Fortuitously #8

 

Some days I consider ‘Shake Some Action’ by the Flamin’ Groovies to be one of the great works of art in pop culture. The trouble I would have in proving this to anyone is that whenever I play the song it never matches the one I hear in my head. I am not sure that makes sense. Nevertheless, personal quirks aside, it is an exceptional creation. And I kind of agree with Bill Drummond that Sire’s Seymour Stein should never have allowed them back in a studio. It would have been one hell of a way to go and would have preserved some sanctity. But life is rarely that simple.

Unexpectedly I found myself thinking about Bill Drummond and the Flamin’ Groovies recently, and the other occasion that he mentions them in his immortal book 45. In my memory there was a reference to the Flamin’ Groovies and ‘Shake Some Action’ in the preamble to Neal Brown’s foreword at the end of the book. It was to do with liking something Neal had written elsewhere which mentioned the Groovies and Subway Sect which had pleased Bill as he considered that ‘Shake Some Action’ was one of the great uplifting pop singles and that for a few weeks in 1978 Subway Sect were the best pop group around. I couldn’t check this as I wasn’t able to find my battered old copy of 45. Then, fortuitously, a local charity shop had a pristine copy of the first edition of 45 for next-to-nothing. Yes! The only trouble being that it didn’t have a foreword or afterword or any mention of Neal Brown, which completely threw me. Was my memory playing tricks on me?

Speaking of which, for many, many years I have had a memory of first coming across the name Flamin’ Groovies while reading a review of a show they played in London with the Ramones. I have a vivid recollection of this. I had recently graduated from Look-In to Record Mirror. I was 12 and it was the long hot summer of 1976 (though this one seems longer and hotter!). You know all that stuff: Dennis Howell as Minister for Drought, and so on. Strange times. Good times. For some. I distinctly recall reading the review one afternoon sitting in the back garden and wondering what on earth it all meant. What was this ‘Punk Rock’ that was mentioned? What did ‘punk’ mean in a musical context? I had no idea. I remember trying to look up the word ‘punk’ in my school Collins English Gem dictionary, but it wasn’t much help.

To add to my confusion, around the same time, one of my favourite pop groups Slik released a single called ‘The Kid’s A Punk’, which I loved but it disappeared leaving hardly any trace. I couldn’t believe this single wasn’t a hit. I think it was that Summer that I started to suspect my taste wasn’t necessarily the same as everyone else’s. ‘Dawn’ by Flintlock was another single I thought would be massive that year, but it barely made the Top 30. Didn’t I read somewhere that at an early Subway Sect show Vic Godard came onstage and said: “Hello, we’re Flintlock”?

That kind of thing sticks in my mind. I have no idea why. Anyway, recently I gave into temptation and looked through old copies of Record Mirror online to see if I could validate this absurd memory I’d been clinging to. And, sure enough, in the July 10, 1976, issue there is a small review by David Brown of that (now legendary) Ramones and Flamin’ Groovies show at the Roundhouse, with the heading: ‘Blitzkreig Punk Rock’.

Next to it is a sympathetic review of a Slik show at London’s New Victoria Theatre by Rosalind Russell, who would soon become my first favourite pop writer. She mentions Slik encored with the Small Faces’ ‘Sha-La-La-La-Lee’. The reviews mention that both Slik and the Ramones played ‘Let’s Dance’, coincidentally or not. These were the only live reviews in that week’s paper. There was a lot more coverage of the disco and soul scenes, but the main emphasis was on chart pop which I suppose was the attraction for me at the time. Things would change here, there and everywhere shortly.

