Listen: “El Rego – Dis Moi Oui”

Link to Egon’s NPR piece here.

Though Benin’s 60s and 70s recording scene certainly rivaled that of neighboring Ghana and Nigeria, the European compilers that helped make Nigeria’s Fela Kuti and Ghana’s K.Frimpong (relative) household names have only recently rediscovered the country’s musical heroes.

The earliest benefactors of this resurgence were the inspiring Orchestre Poly Rythmo de Cotonou, whose numerous LPs and 45s offer a funky oeuvre hard to match in West Africa. But the man that Samy Ben Redjeb, producer of the top-notch compilation African Scream Contest Raw & Psychedelic Afro Sounds From Benin & Togo 70s and Legends of Benin credits with kick starting Benin’s funk, or jerk, movement, and whom Poly Rythmo bandleader Melome Clement cites as a direct influence on his ensemble’s sound, has remained a footnote.

Perhaps this is because Theophile Do Rego, better known as El Rego, et Ses Commandos released their groundbreaking tunes on the easily disposed 7” format. With a series of songs now compiled on Analog Africa’s trawls through the Beninois 60s and 70s scenes, and a rumored Voodoofunk/Daptone compilation forthcoming, we can only hope that El Rego’s other killers soon see the light of day.

Above: El Rego et Ses Commandos greeting Miriam Makeba at the Cotonou Airport, circa 1973

Listen: ““I’ll Be So Happy””

When I first went to reissue Lil Lavair and the Fabulous Jade’s funk masterpiece “Cold Heat,” I was forced to grab my master from a CD-R that the DJ Keb Darge had given me in lieu of a copy of his compilation on which the song was to be featured (the comp he was working on – one of his Deep Funk issues for BBE Records – never saw the light of day). I’d only ever heard the group’s A-side, “I’ll Be So Happy,” once, at Keb’s Deep Funk night in London. He played it to me as a favor: “I never really liked this song, the vocals were too Mexican,” he growled. Or something like that.

I remember the way that those Northern Soul boys complained when our reissue hit the stores. They couldn’t believe I’d forsaken the reason they want-listed this rare slice of So-Cal soul in the first place! “But I don’t have the damn record, just the license,” I feebly argued. “And none of the band members have a copy either!”

A year or so after our reissue came out, and after our anthology of the same name followed up my Funky 16 Corners compilation, I received a call from “Polka” Leonard Wojtowicz, the owner of the Lennan label and the man from whom I licensed “Cold Heat” in the first place. “I’m moving to Texas,” he told me. “And I’ve found some of my records at my house. Come get them, they’re yours if you want them.”

A few hours later and my girl and I were standing in the Upland, California home that Leonard had built forty years prior, looking at stacks of 45s (mostly Polka) and LPs (ditto) and, there amongst the Ukrainian school boy cum polka jamboree band issues, was a small stack of Lennan 45s. The Chocolate Light Bulbs. Flames Ltd. And Lil Lavair and the Fabulous Jades “I’ll Be So Happy/Cold Heat.”

That was one hell of an evening. Leonard even gave my girl a heart shaped box of chocolates and gave me a polka 45 pressed and issued in my hometown of Seymour, Connecticut. Man, I miss that dude. Last time I tried to find him in Texas and I got no where.

Listen: “Rich Man, Poor Man.”

Andrew Wartts, based in Bloomington, Illinois, recorded his landmark gospel album There Is A God Somewhere album in the early 1980s and released it on the small Champ imprint based in Nashville, Tennessee. It took funk archivists years to discover this gem, but it’s a timely resurface. Wartts sound – a mixture of soulful, funky, melancholic yet celebratory exhortations to the Lord – belies the music’s age. In a time when most contemporary-leaning Gospel acts were moving towards the “boogie” sounds of then-pop stars such as Prince and Rick James, Wartts stood firm in his commitment to James Brown style funk. As an example, check out “Peter And John,” a quirky riff on “Give It Up, Turn It Loose.” Turning around neatly in 4/4, the rhythm section chooses to skirt, rather than emphasize, “the one.” The result is a slightly off putting, but wholly original entry into the Gospel-Funk archives.

Listen: “Gilgamis.”

Apaslar was one of the first groups with the “Anatolian” rock style; in the early 1960s, Mehmet Soyarslan and Yalcinkaya Tumer already did Turkish folk melodies on their electric guitars. Later collaborations with singer Cem Karaca put them at the top of the Turkish pop charts. Gilgamis, the b side off this 7″ from 1969 and written by Soyarslan, is instrumental without the voice of Cem Karaca. It starts with a couple bars of solo electric bass from player Seyhan Karabay, followed by Leon Habib – the epitome of a Turkish rock drummer. For me, that’s all I need: heavy drums and bass. Untill Mehmet Soyarslan’s electric guitar layers on, completing the trio. This is my personal favorite Turkish instrumental of all time and it will be one of many tracks featured on the new podcast mix Egon, MRR, and I have in the making.
- ADM

Lightin’ Records, early 70s

Listen: “All Praises To Allah.”

So, it’s officially cool for guys that were into funk (exclusively, mind you) to obsess over modal jazz. I vaguely recall the days when most funk collectors looked at those who collected modal jazz as they’d regard the poor sap caricatured as the lame, tweed-wearing “jazz guy” in Jerry Maguire who professed his love for In A Slient Way. Well, that is, besides the likes of Gerald Short, who always stood one step ahead of his peers and recently released an excellent comp of the stuff. It’s hard for the most hard-headed funk-nerd to scoff at Salah Ragab’s “Neveen,” so thanks G.

I knew something was up, then, when I got an early morning call from my English friend telling me about a heated auction that was about to end on eBay. At stake, “All Praises To Allah” by the Lightmen Plus One. “Isn’t that on one of the albums?” I inquired, before thumbing through my shelves in disbelief. No, indeed this song only ever saw release as a poorly-disributed 45 on Bubbha Thomas’s Lightin’ Label. Luckily, I’d found a couple copies back on my first trips through Texas, so I threw it on the turntable and was blown away.

What had I been thinking, when, after I first found this 45, I convinced myself I liked The Kashmere Stage Band’s funk cover (on their Zero Point LP) better? This track rocks! So here I stand, another one of those ex-funk snobs who now intersperses the likes of this song in his DJ sets. Well, at least I had the foresight to buy these records when no one else would pay five dollars for ‘em. There’s some justice in that? Surely?