Urban Rhythm "Luv Will make It Right" (Strictly Rhythm Records, 1991)

Let's place this record in some sort of context, shall we? It's 1991. My career as a musician is at its height. I'm a member of a highly successful indie rock band. And what am I listening to? Maybe some Carter USM? Kingmaker? Any of the other indie rockers filling the pages of the Melody maker or the NME? Nope. All I listened to was house music, and *points down* Breakbeat Hardcore. For several years, from roughly 1987 through to 1994, that was it for me. I was so immersed in the whole scene, so completely involved, that I ended up working in a Record shop in North London, specifically to feed my vinyl habit. The shop was called The Record & Disco Centre, or "the R&D" to its legions of regular customers, and was situated in the basement of a video rental shop in the suburban hinterland of Rayners Lane, at the northern end of the Piccadilly line. In between tours, gigs, and press appointments, I'd hop on the tube, get to the shop, get behind the counter, and feel completely, utterly at home. I've seldom been happier than when I was behind the pair of technics we had at the end of the counter, playing new tunes to an eager group of punters. The shop was right at the cutting edge as far as tunes went, we would have constant deliveries of new stock, and every new tune would be instantly assessed and devoured by a bunch of DJ's, desperate for the freshest tunes that their money could buy.

I vividly remember the feeling of breaking open a 25-count box of vinyl, fresh out of the Van that delivered it to the shop, seeing all those 12" sleeves, tightly swathed in shrink wrap, and snapping one open to play it for the punters. The world of record buyers are divided into two groups: those who use a fingernail to slice open the shrink wrap, and those who use the leg of their jeans. I'm in the latter group. It's quite simple, you find the "opening", give the 12" a shake so the vinyl inside nestles nearer to the edge, then rub the edge a few times, really fast, on your upper leg. Job done. Once the record inside has revealed itself, I always loved the smell of the vinyl as it emerged into the air of the shop for the first time. Pristine, dust-free, shiny, perfect. As quick as possible, I'd place it on the deck, slide the needle over....and wait. Years of listening to tunes focuses your diagnostic skill to a fine point: you tend to know in about 10 seconds whether it's a real tune or not. And so did all the DJ's crowding round the decks; at roughly the same point in the song, either a huge shout of "TUNE!" would go up, or a collective shrug of the shoulders would consign the tune to the bargain bin, from whence it would struggle to reappear. This particular record emerged from a huge pile of Strictly Rhythm releases (the label seemed to put out an almost constant stream of 12"s) and, at first glance, seemed like nothing special. Rhythm Section hadn't really recorded anything of real note before, there were no in-vogue remixes on offer (Wild Pitch, etc) and overall, it looked like any other generic slice of New Jersey Warehouse funk. How wrong I was. After a small, breathy vocal sample, the record started, and began to weave its spell on me. It's driven by a clattering almost garage-like set of beats, but it's all the melodies that make this one: a series of long, sustaining string samples, almost discordant, punctuated by niggling little vibraphone and keyboard riffs. Floating over the top is a sample of Ten City's Byron Stingily, repeating the title like a mantra: "Love Will Make It Right......" And he's right isn't he? Love WILL make it right, won't it? Every time I hear him sing, even if I don't believe it, you can bet I WANT to believe it. the relentless nature of the tune, coupled with the tension created by the shimmering sustain of the chords, means I always drift off into a sort of reverie while listening to it: it's house music at its very, very best. It's primal, urgent, compelling and just flat-out wonderful. Keen Jesus Jones fans will spot how much I loved this song, by noting that a sample from it appears in the JJ song "Want To Know" (the B-side of "The Devil You Know") that's a measure of how obsessed by this song I was- the entire JJ song was basically me trying to find a way of paying homage.

