On a previous monthly playlist post this year I wrote about my mild disappointment in a TV documentary claiming to be about a ‘great lost Nina Simone album’ which was really just a thin excuse to place Emile Sande with some of Nina’s old musicians and play a jazz gig enhanced by the Simone spirit. The actual album in question was of questionable provenance to say the least although, if you view the film for what it actually was, it was perfectly watchable. On the other end of the scale however, over the past few weeks I watched a music documentary that gave me everything I look for in this style of program. A new feature on the life of Ottilie Patterson sent me diving back into the archives to check out a lot more of the music she made in the fifties and sixties and on top of that, it brought the woman behind the voice vividly to life as lucid personal details added depth to her story.

Ottilie Patterson was a Northern Irish singer who, as a prominent vocalist in the Chris Barber Jazz Band from 1954 onwards, became a leading light within the British Jazz and Blues scenes of the period. Her kudos was down to a voice that stamped conviction and raw power (not something the Trad Jazz scene was often credited with) on the material she brought to the bands repertoire. The part Ottilie played in this is often overlooked; she had married Chris Barber in 1959 and an image as the textbook fifties housewife probably explains how people assumed the connoisseurs material revived by the group was done so solely at the behest of Barber. But Patterson was a genuine aficionado of those music roots and her knowledge, as well as her talent, assured she could hold her own with the many visiting Blues veterans who toured with the Barber band during this time.

Like it or not though, people are judged on appearance so that prim and proper fifties look dated very quickly as the swinging sixties progressed with Mod, Beat, Hippy and Psychedelic fashions crash landing year after year. Maybe that is why the name of Ottilie Patterson is still not mentioned in the same breath as an Amy Winehouse or a Janis Joplin? If there was one thing this documentary did reveal it was that her life brought as much hurt, mental health damage and depression as that experienced by other more heavily documented tortured artists. But Ottilie was born of a different era and a fast fading set of values. She was apparently deferential to her husband in ways that would be scorned today. For Ottilie, it may have been the unfulfilled hopes of a marriage for life (she was divorced from Chris Barber in 1983) and motherhood that broke her soul. It is noted by friends in the film that, even as she disappeared to live out her final two decades in relative solitude and obscurity in Scotland, she maintained the surname Barber, never to marry again.

An emotional core of the documentary comes from a lo-fidelity tape recorded interview Ottilie gave to a journalist in 1990 during which she opens up on devastating personal details of an abortion she had to go through in January 1956, then continues to offer glimpses on how the fall out from those events shadowed her for the rest of her life. It does not seek to deliberately paint Chris Barber in a bad light, criticism of him is mainly limited to an anecdote on how he could sometimes irritate Ottilie by fussing around her too much, it merely reflects how the struggles of their marriage and joint careers impacted Patterson’s world. As early as 1963 she was already beginning to step back from her Barber Band appearances due to stresses the lifestyle brought about, although she would be involved with the set up for another twenty years off and on before finally calling it a day.

Most fascinating of all, Ottilie made a solo album in 1969 released on the Marmalade label and featuring a few compositions of her own. Some of these are especially revealing as hidden in those grooves are hints to the inner turmoil’s her life and vigorously held beliefs led her to endure. It also demonstrates a voice that could enrich any style of material, what a shame she did not choose to develop this side of her art further. ‘3000 Years Of Ottilie’ is impossible to place in any category, it is a unique hybrid of folk, blues and show tune flamboyance. It is also very hard to find nowadays, you can go on Discogs and it is there but you are not going to get it for anything less that £250. Surely this one needs a re-issue? The documentary is well worth seeking out, it is called ‘My Name Is Ottilie’ and features an American musician living in Northern Ireland called Dana Masters whose investigative work does appear motivated by a genuine love of the subject. To tickle your interest further, I have headed up and closed this months playlist with the sound of Ottilie Patterson…

I used to read the weekly music newspapers cover to cover in the late eighties and through the nineties so Mark E Smith was always a character I was aware of long before I paid any attention to his band The Fall. Similarly, long before I really caught on to listening to John Peel on the radio I was aware that he absolutely loved The Fall and believed Mark E Smith to be a criminally under celebrated figure in UK music. Happily as the nineties progressed I grew to absolutely love John Peel on the radio, setting my tape deck to record his show for next day listening should I be out in the evening, leaving strict instructions to whoever might be home exactly when they had to turn the tape over. It is a source of immense frustration to me today that I would re-use the tapes once I had listened rather than saving the programs and building up an archive of shows.

The same can be said, but with a far lesser degree of unwavering devotion, of The Fall. I liked a lot of their stuff and they remain one of those bands who continue to throw up delightful discoveries all these years later. Still, recent BBC4 re-runs of 1994 editions of Top Of The Pops have reminded me that probably my first actual purchase of a record featuring Mark E Smith was the Inspiral Carpets single version of their brilliant ‘I Want You’, on which they invited Mark to add some of his distinctive vocals to. This may also have been the first time Mark had actually appeared on the show and possibly the only time he ever did. I certainly recall watching it 29 years ago and absolutely loving this version (the version that appeared on the bands ‘Devil Hopping’ album a few weeks earlier was just them on their own) and I suspect I was gaping open mouthed at the performance.

Back then Top Of The Pops was still largely acts miming their latest hit single, although it had evolved enough for many performers to actually be singing on live microphones, albeit to a backing track of the rest of the record. The first thing you notice about Mark is that he is holding a scrap of paper presumably as a lyric prompt, which when you consider how off-the-cuff his contribution to the track sounds is actually quite funny. Secondly it is instantly apparent what an unsettling presence he is to the rest of the band, especially singer Tom Hingley who keeps looking over his shoulder at Mark stood there, lurking near the back teasing the front man that he might sabotage the whole charade at any minute. Consequently, Hingley revs his Madchester moves to the max to compensate for the lack of onstage camaraderie with his temporary co-star.

And the remarkable thing is that three decades have not softened the divisive impact of seeing Mark E Smith in such a controlled mainstream setting. There is still that temptation in viewers to dismiss him as some drunk bloke who has stumbled out of the pub across the road, stolen a microphone and wandered to the stage. But if you meet the performance on a musical footing there really is something quite brilliant going on there. The bare bones of the Inspirals song is a declaration of lustful romantic intent, a bold statement of readiness for the white knuckle ride ahead and how this blissful union, based on the singers desire will be “right now and forever”. It is sung and played on that track with utter conviction. Add to that the Mark E Smith element and this onion is immediately shedding multiple extra layers. It suggests this protagonist has a history in relationships that is rather destructive and his inner dialogue knows it is waiting to be unleashed. That passive aggressive “I think you should remember which side you are on” not to mention the insults disguised as banter, especially prominent in this TV performance, “you say you’ve lost two stone in weight so why do you look so fat?” For all his erratic behavior and rough edges, there is no doubt that there was something indelibly fascinating and wonderful happening within the singular work of Mark E Smith. His involvement in this 1994 Inspiral Carpets song turns it into an out-and-out psych rock classic.