Sadly we had an 11th hour cancellation from Lynval Golding due to a bereavement in his family. So, first up our apologies for the late change, and our condolences to Lynval and his family. Rest assured though that we will be rescheduling the show so watch this space for more news on that one…
With the sun out and the air fresh, this show has something of a mellow feel about it, progressing through to heavier touches and even some fine mid-90s ragga/hip hop remix action. Who’s up? Jan Jankeje, Sir Victor Uwaifo, Labi Siffre, the Sam Houston High School Stage Band, Fad Gadget, Boo-Yaa Tribe, Camp Lo and Dave Brubeck. So, the usual spread of styles, years and countries being represented to the full. Go get some!
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Two Culture (Club) Clash0
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A couple of weeks ago we did our Double Take special, where the aim was to play a track where, if given 10 tries to name the artists, you would invariably fail.
You can imagine then that when I heard this track for the first time last week, I was bit gutted at not having heard it sooner to include it on the aforementioned special, as there’s no question you’d struggle to spot this one unless you were a fan of everyone’s favourite early-80s gender benders, Culture Club. I played a bit of this on last week’s show, but thought it warranted a post of its own.
“Murder Rap Trap” is actually a b-side from their second single “I’m Afraid Of Me”, and aside from being quite an odd piece in terms of the music, its most notable for not featuring Boy George on vocals, but one “Captain Crucial” – more of which in a mo…
Check the track out and you’ll see why Daniele Baldelli was a fan of it at his Cosmic club. It comes off like proto-hip hop of sorts; that same kind of mekanik drum machine sound you heard of initial efforts from NYC’s nascent rappers. Rather than have a rapper though, the track features curious patois MCing, turning the whole track into more of a strange digital dancehall piece of sorts. All very weird – but really rather good.
Its one thing to know that this is Culture Club – and be honest, you wouldn’t have guessed who it was unless you owned the single – but it becomes something else altogether when you realise that the Captain Crucial in question was in fact one Amos Pizzey – better known for his succession of housey tracks with another 80s hangover, Jeremy Healy. It seems back in the early 80′s, Amos’s sister was dating Mikey Craig from Culture Club and things went from there. After working on a couple of Boy George releases, Amos then dropped into the dance circuit alongside Healy, releasing numerous rather forgettable tracks. Not enough trivia for you? One last one then: Amos’s half-brother Cass was in Skunk Anansie. OK I’m done now.
Culture Club feat. Captain Crucial – Murder Rap Trap
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This week we take in the usual broad spread of tracks you might not have heard, either because you missed them first time around, or because they’re not out yet. In the former category we have Magazine, Aynsley Dunbar Retaliation, Jawbox, Big Youth and Grinderman, and in the latter we have Paul White, Two Fingers, Band of Skulls and some dubstep with excellent vocals that I can’t remember the name of (take from that what you will)…
On top of all that conversations include the non-funk funk, why Jah Wobble didn’t want to meet Prince, when production sells a track short and Trick’s all-important question of the show, namely “can today’s music still inspire people?”. Comment below!
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With Spotify rapidly becoming the streaming music service of the moment, we thought we’d join with it to bring you something a bit different: a playlist of tracks we’ve aired on the show before now, which will be updated weekly with new songs for you to enjoy.
Why do this? A few reasons. Firstly, it means you can get more direct access to some of the songs you might have really loved. Secondly, it details the track, the artist and the album from which it was taken. Thirdly – and maybe most importantly for some – it also means you can right-click on any track you like and purchase the song via 7Digital.com. Please note that this will not be an exhaustive list of everything we play, as Spotify simply doesn’t have a large portion of what we air. But, it is still reflective of the show’s eclectic policy of uncovering lost gems or even recognised classics you just might not have considered before now.
As we said, this playlist will be an ongoing work-in-progress, with tracks being added each week to ensure you don’t get bored of it. So, if you have Spotify on your PC, Mac or Linux machine of choice, just click the link below to open the Trick & Wrongtom playlist and begin listening!
Musical Youths2
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Last night Mr Trick posed the question “can music still inspire the kids to make music themselves?” He wasn’t convinced what with the disposable nature of music consumption these days but I assured him it was still working it’s magic. Never one to miss an opportunity what with the often underlying autobiographical nature of our show, I as ever tapped up the Trickmeister and asked him to share some words about the record which personally inspired him to follow suit, and of course here’s my convoluted chronicle to kick things off…
I never planned on making music, not for a living, not even for a hobby. I wanted to make films, bad films at that; I’d stay up til the small hours lost in the low budget worlds of Roger Corman, Ed Wood and Herschell Gordon Lewis, wondering how I could mobilize a motley crew of mates and knock up a zombie movie on my mum’s old cine camera with a budget of loose change. Music was always there of course, sound tracking the otherwise dreary walk to school which conveniently took 45 minutes, as if it was sponsored by TDK (the length of one side of your average cassette for those who don’t remember). Being in a band was probably the last thing on my mind though, I couldn’t play an instrument and after a couple of piano lessons from my Granddad I showed little to no promise of ever mastering one. There’s a tradition of teenagers and guitars but I wasn’t fussed about rock, aside Prince’s heroic axe-work and the odd rock n roll classic it was other people’s music and as the cliché goes, why would a pasty kid from the ‘burbs even consider making hip hop?
