Sugar Baby

Wearing a tie to play the banjo

It's that tedious time in the calendar yet again, the period between excitedly tweeting about your  favourite Spotify artist and the moment when some poor schmuck in the Office of Barack Obama LARPs as his boss to pretend that the 44th President of the USA spent the year listening to Little Simz and Hope Tala.

So now the post-Wrappedgasm dust has finally settled, I thought I'd structure an entry around my top Spotify listen of the year, which happened to be 'Sugar Baby' by Dock Boggs. For the uninitiated, Boggs, who was born in the 19th century, spent most of his life as a coal miner in his native Virginia. Save a few recordings from the 1920s, he went largely unnoticed until the 1960s folk revival, at which point he resumed his performing and recording career. Playing old-time, mountain, folk and bluegrass music, Boggs is considered unique due to the overt Black blues influence in his music (due in part to his fondness for an itinerant musician active in his younger days named Go Lightning).

Here endeth the lesson - because, leaning on a tried and tested format of mine, I will now proceed to whack 'sugar baby' into Spotify's search tool review the top ten results. 

Artist: Dock Boggs
Song: 'Sugar Baby'
Simply, one of the mightiest pieces of music ever recorded. When I included this on a monthly playlist for friends, one of them commented that he could picture himself sitting out on the front porch in some Appalachian holler, and I quite agree. There are no fancy tricks or studio magic to be heard, just the unadorned sound of traditional mountain music by way of human voice and some nimble banjo picking. A somewhat oblique song about losing a woman that Boggs first put on wax in 1927, it nonetheless contains haunting snatches of balladry from an even older English folk tradition. A link between past and near-present, spooky and weird, and as vital a testament of a time and place as any book or chronicle. 10/10

Artist: Bob Dylan
Song: 'Sugar Baby'
Bob Dylan knows what's up where the history of folk music is concerned, and I'm no stranger to this track as it's off my favourite Dylan album, Love and Theft. The whole album is a whirlwind of references, from poetry, vaudeville, blues, literature, history and the Great American Songbook. I know that Dylan knows exactly what he's evoking by calling this track 'Sugar Baby', a downbeat, hazy meditation on a lost lover. Longing and lovely, like much of Love and Theft it's a dreamy kaleidoscope of an olden day Americana that never really existed. 9/10

Artist: The Rubettes
Song: 'Sugar Baby Love'
I've talked about rock 'n' roll revivalism recently on this blog, and so here's the Rubettes, who like Sha Na Na resurrected a soda-stand doo-wop sound that was only two decades old at the time, give or take. I wasn't hugely impressed by the Stray Cats and their attempts to disinter the then-recent rockabilly past, but this is an irresistible, fizzing confection of a track. Given a maximalist production - with literal bells and whistles - the 'shoo-waddies' and soaring falsetto give credence to the notion that sometimes the second time around ain't none too bad neither. It even has a spoken word bit! Superior wham-glam doo-wop revanchism. 8/10

Artist: Jimmy Powell and the 5 Dimensions
Song: 'Sugar Babe'
One of Rod Stewart's early bands, apparently - but here fronted by Jimmy Powell. As a backup band, these cats provided the music to Millie Small on her smash hit 'My Boy Lollipop'. Well - this is great! It's one of those rhythm 'n' blues British beat cuts that has been lost in the shuffle somewhere down the line, which is a damn shame. It's got kicky guitar and organ solos, oodles of energy, proto-Moon drumming and to top it off Powell sounds utterly demented. Yeah baby!! 10/10

Artist: Sam Amidon
Song: 'Sugar Baby'
Here we have our first 'cover', if one could call it such, of the tune made famous by Boggs. Here it's slowed down - Amidon sounds like he's on quaaludes - and arranged for modern folk sensibilities. So, in place of banjos we have trebly, chiming guitar, pizzicato strings and a tastefully scribbled lead guitar. I guess it falls squarely into that chamber-folk sound that was popular a few years ago (and continues to be, for all I'm aware). A pretty, atmospheric reworking. 7/10

Artist: Megan Thee Stallion
Song: 'Sugar Baby'
'Oh - he want a bad bitch? Well I want a n***a with money and a long dick" aren't lyrics that appear in the Dock Boggs song 'Sugar Baby'. This is an unabashed demand for any suitor to pay for Megan's lifestyle, or to quote directly, 'Invest in this pussy, boy, support Black business'. I'm totally not the target audience for this kind of pop-hop sound, but I couldn't help sticking this on repeat. What is it? A combo of an earworm melody, a squelchy synth sound and the attitude in Megan's delivery made the corners of my mouth twitch. 7/10

