Al Green

UNIVERSAL

LOVE: THE ESSENTIAL AL GREEN

HI/DEMON

White’s elaborate productions, with their captivating bass and pseudo-sophisticated strings, still await their critical due. Love Songs differs from previous White compilations in that we get full-length album versions of symphonic soul epics like “Never Gonna Give You Up”, reminding us of their debt to ’60s psychedelia (those harpsichords and atonal string intros), while 1991’s “Dark And Lovely” proves his creativity never dried up.

Al Green’s art, in contrast, was minimalist. Memphis-based producer Willie Mitchell cut out all echo, and Green’s voice is far more vulnerable (“Livin’ For You”). Most of this two-CD set’s 35 tracks sound self-enclosed, yet their subtle force remains evident, particularly on “Simply Beautiful”, where his intimate vocals seem to?as his ’74 album had it?explore your mind.

For all that they were the Ultimate Behemoth of ’70s Rock, I always think that if you don’t get Led Zeppelin it’s because you ain’t got no soul.

The thing that separated these Men from all the cock-rockin’ Boys was that they played with feel, with funk. They were The Greatest Hard Rock Band Ever not because they were telly-trashing, snapper-inserting Crowley fiends but because, dammit, they could play.

Over the lean, sinewy bass lines of JP Jones and the always deceptively straight stomping of John Bonham?a sociopathic Keith Moon, anyone??you had the full-throttle-but-weirdly-girly yelp of Robert Plant and crunching, multi-textured guitarshapes of Jimmy Page. Arguably the most successful chemistry experiment rock’s ever conducted.

Highlights on this newly conjoined Early Days And Latter Days set? What isn’t a highlight? From the word go?the double stab of the opening “Good Times, Bad Times”, as on the band’s debut?every note and beat just careers out of the speakers. Of all the limp nu metalheadz in today’s biz, only those Stone Age Queen fellas come remotely close to the loose/tight visceral grooves patented by Page/Plant/Jones/Bonham. I even love all the cod-folk acoustica?the Love-ish opening of “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You”, the Sandy Denny-graced “Battle Of Evermore”?but they’re filigree next to the primordial blues-funk bonequake of “Whole Lotta Love” and “When The Levee Breaks”.

And what of the Latter Days? Well, no one could pretend Houses Of The Holy or Presence are patches on albums one through four, but from Physical Graffiti comes the quite mind-blowing “Kashmir”, which repurposed the giant Bonzo thwack of “Levee” and brilliantly layered weird phased guitars and Asiatic strings over them.

“No Quarter” from Houses Of The Holy sounds pretty hot after 30 years, but Presence’s “Achilles’ Last Stand” is too fussily proggy by half. And what’s that wimped-out synth doing on “All My Love”, f’chrissakes? Ah well, back to Vol One…

The song remains the same. The power remains undiminished. Let it trample you underfoot.

In early 1970, Fleetwood Mac recorded three concerts in Boston with the notion of releasing a live album. Within weeks Peter Green had gone AWOL, throwing the band into disarray. The album was shelved. Some of the material later crept out on vinyl in the 1980s. Now comes the first in a planned three-CD series from those performances. “Black Magic Woman” and “Green Manilishi” bookend this first set, and in between there’s much mundane blues jamming, including an unforgivable 25-minute version of “Rattlesnake Shake”, making it for collectors only.

When Ziggy broke up the band in ’73, the Spiders’ Hull-born axe hero went it alone. Luckily his former employer was still on hand to offer a sprinkling of Stardust: David wrote the delicate, Hunky Dory-ish “Growing Up And I’m Fine”, the lyrics to “Music Is Lethal” (revisiting the glam histrionics of Aladdin Sane’s “Time”) and co-wrote “Hey Ma Get Papa” with Ronson (who, consciously or otherwise, sings after a Ziggy fashion). Fans of Bowie’s ’71-’74 glam period should still find this a beguiling and worthwhile footnote.

