Miss Jackson if your nasty

The title of this posting may lead you down a small cul-de-sac dear reader, for we are talking here not about the most famous and musically successful of the Jackson sisters, Janet, nor even the most infamous, Latoya, but of their big sister. For while her name may not ring the bells of celebrity as many of her younger siblings, whether sister or brother, there is reason for looking at the brief recording career of the eldest of all Jacksons, Rebbie. And that reason is the funkily fantastic 1984 hit “Centipede”.

Virtually a one-hit-wonder (despite some noteworthy efforts on the accompanying album of the same name, plus some latter day efforts throughout the late 80s and 90s), Rebbie Jackson’s “Centipede” is simply a brilliant slice of synth-led 1980s R’n’B pop, of which her brother was of course such a legendary exponent of at the same time. And this is perhaps no surprise given that the tune itself was composed and produced by Michael, who let us not forget was at the very heights of his powers at this time. It even features him on backing vocals, making this tune even more of a musical collector’s item, and further cause for curiousity.

But while the production may be tremendously tight (and apparently an experiment in sound that led Michael directly to the composition of “Liberian Girl” on “Bad”), to identify this merely as an interesting MJ side project would be extremely cruel to the performer herself. Because this track is actually all about Rebbie Jackson, and on it she demonstrates a vocal prowess that could, and perhaps should, have led to greater things.

The reasons why it didn’t propel Rebbie Jackson to greater fame are not easily identifiable, but in a way are irrelevant. Sometimes you just strike a chord commercially and sometimes you don’t. Maybe she just came too late to dine the Jackson table, being the very last of the siblings to attempt a musical career. But that it didn’t lead to the chart heights that the Jacksons earlier, and then particularly Janet and Michael hit as solo stars, does not detract from the fact that “Centipede” is a well worthy addition to the overall canon of Jackson music, a canon that merits close inspection and utmost respect as a whole as well as individually.

As a song “Centipede” is a winning blend of electrofunk and pop hooks, a sultry vocal performance from Jackson demonstrating her great range. The drums pop and crackle while the keyboard melodies and rhythm parts sparkle with freshness and shimmer with the sheer electronic delight of early 1980s technology. You can feel echoes of Prince’s Minneapolis sound throughout as well, perhaps unsurprising then that the album featured also a version of “I Feel For You”, taken to massive heights at the time of course by Chaka Khan. There are even references in the horns and electronic harp of Stevie Wonder’s early 1980s work, while the bass line is pure throbbing deliciousness, a reverberation within that echoes the eroticism of the tune.

And these themes, wrapped around jazz-funk rhythms, are repeated all the way through the album. The title track is a highpoint, but there are other inclusions worth looking at also, from the Prince cover to the easy groove of “Come Alive” and “Ready for Love”, the sexual proclamations of “Play Me (I’m a Jukebox)” and the mid-tempo soul of “Open Up My Love”. And so, while the limelight may have flashed across Rebbie Jackson only briefly, when it did so it stopped long enough to provide a focus for a truly worthy talent. And anyone who can make a song about a hundred-legged crawly sound sexily funky surely deserves some kind of plaudit.

A heavy bassline is my kinda silence

Hip-hop comes in many shapes and sizes, but there can be fewer artists around at the moment who play with the form as fast and loose as the UK’s own energetic bundle of grimy cheekiness, Mr Dizzee Rascal. His Calvin Harris collaboration “Dance Wiv Me” was one of the sounds of summer 2008, and while you wanted to dislike it, particularly the Harris elements, you couldn’t help but give in to the massiveness of the tune as a whole. Rascal’s now trademark frenetic delivery which always sounds as though it is emerging from a mouth on the verge of a huge grin simply bangs you over the head with its enthusiasm and wit until you submit to its pop brilliance.

But here is pop that significantly is infused with the aesthetics of the Grime scene that Dizzee first sprung from, perhaps that most unlikely of commercial sounds from the UK underground. As such it marks something of a mini revolution. Because while the collaboration at the time seemed odd and led to some criticism and inevitable “sell-out” attacks from the subterranean, such was the huge success of this track that it now seems totally inspired, and indeed has inspired many other scene stalwarts to follow suit in their own pursuit of chart success. Dizzee does things his way, maintains the integrity of his influences, and in doing so completely leads the way for UK hip-hop with a club and dance floor mentality.

His track record, soon to be four albums deep with the release later in the summer of “Tongue ‘N’ Cheek”, is impeccable and he seems to improve at every step, suggesting that there are truly great things to come from this son of East London and that rarest of things a consistently great UK rapper.

And latest single “Bonkers” is simply further proof in the pudding. This time the collaboration has a more respectable tint to it, with beats and production from hard house fuzz-master Armand van Helden, and the tune is as big as the ingredients might suggest. On the surface it perhaps appears as just another attempt at assaulting the pop charts with almost novelty effects taken from each of the key influences, ragga-tinged chat from UK garage, squelchy bass loops from house, and even cheesy robotic words thrown into the cartoon-like mix. But then, you realise that this is far from a throwaway tune. “Bonkers”, for those that don’t know, is a UK slang term for someone who is the wrong side of sane, and signifies a person who is nuts, mad, loopier than a fruit loop.

It also has a connotation in describing big nights out, sometimes enhanced with certain pharmaceutical methods, and so the tune could appear just to be a shout-out to a hedonistic carefree crowd, a cheap nod to the hands in the air brigade. But in fact it masks a darker insight, that which opens a window wide into the mind of a lunatic. The repetition of verse and chorus, coupled with the comic-book aural tapestry behind it, serves as a mirror to that world of insanity that defies description. It appears normal to the sufferer, and indeed might be, but is proof that some instability is always in the eye of the beholder.

