Another good (wo)man done gone....
And another footle into the corridors of my consciousness, this probably little known name leaving a big gap in my vault of sounds and scenes. Possibly best known as one of the three frontline vocalists in 1970s soul-funksters Kokomo, she was a hell of a lot more than just that.
Flashback to the early mid 70s. Still at school, if towards the later stages, my musical tastes were broadening. As a boarder at a UK private school on the south coast of England, we were effectively imprisoned for weeks on end, albeit with some scant day release visiting rights into the surrounding community. An enlightened housemaster was keen to make our education rounder than just the slog toward university entrance grades, and arranged for occasional school trips to cultural events. This had included Steeleye Span the year before. I was keen to expand this idea, and had persuaded him of the virtue of Procol Harum, necessitating him listening to a record, and he signed my pass out. Astonishingly, he then, without even the presumed mandatory check, allowed me out to visit the Eastbourne Winter Gardens, where the Naughty Rhythms Tour was dropping by. Naughty Rhythms? This was three bands touring together, taking turns to top and bottom the bill, the bands being the chalk, cheese and chowder of Dr Feelgood, Chilli Willi and the Red Hot Peppers and Kokomo. I was a huge Chilli Willi fan, quite liked the cut and thrust of the Feelgoods, but was then unfamiliar with Kokomo. A bit like the Average White band, said friends, but with better singers.
It was a terrific show. I may have discussed it before. The Willi's were great, as expected, Dr Feelgood solid dynamo's, but Kokomo had me completely flummoxed. Loads of 'em, crammed on to the stage, with a hefty waft of Motown/Stax chops that was outwith my then comfort zone by a mile. Yet I was entranced. Sure, I knew of some of the members, the second guitar and bassist, Neal Hubbard and Alan Spenner, both ex-Greaseband and the man on saxes and flutes on nearly every then current record needing a parp, from Clannad to Bad Company, King Crimson to the Stones, the mighty Mel Collins, that being sufficient to defuse any innate prejudice against the style of music. But it was the vocals that stood out, four singers, three at the front, rounded out by those of the fella on keys. The three at the front were Paddy McHugh, Frank Collins and the person I am writing mainly about, Dyan Birch. Taking turns at lead and backing, each had a distinct personality and, collectively, a stunning ensemble hit.
But it wasn't the first I had heard of them. A dimly recalled hit single of a few years before betrayed a similar sound. That song, Friends, had been a favourite of mine, by short lived band, Arrival, the self-same trio, along with Tony O'Malley, who had also joined Kokomo, as the aforementioned fourth singer and piano player. Having enjoyed that song, with Birch singing the lead, McHugh and Collins alongside a then additional female singer, I was ready to enjoy their new direction.
Birch was born in Liverpool in 1949, it being realised early on that she, McHugh and Collins had something. After Arrival had left the building, the trio and O'Malley expanded the concept, in London, and, in truth, had greater expected of them than was ultimately delivered. Hot on the heels of the AWB blazing a UK blue eyed soul strain, with a stellar range of musicians backing, including also Jim Mullen as lead guitarist, later a bigger name in jazz, they never quite staked their claim. True, it was a time of change, with the long hairs of prog rock gradually being sidelined by the more adventurous turks of pub rock, ahead of then being totally, if temporarily, blown out of the water by punk. For a ten piece band playing melodic, soul-infused rock, this had them somewhat out of time. A slightly diffident first release, Kokomo, in 1975, was followed by the more confident Rise and Shine, three years later. By now I was in London, and caught them a number of times, in pubs and clubs, as well as seeming to be the perpetual support act for as number of lesser bands. Mullen had left, his jazzier noodling actually a distraction, and the band seemed more focussed. But it couldn't and didn't last. Even the kudos of the band having been absorbed into Bob Dylan's Desire recordings couldn't sustain them.
Thereafter came a number of rests and reunions, lasting until the death of Alan Spenner in 1991, he and Birch having been partners. The years that followed kept she and the rest of the 'girls', as O'Malley affectionately called the trio, busy, on the sessions circuit, working with and for Bryan Ferry, Terence Trent D'Arby, Alison Moyet and many more, a delight being to spot them, unexpectedly, on Top of the Pops, sashaying around behind any number of other performers.
Kokomo again rose from the ashes in 2008, but Birch's health was failing and her voice beginning to go. She retired from the band in 2014, a victim to the COPD that eventually finished her off, this year. Kokomo continue sporadic performances, now down to Collins, McHugh and O'Malley, fleshed out by a roster of exemplary sidesmen and women, if, when possible, often also featuring a returned Jim Mullen, Alan Hubbard, Mel Collins and percussion superwoman, Jody Linscott, herself an original. At no performance does a mention of Dyan Birch go unmade, with tributes to her part in the story and legacy of the band. Truly, the voice of an angel, singing, below, Aretha's song of the same name:
As an afterword, here's and interesting piece I dug out, relating the the period between Arrival and the establishment of Kokomo. Likewise a set of great video interviews with Frank Collins, that go into some depth his shared history with Birch.
R.I.P., Dyan.