I wouldn’t hear the Ramones until the following Summer when ‘Sheena is a Punk Rocker’ and ‘Swallow My Pride’ were minor hits. I loved them. Still do. Why wouldn’t you? But in 1976 were things looking grim? Not for me. I loved my pop music. I loved a lot of what was in the charts in July 1976, like Queen’s ‘You’re My Best Friend’, the Real Thing and ‘You To Me’, Candi Staton’s ‘Young Hearts’, Thin Lizzy with ‘Boys Are Back in Town’. There was T.Rex and ‘I Love To Boogie’, Gallagher & Lyle’s ‘Heart On My Sleeve’, Archie Bell doing ‘Soul City Walking’, Peter Frampton and his vocoder with ‘Show Me The Way’, the Isleys’ ‘Harvest for the World’, Tavares’ ‘Heaven Must Be Missing An Angel’, and I loved some of the oldies that were around by Dion and the Shangri-Las. War’s peerless ‘Me and Baby Brother’ was in the charts too, I guess reactivated following the success of ‘Low Rider’ earlier that year.

The Flamin’ Groovies I don’t think I heard until 1978 when I picked up a copy of their ‘Feel A Whole Lot Better’ 12” in the local record shop’s bargain box. I suspect that would be the first time I heard that Byrds song. Anyway, on the flipside was a cover of ‘Paint It Black’ and, best of all, the original self-produced version of ‘Shake Some Action’. The latter blew my mind. It sounded glorious. It was to play a massive role in developing my teenage musical obsessions. And I think this is the significant part: I would have played that song to death on my battered old Ferguson portable mono record player in my bedroom. God, I loved that contraption. It had such a great sound.

It would be several years down the line that I picked up a secondhand copy of the Groovies’ 1976 Shake Some Action LP, which had been produced by Dave Edmunds. Now I am many miles away from being an audiophile but to these cloth ears the record sounded terrible. I have no wish to cast aspersions on Dave Edmunds’ work, so maybe it was the pressing or mastering that was at fault. And yet I have to say the title track sounded less spontaneous and less alive. The whoop of delight was in the wrong place too and sounded staged. Maybe it was just me. Maybe it would have sounded better on my old Ferguson record player.

While the version on the LP of ‘Shake Some Action’ sounded wrong, there were a handful of real beat gems on the record, like ‘You Tore Me Down’ and ‘Teenage Confidential’. Oddly, this would be the first time I heard any of the Groovies’ own songs apart from the title track. I don’t think I have ever heard any more. Many years later I picked up a copy of the LP on an Australian CD and I remember writing that the songs still sounded like they were recorded at the bottom of a fishtank.

As I said, I don’t wish to knock Dave Edmunds, as he’s always seemed like one of the good guys. I have been trying to think when I would have first been aware of Dave Edmunds. Mentally I associate him with that path leading towards Punk Rock, and in particular his 1976 single ‘Here Comes The Weekend’ which in my memory seemed to be on the radio all the time (especially on Roger Scott’s afternoon show on Capital) but was never a hit. He had that the following Summer with ‘I Knew The Bride’ just as Punk Rock was about to change my world. It’s funny now seeing old footage of Dave Edmunds performing it on Top of the Pops with Nick Lowe on bass. I doubt if I had a clue who Nick was back then. So it goes!

It’s highly likely I first came across Dave Edmunds’ name by way of the Stardust soundtrack, which came out on Ronco in late 1974. My brother had a copy of the double LP, though I don’t recall him going to see the film which starred David Essex who was a big favourite of mine. I certainly didn’t see the film until many years later. Oddly, I did have a copy of the novelisation by Ray Connolly which I got from a Scouts jumble sale. Very educational it was, too. And, with the benefit of hindsight, the Stardust soundtrack provided a valuable musical education.

At the time I am not even sure I realised Stardust was a sequel to That’ll Be The Day, which was a kind of gritty coming-of-age in the rock & roll-era kitchen-sink drama starring David Essex, Ringo, Rosemary Leach, James Booth, Billy Fury, Keith Moon, Robert Lindsay, Karl Howman, and apparently among the Teddy Boy ranks was Peter Turner who would later write Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool about his love affair with Gloria Grahame.

Stardust picked up the tale in the 1960s, starting the day JFK was shot, hence the kaleidoscopic selection of tracks on the double LP set. At that time, we were not bombarded with oldies on the radio day in and day out, so for the likes of me, the pre-teens, there was a strong element of enlightenment. Arguably the Stardust compilation subliminally sowed the seeds of interest in all things mod related.