Is it a parody of the rave scene or a championing of its attitudes? Is it a peek into the Rascal’s headspace or a retort to his critics? Is it house, UK garage, pop or straight-up hip-hop? Is it a continuation of his pop credentials or an anti-chart tirade of noise? Well, it is all of them, and dished up with the biggest of bass lines you are likely to hear all year. Fuzzy, deeper than deep, raw, and throbbing like a nuclear reactor, it is just a powerhouse of a tune. Dizzee? You will be.

Rappers I monkey flip ‘em

Everyone knows simply from the title what this blog posting is going to be all about. No ifs or buts. Because just like Posdnous said on De La Soul’s own brilliant and eminently repeatable “Stakes Is High” cut, every word I say should be a hip-hop quotable, and never could a truer word be spoken when thinking about Nas’ stunning debut long player, the magnificent “Illmatic”. When you return to this record, as we all do again and again, wondering if it will ever grow tired, ever show even the merest sign of losing its evergreen and golden status, just think about how its words have become embedded in your brain.

How the most intricate and beautiful of lyrical wordplay has become so integral to your own grey matter, has merged with your own thought processes so that you cannot now imagine a time when you couldn’t reel off every syllable, repeat every beat drop and inflection, ad infinitum. It is an example of why we love the music we do, why music has the power to move you in ways that defy explanation, and why hip-hop is the greatest.

I haven’t posted about “Illmatic” before, except in passing, because I have never really known where to begin. This is true of many of my favourite albums of course, the fear that analysing or reporting on them too heavily will somehow distil the magic, or that I will fail to do just service to their greatness with my own prosaic inadequacies. But hey, sometimes like Greg Luganis you just have to dive right in (and hope you don’t crack a skull on the way down). In fact the motivation came from a conversation with the one and only Jacksonian, and as we often do we found ourselves lamenting the lack of true classic albums these days.

We wondered if we are just getting old and the days of yore always seem more halcyon, which may well be the case, but really can it be the 1990s that we have to return to to find a true hip-hop classic. Even if we use the Source’s five mic rule it has been over four years, and that only takes us to Lil’ Kim. But having put the world to rights somewhat, my mind turned to what actually makes some of these records classics in the first place. A variety of reasons of course, but in returning to Nas’ own awesome opening salvo, one of the reasons I came up with is one which other people have sometimes maligned it for. And this is the album’s brevity, for me a huge reason for its longevity and retention of excellence on every single level.

No fillers, no unnecessary skits, one guest spot. Nine songs plus an allegorical and spiritual mosaic of an introduction, giving an album that simply demands full attention from the opening note to the closing beat. It is a classic album that works as a long playing record should do, each individual song worthy of close inspection and reverence, all first amongst equals, yet adding up to a whole that is simply beyond reproach. Thematically it glides in and out of the world that Nas knows, that he is describing in the minutest of details with his pen that has surely been dipped into the ink of magical inspiration, and paints a picture of life in his New York.

And yet while the scenes depicted may be recognisable to only a small fraction of the eventual listeners, the messages within are microscopic in focus and yet somehow universal at the same time. As a far better writer than me has stated, it encapsulates the struggle of humanity itself, the quest to stay true to your own essence.

And it seems to just burst out of nowhere. Think hard enough and you can go back to the time that you first heard it. Remember? How it just seemed perfect from the very first bar. How its timing and place in the re-emergence of East Coast sensibilities seemed so precise. It cannot take solo credit of course, but its significance is hard to overstate. Any song could illustrate virtually any point that you want to make about “Illmatic” such is its cohesion and overall excellence, but the opening “NY State of Mind” is my choice for today. Because the tale of its recording sums up much of what I have been trying to describe, which is that this is an album that is almost willed into being, is just so right on every level. Premier’s beat is rocking and Nas stands in the vocal booth, a young man who has created an incredible buzz and yet had to fight ridiculously hard for the deal that will take his words to the streets.

He stands, suddenly small in the loneliness of the studio, just him and a mic. Does the enormity of what he is striving to do overcome him as it appears it might. We all know the next bit as he limbers up with a “Yeah Yeah” and spars with the mic searching for his flow. “Straight out the fuckin dungeons of rap...” comes through but still no flow, and the production team implore him from behind the glass to hit the beat, they are already recording and time and tape is money. He states “I don’t know how to start this shit”, words of wonder now part of posterity’s pot of gold, but at the time a cold moment of anxiety. And then from nowhere the immortal lines, almost still wet on the page, burst forth, “Rappers I monkey flip’em with the funky rhythm I be kickin, Musician, Inflictin composition...”, perfectly timed, perfectly pitched, perfectly delivered, perfectly constructed. The studio, full of hip-hop veterans, stands in stunned silence. Something fundamental has changed. Illmatic has arrived. One love.

Rightly reverential

Soul music, we are fond of saying here on A Story To Tell, enjoyed something of a golden period in the early to mid 1970s. There’s lots of gold-tinged periods of course, brightly shining in many cases, but I still believe that these years represent the richest and deepest lying of golden nuggets. I think that is a fair statement, but regardless of your agreement it is certainly a period which I personally return to again and again for inspiration, enjoyment and a revelry in just how good music can be. So imagine my delight when I discovered, as many have done, a way of putting myself right back in that golden period without having to dig in any crates whatsoever.

