Mike

Another scan added to our reference feature. This one features a fairly lengthy look at the Northern Soul Scene from the Melody Maker music paper, the 25th January 1975 Issue, with the main focus on Blackpool Mecca and Wigan Casino. "Keep The Scene Alive" Inside the ballrooms that are the citadel of the NORTHERN SOUL scene. Great music. Athletic dancing. Later, breakfast and a swim. "The scene is here as long as the punters want it" says one DJ. "Its essence is rarity and it's up to us to keep that rarity". BARRY A FAIR HAIRED motor mechanic from Manchester, is about five-eight tall and slim as a panatella. He keeps that way, he says, because he dances so much. He dances every weekend, all of the weekend. On Saturday night he left home and picked up his girl, a petite black haired little number, and drove over to Blackpool. He queued outside the Blackpool Mecca and got in around 8.45pm while the price was still at its basic. The later you go the higher the admission price. Barry was wearing a suit when he arrived. With a tie part of the Mecca's compulsory uniform imposed on patrons. He also carried a black Addias holdall. Barry and his girl went up a couple of flights of escalators past Tiffany's ballroom where a DJ played pop sounds and a clinically professional house band played clinically professional versions of pop hits. By the time he reached the top floor Barry had his tie off. Along a wide carpet corridor, groups of two, three, four guys talk, pouring over singles. Through the doors at the end of the corridor and into the Highland Room a long rectangular room, half of it lined with bars. The far wall is made of bare wooden panels except for a couple of doors; one long wall to the right is fronted by a low stage. On the stage behind a wooden hurdle is a disco, the focal point of the activity here. Barry stayed there for about three and a half hours dancing a lot, chatting and drinking. Around midnight he left and drove to Wigan, it took about an hour. He and his girl had about an hour to kill when they got to Wigan. They spent it in a crowded, humid coffee bar full of guys like Barry, some with girls of their own but many without. At 2am Sunday morning, Barry left the coffee bar and went into the Wigan casino. He changed out of his suit into a light blue vest and white baggies which were in the holdall and he put on a pair of less smart, though more comfortable shoes, and went into another dance hall. He danced there for something like six hours. The Wigan Casino shut at 8am Sunday morning. Some of the kids went for breakfast and then took a swim to freshen up. Later they all drove to Burnley, where there was another disco, an all-dayer. There, they danced some more. Barry does that most weekends. It's his scene, and he shares it with thousands of youngsters (their ages range from about 15 to 26, with most between 18 and 22). The scene is traditionally based on two things - the dance and the music, which is soul. It is not a new scene, its history stretches back some 10 years, but now the scene is changing through pressures of media attention and commercial exploitation. Several of those who've stayed with the scene throughout are worried by the recent glare of publicity, but most are confident that they'll weather the storm and re-emerge as unified as ever. The reason for this thinking is sound enough, at least four of the DJs I spoke to at both the Blackpool Mecca and Wigan Casino expressed it with virtually the same words. "It's because," they'd say, their voices becoming serious and wise, frowning slightly, "that we're not the scene... it's THEM out there." And they'd point to the bobbing heads dancing concentrated to the sounds. I'd be inclined to agree with that. A SHORT HISTORY OF the scene. It's been dubbed northern soul, but dancers and DJs alike seem not to care for the title. It goes back to around 1964-5 and The Golden Torch discotheque ballroom in Stoke-on-Trent. There, early Motown sounds were played, bands spawned by the soul boom gigged and a deeply knowledgeable sort of clan grew up. Like any scene with a dedicated following, it also attracted the unscrupulous and the downright criminal, who would take any opportunity offered to rip the kids off. But the music remained intact. Other, more obscure records began to get played, their rarity value growing with the years. The sound, however, remained