These days, it shouldn't be too difficult to find a second-copy of it, should you want one. SR 12"'s are a common sight in Dance shops, and many people tend to dismiss them as a result: "Well, if there's a huge pile of them, they can't be that good, can they?" Well, amongst that pile of SR 12"s in your local second-hand emporium there will probably be a copy of this, and it probably wont cost you more than a couple of quid. You'd be a fool to miss out. I've included both mixes of the A-side, the first is the full version, the second is sparser, more dreamy, and allows the melodies even more room to breathe. Both are, as you might gather, highly recommended.

Urban Rhythm "Luv Will Make It Right" (Hardhouse Mix) (mp3)

Urban Rhythm "Luv Will Make It Right" (As It Grooves Mix) (mp3)

Swell Maps "Steven Does" (Rough Trade, 1979)

OK then, two posts in one day! And this one has an absoulutely crucial USP: it contains the GREATEST GUITAR SOLO OF ALL TIME. This is something I am not prepared to argue about: if you've got a different opinion; I don't want to hear it. For me, the solo in this song encapsulates the majesty, the glory, the romance and the power of Rock'n'Roll, and it does it whilst being quite obviously drunk and out of tune.
This song is one of four that were on a free EP given away with the initial pressings of the Swell Maps debut LP "A Trip To Marineville". For reasons I don't quite understand, some of the other tracks on the EP have appeared on retrospective Maps compilations, but this truly wondrous vignette remains unreleased.
For all of you out there who may not have heard of The Swell Maps, do check out that Wikipedia page, and follow some of the links. Theirs is a story too long for me to rehash here: suffice to say that without their innate knack of mixing noise with melody, post punk would never have happened ( or at least, it would, but it would have been even more po-faced). I knew Jowe Head via the TVP's (we've done this, haven't we?), but was lucky enough to count Nikki Sudden as a friend for a large part of the 90's. He was going out with a friend of mine, and would occasionally turn up, in the dead of night, on my doorstep, armed only with a bottle of vodka, 200 cigarettes, and a desperate need to listen to sleazy rock music until dawn. Believe me, those are the nights that hurt, that wipe years off your life expectancy, yet that make it all worthwhile. I was terribly saddened when he passed away. RIP Nikki.
It's him, incidentally, that provides the guitar genius on this song, and it's Jowe (Steven being Jowe's real name) who provides the vocals. The song itself may, or may not, be an insight into Jowe's upbringing (the sleeve certainly alludes to it), with the oblique nature of the lyrics (trans: what the hell is he going on about?) we may never be sure -and that's just the way I like it.
If you don't own any Swell Maps CD's, now's the time to right that wrong. Do it now.

Swell Maps "Steven Does" (mp3)

Martin "Highschool Massacre" (Highschool Records, 2000)

Well, here it is then. The song about Columbine I was referring to in my previous post. I know very little about this single, i'm fairly sure I got it whilst working at Xfm, in 2000 (for the love of God, does nobody check their website? I can't believe my page is still there!!). It may well have been posted to me, I can't recall for sure. I've only seen one other copy of it from that day to this, and I bought it on the spot, so I'd have a double. Google searches for info on the record turn up absolutely nothing; and I can't really give you any more details than the name of the artist, a title, and a photo of the label.

But what really counts in this case is what it sounds like. It's a supremely moving piece of drama- no suprise, given it's subject matter- but what elevates this from a simple slice of cut'n'paste collage into something more cerebral, is the sense of connection to the emotional impact of the senselessness of Columbine: this is a record that begs us to think, to question, to try and feel some of the pain. It does it by layering a series of snippets from news reports and general media sources over what sounds suspiciously like a Delfonics backing track (if it is sampled from somewhere, can someone let me know what it is?) The slow, lush, soulful backing track is increasingly unhinged by the stream of voices, as they get ever more hysterical; culminating in, what is for me, the coup-de-grace, as a clearly shocked student wails:

"....and he shot the black kid...because he was black...."

Terror and confusion never sounded quite so stark, so spine-chillingly evil. It's still the moment in the song that brings me out in goosebumps every single time.

