Whisky & Sofa - Dirty Den/ Dirty Rag

 

Yet another Eastenders themed novelty record from the mid-80s

Label: Spartan

Year of Release: 1986

Given the current indifference being shown to "Eastenders" by the British public, with viewing figures tanking and BBC Executives furrowing their brows, it's easy to forget just how much of a phenomenon the soap once was. The market for spin-off singles alone was immense - no sooner had actress Anita Dobson hit the top ten with a sung version of the theme tune than scores of other Enders related discs dropped off the production line.

Not all of these were successes. "Left and to the Back" has bravely dealt with some of the odder fare, such as Lofty's attempt at covering Bob Dylan and Gramps' well-meaning festive single, but to be honest I thought I'd heard them all now. Then one day, the "Top Of The Pops Facts" stream on Twitter alerted me to the existence of this unofficial cash-in novelty record.

"Dirty Den" is unusual in being a raucous novelty record which also feels slightly threatening. That's appropriate enough - Dirty Den was, of course, the soap's resident geezer, a no-nonsense man of a certain age with an abrasive personality and criminal associations. Despite the fact that his wit and charm frequently seemed several rungs below Lord Alan Sugar's, he nonetheless found his way into many ladies' boudoirs, including (most troublingly) the one of sixteen year old character Michelle Fowler who he impregnated. 

The tabloid press love a soap opera villain, and Dirty Den was prime gutter rag content. Given the character's utter ubiquity in British popular culture, a novelty Den-themed single from somebody was therefore inevitable even if Den himself (or at least the actor Leslie Grantham) was unwilling to step into the recording studio booth to do it. 

The resulting unofficial output "Dirty Den" attempts to go for a slight dancefloor edge, utilising those squelching bass keyboard notes every low budget record from 1986 seemed to have, and being influenced by slightly more straight-ahead novelty discs of the past. The "whoops!" elements are straight out of John Inman's "Are You Being Served?", while the Den imitating vocals owe a debt to those old impersonator's 45s from the seventies which still clutter up charity shops to this day.

You'll be hard pressed to find a copy of this record in any charity shop though, as it sold in meagre quantities. While the subject matter seemed like a sure-fire winner, the jokes on here are almost non-existent (unless the cry of "Whoops! Whisky and Sofa!" is flying above my head in 2023 - it sounds more like an incident that's escaped from a Frank Spencer themed record than anything else). It's a character outline sketch set to a slight melody, and while the beats and keyboard sounds on this are pretty urban for a novelty effort, there's nothing here to set either radio playlists or club dancefloors alight. 

Billy Fury - Will The Real Man Please Stand Up/ At This Stage

 

First release on Fury's own brand label

Label: Fury

Year of Release: 1972

Billy Fury's career wasn't to be sniffed at. He was one of the few British artists to have a large audience both prior to and after the beat boom, with a run of hits from 1959 right through to the mid-sixties. He was also (in common with Cliff Richard) a by-word in the business for "professionalism" - his rebellious sounding name may have whiffed of slashed cinema seats and disaffection to the teens buying his discs, but while his early shows were deemed "sexually suggestive" and had to be toned down, he toured diligently and was a smart and slick guest on any entertainment show who booked him. 

By 1966, however, his record sales began to wane, and the following year saw him disappear from the charts entirely. From that point, there's a string of Billy Fury singles from "Hurtin' Is Loving" right through to "Paradise Alley" in 1970 which were utterly ignored outside his hardcore fanbase. It wasn't for want of trying to keep up with the times. 1968's enjoyable "Silly Boy Blue" was a cover of a David Bowie track (and is now supremely collectible as a result) and 1970's equally desirable "Why Are You Leaving?" has a slightly stoned countrified feel in keeping with many of the more credible pop discs of the era. 

His most progressive act during this period was to cover Jimmy Campbell of 23rd Turnoff's dark and warped adolescent lullaby "In My Room", about a rejected and troubled man alone in his bedroom surrounded by pictures of "Hitler, John and Paul"; by this point, Fury wasn't afraid to wrap even his most delicate work in risky barbed wire sentiments.

