Top Of The Pops Volume 92: Various Artists - Pickwick 1985

I'll own up to having bought this one quite early on during my 'research' for this blog but I decided I'd keep it back to be the 101st, and last, entry. There are a number of reasons for this. Firstly, I genuinely didn't know that the Top Of The Pops series was still a going concern as late as 1985. I'd assumed the all conquering 'Now' series would have steamrollered them into the dirt long before then, but in hindsight I guess there should have been just as much of a market for low budget alternatives to 'Now' in 1985 as there would have been to the K Tel compilations that were all the rage in, say, 1973. 

So maybe my surprise was misplaced. A little research though shows that the series HAD effectively ended in 1982 after 91 volumes and that this entry was a 'back from the dead', one off designed to test the waters and see if there was still a market for these things. Sadly, it would appear that there wasn't and this is where the series finally bit the dust so it seemed a fitting album to end on myself.

Secondly, looking back over the 100 albums that came before it, it would seem that if there was a 'golden decade' for all these budget albums it would have been the seventies. There aren't that many here from the decades either side, and while I will admit my own personal preference played in part in choosing which of these records (and, more often than not, their covers) that I wanted to write about, it may have skewed the sample toward that decade. This though was never my aim. I don't think I've reviewed anything later than 1985 in any case and so maybe it's equally fitting that this acts as a full stop. I'm pretty sure Top Of The Pops Volume 92 wouldn't have been the last record ever released that could have qualified for this blog and that there are plenty of post '85 discs gathering dust out there, but by using a bit of artistic licence I can pretend that there aren't and this is the last. And why not? It's my blog, I can do what I want.

In any case, like the eight track cartridge, the cassette and the VHS tape before them, that once ubiquitous low budget album has become an increasing rarity in charity shops these days. New vinyl may have found an audience, but few charity shops seem keen to give away space for such large items that probably provide a minimal return anymore. So much so I think I'd have struggled with this blog if I'd started it this year instead of last. But whatever, something is definitely being lost; these records are disappearing like dodos and, with music shifting online, nothing is replacing them.

The third - and most personal - reason for leaving this 'till last is that 1985 was a very good year for me. I remember it well; with a good set of O levels behind me and A levels still a year away it was a year of sheer lack of responsibility and freedom I've not experienced since.  And though I don't pretend to like them all I can say that hearing every song on this album in its original form has the capacity to unlock a memory from that year. I got absolutely shitfaced drunk for the first time in 1985 and 'Let's Go Crazy' was playing over the tannoy as I kneeled and hugged the pub toilet. I learned what 'unrequited' meant in 1985 and 'The Boys Of Summer' made for a perfect soundtrack to it. And so on.

For my money, such memories are far better than any memento taken by a modern day camera phone selfie. These exist only in my mind and, as their accuracy can't be challenged and disputed by recorded fact, I can burnish them until they grower brighter and more appealing the further I move away from them in time And in this way that passing of time is something I can be in total denial of, a mental state where I'm the same person I was at 17 and Linda Lusardi still looks exactly the same now as she does on the cover. "The past is a foreign country" wrote LP Hartley, "they do things differently there". He might have added "and they do it better too".  So to mark the end of this journey, I'm going to break with tradition and give a small review of each song. 

Things Can Only Get Better - Howard Jones 

Jones, along with Nik Kershaw, summed up everything I didn't care for about popular music in 1985, neither then or now. Jones' synth pop is easy to replicate, and this does a decent job, but the vocal here is leaden, making it more of an ordeal than the original was. 

You Spin Me Round (Like A Record) - Dead Or Alive 

The 'Like A Record' bit makes me smile now - how many of 'the kids' scratch their heads at this when it appears on ironic 80's compilations? As a point in fact, early into my writing of this a conversation with a young girl on the till of one of these shops went: 
Me: How much is the vinyl?
Her: Blank stare
Me: You know, the albums?
Her: Albums?
Me: (pointing) Yes, those square cardboard things in the box over there
Her: Oh. Them. I don't know. I'll ask.

I think she thought they were some kind of floor tile.

But anyway - the original of this sounded like 50 musical boxes playing at the same time over a thumping proto House beat. This does a fair approximation of the music, albeit with a number of those layers missing, but the would be Pete Burns is weedy and just sounds like Rob Brydon's 'small man in a box'. Nowhere near as majestic as the original. 

Solid - Ashford & Simpson 

I suppose this is the first real 'test' here; you're going to need some serious chops to take on Valerie Simpson and the unknown vocalist here sounds more like Marge. The music is dull and thin too with as much soul as an abattoir. 

Dancing In The Dark - Bruce Springsteen 

The vocalist here sounds nothing like The Boss and doesn't even try. Singing well behind the beat and music supplied by the Z Street Band with neither power nor drama. Awful frankly. 

You're The Inspiration - Chicago 

The eighties loved a good power ballad and any hoary old seventies refugees could get a slice of chart action if they could come up with one. Like Chicago. This version isn't a bad copy though it could do with a bit more oomph. The song remains horrible regardless. 

Just Another Night - Mick Jagger 

An awful Jagger impersonator sinks the boat before it leaves the dock. The musicians on the original included Jeff Beck, John Bundrick, Sly Dunbar, Robbie Shakespeare and Bill Laswell, so at least Jagger's rubbish song had some pedigree behind it. This one sounds like it was knocked out on a home Casio with the pre-set rhythms working overtime. Dreadful. 

Wide Boy - Nik Kershaw 

I could write tomes about how much I hated Kershaw in the eighties. The passing of time has calmed me down, but I've never liked this. Saying that, although this version does get the music more or less right, even Nik at his worst didn't sound as bad as this. 

I Know Him So Well - Elaine Paige and Barbara Dickson 

This starts of solidly enough, but as soon as it gets going all attempts to sound like Ms Paige go out the window and both she and the would be Ms Dickson harmonise as well as two siblings squabbling over the last piece of chocolate. Actually quite painful. 

Breaking Up My Heart - Shakin' Stevens 

Probably the least well known song here, the guy sounds absolutely nothing like Shaky but the relative obscurity of the song works in its favour as there's not a well known template to measure it against. 

