I’m just going to put this out there: it’s going to take a lot – a lot – for an album to top ‘Faithful Man’ as the best of 2012. Lee Fields and The Expressions follow up to 2009’s ‘My World’ is an absolute stunner. As a slab of soul, it’s just immediate.

Album opener ‘Faithful Man’ sets the tone: blues-laden soul, with a vocal delivery that’s almost pleading. It’s anachronistic for 2012 in its complete disregard for music that clogs the charts. It’s simple. Just deep, deep soul, delivered by a bloke who has a voice and a half, and band as tight as Motown’s house band, The Funk Brothers. Yes. They’re that good.

In writing about Lee Fields, a comparison to James Brown is almost inevitable. The Godfather’s influence on soul make Him (capital ‘H’ intended) almost omnipresent. And, when vocally, Lee Fields shares so much with James Brown, it makes it easier to draw a straight line from one to the other. Indeed, Lee Fields knocks out a belting versions of ‘Bewildered’ and ‘Sunny’ (a song which JB also covered) in live shows. But, here’s the thing: Lee Fields has absolutely, as he sings on one of the album highlights, ‘Still Got It’. His voice is stunning – it drips pure soul. It makes you wish that The Godfather himself had avoided the 80s entirely… if he had, maybe he would have sounded more like Lee Fields. Genuinely, I wish that James Brown was as good as Lee Fields in the latter part of His career. He just wasn’t. (I am now going to duck for cover)

Let me return to the band – ‘The Expressions’. As a rotating group of musicians, we can give them many names: ‘Menahan Street Band’, ‘El Michels Affair’ – it’s all about Truth and Soul. It’s not just about Lee Fields’ (or Charles Bradley’s) voice, it’s also about the spectacular groove that these guys lay down. And, let’s not forget, this is the same group of blokes who are responsible for producing one of the breakthrough stories of the last couple of years: Aloe Blacc has a lot to thank them for.

The musical acrobatics are well evidenced on ‘Wish You Were Here’. With horns at the fore, and a laid-back groove, it’s sounds like it’s straight from James Brown in the late 60s. James Brown backed by the JBs. Yes, I’ve just done it. I’ve compared The Expressions to both The Funk Brothers AND The JBs. I don’t think it’s possible to give any higher praise.

It takes the confidence of being bloody good to cover The Rolling Stones on an album of straight soul. If these guys can’t do it, no one can. Check out ‘Moonlight Mile’, and you’ll see what I’m on about here. It’s a truly astonishing cover.

Lee Fields. Welcome back, sir. Keep it coming.

Sounding more like JB than JB

A heartbreaking cover

I figured that ‘Starlight’ was an early indication of what was to come. It sounded like it was a track lifted straight off ‘Modernism: A New Decade’, the notorious final Style Council LP. I say this not by way of criticism – I love it when Weller shakes off the shackles that his fans place on him, and he just busts out something totally from the left-field. For me, it’s not all about an angry young (or old) man tearing into a guitar – although I do still get a rush from the opening chords of ‘The Changingman’. I’d question anyone who doesn’t. So, when it was released last year, I figured that the house-tinged ‘Starlight’ was a pointer – a way of easing his fans into a departure before the full-blown onslaught of an album targeted at the dancefloor. But, this is Weller. It’s never going to be that easy. An early indication it was, but now it’s here, ‘Sonik Kicks’ is a far more complex beast. It’s undeniably ‘Weller’, but by Christ, he’s got his mojo firing on all cylinders.

The Weller/Small Faces comparison is not new news. In fairness, just about every breath that Weller draws is inspired by Marriott and Lane. This is a good thing. The Small Faces were bloody marvellous, and in a parallel universe would be held up on a pedestal next to The Beatles in terms of the impact they had on modern music. More so than almost any other Weller album, ‘Sonik Kicks’ is the material that The Small Faces would be putting out today, if they suddenly happened upon a box full of effects pedals.

