She had it all, she threw it away. Like one of those comets that comes blazing across the Earth every coupla hundred years, its tail fizzing slowly to a burnt out nothing. Then gone. Her ‘advisors’ no doubt loved it as the car crash unfolded around her. Was it Malcolm McLaren that coined the phrase Cash From Chaos? The skunk, the skank, the short short skirts, she wisnae the new Billie or Nina or Etta. She was the first Amy, all back-combed beehive and body art. Unreliable yet unconditional. Unable yet unbelievable.
Russell Brand has said it best so far. Read his words then listen to her duet with Paul Weller on Don’t Go To Strangers, a brilliant piece of Stax-inspired southern soul that Russell refers to in his eulogy.
Small in frame, massive in voice. Amy Winehouse, you’ll be missed.
It’s 1989 and I’m sitting in my bedroom, pleased as punch that I’ve managed to de-press ‘pause‘ on the tape deck of my music centre at the exact moment The Wedding Present launch into their final song in yet another brilliant Peel Session. It’s a rattlin’, clatterin’ version of Altered Images’ perennial classic Happy Birthday (hear it here), and during a breakdown in the middle section David Gedge gleefully shouts, “Status Quo, 25 years in the biz-ness!” and the band “Yay!” back at him with hardly disguised irony. Old farts still churning out the same 3 chord nonsense to the same set of hairier, older fans. Roll over lay down grandad and let the young team through.
It’s 2011 and I’m sitting at my computer, pleased as punch that I’ve managed to get this blog somewhat back on track after a couple of months of having more important stuff to do. I’m researching some things for possible inclusion when I stumble upon the fact that 25 years ago this month (July 1986), the New Musical Express released C86, the now seminal cassette that featured a compilation of tracks by 22 staunchly independent bands du jour. Released being the key word here – despite 3 weekly music papers, no-one felt the need to give anything away for free. C86 could only be bought by mail order, whic thousands of alternative music fans did. Although I didn’t. I paid 50p for mine at a record fair in Kilmarnock a few years later. I still have the tape somewhere and after a bit of poking around I turn it up.
And whadayaknow? Track 1, side1? It’s only Primal Scream, still going strong after all these years. Last track, side 2? Why, it’s only little David Gedge with his Wedding Present, also still going strong after all these years – Yay! Twenty five years in the biz-ness indeed. Aye, so Primal Scream have seamlessly tripped their way through just about every sub-genre known to even the most trainspottery of musicologists, but there is still a band called Primal Scream who release records today, much like the Primal Scream who recorded Velocity Girl all those years ago (did the Stone Roses really rip it off for Made Of Stone? You decide). And The Wedding Present nowadays is a very different proposition to the band of George Best and all that jazz. Indeed, with the exception of the boy Gedge, the current line-up look like they’d have been playing pin the tail on the donkey at a jelly and ice-cream birthday party around the time C86 was made, but nonetheless The Wedding Present are still going strong. They even recently toured the Bizarro album again. What was that about old farts still churning out the same 3 chord nonsense to the same set of hairier, older fans? I love them, though. But you knew that already.
Most of the bands on C86 didn’t last a quarter of a century. Half Man Half Biscuit are still around – Yay! and Stephen Pastel can often be spotted still sporting the same dufflecoat, no matter the weather, in whatever part of Glasgow is deemed to be hippest that week. Thankfully the others could spot a shelf life when they saw one – in perhaps the same way that Spitfire and Shed 7 would be considered ‘important’ to musical heritage a decade later (ie, not at all important), Stump and Bogshed were maybe just about alright for the times and didn’t hang around too long afterwards. C86 became a lazy adjective for Steve Lamacq to use when describing under-achieving bands with bowl cuts, beads and a Byrdsian bent to their guitars. Which is more than a bit unfair, as to these ears, C86 had no actual defining sound. D’you know that smell you get when you walk past a group of 18/19 year old boys, all done up in their smart/casual gear and off to the local nitespot? A heady mix of Diesel, Dior and Davidoff that smells nothing like the sum of its parts? C86 is a bit like that. Aye, there’s floppy fringes and feyness ahoy, but there’s also experimentalism, big beats and the sort of music that was impossible to pigeonhole in 1986. The aesthetic of C86 was very much “we do this for ourselves and if anyone else likes it it’s a bonus“.
