most people’s radar through a real lack of recognition while I nearly choked on the greatness of it. “Knocks Me Off My Feet”, just a blinding offer from “Songs In The Key Of Life” was perhaps the least sung-along-to of the ballads he chose, a decision that baffled me (despite the fact that of course it was battling with the likes of the brilliant “Lately”, “Ribbon In The Sky” and “As”). And then there was perhaps the best of the lot, the incredibly understated “Do I Do”, a time when half the crowd seemed to think that the time was ripe to nip off for another drink or comfort break. Incredible.

But hey, music is of course subjective, and who am I to argue with 40,000 fans all of whom have turned up with their own desires to be sated from the musical feast. But this last song is a good reason, of course, to reinforce just why so many people revere the artistry of Stevie Wonder, taken as it is from 1982’s jaw-dropping compilation “Stevie Wonder’s Original Musiquarium Vol 1”. Now this is probably one of the best greatest hits package of all time, let us be clear about that, grouping as it does the best of Wonder’s work throughout the 1970s when creative control was wrested from Motown and Wonder re-wrote key pages of the musical guidebook.

In fact, there are many omissions, but then if we were to include all of the best songs in a greatest hits package from this period it would just be a box-set of every album from 1972’s “Music Of My Mind” to 1980’s “Hotter Than July”, and then we are back where we started! Anyway, the point here is that “Do I Do” was included on the Musiquarium as a brand new recording, along with “Ribbon In The Sky”, “That Girl” and “Front Line”, and what is quite remarkable is how good these additions are, but also how they segue so well into the others in the collection. The key here is Wonder’s sheer consistency of quality throughout this period, but also his consistency of musical approach.

Despite being incredibly innovative and pushing the very boundaries of soul music, he retains a musical ebb and flow of excellent cohesion, lyrically, metaphysically, conceptually, socially, musically and any other ally you can think of. Just genius. That “Do I Do” is also impossibly funky, has Dizzy Gillespie’s horn solo and Wonder unleashing rapping on it simply adds to the sheer excellence. And even if the crowd I was with didn’t quite realise it, the moment was truly magical. Thanks Stevie. Oh, by the way, I was the guy up in the higher echelons in the venue singing off-key like a madman during the song.

Apologies for that, I hope it didn’t put you off!

Some go Early

September 2008 saw the sad passing of a true legend of the music industry, a man whose back catalogue of contributions almost reads like a dictionary of the very best and most important American music since the very birth of rock’n’roll. Indeed, such was the influence of the great drummer Earl Palmer, that he can be truly credited as one of the inventors of rock’n’roll itself, the man who gave the roll to the rock if you like. For he was drummer on no less a run of records than Little Richard’s “Tutti Frutti” (amongst other Little Richard classics), Fats Domino’s “The Fat Man” (and virtually all of Fats’ hits), Lloyd Price’s incredible “Lawdy Miss Clawdy”, Smiley Lewis’ “I Hear You Knockin”, Richie Valens’ “La Bamba” - basically the list is ridiculous. And this is before we even get started on his position as drummer (alongside friend and fellow beat master Hal Blaine) in the notorious Wrecking Crew, the roster of elite session musicians providing backing for the Wall of Sound of Phil Spector.

The man played on “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling” the twentieth century’s most played song on US radio, not to mention Ike and Tina’s “River Deep Mountain High”. Sinatra, Nat King Cole, Ray Charles, the Beach Boys, Neil Young, Tim Buckley, Harry Nilsson, Sam Cooke, B.B. King, Elvis Costello, Etta James, Tom Waits, Professor Longhair, and still more too numerous to mention. He was like a one-man museum of American popular music. And his reach even extended to film scores, and I mean those that go down in history as classics. No incidental music for Earl Palmer, oh no. This guy laid down beats for Lalo Schifrin’s “Cool Hand Luke” and “Bullit” scores. He worked with Quincy Jones on “In The Heat of the Night” score.

Essentially Earl Palmer was the single greatest session drummer of all time. Nicknamed the Metronome, his precision and languidly precise style is a master class in percussive accompaniment. As he said himself, the job of the drummer is to accompany the fellow musicians, not to showboat or standout. Always understated as a man, his contribution to popular music is difficult to overstate. And all from humble beginnings in New Orleans. Where else but the city that throbs to the beat of the marching band, and which can virtually bottle funk and sell it by the pound such is it’s intrinsic feel for it.

Indeed, believe it or not, Earl Palmer is even credited with inventing the word “funky” when describing the danceable syncopation needed to merge the sounds of blues, jazz, country and rhythm’n’blues into one pulsating musical style, rock’n’roll, the music that changed the world. He was the pulse of so much in modern music, that his own passing is cause for great sadness, but celebration also that his inimitable style has blessed so many great works and leaves such a palpable legacy.

If you can find his solo releases, “Drumsville” from 1961 and “Percolator Twist” from 1962, you are in for a real treat, and clips of the man online are lessons in studied cool, as well as reasons why the internet was invented. The guy even dressed like a complete don at every opportunity. The campaign for a Twelve Bar “Palmer” blazer starts here. The one and only true funky drummer. Play on player.

Anti-jazz

The career of Miles Davis is, in a word, astonishing. A look back at his discography throws up bomb after bomb that he dropped on the jazz and wider musical world, the repercussions of which are still felt today, and will be for a long time to come. Pages and pages of A Story To Tell could be filled with an overview of his musical work, his diversions and startling shifts of pace and attention, his legacy of work, and ability to court controversy over a huge period of time with his musical choices and sheer invention. But few of his recordings sent shockwaves through the musical stratosphere like the 1972 jazz-funk-rock masterpiece "On The Corner".

Recently given the box-set treatment revealing the full session recordings, and in fact spanning a time period much beyond the studio sessions (covering 1972-5 and featuring fellow legends from Herbie Hancock to Chick Corea) this LP is still as fresh and jaw-dropping as when it was first released. The full jams revealed on the box-set may be too much for many fans, even the most die-hard, and yet the cuts that made the final cut are so vital that one is drawn into the rambling and inspirational studio jams from which they emerged. On the corner angered nearly everyone when it was released, and certainly the jazz scene who labelled it anti-jazz and turned Davis into something of a pariah because of it.

According to contemporaries without his keen vision, Davis was rupturing the very fabric of jazz music, and in doing so destroying its legacy. In fact he was giving the music a future. One of his avowed aims was to try to reconnect with a young black audience, increasingly diverted into funk and heavy rock, and in some ways the record is as if the trumpeter has been filled with the mordant spirit of Hendrix and Sly Stone, giving them a voice through his own genius. But to make crass anachronisms is almost to do the record an injustice.

It is of its own making, a departure with many influences but no predecessors, and a record after which the musical landscape has shifted slightly. Wah-wah pedals abound, Davis' trumpet is demonically brilliant, guitars tread a heavy path to greatness, and bass and percussion underpin with a startlingly consistent groove. Meanwhile tablas and sax weave magic around sitars and electric organ, all refined through the latest in digital recording techniques.

