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| Being a rubbish indie DJ led me to discover the power of soul music | Being a rubbish indie DJ led me to discover the power of soul music |
| (about 5 hours later) | |
| From the moment I heard the song, it was a depth charge to the senses. The tune flooded in, and I’d shriek it in every quiet moment, or tap it out discreetly with fingers and toes when those around me could take no more – those being the only reasonable courses of action available to kids born in 1978 on first being exposed to Nellie the Elephant by the Toy Dolls. | From the moment I heard the song, it was a depth charge to the senses. The tune flooded in, and I’d shriek it in every quiet moment, or tap it out discreetly with fingers and toes when those around me could take no more – those being the only reasonable courses of action available to kids born in 1978 on first being exposed to Nellie the Elephant by the Toy Dolls. |
| Through the rest of the period from 1984 to 1992 came an endless string of musical epiphanies. From one month to the next, another new favourite song. October 1986: Madonna’s True Blue. March 1987: Mel & Kim’s Respectable. For most of 1988, a new favourite song each week as tape and record-buying began in earnest. | Through the rest of the period from 1984 to 1992 came an endless string of musical epiphanies. From one month to the next, another new favourite song. October 1986: Madonna’s True Blue. March 1987: Mel & Kim’s Respectable. For most of 1988, a new favourite song each week as tape and record-buying began in earnest. |
| Patterns and waves would emerge. Poppy beginnings, which led to chart-dancey early-secondary-school years (key compilations: Hardcore Uproar, Kaos Theory), but from 1991 an indie tunnel vision was emerging. And there went the 90s – from paper round money on Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine and Sugarcubes tapes, to grant money on more or less every Select or NME-mentioned CD and 7in single I could get my hands on. To this day, I don’t understand why I own every single the Bluetones ever put out, on all formats. Mostly still shrinkwrapped as well. | Patterns and waves would emerge. Poppy beginnings, which led to chart-dancey early-secondary-school years (key compilations: Hardcore Uproar, Kaos Theory), but from 1991 an indie tunnel vision was emerging. And there went the 90s – from paper round money on Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine and Sugarcubes tapes, to grant money on more or less every Select or NME-mentioned CD and 7in single I could get my hands on. To this day, I don’t understand why I own every single the Bluetones ever put out, on all formats. Mostly still shrinkwrapped as well. |
| And then the bank explained what an overdraft was and why I should get one. Cheers, fella. Next act: £2,000 blown on variously exotic Smiths pressings in the space of two terms. | And then the bank explained what an overdraft was and why I should get one. Cheers, fella. Next act: £2,000 blown on variously exotic Smiths pressings in the space of two terms. |
| Past 2000 and beyond, and even when my floppy student locks were finally retired, that continued. When I moved in my then girlfriend, now wife, things slowed down due to grownup shared rent and mortgage obligations, but my tried-and-tested run in London’s W1 remained a semi-regular pilgrimage. Big Oxford Street HMV, then on to the Virgin Megastore, and then double-back to the Berwick Street cash vortex of Mister CD, Selectadisc, Sister Ray and the Music and Video Exchange. | Past 2000 and beyond, and even when my floppy student locks were finally retired, that continued. When I moved in my then girlfriend, now wife, things slowed down due to grownup shared rent and mortgage obligations, but my tried-and-tested run in London’s W1 remained a semi-regular pilgrimage. Big Oxford Street HMV, then on to the Virgin Megastore, and then double-back to the Berwick Street cash vortex of Mister CD, Selectadisc, Sister Ray and the Music and Video Exchange. |
| So when, in 2005, my mod dancer friend Jo mentioned that her mod DJ boyfriend Liam was starting a new club night traversing 60s soul and mod-rock fare, but with a heavy nod to indie, I was intrigued. And when they wondered if I’d be up for getting involved, I was delighted. It wasn’t like I didn’t enjoy me a bit of soul, what with that Jackie Wilson record I had and those Stevie Wonder things I liked, then that James Brown one from that film, and some of them from those big boxes I bought from that car boot sale one time. | So when, in 2005, my mod dancer friend Jo mentioned that her mod DJ boyfriend Liam was starting a new club night traversing 60s soul and mod-rock fare, but with a heavy nod to indie, I was intrigued. And when they wondered if I’d be up for getting involved, I was delighted. It wasn’t like I didn’t enjoy me a bit of soul, what with that Jackie Wilson record I had and those Stevie Wonder things I liked, then that James Brown one from that film, and some of them from those big boxes I bought from that car boot sale one time. |
| And so instalment one of Intermission came, in a tiny bar on Hanway Street, Soho, and I arrived with enough records to play for a fortnight straight. | |
