991.com brings you excerpts from the R.C. Weekly Newsletter

Record Collector
I’ve been off sick for
a couple of days with food poisoning. I am told my grub was tampered with by
someone who wanted me for crimes against music, but I have it on good authority
that it was acherly a geezer what wanted to protect the English language, innit.
Well, as Elton John barked, I’m still standing. In my case, it must be
the Viagra (I’m flogging it on the internet and I lean on cases of 50 gross when
I’m actually, erm, upright). Anyway, forced idleness gave me time to catch up on
daytime television – oh joy – and note how many adverts feature vinyl. Rather a
lot. The most obvious is the McDonald’s one in which sulky teen and new stepdad
don’t get on, and among the many stages towards a defrosting of (near) relations
is the discovery of stepdad’s record stash. Naturally the kid doesn’t want to
play any of said 12”, supposedly out of sheer stubborn pride, and only a Big Mac
can finally sort it. (The same method hasn’t worked in the Middle East but
that’s not for want of trying.) Maybe the kid would have been happy with his
‘new uncle’ until he flicked through that plastic and realised he was a hoarder
of Japanese pressings of Burger, no, sorry, Candy Flip. Gawd
knows he’d have found worse music in the dank corners of my collection and it
would have taken more than a burger to sort it.

Another thing that
struck me during the long parp night of the soul that was my tummy complaint was
a possible faux pas on ITV’s trailers for their documentary about Laurie
Cunningham. Cunningham, a legend at West Brom, a star at Real Madrid, and more
prosaically, someone I remember seeing play for Leyton Orient, was a gifted
winger who rarely made a faux pass and died terribly young in a car crash. The
pioneering Cunningham deserves all the tributes he can get, and ITV, over some
suitably funky 70s music, made it clear in their clip that he was the first
black footballer to wear an England shirt. Hang on a moment though. That
funky music; it was Pick Up The Pieces by the Average White Band
unless my poorly senses are deceiving me. Perhaps someone considered putting a
Philly vocal trio on the ad because, along with Cyrille Regis and Brendon
Batson, Cunningham was a member of what his manager called The Three
. But that may have been a sensitive issue, because the
gaffer in question was Ron Atkinson, of race row notoriety. Anyway, I enjoy a
lot of AWB but I’d have thought the above average black
might have been a better choice in this instance…

Now I am back in the
office, hence you’re reading these burblings. I’d like to say that I came in to
a pile of delightful vinyl waiting on my desk but there wasn’t any. What there
was, however, was a fabulous feature on Bert Jansch, and something superb
about how Simon Dupree & His Big Sound became Gentle Giant and
what this actually represented. They’ll be winging their way to you in the next
issue, along with our usual blend of the obvious and obscure… talking of which,
glad to receive so much positive response to our Emitt Rhodes feature in
our current issue. Thank you. More out-of-the-way artistes’ stories are in the
pipeline… stay tuned.

Hope you have a good –
and healthy – week.


Ian McCann, Editor Record Collector


Black Sabbath
– we look at their heavy industrial origins in the Midlands' Satanic

Caravan – hitching a ride with the Canterbury

Status Quo – the low-down down on the Frantic Four's
return, from the denimeers themselves

Laibach – the art and
industry of Slovenia's favourite noise-merchants

Mod – in search
of the lost Chords, Secret Affair, Purple Hearts and more

Emitt Rhodes
– the 70s singer-songwriter colossus

Fleur De Lys – don't call
us freak-beat!

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