Dec 6, 2012


No, this ain't no repost, just me dippin' back into my title kitty. That piece on Southern Comfort done got me thinkin' bout how much time I spend, huddled in the dark, droppin pitch on singles. It ain't always an improvement, but it seldom disappoints. The process also reminds one of a principle difference between vinyl and all other audio formats: you can fux wit it. Where's the fun in a format on which ya cain't leave fingerprints?

Here's to showin' your singles you's goin' steady. Let's begin with a fistful from Peoples Potential Unlimited.

The Campfire
The Heat of Your Love b/w Truely [sic] Love 45
Peoples Potential Unlimited PPU-037

Let the drinks kick in, tip the speakers out the window, and pour one out for good sense gone by. At 33rpm, this 400ft-long Cadillac 80s G-funk synth boogie belches more fog than a Hammer horror film. Head dude of this Illinois act circa '85, Raynard Mayfield Sr., can go on about the heat of her love all he wants; the multitracked rumbles of "YOU GOT IT" beckon like fingers of cartoon stench. A solidly eerie and erroneously erogenous A side. "Truely [sic] Love," on the other hand, gets the carnival spins like back to back ferris wheel rides and a half lb. of fried dough with extra sauce. I'm talkin' nausea's answering machine message, your brain phonin' up to see which way is "down," while yer ass is already on its way. It's an ol' question, but it bears repeating: Who needs drugs?

Shelve (Shelby Hurns)
This World (Vocal) b/w This World (Dub) 45

Anybody named Shelby who expects the whole world to pronounce "Shelve" as "Shell-Vee" and further understand that it's meant to be an amusing (?) play on his given name is clearly workin' with a set of wrenches we all musta mislaid. Ol Shelve do cut a sharp figure on the back of the sleeve in his rented tux and lipstick red cummerbund. But those eyes don't convey the silk sheets and rose petals of 80s R&B or the quick-n-dirty salvation of gospel. It's a listless, aloof gaze. However ajar be the limo door, he's puttin' out dangerous loner vibes here. "This world/is not my home," goes the hook, riding the James Bond melody (no joke), Shelve's voice stuck mid-throat. Maybe he's testifyin' 'bout some theme park in the clouds, or maybe just pining to be back in his home studio. I ain't so sure I wanna ride shotgun; think I'll just call it a night.

Tim Tucker & Freddie Fonk
Love Passed Me By b/w Captured 45
RysQue' Records RR-004, 
300 copies (1st 50 w/ insert pictured)

Tucker and Fonk were part of a budget-funk group called Davinity at some point, and that is where my wispy tracking skills stop the trail cold. Maybe you could do better?
Experientially, there ain't a major difference between Tucker's "Love Passed Me By," at 45 and 33, exceptin' maybe that 33 sets the Nintendo brain-virus florishes in higher relief. A lotta this stuff owes hefty Parliament/Funkadelic back rent, but I detect herein something of a Grandmaster Flash bail-out. No complaints there!
Fonk's side at 33 could comfortably slide into one of the amorphous Not Not Fun subsidiary hagiographic warped-VHS-coveting side projects (clear as dirt?), were it not for its legit weirdness. Ever stumble across those early 90s Mexican-American ninja-cyborg hybrid flicks? Somewhere buried in the 2nd act is always some kind of unctuous sex scene wrapped in mosquito netting and cheap lace, and this is exactly the tone and texture of the music I imagine is playing (until I lean on the FF like it's a hassock). Not an easy pedigree to slam dunk, but there it be, staring back at ya from 7 gleaming inches of vinyl.

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