As an album, ‘Sonik Kicks’ is all over the map. It’s like a mind-dump of ideas – where ambient noodling knocks up against ska-friendly dub and Cockney psychedelia. But, there’s still that vein of familiarity – a certain ‘Wellerness’ that just hooks you in. To be fair, some of this ‘Wellerness’ is bordering on self-plagiarism. The opening hook of ‘By The Waters’ owes much to the start of ‘Illumination’ – there’s a common DNA. ‘Green’ is massively reminiscent of the effects-laden Lynch-Mob mix of ‘Kosmos’. The piano-led ‘Be Happy Children’ wouldn’t have sounded out of place on ‘Stanley Road’ – a hearts-on-your-sleeve thing of beauty. And, as I started off the piece by acknowledging, ‘Starlight’ could be straight from the time when The Style Council came to their inevitable demise.

There’s been a lot of talk about this being a brave album – about Weller pushing the envelope. And, yes, I’ll guarantee that there’s more creativity in here than you’ll find in almost any other chart-topping album this year. The notion that some of this creativity sounds ‘a bit like stuff that Weller’s done before’ shouldn’t detract from an astonishing achievement of an album. It’s the most immediately infectious – and crucially, consistent – album that Weller’s knocked out for many years. ‘As Is Now’, ’22 Dreams’ and ‘Wake Up The Nation’ were all great, but they had tracks that were less memorable. ‘Sonik Kicks’, however, is a joy from start to finish – and it’s because there’s so much stuff going on.

Above all, this is this is Weller kicking his shoes off, sitting back, and having a bloody good time. Weller ‘having fun’ is always great to hear. Take ‘That Dangerous Age’ as an example – it is a belter. I know I’ve written before about Weller’s creative peak probably being with The Style Council, but ‘Sonik Kicks’ is a statement of intent: don’t write Weller off. He’s still got it. And more.

I’m not a religious man, but I do have an almost unshakable belief that having a pint on a Friday night is one of life’s pleasures. Throw in a chat about music with a good mate over said pint, and you’ve got a winning formula for the end of a working week.

A couple of Fridays ago was a case in point. A conversation about jazz, about Roy Hargrove, about New York City jazz clubs, and about one artist in particular who – I am ashamed to admit – has yet to grace the pages on the freethinking movement. As soon as Herbie Hancock’s name was mentioned, I felt the need to rectify it.

Seriously, how many artists are there who you could point to who were there in the formative years of jazz in the 60s, who were jazz/funk pioneers in the 70s, who were at the bleeding edge of electronica in the 80s, and who have maintained credibility throughout?

Herbie’s jazz roots place him with contemporaries such as Freddie Hubbard, Ron Carter and Wayne Shorter. They place him with Miles Davis. They place him with spectacular work on a run of Blue Note releases that include the tracks ‘Maiden Voyage’ and ‘Cantaloupe Island’ (you’ll know the piano hook the tune is built around, even if you don’t know the track) and the tune that gave Deee-Lite the bassline for ‘Groove Is In The Heart’, ‘Bring Down The Birds’ – beyond any doubt, true classics from an age where there’s an embarrassment of riches. Herbie was an innovator. A genius. Even with innovation on the scale of Miles Davis’ ‘Bitches Brew’ – representing a seismic shift in jazz – Herbie was there.

