Electro Gnomes - Electric Gnome Dance

Utterly ridiculous "Laughing Gnome" inspired synth-pop which is as close to genius as it is to garbage

Label: EMI

Year of Release: 1982

Regular readers of this blog will know that every December, I like to try and dig out a few festive-themed obscurities for you all to enjoy. Frankly, this year has been the toughest of all, and I've managed to dredge up lots of mewling, self-pitying ballads about being alone at Christmas and not many peculiar bangers with sleigh bells on. Don't worry, though. The self-pitying vinyl party-poopers in the pack will not be our main priority and we will quietly bury them towards the rear of the Christmas tree, alongside Uncle Frank's polka dot tie and those soaps we bought the next-door neighbours from Boots, even though we're not really sure if they're going to be around this year or not. 

This record was one of my best hopes, and it went I first plopped it on to my turntable and played it, I nearly jumped for joy. It's arguably the most pointless, ridiculous and childish Christmas record I've ever turned up, and it knows it - upping the goof factor to the max, the individuals responsible open with a Santa Claus who speaks more like one of the Gumbys from "Monty Python's Flying Circus", then tilt headlong into a squeaky gnome accompaniment whose stylings, initially at least, are clearly borrowed heavily from David Bowie (The group name of Electro Gnomes is also something of a clue as to their main influence here, even if it's doubtful Dame David would have regarded it as flattering).

Just when you think the track has settled into its groove it gets more frantic, more desperate, and speeches about Santa Claus being nice to the unemployed at Christmas-time get thrown into the already baffling mix. It's one for your festive playlist when you've had one too many Vodka and Red Bulls, and while it's not that surprising it wasn't a hit - this is going to irritate just as many as it entertains, I suspect - it's certainly ludicrous enough to raise a smile. Fans of the Cuban Boys "Cognoscenti Vs. Intelligentsia" (a large Christmas hit in its own right) or of cheap and cheerful synth-pop at its most distracted and frantic may find a lot to love here. 

Matthew Bones - I Am The Pixi/ Two Sugars

Skippy, impersonation-ridden popsike from 1971 (not 1967, like YOU thought)

Label: Pye

Year of Release: 1971

Once every so often, I stumble on a record so strangely out-of-time and absurd in its ambitions that I'm forced to stop what I'm doing and think "How the hell did this even get released?" The music industry is traditionally an unforgiving place where fashion faux-pas are given short shrift - but once every so often, a weird time traveller escapes out of the traps.

"I Am The Pixi" starts off like a vanity pressing of a comedy routine to be sold in working men's clubs, with Matthew Bones doing rather accurate impersonations of the singing styles of McCartney, Presley, Dylan and Lennon for nearly a minute. Then, having affectionately imitated the four biggest influencers in the pack of fifties and sixties rock, he launches into his own sprightly, skippy, orchestrally arranged melody about... er... being a pixie and having half his body underground. This would be fine fare for Middle Earth obsessed 1967, but by 1971 this would have seemed extraordinarily passé. There's not a guitar solo in sight here, just simple Nirvana (UK) influenced merriness.

For all of its fashion failings, though, "I Am The Pixi" is actually one of the most lovably cheery pieces of popsike I've heard in years, and it's utterly impossible not to be charmed by it. Innocent, silly, and sprightly, it will probably irritate the kind of people who find most material of this ilk trying, but for the rest of us it's pure joy. It could feasibly have been a hit in 1967 with a sympathetic summer release date, but what the hell the A&R Department of Pye were on in 1971 is a mystery.

Reupload - Edwina Biglet and The Miglets - Thing/ Vanessa's Luminous Dog Coat

Absurd and inexpliable novelty Moog single with atmospheric flip

Label: RCA

Year of Release: 1972

Nothing causes me to gravitate to a flop record more than a completely ridiculous group name, and if the song titles are off-the-wall as well, then my money is as good as yours (provided, of course, we're not talking excessive amounts. I'm not that stupid). Edwina Biglet and The Miglets is arguably as stupid a name as seventies glam rock ever spawned, and for that at least we have to salute the individuals involved.

More than that, though, "Thing" is is a chirpy Moog-infested track about... er... well, it's not really clear exactly what it's about, actually, and I doubt if you asked anyone involved they'd be able to tell you either. The intro promises an utter proto-techno noisefest, but it quickly calms down and establishes itself as something altogether more vacant and silly. The lyrics seem to involve various characters with different English accents bragging about a "thing" they own. It could be sexual innuendo at work, but the descriptions given defy logic and reason, as the "thing" is described with electronic squelches, buzzes and bleeps. It lights up, it's fun to play with, people think it should be banned, and your guess is as good as mine. 

More appealing to Moogheads out there is probably the B-side, "Vanessa's Luminous Dogcoat", an almost groovy jam which, had it been released by some obscure French artist would probably be commanding insane money on eBay now. As it stands, we're left with a record that neither charted - despite receiving modest amounts of airplay - nor really holds its head high in the collector's market, which given the double-sided oddness on offer seems a bit unjust. It won't be the best single you hear all year, but there's something irrepressibly charming about it. 

The Selofane - Girl Called Fantasy/ Happiness Is Love

Euphoric late sixties pop from seven-piece group

Label: CBS

Year of Release: 1968

The Selofane were a group who were absurdly large in terms of their overall membership size - regrettably though, so far as record sales were concerned, they never quite made the grade.

Despite this, there's little doubt that this, their first single, had an strong commercial sound, being filled to the brim with rich, loved-up harmonies, a powerful Albert Hammond production and a - for the time - vaguely exotic Europop sound. Coming on like The Love Affair with their dancing shoes off and their work at its most dreamy, "Girl Called Fantasy" sounds like a perfect accompaniment for shoreline romancing for the mod boy and mod girl on holiday. Maybe.

Sadly, both this and their follow-up "Shingle IAO" failed to chart and are somewhat obscure now. The flipside of "Shingle", the heavily phased "Chase The Face" has become a cultish favourite among psych collectors in recent years, but remains strangely uncompiled. It's only a matter of time. 

The group's personnel is going to be an epic chore to list, but for both these 45s Arnie Arnold played sax, with Alex Gavin on organ, Jon Gobin on vocals, Geoff Hulme on drums, Jud Lander on lead guitar and harmonica, Les Martin and bass and the enigmatically named Spider on trumpet. 

Ways & Means - Sea of Faces/ Make The Radio A Little Louder

Woozy, strange and melancholic slice of winter 1967 psychedelia

Label: Pye

Year of Release: 1967

Ways & Means were a British vocal harmony group whose singles were normally quite straightforward pop affairs. Their most famous release, 1968's "Breaking Up A Dream", is sprightly and has a mod-ish kick which has led to it being well-appraised by collectors of that style and era. Their first 45 in 1966, on the other hand, was a cover of The Beach Boys' "Little Deuce Coupe" which was a faithful facsimile.

Between those two releases sat this little ghoul of doom, a vaguely disorientating and psychedelic outing which also sounds as if it's emerging from someone's personal crisis. "Sea of Faces" was released in the dead of winter 1967, and has an intriguing and captivating arrangement. It wails, howls and begs its way from beginning to end, sounding like the Gibb brothers drunk out of their minds on vermouth while lurching about riding a choppy ferry from the Isle of Man to the mainland UK. "I want YOU!" the band screech with unsteady feet, and if I were the lady in question, I wouldn't come back to any of them. It's a bit disturbing, but in a good way. 

The flipside "Make The Radio A Little Louder" takes a more traditional soul-pop tune and arrangement, but still has a wobbly, woozy feeling which threatens to disrupt the order at any moment. Ultimately though, it's not as interesting.