| Have that, you six people in attendance! That’s You’ve Given Me Something That I Can’t Give Back by New Rhodes. And here’s something by the Rakes. But now the lamp on the deck’s gone out. So here’s me playing the boring Faint remix of Y Control by Yeah Yeah Yeahs because I can’t see which side I’m looking at. And when I go old-school, whip out a copy of Doolittle and cue up what I think is Here Comes Your Man by Pixies, appalled expressions greet what was actually playing – the album’s decidedly un-jaunty track six, Dead. The crowd now numbers five. So, in a nod to the other half of the night’s purview, I chuck on my copy of Sam & Dave’s Soul Man, which it turns out is not in Ex+ condition. Liam, posted on the door, later remarked that he nearly fell down the stairs when it kicked in, almost the world’s first casualty of a record boasting pinna-molestingly excessive treble. | Have that, you six people in attendance! That’s You’ve Given Me Something That I Can’t Give Back by New Rhodes. And here’s something by the Rakes. But now the lamp on the deck’s gone out. So here’s me playing the boring Faint remix of Y Control by Yeah Yeah Yeahs because I can’t see which side I’m looking at. And when I go old-school, whip out a copy of Doolittle and cue up what I think is Here Comes Your Man by Pixies, appalled expressions greet what was actually playing – the album’s decidedly un-jaunty track six, Dead. The crowd now numbers five. So, in a nod to the other half of the night’s purview, I chuck on my copy of Sam & Dave’s Soul Man, which it turns out is not in Ex+ condition. Liam, posted on the door, later remarked that he nearly fell down the stairs when it kicked in, almost the world’s first casualty of a record boasting pinna-molestingly excessive treble. |
| DJ debut not great then, it turns out. But everyone’s very nice and I hang around. | DJ debut not great then, it turns out. But everyone’s very nice and I hang around. |
| For the next few hours, I ask “Who’s that?” or “What’s this?” to almost every single tune. Not only have I been comfortably the least accomplished DJ of the night, pretty much every song I’ve played feels like it’s in the bottom 2% in quality terms as well. | For the next few hours, I ask “Who’s that?” or “What’s this?” to almost every single tune. Not only have I been comfortably the least accomplished DJ of the night, pretty much every song I’ve played feels like it’s in the bottom 2% in quality terms as well. |
| Song of the night? Wayne Gibson’s take of Under My Thumb. I return home and immediately bid on the only two copies that are on eBay. Come the end of the week I’m the proud owner of both. | Song of the night? Wayne Gibson’s take of Under My Thumb. I return home and immediately bid on the only two copies that are on eBay. Come the end of the week I’m the proud owner of both. |
| To my surprise, I get asked back to DJ again. In the meantime, I’m listening and shopping furiously. And not to modern guitar musics, but to the likes of Little Milton, Rosetta Hightower and James & Bobby Purify. And upon flicking through those car-booted boxes of tat (so, so many Russ Conway 45s) , there’s gold on the flipsides of the handful of oldies that I do actually know. | To my surprise, I get asked back to DJ again. In the meantime, I’m listening and shopping furiously. And not to modern guitar musics, but to the likes of Little Milton, Rosetta Hightower and James & Bobby Purify. And upon flicking through those car-booted boxes of tat (so, so many Russ Conway 45s) , there’s gold on the flipsides of the handful of oldies that I do actually know. |
| The real find, and the catalyst for prolonged stints of delving and flipping, was on the reverse of the original Invictus release of Give Me Just a Little More Time by Chairmen of the Board. An absolute rasper: Since the Days of Pigtails (and Fairy Tales). My word. I’m immediately convinced that I’ve had possibly the best A-side/B-side combination single of all time in my possession for over a decade without knowing it. | The real find, and the catalyst for prolonged stints of delving and flipping, was on the reverse of the original Invictus release of Give Me Just a Little More Time by Chairmen of the Board. An absolute rasper: Since the Days of Pigtails (and Fairy Tales). My word. I’m immediately convinced that I’ve had possibly the best A-side/B-side combination single of all time in my possession for over a decade without knowing it. |
| Ten minutes later, backing up In the Bad, Bad Old Days by the Foundations, I find the fantastically moody and parpy Give Me Love. Shortly after, the Doorsy Hammond of No Help from Me by the Lemon Pipers (B-side of Green Tambourine). And so went several surreal late nights up with pillowy headphones, and epiphany after epiphany, crate-digging in lost and ignored corners of my own record collection. | Ten minutes later, backing up In the Bad, Bad Old Days by the Foundations, I find the fantastically moody and parpy Give Me Love. Shortly after, the Doorsy Hammond of No Help from Me by the Lemon Pipers (B-side of Green Tambourine). And so went several surreal late nights up with pillowy headphones, and epiphany after epiphany, crate-digging in lost and ignored corners of my own record collection. |
| And with that, my contemporary record-buying more or less ground to a halt. In with the soul, out with the Mew. And the Long Blondes. And all hints of Young Knives discography completism. My record-buying suddenly returned to first-term university levels in terms of bulk, but few things dated from after 1974 and more or less nothing cost me more than £2.50 including postage. | And with that, my contemporary record-buying more or less ground to a halt. In with the soul, out with the Mew. And the Long Blondes. And all hints of Young Knives discography completism. My record-buying suddenly returned to first-term university levels in terms of bulk, but few things dated from after 1974 and more or less nothing cost me more than £2.50 including postage. |
| After a bit, I calmed down again. Intermission fizzled out after a handful of instalments, a few other spinning opportunities came and went (thankfully I got less cack-handed), but the impact of those nights and the discovery around them was sustained and still resonates. | |
| Soul boy I certainly ain’t, but those tunes man, they turned my periscope around. | Soul boy I certainly ain’t, but those tunes man, they turned my periscope around. |