Artist: Freddie McGregor
Song: 'Sugar Baby'
Reggae! This is pretty cool - McGregor's got a smooth delivery, and the chorus is every bit as saccharine as the sentiment. I've never really known what the trippy metallic sound at the start of this track is - I hear it on quite a few reggae numbers, and it always makes me think of The Clangers. McGregor serenades his lover as the 'cherry on the tree' who he wants to pick 'because you're so sweet' - might nick that one for when I'm out in Haywards Heath. 6/10

Artist: Baby Bash
Song: 'Suga Suga'
The album this is from is called Tha Smokin' Nephew. The vaguely son cubano electro-acoustic guitar riff that runs throughout, like 'Blackpool' in a stick of rock, is the best thing about the joint. As with the Freddie McGregor track, this track is a serenade to an unnamed object of affection; however, where McGregor sounds boyish, almost coy, this one has the sweaty urgency of an apprentice PUA attempting to impress an online Men's Rights guru called something like bl4Ze_d with his daygaming progress. 3/10

Artist: Wink
Song: 'Sugar Baby Love'
Intriguing, this - a Japanese female 'idol' duo from the late 1980s covering the Rubettes song. Unfortunately, in replicating this with the sonic palette of a Stock, Aitken and Waterman production job all the soul and likeability of the original is sucked out. Not even the novelty of hearing lyrics in Japanese can save this tripe. Where you once had hysterical falsettos and skronkin sax, you now get boring synths and drum machines. Kudaranai mono! 2/10

Artist: The Kills
Song: 'Sugar Baby'
A lo-fi garage rawk version of the Dock Boggs track. God, this is less than twenty years old but already sounds horribly dated. Just imagine if Black Rebel Motorcycle Club were sped up a bit and you'd have this. In and of itself it's not bad, but it feels fairly pointless in the face of other versions that do a much better job of capturing the emotion and mystery surrounding this track. At least these lads knew their music history. 5/10

So, that's that - I've listened to doo-wop glam, chamber-folk, reggae, hip-hop, synthpop and garage rock, but nothing quite touches the majesty of the Dock Boggs cut. To my absolute delight, I feel like I've uncovered a gem in that Jimmy Powell number. Right - I'm off to buy a banjo, become a coal miner for four decades and spend my final, ailing years playing to groups of earnest middle-class students. Auf wiedersehen!

Sheik Yerbouti - Frank Zappa

Provenance: In a not insignificant number of ways I am my father's son, and nowhere is this more evident than my tastes when they edge towards the weirder end of the popular music spectrum. White Noise, Gryphon and today's subject - Frank Zappa - all came into my orbit as a consequence of my dad's listening habits.

In the instance of Sheik Yerbouti, I bought this to signal a small amount of independence. How so? Because dad didn't own this album. I distinctly recall as a youngster being impressed by cover art of both Overnite Sensation and Hot Rats, I thought the guy's name was cool (it sounds like a freakin' laser) and some of the songs made me laugh. Thus when I was older and casting around for my own bit of Zappanalia, I went for an album that was considered one of his more 'hard rock' efforts, as per my own inclinations at the time. Hence Sheik Yerbouti.

May I drift a little here? When it comes to worst fanbases of all time, you have to consider those of the Grateful Dead, Britney Spears and Pantera. They all have their demerits, but for me nothing comes close to being stuck with a Zappa fan when the topic of conversation is Zappa. I've had my head forcibly banged for me watching Iron Maiden, met some Megadeth fans who were happy to show me their Neo-Nazi tattoo collections and saw not one but three fights break out within spitting distance during a Madness gig. I'd happily endure all that again, and then some, if I didn't have to spend another moment in the presence of a Frank Zappa fan (my dad excluded, who is the epitome of the exception that proves the rule).

Review: Well, this is a bit of a disappointment.

I can imagine that, aged sixteen, I found some of this stuff funny. However, I've never found scatalogical humour particularly engaging, and any youthful proclivity I may have had towards it has certainly dimmed with age. In terms of my Zappa listening these days, it tends towards the more instrumental side, Mothers of Invention era cuts or Hot Rats (because 'Willie the Pimp  features the greatest violin riff in rock music). Sheik Yerbouti has slipped to the bottom of the pile, and giving it a listen for this review has done little to rehabilitate it.