Not, dear reader, the discovery of the secret to time travel (I am working on it, don’t worry, but rather the return to brilliance of one of the very best of singers from that golden time, the Right Reverend Al Green. I say return to brilliance but that is something of an injustice actually because he never actually stopped being brilliant but rather took a well known sabbatical away from secular and commercial music production back to the roots in gospel and pastoral duties. But not to denigrate or in any way detract from the importance of that spiritual journey, but praise the Lord himself for his return. Because make no mistake Al Green is one of the greatest soul singers of all time, and his latest project, the stunning “Lay It Down” project, is a reminder in every sense of why this is the case.

I have been listening to “Lay It Down” a lot recently. Released in May 2008 it has been something of a slow burner for me, despite being aware of the project for some time, dating back as it does to 2006. You will not need reminding, I am sure, that production is shared by Green with none other than ?uestlove and James Poyser, two giants of the soulful renaissance of our own golden period who bring their nuances, considerable talents, and modern sensibilities to the table. Not to mention their best fitted suits and very highest of standards. This album is strictly A-game all the way, with vocal collaborations expertly provided by the flawless Anthony Hamilton (how good is he by the way?!), John Legend and the UK’s own Corinne Bailey Rae.

And yet to class this album as a rehash of vintage Al Green would be to do it another disservice, for it is no nostalgic throwback, no echo of greatness reverberating through the halls of collaborators and imitators in a bid for commercial relevance. The sound of Hi Records and the genius of Willie Mitchell may be the guiding light (with trademark horns this time by the brilliant Dap Kings, plus a sterling contribution by the sadly departed guitarist “Spanky” Alford ), and the production itself is strictly analog , but here is simply a timeless soul record. And the key to it all is Green’s peerless voice, that most expressive, powerful, and wide-ranging of instruments.

It is languid at times of course, effortless, and able to reach swooping lows and heavenly highs with ease. The horns, strings and percussion lay an expansive track full of space for Green to do his work in, while the sentiments throughout range from the sultry and sensual to the spiritual. Somehow even the subject matter seems to defy a timeframe. “Lay It Down” sparkles with gold all the way through and if you are yet to pick it up then it truly is worth an investment of time. Like an echo of the subtle shifts and changing beauty of a tide at sunset, the music is something to get lost in utterly.

And if you are one of those people who needed a reminder or a route back to the music of Al Green then you are almost a lost cause anyway, but here is one more chance to redeem yourself. But next time I am personally looking to go back to the golden age, I am personally taking it all the way back. True old school style. I’m taking it way back to 2008 you suckas. That’s how deep I get.

Murderous rhymes tight from genuine craft

It will surprise no one at all that this blog heralds the Gza’s “Liquid Swords” as one of the greatest rap records of all time. No surprise at all because its renown is virtually absolute, its reputation as solid as the excellence of the beats, lyricism and graphic imagery throughout. But as is so often the case with A Story To Tell, sometimes with musical appreciation it simply pays to state the obvious. And as I listened to “Liquid Swords” the other day I was amazed by how timeless this record is, how deep it plunges into the world of vivid allusions and lyrical illusions to create a cinematic masterpiece that Rza’s beats have always been destined to service.

How layered and complex the vocal imagery which even now after countless listens reveals new tricks and secrets, just as the flow throughout still shocks the listener with just how tight it wraps around the relentlessly haunting soundscape which manages to somehow sound dense and thick, yet also chillingly sparse in places. It is incredible, a worthy claimant to be the greatest Wu solo project, and whether you agree or not is almost irrelevant.

There are after all several genuine contenders, but it is not being first amongst equals that really counts, as this comes down to personal preference, but rather that here is an album that is simply outstanding regardless of its context. Yes it crowned the self-proclaimed “Year of the Wu” upon release at the end of 1995, a year let’s not forget that also spawned solo offers from ODB and Raekwon, but we can, and will, proclaim all of these records on their own merits.

You could choose any song from “Liquid Swords” for special praise and analysis, and I daresay that we will at some point as the years roll by, but I became slightly obsessed on recent listen with the stunning “Duel of the Iron Mic”. Now here is a song that sums up everything that is great about this album, about Gza himself, and also about the Wu more generally at this their initial collective peak.

It features the interplay of Samurai stylings and samples from the movie “Shogun Assassin” that glue the album together, and upon which much of the verbal brilliance and metaphor is built, giving rise also to what is surely one of the greatest album covers of all time. It is gritty and directly in your face, confrontational to the max with Gza simply bringing steel to the mic throughout. Indeed his ability to challenge emcees is one of his finest traits but it is almost easy toforget such is the lyrical mastery that he wraps his threats up in.

Recall the opening six lines: “Picture bloodbaths and elevator shafts/ Like these murderous rhymes tight from genuine craft/ Check the print, its where veterans spark the letterings/ Slow moving mcs is waitin for the editin/ The liquid soluble that made up the chemistry/ A gaseous element, that burned down your ministry”. I mean, truly that is next level, and Gza’s ability to come up with more and more inventive battle lines is surely unrivalled. And throughout the song, as throughout the entire album, there is hardly a wasted syllable, hardly a moment when Gza doesn’t revel in his own lyrical genius. As such it takes a few listens to really get the full impact, for this is a record that snakes into your psyche and spreads its venom slowly with deathly stealth.

And then there is the contributions, on this track and then throughout, of other Wu members. On “Duel” it is Masta Killa and Inspectah Deck who bring their A-game to the table, and such is the challenge that they come close to toppling the king himself. In fact, let’s stop a moment to just mention the under-rated brilliance of these two emcees, surely two of the greatest wingmen of all time. Masta Killa’s verse on “Da Mystery of Chessboxin” remains one of the most hard-hitting on the Wu’s debut, while the Inspectah just kills it for me every time.