And, Herbie led his own seismic shift in the 70s, most notably through the release of the breath-taking ‘Head Hunters’ album. With opening track ‘Chameleon’, Herbie essentially re-invented jazz, right there, right then. Built around a killer hook, ‘Chameleon’ showcased an outrageously funky troupe which Herbie had assembled. From Bennie Maupin’s horns, through to Harvery Mason’s drums, Paul Jackson’s bass and Bill Summers’ percussion – this was the start of something quite special. It wasn’t jazz as the world had previously known it – this was Fender/Rhodes-led funk. A deep, deep groove cut through the proceedings. ‘Chameleon’ is such a remarkable piece of music, it’s almost like the tune itself lives – aware that its very presence is heralding in a new era. Herbie Hancock, respected jazz musician, opened up to funk. And, by Christ, when he did the results were just pure magic. The funk was in more free flow by the time that the Headhunters themselves released ‘Survival of The Fittest’. Under the watchful glare of Herbie, now on production duties, a slightly re-assembled line-up of the band behind ‘Chameleon’ knocked out an album which stands tall in the list of all time funk classics. The highlight from the album, ‘God Make Me Funky’, is nine and a half minutes of funk education. It’s effortless. I genuinely throw the gauntlet down to anyone to point to a better slab of funk. It’s about as perfect as it gets.

Not content with being behind some of the most memorable jazz releases, and with bringing the funk to jazz, Herbie had another ace up his sleeve. Jazz purists may have labelled his 1983 ‘Future Shock’ as ‘Future Shit’, but it’s an album that gave the world ‘Rockit’. Ushering in yet another new era, this was a synth-friendly Herbie, bringing his jazz credentials to the world of electronica by way of funk. It may sound like a product of its time today, with primitive scratching and a very 80s set of production values, but ‘Rockit’ was massive. And, rightly so. I often feel that the context of exactly who Herbie Hancock was, and what he’d previously achieved, is overlooked when people think about ‘Rockit’. This wasn’t just a bloke knocking together a dance tune – this was a jazz legend embracing the future.

Hard jazz to funk to electronica: that’s Herbie Hancock, defining freethinking.

Herbie didn’t just move with the times, he helped to bring everyone else along for the ride. He stayed relevant. It’s been nearly 20 years since I saw Herbie Hancock perform, but it sticks in my mind as one of the most impressive shows. The Phoenix Festival was only around for a few years, but it drew a fine line-up. In 1994 Galliano, Paul Weller, James Taylor Quartet, A Certain Ratio, Mother Earth, Roy Ayers and Herbie Hancock all did their thing. It’s these last two that I want to draw on. Roy Ayers was, himself, a leading light of the jazz/funk scene in the 70s. Tunes such as ‘We Live In Brooklyn, Baby’, and ‘Running Away’ still work on just about every level. But, about twenty years on from this prime period, Roy Ayers just didn’t cut it. He seemed to be holding on – to try to make his sound relevant. The same couldn’t be further from the truth for Herbie Hancock – I remember being completely spell-bound as he tore through ‘Chameleon’, through ‘Watermelon Man’ – and possibly most memorable of all – a piano-led (with no synth in sight) rendition of a downright funk-filled ‘Rockit’. This was Herbie not trying to cling to the past, or to make his sound more relevant to today, this was a true jazz great dipping into his vast repertoire and showing that at the very heart of his music it’s not about a synth, or a clavinet, or a grand piano – it’s about the guy playing the notes.

On that Friday night a few weeks ago, as me and my mate were talking about music, we also spoke about our plans for the weekend. I explained that I had some admin to do, and that it’d be a quiet one. When I asked him, his reply was ‘I may just have a Herbie Hancock weekend’.

Hell, yes.

Oh, Time Out New York, sometimes you really do disappoint me. You take the populist line on artists (which I sometimes doubt you’ve ever even heard). You champion local bands, even if they’re ‘a bit bobbins’ (step forward, Javelin). And, fundamentally, you just don’t seem to have the same critical clout that you once did.

In light of this, I should not be at all surprised by the ‘100 best NYC songs’ in your latest edition. It’s a list which contains some questionable selections, at best (even the most avid Sting fan would probably accept ‘Englishman in New York’ not making the cut). And, I really shouldn’t be surprised at the tune you threw at the top of the chart. Jay-Z has a lot to answer for.

But, where I have real beef, is for the wealth of tunes that didn’t make the cut. Tunes which are frankly wonderful, and capture something unique about NYC.

