Shirley Brown - Intimate Storm

We went to the pictures last night to see The Blues Brothers. Now, I saw this at the cinema when it first came out, and I’ve seen it countless times since. However, this was the first time I’d seen it with the 15 minutes that had been cut out of the original release reattached.

I am plagued by people who sit behind me in cinemas and feel a need to give a running commentary on the film to their friends. It’s happened to me for years, last night was no exception. Highlights of last night’s fuckwit commentary were: laughing uproariously at the dancing in the church, as if she’d never seen people dance before and had never seen anything so funny, finding Steve Cropper’s name the funniest thing she'd seen since the dancing, exclaiming “That’s Carrie Fisher!” when Carrie Fisher appeared and “Twiggy!” when Twiggy appeared, and, singing along with songs despite seemingly not knowing the songs, asking “How did they get changed so quickly?” at the end of Cab Calloway’s Minnie The Moocher scene, where the scene changes from fantasy, high-glitter, Cotton Club styling back to real life, and exclaiming “That was Aretha Franklin!” during the end picture credits. Jesus wept.

Anyway. It remains a wonderful film.

Willie Hall, the drummer of the Blues Brothers, played on this album, which I picked up on US import when it came out in 1984.

It’s a proper slab of southern soul, with its wide open Homer Banks and Chuck Brooks production.

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Process And The Doo Rags - Too Sharp

If there’s one thing I’m partial to, it’s a Rick James side-project. And James had quite a few of them, all imbued with his trademark production, melodic style, and lyrical tropes (dutty women and genitals, largely). This album formed part of his early to mid-80’s peak period, where he just couldn’t produce enough great music...it makes you wonder where he got all his energy from.

The concept behind P&TDR was a 50’s doo-wop vocal harmony group, plying their trade against a modern musical background. They were dressed all 50's: zoot suits, processed hair, popped collars, correspondent shoes, but manage to still look very 1980's.

The first side of the album is made up of quality dance tunes, with added live audience sounds in-between, rather oddly.

The second side drops the tempo after the first track, and includes a hat-trick of cover versions, some of which work better (the acapella version of Thin Line Between Love And Hate) than others (Daddy’s Home).

The sleeve photo shoot has them standing outside a theatre. My internet sleuthing shows this to be The Little Harlem in Buffalo, New York – Rick James’s home town. This building was of considerable historic significance to the Black and Queer communities in the area.

Incidentally, this is an Aussie white label, which was once in the possession of 2BBB radio in Bellingen, NSW.

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Swamp Dogg - Rat On!

I like a record that seethes with anger. Swamp Dogg is an artist who, despite his often clownish persona, has a foundation of rage, and – when that breaks through – he seethes so well.

This album, for example, is more famous for it’s sleeve, which always features in those worst record sleeve lists. However, it contains God Bless America For What – a song so simmering with rage, it's breathtaking. There’s no ambiguity about this one – no-one’s mistakenly singing along with this one at MAGA rallies. It’s a lyric that got him (what we would now call) shadow-banned by his record label and sued by the Irving Berlin Foundation – all grist to the Swamp Dogg anger mill.

Rat On! is probably the quintessential Swamp Dogg album: it sits right at the intersection of soul, blues, rock and country, has songs about complicated personal entanglements, race, politics, a perfect cover version (The Bee-Gees’ Got To Get A Message To You), some kind of self-aggrandising statement in the sleeve notes, and an eccentric cover.

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O.V. Wright - The Bottom Line

I picked this up as a cut-out at JiFS records in the early eighties, purely on instinct. It’s probably been in my top 5 soul albums since.

Until today, I’d always assumed that Wright had been quite old when he recorded this, based on his fragile, old-man-with-ill-fitting-dentures-losing-his-life-savings-to-an-online-pig-butchering-scam sounding vocals. The power of the internet tells me he was thirty fucking eight when he released this.

He had lived a bit of a hard life and had spent the mid-70’s banged up in prison for drugs offenses. He then signed to Hi Records for his final three albums, of which this is the first. He died of a heart attack whilst at work in 1980 and was buried in an unmarked grave, until funds were raised for a headstone nearly 30 years later.