So at 14 I started my Media Studies GCSE, still hell bent on a move to Hollywood and developing a love for macs and trench-coats (this all ties in I promise), and slightly dismayed that I couldn’t just make films on the course, I sat considering a project in another medium. I was listening to a track called “She’s Gotta Moustache” by Original Concept which as crass and misogynistic as it may sound, had me finally considering the world of music construction. This just sounded like a bunch of mates having a laugh, so I flicked back through the album, then dug out some BDP, then some Doug E Fresh, a revelation – this all sounded home made, or at least could have been, and my dad was right, they were “just talking” – anyone could have a pop at this.
My plan to make a rap record for a school project (thankfully) never came into fruition but the process of rounding up the same motley crew of reprobates was as much fun as my fleeting forays into film production, and my disregard for anyone’s musical ability reflected that Ed Wood casting ethic. I did consider simply remaking the Kooley High record cover, I had the two on the left sorted and just needed someone with some Dre-like girth, I was of course gonna be the one in the trench-coat.
In hindsight it seems bizarre as I’ve barely listened to the album in years but by sheer coincidence I dug it out the other day and while playing the opening “Legend” which outlines the story of how Dre put his group together I realised that’s exactly what I’d done and in many ways continue to do to this day, sans some of the macho man stuff. Anyway enough of this Wonder Years meets Yo MTV Raps soliloquy – here’s the aforementioned “Legend” and check out Trick’s tale up next.
Trick writes:
As a child I pretty much grew up around music; my parents had a ’64 Rock-Ola jukebox that we had on most weekends, and between that and their huge collection of 45s I was pretty much doomed from the get-go. Hence, when I asked for a guitar aged 12, it wasn’t so much as a result of being inspired by any one band or song so much as music and rock n’ roll in general.
By age 13 – in 1988 – I was already in a band with some schoolfriends. Equipped with a Vox Whiteshadow guitar and a ropey Yamaha 50w amp, I was fully ensconced in 80s rock – and boy do I mean the ropey end of it. That ultra-shallow LA stuff was my bag, with anything from Motley Crue to LA Guns being the order of the day. Weirdly, I kinda stand by that these days; I was 13, living in the suburbs and culturally it was pretty safe, middle-class and respectable. Hence, weirdly-dressed bands from LA singing about sex, drugs & rock n’ roll was, to me at least as a just-about-teenager, totally intoxicating. It was a window on some other weird existence I could barely imagine much less live in.
So, you can picture my musical position pretty well at this point: LA hair-metal of little substance, with its themes rooted entirely in the “blaargh let’s get fucked up and PARTAY!” theme that now, in 2009, is plain laughable. Stating this is important because it outlines just what a nuclear bomb the sound of Jane’s Addiction’s “Nothing’s Shocking” was to my mind.
Hindsight is a wonderful thing; it means that these days we can look back on a group like Jane’s Addiction and see where they went, from the deserved success of the Ritual De Lo Habitual LP through to numerous rather lame comebacks, dubious solo LPs and side projects and, of course, the Lollapalooza festival that Perry Farrell founded. However, in 1988, very, VERY few people had heard of these guys, and right then, in the midst of shallow hair rock from California, these guys sounded totally, utterly out-there as a rock band. From Perry Farrell’s weird, high-pitched voice through to the pure insanity of tracks like “Thank You Boys”, from song titles like “Had A Dad” to lyrics covering the zen-like qualities of swine, they were a different proposition altogether. Anything seemed to go (to my 13 year old mind at least) and their sound was utterly their own. On top of that, as a novice guitar player, Dave Navarro’s playing blew me away, and nowhere more so that on the track I’ve selected, “Ocean Size”. Now, don’t get me wrong: this isn’t a claim that the solo is “the best ever” or anything like that. To me though, back then, it was just about the most incredible playing I’d ever heard; just astonishing. The crescendos on the solo, the screams he wrangled out of his guitar… it just blew me away. It still does too.
I remember where I was when I first heard this LP; I was standing in the playground of my school. The sun was out, the air was fresh and while everyone else kicked tennis balls about I was sharing a walkman with my best friend Paul, passing it back and forth doing the old “mate – check this!” routine with various cassettes. I heard the opening track of the album and thought “hmm – not bad”. Then I heard Ocean Size, and from then on knew one thing: fuck the other stuff – THIS was what all music had to be measured by. I wanted to make music like this…
Did I manage it? Hell no; whilst I’ve made a few tracks here and there and played in bands (of varying names but ostensibly featuring the same guys) for my teenage years, I’ve certainly not carved any career as a producer. But you know what? I’m comfortable with that, for one simple reason: whilst at the time this music inspired me to make music, I’ve realised since then that it did something much greater, namely fire my passion in music so much that it would never die – and won’t until I’m six feet under. That, I’d say, is some serious inspiration…
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