The Bristol Stool Theory of Music

This theory is based on sound scientific research and the adoption of complex colo-rectal principles to explain one key fact - why singers sound the way they do. Hitherto, arguments over the relative merits of vocalists have been utterly subjective. In a heroic quest to introduce objectivity into the otherwise utterly opinionated and purely subjective field of music criticism, I propose the adoption of the following classification system - The Bristol Stool Scale Theory of Pop.

Long the preserve of medics to classify bowel movements on what could horrifically be called a "sliding" scale of one to seven (from "Hard to pass and nutlike" to "Entirely liquid"), the Bristol Scale has revealed its true application. Ever since Bruce Springsteen first popped a vein (and, it is rumoured, more) when straining for the high notes during "Glory Days" at Wembley Arena in 1985, this theory has gained in credibilty as the one truly scientific way of classifying rock vocalese.

Springsteen's adoption of black jeans as stage wear after a series of unfortunate incidents led members of his band to start referring to him as "Darkness on the Seat of Brown" showed the validity of this groundbreaking research. In line with established scientific practice, however, we must first establish a control, or benchmark for the scale.

Type One - The Bolton Bullet
These small, hard and nutlike stools often require straining from the singer, and may even require breath to be held for long periods before expulsion in an outburst of overwrought exasperation. The passee can occasionally turn purple from the effort, and the result often fails to justify the immense emotional outlay involved. The prime example of the Type One vocalist is everyone's favourite mulleteer, Michael Bolton (pictured left, visibly relieved after a successful bout of pebble dashing.) It is said that our Mike could shatter a car windscreen at a distance of half a mile with the powerful ejection of one of his faux soulful putrid pellets.

See also: Barney from Napalm Death.

Type Two - The Lumpy Bruce
These sausage shaped but lumpy extrusions denote some degree of effort and can occasionally cause visible strain on the face of the afflicted. A prime Type Two stoolee is the originator of the theory, Bruce Springsteen, who can occasionally produce Type Threes or Fours - "The Streets of Philadelphia" was produced after a month long All Bran and banana diet - but is more likely to be found bent forward, heaving like a heifer with a headache.
See also: Joe Cocker

Type Three - The Jaggy Sausage

The strain is beginning to show, but not quite to Bruce levels, as we approach this beauty, so called because of its pleasing mass but possession of just a hint of the unpleasant jagginess which can cause furrowing of the brow. The Jaggy Sausage is the preserve of smooth singers with rough edges. Appropriately, spiky haired trollop tickler Rod Stewart is a perfect example - seemingly effortless vocalising but with a throaty rasp offering just a hint of more craggy exertions. Here he can be seen in the perfect position for squeezing out a jaggy jobbie, and he has even wisely worn spandex to allow himself some extra "give", a true sign of a professional at work.
See also: Otis Redding (He's gotta, gotta, gotta!), Frankie Miller, Paul Rogers ("All Right Now" being a prime example of post jag reflection).

Type 4 - The Smooth Snake
Truly the Prince of Poos, this perfect specimen glides out with all the ease of a velvet torpedo. Needless to say, it tends to provide a lack of emotional "oomph" or any hint of danger and is the preserve of perfectly fed, balanced diet munching popsters with faultless technique but little understanding of what it means to really suffer. In the late 90s the lack of anything resembling rock action saw a plethora of shining examples of this beige wonder.

Fran Healey of Travis can lay claim to one of these, although the undoubted master is Chris Martin of Coldplay, a man so well balanced of bowel that he is often forced to write reminders on his hand to use paper, his ploppers so perfect that he sometimes fails to notice their egress from his apple scented arse. So happy is he with his wonderful toilet habits that it is all he can do to stop himself from "nipping one off" in the most unsuitable of locations, such as here, captured while walking with Gwyneth in Hyde Park and hunkering down to give the ducks a feed they'll never forget. And, given Chris' avowed liking for all things organic and Fairtrade, his eco-turds are often dried, repackaged and available to buy at Coldplay concerts where they bear an uncanny resemblance to Jordan's Fruisli bars.

See also: Bloke from Keane whatever the fuck his name is.

Type Five - The Blurry Blob (or Winehouse)
As we leave the fragrant enamel whiteness of the Martins et al we begin to enter the murky waters of the loose stool brigade. And these waters can get murky. The soft blob presents a pleasing smoothness at first, but hidden behind this facade lurks a world of debauchery and vice of the kind seen in only the more insalubrious of Soho nite-spots. As such, it may appear sweet and innocent at first, but repeated exposure to its ill-formed troubles can lead to rapid deterioration. For this reason, it is sometimes referred to as the Winehouse Stool. Also in this category is mono-limbed folk booze repository John Martyn, who initially gave this stool its original nickname of the "Solid Air".