Where is Doves’ ‘New York’? It’s a spectacular onslaught – throwing everything but the kitchen sink into the celebration of a city which holds so much allure and promise.

And, surely Prefab Sprout’s ‘Hey Manhattan!’ should make any list. From the excitement encapsulated by ‘Strollin’ Fifth Avenue, just to think, Sinatra’s been here, too’ through to the dark acknowledgement of the city’s problems. Paddy McAloon: one of the greatest British songwriters.

You also missed Kirtsy MacColl (ably assisted by Johnny Marr) on ‘Walking Down Madison’, from the superbly titled ‘Electric Landlady’. It may sound like a product of its time – but for me it absolutely makes the cut.

What about Roy Ayers with ‘We Live In Brooklyn, Baby’? Seriously, one of the finest slices of jazz/funk you’ll hear – about New York – fails to make the list. It’s a piece of work, the strings and vibes underscoring Roy Ayers desperate plea: ‘we’re trying to make it, baby – we wanna make it, baby – we’re gonna make it, baby’.

And, unforgivable this one, what about Polly Harvey’s ‘You Said Something’? It’s the sound of falling in love in – and with – New York. It’s perfect, in just about every way:

On a rooftop in Brooklyn
One in the morning
Watching the lights flash
In Manhattan
I see five bridges
The Empire State building
And you said something
That I’ve never forgotten

It gets me every time.

But, no – for Time Out New York, Polly doesn’t make the cut. ‘Jenny From The Block’ does. Really?

Here’s my biggest beef, however: the omission of Stephen Fretwell’s ‘New York’.

The Scunthorpe-born, Manchester-based singer-songwriter totally nails the juxtaposition of the promise and hope of New York with the desperation of a life that needs escape. Described by Stephen Fretwell himself as being about ‘running away with an air hostess’, it’s an off-kilter encapsulation of the draw of the city that never sleeps. A city with the promise of re-invention, of new starts, and excitement. In ‘New York’, Stephen Fretwell manages to capture the dreams of a life in this magical city, and reality of what it would take to realise them. It’s an astonishingly simple tune – voice/guitar/piano – with lyrics that you could retire off the back of, and perfectly executed. It’s the real thing.

‘Fuck what they say, fuck it if they talk, it really don’t matter, we’re going to New York’

Honestly – only Sinatra beats this for me.

You know Cymande. No, you really know Cymande. They were pioneers of 70’s British funk. This isn’t why you’ll know them. Their solid output seems to just not be enough to have won Cymande recognition they deserve.

They were sampled by De La Soul: this is why you know them.

‘Bra’ is a chuffing marvellous slab of funk. Sampled by De La Soul in their fun-filled Daisy Age on ‘Change in Speak’, the bass hook will be immediately recognisable to anyone familiar with ‘3 Feet High And Rising’. Which should be anyone with a set of ears. ‘Bra’ is just a properly deep funk cut. All horns, bass, and downright funky drum work – it’s the kind of tune that you can’t really stay still to.

While ‘Bra’ is the reason you’ll know Cymande, there’s a lot more to them than a De La Soul sample. Here, for example, is the tune that you need to know. ‘Brothers on the Slide’ is a track that’s been relatively dormant in my collection for the last few years. I was recently re-introduced to it, and had a moment of truth. From the bass-led intro, through to the handclaps that adorn the tune throughout – it’s just marvellous.

Here’s a bassline to die for…

It’s back.

What can I say? Real life kind of gets in the way, sometimes. But, on Thursday February 23rd, freethinking nyc is back, back, back. It’s hard to imagine that it’s been nearly a year since the last outing…

It’s time to get back behind the decks, and to unleash nearly a year’s worth of new music – as well as some tried and tested, bona-fide freethinking staples. And, with so much pent-up DJ energy, I will be flying solo for volume 26.