Martin "Highschool Massacre" (mp3)

Honey Bane "Girl On The Run" (from the "You Can Be You" EP, Crass Records, 1980)

Lord only knows why, but I've been listening to some slightly disturbing tunes over the last week or so. It's that little frisson of pleasure that you get, from hearing something which simultaneously excites and somewhat appalls you at the same time. It's the sort of feeling you get when listening to "Hamburger Lady" by TG ......

See what I mean?
Anyway, there's that, there's another song called "Highschool Massacre", which is about Columbine (and is actually quite heartbreaking) and there's this little gem from Honey Bane. It's got that perfect mix of anger and sweetness, a sense of longing and love, underpinned by the breathless chase from evil, the unseen menace that stalks the subject of the song: as she descends further into desperation, the evil gets closer; you can almost feel it's breath on her back. Of course, all of this would probably be nothing without Crass providing the backing
track (it's credited to "Donna & The Kebabs", with delicious irony, for perhaps the most high-profile group of Anarcho-Vegetarians of the punk years). Crass were masters of the sinister, adept in churning out uneasy waltzes of confusion and paranoia: driven by Penny Rimbauds strict drumming, and overlaid with waves of scratchy, twitching, fuzzed-out punk anger.
Yet this single also displays something of a tender side to Crass: at its heart it's a pure pop song: from the "Boredom" riff, with its two-note semaphore, to the clever little guitar chords, floating over the time signature; this is a consummate piece of pop brilliance. But, it was never seen as such, and probably never will be. It still places a chill in my heart though: it's Honey's detachment, her matter-of-fact vocal sneer, it's the vicious treble wash of the guitars, it's that horrific flushing noise at the end of the track, as the song seems to vanish into some sort of vortex of unfeeling savagery, it's still quite the most wonderful mix of sweet and savage.
Honey Bane had an upbringing which added extra gravitas to this single, and seemed to be on the run from pretty much everything when it was released. She had previously voiced the Fatal Microbes single "Violence Grows", and a homage to it, "Porno Grows", appears on the other side of this single. Her talents would be temporarily, and unsuccessfully channeled into trying to be a bona fide pop star after this, as Jimmy Pursey produced a couple of her singles for Regal/Zonophone, which tickled the lower reaches of the charts. However, you always got the feeling Honey was slightly uncomfortable with the whole thing, and she vanished from the sight of the mainstream, to enjoy a lower, but more creatively enriching profile, from that day to this. She's still very much with us, and her myspace can be found here.
And, as a final footnote: how great was it to have "pay no more than..." on the single sleeve? It simultaneoulsy makes a statement of intent, and also freezes that single to a moment in time: remember when singles cost 65p? That's what I payed for this when it came out, and it was worth every single one of those sixty-five pennies. Enjoy.

Honey Bane "Girl On The Run" (mp3)

Mark Beer "Pretty" (Rough Trade, 1981)

I was posting on Westway the other day, extolling the virtues of Record Fairs, and declaring my love for old Rough Trade 7"s. Well, here's another one of those Rough Trade singles, and it's one that has never had its moment in the spotlight.

Mark Beer is one of those artists that never quite made it: a handful of singles, what looks like a self-financed album, and that's about it.There is a connection via one of those singles to Thomas Dolby, and another one of his collaborators was Jean-Marc Lederman, who played in Jules et Jim, with Julianne Regan, from All About Eve. Along the way, he seems to have picked up a tiny number of curious fans and he's been rewarded for all his years in the wilderness by having one of his songs: "The Man Man Man", turn up on a compilation of DIY UK post-punk releases. So, there are tantalising links to other bands, to other careers, to other lives. But when you try and find out what happened to Mark himself, there's nothing. No myspace, no CD's on Amazon, no website, nothing. Very odd.

