Re-issues Reviews

The first comprehensive compilation of the first lady of the British blues.

When Maggie emerged from behind the wooden screen on a stage somewhere in the Deep South, in the mid-'70s, everyone in the audience gasped discovering she was white: quite an illustration of the Scottish singer's ability to feel the blues. More a female version of her labelmate Paul Rodgers rather than Janis Joplin Bell's always compared to, it's a pity her career has yielded only three solo albums two of which are represented here to show all the gamut of Maggie's long run. So the chronological order should have been dismissed to a greater effect of timeless continuity.

Singer, producer, multi-instrumentalist and... Dan The Banjo Man: the many faces of emigmatic all-rounder.

"Not to stay the same" seemed to be the rule Phil Cordell lived by, and that's perhaps not the best way to build a career in music, especially for the one who wasn't keen on reinventing himself but eager to move on. Surprisingly, then, the man was a hit-maker - under many a guise. One of his chart-dents was "I Will Return", 1971's solemn slide-and-fuzz guitar instrumental released under the Springwater moniker, which sounds very poignant now as Cordell passed away in 2007 but is much more upbeat in 1985's reggae remake - with vocals; many more, though, will recongize 1974's "Dan The Banjo Man" that has no banjo at all yet gallops and wallops with some gusto.

But it's not the novelties that lie in heart of this collection, rich on previously un-issued material, it's elegant yet unassuming pop songs creeping into the listeners mind to resurface all through the day: such are the infectious disco groove of "Movie Star" and funky title track, or raga-tinged ditties "Pumping The Water" and "Red Lady" which can easily be mistaken for a long-lost George Harrison track. Cordell was consistent to the very end, soothing gloss of "Sooner The Better" feeling like a potential soundtrack of any '80s summer, so it's a pity that Phil shied away from the spotlight in the later years though he kept on recording nevertheless, which means there's a lot to be discovered and enjoyed still.

*****

Radio voice, TV face, writing mind - and a composer of many facets. The real sound of Read.

It's only rock 'n' roll. Nothing wrong with that. Come on in his kicthen, then.

It takes some nerve to stick to your own name if you share it with the legend, but then only a young man of thick, if sensitive, nerve could audition in 1975 for THE ROLLING STONES haing played with the likes of Isaac Hayes and John Entwistle. Obviously, all of them were in need of no-frills chops that American guitarist called Robert Johnson provided with great gusto. Here, on his first solo album, plus the second one, "The Memphis Demos", Johnson's style comes even more distilled with all the influences proudly worn on the sleeve: the catchy twang of "Leslie" is built on the "Apache" melody, and Link Wray's rumble scattered all over the good-time record.

It's cheerily intense, gung-ho attitude set in from the opening "I'll Be Waiting", and as such perfect for the punk-bored times; the problem is that altogether the fun feels a bit strained and some of the '50s-shaped songs outstay their welcome, while very '80s funk of "Better Love" should have hit big. But dig deeper for the hidden subtleties to reveal themselves in between the lines of "Burning Love" and "Guide My Energy" and riff sharpness in "Jimmy Dean's Back", all supported throughout with excellent David Cochran's bass work. For the most part highly enjoyable, this re-issue is very timely as its release precedes two new albums from Robert. He's still got the nerve!

***1/2

Much sought-after musical readings of poet laureate coming to mass attention.

From pre-HOOPLE to post-MOTT, the unlikely lads who never needed no doctor.

For every great band there are several not so great which are the roots of this great. And there were some combos on the Herefordshire's grounds that, in 1969, became MOTT THE HOOPLE. The mutation had been going on for seven years, and the ensemble's evolution included DOC THOMAS GROUP who yielded more recordings than their predecessors combined. No wonder, as the 1967 line-up boasted Pete Watts on bass, Dale Griffin on drums and Mick Ralphs on guitar; what they lacked was the original repertoire, not enthusiasm - here's a lot of that bursting from standard rhythm-and-blues fare with quite an adequate instrumental front. In Stan Tippins, future MTH road manager, the band had a singer who didn't shy away from delivering such demanding American numbers James Brown's "I Got You", THE VELVETTES' "He Was Really Saying Something" or THE IMPRESSIONS' "Talking About My Baby", and in Sam Cooke's "Shake" could give Rod Stewart's version some good shivering.

Smart enough to cover "Just Can't To Sleep" from THE KINKS' debut LP, DOC THOMAS seemed unable to progress and come up with goods of their own, so in 1968 the guys reverted to their old moniker, THE SILENCE, which was in use three years earlier. The latter-day line-up was just a vocalist away from THE HOOPLE, yet it was 1965's personnel that came back in 1990 to pick up where they left off. Sounding much more brilliant than before, the quintet laid down a full album - added on this CD, it closes the MTH's fringe history... and closes in on Overend Watts as guitarist rather than bassist. A couple of original tunes by bassist Robert Fisher and singer Paul Jeffery flesh out a rumbling covers collection, the veterans excelling on Jimmy Reed's "Shame Shame Shame" and THE FIREBALLS' Link Wray-styled "Gunshot".

