I went though my dancehall stacks and pulled out the 80′s gunman tunes, mixed up, added gunshots and laser beams, and recorded it.
Want Di Cocky
Want Di Cocky Version
Dancehall 45s are always exciting because you never know what the Version side is going to bring. It can be the A side song without vocals, dubbed out, or some other thing entirely. On side A we have a young sounding Terry Ganzie with some nice, sparse, dancehall slackness. The flip, however, is a rad blend that I can’t really figure out. It starts with a Jungle Brothers sample from their hip-house phase, but from there I’m a bit lost. I can’t identify the riddim, and I can’t identify the vocal sample. But that doesn’t matter as it all comes together to make a jammer.
I doubt anyone remembers the details of when they download an MP3, but I can recall buying this record back in 1996. I was into punk but was always on a quest to find the “real” punk, which is a rabbit hole for sure. I heard that I needed to go to Fast Forward Records if I really wanted to see vault of punk records. After asking around to get a fix on the location I stood nervously in front of a dilapidated building in downtown Providence, RI. From the moment I walked in I knew it was the perfect place. Ascending the graffiti covered staircase to the third floor I had to pass a punk bar, The One Up, and a video and zine store called Newspeak. It felt like a journey to somewhere important.
A wall of noise, literally noise, greeted me as I took my first steps inside the store. I asked the guy behind the counter what it was; Merzbow he told me. There were bins of 7″ records, bins of LPs, a rack of CDs, t-shirts, posters — I looked around in awe at all the band’s names realizing that there were only a few that I recognized. I was unprepared for what was being sold in the shop — it was a far cry from Newbury Comics. The owner’s daughter wheeled around me on a tricycle amid third generation posters of Crass-esque artwork. I dove into the bins a bought a handful of 7″s, basically going by what looked “brutal” and punk as fuck. This Disrupt record had that in spades.
Port Authority Bus Blues
I suppose a Navy recruitment squad masquerading as a funk band is a good way to get people to join the military. I have no idea if the armed forces field such groups now as an official recruiting tool but I can imagine that some image softening might have been needed in the post-Vietnam 70′s. Each of the armed forces divisions had bands and many were recorded and pressed to vinyl. The most legendary example is the East of the Underground records, which has been repressed in a box set by Stones Throw if you don’t want to spend a bomb on an original press.
I copped Port Authority a while back at Iris Records in Jersey City. There is a bit of surface noise but nothing that stops me from listening. The LP is 3/4 original material and a handful of covers, including The Letter by the Box Tops, one of two songs with vocals. There is a nice drum break on Port Authority Blues but nothing that’s going to send Ultimate Beats and Breaks calling.
High Heel Sneakers
This is a record that calls to be judged by its cover. It even comes with a recipe on the back for curried soul that is an actual dish!
Turns out that Moe Koffman was a Toronto based jazz horn player who often incorporated pop into his repertoire. This album is one of those 1970s instrumental-covers-with-a-smattering-of- originals records. There is a real Memphis soul influence on this Buddah Records release.
Here we get Curried Soul which is a bit of a mish-mash with sitar bits and a horn line echoing Edwin Starr’s 25 Miles , a cover of Donovan’s Sunshine Superman and a nearly unrecognizable Hi-Heel Sneakers
Nick the Chopper
A few years ago I went to Turkey and while is was in Istanbul I poked around several record shops. Being a fan of Finders Keepers Records I imagined that the city was teeming with record stores that were stocked with psych/funk/folk records. Turns out that there are a fair number of record shops but not many of the carry the records that I was on the lookout for.
After several failed digs I was directed to a shop off of Istikal Caddesi in Taksim. I went in and the bins were filled with much of the western records that were in the other shops. I asked the lady behind the counter, who turned out to be the owner’s mother, about Turkish records from the 70′s. To overcome the language barrier I asked for Selda and Barış Manço and she said “Ahh! The records for foreigners!” and she pulled out a nicely organized box. The prices were labeled in dollars and Euros. Obviously, it wasn’t the locals who were interested in these records. As I was digging through the box a guy in the shop approached me and started to chat with me. After finding out I lived in New York he wanted to work out a way to trade for boogaloo and Salsoul records. I guess that sums up the mysterious Other well enough.
I ended up buying a handful of 45s because I was worried about how well they’d survive in my backpack. This Barış Manço is one of them. I wouldn’t put it among his best but it is a momento of the trip.
Their myth was they didn’t have anything you could so much as hang a myth on. The objects themselves — the fewer than 10 surviving copies, total, of their three known Paramount releases, a handful of heavy, black, scratch-riven shellac platters, all in private hands — these were the whole of the file on Geeshie and Elvie, and even these had come within a second thought of vanishing, within, say, a woman’s decision in cleaning her parents’ attic to go against some idle advice that she throw out a box of old records and instead to find out what the junk shop gives. When she decides otherwise, when the shop isn’t on the way home, there goes the music, there go the souls, ash flakes up the flue, to flutter about with the Edison cylinder of Buddy Bolden’s band and the phonautograph of Lincoln’s voice.
Armaan OST — Rumba Ho…. TESTING THINGS