As some readers would be aware, I sold off four metres of very collectible vinyl some years ago to a specialist record dealer. And, as expected, it left a major hole in my heart. Just last week however, a visitor to tubbyland came equipped with something like three terabytes of music – somewhere between 10,000 to 15,000 LPs (or CDs as we now call them) – which we then proceeded to download onto extra drives.
This sounds great I know, but trust me, the thrill is in the download and not the listening.
500 reggae albums alone. Now, while I’m a major fan due to the influence of my Dad, the great producer and pioneering sound engineer King Tubby, sorting thru the stuff for the killer selection is a task beyond me.
Anyway, this new lease of musical life is also an opportunity to revisit some faves from the past. And I’m not the only weblord declaiming on music at the moment. FROOG and MIKE (cf BlogRoll right) also, even if our tastes differ.
Where to begin and don’t expect anything after the mid-70s.
We should kick off with an instance of high studio drama, namely Phil Spector waving around a gun and then locking Ike Turner out of the control booth while producing River Deep, Mountain High. Phil presently lives in the Big House minus his toupee , and Ike has received a ton of bad press for wife beating before Tina divorced him and reinvented herself in the 90s.
Spector obviously liked to live dangerously, since Ike was no slouch when it came to personal ordinance. Once in the segregated 1950s a carload of drunk white boys thought they would indulge in a bit of nigger bashing and ran the band off the road. Ike promptly pulled his piece out of the glove box, walked over to the driver, shoved it in his ear and asked him about his death wish.
True, and this is a prime example of Ike and Tina chitlin circuit sound.
Bobby Bland in his glory days.
Tav Falco (and Panther Burns) made a grand entrance and then stuck his flick knife onto our table. I confiscated the bloody thing. One of a million versions.
It is pretty hard to dredge up any interest in blues these days, but Otis Rush is still worth a visit.
And, as you guess, this is what Mayall and Clapton listened to before they cut the Beano album so many decades ago, taken from Rush’s 1956 Cobra sessions.
For pure down home rusticity, Duane Allman and Johnny Jenkins.
When every vocal group was named after a bird.
A reworking of Jamo Thomas’s I Spy for the FBI by soulmiester Luther Ingram with a brilliant visual history of the FBI’s COINTLEPROgram to kill off (literally) the Black Panther movement in the States. Brilliant reworking of a Northern Soul dance fave.
And if you want the bookend, listen to The KGB made a Man out of Me by the Barracudas, fun English retro band.
The TAMI Show 1964. The Stones followed and one look at Brian Jones and you knew he was fucked.
Shifting genres, before concluding.
The Chocolate Watch Band.
First off, a snappy single.
Recall The Sopranos, the end of the very last episode, when you see Tony walking down the street away from the camera. Thought bubble. The Mob’s glory days are long gone, finito. Here am I, owner of a titty bar, squabbling over small time garbage contracts with Johnny Sacks. No longer even important enough to get whacked when when dining out, unlike my illustrious predecessors, who got clipped when gorging at Umbertos Clam House, John and Mary’s Italian American Restaurant and Sparkes Steak House. This was the audio.
The Chambers Brothers. This long track ushered in FM radio and they also made the cover of Time magazine
You decide on this one.