Get This!, Hard-to-find

Aural Sex

Craig McAllister

Bryan Adams was nine years old in the Summer of ’69. He wouldn’t reach the ripe old age of 10 until November that year. While that makes him a decade older than me, unless he was some sort of child prodigy, it certainly doesn’t make him old enough to have been playing in bands where Jimmy quit and Jody got married and they were young and restless, needin’ to unwind. When I was 9 I was usually found halfway up a tree or on the gravelly garage site ground after grazing my knees in a failed attempt at a wheelie on my racing bike. I’m sure Bryan was no different. The nostalgic notion amongst the romantics of the world is that Summer Of ’69 is about exactly that – the year when Bryan and his pals formed a band, chopped and changed the line-up and set off on their quest for worldwide fame and attention. The more savvy amongst us will have cottoned onto the fact that Summer Of ’69 is exactly about this. Indeed, Bryan has since said that the song referred to the best summer of his life, being a young buck and enjoying everything that came his way.

The relationship between sex and music is nothing new.  You knew this already, but the actual term ‘rock and roll‘ refers to the act of gettin’ it on, and ever since we’ve had the ability to magnetise songs and transfer them to vinyl,  artists have used the platform to brag, boast and bum (steady on!) about their bedroom (or otherwise) escapades. Why Don’t We Do It In The Road? You Shook Me All Night Long. Suck On My Big Ten Inch. Betty Boo Just Doin’ The Do. Here’s a good holiday game for you, especially if you’re stuck freezing somewhere in a caravan wearing last week’s flimsy summer clothes for warmth and comfort – give everyone a pen and piece of paper, set the clock to 2 minutes, say “Go!” and write down as many songs as you can think of that refer to sex, directly or otherwise. Regardless of genre or vintage, there’s hunners o’ them!

Some artists take the direct route – “If It Don’t Fit (Don’t Force It) cos you make your mama mad”, hollered Barrelhouse Annie on her pre-war 1937 blues record of the same name.  “Squeeze my lemon till the juice runs down my leg,” moans Robert Plant on Led Zep‘s downright funky re-write of Robert Johnson‘s Travelling Riverside Blues. “I wonder if you know what I’m talking about,” he ad-libs. We do, Robert, we do! Let’s Get It On, crooned Marvin. Push It (Push it real good!) rapped Salt ‘n Pepa. “There are explosive kegs between my legs, Dear God, please help me!” mentioned Morrissey, one eyebrow raised suggestively while the rest of him conveniently forgot that he was supposed to be celibate. “I got pictures of naked ladies, lying on their beds, da-da, da-da, da-dada, starts a swelling in my head.” Sorry, I can’t remember all the words. You could Google them if you like. That was shock metal rockers Wasp‘s mid-80s granny-frightener Animal (Fuck Like  a Beast). We could go on for ever, really. How’s that list of yours coming on anyway? If you’re stuck, think metal bands. They are considerable repeat offenders. Bon Jovi‘s Slippery When Wet? It’s not a concept album about the industrial cleaning of factory floors, that’s for sure. And Prince. Don’t forget him, the little genius that he is. His back catalogue is a right smut-filled funk-fest of fornication and frolics.

Some artists are more subtle and incorporate a certain amount of dubiety to the lyrics. Millie‘s mid 60s skanking My Boy Lollipop is supposedly not about licking lollipops at all, but rather some sexual act or other. I can’t for the life of me think what it might refer to.  The Vapors‘ Turning Japanese? Every schoolboy knows what that’s about. Soft rock balladeers Heart‘s innuendo-filled All I Wanna Do included a line about I am the flower, you are the seed, we walked in the garden and planted a tree. I don’t think Titchmarsh or that Charlie lassie who doesn’t wear a bra were much in the band’s thoughts at this time. The Naked Gardeners, maybe. I’ve blogged this before, but Grace Jones‘ Pull Up To The Bumper is perhaps the most sexually innuendo-filled lyric in the history of sexually-explicit records. Pull up to my bumper baby, in your long black limousine….drive it inbetween……..I’ve got to blow your horn………shiny, sleek machine…...grease it, spray it, lubricate it.……” Here‘s the full-length (!) uncut (!) 12″ (!) mix.