Indeed I would go so far as to say that his short verse on “Protect Ya Neck” is my favourite burst of all time. But I digress, because on this track alongside Gza they simply rise to the challenge of providing dark, twisted tales of murderous intent to match the standards set by their temporary leader. And this remaisn the case for the length of the album as all WU members are featured, and all simply bring quality to the piece. It is a stone cold classic, an undisputed chap of its day, remaining a pound for pound contender across all historical challengers. Check mate.

Getting some easy money

The so-called disco era was an interesting time for various reasons, some of which we have commented upon previously on these very pages. Not least of all was the sheer power and reach of the music itself, almost conquering the world before imploding in a mass of over-exposure, over-indulgence, over-elaboration and novelty. It is also an interesting period to study for the fact that it was in some ways something of a fertile renaissance for many an artist who may have been floundering in the waters of changing tastes and socio-cultural contexts throughout the late 1960s and early 1970s.

It provided a glittering lifebelt to cling to for many a talented soul, while for some it was a catalyst to a change of musical direction completely, kick-starting new phases of hitherto moribund careers, or even providing some with their first real break after years of playing second fiddle and yearning for mainstream success. On the flipside, for some it was a music that may have been exploited for momentary exposure, but which never provided a return to perceived former greatness, a group of artists for whom disco was just another phase in the forever undulating fortunes of a life in the music biz. But which also provided them with some absolute musical highlights, many of which may not have troubled the mainstream too greatly, but which provide rich pickings for nostalgic crate diggers.

And one such record is former teen idol and erstwhile husband of Philadelphia International’s own hit maker supreme Kenny Gamble, Dee Dee Sharp, who produced some absolutely storming tunes in the very dying days of the 1970s, but for whom this period remains something of an under-appreciated career point. Dee Dee Sharp was the first black teen idol, a veteran of the saccharine pop soul of the early 1960s seemingly forever pigeonholed as a teenybopper. But she was always much more than that label, and her late 1970s tenure at Philadelphia International proves why.

Un-credited on many hits from the label’s golden period, Sharp also released two variable but noteworthy albums, 1977’s “What Colour Is Love” and “Dee Dee” from 1980. And both of these sets showcase her huge talent, the maturity of her voice and range from her early 1960s pop days, and a versatility and funkiness that should not go unnoticed. The cut that brought these albums to my attention was from “Dee Dee”, the mercilessly funky “Easy Money”. This is simply a great tune, standing partly in contrast to the lushness of the Sound of Philadelphia, replacing lavish production with a tight, popping and fizzing track that just oozes its groove all over the platter.

Check the bass lick come in at 11 seconds, and revel in the soulful depth of Sharp’s voice. It is a diva performance deluxe without stepping into disco diva territory, classy at every turn. Thankfully these two albums, a showcase for Philly no doubt, but with a twist of something else, are now re-released and available to all to explore and enjoy. Disco may not have provided the commercial footnote to Sharp’s career, the route to easy money, but it sure paid off for us music fans in other ways. Quality.

Look up in the sky, it’s a bird, it’s a plane

Call them Reggie Noble and the Ticallion Stallion, Funk Doctor Spock and Johnny Blaze, rap’s dynamic duo, bonafide rap superstars, or simply Meth and Red. But whatever moniker, label or alias you choose, the one unchangeable constant you will get when Method Man and Redman team up is high-powered, straight up hip-hop laced with pure dynamite on the M.I.C. Just like the industrial strength chronic that provides the other ever present in their partnership, the sticky glue that binds these long-time friends and partners in rhyme, the product that they ship out is always of the very highest grade.

And so the eve of the release of their ten-year-in-the-making follow up to 1999’s classic “Blackout!” set - creatively titled “Blackout! 2” - is definite cause for a little quivering anticipation and excitement. And such restless expectation would appear to be justified by the three cuts so far “leaked” onto the digital airwaves, the alluring bump and funk of “A Yo”, slick lover lover sound of “Mrs International”, and the posthumous UGK reunification on the Pimp C sampling and Bun B featuring “City Lights”. All sounding pretty big from where I am sitting.

It remains to be seen whether this new set can reach the heights of hip-hop excellence that their original long-player collaboration did, but nonetheless the fact that the most committed of blunt riders have gotten together for another full-length project is always going to be cause for some celebration.

Indeed it is difficult to believe that it is ten years since they last jockeyed up together for a jaunt across the green haze of their collective clouds of creativity. For theirs is a partnership which all lovers of hip-hop surely hope to see in action again and again, and in some ways have always seemed destined to flourish even before the paths of hip-hop collaboration first threw them together in the mid-1990s. Their rapping styles have always trodden a similar path, albeit with varying levels of gravelly tones caused in no small part by the smoke filling the studio at any one time, and their combination of tight metaphor, smooth punnery and comedic inflections, backed up with hard-edged street knowledge, makes for a powerful concoction.

But their chemistry has always been about more than just stylistic similarity, because their interweaving flows, or verse for verse sparring, could be virtually interchangeable. There is an almost telepathic connection that comes through when they record, a trademark of the best partnerships in rap, as with any music. But their sometimes comic personae, as questionably played out in their own sitcom “Method and Red”, should not detract from the fact that these two have always been true students of their craft and when it comes to throwing down their approach is never less than committed. And perhaps this accounts for the 10 year hiatus, though we know of course that these artists have also been seeking to expand their individual repertoires with forays away from straight rhyming.

And more power to them for doing so. But whatever the reunion brings, the event itself should be reason to dig out “Blackout!” once more. For it really is a classic of its type. A very sparse smattering of guest emcees is always a good thing and keeps it very low on the lazy fillers that have blighted many an album before and since, and the sparseness is echoed also in the production throughout, largely by Erick Sermon, but also a stellar guest slot from the Rza on “Run 4 Cover”. It leaves you wanting more and reminds us, as if we needed it, that the Rza truly is a production king. But pick virtually any song and you will find the same ingredients. Hard hitting, bumping, inventive, witty, lyrically tight with a flow that just moulds itself to the beat and never lets up. It doesn’t try to be anything other than great jump-up hip-hop. And at that, it simply excels. Welcome back fellas. I hope your lungs are up to it, in more ways than one.

In the corner playing dominoes in drag

In the bedraggled mix of miscellany that is my mind, as I would guess is the case with many of you readers of these humble posts, there exists a list. It is a loosely constructed list, and one which is in something of a constant state of flux, but which serves as a mental reference point to my musical musings. It is of course that most tantalising of directories, namely my favourite albums of all time. Sometimes I try to narrow this down to a top ten, but it is also the case that the list expands and contracts like a slinky sliding down a staircase, and when I actually try to name the absolute certainties, find that my list of ten has somehow expanded to an unwieldy number.

Indeed such is the ultimate futility of the exercise that I don’t even know if it could be described as a list at all, a term which implies too solid a structure for such a moveable and fluid exercise. But yet I know we all do it, for to categorise and catalogue is, it seems, a natural human trait, and especially one for the obsessive music collector. And so I do the mental run down and find Biggie’s “Ready To Die” of course, at least two Prince albums (at the very least!), two Tribe Called Quests. Then I look for space for Nas, the Pharcyde, Dre, Robert Johnson, the Smiths, the Stone Roses, Gil Scott Heron, Stevie Wonder, Muddy Waters, Bob Marley.

I look again for other omissions. Where does Aretha Franklin come into this? Lauryn Hill must be in also. Marvin Gaye? Michael Jackson? Hendrix? Love? Radiohead? Tim Buckley? Outkast? Otis? Miles? Steel Pulse? Sizzla? Hortense Ellis? The Cure? D’Angelo? Erykah Badu? Terence Trent D’Arby’s “Hardline”? And these are only the headliners. It just goes on and on. Anyway, you see my predicament, no?

However, this preamble is important I think, because there is an album that I am always certain is never out of the elusive top ten, dare I say top five even. An album of such singular brilliance as to render description and categorisation almost obsolete itself, and which I simply never tire of hearing every single note of, which hangs together as a single piece of work so beautifully as to leave me as dumbstruck now, umpteenth listens on, as when I first heard it. The album in question is Van Morrison’s elegantly soulful masterpiece “Astral Weeks”, a record that I simply can’t leave alone, and which I know, if push came to shove, would simply always be on my desert island disc selection.

It is an album which is ahead of its time and yet also timeless, an album which is not folk, soul, jazz, blues or rock, and yet somehow all of them at once. It is proof that Morrison is an artist of incredible and singular talent, a piece of work which is startlingly mature, not to mention audacious, from a 22 year old revolting against the pop machine he was at the time being engulfed in largely against his will. A record that belies its composer’s tender years, as the great music writer Lester Bangs once wrote, because it contains “lifetimes behind it”. And it is also an improvisational masterpiece, a record that seems to channel music as a real and metaphorical force of nature, the pulses of which sit deep and resonate within your soul at each listen.

“Astral Weeks” is only eight songs long, and emerged from only two days of jamming in a New York studio, and yet there is not a wasted note on it, not one second or syllable which does not appear for a reason. And yet at times its lyrics are nothing more than stream of consciousness, repeated codas and words that float in and out of the beautiful and poetic narratives which it also strives to reveal. It is unique for its sound, but also because it is widely regarded as a true masterpiece and yet somehow does not really have an influence on popular music that it is possible to discern. It is simply an introspective moment in time, that rare type of record that defies its cultural context completely. But should also be an album that everyone has swum in, regardless of their tastes, such are the touchstones it hits upon.

The story of the recording, and the music it left us, can be easily found elsewhere, but it is worth commenting briefly on the personnel that Morrison chose for this project as they are hugely significant to the outcome. For the rhythm section was pure jazz excellence, with exceptional direction throughout from bassist Richard Davis (famed in part for his work on Eric Dolphy’s seminal “out To Lunch” set), the Modern Jazz Quartet’s drummer Connie Kay, legendary guitarist Jay Berliner, and vibes from Mile Davis’ cohort Warren Smith. Morrison also accompanies his vocal on acoustic guitar (itself well worthy of note from someone who is a brilliant multi-instrumentalist himself), and strings appear but dubbed on in retrospect.

But it is the jazz backing which allows the music to truly take-off, which gives it a freeform and yet structured elegance, gives the record its famed space and timbre, and yet allows for the cramming in of layer upon layer of beautifully crafted lyricism. It is one of the most passionate, most honest, tender and evocative records that I know of, and as stated earlier is proof to me that Morrison’s music emanates from a place that is pure soul. Caledonian soul he called it once. I would just call it astral, or simply out of this world.

Giving it all you’ve got

The term nu-soul (or neo soul), so popular in the mid to late 1990s, has always been a bit troubling to me. I understand of course that its intention was to provide a sub-genre home for a more consciousness based approach to contemporary soul and R&B, but I just never saw the need for the “new” bit. For me, soul is soul, old or new, and the invention of such a term has always struck me as emerging from the heads of a marketing think tank as opposed to an organic definition of a movement.

And, as with any label, there are always those served well by it, and those for whom it appears inadequate, and even downright misleading. This is true, I think, for the sometimes simply enchanting soul singer Amel Larrieux, a beguiling chanteuse whose career has been played out in the margins of popular recognition, sometimes puncturing the mainstream consciousness, but on the whole ploughing a truly independent furrow.

