Son of a gun is an ancient turn of phrase that can be applied in both the positive and negative. “Why, you old son of a gun, you!” they’ll say in Westerns and Hollywood golden-era classics, a phrase of surprise to indicate that one of the protagonists has gosh darned gone and done it, whatever that may be. “You son of a gun,” one character might snarl to another, an indication that they’ve really said, “son of a bitch,” but the writer or vocaliser (or studio) has thought this too crass to say aloud. Centuries ago, in nineteen hundred and eighty-six, I can remember using that self same phrase in my Higher English exam, stopping short of using the word ‘bitch’ but hopeful that whoever was marking it would read between the lines. I got an A, so I’m thinking they did.
It’s a phrase that dates back 300 years and more, to the time of sea-faring clippers and naval gunships, to an era when it was standard practice to allow married couples to be together at sea. When the women invariably fell pregnant, they’d be forced to give birth in the space between the cannons on the ship, the widest space available. Being in this space allowed the naval men to go about their business of firing at the enemy or hauling away or scrubbing the deck without the unnecessary distraction of falling in or sliding around afterbirth. Subsequently, boys born in this manner were known as sons of guns. I’m assuming they drowned the girls, or had them working in the galley by the time they could walk. Happy to be proven otherwise though.
Son Of A Gun opens The La’s only album. A record that isn’t anything as shite as Lee Mavers would have you believe, it nonetheless would’ve benefited from the inclusion of some of the multiples of session tracks that have subsequently crept out, rather than the odd flat take or two that made up the official tracklisting. To get The La’s, Jim, you’ve got to magnetise them in the first take or two. That’s where the magic happens, when the song is still cooking and the band is still feeling their way around the melody and vibe of it all.
The La’s – Son Of A Gun (Take 2)
Their second recorded take of Son Of A Gun is proof. Long before Steve Lillywhite was drafted in to jigsaw Mavers’ abandoned album together, Jeremy Allom was tasked with manning those ’60s dust-covered faders. The group responds, rattling out a skifflish and rootsy version, full of air and life and that mystical, non-descript ingredient that makes The La’s unique.
The downtuned guitar picks out a clip-clopping rhythm, all bite in the high notes and snapping twang in the low. Mavers’ sing-songy voice floats across the melody, his sidekick John Power harmonising those ‘run rabbit run‘ lines in the chorus. A lovely wee guitar run plays behind the chorus, up and down the scales and back out of consciousness by the time Mavers has begun harmonising with himself. That’ll be double-tracking, Lee. We’ll not be having much more of that nonsense.
Anyway.
The sun is currently out here in North Ayrshire and, as is tradition in this house when that happens, the Trojan reggae gets blasted. Presently Trojan’s Tighten Up Volume 2 is making the heavily scarred wooden flooring vibrate, causing ripple effects in my daughter’s mug of tea and thudding its easy skanking bass off and out through the patio doors and into the back garden, maybe even entertaining the neighbours as it floats its way across the railway tracks to be vapourised by the ball of fire in the sky.
Rudy Mills – John Jones
What I know about Rudy Mills would easily fit into the 1 cm run out groove of this late 60s beauty, and the internet can’t tell me much more. What I can tell you is that John Jones is a fine example of rocksteady.
A mid-paced groover, it has all necessary ingredients for a rockin’ good time; squeaky organ, repeating four chord riddim, slightly wobbly backing vocals and a soulful, honest delivery that leaves you in doubt of its authenticity as a bona fide roots reggae classic. Not as well known, perhaps, as other tunes and artists from the era, it’s one that belongs in your ears, for today at least. Oh yeah – and it features a ‘son of a gun‘ lyric too, as it should for a song about a low down, lying, woman-stealing ne’erdowell.
Get down on it.
Plain Or Pan 