If you have never listened to "On The Corner" then it is a record which demands attention, and rewards the listener with a sound that still seems to defy classification, and yet which laid the foundations for so much that followed. If Bitches Brew shook up the world like Ali knocking out Liston, then On The Corner was like the Rumble In The Jungle, simply upturning what had gone before. It is essential, simple as that.

Like a monkey with a miniature cymbal

Call them indie-pop, call them electronica, call them straight-up dance, call them musical uber-geeks, but whatever label they happen to be given, UK band Hot Chip are nothing if not interesting and original. Newly released long player “Made In The Dark” is already a contender for this year’s album of the year lists, just as 2006’s sophomore effort “The Warning” won legions of critical plaudits and popular acclaim alike. Hot Chip, are interesting for a number of reasons. Their fondness for musical gadgetry and appearance helps them come across almost as awkward scientists of sound, the geeky kids who would be fore-going outdoor activities as youths to carry out dismantlings of equipment and experiments in their bedrooms.

This juxtaposes with the music itself which, as stated, defies easy labelling, but is an amalgam of indie sensibilities, mixed with the joys of rave and alternative dance, and even echoes of soul and hip-hop within, all tied up with a ribbon of pure pop. It is not for nothing that the band avoid slipping into clichéd lists of musical influences, with Destiny’s Child, Prince, and R Kelly among their avowed heroes, alongside more obviously diverse choices such as German minimalist techno, Ray Charles, Will Oldham and Willie Nelson.

Their live shows, I can attest, are nothing short of a pleasure to behold. Festival favourites, they are renowned for their onstage reworkings of their own catalogue, and that of any number of other artists they choose from the afore-mentioned long list of inspirations, while all five members are also always keen to man the decks to keep the party going. Catchy tunes, often hilarious lyrical couplings, infectious grooves, but where as many of their contemporaries may play safely into the cool club kid territory, this lot unashamedly enjoy their ability to move a dancefloor. And “Made In The Dark” extends their palette still further, with soulful, harmonic balladeering added to the stew, along with slices of melancholy to cut through the street-wise quips, driven by addictive guitar licks and synth overload.

Hot Chip continue to evolve and expand their own horizons, and in doing so perform the same function for their growing fanbase, and if you haven’t yet had the pleasure of their company, I urge you to make a nice cup of tea and sit down for a one-way chat through the speakers. You might just learn something.

The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire

I have spoken before about my lack of expertise when it comes to reggae and its various sub-genres from Roots to Dancehall and back again. However, this lack of in-depth knowledge does not hold me back from being what I would consider to be a big fan of Jamaican music particularly. Indeed some of my favourite all time tunes are those blessed with the sun, green haze and indecently heavy bass and riddims of the Caribbean.

Besides, it is my belief that musical appreciation is not built on a train-spotter’s catalogued knowledge of detail and minutiae but rather just liking what you like, and enjoying it. There is so much music out there that we are only ever going to scratch the surface anyway, and it is the journey of musical discovery that you take which is the important thing, not necessarily knowing the route beforehand, or even memorising it afterwards.

And so it is with my love of reggae. I’m not immersed in the music so as to be able to reel off classic albums or even classic cuts from albums, the inter-relationships of artists, the key studios or producers. I don’t listen to it from dusk till dawn. But I do know a bit about what I like, and one of the biggest tunes of all time in my own personal playlist is in fact two tunes. How so you cry? Well because of the tendency in reggae production, as I have remarked on before, to recycle and repurpose killer tracks, giving any one riddim life upon life, and a surprising level of originality and diversity of results. And on this occasion it is the legendary “Blood and Fire” track from Winston “Niney the Observer” Holness, released originally in December 1970 and just a tune that is pure murderation. The “blood and fiyah” refrain hooks the song around the mellowest of skanks and bass driven lilt. Niney toasts, grunts and sings sweetly over the track, coming in on the on and off beat to give the record a wickedly organic feel.

Just a classic cut, and from a guy aged just 19 at the time. Originally pressed in just a run of 200, the record went on to sell 30,000 copies and become Jamaican record of the year, securing its legendary status almost immediately. And this despite the fact that Niney literally had to spill blood to get it released, a shoulder length scar his permanent reminder of a studio tussle involving the Wailers’ Glen Adams who accused him of theft of a segment of their work to make up the track. Whatever the case, the rhythm is an established part of the reggae canon, and never bettered than in its original form. Never bettered, but perhaps equalled, because the other tune that has long been a favourite is the mighty Big Youth’s own use of the track. “Fire Bunn” followed quick on the heels of the original in 1971 as the prolific young deejay searched for way of jumping to the major leagues, the place that his huge talent deserved. And if “Blood and Fire” is raw and passionate, “Fire Bunn” is pure melody, and a brilliant vocal performance that is archetypal Big Youth. Youth’s style is laid-back to the point of meditation, but he is perhaps the most engaging artist of reggae’s 1970s purple patch, his soulful ability to ride a track with precision unrivalled amongst contemporaries.

He half-sings, half-raps, sometimes chanting in faux-preacherman harmony, and the result is one of the most beautiful artists to listen to. “Fire Bunn” came just before Big Youth broke through properly with the quite excellent “Screaming Target” LP in 1972, and is a sure indicator of how great he would go on to be. So there you have it. One track. Two favourite tunes as outcomes. And the stupid thing is that I was blissfully unaware for many years that these two favourites of mine were in fact the same song. I told you I didn’t know much about reggae.

Higher than the sun

You may feel that it is a slightly odd way to introduce a music-based musing, but here it is. The work of 16th century Polish astronomer and philosopher Nicolaus Copernicus may not be something you think you are overly familiar with, but you will be more aware of his work than you think. For it was Copernicus who was the first thinker to prove that the earth and the other planets that make up our solar system revolve around the sun, a statement know as heliocentricity.

A startling discovery, turning received wisdom on its head and one which is arguably one of the most significant of all time. Here is not the place to go into this historical impact of this premise, but suffice it to say that his works were considered to be somewhat "out there" at the time. And so it is somewhat fitting that UK 8-piece The Heliocentrics, loosely led by brilliant drummer and pianist Malcolm Catto, should name their recently released debut long-player "Out There". Their music is brand new, yet retro, familiar, yet stunning in its originality, extra-terrestrial and yet rooted by rhythms and syncopated patterns firmly of this world.

In a nutshell, the album defies easy categorisation, with the psychedelic jazz awkwardness of Sun Ra, jostling with the pure funk of the JBs, and the transcendent otherworldliness of deep electronica working alongside a clear hip-hop aesthetic. Many readers of this blog will be familiar with the great Stones Throw records, a label that seems to simply refuse to put out bad product, and as a result many will already know Catto and The Heliocentrics' work, from backing the likes of DJ Shadow and Madlib.

But this project, four years in the making, is their sound writ large, and is a stunning statement of intent. Stones Throw imprint, Now-Again, led by the visionary G M Egon, puts out the music that even the mother label feels is too off the wall for their roster, and it becomes clear once more that the "Out There" theme is more than just a title. It is almost a manifesto. Catto's fellow musicians are of equal skill and vision, and the result is a record that quickly plants itself in your consciousness and refuses to budge.

Try to fight against its melodic meanderings and uniqueness and you will lose. But if you are prepared to follow their vision then, just like old Copernicus himself, you may just go on a journey of wonder and see things differently. Brilliantly differently.

