The Northern Soul Scene was more than just one of the most fascinating “underground” musical subcultures to emerge from the UK in the mid-1960s—it was the Great Upside Down.
The scene was centered in Northern England and the Midlands in clubs with names like The Twisted Wheel, Wigan Casino, Blackpool Mecca, and the Golden Torch, and attracted youth dressed to the nines in Mod garb (although that would change) whose idea of heaven was dancing all night (thanks to the heavy intake of dexamyl tablets, or “blues”) to black American soul singles, the faster and heavier the better.
But the entire scene was built on an odd twist. The kids doing the dancing—and the DJs who ruled the roost—weren’t dancing to the latest hits. They snubbed their noses (for the most part) at the latest smash hits bearing the Motown label—their tastes ran to the rare and the obscure, and the result was a playlist heavy with also-rans, the no-names of the American soul and R&B industry. It was a scene that sought out and revered hard-to-find singles by artists who hadn’t made it. It was a scene, in short, that celebrated failure.
As the authors of 2000’s Last Night a DJ Saved My Life: The History of the Disc Jockey noted, “Northern soul was the music made by hundreds of singers and bands who were copying the Detroit sound of Motown pop. Most of the records were complete failures in their own time and place… but in Northern England from the end of the 1960s through to its heyday in the middle 1970s, were exhumed and exalted.”
In short, it was a scene that turned failure into success, and made stars of second-team artists from second-tier record labels such as VeeJay, Chess, Brunswick, Ric-Tic, Gordy Records, Golden World Records, Mirwood Records, Shout Records, and Okeh. Searching out the next big club hit was a matter of combing record store bins for names you’d never heard of, or ordering them straight from the US if you couldn’t find them in your local shop.
There was an insatiable hunger for new (which often meant old) material: If you ran across a song by someone you’d never heard of, someone nobody you knew had ever heard of, your heart went into your mouth and you knew you might have the next big club “stomper” in your hands. In the Northern soul scene, if nowhere else, the old Bible injunction “So the last shall be first, and the first last” held true.
Where else could singles (many quite dated) by artists like Tony Clarke, The Casualeers, R. Dean Taylor, Charles Jackson, Jackey Beavers, Bobby Sheen, The Valentines, Marlena Shaw, Art Falls, Joe Jama, Homer Banks, Wilmer & the Dukes, Detroit Soul, Freddie Chavez (any of these names ring a bell) and hundreds of others be the Hip Sound? Not all of the artists were obscure. The Isley Brothers were greeted with open arms, as were Jackie Wilson and Little Milton, amongst others—Frankie Valli’s “You’re Ready Now” is one of my Northern Soul faves. But for every “name” there were hundreds of little knowns like C.L. Blast, Bobbi Lynn, and Silky Hargraves.
I have my own short list of Northern Soul classics. They include “Soul Dance No. 3″ by Carl Holmes and The Commanders. It’s a real rave-up and screamer. I love Frankie Valli’s “She’s Ready Now,” a jumping number featuring the tinniest piano break I’ve ever heard and probably only got play because it was a total flop stateside. Bob Relf’s “Blowing My Mind to Pieces” is a smoother proposition and a real production number. R. Dean Taylor’s “Gotta See Jane” is so cool it was later covered by The Fall, who also covered his “Ghost in My House,” another Northern Soul staple. Skull Snaps’ “I’m Your Pimp” is deep dish ghetto soul with a vengeance and a lost classic.
And why not a few more? Bobby Sheen’s “Dr. Love” is sub-Motown perfection—he’s a real smooth character with a PhD. in amore. Dean Parrish’s “I’m on My Way” is psychedelic soul of the highest order with a very bent guitar sound. Tony Clarke’s aptly titled “Landslide” totally motorvates and features killer horns and more girl power than any song should. Don Thomas’ vocals on “Come On Train” have to be heard to be believed—I’ve never heard anyone who sounds like him. Carl Douglas’ “Somebody Stop This Madness” is frenetic soul infused with manic guitar feedback, and it’s worth noting that his “Kung Fu Fighting” was heavily indebted to the proto-disco being played at places like the Wigan Casino.