You can expect the same genre-defying mix, taking you from Friends to Lee Fields, from Japan to Fred Wesley, from Herbie Hancock to Grand Funk Railroad, from Happy Mondays to Mos Def. This is about throwing good music at the wall, and seeing what sticks.

All I ask of you: Bring an open mind.

the vig bar
Elizabeth & Spring, NYC
Thursday, February 23rd
8pm – late

NO COVER

I’ll be honest, I’m a bit down on Florence. And her Machine. When I was first introduced to her, and her Machine, I was blown away. My initial reaction was to tweet that I’d just seen the offspring of Siouxsie Sioux, Bjork and Kate Bush up on stage. Her voice was primal – it deserved a space on the periodic table, right next to phosphorous. From nowhere, she’d just completely combust on stage, her voice practically flooring the audience with sheer power. And, when it came to her debut album – released to ludicrously high expectations – it was completely nailed. ‘Lungs’. It couldn’t have been a more fitting album title.

And then it started to go a bit wrong. Not monstrously wrong, just a bit ‘off’. It wasn’t that Florence became massive, it was that she became untamed. In 2009, just a little after ‘Lungs’ had been released, I saw a frankly staggering set at NYC’s Bowery Ballroom. A tiny audience looked shellshocked at what they were witnessing. There was a frisson of excitement throughout the room: it was special. Just a few months later, and I caught Florence play at NYC’s premier crappy venue (which, to be fair is probably not a good start) Terminal 5. The excitement had all but dispersed. It was just, well, too much. Part of the prior appeal was that she held back a little. At earlier gigs, when the full force of Florence’s voice was unleashed on the crowd, it felt like being smacked in the face. At Terminal 5, it suddenly became the modus operandi. And, her voice was not bearing up as well as a result. That, and I suspect more than a few late nights on the sauce. Don’t get me wrong, it was still a great gig – but you could just see a few problems creeping in. you could sense that the bombast was going to be the main thrust of Florence’s work from here on in. Sadly, it looked like the sense of foreboding was well deserved.

I’ll keep my comments about album #2 brief. Let’s just say that the arena-sized ambitions of ‘Ceremonials’ just doesn’t sit well with me. It’s essentially the same album as ‘Lungs’, but with everything turned up. It’s full. It’s just not fun any more.

It feels good getting that off my chest. I’ve been carrying a burden around with me for the last few months. It was prompted (and partially prologued) in my ‘Top 10 of 2011’ post, where ‘Ceremonials’ was resolutely not included. ‘50 Words for Snow’ was, however, called out. An album of sheer brilliance from one of the three ladies called out as the spiritual mothers of Florence. An album soaked in originality, despite its slight nature. An album by Kate Bush.

She’s a freethinker if ever there was one, that Kate. Potentially (probably) bonkers, but giving you a sense that she has more ideas than a brainstorming session full of NASA scientists, you have to acknowledge that she’s a major influence on a ton of other artists. Florence being front of the queue of people who should pay their dues. Natasha ‘Bat For Lashes’ Khan should probably stand right behind her.

There’s nothing wrong with proper, pure pop music. In the late 70s and early 80s, Kate Bush was on an intelligent pop crusade, fuelled by constant invention. ‘Running Up That Hill’ – a tune that still sounds good in the middle of a DJ set. Seriously. ‘Babooshka’ – borderline looniness. ‘This Woman’s Work’ – an emotional sucker punch. ‘Wuthering Heights’ – just sounds like Top of The Pops from the late 70s. ‘Cloudbusting’ – scarcely has a better pop song been written. Even on her 2005 comeback album ‘Ariel’, she managed to knock the ball out of the park with the lead single ‘King of The Mountain’ – an epic return with all the confidence and vigour of a swaggering teenager.

