Cover Versions

I Can’t Stand Up For Falling Down Double Whammy

Craig McAllister

Round about 1990/91, John Peel played a version of I Can’t Stand Up For Falling Down on his late night Radio 1 show. It was loose, sloppy and fairly fantastic and I’m almost positive he said it was by Nirvana. Given the year, this would be the post-Beach/pre-Nevermind globe straddling Nirvana. Peel mentioned something about a Japanese compilation called Teriyaki Asthma, and though I can find these albums online, as far as I can see there’s no mention of …Can’t Stand Up… on any of them. No matter where I search or who I ask, I can’t seem to find a recording of it anywhere. To all intents and purposes, it just doesn’t exist. Or does it? Over to you…

 
For years I was under the impression that I Can’t Stand Up For Falling Down was an Elvis Costello original. It was released on 1980’s ‘Get Happy’ but began life in more dubious circumstances. Following the collapse of Radar (the label Costello recorded for up until this point) and fresh from producing The Specials’ first album, his manager Jake Riviera approached 2 Tone with the idea of releasing the track as a one-off single until a label was found and a deal was struck to release the Get Happy LP. WEA, owners of Radar, were not impressed. Given that they had been distributing his records, they felt that they had a stake in Costello’s success and promptly served a writ on 2 Tone, stopping them releasing the record.
The few thousand 7”s that had been pressed were given away at a Rainbow Theatre gig in London, and Riviera sneakily pressed up some more which were given away at other London and American gigs. Interviewed in Record Collector No 363, Jerry Dammers takes a slightly different view point :
“Jake Riviera cheekily printed up a few thousand Elvis Costello singles on the 2 Tone label, obviously thinking that I would be delighted to have such a major star on the label, but I was having none of it, 2 Tone being strictly ska at that time. So Elvis was forced to give these singles away free at his gigs.”
 
These 2 Tone singles are now ridiculously collectible. If you have one it’s worth checking out what the 2 Tone nuts’ll pay for it. Disappointingly, my version comes from a Best of 2 Tone CD I got about 20 years ago. No cash-in for me.
 
Hipsway. Glasvegas taking notes just out of shot.
For years I was met with blank stares and sneering indifference from trying-too-hard-to-be-cool wankers in West of Scotland record shops whenever I asked for Hipsway (aye, really!) doing It’s A Family Affair, until I found out it was just called Family Affair. I had seen Hipsway play it live and assumed it was an old b-side or something, having never heard Sly Stone at this point in my life. I doubt those wankers behind the counter had heard Sly either cos no-one ever corrected me and pointed out what it was I might be asking for. Even the nice wee old woman who worked behind the counter in RS McColl’s record department (best record shop in the world by the way!) at Irvine Cross couldn’t help me. I got into soul music big time when I worked in record shops myself and had access to all these artists I had heard of but never heard. That was when I discovered that many of the records I liked were cover versions. The Jam doing Stoned Out Of My Mind? That’s a Chi-Lites cover, man! The Black Crowes doing ‘Hard To Handle’? That’s an Otis Redding cover! And it’s not as good as the original (of course). Elvis Costello doing I Can’t Stand Up For Falling Down? That’s an old Sam & Dave song. Is it? Oh, so it is! But whereas the Elvis version is an uptempo new wavey 2 minute wonder, Sam & Dave’s original is a different kettle of crawfish altogether.
Sam & Dave. Or Dave & Sam. I’m no’ sure.
Theirs is an exhausted, knees-to-the-floor, crumpled in a pool of sweat, southern soul tearjerker. Half the speed of Costello’s with twice the soul and despair, it’s a belter. What makes it all the more amazing is when you know the story of Sam & Dave. For most of their time together, they barely spoke to one another. They had separate dressing rooms. They turned up separately to shows. By the 70s, one of them might not even turn up at all. Which made it difficult for the promoter promoting the Sam & Dave Show. Sam had aspirations for going solo. Dave resented this. Sam hated the ‘Sam & Dave Show’ material they were made to perform. On stage, they would constantly try and out-do one another, which made for outrageous dance-offs and a frenzied live performance. Following the 1967 Stax/Volt tour of Europe, Otis Redding refused to go on after them as night after night they brought the house down – Follow that Otis and all that. Aye, Sam & Dave’s version is the real deal. Though not as good as the cover……
 
*Apologies for the layout/font/spacing etc. My computer’s having an off day.
Hard-to-find

Thumbs aloft!