Vowels will begin to blur, words will lose definition even as the music remains perfectly sculpted, and before you know it incontinence and shambolic mutterings are all that is left. It marks the start of a slippery slope downhill towards the foul depths of...

Type Six - The Monster Mush
Singers fitting this profile have started to lose coherence in a large way. What in the previous type had seemed on occasion to be a pleasing smoothness has now been surpassed by an ill-formed mess which frequently borders on the incoherent and downright slimy. A great exponent of the "mush" is Shane MacGowan, whose vowels have blended into a foul smelling miasma of Martini and Malboros and who pours out his words with the splattering profligacy of the truly inspired. Unfortunately, such is the stench created by this mushy horror that few people can make out the profundity through the intestinal fug. Rapidly bringing up the rear (so to speak) is trainee musher Pete Doherty, who rumour has it is preparing to move in with Shane to better share fluffy tips.

Type Seven - The Liquid Launch
In an almost Neitzchean coup, Liquid Launchers have passed beyond Good and Evil into a realm of almost transcendent toilet habit. Effortless, floating and possessed of so little gravity that their vocalising cannot truly be called solid in any way, such singers are epitmosed by porky androgyne Anthony Hegarty (of Johnsons fame), a man whose vocals are so liquid that they barely have time to form before they dissolve into soft clouds of fragrant liquidity. Originally, his breakthrough album was to have been called "I Am a Turd Now" but sharp eyed observers pointed out to him that this would represent wishful thinking of the highest order, and redirected him to something more suitably weightless. Here he can be seen lurking behind Jo Whiley (as yet un-rated on the Bristol Scale) in case someone should pass him an oat cake and disrupt his carefully cultivated looseness.

The Court of the Crimson King - Mellotrons Ahoy!

Gonzo rock critic Lester Bangs labelled it a mix of ‘myth, mystification and mellotrons’. Poor old codeine guzzling Lester thought this was a bad thing. He was wrong, of course. Although routinely lumped in with the excesses of progressive rock, In the Court of the Crimson King remains one of the most defiantly adventurous, rigorously experimental and downright strange records ever made.

King Crimson originally formed from the remains of Giles, Giles and Fripp, a folky trio who had cut one poorly selling album (The Cheerful Insanity of…) in 1968. Briefly boasting ex-Fairport Convention singer Judy Dyble in their ranks, the band gelled with the arrival of multi-instrumentalist Ian McDonald and bass player/vocalist Greg Lake. Assisted by suitably portentous lyrics courtesy of band roadie and light show operator Pete Sinfeld, the band made their debut before 650, 000 people on the bill of the Rolling Stones’ free concert in Hyde Park in July 1969.

The warm reception their appearance gained no doubt inspired them when it came time to record the album later that month. Self produced in an era when such artistic freedom was still relatively rare, it was an immediate success, catching the emergent vogue for progressive music and resonating perfectly with the darker mood beginning to cloud the end of the 60s.

From the crashing chords and distorted vocals of 21st Century Schizoid Man to the eerie textures of Moonchild, In the Court of the Crimson King is a million miles away from soothing flower power homily. Occasionally the music seems to break free from structure altogether, flowing into jazzy improvisation and jarring chord and tempo changes. Sinfeld’s lyrical flights have enough lysergic bite to keep them on the right side of pretentious, perfectly matching the musical foreboding on the doom laden title track.

Unfortunately the strength of musical personalities was too much to sustain. Even as the album was becoming a head favourite, the line-up was splintering, with McDonald and Michael Giles baling out first, disenchanted with the band’s musical direction. McDonald would later re-surface in that renowned band of avant-garde adventurers Foreigner. Greg Lake hung around long enough to record vocals for the band’s second album before following his own particular road of excess into ELP.

Fripp, meanwhile, has kept the Crimson flame alive through the years, continuing to record challenging and exciting records with a variety of line-ups (1995’s Thrak was a powerful return) while collaborating with other maverick talents such as Brian Eno and David Bowie. In the Court... was recently re-mastered by Fripp, restoring the sonic clarity missing from earlier CD pressings.

What's Going On

The album widely regarded as Marvin Gaye's masterpiece almost never got made at all. At the turn of the 70s, Gaye had fallen out of favour at Motown and developed a reputation for wayward behaviour. Traumatised by the death of duet partner Tammi Terrell in March 1970, he had retreated from the limelight and was smoking grass in prodigious quantities.

His return to the studio was therefore met with some scepticism by Motown boss Berry Gordy. The first track to emerge was the titled track, which in itself had a convoluted genesis. Written by Four Tops member Renaldo Johnson and lyricist Al Cleveland, it had already been turned down by the Tops and Joan Baez. Johnson and Cleveland persuaded Gaye to record it only by dangling the carrot of a cut in the publishing.