All the progression failed to pay off, though, and as "proper" record labels began to get increasingly twitchy about his lack of current success, his last big gesture was to launch his own label through a deal with the budget arm Avenue. In the event, this was the only Billy Fury disc pressed up on it, and the other four catalogue numbers were generously given over to Jimmy Campbell's new group Rockin' Horse (appearing under the pseudonym Atlantis) a pre-Alvin Stardust Shane Fenton (whose track "The Fly" under the name Jo Jo Ellis is seriously odd in a good way) and fellow sixties exile Johnny Hackett. None were successes and the project was terminated after catalogue number FY305, Fenton's flop waxing "Eastern Seaboard". 

A few of these singles are little gems, though, and "Will The Real Man Please Stand Up" is one of them. It's determined seventies pop, the kind Elton John and Bernie Taupin could have written and recorded (indeed, Taupin adored Billy Fury, as evidenced on the 1987 tribute track of the same name). It doesn't sound like a hit, but it's a credible and creditable performance which sounds as if it's in the perfect pair of hands. The flipside "At This Stage" also has vague hints towards the kind of angst referenced in "In My Room".

Reupload - Inside Moves - The Man With The Child In His Eyes/ I Wish

 

Kate Bush goes balearic but nobody notices

Label: The Brothers Organisation
Year of Release: 1992

I blame Candy Flip. For a brief period in the early nineties, following the soaraway success of their indie-dance cover of The Beatles "Strawberry Fields Forever", swinging dance cover versions of established classic tunes became a relatively common proposition. Some were enchanting, some were just awful, and most neither offended nor delighted but became odd talking points.

This cover of Kate Bush's "The Man With The Child In His Eyes" by Inside Moves - a group who didn't appear to go on to record any other work - is an unexpected find. It's true to say that "Cloudbusting" was sampled heavily by Utah Saints for "Something Good", so Bush had already had one excursion on to the dancefloor, but this is actually a straight, soulful reinterpretation of her work. It slips and slides down its own smooth and tranquil Ibiza path with puffing flutes, exquisitely delivered vocals and triad piano lines. It's clearly primed for chill-out compilations, and it does actually work incredibly well within that genre - but seems to have largely slipped out unnoticed at the time, and certainly isn't played at all now.

I have no information on who Inside Moves were, but if their movements were typical of many of the dance producers and performers of this period, they probably naffed off somewhere else to work on another project under another name once this had flopped.

The Sugarlumps - Sugar Sugar/ Can't We Be Friends

 

Reggae cover of The Archies mega-hit? Oh go on then.

Label: Jay Boy

Year of Release: 1969

You all know the drill by now - if there's a massive hit, someone, somewhere has done a reggae cover version of it. Sometimes they'll be slow off the mark, issuing contemplative dub excursions of Kenny Rogers songs decades after they first hit big. On other occasions, they'll strike while the iron is hot and snatch the big pop hit of the day from the writer's hands within moments of its descent down the Top 40.

The Sugarlumps, whoever they may be (a studio group, I assume?) barely let the charts cool down from The Archies dominance at number one before rushing this one into the shops, and it has to be said, its a strong take. Chirpy, homespun and apparently sincere, it seems they were able to look beyond the sneering and scoffing about the "bubblegum" hit and hear it for what it was; a bona fide great pop song. The song lilts, bounces and skips its way from beginning to end with an enjoyable respect; if this was a cynical attempt to sell a lot of records, the group have managed to disguise their motivations well. That said, anyone expecting to hear deep, heavy reggae here is obviously going to be disappointed. 

Sadly, there's no dub version on the flip and we're left with the strangely rough and ready original track "Can't We Be Friends" instead, which sounds like a one-take effort to get the thing down on tape. Nonetheless, it's got quite a few fans online. 

Alan Phillips - Like In A Movie/ Baby Do

Welsh singer-songwriter and Mott The Hoople hopeful's debut 45

Label: RCA

Year of Release: 1973

Here's a single I've been after for years, partly because I've come across recommendations on collector's sites before, and partly because it tickles every damn nerve-ending in my record collector's body. High-profile glam connections? Check. Big Jim Sullivan sessioning on it? Yes. Artist managed by Robert Stigwood? Of course. Huge music business hopeful whose career largely passed unnoticed? Why, Alan Phillips could barely look more like "Left and to the Back" fodder if he literally knocked on my door and sold me his story face-to-face.

