Killer.
Typically masterful, ultra-soulful singing, over a sparkling rhythm. It’s the last gasp of the swinging sixties; geezer is hurt but randy. His missus has scarpered, so the coast is clear for some of this in-ting debauchery he’s been reading about in the papers.
With a trombone-led moonstomp on the flip.
This first hit for Keith Hudson’s new label is a stone-cold re-wind in perpetuity. So play it back, Jack. Hook back on the track with a double attack.

A fat, wide, brassy cover of his idol Otis Redding. Plus an ace, driving, vengeful Reggae Boys, on the flip.