Nightshift - The Commodores

A late hit for the band, this version starts off quite promisingly with the solo voice but then overreaches itself when the harmonies and backing music divide like cancerous cells until they're rolling around randomly like marbles on a saucer, rarely coming together into a satisfying whole
 
The Boys Of Summer - Don Henley

I'm not sure which part of this would piss Don off the most - the strangled whine that passes as his vocal or the migraine inducing, electronic clatter that passes for his drums. The original was a beautifully underwritten song of nostalgia, this is as tasty and satisfying as own brand Corn Flakes
  
Let's Go Crazy - Prince 

Ambitious, but by this stage I get the feeling that shits are not being given anymore so they go at the song like an enthusiastic covers band trying to get a wedding reception going. Not really comparable with the original other than on the basic tune and lyrics, this does at least have the honesty of knowing it's not very good and not trying to pretend otherwise. 

And so that's that. It's a shame it all had to end on less than a high, but I guess it's fitting - anything else would have fallen foul of the title I gave this exercise twelve months ago. A project of '101 Vinyl Masterpieces From Charity Shops' would take substantially longer to write. Tant pis.

Little Things: Stef Meeder - Gemini 1968

In 1934, the Austrian legal philosopher Hans Kelsen published his 'Pure Theory Of Law'. In it, Kelsen sought to site the authority of law in terms of its social origins or 'norms'. Thus, byelaws gain their authority from the norm of legislation which in turn gets its authority from the norm of parliament. And so on. Ultimately, he believed all legal power can be traced back to, and legitimised by, a single source of authority, what Kelsen termed the 'grundnorm'. Had Hans spent his time trawling through charity shop vinyl instead of worrying about jurisprudence then he may well have located the grundnorm of crap in Stef Meeder's 'Little Things'. Because if there was one shit charity shop album to rule them all, it would surely have to be this, the grundnorm from which all others trickle down in various permutations.

 

Let's start with the most obvious element - the cover.* To date we've seen any number of ropy albums trying to make themselves more sellable via sleeves of soft focus glamour shots of women showing as much skin as taste and mainstream record shops would allow. There's no such nudge nudge shenanigans here though is there? The folk behind this have cut straight to the chase and said 'here's a pair of big tits'. You can criticise it for it's cynicism and you can criticise it for it's sexism, but for my own part I find myself praising it for its honesty - that woman and her breasts have clearly got nothing to do with the music (and trust me, they haven't) and all they're doing is crudely pushing sex to sell the album the way certain top shelf magazines use photosets of naked young women to sell their articles on cars and steam trains.

 

Then there's the music - again, it's all based around that patron saint of charity shop records Laurens Hammond and his eponymous organ, but to ramp up the Hammond quotient to the max, 'Little Things' is not little at all - it's a double album. That's right, what we have here are four sides of Hammond music - almost 90 minutes of the stuff - for double your listening pleasure. And yes, it follows/sets the usual pattern of a highly eclectic mix of familiar, popular tunes ('King Of The Road', 'Blueberry Hill', 'Yesterday') with Euro unfathomable songs ('Soep Met Speldjes', Muss I Den Zum Stadtle Hinaus', 'Froken Fraken' etc.) that I wouldn't recognise if I fell over them in broad daylight, played as medleys in clusters of three or four. Not that the source material matters all that much - this is a purely instrumental affair with Meeder's Hammond rendering them all in an Esperanto-like uniformity that transcends all borders.

 

Because as far as that music goes, the credit on the inner sleeve just about sums it up - 'Stef Meeder, Hammond Organ with Rhythm Accompaniment'. Meeder's organ plays the main melody in a surprisingly subdued way that buzzes like a lazy hornet trapped in a tin bucket, the drums pat out a light shuffle and the bassist plays simple scales in the same key. That's it really, a vaguely jazzy, wine bar sort of music that's not unpleasant at first, but then as it continues in the same relentless way over virtually every single track, it's a repetition that first gets boring and then gets irritating before we get to the end of side one.

 

And that's my biggest beef with it; there's not much light or dark on 'Little Things', no variation in volume or tempo, only a monotonous, monotone drone that burbles away in the background like two people talking too loudly behind you on a long train journey but not loud enough that you can actually understand everything they're saying. And with nothing much to engage with, there's not a lot to enjoy. You could play it as background music to blot out the silence, but to sit and actively listen to it is as satisfying as eating dust - there's simply nothing there to get your teeth into. Which perhaps explains why they thought they needed a cover like that to 'sex it up' a bit; listening to the whole of this in one sitting is something to be endured rather than enjoyed and - by god - I was glad when it was over.

 

 

* Regarding that cover, regular readers will remember that we've met that couple before on a previous Stef Meeder album, only there the woman had her top on. What's interesting (to me anyway) is that there's another Meeder album available ('What Now My Love') that uses an image from that same photoshoot. Only this one not only shows some generous side boob, but the bloke looks like he's sporting a rather obvious erection in his shorts too. Make of that what you will.

 

Hammond Disco: Duke Grant - Stereo Gold Award 1976

Third time up for Duke Grant and his organ and that's twice more than I originally planned. By all accounts though, the man has only released three albums and so with two down and with this in the crate it seemed a shame not to go on and complete the hat trick; we've had Hammond Gold and a Hammond Party and now it's time to get down at the Hammond Disco. To be honest, from that title and cover picture in (which I'm betting wasn't snapped at Studio 54) I wasn't expecting all that much and, as far as that expectation goes, I wasn't disappointed, but I will say that of his three albums, this one is probably the best.

 

And one of the reasons it is the pick of a bad bunch is - ironically - because the Hammond isn't the focal point of it all. Perhaps realising that a Hammond lends itself to being a lead disco instrument about as well as a tuba does, there's an embellished backing here that goes beyond Grant's usual trio. The percussion and drums sound still like a pre-set organ rhythm but there are guitars and saxophones and live bass guitars swimming around in the mix too and they add a dimension sorely lacking from his previous efforts. While it does add colour to the palette though, the ingredients are a bit randomy and a bit thrown together, meaning it lurches on stilts where it should groove on a rail.

