In 1984, I heard a record called Café Bleu by The Style Council, and I finally had a focal point for all my various obsessions. My fascination with the 1960s, my growing interest in politics and social issues, even my fondness for sport coats and ties, all seemed to be reflected back at me through the music on Paul Weller's first post-Jam album.
It sounds like nonsense today, but back in the 20th century, something as simple as a record really could change your life, and if not give it purpose, at least give it a reassuring nudge in the right direction. For me, Café Bleu was that nudge, a kind of confirmation call that everything I'd somehow sensed was related, actually was. It connected many, many dots for me, but better still, it laid out a kind of road map for my young mind to follow as I searched for the way forward. I was only 16 back then; road maps were nice to have whilst figuring things out for yourself. Even so, it was a lot of work.
Back then, in the old days, you had to actually go out and look for things. Contraptions like computers weren't able to cheat us out of the process of discovery quite yet, so even with a life-changing record and a burgeoning worldview, it took time and patience to find the right records or the right books or the right clothes. I used to go to the library and check out records that had the right look. If the album was good, I would record it onto a cassette tape and attempt to absorb its essence by listening to it over and over. Sometimes I'd try to illustrate the cassette cases to look similar to the album covers that caught my eye, but most of the time, I had to rely on my memory of the sleeve designs for things like Miles Davis' Round About Midnight until I could find a copy of my own.
So, I was in the midst of discovering all kinds of great new stuff when 1985 rolled around, and now I want to share with you what happened next.
This is the second album by The Style Council, Our Favourite Shop, and just look at that sleeve! Carrying on from the hodge podge of musical styles that made up their debut long player, Paul Weller, Mick Talbot and designer Simon Halfon had the idea to literally wear their interests and influences on their sleeve: They built a set that featured dozens upon dozens of their favorite things to create an imaginary shop filled with the best of everything, from records to books to clothes, and it looked phenomenal:
The Prisoner; Richard Allen's Suedehead and Skinhead paperbacks; George Bernard Shaw; Joe Orton; Lauren Bacall; Michael Caine; an Otis Redding t-shirt on a Twiggy hanger; myriad Beatles references (including the actual gatefold sleeve, designed to mimic Beatles for Sale); college scarves; striped blazers; a poster for Rupert Everett's excellent first film, Another Country; plain cap brogues, a tasty assortment of ties, Silver Age DC comics, Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange... There was so much to take in, not the least of which were the records adorning the shop walls.
As I said earlier, you had to go out and look for things back then, but it wasn't until that album cover was reproduced in color for the gatefold sleeve of TSC's "Come to Milton Keynes" single and an accompanying article about the sleeve design ran in Smash Hits that I was able to begin my search in earnest. What I found made it all worth it, though. This album hooked me on so many different sounds and ideas that it makes me wonder what my life had been like if I hadn't encountered it when I did.
I could do a whole post just about Small Faces sleeves – and I probably will at some point – but this 1967 EP that appeared on the cover of Our Favourite Shopwas my first exposure to them. The mainstream music media has always help up The Who as the living embodiment of all things Mod, but Steve Marriott and Ronnie Lane each had more suss in their respective pinky fingers than all of The Who combined. Just one of a treasure trove of wonderful single and EP sleeves.
In addition to obviously having a huge effect on the development of a teenage Paul Weller, Dr. Feelgood's 1975 debut, Down by the Jetty, is also an amazinglookingrecord. Lee Brilleaux, Wilko Johnson, John B. Sparks and the Big Figure look nothing short of menacing, and the stark black and white of the photo only enhances that feeling, making the sleeve as instantly memorable as Johnson's guitar licks.
This late 1959 Billie Holiday album (actually recorded a few years earlier, in 1956) is a record I gravitated toward purely because of the sleeve. Everything one of Miles Davis' classic Columbia album covers tells you about his poise and cool, David Stone Martin's ilustration tells you about Holiday's personal torment. One of my all-time favorite album covers and an excellent record to boot.
This 1962 collaboration between Stan Getz and Charlie Byrd predates the more famous Getz/Gilberto by a couple years, but I prefer both the music and the sleeve.
The better looking of two great albums by General Johnson's Chairmen of the Board, In Session doesn't have their biggest hits, but for me, it's the superior set of songs. The second side boasts three of my all-time favorite Chairmen of the Board tracks, one right after the other – "Hanging on to a Memory," "I Can't Find Myself" and "When Will She Tell Me She Needs Me" – plus there's only one out of place cover ("Bridge Over Trouble Water"), compared to three on the first album. The early '70s sleeve design wins out, too.
This was one of the albums I could make out clearest from the cover of Our Favourite Shop and related photo shoots, and I knew it was Curtis Mayfield's first solo album. Weller had covered Mayfield's anthemic "Move on Up" with both The Jam and The Style Council, but it was Mayfield's records with The Impressions that made me most excited about getting my hands on Curtis. People go on aboutSuperfly, but I don't think he ever made a better record than this one. I like how wistful and reflective he seems here. Maybe he's just posing for the cover shoot, but it's as if he isn't even aware how cool he looks.
This one has it all: "Respect," "I've Been Loving You Too Long," "Shake," a blistering cover of "Satisfaction" and a strangely sublime cover image that somehow says everything you need to know about the power of Otis Redding singing soul on this 1965 classic. Perfect, from front to back.
I've read that Jimmy Smith was a bit of a prickly fellow, but you'd never know it from his records. The art for several of his Verve albums suggested he could be downright whimsical at times (check out Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf or Peter & The Wolf), and then there's this one, for Rockin' the Boat (one of eight albums he released in 1963, including one with Kenny Burrell), where his joy for playing practically radiates out from the sleeve. Not my favorite of his turns at the Hammond, one of his best album covers and just a fantastic photo.
There are several great Art Blakey sleeves, but I think this one is the most powerful. That blue type just looks so bold against the black and white image, and for some reason, I love the fact he's wearing such a heavy knit sweat while he's playing. Sensible? Perhaps not. Stylish? Absolutely.
A New Perspective is an album I bought for the cover, but then took forever to get into. Incorporating a gospel choir, it verged on modern spiritual music, making the album title very literal. Long story short: probably not the best entry point for Donald Byrd's work, especially for a teenager without a fully formed understanding of jazz. The sleeve design is exceptional, though, and after digging into Byrd's earlier work, I was eventually able to come back to this a few years later and enjoy the music as much the album art.
This was my introduction to Kenny Burrell. Probably my favorite jazz guitarist after Wes Montgomery, I especially love Burrell's collaborations with the Jimmy Smith (particularly on Organ Grinder Swing), but this is easily the best designed of all his albums. Later copied for Elvis Costello's first foray into country, Almost Blue.