This, for example, would be the first time I’d heard The Who’s ‘My Generation’ which was a revelation. What did I know of The Who back then? ‘Squeeze Box’, yes, possibly Elton’s ‘Pinball Wizard’? Not really for me, those. The New Seekers’ ‘Pinball Wizard’ was far better. Plus, the soundtrack had The Zombies, Animals, Manfred Mann, who were very much me. And this double-LP was an introduction to the magical old Tamla Motown sounds, with ‘Baby Love’, ‘Uptight’, ‘Dancing in the Street’, and ‘What Becomes of the Brokenhearted’ which was a UK hit around that time, coincidentally or not.

Then there were the American sounds which again were really important in shaping my tastes later, like the Lovin’ Spoonful’s ‘Summer in the City’ and the Mamas and Papas’ ‘Monday Monday’. I was also obsessed with Barry McGuire’s ‘Eve of Destruction’. I would have known nothing of its composer P.F. Sloan, though. I have a vivid memory of taping an episode of Radio 1’s Story of Pop which featured the Mamas and Papas’ ‘Creeque Alley’ with its mention of McGuinn and McGuire getting higher in L.A. The irony is I would have had no idea who McGuinn was at the time. Oddly, I’m not sure I have ever heard anything else by Barry McGuire.

There is a bit of a Phil Spector theme on Stardust, with the Chiffons ‘One Fine Day’ and the Righteous Bros. singing ‘You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling’, and maybe best of all Dave Edmunds own take on ‘Da Doo Ron Ron’, which is amazing. For my fellow addicts of connectivity, when that song appears in the film, you get a lovely glimpse of Nick Lowe playing bass with Brinsley Schwarz. Dave was back then kind of perfecting his one-man band Wall of Sound thing, and just before Stardust Edmunds had big UK hits with covers of ‘Baby I Love You’ and ‘Born To Be With You’, which I really don’t remember at all, so that must have been just before my obsession with music really started.

There’s a lovely story Dave Edmunds has told about how he was in L.A. with the Flamin’ Groovies, and the group’s Cyril Jordan and Chris Wilson suggested popping round to Brian Wilson’s mansion, as you do. They blagged their way in, and when they got to see Brian, they played him the Stardust soundtrack which they just happened to have with them. Brian might not have been at his best, but he listened to Dave’s version of ‘Da Doo Ron Ron’ very carefully over and over, before declaring that it was God on drums. It wasn’t. It was Dave. But imagine having that said about your drumming?

I suspect Dave also supplied most of the music for Side 4 of the Stardust soundtrack, which mainly featured the sounds of David Essex and his fictional band, that is Jim Maclaine and the Stray Cats. In the film the group has an all-star line-up, featuring David Essex, Keith Moon, Dave Edmunds, Paul Nicholas, Karl Howman and Peter Duncan. They are managed by Adam Faith who somewhat steals the show, and when we first meet him at the start of the film, at a fairground, he looks rather like Taffy from Hurrah! circa ‘Who’d Have Thought’, which is odd.

A trio of New York rockabilly contenders would a little later adopt the name Stray Cats, coincidentally or not. A deliberate reference? Some say yes. Some say no. Anyway, people of my vintage growing up in the U.K. will never forget the Stray Cats’ first appearance on Top of the Pops with ‘Runaway Boys’ in late 1980: those oversize quiffs, the Gretsch, the double bass, Slim Jim Phantom standing up behind his stripped-down drum kit, the kids in the audience bopping away. What a performance! Great song. I loved the fact it mentioned a duffel bag. Nice detail. And what a sound! ‘Brand New Cadillac’? We’ll show you how to rock Joe! Oh, and the producer? Dave Edmunds. Right on!

Rightly or wrongly, I have an enduring perception of Edmunds being part of the extended Stiff Records family. I have to confess Stiff was never a label I felt an emotional attachment to, though I would never deny the magnificence of some of their early releases. Somehow, I associate Edmunds with Nick Lowe, Elvis Costello, Graham Parker, and Wreckless Eric, the kind of old-school New Wave gang. Coincidentally or not, they all appear on the 1977 Stiff compilation Bunch of Stiffs, which is a record I have never had a copy of.

