Reupload - Solent - My World Fell Down/ The Sound Of Summer's Over

Label: Decca

Year of Release: 1973

The fact that the John Carter and Geoff Stephens penned "My World Fell Down" failed to chart when issued by The Ivy League is probably one of the great injustices of the sixties. Seldom has one song approximated the West Coast sound so faithfully and so well, and with such a sumptuous melody, only to fall by the wayside.

It was improved upon further in 1967 by Americans Sagittarius, who fleshed its sound out further still with disorientating sound effects which seemed to be knowing nods to Brian Wilson's Smile sessions, all acting as the cherry on the top of an utterly superb song. That fared somewhat better, climbing to number 70 in the US Charts, but its failure to become a significant hit doomed the track into being swept up by Nuggets, Rubble and other rarities compilations in the decades down the line. 

Whoever Solent were - that's not entirely clear, though someone called "Bobby S" has claimed vocal duties over on the 45Cat website - they obviously couldn't believe the song's lack of luck, and had another crack at it. This time round, the song is given a politer, smoother mix and almost more nostalgic, sorrowful harmonies. The track by now seems to be harking back to a sixties surfing shoreline as a distant memory (not that such things were that common in the UK to begin with) and the flipside adds to that mournful air, asking very gently where those surfing summers went to. "Don't worry baby" one of the singers sighs, and you almost get the sense they're mopping Brian Wilson's brow, trying to get him down to the south coast of the UK to work his magic. 

Carl Gresham - It First Began/ Comedy Version

 

Label: None
Year of Release: not issued

Acetates are an expensive folly in the average record collector's life. If you see one in a second hand record shop or on Discogs or eBay, the price is usually ratcheted sky-high, the seller knowing that the scarcity and uniqueness of the offering is going to make it very enticing. Yet when you do purchase one, what you usually get is a songwriter warbling over some basic piano melody they've written, or a half baked beat idea from some smalltown group whose ideas and style hadn't moved on from 1962.

And then, of course, there's stuff like this which surely had a backstory, but I'm damned if I know what it is. Carl Gresham was a highly influential man about town in Bradford, being a record store manager and club DJ at the turn of the sixties, and occasional actor - he was Tom Courtenay's stand-in for "Billy Liar" - and a "personal appearances" agent to the stars, offering them work opening supermarkets and department stores (which begs some serious questions about that 'supermarket opening' scene in the film "Billy Liar", which does not feature in the novel at all. Was this a sneaky, knowing nod to Gresham's sideline business?)

Gresham - or "The Gresh" as he was known to friends and associates - gradually grew into something of an establishment figure in Bradford, appearing in pantomimes and having his own weekend breakfast radio show on Pennine Radio, so it wouldn't have been unexpected to see him pushing out a novelty single at some point.

The trouble is, though, this sounds like a very early sixties demo with very simple Freddie & The Dreamers styled melodies, which dates it ahead of Gresham's rise to minor fame. On the A-side you've got a frivolous, cheery melody buried in a terrible mix which he chirps along to serviceably. It's a pleasant enough early beat offering but nothing to crack open the cheque book for. 

Over on the flip, however, is a very strange "comedy" version of the song, which was apparently arranged and conceptualised by the director and producer David Mallet, who worked with Les Dawson and Kenny Everett later in his career, as well as becoming one of the most successful music video directors of all time. In this The Gresh whacks out, screaming and shouting, making panicky asides about "falling down the hole in the middle of the record" and generally acting the giddy goat. It's not clear what this piece of work is connected to or why an acetate of it was pressed. It's possible it was to accompany a comedy show or idea which never got commissioned, but equally likely it was just Gresham dicking around in his remaining studio time.

The Going Thing - Sweet Sunday/ Windy Day

Label: Decca

Year of Release: 1971

Say hello to the only group (to the best of my knowledge) ever to emerge from the Ford manufacturing line - unless, of course, we're counting Ford Timelord of The Timelords. Back in the sixties, Ford were seemingly keen to make their cars seem sexy, zingy and a little bit more rock and roll; less "any colour you want, so long as it's black", and more "all the colours of the swinging rainbow, baby".

In Australia, the group The Going Thing were pulled together to groove and bop on a popular television advert to make cars seem more like something to dance about. There was nothing special about the ad, particularly not by modern day standards, but the zesty young folk in it clearly caught the public's imagination well enough that Ford began pumping out LPs by them for promotional use. "Christmas 1968 With The Going Thing", "The Going Thing 1969" and "1970" all appeared on Ford's own record label, and included gems such as "The Warranty Song" (please do click on the link to hear that one), "I Dig Rock and Roll Music" (where they sadly don't sing about loving "Duane Bleeding Eddy"), "Ford - It's The Going Thing" (of course) and an array of sunshine covers of popular hits.

American producers Tom and John Bahler were responsible for the group's sound and approach at this point, and offered $50,000 a year to Karen and Richard Carpenter to work on the project, which the pair sensibly refused, choosing to instead continue with their own work. Nonetheless, even without any contributions from the Carpenter siblings, the outcomes of this period were likably fluffy and pie-eyed enough to become of interest to collectors - the "1970" LP in particular goes for some inexplicably eye-watering sums given its contents, frequently attracting eBay bids upwards of £100. 

Once the Ford gig was up, the Australian label Sweet Peach picked them up and attempted to market them as a group with things other than family cars on their minds. The resulting LP "Good News" is a less kitschy collection of songs, and as such is seemingly of less interest to collectors. 

Following that album's disappointing performance, Decca surprisingly chose to give them a leg up with this single, which was issued not just in Australia but the UK as well. Like a lot of their material, its quality does belie its somewhat naff origins. "Sweet Sunday" is an intriguing cross between gospel and technicolour harmony pop, and while it's difficult not to sing The Velvet Underground's "Oh Sweet Nuthin'" over the first few bars, the group manage to carry the cheer of the ditty in a manner that wouldn't embarrass The Fifth Dimension. It's feelgood music handled with incredible care and some UK journalists even predicted a hit.

C.T.A.-102 - More Strangers (In The Cave Again)/ A Thousand Days

Label: Gale

Year of Release: 1980

Paul Carman was an unlucky chap, recording a lot of music in the seventies under the "Dolphin" moniker (we covered his rocksteady version of "Hey Joe" some time ago) which tended to take existing hit singles and tear them apart, forcing them into new shapes and guises. When it worked, it worked unbelievably well. His smooth FM take on "Goin' Back", for example, is an interesting version which adds a small droplet of sixties trippiness to the otherwise slick hug of the mid-seventies production.

He was a perfectly good songwriter in his own right, though, as this single - issued under the strange C.T.A.-102 moniker - proves. "More Strangers (In The Cave Again)" is a shimmering, pulsing New Wave track which in places sounds like Colin Newman out of Wire being ordered to write a hit. It's another example of a performer from another era managing to adapt to the changing tide with astonishing ease, but clearly falling flat on their faces because nobody in the punk or post-punk scenes liked a "pretender" (unless they were sticking two fingers up and mucking about for their own amusement like The Strawbs). 

Fortunately, there's better news for the modern man in that a freshly mastered version of the track is available on Bandcamp for streaming and buying, and the link can be found below.

Reupload - Zenith - A Fool That Was In Love/ Silent Words

 

Sophisticated but well-written mid-seventies pop from ex-White Plains boys

Label: Dawn

Year of Release: 1975

Dawn was a perplexing label. Started by its parent label Pye as a home to more progressive and hippy-friendly artists (akin to EMI's Harvest or Decca's Deram) it started off on-spec with huge hits from the hairy festival jugband act Mungo Jerry and lesser-selling pieces of wonderfulness from more subdued acts such as Heron. Eventually, though, these beardy releases gave way to all manner of commercial rock and pop, including releases from The Glitter Band and Brotherhood of Man. 

This 45 definitely exists at the end of Dawn's catalogue marked "sophisticated pop". Only the stray sound of a sitar low in the mix shows any concessions to the label's past - the rest of the track is taken up with hooky choruses and zingy but breezy orchestral arrangements, having more in common with Edison's Lighthouse than anything likely to have got John Peel excited.

Still, it's deftly done, and certainly could have been a hit - the song is determined to make maximum impact, and pushes itself forward with hook after hook on top of a pristine arrangement. That possibly shouldn't be too surprising, given that the group were formed from the remains of White Plains, and their sound practically invented the slick, careful but potent 70s pop formula. 

Staff of Basingstoke Hospital - Close Encounters of The Medical Kind (EP)

Label: Rushton Records

Year of Release: Who knows?

Followers of my Twitter feed will know this record has been driving me up the wall for weeks now - not due to its musical content, but purely because I'm sure I read about its existence or heard about it on a podcast at some point in the last couple of years; however, I can find no evidence anywhere, either in my house, on my hard drive or online. 

Given that it's too late in this blog's history to regret not keeping a better notepad, I'll press ahead based on what I think I know - which as it happens, isn't a lot. It would be tempting to write "Close Encounters Of The Medical Kind" off as a strange spoof, perhaps a cheapo prog-lite project Matt Berry attempted shortly after "Garth Marenghi's Darkplace" completed its series on Channel 4, but so far as I can ascertain this is the real deal; a revue troop of doctors and hospital staff in Basingstoke recording the best of a self-penned science fiction musical they performed. 

The central theme of the musical isn't easy to ascertain from this EP, but it would appear to involve evil forces attempting to destroy a vital moon in the universe who must be stopped by a member of Basingstoke Hospital staff known only as Luke "Superdoc", who we can only hope is on a hero's wage.

Musically, this record has a spindly, muddy, low-budget production underpinning music which sounds live and occasionally veers towards prog, pop, twee psychedelia and the Rocky Horror Show. Neither the vocal or instrumental performances are exactly professional, with very occasional weaknesses coming forth in the mix, but surprisingly, nor are they howlingly bad; somebody, somewhere put a lot of thought into this record (who ever would have thought medical staff had the time? They certainly wouldn't now) and clearly wanted to leave audiences with a suitable audio keepsake of a jolly and not entirely serious stage revue.