Reupload - Brindley D Spender - The Company I Keep/ On A Day Like Today

Label: Domain
Year of Release: 1968

In the world of that thing we call "popsike", it's beginning to get tougher and tougher to find items which remain uncompiled.  So many compilations summing up the late sixties era have by now been released by labels both big and small that very few stones are left unturned - and when you consider some of the sheer nonsense that's been remastered by major labels, you could be forgiven for thinking the bottom of the barrel has so many scratch-marks on it that it might resemble a Pollock painting in etched form.

This is why turning up something which remains generally unreferenced is a huge thrill, and whilst I wouldn't want to make massive claims for "The Company I Keep", it's still a damn strong example of popsike balladry, having the same rueful, dark charm that a great many of the more reflective moments on the "Circus Days" series of compilation albums had.  In this case, Mr Spender appears to be giving a girlfriend of his a thorough dressing-down for thinking ill of his friends and associates, and failing to be polite and welcoming.  Perhaps his lady friend had been bored shitless by their talk of musical obscurities.  It's difficult to say - but what we can ascertain from the grooves we're presented with here is that the track has a simultaneously dreamy and dark nature, pulling in the delicate but detailed orchestral arrangements so beloved of many artists during this era, but adding a layer of spite on top which sounds as if might actually be genuine.  There's a summery nature to the disc, but rest assured there are thunder-clouds on the horizon, which gives the record a bit of a kick that many of its more well-known cousins definitely lacked.

Brindley D Spender is something of an enigma, but I have managed to ascertain that his real name is Ken Smart, and he'd previously been a member of the Rubble compiled Sons of Fred, as well as a member of Odyssey who were briefly signed to the independent Strike label.  From there, the trail goes cold and it's impossible for me to ascertain what became of him or where he went next (if anywhere).  If anyone knows, please check in and share the information.

I can't find much information on Domain Records either, although it would seem that they were an indie manufactured and distributed by President if my basic identification of British sixties pressing styles is anything to go by - and it's probably not.  (And don't call me sad.  You won't be calling me sad when I find a really rare Beatles outsource pressing in Oxfam through learning this stuff, will you?  You will?  Oh).

(This blog entry was originally uploaded in June 2011. I don't have any new information to impart, unfortunately). 

Nicky James - Reaching For The Sun/ No Life At All

Label: Philips

Year of Release: 1969

After the first 30 seconds of playing this one, I really thought I'd found a surefire winner here, a record that makes you want to go on Google and check you're not going mad or remembering 60s rock history incorrectly - because initially, it seems unthinkable this wouldn't have been compiled or talked about somewhere else already.

"Reaching For The Sun" is unbelievably confident sounding at first, charging through your stereo speakers like Roy Orbison and Scott Walker riding together on stallions. Reg Guest - who also arranged a great deal of Walker's work - is partly to thank for exercising as much thundery drama from the track as possible, and typically for Guest, managing to find a way of expressing an epic idea without falling back on the worst easy listening cliches. Rather, "Reaching For The Sun" has the kind of clanging bells and rolling drums of a contemporary late sixties track like The Herd's "From The Underworld", and measures up to the best of his other arrangements from this period.

Ultimately though, "Reaching For The Sun" is one of those tracks that promises something awe-inspiring and then slides back into mere goodness. The epic roll of the first minute isn't really followed up with a convincing peak of a chorus, and you're left to wonder what could have been achieved with a few careful rewrites. But even as it stands, it's an unjustly obscure piece of work - not even listed on the artist's Wikipedia page, for shame - which deserves a bit more respect.

Nicky James had a long and varied career from the early sixties onwards, never managing to become much more than a Birmingham scene hero in the process. Born in Tipton, but shifting to Birmingham as a young man, he was initially a member of Denny Laine and the Diplomats before recording solo work for Pye, and was also briefly in The Jamesons with John Walker of the Walker Brothers. Famed locally for his extremely powerful vocals, he issued a brace of singles throughout the sixties, following his acclaimed 1963 Pye single "My Colour Is Blue" with issues on both Columbia and Philips, but none were hits. His B-side "Silver Butterfly" was compiled on to volume 17 of the Rubble series of compilation albums, but beyond that his output has been largely untouched since.

The Moody Blues signed him to their Threshold label in the seventies which should perhaps have seen a shift in his fortunes, but none of the singles or the two albums ("Every Home Should Have One" and "Thunderthroat") charted, and that was the end of his recording career. During the noughties a new album "Black Country Boy" was in the process of being created, but sadly James died following complications with a brain tumour in 2007, and the work never saw the light of day.

I'll definitely be keeping an eye out for other singles of his in the future.

Dutch Elm - You're Gone/ Donna/ Poetry In Motion

Label: Rox

Year of Release: 1978

This is another case of me being led up the garden path - the record store selling this record labelled it as "obscure new wave", and I took a random punt on it in the hope that I'd be buying something if not good, then at least slightly unusual. A fair assumption, after all - Rox were a Liverpool based independent label who did have punk bands on their roster. But as soon as the needle hit the grooves at home, I realised something was up. This is pretty much old school rock and roll given a tiny bit of seventies attitude and spittle.