If you feel like cutting the rug, this collection will do nicely; if you're up for expanding THE HOOPLE horizons, this is essential.

***

From English backwoods to the European plains, the bespectacled two wrap it up in caramel and go all emotional.

Dear weirdos, would you come out to play? Most definitely!

Having completed the band's re-issue programme, Angel Air picks up the cream from all the records - and what a nice bunch of songs these are even when out of the album context! Quintessentially English and quirky to the bone, STACKRIDGE have always stayed lyrical, and the opening instrumental "Lummy Days" comes on as the best possible overture taking in almost all of the ensemble main elements including jolly flute and poignant violin. The casualties of their own eclecticism, the only barrier between this fantastic music and commercial success, no surprise the musicians felt trapped and poured out their sweet bitterness in the "Fish In A Glass" march, while in "The Galloping Gaucho" Mutter Slater appears more than heroic and James Warren and Andy Davis' circus fantasies flower wonderfully in raga-fied "Syracuse The Elephant". There's a rarefied, warm and kind, folky elegance in "Fundamentally Yours" and "The Road To Venezuela" and clever rock 'n' roll in "The Last Plimsoll". A perfect melange to lose the game - and be revered now.

The glittering bonanza of the diamonds in the rough that, unfortunately, never cut through. Time to open the chest.

Since their Island days no other label has done so much for MOTT THE HOOPLE as Angel Air. With the only live album released during the band's lifespan, their reputation didn't loom large, and these unlikely lads are remembered by many for the Bowie-penned career-reviving "All The Young Dudes", and quite a few recalled them as a potent live proposition. But with the likes of DEF LEPPARD's Joe Elliott singing hosannah to Ian Hunter-fronted ensemble and writing foreword for this collection, there's always an interest, even though those whose investigation starts on studio albums - for the most part re-issued by Angel Air - might be shocked at finding rough gems under the proverbial glitter veneer. It's only on-stage that these gems shone blindingly and thanks to Stowmarket’s label, THE HOOPLE's concert life has been well-documented in the last years, and now four of the discs are re-packaged in a hard back box set with a 48-page book written by Keith Smith, editor of the MOTT fanzine "Two Miles From Heaven", featuring rare photos from the personal archives of the former band members, which puts it all in the context.

Compiled under the watchful eye of drummer Dale Griffin and embracing all the band's albums, with little by way of repetition, it serves as a vivid, indeed live, history of MOTT THE HOOPLE, the ensemble perfectly tuned into their times - note the covers of CSNY's "Ohio" from 1970 and, briefly, Don McLean's "American Pie" from 1974 chiming in unison (not literally, of course) with Hunter's own "All The Way From Memphis" and "The Golden Age Of Rock 'n' Roll" - yet always prone to getting their kicks with the groovers such as "Walking With A Mountain" or the '50s and '60s smashes and, thus, transcending those same times. What may come as a revelation is that the Englishmen appear here as THE BAND's Old World counterparts, and the Americana spirit feels as strong on the anthemic build-up of "No Wheels To Ride" as on the latter-day guitarist Ariel Bender's country ditty "Here Comes The Queen". The singer's obvious Dylanisms aside, there's much to enjoy on this journey, where the band's lyrical side comes to the fore: later, in BAD COMPANY, Mick Ralphs never played "Ready For Love" with such subtlely and desperate abandon. More so, sometimes THE HOOPLE sounded in equal measure progressive and pre-punk like in "Thunderbuck Ram" with Overend Watt's bass ramming the piece home; as for the glam, the 1972 Philadelphia gig has the sparkles in spades and Bowie the presenter joins in for his tune with his influence all over "Hymn For The Dudes" while his friend Lou Reed's "Sweet Jane" also makes an appearance.

The playing as glamorous as it's raw, the players as vulnerable as they're brave, this box is as great an eye-opener as it's ear-splitter. Play it loud and get transported right onto the stage and into the action.

*****

A concise history of the most spectacular and un-rock rock bands of all time. All aboard!

The Magnificent Six gloriously move forward for a new lease of life - live.

You could call it 'new age', weren't it deeply rooted in the music of old.

Partly inspired by a visit to the Southern Hemisphere, "Time To Think" isn't hot and humid, but immensely warm as any great memories should be. And this music couldn't be recorded any other way than live - over two consecutive days in July 1999, at St. Michael's church in Oxford - and in the company of good friends with a collective CV reading like a rock encyclopedia, Mo himself the most renown of the bunch.

