Cover Versions, Gone but not forgotten, Hard-to-find

Weller, Weller, Weller, Ooft!

Craig McAllister

Tell me more, tell me more….

This is old news to those in the know, but to cut a long (and a bit boring) story short, it appears that the grumpy old pipe ‘n slippers Dadrocker turned re-energised spiky-riffed angry old man with greying Limahl haircut has gone and fallen out with Simon Dine, the sonic architect-in-chief on his recent trilogy of back to form albums. Simon Dine made a name for himself a few years back under the guise of Noonday Underground, a cut ‘n paste sampler’s wet dream of a ‘band’ who made modern-sounding records from obscure skittering 60s drum breaks, forgotten horn riffs, many fluffy needle drops and found sounds. His/their best, Surface Noise is a really good album. I think you’d like it. Paul Weller liked it so much he got Simon in to work his magic on 22 Dreams, Wake Up The Nation and Sonik Kicks.

The Thieving Magpie

You know all this already, but after falling out with Brendan Lynch, his 90s producer of choice who turned bog standard album tracks into works of spaced-out magic, Weller treaded water with a fairly uninspired run of late noughties albums. I suppose when you’ve released as many LPs as Weller has (648 at the last count, if you include The Style Council) you can be let off for letting the standards slip now and again. But until fairly recently, PW was trading on his reputation and not the music. All that changed after he hooked up with Simon. Those last 3 albums are great. (The middle one shades it for me). Those filmic bits you can hear. The Moog bits. The static crackles and bursts. The Bruce Foxton bass riff. They were all down to Simon. Without him in the controller’s chair, Weller would once again have been treading water. Instead, he’s reinvented himself (or rather, Simon reinvented him) and everything’s groovy in the garden once more. Until the ugly subject of money reared its head. Knowing much of this recent success was down to him, Simon wanted a fair slice of the pie. Paul was unwilling to give him that fair slice and, well, that’s that. Weller’s loss is our gain however, as Simon is at this very moment working his magic with that most under-rated, under-appreciated and under-sold of bands, the Trashcan Sinatras. Given that vocalist Frank contributed two beautiful (man) vocals to Surface Noise, I for one can’t wait to hear the results…

But back to Mr Weller. From French cut crop on top to desert booted toe below, Weller has always modelled himself from the inside out on Steve Marriott. The cut of the cloth and the length of the hems. Those square sunglassess he wore on his first solo tour. Even the dirty old man Mac he digs out when the Summer fades and the Autumn leaves start blowing up the Thames. Cut him open and you’ll find the word ‘Marriott‘ stamped into his bones like the lettering on a stick of Blackpool rock. Watch how Weller holds his guitar. The angle it hangs. The way he attacks the chords. The way he slashes at the solos. That’s pure Steve Marriott (with a tiny bit of Wilko Johnson if you look closely). Close your eyes and listen to Weller’s white man sings with soul on Out Of The Sinking. Now go and listen to Song Of A Baker. That’s pure Steve Marriott too. He’s easy to poke fun at, Weller. He’s responsible for Ocean Colour Scene and for that alone he needs a good talking to. But he has made some life-changing, life-affirming records. But you knew that already. Here’s hoping he makes many more. Methinks It’ll be a few more years in the wilderness before he finds another Brendan Lynch or Simon Dine until he’s back on top of his game.

Tunes:

Small Faces – Get Yoursef Together

The Jam – Get Yourself Together

Noonday Underground (feat Francis Reader) – Barcelona

Noonday Underground (feat Francis Reader) – Windmills

Cover Versions, demo, Get This!, Gone but not forgotten, Hard-to-find

Dennis, Dennis! Oh, With Your Eyes So Blue.

Craig McAllister

Poor old Brian Wilson, with his baffled, befuddled thousand yard stare, slack-jawed appearance and hang-dog melancholy, he’s rightfully earned his place atop the ‘genius‘ pedestal. Of that there can be no argument. Spare a thought, though, for wee brother Dennis. The underdog in a family full of musical prodigies, it was the Wilson boys’ mum Audree who made the other brothers find a place for him in their vocal group. Like many naturally ungifted musicians before and since, he was tasked with bashing the drums, giving The Beach Boys’ music a much-needed rock and roll backbeat that had been hitherto unplanned.