It features Dave’s cover of Chuck Berry’s ‘Jo Jo Gunne’, plus he plays all the instruments on and produced ‘Maybe’ by Jill Read. The liner notes state that “little is known of this Welsh song bird” and add that it was cut in 1969 at Rockfield Studios. Then there’s a plea: “Jill, if you’re out there write to us for your royalties.” To illustrate this Stiff’s in-house designer Barney Bubbles used a redacted version of one of the photos he took in 1964 of his Twickenham Art School friend Lorry Sartorio wearing a denim jacket and a white t-shirt with lettering that read “Them Muleskinners. Knockout R+B Here Tonight” plus a mod target. Ian McLagan was in the band at that time.

I can, for once, sound knowledgeable as I learned about Barney Bubbles’ mod past from the excellent 2018 book MOD ART by Paul ‘Smiler’ Anderson. The same book features an inspired piece on the design work of David Dragon, a name you may recognise if you are a fan of Wire or XTC. Paul’s reason for including him is the striking cover design for a 1976 EMI compilation called My Generation which features a Guy Peellaert-inspired illustration by David depicting mods and rockers down at Brighton with some extraordinary detail. I suspect that for people like me and Paul finding a cheap copy of the LP a little later in 1979-ish was as if it was meant to be.

To be honest, the compilation’s title and cover art are a little misleading as a lot of the LP veers towards heavy psychedelia, but there are some absolute classics on it, like The Action’s ‘Baby You’ve Got It’ (the first I would hear of Reggie & co.), Artwoods’ ‘What Shall I Do?’, Yardbirds’ ‘Happenings’, Downliners Sect’s ‘Glendora’, The Roulettes’ ‘Long Cigarette’ (my initial favourite on the record, and John Tobler’s liner notes revealed they had been Adam Faith’s backing group), Viv Prince’s extraordinary ‘Light of the Charge Brigade’, and Shotgun Express’ ‘I Could Feel The Whole World Turn Round’ with the phenomenal Beryl Marsden.

Another track among the very unobvious inclusions was Love Sculpture’s ‘The Stumble’ which was not really my cup of tea, but it is where I first learned about Dave Edmunds’ early work. Love Sculpture had a Top 10 hit in the UK with ‘Sabre Dance’ at the end of 1968. So, this kind of overlaps with the time when Dave would have recorded with the mysterious Jill Read at Rockfield. Also, I guess, there’s an overlap too with Dave’s own recordings that led to him having a UK Number One in late 1970 with his cover of ‘I Hear You Knocking’ which pop devotees of my vintage sort of know by osmosis.

Stiff in 1977 released Jill and Dave’s recording of ‘Maybe’ as a single in the Netherlands. It came with an astonishing rendition of ‘Wang Dang Doodle’ on the flipside. I suppose the concept of a mysterious singer releasing just the one single somewhat belatedly sounds like the sort of thing Bill Drummond might heartily approve of. But it wasn’t that simple, as we now know Jill previously recorded as Tawny Reed for Pye in the mid-1960s.

So, the story goes, Tony Hatch discovered her while she was singing in the clubs in her native Cardiff (hence, I guess, the Edmunds connection) and he paired her with the visionary Johnny Harris to record a couple of exceptional singles that are among the very finest British femme-soul mod rave-ups. These are in my opinion valuable works of art, but they didn’t take off and Tawny disappeared back to South Wales. We now know Tawny sadly died of cancer in 1985, at the horribly young age of 39. She never lived to know how much sought-after her singles became and how they found a whole new audience after appearing on various CD compilations often overseen by the heroic Mick Patrick and Malcolm Baumgart.