basically unchanged. A relentlessly fast snare drum snapping four to the bar; a booming bassline; sharp, toppy brass and/or strings, the vocals varying from intense expressive wailing to mechanical screeching, yet all compelling and involving. They drew you in and pulled you to the dance floor. The familiarity of listening to the same sounds every week, however, gradually bred contempt. The search for rarer sounds became more frantic -a record's lifetime on the decks became shorter. The turnover demanded was ever greater. Inevitably the centre of the scene shifted, relocating itself to the North, in Manchester at the Twisted Wheel. There it continued to flourish for a while until it too dimmed and the axis moved on to Blackpool and Wigan. There, for the present, it remains. At the moment the Blackpool Mecca, reacting to the spiralling commercial interest in the scene and to the incursion of white music into a previously "black soul" area, is realigning its musical policy to include newer black music. It is a difficult, costly business to maintain their policy of playing rare records as one of the DJs there, Colin Curtis, said: "I've only got to play a new sound two times and the next week there'll be a thousand copies pressed up or imported." Bootleg pressing are also something Blackpool, in particular, is campaigning against, with as great a tenacity as can be mustered. But the "purity" of the soul music played in Blackpool is, perhaps, the main concern and the difficulty experienced in such a pursuit is reflected i il a slight fall in attendances there (though this is something of a normal seasonal occurrence, according to the venue's manager). Down in Wigan there are no problems filling the two halls, a large one functioning as the main scene, the smaller playing pop soul, rarity isn't so essential but danceability remains of essence. But there is one problem which the hall has to cope with. Despite the Casino's number one DJ Russ Winstanley assuring the Casino crowd that the all-nighters were in no danger, four guys, quite independently, came up to me and mentioned the likelihood of licensing trouble later this year, although Winstanley says that the Casino's operated for almost a year without a licence and has had no trouble from the authorities. Whatever the future holds, whether it is forced to move on or not, it won't die. They, the dancers, the sweating, spinning, bouncing crush, will see to that. BACK IN BLACKPOOL, Ian Levine and Colin Curtis do alternate hourly stints at the deck. Levine is a fat, blunt northerner. He offers a stiff hand to be shaken, its thumb sticking up like a flag pole. He looks away from you as you shake the proffered palm. His bluntness isn't rude. It's as business like as his introductions to the discs he spins. Ian has been dj-ing for some four years. He's been collecting records for eight years and has a fabled collection. He mentions how many and says he doesn't like that figure published. He used to work at The Twisted Wheel in 1971, went to The Golden Torch in 1972 for a spell and then moved up to the Blackpool Mecca where he's been ever since. He gets his "rare, commercial" sounds from frequent trips to the States and is due to go over there in three weeks' time. He'll stay with one of The Exciters, who are great friends of his. He can finance these operations easily because his parents are wealthy and he has other records sent over by his relations there. All the time we're talking, leaning up against a wall in the corridor outside the Highland Rooms, people come up to Ian ("Don't call them kids... they're not," he says firmly). They ask him about a record, about a future date, about something he promised to bring along. He seems an avuncular figure there, an impression strengthened by his initially distant manner. But, like Wigan, the scene in Blackpool attracts followers from all over Lancashire and, often, down into the Midlands. Coach parties from as far afield as Scarborough, Wolverhampton, Kidderminster, Harlow and Cambridge gravitate to the scene, drawn by the magnet of the sounds. Ian is introducing a greater variety of sounds into the records he's currently spinning. They used to be exclusively old records from the States which had barely caused a ripple in their homeland, let alone been released in Britain. Nowadays he's playing records just released in the States (one of the last he played before we talked was taken from a new George Clinton album which may or may not be released here. By the time that happens it is likely that Levine will have stopped playing the track.) At Blackpool Mecca, Levine plays to a crowd of 800-900, which can go up to 1,300 or more. He only works there Saturday night but adds: "This is the one that matters to me. It's the scene that's made me England's top DJ" (He's very self-confident and assertive). One noticeable comment from both Wigan and Blackpool DJs revolved around the music they played and their personal tastes. Few said the discs they spun were their own preferences. Ian listened to "something a bit more funky, but not basic. like Kool &The Gang." Ian is at once explicit and guarded about his relationship with the Wigan scene. He doesn't like the music much, because an increasing proportion is white British or white American, although it makes a suitable enough noise to dance to. But, as any of the DJs at Blackpool and Wigan are the first to say, it's the dancers who matter. Ian and Colin want to keep the music as pure as possible, Russ Winstanley, Richard Searling and the others in Wigan want to "please the kids; they're the ones, not our egos", as one put it. COLIN CURTIS IS pipe cleaner lean. He has long straight hair which hangs over his shoulders. He's been at Wigan two years this March. He started out at the Stoke Mecca and then the Golden Torch all-nighters. He left there after "a disagreement". Now, including the Blackpool night, he works anything from four to seven nights weekly. Colin is as talkative as Ian Levine is reticent, yet he is no less blunt. A man for laying his cards on the table. He, more than any other I talked to, is concerned about the commercialisation of the scene by record companies, who are now plundering with the dynamism of Vikings. Few put in what they take out. This, I think is the crux. Currently, he's concerned "about the pressures on the punters. I don't want to make much of this so-called haggling between Wigan and the Mecca, especially if it gets the attention of the wrong types." He feels "the punters are being immensely used. Just think, if soul music was in the same position as commercial pop music, think of the bread it'd be making." He doesn't see the past 12 months' interest in the scene as exploitative, but "it is the first nail in the coffin. This music has been underground and I hate to see it turn commercial, otherwise we'll be losing a lot of punters. "To keep the scene alive we have to keep in front of record wholesalers, because they can ring up the States once they hear what we're playing and get 1,000 copies imported. But the time lapse between us playing a sound and bulk copies appearing and killing it off is shrinking. How long can we keep that up?" At the moment every record company in Britain is hip to the potential. Right from the time Robert Knight's "Love On A Mountain Top" went into the British charts late in 1973 after disco play had activated interest, the record business became aware of the possibilities inherent in such a fanatical and loyal bedrock of fans. Since then, Tamla Motown have re-released old favourites and Pye has launched Disco Demand, a label drawing its material from the scene and covering the whole spectra, almost scoring with The Casualeers' "Dance, Dance, Dance", finally breaking through with Nosmo King & The Javell's "Goodbye (Nothing To Say)" and Wayne Gibson's "Under The Thumb". Both the latter are white acts, both Wigan sounds, and both abhorrent to current Blackpool practice. Some record companies, he says, won't export quantities of singles under 6,000, and when a British importer can afford to buy in that sort of bulk and still make a profit... well, it doesn't take a whole lot of brains to wise up that here is a licence to print money. "We're really scraping round to find records now. You can't fight it really, but we'll keep trying to... right to the end. "I mean, I could go to President and tell them what they've got in their catalogue that's worth releasing, but that's not what ! want to do. How many of the soul artists on Disco Demand have got into the charts? None, right? They're all white." And now, he reckons, there's probably going to be a TV documentary on the scene. That is another, somewhat larger nail in the coffin. "Why do they exploit the scene in this way? They're treading on people's ground, they've no feeling for it... We're going to lose a lot of good people if TV gets a grip... It'll be a sad loss for the soul scene in general if commercialism does take a hold. "But," he says, trying to end on an optimistic note, "the scene is here as long as the punters want it to be here... Its essence is rarity and it's up to us to keep that rarity." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "The music's been underground; I hate to see it turn commercial" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ AT 1.30AM SUNDAY morning, the queue outside the Wigan Casino, a large, red brick, grim looking edifice, is lengthening. Inside, the evening session is coming to an end. It's mainly pop. Through swing doors, up a couple of flights of stairs, through more swing doors, along a short narrow passage and through yet more doors. Out into a large hall. At the far end is the stage with curtains closed behind a deck holding three turntables and box upon box of records. The temperature in the place starts at hot, becomes humid, then stifling, tropical, equatorial. And the kids dance on A record starts to play. As it reaches a bridge the snare drum cracks out two beats. Every hand in the place, in perfect sync, appears to clap. There's a sound like a gun shot, a whip crack. That sound punctuates throughout the evening. These are the people who make the scene. There may be leeches who feed off their blood, pushers and bootleggers and other vermin, but the scene is firmly based on workaday punters who just want to dance, to be on the scene. The hall fills up. The dancers crowd closer together. The music is based on the same sound structure as the oldest Motown records that distinctive, fast slapping beat though the colour of the artist singing the beat is, at Wigan, increasingly immaterial. Above the dance floor, around the wall of the hall, runs a balcony. Up there kids push through to the "pop" disco, a smaller hall though no less crowded, or shuffle through boxes of records, label less or otherwise, which are being hawked. The centre of activity switches between DJ and dancer. Faces turn to the stage as a record ends. A new one begins and the punters pickup the beat. Some jog into it slowly; others more sold on the particular sound being played this time fly with an effortless, often quite graceful, ease into a smooth series of kicks, pins, jumps and squats. Gone are the suits and ties; now all is baggies with vest or bowling shirt. There are more blacks at Wigan than at Blackpool, though conversely less black music. There is the paraphernalia of Casino artefacts, posters sold to the kids, badges to sew on vest or shirt, car stickers. As the night wears on, 3am, 4am, the dance becomes more intent, exhausting. Kids go out fora Coke or sit slumped against a wall. One little fella, he has a light blue bowling shirt on is dancing 10 feet from the stage. A DJ puts a new record on. The kid stops dancing. He stands, expressionless but for a hint of petulance, with hands on hips. The record, you gather, is not to his liking. So there he stands while all around him bodies jiggle, twirl, hop and leap. You don't dance to something you don't dig. Behind the curtains, on stage, DJs congregate, chat to friends. Russ Winstanley is another podgy man and Boss DJ of Wigan. He isn't as worried about commercialisation as the Blackpool operators. He reckons the scene will be under close scrutiny "until about June or July. There'll be a couple more hits and then the fuss will die down. Something like the reggae boom a few years back." For Dave McAleer, Pye's A&R man up for the night, the testing time of the evening comes when he hands over a new Javells single to be played. As soon as the needle hits the groove there's loud, brash music louder than most of the records played. The kids, apart from a few small pockets of activity, stop dancing. It takes time to get a reaction and any unfamiliar sound is approached with a certain suspicious temerity. To dance or not to dance. In the end, it's their decision which will decide how long the Javells record gets played; that goes for any new sound, no matter how rare, how black or how white. That, says Winstanley, is the way it should be. And then you notice them. The kids sitting and leaning along the stage. One girl is staring out at