 

In fact, that 'disco' title is rather misleading altogether; true, some of the tracks on this (there are only seven) are bona fide early disco classics ('The Hustle', 'Never Can Say Goodbye', I'm On Fire' which, fair enough too, would have been fairly cutting edge in 1976), while others 'Salsa Woman', 'Del Sengo') are most definitely not early disco classics; they appear to have been written to order and suffer for it.  But despite all the trimmings and trappings, this is not what I would call 'disco' music. In fact, the overall sound has more of a would be funky blaxploitation feel to it, albeit one from the lower end of the barrel and swimming in the murk of a jam session where nobody really knows what the others are doing. Saying that, it's better than I expected, but as the Duke Grant bar had previously set close to ground level, that's not saying much. But it's nice to see him going out on a high of sorts, even though I can confidently say I'll never knowingly listen to this again for as long as I live.

Bridge Over The Genius Of Simon & Garfunkel: The Tony Mansell Singers - Stereo Gold Award 1972

The third Simon and Garfunkel covers album I've come across (and to be honest, that's three more than I ever knew existed prior to starting this blog), but surely the winner of 'the most literal album cover' prize - I mean, there's a bridge, there's rough looking water and there's a couple standing on that bridge over it. Genius. Except it's not; in depicting the metaphor of the song in a literal way it's kind of missed the whole point, which is the promise to provide emotional support during bad times. But no matter - if that was the only thing about this that missed the target then we'd be doing well, but unfortunately it's not. Not by a long shot.

Let's start with the tracklist, in amongst the usual 'Mrs Robinson' and 'Sounds Of Silence' suspects, two illegal aliens (wisely left off the front cover) stand out like blood on whitewash - 'Granma Pepper' and 'The Longest Day'. The former is a tale about a pipe smoking octogenarian bootlegger who rides a goat while the latter is an end of days, Book of Revelation type affair of doomy preachers, the sun and moon hanging in the sky side by side and snow falling on days when it's 100 degrees. Both are delivered in a rollicking, barn dance kind of way and neither rank amongst Paul Simon's better known songs. Or even amongst Paul Simon's songs at all - we're on the Stereo Gold Award label here and so my regular readers will have guessed that both of these efforts were penned by L Muller up to his usual cash in tricks.* I'm not saying that they aren't as good as the rest of the Simon & Garfunkel songs, I'm saying they're not good full stop. They aren't in any way keeping with Simon's writing and you couldn't even see them as pastiche or parody - what they are is f*#+?%£g awful; surely nobody who bought this album on the strength of the title would have either expected or wanted crap like this?

What of the rest of it? Well song one, side one aims straight for the stars by taking 'Bridge Over Troubled Water' head on, which is unwise. But what's even more unwise is its attempt to stay as faithful to the original as it can. That would be a plateful of trickiness for anyone to cope with but those Tony Mansell singers en-masse can neither compete with Garfunkel's choirboy soar or even play in the same ballpark; the best they can manage is a wince inducing squawkfest of clunking harmonies that drown the lyric in a sack of clue free over ambition. Perhaps recognising a lost cause when they see one, for the remainder the ensemble stray from the familiar and offer up a unique take on the songs in a cacophony of sound that at times sounds like it's being strangled out of home made instruments with the percussion supplied by someone hitting  tin can with a pencil; it sounds like Simon and Garfunkel left out in the rain.

Even that could have been an interesting proposition if there was intent behind it, but there's not - the stuff on this is the result of incompetence and it sounds bad because it is bad; badly sung, badly played, badly arranged and badly produced with classic song after classic song being put through the shredder to no good purpose other than to get a cheap cash in into the shops.  I'll admit that the closing "Homeward Bound" is an interesting take in that it has a skitterish, mutant folk feel that wouldn't have been out of place in 'The Wicker Man' or on a 60's Giallo soundtrack. Again though, although it's the only thing on this that does bear repeating I can't see it as anything but a fluke, and even if it wasn't it's still way too little way too late and it does precious little to elevate the catalogue of horrors that have gone before it. About as bad as these albums get.


* For those who are not regular readers, then firstly shame on you, but by way of explanation L Muller is the shadowy figure behind the Stereo Gold Award label who has already written songs for Jimi Hendrix, Burt Bacharach and Glenn Miller, as well as arranging popular tunes by Tchaikovsky, Mozart and Dvorak; there's a good compilation there somewhere.

One Day At A Time: Father Francis - Jungle Records 1979

I'll own up to a certain level of mischief making in lining this one up in my crosshairs. After all, we've already met Father Francis once before and I'm well aware of what his shtick is - this might be Volume 4 of 10, but I was neither hoping nor expecting that his earlier works might cast him as the spiritual successor to Nick Drake. No, what caught my eye mainly was the back cover and the reveal that this is the Father's 'Christmas album', and as at the time of writing Christmas is only a few weeks away, it seemed fitting.  The problem is though that it's only partly a Christmas album; half the songs on it (the whole of side one in fact) have got nothing to do with Christmas whatsoever, and even some of the ones on side two that are meant to only have a tenuous link to the festive season ('Bambino', 'Amazing Grace').*

Apart from all that, I can report that from the creepy cover kids in, it's very much business as usual. Francis still doesn't have much of a voice and both his and the band's playing is competent rather than great, though once again he goes at each song with an honest amateurishness that never tries to pretend it's anything other than it is. However, the enthusiasm in that honest amateurishness is not contagious and, as before, much of this stuff is cloying, sing-song sentimentality (his versions of 'One Day At A Time', 'You Needed Me' and 'Four Strong Winds' in particular) that clogs up my ears like fat in an artery. Meanwhile, the 'Christmas side' is cheerless and po-faced enough to make Cliff Richard fidget and itch to get the Slade records out. Not for me I'm afraid.

 

* The other thing that amused me was the order form brochure in the inner sleeve that reveals the Father to have more merchandise for his fans than Taylor Swift, though even Taylor doesn't have a small stuffed version of her you can hang from your guitar neck. I wonder how many Christmas stockings had one of those in them back in the day?

Dance To Beatles Hits In The Glenn Miller Sound: The Hiltonaires - Stereo Gold Award 1971

Well, where to start with this one? OK, there's the title for one - 'Dance To Beatles Hits In The Glenn Miller Sound'. That's clear enough I suppose, but then so is 'Green Pig With Three Heads In A Tutu'; doesn't make it logical though does it? I mean, who thought this would be a good idea - to play Beatles songs in the style of a 1940s Big Band? There's no logical connection is there? No lightbulb over the head moment of clarity where you can see what they're getting at (and I'm afraid that remains a closed book to the end). That's one thing anyway, but then I find that song one side one is 'Moonlight Serenade', a Glenn Miller hit played in the Glenn Miller style. Nothing to do with The Beatles at all. It doesn't add to the clarity.