It was a movement, perhaps the twee-est, tamest of all youth movements, that was more about acne than anarchy, eczema than ecstasy, but it was a generation’s calling card, played out in the wastelands betwixt and between punk and house music, filling the void until the next proper movement arrived. We could do with that now. A proper musical movement to tease us, please us, invigorate and inspire. Or maybe we have. Is it Mumford & Sons & assorted pals pseudo folkest posho raggle taggle? Is it the skinny-jeaned and pointy-boots brigade from East London? Is it ‘mon the Biffy? I dunno. Maybe I’m one of the old farts. Actually, I know I am. Roll over lay down and all that, the young team are coming through….
In the meantime, dig out yer pipe and slippers, settle down in the rocking chair and crank up the old music centre. Here‘s C86 in all it’s itchy ‘n scratchy, low-fi, badly produced glory:
Side one
Primal Scream – “Velocity Girl”
The Mighty Lemon Drops – “Happy Head”
The Soup Dragons – “Pleasantly Surprised”
The Wolfhounds – “Feeling So Strange Again”
The Bodines – “Therese”
Mighty Mighty – “Law”
Stump – “Buffalo”
Bogshed – “Run to the Temple”
A Witness – “Sharpened Sticks”
The Pastels – “Breaking Lines”
Age of Chance – “From Now On, This Will Be Your God”
Side two
The Shop Assistants – “It’s Up to You”
Close Lobsters – “Firestation Towers”
Miaow – “Sport Most Royal”
Half Man Half Biscuit – “I Hate Nerys Hughes (From The Heart)”
The Servants – “Transparent”
The Mackenzies – “Big Jim (There’s no pubs in Heaven)”
Big Flame – “New Way (Quick Wash And Brush Up With Liberation Theology)”
Fuzzbox – “Console Me”
McCarthy – “Celestial City”
The Shrubs – “Bullfighter’s Bones”
The Wedding Present – “This Boy Can Wait”
*Bonus Tracks!
Musical karma chameleons Primal Scream have been through more changes than a (insert your own metaphor here).
Here‘s their stompin’ version of the Small Faces’ Understanding, featuring yer actual PP Arnold on vocals. And here‘s the Weatherall remix of Uptown, all 9 and a half minutes of struttin’ 70s dub disco and Chicago house – Hey, there’s about 3 movements right there in the one record! Beat that, kids.
*Extra Reading!
There was a good article here in The Quietus from a few months ago about the genesis of C86. Worth 5 minute of anyone’s time.
Three weeks. Three weeks since I’ve put electric pen to electric paper on Plain Or Pan. In fact, you could make that three weeks and counting, as I don’t know when I’ll be able to dedicate the necessary time required to liven things up round here. Six of the Best with Alan McGee? It’s a work in progress – honest! Real work and all that that entails has kept me ridiculously busy recently and will do for the next couple of weeks at least. But while I’ve some breathing space I thought I should blow away some of the dusty cobwebs that are starting to gather in the deepest corners of the blog.
Hey Hey Hey Hey was originally on the b-side of Little Richard‘s Good Golly Miss Molly, way back in Nineteen Hundred and Fifty Eight. It comes at you like a runaway train, all pounding piano and breathless high-camp vocal hysterics from The Queen of Rock ‘n Roll (Elvis was The King – you gotta have a Queen, right?) It’s ridiculous, overblown and absolutely fantastic. Here‘s one take with a false start. And here‘s the master take. Good, eh?
The Jim Jones Revue are the MC5 in collapsed quiffs. They sound like a mixture of greasy spoon cafes and sweat, and their take on Hey Hey Hey Hey is a right royal ramalama of screamin’ and a-hollerin’ and needles-in-the-red distortion. I think you’ll like it. They also did an outrageous version of Good Golly Miss Molly. Here it is. I think you’re more than familiar with the original though…
I curse the day I named this website philspector.com instead of plainorpan.com, but there’s nothing much I can do about that now. I kinda like the fact that the odd misguided soul wanders over here expecting to find Phil’s latest gossip from behind whichever bars he’s behind. I’m sure if they looked around before they left they’d find an interesting article and some decent music to content themselves with. I’ve long been a fan of Phil Spector and his terrifically over the top Wall Of Sound productions on records by The Ronettes, The Crystals, Darlene Love, etc etc…..I could go on, but you know them all yourself.
