Sunchariot - Firewater/ The Only Girl I Knew

Label: Decca

Year of Release: 1973

A trend has emerged in recent years for compiling psychedelic pop and rock obscurities from the early seventies on to CD compilations. Now that the sixties era seems to have been largely hoovered clean, obscure quirky rock and art pop with psychedelic influences from that period is gaining popularity. Sunchariot seem to have escaped a place on one of these albums so far, but there's no good reason for that.

Take "Firewater" for example. It's a truly berserk piece of rock music about the plight of the Native American, filled to the brim with hollering noises, dramatic tribal vocals and an urgent instrumental break. There are shades of stomping glam about this, but nothing dominant in that sense. For the most part, it sounds like the work of a proper rock band swimming around in a period concept for all it's worth (and indeed, the seventies was awash with these ideas. Hard to know who started it, but I suspect Jeff Lynne got the ball rolling with the Idle Race's "Days Of Broken Arrows", and finished it with ELO's "Wild West Hero" - but perhaps that's too simplistic an overview).

At least one member of Sunchariot went on to far more successful ventures. Dave Howman (whose name appears to have been spelt "Hawman" on the credits here) went on to co-write songs for - among other people -  Monty Python, including "Brian" in the "Life Of Brian" and "Every Sperm Is Sacred" in "The Meaning Of Life". He's a multiple BAFTA nominated songwriter who continues to create soundtrack work and play with his band The Ruthless Brothers.

As for the rest of the group, I'm afraid I'm unsure of their whereabouts. If anyone knows more, please speak up.

The Legion of Extraordinary Traders

That's right - I'll be back DJ'ing at the LOET market event at Earl Haig Hall, Crouch End on Sunday 26th April. Vintage pinball machines, coffee, cake, booze and roasts will combine with the sounds of soul, funk, mod, psychedelia and classic pop, with efforts from me and semi-legendary London old-school DJs Sean Bright and John The Revelator.

Sean also promises to also be back with a collection of highly reasonably priced records for sale and also some home made toys of Delia Derbyshire at work in the BBC Radiophonic Workshop (which caused such a massive stir on Twitter the last time I mentioned it).

Put it in your diary. Now. I'm telling, not asking, with this. The Facebook event page is here. 

J. A. Freedman - Love Got A Mind Of Its Own/ When You Walked Out Of My Life

Label: Decca

Year of Release: 1969

A more recent enthusiastic addition to the list of records known only as "popsike", "Love Got A Mind Of Its Own" is a peculiar yet lovely piece of singer-songcraft to be filed alongside Bill Fay or Nick Garrie. Thudding but minimal basslines connect with a meandering and loping ballad and some powerful vocals, and the effect of the whole is actually pretty marvellous. 

However, it's the A-side that really got all the publicity at the time - naturally. "When You Walked Out Of My Life" was the winning entry representing Great Britain at the International Grand Prix RTL Music Competition in 1969, organised by Radio Luxembourg. It's not a patch on its flip, unfortunately, being pretty standard run-of-the-mill balladry, but its not without its fans online.

J.A. Freedman, aka Jules Freedman, issued an album through Decca in the same year entitled "My Name is J.A. Freedman… I Also Sing" which is now often cited as one of the scarcest sixties LPs in that label's catalogue. Featuring top session workers Herbie Flowers, Kenny Clare and Don Lusher, it's apparently hit-and-miss but the hits - such as "Love Got A Mind…" - are strong enough for it to finally see some belated acclaim falling its way and the asking price rising drastically.

No doubt dismayed by the low sales, Decca dropped Freedman not long afterwards, but he reemerged in 1973 with a hat trick of singles on EMI, which also flopped. These days, he works as a guitar tutor in schools in Sutton and Croydon.

Mick Robertson - Then I Change Hands/ Annabelle

Label: CBS

Year of Release: 1975

As I've said before, it's easy to regard 1975 as being one of pop's least enticing years, but the mainstream still had its little wobbles. And this is one of the most peculiar examples of the period.