From then on, recording proceeded in a relaxed atmosphere amid clouds of dope smoke. What's Going' On reflected a new mood of dissatisfaction with contemporary America. The promised Great Society had failed to appear and the inner cities were awash with race conflict, hard drugs and poverty. As well as the continued conflict in South East Asia, America was at war with itself.

Some musicians used this as a platform for belligerence, confrontational lyrics and a rising militancy. Gaye, however, took the opposite view. What's Going On was a relaxed, inclusive record, epitomised by the 'brother, brother' opening. Gaye cast his eyes over a range of social ills, from the plight of the ghettoes to the state of the planet. Throughout the message was sweetened by David van DePitte's smooth string arrangements and expertly assembled rhythm tracks, over which Marvin double tracked his vocals. Gaye was partial to protracted bouts of masturbation to rid him of sexual tension and to help achieve a suitably relaxed ambience. Tellingly, the album's themes were all resolutely non-sexual.

However, the relaxed vibe didn't make Gaye easier to work with. He was regularly late for sessions, or missed them altogether. When he did appear it could take hours to nail a good take. Confidence in the album wasn't high, and it took the unexpected success of What's Going On in the single charts to change Berry Gordy's mind and finally give Marvin free rein in the studio.

Gordy, whose reputation was forged in Hitsville USA with a string of classic singles throughout the 60s, suddenly seemed like a man out of time. The album was a massive critical and commercial success, re-establishing Gaye as the company's premier artist even while he drifted further away from the man who was both his boss and brother-in-law. He followed it up with his tremendous soundtrack for the blaxploitation film Trouble Man, before returning to politics of a sexual nature on Let's Get It On. However, What's Going On remains his best.

Scorched Earth - Funk Rock Grooves

I came across this CD completely by accident (a promo copy lying around my office, in fact) and stuck it in the Walkman on the way home, drawn by the inclusion of a few famous names, such as Quicksilver Messenger Service and Ike and Tina. I have to say, it certainly livened up a dull tube journey.

From an era (the late 60s and early 70s) when it seemed it was practically a requirement for every band to get a little funky, this trawl through EMI's vaults throws up a mixed bag, but one which makes for a very enjoyable listen. From the deranged Japanese funk of Sadistic Mika Band (with a break just crying out for sampling!) to the silky funk blues of Quicksilver Messenger Service and the fat horn section funk rock of Alexis Korner's CCS, there's much to enjoy here. But the highlight for fans of Hammond organ is the nearly seven minute work out of Green-Eyed Lady by Denver based one-hit wonders Sugar Loaf, in which the organist pulls out all the stops (literally) over a mesmeric groove vaguely reminiscent of Brian Auger's work from the same period.

Elsewhere, Terry Reid, one of British rock's great lost voices, turns in a creditable version of Donovan's slightly creepy ode to a 14 year old groupie, Superlungs My Supergirl, and you also get a track from the Steve Miller Band before they took off and flew like eagles into FM ubiquity, showcasing Miller's prodigious guitar skills. Also, listen out for the sound of Bob Downes being strangled whilst attempting to play the saxophone...at least that's what it sounds like!

The only sour note is sounded by the bizarre inclusion of Hank Marvin's ill advised foray into psychedelia on Sunday for Seven Days, like your geography teacher trying to get down with the kids.

Like most samplers, you probably won't like it all, but plenty of it is worth having, and might open up a few new seams in your record library. Fascinating stuff, and you get the impression someone at EMI had a blast putting it together. Good effort, whoever you are!

Mind the Soap - Johnny Cash Live at Folsom Prison

'Hello. I'm Johnny Cash...'

It might not be the wittiest opening line, but it's hard to imagine 'Hello, I'm Mick Hucknall' having the same impact. Similarly there are few live albums possessing such an electrifying ambience. Recorded within the forbidding walls of a maximum security jail housing some of California's most notorious criminals, Live At Folsom Prison may well be Cash's finest moment.

Cash was no stranger to the insides of a cell, mainly for public order and drugs offences. He'd also played inside prisons before - Merle Haggard tells of seeing Cash play in San Quentin when he was an inmate himself - but this would be the first time his performance was captured on tape.

By the late sixties Cash's career was in dire need of a boost. The hits had dried up. His hard living had effectively blackballed him with the Nashville country establishment. It took marriage to June Carter in 1968 to put him back on the straight and narrow. At Folsom Prison was intended to bring Cash back into the public eye, but it wasn't a compromise.

The stripped down rockabilly of the Tennessee Three was a long way from the prevailing trends of the moment in country, and provided the perfect framework for the tales of prisons, cocaine, bad women and worse whiskey. It's still slightly chilling when Cash gets his biggest cheer for the line in Folsom Prison Blues about shooting a man in Reno just to watch him die - you can imagine many of the audience having done just that.