 

And then there are three other tunes on this ('Bird Cage Walk', 'Londonderry Air' and 'Diamond Rock') that have nothing to do with either The Beatles or Glenn Miller save the fact they're played in Miller's style - they are new compositions credited to one 'Bill Holcombe'. Two of them are absolutely rotten, hamfisted pastiches of big band while 'Birdcage Walk' is simply a minor rearrangement of 'Chatanooga Choo Choo', a tune associated with Miller though credited here solely to Holcombe. All of which I find totally bizarre, but as this is on the Stereo Gold Award label then maybe I shouldn't be too surprised; after all, they've got form in this type of skulduggery and, true to that form, L Muller gets a credit here too. But whatever the ethics of it all (which I'm not going to go into again), it does make that title highly misleading and leaves the listener all at sea.

 

Of the songs that are from The Beatles, then yes they are arranged in a 'Big Band' style with a clarinet and/or saxophone leading the charge, but that's where the positives end. For a start, most of selections are a curious choice; 'Yesterday', 'Hey Jude', 'Michelle', 'Let It Be' all have a slow, melancholy air in their original form and don't readily lend themselves to a Big Band makeover. The results are overcooked and messy, holing the atmosphere of the originals well below the waterline and they're left to sink in the waters of their own hubris  In fairness, the opening track (a tag team medley of 'Moonlight Serenade' and 'Something') does at least offer up something different and interesting that's perhaps true to the promise of the cover, but the exercise is not repeated again; the rest of the album is made up of stand alone tracks.

 

'I Want To Hold Your Hand' and 'A Hard Day's Night' carry more promise, but The Hiltonaires don't so much drop the ball as fail to find it in the first place with their cramped and way too busy arrangements that leave no room to breathe, let alone a solid beat to dance to. 'When I'm 64' or 'Maxwell's Silver Hammer' and the like would have been better choices by far, but too late now. To provide the death blow, the Tony Mansell singers are back to supply the vocals and they're just as flat and toneless as they were on the Burt Bacharach album, taking the same cavalier approach to beat and melody which, although may be just down to Holcombe's arrangements, end up sounding like they don't have a clue what they're singing and are just making up the tune as they go along. Maybe this would have been more tolerable if it had been all Beatles songs, but as it stands this is a hideous mash up that never manages to convince that it has any real idea of what it's trying to be except to act as a cheap cash in on The Beatles' name. But if I don't know what it wants to be, I can tell you what it is, and that's a frankly quite painful listen that puts both Miller and The Beatles through an aural mangle that neither deserve.

The Ballad Of Bonnie And Clyde: Bonnie, Bugsy And The Heavy Mob - Allegro 1968

There are a lot of words on that cover, but not the two that immediately spring to my mind when I look at it - 'Cash' and 'In'. This is 1968 and not only had the Hollywood version of 'Bonnie and Clyde' been released to acclaim the previous year (which explains the two cover stars trying to look as much like Faye Dunaway and Warren Beatty as budget, lighting and camera angles would allow), while Georgie Fame had released the number one single 'The Ballad Of Bonnie and Clyde' that same year, a song that both appears on this record and gives it its title as well as justifying that small print that says "The story in song of that wild pair".

 

Well that song does anyway; the rest of the tracks on here have nothing to do with the pair save the fact they were popular round about the same time as the duo were at large. None of these songs actually appear on the official 'Bonnie And Clyde' soundtrack either, and I guess the ones that have been chosen to make up this record are meant to be evocative of a "vivid, colourful period of modern American history" where "a young couple ran amok in an orgy of cold blooded killing of innocent folk". As a selling point, this does not strike me as being in terribly good taste; what reception would a compilation of early 70's UK hits get if it were marketed as a remembrance of the IRA bombing campaign I wonder? After all, that was another "orgy of cold blooded killing of innocent folk". I suppose 'The Troubles' have never been given a glamorous Hollywood makeover (perhaps with Johnny Depp as the president of Sinn Fein) that would give the backdrop to make such an album viable and for that we should be thankful for small mercies.

 

But whatever, this isn't being offered up as a moral imperative - it's a budget record I found in a charity shop and so the acid test for it is simply to ask 'is it any good?'. And I think the best answer I can give to that is 'it's good enough'. By which I mean it's as good as Bonnie. Bugsy and the Heavy Mob (AKA a bunch of disinterested sounding, jobbing musicians and session singers) need to be in order to deliver what's promised. There's nothing uncontroversial in its arrangements or delivery, but it's a lifeless album with not much in the way of enthusiasm to help draw you into the world it's trying to recreate.

 

The backing music is the predictable stabs of brass and bluster that never manage to swing and the vocals adopt the nasally twang of someone trying to impersonate the sound of a Twenties radio broadcast in a way that manages to be both endearing and irritating at the same time; to be honest, it all just sounds fake, false and forced. If you absolutely have to have a version of 'Broadway Melody', 'I Don't Know Why' or the like but don't want to pay through the nose for them, then this will do the job. For my own part I'd have had a lot more time for it if it had been marketed as a straightforward, old time radio compilation rather than leeching off the goodwill and acclaim generated by others. The fact that it's presented as the latter rather than the former still leaves me with a sour taste in my mouth, even after all these years.

Pop Organ Hit Parade: Franz Lambert - EMI 1978

That cover isn't giving the usual level of detail for the casual buyer is it? Ok, there's Franz and his organ and 40 'Super Hits' - I get that, but the usual custom for these albums has been to supplement that much with some kind of 'For Dancing', 'In A Hammond Style', or 'In A Country Way' type qualifier, something gives some indication of what the point of the album is and what it's going to sound like. You don't get that here, but after listening to it I kind of know why; the cover does in fact tell you all you need to know, this is an album of Franz Lambert playing some tunes on an organ in a Franz Lambert style. That's all there is to it.

 

Maybe that's a bit harsh - after all, it's not Lambert's fault that I expected something more, but then I think anyone with a Wersi Galaxis organ at home and a modicum of talent in playing it could have knocked this stuff out to much the same effect. According to my research, the Wersi Galaxis is a kind of programmable, hybrid synthesiser type instrument; that makes sense because, on this at least, it's made to work for its supper - there are no backing musicians here and all the rhythm tracks and percussion are generated by the organ itself with Franz picking out the melody over the top.