Some artists even go so far as to literally get into the groove and incorporate the actual act itself to audio tape. Axl Rose employed the services of one such obliging young lady while recording Rocket Queen on Appetite For Destruction, overturning strategically placed microphones in the process. Gads. It’s rumoured that saucy old Serge Gainsbourg did likewise whilst recording Je T’Aime with Jane Birkin, although Serge himself disputed this as if they had, he said, the record would’ve been a long-player. Ooft! Two such tracks that employ more than a touch of heavy breathing are L’il Louis‘ groundbreaking house classic French Kiss and Donna Summer‘s libido-filled Love To Love You Baby. Here‘s the original 12″ of French Kiss, taken straight from vinyl and complete with some reassuring crackle ‘n fluff underneath all that moaning and groaning. And here‘s the complete, full length (!) throbbing (!) 12″ (!) version of Love To Love You Baby. 16+ minutes of pure aural sex.

I’m off for a cold shower.

Cover Versions, Get This!, New! Now!

Summer Love-in

Craig McAllister

(Had me a blast). It’s been a good old week, all things considered. I’m still basking in the afterglow of my team beating one of the great unwashed in a national cup final at the national stadium, the frantic pace of work is slowing down in preparation for the Easter holidays, I’ve got a new bike that I plan to cycle for miles and miles and the sun has been shining as if March thinks it’s July. I drove home today, window down to the sounds of Lee Perry and his dubby Jah-maica-ca-ca-ca riddims, convinced I was stopping tomorrow for yer actual summer holidays. Mad March, eh?

Even better than all of the above was the discovery of one of those wee bubble-wrapped envelopes on my door mat when I got in. I don’t buy that much new music, but inbetween the obscure soul stuff from 1971 and the Brazilian garage punk from 1964 (and the new Weller album, still unconvinced t’be honest), there’ll always be a place for Teenage Fanclub and anything related. Bass player Gerard Love has been working on his solo album for, ooooh, ages, if you believe some sources. Anyway, he’s finally got around to releasing it and ‘Electric Cables‘ by Lightships is now out (or in 4 days time if you didn’t pre-order it). But you knew that already.

First impressions? Well, this is the best Teenage Fanclub album they’ll never release. If you’re a fan of the Gerry tracks of old, especially the more recent Shadows-y stuff, you’ll like it. Everyone’s out right now, so I have the pleasure of listening to it not on my PC or in the car or through my crappy iPod headphones, but extra-loud via my big old Denon seperates. The way music was intended to be heard. It sounds analogue. Old, but in a good way. Everything about it is warm, woozy, wistful; Mellow. Guitars chime, basslines frug, pastoral flutes flitter their way in and out of the melodies like butterflies in high summer.  I’m sure you get the idea….

Perhaps at first you’ll think it’s missing some of those close-knit harmonies we’ve come to expect from his day-job band, but by the second and third listen, wee nuggets of golden sound start sticking their head up from the background and weave their magic. Lead track Two Lines is a thing of beauty, all understated guitars and organ that goes on and on, riding a wave of melancholy. First single Sweetness In Her Spark is much the same, with its great cooing vocals in the background and perfect lyric.  Some of the video was filmed just down the road from me, at Troon Harbour, fact fans. Elsewhere, vocals soar, delayed guitar riffs fade in and out and those Fanclubesque harmonies begin to appear. I have to admit, I’ve always been a Norman kinda guy, but between Shadows and Electric Cables, I’m fast turning into Gerry’s number one fan. This album is already my Sound of the Summer and it’s not yet April.

Duh. When ordering the album I shoulda ordered the 7″ of Sweetness In Her Spark. It’s backed by a cover of Moondog‘s 1978 ‘Do Your Thing‘. Moondog’s original is half way down here.