The A-side "You're Gone" is, though, quite an energetic and commanding pub rock performance, and if it isn't quite new wave it is certainly rough and ready. If Dutch Elm had been plying this particular kind of old school sound a mere four or five years earlier, they'd have probably been respected lights in the pub rock movement, but by 1978 this probably seemed slightly old hat and only likely to appeal to the faithful rock and rollers. But even so, the seventies (and early eighties) still had those in spades, and it's easy to imagine them doing well within their niche.

The flip side tracks "Donna" and "Poetry In Motion" are straight covers and add very little to the originals. I can only guess that they were included to showcase some elements of Dutch Elm's live set.

As for who they were, search me. This appears to have been their only release, but if you do have more information, let me know.

The Spectrum - Glory/ Nodnol

Label: RCA

Year of Release: 1969

The Spectrum are starting to pick up a bit of love from sixties pop-pickers these days, who are recognising that while they never really did try very hard to pass the electric lemonade test, they still produced some strong pop singles. For my money, the previously featured "Heading for A Heatwave" is a high water mark, and indeed it did manage to sell in huge quantities in Spain.

This particular disc of theirs attracts a lot of interest for its vaguely unorthodox flip side "Nodnol", one of those peculiar late sixties tracks that is clearly inspired by the sailed ship of psychedelia but also pre-empts some of the oncoming noises of seventies glam. Those stomping, tumbling drums, fey cockney vocals (in the chorus, at least) and thudding piano lines are clearly beckoning in the new era.

The actual A-side "Glory" is a piece of optimistic pop (poptimism?) which tries to lift the listener's spirits with its gospel chorus. Somehow though, for my money it doesn't really sound raw or passionate enough to quite do the job.

For most of their career The Spectrum consisted of Tony Atkins on lead guitar, Bill Chambers on organ, Colin Forsey on vocals, Keith Forsey on drums and Tony Judd on bass. Keith Forsey went on to write "Flashdance (What A Feeling)" and "(Don't You) Forget About Me", besides acting as sticksman on Donna Summer's "I Feel Love". Now that, my friends, is a career most drummers could only dream of.

Trade Mark - The Days of Pearly Spencer/ Baby, You Make It Real

Label: RSO

Year of Release: 1978

"Days of Pearly Spencer" is possibly the most iconic sixties single never to have been a hit in the UK. Largely but not entirely thanks to Marc Almond's hit nineties cover version, it's since been rediscovered afresh and given the respect it deserves. Propelled by the same intense melodrama as Scott Walker's bleakest best and focusing its lyrical attention on some kind of doomed, poverty stricken post-apocalyptic scenario ("Iron trees smother the air/ but withering they stand and stare/ through eyes that neither know nor care/ where the grass has gone") it's the kind of record that probably could only have been written around that time. 

Like a lot of doom-laden pop, however, what it does do is tread a very fine line between genius and adolescent preposterousness, which is probably why I nearly hit the floor laughing the first time this version leaked out of my stereo speakers. For this, for reasons known only to its creators, is a pumped-up, adrenalised seventies disco version of "Pearly Spencer". My first thought was that this was such a mismatch of ideas that it was tongue-in-cheek in its intentions, but it seems doubtful. Someone clearly heard the original and noticed, somewhere buried in its grooves, the soundtrack to a pumping Saturday night. 

Many liberties are taken with the original arrangement here. The chorus is altered so that the phrase "Pearly Spencer! Pearly Spencer!" is repeated by enthusiastic backing singers, akin to denizens of a doomed city sounding the melodic signal for a Batman or Mighty Mouse styled super-hero. The gothic melodrama is thus reduced to sketchy cartoonish action, film noir translated into an explosion of Zaps and Kapows. 

While I can't make up my mind whether this translation is inspired or ridiculous beyond measure, what's interesting is how well it actually works on the second or third listen once the presumably unintentional joke wears thin. Trade Mark have a point - the circling orchestra hook in the chorus of the original does, when sped up, lend itself well to dancefloor urgency. McWilliams's explosive melodrama can actually be adapted to camp finger-pointing. Because disco was such a maligned form by 1978, the logical conclusion to draw is that some disrespect was intended in this cover version, but Trade Mark were apparently French (consisting of the brothers Gorges and Michel Costa) and it's much more likely that they wanted to adapt a popular hit song (in their country) for the local nightclub. For pulling off the seemingly impossible and noticing those possible underlying qualities to "Pearly Spencer", they deserve some kind of medal. And of course, as we're all way past all that "Disco Sucks!" nonsense in the present day and age, we can enjoy the end results with no baggage attached.

As we're on the topic of David McWilliams, though, I'll use this entry as an excuse to praise his sixties output, which is seldom discussed these days. The likes of "Three O'Clock Flamingo Street", "Question of Identity", and "Mister Satisfied" show a folk songwriter who deserves to be remembered for far more than "Pearly Spencer". The compilation "Days of David McWilliams" deserves to be tracked down and savoured by many more people.