You know, 'I Have Been In You' might have elicited the odd yuk back when Peter Frampton was a ubiquitous presence in the homes of Middle America, but pastiche is a dodgy thing to pull off at the best of times. It's saying something that the parodical Bob Dylan harmonica stylings on 'Flakes' is the highlight of 'Flakes'. And revisiting the notion of jokes ageing poorly - whew - 'Jewish Princess' (yep) and 'Bobby Brown (Goes Down)' (a discotheque staple on continental Europe, which is enough to make me a full on Brexiter) would've surely been offensive forty or so years ago. In 2018 they come across as positively Neanderthal with their depictions of Jewish women and homosexuality, respectively. A former English Literature teacher of mine once felt moved to describe Zappa as a 'poet'.

I'm happy to say that, amongst the more overtly comedic songs, one still holds up - 'Dancin' Fool' is a stabby little lampoon of the disco scene that works through a combination of splenetic observational humour and metrical tricksiness, the latter effectively turning it into a disco track that can't be danced to. 'Tryin' To Grow a Chin' is also a lot of fun, drummer Terry Bozzio providing a demented vocal. Plus I like false endings, and this song's got one (sorry to spoil it for you, folks - but are you really going to listen to Sheik Yerbouti any time soon?).

Here's the frustrating part; the first track that appears to privilege musicianship above cheap thrills, the instrumental 'Rat Tomago', hits the mark. The push-pull percussion, jazzy keys and wild guitar improvisations afford a glimpse into realms beyond this album's - consciously applied - limitations. Oh, enjoyed that music, did ya? Never mind, here's some wisecracks about fisting. With Sheik Yerbouti we've reached a point in Zappa's career where he needed to do the stoopid stuff (and take it out on tour) to fund his more serious compositions, which had become prohibitively expensive, especially where recording orchestral works were concerned. At least, that was the line trotted out at the time. Who knows? Maybe that was the case, but then again maybe he just got a kick out of stigmatising homosexuality via the medium of comedy song.

As I have intimated, there are hints of a better (and shorter) album here; all the instrumental cuts are great, with 'The Sheik Yerbouti Tango' coming out on top because it sounds just that little bit out of control. Zappa fans might scream that their formalist hero knew exactly what he was doing, but I think it's sometimes pretty neat to hear the seams of the music. (Isn't this where improvisation becomes truly interesting? When instead of falling back on the rock / jazz / blues playbook of licks, they take their instrument on a journey that teeters between inspiration and failure?). Of the 'straighter' rock stuff, 'Broken Hearts Are For Assholes' has a certain appealing mania to it, even if it does descend into a coda about 'poop chutes'. 'Baby Snakes' is here and gone far too quickly, which is a shame because it's a little gem of hard-edged surrealism. 'City of Tiny Lites' really kicks out the jams - a spacey and strangely soulful number that skips along on busy percussion and a rubbery bass line. The guitar solo is fucking badass too.

I will say this - aside from the more objectionable extremes of Zappa's lyric writing, I enjoyed the experience of revisiting Sheik Yerbouti more than I had expected. It's also told me something about myself, and the ageing process. When I was in my teens, I would often skip the 'boring' instrumental tracks so I could get to the next chucklefest. Now, it would be the other way around. Once upon a time, this would've been my favourite Zappa album because it had some rawk 'n' roll on it, but now I gravitate towards his jazzier output (which coincides with a general awakening to jazz as a genre, I guess). Anyway, Sheik Yerbouti certainly treats the ol' lugholes to some interesting snippets of music, but you have to ask yourself whether it's worth wading through all the snark and calculated dumbassery to reach.

A Bit of What You Fancy - Quireboys

Provenance: It's 2002 and I'm at the Bournemouth International Centre to see a package tour called Monsters of Rock. Here's the bill - Dogs D'Amour, Quireboys, Thunder, Alice Cooper. Sensory overload for a seventeen year-old.

In order to steel myself for the gig I had downloaded one or two songs by each artist that wasn't Alice Cooper. If I recall my Napster library correctly, it was 'Love Walked In' by Thunder, 'Spooks' by Dogs D'Amour and 'Hey You' by Quireboys. "Hey You" was my favourite of the bunch.

Every band was on top form that night, and I subsequently saw a couple more Monsters of Rock bills at the BIC. Quireboys would later play a local show at Poole venue Mr Kyps, where my friend Steve almost ran over Spike in the car park. For a few years Quireboys - along with Thunder, it should be said - seemed permanent fixtures on the dad rock festival circuit. Always in the same early afternoon slot, Quireboys would be there to gin up bleary-eyed campers with their energy and bonhomie, and it invariably did the trick. Fine band, and one Christmas I got given A Bit of What You Fancy and Bitter, Sweet and Twisted.