the dancers and, casually, her left hand holds a tape recorder microphone to the shuddering speakers. Then you notice another. And another. One more at the end of the stage. Finally, around 5am, it's time to leave the seething field of dance. Perhaps the most lasting memory of all was walking from one end of the Wigan dance floor to the other. It was like walking on a trampoline. The last I saw of Barry, the motor mechanic from Manchester way, he was jumping way above the other kids, a big, big smile across his sweaty face. Then he landed, did a spine breaking backward bend, came up and bobbed for a while. Then went into a spin, arms held tight across his chest like an ice-skater. He looked triumphant after that. The scene's his. Geoff Brown

Here's a scan of a Record Mirror ( a long gone mainstream uk music paper) feature taken from the issue dated 15th Feb 1975. After their appearance on the BBC's Top Of The Pops as part of the 'Wigans Chosen Few' spot Record Mirror featured an article from Jan Iles having a chat with some of the dancers involved, Anne, Kip and Gethro.... The Casino Loyals WIGAN'S RAVERS SPOUT FORTH "Stop me goin' at the all nighters and I stop yer breath" GERROFF YA bikes, all you shufflers bold, leave yer balaclavas and bicycle clips In the cloakroom and come with us to the dance floor, because we're about to show you a new dance phenomenon that is guaranteed to tie you In knots. The name of the dance is Northern Soul and everyone past Hatfield is indulging in its uncanny body contortions. Northern Soul Dancing became nationally known when a group of Wigan wanderers appeared on Top Of The Pops a while back, dancing to a disc called Footsee in such a way It even made Cossack reelin' look like a piece of pie. Footsee was originally recorded by a Canadian band in 1968, and was picked up by a Northern Soul distributor who brought it back to England. Pye records found they had legal rights to the record so decided to add an assortment of horns and hand clapping courtesy of the Wigan kids and furthermore added "Wigan's" to Chosen Few to avoid confusion with the reggae outfit of the same name. Apparently Northern Soul Dancing has been a whole way of life In sleepy Northern communities for several years and we Southern belles have been plain Ignorant of the fact. I spoke to three patriots of the Wigan Casino (popular hot-spot with the young), Anne, Kip and Gethro ("spell It with a G please"), who recently demonstrated their dancing skills on TOTPs. STAND-IN "We represent the American Chosen Few 'cos they can't con' over her'," says 18-year-old Anne, who's a telephonist In her spare time! "It was originally a tune for an American baseball team. "We helped out on the record, too. Like Kipper and me and another lad from Wigan, Tom. Me and Kip did the clapping and Tom blew the horns. So has It now become Wigan's anthem? "No, not really," chips In Gethro, the lad, who travels 90 odd miles from Wolverhampton to Wigan every Saturday night. "The record of the Casino Is I'm On My Way, by Dean Parish. That's the last record of the evening; they always play it at the very end. " Wigan Casino Is the ritzy raver's paradise It holds a cosy 2,000 bodies and can be compared with the Illustrious Flamingo Club of the 60s; anyone who Is anyone likes to be seen there. The club Is especially famous for its all-nlghter on Saturday. AYE -UP "The all-nlghter. starts around 1.30 am, and the Beachcomber, which is built in the Casino, opens around 12.00, so we all pile In there till 2.00 am so we can warm up our dancing like, an' keep off streets," says Kip, a teenage Eddie Waring. "Then me an' lads head for all-nlghter like, which stays open till eight in morning." All-nighters are a God-send to the ravers but their parents aren't so keen on the Idea; in fact some even stop their kids spending those oh so wild nights on the tiles. Kip's parents in particular were against their son staying out all night. "Me mates said com' on, there all same like, Ignore ole man, ya know 'cos me da' were a bit strict like, so me mates said ignor 'im, ger' up. And the following day when I got 'om he's there beatin' hell. So I said fair enough and went living at me uncle's. Then me mam died so I went living back 'orne and he couldn't say owt and when I com' 'ome like I said you stop me goln' at the all-nlghter and I'll stop yer breath! "T'as been aright