BEATS OF LOVE 

11. Together (Illegal Version) by Barry Mason

OF THE handful of DJ's I know commanding large audiences and travelling around the world, I'd say they possibly encounter a dozen really special moments a year. Most DJ's I know who may travel twice a year, probably one or two. Then there are others who could say five in their lifetime. I'm safely going to say that they all live for a large part of their lives in their own imaginations.

It's what separates music obsessives from record obsessives like me. Music obsessives always have about ten gigs on the go and buy into the bands they love and are seeped in the reality of it all, whereas record obsessives can't generally afford gigs, and don't stay loyal to anyone in particular. 

Both egocentric and idealist, we pursue different utopian musical landscapes, simultaneously where everyone is deliriously wasted, fucking cool, and totally subsumed by our records, in our imagination. Special moments occur when this actually happens and not when singing back songs with beer foaming around your mouth. So hardly ever.  

2 great style books that saw light of day, DJH's Raving'89 that collected the photos and words of Neville and Gavin Watson, and Dave Swindell's Ibiza'89, feed the imagery. As do the faces that leave an indelible impression on my own memory bank. It's little coincidence that the folk who make it in my book are the folk who could easily grace such pages and impressions. Not me then.

Imaginary parties don't pay and you never get any praise, but the punters never age either, which means not everything you play has to have a sunset in mind. Admittedly, it's childish and futile trying to control the soundtrack and these imaginary parties, but this track really wouldn't exist in any other time and space for me. 1984 could easily be 2034. 

Italo-disco is often at the more rough-and-ready end of the cosmic spectrum and tends to drive along rather than chug. They tend to take you into deep space on a few synth lines and overwork the drum machines. This track is seemingly simple, yet manages to do both. It's only when it finishes that you realize how bloody good it is and how far you've travelled. 

The sleeve is intriguing, if a little garish, as is Venice's Superadio records. Great name for a label and yummy dark blue vinyl too. The vocals sit on the wrong side of cheese and sound similar to his other disappointing twelves, but this mix is a revelation. Not too kitsch and not too high-minded, it traverses a fine line between delirium, cool, and crisp, brilliantly.

Nobody I know in real life would lose themselves in its elasticity, and nobody I know in real life would see the worth of pounding it out for the full seven minutes. But at least my imaginary happening is going fucking nuts.   

 http://www.gavinwatsonarchive.com/raving89 

  https://www.creativereview.co.uk/dave-swindell-ibiza-89-photography-book/

BEATS OF LOVE

10. Heavenly Trax (Jonny Nash remix) by Cos/Mes

FIRST WEEK I've not bought anything in absolute aeons, so grabbed the first necessary tune at hand, which is this. Jonny Nash was an entry point into more calming musical waters. 

Thanks to DJH, Lovefinger's ESP Institute label was on my radar, and his sometimes act with Tako Reyenga, Sombrero Galaxy, made the most happening music on it, until I heard this wow of a remix. 

One of my favourite shows ever was the Aficionado promoted Land of Light, his wonderful collaboration with Kyle Martin, on a snowy late March evening in 2013. Well, snowy until I arrived in town dressed like an Eskimo in a sauna. Everyone not from Shaw, (everyone) was dressed in more fitting spring attire. It redefined what entertainment could and should be and definitely inspired SFH, as did his label Melody As Truth that surfaced the following year. 

He contributed a 'victorious, anthemic, rooftop dance' to the abstruse Snaker series. He has produced quite possibly my favourite Music From Memory record, from many, with his Make A Wilderness LP, which is a work of pure genius. He's also the only remixer to have added something of value to the majestic Tommy Awards. Basically, I've followed the guy's upward trajectory. However, let's rewind back to this. An early effort that still sounds seriously masterful and more than highly accomplished. In 2010, the world was getting really loud and sounding like a shitty early 90s hoover-remix, the type the mighty Reese would snap into tiny shards. Whilst also looking like a desperate, down on its luck celeb, swapping the crack-den for the magic bus.

Now, it's far worse, with folk bypassing fear altogether during a global pandemic and sounding much more angry, berserk even. And looking like they've used up all the world's ink to spell 'mum' gruffly on their necks. Basically, a collective and unisex, dunderhead macho-ism, is now shouting off its own furrowed eyebrows. And it sounds and looks horrible. Little wonder soothing horizontal musical-mind pinball is still the proper way to escape it. Deflecting one soothing yummy beat straight off another. And nothing screams soothing horizontal musical-mind pinball more than this track. 

He pretty much started from scratch by changing its rhythmic pulse by adding instrumentation to create fresh tropical layers and a toned down vocoder to add a depth that makes this remix the archetypal soothing horizontal musical-mind pinball tune. It pre-dates a lot of lazily labelled new-age house music by a few months at least, although someone will no doubt correct me and point out many early 90s B-sides which don't really count.