The great Willie Mitchell does a spectacular job on production. It’s both beautifully lush, with horns, strings and backing vocals galore, but still very southern and raw.

Also, can I just bring your attention to the record label in the above picture, where the blue had holds the spindle? Class.

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Stevie Wonder -  Journey Through the Secret Life of Plants

One of the best things about being vegan is hearing the stupid arguments people come up with, thinking they’re gold-plated gotchas: But but what will we do with all the animals? But but where do you get your protein? But but crop deaths, but but bees, but but almonds, but but avocados.

One of the most entertaining is the but but plants feel pain argument. OK. Let’s get a puppy and a carrot and you can chop the head off one of them, Richard. You choose.

Part of the reason for the propagation (pun definitely intended) of this argument was the book The Secret Life of Plants by Peter Tomkins and Christopher Bird. So full of half-baked ideas and bogus science is it that it’ll likely be US government policy soon. It was, however, made into a very watchable film, scored by Stevie Wonder, who – being blind - wrote his music according to how each scene was described to him.

It was his first proper album since his meisterwerk Songs In The Key of Life, three years earlier, so expectations were high and the record company wallet was open. It was a double album with a convoluted, triple-gatefold, braille embossed and floral-scented sleeve, at least at first. Musically, the album was generally considered, erm…not quite as good.

But listen, this is an album full of experimental synthesizer sounds, atmospheric instrumental works, sound effects, and the occasional lovely soul song. It’s a truly beautiful album, absolutely years ahead of its time. If you don’t believe me, give Come Back As A Flower, which is as fine a tune as was ever committed to vinyl, or the proto-house of Race Babbling a go. It just didn’t contain another Isn’t She Lovely, that’s all. And that’s OK.

Rather ironically, Stevie Wonder’s now a vegan. Right on, Stevie.

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The Natural Four - Nightchaser

This is an album of pretty standard Curtom fare, with the producers, LeRoy Hutson, Chuck Jackson, Lowrell Simon, and Richard Evans amongst them, being far higher achievers than the band themselves.

What you get is an album of decent pre-disco, seventies soul with only one relatively dreary ballad. Get It Over With is the stand-out tune. To be fair, almost any of the up-tempo tunes could have turned out to be modern soul classics. Except they’re not.

The front cover shows the four band members in their glad rags, in a swanky pad with seven hot ladies. Naturally. The glass coffee table has what looks like a large plate of falafel. They’re all having a whale of a time, except for the bloke on the bottom right who is looking at one of the ladies like he’s just asked her to shit on the glass coffee table and she’s refused.

Flip to the rear of the sleeve and the photo is of the same room in the aftermath of the party – wine bottle on the floor, clothing scattered asunder, ashtray half full of nubs, people and falafel all but gone. Who’s going to tidy up?

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Anita Baker - The Songstress

Anita Baker was working as a secretary and singing in the group Chapter 8, when Beverly Glen, an independent soul label put out this, her solo debut in 1983.

To say it had high production values was an understatement. She had a supporting cast of top-notch producers, players and singers. She even got a gate-fold sleeve. No expense was spared.

How could an indie label do this? Crack, that’s how. The album was financed by “Freeway” Rick Ross, multi-million dollar dealer of cocaine and apparent fan of velvety jazz-soul vocals.

Otis Smith, who owned the label, was a bit of a spiv. He had promised Bobby Womack he could get a deal for him with Motown, but instead signed him to Beverley Glen, giving world wide distribution to Motown, but keeping the US rights to himself. The Poet & Poet 2 sold millions. Bobby never saw a dime - but it cost him a fortune to get out of his contract.

Anita Baker never got paid for this album and spent thousands (and a couple of years) trying to get out of her contract, so she could sign for Elektra.

By, 1985 even his law firm had sued him to get paid for their services.

I bet “Freeway” Rick Ross never had to send a solicitor's letter.

Once signed to Elektra, Baker became the epoch-defining singer of smooth Mum-soul.

I bought it in the Virgin Megastore in Piccadilly Circus on import.

