So, my contribution became a one away CD- all data immediately erased- and meant that in order to play the tape compiled by Rich, I had to dig around in various boxes searching for my old cassette walkman. Which I failed to locate. Instead, I have been listening to it on a dictaphone which uses full size tapes (rather than the mini-ones that I used to tape Morecombe and Wise with and then listen to under the pillow at night).
However, it is possible that the poor audio reproduction qualities of the battery hungry Sony TCM-84V may not be a bad thing. This is because Rich’s tape seems to mine a seam of obscurities where the dust and accumulated resins present on the physical artefact actually enhance the overall listening experience.
This is of course, pure conjecture, as I have not researched or Googled any of the artists presented herein. That seemed wrong. I only briefly glanced at the track list, having read a nice note from the man himself. I only recognised a couple of names, Morricone being one. I think. I don’t have the bit of paper in front of me.
Overall, this excellent tape places me in a woozy state of mind, slightly concerned for the creators of the music, who it would seem, are trying to create classic pop/rock songs but somehow failing to due to some sort of mental derangement. Good.
Press play.
“Hello there, hello there…” a Pinky and Perky impersonator states over 1960s surf music, with added electronic overdubs. A bass throb punched in by a drunk. Frighteningly fast Morse Code signals- a panicked message from the future (or past).
This is followed by what sounds like library music with a French lounge God doing his best to get the girls. I wish I understood French. I’d love to see the TV programme this (may) come(s) from- all smart suits and Gitannes. It would, no doubt have a classic ‘Bad Trip’ episode.
[I may as well mention this now. I know next to nothing about 1) library music (beyond a Vibert compiled ‘Nuggets’ compilation and from memories of that, I’d put a fair bit of the music here into the genre. I've wanted to know more, but other things -reggae- have always got in the way), or 2) the rest of the stuff on the tape. So I, as with the above comments and those that follow, could be way off and/or hugely offensive. I’m listening in the dark here.]
An interlude with layers of effects. This time a ghost sings along with a looped bass/ piano/ drum trio funking it up in European fashion.
A Flute! Spaghetti Western guitars! A Triangle! Axelrod sounding? Nice.
Then the Clangers bang pots inna Konono No. 1 style. Is it any surprise that Rich started a thread on Dissensus about Psychedelic music? No.
An orchestra tunes up. A Tuba. Chanting. More overdubs- crowd noise, surf guitar, guttural utterances, construction site banging, blowing through a straw into a glasss of water. Church bells. A baby cries. A Rewind. You can still dance to it. A pretty remarkable feat.
Wonky deep soul. Men are bastards. But hey, come on in! I’m in a spin! I want your love.
The electronic wiggle thread reappears, this time over kosmiche wah-wahing, aided by a jazz drummer, feeling free. Scat singing! It works! Must be exhausting searching all this stuff out.
Rich loves that distorted bass sound too. I bet that break’s been sampled to fuck. I’m rocking in my chair. Woo Hoo!
By now, I’m fairly ashamed of my meagre CD- a lack of ‘WTF?’ obscurities; rather a Radio6 show without the talking. Apart from ‘The Penis Song’. At least it wasn’t all reggae.
A vocal number comes and goes. I was writing the above. A vain attempt to cover my back.
A change of pace. A couple of Disco/Funk numbers. Like wot DFA copied.
Bit of a skronk out at the end of the next one.
Fuck it, bung it all in. See what comes out. As long as the drummer keeps us on track. Which (s)he does. Jaunty horror business. The whipcrack a tad threatening.
A late night drive in a Citroen DS. Away from the city. Still got the F. Some Mellow Candle ‘wooing’ for emphasis. They escaped. But only just. Phew.
Drum machines and synths left to run. Good timing, My brain could do with time to consolidate.
Turn Over. Press Play.
Intros and outros are important, especially on tapes. (Better on tapes- you get four goes). On side two, we’re invited to the circus to see the Indian rubber boy, fat ladies, sword swallowers and snake charmers, amongst other things. Some acts multi-task others eat animals alive. A sense of Nick Cave overtaken by Ju-ju.
Some 1960s optimistic beat- pop. Seems a bit straight up after side one. The band members probably wore Winklepickers. Which- to me- are more interesting than the music playing:
“They [Winklepickers] attained some notoriety, when they first appeared, as a result of being worn in gang fights (sometimes by both sexes) though it seems that contemporary newspaper reports of such clashes were, as ever, sensationalised flights of the imagination on the part of bored journalists with nothing better to write about. In fact, although the Winklepicker looks lethal, it would be far more likely for damage to be caused to the delicately pointed shoe than to the opponent in any serious kicking incident…” (Wikipedia).
We get back on track. Someone’s having fun putting their voice through a barrage of effects. I hope it’s a love song, though I can’t tell. What was that Pink Floyd song that Ween copied? Something to do with weasels in a cave? Anyway, the vocal multi-tracking at the end of this song is like that.
More effect laden vocals, this time combined with electronica rather than a hammond. ‘Synth-pop’ would be too fluffy a term. Add some Krautrock. I wonder if Rich will like the ISAN tune I included on his comp? The singer here sounds a bit like Mark Gardener in the chorus. I’ve still got the Ride demo somewhere. On cassette, natch.
The next one could well be created by 1960s Haight-Ashbury types before going all Butthole Surfers covering ‘Hurdy Gurdy Man’ for a few bars. Is the tape player warbling? Wow? Flutter? Probably meant to sound like that. A brief piano outro? Crazy hippies.
A sax plays the ‘I want your soul’ melody from Aphex’s ‘Come to Daddy’. Or is it ‘I’m a man, yes I am, yes I am’? Don’t know who sung that. Anyway, the enjoyable drums/hammond/guitar combination continues.
Any attempt to guess the nation of origin of this one could well make me look like a racist twunt. The mystical Far East meets Dixieland jazz. That crass enough for you?
Do the Mashed Potato*! Inna echo chamber.
*No, that’s not the right dance- it should be the one where you put your hands on opposite knees and stuff.
Crikey, sexy girl wants to dance with me. Can’t say no.
Dr Bizarre likes his synths, but laughs evilly.
Then The Adventure Game meets Fat Boy Slim (sorry). Add vocoder.
Tape ends.
I’m exhausted doing all that.
So, a wicked cassette from areas of music I have at best a passing knowledge of and I didn’t know a single song in the entire 90 minutes. I don’t feel the need to dig much deeper with this sort of stuff, but that is in no way to demean of diminish the quality- I dread to think the amount of time Rich has spent trawling through dusty record shops searching out these gems. I’m just glad I now own a tape that I can use to quench a thirst I didn’t know I had, as and when required.
I believe Rich deejays, and if this is the sort of music he plays out, I’d heartily recommend an evening in his company.
Lots of love,
Matt B
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