Lightships’ version is here:

Good, eh? I’m now off here.

If you haven’t already done so, get yourself over here pronto and find out what Gerry’s favourite records are. S’a good read, even if The Man* deleted all the files that go with it.

*not yer man Gerry, but the actual Big, Bad internet Man.

Breaking News!        Breaking News!        Breaking News!

The words ‘remix‘ and ‘Teenage Fanclub’ aren’t something you usually read in the same line, but you can get yourself a free download of the Raf Daddy remix of album opener Two Lines over here at Soundcloud. Not a patch on the album version (it’s the aural equivalent of drawing a moustache on the Mona Lisa) but, hey, if you’re a geeky completist you’ll need it.

 

Gone but not forgotten

Aw Naw……….

Craig McAllister

It appears that my Mediafire account, where all the music on here is hosted, has been suspended. I logged on this morning to this welcoming message:

This account has been locked.
See our page about account suspensions for more information:
http://www.mediafire.com/policy_violation/account_suspension.php

Looks like the internet police are up to their old tricks again. Pop in again in a day or so when I might have something more to tell you.

Blur Fanclub Singles, Get This!, Sampled

The Fool On Melancholy Hill

Craig McAllister

I’ve been a wee bit unkind to Damon Albarn on here. Shallow poster boy. Mock-cockney posh boy from middle class Colchester. Pretentious twonk with too many fingers in too many pies. The Africa trotting, Chinese opera-plotting indie Sting. All of this is true, of course, and he is so easy to dislike, but….

…you can’t argue the fact that he’s one prodigious talent. It’d be hard to disagree that Blur are (?)/were (?) one of the great singles bands, right up there with Madness when it comes to looney tunes and merry melodies. And it’d be hard to argue that Gorillaz aren’t that far behind. Dig deeper and you’ll be pleasantly surprised to find a whole host of other terrific records. And not just the afore-mentioned Chinese opera or melodica-enhanced African soul music. The widely eclectic list of folk he’s collaborated with would be unbelievable if it wasn’t true. Off the top of my head – Lou Reed. Snoop Dogg. Mark E Smith. De La Soul. Gruff Rhys. Shaun Ryder. Dan the Automator. Half of The Clash. Michael Nyman. Del Tha Funky Homosapien. Bobby Womack. Flea. Toumani Diabaté. Ike Turner. Fela Kuti’s drummer, Tony Allen. All have answered the Albarn call, done their bit and waited while Damon has worked his magic in the studio and re-packaged the results to feature his toot-toot-tooting almost-in-tune melodica and unmistakable genre-defying, melancholy-applying vocals. Regardless of the collaborator or genre, the Albarn record, with its hangdog vocal and uplifting gloominess is instantly recognisable.

The current Mojo (the one with Weller on the cover) has a good wee feature on Albarn’s extra-curricular activities. It focusses on the stuff he’s been doing with the polyrhythmic Tony Allen and Flea as Rocket Juice and The Moon. The prospect of sock on the cock slap bass and rapping doesn’t fill me with too much excitement, but I’m keeping an open mind. Especially as Mojo compiled a list of essential non-Blur Albarn tracks, most of which were new to me, all of which are terrific:

Trek To the Cave (Albarn & Michael Nyman)

Time Keeps On Slipping (Albarn & Deltron 3030)

Sunset Coming On (Albarn & Toumani Diabaté)

Every Season (Albarn, Tony Allen & Ty)

Feel Good Inc. (Albarn, Danger Mouse & De La Soul)

Kingdom Of Doom (The Good, The Bad and The Queen)

Heavenly Peach Banquet (Albarn, Shi-Zeng & David Coulter)

Hallo (Albarn, Tout Puissant & others)

It‘s an excellent place to start your re-appraisal of oor Damon if, like me, you felt he was getting a bit too big for his well-travelled boots. My favourite Damon Albarn moments? That’ll be Dare, with Shaun Ryder on vocals. Great cooing Damon backing vocals and a subtle chiming percussion track that takes its cue from Talking Heads’ Once In a Lifetime. Initially called It’s There, it was renamed after unsuccessful attempts to get the newly re-toothed Ryder to pronounce it correctly when he sang.