Deep down where the love lives

We all have them. Those tunes that take you back to your first tentative steps into the nightlife, the dazzling and dizzying lights, the sweaty heaving dancefloor, the smoke, the mirrors, the endless and sometimes forgotten (and indeed best forgotten) nocturnal meanderings and adventures. And for me, one tune that heralds the very beginnings of an interest in the delights of the afterhours is a true house music classic. The heavy pound of the piano intro and riff that drives the song throughout, interspersing the bass heavy notes with the most uplifting of refrains. The slightly sub-bass and underwater vibes notes that intermittently poke their head into the equation.

The hand clap percussion and high-hat rattle, backed by a barely-there conga drum. And then the most sublime vocals enter the scene, the piano follows the vocal lead, the strings stir in a heavenly accompaniment, and we have entered something of a house nirvana. The tune in question, as if you hadn’t guessed from the meticulous description (okay, perhaps not) is Alison Limerick’s seminal 1990 cut “Where Love Lives”, probably best heard through the Godfather Frankie Knuckles’ Classic House Mix. To me this record not only brings back happy memories of a time in my youth when sneaking in to all night parties as a sprightly young pup seemed like the most exciting and exclusive distraction out there, a time to bond with friends and begin to explore the power of music outside of the bedroom and into the sound systems of clubland and beyond.

And it is still a record that will kill any dance floor that chooses to challenge it. The understated vocals from British chanteuse Alison Limerick drip with a soulful warmth that makes the record just irresistible, and the lyrics themselves seem to promise transportation to a place where all your troubles fade away into an all-enveloping cushion of affection and safety in the bosom of your loved one. It sums up the prevailing optimism and commonality of the early house music scene, and for all those enjoying their respective modes of transportation into an altered reality, is surely akin to an aural hug from your greatest love.

Released during the age of diva-led anthems, this is surely the pick of a very fine crop, in many ways because it is so un-diva like. Not brassy, sassy or over-stated, it is just a lovely song, almost poetic in its lyricism, and with a depth that lifts it above its contemporaries. It is the aural equivalent of the bit of our soul that dictates our desires and emotions, the place where the love lives. Sheer quality.

Could it be the devil in me?

One of the common sounds of my youth, as you may have gleaned from earlier entries into A Story To Tell, was the marvellous sound of Motown. Now this is common to many people right across the world, I am sure. And suffice it to say that like many others, records released on the Motown label still form a key part of my musical collection, a trusted touchstone to return to for the pop genius of the early to mid-1960s, or indeed the many long-player classics that soon followed.

However, even despite this plethora of pure quality, if you were to ask me for an all time favourite Motown tune there would be no hesitation at all, no procrastination, and no debate in my mind. Hands down the winner for me every time would be Martha and the Vandellas’ “(Love is Like A) Heatwave”, the most incendiary piece of pop brilliance to come from the stable, and it has been this way for as long as I can remember. “Heatwave” was one of the earliest bits of music I can remember and though I must have heard it thousands of time throughout my life it still sends shivers down my spine on every listen.

Of course there are other records that do this, but only a handful that truly sound as brilliant now as they ever have. I mean, truly as good. Not because of a warm familiarity, or a nostalgic fondness for a now out-dated sound, but because the record transcends its genre, its age, its context, to just become a moment of sheer musical perfection. And this from a record that is now over 45 years old. Now of course “Heatwave”, released in 1963 is of its time, and is in many ways representative of the true birth of what became known as the “Motown Sound”.

It was Holland-Dozier-Holland’s first top ten pop hit, and has all the trademarks of their best up-tempo work, the rollicking piano and drum combination, the punchy horns, the powerful vocal performance, the heavy bass sound. But even then, to me, it is more than this. Because it is the sound of a song writing and production team, musicians, and vocalists who are all at the very top of their game, and the song itself emerges as that point of highest tension when all three collide. It is the millisecond before the tension breaking point, as such becomes musical dynamite.

It is an oft-quoted tale in Motown’s history that, despite probably being the strongest girl group in terms of sheer talent and vocal prowess, that Martha and the Vandellas suffered short shrift in terms of promotion and true support because of Berry Gordy’s obsession with The Supremes, and in particular Diana Ross. And this despite the fact that the Vandellas were really the label’s top act in the early years, both as commercial artists and live draw. But however the cards ultimately fell, it is Martha Reeves and the Vandellas in their earliest incarnation (i.e. with Annette Beard and Rosalind Ashford as backers) that for me hold the real position of supremacy. The combination of their vocal ranges, Reeves’ alto, Beard’s contralto, and Ashford’s soprano, and all drenched in gospel honey and a pure doo-wop sensibility, gave the group an unrivalled sound.

And on Heatwave it goes head to head with the Funk Brothers at their very best. The result is a song of pure soul delirium, a frenetic, almost magical tussle with the madness of all-consuming desire, a song that it is impossible not to feel in your very depths. Or perhaps, like Reeves says, it’s just that high blood pressure got a hold on me. No, on this occasion, this is the way love’s supposed to be. It’s like a heatwave.

La La Means I love You

While other Wu members and affiliates may have garnered more popular acclaim over the years, or more fame or infamy in and out of the rap game, when it comes to consistency of release outside of the group dynamic there is surely one Wu Tanger who wears the crown. And that man is none other than Ironman himself, Tony Starks, or simply Ghostface to his friends (with or without the Killah suffix). I have to admit that I slept on Ghostface for a while, my initial Wu-filled head turned by the more immediate promise of the likes of Meth and ODB, or the cerebral clarity of the Gza. Even with his immense contribution to Raekwon’s simply masterful “Only Built 4 Cuban Lynx” set, rapping to a brilliant standard on virtually every cut there-in, I still didn’t give the proper dues, or really invest further in exploring his work. But damn, I’m a big man, I can hold my hands up to that mistake. There’s only so many hours in the day, right?

But when I did take the time to consider the work of Ghostface what I found was an artist who rocks a niche in rap that is so far up my street as to be virtually indecent. For Ghostface has developed his own largely inimitable approach to the rap game, keeping with the straight-up , gritty, raw and powerful spitting that he displays so brilliantly in the Wu, but balancing it atop the most sublimely soulful production in his solo work. Not always is this the case, but enough for him to be classed as a true pioneer in this seemingly incongruous style, that just works to devastating effect. And none more so than on 2004 set “The Pretty Toney Album”, just a blindingly good hip-hop album.

Let’s be straight to begin with, Ghostface really doesn’t do mediocre, he doesn’t even do quite good or good for that matter. He consistently does really, really good and by now we should know this. And what he also does is lay his full heart on the recording booth walls every time he steps to the mic, a commitment to rhyming that brings his records a sense of true power and honesty, not to mention integrity. But as I say, for me, Pretty Toney is a true standout, even above the excellent “Ironman” and “Supreme Clientele”, and sometime overlooked “Bulletproof Wallets”, as well as his still impressive more recent work. Like I say I love them all, but for me it is the all out soul assault that the Pretty Toney set brings that really stirs my custard.