Phil ‘n Ronnie Spector. Clearly, Phil suffered from ‘wee man’ syndrome.
Phil Spector’s music gets played fairly regularly round here. Two and a half minute pocket symphonies of teenage angst, unrequited love, cheating and heartbreak that rush past in a crack of a castanet and a tumble of toms, soaked in enough reverb to drown in. Phil Spector knew what he was doing right enough. Thinking outside the box, he was a true production maverick, double and triple-tracking everything, re-taking and re-doing seemingly perfect takes, pushing the artists to their very outer limits – read/hear here if you haven’t already. And the instrumentation! Wow! Big on rhythm, big on beat, he used everything but the kitchen sink on these records (although they say if you listen closely to River Deep, Mountain High, the sound you hear in the background of the chorus actually is the studio’s kitchen sink being employed as some rudimentary rhythm machine or other.)
Hey Spector! You shoulda listened to these dating tips from the Shangri-La’s!
Or perhaps not. But you get the idea. Anyway, Phil Spector spawned a whole host of copycats and wannabe soundalikes and I’ve built up quite a collection of them. You’ll be well aware of The Shangri-La’s, who, for me at least, ARE teenage angst personified. They weren’t averse to the odd Spectoresque sweeping string and clattering castanet – have a listen to The Dum Dum Ditty. See? Then I Kissed Him by any other name, no? But what about The Girlfriends? The Bees and The Honey? Pussycats? The Whyte Boots? The Geminis? The Bitter Sweets? Each and every one are just as thrilling and just as vital as their more well-known rivals. Much like the music Lenny Kaye compiled for his Nuggets series, these bands and singers were less the one hit wonder and more the no-hit wonder and in common with Nuggets groups, many of the vocalists would achieve success later on in different groups.
The Girlfriends featured the young Darlene Wright. By the time she was married she was known as Darlene Love and sang on many of Spector’s records. She is responsible for the vocals on He’s A Rebel, Christmas (Baby Please Come Home), Today I Met The Boy I’m Gonna Marry and a whole lot of other (often uncredited) stuff that’s seeped from the airwaves, out into the ether and quietly planted it’s melodic seed in your head. I bet right now you’re singing that Christmas song to yourself. I am. Before working with Spector, Darlene and her vocal group The Girlfriends recorded My One And Only Jimmy Boy, a total rush of Da Doo Ron Ron handclaps, sleigh bells and tumbling toms.
“He’s my pri-ide! He’s my jo-oy! He’s my one and only Jimmy Boy!”
Darlene had a varied career and went on to work with the hip – John Phillips’ John, Wolfking of LA album and the happening – Elvis – you can see her in the background of the ‘That’s The Way It Is‘ 70s tour film. She also played Danny Glover’s wife in the Lethal Weapons films. But you knew that already.
The Honey and The Bees are a strange proposition. Seemingly sometimes referred to as Honey and the Bees, sometimes referred to as The Honeybees, it’s easier to find the recipe for Coca Cola online than it is to find any meaningful information about them. I have been able to glean that they were essentially The Cookies under a different name – they also recorded as The Cinderellas and The Palisades – and were essentially one band masquerading as four! Lead vocals on this, a cover of Dusty Springfield’s Some of Your Lovin‘ are by Barbara Alston, who later found fame as vocalist in Spector’s The Crystals. Y’see, in the same way that Wigan Athletic plucked Kilmarnock FC’s goal machine Conor Sammon from the relative obscurity of the SPL to the dizzy heights of, er, the bottom of the English Premier League (“The best league in the world!” – (C) the English media), Phil looked on these unknown groups as the fertile breeding ground for his Wall Of Sound productions, enticing the best players with hollow promises of fame, fame, fatal fame and a shot at the big time. Nothing much changes really.