This single itself is a bright little piece of pop, though in its rush for acceptance, its message seems to become somewhat muddled. Mark sings about how being pretty is his salvation, the "antidote to my despair". Yet later in the song, he's musing that being pretty is merely "a type of superficial grace". He seems to have a love/hate relationship with the process of self-examination and evaluation, and this sense of confusion and fragility really comes across in the track: the song is always on the edge of becoming over-wrought and merely theatrical, a heartbeat away from losing its integrity to base vanity. It also has the delicious prospect of a "dub" on the b-side, though in truth it was just a chance to give the echo box a workout.

Despite it's lo-fi sound, and, at times, simplistic production, Rough Trade obviously had high hopes for the single. My copy came with a plugging sticker on the back, which means that it was sent off to compete with all the pop heavyweights of the day, when in truth, it probably never had a chance. And in that one moment of pure hope, is the reason why I really loved Rough Trade: they never let common sense get in the way of their dreams. They were adamant that their records deserved a chance, no mater how slight that chance was. The sheer optimism and pride of record labels in that first flush of the Indie boom has been somewhat forgotten, and this single serves as a timely reminder of just how important it is for a label to believe in their artistes, and to follow that belief through, all the way.

Mark Beer "Pretty" (mp3)

Swans "Love Will Tear Us Apart" (Product Inc Records, 1988)

Well, I'm sure I don't have to fill you in on Swans. Of all of the early no-wave/industrial bands coming out of New York's burgeoning Art-Rock scene, they were the loudest and the nastiest, for a while. The early albums are just these huge slabs of churning noise, topped off with Michael Gira's distinctive howling vocals.

So it was something of a surprise when they released this cover of "Love Will Tear Us Apart" in 1988. It's a magisterial slice of doomy pop, which always sounded to me like it should have been a HUGE hit. Oh well, what would I know? It came in a multitude of editions, and in two distinct versions: the "Red" one features Michael Gira on vocals, the "Black" one has his collaborator Jarboe turning in a slightly more mournful, slower vocal. Apparently, Gira was unhappy with his vocal performance (I can't quite see why) and though Jarboe's version has been reissued, I believe this version is still unavailable. That's a great shame; I've heard plenty of Joy Division covers, and without exception, they all seem to be dreadful. This song has a gravitas and tension that pays homage to the original whilst taking it into a new direction (it's a nice touch to have simplified the main riff by a couple of notes, letting the song breathe)

As a further delight, the "Red" version of the single came on lush Red Vinyl (natch). That's it above- it's better to look at than the sleeve, which is Red type on a Red background.

Swans "Love Will Tear Us Apart" (mp3)

Phut Phut Splodgenik "86, The Year Of The Bean" (Completely Different Records 1986)

The main criteria for bunging stuff up on this little blog has to be: 1) Is it unavailable on CD? 2) Is it suitably difficult to find, therefore people might be interested in hearing it? As long as tunes fulfill those two criteria, they're in. This tune scores particularly heavily on point 2). Let me explain......

1986 finds me working in Our Price records, more often than not at its two branches in Watford. I was a cocky little kid, and not above telling the shop managers which records they should and shouldn't be ordering from the reps. The reps were the mobile salesmen from various record labels, who would pass by our shops on a weekly basis, park their Granada estates outside and stagger in with an armful of promotional stock. They would then attempt to coerce you into ordering as many copies as possible of their priority acts for that week. Often, the deal would be sweetened with the rep passing over FOC (free of charge) stock, so the shop would make a clear profit, or else we'd end up with some Belouis Some slipmats, or a Danny Wilson promotional T-shirt (oh, the glamour.) On this visit, the rep for Pinnacle had, amongst a pile of other stuff, this little beauty. It's Max Splodge (surely you guessed that?) of Splodgenessabounds "fame", in one of his many attempts to repeat the success of "Two Pints Of Lager...." This time, the target of his attention was Sigue Sigue Sputnik. "The Year Of The Bean" is a barely-disguised pastiche of "Love Missile F-111", with a lyric attempting to join the Sputnik vision of cold, robotic modernity to the 100th birthday of the Baked Bean. And it's therefore got LOADS of fart noises on it. These, it has to be said, are funny the first time you hear them, but lose their, ahem, sparkle soon afterwards. Perhaps the central failing of the record is that it seeks to try and make SSS funny, when in truth, they were doing a pretty good job of it themselves, albeit unintentionally.