 

Like other albums of this ilk, those '40 Super Hits' are grouped into clusters of two or three and played in medley style, but while the cover suggests we're in for a late 70's hits from the UK type compilation, those familiar titles are interspersed with some very (to me anyway) unfamiliar ones like 'Im Wagen Von Mir', 'Und Dabei Liebe Ich Euch Beide' and 'Buenas Dias Argentina' which means listening to it in one sitting is a trippy, dream-like affair where familiar tunes emerge from a fog of Europop before being swallowed up again by tunes I don't know from Adam. Again, that's not Franz's fault, but it does put another cross in the debit column.

 

You see as game as Franz is, the simple fact is that many of these tunes don't translate at all well to the organ ('Mull Of Kintyre', 'Dancing In The City', 'Car Wash' etc.), and though he gets stuck in with a good natured enthusiasm that's hard to dislike, it's not something that's easy to enjoy either, and with an instrument that struggles to produce subtleties of light and shade, the relentless bombardment of too much organ just wears me down. Ultimately, I can't help but see this as anything other than a vanity project that either only Lambert's family and friends or else rabid fans of the Wersi Galaxis sound are going get anything from; there's simply nothing else here for the rest of us and I can't think of any context where playing this would make for a perfect accompaniment. Unless I was purposely trying to irritate.

Beatles Bach Bacharach Go Bossa: Arranged By Alan Moorhouse - Music For Pleasure 1971

'The music of George Harrison, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Johann Sebastian Bach and Burt Bacahrach in Bossa Nova style': that cover note just about sums this up - what more do you need to know? What more is there to know? There's the obvious question as to 'why?', but I've asked that before and I know as far as these records go their lips are sealed. I could ponder if those B's were deliberately chosen for their pleasant alliteration, but does it matter any more than if it were 'Rammstein, Rachmaninov and Radiohead Go Reggae'? Not really. It is what it is. Ah well.

 

Mention 'Bossa Nova' to someone and like as not what comes to mind will be that girl from Ipanema and her jazzy, laid back samba soundtrack that epitomises the kind of blissed out summer most of us aspire to but few actually experience. It's what I think of anyway, but instead of delivering more of the same, arranger Alan Moorhouse takes some very broad brush Bossa Novas beat, laces them up in bovver boots and lets them clump out a backing track while a main melody is honked out over the top of it on a too loud, too busy by half saxophone. Laid back it is not.

 

Perhaps recognising that Bacharach's tunes lend themselves best to this approach, they make up five of the twelve tracks whilst Bach gets three, but in truth all sound much the same when they're set upon in this heavy handed, over egged manner. And fair play, with not one single nod to reverence, even Johann gets put through the same mangle as the rest of them with much the same outcome - that is, one that doesn't work too well and just ends up as awkward, stiff and uncomfortable as size ten feet in size eight shoes.  Being essentially ethic music, Bossa Nova works best when it's cooked up on its own terms and imbued with its own culture and tradition - trying to force other genres into its parameters can work with a bit of imagination, but imagination is in short supply on this thick gloop of novelty cultural tourism that reminds me less of a sun kissed day at the beach as the burned out husk of a pizza left in the oven for too long. Try as I might, I simply can't see any merit in any of this and fans of any of those B's are likely to feel equally let down by this one gimmick pony.

Summer Serenade In Torquay: John Allen & His Orchestra - RA Records no date shown but I'd guess early 1960s

Now there's a cover that shows you everything but tells you nothing; 'Summer Serenade In Torquay' - what is indigenous Torquay music that would (as the back suggests) 'remind you of the lovely days of summer, and bring you musical sunshine all the year round' and what would it sound like? Alas, the answer sadly, is 'like nothing much really'; rather than a set of compositions specifically about or referencing the titular Devon town, the music on this is simply a compilation of excerpts from light operetta played by a chamber orchestra. The whole 'Torquay' angle seems limited to the fact that it was recorded (so the cover tells me) in Torquay by 'West Of England Sound Ltd', which is a bit of a lame connection really, especially when on this evidence the town does not have sufficient personality of its own to seep into the music.

 

As for that music, I can't say that it sounds particularly 'summery' or even particularly English; Viennese polkas, selections from 'Showboat', traditional Irish jigs, Maria Paradis' piano quartet 'Sicilienne' - there's probably something here for everyone, except someone who wants to summon up mental images of the English Riviera. The closest it gets is a revival of Edward German's proto Wurzels-like 'Glorious Devon', ("Dorset, Somerset, Cornwall, Wales, May envy the likes of we. For the flower of the West, the first, the best, the pick of the bunch us be"), but one out of thirteen is not a good strike rate.

 

All things being equal, as this record went on I would have kind of assumed that the wrong disc had been in the sleeve and that was why the contents and the cover didn't seem to match. But it isn't , the disc is the right one and it leads to an awkward situation where I can say as a piece of light entertainment, 'Summer Serenade' is perfectly fine. More than fine really - the music is played well, the songs are sung well and everyone knows what they are doing. But anyone looking for a summer feeling or some kind of souvenir of their time in Torquay may well feel as short changed by it as they would if they'd bought a cat that turned out to be a dog.

You Should Be Dancing: The Les Reed Orchestra - Warwick 1978

I picked this one up because, as a long time music fan I knew Les Reed came with a good pedigree. In case anyone didn't know about it though, his CV highlights are set out on the back cover. 'Delilah', 'It's Not Unusual', 'The Last Waltz', There's A Kind Of Hush' 'I Pretend' et al - Les co-wrote them all and plenty more besides, a fact impressive enough in its own right, and though I confess the 'Les Reed Orchestra' was a new one on me, also one that seemed to make this worth a listen.

 

And on listening the first thing I can confirm is that the 'Les Reed Orchestra' is no such thing; this stuff is just played by the usual instruments you'd hear in any pop/rock band (albeit one that had a new synthesiser for Christmas). No lead for a first violin here. The second thing to point out is that despite the generous twenty track playlist, none of these are performed in medley or megamix style - each is its own self contained instrumental (no vocals here) piece with the traditional gap of silence in the grooves to mark where one ends and the next starts. Which, let's be honest, is how it should be, but it's not something I've seen too often to date with these records.

