Slow love

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

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

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

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

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

She Came, She Saw, She Conquered

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

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

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

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

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

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

Going on a trip to Mic-a-delphia

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Game of Chess, Is Like A Swordfight

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who Do You Love?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do Androids Dream

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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