Lost Soul: Pauline Shivers

The story of American soul music could easily be: “50,000 heartbreaks, 50,000 good reasons to cheer”. Pauline Shivers’ heartbreak – and she is truly torn, desolate and crushed – on Won’t You Come Back Home is a beautiful slice of Chicago soul.

Vintage fans will admire the authentic crackles on my copy; for the audiophiles among you, Shivers’ nephew has posted a much cleaner copy to his site for listening purposes. Won’t You Come Back Home hasn’t taken off with the collectors, so you can still pick up a copy for under a tenner if you search around.

More Songs About Love And The Afterlife

Some time in the future, the monthly mags will get it and they’ll all run glowing retrospectives on The Mountain Movers, the band that released the best two albums of 2008.

I’m going to guess you were smart enough to pick up the horn-drenched melodic masterclass of We’ve Walked In Hell And There Is Life After Death earlier this year; act now and pick up one of only 300 copies of the follow-up, Let’s Open Up The Chest.

Mountain Movers' main man Dan Greene described this latest record to me as “a bit sloggier--- heavier, less horns, more guitars, and recorded old-fashioned on 2-inch tape---10 trax, 34 minutes.”

Or brilliantly messed-up symphonies, mixing playful pop with psychedelic rock, breathless vocals and spine-tingling atmospherics. Dan’s already “practicing to make a new record this winter that is more acoustic and strange with some different people”. I can’t wait to hear the results.

Go to Safety Meeting to get your copy of the new vinyl album, which comes with a CDR.

Boys Club

Three geeky kids from Minneapolis with a ragged guitar assault? Stop/start dynamics? Intense power? Abrasive sonics paired with catchy tunes? Yes, that does sound like Husker Du at their very best, but that feral pop crown has been passed to Boys Club.

Girls Of Today is my pick of their singles; even better is the b-side, Are You Gonna Be My Baby, which with its grit, harmonies and rugged bounce wouldn’t be out of place on either of those great Rhino DIY power pop compilations.

Thanks to Andrew of the I Smiled Yesterday team, who turned me on to Boys Club. You can listen to the new ISY podcast here.

Lawrence of Arabia

Both of the new Paul Kelly films, Take Three Girls: The Dolly Mixture Story and Lawrence Of Belgravia, which were shown at the Barbican last night, were great. They're both still works in progress. I hope that when the Lawrence film is finished, the ticket issuers get the film name right for its premiere.


Lawrence wasn't at the film, but he did turn up to the pub afterwards. He thought that the mistake was hilarious. He did say in the film, after all, that his mum probably named him after Lawrence of Arabia, not realising that Lawrence was the character's surname.

While the film did encouragingly report that Lawrence has a roof over his head, the terms of his residence, based on a psychiatric evaluation, stipulate that he's not allowed to undertake work of any kind. That includes performing live and releasing new material.

I know I'm not alone in hoping that a speedy resolution to this situation, allowing Lawrence to play gigs and release new material, is reached.

Baby Shakes

Remember in Happy Days how The Fonz used to punch the jukebox and a song would magically start playing? Well, if The Fonz had really had the magic touch, every time he hit the jukebox a Baby Shakes song would’ve blasted out.

The First One revels in 50 years of rock’n’roll and delights in twanging guitars, simple riffs and the equally simple emotions of high school romances. These songs are deliciously short, sweet and no matter how many times you’ve heard similar tales of infatuation (“I met a nice boy, he caught my eye, I knew right away it was love at first sight”) or wide-eyed ambition (“I’m on my way, tell the world, I’m gonna break out of the city”) Baby Shakes always sound fresh.

This NYC-based trio's easy pop gift and abundant charm show an appreciation of punk, new wave and power pop – Ramones, Buzzcocks, Undertones and Raspberries influences feature; wonderfully, they even cite Protex as an influence – but The First One is really the joyous distillation of half a century of rock’n’roll giddiness.

The Muslims

“If you give me a gun
I’ll point it at you”

Extinction




John Peel once said that he preferred the bands that “say no to life”. He’d have loved San Diego’s Muslims, whose solipsism means they hate everyone and say no to everything. “I don’t want it/I don’t care/Whatever you’re selling” (On My Time); “Why don’t you all just call it a day/You try so hard doing what you’re told” (Call It A Day); and, perhaps best of all, the slating of over-hyped bands and the lonely folks that hype them: “Everybody’s talking but they’re not saying anything at all/Yeah, what’s that you say/Don’t let it go to your head, that’s all/Everybody wants to be in the know/Everybody wants somewhere to go/Everybody wants something to do tonight” (Future Rock).

For the sleeve of their invigorating, eponymous 7-track mini-album, The Muslims’ label boss got his dad’s mate, a former cop, to shoot police bullets at the plain white sleeves. Like The White Album, then, only cheaper and dirtier and shorter, and with the benefit of The Modern Lovers’ driving drone, The Stooges’ barrelling blitz, The Stones’ trebly rebellion and The New York Dolls’ sneer for inspiration.

There are traces of The Fall’s bile and The Clean’s primitive garage jangle in The Muslims, too, but for anyone wanting The Modern Lovers’ Longbranch Saloon sound, this will meet all your needs.

Lost Soul: Love Slipped Through My Fingers

There are two superb versions of Love Slipped Through My Fingers, both produced by Johnny Brantley and neither getting the exposure they deserve.

The Ohio Players' version, released on their 16 Greatest Hits album in 1976, 8 years after it had been recorded, just edges it for me over Sam Williams' take, which never made it past the promo stage originally, partly because the busier arrangement reinterprets the deep soul template with punchy horns, funky percussion and an uptempo riff.

What really clinches it, though, is Towanda Barnes’ vocal, which strains to the point of breakdown. Stirringly effective like Linda Jones, achingly forlorn like Martha Reeves, desperately intense like Shara Nelson and crushingly heartbroken like Roddie Joy, Love Slipped Through My Fingers will haunt you.

NB – someone bootlegged this song 4 years ago, labelling it by Towanda Barnes. It’s the same version as The Ohio Players; you can find it easily on ebay, although as it never goes for less than £20 it’s a bit much for a boot.