Her work is critically acclaimed, original and displays an integrity of subject matter and lyrical invention, the depths of which are only matched by the soaring heights to which her voice can ascend. And yet it seems that her work is forever destined to exist largely under the radar, appreciated and adored by a core of fans who sustain her through undying support of her recorded output and live performances, a best kept secret which thankfully the rise of the digital medium has offered new routes to sustainability.

Now I am not, of course, denigrating those artists that are more usually associated with this style, the myriad musical coordinates points plotted along the classic D’Angelo-Badu axis of nu-soul. We love them here at A Story To Tell, nay worship them at times. I’m merely holding up a flag for the ones that slip through this net of excellence. And Larrieux is surely one such artist. Now to be found releasing music through her own indie label Blisslife Records, Larrieux’s three solo albums (plus a jazz standard cover set and newly released material) are, for me, great examples of modern soul’s potential to craft and construct songs as opposed to churning out template varieties of repetitive themes and production styles.

There is little in the way of paddling in the shadows with Larrieux’s work, and instead you are invited to dive in, to use your mind to listen and to reflect on the messages of love and all its facets, of social morals, and human choices from the everyday to the metaphysical. And yet the music retains a true funkiness, a groove and sensibility that accepts that hip-hop and modern R&B is a key reference point, and which steers clear of any approach which would take things into the realms of preachiness.

For proof of the concept I would recommend the languid funk of “All I Got” from 2004’s “Bravebird” album. Now this is a set that is itself worthy of your attention, but also your patience, for repeated visits will soon pay dividends. Here is not a fast food diet that will immediately sate the appetite and yet leave you strangely hollow, hungry and a little nauseous shortly after. No this is a sit-down meal, a four course banquet to take time over, to share with good wine and good company, to savour and enjoy over a longer period of time. And “All I Got” is like the perfect starter, enlivening your tastebuds, refreshing your palette but laying light on the stomach, a taster to excite. Sonically it interests rather than astonishes, and yet over time worms its way into your head with its layers of fuzz-drenched and slightly astral melodies and bass runs. Dig deeper and you’ll soon find that the production is mature and complex in its subtle elegance, the arrangements are satisfyingly slick, the vocals and melodies throughout are brave and explorative, and yet precise. Put simply it is a crafted piece of soul, an album for grown-ups not necessarily those people who need their music packaged and labelled and dished up in a throwaway carton. But then, you discerning readers have always been more silver cutlery types.

A Star Chaser

We’ve spoken before about matters French and the fact that contrary to some popular views, some of the finest moments of musical history have come drenched in Gallic flavours. And this is particularly true, it seems, of music with a disco-tinge, and for this blog there is a rich stream which flows from Cerrone through to Daft Punk and more modern examples of la chic funque. And so we return to these rich pastures with a reminder of a record which for some reason has fallen off many a worthy radar, a record that features a somewhat bizarre and yet wholly winning collaboration, and which provides one of the finest disco songs of all time.

The record in question is “King of the World” by Sheila B. Devotion (or Sheila and B Devotion, or even Sheila and Black Devotion depending on where you read it) and produced by none other than the Chic Organisation. As such the record features, naturally, the funkiest of guitar and bass combinations in Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards not to mention their production and song-writing chops, as well as drums from the exceptional Tony Thompson, and backing vocals from their much-vaunted backing troupe of Alfa Anderson and Luci Martin, along with Fonzi Thornton and Michelle Cobbs. And it is truly worthy or rank amongst some of Chic’s finest moments, produced contemporaneously with Diana Ross’ “Diana” project, and to my mind very much as good, at least in large parts.

However, it remains and odd project, not least for the change in direction that it marked for French pop sensation Sheila, who embraced momentarily the disco movement, and also changed her whole linguistic approach to sing for the first time in English. The result is a record of ambiguous wordplay steeped in metaphor and loosely poetic glitz, of brilliant sounding nonsense which somehow reflects off the mirrored disco ball to come off as almost profound.

Chief among the tunes on “King of the World”, released in 1980, is opener “Spacer”, a guaranteed floor filler of epic proportions. Built around the funkiest of guitar licks and string stabs, the song simply demands your hips’ attention. Dusted with just enough Euro-pop sensibility “Spacer” was a big worldwide hit, but has strangely fallen out of widespread recognition. But if you are minded to dig out a copy, and of the album that spawned it, you will find a record that stands up to repeat enjoyment, and a sound which references the best of disco, and yet somehow seems to invert and twist it into something slightly new.

The forays into slight rock territory may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but reflect the influence of Sheila on the direction of the piece, and to my ears give a fresh take on the Chic sound, and gives room for some exceptional guitar work from the Rodgers and Edwards axis. The electronic distraction of Kraftwerk is elegantly referenced on “Mayday”, while “Charge Plates and Credit Cards” is a monster groove of camp brilliance, and “Don’t Go” is simply pure Chic template. But there is not a dud amongst the 8 tunes included, and if you are looking for an interesting route back into disco, then you could do much worse than taking l’autoroute there. C’est chic indeed.

In The Pines, In the Pines

Nirvana are of course famous for many things, not least of all the musical revolution that followed their explosion onto the so-called grunge scene of the early 1990s, and the near mythic status that the band, their music, and lead singer have assumed through a mixture of the brilliant, the inspired and of course the tragic. I have never been a huge fan personally, but naturally recognise the sheer importance of their impact on modern rock music and probably beyond, as well as the significance in cultural terms of the iconography that now surrounds them. But for me their finest achievement was in awakening a generation of fans to the music of Blues legend Lead Belly through their version of one of the songs he is most famous for performing, the brilliant folk tale “Where Did You Sleep Last Night?”.

