Severed Heads. Even the name has an ominous John the Baptist-y tone, but what an act (despite I.S. going to town in recent years). Add filters like MTV‘s insidiousness creeping more and more through the cultural concrete at this time, but despite all that Tom Ellard has to be among any top tier list of synth savants. Severed Heads had funk, groove, dissonance and a visual range of imagery which, looking back as I type this inane drivel out, was a one of the personal pit-stops along the paths that converged towards acid house.
Severed Heads had the brightness and crisp sound engineering of various Sheffield bands, but the emphasis was usually on groove and this is the main, underlying factor for including these tracks. A really good ‘mushy’ sound, ie tripping music. Expansive, weird, otherworldly. Exposure came via good ol’ records, tape shares (with hand written track notes), a word of mouth act that filtered down through the age groups at school in the build up to that 16yr split up on the horizon. A testament to Oz. There are stacks to choose from (titles included in case of blockages) so, in no particular order, stfu and drop the music
Harold and Cindy Hospital (shame it wasn’t Harold Bishop)
Dead Eyes Opened, YT has provided a sped up version recorded at +8 that’s sweeeeet
Always Randy
Lamborghini (genius)
Hot With Fleas, you can hear that 80’s pop bass line far more here
Around this time a friend got a technics deck with pitch control. A revolution. Not mixing yet (but not too long), but the world was opening up far more musically. You could get a flow going with mates even with one deck, if your focus and tastes aligned. Cue this monster
What I’m trying to express is a developing love of rhythm. That it could feed into itself even unmixed. Fela Kuti was a bridge, but before going down that route and onto House, need to take stock. On the flip to this worldview and aesthetic would be an act like Zoviet France, another northern behemoth, which is going to take a few days to get to grips with too. It’s the diversity of this period that was monumental.
1988 was a horrendous year overall. Deaths from terrorist violence came into a starker focus, then the tv flooded with the Funeral Murders in Belfast and that cunt Michael Stone’s attack at Milltown cemetery, both within a very short timeframe. The only real out was music, draw, mushrooms, the odd ride and what to do in the autumn career-wise, the consequences of which I still live with today.