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C.L. Blast - C.L. Blast

They used to call this type of stuff modern independent soul or deep soul. Nowadays, it seems to be just southern soul. Whatever you call the bluesy-gospel-soul out of the south, issued on indie labels, largely for the consumption of a broadly local black audience, produced in studios where they never asked “is that too much reverb, do you think?” I’m all for it.

C.L. Blast was from (the other) Birmingham. He wore his new shirt for the cover photo.

I bought this on import when it came out in 1984, on the strength of Lay Another Log On The Fire, as bluesy a soul tune can get before it becomes blues. The Muscle Shoals Sound sound is in full effect. It’s perfect.

The final track on the album is called Let Me Entertain You. Nowhere is it written that this was the inspiration for a more famous song of the same name, but I wouldn’t mind betting it was.

Also, TIL that 'Jody' is US military slang for someone who fucks your wife whilst you're away on active service. After all these years, I finally understand this song properly.

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Rufus and Chaka Khan Live - Stompin' At The Savoy

Considering that, for much of their career, they couldn’t stand being in the same room, it’s odd that, in 1982, only a year after their last flop of an album, and whilst Chaka Khan’s solo career is flying, they got together to record some live shows, to be recorded for a live in concert film. Tony & Toni from Peep Show vibes.

The film was shelved by Warner Bros. (until its eventual release on home video), but the audio recordings formed three sides of this album, the fourth being studio stuff.

They smash through their big hits, plus one of Chaka’s solo tunes. This version of Bobby Womack’s Stop On By is one of my favourite pieces of music ever. I can still remember hearing it being played on Robbie Vincent’s Saturday afternoon Radio London show.

The studio side has Ain’t Nobody on it, and it became the biggest hit of any of their careers.

Funny old business.

I picked up this US pressing (cut-out) at Victor Harbor market one Sunday.

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John Spithead

2025-08-01 02:19:19

You live in a quandry

Rufus - Camouflage

This was Rufus’ final album for MCA. The band and Chaka Khan reunited to knock this one out to meet their contractual obligations to the label. After this, Khan was free to pursue her solo career, which she did, instead of promoting the album. She’d fallen out with the rest of the band (again) and had recorded separately from them (again). The album disappeared without a trace.

Having said all that, it should be shit, but it’s actually OK.

It falls just at the tipping point between disco and post-disco/boogie and most of the up-tempo tunes reflect that.

Suffice to say, none of their big hits are on this album.

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Swamp Dogg - Cuffed, Collared & Tagged

I have a few Swamp Dogg records. I reckon I got into him in the late eighties by picking up the Total Destruction To Your Mind LP secondhand because I liked the bonkers sleeve and I was hooked from there.

There’s a lot to like about Swamp Dogg: his barely-contained anger at politics, racism, the music business, and anyone else whom he believes has wronged him; he wears his heart on his sleeve; he is an unbridled eccentric, with total faith in his own genius.

To be fair, he is a prolific songwriter of some aplomb. When you hear one of his songs sung by someone else, you know it. On balance, he’s also made some shite.

This was his third album, released in 1972. It contains covers of John Prine’s Vietnam War veteran’s lament, Sam Stone,The Beatles’ Lady Madonna and Joe South’s Don’t It Make You Wanta Go Home. Musically, it falls in between the southern soul and country rock stools. It has a cast of thousands playing on this album (including the Philadelphia Symphony Orchestra, for Christ’s sake), showing that someone (still) saw some commercial value in all this and was willing to chuck dollars at him.

This is a US promo, which – according the the price written in marker pen on the front, had found itself in a 50c bin. I must’ve bought this off Discogs.

In an interesting indication of how times have changed since 1972, the ‘suggested cuts for air play’ sticker on the front lists Your Last Dirty Trick, a song where the protagonist commits intimate partner murder, going into more detail than is probably necessary, and doesn’t feel at all bad about it because, even though he’s now doing porridge, at least he’s no longer concerned whether the victim will late home. Interesting that you can go from railing against violence committed against soldiers of an invading army (albeit one disproportionately made up of black and working class men) and reveling in the violence committed against women in six short songs. It was a different age.

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