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More Soul Than Wigan Casino (Fortuna Pop!)

A labour of love courtesy of Fortuna Pop!, from the sweetly retro cover design, to the sleevenotes (are they still ‘sleevenotes’ on a cd?) in which each band explains their choice of song. Here we find four indie stalwarts having a crack at covering Northern Soul tracks. My knowledge of Northern Soul wouldn’t even fill one of those groovy embroidered patches, alls I know is it sounds damn fine and is mighty fun to move to. That’s good enough for me.


Kicker have always had that breezy cut grass shimmy and their version of ‘Since You Left’
(The Inticers - 1965) sparkles like an April shower, catching you unawares, making you grin. There’s humming, buzzing organ and snazzy little brass runs and Jill throwing herself into the vocal like a good ‘un. It’s The Style Council with the windows thrown open, designed to make you spin dementedly on the living room floorboards.

Butterflies Of Love: Dan’s lovelorn voice is on form, cracking perfectly over ‘Two Lovers’
(Mary Wells - 1962) as the Butterflies fizz and crash, building a booming backing that’s replete with
bar-room piano, shivering reverb and rolling drums. When are the Butterflies Of Love re-emerging anyway?

Comet Gain manage to make ‘If You Ever Walk Out Of My Life’ (Dena Barnes – 1967) sound like
The Byrds dancing round a hot tambourine with The Shangri Las. In typically contrary Feckster style they’ve re-written the lyrics (in the pub, natch) “to piss off the purists” (always a good motive). Of the four tracks here, this is the one that’ll hide itself in your brain forever, emerging at random moments in
a bewildering burst of handclaps and the desperate need to sing your heart out a la Rachel C.G.

Airport Girl smoulder and growl their way through ‘Lipstick Traces (On A Cigarette)’ (Benny Spellman 1962/ O’Jays 1965) creating a warm, echoey feel that’s reminiscent of the brothers Reid (JAMC not
The Proclaimers) during one of their more reflective moments. You’ll probably not be cutting a rug to this one, more likely you’ll lie sprawled on the rug, savouring
the heartbeat thump of the drums.

R.R.R.G: Careless magnesium flare whir

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