For with his full-scale appropriation of elements of the soul music canon he so clearly values himself, he has come as close as rappers do to harnessing the true essence of soul. Not for him the mere sample for a chorus or bassline, the sprinkling of emotion through a soulful smoke and mirrors. No, he goes for the realness, and for this is all the more impressive. Soul for Ghostface is not a gimmick, or a cheap emotional tug of the soul synapses that lay dormant in each of our grey cells. For him it is the soul of yesteryear, the music that brings heartfelt passion, unreciprocated desire and longing together with a sensual warmth, erotic kindlings and soulful warmth. The essence of soul music in many ways.

Just listen to one of the truly great tracks from the set, the Delfonics-backed “Holla” to get a taste of what I mean. Not everyone’s cup of tea I am the first to admit, but for me just a beautiful thang. Ghostface lays it all on the line, matching vocal delivery and lyrical content to the music he chooses to back him - no cheap thrills and empty verses from this hero. The result is an album of some audacity, but of real quality. Snoop Dogg laid down some seriously soulful sensuality on his recent Ego Trippin’ set, but when it comes to the true soul essence he is still just a pup to this big boss dog.

He was an archangel of love

I was kicking back with my man Rav Diddy the other day, a man who likes to chew the breeze and also a man who likes his tunes soulful and deep. So we were talking about the global economy, boxing, music, chocolate (don’t ask, but conversation with Rav tends to meander), and in the background was an old compilation CD from the now defunct Journeys By DJ series, an occasionally brilliant set of collections often from big names in house or dance music.

The selection, on this particular album, was particularly worthy of attention being as it was made by the always interesting Norman Jay and Gilles Peterson, names that should need no introduction to the Twelve Bar family, and which are always synonymous with a consistent quality of output. And so there we were, Rav Diddymus and I, in the aural company of two of the UK’s finest purveyors of beats, happily chewing the breeze with a gentle but low-level audio backdrop to the evening. And then all conversation stopped dead, the volume was notched up and the pair of us exchanged knowing glances as our faces beamed a tranquil satisfaction and we let ourselves drift away from our talking, and lose ourselves in a moment. And the reason for this conversation stopper?

The emergence into the mix of one of the greatest dance records ever, one that I hadn’t played for some time, and an instant and glowing reminder of how great house music can be. The tune was none other than the heavenly deep house groove of “Gabriel”, released in 1997 by Chicago veteran Roy Davis Jr. Featuring the talents of the under-appreciated Peven Everett, here is a record that transcends its genre, and almost transcends music itself with its marrying of perfect beats and uplifting vocals that combine to create a work of art of elegant beauty. And the heavenly and transcendental references are deliberate given the spiritual connotations of the track, a house paean to the Archangel Gabriel and the power of love and spiritual higher ground from the deeply religious Davis Jr.

That the producer manages to make his message almost incidental and yet intrinsic to the power of the record, with a filtered and underplayed vocal, is itself pretty impressive, and yet it is the music itself that is the key to the greatness of this track. Call it deep house, call it Chicago, call it US garage, it doesn’t really matter because the genius of the groove is in its monotony, in its simplicity, in it’s downright soulful essence. Vocals, as mentioned, fuzz at a level, purposeful and inexorably driving the tune forward, while the syncopated electronic drum pattern snaps and clunks in a seemingly straightforward yet actually quite sublime complexity. And then there is the horn break, 9 notes of optimism dipping in and out of the groove and raising it to a different plane. And that is pretty much it.

Simply brilliant. Another great UK DJ, Benji B, once remarked that this tune only gets played out by him twice a year. Carnival and New Years. It is too special to waste on lesser occasions. It has often been said that God is a DJ and the dancefloor is his church. For a moment in 1997 the DJ who was God was Roy Davis Jr, and his sermon was simple. Gabriel.

He likes 'em pretty, he likes 'em in their lingerie

Any Prince fan, or even those with a passing interest, is likely to be familiar with the oft-quoted tale that in the vaults of Paisley Park (or wherever he now resides) there lays reel upon reel of unreleased material from the funky one. Unused albums, live jams, studio jams, discarded half-songs, entire soundtracks, the list is endless and probably true, and enough to have you salivating at the mere prospect of a peek inside.

Until that moment of Willy Wonka Chocolate Factory-esque access is granted however (golden ticket in a new Prince release anyone?) we have to satisfy ourselves with glimpses afforded by other routes. And one easy starting point is the multitude of artists, acolytes and protégés who have swum in Prince’s circle over the years. For within the output of many of these fleeting or established stars and starlets lay some of Prince’s finest work, either as songwriter, composer, producer, backing musician, collaborator, or any combination of the above.

And for your humble Story To Tell scribe, the list of possible subjects for appraisal is like a veritable gift from the Gods (or the purple demi-God if you want to be precise). From Sheila E through Wendy & Lisa to The Time, and from “Nothing Compares 2 U” to “Manic Monday”, the source material goes on and on, and indeed shall be explored all in good time my friends. But for today let us stop the merry-go-round at one of the finest examples of the filtered Prince sound, taken from a golden period in his creativity between “1999” and “Purple Rain”. The group is Apollonia 6 and the tune in question is “Blue Limousine” taken from the equally impressive “Apollonia 6” long-player from 1984.

Indeed pick almost any tune from the album and what I say below might apply equally well, although this cut is a particularly great one (though you may be more familiar with “Sex Shooter”, a bigger chart hit that the group actually performed in the movie “Purple Rain”).

Apollonia 6 are an interesting proposition of themselves, salvaged from the disbanded Vanity 6 when Prince’s former girlfriend Vanity (real name ) left the band bearing her stage name, to be replaced by new flavour of the month Apollonia (Patricia Kotero). I told you it was a crazy, mixed-up scene back of house at the Paisley Park! Indeed Vanity 6, and Vanity herself, are a whole different story altogether. For it was the newly named and newly formed Apollonia 6 who got the fruits of Prince’s labours on this occasion, with “Blue Limousine” the cherry at the very top of the pile. Complicated further by the fact that lead vocals on this cut are by backing singer Brenda Bennett, and still further y the fact that vocal duties throughout the album itself are often taken by Wendy & Lisa, and other protégé, the amazing Jill Jones.

None of this really matters here though, because it is the music itself that takes precedence. And on “Blue Limousine” the full purple works are on display, to the extent that it is almost impossible to distinguish it from other of his output at the time. But that would be to do a disservice to the record itself as it stands of itself. While prince would undoubtedly have done a great job had he chosen to perform it, the fact is he didn’t, and the recording stands alone as a truly great song and performance regardless. The vocals are that slightly breathy and strained style Prince himself displayed on cuts such as “I Would Die For U”, and the drums are pure Linn and distinctive.

The lyrics are bubblegum sounding, yet somehow deep and intense and full of sex and pure funk. The bassline is insane. But it is the backstory that intrigues. “Blue Limousine” was offered to the group after the original song they were offered - none other than “Take Me With You”, a duet with Apollonia - was withdrawn and saved for Prince himself on “Purple Rain”. Another cut they recorded yet had snatched away was the future huge hit “Manic Monday”, while Sheila E’s “This Glamorous Life” another monster cut when released, was yet another originally intended for Apollonia 6. Even the B-Side to “When Doves Cry”, the impossibly brilliant “17 days” was intended for them. What is left is still a strong album, but just imagine the commercial potential if original plans had been followed, a thought I’m sure the group themselves had on a number of occasions at the time and since. For whatever reason Prince lost interest in them at some stage prior to recording and release of the self-titled album.