So far(t), so good. The rep played the single in the shop, the manager thought it was daft, so did I; but I reckoned it would sell. So, I got the rep to put us down for 3 copies, and asked if we could get one now, and put it out in the racks. The rep went out to his Granada, coming back with a disconsolate look on his face. "Sorry lads, that's the only copy they gave me. You can buy it now, if you're desperate" Well, we weren't desperate, but we bought it anyway (it was always good to look after the reps, you'd get paid back somehow, in the future). As it turned out, I was wrong about the single: no-one wanted to buy it. Except me. Yes, over the course of the next few weeks, I became rather attached to it's juvenile charms, and persuaded the manager to let me have it as a staff purchase. We put it's number down on our order sheet, next to the three copies that we still hadn't received.

And they never turned up. I can remember phoning in the Pinnacle order over the next few months, spouting a long list of catalogue numbers down the phone "Rough Trade RT 121 for 6, Demon 56 for 10......" and every time I got to this records catalogue number "....and Mad 03 for three copies..." the computer would just emit a squawk and the girl on the order desk would say "I'm sorry, that's no longer on our lists" It had vanished. But now, it seems that it never even made it as far as the record buying public anyway: according to this it seems to have been the victim of a record company that went into liquidation, and hardly any copies ever saw the light of day. Rumour has it that Max Splodge himself doesn't even own a copy. If that's all true, I'm guessing that the copies that were given to reps were the only ones to reach the public, if indeed they ever did. If the record had a thousand-copy print run (fairly standard) there would probably have been around 50 copies which were given to the reps to drum up interest. My copy is one of those. Whatever, it's probably one of the rarest records I've got, as well as being one of the silliest. If anyone else out there knows anything more about this particular slice of buffoonery, you know where I am.

Max Splodge is still very much with us, his myspace is here. There's a great Splodgenessabounds reissue, which you can get here containing pretty much all you'll ever need (including the 40 seconds of GENIUS which is "Yarmouth 5-0")

So, to finish, enjoy, but be warned: may contain fart noises.

Phut Phut Splodgenik "86, The Year Of The Bean" (mp3)

The Bicycle Thieves "Ghost Dance"/"Louise" (Clear Spot Records, 1986)

I just can't resist a request, so for Nick (see the comments on the Faith Global post), here's a forgotten gem from 1986. I got this single from a bloke I knew called Roger, who'd been putting on some gigs at Queen Mary college in Mile End in London. I'm not really sure why I was up there paying him a visit, but i found myself in the promoters office, with it's requisite detritus of singles, posters, fanzines, flyers, gaffa tape and overflowing ashtrays. Roger sat me down, and while we were chatting, said "Hang on, have a listen to this, it's by a band I'm sort of looking after at the moment" He played me "Louise" and I absolutely loved it. So much so that I begged him to let me have a copy. "Sure" he said, rooting around his desk for a spare. "Actually, that's the only copy I've got at the moment, you can have it if you like" So, it was secondhand when I got it, and it's obviously been played a little *too* much, but it's been one of my most cherished records from that day to this. It's a driving, heartfelt slice of pop melancholia, with a melody The icicle works would have killed for, and just the right amount of chiming Rickenbacker verve and swagger. It's actually the B-side to this single, but take it from me, it's easily better than the other side.

And what of The Bicycle Thieves? Well- and I'm sure you won't be surprised, nothing.I've got a 12" by the band which came out on Waterfront records a few years later, and it's not a patch on this. There's no record of them anywhere on the Internet. If anyone out there knows anything about them, I'd dearly love to know.