His greatest bequest to rock’n’roll bar The New York Dolls’ first album, Thunders’ 1977 post-Dolls debut L.A.M.F (that’s “Like A Mother Fucker”) is unquestionably one of THE great punk albums. However, its original mix was notoriously ropey?so bad Thunders tried to rectify it with 1984’s L.A.M.F. Revisited. Representing the album that should have been, these lost mixes therefore illuminate the savage beauty of the likes of “Born To Lose” and “Pirate Love” like never before.

Fantastic.

Poor, deluded Sid. Existing perfectly as an idea, he didn’t stand a chance when he dared to step out as a frontman in August 1978 at the Electric Ballroom, backed by Glen Matlock, Rat Scabies and Steve New. It was, apparently, an uproarious occasion, but this recording captures none of the spirit and all the grotesque inadequacy of Sid’s performance. Baying his allegiances to Iggy and Thunders, weaving a belligerently uncertain path through his own ‘hits’ and a couple of Pistols covers, he sounds even more pitiful at the two New York gigs also featured. Expect much duplication of songs, with four different versions of “My Way”.

How wonderfully odd Altered Images sound now. Like spiky grains of sugar falling on an oil slick from a great height while onlooking puffins applaud. I’m alarmed to find that, of five encyclopaedias of rock at hand, only two mention them, whereas four mention Alien Sex Fiend. Can this be right and just? It cannot. The Glaswegian gigglers accidentally mastered pop, which is the only cool way to master it.

Furthermore, they did so in two successive, entirely contrasting ways. At the start of the ’80s they emerged as indie/Peel darlings, openly imitating Siouxsie & The Banshees. The small and lovely Clare Grogan, squealing like Minnie Mouse, made Tatu look like Hinge & Bracket. Produced initially by Steve Severin, they sounded like The Banshees Junior, and sang of “Dead Pop Stars”. This track remains wickedly, spookily prescient and acidic, lampooning the proverbial 15 minutes before they were halfway through their first. Then came hits, with Martin Rushent proving he wasn’t always a grumpy git. “Happy Birthday” and “I Could Be Happy” are new wave nursery rhymes whose hooks blow your candles out every time. The Happy Birthday album was followed by Pinky Blue, more of the same only less rapturously received by fickle critics.

So A.I., with appropriate intelligence, went mainstream. Punk princess Grogan was restyled as Holly Golightly and ’83’s Bite album married slick Nile Rodgers/Bernard Edwards disco grooves with Blondie’s pop nous. A sophisticated, underappreciated masterpiece, this, produced by?does it get any better??Mike Chapman and Tony Visconti. It boasted four stone classics in “Don’t Talk To Me About Love”, “Love To Stay”, “Change Of Heart” and the foxy-as-fuck “Bring Me Closer”.

They’re all shimmering splendidly here, plus two underwhelming new songs and sleevenotes from La Grogan. Altered Images sold five million records and made the world a brighter place. Bounce Tiggerishly out of your front door right now and make it five million and one.

LET’S GET IT ON

BOTH MOTOWN

What’s Going On routinely tops critics’ polls, albeit for the wrong reasons. It is the documentation of a confused mind wishing to find its place in a hostile world. Gaye talks with his sibling in Vietnam (“What’s Happening Brother”) and seeks salvation in God (“Wholly Holy”) but his reverie is tempered by brutal reality (“Inner City Blues”). Global and personal anguish were never so exquisitely conveyed.

Gaye turned his attention to the carnal on ’73’s Let’s Get It On. His deliberations on the boundaries between love and sex are beautifully sung but undermined by conventional MOR arrangements, bar its two great set pieces: the lamentation of “Distant Lover” and the shattering “Just To Keep You Satisfied”, which could serve as a requiem for humanity.

Chick Corea, bassist Miroslav Vitous and drummer Roy Haynes made the classic Now He Sings, Now He Sobs in 1967. Fourteen years later, they met again to record the award-winning Trio Music, a double album consisting of one disc of free improvisations and a companion disc of seven tunes by Thelonious Monk. Mercurial and constantly inventive, the playing is top class throughout. The free stuff has something of Messiaen’s bird music about it, while the Monk set is puckishly brilliant. The original double album is here repackaged as a single disc.