Mick Robertson was the host of the ITV children's programme "Magpie" at this time, and had picked up an unexpectedly enthusiastic female following and plenty of teen magazine space on the basis of his long curly locks and moody looks. This didn't escape the attention of PR man Peter Thompson and music industry mover and shaker Clive Selwood, who felt that, provided Robertson could hold a tune, there was no reason to confine his talents to "Magpie". Why not try and see if he could produce a few hit singles and albums? Given that the practice of getting attractive TV stars to front records has had mixed results over the years, but the odds are generally more favourable than punting on a complete unknown, nobody could blame them for having a go.

The first single "The Tango's Over" sold moderately well but failed to crack the charts. This, the follow-up, is where things start to get a bit strange. Whatever you'd classify it as being, "Then I Change Hands" is not really a mainstream pop record. Rather, it actually sounds peculiarly ahead of its time - Robertson howls up an angst ridden storm while distorted guitars and creepy string arrangements buzz around him, sounding as woebegone as someone from the nineties indie underground. Luke Haines and Stephen Jones almost certainly weren't listening, but they could have been. Indeed, Jarvis Cocker could have been getting "This Is Hardcore" styled ideas from this single. 

"Sometimes I feel lonely… / Then I change hands" Robertson cracks throughout, leading a lot of people to conclude that this song is actually a tribute to the stress relieving joys of masturbation.  I couldn't say for certain, but if that's the case, it makes it one of the most audacious rock stunts ever. A children's presenter wailing in despairing and lonely tones about wanking on a record had never been done before, and will almost certainly never be tried again. Given that Robertson co-authored the track, only he could possibly state what the purpose of the single was, and whether it was actually his ambition to subtly corrupt the youth with ambigious lyrics about bedtime tissue action.

Suffice to say, it wasn't a hit. Selwood blamed CBS for not pressing up enough copies to keep up with demand, whereas I'd argue they probably guessed this wouldn't sell well outside of Robertson's core fanbase and simply went through the motions. But nonetheless, I do really like this single. If I'd heard it blind as a new release, I'd be impressed - and that's a serious achievement for what was supposed to be a cynical money-spinning project.

An album with the same title followed. It flopped, and CBS broke the contract, allowing Robertson to return to the day job. We may never hear the like again. 

Syzygy - Light Is All Around/ Instrumental

Label: BBC Records & Tapes

Year of Release: 1981

BBC Records and Tapes is a rum little label. For every release that makes sense - the theme tune to a well-known TV show, or a performance from one of Broadcasting House's best known stars - there's another that has been labelled so poorly it's impossible to understand what it relates to, particularly with the distance of time. The Beeb didn't really seem to understand marketing as well back in the seventies and eighties.

And this is an example of something I stumbled across a copy of and spent ages trying to obtain some context for. I drew endless blanks until Henry29 on the 45Cat forum told me. And it's like this: Syzygy consist of Dominic Glynn and Justin Mackay. Glynn eventually became known for his arrangement of the Series 23 Doctor Who theme. This was then subsequently used as a piece of incidental music throughout the 23rd series of Who, "Tardis Delta Core", in 1986 - although what it was used for in 1981 at the time of release is still staggeringly unclear.

The track itself is very much of its time, and the instrumental flip without the singing children is, for me, the preferable version.

Glynn and Mackay also had a very successful career composing music for computer games for the Commodore 64 and Atari. Mike Harding, credited on the label, is apparently not the Mike Harding (as in seventies folkie-turned-comedian) which is something of a pity, as I like the idea of his dour moustachioed figure grappling with mixing some synthesisers and exclaiming "Bugger me!" a lot.

KLF and Robert Anton Wilson fans may like to note that the Timelords "Doctorin' The Tardis" video featured Ford Timelord with the number 23 painted on his bodywork in a few areas. This record, on the other hand, was a piece of incidental music from series 23 of Doctor Who. And when we featured Driver 67 many moons ago, I made the point that the last car to be called on the tannoy on the record is "Car 23". Where is all this leading to? Who can tell… The light is all around, readers.

Except, of course, Dominic Glynn got in touch with me on Twitter to say that absolutely none of the above is correct. This is a different Syzygy and this record had absolutely nothing to do with him whatsoever.

This is turning into a wild goose chase, so if anyone does know why this record was issued and who created it, please do let me know.