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20/05/2012

RIPPLE - I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT IS, BUT IT SURE IS FUNKY




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.  

HOLY OTHER - TOUCH




Nestling in the middle of the EP, ‘Touch’ is arguably the entry point for those uninitiated with Holy Other. The EP as a whole (With U) is terminally austere and disconnected, but the tension is just marginally slackened on ‘Touch’, which turns a turgid sludge into fantastical, inverted onanism with careful manipulations. The fine line between hideousness and beauty, excitement and fear, ecstacy and depression, is briefly explored and traversed here.  

 ‘Touch’s main tension comes from its reticence. It refuses to give itself away, and only concedes short breaths and rhythmic interludes. But when they hit...well.....The track layers effects over a repeated vocal phrase. Initially, only two notes of inconspicuous synth will slip in, followed shortly by a tinny drum effect you might find on a really shitty 80s keyboard.  The pithy hiccup juxtaposes with deep bass. As the vocal samples build and the clicks’ marauding mischief reach a gentle and muffled climax, the track peaks, gently slowing, like a roller-coaster reaching the pinnacle, holding, balancing, quietly tipping and then hitting a point of no return, where it viscerally disappears into mayhem. It plunges for seconds, dispersing bass and waves and waves of sound.