The first time I heard “Funky Street” by Arthur Conley was in a van leaving Matthew St in August 1979. The van belonged to Liverpool’s foremost power pop outfit, Yachts. Up front and at the wheel, bass player Martin Dempsey, and riding shotgun, drummer Bob Bellis. In the back, former Yachts singist, John Campbell, Kevin Connolly, Tempo and myself. In the cassette player, a compilation of
Northern Soul classics being played worryingly loud. It was Saturday evening and we were bound for Chester. In Chester would be local post punk superstars The Teardrop Explodes and Echo and the Bunnymen, who had in the previousbfew months began to break free of their local environs and do some gigs together out of town. We were off to show our support, they knew we were coming. We’d kind of phoned ahead, so to speak.
As we pulled away from outside Eric’s and everybody was readjusting
themselves into more comfortable position, Bellis turned the tunes up. That flashing moment, when your teenage world comes alive. Bass, drums, guitars, brass, then handclaps….
“One used to be the shotgun
Two used to be the bad boogaloo
Three used to be the swing shingaling
Four used to be the funky four fingers”
“Funky Street” by Arthur Conley – a 1967 high octane dance record released on Atco Records, recorded by Otis Redding’s former school-friend. Utterly colossal, a diamond tipped bullet piercing my mind, a shift in my whole time-space
continuum. This music and this moment had taken me somewhere I’d not anticipated. Here, these slightly older fellas were giving us a crash course in uptempo, amphetamine fuelled dance music from yesteryear. The sort of music Liverpool had forgotten about in a mad rush to be somewhere else.
My reference point to all this music is my elder brother Kevin, who in the early seventies, in his own teenage years, sacrificed his entire existence to become a devotee of obscure Sixties soul. He became obsessive about it – as they do – and that obsession filtered down to me. He would get me to catalogue his records and tag them all with neat handwriting. I could do this, impress my big brother. The music sounded incredible in our bedroom, even through the tinny world of our rubbish record player. But that was it – I’d never heard any of that music outside its confines. The tunes on offer in the Yachts van may have been exactly the same but I’d never heard them sound so alive before. And being the inquisitive child who was never afraid to ask, I quizzed Martin and Bellis as to what the tunes were. Even as I write, I can still remember nearly everything that was played.
When we came out of the Mersey Tunnel and the Slalom D had been demolished, Campbell tried to get up and dance in the back, but being far too tall thought better of it and returned to his perch. All the while the stereo blasts out more often than not unfamiliar soul tunes, the absolute apogee of dancefloor action. When we got to Chester, the bands knew we were coming, there was a mad kerfuffle about getting gear on stage, right fucking now, as promoters often do. Gary Dwyer realised he’d brought no carpet to put under his kit and there was nothing of use in the venue. For the entire Teardrop Explodes set I sat cross legged on the floor, behind Julian, looking like I was getting the vibes and laying it on meself. What I was actually doing was stopping Gary’s kit from flying into the front row every time he kicked his bass drum. Often in life, the journey to where you’re going is far more important than what happens when you get there.
Arthur Conley – Funky Street – Atco 6563. March 1968.
bernie@happening-things.com 