The Bicycle Thieves "Louise" (mp3)

Faith Global "Earth Report" (Survival Records 12" 1982)

Of all the bands I've ever obsessed over, early Ultravox! come top of the pile. I've blogged about how it all started, and it all came to a glorious head when I was asked to contribute a quote to the sleeve notes for the recent CD reissue of "ha!-ha!-ha!" (My favourite album, EVER.) John Foxx-era Ultravox! made three albums, "Ultravox!", "ha!-ha!-ha!" and "Systems Of Romance", but it's the first two albums that really do it for me. And the common thread running through those two albums? Their original guitarist, Stevie Shears. Stevie was replaced just before "Systems..." by Robin Simon, and while the exact reasons have never really been made clear, it seems as if he wasn't thought to be capable of making the new guitar sounds they wanted, as the band explored differing textures and moved towards a synthesiser dominated sonic palette. That, to me, was a crying shame. It was Stevie's coruscating, amphetamine-drenched waves of guitar that made the early recordings: "Distant Smile" (from "ha!-ha!-ha!") is a great case in point; the two-note riff, on strings stretched way further than sounds necessary, still stands as some of most primal, exciting rock music I've heard. It's Stevie who blazes all across "Young Savage", it's Stevie whose riff lights up "Hiroshima Mon Amour". And they replaced him. Oh well.

After his time in Ultravox (and following a brief sojourn in Cowboys International) Stevie Shears returned to the musical arena with his new band, Faith Global. Comprised of himself, Jason Guy on vocals and associated session musicians backing him up, they released this, their debut single, and a following album "The Same Mistakes" It's a classic slice of early 80's new wave, lots of whooshing synths and earnest vocals.It's let down slightly by a tentative production job, but the melodies are strong and precise, and the tune buries itself neatly in the back of your mind.The entire thing reeks a little of The Psychedelic Furs a bit TOO much, and there's not enough of Stevie's guitar histrionics for me, but I love it nonetheless. The albums great as well, remind me to rip a few tracks from it some time in the future.

And what of Faith Global? Well, like so many of the bands I feature on this blog; nothing much. Stevie doesn't seem to have done anything since, and I can't find any trace of Jason Guy whatsoever. If anyone has any information about either, I'd love to hear it! The single turns up on eBay from time to time, because it's a bit of an adjunct to the Ultravox! story, it doesn't go for huge money, so snap it up if you see it.

Faith Global "Earth Report" (mp3)

Spudeit Dive "Virgin Sands" (Sunken Beauty Records 12", 1983)

God, I love The Record & Tape Exchange. I know it's Music and Video Exchange now, but it'll always be the Record & Tape to me: I even ended working there for a couple of years when I was between Jobs in the late 90's... Here's a little bit of a history lesson about me and Record & Tape, it meanders a little, but we'll get there, so bear with me...

When I was a kid, I lived in the middle of nowhere, deep in the Wiltshire countryside. If I needed to go and shop for vinyl, it was either an hours cycle ride into Devizes, which basically had a Woolies and a couple of small music shops with tiny selections of records, or I'd have to wait and cadge a lift off my parents if they were going to Bath, Bristol or Swindon. I'd only really get to go shopping for records every couple of months, and even when I did get myself to a shop, I'd never really have a huge amount of money, so all my purchases had to be debated, pondered upon, and agonised over. All of that changed in 1981, when my father got a new job in London, and we moved to Hatch End, out in the North London suburbs. At first I was devastated to be leaving the landscape of my childhood behind, with all of it's memories, it's friendships and it's carefree happiness. This feeling of melancholia lasted about as long as it took me to work out that for about two pounds, I could get on a train, then a tube and be in the centre of Notting Hill Gate, in about an hour. I'd been to the Record & Tape in Notting Hill before, on school trips up to London; but now it could be my local record shop! I was like a kid in a sweet shop for the next six months, and my record collection grew exponentially. The great thing about R&T was it's bargain basement, full to bursting point of great vinyl at stupidly low prices. Because I still didn't really have much money, this is where I concentrated my shopping: buying things on the cheap because I liked the label they were on, because I'd seen positive reviews, because I'd heard them on the John Peel Show. All of this leads to a vitally important fact about the way my taste evolved: because I grew up buying piles of stuff at knock-down prices, it meant I ended up listening to, and loving, stuff that other people had discarded. I was being drawn to the underdogs of the musical world. Records that would otherwise have ended up unloved and alone. Sometimes it felt like a bit of a mission. To be honest, sometimes it still does.

