Here we are again, after a short holiday and a broken laptop which together spelled a long hiatus.
Today's song, 'Long After Tonight Is All Over', is one of those magnificent, life affirming numbers that a genius like Burt Bacharach could seemingly rattle off at a moment's notice. The first version here, cut by Jimmy Radcliffe in the mid-sixties, was only ever a minor hit but subsequently attained legendary status when it became one of the famous 'three before eight' northern soul songs, meaning the last three songs of an all-nighter, the other two being 'Time Will Pass You By' by Tobi Legend, and 'I'm On My Way', by Dean Parrish.
Jimmy's smooth, clean tones float joyously over the orchestra, buoyed up on a wave of ecstacy and a raft of backing singers, but much as I love his version, the definitive take for me has to be Irma Thomas's long shelved but thankfuly rediscovered version.
Thomas's band really attack this song – just listen to that muscular drumming – and take it from the realms of balladry into R&B territory, but it's essentially a vocalist's track, so what makes it work is the delicate combination of grit, post-coital satisfaction and sheer punch-the-air joy which Irma manages to emote in two minutes 31 seconds of dynamite. Enjoy it.
The magnificently monikered Case of Tyme produced one of the toughest and most original dancefloor workouts I have ever heard in 'Manifesto'. The propulsion is pure funk, even if the rhythm is firmly grounded in 16/4 time. The Wes Montgomeryesque octave runs on the guitar and the muscular saxophones are indebted to jazz, and over all this chants a sweat-laden James Lewis with all the intensity and rawness of a man singing for his life.
'Manifesto' reminds me of other tracks from this period (I would guess 67–69, there's no date on the 45), where groups were blending rock, jazz and soul with similarly interesting results. The ones who immediately come to mind are bands like the Chambers Brothers ('Time Has Come Today'), The Crow ('Your Autumn of Tomorrow'), and Johnny Jones & The King Casuals ('Purple Haze'), and I shall post some of these other tracks in future weeks.
Incidentally, I know nothing at all about this band or the record, save for the fact that it was a big northern soul track, so if anybody has any more to add, I'd be very interested to hear it.
I must admit I knew nothing about Bonnie Bramlett when I bought this single. I had a track of hers on an excellent compilation called 'Country Got Soul', but I never connected her name with the 70s country-rock outfit Delaney & Bonnie until I read a short biog piece on her tonight.
I simply took a chance on this record because the original is one of my eternal favourites, and I'm always interested to hear a new take on a great song. Bonnie pulls it off by following the golden rule of coverology: make it your own.
She does so by reinventing 'Higher…' as a good time Southern party track, complete with country licks and plenty of tambourines. The resulting single has the warmth and effortless spontaneity of an impromptu live performance — two and a half minutes well spent in my opinion.
I'd not heard of Carl Carlton when I picked this 45 from the bargain box of JB's record shop in London. A quick trawl tells me that the first pressing in 1968 was plugged as 'Little Carl Carlton, the 14-year-old sensation'. His voice certainly is sensational: a rich falsetto more powerful than that of many singers twice his age.
The production here clearly leans toward the slicker style which would soon become ubiquitous with the ascendency of the Philly sound, but for me there is still enough grit remaining in Little Carl's voice to make this interesting, even if the promised build-up never quite delivers.
As I write the skies are glowering, the rain is rattling against the pane and the wind is howling like a banshee. Yes, this is the English summer. To add a little sunshine to my life at this time of year I often turn to latin soul, and I can't think of a better example than Joe Bataan's cover of Gil Scot Heron's 'The Bottle'.
My taste in latin music usually predates this disc: my favourites are the boogaloos from the mid- to late-sixties , but this is undeniably a monster. Bataan takes Heron's cautionary tale and fashions a dance-floor juggernaut, practically inventing disco in the process. This was his first single on the new Salsoul label, and with it he really set the standard for years to come. So turn it up, pour yourself a Cuba Libre and open the window, it's getting hot in here!
I don't know how familiar readers from outside the UK will be with Mr Bloe. The group was the alias of a bunch of guys involved with a small London label called DJM (Dick James Music). In 1970 they released 'Groovin' with Mr Bloe', a stripped down soul instrumental with producer Zack Lawrence on piano and Harry Pitch on harmonica. I don't know who was drumming, but it could have been either Bo Gentry, Bernard Cochrane, P. Naumann or K. Laguna, who all share songwriting credits.