But, the high point in the Kate Bush archives has to be ‘Hounds of Love’. It’s a genuine masterpiece. It’s Peter Gabriel, in female form. It’s got ‘oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo’ as a chanted backing lyric. It just gets the hell on with it, but still builds from a frantic opening into something truly magical. And, in the delivery of ‘and THROOOWWW them in the lake’, it’s got a screamed/grunted vocal to challenge Stevie Wonder on ‘Living for The City’ or Paul McCartney on ‘Hey Jude’. All crazy drums and mad strings, it’s probably the clearest blueprint for Florence. And her Machine. Seriously, what’s not to love?

So 2012 looks like it’s the summer of Madchester Revisited. Bring it on, I say. While I’ve already waxed lyrical about the Resurrection of the Stone Roses, the news that there are other Manchester heavyweights getting back on the road is ‘banging’, as MC Tunes might have had it.

It’s not the first reformation for Happy Mondays. A lot is being made this year of it being ‘the original line-up’, but honestly, it’s hardly a detail that many people will get hung up on. As musicians, they’re hardly at the top of their game – but as I’ve said before: it really doesn’t matter. A Happy Mondays gig isn’t just about the music – it’s about a bunch of blokes up on stage truly not giving a flying fuck. It’s unapologetic, and all the better for it. I saw the Happy Mondays the first time around, and they were truly brilliant. Or, to be more accurate, it was a truly brilliant night. I’ve rarely seen a huge venue (in this case, the Manchester G-Mex) transformed so successfully into a mob of ‘up for it’ fans. In fact, the next time I witnessed anything so similar was at the Brixton Academy, about ten years later, when the ‘we need to pay taxes’ Happy Mondays Reformation Part One took place. So yes, I’m chuffed to bits that we’ve got the Mondays back.

On support duties for Happy Mondays, we have Inspiral Carpets. They were always on the second tier of Manchester bands, for me – but considering the competition to reach the upper echelons, it’s perhaps forgivable. Their material just isn’t as widely known as other Mancunian leading lights. Beyond ‘This Is How It Feels’ (which still comes across like a kick in the stomach), I suspect that most people would struggle to name many of their tunes. ‘Dragging Me Down’, however, is just ace. ‘Saturn 5’ should have been massive. Featuring a rarely-sounding-more-demented Mark E Smith (OK, he sounded more demented as he squealed ‘New Face In Hell’ – and this is a good thing), ‘I Want You’ is just bonkers, and probably the best track they ever knocked out. So yes, I’m also chuffed that we’ve got the cool as fuck Inspiral Carpets back.

And, we’ve got some New Order action coming our way – or at least ¾ of New Order. Call it New Ord. Continuing their brief foray into the spotlight at the end of 2011, there are concerts and the potential promise of new material. Now, I love New Order. Properly love them. And Joy Division. As a kid, I was massively into them. They provided the soundtrack to my early teens, they were a constant through university, and I still can’t get enough of them, now. ‘Atmosphere’ still leads me to find a reason to rub my eyes, pretending that they’re not moist. ‘Blue Monday’ still fills me with nothing but joy. ‘Perfect Kiss’ is still one of the most under-rated Manchester epics. But, I just can’t find the enthusiasm for a New Order reformation. At least, not one without Hooky. My despair at this isn’t just because

¾ New Order < New Order

It’s because the remaining ¼ is off, cashing in on the legacy on his own. I just want to shake all four of them, and tell them to get it together. Ian Curtis would be bloody furious. It just feels wrong.

So that’s three Manc reformations which are unquestionably ‘good things’, and one which really isn’t. To be fair, it’s not a terrible outcome. But, there’s one reformation which looms over all of the above. One Manchester band which would, if they appeared for one show together, would eclipse New Order (all four of them), The Stone Roses, Inspiral Carpets AND Happy Mondays – all on the same bill. And no, I’m not talking about Northside. [As an aside, the last time I threw in a one-liner about Northside, I received a message from a clearly infuriated fan, critical of my ‘snipe’. For the record: I actually liked Northside]

No – the reformation for which I’d pay top dollar, and travel to wherever I needed to be in order to see, is for a band which were already gone by the time of the ‘Madchester’ summer. While they weren’t there, however, their presence was felt. An undercurrent was there. I’m talking about The Smiths. Now THAT would be banging.