I'm talking analogue obsessed disco diverging new-age house music of the highest order. The type now given over to a whole genre of house music in stores. It's fucking ground-breaking, yet surprisingly, still sounds incredible. Add the word ground-breaking to most things and you usually have a sure-fire anti-climax.

If you're bypassing the fear and not giving a fuck about anyone but yourself, do it because you are alone on a hammock on your own island, with this playing loud, and for no other reason.

LISTEN: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r3MmWWfSbyg

BEATS OF LOVE

9. Sałatka z Bananów by Wojciech Jagielski

LIKE A lot of folk, I fell in love with The Very Polish Cut Outs early edit series featuring Ptaki and Maciek Sienkiewicz, but it was Basso's infectious enthusiasm that turned me onto this gem of a track. Nothing new there then. A well-presented gatefold album whose sleeve-notes tell an intriguing story is already sounding a bit familiar. Yes, it owes a debt to Finders Keepers, but who doesn't? 

Synthesizers were in the rain and shine in 80s Britain and sound-tracked just about everything, but what is shocking to know is how they were rendered invisible through economic inequality behind the iron curtain. The Western financial equivalent would be a modest state-of-the-art studio set up. 

These stark inequalities mean we're listening to folk affluent enough to travel out of Poland to buy synthesizers. Has anyone ever been in an audio shop and not seen a Sting LP lying around? Has anyone ever been in one and not seen a middle-aged guy in a band tee-shirt? Has anyone not seen a £20,000 speaker lying around? No, I thought not. Safe to say we can stereotype Wojciech Jagielski a little then. 

This languid but entrancing track is unsurprisingly the foreground for a background meditative lector/narrative for relieving stress via Isometric training, as Discogs inform me, and on a cassette released by Polish telly. Top digging skills on this one then. 

Translating into Banana Salad, this instrumental genius has never been more needed as we face a barrage of absolute fucking nonsense from all sides in our insane daily lives. With so many online data leaks, so many freshly enlightened folk and so many far saner folk on waiting lists for mental health services, self-help is the best way forward. 

Just press play and a calmness and serenity becomes the order of the day. With just the right amount of strangeness thrown in for good measure. The synthesizer, popularized in the West and a weak component of its telly music, sounds as exotic as it does bonkers. Crazy good, on this breezy composition. Somewhat richer in sound than Western counterparts that speak more about the composer than the instrument, I guess.

In fact, the whole double LP is a highly memorable listening experience. I want to gauge on a lot of 80s Polish telly now to hear more subversive musical interludes.  

 BEATS OF LOVE

8. Changing Factors by Claude Young 

THIS TRACK has been on a journey with me as a totally neglected, un-played B-side, in the main. I was totally hooked instead on Shake's March Into Darkness off the same release that segued nicely into LFO's Loop Fuse mix and had me sonic stomping for at least 6 months.  

I vividly recall walking into Vinyl Exchange after a sleepless night and day spent with Baldie who was still with me long after the Lionrock show/after-show had ended, while I stood nervously watching Marc rifle through this and some Spacemen 3 LP's on his counter. In my sleep deprived stupor I was semi-convinced they were mine and asked to inspect them further. 'As if I would be daft enough to sell these,' I argued, until realizing that the pile of records was not mine. Unfathomably, about 6 years later, I sold my copy. The regret wasn't immediate, but not far off.  

I love the internet coz I can consume at my own pace in my own idiosyncratic manner. I love the fact that most of the tunes I buy new are sealed, as I no longer have to listen to the fake excuses for them being the last copy. I love the internet coz there's no big sell, although I do miss Moonboots and Steve Yates behind the counter, who both turned me onto some proper treasured goodies. I love the internet because of Nuron.  I love the internet coz I can fall in love with records again, or discover new records. Or, as is the case here, fall in love with a track you never knew existed despite once owning it. 

I hate the internet because of Mamacita. I hate the internet coz you can't put a face to people when things go wrong.  After sitting in my wants list for an age, I finally decided to dive in on payday and buy this. The seller I had dealt with many times before, so I paid him promptly.

No word after 4 days, so I politely enquired about the shipping time. A week, and still no word, so clicked on the site's not responding link. 3 days later and still no reply but was heartened to see so much belated negative feedback from sellers who also had to wait an age before receiving their tunes. Then to my surprise I got an e-mail saying 'seller suspended.' Shit, that wasn't supposed to happen. I hate the internet. Thankfully, I finally received a message from the seller to apologize, explaining that his health has been poor and that he will post my record out despite taking a break. 4 days later, the postie dropped it off, and it was in better nick than described. I love the internet almost as much as this tune right now. 