It's a taut and memorable little workout, which found a ready market in the burgeoning northern soul scene and was eventually propelled to number two in the UK charts. As I've mentioned, I don't know whether it charted elsewhere, but I do know that Mr Bloe never bothered the charts again, ensuring 'Groovin'' attained the dubious honour of 'one-hit wonder' status.
It's been a couple of months since my last post, but what better way to return after a break than with 'Amen, Brother', by the Winstons? The Winston's were a Washington DC group formed by refugees from Otis Redding's band. You'll immediately hear the influence of The Impressions in this side, and indeed they first signed to Curtis Mayfield's Curtom label before moving to Metromedia to record this disc.
The A-side to this tune was 'Color Him Father', a homage to paternal values not unlike Clarence Carter's 'Patches'. It was a top ten r&b and pop hit, earning the Winston's a Grammy in 1968. The B-side must always have enjoyed good club play with its driving beat, Memphis style horn line and funky breakdown, but with the advent of sampling it was given a new lease of life, indeed I've even read somewhere that it has a legitimate claim to being the most sampled track of all time. I don't know about that, but I do know that with this one single The Winston's assured their place in soul history.
I knew nothing about Senor Soul when I picked this single up the other day. It's a latin-flavoured take on the Isley Brothers' proto-funk track 'It's Your Thing', with some crisp drumming and funky Hammmond propelling things along. Research reveals that Senor Soul were none other than the precursor to WAR, the funk-rock outfit soon to jam and record with the Animals' Eric Burdon.
It seems there is an Ace Records comp out there which brings together the cream of their two LP's and few singles, including such curios as covers of 'Sunshine Superman', 'Psychotic Reaction' and 'Pata Pata'. I picked up two more of their singles when I got 'Your Thing': a cover of Lee Dorsey's 'Working in a Coalmine' and the self-penned (I think) 'Don't Lay Your Funky Trip On Me'. All good stuff. The sample below is of an extract from the A and B sides, but I'll post the whole A side when I get time.
I was intrigued by this one: Sonny Stitt on a soul record? I'm glad I picked it up though. If you think you recognise the backing track you'd be right, it's Edwin Starr's paean to snappy dressing ladykillers, 'Agent Double-O-Soul'. In this case though our secret agent is the eponymous Sonny, blowing for all he's worth over two sides of atmospheric, stomping accompaniment from the Funk Brothers, Motown's untouchable house band.
The result is magic. Close your eyes and you can almost smell the cigarette smoke and feel the creak of the sprung dancefloor. Lovely stuff.
This tale of lovers' bliss from Arkansas-born Roscoe Robinson seems to me to epitomise everything that's great about early sixties soul music. There may be no overt social or racial consciousness here, but there is a simple joyousness and a lust for life that springs from this record the moment you put it on. Try listening to it without dancing, and try dancing to it without a smile on your face.
This was a number seven hit in the R&B charts for The Mighty Marvelows in 1965. It's a two-and-a-half-minute minor masterpiece of eccentricly harmonized doo-wop. I wonder whether the Funk Brothers were listening to this when they came up with Frank Wilson's sublime 'Indeed I Do' for Motown a few years later?
Welcome to the inaugural post down in the Valley of Wax. I've spent 25 years in the Valley, and I still don't want to leave.
So what's it all about? Well, it's another blog about vinyl culture. If you're still reading this then like me, you probably can't get enough of the stuff, and read these blogs with the avidity that you chase after elusive 45s. Although I'm a collector I've never been especially motivated by rarity, but I am on an endless quest for the novel, the unusual or the forgotten.
I picked this 45 up in Camden Market, and although a webcrawl reveals that it was a hit in 1970 there is surprisingly little information out there. This folky, funky melange of American Indian trippiness was written by one Jim Pepper, who supposedly learnt the chant from his Indian grandfather. Pepper performed the song with a group under the moniker 'Everything Is Everything', before re-recording it under his own name. I find it a seductive little single, with a lazy floating horn-line that lingers long after the record has finished. Add to that some of the most hippy-looking label artwork I've ever seen (on Vanguard Apostolic) and you have the perfect package. Not bad for 50 pence.