What remains however is still a monster, and an example of the greatness amongst Prince’s many side projects and whimsies. And you have to give the man credit, after all in Apollonia 6 he allowed us to share with him the fact that “he likes 'em pretty, he likes 'em in their lingerie”. Just check out their image for proof.

Fresh is definitely the word

Old school duo Mantronix are always an interesting proposition to explore, not least because their music seems to blur the boundaries between genres, while remaining innovative, fresh and rooted in the pure essence of the hip-hop scene that spawned them. Able to be described accurately as purveyors of straight-up hip-hop, electro, electro funk, techno, house and even pop, one word which can always be applied to any or all of their output no matter the style is quality. Consistent quality. And for some people, this writer included, Mantronix remain something of unsung heroes, providers of some of the very best tunes of the 1980s and early 1990s.

And also a constant source of inventive music, virtually always with a keen dance-floor aesthetic and of course the most banging of bass-lines and most driving and hook-filled synth sounds. Indeed it is this latter element of the sound, the exploitation and manipulation of the best in electronic equipment, and the inventive use of samplers, synths, sequencers and fledgling computer-based programming, that are perhaps the biggest reasons to praise the work of Mantronix. In fact, while the rapping talents of first partner MC Tee deserve praise for their B-Boy pedigree, and helped shape some of the earliest standout cuts, not least of all the classic long-player “Mantronix: The Album” and evergreen follow-up “Music Madness”, when discussing Mantronix as a band, it is really the solo talents of Kurtis “Mantronik” Khaleel that you are describing.

Many other collaborators came before and after Tee’s departure in 1991, but even before he left the duo, it was Kurtis Mantronik who was always the chief architect of the Mantronix sound. The afore-mentioned debut LP, dropped in 1985, is so far ahead of its time it is almost behind itself. Rhyming is better than average but standard East Coast fare, but the soundscape is breathtaking. Soaking up the best elements of Afrika Bambaataa’s Zulu Nation, Kraftwerk, New Order, Yello, Grandmaster Flash, and even Funkadelic, Mantronix developed a new type of sound that ripped up any established rules and simply went for the jugular, in this case being the clubs of mid-Eighties New York.

And this wanton innovation, the sharp, stabbing beats and drowned in synth sound approach, the heavy, heavy bass, is one reason why the music has remained essential to this day, and while clearly of its age, retains a timeless quality also. Forget the fact that Mantronix also produced and remixed several classics for other hip-hop artists and went on to help shape New Jack and House with cuts like the perennial favourite “Got To Have Your Love” from 1990. Even if “Mantronix: The Album” had been the only thing they (or he) ever did, a place in music history, and in the progression of hip-hop would be secure.

When you hear the roll-call of classic old school hip-hop it always seems to me that Mantronix are offered little more than a footnote, and this is a shame. Maybe it was because in constantly pushing the envelope, the streets never really got the message contained within. Not to say that they don’t get props, but always think that their position is marginalised more than it deserves. That is of no consequence however, in the grand scheme of things, as quality always rises to the top, and as the man himself might have said, when you put the “Needle to the Groove” all words are meaningless.

Light up the Mic for the Symphony

This may be old hat to some with their ears closer to the ground than I, but for this humble writer there was some thrilling news that reached me this week. For it was this week that my main Frank pointed me in the direction of the forthcoming Juice Crew feature film, provisionally titled The Vapors and due for release early in 2009. Rumours have been flying around for months about the movie, with casting calls held and different cats touted for inclusion, but precise details remain relatively sketchy.

However, when it does make it to the sliver screen it is difficult to see how it can end up being anything but absolutely massive? Like any hip-hop fan, the rise of the Juice Crew, and particularly the infamous Bridge Wars with Boogie Down Productions, coincided with the beginnings of a never ending love affair with the music and culture of hip-hop. While I was too young to really get deep into the so-called “Roxanne Wars” they formed an important part of the heritage of rap when I first began to delve properly into it, taking on an almost mythical quality, along with earlier interest in Beat Street, the Rocksteady Crew, Wild Style, even the Breakdance movies.

And the same is true of the beef between Marley Marl, MC Shan and the rest of the Cold Chillin’ Queensbridge crew, and the BDP stable in the South Bronx. For a young pup growing up miles away, geographically and mentally, from the urban realities of late 1980s New York and the dramas encased within the five boroughs, not to mention this dynamic and confident new form of music, the battle on record was like a glimpse into another world. Exciting, fresh and brash. And then there was the music itself. I felt no need to get drawn into taking sides, and as such could just sit back and soak up some of the truly greatest cuts of all time, and these remain staples of my engagement with hip-hop.

There is no need to go over all of the records that formed part of this true golden age, and indeed all are worthy of space here on A Story To Tell of themselves. News of the Juice Crew biopic however does have you salivating at the prospect of a movie that will feature surely one of the greatest soundtracks of all time. Special mention has, of course, to go to “The Symphony”, the 1988 cut that featured virtually some of the leading lights of the Juice Crew stable, and is a record that surely needs no introduction. Still the standard by which to judge any posse cut, “The Symphony” stands tall as a defining moment in hip-hop history, and is sure to feature prominently in The Vapors.

I can’t believe I slept so long on this news, but hey we’ve all got our flaws and our day jobs to attend to. Now that the word is out though I am literally beside myself with anticipation (well not literally, but you know what I mean). I suppose the moral of the story is that I should have taken Masta Ace’s advice from the off...Listen closely, so your attention's undivided. Wise words, and when it comes to the output of the Juice Crew, an order, not a suggestion.

just like to rhyme, kick the lyric Skillz like Pele

Dropping the prefix “Mad” from his name to leave just the Skillz, could be something of a fitting metaphor for the new, and for many, eagerly-awaited long-player “Million Dollar Backpack” from this nobleman of the underground scene. Because with this album Skillz has done what he has threatened to do throughout his long, interesting and sometimes turbulent career, and drop an album of consistent quality that is simply all about his lyrical flow, and yes skills. Drop the “mad”, and just leave the skills, see? And if the name he goes by is streamlined and concise, then the same could also be said of this pithy, smart and inventive new album, all laid out over fresh beats, and tied together with the freestyle flow and magnificent wordplay for which Skillz is rightly feted.

More famous in recent years perhaps for his always entertaining year-end “Rap-Ups”, as well as his semi-scandalous expose of the true skills behind some monster selling hip-hop names with 2000’s “Ghostwriter” cut, Skillz could be said to take a measured approach to releasing his own work in anything like a coherent package. But as “Ghostwriter” testifies this is far from due to a lack of application and lethargy * the man is always busy and in demand * but the rap game is fickle and perhaps it is just opportunity that needs to come knocking for Skillz to have the chance to really shine. And on “Million Dollar Backpack” he really does shine. Skillz is true to the essence of hip-hop, to the tongue-twisting metaphors, similies, lexicon pilfering and straight up clever wordsmithery that has always been at the root of why rap is the game we love so much.