Dennis rarely sang on those early Beach Boys tracks, preferring to goof it up on stage and grow into his role as band heart throb. Image-wise, The Beach Boys were undeniably the squarest of the square, exuding about as much sexiness as a bucket of wet sand. But Dennis, with his surfer boy good looks and toned, tanned physique was the one bit of crowd-pleasing eye candy. Or so the ladies tell me. At early Beach Boys concerts, girls would scream themselves into a knicker-wetting frenzy and Dennis would reciprocate by winking at them and dazzling them with a pearly-white flash of Californian smile before pointing the hottest ones out to the roadies who would be dispatched to usher them backstage. Round round get around, he got around, you might say. As you can imagine, young Dennis had to quickly develop pugilistic tendencies as he would often find himself face-to-face with a pissed-off boyfriend or two, keen to land a punch square in the middle of those pretty boy good looks.

Somewhere towards the end of the 60s, Dennis found his feet as a songwriter. He regularly contributed terrific songs (and vocals) that deserved more recognition than they were given. By now he had somehow become a prolific multi-instrumentalist and could present fully-formed songs to his bandmates. A Dennis song would usually be found tucked in some obscure corner of the album, never  given the honour of being released as a single in its own right. If he was really lucky, he might find one of his songs stuck on the b-side of the last single to be released from the album. So, while Dennis never wrote a Heroes & Villains or a California Girls or a Don’t Worry Baby or a Good Vibrations or a (insert your favourite here), to these ears at least, some of Dennis’s songs are just as thrilling as his big brother’s million-sellers.

A selection of Dennis Wilson nuggets:

Forever (from Sunflower) If every word I said could make you laugh I’d talk forever…….If the song I sing to you could fill your heart with joy I’d sing forever. This is The Beach Boys at their most introspective and melancholic. On the day that my coffin slowly slips behind those velvet curtains, this is the song that’ll be playing. So I’m goin’ away…….but not forever. S’a heartbreaker and no mistake.

Slip On Through (from Sunflower) The opening track on the best Beach Boys LP that isn’t Pet Sounds. Slip On Through bursts in waves of technicolour Wilson harmonies and frugging Fender bass and sounds like a proper Beach Boys record for it. You’d like the Sunflower LP, you really would.

Only With You (from Holland) Another introspective cracker. Piano ‘n plaintive vocals declaring undying love. If you’re getting married in the near future you could do worse than choose this as your first dance. And if you think this is good, you should hear Norman Blake’s heaven-sent cover. Oh man! Soaring Teenage Fanclub harmonies, chiming McGuinn-esque 12 string and tasteful string section.

Steamboat (from Holland) Downbeat piano tinkler with some spot on doo-wop vocals and atmospheric spooky slide guitar. On first listen, this might not grab you (possibly why the Wilson clan relegated it to LP fodder) but repeated listens reveal previously unheard depths.

Little Bird (from Friends) This is a superb mini potted history of The Beach Boys on record – various ‘sections’ jigsawed together by Fender bass, parping brass, see-sawing cello and the odd banjo. Features a key-changing na-na-na singalong and brilliant coo-ing backing vocals near the end. Much loved by that barometer of hip opinion Paul Weller, trivia fans.

Make It Good (from Carl & The Passions) Minor key piano and cracked little-boy-lost vocal that pre-dates the minor key and melodrama of Dennis’s ‘lost’ classic Pacific Ocean Blue LP by a good 5 years. A perfect closing track to a right mixed bag of a Beach Boys LP.

Never Learn Not To Love (from 20/20) Following his skewed friendship with Charles Manson, Dennis presented The Beach Boys with a new song that bore more than a passing resemblance to Manson’s own Cease to Exist. Manson was least pleased, to say the least, when the 20/20 LP came out featuring this track with some sugar coated lyrics in place of the original‘s dark subject matter, with nary a writing credit in sight. Possibly not the smartest move Dennis ever made. Having said that, The Beach Boys track is a thing of beauty, all stop/start sections with sleigh bells and flutes and clip-clopping rhythms, soaked in a gallon of reverb.

