днем рождения Земли

it's silver suits and red stars and universal translators all round as we say happy birthday sputnik. i don't know what you did all the way up there, you didn't look half as fabulous as telstar and you're weren't half littler than i thought you'd be but you beat the yanks after all and i promise i'll look stuff up in time for next year. i hope you all will too.


there are unimaginably huge amounts of records out there i covet and now i've found another. here's the only clip i could find
sputnik - the earth satellite

lets hang up our boxing gloves

...and sit down and try a little love with curtis's friend and mine the lovely otis leavill or is it leaville like it says on my record? gawd knows.
i'm afraid my rambling and waffling muscles are still flabby and useless and i've been wandering about the place mumbling oooh me bad back after the shock of my recent exertions so the music is going to have to do the talking till i see if i can get the hang of this lark again ('like you ever had a hang of it heartface')
one of the sweetest bits of chicago soul should help no end
otis leavill - love uprising

you're a heartbreaker

these sad lovely treasures from paul kelly and the saint etienne lot are up at i like already but they're so gorgeous i thought they should be everywhere.
the tea rooms

the copper grill

new piccadilly

treasure lorelei on bateman street and the regency over in pimlico while you can my sweets

good rockin' tonight

if we just take this easy and don't make a fuss i think everything should be alright...

in all it's reception wandering tape hissing pause button missing kentish town squatting winter of 1984 glory here's the last of the orange juice sessions in my cassette pile.
just remember children - magic rock posturing is a rare beautiful thing not seen round these parts often so get it while the gettings good





orange juice - what presence (kid jensen session)
orange juice - bridge (kid jensen session)
orange juice - salmon fishing in new york (kid jensen session)

not another one

now jon lucien has died. there's going to be no one left at this rate. bollocks.

if i had to have a favourite song, well if i was absolutely tortured to pieces and had to name just one or i'd get tortured even more, or if someone just gave me a large gin, i'd shout would you believe in me off of rashida that lp i paid fifty quid for and then it got rereleased and now you can get it for five ninety nine in selectadisc or whatever it's called these days. i'm not going to try and explain why or how or anything because it's too magical and means too much to me but everyone should own rashida if only for evil terry thomas style seduction nights. it will never fail you i promise.

jon lucien - would you believe in me

i know you'd never guess it but occasionally i'm a sucker for a musical. not a horrid west end abomination but a calamity jane or a my fair lady or an oliver!
see if you can spot the bit that always makes us howl and spend the rest of the day pronouncing things stupidly in this fabulous version of little twists burst of joy

jon lucien - who will buy

so goodbye jon lucien - you made records i love.

dancing with tears in my eyes

there was a fabulous moment at the very last party on the roofs of soon to be swallowed by the new kings cross battlebridge road when 'the bottle' blasted out - the night exploded with whoops and hands in the air and beaming faces. how does such a tragic tune do that? and why do we ignore the desperate pain and heartbreak of a million floorfillers when the urge to shake and fingerpop proves impossible to resist?
i can't think of a single jolly northern soul song right now. i know there must be loads but my head's full of 'i hurt on the other side' and 'love gone bad'. oh alright there's ' you turned my bitter into sweet' for a start but soul, funk and disco are built on hi hats and tears and the hits that send us charging to the dancefloor should really have us sobbing in the dark.
come to think of it some of my best moves have been busted to 'home is where the hatred is' which i think proves my point perfectly...


esther phillips - home is where the hatred is

i think this one is going to run and run.

16 truck driving hits

i should never start these regular features but at least this one follows the each week builds into a fantastic collection for you to treasure rules - rope em in with a bargain flashy first issue then get horridly sidetracked with a host of other rubbish and only get round to the rest of it when you can't think of anything else.

so here's part two of your make your own truck driving hits compilation eventually but i wouldn't hold your breath. or at least only plan very short journeys.

i was mighty impressed by the recommendations that came flooding in after issue one but i'd pretty much never heard of any of them and i'm still trying to find red sovine records so you'll have to settle for the corny old muck i've cobbled together.

you know you can't resist a song with the champion of champions say it funny so it rhymes lines

there's been a load of compromising
on the road to my horizon

oh yes it's 'rhinestone cowboy'. we saw glen campbell playing to a hall full of old ladies last year - it was sad as hell and we ran off to the boozer in tears after two songs. he was trying the poor dear but nothing was going to rouse the massed ranks of manchesters retired. when they started clapping along out of time i wished i'd remembered my uzi...

glen campbell - rhinestone cowboy


this handsome chap is loy allen bowlin and you can read all about his rhinestone studded house, dentures, and polyester creations at the kircher society