Kurt Cobain chose this as one of the songs to be played on Nirvana’s excellent 1993 “Unplugged” session, and in his introduction attributed the song to Lead Belly who he describes as his favourite performer, and so in a stroke a generation of shoe-gazing youths turned their attention to one of the very cornerstones of the Blues. This description was itself a slight aberration as the song is in fact an old traditional American Folk Song entitled “In The Pines”, but it is indeed true that Lead Belly’s extended version, renamed “Where Did You Sleep Last Night” is regarded as truly definitive. What the fans of Nirvana did with this musical currency is open to debate and is really neither here nor there, because the anecdote is really only an excuse for me to do the same thing, and to talk briefly about the impact and relevance of Huddie William Ledbetter, the simply incredible bluesman best known as Lead Belly.

The Blues, of course, is full of interestingly named characters, but as a nipper rifling through my dad’s records it was this name that really stood out as a first amongst equals. Howlin’ Wolf and Muddy Waters did the same and their influence on my listening tastes have been described briefly already through these posts. But Lead Belly was different, and when I came to his music so began an introduction to the Blues which I still find numerous reasons to return to today. Because for me Lead Belly is the personification of one truly crucial element of the Blues, representing as he does the traditions of American country and folk music which stretch back way beyond the advent of recorded sound even, and which combine magically to create this music which itself stands as the foundation to so much we love today.

His catalogue, famously “discovered” and curated by the Lomaxes, those legendary archivists and musicologists of American folk and Blues, is like a dictionary of the very best of musics as a narrative, as a story-telling and orally transmitted tradition, and as a music of rich and deeply significant histories. Indeed, so intertwined with folk traditions in their broadest sense, to describe his music simply as the Blues is inaccurate in itself, for his is a career that pre-dates and straddles this very style.

You can pick from anyone of his reworked classic cuts, from “Rock Island Line” to the awesome “Midnight Special”, and from “Cotton Fields” to “Irene”, and be transported into an almost mystical world of the American deep south at the turn of the Twentieth Century, while simultaneously taking a pathway through that century’s subsequent greatest musical moments, such is the influence and ongoing re-workings of his songs by a diverse range of artists. But for some reason “Where Did You Sleep Last Night” seems to transcend all others, and to me sums up much of his brilliance. To the fore is his stunning 12-string guitar style, itself a hallmark of his musical virtuosity which also took in piano, harmonica, accordion and viola. The 12-string is one of my favourite sounds, and gives the music a depth and resonance, while also allowing Lead Belly’s thumb and finger-picking style to shine. And then there is his voice, a wail of sheer force and clarity which nonetheless revels in vocal twangs and dialectic tics which earth the music in its traditions once more.

To have heard him live must truly have been an awesome experience, and his trademark grunts and heavy breaths, a nod to the prison labour lines he was familiar with from his own experiences of the American penal system, simply act as further percussion for an artist who often sang along with the simple stomp of a foot or hand clap, yet still produced powerful statements of harmonic noise. The song (sometimes known as “Black Gal”) is also intriguing, originally merely a four line stanza about a cheating girl and her unknown whereabouts, but extended by Lead Belly into a tale of darkness and haunting deception. His vocal style to me only adds to the ambience of the song, and the impression given is of hidden violence and retribution.

There is clearly too much to say about the significance of the music of Lead belly in such a brief space, but suffice it to say that his should always be a jumping off point for any musical exploration of the Blues, and arguably any significant musical genre with its stems therein. For the time being however, the simple knowledge that his work exists as a recorded testament to a hugely important tradition is enough to satisfy us, and ensure that those of us who appreciate music can sleep easy in our beds knowing that his magic lives on around us in so many ways. As long as that sleep isn’t in the pines where the sun never shines, because I for one don’t ever want to go there, not after listening to Lead Belly’s description.

Poet incognito, runs the cape

On previous occasions we have been known to gently lament the UK soul scene here on A Story To Tell. But rather than just taking pot shots at it for its own sake, our attitude is much more tempered by a regret for what might have been for many talented artists had conditions somehow been more favourable. It comes from a genuine affection for its true heroes, those artists who have risen above a sometimes fickle audience and always fickle record industry, to continue to pump out music of truly great quality. And undoubtedly one of the stalwarts of the scene, indeed one of the people whose singular commitment to soul, jazz, funk, house, samba and good vibes on the dancefloor wherever they come from has kept the related scenes alive in this country through some dark times, is Incognito’s founder and key member Jean-Paul “Bluey” Maunick.

Incognito, driven relentlessly by Bluey, are one of those groups who simply do not know the meaning of putting out a dud record, pure musicians through and through, their back catalogue is long and fully impressive. And this praise does not even take into account the numerous incredible remixes that exist of their work (several albums worth alone) as well as their phenomenal live show and ongoing commitment to connecting with music lovers worldwide through storming global appearances. Put simply, they are a modern marvel, and their career which is just shy of its 30th birthday, is nothing short of remarkable for its consistency and dedication to excellence.

Most people will of course be aware of Incognito mainly through their hits of the early 1990s, those so-called Acid Jazz favourites “Always There” and “Don’t You Worry Bout A Thing”, but while the archetypal sounds of Acid Jazz are synonymous with the group, there is much more to them than that. Bluey, as hinted at above, has never been scared to experiment with different styles to augment the bass-heavy groove that the group always achieve, and one of the features of interest with Incognito is their ever changing cast, a swirl of vocalists and instrumentalists who have served to give the band’s sound an elastic and refreshing slant.