Review: I was five when this came out in 1990 but from what I could tell, a fair bit of noise surrounded Quireboys' entry onto the scene. From what I can gauge, these guys were either the UK's answer to Guns N Roses, the UK's answer to Aerosmith or the inheritors of the Faces' good-time raunch 'n' roll mantle. For once, unlike every band that farts out a blues lick and gets named the spiritual successor to Led Zeppelin, I can hear it.

If I had to plump for the closest analogue, it would however be the Faces. Whilst GNR and Aerosmith strove to project an edgy image, Quireboys give off more of a loveable ragamuffin vibe. The impression given is not so much that of a bunch of degenerates shooting smack in an alley with underage girls, rather a cheery mob roistering their way through a bunch of boozers. It's a good look too, as whenever the hairspray merchants in the US tried to act tough it pushed a risible situation into flat out absurdity. Quireboys, on the other hand, sound credible as toerags.

The Faces comparisons also hold up vocally. Spike has an appealingly raspy voice (one that Classic Rock magazine would no doubt call "whiskey soaked") that seems on the verge of giving out at any moment. It's firmly in Rod Stewart territory and is probably the ace in the hole when it comes to Quireboys' overall sound. It's testament to Spike's gritty delivery that a song about fleeing the depredations of Deep South slavery ('Whippin' Boy') by an all-white London band is delivered with a degree of sensitivity and emotional engagement, though I doubt such a song would be attempted almost thirty years later (rightly so).

"Whippin' Boy" is a rare pensive moment on A Bit of What You Fancy - the rest of the album is pretty much given over to rowdiness, sentimentalism and bacchanalia. Case in point - after "Whippin' Boy" you get the most gloriously on-the-nose track of the lot, 'Sex Party'. It's got about two and a half chords and the subject matter is exactly how you imagine it to be. Here's the chorus - 'Sex party / Sex party / You're all invited to a - / Sex party!'. Bob Dylan this ain't, though bizarrely both Dylan and Quireboys have a drummer in common. In the same vein you've got drinking anthem '7 O'Clock', 'Misled' and the superior 'Hey You', their highest charting single.

What I haven't mentioned so far is that despite an utter lack of originality, it's all great fun - and by and large, extremely catchy. A Bit of What You Fancy could certainly be described as mood music, if the mood you'd sought to capture is a rowdy night out, various parts ribaldry, mischief and misjudgement. Quireboys most certainly do a decent line when it comes to whipping out the onion, though 'I Don't Love You Anymore' teeters ever so fucking close to the acceptable line for schmaltz, with it's sighing regret and saccharine string arrangements. Incidentally, this does sound a fair bit like the kind of crap balladeering that Aerosmith have got down to a fine art. Both ''Sweet Mary Ann' and 'Roses and Rings', kissing cousins to Rod Stewart solo efforts like 'Maggie May', are more effective.

A Bit of What You Fancy doesn't come close to pushing the envelope, nor does it set out to be a startling artistic statement. It is, however, a fine collection of original songs played with heart and gusto. Who would like this? Well, if you can stomach the filigree of late 1980s music production, if bands like the Faces, the Rolling Stones and even Status Quo float your boat, you should give Quireboys a bash. As a bonus, the whole band seems to have adopted Keef's raffish Artful Dodger look too, which I find agreeably matched to their music. Give it a go - this winking little slice of audio debauchery might just be *puts on sunglasses like Horatio Caine from CSI: Miami* a bit of what you fancy...

Hot Shots: #7 - Cornelis Vreeswijk - Balladen om Fredrik Åkare och den söta fröken Cecilia Lind

Seeing as today's album review (2112 by Rush) was prompted by the wonderful Birke, I thought I'd share with you a song that cropped up in a previous conversation. Commonly shortened to 'Cecilia Lind', I would rank it as one of my favourite pieces of music of all time. Whilst I am by no means a Swedish speaker, I understand the tale told here and, yeah, I get emotional. I've had to pretend I've been chopping onions a few times.

How it came into the ambit of my musical knowledge is quite lovely (in my opinion, at least). It was at Sweden Rock Festival, camping with the girls mentioned in my Queensryche review, and I imagine the subject of singer-songwriters came up. Who was Sweden's Bob Dylan, eh? The answer - a Dutch-born fellow named Cornelis Vreeswijk.

And there, with evening summer sun streaming through the pine trees, the two girls sang this song, haltingly at first, a capella. The expression 'time stood still' has become a cliche but in that moment I felt the most indescribable sensation of calmness and, without wishing to be too woo-woo, oneness with my environment. Transmutation of experience into deathless words - writing - will forever be inadequate at capturing that instance. That's magic, then, isn't it?