And the look of ecstatic fanboy joy on his face as he punches the air when Bobby Womack comes in on Stylo (below) is magic. Damons’ own wee Jim’ll Fix It moment, I’m sure.  (2mins 10 seconds, if you want to fast forward. Though, why would you want to fast-forward?)

Close friend and fellow music obsessive Rockin’ Rik reckons Albarn is the 21st Century Brian Wilson. While he’s still to write his Sunflower, let alone his Pet Sounds, on the evidence so far I can just about go along with this.

*Bonus Track

In keeping with the pan-global spirit of this post, here‘s Gorillaz‘ Feel Good Inc. incorporated into some Fela Kuti afrobeat rhythm track. You can get a whole album’s worth of this stuff here. Go! Go! Go! And then Go! Go! Go! here and catch some of those Blur Fanclub-only singles that keep being deleted by the man. Gotta be quick though.

Live!

Friday The 6th March 1987 at 7.30pm

Craig McAllister

25 years ago today I experienced my first ever live concert. Glasgow Barrowlands. The Cult, with support from Gaye Bikers On Acid. The Electric/Love tour, I think it was billed as. I still remember it like it was yesterday. From the thrilling shock of hearing a band in-your-face loud for the first time (and that was only the support act) to the heart-stopping sight of the roadie bringing on Billy Duffy’s massive white Gretsch Falcon (“Aw man!, It’s gonnaehappenit’sgonnaehappenit’sgonnaehappen!!!“) to the sputtery spark of said guitar being plugged in and amplified through the Spinal Tapesque coupla dozen or so Marshall stacks to the anticipation in the air almost as thick as the exotic smells wafting around me and my wide-eyed pals to the lights going down and the intro music starting AT ONCE (some rousing classical piece or other, my mind tells me it was Ride of the Valkyries, but I may be wrong) to the shock of hearing Ian Astbury speak for the first time “Yaykickayussmuthafuckinglasgow” (he was in transition at this point from Love-era bangles ‘n beads rattlin’ hippy to the Jim Morrison/Wolf Child American-twanged sweary twonk with furry trapper hat) to the mentalness of the mosh pit during the main event itself (in which I lasted all of half of a glam-slamming Big Neon Glitter before a wet with sweat biker jacket landed on my head and a big hairy guy pushed me out the road) to the first of what would be many asthmatic runs back to Central Station to discover we were too late for the train to the fruitless wander around Anderston Bus Station at midnight just in case a bus with ‘Irvine’ happened to pull up just for us to phoning one of my pal’s sleeping dads who arrived extremely pissed off and drove us down the road in deathly silence while our ears rang like billy-o and we pondered to ourselves why The Cult had turned themsleves into Def Leppard. Breathtakingly magic? Not ‘alf, as they say.

Here’s that self-same Cult, 10 days later, recorded live at the mixing desk from Hammersmith Odeon. Quite thin and weedy sounding. Not like I remember it at all. Maybe you had to be there, although the You Tube clip below (pointless but thrilling equipment trashing ‘n all) is pretty terrific and much more how I remember things, even after a quarter of a century.

Love Removal Machine

Li’l Devil

Revolution

Useless fact

A few months later, The Cult would take this tour to the enormodomes of the U S of A where they would be supported by fresh faced new kids on the block Guns ‘n Roses.

Gone but not forgotten, Live!

Squeaky Drum Time

Craig McAllister

It’s getting towards the time of year when false promises made by desperate men in expensive jackets look about as likely to come to fruition as The Smiths reforming and playing a gig in my living room. Yes, football managers up and down the country are maybe starting to regret the arrogant boasts of silverware and European adventures made in August when the disappointments of last season had barely been cast aside. New season, same old problems. I’m sure you can apply that phrase to your team. Leagues can be won and lost in an instant, with little room left for catch up. The needless booking leading to the unfortunate suspension. The wrong substitution. The wrong formation. Flat back four or holding mid? Decisions, decisions, decisions! Managers unfamiliar with the giddy heights of the top of the league will look nervously over their shoulder as the teams behind them ramp up the war of psychology and bare their teeth. I know how worked up I get over Fantasy Manager. The real thing must be oh, at least twice as bad. Squeaky bum time, as someone once said.