Craig McAllister

How much???!!!!????  for a Paul McCartney ticket?

Update

How much? How much? About a month’s worth of Tesco shopping for 3 tickets, that’s how much. Gulped then clicked ‘return’.

Of course.

They’re the best possible seats, but whathaveidone?

Cover Versions, Hard-to-find

A Kinks Klunker and a Kouple of Klassiks

Craig McAllister

Call it The Establishment, Rock Royalty, whatever you fancy, but every songwriter has plenty skeletons rattling around their songwriting closet. For every Helter Skelter there’s a Frog Chorus. For every Sad Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands there’s a Wiggle Wiggle. For every Heroes there’s a Laughing Gnome. If you dig deep enough you’ll find that no hero-worshipped songwriter is immune from it. They’ve all written rubbish at some point and some of it has even made it to vinyl.

Kinks ’83 model.

I came to The Kinks via 1983’s Come Dancing, but I was in denial about them for a long, long time. “The Kinks? Oh, they’re an old band.” said my mum. “I met Ray Davies in a pub in Arran once. Or was that Jeff Beck?” Like any normal 13 year old, anything my parents liked, I didn’t (or shouldn’t). If they hated Relax by Frankie Goes To Hollywood as much as they said they did, I was only going to buy the 12″ and play it non-stop for half a year. Ditto The Kinks’ Come Dancing. I loved it. I bought it. I played it to death when my mum wasn’t around to hear me playing it. Sometime later I borrowed the LP with Come Dancing on it (State Of Confusion) from the library and was massively underwhelmed. What’s all the fuss about those Kinks? This is pub rock. And not even good pub rock. George Thorogood and the Destroyers. Now there’s some decent pub rock for you. I was a good few years away from setting foot in a pub, but I knew. I did. 

State Of Confusion was so bad I didn’t even tape it. The band themselves seemed to be in some state of confusion. Were they rock? New wave? Acoustic balladeers? Nah, they were the bloody Kinks, mate. Only, they were going downhill fast without the brakes on. A severley diluted, sanitised version of the real Kinks that I had yet to hear. Of course a few years later I discovered the true Kinks and came to love them. Ray Davies doesn’t have to apologise for anything he’s written, recorded or released. You and I both know that. But the iPod threw up this stinker of a tune the other day. I had no idea who it was and was beginning to doubt my own taste in music. Then amongst the strangled power chords and strained vocals something jumped out at me. I recognised a wee bit of the voice. T’was only Ray Davies! On Disc 6 of Kinks box set Picture Book. Aye. Disc 6. The disc no-one will ever play more than once. Not The Kinks’ finest hour, that’s for sure. And lo and behold, the track I was about to skip was State Of Confusion, title track from the aforementioned 1983 elpee. It took me all the way back to when I thought the Kinks were Krap. Yuck! It’s a stone cold sure fire Kinks Klunker and no mistake. You have been warned.

I prefer my Kinks tight of trouser, modish of cloth and shaggy of hair. They were a fantastic garage band, a fact often overlooked in the clamber to place them at the top of the classic songwriting pedestal, but find a space in your heart and a few minutes of your time to appreciate the following tracks….

Here’s Sittin’ On My Sofa, Milk Cow Blues and I Need You. I’ve posted I Need You before (here), but You Need It. You Need All Of Them to be honest. As you listen, spare a thought for how they got that guitar sound. If you’ve read Ray’s X-Ray semi-autobiography, you’ll already know that brother Dave took a knitting needle to his amp one day in a fit of squabling sibling rivalry and burst a hole right throught the speaker cone. Cue much fuzzed-up distortion and the riff for You Really Got Me….

