A Belief in Mischief - #8

A Belief in Mischief is the new edition of Your Heart Out which can be downloaded here as a pdf, free for all. It started out as a meditation on sacred texts, and ended up as a celebration of irregulars, visionaries, mischief makers, and people who just don't get written about enough. This edition draws heavily on the archive of the 'underground newspaper' International Times. This archive is an invaluable resource, and in terms of content it destroys various myths about pop culture journalism.

One of many articles that has caught my eye is one on reggae from a December 1970 edition. It ties in with Horace Ove's Reggae film, and it's quite a combative, confrontational piece. What is intriguing is that there doesn't seem to be any credit for the writer. It's tempting to mention Penny Reel, because of his IT connections, but I suspect he wasn't involved with the paper until 1973ish.

It's interesting to see a mention for Mrs King of Stamford Hill in terms of being a pioneer of releasing reggae records independently in the UK and putting them in with your groceries. Only recently John Eden's Uncarved site ran Malcolm Imrie's account of the 'secret history' of the R&B record shop and label, based in Stamford Hill and run by Rita & Bennie Isen. The R&B label and its various offshoots (such as Ska Beat) were extremely important in putting out ska and early reggae singles in the UK. Ironically among the first ska singles I bought (from a ramshackle shop near Sidcup station) in 1979 were on R&B (Lee Perry's Mad Head), and something by Clive and Gloria on Ska Beat.

I would suggest you could have hours of fun seeking out old R&B and Ska Beat releases. This Laurel Aitken number has particularly caught my attention. Oddly I've just remembered Laurel Aitken and that old record shack pop up in a short story I wrote some time ago.

A Belief in Mischief - #7

A Belief in Mischief is the new edition of Your Heart Out which can be downloaded here as a pdf, free for all. It started out as a meditation on sacred texts, and ended up as a celebration of irregulars, visionaries, mischief makers, and people who just don't get written about enough. As ever when putting YHO together it is something or someone mentioned as an aside in the text that grows to become completely fascinating. So, in this issue, the disc jockey Mike Raven was mentioned in passing. I had been thinking about John Peel, and all the accounts of how something he played 'changed' someone's life. While researching this issue I kept coming across similar testimonies on soul forums about Mike Raven's soul and blues show during the early days of Radio One and how again the music he played changed people's lives. But you don't read much about Mike Raven. Of course there is a major difference, in that Mike was only on Radio One for four years or so, while Peel trundled on and on. But the fact remains Mike Raven was playing (non-hit) black American sounds on national radio in the UK, and that needs to be celebrated.

I have no first hand experience of hearing Mike Raven on the radio. I've heard the occasional clip. I've read some bits and pieces. And he fascinates me. Anyone who has been lucky enough to see Horace Ove's 1970 Reggae film will know he had this exaggeratedly theatrical plummy patrician way of speaking, and if you combine that with the fact he was in his mid-40s when Radio One started, it all gets stranger and stranger.

After his brief spell with Radio One, where he had that specialist blues and soul slot, he went to work as an actor in Hammer horror films, indulging his interest in magic and making the most of his Christopher Lee looks. He subsequently relocated to Cornwall, spending his time as a sheep farmer and sculptor (using his real name of Austin Churton Fairman).

None of this would happen now, so let's celebrate a certain eccentricity. And until there is an official DVD release of Horace Ove's Reggae film we will continue to share clips like this:

A Belief in Mischief - #6

A Belief in Mischief is the new edition of Your Heart Out which can be downloaded here as a pdf, free for all. It started out as a meditation on sacred texts, and ended up as a celebration of irregulars, visionaries, mischief makers, and people who just don't get written about enough. The Edgar Broughton Band are among those mentioned, and this is very much in a 'confessional' context as I freely admit I got the EBB completely wrong. For so many years I'd dismissed them as archetypal heads-down no-nonsense blues rockers and I must admit I'd not read anything much to make me think differently except for the occasional mention of them as part of the Notting Hill commune, free festivals, freak scene. But then I heard their 'hit' Apache Dropout where the good Captain & the Magic Band got it together with the Shadows with considerable style and wit. I was prompted to investigate further. And couldn't believe what I found.

The early raw EBB is fantastic on the first couple of LPs, Wasa Wasa and Sing Brother Sing, and I was surprised to find myself thinking of Robert Lloyd and the Prefects/Nightingales when hearing tracks like Why Can't Somebody Love Me? But it was a couple of the later LPs that really struck me. The cover of Inside Out is fantastic and the strikingly stark social realist theme is matched by some of the content on songs like They Took It Away and Homes Fit For Heroes.