The Whyte Boots are proof of that. Lori Burton and Pam Sawyer were two Brill Building staff writers who came up with the idea of creating a fictional group to front the street-tough, attitude-heavy songs they were writing. Cue The Whyte Boots. Their 1967 record Nightmare, all doom-goth descending piano and heartbeat drums, caused a bit of a furore at the time.
“No boy’s worth the trouble I’m in!” they heavy breath at the start and you know you’re in for the melodramatic ride of your life…..
“You can beat her, you can win!Get her, get her, push her to the ground!” it goes, until it’s obvious this is one catfight that’s got out of hand. The screams! The “What should I do? “Run! Run!” call and response vocals! The screaming police sirens! The way the song drops at the end when you realise the girl’s dead! Wow! Not even the Shangri-la’s went that far.
Mecury Records liked Lori Burton so much they let her record a whole album’s worth of this stuff. It’s called Breakout and has been described as “a classic New York pop-soul stomper of an album.” It is, it is.
I could write about this stuff all day…here’s a few other records that are low on information but high on melodrama and angst.
……and keeping the lipstick lacquered and the heartbreaks a-happenin’ today we have Cults, a terrific Brooklyn-based (of course) band who with You Know What I Mean have released what will absolutely, hands down, be my favourite single of 2011. I don’t tend to feature new music on here much, as things tend to be removed tout de suite by the DMCA (I know Drew at Acrosss The Kitchen Table had You Know What I Mean removed last week), so I’ll point you in the direction of their You Know What I Mean Soundcloud. You can’t download it, but you will want to buy it after listening. Believe me. I’m now off out in the hope I’ll pick up one of the ltd edition 7″s they’re releasing as part of Record Store Day. Form an orderly queue, please.
Going For Gold was a quiz show that ran for about 10 years between the mid 80s and mid 90s, broadcast usually after the lunchtime episode of Neighbours. Contestants came from all corners of the European Community to be asked general knowledge questions (in English) by genial Irishman Henry Kelly – “Who am I? I am an inventor. I was born in Scotland in 1869.” etc etc. What always amazed me about the show was that all contestants could understand and answer the questions in English. Indeed, Olaf from Finland and Gretchen from Germany always, always had a better grasp of the English language than Sue from Sussex and Karen from Coatbridge. In the final round, one contestant had control of the board and Kelly would always say to their opponent, “You’re playing catch-up!”
Once a year I like to round up some of the best music on Plain Or Pan and put it centre-stage for a second time. I like to think all the music I put on here is fantastic in it’s own way, but there are some things that are downloaded/searched for/requested far more regularly than others. The search facility about half-way down on the right there works fairly well (try it!), but I appreciate that sometimes it’s nice to have things put on a plate for you. If you’re a relative newcomer to this blog and you’re not sure what you may have missed out on, this post is for people like you. As Henry Kelly would say, “Olaf, you’re playing catch-up…”
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Who am I? I am a singer-songwriter. I started out my career singing doo-wop with a vocal group known as The Moonglows. When they broke up I began playing as a session drummer at Motown Records before stepping out from behind the kit and standing in front of the microphone. In my time at Motown I added an ‘e‘ to the end of my name, recorded many memorable solo tracks and duets, changed the way the record company viewed the merits of albums and married and divorced the boss’s daughter, resulting in one of the bitterest break-up albums of all time. Who am I? I am Marvin Gaye. And these are the unedited studio master tracks for I Heard it Through The Grapevine. Original article here.
How about some more Motown vocal-only tracks? Get them via here. Want more of this sort of stuff? Search ‘studio master tapes‘ in the ‘whityeherefur?‘ box over there on the right…
What am I? I am another studio outtake. I am a famous song by a famous band, some say that band’s best track (although you could easily argue the case for many of their other records.) Rolling Stone magazine (there’s a clue right there) put me at #38 in their list of Greatest Songs Ever in 2004, which makes me just better than Buddy Holly’s That’ll Be The Day but not quite as good as No Woman, No Cry by Bob Marley. My lyrics predict rape and murder and are a fitting epitaph on the death of the 60s which is just a shot away. What am I? I am Gimme Shelter by The Rolling Stones. Here is the astonishing Mick ‘n Merry vocal-only track. And here is Keith’s rather groovy lead guitar track. Original article here. Sit down before listening, you may just be blown away.