Ray and Dandy Dave

Gone but not forgotten, Hard-to-find, Sampled

Superbe? Non, Sublime! (see video for details)

Craig McAllister

Confession time. Leaving aside the ubiquitous and brilliant Je t’aime (moi non plus), until last weekend I had never heard a single Serge Gainsbourg record. I had been reading an article about his daughter Charlotte and how she had been working with Beck. The article mentioned that Beck’s Sea Change album (a favourite of mine) was heavily influenced by Histoire de Melody Nelson, Gainsbourg’s accepted masterpiece. Knowing that other favourites of mine like Jarvis Cocker, St Etienne and Stereolab were fans, it seemed obvious and (long overdue) that I should pay a visit a la maison de Serge and I duly got myself a copy of Histoire de Melody Nelson. I’m glad I did.

 

Where has this music been all my life?! I had expected Gainsbourg to come across like some Gallic garlic-breathed, Gitanes rasping Tom Waits on heat. Which, when I think about it, sounds pretty brilliant actually. But no! Sure, with his droopy eyes and beaky nose he might look like a particularly pervy old turtle (what did the ladies see in him?), but close your eyes and he sounds fantastic. Histoire de Melody Nelson is all street walking, hip thrusting bass and funk guitar. The vocals are practically spoken and drip with what I assume to be lust – my French isn’t as good as it used to be but given Serge’s track record I must assume that this is the case. After all, the guy has history….

Hee hee! The album is (whisper it again – see Sopht Rock post below) a concept album. A Rolls Royce driving Serge knocks a pretty young girl off her bike. As he runs to her aid his thoughts turn not to how badly injured she is, but how beautiful she looks. Naturellement. Sleazy? You bet. Think Marvin Gaye dressed not in a modish mohair suit but in a dirty raincoat. How come he got away with stuff like this and R Kelly ended up in the jail? Well, to answer my own question, R Kelly’s music is clearly criminal enough…
 
Histoire de Melody Nelson is equal part Funkadelic and equal part Jacques Brel. Given the combination of music and subject matter, Prince must surely be a fan. The playing on it is outstanding. Not surprising given the calibre of the musicians. No household names, but the individuals involved have impressive form.

On guitars, Big Jim Sullivan and Vic Flick. Big Jim was an in demand sessioneer in the 60s (He was ‘Big’ Jim so as not to confuse him with Little Jim(my) Page), he played with Tom Jones in his 70s Vegas Golden Era, befriending Elvis in the process, and appears, allegedly and un-credited, on almost 1000 hit singles. Vic Flick was part of the John Barry Seven. You’ve heard his guitar playing a million times before – it’s his distinctive twang that plays the James Bond Theme. As well as playing in assorted musical line ups in the 70s, keyboardist Alan Hawkshaw wrote much music for adverts, composed a ton of BBC library music and came up with Chicken Man, better known to most of you here as the Grange Hill theme. Most impressively of all, he wrote the music you hear on Countdown as the clock ticks down to zero. Bassman Herbie Flowers has many strings to his bass/bow. He is known to many as bassist in 70s classic/prog/rock fusion ensemble Sky and he is known to 80s kids as the writer of novelty pop hit Grandad, but he is perhaps best known for playing that bassline on Lou Reed’s Walk On The Wild Side. But, hey boy, you knew that already, didn’t you?

Serge et Jane B. Lucky B.

Histoire de Melody Nelson is a short album, less than half an hour long, and sounds like one continuous piece of music. This is the best way to listen to it. I’ve posted a track below (listen out for the way he croons “merde”), but really, to get the full experience, you should allow yourself half an hour to enjoy the album as a whole. While you do, have a perv at the cover. That’s Jane Birkin on the front. And I don’t think she’s wearing much more than that pair of jeans…..

