The Total Sound - The Studio 68!

I love the sound of Hammond in the morning. James Taylor, Jimmy Smith, Stevie Winwood and the rest. Add to that maestros Richard Bradshaw and Will Bevan. Put the needle on the Italian mod coloured vinyl and head into the technicolour night and youthful dreams of a reincarnation of Swinging London. “This is my happening and it freaks me out” is the opening Valley Of The Dolls gambit to Groovin’ With Mr B which unlocks the door to mayhem and beat heaven that stretches across the fourteen tracks on this brand-new release, courtesy of Detour records.

The Studio 68! were a riot live, as anyone who witnessed them will attest.  They also recorded a raft of great tunes, most of which have been under wraps for over three decades.  That is, until now.  This compilation of fourteen songs, all recorded during the late eighties and early nineties, showcase their defining modernist sensibility and panache.  There’s an inventiveness and creativity about these tunes that pushes forward into the future, while taking, in true mod magpie style, the influences and inspirations of the past.

Let’s go back to the opener.  The maelstrom of Hammond and guitar that is Groovin’ With Mr B blasts on all levels, setting the mood and announcing a manifesto that exudes maximum groovability.  From then on, it’s a roller coaster ride, through the psychedelic tones of The Feeling, the audacious mash up of Cliff Richards’ Devil Woman, smashing up the parts and putting them together into a brand new take, and the Byrds-esque vibe of Searchin’. 

With main songwriter Paul Moody on guitar/vocals, Pat O’Sullivan on bass and Simon Castell on drums, The Studio 68! produced a raft of up-front, quality tunes, many of which are contained here. There was a tape in circulation, sometime around 1986/87, which included live favourite, Closer Than Close, which is featured in all its glory. The title track The Total Sound is another blow-the-house-down instrumental and Get Out Of My Hair a call to arms of full-on proportions. Your Side Of Things was a definite live classic and it comes across as well here as I remember. Add to that the hundred mile an hour version of Back In The USSR and the eminently danceable Bradshaw composition Living In A World Of Your Own and it’s a selection that demands to be played at maximum volume.

But that’s only a sample of the range of tunes on this record. The album comes on very strictly limited green with white flashes vinyl and red label with “68” emblazoned in wonderful Mexico 70 lettering. As sharp as the creases on a Moody button-down and a Castell loafer, it’s one of the most anticipated releases of the year and one that doesn’t disappoint on any level. Do yourself a favour, head over to the Detour website and get hold of a copy. Put it on the stereo and set the house ablaze like it’s 1987 all over again.

Pop Versus Subterranean

This little collection arrived on my doorstep the other morning, to be perused at leisure, over strong coffee and a soundtrack of Jimmy Smith, which suits its vibes perfectly.  Jason Disley’s latest book on Beatnpress is a pocket sized collection of modernist beat poetry entitled Pop Versus Subterranean, with an introduction from poet and artist Becky Nuttall.  As Jason explains on his website, the underlying ethos of the collection is the relationship between popular and underground culture, that what is underground today could be popular tomorrow. 

But it’s scope is so much wider than that.  I’ve been delving into the book a lot over the last few days.  The thirty poems here draw you in with their rhythms, take you on a journey with their imagery that conjure up a vision of modern living – pre covid and beyond – mixed with beat literary themes and references.  There’s Pop art, jazz, culture, society and suburbia, with an underpinning of social conscience and morality – from the excesses of over-privilege, through Black Lives Matter and revolutions of the past, to reference to Les Zazous of forties Paris.  Along with much more. 

These are subjective descriptions of Pop art sensibility with, like the very best beat poetry, a turn of phrase, a shared viewpoint into the madness out there.  There are those wonderful moments when experiences cross, when you know that you see the world the same way.  “A dented tin on a shelf”, “raindrops pooling in my mind”, “peacocks leaving a trail of hypnotic eyes” are a few such instances. They are phrases that conjure up images, ones you won’t quickly forget.  

The opening description dedicates the book to “those who are creative.  The bohemians, the artists, the mavericks.  The go getters and the dreamers.  The stylish and the cool.”  I would exhort any of the above to get a copy of Pop Versus Subterranean.   It is an inspired collection.