It's not the reverend bassist, though, who comes first to the fore in the opening "It's About That Time Of Day", yet Ray Russell weaving acoustic guitar over Simon Chamberlain's piano chords before the four-string bubble delicately breaks an almost classical lace into a breezy swing and then tastily leads a mighty, if relaxed, "Leo" - dedicated to Fender, of course. Two pieces in, everybody feels it's there that a listener belongs, no matter if he's not up for thinking of this effortlessness' complexity, especially when Iain Ballamy's sax, backed with a church organ, soars solemnly for "A Notional Anthem" or, coupled with Frank Ricotti's vibes, brings forth the sunrise of "Omapere Dawn".

But while "Waves II", the only solo bass workout on the album, is deceptively serene as the Pasific itself, there's enough grit in it as well: "Mangonui" jolts and jives lurching and careening like jovial WEATHER REPORT down on sedatives - framing the fire is an art, and cutting afresh a couple of tunes from the "Southern Comfort" album, too. With "Let's Go On Somewhere" a heartfelt call for an easy walk in unison, you'll hardly need much time to think before accepting the proposal.

*****

Perhaps, the last document of the band at their peak, recorded weeks before Les Harvey was dead.

Montreux Festival has always been a place for many a great performance, and this one is no exclusion, having caught this magnificient British quintet at their deliciously rawest. Nobody knew then that by May Leslie Harvey, whose thick guitar slices drive this concert on, would be gone for ever. If not for the fatal electrocution, he may well have turned into a player of much large calibre. Harvey's mastery of the instrument shines in "Love", the band opting for the set comprised of material from the "Ode To John Law" album, more familiar to the audience than songs from the current "Teenage Licks".

The set kicks off with highly jazzy "Friends", an understandable gesture towards the venue and a great warm-up for the grooving combo and especially Maggie Bell, at first singing restrained to go thunderball as the tune develops. And when she breaks into "Penicillin Blues", a stage highlight still to be recorded in a studio, on the wave of Ronnie Leahey's roaring organ, there's no question as to why American folks presumed the Scottish singer was black: a potion of soul in her delivery is immense, a cover of Curtis Mayfield's "Danger Zone" the best testament to this, the group spreading their spell far beyond the blues base with Steve Thompson economical bass and Colin Allen's thoughtful drumming. And then, in unprecedented manner, yet so fit for the event, the five delve into Dylan's "Ballad of Hollis Brown", a 21-minute sort of a tribal jam taking them to the limit of their strengths and poising on the verge of greatness which, sadly, wasn't to be.

One of the world's greatest drummer pretending to be a drum machine: nice, if pointless, attempt.

Don't be misguided by the current photo on the cover, as inside is not a new Carl Palmer's album but the one he recorded with a new band after the sad demise of ELP. For a drummer who always hits the right notes he went AWOL opting for a sharp pop music even though Palmer's partners in crime were guitarist John Nitzinger and the former AUTOMATIC MAN singer Todd Cochran.

While opening "Dynamite" and closing "Children Of The Air" have a pleasant progressive ring to it, the problem is there's virtually no Carl who keeps the simpliest of beats drowned in the overall plastic sound. Nothing wrong with it - "Dreamers" deserves to have been a Top 10 fodder and "You're Got Me Rockin'" with its classy piano solo rocks indeed - yet it's not what's expected from the master drummer. There was no future for PM: still, the band's direction goes a long way to explain how Carl Palmer ended up in ASIA where he'd be shining anew. On its own, it's a precious curio - just.

***

The original double-engine all revved up - with nowhere to go.

The British one-man jazz guitar institution goes for a candle-lit night out with friends.

Mac Rebennack's early sessions: as fine as they are, not essential at all.

A quick glance at the tracklisting reveals the title is deceptive: no "Gilded Splinters", no "Iko Iko", no "Mama Roux". Still, there'd be none of this at all if not for what's gathered here - the Sixties tracks that made the gravel-voiced ivory-tinkler the New Orleans' finest. What with Dr. John's originality, it shines from the off, Professor Longhair's "Tipitina", where Mac's piano is buried in the brass-and-guitar gumbo, yet most of the cuts on offer just lack such an edge. The tracks like the proto-"Iko" "Just Like A Mirror" and "Go Ahead Go" only grate, and even the hazy "Zu Zu Man" and racous "New Orleans" feel just a bit more than a regular rhythm-and-blues fare. Fortunately, "A Little Closer To My Home" is a great late-night blues and "Did She Mention My Name" comes as an expected soul delight. All in all, good yet not necessarily listen.

***

Dedicating his debut to Sinatra, Davis and Zawinul, the great fusion drummer veers off to vistas open.

Interesting idea horribly executed: all the singers got behind the axes.