I should have guessed I’d see you down here at some stage.  It had a sense of the inevitable about it.  It’s a bit like my secret hideaway, so I figured it would be the same for you.  Don’t know about you but I feel a sense of escape, rummaging through the racks of 10p singles, seeking out the truffles, and being beguiled by what catches the eye or the imagination.  I have to admit there’s probably been more misses than hits in my trawling, but that’s part of the fun of it isn’t it?  Like I bought this fantastic old northern stomper by someone called Joe Curtis, called This Is Love, which has a bit of a Celtic Soul Brothers vibe.  It was on the Spiral label, so last week when I saw another 7” on the same label I had to have it.  But it turned out to be a schmaltzy irish showband number about two kids growing up side by side.  One a protestant.  One a catholic.  All very Two Little Boys.  Not exactly going to set the 100 Club dancefloor alight.  But then you can’t win them all eh?

I saw Andy last week.  And it’s funny because he’s got a really good job, but he was bemoaning the fact that he didn’t have time to be cool like us.  In other words, he said,  he didn’t have the opportunities to go rummaging for lost gems, and demands on time meant he tended now only to go for top of the range rarities, or instead buy current 12”s.  And there was me deadly jealous of the fact he could afford house or hip hop imports.  The other man’s grass always seems to be greener somehow.

Mind you Andy did have a point.  It has to be said we are living through a bit of a golden age.  The boom in CDs.  The growth of charity shops.  All the boot sales.  We’re spoilt for choice with people clearing out their vinyl.  I can hardly move at home now for rescued records.  It really is an addiction.  And the worst of it is that every time you turn around there’s a new avenue to explore.

It’s like recently I went up the road to Compendium.  And to be honest I don’t usually like going that far up Camden now.  I hate Rhythm, because I can’t afford anything in there.  And Compendium depresses me because it’s full of books I desperately want but which seem unattainable.  All the Kerouac obscurities and imports.  Visions of Gerard.  Tristessa.  I would love to have those.  Probably would hate them if I got them but that’s another story.

Anyway, while I was in there, I picked up this magazine.  A sort of special edition of That Will Never Happen Again.  Now normally it deals with all things Phil Spector and Shadow Morton.  That spectral and shadowy world.  But this one’s all about British girls from the ‘60s.  And I’ve become totally obsessed with it.  So much so that I want so many of the things mentioned within.  Which is part of the reason I’m scavenging here today.

The funny thing is I’ve been tracking down old Sandie Shaw and Dusty 45s for ages.  But they’re just the tip of the iceberg it seems.  This mag features loads of stuff I’d never even heard of.  Now I really want to hear Louise Cordet and Billie Davis.  The reassuring thing is I guess that there’s already things I’d stumbled across.  Stuff like Madeline Bell.  I absolutely love her version of What The World Needs Now.  It's one of my favourite Bacharach covers.  Which is saying something.  And Samantha Jones’ Surrounded By A Ray Of Sunshine.  I first heard that years ago on an old northern soul compilation called Sold On Soul, which my brother had.  I played that to death.  It also had The Drifter by Ray Pollard.  Garnet Mimms’ Looking For You.  Irma Thomas’ What Are You Trying To Do?  The O’Jays and Jackie De Shannon.  Little Anthony’s Better Use Your Head.  Fantastic.  A real education at the time.

The blue eyed soul thing is a bit of a recurring motif too, with a bit on Lorraine Silver of Lost Summer Love fame, and Kiki.  Funnily enough they showed Doctor In Clover on the TV the other night, and Kiki sounded fantastic on the soundtrack.  I love those films.  Any excuse to do my Leslie Philips impersonation.  All Kiki’s ‘60s recordings were brilliant.  And I can fully understand why Motown asked her to make a record for them.  But the soul fans over here turned their noses up.  Ah the fools. 

As a bit of a gambler yourself, you’ll appreciate one of the stories in there.  It’s the old one about a collector getting their Jackie Lees mixed up.  And ending up with a song about Rupert The Bear rather than something about the Darkest Days.  Actually the UK Jackie Lee did the gorgeous theme for White Horses which is one of my secret pleasures.  Reminds me of more innocent times.  Talking of losing innocence, there are some fantastic PP Arnold photos in the mag.  D’you know I would love to sit down with her and talk about the Immediate days.  I really want to see that Small Faces footage again with her in.

There’s also a fabulous Francoise Hardy article, which is stretching the British Girls description, but who cares?  It’s fitting actually because I went to see that Godard film Masculin Feminin recently at the Everyman up in Hampstead.  I made the mistake of going with Neil.  Nice bloke and all that.  But he does keep up these incessant running commentaries during films.  And he took great delight in telling me when Francoise was going to put in her cameo, and when Sandie Shaw was going to get a mention, and how one of the producers in the film was Mickey Baker of Love Is Strange fame.  Worth knowing though.

Talking of Sandie, the mag’s got an old article Morrissey wrote about the great lady.  You know me.  I’m really not a fan of The Smiths, but it has to be said I don’t think enough has been made of the strange influences and obsessions Morrissey brought to the party early on.  The sad thing is they ended up so horribly dull musically speaking, churning out sub-Stones riffs, when early on Morrissey was championing Sandie, Heaven Only Knows by the Shangri Las, Nancy Sinatra, Reparata, the Marvelettes and the Velvelettes, Timi Yuro and Rita Pavone.  Important, dramatic femme sounds.  Strange stuff.  Wonderfully distanced from four square solid rock, which is where we always seem to end up.  So when the story goes dull old Johnny gave up the ghost because Morrissey made him cover Cilla’s strangest song, I know which side of the fence I would land if I had to choose sides. 

What I love most about this Morrissey article is the way he makes the case for Chris Andrews as writer and Ken Woodman as arranger.  It just seems to turn pop theory on its head by challenging the accepted view of the ‘60s.  It’s like The Smiths covering Twinkle’s Golden Lights was a masterstroke, but he just didn’t go far enough.  And for that I blame Johnny, but there you go. 

As for what I was saying earlier, the trouble with thinking about Francoise Hardy and going to see Masculin Feminin was that it got me thinking about ‘60s French girls, and that’s another avenue altogether.  So if you see any France Gall singles give me a shout.

© 2007 John Carney