Lady (b-side from 1970’s Sound Of Free solo single) Much-loved obscurity (if that isn’t an oxymoron) in the Dennis Wilson songbook. All reverb-heavy acoustic guitars and minor key strings, it was rejected from the final running orders of both Sunflower and Surf’s Up and has been fairly heavily bootlegged since.

*Bonus Tracks!

Carry Me Home was written for possible inclusion on Holland before, aye, it was rejected. Primal Scream did a decent downbeat Fender Rhodes ‘n pedal steel version on their Dixie Narco EP, when Screamadelica and all that jazz was just around the corner. Bobby G’s always had an eye for a good cover, even if he cannae sing it.

Everyone knows by now that Pacific Ocean Blue is the accepted Classic Album that Dennis made as he coke’d and screwed his way through the 70s. Just to fling my tuppence worth into the middle, I think it would’ve made a great bookend to this era with Rumours, even if Dennis’s sales didn’t quite match those of Fleetwood Mac. As a follow-up to Pacific Ocean Blue, Dennis recorded the Bambu (or Bamboo) LP, depending on where you read it.  Of course, it never saw the proper light of day until 2008. How very Dennis. Here‘s All Of My Love, an outtake that didn’t quite make the final cut. How very Dennis again.

That should keep you busy. An excellent wee compilation! Happy listening!

Cover Versions, Hard-to-find

Gimme Likkle Bass, Make Me Wine Up Me Waist

Craig McAllister

The sight of stick-thin youths and beer-bellied men stripped to the waist in gay abandon can only mean one thing in this part of the world. Summer. But don’t say “gay abandon” anywhere in their vicinity, or you might well end up with a sare face. Old Firm football top tucked into the back of the jeans? Check! Cheap ethnic tattoos that may well advertise the deep-fried fare on offer at the local Loon Fung? Check! Milky-white flesh turning lobster-red before your very Fabris Lane’d eyes? Check, check and check! I was cycling through Saltcoats yesterday and it was all this and more. Total, total carnage. Everyone’s out for the day, and it won’t be complete without an argument with a local in the chip shop before the last train back to Paisley or Glasgow or wherever they’re from, hoping to spot a cow or a sheep or a horse or some other such exotic animal in an Ayrshire field.

Of course, I’m  a lover, not a fighter and when the temperature gets too much for me, I like to cool off with some heaven-sent Jamaican riddims. This weekend I have been mostly listening to the Jonny Greenwood curated ‘Jonny Greenwood Is The Controller‘ compilation album that came out a couple of years ago. Featuring tons of decent reggae, dub and rocksteady, it’s a bluffer’s delight. It features ‘I’m Still In Love‘ by Marcia Aitken, a skankin’ piece of lovers rock that is itself a re-write of an old Alton Ellis track from 1967. Those of you who grew up thinking Musical Youth were the last word in reggae might recognise the melody, as it later popped up to great effect in Althea & Donna‘s’ Uptown Top Rankin’ from 1977. One hit wonders, both of them, but who needs a second hit when the first one was so good?

You’d like Luke Haines’ books – Bad Vibes, Britpop And My Part In Its Downfall and the follow-up Post Everything: Outsider Rock & Roll. Witty, unforgiving and dripping in hate for the tubes, chancers and charlatans he’s met along the way in his skewed journey through pop (including his own band mates – he continually refers to The Auteurs’ cello player as ‘The Cellist‘), he’ll have you on his side in no time, wondering indeed why Black Box Recorder‘s version of Uptown Top Rankin’ wasn’t the global smash it should’ve been. Dubby, fuggy and just on the right side of Portishead, it’s nothing like the originals. Which is a good thing, aye?

Cover Versions, Gone but not forgotten, Hard-to-find, Kraut-y

Ferry Similar

Craig McAllister

“Didn’t this used to be a rock song?” Out in the car yesterday and Miss Plain Or Pan had pricked up her ears, for once, at what was shuffling on the iPod. Normally she can’t stand my music (see Rod Stewart post below). When she’s out with me in the car, she usually asks for West FM or Clyde 1 or any of those terrible, repetitive chart-orientated stations playing the the usual conveyor belt of pop-dance fodder introduced by thick 20-somethings with mid-Atlantic twangs belying their West Coast roots. She is 10, after all. That’s why her statement caught me off guard.  “That‘s Mother Of Pearl by Roxy Music,” I reply. She’d been jokingly head banging to the first couple of minutes, where Phil Manzanera’s electric guitar gamely leads an Eno-free Roxy through a series of mumbled, muttering voices, “Woo-hoos” and “Yaaawees” before giving way to Bryan Ferry’s louch, laconic, lounge lizard drawl. “It’s kinda like Bohemian Rhaposdy in reverse, with the rock bit at the start and the piano bit at the end, isn’t it?” she reasoned. I couldn’t have put it better myself. Except that Mother Of Pearl isn’t the overplayed piece of ham that the Queen classic has since become.

Very much under the influence of the Eno-era Roxy Music were World Of Twist. Their star briefly shone at the tail end of whatever constituted ‘baggy’ and they very nearly threatened the charts on a couple of occasions, once with a cover of the Rolling Stones ‘She’s A Rainbow‘ and once with Sons Of The Stage. Sons Of The Stage is a monster of a record. Full of whooshing, bubbling synths and squealing guitars, it‘s almost Krautrock in delivery – motorik, repetitive and reasonably long. It was the second track on the bands ‘Quality Street‘ LP, long-since deleted but worth 5 minutes of anyone’s time tracking down an illegal copy online. Or a real one on eBay, I might add.

The more fashion-conscious of the monobrowed Mancs along with his band of Beady Eyed magpies recently covered Sons Of The Stage with all the craft and soul of a plank of wood. I won’t sully the blog by featuring it, but I’m sure you know where to look, etc etc, blah blah blah.

Cover Versions, Dylanish, Sampled

Rods And Mockers

Craig McAllister

Like many people of a certain age (and that includes you, you! and YOU! reading this, judging by the profiles of those of you who so far have ‘liked‘ us on Facebook – thanks!), I grew up with the sound of my Dad’s record collection playing regularly in the background.  With no insider knowledge of what was hip or otherwise, I’d happily hum along to any old rubbish if it had a good tune and a catchy melody. When I started making my own friend-influenced choices about music, my dad’s record collection suddenly became something to be embarrassed about and I’d do my best to steer clear of it with all the gusto normally reserved for a smelly old man approaching with a big shitty stick. More fool me, as that meant an almost teenage-long love affair with Hipsway whilst living in denial of anything Beatles, Stones, and Dylan related. A few years down the line, of course, I nicked all the good bits and they now sit happily on the shelves behind where I’m currently typing. Nowadays, I tend not to play many Beatles, Stones or Dylan LPs. They’re all there (taps head), stored on my own limitless hard-drive and can be accessed wherever and whenever required. Better not being played here than not being played at my Dad’s, I could ration quite easily.

Another of the sounds regularly playing in the background of my formative years was that of Rod Stewart. Cooking, car journeys and Christmas. Rod was always around. When I first heard him, he would’ve been in his ridiculous late 70s disco pomp, a walking fire hazard dressed in skin tight black satin pants and flouncy Bet Lynch blouse, blow wave topped off with enough hair spray to choke a horse and asking if you thought he was sexy. Even at the age of 9 I knew he wasn’t, although my Mum would perhaps have disagreed. Rod was an easy target at the tail-end of the 70s and right through the 80s. A crucial half-step behind the sounds and styles of the day, he was never too far away from a leopard-skin print or a tartan travel rug. He could often be found in day-glo lycra and wearing sun visors and pixie boots.  For uncultured wee boys like myself he was the pink satin tour-jacketed guy with the daft haircut. To the new breed of post-punk musicians, he was the enemy. The champagne swilling playboy, stoating’ out of nightclubs with a wee stoater on each arm. Film stars, models and all manner of  beautiful people dangled off him like the ridiculously sparkly earrings that fell from his lobes.

Winner of The Britt Awards, 1975

But despite the obvious distractions, he made some great records.

As I was getting stuff together for this piece, a thread on the Word magazine blog suggested that had poor old Rod died in 1975, he’d have been held up as one of the greats. A Syd Barrett or a Nick Drake or whoever. As he’s still with us however, he’s just Rod Stewart. Kinda irrelevant in this day and age but more than capable of selling out venues across the planet without any decent new material (but a phenomenal back catalogue) to back him up. Of course, as I know now, early 70s Rod was where it was at. In his prime he was magic. In tandem with The Faces  he made some of the finest records of the time, records that still stand up today. The Faces was all about the feeling, the vibe, the playing, man. I kinda get the feeling that, no matter how much I love those records, The Faces had to be seen live to really be appreciated. And not with Mick Hucknall on vocals either. (C’mon Rod, what’s the problem?) When you listen to solo Rod, it’s all about the writing and the arranging. Rod’s a terrific writer. Ballads, blues or ballsy rockers, he writes them all. He’s also a terrific arranger, a master at taking other people’s songs and turning them into radio-friendly unit shifters. Tom Waits, Crazy Horse’s Danny Whitten, half of Motown and that guy from Scottish also-rans Superstar have all felt the clink of coins in their pocket following a Rod recording session. But you knew all that already.

Easily my favourite Rod arrangements is his take on Bob Dylan‘s Mama You Been On  My Mind. Bob’s original is essentially an unfinished demo, a sketch of an idea of a song written around the time of ‘Another Side of Bob Dylan‘. It coulda been a classic in the Dylan canon, but Dylan in 1964 was spewing out songs of this quality seemingly at will and his own version fell mostly by the wayside. Rod gives it the kiss of life. He takes the demo by the scruff of the neck and reinvents it as a Maggie May-esque 12 string and pedal steel classic. The phrasing! Rod is incredible on this record. It’s available on 1972′s ‘Never A Dull Moment’. My Dad doesn’t know it, cos he only has the Greatest Hits and whatever studio albums Rod was releasing at Christmases 79-85. After that it was a post-Live Aid Queen that rocked his world.  Do yourself a favour and download it here.

*Bonus Track!

See that Da Ya Think I’m Sexy? Have a wee listen to Bobby Womack’s If You Want My Love, Put Something Down On It and see where crafty old Rod got the inspiration for the hook. Got the inspiration? That should read ‘stole‘. And as far as I can tell, nary a writing credit either. Shame on you Rod.

Rod ‘n Elton ‘n Lana Hamilton, Studio 54, 1978

Gone but not forgotten

Do Me A Wee Favour, Eh?

Craig McAllister

If you haven’t done so already, could you take 20 seconds of your time to ‘like’ Plain Or Pan on Facebook? Shallower than the wee end at the Magnum, I know, but it would make me happy. Click the logo or see down at the bottom of the sidebar.

Thank You

If you only know Led Zeppelin for bombast and pomp, listen to this.  (70s Rod Stewart could’ve done a great version of it if someone had pointed him in the right direction at the time.)

Get This!, Hard-to-find

Snap! Crackle! Pop!

Craig McAllister

I look on northern soul the same way I look at the output from all those brilliant Nuggetsy 60s garage bands. While your garage bands were using the hits of The Kinks and The Who and whoever as the blueprint and building blocks for their own skewed short, sharp 2 and a half minute attempts at chart stardom, the acts who would eventually constitute what became know as the northern soul scene were aping the more well-known records coming out on Motown, Stax, Atlantic et al. Not all, to be fair, there are hundreds and thousands of perfectly original northern soul tracks. But with a borrowed riff here and a stolen melody line there, many northern soul tracks are bare facsimiles of the chart hits du jour. A half-decent lawyer could’ve had many labels shut down, but the very fact that these records languished in absolute obscurity meant this was never likely to be the case. Just as well really, for you, me and anyone else who likes their soul with a northern twist. But you knew all that already.

I’ve only once been to a northern soul club. In the wee small hours after last orders in the pub, one of our hipper friends led us through a catacomb of avenues and alleways until we arrived at the ubiquitous door round the back of the basement of some old man’s pub or other. A knock or two later and a panel slid across revealing a pair of questioning eyes that quickly turned to recognition towards the person chapping the door. Inside, £4 lighter and with the back of our hands stamped in green ink, we hit the dancefloor and never stopped. I only knew about 2 of the tracks played all night, but this was a total rush. Music made for below the waist being danced to by spasmodically uncoordinated Ayrshiremen and the odd local who appeared to know what he was doing (see pic above). This all happened in Glasgow, but it may as well have been in Greenland given the likelihood of me ever finding the place again.

I can never claim to be a northern soul aficianado. For starters I have no northern soul on vinyl (a ‘real’ northern soul fan, whatever that is, would never have their music on mp3).  I have a fair selection of shop-bought compilation CDs (from that mecca of Northern Soul retail Our Price – remember them?), and the odd friend-compiled compilation on TDK cassette. To quote that oft cliched line, I don’t know about art, but I know what I like.

I like my northern soul rattlin’ out of the speakers with that tinny nuclear blast and breathless amphetamine rush that’s so synonymous with those type of records. The drum beats recorded so poorly they sound like they’re playing on the moon. The pianos and horn section barely in tune and blasting away with all the might of a baby’s first breath. Plinky-plonk percussion buried so deep in the mix it sounds like next door’s novelty doorbell. The vocals so thin and weedy they sound almost other-worldly, the whole thing sounding likes it’s playing underneath a greasy spoon frying pan sizzling up a truckers breakfast. To have been there when they were recorded of course, these records would’ve sounded gargantuan. Meaty, beaty, big and bouncy, even. But often poor production and even poorer record pressing let the dynamics of it all down. Yes, possibly the reason why none of these records were ever really hits in the crassest sense, yet also the reason why they remain so sought-after and elitist. On some of them you can practically smell the talcum powder.

Here’s 3 of this weekend’s favourites:

The Flirtations – Nothing But A Heartache

Judi & The Affections – Ain’t Gonna Hurt My Pride

The Playthings – Surrounded By A Ray Of Sunshine

In turn, a booming Supremes soundalike, a weedy-sounding knee trembler that pinches the riff from Marvin Gaye’s Can I Get A Witness and an uplifting nuclear blast of northern soul that’ll have you reaching for the ‘repeat’ button before the first verse is over. It’s finger clickin’ good, y’all!

*A genuine question for any real northern soulers reading…

I don’t know if this is an urban myth or not, but I remember reading way back in time that The Land Of Make Believe, as made popular by Bucks Fizz was originally an old northern track. I’d love to think this was true, but I can’t find anything online to suggest it’s anything other than fabrication. Perhaps I’m getting mixed up. Pete Waterman is a well-known northern soul boy. Maybe he was involved in the Bucks Fizz record and that’s where the genesis of my ‘fact’ comes from. I don’t know. Does anyone?

Get This!, Hard-to-find, New! Now!

Super Furry Side Salad

Craig McAllister

Those of us looking for any sort of Super Furry Fix have had slim pickings recently. Gruff Rhys‘ Shark Ridden Waters was out nearly a year ago, and he’s still essentially touring it, if you can call 1 gig in that there London a ‘tour’. Amongst the hullabaloo of Record Store Day the other week, he quietly slipped out a split single with Cate Le Bon. So quiet I didn’t even know about it at the time, but then, I wasn’t looking. Gold Medal Winner is a terrific slice of what some folks might call ’21st century sunshine pop’; all pitter-pattering drum machines, vibes, tinkles and Gruff’s super warm, super furry harmonies. It remains to be seen whether or not any Olympics officials will pick up on its lyrical theme in time for the Summer games, but it hasn’t stopped those enterprising online sharks going for gold and selling highly inflated copies on eBay.