Forget about sales, shallow artist collaborations put together by the label, getting with the hot production stable, refining an image that sell. Just stick to essentials and heads will recognise. Taking it back to when it was cool to just vibe on a notepad and rock a fresh Jansport, “Million Dollar Packpack” bristles with lyrics which carry a message as well as rhyme tight, bemoaning crass and capitalist elements of the game, while uplifting and exalting others. Beats are laidback but bumping enough to give the album momentum, and in particular Jazzy Jeff, ?uestlove and Jake One offer glimpses of brilliance.

But as with all of Skillz previous works it is the lyrics that deserve most attention, and so it is as our narrator kicks flawless flow after flow that mix his bravado and rightful swagger, with insight and puns that most big-selling would give an arm for (or at least lay an arm and a leg, as many have done). Like he says on standout “So Far So Good” where he trades verses with Common (or Talib Kweli on the remix) “If opportunity comes, I'ma see what its bout, You can see it in my swag, I done figured it out, If you see doubt, I'm thinkin’ that y'all better re-route, Cause I'ma walk these dogs till Mike Vick get out". Whether this will be the album for Skillz as a performer to finally get the props he deserves remains to be seen.

If truth be told, probably not because that just isn’t how the rap game works. But he has his ghost-written proceeds to kick back with and the knowledge that as a rapper and lyricist there are few who can live with him, perhaps he is comfortable with that. This album could be a future classic, a long-player that history heralds as a great slept-on collection in an age when having an LV on your bag seems to carry more weight than the source material within. So go on and check it out. I know you itchin to get the Jansport out again at least once.

Oh Don’t Ya Hear Me Cryin’

I’m no Blues expert by any means. I think I’ve said so before. However, the music of the Blues was an ever present in my formative years as my dad was always something of a fan and a great source of information and great music. Whether it was early exposure to Robert Johnson, Muddy Waters, Charlie Patton, Bessie Smith, Ma Rainey, John Lee Hooker, Leadbelly or countless others, the soundtrack to my youth was peppered with the gruff delivery and gruffer tales and chugging rhythm of the Blues. But of all of the Bluesmen and women that entered my sphere of influence, the one whose imprint perhaps went deepest was to me the wildest and most raw of the lot, the mighty primitive feral essence that was Howlin’Wolf. For a start there is the name, a magical label given to the young Chester Arthur Burnett and taken from his grandfather’s tales of woodland wolves who would keep young Burnett on the straight and narrow.

Wolves have a mythic and wild quality I always think, lurking in the shadows in the woods and around the swamps doing their wild thang, and this is the feeling that I get from Howlin Wolf’s voice and music. There is such an essential quality to it, in the sense of being almost primeval, and it gets you right down in the gut. Wolf is that classic delta Bluesman, the link between the advent of electric blues and the classic Chess years, and the more countrified folk-tale origins of this most elemental of musics. And nowhere is this better typified than in his evergreen classic “Smokestack Lightnin” from 1956, just an essential record that always sounds great, and always has the ability to shock, such is the power contained in the music and delivery.

Famously built around one driving guitar riff from longtime sidekick Hubert Sumlin, and with no chord changes, the tune just chugs along relentlessly, devouring all comers with its raw and hard-edged delivery. With Wolf’s own mouth harp and stellar support from Chess’s finest, including famed songwriter and long term Wolf collaborator Willie Dixon on upright bass. Dixon of course wrote many of Howlin’ Wolf’s most famous songs, as he did for many Chess acts, but “Smokestack Lightnin” was a Wolf composition, inspired indeed by his adolescent views of the railroad trains spewing out sparks as they traversed the Delta. Hence their smoke stack lightning displays. But this forms only part of the lyrical thrust, because in this song Wolf, wails, growls and chunters like a man possessed by the devil himself.

The delivery is like Lee Hooker’s spoken word more than sung, a rap of sorts, but given melody by Wolf’s falsetto screams and uneven intonation. It is actually more akin to a tribal chant, the lyrics spewing forth like a stream of consciousness bad dream, filled with mysterious women, dark-sounding sentiments and pain, but really it says very little and yet somehow seems coherent. It is atmospheric to the point of being cinematic, and to me has always been just a killer tune. And the same is true of so much of the music of Howlin Wolf, whether the late 50s first recordings, the early and massively influential 60s Chess classics (including the five-star eponymous album “Howlin Wolf” from 1962), or the later rediscovered London sessions from the early 1970s.

Whatever the case, Howlin Wolf is one of the truly greatest names in Blues, a rugged powerhouse of a man who was big in every sense not least his voice. Pound for pound the best. So next time the moon is full, grab one of his records and just do like the Wolf did. Let out a howl and just get down to the essence.

What is a Drell?

I have no answer to the above question, other than the fact that a Drell rhymes with a bell. And indeed this is the very answer provided by Archie Bell when asked about why he called his band of singers, the Drells, as in Archie Bell and the Drells. And if it is good enough for Archie, it is good enough for me, because as all connoisseurs of soul, funk and disco will surely agree, Archie bell and the Drells don’t need to justify their name when the music that they pumped out in the late 1960s and early 1970s was of such a high vintage.

Damn, they could have called themselves Archie Warchie’s Bell Drell Hell Hair Gel for all I care, because their music speaks loudly for itself. It is still a shame though, especially given the unusualness of the moniker itself, that Archie Bell and the Drells still remain so relatively unknown and unheralded. I know that A Story To Tell can sometimes get a bit over excited with its recommendations of this, and recommendations of that, all of these unknown or little recognised gems of music dug up for your pleasures, but Archie and his crew really are one of those groups that people should know more about, and yet seem to have slipped quietly from the limelight that they once enjoyed.

Now don’t get me wrong, Archie Bell and a version of the Drells still perform on the oldies circuit today, but it was their contemporary sound that is the real root of the story, and a number of reasons remain that explain the need to give them their props. Followers of soul music will need little persuasion as to the importance of the legendary song-writing/production team Gamble & Huff and their pioneering Philadelphia International Records label, but fewer may realise that the label itself, in its fledgling years, was centred on the talents of Archie Bell & the Drells. 1969’s “There’s Gonna Be A Showdown”, written and produced by Gamble & Huff, was released on Atlantic but with its commercial success and the confidence this provided became one of the cornerstones in the launch of PIR two year’s later.

The title track, “Do the Choo-Choo” and “I Can’t Stop Dancing” are bonafide R’n’B floor killers, and were big hits on the dance charts, establishing the group as true stars. The growth of PIR throughout the early 70s relegated Archie Bell and the Drells somewhat to a second tier act, despite big singles along the way such as “The Soul City Walk”, “Let’s Groove” and “Strategy” all with backing from the mighty Instant Funk band. But a return to form came in 1976 with the release of “Where Will You Go When The Party’s Over”.