The first of these singles paired the Marvelettes’ ‘Needle In A Haystack’ with Baby Washington’s ‘I’ve Got A Feeling’. Tawny attacks these with gusto (damn, you bet!) and Johnny Harris’ arrangement is suitably stormy. The single was not a hit, but Tawny did get to perform both songs on an episode of Beat Club, and despite her magnificence they can make for uncomfortable viewing due to members of the audience displaying appalling manners. The second single, which I would argue is even better, had Tawny giving her all on covers of the Richard Parker songs ‘You Can’t Take It Away’ and ‘My Heart Cries Out’. Intriguingly both these songs had also been on a single by the soul singer Fred Hughes. Oh, to know the decision process behind that. Somebody certainly knew their stuff.

I remember getting that prickly excitement at being able to connect Fred Hughes and Tawny Reed. I guess I first came across Fred’s name by way of The Mod Top 100 list put together by Randy Cozens for Sounds in 1979. That list has over the years taken on mythical status and has in more recent times inspired a 4CD collection put together by Eddie Piller and you can even buy a handsome poster showing the original 45s featured. But what you won’t immediately see too often if you look online is the original cutting from December 1979, which is odd. Still, I’ve got mine!

Fred Hughes is at number 44 with ‘Oo Wee Baby, I Love You’, which is a very fine choice. I won’t begin to claim Fred’s name really registered at the time, back when I was a young mod. There was far too much to take in, and at that time it wasn’t so simple to acquire the knowledge. It took time and money. I, however, do recall that a decade later there was a great Northern Soul compilation called Up All Night! which was on Charly’s Instant imprint. This collection contained two Fred Hughes recordings, both Richard Parker compositions again, ‘I Keep Tryin’’ and ‘Don’t Let Me Down’. Absolutely superb stuff. And they were in good company too, alongside Gene Chandler’s ‘Nothing Can Stop Me’, Sam Dees’ ‘Lonely For You Baby’ and Ann Sexton’s ‘You’ve Been Gone Too Long’, among others.

One day I had the idea of doing a compilation of Northern Soul tracks recorded by artists with the most wonderfully prosaic names, such as Fred Hughes. I didn’t actually get round to doing it. If one were to broaden the scope somewhat then Cyril Jordan of the Flamin’ Groovies would have to be included somehow. It really is the most delightfully un-rock ’n’ roll of names, isn’t it? That reminds me, when buying copies of the American magazine Ugly Things to get all the instalments of Rob Symmons’ Subway Sect story it was lovely to see Cyril had a regular column where he would write about things like the Dave Clark Five and The Kinks.

I am sure that there was a time when such single-mindedness would have appalled but now there’s an appeal to it, and I realise it’s not just an exercise in nostalgia but something far more complex and a lot to do with understanding shaping forces. Mind you, generally I have little patience with folk who are stuck in a rut, musically, and whose tastes ossified soon after they left their teens. “Faithful’s not a bad word” vs. “consistency’s not a virtue”. But one mustn’t make wild surmises. After all, maybe Cyril spends his time listening to a collection of Arvo Pärt ECM CDs rather than a box of old beat 45s.

Cyril seems to be the only Flamin’ Groovy from back in 1976 still in the band. Indeed, they’re doing a special Shake Some Action celebratory Golden Anniversary show in London later this year. I was tempted for a few moments but then saw the price of tickets. I guess the Bill Drummond who wrote 45 would be vehemently against this. I am sure once I would have been, too. But now I wish Cyril & co. well. And, anyway, I bet Bill Drummond is out there somewhere right now concocting some crazy conceptual scheme, so he’s not given up either. Maybe he will appear as an auxiliary rhythm guitarist with the Groovies when they play on Great Portland Street. Who knows? I’d pay to see that.

The odd thing is that there seems to be no video footage, live or in the TV studio, of the Flamin’ Groovies from their suited-and-booted late 1970s heyday performing ‘Shake Some Action’. Or, if there is, I have never seen it. This seems somewhat surprising but I rather like it. Let’s be more positive: it’s brilliant in a way. Leaves more to the imagination, and all that. Then again, perhaps unexpectedly, there are at least two clips in circulation of Fred Hughes performing ‘Oo Wee Baby’ on TV in the mid-1960s, and that is wonderful, so work that one out!