Back in the heady days of the British beat boom, South African keyboard player Manfred Mann and the band that shared his name were responsible for some classic three-minute singles of enduring appeal (“Do Wha Diddy Diddy”, “5-4-3-2-1”, “Pretty Flamingo”).

Mann then became an early Dylan apostle, covering more of the great man’s catalogue than perhaps anyone with the exception of The Byrds (“If You Gotta Go, Go Now”, “The Mighty Quinn”, “Just Like A Woman”). This all makes the first disc of this double album pretty indispensable.

By disc two, both singers, Paul Jones and Mike D’Abo, have gone and the ’60s pop band has given way to the tedious ’70s prog-rock stylings of the Earth Band. Mann remained an astute judge of a cover version (the Earthband had a big hit in 1975 with Springsteen’s “Blinded By The Light”) But by then it was mostly all over.

PHILLY GROOVE STORY VOLUME 2

SOUL DISCRETION

Philly Groove was set up by manager Stan Watson in 1967 after the break-up of Philadelphia’s main ’60s outlet, Cameo Parkway. Primarily, it was where A&R man Thom Bell developed the lustrous soul symphonies he’d later polish with songwriters Gamble and Huff at Philadelphia International. Aside from hits by The Delfonics and First Choice, this two-part history is notable for its choice collection of rare grooves, including standouts from The Nat Turner Rebellion, The Quickest Way Out and Ben Aiken’s mesmerising falsetto on “One And One Is Five”.

Though New York rockers Mountain were a quartet, they’ll forever be regarded as America’s answer to Cream. The turbo-charged blues-rock riffs and mammoth power chords of guitarist/singer Leslie West were as imposing as his own outsized frame. However, his heavy-rock stompers were offset by the more melodic offerings of bassist Felix Pappalardi, making for a more varied palette than might be expected by those who only know “Mississippi Queen”. This compilation shows that Mountain were not merely among the first hard-rockers, but were among the best.

As niche markets go, obscure US sci-fi psychobilly takes some licking. Subtitled “A Unique Collection of Original Sci-Fi-influenced High Octane Rock’n’Roll Hillbilly Boogie From 1950s America”, this is a nostalgic, hilarious hoot. Inseparable atomic-age obsessions of Commie paranoia and alien invasion are filtered through tales of Ruskie espionage (country hoedown “Sputniks & Mutnicks”), swingin’ hep-cats from space (“The Boppin’ Martian”), nuclear innuendo (“Rocket In My Pocket”) and little green men cutting a rug at the high school hop (“Flying Saucers Rock’n’Roll”). If Quentin Tarantino ever nails that elusive road movie on Mars, this is your soundtrack.

Nearly everyone is aware of the mythology surrounding Johnson, who reputedly sold his soul to Satan for meteoric development as a musician. Disc one explores the origins of Johnson’s sound, and includes Son House, who famously inspired him. Disc two contains the entire Robert Johnson songbook (bar alternate takes), 29 tracks recorded over two brief sessions in 1937, only a year before the Devil came to close the debt in 1938. Largely ignored in his day yet achieving legendary status in the ’60s, disc three features a plethora of artists (Muddy Waters, Elmore James, Alexis Korner, Jack Bruce) who attempted to recreate the ethereal power of Johnson’s voice and the sheer brilliance of his slide guitar work.

Californian Mark Eric Malmborg’s dream came true the day he attended the taping of the Beach Boys’ appearance on The Andy Williams Show, witnessing Brian Wilson furiously composing a tune that was to become “Little Girl I Once Knew”. A career in TV (he was a frequent bit-part actor in The Partridge Family) and music followed, with sadly only one album and a few singles being released. Completely self-written, these soft, low-key pop songs are built around tricky chord changes, and have symphonic arrangements and emotionally charged lyrics. Available on CD for the first time, the original album is augmented by four further compositions and four 45 mono mixes.

