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How great is this soul ballad?! That organ! Those vocals! You can just picture a disco at the end of the night in the late Sixties with young men awkwardly trying to smooch embarrassed girls on the dance floor as the DJ drops this tune.
Tom Verlaine of Television has died, aged 73.
Earl Van Dyke was never a household name but he was one of the key figures in the success of Motown in the Sixties.
I first heard The Tonettes on a vast box set anthology of Stax/Volt singles… though they were called The Charmels at that point. This was their first single – and the second to come out on Volt in early 1962.
The Undisputed Truth were Norman Whitfield’s Motown laboratory for his psychedelic soul constructions, testing out songs that would end up with The Temptations. This was their only hit.
When it comes to emotionally intense vocal performances, you don’t need to look much further than James Brown singing The Bells.
This isn’t the best thing the provocatively named Canadian band Fucked Up have ever done. Because that would be when they took part in the self-explanatory Festival of the Fuck Bands in 2008.
There they performed alongside their fellow provocateurs Fuck, Fuck Buttons, Holy Fuck, Fuck The Facts and Starfucker. Where was this festival held, do I hear you ask? Why, there could only be one place… the Austrian village of Fucking.
This is their latest tune, I Think I Might Be Weird. The video, intended as an ode to OCD, is funny, surreal, slightly disturbing – and certainly illustrates the song title.
Fucked Up, who formed in Toronto in 2001 (Canada seems to be home to many, if not most, of the F-word bands), have released close to 100 singles, EPs and albums and are known for live shows lasting up to 12 hours: a long time to listen to grinding guitars and rasping vocals.
They’ve taken the opposite approach for their latest album, One Day, with the whole thing written and recorded in 24 hours, with each band member working remotely while adhering to the rule.
This should be terrible. It’s a cover of a rock’n’roll standard by a one-hit-wonder known only for a novelty song half a century ago.
There are few aural pleasures greater than accidentally stumbling across an old song you used to love that had somehow slipped from your memory. That’s what happened this weekend when I found an album comprising the early recordings of Kimmie Rhodes.
Country music was so uncool in the Seventies that I never went near it in my youth. Until I came across Joe Ely. There was something about his debut album in 1977 that struck the same sort of chord as the ramshackle thrashings of punk. But in an American way – specifically a Texan way.