There’s some terrific Curtis Mayfield stuff via here and here. And there’s some excellent Sly Stone stuff here and here. There’s a whole lotta soul on Plain Or Pan. Whiteyeherefur? Use it!
It’s well documented that Led Zeppelin didn’t so much re-write the blues as nick it riff by riff. Rape and murder, indeed. Compare Jimmy Page’s Dazed and Confused to the relatively-unknown Jake Holmes’ version here. I often contrast and compare the merits of originals v covers v blatantly plagiarised words and music. Type ‘double whammy’ or ‘triple whammy‘ into ‘Whiteyeherefur?‘ and see what you can find…
I could go on and on. Or you could use the ‘Whityeherefur?’ facility. Or you could just go through month-by-month, year-by-year. It’ll take you a while. But then, it’s taken me a while too. Last year’s round-up of all things good about Plain Or Pan can be found here, including links to Johnny Marr’s Dansette Delights, The Ronettes vocal-only version of Be My Baby and the now-legendary Plain Or Pan Compilation CDs. So much to choose from, so much to grab. Go! Go! Go!
Has it really been 20 years since Screamadelica was released? Well, no actually. Primal Scream‘s meisterwork first saw the light of day at the end of September 1991, but we’ll not split hairs over a few short months. Bobby Gillespie certainly isn’t – the album has just been reissued in all sorts of sexy and expensive packaging and the Scream Team juggernaut is currently zig-zagging its way across the country to any number of unfeasibly impersonal auditoriums near you as I type. It was in Glasgow the other night, in the luscious surroundings of the big red shed inside the SECC.
I didnae go. I prefer to remember the heady days of Screamadelica first-time around, crammed into the Barrowlands, Kriss Needs on the pre-gig decks mixing Prince into the Stones into Bo Diddley into Sly Stone and into my narrow-minded musical mind. Everything, from the warm-up DJ to the visuals to the energy of the band on-stage was truly spectacular and I doubt that anything like that could be created on this current tour, where a gang of outrageously pretentious musical outlaws has been replaced by a gang of outrageously pretentious musical outlaws with big bank balances and designer suits. And there’s the difference. Also, Denise Johnson isn’t doing the backing vocals and as anyone with half a brain knows, she was clearly the secret ingredient in the original make-up of the band. My pal Wullie was so taken by Denise he sent her a letter proclaiming his love for her and she actually wrote back with a letter scented in her perfume. In this day and age of 24hr accessibility to your favourite stars via Facebook, Twitter and whatever, that’s something that’ll unlilkely happen again.
However, the main reason I didn’t go is this – I’ve heard some of the recent concerts. The playing’s fine, great actually, but the singing! Man, the singing! Bobby was never a singer, but he was always true to his Glasgow roots. These days, he sounds far more Miami Florida than Mount Florida. It’s embarrassing and it’s laughable. Listen below to the intro before Slip Inside This House from London at the end of last year…
“C’mon, lets have uh pahrty! What the fuckhr ya heer fuhr? C’mon!” OMFG, as you youngsters might say. I know what you’re here for though….
The Music
Moving On Up as done by Edwin Starr. Good God! Taken from a lo-fi source, sadly.
Come Together (live in London. 26.11.10. The full 14 minute Elvis-in-Memphis Suspicious Minds guitar version that morphs into the Weatherall groove ‘n gospel choir. C’est magnifique.
Screamadelica (the track of the same name that didn’t make the album. One of the first things I blogged. It’s essential, so it is. But you knew that already)
Can – You Doo Right (it’s 20 minutes long…..(yawn)…..but listen to the words. Then go and listen again to Moving On Up. Oh! Was it an influence on Bobby, or was he just under the influence when he nicked it?)
BONUS!