Before he joined forces with Ian McCulloch and a drum machine called Echo, the young Will Sergeant was making his own two-track instrumental recordings at home. And here they are?rough around the edges, often evocative of Bowie’s Low but pretty bloody ahead of their time for the late ’70s (even today they sound like the radical calling cards of a guitar innovator aching to join a truly great band). As an extra we’ve also Sergeant’s spooky, Doors-like soundtrack to the 1982 Bunnymen tour film Le Via Luonge. Visit www.ochre.co.uk for mail order.

Having been groomed for pop stardom by Mickie Most and then almost securing a gig in Led Zeppelin over Robert Plant, by the early ’70s Terry Reid’s career was drifting without a rudder. Then out of nowhere he released River.

Virtually ignored when it appeared in 1973, I was one of the tiny handful of people who bought it. At the time, my favourite albums were Tim Buckley’s Happy Sad, David Crosby’s If I Could Only Remember My Name and Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks. Life was a constant search for other records with the same stoned, fluid, jazzy quality and there wasn’t much of it about. In British rock, it was virtually non-existent.

Mighty Baby had hinted at it (check out their wonderful jam, “There’s A Blanket In My Muesli”, on the long unavailable triple vinyl album from the 1971 Glastonbury Festival). Traffic got halfway there on tracks such as “The Low Spark Of High-Heeled Boys”.

But, basically, you had to look west?and specifically to southern California. Which was exactly what Reid did. At 23 and with a failed pop career behind him, he relocated to the West Coast, signed to Atlantic and, working with the late Tom Dowd, recorded River. Musically, it’s extraordinary. David Lindley?of blessed Kaleidoscope memory?plays magnificent languid and laidback guitar lines. Reid’s vocals meander and caress their way through the shimmering jazz-folk abstractions, deconstructing his words so that the voice becomes a vehicle of pure sound

WHAT WE DID ON OUR HOLIDAYS

UNHALFBRICKING

POLYDOR/UNIVERSAL

No one did more than Fairport to loosen English folk from its traditional moorings. In the late ’60s, they were almost solely responsible (Pentangle were up there, too) for removing fingers from ears and acting as a hothouse for folk’s rising stars.

The most remarkable feature of these pre-Liege & Lief reissues (each coming with bonus tracks) is how little they’ve dated. In particular, 1968’s eponymous debut, too often dismissed as inferior, is a startlingly assured eclectic treasure. The twin vocal pairing of Ian Matthews MacDonald and Judy Dyble (later of Matthews Southern Comfort and Giles, Giles & Fripp respectively) inevitably drew comparisons with West Coast counterparts Jefferson Airplane, while its mixture of covers and originals pooled from influences as far afield as Coltrane, Ewan MacColl, The Byrds and, most prominently, Dylan are psychedelicised by Richard Thompson’s acid guitar licks.

By 1969’s What We Did On Our Holidays, Dyble had been replaced by mercurial ex-Strawbs singer Sandy Denny, arguably the greatest female voice these isles have produced. Again drawing from blues, rock, cajun and folk, it successfully seeded perennial classics (“Fotheringay”, “Meet On The Ledge”) alongside more Dylan and Joni Mitchell retreads.

The same year’s Unhalfbricking was a revelation, unique from its cover sleeve (Denny’s parents in perfect Middle England repose outside their Wimbledon home) to its streamlining of folk roots with electric rock. Inspired by The Band’s recent tapping of all things earth, Music From Big Pink, its standout track remains the revolutionary reappraisal of trad staple “A Sailor’s Life”, electrifying folk music forever and, though follow-up Liege & Lief was their radical zenith, never bettered before or since.

Working in conjunction with his father John, Alan Lomax helped build the Archive Of Folk Song for the American Library Of Congress. Using portable equipment, Lomax was able to tour America recording folk, blues and gospel performers.

Three classic albums are presented here?Blues In The Mississippi Night, largely based around Big Bill Broonzy, Memphis Slim and “Sonny Boy” Williamson; a collection of impassioned chain-gang work songs called Murderers Home; and American Song Train Volume One, recorded in England by Lomax Jr and other American