 

What this is though is '20 up to the minute disco hits' as arranged by Les. I raise an eyebrow as to just how 'up to the minute' 'Don't Give Up On Us Baby' (1976), 'Singing In The Rain' (1952) or 'Dancing Queen (1976) ' etc. are in the context of a 1978 release, but these are minor quibbles (and I suppose he deserves some kudos by not taking the cheap shot of covering his own stuff) - my main bone to pick at lies elsewhere, namely in the idea that the likes of 'Dancing Queen', 'Don't Leave Me This Way' or 'Never Can Say Goodbye' needed re-arranging in a 'disco style' . To my mind it's like trying to re-arrange the parts of a Labrador to try and make it more in the style of a dog  - i.e. it's a task for which there is really no need and any attempts to mess with such an already perfect formula are surely doomed to end in tears. Which this does.

 

And it does because there seems to be a mistaken belief at play here that you can 'disco-fy' anything by adding a straight 4/4 backbeat behind it, paste some fancy synthesiser stylings over the top and then sit back to let them do all the work. But it's not as easy as that; straight 4/4 backbeats won't swing on their own and the clumping pace set by much of the stuff on this has none of the disco swish of the original masters and the fussy embellishments only serve to further nail these tunes to the floor.

 

And what's more odd is that the songs that would benefit from more of a disco do-over ('Don't Give Up On Us Baby', 'Chanson D'Amour', 'Summer of 42 et al)) are actually either slowed down to a somnambulist's heartbeat or else are overloaded with so many fussy, bumble bee guitar solos, saxophone honks or jarring keyboard frills and fills that they waddle out of the speakers like a drunk at closing time, too sluggish to walk in a straight line with any purpose, let alone with any groove.

 

Maybe I expected a bit too much from Les and set my bar of expectations too high. In truth some of the individual tracks do offer some reward from their playing, like the imaginative re-jig of 'Singing In The Rain' or the extended dance workout based around the five note 'Close Encounters Of The Third Kind' motif, but these really are slim pickings from a whole that's a mass of unappealing clutter of too many square pegs hammered into round holes that only makes me itch to turn this nonsense off and get the originals out. This isn't one for the CV Les.

The Hits Of Barry White: Lee Charles - Chevron 1979

This is a tricky one. On the face of it, what we have here is an album of songs associated with either Barry White or Love Unlimited and re-recorded by one Lee Charles. Put it like that and it seems a straightforward enough proposition, but the question is whether this a 'songbook' type album by one singer paying homage to another, or is it a recording of one singer passing himself off as another by imitation? I ask because the sleevenotes suggest the latter (it says (of Barry White) 'what better sound for Lee Charles to emulate'), but if that is the case then we have a problem.

 

In terms of pure visuals, it's not hard to adopt a Barry's persona; all you need is a few pillows strapped around your waist, some unwise facial hair, some spray perspiration and yes, in less PC times, to black up too and boom, you're more than halfway there. Far enough along anyway to let those visuals shoulder the weight of any shortcomings in the vocal department, a department in which Mr White was pretty unique. That though doesn't work on a record where the output is 100% aural, 0% visual - there's no curtain to hide behind and although Charles is hardly a slouch in that vocal department himself (after all, he had a minor career of his own), he doesn't sound much like Barry White. Or anything like him if I'm being honest.

 

If my former suggestion above is the case then that needn't be a problem - to take an example from elsewhere, one of my most played discs is Barb Jungr's 'Every Grain Of Sand', an album of Bob Dylan cover versions. Barb doesn't sound anything like Dylan either, but that's not the point and it doesn't matter - she neither tries nor wants to sound like him. She doesn't have to; Dylan's songs are malleable and Jungr could bend them to her will and interpret them in her own way because they don't come with any excessive Dylanesque baggage that ties them to him exclusively.

 

Barry White's oeuvre, on the other hand, does come with rather a lot of Barryesque baggage. It's next to impossible to reduce it to the dimension of the songs only and so unless you're going to give them a radical hip hop or thrash metal makeover then even stepping one foot into Barry's arena is going to invite comparison to the source. The problem facing Charles is that his versions do sound like he's using White's original vocal as a click track and he copies his style and mannerisms almost to the breath and syllable. But it's in vain - Charles' vocal doesn't have anything like the depth and presence of White, and in the absence of a strong vocal identity of his own it just sounds insipid and washed out - two descriptors you could never apply to Barry White.

 

When played at a suitable volume, White's growl and spoken introduction on 'I'm Gonna Love You Just A Little Bit More Baby' could move the furniture around all by itself; Clark's copycat attempt is an apologetic mewl in comparison. No loverman he. The same goes for the music really, the band are game enough but none of the music swings or grooves and a truly anaemic production means any attempt they do make to bring the funk is stuffed in a weighted sack and thrown into the river to drown by the wishy washiness of the sound. But as I say, it's a tricky one - I don't want to be unduly harsh or glib with Mr Charles as I don't know what his brief was in all of this, but suffice it to say this is no substitute for the real thing in any way, shape or form.

Hits From Burt Bacharach With Love: The Tony Mansell Singers - Stereo Gold Award 1971

In the context of churning out one of these low budget albums, I can see the appeal in covering Bacharach and David; their songs are virtually bullet-proof, tried and tested safe harbours for any interpreter where the familiarity of the song itself can paper over any cracks in its delivery. You'd need to approach them with criminal intent if you wanted to screw them up and even my own Exhibit A in the 'ill-advised attempt' stakes (Deacon Blue's 1990 'Four Bacharach & David Songs' EP) has now, with the passage of time, adopted a strange charm of their own in the strained, over earnest way they're performed, and even then they're the exception that proves the rule.

 

In saying that, The Tony Mansell singers do their damndest to sabotage that back catalogue on this album through what I'm taking to be sheer incompetence rather than anything deliberate. Another of the sort of co-ed, easy listening vocal groups that were ubiquitous in the seventies, the massed male and female vocals are kept as separate as day and night and they grind against each other like unoiled gears. Chalk dry and just as brittle, the singers flail around in search of a harmony in a way that suggests they had never heard some of these songs prior to entering the studio and they're just trying to make the words on the lyric sheet scan with the music they're hearing for the first time. In so doing, they make up their own melody lines as they go along and put the  EMPHASIS on the words in ALL the wrong places in a way THAT turns the songs into strangers, Dr Jekyls transformed into Mr Hydes to give listeners the creeps with the added bonus of them being miked so loud it's as if they're shouting in your face.