since, like, Entrance fee Into this den of modern day victor Sylvesters Is a quid, but it's interesting to note that our sweet Annie lass does a bit o' cleaning to 'ger In for nowt! "Me and me two mates" go up ther' about 2.00 o'clock In morning, just before It opens, and do a bit a' Cleaning. We empty ashtrays and roll up carpets for dancing, and so ger' In for free," she giggles. The prime reason these teenagers frequent the Casino is simply to dance. It's not a pick-up joint nor is it a drinker's haven because Coke is about the most potent concoction on the list. "I'm a proper Northerner, I like me ale and me woman. But on Saturday It's just dancing," says the virile Kip. Says Gethro: "I take me own dolly along. We mainly go for the music and the dancing; I dance all night, I do. " Anne agrees with the lads: "We go for the dancing - I don't go for lads. Orh, I can't be bothered wl' 'erm I got one, like, who I met ther'. . "She loves 'im," jibes Gethro. "I don't!" "Go on, gir" 'em a plug," says Kip. "His name's Sean, an' he ain't a bad dancer is Sean!" Do you have to be a good dancer to gain respect and admiration from the opposite sex? "No!" answers Anne, adamantly. (Gethro nods a definite yes behind her back). "Well," she says, softening, "It's nice to be seen wi'v a lad who's a good dancer my Sean's good, though!" "My dolly, Kim's, a good dancer, she came second In a dancing competition. An' I said if you come first next time, I'll get engaged to you!" "Without a doubt dancin's the main thing on Saturday night," cuts In Kip. "You can have birds from Sunday to Friday nights but Saturday night is for Wigan Casino and that's it." "My dolly, I take her to Wigan,"explains Gethro. "She pays herself in and I don't see her all night until the following morning. I know she won't try and geroff with others she's there purely for dancing, she never bothers me. She might come up to me and say wanna coke or something. I mean, some of the girls ger' In the way, so I just push 'em out the way, I do" " Yeah, I got kick off 'im last week," alfirms Anne. Do you practise In your own front rooms or do you go around to friends' houses and cause disturbances there? "I practise in me bedroom, me," says Anne. "I've got a lot of space on one side of me room. Me dad thinks I'm crackers, though. Every time he look a' me I'm dancing!" DETERMINATION If you think Northern Soul Dancing is easy, read on . . . Anne and co say It takes a lot of application and determination to perfect as there are so many tricky (and back -breaking) feats involved. I.e., leg spins; back-drops; handsprings (as shown In pics). When Anne tried her hand at legs breaks she hurt herself so much that she needed medical attention. "I sprained me tendon at the back of me leg doing drop-downs and that. Doctor said that if I kept on I could split It all the way and might end up in hospital for as long as two years. Bur' I kept on ar' it, and it's danced itself berrer." Is there ever any bother at the Casino between rival gangs trying to out dance each other? "When we first went to Wigan there used to be a lot of Manchester kids doing drop-backs, and we douldn't do It," says Gethro. "We used to watch 'em, like, and then start dancing and trying to copy 'em and they'd deliberately box us In and try an' stop us. At first there was some nastiness involved, but once you get accepted It's great. Once you're in, you're In." So It Is very competitive? "Oh, yeah. We're jealous of some of the good dancers," says Gethro. "Maybe with some," argues Kip, "like Frank Booper, thinks he's great, don' he. ?" "Well, he was brilliant," intervenes Gethro, "but he was sent down for a bit. When he came out about two weeks ago I was dancing by meself In a comer like and he deliberately shifted everyone out of the way so's he could try and beat me at everything I was doing. " By now you may have gathered that dancing is a way of life In Wigan and so It's hardly surprising that these kids think us Southerns silly for not knowing anything about It. "You're living In the past - locked away," they laugh. "Like everyone think's It's all happening down In London and that It's the most swinging place - yet the North Is leaving you lot behind!" What do you think of our style of dancing then? "Well, If Pan's People are owt to go by, then " says Klp.. . It begins wi' a C. . "I mean, they've got the bodies," says Gethro, eyes popping, "but that's all the blokes say is good about 'em. They're sex symbols, that's all." Interpreted by Jan Iles Video of the 1975 Top Of The Pops Appearance Video Link (Tap Below) Wigans Chosen Few Footsie BBC Totp 1975