You can see a documentary about the making of Screamadelicahere. Amongst other things you’ll find out it was Robert Young and not Bobby that sang almost all of the vocal on Slip Inside This House. Who knew, eh? Worth half an hour of your time any day of the week.
HELP!
Does anyone have a copy of Don’t Fight It, Feel It from a Select magazine tape from around 1992? It was taken from a Japanese concert I think and the band played Hey Bulldog half-way through the track. It was quite fantastic if I remember and I’d love a copy of it again.
Thanks to Scott over at Spools Paradise -that live-in-Japan version of Don’t Fight It, Feel It I was after is here.
Bird, bird, bird, b-bird’s the word. Ah well-a bird, bird, bird, b-bird’s the word….
Everybody loves Surfin Bird, right? My 9 year old daughter does. My 4 year old son does. I’d love to tell you that, thanks to their Dad’s rockin’ record collection, they too had developed an ear for the finer things in life and were uber-hip connoisseurs of 60s garage rock. But that would clearly be not true. No, they developed a liking for Surfin Bird’s gibberish nonsense thanks to a game for the Nintendo Wii. I like a game on the old Wii as much as the next person (I have an unhealthy obsession with playing Mario Kart online) and I had no time for those singin’ and dancin’ interactive games that go down well at New Year parties and the likes until Mrs Pan brought home Just Dance, a game (if you don’t know already) where 2 or more people have a dance-off, by following a sequence of steps demonstrated on-screen by a cavorting character in the corner. And there, sitting happily inbetween Who Let The Dogs Out? and Womaniser was The Trashmen’s Surfin Bird replete with dance steps provided by a pork-pie wearing Blues Brothers sillhouette. Mental. It’s probably its inclusion on this game that helped propel Surfin Bird to Number 3 on yer actual Top 40 charts last Christmas, helped on its way by one of those anti-X Factor Facebook campaigns.
Cue Dvorak’s New World Symphony (the Hovis advert music, ya philistine) but when I were a lad I didn’t have X Factor or Facebook or fancy computer games to stimulate my musical tastes. Like most of you on here I had LPs. My going out song of choice was always Surfin Bird. Not The Trashmen‘s original verison (I’d love to tell you differently, but I had no idea who The Trashmen were at this point). Nah, I loved The Ramones ridiculously thrashed out version on It’s Alive – the first Ramones LP I owned and quite obviously The. Best. Live. Album. Ever. (even if on CD it sounds fragile-flat and as spidery-thin as one of Joey Ramone’s limbs). From that Ramones live version I progressed to their studio version from ’77s undeniably essential Rocket To Russia LP.
From The Ramones, it was but a small crepe-footed step to The Cramps, and their cheesegrater-thin hootin’ and a-hollerin’ gutter-punk version from Off The Bone (where I first read the words ‘Alex Chilton‘). A few years later and I’m watching Full Metal Jacket and up pops Surfin Bird once again, this time in the original (aha! or so I thought!) version by garage-surf punks The Trashmen. Clearly, I came to Surfin Bird back to front.
A young, pre-1980′ s SAW-era Rick Astley, 2nd right. Who knew?
So it was a bit of a surprise to realise some time later that Surfin Bird as I knew it had actually began life as 2 separate doo-wop tracks, recorded in the early 60s by The Rivingtons, a black r ‘n b quartet who could effortlessly churn out the sort of 4-part harmonies that Brian Wilson was trying to replicate in studio sessions with The Beach Boys. Surfin Bird as I knew it was made by welding together The Bird’s The Word (aye!) and Papa Oom-Mow-Mow (oh aye!), 2 slabs of primo-cool duh-duh-duh-duh………woo-oooh! American doo-wop. Everbody loves a bit of doo-wop, eh? If you only listen to 2 doo-wop tracks this year……etc etc blah bla blah….
*BONUS TRACK!
Possibly in a bid to please those right-on 60s bra-burning feminists, The Rivingtons also recorded Mama Oom-Mow-Mow. It sounds just like you’d expect it to.