I have grown to like the next LP, Oora, even more, and the musical setting here often seems to be approaching a glorious melodic mod soul-storm, infused with a sense of disillusionment and confusion. It really is fantastic, and not at all what I would have expected - which is a useful reminder never to assume anything. The presence of Madeline Bell and Doris Troy on backing vocals gives a useful clue. And there are a few exceptional tracks, including Things On My Mind and Eviction.

It's quite a nice feeling to be able to put down in black and white an acknowledgement that you've got something completely wrong, so while I'm trying to make amends I would like to mention Edgar Broughton's current activities. His site, in particular, is well worth a visit, and his blog makes for a great read. It has to be said Edgar's insightful commentary on the world around us adds additional weight to the political content of some of his early '70s recordings, such as this ...

A Belief in Mischief - #5

A Belief in Mischief is the new edition of Your Heart Out which can be downloaded here as a pdf, free for all. It started out as a meditation on sacred texts, and ended up as a celebration of irregulars, visionaries, mischief makers, and people who just don't get written about enough. Among those mentioned is Jo Ann Kelly, the astonishing blues singer and guitarist who emerged from the south London delta in the '60s and stayed very much on what she described as the esoteric side of the blues scene. Like Val Wilmer, Jo Ann and her brother Dave had their interest in blues music fuelled by the Swing Shop in Streatham, and it was Tony McPhee who first introduced her to the recordings of Memphis Minnie, to which Jo Anne's performances were often compared.

I don't know how well known Jo Ann's recordings are. I am conscious that there are several I've not heard. But she fascinates me. She didn't take an easy path. And while there may be a few raised eyebrows at the notion of a south Londoner becoming quite so immersed in the country blues tradition there can be no doubt about the extraordinary power and beauty which drove her performances. I guess connections/recordings with John Fahey give her legacy a stamp of approval which might help people sit up and take notice.

Jo Ann's contributions to the Immediate series of modern blues LPs was where I first came across her music. And it was in Val Wilmer's Mama Told Me There'd Be Days Like This that I first read about Jo Ann. While some of her purists' blues works are wonderful, like her recording of Oh Death with T.S. McPhee, I do find myself very much drawn to the occasions where she sings a little outside of the blues' parameters. For example, she helped out the group Tramp (featuring some moonlighting Fleetwood Mac people) with some vocals on the title track of the Put A Record On LP, and it's an incredibly beautiful performance, right up there with the best blue-eyed soul moments. Beggar By Your Side from the same (Spark) LP is wonderful, too.

Jo Ann sadly died in 1990. I wonder if she were still active today whether she would be busy with all sorts of intriguing collaborations, given a resurgence of interest in roots music and English visionaries of different sorts. Who knows? This beautiful piece of film is of Jo Ann singing one of her greatest songs in a Bristol club, when she really did have little time left.

A Belief in Mischief - #4

A Belief in Mischief is the new edition of Your Heart Out which can be downloaded here as a pdf, free for all. It started out as a meditation on sacred texts, and ended up as a celebration of irregulars, visionaries, mischief makers, and people who just don't get written about enough. Among the 'sacred texts' mentioned is Val Wilmer's Mama Said There'd Be Days Like This: My Life in the Jazz World. I've written before about Val and this remarkable book, and the great thing is that since then it's a book I've returned to many times, making new connections, often realising rather late in the day that something I am newly excited about is something Val had written about and experienced first hand.

I love how the book starts with the 12-year-old Val walking into the Swing Shop, in Streatham, south London, asking if they have any jazz records. This pivotal moment is the catalyst for a very personal revolution, and the way that jazz and blues music shaped Val's life is put across really powerfully. Now, I hope, we recognise her as an incredibly important photographer and writer, and one of the journalistic highlights of the past year has been Val's illustrated essay for The Wire on Fela in London.

Val has popped up in the back pages of YHO a number of times, particularly in the Enlightenment! edition. In the A Belief in Mischief issue she is mentioned specifically because her book was a huge factor in getting me to listen to blues music. She makes the blues seem warm, human and alive rather than the more typical journalistic approach where the blues becomes shorthand for some dreary, dusty authenticity. And this is the way I like the blues ...

A Belief in Mischief - #3

A Belief in Mischief is the new edition of Your Heart Out which can be downloaded here as a pdf, free for all. It started out as a meditation on sacred texts, and ended up as a celebration of irregulars, visionaries, mischief makers, and people who just don't get written about enough. Right at the heart of this issue is the story of Peter Shertser, Ian Sippen, and the Firm, the psychedelic mod mischief makers who in turn became underground entrepeneurs. I have been fascinated by stories of the Firm ever since Jonathan Green's Days in the Life appeared, and keep an eye out for new revelations.

