<< previous The Outside Of Everything next >>
 

Chapter 129
The Northern Soul for the Masses

We don’t see one another so much nowadays. But we keep in touch. There are more channels available to do so after all. And so, the other day I got an e-mail off of The Fair One. It was a little unexpected, as the fairest of us all is not that prolific with the electronic medium. But this one was worth it. It simply said I should follow the link, and then I would know why there were tears in his eyes. Now how could I resist that? Without hesitation or deviation, I clicked on the link. It took me to a website in the US where some guy had posted a Philly soul mix, which was heavily on the Northern side. And there among the tracks begging to be downloaded was The Volcanos’ It’s Gotta Be A False Alarm. All of a sudden I knew why The Fair One had come over all emotional.

You see The Fair One was the big record collector amongst us. He cajoled his sister to invest in rare soul 7”s in the name of art. And he supplemented his collection with sundry singles salvaged with scant earnings from his more, ahem, artistically inclined photography works. Then he forced the rest of us to start getting out there sharing our music. We were to say the least pretty reluctant. But he was insistent, and incredibly enthusiastic about what we needed to do. So there was no escape. For when The Fair One got enthusiastic, it was fatal.

Our objections went something like the Northern or 6Ts Soul scene is for snobs. We were ardent amateurs at best, scratching the surface, and bluffing with the best. So we’d be laughed out of anywhere if we turned up with our record boxes. But The Fair One was having none of it. He agreed with our objections, and said that was exactly why we should get involved. Demystify the scene. Debunk the snobbery. And bring Northern Soul to the masses. Provide the people with a soul supply. For what’s the point in preaching to the converted? Let’s get out there, he said, and take soul into the community centres, the youth clubs, the socials, the family gatherings! I can still see him standing there with his fist clenched in a soul salute.

So we had little option. And before we knew it we were out there doing our thing. Purists would probably have run for the hills, but we had ourselves some fun. Soul Sister Number One used some of her connections, and got us a few lucrative bookings with her City friends. Good fun seeing those toffs doing the shing-a-ling once they’d quaffed a few Pimms, and we’d stuffed ourselves silly on posh nosh. The Redhead’s dad got us some dates down the social, and that was worth it too to see the old timers turning in some soulful shuffles. The Quiet One’s kid brother got us to do a rare groove set for his youth club mates, though I think they had ulterior motives in asking us to do compilation cassettes for them. We knew they were after breaks for their own use, but good luck to ‘em. We were after all there to share.

Best of all were the occasions when we ventured out on our own. We felt most at home putting on our events, usually on a Friday night in a community centre now long gone. Lots of the posters and flyers we put together were based unashamedly on revolutionary Russian art, and the evangelical flame burned brightly. In retrospect it all seems suspiciously like a Style Council video shoot, but there’s nothing wrong in that. We might have been little more than a mobile discotheque but these sessions meant a lot to us. We got some funny old crowds in too. Pretty mixed. Exiled Casino casualties, psychotic skinheads, curious casuals, Sunday morning football jack-the-lads, and misty-eyed mods. We were there for anyone. And we had some memorable times. Seeing The Fair One’s e-mail, and listening to that fantastic Philly soul mix, I knew which time was on his mind specifically.

Back in the day The Fair One liked to do the door. An inveterate charmer, he was ideal for that. At one of the community centre sessions, I saw him talking to this really striking, classy lady, and remembered to ask him about it later. That was strange, he said. She was just standing there, and looked lost in a trance, so he’d asked if she was alright. She apparently smiled disarmingly, and said she’d seen a ghost. The Fair One had given his quizzical raised eyebrow look, and she’d said it was the music. It had transported her back to very different times. Ah, you’ll have been dancing to these sounds once upon a time wouldn’t you? Come on, said The Fair One, it’s your music. Come in and join us. She’d smiled enigmatically, shook her head almost imperceptibly, and said she’d needed to be going. She was with the neighbourhood watch committee, but she promised to look in later. And she did.

The Fair One said he knew straight away she was obviously an original mod. She had that apartness, the separateness, which we worshipped. That sleek understated bob, the discreetly kohl black eyes, the black crew neck and austere gold chain, the posture. Absolute giveaway. Indeed that’s what he got her talking about, albeit briefly. The old days. The ones we could never hear enough about. She promised to come along next time, if she could, but no promises. Her smile stayed with us, and the next event we found we were just thinking about one thing. Would she? Wouldn’t she? Why were we bothered? She was 20-odd years older than us. She was out of our league. But something was bothering her. She had this infinite sadness about her. We wanted to do something for her. And we got our chance. For she did come along, albeit briefly. And it was hard to concentrate on spinning soul 7”s watching her head close to The Fair One’s as they engaged in earnest discussion. We were on tenterhooks to hear more.