At Folsom Prison was released to widespread acclaim, giving Cash his biggest hit to date. Its outlaw appeal enabled his first major crossover into the mainstream. Coming just as many American rock acts, in particular The Byrds, were rediscovering and reinventing country music, it won him a new audience as well as adding to the iconic status he still enjoys today. A guest appearance on Bob Dylan's Nashville Skyline album soon followed, with Cash returning the compliment by inviting Dylan to appear on his television show. A follow up album was recorded at San Quentin prison, but Live at Folsom Prison remains the better, more focussed, set.

The Human League - Greatest Hits

Review originally published on the BBC Music Website. I have to say, I astonish myself with my fairness in this review, as I could quite happily live without ever hearing the Human League again.

There are a number of reasons why we should celebrate The Human League. For starters, there's Phil Oakey's defiantly ridiculous hair style. There's his recruitment of two schoolgirls from the dance floor of a Sheffield disco into the band, like a Jackie photo story made flesh.

There's also their indelible imprint on the landscape of early 80s British pop. Without the Human League there would be no Depeche Mode, no Yazoo, no Howard Jones...

It's unsurprising that this latest compilation plays its trump card immediately with ''Don't You Want Me''. As perfectly constructed as any pop can be, its shifts between major and minor perfectly reflect the emotional turmoil and yuppie angst of the lyric. It's almost matched by the other singles from the classic Dare album, such as ''Open Your Heart'' and ''The Sound of the Crowd''; a perfect marriage of synthesised detachment and romantic yearning.

How odd, then, to find a brace of early singles tucked away at the end of the CD. Pre-schoolgirls and discotheques, The Human League was as po-faced as any band could be. ''Being Boiled'' remains the greatest single inspired by the plight of silk worms ever released. ''Empire State Human'', which finds Phil cleverly rhyming 'tall' with 'wall' ad nauseum, still sounds remarkably contemporary. Screamingly pretentious, of course, and all the better for it.

Even after Martyn Ware and Ian Marsh departed to form Heaven 17, Phil's liking for doomy pronouncements still lurked beneath the pop veneer. Take 1984's ''The Lebanon''. A misguided foray into middle-eastern politics, it may well be their lyrical nadir, their trademark synth-pop swamped in a hideous 80s production.

Although 1986's ''Human'' momentarily revived their chart fortunes, they never equalled Dare. By the 90s, they had committed the cardinal sin of their futurist origins: they sounded dated. Mid 90s singles such as ''Tell Me When'' were largely forgettable. Tellingly, 2001's ''All I Ever Wanted'' is redolent of their earlier, purely electro sound, and marks a return to form.

Now largely confined to the tawdry spectacle of 80s revival tours, The League's best years may be behind them. However, as this compilation demonstrates, they were one of the great singles bands of their era, and proved enormously influential on subsequent electro-pop. And if they failed to equal the sublime pop rush of ''Dont You Want Me'', they can always rest in the knowledge that few ever did.

Rolling Stones - Singles

Originally published on the BBC Music Website in 2004.

The second instalment in this handsomely packaged but vaguely pointless series finds the Stones moving away from blues and Chuck Berry covers and hitting their stride as one of the prime singles bands of their era.

You'll be familiar with the A-Sides, of course. Kicking off with ''(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction'', this collection traces the Stones' evolution into perfect chroniclers of their era the pocket psychodramas of ''19th Nervous Breakdown'' and ''Paint It Black'', the social commentary of ''Mother's Little Helper'', the psychedelic whimsy of ''She's A Rainbow''. Classics all, but can there really be anyone who doesn't own most of these already?

The B-sides for the most part don't measure up to the glories of their flips, but there's still much to cherish here for Stones collectors. Many of them find the Stones harking back to their blues roots, whether it's on the Slim Harpo style stomp of ''Who's Driving Your Plane'', or the more laid back ''The Spider and The Fly''. There are also a couple of lesser pop gems, such as ''I'm Free'', memorably revived by Bellshill indie chancers The Soup Dragons, and the airy fairy ''Dandelion'' from their brief flirtation with flower power. The latter, of course, was only a B-side in the UK - in the US it reached the top 20 in its own right.

Personally, this reviewer is a big fan of The Stones psychedelic phase - there's something gloriously incongruous about hearing Big Bad Mick forsaking his butch blues boy act for songs about love, flowers and rainbows. ''2000 Light Years From Home'' remains the perfect flip side to the marmalade skies of the benign flower power revolution, it's swirling mellotron and ominous bass riff carrying the song into dark nebulae of alienation and loneliness.

Altogether, it's a great collection of music, but whether you want to fork out over 30 quid for some nice packaging is another matter. If you do, you'll probably end up burning them all onto a couple of CDs anyway - the music's certainly worth the effort.