Vocalists of note of course include Jocelyn Brown, the brilliant Maysa, Carleen Anderson, and Tony Momrelle, while musicians who have contributed are far too numerous to go into here. But all are united by a commitment to the melodic synergy of the music, of the rooted-in-the-70s basslines, of the interplay of horns and rhythm sections, of the lilting sometimes freeform jazz structures which give the music room to breathe and expand its reach. Sometimes the sound of the Barrio comes to the fore, sometimes it is the deep groove of Chicago, the acoustic sunset of Ibiza, or sometimes simply a sunny London street that springs to mind, but throughout the eclecticism there seems to be a core philosophy of the funk. Early seminal releases on Talkin’ Loud are of course a must, 91’s “Inside Life”, 92’s “Tribes, Vibes and Scribes”, and 93’s simply massive “Positivity”, but there is much of quality to be found in recent releases also.

And one gem is 2002’s “Who Needs Love” album, a solid collection of tightly produced jazz-funk workouts, with elements of experimentation and irresistible groove. My own favourite is the gentle shuffle of “Stone Cold Heart”, a subtly exquisite vocal performance from Joy Malcolm, and a tune which combines all of my favourite Incognito ingredients, from the samba shuffle, to the soaring strings, from the off-kilter jazz leanings of the electric piano, to the glide of the soulful vocal. Brilliant, and a reminder of why Incognito should always be regarded with respect.

After all, they are one of the very few to have truly been always there, and for that fact all lovers of UK soul music in all its manifestations should be grateful, for though on the incognito tip, they truly kept the funk flame alive and burning bright.

All units to Brixton

Say the word “Hijack...” to a certain type of person of a certain age from the UK and the answer you are likely to receive in enthusiastic gruffness is “...the Terrorist Group!”. This may be the case for a certain portion of US hip-hop heads also, and in many ways issuing the correct response is a calling card of sorts, a badge of honour for the true rap connoisseur. It demonstrates a depth of knowledge way beyond the obvious, and also a respect for just how good UK hip-hop could be given the right conditions. Because make no mistake, Hijack hailing from Brixton, south London, were a serious force to be reckoned with, and their one and only release, 1991’s “The Horns of Jericho”, still ranks up there with the finest of early 1990s rap. Not just the best that UK hip-hop had to offer, but the very best point blank.

Having released a small handful of brilliant cuts on the Music of Life label (itself a label that deserves our full attention on another occasion, and under the stewardship of the incredibly influential UK beat-head Simon Harris), Hijack were snapped up by Ice T’s Rhyme Syndicate label, and championed extensively by the rap veteran himself. Debut single “Style Wars” is still a bonafide classic, and at the time a massive underground hit, and this was followed swiftly by the double A-Side “Hold No Hostage/Doomsday of Rap”, two of the very finest UK rap singles ever.

Their style was abrasive, frenetic, aggressive, hardcore and unrepentant, with pure south London swagger, but what set them apart from many contemporaries was both the quality of production under the still under-rated DJ Supreme (and particularly his scratches and cuts) and DJ Undercover, and the strength of lyrical prowess and content from lead rappers Kamanchi Sly and Ulysses.

The album, while certainly of its era, still holds up under scrutiny today. Its style may not be to everyone’s tastes but it is no exaggeration, to my mind, to hold it up there with the very best major albums with a harder edge from that period. First release on Rhyme Syndicate was the exceptional “The Badman is Robbin” EP, a massively important source for the future development in the UK of the hardcore dance scene and therefore of both Jungle and Drum ‘n’ Bass, as indeed all of Hijack’s work has become. But US recognition on a widespread basis was kyboshed by the collapse of Rhyme Syndicate and the subsequent refusal of father label Warners to release follow up album “The Horns Of Jericho”. And so while making waves in the UK and in Europe, the album became something of a lost classic and the group disbanded soon after. It is now virtually impossible to get hold of an original copy, but at least can be enjoyed online.

And so all we are left with is a brilliant testament to the unique flavour and potential reach of UK rap, itself a narrative of what might have beens and generally unfulfilled and largely under-supported potential. UK hip-hop is interesting in many ways for its dearth of true greats, though of course efforts by London Posse, and even Demon Boyz, Caveman, some Overlord X and Derek B deserve some attention, not to mention recent excellence from Roots Manuva and Dizzee Rascal, not to mention offshoots in the dance scene and its various branches. Silver Bullet’s “Bring Forth The Guillotine” anyone? Incredible, but again for another time. But like UK soul, it has just never really been able to compete with the US in all but sporadic bursts. Hijack, for a period of time, threatened to disrupt this quid pro quo with a record of sublime rap music. The pseudo US twangs may rile some, but the album was developed primarily for the US, not UK, market and in fact the mix of UK slang, Caribbean heritage, London attitude and a US sensibility actually combine to great effect throughout. Highlights include the brilliantly hard-hitting “Airwave Hijack”, “Hijack The Terrorist Group”, “Phantom of the Opera” (which precedes Nas’ use of Iron Butterfly’s “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” in his own Hip-Hop Is Dead cut by over 15 years), as well as the more languid funk of “I Had To Serve You” and the afore-mention “The Badman Is Robbin”.

But to me there is not a really weak moment on there. I may be blinded by a nostalgic reverie but I really don’t think so, and a million and one heads out there will say the same I am sure. Incredibly a semi-autobiographical documentary charting the history of the group through DJ Supreme, entitled “The Turntable Trixters” is available, again if you can find it. But for now, the best thing to do is to dig out the old gas mask, get your fatigues dusted off, and sit back for a ride that nearly hit the very highest of heights. And don’t forget the response when someone next tests your knowledge withone simple word. Hijack...