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.
We've already (briefly) explored the career of Miki Anthony on this blog back when I uncovered a Mark Wirtz produced acetate of "Knight In White Armour", and this particular disc stems from a later part of his career when he found himself working for York Records, a subsidiary of Yorkshire Television.
The A-side offers nothing unusual in the slightest, and is in fact a particularly sprightly piece of pop which was unlucky not to have been a hit. "Feel The Rhythm Inside" has clattering drums, bass piano notes, an euphoric chorus and a general sense that all is well on the suburban dancefloor. There's nothing radical or original about it, but it's a serviceable example of a particular strain of non-glam pop music that was faring reasonably well in Britain at the time.
Far more absurd is the B-side which can only be described as a country/ trucking song sung by daleks, or at the very least Miki Anthony doing a very good impersonation of a dalek. The story behind this, so far as I can ascertain, is also a bit odd. Earlier in 1973 York Records had slated a record for release by a group called The Daleks entitled "Feel It Inside" with "Jawbone" listed as the flip. Copies of this have never actually been seen, and the qualified guess of most record collectors (and Doctor Who collectors) is that somebody at the Yorkshire media company got jittery about copyright violation and getting into trouble with the BBC. This would have applied even if the single were issued on a standard record label, but one with close affiliations to their rival station ITV would surely have come in for a giant whacking from the legal beagles. Whether "Feel It Inside" was a different version of this A-side sung in the voice of a dalek, the same track or another track entirely is impossible to say, and chances are only Miki Anthony or an ex-employee of York Records would be likely to know.
Whatever the facts, the B-side is a right old racket, and the humorous novelty factor of daleks trucking across the country exterminating quickly loses its appeal. It's bizarre, make no mistake, but has all the hallmarks of an off-the-cuff flip side, which is a shame given the potential of the idea.
So much has been written about the "Doctor Who" theme tune over the years that it almost feels as if there's very little left to be said. One of the most groundbreaking (and terrifying) electronic compositions ever recorded, you could sit and talk about it as being one of the wonders of recorded sound if you wanted, and I probably wouldn't argue much with you.
When released as a single it didn't chart, but it sold slowly and steadily over the course of many Who seasons, and the other wonder surrounding the disc became what the hell this was doing on the flip. Acting as the dark side of a record filled with futuristic horror is a couple called Brenda and Johnny performing a beat version of Rodgers and Hart's "This Can't Be Love", whooping up an utterly conventional storm. It's an enjoyable piece of period pop, actually, filled with odd beats, buzzing guitars and over enthusiastic vocals, and possesses a naivete that renders it completely charming - but the connection with "Doctor Who" is something that has baffled record collectors for many years. There were no Brendas or Johnnys in any of the series, there are no obvious links to the BBC Radiophonic Workshop here (Mike Leander takes on production duties) and in fact the whole thing simply seems to be a strange offcut from the Decca archives. One would have thought that they could have found a more appropriate piece of instrumental music somewhere in their vaults, but perhaps there were other reasons (money, time, favours) which involved this being used instead.
Whoever Brenda and Johnny were, it would seem the duo never bothered us again - at least not in this guise - but certainly enjoyed a long and sustained period of publicity throughout the sixties by finding their voices heard by every "Doctor Who" fan who purchased this record. Have you seen them? Do you know who they are? Do call.
Who: Mankind What: Doctor Who (b/w "Time Traveller") Label: Pinnacle When: 1978 Where: Wood Street Market, Walthamstow Cost: One pound
...and it's yet another Left and To The Back top thirty chart entry from yore. People shall begin to talk.
"Doctor Who" by session musicians Mankind hovered around the bottom end of the Top Thirty for ages, like gnats cloud around stagnant water. It's an interpretation of the TV theme which seems to have been largely forgotten about now, perhaps because it's yet another disco "rethink" of the original piece. The original BBC Radiophonic Workshop piece still has the ability to send chills down the spine with its whooshing and whirring and demonic oscillations, but it's safe to say that sticking a funky bassline to it does sap away most of its power. In fact, what we're left with is a song that asks us to dance about whilst being forced to think about Tom Baker, which is a tempting offer, but one which I can't bring myself to do at home without getting tremendously confused and unfootsure. One is also unsure what a Tom Baker disco dance would involve, but one suspects the choreography of scarves would play a role.
As a record, it's perhaps more noteable for being one of Pinnacle's earliest hit singles, causing the distribution company to raise its stakes slightly in the game of pop. Whilst the label itself would quickly dissolve, despite having some of the loudest and frankly best designs of the seventies (see here), the distribution arm would eventually become all-powerful, handling the likes of Factory Records and eventually PWL (and therefore Kylie Minogue and Jason Donovan). Last year it finally went bankrupt amidst the present music industry turmoil, which is regrettable given its long history - alongside Stock Aitken and Waterman favourites, it actually did release a lot of underground material throughout its existence, and gave plenty of bands breaks they weren't likely to get from the major labels. Rough Trade may have always been more right-on and credible, but Pinnacle's back catalogue is also not entirely to be sniffed at.
So... here's (more or less) where it all started, not with a Joy Division seven inch, or an unexpected punk hit, or even Keith Marshall's "Only Crying" (another hit of theirs) but with a funky sci-fi theme. You've got to wonder.