 

The back cover note says these songs were 'recorded in their "Original Feel", but with a new depth of romantic colour and swinging beat' and scored by 'Derek Cox, who is, as they say in the studios "Tops In His Bag". I don't know what on earth all that is supposed to mean, but suffice it to say the background music on this is just that - kept well in the background and amounts to little more than a thin gruel of percussion and bass which leaves those vocals to do all the heavy lifting.  It's horrible stuff certainly, but that's not the worst of it - there are two songs listed on the cover ('What Made You Go' and 'Good Year For Young Love') that I'd never heard of before, certainly not as being written by Bacharach and David either together or apart.  But those paying attention will note we're back on the 'Stereo Gold Award' label and I'll offer no prizes for anyone who guessed these are L Muller originals slotted in amongst the real McCoys, presumably to harvest royalties off the back of someone else's hard work and goodwill.

 

'What Made You Go' is a non-descript affair that, in being presented in the same rough and ready way as the rest of it, manages to blend in as an equal instead of standing out as the sore thumb it obviously is - try and listen to it in between the classic versions of these songs as recorded by Dionne Warwick, Aretha Franklin et al to get the full effect of it's stench. At least it's a song that's trying though - 'Good Year For Young Love' doesn't even bother with finding it's own tune, it simply hijacks the same five syllable chorus melody to 'Guantanamera' wholesale (try singing that title to it and you'll have heard this song) and passes it off as its own. How they got away with it I'll never know, and how they got away with shoehorning this stuff onto a 'Hits From Burt Bacharach' album without someone suing I'll never know either. But they did, and the outcome does nobody any favours, not least me for wasting thirty minutes of my life sitting through it. That's a mistake I won't be making again.

Yesterdays Dreams: Baker Street Philharmonic - Pye Special 1971

I've commented previously on the dangers of judging a record by its sleeve.* Whilst that still holds good as a rule of thumb, it doesn't take into account those situations where a record seems to go out of its way to set up an expectation for the casual buyer that they're almost encouraged to take on face value and in good faith? Like this one for example - what do we have here? A soft focus summer shot of a woman looking wistful in a field, a title (with no apostrophe) that screams 'nostalgia' and maybe 'regret' and the promise of a Philharmonic orchestra to deliver it. I know what I was expecting anyway, but then the music on this fails to live up to those expectations on almost every single level. 

For a start, despite that 'Philharmonic' credit, you can forget a full orchestra experience. Yes there are strings and stuff to found here, but no more than you'd find backing any contemporary pop or rock track. Rather, this presents a more straight ahead band affair with drums, guitars and bass. So I wasn't expecting that. Secondly, most of the tracks are presented with a split down the middle with the first half of them played as an organ led (pipe rather than Hammond) instrumental before changing gear at about the halfway point and becoming a full band and vocal version. The effect bad cop then even badder cop and is not unlike being slapped in the face just as you're dropping off to sleep.

Thirdly, despite the warm glow of that cover image and wistful title, there's nothing delicate about most of this. In fact, it's downright rowdy in parts with the biggest sucker punch surprise coming at the end of side one in the form of a version of The Rattles (German proto krautrockers) 1970 single 'The Witch' (misleadingly listed as 'Time Switch' on the back cover).  I mean, fair play, they go for it gangbusters with freaky fuzzbox guitar and Hammer horror screams but it's as relaxing as finding a spider in your bed. Just what the hell it's doing here is anyone's guess, but it's the wildest card in a fairly wild pack.

'Do You Know The Way To San Jose', 'Theme From Love Story', 'Here, There And Everywhere' - all fair enough in context I suppose, but a version of McCartney's 'Singalong Junk' seems bloody mindedly obscure for the sake of being bloody mindedly obscure, and 'Woodstock' and 'Theme From Who's Afraid Of Virginia Wolfe' aren't exactly easy listening staples either. Throw in two faceless Mike Vickers originals to close and you have a truly random bag of broken biscuits - tasteless, dry and well past their sell by date. Through all the time I spent listening to this I never knew quite where it was going and, when it ended, I didn't know where it had been. As I said at the start, it's not what I was expecting at all and I can't say the surprise was a pleasant one. Not at all.


* You can't really tell from the picture above, but that woman's dress is see through and she's not wearing a bra. The cynic in me sees this as a purposely pitched subliminal selling point designed to shift more copies of an album that would probably otherwise be nailed to the shelves, but then maybe I'm giving the people behind this a bit too much credit.

Simon & Garfunkel's Greatest Hits: Sefton & Bartholomew - Windmill 1972

Lest anybody be foolish enough to think that one low budget Simon and Garfunkel hits compilation would be enough for anyone in 1972, I've come across this other effort that more or less covers the same ground as the last one. This time, the folk behind it are not anonymous 'Top Of The Poppers' session men but Sefton & Bartholomew, a duo who, although sounding like a firm of low rent undertakers, are actually (well as the back cover says anyway) "two Yorkshire lads" who have "tried successfully to re-create the special sound of their trans-Atlantic idols". Well fair enough I suppose, but I'll be the judge of how successful they are in recreating that "special sound" if you don't mind. Harrumph.

 

And now having sat through it, I can say at the start that those Yorkshire lads make a much better fist of it than the last lot. A lot better in fact. But before anyone breaks out the brandy and cigars, I should caveat that with the observation that the 'last lot' managed to set a bar low enough for an elephant to clear, and elephants can't jump. That's not to damn all my positivity as feint praise, and musically it strives to be as faithful as it can be, albeit in a rough approximation kind of way. But just like that over literal cover shot of a bridge over some fairly calm looking waters, it's simply not right.

 

That's because the overall impression I get from this is like tracing a Leonardo sketch and then photocopying it on a machine low on toner; it's 'there' in essence, and you can make out the detail, but it lacks all impact, substance and emotion - you simply don't 'feel' any of these songs the way you should with Simon and Garfunkel. Maybe it's churlish to over criticise on these grounds - Simon racked up Herculean hours in the studio to create the originals and so in at least getting to first base in replicating them on a shoestring, it would be fairer to recall Dr Johnson's comment about seeing a dog walking on its hind legs; it doesn't do it well, but the surprise is to find it can do it at all.