Squeaky drum time is something else entirely. Led Zeppelin, by the time they were making Led Zeppelin III were formidable. They rocked harder, louder and longer than anyone else, with a blues bluster famously described as ‘tight, but loose‘. They could also swing like Sinatra. This was absolutely down to John Bonham. If you see pictures of him and his drumkit from this era you’d notice how basic it was. Compared to the double bass and cymbal stack flab preferred by many of the rock aristocracy at this time, Bonham’s kit looks like a Fisher Price My First Drumkit. Yet the power generated from it would be enough to keep the National Grid ticking over for a week. On Led Zeppelin III, save for an occassional flashy Jimmy Page overdub, much of the material was recorded live and committed straight to tape. In. Out. Job done. With America waiting to be conquered, there was simply not enough time to re-do each track 20 times and splice together the bass track from Take 3 with the vocals from Take 18. Which meant by the time the album was mixed and released, an annoying noise had found itself being magnetised to tape and recorded for posterity. Bonham’s bass pedal had developed an annoying squeak and it can be heard throughout the album. You may have listened to Led Zep III before and never noticed it, but once it’s pointed out, you’ll never be able to listen to it again without hearing it. It’s particularly prominent on the slow blues of Since I’ve Been Loving You. Thump! Squeak, squeak, squeak. Thump! Squeak, squeak, squeak. Thump! Squeak, squeak, squeak! Like the bedsprings in a  cheap honeymoon hotel it’s right there, squeaking away underneath everything you do.

Remastering the tracks at the start of the 90s, Jimmy Page ruefully remarked,

The only real problem I can remember encountering was when we were putting the first boxed set together. There was an awfully squeaky bass drum pedal on “Since I’ve Been Loving You“. It sounds louder and louder every time I hear it! That was something that was obviously sadly overlooked at the time.

Someone else who overlooked the squeaky drum pedal was James Brown. Given his penchant for strict disciplinary control, it’s amazing that he let Nate Jones (and not Clyde Stubblefield as many think) near his kit without a can of WD40 before recording the one chord groove of Give It up, Turnit Loose. Not as prominent as the John Bonham squeak, it’s nonetheless right there, forming part of the distinctive fluid funk that James Brown was famous for. Jones plays like a particularly funky octopus throughout, all pitter pattering snare and tsk-tsk-tsk hi hats. Fans of yer Stone Roses may not be too surprised to hear traces of Reni’s drum playing style filtering in and out.

*Bonus Track!

Bob Dylan also fell foul to studio gremlins, though this had nothing to do with him, or even his drummer. It was only after his MTV Unplugged album had been released that the Bobcats and Dylanologists of the world noticed a tiny bit of looped audience applause that repeated now and again throughout Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door. Two excited whoops and an elongated whistle are enough to have you reaching for the ‘skip’ button before too long. Later versions of the album were corrected, but if you’re one of the many who bought it straight away, you were left with the whoops ‘n whistles repeated ad nauseum. Not to offend anyone from that side of the Atlantic, but those American audiences sure like ta whoop…

Cover Versions, Double Nugget, Gone but not forgotten

If You Like To Gamble I Tell You I’m Your Man…

Craig McAllister

You win some, lose some (it’s all the same to me)……………I don’t share your greed, the only card I need is the Ace Of Spades the Jack Of Diamonds. Or depending where you are and who you’re listening to, the Jack O’ Diamonds.