Though commercially unremarkable, this album is a truly solid piece of disco infused funk, and especially well remembered in the UK, particularly for its killer cut “Don’t Let Love Get You Down”. Coming off like a bass-driven thump in the face with a funk racquet, this tune just floats along slaying everything in its path. Truly it is a great tune, and seems to take Donald Byrd with the Mizell Brothers, and drown them in a proto-house smoothie, before sending in MFSB to save them. That makes no sense, but the point is that this tune seems to defy easy categorisation, bridging the decades between the highpoint of funk, disco and soulful house music, and still sounds great today, though clearly of its own time. Archie Bell and the Drells are worthy of exploration for a career that, while admittedly chequered, did produce some firmly standout material.

Heads will know earlier work such as the massively funky JB jam of “Tighten Up” as well as those mentioned above, but as I say, it seems that Archie bell and his Drells remain largely unknown in the mainstream. A shame as given a more favourable wind, we might have even seen an addition to our very language. A Drell. Definition: a harmony of soulful funk. Or perhaps just a word to rhyme with bell, after all.

Wright On for the Darkness

Soul music, as we have charted periodically in our own humble way here on A Story To Tell, is riddled with great, almost forgotten artists and overlooked albums. In fact the same could perhaps be said of any musical genre, but it has always seemed to me that soul music, as music predominantly of black origin and with predominantly black artists, has suffered more than most in the travails of the record industry. The wider label of R’n’B might possibly be a better catch-all for this phenomenon, attributable to exploitation of individuals for sure, dodgy contracts, dodgy promises, and also just to the difficulty of making it in a market commercially where your musical offering is marginalised, no matter how good.

And so we come to another one from the vaults, this time recorded in 1974 for Stax just as financial woes caught up with the legendary label and shut the whole kit and caboodle down. And so Sandra Wright’s great debut release, “Wounded Woman”, amongst other interesting cuts, was never really shown the light of day. Gladly a 1988 re-release from the ever dependable Demon Records in the UK (and Over easy in the States) gave this album another crack of the whip, and for aficionados of soul, and in particular sweet, soulful blues with a hint of jazz inflection, this is sheer bliss. I was played this record whilst working as a lowly record store assistant upon its further re-release in 1996 and was instantly taken, so much so that I parted with some of my equally lowly pay immediately to secure a copy. And it has been a firm favourite ever since. However, apart from the sleeve notes, which though informative may lead you to think that Sandra Wright has disappeared without trace having unleashed this musical gem, have been able to find out little more.

Certainly it is a record that I have never seen referenced elsewhere or in any other collection. And again this is a shame as this record is one that I always recommend to people once they reveal a penchant for others of its ilk. Into Aretha? Then have a listen to this. Like Etta James, The Staple Singers, Carla Thomas? Here you go squire! Like your soul with a southern swing and a heart-broken sweetness that drips like honeydew from the speakers. Have a bang on this, my soul brethren. Interestingly the Aretha comparison is apposite because Franklin covered two of Wright’s songs on her own “You” album of the following year - the gentle lilt of “The Sha La Bandit” and the quite beautifully heart-breaking “I’m Not Strong Enough To Love You Again” - sticking almost cheekily to the original arrangements and delivery.

Indeed when you listen to the whole of “Wounded Woman” you could almost imagine it as an forgotten Aretha Franklin classic. Wright’s voice does not quite have the raw power of the Queen of Soul, but is expressive, rich and so soulful. The entire album is strong, but standout tracks would be the afore-mentioned “Sha La Bandit”, the title track with its brilliant electric piano driven uplift, the Philly-esque “Midnight Affair”, the proto-disco yearn of “I Come Running Back” and the gospel-soaked “I’ll See You Through”. But with all 9 songs clocking in at around 3 minutes the album is slick, sharp and fully accessible. Production values are high, and the backing musicians, including some of the Muscle Shoals Sound Studio’s finest with Randy McCormick and Clayton Ivey sharing keys and vibes, are on point.

Just a delightful little album. Wright was the first cousin to blues piano legend Memphis Slim, but never reached anywhere near his fame. However, she outlasted him in life and still appears today with her eponymous band and is almost a reason to up sticks and visit her performance base of Vermont. Or hope that you come across her more recent releases “Shake You Down” and the jazz cover LP “After Hours” , themselves difficult to unearth. I am always amazed, if nothing else, that this album has not been picked apart by hip-hop producers thirsty for fresh beats, but who knows, perhaps the next 9th Wonder flex will be a slice of this southern hummingbird’s finest. Wounded, maybe, but definitely not mortally.

7 times out of 10 we listen to our music at night

We have spoken before about the mastery of A Tribe Called Quest, and particularly the storming first three albums, an undisputed holy trinity of excellence in the hip-hop firmament. Each of the three has its distinct reasons for pre-eminence amongst the canon of rap greatness, but the usual conclusion amongst critics and fans alike is that 1991’s “The Low End Theory” just edges it as the first amongst equals. And I have always subscribed to this view also, but favouritism, like music appreciation generally is subjective, and as such remarkably fickle. Like a child who jumps to the top of the parental appreciation tree with a glowing report card, the winds of change can blow the fragile house of appreciation down very easily, even if the love for all is actually unconditional and not subject to grading.

And so it is that I have come to the realisation that, pound for pound, the best Tribe album has to be “Midnight Marauders” (for now at least). Seriously though, despite being a lame excuse to just talk about this truly great album, I think there are valid reasons for hailing it above its two stellar predecessors. The first is superficial, but relevant as it is one of the things that leads to the selection from the store shelf in the first place - the album cover. I mean how incredible, yet simple is the cover art, just one of my favourite sleeves of all time (and extra props to anyone who has the limited edition black edged version of the three available colourways). And as well as being a brilliant design it also serves as a poignant snapshot of the rap world circa 1993, an era that surely all of us recall with great fondness and associate with some of the finest releases from the music we love. And then there is the fact that it follows two of the best and most original LPs of its era, and yet still manages to be fresh, innovative, dope and raises the bar even further.

That is a sign of true quality and the crowning glory in the Tribe’s legendary reputation. It is with “Midnight Marauders” that Tribe carve their name for ever more in the granite of music history. Commercially massively successful (another reason to commend it) and yet critically lauded, the real reason that this LP deserves its status however, is obviously the music. And if you know of an album with fewer weak spots, start to finish, I challenge you to present it. Seriously, from the electronic voice of the multi-coloured red, black and green Tribe figure who adorns their album artwork (let’s just pass over The Love Movement right here), the album’s quality never drops. Imagine tha, a skit that never gets tired, and one reason is because it is so intrinsic to the feel of the whole piece. And if there is a stronger opener than Phife’s to “Steve Biko” I’m not sure I know it (unless perhaps it is Q-Tip on “Excursions” but that’s a different post altogether). From the call out to Linden Boulevard to the first drop of Shaheed Muhammad’s snare, the tone is set for a simply fantastic journey. Many people would pick Tip’s rapping as worthy of note on this LP, and it is of course deep, smoothly delivered and excellent, but Phife steals the crown for me.

Never is he better than throughout this LP, revealing a depth beyond the braggadocios battle-rhyming and metaphor, and coming through as a great lyricist and raspy-voiced assassin on the mic. And then there are the beats, another area at its peak. Keeping the jazz inflections Ali Shaheed Muhammad lays heavier on the bass and the drum, and just flips some straight up hip-hop brilliance. Take your pick, but the way he plays with Rakim’s “My Melody” at the end of “We Can Get Down”, or the bugged out phasing of Tip’s “help me” line at the end of “8 Million Stories”, the man was just killing it.