Dexter Blows Hot And Cool

So Springtime is upon us and the light nights are here.  It may be a dull, overcast Sunday, but what the hell.  Let's stick on some more vinyl and blast it out like we mean it.

I've found myself reaching for a jazz masterpiece of perfection.  I bought Dexter Blows Hot And Cool in my sojourn in the capital some time in the eighties, when I was full of my
love of modern jazz, that seemed to effortlessly combine with my equally strong love of beat-inspired poetry and prose and left bank Parisian outpouring of ideas and beliefs from the twenties.  All Henry Miller and F Scott meets Kerouac and the rest.

Somehow it was all combined with records like this one.  Dexter Gordon, the great early bebop tenor saxophonist, and his band, including young pianist Carl Perkins, released this in 1955, though my copy was a re-release from Boplicity records with sleeve notes from Honest Jon from 1984.  The sleeve notes say the record was originally released on "the obscure Dooto label" when Gordon was 32.  It also relays a little tale that the opener Silver Plated had been on a local village bar in Jamaica in the 50's, which I find particularly inspirational.  I love the power of music to connect people, from that wonderful sunny island on the other side of the world seventy years ago, to me in overcast England in the third decade of the twentieth century.  Sit back, sip a beer and imagine the hip cats doing their thing.  Music and words can do that.  And the sax has a language its own.  

I was always impressed by the fluent, fluid style of playing on tunes such as  Silver Plated, the heartfelt cover of Cry Me A River and the invitation to get up and dance that is Bonna Rue.  Gordon of course has an appearance in On The Road, where Jack waxes lyrical about his bebop classic The Hunt.  That's certainly a tune to dig out, so easy with the wonders of the web, though less authentic than finding it in a dusty second hand shop.  The same goes for Go, his seminal album from 1962.  The perfect way to follow Dexter Plays.  So very good.

 So what's it to be on this bright March lunchtime, the day the clocks go forward and Spring in England is really about to start.

First off, I dig out my Brunswick box set from The Who which I acquired a few years back. It would be wonderful to own the originals of these slices of brilliance. They're on the holy grail of the second hand records list. I always keep my eyes open for them when I'm checking out vinyl in dusty vintage shops, or at least I did before lockdown. But the chances of finding original copies of I'm The Face/Zoot Suit and I Can't Explain are pretty remote. But I keep looking, along with a few other gems I could mention and probably will at some point.

So it's I Can't Explain first and those crisp, chiming chords blast into the mind and put a smile on the Face, just like they have all my life, since my twelfth birthday, when Beaty Meaty Big And Bouncy came into my possession for the first time. I Can't Explain could very well be the greatest record ever made, with its teenage questioning and wonder at life, its exuberance at what it all holds and vital, furious vocal fire, which precedes the pilled up modernist excess of My Generation and, in a sense, exceeds it. I Can't Explain is totally authentic, the genuine article, as far as these ears are concerned. Plus it sort of summarises all of Jean Paul Sartre's philosophy into a two minute pop song, which is no mean feat.

A couple more from the box set follow, both sides of the debut High Numbers single, Zoot Suit and I'm The Face. Penned by the late, great modernist guru, Peter Alexander Edwin Meaden, they ring as true today as they did when the record was first issued on Fontana back in the sixties. Love them both. And both have Quadrophenia connections, of course. The intro to Zoot Suit takes me straight to that clip in the film when Jimmy's getting ready to hit the tiles on Saturday night. And I'm The Face is of course reprised on the album in Sea And Sand. All quality stuff.

And after that, what then? Next up is a move to Tamla Motown and Junior Walker's greatest hits. First off the magnificence of Shotgun with its full on sax and driving beat that just make you want to dance round the kitchen. Some of the others we know well. How Sweet It Is To Be Loved By You and Roadrunner are Tamla staples. Others are less familiar. What Does It Take is a beautiful, soulful tune that just gets inside and takes you off to those heady days when soul was young and the world was opening up to new ideas.

But there you go. Coffee's ready and its aroma's wafting across. The sax is screaming and the rhythm hard hitting. There are more records to be listened to, books to be read, films to be watched. And, yes, it's almost Spring. What more could a boy about town want out of this glorious life?