Jack O’ Diamonds is a classic of its kind. A song about cards, gambling and losing. Which is one and the same I suppose. It was often sung as a lament on the lost highways, biways and plantations of the southern states whenever one unlucky gambler lost his lot playing Coon Can, an arguably politically incorrectly named version of a card game that we nowadays would call Rummy. Like most songs of its ilk, it has ancient roots, some stretching back to the Highlands of Scotland, others stretching less far back to the American Civil War. In 1926, Blind Lemon Jefferson was the first to cut a recording of it. You may never have heard it before, but you’ll know exactly how it sounds – deep southern blues with a petted lip and rudimentary knife-as-slide guitar, coated in what sounds like a thousand eggs frying outside Aldo’s chip shop on a Friday night. It’s quite possibly the oldest record I’ll ever put on here. It’s amazing that it exists at all, a fact highlighted by the eerie, ghostly state in which it is preserved.

Since 1926, it’s taken on a life of its own. Jack O’ Diamonds has been recorded a gazillion times by every two-bit country bluegrass and blues singer that ever lived. And the rest. Lonnie Donegan, the King Of Skiffle, released his version in 1957. A heady mix of hiccuping vocals, frantically scrubbed acoustic guitars and some fine Scotty Moore a-like electric pickin’, it sows the seeds for all future DIY punk aesthetists everywhere. Old tea chest and string as upright bass guitar. Washboard as rhythm section. School choir harmonies. It’s terrific! Without Lonnie Donegan, The Beatles might never have happened, Western pop music as we know it would be very different and we’d all be listening to Mongolian jazz. Probably. But you knew that already. Anyway, if you have the time, you might want to read this.

The best version of Jack O’ Diamonds is, to these ears, the 1966 version by The Daily Flash. Little-known outside of Seattle, The Daily Flash were a fantastic garage-punk band. All wailing harmonicas, fuzz bass and obligatory ear-bleeding guitar solo, their version sounds nothing like the other two. The rhythm underpinning it all brings to mind the rattle and roll rumble of the coal-laden Hunterston Power Station train as it thunders past my house in the wee small hours most nights. Terrifying, yes. Noisy, yes. And guaranteed to keep you awake just the same as that bloody train.

Cover Versions, Get This!

Real Moody Blues

Craig McAllister

Or Under The Covers with Mick Jagger. Now there’s a thought ladies. He’d be all hips, lips ‘n finger slips. Gads!

In the mid 70s, the Rolling Stones released Metamorphosis, a long-delayed compilation of demos, outtakes and Decca-era odds ‘n sods. Although subsequent releases would include a few of the tracks, Metamorphosis didn’t stay in print very long, becoming something of a Stones’ collectable (until recently, that is, when it was made available on SACD). It’s rumoured that some of the demo tracks (eg Heart Of Stone and Out Of Time) featured uncredited appearances from seasoned sessioneers Jimmy Page and Big Jim Sullivan and that Mick Jagger was in fact the only actual Rolling Stone on some of these tracks. Included amongst the flotsam and jetsom of discarded Stones nuggets was I Don’t Know Why, a cover of Stevie Wonder’s I Don’t Know Why (I Love You). Recorded the very night that Brian Jones died/drowned/was done in (July 3rd 1969), it finds the Stones in fine form, with the newly recruited Mick Taylor contributing a fine slide guitar solo to the proceedings. Loose and funky, with its Gimme Shelter guitars, brass section and keys courtesy of the ugly Stone, Ian Stewart, it’s the real moody blues, all descending atmospherics and impending sense of doom. Shame on Jimmy Miller who in his wisdom decided to fade it out just as the band were beginning to sizzle and things were getting interesting.

The original Stevie Wonder version was released alongside My Cherie Amour and found its way onto either the a-side or the b-side, depending on which ‘territory’ (to use horrible record company speak) you were in, creating what must surely be the strangest pairing of Stevie tracks on the one slab of vinyl – the sugar coated lovey dovey one side coupled with the fuggy paranoia of the other side. I know which side I prefer.