I also feel as bit silly as I should've been locked into this 26 years ago. The 909 programming is masterful and it just effortlessly teases some of Detroit's finest beats in a truly incessant yet fluttering groove that is perfectly paced for both the head and hips. This era's finest tracks haven't really been surpassed, which makes them far more important sound documents than mere nostalgia triggers. As valid as any new releases.

This track is living, magical music, from one of many techno pioneers, and thankfully I'm finally locked into it, eyes shut tight, dancing in a state of time suspension, and it feels good. Fuck yeah, it feels brilliant, in fact. 

BEATS OF LOVE 

 7.  Orange Coloured Liquid by Spooky 

WHEN RADIO Otherway played Spooky's Land Of Oz it had me scouring the shelves to find my copy. It's no great coincidence to then see Young Marco and Rush Hour's Christiaan Macdonald compile the same duo on their superlative double long-player Planet Love Vol One. All manner of things tends to happen in two's.   

Progressive House is now a dirty word, but it was a natural response by musicians influenced by the many simultaneous dance music off-shoots of the day. It's aged better than most of them, and unlike many more blinkered artists, Spooky delivered a slightly patchy but proper album, the highlight of which is undoubtedly this track.

 

Normally, with a comp of this quality, I get more drawn to the music I don't pre-own. In this case, I'm instead drawn to the records already on my shelves. For now, at least. Glam's My Mother Said is a prime example of why I'm not a good DJ as I totally overlooked the Cosmic Trance mix. Thankfully, because of this oversight, my copy is still practically mint. On any other comp, this would be my highlight, but on this it has to settle for the best intro instead. 

Spooky for me are the highlight. After taking their album down from the shelves and I saw the track-listing, I didn't know what to expect. I haven't until now played it in years. The spoken word sample still works a treat, and the song sounds much trippier than I recall. Pre-dating a lot of acts who had far wider critical acclaim for making similar music. Either the best camp-fire musical ode to Tomato Soup ever or celestial inspired higher plane sounds, it is a slow-burner well worth discovering or re-discovering.

I compiled this track on a cassette tape along with Amorphous Androgynous and Dreamfish tracks, amongst other intimate spins, and played it loudly in my mate's car, hoping some promoter would be standing outside Crompton's Post-Office carpark and talent spot me. Instead, I just got funny looks from middle-aged housewives who are now either dead or really old.

I think it sounded better on my cassette than their LP, but predictably it sounds better still on this comp. Basically, if you're anti-comp and want to pretend to have discovered it first, buy the LP proper.

If, like the rest of us, you can on occasion accept the natural order of things, buy the comp as it's cheaper and there are many other celestial inspired sounding treats in store for you. With yet another great Steele Bonus sleeve design to marvel at whilst it's spinning.

                     https://selector.news/2021/04/26/safe-trip-planet-love-vol-1/

  

BEATS OF LOVE 

6. LSD by Soffplaneten

AFTER Bolton Wanderers followed by Subbuteo, Shoot, Look-In and Match Weekly, seven-inch singles were the sixth love of my life, closely followed by Smash Hits. Because they were down my rankings, I rescued them from the bargain crates of Martins Newsagents and Woolworths. Hence, I played Meaning of Love and not my favourite, Just Can't Get Enough, Arabian Nights and not Spellbound, etc...

By 1983, all that changed, Bolton was in decline, and music became a more prevalent part of my life. Having younger sisters also meant Fame and Michael Jackson were clearly an influence on my earlier-self. All my mates with older brothers were banging on about the dreary Joy Division. Wham! was the game-changer. I loved my Wake Me Up seven, but when my father's friend professed loving follow-up single Freedom, they instantly became my sister's band. Although I was still privately in awe of Careless Whisper, I never bought it.

I still had the dilemma of what singles I could admit to owning and what singles I couldn't. Hence, You are my World lived in a hidden record box. I had soon gone from playing the Good Ship Venus seven crouched over my portable player so no one else could hear, to playing my sister's Something About You. 

At around this time, Loggers, the local reprobate, introduced himself by falling out of a tree and landing at my feet glue-bag first. He soon started turning up on my doorstep when I was bunking off school and had the audacity to nick my father's only big fat Cuban cigar that took pride of place. It wasn't all he nicked, as when I went around to his folk's, when they were away, he started dancing to his Soft Cell seven inches in my sister's bikini. 

 

Most folk would have read the warning signs, but I was a bit in awe of a part time punk lip-synching to Bedsitter and dropped out of school altogether. A few years later sat tripping in Rochdale with him. My nice watch went missing. Stolen in plain sight, no doubt. Thankfully, not longer after that, charged with indecent exposure, he disappeared. However, thanks to LSD, I openly embraced a more feminine side and felt better through innocent self-discovery. 