Clearly I’m not disparaging the other work, I just think that, as a whole, “Midnight Marauders” is the cream of the crop, and I urge you to just sit down and listen to it from beginning to end to remind yourself just how great. It is incredible how the quality keeps rising. Precise, bass-heavy...and just right.

Supremely good

Diana Ross is an interesting proposition for soul music fans, it has always seemed to me. Despite being one of the most famous and biggest selling solo female artists of all time, and along the path of her career defining elements of pop, soul and disco music, true critical acclaim always seems somewhat lacking, or at the very least given only grudgingly. Arguably the original soul diva, Ross’ image, to my mind, always seems to be one of glittering saccharine style over substance, with commentators never really acknowledging her as a particularly great singer.

People talk about the greater natural talent of fellow Supremes Mary Wilson and Florence Ballard especially, of favouritism and solo stardom as much to do with Ross’ relationship with Berry Gordy as her own ability, and of a rise to superstardom based on the song-writing and production talents of others. While her incredible success is celebrated and her position as an icon of music assured, there always seems to me a slight sheen of thinly veiled criticism in her accolades, a sense that doesn’t accompany fellow soul legends and contemporaries from Aretha to Stevie, Marvin to Smokey. Put it like this, if you are to ask people to name their favourite ever singer, soul or otherwise, I just get the sense that Ross would not feature at the top of many lists. And this would be true of myself also, but this should not hide the great admiration that I have for much of Diana Ross’ music, both as part of The Supremes and as a solo artist.

And indeed, there is some of it that is just outstanding beyond belief, a verdict that I was reminded of recently by a chance listen to perhaps the most iconic of Ross performances, the massive “Baby Love”, released in 1964. There can be little doubt that legendary song-writing team Holland-Dozier-Holland enjoyed a special rapport with The Supremes, and their combined run of 5 consecutive US number ones (of which “Baby Love” was the second) is truly remarkable, but no less so than the other material they provided the group throughout the 1960s. Any one of these hit records is worthy of some attention I would argue, but there is something about “Baby Love” that is simply stunning, in its apparent simplicity certainly, but also in the vocal performance that it inspires.

The opening breathy “Oohs” that Ross drops on top of the sandbox percussion and tingly cymbals are the stuff of legend. And according to the legend were nothing more than an afterthought following Gordy’s verdict that the song was not catchy enough in its original recording. But what an afterthought it was, elevating an already enticing intro to the presage of something remarkable. The Motown snare rolls in the background and house band the Funk Brothers do what they do best, carving pop soul grooves of wonderful consistency, but it is the full vocal that takes the song into the upper reaches. There is nothing complicated about the lyrics, a typical ode to teenage love, but Ross’ sweetly sub-soprano tone seems to imbue it with sophistication above mere teenage angst.

There is a genuine yearning to the singing which wrings every bit of emotion possible from the words, while remaining ear-pleasingly constant and free of any melodrama. “Baby Love” is not my favourite Supremes song by any means, but never fails to please when I hear it. And that is true of much of The Supremes music, and that of Diana Ross more generally. It is not the type of music that springs to mind immediately, but generally jaw-dropping when it does rear its head. And as far as importance for Motown itself goes, this tune also marked something of a commercial watershed, ushering in the true golden years and providing a group who could deliver hit after hit at the very highest reaches of the charts. So before you overlook Ross for a truer soul heavyweight, remember to pause to consider that sometimes greatness is easy to overlook. As Ross herself might ask as her legacy becomes defined, where did our love go?

Get up outta your rockin’ chair, Grandma

Music has more than its fair share of enigmas, egos and eccentrics. Indeed some would say that the creative process engendered in the making of music makes these questionable qualities something of a prerequisite to genius in this particular field of entertainment. And one man who certainly meets the criteria of all three of these reference points, and to my mind also adds them up to a sum total approaching genius is the oft-overlooked American-born, European-raised, English-claimed soul, funk and rock maestro Terence Trent D’Arby.

Known today as Sananda Maitreya following some spiritual reawakening brought to him in dream (clearly there is a fine line to pretension also alongside a rampant ego), Trent D’Arby as we shall still refer to him, has been a favourite of mine ever since bursting onto the scene in 1987. The heralding of this talent was in the form of his quite brilliant debut album “Introducing the Hardline According to Terence Trent D’Arby” , a brilliant blend of soul, funk, rock and pop sensibilities that stands up against any of its era, and in many ways stands far above them. For D’Arby unleashed this vision at a time when the manufactured bubblegum pop of Stock, Aitken and Waterman dominated the charts, and commercial music at least was in something of a rut. It was rock a la Guns N Roses or U2, or saccharine synth pop.

The only commercially successful record of 1987 worthy of note, essentially, was Prince’s “Sign O The Times” and of course we know that this is an album up there with the very best of all time. But interestingly Prince is probably one of the closest artists to Trent D’Arby in terms of what he was trying to achieve with his music, his ego and sky-high opinion of himself actually matched by his talents. “The Hardline” is not “Sign O The Times”, but it deserves to be ranked highly of its own merits for its originality, blend of styles, high production values, and the broad instrumentation and cracking vocal performance from Trent D’Arby. Not to mention the fact that the boy had a whole load of charisma and an equal amount of the funk in his bones. It is a record that sounds timeless to my ears, from the straight up jam workouts of “If You Let Me Stay” and “Dance Little Sister”, to the gritty funk of his biggest hit “Wising Well” and the sensually seductive “Sign Your Name (Across My Heart)”.

His cover of the Smokey Robinson penned Jackson Five soul classic “Who’s Loving You” is an immense version that knocks spots off the original, while the experimentation on the album such as the a capella “As Yet Untitled” (an amazing vocal performance), the calypso-tinged “Rain” and rhythmic trudge of “Seven More Days” all work wonderfully. And all underpinned by a voice that manages to merge the sweetness of Sam Cooke with a dash of Marvin and JB himself, not to mention a slice of the purple one. Put simply, it is a fantastic album that never tires, and in fact is often shamefully under appreciated, due in part to the decline which the singer then underwent, at least commercially. But not in terms of quality, because Trent D’Arby has continued to create some quite brilliant work in the years since.

The public quickly tired of the ego and proclamations of genius, and there was never really a public perception that caught on anyway to make him into a true global star. But the music has remained great, from inventive follow-up “Neither Fish Nor Flesh” through the simply brilliant “Symphony or Damn” and “Vibrator” in the 1990s. And in the 2000s also his work continues to impress. 2001’s “Wildcard” is brilliant, a deep, soulful and humble work of real solid quality, and there have been more releases, often sadly only available online, a measure of how overlooked his work remains. But the wider public’s loss is your gain if you choose to explore the career of Terence Trent D’Arby, a true pre-cursor to the nu-soul movement, and a man whose talents should be heaped with the praise he always claimed they deserved.

Call him stuck up his own posterior, call egotistical, call him a has-been, call him a commercial flop. Genius is an over-used term in any creative field. Sometimes, however, it is the only word that fits. Just don’t call him Terence.