No no it’s a fair point.  I have been rather going on about Kent Records, getting up in the pulpit and preaching about people being far better off with any one of their LPs rather than some scrappy 7” from some bunch of graceless buffoons.  And in that there has been an assumption that people would know where to start.  The funny thing is though that at the same time I have been beating myself up for not knowing anywhere near as much about old soul music as the people involved with the scene, and the likes of my hero Harboro Horace. 

Well, I guess if there was one of the Kent compilations that I would really recommend then it would have to be On The Up-Beat because it’s just so spot-on.  The sort of Blue Note graphics and everything.  It’s a collection of old Chicago soul from the Brunswick group.  Every track on there is a real killer.  You know, something to have you swinging from the chandeliers, turning cart wheels across the room, crying your eyes out in the darkest corner, and pumping the air with glee.  That’s pretty much what pop’s all about if you ask me.

So yeah, On The Up-Beat would be a great place to start out if you want to investigate lost soul sounds.  The Johnny Jones and the King Casuals’ cover of purple haze is pure punk rock, and Don’t take It Out On This World is sure to fire the soul of any Jasmine Minks fans, while Raining Teardrops by The Demures will just break your heart.  But best of all is Just Ain’t No Love by Barbara Acklin.  It just made my jaw drop when I heard that.  And I became totally obsessed with it.  It’s such an assured and dramatic vocal performance, and the arrangement is so sophisticated and intricate.  Wonderful.  One of many fantastic Carl Davis productions on the record.

And the next Barbara Acklin track I heard was even better.  Love Makes A Woman.  It was on the Kent Stop Dancing set, which was maybe the strangest collection Kent has put together.  Like a cassette compilation you’d do for a mate’s party.  Everything from the Moving Sidewalks’ 99th Floor and Louie Louie to some of the sweetest soul I‘ve ever heard like Maxine Brown’s Oh No Not My Baby, the Esquires’ Get On Up, and I Keep Forgettin’ by Chuck Jackson.  But that Barbara Acklin track.  Wheweee.  There’s a little recurring motif that is like pure Josef K or something.  It’s not at all far fetched to make that sort of connection.

I hear some of the new groups, read about them in fanzines and all that, and I just think I’m missing something.  These stupid groups from Leeds with terrible shoes.  The Scottish groups copying the Pastels.  Horrible hopeless stuff.  It drags everyone else down because even the few great groups get lumped in with these deadbeats.  It makes me so mad.  And so I go off and listen to old soul music, and apparently that’s wrong as well.  Mods living in the past or something.  What’s that supposed to mean?  Whose past?  These records were pretty much never even heard in their own time, so if they’re heard now then it’s current and vital because the songs have so much to offer.

Do you feel guilty about reading an old Salinger or Brautigan paperback?  No, of course not.  After all who wants to pay full whack for a new Martin Amis book or Julian Barnes or whatever?  So why feel guilty about getting more from an old Barbara Acklin track than something by a waste of space like the Shop Assistants or Soup Dragons? 

I think one of the problems is that there’s been a bit of a swing, and there’s something of a backlash against classic soul and the way that’s been held up as the beacon of truth and righteousness.  All those songs making references about when Smokey sings or praying like Aretha.  As though soul was just about sweat and toil, when these Kent collections show it’s about experimentation and risk taking and artistry and expression.  Just like the Blue Orchids or Josef K.  Unloved but invaluable.  Yet the soul classics like rock classics and all classics are used against you, to keep us in our place.  So we need to fight back, rewrite the history books, and educate and enlighten.

So I’m desperate to learn more, and I’m never going to apologise for knowing my stuff and raising my sights.  I thought that more than ever after seeing the Dexys shows at the Dominion a few months back.  It was just so far ahead in terms of ambition and daring.  And like there is no way you’re going to turn around after that, and shuffle your feet at a Mighty Lemon Drops gig where it’s like one of those old ‘70s Top Of The Pops covers LPs with the sound of Liverpool 1980 as the theme.  None of them will ever do a song as powerful as Come Back.

So, yeah, give me Barbara Acklin.  I’m not a musician.  I don’t need to make excuses for listening to old sounds.  I’m a writer.  I create contexts.  Reveal truths.  Speak up for the downtrodden.  Champion the risk takers.  Let’s petition Kent to put out a thorough Barbara Acklin retrospective, which we can display on fanzine covers next to the Vic Godard and Subway Sect one.  There’s plenty more brilliant Barbara Brunswick recordings.  Like Am I The Same Girl?  Dusty did that, but bless her it doesn’t hold a candle to the original.  Barbara singing: “Why don’t you stop and look me over.  Am I the same girl you used to know?”  It just makes you melt.

Like a lot of her songs it was shaped by Eugene Record, of the Chi Lites fame.  And ironically Barbara herself had a huge hand in some of the Chi Lites’ greatest moments.  Let Me Be The Man My Daddy Was.  Too Good To Be Forgotten.  Toby.  Have You Seen Her?  You think to yourself how many times have we heard Have You Seen Her?  It’s almost like wallpaper, but it’s easy to forget how great it is.  It just evokes so many memories.  Hearing it on the radio.  That and Limmie and the Family Cooking and the Stylistics. 

Barbara also co-wrote Stoned Out Of My Mind, which Weller rightly latched on to.  He still gets so much stick, but his cover of that song.  Wow.  It’s magical.  Folks may knock him, and sure he sets himself up, but we owe him a lot.  I’m sure like a lot of people our age I was encouraged to dig deeper into the Chi Lites’ back catologue as a result of The Jam’s rendition.  It’s like another recent Kent release from the Brunswick vaults.  The Tyrone Davis Story.  It starts with a track Can I Change My Mind, which Weller has long championed, and he will have turned a lot of people onto it, and that will be the reason a whole load of people have bought the LP, and until now Tyrone has been as it says in the sleevenotes the most famous unknown of all time.  And we know about the great unknowns don’t we?

© 2007 John Carney