 

By far the weakest link in this chain, however, are the vocals; for all those attempts to mirror the music, Sefton and Bartholomew simply don't have the raw materials to pull them off. Not with any conviction anyway. Garfunkel's soaring choirboy tenor could fill a cathedral unamplified, but even in tandem the voices here would struggle to fill a garden shed. There's an attempt to disguise their shortcomings via an over use of pained falsettos and a treacly production that drowns them in echo, but despite the smoke and mirrors at heart they harmonise as well as water and electricity in a bathtub and the missed notes drop as subtly as spanners onto a tin roof with the wincing frequency of Chinese water torture.

 

I suppose this would be passable enough if they were earning their shilling by busking this stuff in a subway, but played through a decent system (which - ahem - I have), then nobody's fooled, there's nowhere to hide and they are exposed as surely as a searchlight pinpointing out two prisoners trying to escape over the wall dressed as a pantomime horse - a clumsy attempt that's doomed to failure. Again, if I couldn't afford the real McCoy then I really would rather go without; this wouldn't fill the Simon and Garfunkel sized gap in any collection.

The Happy Hammond Goes Pop: Phil Allen - Hallmark 1971

Now that's a nice cover isn't it? Neat, classy, understated and somehow (for me) a perfect summation of what these budget albums are all about. And it's not just me; it was purloined wholesale for RPM's 1994 compilation album of Reg Dwight's pre Elton John, budget label session work too and it worked just as well there. So far so good then, but seeing that this cover houses yet another compilation of contemporary hits played on a Hammond organ then my heart sinks faster than an old woman ducked as a witch.

 

Amusingly though, the album itself is savvy enough to acknowledge my disinterest - from the back cover note; 'There are some people for whom the sound of a Hammond organ means musical paradise on a grand scale, but for others it's just another boring organ sound' - well I know which side of that particular fence I stand on, but before I get all sniffy it puts me in my place again; 'But we're not concerned with the latter - although it might surprise them to realise just how versatile the Hammond can be when it's well played, and is matched with a selection of songs that bring out the best in it'. Well Excuse Me I'm sure! It's not often that I'm ticked off by my own records, but ok, I accept the challenge - show me just how versatile that wretched organ is.

 

What we have here is a selection of pretty big hits from the late sixties/early seventies (including seven number ones) played as Hammond led instrumentals. What's unusual for this type of album though is that there's a full band playing behind that organ that, for the most part anyway, faithfully recreates the music of the original songs. At times unnervingly so - hearing the familiar piano intro to 'Bridge Over Troubled Water' brought about a Pavlovian expectation to hear Art Garfunkel's vocal kick in, but replacing it with a raspy Hammond 'singing' the vocal line was as jarring and unnerving as hearing the young Regan McNeil telling Father Karras that his mother sucks cocks in hell. It's not what anyone would be expecting.

 

All the tracks continue in much the same vein; that is, the usual backing with (despite the promise of that cover note) the Hammond playing the main vocal melody with the same levels of versatility and variation as you find in the colour of orange juice. What's also slightly incongruous is that despite being billed as 'The Happy Hammond', even a cursory glance at the line-up tells you that these are by no means all 'happy' songs and, ironically, the ones that are ('The Pushbike Song', 'Sugar Sugar' etc.) are slowed to a crawl and dropped to a lower key that sucks out the joy like a vampire. So go figure. I could go on, but I'm sure you get the picture and so I'll let the album itself have the last word: 'Instead just sit back and enjoy the dazzling sounds that come from the Hammond organ and if, by the time this album is ended, you're not among the happy band of people who like their pop music played in a lively and different way, then we'll be very surprised!' No surprises as to which band I don't belong to.

 

 

Cocktail Piano: Rene Armand with Carlini's World Of Strings - Stereo Gold Award 1970

"When the lights are dimmed and the mood is one of quiet relaxation there can be no finer company than the smooth and delicate piano style of Rene Armand especially when he himself is in the company of the World of Strings". That's what it says on the back anyway, and that cover is certainly aiming at a degree of classy swish and a quiet night in; evening dress and tuxedo, cocktails and strings, flock wallpaper by the yard - it's got it all, and this album is presumably meant to be the missing piece of the jigsaw for an evening of sublime sophistication.

 

The problem is, however, that 'Rene' and his piano and 'Carlini' and his strings are not exactly reading from the same page. Or even reading from the same book to be honest; instead of the promised 'smooth and delicate' background sounds, the two battle each other in a duel to the death with the poor listener as the real victim. Because instead of seeking any kind of harmonious hook-up, Carlini revs up those strings till they boom with an overcooked sturm und drang while Rene pounds the keys like an avant garde jazzer wired to the mains, never playing one note where five will do. Frankly, it's an awful, Wagner in a teacup type racket and something that's completely at odds with what is meant to be on offer here. That's not to say it's death metal levels of loud and raucousness, because it's not, but my point is that death metal is meant to be loud and raucous and so anything less than that would be a disappointment for its fans. For an album selling itself as sophisticated easy listening, the bar at where 'easy' becomes 'rather less than easy' is set pretty low, and 'Cocktail Piano' clears it with room to spare.

 

A word too about some of the arrangements on this - as the label is 'Stereo Gold Award', we're back in cheeky L Muller territory. And sure enough, his name crops up on the label as a chief arranger. Presumably because he's still alive and can afford good lawyers, Muller leaves the Jimmy Webb stuff alone, but reading 'Tchaikovsky arr. L Muller' can either raise a smirk or a snort of derision depending on your viewpoint and/or general mood. That's one thing, but then reading the 'Mozart arr. J Last' credit (to the 'Theme From Elvira Madigan'), just smacks of a lazy, can't even be arsed-ness. Which is probably fitting in the circumstances - I'm finding it hard to believe that these tunes were recorded specifically for this project and this record feels instead like it's populated by the hastily cobbled together offcuts of other projects clumsily packaged as something it's clearly not. Maybe that's why the woman on the cover looks like she's having a glass of stale piss wafted under her nose; if this album is playing in the background, then she may as well be.