THE REAL THING ANNOUNCE NEW DOCUMENTARY AND NEW BEST OF ALBUM FEATURING BRAND NEW NEVER BEFORE RELEASED TRACK Iconic British soul and funk band, The Real Thing, will celebrate their 50th anniversary in 2020 with the release of a brand-new Best Of album, featuring a never-before-released track, released on BMG on 10th January 2020. The release coincides with a brand-new documentary about the group, Everything – The Real Thing Story, by filmmaker Simon Sheridan which will be coming to cinemas in January 2020. Everything - The Real Thing Story Everything – The Real Thing Story is coming to cinemas in January. Shot on location in Liverpool and London by filmmaker Simon Sheridan and narrated by actor Jacob Anderson (Game of Thrones) / rapper Raleigh Ritchie , the documentary charts the story of Britain’s first black music revolution, and how the band’s massive success has been tempered with racism, drug addiction and suicide. For the very first time, original band members Eddy Amoo, Chris Amoo and Dave Smith reveal the brutally honest truth behind their trailblazing 50-year career. After five decades, they remain the godfathers of black British music. For full cinema listings visit http://therealthingofficial.com Everything - The Real Thing Story - Video Trailer The Best Of The Real Thing Double Cd out January 10, 2020 Several tracks on this brand-new Best Of album will be appearing on CD format for the very first time, and as well as this, it will include a brand-new track – ‘Someone Oughta Write a Song (About You Baby)’. Originally written and recorded with Ken Gold and Mick Denne, the same team behind several of the band’s hits including ‘You To Me Are Everything’ and ‘Can’t Get By Without You’, ‘’Someone Oughta Write a Song (About You Baby)’ was due to be the third of a would-be trio of hits, however it was shelved when the band decided they wanted to write and produce their own material, despite being fully mixed. For decades it remained a lost track, until in 2017 Ken Gold found the only remaining tape copy of the track in a storage locker. Through a process known as ‘tape baking’, with the assistance of James Guthrie (Pink Floyd engineer/ producer), the tape was salvaged, playable, and transferred to digital. The band featuring original members Chris Amoo and Dave Smith will also perform at The Jazz Café in London on 14th January. Newly unearthed track ‘Someone Oughta Write a Song (About You Baby)’ Track Listing CD1 1 Someone Outta Write a Song (About You Baby) 2 You To Me Are Everything 3 Can’t Get By Without You 4 You’ll Never Know What You’re Missing 5 Dance with Me 6 Love’s Such a Wonderful Thing 7 Children of the Ghetto 8 Whenever You Want My Love 9 Let’s Go Disco 10 Can You Feel the Force (12” Disco Mix) 11 Boogie Down (Get Funky Now) 12 Keep An Eye On Your Best Friend 13 Topsy Turvy 14 Saint or Sinner 15 Foot Tappin’ 16 Flash CD2 1 Rainin’ Through My Sunshine 2 (He's Just) A Money Maker 3 She’s a Groovy Freak 4 Lightning Strikes Again 5 Watch Out Caroline 6 Give Me Your Love 7 Stone Cold Love Affair 8 Liverpool Medley: Liverpool Eight/Children of the Ghetto/Stanhope Street 9 Won't You Step Into My World? 10 Lovin' You Is Like A Dream 11 A Love That's Real 12 Young And Foolish 13 You To Me Are Everything (1986 ‘Decade’ remix) 14 Can’t Get By Without You (1986 ‘Second Decade’ remix) 15 Watcha Say, Whatcha Do OUT 10th JANUARY 2020 ON BMG Available to Pre-Order Now https://therealthing.lnk.to/BestOfPR Website: http://therealthingofficial.com