Sadly, about the only information I've managed to dig up on Phillips was written by Anthony Brockway of the Babylon Wales blog, and obviously I'd feel very uncomfortable about replicating his research and passing it off as my own here - so please do read his webpage if possible and listen to this radio interview which will bring you up to date with his current career. 

Those of you who are seeking a very brief summary of his career will probably be happy enough to know that Phillips auditioned for Mott The Hoople and came within a gnat's wing of getting the job, but instead ended up managed by Robert Stigwood who recognised his skills as a promising songwriter. Twelve of his tracks in demo form subsequently made their way out of the realms of music publishing and into the world of record labels, and EMI, Decca and RCA all expressed an interest in signing him for an LP, which subsequently emerged on RCA entitled "20th Century Musical Man".

That somewhat daring album title alone hints towards the expectations being pushed on the artist. It's highly probable that RCA thought they had another Bowie on their hands, or at the very least an Elton John figure who could emerge from the music biz backrooms to dazzle the world. In the event, interest was low and the album sold very poorly, and RCA noted the losses made and failed to pick up the option on any follow-up releases.

The Exchange & Mart - Yeah My Friend/ I Know That I'm Dreaming

 

Folk Rock one-single wonders with great two-sider

Label: President

Year of Release: 1972

Somewhere in my wardrobe I've got a yellow t-shirt with the logo of the President record label emblazoned on it. If a random stranger approached me and asked me why I was wearing it, though, and who on the label I particularly admired, I would probably mention The Equals, then stammer a bit and lose my thread. Tamla Motown it is not.

The truth is, besides the look and the logo, it's the very idea of President I admire. Arguably Britain's first independent record label (though that's hotly contested by Joe Meek's Triumph Records and all manner of other backroom set-ups) it's spent decades ploughing its own furrow in a particularly strange little field miles away from the usual action. From cod-Northern Soul to reggae to provincial psychedelia, President has spat out endless interesting records from numerous genres, often (though not always) to an indifferent world. Many of its artists issued one 45 then totally disappeared beneath the waves again. In short, for record buyers who love a bit of a mystery, its catalogue is well worth plundering. 

Folk rockers The Exchange & Mart were yet another President group who were given one shot only, and this is what they came up with. The A-side "Yeah My Friend" is a fairly typical but nonetheless invigorating fiddle festooned hippy hoe-down, the kind of thing which was all over the college and festival circuit in the early seventies. With a potent chorus and spontaneous sounding yet fairly complex arrangement, it was unlucky not to break through to at least a cult audience.

The B-side "I Know That I'm Dreaming" is the track that's picked up most attention in the years since, though, featuring on the compilations "Jigsaw Puzzle", "Lovin' Fire" and the Saint Etienne compilation "Occasional Rain". Filled with a despondent autumnal mood, it's the misty, gloomy older brother to the plug side, all subtle guitar licks, stomping piano lines and pattering drum rhythms. You can almost smell the rotting leaves and the gentle drizzle.

Reupload - Dolphin - Hey Joe/ Dubby Dubby

 

Mellow reggae take on the Hendrix/ Leaves classic

Label: Gale

Year of Release: 1980

The enigmatic Dolphin - essentially a solo project by songwriter Paul Carman given a group name - are one of those obscure seventies groups whose work hasn't yet excited the average record collector. Releasing smooth, FM radio takes on Byrds and Spector classics such as "Goin Back" and "And Then I Kissed Her", their earliest 1976 releases on Private Stock landed at a time when increasingly few people gave a damn for such sophisticated fare. 

A shame, as those singles would have been pretty enough to have reached a larger section of the public a few years previously. Despite their no-show on the charts, the project continued with gusto with a total of six singles on Private Stock, one LP ("Goodbye") and then finally this 45 and another LP on the small Gale label. 

"Hey Joe" is the one that seems to be picking up a little bit more attention now. While it's a rocksteady take on the Hendrix classic, inevitably it is somewhat inauthentic. It is a smooth and lilting attempt, though, taking The Leaves and Hendrix's wrath and angst and turning it into a despondent, low skank (can you actually skank despondently?) The passing of time has allowed the origins of this one to be forgotten and a few listeners to prick up their ears.

Sheffield University Rag Week Record - 1964

Cheap multi-genre flexidisc fun - "it's for charity, y'know!"

Label (of sorts): Lyntone

Year of Release: 1964

"Yes! Here it is folks! The very first Sheffield Rag Record, presenting for your entertainment four well-known sound (sic) of Sheffield:

Los Caribos: purveyors of West Indian Carribeat music. The university is fortunate in possessing such an outstanding example of this genre.

The Addy Street 5: the University jazz band. The only traditional band to reach the finals of the inter-University Jazz competition.

The Vantennas: extremely popular beat group, both in the University and in the City.

Dave Allen Big Band: regular performer in the university union. Well-known throughout Sheffield".

Ah, rag week at university. The history of the concept is a slightly complicated one with less than honourable origins. Rags in the nineteenth century were often noisy and destructive and involved pitched battles between rival universities, frequently leading to destruction of property or injury of persons - football hooliganism for the wealthy, essentially. 

Some students disliked their good name being sullied by the tribal actions of a violent and aggressive minority, and set out to subvert the principles and aims of Rags, making them about delivering positive things for local good causes and embedding the university more firmly into the local community. As time moved on, Rag Weeks emerged which involved fund-raising in innovative ways - the publication of jokey "Rag Mags" or production of student-friendly novelty items to raise money. These steadily became annual fixtures on the university calendar.

By the time I went to university in the nineties, Rag Week seemed to mostly involve students standing around in the student union shaking plastic buckets filled with coins and screaming "RAAAAAG WEEEEK!" at the tops of their lungs. Whether this was because time had shown this paid just as many dividends for local charities as producing inventive or humorous items, or the nineties were just a very shouty, screechy time anyway, or both, I will probably never know. I just threw 50p in the bucket and tried to get away as quickly as possible. I didn't ask questions.

This means that products like this 1964 flexidisc from Sheffield University feel like strange artefacts from a more ambitious time. Recording these university groups and getting the record pressed up for public consumption shows an unbelievable degree of commitment and effort, while also handily providing us with a lasting memento of the sounds of campus life during that period. 

While the fragile nature of the medium causes this history to be occasionally muffled by scuffs and groove wear, it shows a university embracing beat, West Indian sounds and jazz as well as the unstoppable and obligatory Big Bands, a traditional feature of universities right through the century. 

All examples here are competent and professional sounding, but as you'd expect none highlight stars in the making. "Left and to the Back" readers are probably going to be most interested in The Vantennas (the only pop group to be named after BBC licence detecting vans?) They turn in a thumpingly acceptable performance with a cover of The Hollies' Miller and Ford penned "Baby Don't Cry", though the polite, restrained backing vocals and sparse, steady rhythms seem as much like the product of the pre-beat boom era as they do of 1964 - University Rags might have traditionally involved chaos and destruction, but there's nothing going on here to incite that feeling on record. 

The rest do very much what the enterprising student (or students) set out in their blurb, although The Dave Allen Big Band regrettably turn out not to have any associations with the Irish comedian of the same name. 

The 49 Meter Band - Don't Stop The Music/ And I'm Alone (Dooba Doo Bop)

 

Mysterious mid-70s pop 45, unlisted on 45Cat or Discogs (until now)

Label: Laurie

Year of Release: 1974

We live in an age of excessive administration from hobbyists, where if something exists - especially if it has catalogue number or serial numbers attached to it - somebody has usually documented it online. Finding a record whose existence nobody has bothered to note is an increasingly rare event, like discovering a holiday resort nobody has done a vlog about yet. 

There are often good explanations for the above two scenarios, though. If nobody's bothered to film their exotic holiday in some location nobody's heard of, it's probably because there was nothing much to either brag or warn others about. And if nobody's listed a single on 45Cat or Discogs, it probably points towards a similar phenomenon; the record isn't going to bring you untold riches if you find it at a boot sale for 99p, and it's probably not breaking new ground musically either.

Still, it's always worth prodding a feathered fish with a stick when you find one. This appears to have been the mysterious 49 Meter Band's debut single, and it's one of those unusual cases where it's hard to tell which side is the A-side. The seller listed it as "Don't Stop The Music", so that's what I'm doing - it's a brooding and sparse middle-of-the-road-to-riches tale filled with twanging guitar lines and simple melodies. In terms of arrangements, it's closer to the kind of simple pop ditties doing the rounds in the early sixties, though the performances feel slap-bang in the mid-seventies era when they were recorded.

The B-side is just as simple but has a spartan and very likeable boogie going on which is begging to be sampled and looped.