Automanikk by A Guy Called Gerald (CBS/ 1990)

I pretty much missed out on the whole 'second summer of love' acid house vibe. But, though at the time I blamed circumstance for this particular scene passing me by, the truth was that deep down, it just wasn't my thing. Sure, I liked some of the bleepy sounds that came out of it, but ultimately I couldn't bring myself to buy into all of that hippy peace 'n' love shit. Equally, I didn't throw myself with much abandon into that whole rave scene that followed it, either. At the time I wasn't quite sure why it all failed to engage me, but back then I would have been far more reluctant to admit that I considered the whole thing to be a bit lumpen. I mean, call me a snob if you like, but I'd invested far too much time in the past marking myself off from those I considered to be the herd, to suddenly throw my lot in with a bunch of 'luvved up' former football hoolies and proto-Ibiza Uncut types larging it in shapeless baggy clothes. And to tell you the truth, I was also a bit of a scaredy cat when it came to ecstasy. Sure, I'd always enjoyed speed, but I'd come a cropper a couple of times on hot knives and hash cakes, and so I was more than a little wary of the intense psychotropic reputation of 'E'. But back then, even if I had wanted to 'get on one, matey', I really wouldn't have known where to buy one.
Yet, having said that the acid boom passed me by, I can at least claim to have been there during its early development. For instance, I can distinctly remember the switch in music policy at the Hacienda, from indie to house (albeit with a bit of ACR and New Order thrown in to lessen the shock of the new). And I can remember getting down to early house at the Mardi Gras in Liverpool and The Dial in Derby. At the time, the music sounded agreeably raw to my ears consisting as it did of little more than beats and breaks. But though I enjoyed dancing to it, I never ended up buying more than a smattering of records that could be vaguely regarded as house or even acid: 'It Takes Two' by Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock, 'Block Ink' by Block, 'Put the Needle to the Record' by the Criminal Element Orchestra (or was that Hip Hop?) and, to finally bring us round to the subject of this piece… 'Voodoo Ray' by A Guy Called Gerald.
I first heard Voodoo Ray when I was working as a temp at Our Price Records in Manchester, during the run-up to Christmas 1988. I think it was on a Factory Records house compilation called 'North', which was regularly played over the sound system in the shop. Apparently, Voodoo Ray was a huge record at the Hacienda, but I wouldn't have known that as the good times were fast passing me by (cue violins). You see, I'd finished my degree at North Cheshire College, Warrington, the previous June and had moved with almost indecent haste (at least as far as my parents were concerned), to Manchester with the expectation of landing a top media job at the BBC or Granada TV. Needless to say it didn't pan out that way and I spent most of my time in the city struggling to survive on £26 per week dole. Apart from my good friend Jackie C who lived nearby, I really didn't know too many people in the city. And the combination of my cold flat and poor diet really started to take its toll on my health — I suffered two really bad bouts of flu in a period of just three weeks. So getting a job at Our Price was a real blessing not only because it meant I could eat properly, but that I also got to enjoy a little human companionship (violins grow louder). Indeed, prior to the Our Price job, I'd often go days without speaking to anyone other than the occasional shop-keeper. Truly it was a grim time.
Working at the record shop in the run up to Christmas was a real buzz. It was very busy and there was a great camaraderie amongst the staff. I'd long harboured a desire to work in a record shop, and felt really bitter that I wasn't one of the few temps Our Price decided to take on permanently the following January. Still my disappointment at returning to the dole was tempered slightly by my having been able to take advantage of some staff perks, such as having first dibs on the sale stock and getting a discount on purchases over the counter. And one of those purchases was the Voodoo Ray four track 12".
Things were about to look up, too. In March I landed a position as a licensing officer at the music copyright administration agency, PPL, in London. And without wishing to go into too much detail about that at this particular stage, I'll just say that one of the perks of that job was the monthly record order, where you could order records directly from record company warehouses (majors only, unfortunately) at substantially discounted rates. And it was through that scheme that I purchased the Automannik album.
I have to admit, though, unlike the Voodoo Ray EP, Automanikk is not an album I've ever been particularly smitten by. Having said that, it has somehow managed to survive numerous prunings of my vinyl collection down the years. For though it's never really hooked itself into my heart, in my mind I've always considered it to be an interesting album that I really ought to listen to more. Trouble is, when it comes to music, what's in the heart usually wins out over what's in the head, and so Automanikk has remained a rare visitor to my turntable. And listening to it now for the purposes of this project, it's easy to see why.
Released in 1990 on CBS, Automannik strikes me as that label's attempt to capitalise on, what was at the time, an ever-growing, ever more dance-savvy, mainstream audience. In doing so, the urgent, recorded-in-the-bedroom immediacy and intimacy of the still remarkably fresh sounding Voodoo Ray EP, is largely sacrificed in favour of a far more polished and soulful approach. I say largely, because the excellent opening track 'To the Other Side' seems to work as a suitably abrasive sonic bridge or link from the rough hewn acid beats of the EP to the smoother grooves of the album. It's followed by 'FX', an uptempo number vaguely reminiscent of Black Box's 'Ride on Time' and 'The Power' by Snap. 'Body Mind and Soul' is a seductive, slow-burning vocal number as is the mournful but defiant closer, 'I Won't Give In'. So it certainly has its moments, but the trouble is that there are far too many tracks which chug along aimlessly for far too long and to fairly undistinguished effect. Added to that, the polished production job, particularly on side two, succeeds only in swamping the music is a seamless sheen of blandness, rendering the whole affair something akin to coffee-table house (ooh, you bitch!). So ultimately, as I suggested earlier, Automannik is both a difficult album to hate and difficult one to love. And I always think it's far preferable to provoke a strong reaction, even if its a negative one, than mere middling neutrality. So having avoided such a fate for so long, it's finally down to the charity shop with Automanikk!

BACK TO 'A' HOMEPAGE