This record is just such one of those purchases. I'd heard it on the John Peel show in 1983, taped it, loved it, memorised its details. One day shortly after that, it turned up in the basement of 38 NHG. I remember it cost me 40p. It's a fantastically dark record (I referred to the early 80's doom-rock that was everywhere in this post and this is the record I was promising to dig up and post for you) It's saturated with earth-shuddering bass, and it's liberally covered inwhat sounds like waves of church organ (or at least, an approximation of it) to give it that authentic Gothic feel. It's Bauhaus-y in it's sense of drama and scope, yet there's a little less glamour, and slightly more psychedelia in there.... And what on earth are the lyrics on about?

"Virgin Sands, walk over us.....swaying in the wheat"

Existential angst doesn't get more daft than that, does it? It's wonderfully overblown in it's vision and execution. I also remember Peel remarking on that line, and getting SERIOUSLY caught out by the ending, which seems to have been engineered specifically to frustrate him (make sure you listen to the end of the track, you'll see what I mean.)

And what of the band themselves? Well, nothing. Nothing at all. there's no real record of them on the Internet, bar this entry on Discogs. I don't recognise any of those names, and they don't seem to have done anything else. It's frustrating that there's no way of verifying whether the information is true or not.... Anyway, whatever its provenance, it's a truly great record, and deserves it's moment in the blog-spotlight.

(And as a little post-script, I still shop in 38 NHG, was just in there on Tuesday night. I bought "Amour Amour" by the Mobiles. It cost me 10p. Old habits die hard)

Spudeit Dive "Virgin Sands" (mp3)

King Kurt "Zulu Beat" (Thin Sliced Records, 1982)

Thanks to a post that Mick put up, where he described a single by The Tubes as being his favourite coloured vinyl record....it got me thinking: what was my favorite coloured vinyl single? Well, it's a toss-up between "Paranoid" by The Dickies on the clearest clear vinyl EVER ( it's like a piece of glass) the Plasmatics "Monkey Suit" and "Butcher Baby" both on splatter vinyl.... Or could it be the Luminous vinyl copy of "Moving Targets" by Penetration? I got several copies of that, one to keep, one to sell, and a couple which were totally mashed and cost me mere pennies. These last copies are for my walls; they function like nightlights-when you switch the lights off, they emit a nice calming glow :)

But I guess my real favourite is the record above: King Kurt's splendid "Zulu Beat" It eventually sold about 20,000 copies, and if those had all come in one great big bunch, they'd probably ended up on TOTP; as it was, the record was a bit of a labour of love-released in batches of around about a thousand, trickled out over a few years, with different covers, sleeves, and in different coloured vinyl. There's a wonderfully comprehensive list of all the variations here. The copy above is from the "Sick-th" edition, in a wonderfully pale pink vinyl, with splatters of other colours: every time I remove it from its sleeve, it brings a smile to my face.

The record itself, if you've never heard it, is unashamedly primal rockabilly. It does sound like it was recorded in a wardrobe, but the sense of daft confidence oozing from it's grooves manages to overcome any shortcomings in the quality of the sound. And to be honest, it sounded GREAT when it was blaring out of the speakers of (so it seemed) every student nightclub I went to between 1982 and 1986.

King Kurt are, unfortunately, very poorly represented by CD reissues, there's a lot of dodgy live CD's and the like, it's caveat emptor if you're in the mood for shopping- but should you wish, fill your boots. The band themselves appear to be back after a long hiatus, check them out on myspace.

King Kurt "Zulu Beat" (mp3)