I was as loyal to tripping out as seven inch singles, until I became over sensitive and deeply paranoid. The A-side has more chugger credentials but this more clunky B-side number finds a better groove and repeats a cooler refrain. Mid-paced cosmic funk is great at the best of times but when the singer blurts out slowly L, then S, then D, it gets top marks by consigning the weedy Northside effort to the skip. The sleeve is nuts too, and as with all these crazy Scandinavian sevens that get brilliantly lost in translation, the irony police are off duty, so you can't tell if the OTT homage is tongue in cheek or not. 

Either way, this goofy record illustrates why after all these years I'm still as hooked as ever and totally lost in the ever surprising world of seven-inch singles. 

        https://awoha.com/Awoha-Press-3

 

 BEATS OF LOVE

5. You Set My Soul by The Telescopes 

I'M SURE strange happenings are a part of the human condition. Early Telescopes songs accompanied me to Reading in 89 on my Walkman when in transit, filling my face with warm cans of Castlemaine, I sat, transfixed, looking at a really cute girl opposite who was half goth and half indie kid. The rest of my festival was spent in an LSD crash-helmet, appreciating the Butthole Surfers and Frank Sidebottom, and not much else, until I re-boarded the coach 2 nights later, where I sat transfixed again. 

When my sister started Liverpool Poly, it got me away from peer-group pressure and the crash-helmet. I accompanied her to the student union bar where I'd saunter off to watch bands like the Throwing Muses rehearse with Jeff, or ponder the world in impressive greasy-spoons on my own. I was soon smitten by her friend Ellie's Welsh charm, warm personality, and subtle sex appeal.

However, when Ellie came over to mother's to visit my sister, I was all psyched up for a Mary Chain and Telescopes gig at the Ritz that night so spent the early evening twisting their arm into both driving me there and meeting up later at Ruby Tuesday's, the late and great Dave Booth's residency. My mother, for the first time, could see I was flirting as I was allowing things to run very late. 

When I finally got there, the Telescopes had already spilled over onto the street, and were all packed up. Looking smaller and more insignificant than I'd imagined them to be. I then sidled up to the bar (something I never normally did) and began an excited conversation with the girl who had transfixed me the previous summer and who I hadn't seen since. 

She was living in a nearby town and invited me onto the last bus, something more akin to a Tardis for me and my mates. I tried to cajole her into 42nd Street but she had to work in Boots Pharmacy the next day, so, as much to reassure myself that it wasn't a dream, I promised I'd call in as she was soon going back to Nottingham Uni. Reluctantly, I then met my sister as arranged, where, instead of flirting with Ellie, whose short crushed-velvet skirt had been such a turn on a couple of hours earlier, I sat in a love-struck daze. Talking about another girl is a big no no I soon learnt. 

Building back the confidence to overcome a shyness that had momentarily vanished but had returned with a vengeance, despite only 12 hours elapsing, is also tough. Sadly, walking into Boots, something I did a thousand times a day in my head for at least a month after, was harder than putting the crash-helmet back on. I never saw Ellie or the half goth and half indie kid again. For some strange reason, I blamed the Telescopes. It was all their fucking fault. 

I'm sure strange happenings are part of the human condition. Slightly less fickle, and after thinking my Telescopes trip had ended with 9 minutes of whale noises, I've now finally bought their 1992 self-titled sophomore LP and feel shame that this dream-pop masterpiece totally passed me by. Creation's genius was a passion for a wide range of music that clearly influenced the acts they signed. That this release also coincided with the launch of Joe Foster's impressive Rev-Ola series gives weight to this assumption. 

When I liked their first incarnation, they were Mary Chain disciples who superimposed feedback over fragile songs. Here, the fragile songs have escaped the noise and what is left is a lot more beautiful, revealing Stephen Lawrie to be a real tunesmith. Evoking a far wider spectrum of 60s psyche influence, its subtle harmonies and pastoral doodling are never ostentatious and serve to conjure up a mighty listening experience that leaves you truly transfixed. Yes, I'm sat transfixed again.  

The fragility, and his tunesmith genius, is best realized in this achingly beautiful song. A song that gets more beautiful with each listen. A song I bought separately on a promo twelve to see if it could be improved. It couldn't. It really stands out as the highlight on a solid long player and Ed Ball deserves a round of applause for his under-stated piano playing. When those subtle vocal harmonies kick in, it becomes something else, something truly wonderful. 

What I'd give to be that young again and on a coach with this on the Walkman, looking at that really cute girl opposite...