We have an assignment lads, he said mysteriously, when we convened after the community centre closed. The lady I was talking to, he teased. She’s got a problem, and we can help. Apparently he thought she was just distrait and dreamy. But when he pressed her on the old days. Asking about The Action and that. Well, suddenly she starts crying, softly. It was then she explained her husband, Michael, he was a big fan of The Action. They had been his heroes. And he was having such a bad time of it. He’d lost his job. He’d been high up in research for one of the pharmaceutical companies. Very clever guy, by all accounts. But principled. And he objected to the company suppressing information about the side effects of one of its more popular pain killers. He’d been told if he didn’t like it, he could go. So he did the right thing.

But his name had been blacklisted throughout the industry. Some malicious stories were circulated. Now even if he tried to go public he’d become the story. It was criminal, and he was a broken man. And this was his music. Once he’d do anything to hear soul sounds. He would have loved the idea of it finding a whole new audience. He would have been the first on the dancefloor, but now he wouldn’t even leave the house unless he had to. If only, if only, if only. Well, what could I do? I just gave her a hug, and said we’ll be in touch. And The Fair One looked at us, challenging.

What could we do? We wanted to do something. Of course. We knew what she was getting at. If we could get Michael to come along, and hear some of the sweetest soul music, shuffle his feet, shake a tail feather, and smile in spite of everything, the recovery process would be started. But he would never want to go anywhere crowded, face loads of people. That would be painful. And it wouldn’t be fair to put him through that. So there was only one thing for it. Something exclusive. Something discreet. A Northern soul night for two.

We got a message to Michelle, for that was our sad-eyed mod lady’s name, and told her about our idea. She liked it, and said the big challenge was to get Michael out of the house, but she’d think of something. We agonised for hours about the details of the event. The trick, we decided, was not to be too clever. Keep it simple. Keep the soulful sounds classic. The classics would resonate. Conspicuous dee-jaying was out. We had to be hidden away. So, to hell with the cognoscenti. We’d use cassettes. Carefully compiled cassettes, though. With some songs suggested by Michelle. Some of ‘their’ songs. Girls Are Out To Get You by the Fascinations. What Are You Trying To Do by Irma Thomas. The Marvelettes’ I’ll Keep Holding On. The Soulful Strings’ Burning Spear. The 81 by Candy & the Kisses. You get the picture?

So one rainy Thursday night, we turned up and set up. One darkened community centre. One empty community centre. The ghostly sounds of Billy Butler and Maxine Brown blasting out. But no one dancing. And we’d got to thinking we were making fools of ourselves, and had no right to interfere in other people’s lives. Hey ho. It’s funny how times have changed though isn’t it? We’re used to mobiles and blackberrys. We’re used to information everywhere, and warnings, but there was nothing then, but hope and fear. So when we heard the outer doors to the centre swing open, we were ready to do our bouncer bit, and eject intruders. That is until we realised it was Michelle. And she was not alone. She was leading someone shyly by the hand. A guy in a suede blouson, jeans, and desert boots. Cropped grey hair and tired eyes. Michael. A very surprised Michael.

Appropriately Maurice & The Radiants’ Baby You Got It was playing as Michelle led him into the room. We were hiding on the stage behind the curtains, watching. Watching Michael gaze around in disbelief, looking questioningly at his beautiful wife. And then The Volcanos’ It’s Gotta Be A False Alarm came on, and Michelle held out her hand without saying a word. They stood there for a few moments, looking into each other’s eyes. And then Michelle started clicking her fingers, and sliding her feet, tentatively. Michael watched. Arms by his side. Spellbound. Michelle tried a few spins. Clapping her hands. Michael turned. Watching. The music changed again. The Radiants’ Hold On came on. Michelle held out her hand again, and we watched with tears in our eyes as Michael moved his feet. It was like seeing someone thaw before our eyes. As the music stopped they fell into each other’s arms, and held on. Tightly. And that was that. Through to the final three of the night. Michael The Lover, of course. Gene McDaniels’ Walk With A Winner. And, of course, Long After Tonight Is All Over. The Dusty version. And they were still dancing, close, when the music stopped.

You can see why hearing The Volcanos again brought tears to The Fair One’s eyes. He grew quite close to Michael and Michelle. And kept in close contact for a long time. The healing process took some time. Michael may have started dancing again, but he was still an outcast and had to start over at his beginnings. That’s never easy. He wrote a book, as therapy. No one would touch it, but it helped. Got the poison out of the system, if you like. Later they moved to Norfolk. Opened an antiques shop. Did quite nicely out of it. They had an eye for the finer things. And one of the finest things they ever did was have a very limited, and extremely unauthorised, run of singles pressed up which somehow had Darkest Days by Jackie Lee on one side, and Fontella Bass’ Recovery. Limited to four. For The Outside of Everything, it said on the sleeve. There’s nothing more to be said than that is there?

© 2008 John Carney
Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett