Irresistible 1950s mento — singalong tunes, ebulliently performed, over-spilling with scandal, smut and impudence, sex, dancing and booze, word-play, jokes and up-to-the minute social commentary, and general love for life.

Mono.

A quintet, with DJ Harrison from Stones Throw on keyboards, drummer Corey Fonville (Christian Scott, Nicholas Payton), bassist Andrew Randazzo, Marcus Tenney on trumpet and Morgan Burr on guitar. Freaking, hiphop-inflected jazz-funk, with its roots in Weather Report, Return To Forever and early Earth Wind And Fire.

A no-frills, loving tribute — with Shirley’s longtime drummer Steve Williams and double bassist Curtis Lundy (brother of Carmen), formerly of Betty Carter’s group; also the fine pianist Alex Minasian and trumpeter Till Brönner.

No-messing funk with whiffs of reefer, hooch and baize.
Eddie and Al Pazant came through with Lionel Hampton and Pucho. These are their locked-down, brassy, smoking, streetwise blends of R&B, soul, latin and jazz, from the late 1960s and early 70s.
Fab.

‘Pied Piper Productions was a group of Detroit arrangers, writers, artists and musicians who unwittingly drew up the blueprints of Northern Soul, during their brief time together in 1965-1967. Mainstays Jack Ashford, Mike Terry, Joe Hunter and Herbie Williams were original members of Motown studio crew the Funk Brothers. This compilation features some of the biggest Northern Soul discoveries of recent times —like Nancy Wilcox and September Jones — alongside established favourites and other rarities.’

NYC soul, with at least two killers — Don’t You Care, and Never Did I Stop Loving You. BGP has unearthed some rarities; and some great photos.

Trying out a more seventies, soulful groove, with the likes of Woody Shaw, Carter Jefferson, Cedar Walton — and Jon Hendricks, who sings on the revival of Moanin’, and Along Came Betty.
Buhaina was Blakey’s name after his conversion to Islam. Of course A Chant For Bu was sampled by A Tribe Called Quest for their almighty Excursions. Altogether now: ‘Back in the days when I was a teenager / Before I had status and before I had a pager…’

Cleveland funk from 1971, featuring a popping version of Express Yourself, a do-over of The Temps’ Message From A Black Man, and — crucially — the b-boy jazz anthem, Burning Spear.

A top-notch selection of High Note and Gay Feet rhythms, expertly mixed the old-fashioned way by Duke Reid’s nephew, Errol Brown.

Brilliant toasting and singing by the likes of Prince Hammer, Echo Minott, Trinity and Lee Van Cliff, over gold-plated Roots Radics rhythms. A precious blend of heavier-than-lead roots, new-thing dancehall flow, and youthman promotion, curated by Hammer himself in 1982. Deeply enjoyable from start to finish.

This iconic LP was originally released by Incus in 1974. Recorded at a private house in Catford, south-east London, the side-long title track is a masterwork: a twenty-two-minute, starkly personal, freely expressive, itchily searching re-casting of orders of rhythm and sound into a new, quicksilver kind of affective and musical polyphony. Never mind the guitarist’s championing of ‘non-idiomatic improvisation’, the poet Peter Riley gets the ball rolling in his identification of the various hauntings of Bailey’s playing at this time: ‘mandolins & balalaikas strumming in the distance, George Formby’s banjo, Leadbelly’s steel 12-string, koto, lute, classical guitar… and others quite outside the field of the plucked string.’
The five pieces on side two were recorded back home in Hackney around the same time — with the exception of Improvisation 104(b), from the year before (and issued by Incus in its TAPS series of mini reel-to-reel tapes) — opening with ventriloquised guitar feedback, and taking in some cod banter about colleagues like Mervyn Parker, Siegfried Brotzmann and Harry Bentink.
Crucial.

Born in Burlington, Vermont, and conservatory-trained in the US, the cellist Tristan Honsinger moved from Montreal to Amsterdam in 1974, quickly linking with Han Bennink and Misha Mengelberg, and opening a long and fruitful musical relationship with Derek Bailey. Recorded in 1976, Duo displays a performative musical approach already characterised by the lack of inhibition which would later endear him to The Pop Group: he is knockabout, exclamatory, explosively rhythmic; burping Bach and folk melodies with spasmodic lyricism, in amongst the garrulous textures and accents of his scraping, bowing and plucking, and gibbering like a monkey; throwing out his arms and stamping the floor, grappling with his instrument like an expert clown, always on the lookout for new ways to trip himself up. You can hear Bailey revelling in the company, as he ranges between scrabbling solidarity and an askance skewering of his partner’s antics, on prepared (nineteen-string) and standard electric guitars — and a Waisvisz Crackle-box, for the garbled, quizzical, cross-species natter which closes The Shadow. Throughout, the spirited interplay between laconic, analytic wit and guttural, sometimes slapstick physicality is consistently droll, often laugh-out-loud funny; vigorously alert, alive and gripping.