Then there’s The Sapphires, not to be confused with the fictional Australian girl group in the 2012 film The Sapphires. The real Sapphires were a Philadelphia soul vocal trio of Carol Jackson, George Garner, and Joe Livingston. They got their start in 1960 and were gone by 1966, and during that time they recorded on the Swan Records and ABC Records labels. Swan Records is chiefly remembered for leasing The Beatles’ “She Loves You,” a coup that kept Swan afloat until it filed bankruptcy in 1967. ABC Records was part of some kind of corporate octopus and I know less about them.
The point is that neither was Motown. Motown wasn’t an automatic disqualifier—R. Dean Taylor was on the label, but he was a white guy who’s remembered stateside only for the great “Indiana Wants Me,” and a soul tune it ain’t.
Anyway, during their tenure on our planet The Sapphires scored two Top Forty hits I doubt you’ve ever heard unless you’re some kind of Philly Soul Fanatic. In short they were just one of a thousand soul bands that gave it their best shot but fell short. Info on what became of them is sketchy, although there’s a wonderful YouTube video of a much older Carol Jackson joyously re-recording “Gotta Have Your Love” for the 1998 documentary The Strange World of Northern Soul.
She’s in the documentary because The Sapphires were sixties-era Northern Soul royalty. Four of their songs became mainstays, particularly in the early days of the legendary Twisted Wheel in Manchester. And you can hear all four, “Slow Fizz,” “Gotta Have Your Love,” “Evil One,” and “Gonna Be a Big Thing”on the 1994 Sequel Records compilation The Best Of The Sapphires. It’s hardly a knock-out punch of an LP. Despite some top-notch backing musicians, including Leon Huff, Thom Bell, Bobby Eli (a founding member of MFSB), and the backing vocals of Ashford and Simpson and Melba Moore on “Gotta Have Your Love,” much of the music is pedestrian stuff—to listen to it is to understand why The Sapphires never grasped the golden ring.
But there are exceptions, and they prove the Northern Soul DJs had ears. All four tracks date back to 1965 and 1966—earlier tunes like “Your True Love” and “Where Is Your Heart” are relatively insipid stuff, and lack dance appeal. The same isn’t true of the great “Slow Fizz”—it has that great dance beat, killer horns, and lots of girl power—if there’s one thing about this band that confuses me, it’s what George Garner and Joe Livingston DID, exactly.
The “Slow Fizz” is about a non-existent (I think!) dance Jackson learned “from a TV show/With a hip DJ that everybody knows now,” but more than that it’s about “Dancing to a-go-go/Dancing to uptight/Everything is alright.” It’s small wonder the kids in the remote vastnesss of England’s North related to lyrics like
“Baby meet me where the records playing
Even now feel the rhythm swaying
You don’t have to be from the Motor City
Just get on down to the real nitty-gritty now.”
Just as good is “Gonna Be a Big Thing.” Big horn section, swinging sound, big beat—they’re all there. But what gives the song its oomph is its grrl power, sixties soul division. It sweeps you along, this one, and while it probably inspires any truly frenzied and acrobatic dancing, it’s a total feel-good from beginning to end, the stuff of which happy memories are made. I doubt anyone who heard it back in the day can hear it without a smile on their face.
“Gotta Have Your Love” is all tambourine and a real smooth groove, less immediate than the first two but still a winner, thanks in large part to its complex vocal arrangement—the slick vocals alternate with some cool call and response and back and forth. No stomper, that’s for sure, but very sophisticated, it is. And then there’s “Evil One,” a perky number with girl vocals galore (“Evil one!”), a happening horn break, and a bad boy at the center.
The Northern Soul scene was a record geek’s paradise—EVERYONE was on the prowl for the Great Unheard Song that would be the one to dance to at clubs from Manchester to Wigan to Stoke-on-Trent to Cleesthorpe to Coalville and every other bleak northern town with a club with its own patch and dexedrine-drenched loyalists. It was where losers became winners at last, and the Motown imprint could get you shown to the door. And what could be cooler than seeing the little guy come out on top at last? As the lads used to cry at the end of songs, “Right on!”
GRADED ON A CURVE:
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