Trying to pick a
compilation to buy on vinyl is a bit of a minefield because there are so damn
many. There are old ones, new ones, re-issued ones, Readers’ Digest ones- that I bought once for 10p and never will again- and obscure ones.
I will usually
flick through a few, before making a value judgment based on the tracks, the
cover (sorry, you rational bastards) and the blurb on the sleeve (again). With
compilations of stuff I don’t know, the last point in particular can be very
persuasive. If the blurb says something really imaginative such as, for
instance, suggesting the album will put me on the streets of 1970s Harlem or
Chicago, or in a dizzying disco club, or bring back memories of the days of old
(none of which I actually experienced) I’m usually there.
So it was with
great enthusiasm that I purchased Living
in The Streets, a compilation with the tagline ‘wah wah jazz, funky soul, and other dirty grooves’ in Sister Ray
in London last week, and more or less whacked it on minutes after coming back
home. The blurb on the back had waxed lyrical – very successfully might I add –
about what one might be imagining listening to this compilation….
“ ‘Living in The Streets’ taps into that era [when
jazz clubs were on every corner], and lets you know what it felt like musically
to walk from street corner to bar with the hot air billowing up from the subway
grills…”
Nice.
“The radios in the cars adjacent to you are blaring
out the urban station WE-KOOL and the heavy sensual voice of Isaac Hayes
forcefully pleading his woman to ‘Use Me’ has all the right shivers running
down your spine.”
Ah, sweet.
“Entering the bar you rapidly order a beer, greedily
gulping down the first few mouthfuls of the frothy potion as you head to the
jukebox, add some money and make your choices- they flow out one by one- the sweet
soul of Tammi Lynn and uplifting funk of Spanky Wilson- leaving you feeling
elated and along with the beer refreshed and ready once more to face the day.”
‘I Don’t Know What
It Is But It Sure Is Funky’ epitomises this album, and as you can imagine it
sure is funky: Wall-to-wall stomping beats, the most bad-ass, awesome feel-good
call and response chant I’ve ever heard and this lovely funky vibe that only a bright
sunny day can throw up. And there’s very few of them in England. The description for this section read as follows:
“Heading out of Jimmy’s, it’s across the street to a
basement that hasn’t even got a name, but where you know that the DJ will be
laying down some seriously good tunes – Ripple, Preston Epps or Idris Mohammad –
guys that know where to find the groove.”
Strutting into
Music and Video Exchange in Notting Hill yesterday, mojo in full flow and The Fatback Band soundtracking my head, I asked the perhaps 40 year old attendant: “Hey boy, you got that new Ripple seven, 'That
sure is Funky’?” After throwing me off by wrongly correcting the song title
(he didn’t know what it was but it sure was funky, he could have said), he
looked at me, faintly disgusted (maybe because I’m white and so was he….and he’s
about 40, and I’m 23…and this is not the 1970s, unfortunately) by whipping off
my pimp hat and telling me I wouldn’t find it and that Ripple come in
sometimes, but only on compilations.
I could “catch a cab across town to see your girl” at this point, but
instead I just skulked off.