Super Furries’ keyboard player (and, it’s said, doo-wop  nut), Cian Ciaran, very briefly gave away a free download of a track from his forthcoming Outside In LP. Yesterday was International Workers’ Day (nope, me neither) and to celebrate, You & Me was downloadable from Soundcloud, for one day only. Cian’s true to his word too, because it’s no longer downloadable from there. (Try here instead.) He may ‘only’ be the keyboard player in one of the most consistently innovative bands for the last 15 or so years, but on the evidence of You & Me, Cian Ciaran’s LP may just be the surprise album of the year.

Lennonesque is the word that straightaway springs to mind. The double-tracked vocals, the Double Fantasy piano part, the double dose of sweary words. There’s even a George Harrison slide section playing just behind the best 3-part woo-woo-wooing harmonies the Wilson brothers never recorded. Who knew the keyboard player was capable?!? It’s melancholic man, and I love it.

Roll on the next Super Furry material.

 

Get This!, Hard-to-find, New! Now!

Shake Appeal

Craig McAllister

Jack White‘s Blunderbuss hit the racks this week and while it’s not much of a departure from the old routine, it’s still a terrific bluesy, funky and at times shouty affair, with plenty o’ whoopin’ and a-hollerin’ and those trademark scorching guitar breaks that we’ve come to expect. Giving him a run for his money in the retro stakes are Alabama Shakes, who, by the time you’ve read this are probably the number 1 selling artist in the country. Or is it still Adele?

Alabama Shakes are fairly talented and very young. Annoyingly so. They have a combined age about half that of Keith Richards and sound as if they’ve eaten the Stones back catalogue for breakfast. They are guaranteed to be the act at all this year’s major festivals and come August I will be sick fed up of them. I first heard them via a free Soundcloud ep, long-since unavailable for download. At the time I found myself Googling images of them as I couldn’t believe it was a girl that sang. But don’t let that put you off, she’s good! They may look like the Magic Numbers (remember them?) but they sound totally different. Rootsy. Organic. Raw. Their first EP was released at the tail end of the summer last year and features 4 tracks that also appear on the album. No doubt the hipper amongst you will already be saying, “Meh. I saw them at SXSW last year, but they totally lost it before the first album, man.” More fool you. By the time of the 2nd album, of course, when they’ve learned to play that wee bit better and the guitarist wants to sneak in the odd solo here and there and the record company have decided that Brittany the singer could go it alone, they will, by then, have lost it. Right now, Alabama Shakes are smokin’ hot. Get on board. Those four tracks from the ep are here:

Aye, every borrowed riff and stolen chord change is predictable and the whole thing has a slight whiff of a record company who believe they may have found the new White Stripes/Kings of Leon/authentic  blues-based female vocalist that, unlike Amy/Adele/Duffy has her own authentic bar-room band. There are enough ‘ooh my souls‘, ‘ sweet baby babies‘ and ‘dontcha worries‘ to keep all you cliche kleptomaniacs happy for a long, long time. Donald, if you’re reading, you would have loved ripping this album to pieces. But then, Alabama Shakes aren’t for you. They are for every 18 year old who missed out first time round on Kings Of Leon. For 28 year olds who missed out first time round on the Black Crowes. For 38 year olds who missed out first time round on Creedence. For 48 year olds and anyone who has never heard The Faces, Exile On Main Street, Otis on Stax or the blues of Etta James, they may well change your life. For the rest of us, they may well just be a bit ho-hum. For what it’s worth, I like them and they do sound brilliant live…..

*Bonus Track!

Here‘s Heavy Chevy, the iTunes ‘exclusive’. The Chuck Berry solos have started creeping in…(maybe they have lost it, man).

Cover Versions, Get This!, Gone but not forgotten, Hard-to-find, Kraut-y, Sampled, studio outtakes

Spacemen mp3

Craig McAllister

If Pete Frame were to do one of his Rock Family Trees on fuzzed-up druggy drone rock he’d inevitably land up (*by way of Spiritualized, Spectrum and even (The) Verve)) at Spacemen 3. Long before Bobby Gillespie had grown tired of his Byrds LPs, Spacemen 3 were the ultimate ‘record collection’ band. Spouting a seemingly never-ending list of achingly cool records by artists I had barely heard of, let alone heard in their music press interviews (Stooges!? Sun Ra!? Electric Prunes!? Silver Apples!?) they totally blew me away with their track Revolution. Being an impressionable 19 year old at the time, into guitars in a big way and with an obsession for cheap fuzz boxes,  Revolution hit me between the eyes with all the subtleness of a Sonny Liston left hook.