Best video ever? Possibly…

Enough. Seriously. Did you really think the original Material Girl would go all Bette Midler, start wearing sequin gowns (though I know, she has) and sing Wind Beneath My Wings sentimental bumph?

Yes? Obviously you have had your head under a rock.

Madge is about to release a new album and head out on a smashing world tour. I already have tickets to her July 17^th show in Hyde Park. Paid an extra £15 to get early access. I can tell you – it will be worth every penny.

Love her or hate her, she is amazing on stage. The first time I saw her was on the Confessions tour. My feet have never hurt so much from dancing. I left the stadium thinking this is the best show (and I mean SHOW) I had ever seen. Next up, the Sticky and Sweet tour. Good, but not quite up to her normal full-on showmanship. Maybe it was the divorce distracting her.

Regardless, as she was carried into the stadium during the halftime show at Super Bowl 2012 in a massive chariot by a legion of Romans, I thought: she is back. Yeah she wobbled a bit in her boots (did you see those heels?) and M.I.A tried to steal the show by giving the cameras the finger (Note: Madonna basically gave the extreme right republican Christian fundamentalists the finger by closing with her most popular, and controversial song, Like a Prayer, in case you missed it) – there is no denying she was pure Madge.

There are critics out there saying she is trying to compete with Lady Gaga. Trying to prove that she still has enough sex appeal to compete with all those young pop stars posting pictures of their nipples on twitter (yes, I mean you Miley Cyrus).

Let me put it this way: Madonna does not have to compete with anyone. Without Madonna, there would be no Gaga. Madonna broke the glass ceiling. In a day in age where pre-fabricated pop stars are a dime a dozen and everyone seems to need auto tune, I am extremely glad for one that Madonna gets up on stage and does what she does. Oh, and for the record, the lady can carry a tune.

Next time you start to think she is too old for (her 24 year old boyfriend, wearing her knickers on stage, getting naked for the camera), ask yourself: would you criticize Tom Jones for being too old to shake his stuff, or have pensioners throw their knickers on stage? If yes, then perhaps it is time to get you a nice cup of tea and turn on some talk radio.

For now though, let’s all sit back and watch Madonna shake her pom poms.

Where is Matt Deighton? He should be one of the UKs most celebrated singer/song-writers, but instead he’s Missing In Action. His recording career has seen him cover a huge territory, from soulful pop to full-on psychedelic rock through to acid-tinged funk. The common thread is about as English as a pint of bitter – folk, but not folk music. Think Nick Drake, Traffic, The Small Faces and John Martyn, but with lashings of Weller. Only better than the sum of the parts. Much better.

It’s with Oasis that most people probably know Matt Deighton. He famously stepped in to fill the shoes of Noel Gallagher on tour, after one of many brotherly breakups. Guitarist for hire duties were not limited to Oasis. For a short while, Matt was also the guitarist in Weller’s solo band (if memory serves, it was the Heavy Soul tour). I remember a mate – definitely a mate, and not me – shouting requests for Matt Deighton songs when we saw Weller play. Alcohol may have been involved…

But, there’s so much more to him than merely playing a support role to other musicians. As the front man of Mother Earth, Matt Deighton was also responsible for some of the most exciting music to come out of the Acid Jazz scene in the mid 90s. Tracks like ‘Jesse’, ‘Stoned Woman’ and ‘Find It’ are absolute stone-cold classics. If you’re not familiar with them, then I can’t recommend a dip into the Mother Earth back catalogue highly enough.

But, the psychedelic-rock and acid-funk of Mother Earth really don’t capture the heart of Matt Deighton’s song-writing prowess. Mother Earth was fun – really good fun – but it’s more an appetizer to the main course.