And talking of saccharine-sweet, even the Jackson 5 got in on the act.  Their version is from their second LP (ABC) released in 1970 and is full of little Michael’s trademark whoops, yelps and heart-stopping helium high vocals. It builds and builds on a crescendo of strings and the pistol-crack of the Motown snare, the Jackson brothers allowing Michael to take centre stage as if his life depended on it (which, of course given the reputation of Father Jackson, it kinda did).  He nails it, of course. It’s pretty bloody fantastic if truth be told.

He ain’t heavy, He’s my brother.

*Bonus Track! Saving the best for last…..

Stevie Wonder is a musical genius, there is no debate over this. Child prodigy, autocratic studio pioneer, groundbreaking, etc etc (you know all this already). By 1974 he was on his 17th album, the unfashionable and often overlooked Fulfillingness First Finale. Coming towards the end of a phenomenal run of albums – 1971’s Music Of My Mind, 1972’s Talking Book, 1973’s Innervisions, 1976’s Songs In The Key Of Life. What was lazy-arsed Stevie up to in 1975, eh? Well, given that Songs In The Key Of Life is a double, you could still argue that he was making an album a year. That’s an album a year, Thom Yorke. And everyone a bona fide stone cold classic. Food for thought, eh? Anyway, Fulfillingness First Finale is equal parts dancefloor Stevie and socio-political pop Stevie. You Haven’t Done Nothin’ is, rather thrillingly, Son of Superstition, right down to the funky clavinet, horn breakdown and hi-hat heavy drums. What’s particularly impressive is that except for the bass guitar part, Stevie plays everything on this record. Everything! He even ropes in our old friends the Jackson 5 to sing the ‘doo doo wop‘ backing vocals. And he took it all the way to Number 1.

If this doesn’t have you doing the white man ain’t got no rhythm but digs it anyway dance, there’s no way back for you. If you only download one thing from Plain Or Pan this year….etc etc….blah blah blah……..

Get This!, Hard-to-find, Kraut-y, Sampled

Vorsprung Durch Technik

Craig McAllister

Vor 30 Jahren Kraftwerk schafften es auf Platz 1 mit ‘Das Modell’, möglicherweise der unwahrscheinlichste Rekord, solche hohen Status zu erreichen, und eine, die immer dem Aufzeigen würden die vier Düsseldorfians fest in der ‘One Hit Wonder ” listen. Natürlich können Sie und ich wissen es besser.

Elegant gekleidete junge Männer und Pioniere der elektronischen Musik in einer Zeit, die westliche Welt ging ga-ga für lange Haare, Leder und Les Pauls, sie waren für viele der Ying zu den Beatles Yang. Einige können sogar so weit gehen zu sagen, sie waren die einflussreichste Band aller Zeiten. Nicht ich, aber dann habe ich immer eine Strat zu einem Synth bevorzugt. Pionier der Elektro Hip-Hop-Haus (ist, dass selbst ein Genre?) Afrika Bambaataa würde wahrscheinlich mit mir nicht einverstanden. Er wurde sicher von minimalistischen Techno Kraftwerks inflenced, Kneifen große Teile des Trans Europ Express für seine eigene höchst einflussreiche und bahnbrechende Planet Rock. Ohne Bambaataa keine Detroit House-Szene und alles andere, dass inspirierte (Happy Mondays für ein, wenn Du sitzt dort denken: “Ach. Wer über Tanzmusik cares?” Joy Division, mit ihrer eisigen Soul-Rhythmen und weniger repetitive Riffs waren klar große Fans. und ohne Joy Division, New Order und nicht alles, was von ihnen folgten. Bowie war so beeindruckt von Kraftwerk (und die deutsche Szene im Allgemeinen), die er nach Berlin ging und nahm seine berühmte Berlin-Trilogie von LPs als Hommage verliebt. Aber dann, so tat U2. Und armen Mannes U2, (C**dplay), abgetastet großen Teilen der Computer Liebe für diesen “, wenn Sie ein Bild zu machen” Lied von ihnen. also, Kraftwerk. Einflussreiche in allen möglichen Weisen. der Musik toll. Robotic, sich wiederholende und reif für eine Neubewertung …

Das Modell

Autobahn

Die Roboter

Computer Liebe

All above tracks are in German, if you haven’t guessed already. I selfishly included Die Roboter as my kids think it’s great. “We are stinky robots!” they happily sing along. It fits too! Have a listen!

