The Alan Bown Set were, simultaneously, the Crown Jewels and Gibraltar Apes of British clubland in the 60s: the band that audiences and musicians alike acknowledged as kings of the hill, totemic, dependable and omnipresent. Everything was clover as long as they were on the scene. Somehow, this blanket respect never translated into record sales, even after the band chipped the Set off of their name and groovily became The Alan Bown!.
Their self-titled Deram album from 1969 finds a young, gauche and puppy-dog-keen Robert Palmer stepping into the still-smouldering brogues of departed vocalist Jess Roden. The hallmarks of the band’s sound are all intact – swaggering brass lines from bandleader Bown and John Anthony; Jeff Bannister’s Hammond glowing like an Aga (particularly so on Elope and My Friend) – but as a clutch of songs these are stylistically all over the map. The underplayed jazz/soul crossover of Strange Little Friend works well, as do the claves, congas and acoustic guitars of All I Can Do, while Children Of The Night deserves to be a Northern soul staple if it isn’t already. The Prisoner, however, is a what-the-fuck 10-minute high drama set piece which reels from proto-Iron Maiden bellowing to Bee Geesstyle nanny goat balladry. Schizodelic…