I’m often torn between the two hemispheres of soul. Some days I’m all for the Northern variety, dripping in elitism, dusted in talc, and rattling away through the speakers like an AM radio being beamed in from Brazil at 100mph, the tinnier the better. Other days I’m a sucker for its Southern sister, with its killer guitar riffs, songs-as-stories and basslines boiled in the deep South, Great God almighty gargantuan and gumbo-like.
I had planned tonight to post a few Southern Soul tracks, but while deciding on the tracks to post I got kinda sidetracked and set sail down crazy river with a headful of disco and no paddle to get me back to southern soul central. So instead, here’s two versions of Groove Me.
Groove Me is a belter of a southern soul track. With its juddering, stuttering groove, it’s like a laid back James Brown backing track, almost bluebeat reggae in feel thanks to its off-rhythm keyboard riff and hi-hat action. It was initially recorded in December 1970 by King Floyd who at the time was working for the post office. As is so often the way, it was actually a b-side before tuned-in DJs spotted its potential and turned it into a million-seller for Atlantic Records, when it reached #6 on the Billboard Hot 100. Unsurprisingly, Floyd quit his day job and settled into a career of touring his one hit, management fallouts, ever-decreasing returns and relative obscurity. Sadly, he died 5 years ago.
Groove Me is also a belter of a disco track, but you probably knew that already. You also probably knew that I am unashamedly disco, so I have no qualms about posting this, the 9 minute disco workout cover by Fern Kinney. Fern is yer classic one hit wonder, though not with this track. Together We Are Beautiful reached the very toppermost of the poppermost here in the UK in 1980 and while I have always been aware of her version of Groove Me, I was unaware that it did diddleysquat in terms of chart placings here in the UK (according to my Guiness Book Of British Hit Singles at any rate). Shame, as I think its magic. Have a listen, wait till the groove kicks in then think, “Wouldn’t Happy Mondays have done a brilliant version of this?”
Fact! Fern actually sang backing vocals on the original King Floyd version.
Of all the music biographies I’ve got, the one I go back to time and again is Ian Hunter’s Diary Of A Rock ‘n Roll Star. Hunter was/is/was the lead singer of Mott The Hoople, and his book charts Mott’s 1972 trek across the USA, with all the squalid poverty and crappy hotels it entails, not to mention the non-stop merry-go-round of city-hopping aeroplanes, record company limousines and the band’s endeavours to spend any penny they earn on ridiculously cheap classic guitars. It’s a totally unpretentious read and blows apart any theory I ever had that touring America with a rock and roll band in the 70s would be the most glamorous job on the planet. If you haven’t already, I’d recommend you read it. I actually first read it without knowing any of Mott’s material beyond the most obvious (ie. All the Young Dudes), but that didn’t matter. After reading it, I borrowed a Greatest Hits compilation from the library and got myself acquainted.
Mott filled the void between the end of the 60s and the first discordant clangs of punk in the mid 70s. Unfairly lumped in with the novelty Glam Rock scene (what they lacked in make-up, they more than made up for in tunes), in time all yer cool (and not so cool) musicians referenced them, as if associating themselves with the Hoople somehow made their music all the more valid. In his pre-Clash days, Mick Jones was a huge fan;
“I followed Mott the Hoople up and down the country. I’d go to Liverpool or Newcastle or somewhere – sleep on the Town Hall steps, bunk the fares on the trains, hide in the toilet when the ticket inspector came around. I’d jump off just before the train got to the station and climb over the fence. It was great times, and I always knew I wanted to be in a band and play guitar. That was it for me.”
Bobby Gillespie (of course!);
“I was into Mott The Hoople, and then The Clash came and I got into them … because one’s prepared you for the other.”
Well, we can take that quote with a big old pinch of salt, Bob. Whatever you say, but you’re only 7 years older than me. There’s no way on earth you were into Mott the Hoople before the Clash came along. You’d have been 8 or 9 years old. Maybe 11 or 12 at a push, depending on which Mott era you’re referring to. At that age, you’d still have been playing in a sand pit with yer Action Man. But it’s OK! We can’t be first to every party. Don’t kid yerself on that you were.