Revolution was recorded on some rare vintage Vox guitar or other, replete with switches that fuzzed the guitar at source without the need for effects pedals. No doubt though Spacemen 3 further fuzzed the sound of the Vox by adding fuzz pedals to the guitar’s signal as it made it’s way to the amp. It was overloaded and it was incessant; Repetitive. Relentless. Remarkable! Riff upon riff after riff upon riff – the sort of simple stuff I could play on that plank of wood I called a guitar when I plugged it into my Rocktek distortion pedal – buzzed away in the foreground while a studiously bored-sounding Sonic Boom (Peter to his Mum) with an impossible-to-place accent (Rugby, middle England! Really?) ranted and raved on top, trying to sound as cool as the heroes he name-checked in those interviews I had been reading. I got the feeling copious amounts of drugs were involved and, later on when I was a bit more wordly-wise and able to decode their interviews, I realised there certainly had been.

Later on I also realised that Revolution was perhaps not as original as I had first believed. The riff could’ve come from any old garage rock nugget, but that’s not the problem. Every band does that when they’re new (and not so new) to the game. I brazenly stole the Revolution riff for one of my band’s greatest hits, if truth be told. But that’s another story for another time. And there’s plenty of tracks out there with the word ‘Revolution‘ in the title. But only one seemed to steal and appropriate bits of the lyrics from Iggy Pop’s I’m Bored (shitty mp3 here);

“I’m bored. I’m the chairman of the bored………..I’m sick. I’m sick of all my kicks,” drawls the Ig. “I’m sick, I’m sooooo sick………and I’m tired, I’m sooooo tired”, parrots Sonic Boom.

And only one Revolution seemed to borrow large chunks of John Sinclair’s rabble-rousing and indeed revolutionary rhetoric at the start of the MC5’s Kick Out The Jams;

“Brothers and sisters! I wanna see a sea of hands out there…let me see a sea of hands…I want everybody to kick up some noise…I wanna hear some revolution out there brothers…I wanna hear a little revolution…Brothers and sisters…the time has come for each and every one of you to decide, whether you are going to be the problem or whether you are going to be the solution…You must choose brothers…you must choose…It takes five seconds . . . five seconds of decision . . . five seconds to realise your purpose here on the planet…it takes five seconds to realise that it’s time to move, it’s time to get down with it…brothers, it’s time to testify and I want to know…are you ready to testify?…Are you ready? I give you a testimonial – the MC5!”

“I’m having that!” thought a sticky-fingered Sonic, and putting pen to paper came up with the following –  “And I suggest to you that it takes just five seconds…just five seconds of decision…to realise…that the time is right… to start thinkin’ about a little…Revolution!”

I suggest to you, Sonic, that it took just five seconds….just five seconds to rip that off. OK, so it’s hardly Visions of Johanna and, aye, most of the lyrics are lifted from other records, but 24 or so years later (ooft!) Revolution still does it for me. It’s been playing on repeat as I’ve typed this up and it still sounds as angry as a jar of wasps on a windowsill in July.

For added listening pleasure, here‘s Mudhoney‘s straight-up cover (with added swearing and methadone-referencing lyrics). And, here‘s that 10 mins + outake?/outfake? of The Beatles‘ Revolution that surfaced a few years ago and forced Plain Or Pan into temporary meltdown for a coupla days. Go, go, go, tout de suite, before The Man notices…

*When Spacemen 3 disbanded in the usual drug-fuelled ego-fest fashion, Jason Pierce formed Spiritualized and Sonic Boom formed Spectrum. Jason’s girlfriend and sometime band mate Kate left him for lanky, manky old Richard Ashcroft and his Hush Puppies and went to live in a house, a very big house in the country.