Having trouble reading my attempt at Google Translate-enhanced schoolboy German? Click here and copy ‘n paste the above text.

Tschüs!

*Useless Trivia…

Daniel Miller, head honcho at Mute Records (and therefore someone who owes Kraftwerk a huge debt) owns the vocoder that produced the wonderful vocals on Autobahn, amongst many others in the early career of Kraftwerk. “It’s like owning Hendrix’s guitar,” he mused on BBC4’s ‘Synth Britannia‘ a year or so back.

Get This!, Hard-to-find, Live!

Flesh Of My Flesh Of My Flesh Of My Flesh

Craig McAllister

Not the most well-known Orange Juice track, although it is on the self-same Rip It Up album as The Hit. And was released as the follow-up to that self-same number 8 smash hit, peaking at a slightly less chart-troubling number 41. Fame fame fickle fame, to paraphrase one of our other pop treasures. And not the coolest Orange Juice track either. That would be Blue Boy if you were wondering. And certainly not the best Orange Juice track, although there’s something about Flesh Of My Flesh that brings me back time and time again.

Maybe it’s the acid-tongued Collins’ bittersweet vocal, “Here’s a penny for your thoughts (incidentally you may keep the change)“. It’s a good one, but, nah. Most of the time the lyrics are incidental (there’s that word again). It’s the overall sound that reels me in. Always has been, even with Dylan. Orange Juice knew their onions, as they say, and the reference points, however fashionable or otherwise they may have been in 1982, are there for anyone with even half a scholarly outlook on pop music to spot. Maybe it’s the Chic-esque rinky-dink guitars and I Want Your Love descending chimes. Talent borrows and genius steals, after all. Maybe it’s the wee burst of ba-ba-ba-Bacharaque brass every now and again, recalling Dionne Warwick at her easiest of easy listening. Or maybe it’s just the sting of distorted vintage guitar riffing in and out whenever Edwyn thinks the track veers too close to pipe ‘n slippers pastiche. Maybe even it’s the Philly soul guitar break that pops up here and there on both single versions (it is a belter of a riff, if you want to know). Or maybe (though less likely) it’s the none-more-80s-sounding 12″ version, with it’s extended breaks, congas and bongos, ting-a-ling percussion and of-it’s-time super-slick st-st-st-stoodio production.  Whichever way you look at it, Flesh Of My Flesh by Orange Juice is a perfect wee record.

Jesus! Sandals! With Socks!

I’d love to tell you that after buying this in Rough Trade I ran up the road to play this to death in 1983, but I’m just not that cool. I would’ve been running up the road to play records to death by this point in my life, but in 1983 I was most probably running up the road with Electric Avenue or Down Under (look them up if you need to) swinging in the wind, John Menzies poly bag tearing into my newly teenaged wrists while I sprinted at full lung bursting pelt to get home tout de suite in order to perform the spiritual ritual of placing needle on vinyl. Eddy Grant and Men At Work. That was my 1983. It would be a few more years before Orange Juice made themselves known to me, but I’m glad they eventually found me.

The Music:

Flesh Of My Flesh (album version)

Flesh Of My Flesh (7″ version)

Flesh Of My Flesh (12″ version)

Flesh Of My Flesh (from a bootleg, live in London 83, probably the Lyceum in March)

All tracks are very different. The album version is, for want of a better word, smooth. The two single versions are spikier, more abbrasive, rawer, whatever you want to call them, and are better for it. The 12″ version features all of the production gimmickery mentioned before. Perhaps a slightly dated affair, I love it, for what that’s worth. The live version manages to be both punkish and funkish, with cringe-inducing out of tune keyboards replicating the brass parts. Haircut 100 this is not. Take from that what you will.