Mott The Hoople released 4 albums for Island between 1969 and 1971. Four albums! In three years! Their first LP, Mott The Hoople, was recorded in a week and was heavily reliant on hip covers (Dog Sahm, Sonny Bono), with the odd self-penned original added on for good measure. Much of the band’s original material at this point was clearly under the heavyweight influence of Bob Dylan – the rasping already 30 year-old Ian Hunter singing of ‘kings‘, ‘rogues‘, ‘pawns‘, ‘the minds of fools’ and every other Bob cliche you care to mention. Have a listen toRoad To Birmingham (listen too how Hunter pronounces Birmingham!) and Backsliding Fearlessly (The Times They are A-Changin’ by any other name). Critically well-received, it was the first release in what was a series of ever-diminishing returns sales wise, for Island Records. On the brink of break-up, Mott fan David Bowie came to their rescue. Offering them Suffragette City from his yet-to-be released Ziggy Stardust… album, Mott said “No Thanks….but we like the sound of that All The Young Dudes song you’ve written.” And the rest is history, but you knew that already.
Here’s a few more Mott the Hoople tracks that would soundtrack Diary Of a Rock ‘n Roll Star quite nicely.
Walking With a Mountain (from 2nd album Mad Shadows. with it’s frantic twin guitar attack, Jerry Lee Lewis rattling piano in the background and ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash it’s a gas‘ refrain, it sounds more Ziggy than anything Bowie did, a full 2 years before Bowie did it!)
Trudi’s Song (Hunter’s love song to his wide. Bobby Gillespie included this on a compilation tape he made for Select magazine in 1992, trivia fans!)
Roll Away The Stone (Number 8 in 1973, possibly the only other Mott track you may have heard until now.)
Angel of Eighth Avenue (lighters in the air stadium balld. Weeping pedal steel all over it.)
Maybe it’s the fact they’re a power trio. (Eugh). Maybe it’s the fact a lot of their music is rooted in the blues. Maybe it’s the fact that their records have the whiff of cosmic psychedelicness around them. Maybe it’s just the fact that Jimi Hendrix’s Manic Depression was such a great riff they felt the need to lift it hook, line and sinker, I don’t know but anyway you look at it, Tame Impala have recorded a terrific Rutlesesque pastiche of one of Hendrix’s finest moments. Only they added their own lyrics and called it Island Walking. As if no-one would notice…
It’s all there; the weird time signature, the rolling drum breaks, the measured tone of the wailing guitar solo. Jeez, it even starts with a wee pseudo Hendrix harmonic tune-up. For good measure – get this!!! – they’ve made it sound like Manic Depression as played by a rocking Revolver-era Beatles, trippy Lennon vocals ‘n all. Extra points too for the outro, all Flaming Lips/Pink Floyd flotation tank otherworldness. “Bootiful!” as Bernard Matthews might’ve said. If I was 17 and had never heard the originals, I’d go mad for this band. Hey, I might still go mad for them anyway – talent borrows, genius steals ‘n all that jazz.
Talking of genius…
Jimi Hendrix. But you knew that already. Maybe it’s the fact they were a power trio. (Eugh). Maybe it’s the fact a lot of their music was rooted in the blues. Maybe it’s the fact that their records have the whiff of cosmic psychedelicness around them. Hey, hang on….The Jimi Hendrix Experience loooked and sounded like nothing on Earth. Manic Depression, with it‘s weird time signature, rolling drum breaks and controlled guitar tone was released on Are You Experienced?, the album that made a thousand guitarists simultaneously weep in envy, throw away their tired old Merseybeat jangling guitars and start growing white ‘fro’s in desperation. As if your haircut (or lack of) could make you play da blues like a tripping cosmic space adventurer. Not that it stopped Eric Clapton, mind.
The weirdy, twisted, off-kilter Throwing Muses do a pretty rockin’ version of Manic Depression. Bereft of any squealing Kristen Hersh vocal gymnastics, it’s a no-nonsense heads-down instrumental rock out. Perfect for the encore you might think. Except the weirdy, twisted, off-kilter Throwing Muses used to start gigs with it. Straight out at the end of the intro music, a quick “How are you?” then bam! and into it. S’a cracker, cosmic space traveller guitar solo ‘n all!
Plain Or Pan 