Tracing the story of Shertser and Sippen leads to A=MH2, the remarkable LP by the fantastic duo of Clark-Hutchinson which the Firm produced. It's a mad record, which is up there with the best Impulse! or ECM were putting out at the time (this is the end of the '60s and into the start of the '70s) while simultaneously being rooted in the UK underground acid rock scene, along side Mighty Baby. The opening track, Improvisation on a Modal Scale, is a brilliant dance track, and the funny thing is I doubt if I would ever have heard it were it not for my interest in what Shertser and Sippen got up to.

Against the odds (you've got to read their story) Clark Hutchinson became a proper group and put out a couple more cracking LPs. The final one, Gestalt, from 1971, has got some beautifully desolate songs on, like Come Up Here. The one in-between, Retribution, is a wonderful mixture. I particularly love After Hours which builds on a gorgeous Horace Silver style piano motif, with Mick Hutchinson adding some searing guitar work over the top. It needs to be mentioned Mick had previous form with the excellent Sons of Fred, south London beat noise savages whose too few recordings such as Baby What You Want Me To Do are much admired. So perhaps it's no surprise that Retribution contains a track as unsettling and twisted as Death, The Lover which is incredible. And if Mark E Smith and The Fall, back in the early years, weren't familiar with this astonishing track then I'm Roman Totale ...

A Belief in Mischief - #2

A Belief in Mischief is the new edition of Your Heart Out which can be downloaded here as a pdf, free for all. It started out as a meditation on sacred texts, and ended up as a celebration of irregulars, visionaries, mischief makers, and people who just don't get written about enough. One of the people featured is Norman Jopling. He was the first person to rave about the Rolling Stones in print. And Dave Godin, on a number of occasions, took particular care to acknowledge the importance of Norman writing about rhythm & blues music in Record Mirror in the early '60s. Norman also plays a central role in the early part of Neil Rushton's Northern Soul Stories. That book contains some great anecdotes from the time when Norman and Peter Meaden ran a publishing company called New Wave Music. The first new act they signed up was a wonderful group called The Peep Show, and a couple of singles appeared on Polydor. They really are wonderful things, with more of a folk sound than most of the other outfits on the fringes of the psychedelic scene and some wonderfully unusual lyrical themes. There are a couple of wonderful Peep Show compilations around, and they are fantastic. If you are interested in Norman's story I would thoroughly recommend investigating the back pages of Morning magazine, which is beautifully designed and put together by Iker Spozio, whose artwork you might recognise from sources such as records by the very great Colleen (who also helps to make Morning magical).

A Belief in Mischief - #1

A Belief in Mischief is the new edition of Your Heart Out which can be downloaded here as a pdf, free for all. It started out as a meditation on sacred texts, and ended up as a celebration of irregulars, visionaries, mischief makers, and people who just don't get written about enough. One of the people featured is Peter Meaden, and I would definitely say that among my sacred texts are the interviews he did with Steve Turner in 1975 and which were published by the NME in November 1979. Meaden’s musings remain eminently quotable, but the comment that grabbed me more than any was the one about him bringing Captain Beefheart to Britain. That seemed so perfect, and I don’t think enough has been made of it. This was at the start of 1968, when Peter had been a massive evangelist for Safe As Milk, which at the time was only available on import. Peter was then running a publishing company with Norman Jopling, and among the related activities were putting out a Donnie Elbert ska/early reggae single on their own New Wave label, as a subsidiary of Melodisc. The excellent Tapir reggae discographies site has an image of the label, with Without You on one side and Baby Come On Home on the other. Deram later picked this single up for release, and I believe it was a big hit in Jamaica. Around the same time Meaden must have got his beloved Jimmy James to record a beautiful version of the Captain’s I’m Glad. Now, that sort of perfection, that beautiful sense of joining the dots, is what makes me believe in the magic of music.

A Belief in Mischief

A Belief in Mischief is the new edition of Your Heart Out which can be downloaded here as a pdf, free for all. It started out as a meditation on sacred texts, and ended up as a celebration of irregulars, visionaries, mischief makers, and people who just don't get written about enough.

Among those mentioned are Peter Meaden, Norman Jopling, Peter Shertser, Val Wilmer, Edgar Broughton, Jo Ann Kelly, Mick Farren, Martin Stone, Dave Godin and Penny Reel. That gives you some idea of what's included in this issue, and the territory explored. Please spread the word.