The Recent Sale of Berry Gordy’s Former Detroit Mansion on the 20 October 2017 It is well known amongst Motown & Soul fans that the Motown Records company moved all of its operations to Los Angeles (LA) in June 1972, with a number of artists, among them Martha Reeves, the Four Tops, Gladys Knight & the Pips, and Motown's Funk Brothers studio band, either staying behind in Detroit or leaving the company for other reasons. James Jamerson did move out to LA but later moved back to Detroit. Berry had originally purchased the Detroit Mansion in 1967 but even though moving out to LA in 1972 he continued to own it until 2002, when he then sold it to the attorney Cynthia Reaves. In 2016 the attorney decided to sell the mansion and to clear the items left behind by Berry Gordy (when he finally left Detroit) via a public auction There is a lot of Motown history associated with the mansion, summer garden parties, compiling & writing songs sometimes well into the early hours and many other events. So is a crucial part of Motown’s history. The sale was on Friday 20th Oct 2017, which beforehand made news across most of Detroit via the local media and television networks. News highlights focused on the historical significance of the mansion and primarily BG’s 1927 Steinway Piano, frequently played by Smokey Robinson and many other Motown artists. With the auction as well the piano then giving many others the opportunity to secure smaller items to then own a part of the Motown Phenomenon, it created a lot of interest, albeit in Michigan State. As well as the piano being the “Star” lot the catalogue listed gowns & costumes worn by the “Vandellas” “Contours” “Laura Lee” “Freda Payne” and others, plus many other Motown artefact’s and documents. However what really focused my attention was the 600 plus (unplayed) records, that were also discovered as being left behind by BG when he sold & left Detroit for good. I wanted to find out what these were and any treasures left behind. Amazingly the majority of the 45’s were not Motown Labels as I expected but “Anna” “Tri-Phi” “Harvey” including the Rare “Message” singles (subsidiary of Tri-Phi with only 3 Gospel based issues). This no doubt related to the BG purchase and take over of Harvey Fuqua & Gwen Gordy’s (the then wife of Harvey) record company’s. This must have been unsold stock that Berry then put into his basement. As I uncovered the “lots” I was amazed: Three Piles of Harvey’s “Any Way You Wanta” totalling around a 100 X 45’s all mint all unplayed! Estimate was $1000 and they sold for $1100. And then the other lots: ( Note The Tamla issue!!!) there then being around another 6 or 7 similar lots The Finale Now the most amazing thing of all, one of the rarest of the rare featuring in the top 20 of the rarest of the Motown issues, being Saundra Mallet & The Vandella’s “Camel Walk” on Tamla. La-Brenda Ben issued “Camel Walk” on Motown 1033 (very rare) & on the Gordy label Gordy 7009. One of the Final Lots of the Sale with an Estimate of $2500 was a Batch of 27 Mint Un-played copies of “Camel Walk” in their original sleeves. (2 others sold in the other batches of singles) What Dreams are Made of! & to then top it all off, sold to an internet bidder for $550. Irony is what used to be a £700 plus 45 now with 29 copies turning up it is now probably worth half of that. How many in the UK even knew anything about the Auction? It took me some time to track down the Auction results only hearing about this auction in Feb of this year. Motown Forever! Graham Jarvis Pictures Courtesy of Aaron Estate Sales Ltd

A get the week off on a good foot pass on from @Ady Croasdell Details of a fully featured article looking at Jack Ashford's work over the years, published via the International Musician Website (article link follows the preview clip below). For Jack Ashford and His Funk Brothers, Jazz Roots Ran Deep While gigging around Boston in the late 1950s trying to establish himself as a jazz player, vibraphonist Jack Ashford met music producer Harvey Fuqua and his future brother-in-law Marvin Gaye. “Harvey asked me, ‘You know who Marvin Gaye is?’ I said, ‘Nah, never heard of him. If they don’t play jazz, I don’t know ’em.’ I was cocky. Everybody wanted to be like Miles Davis. Marvin said he was starting a band and would I like to come to Detroit..... .....Still playing at 85, Ashford draws on those glory days of Detroit and the Funk Brothers to generate rare and in-demand soul music. He’s won two Grammy Awards and has several gold records to his credit. Known as the “tambourine man,” Ashford has spent the last decade working with producer and Oscar winner T-Bone Burnett of Local 47 (Los Angeles, CA) and performing with artists like Elton John of Local 47. In 2013, he and his Funk Brothers received a star on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame. The full article can be read via the link to the International Musician Website below https://internationalmusician.org/for-jack-ashford-and-his-funk-brothers-jazz-roots-ran-deep/