Coincidentally ... Or Not (Part One)

 

Things fall apart. Oh yes. The old fabric is torn away, or disintegrates, and all that. But, sometimes, when you least expect it, things fall into place, and new patterns and stories emerge. So, towards the end of January this year, things were looking pretty grim. It was a tough time, but one bright spot was the Pauline Boty exhibition at the Gazelli Art House in Mayfair, which was a revelation. I went early one Monday morning, soon after opening time, and was the only one there. It felt a privilege to be there, alone with Pauline’s now famous works of art, at a time when her reputation’s at a high. This being, as her evangelist Ali Smith argues in her Autumn, part of the cycle where cultural figures are ignored, lost, rediscovered, and so on.

Incidentally (Part Two)

 

“It is odd what you remember and what you forget.” – Graham Greene, Getting to Know the General

In the bedroom of Frank Pierson, the wealthy young American boy who followed Ripley, in the fourth novel in Patricia Highsmith’s series, “pop singer posters were tacked to a vast green pin-up board above the brown table, the Ramones slouching in blue jeans”. I have recently revisited the book, one I read 20-odd years ago, and was delighted to find that mention of Joey, Dee Dee, and co. was there, being the thing that stuck in my mind down the years. Oddly, though, I didn’t think they were named. Instead, I thought there was simply a reference to four brothers in leather jackets and ripped jeans. I got that bit wrong. Nevertheless, for a book published in April 1980, though set in the summer and early autumn of 1978, the Ramones mention is a lovely incidental musical detail, and a pretty cool one too. I can’t remember, can’t recall, as a lovely old June Brides song goes, any other contemporaneous nods to the band by a major author. I could be wrong.

Incidentally (Part One)

 

If you are a fellow aficionado of cheap and cheerful Northern Soul compilations you will know one of the downsides is that certain tracks crop up again and again, which is often a price worth paying to get unexpected or lost gems. One of the repeat offenders is Laura Greene’s ‘Music, Moonlight and You’, which is fine by me as I am incredibly fond of the spoken introduction, where Laura asks: “Oh, by the way, did you bring your guitar?” It is so gloriously incongruous: just that one mention of a guitar. And, being built that way, one day when Laura’s song was on my mind, I got to thinking about other compositions where guitars are mentioned incidentally. I was surprised that, of the ones that sprang to mind, a lot of them were by favourite artists. I really am not quite sure what that proves.

Lookin' For ... A Coda

 

You know that thing where your memory starts playing tricks on you? Yeah? Well, recently I was playing a  2CD compilation, Northern Soul Underground. It’s a great set, with the focus on the early ‘soul’ years, and I love the fact that the cover proclaims that the ’50 Soulful Rarities’ include The Profiles, Squires, Drapers and Laddins. I bet that got people rushing to the shops. Anyway, the second CD starts with The Valentinos’ 1962 SAR single, ‘Lookin’ for a Love’. For some reason I have been thinking a lot about that track . I knew Barry Gifford had mentioned it more than once in his books, but I couldn’t recall where I first came across him doing so. So I decided to cheat, as you do. There are plenty of mentions of Barry and ‘Lookin’ for a Love’ out there, but they nearly all bring us back to … well, here, sort of, in a tangential sense, which is nice but not helpful.

Looking At ...

 

At this time of year some of us are haunted by the memory of a man speaking about it being funny how you remember summers by the records. And so, habitually and perhaps subconsciously, we start to identify the records that will potentially stand out over time, right? I know I do. And the early favourites this time around have been very much Lau-Ro’s Cabana and Jessica Pratt’s Here in the Pitch: two exquisitely beautiful and refreshingly brief records that somehow dovetail perfectly.

Looking Into ...

 

For a long, long time now I have considered that Patrice Holloway as a singer was something special. There are far too few recordings of Patrice in existence, and that is such a sad thing. They are much loved, certainly, but scarce. As for footage? Well, elusive is not the word. So, if you were me, how would you feel if YouTube in its infinite wisdom unexpectedly suggests watching “unseen footage” from January 1972 of Patrice on Soul Train? The holy grail will be delivered unto you by algorithms. Right! And sure enough, there she was, grinning like mad, amid the show’s dancers, singing her wonderful ‘That’s The Chance You Gotta Take’, a glorious piece of bubblegum soul rather like Honey Cone were doing at the time. Too good to be true? Yup. But it’s there. All three seconds of it. Three totally mind-blowingly wonderful seconds, but nevertheless still only three seconds. Surely there is more? There must be. Please!

Looking Back ...

 

Looking for something specific, finding something else entirely unexpected, and getting totally distracted, absorbed, and not caring anyway. It happens all too often. Usually it’s no bad thing. Sometimes it even seems more than a coincidence. As if it is meant to be. This time it was a cheap and cheerful 3CD The Songs of Carole King set that turned up, which was odd as, of late, I had been haunted by that beautiful, almost ancient, song ‘Goin’ Back’, thinking about the past, wondering about the Dusty version and The Byrds’ one, curious about the spell they weave still, but not quite thinking of them in the sense of that old Robert Forster song where he’s musing about who sings better in the dark, Townes Van Zandt or Guy Clark. No, no, not that, just really thanking God, or whatever heavenly thing is out there, that we have those recordings by Dusty and by The Byrds to pull us through.