Through five solo albums – and one beautifully crafted project with Chris Sheehan as The Bench Connection – Matt Deighton demonstrated a rare ability to craft pitch perfect folk-tinged pop. It’s a crime that these six albums are not held up in high praise on a regular basis. Moreover, they’re albums which are pretty much all but forgotten. Seriously – you try a search on Matt Deighton on the internet. You’ll come across an old MySpace site (retro!), a few articles, discography links, and a few videos on YouTube. It’s hardly the set of results you’d expect from one of the UKs most talented song-writers. You can tell he pours everything into his music. It’s heart on the sleeve territory, but with such unabashed honesty that you feel nothing but compassion when he shares feelings about where life goes wrong, and shared joy when things are on an upturn.

Featuring guest appearances from Paul Weller, Ernie McKone, Steve White, Marco Nelson, Chris Difford (Chris chuffing Difford!), Mick Talbot, – and I was reminded last week – the mighty Brian Auger, Matt Deighton’s solo work is a pure treasure trove. It’s grown up music. Earlier albums also feature the spectacular vocals from freethinking favourite Nicola Bright-Thomas – his then wife.

It started with ‘Villager’ – an album that couldn’t sound more like an idyllic English summer if it tried (‘Pure English Honey’ is probably the best representation of this). I don’t say this lightly, but in my opinion ‘Villager’ is a serious contender for the best album put out on the Acid Jazz label (OK, if there are any pedants, it was the ‘Focus’ imprint, but my statement stands). What’s not to love about an album containing a song called ‘Jesus Loves The Rain’?

From there, ‘You Are The Healer’ took a similar formula, but perfected it even further. ’72 Minutes To Switzerland’ is one of the most beautiful songs you’ll hear. Or – you probably won’t hear, as it’s nowhere to be found, these days. It’s a glorious album – heartfelt, and full of life. You can sense the creativity involved in the making of the album came from a place of deep content with the world. You should be able to get it on prescription as a cure for depression.

‘The Common Good’ is Matt Deighton at his most Weller-esque. ‘Finger of Rain’ could be taken straight from ‘Stanley Road’. And, to be fair, it’s tons better than the material which was put out by Weller at around the same time. Highly recommended…

‘Wake Up The Moths’ was a while in the making – and it’s fairly apparent that things were less rosy in Matt Deighton’s world. Beck may have opened his heart on ‘Sea Change’ – Matt Deighton did likewise here, to devastating effect.

Matt’s last solo album was released nearly three years ago. ‘Part of Your Life’ was less compelling than previous offerings, but mainly because it came on the heels of the aforementioned project with Chris Sheehan: The Bench Connection.

‘Around The House in 80 Days’, the only material which The Bench Connection released, was – and still is – a sublime album. ‘Young At Last’ is a song which will stay with you for many years once you’ve heard it. Weathered, and dripping with the wisdom of a life lived, it’s a breathtaking piece of song-writing. ‘Saint Want’ is a tune that’s begging for more widespread awareness. Honestly – I can scarcely think of an album so richly deserving of critical acclaim.

I managed to catch Matt Deighton – and Nicola Bright-Thomas – at one of their 12 Bar Club gigs in London in the early 2000s, and it was just electric. A venue large enough to be a living room – a New York living room at that – and a song-writer so absolutely in tune with his craft that the intimacy of his words was enough to stun the audience. In a world where James Blunt can sing ‘You’re Beautiful’, and people swoon, or where Coldplay bang out any old shite and people go mental, or even where Damien Rice sings ‘The Blower’s Daughter’ to garner a massive following – just why did it never work for Matt Deigthon?

I return the to Matt Deighton / Nick Drake comparison. Sadly, with Nick Drake the public pretty much missed the boat when the material was first released. It’s like the same mistake has been made again. Sort it out, people.