Serge Gainsbourg Melody

Following on from this week’s epiphany, my search for Serge has led me to a wonderful album called Les Annees Psychedelique. It contains every bit of French freak-out funk and jazz you could ever possibly need. One track stood out above all. Requiem Pour Un Con reminded me of an old track by The Folk Implosion. Playing the 2 tracks back to back I realised that The Folk Implosion had sampled and looped the opening drum track and fashioned it into a fantastic instrumental tribute to Gainsbourg named ‘Serge‘.

Also on Les Annees Psychedelique is Bonnie & Clyde, Serge’s 1968 duet with Brigitte Bardot. Not as famous as Je t’aime, but equally as good. I’m now off to find Serge’s original version of said track, featuring Bardot instead of Birkin on vocals. À beintôt! 

Bof!

Live!, Most downloaded tracks

Sopht Rock

Craig McAllister

When Revolver came out, or Dark Side Of The Moon, or Never Mind The Bollocks, or Appetite for Destruction, or Nevermind or (add yer own here _____(mine would be XO by Elliott Smith)), did the public immediately sit up and shout “Classic Album!!” with much gusto and emphasis on the 2 exclamation marks, or did they let the music fester inside their collective brains for a few months before decrying it worthy of such lofty status?

The mists of time have blurred perception of such trivial matters, and I suppose we’ll never know how it felt for the record buying public as a whole to hear these albums for the first time, but for what it’s worth I think most of these albums were growers first and classics later; albums full of songs, sounds and symphonies that lodged themselves into the brain after many needle drops and repeated listens and gradually became so important to the listener that over time they knew and loved every little detail about them. But what stands the above records apart from the XOs of the world is that those tiny little details were so important to thousands, even millions of people.

Alongside Elliott Smith’s finest hour stands The Sophtware Slump by Grandaddy. I’ve loved it and played it to death since it was released in 2000. Maybe not every day, or every week or even once a month, but at least a couple of times a year I’ll reach for it (I don’t need to dig it out, I know exactly where it is) and listen to it. And I mean listen to it. Not as background music while the TV flickers silently in the corner with subtitles on. Not as background music while I fry something to death on the gas hob. No. I sit there in my favourite chair and listen to it from start to finish. Uninterrupted. Which is hard in a house with 2 young children and a wife with a ‘to do’ list longer than a giraffe’s neck, but I manage it somehow.

As a band, Grandaddy mostly passed me by, but I was working in a record shop (remember them?) when The Sophtware Slump came out and I played it to death one afternoon, bought it that night, went home and played it to death again, went to work the next day, played it to death again….you get the idea. Sandwiched somewhere between ZZ Top and those Fleet Foxes, most of Grandaddy had the finest beards in music. And like those two hirsute bands above, they had the tunes to match. Taking elements of 70s Pink Floyd (none of yer trendy Syd-era Floyd here), the album is mainly a (whisper it) concept album about science v’s nature/man v’s robots – a full 2 years before fellow cosmic travellers the Flaming Lips had thought up the ‘original’ concept about Yoshimi and his pink robots. Opening track He’s Simple, He’s Dumb, He’s the Pilot begins with some chirpping birds and creaking front porch banjo before blooming into this magical 8 minute opus on 21st Century living. Coincidentally, when the band supported Elliott Smith, Elliott was fond of joining Grandaddy on stage to sing along (crappy old mp3 of it here) The album meanders melancholically through ruminations on androids who drink themselves to death and the problems of and with technology before arriving at this – Miner at The Dial-A-View, a weird and wonderfully melodic tale about ‘dreaming of going home’ – back to pre-CCTV times.

Tracks ebb and flow from one to another, an acoustic guitar here, a spacey keyboard there, all sewn together by a high pitched reedy voice much like Wayne Coyne of the Flaming Lips or Mercury Rev’s Jonathan Donahue. If Neil Young had lost the Les Paul and kicked out the (Pearl) Jams (Motherfucker!) he might’ve been making records as essential as this.

For my money, The Sophtware Slump is as essential as OK Computer. It really is. You’ve heard a coupla tracks. Now do the decent thing and go and buy it. Whatchawaitin’ for?

Gone but not forgotten, Hard-to-find, Sampled

Who Loves Ya Baby?

Craig McAllister

Aye, it may be Valentine’s day and Cupid may well have shot his arrow haphazardly in my direction, but there’s no room for slushy sentimental syrup here. Only the finest in 1970s funk (of course).

A track popped up on the iPod the other day and I was convinced I was listening to a rare outtake of The Temptations Papa Was A Rollin’ Stone. It had that same stop/start bass riff, sweeping cinematic strings and double-time handclaps, and it was only the absence of vocals that had me reaching for the ‘now playing’ menu to see what I was really listening to.

It was this, an obscure funk/soul track by Brinkley & Parker. Released in 1974, Don’t Get Fooled By The Pander Man could well be the theme for a long-forgotten down market cop show. Clipped wockawockawocka guitar, brass ‘n strings and a fantastic hi-hat and handclaps rhythm which kicks in around the 1 min 30 mark, Don’t Get Fooled By The Pander Man is the sound of beige leather jackets with over-sized floppy collars, 27″ bell bottoms and stacked cuban heels. With added car chases and Chinese food in cardboard boxes. As the man himself once said, Can You Dig It?

Ah, what the heck?!

I recently put up a rare version of Ball Of Confusion which is still available here. As another bonus, here‘s the full 11 minutes + version of Papa Was A Rollin’ Stone. Like that? You’ll like this – The Temptations Psychedelic Shack. A wee bit Sly, a wee bit Hendrix, a whole lotta groove.

Sometimes, the shortest posts are the best. I know you all just scroll through the crap that drips from my typing fingers til you find the mp3 links anyway. Bastards.

Anyway, thanks (as always) for visiting. I love ya, baby! Au revoir, a bientot!

Double Nugget, Gone but not forgotten

Go Compare.com

Craig McAllister

Here’s some proof, if any was really needed, that everything in music has been done before and will be done again to the nth degree. A regular visitor to these pages once pointed out to me how similar The Libertines ‘Last Post on the Bugle’ sounded to Australian psych-heads The Masters Apprentices 1967 track ‘War Or Hands Of Time’. Making a mental note I promised to myself I’d listen to both records back to back before writing a bit about them.

The Masters Apprentices

I’d forgotten all about this shallow promise until the other day when The Masters Apprentices track shuffled up on my iPod. And I didn’t recognise it at first. “I don’t remember putting those Libertines demos on here,” I thought. Then it clicked. It wasn’t the Libertines. It was ‘War Or Hands Of Time’. And it sounded an awful lot like ‘Last Post On The Bugle‘. It really does. 

Johnny Thunders Pete Doherty

A check on the sleevenotes of the self-titled Libertines second album reveals a wee clue – Last Post On The Bugle is jointly published by EMI and MCA/Universal Music Publishing. A further bit of internet digging reveals that the track is written by Doherty/Barat/Bower. Doherty and Barat you’ll know…..but you may not know that Bower is (presumably) Michael Bower, guitarist with The Masters Apprentices. Voila! Not quite an admission of theft from Pete ‘n Carl (there’s no writing credit on the album sleeve), but nonetheless, they’ve given half the publishing over to a long forgotten hippy living on the other side of the world.

War Or Hands Of Time

When I turn cold, I will be thinking of you
When I’m far away, try to remember what I said
The day I live, I’ll still be dreaming of your love
Wait for the clouds to pass your way
Wait for me I’ll be back some day

Whereas the original track was written about a soldier embracing his sweetheart before heading off to war, Doherty keeps the melody and rewrites the song’s original lyrics to address the break up of his friendship with Carl Barat and The Libertines.

Last Post On The Bugle

If I have to go
I will be thinking of your love
Oh somehow you’ll know
You will know
Thinking of your love
Slyly they whispered away
As I played the last post on the bugle

Go Compare! As I said, proof that everything in music has been done before. Proof, also, that junkies will steal just about anything. Even the melody from an old long-forgotten slice of Antipodean psychedelic rock.

It’s a fair cop, guv etc etc

 

Cover Versions

Kiss My Shades* (slight return)

Craig McAllister

Two people have been in touch over the past week or so and asked if I’d re-post some mp3’s. I don’t usually respond to requests like this because a) I cannae usually find the mp3s in question and b) if I can find them, I usually cannae be arsed with all the bother of uploading them again. Often the reason mp3s disappear suddenly from Plain Or Pan (or indeed any blog you visit)  is because a particular record company has spotted something they own and believe that the blogger making it available for free will stop you from buying it. I tend to post only hard to find/out of print stuff, but this argument doesn’t win with the powers that be and I’ve often received the internet equivalent of a record company knee capping by daring to post some dusty old forgotten slab of vinyl. Anyway Stephen Q and Quiff#1 (really!) this re-post (from November 07) is for you…..

Released in April 1984, this version of ‘Hand In Glove’ was promoted as a Sandie Shaw solo release, although it is essentially The Smiths with Sandie Shaw coming straight off the bench as some kind of super-sub. All those Smiths fans helped the single reach the dizzy heights of number 27. Even the cover art of the single is Smithsy in appearance. I’d imagine all Smiths aficionados would have the 3 Smiths tracks Sandie covered by now, but if not, here you go… 

sandie-sleeve.gif

The 7” featured 2 tracks – the lead track and her version of ‘I Don’t Owe You Anything’. ‘Hand In Glove’ is a reverb-drenched bash-along that Siouxsie Sioux would be proud of. The lead guitar riff sounds like a glockenspiel, and I mean that in a good way. The outro is terrific too. Different to the original. Not better. Not worse. Just different.  

sandie-smiths.jpg

Apart from the unusual introduction, Sandie’s version of ‘I Don’t Owe You Anything’ sounds an awful lot like the Troy Tate produced version that was intended for their first album before The Smiths binned it at the last minute. Maybe, way back in ’84 before Bongo, Sting and all those other worthless eco-warriers, The Smiths were into recycling their old junk, giving it to someone more deserving. It’s got a creepy, churchy-sounding keyboard part playing through the background and tons of jangling, clipped 12 string Rickenbacker. And the final chord is niiiiiiiiice. Sandie’s got a nice warble to her voice too. I like this version a lot. 

 sandie-johnny.jpg

The 12” featured ‘Jeane’ as an extra track. More acoustic than The Smiths, it’s just Johnny n’ Sandie, until some crooner in a big quiff and national health specs starts yodeling towards the end. No heavenly choirs, not for me and not for you, they sing. But I’m not so sure. Sandie Shaw’s 3 Smiths covers are amongst some of my favourite records.    

 sandie-moz-rosary.jpg

Forgive me father, for I have sing-ed

Around the time of the record’s release, Morrissey said, “I met her a few months ago and it seemed perfectly natural for me to seize the opportunity and ask her to work with us and she was incredibly eager and incredibly enthusiastic. She really liked the songs and she was very eager to do it. So, it’s happened and I’m very pleased.“ Four years later, post-Smiths and bored of Smiths-obsessed journalists, he cut short one inquisitive interviewer with, “It was so great for me personally that I don’t actually remember it happening“. 

sandie-leather-jacket.jpg

Is that real leather she’s wearing?

*   ’Kiss My Shades’ was the wee message scratched into the run-off groove of the 7”, trainspotters.

Gone but not forgotten, Hard-to-find, Sampled

The Godfather 3

Craig McAllister

I feel good! And so does my PC. Following a series of bangs, crashes, lost passwords and mis-firing emails, my old 20th century steam powered computer is back in the land of the living. So whilst the Antiques Roadshow were valuing it as a contemporary classic I’ve been busying myself listening to James Brown, the really early doo-wop influenced James Brown. Lo and behold, I get myself back online and discover that one of my pals has posted this on his Facebook page:

Mr Big Stuff, it’s surely a divine sign! I love the way he lets out one of those involuntary phlegmy ‘Huh!s’ towards the end. That’s why James Brown will never be bettered, if you ask me. Sadly, the self-styled Soul Brother #1 would never have done the Mashed Potato or the Tap Dancer to ‘Try Me’ or ‘Please Please Please’. Those dances were reserved for the BAM! 2,! 3! 4! BAM! 2,! 3! 4! funk-soul nuggets that earned him all those superlative-filled outrageous nick names. Tunes like ‘Cold Sweat’ or ‘There Was A Time’ or ‘Say It Loud (I’m Black & I’m Proud)’ sound great, but they look fantastic when The Entertainer breaks out one of his dance routines mid-song (Go to YouTube. Do not pass Go. Do not collect £200. Just Go! Now!)

The James Brown Revue began touring in 1960. Brown hired a tight, tight band who played for their lives with one eye on the crowd and both eyes on their leader. He’d point to the horn player at any given moment and expect him to blast out a note-perfect solo. He’d jab a finger at the drummer and expect him to ‘get wicked’ just like that. His band quickly learned to do just that because he’d fine them if they missed the first bar in any one of those jerky four-to-the-floor masterpieces. If they couldn’t take it to the bridge, it was the end of the road for them as musicians. But you knew all that already. In his Revue he’d always have some female company who would do a set at the start. Many of these women learned to give it up or turn it loose, so to speak, and they became on-the-road girlfriends of James Brown.

‘Marvellous’ Marva Whitney was one such lady. James Brown chose her set, sang duets on stage with her before his performance and generally did with her what he’d do with his other female singers. After a bit, Marva got fed up of Brown choosing her material and after trying but failing to become Mrs James Brown she left in a bit of a huff, though not before she’d recorded half a dozen or so funktastic solo tracks and the odd duet with James. She swapped one religious experience for another by becoming a God-fearin’, soul-stirrin’ minister in Kansas City. Here’s 3 of the most soulful and funkiest (and longest titled) she recorded with JB’s backing band.

Unwind Yourself

You Got To Have A Job (If You Don’t Work You Don’t Eat)

It’s My Thing (You Can’t Tell Me Who To Sock It To) Parts 1 &2

You’ll probably recognise riffs, melodies and tunes from elsewhere, not least other James Brown records.

I got to see James Brown live just the once. It was kinda tragic. Half way throught his set, Soul Brother #1 left for a quick costume change and while he did so, a magician came out and sawed a woman in half to the sound of Brown’s band playing furious funk. No kiddin’! It wasn’t that great really. The time I saw Prince, he was far better. Irony, huh?

Double Nugget, Hard-to-find

Denny Laine is in my ears and in my eyes

Craig McAllister

S’another couple of tracks in my fairly infrequent Double Nuggets series, where I take a couple of rarely heard gems from the 60s and thrust them centre-stage and under the spotlight and give them their 15 minutes of fame.

First up, Say You Don’t Mind by Denny Laine’s Electric String Band. Recorded and released in Year Zero for psych-heads (1967) betwixt and between Laine’s stints in the Moody Blues and Wings, this track is pastoral English baroque-pop personified. Deram had high hopes for the single, but it wasn’t until 1972 that former Zombie Colin Blunstone helped it into the charts with his own version. Ironic, really, as Say You Don’t Mind would give anything from the Zombies Odessey & Oracle album a good run for it’s money. A glass-half-full optimistic strumalong full of upbeat joy (you get the idea), if you like yer Paul Weller pastoralised (is that even a word?) or yer Foxes Fleet of foot, this track’s for you.

Next, a band who came straight outta Mod Central. Sounding naffink like the track above, Brighton-based Penny Peeps were named (my grandfather tells me) after those saucy seaside gizmos you could put a penny in and see a girl undressing. Cheeky scamps. This is a band who, had they been invented way back then, would’ve had The Who’s first album on constant repeat on the old iPod. The guitars ring like Townshend’s and the backing vocals ‘ooh‘ and ‘ahh‘ like a lost demo of Substitute (listen out too for the “I can sit for hours and hours and hours and hours” line just after the minute mark – pure ‘oo!) Aye. A harmony-heavy hammond-enhanced mod stomping 2 minutes 54 seconds, these kids are alright. Here you go.