Dr Feelgood revisited

 Dr Feelgood was the first contemporary band I discovered on my own, so to speak, with no influence or suggestions from my school mates who hadn’t even heard of the Feelgoods. They were into heavy and prog rock bands, not pub rock R & B. I heard Dr Feelgood on the radio, fell in love and immediately sought out their records.

I practically wore out the grooves of Malpractice (1975), the band’s second album, and my first purchase. After that, and up to A Case of the Shakes, I bought all the albums though not necessarily as they were released.  I bought Be Seeing You (1977) and Private Practice (1978) as soon as they appeared in my local record store. Let it Roll (1979) and A Case of the Shakes (1980) came from sale bins.

To me, the first four Feelgoods albums, Down by the Jetty (1975), Malpractice, Stupidity (1976) and Sneakin’ Suspicion (1977), are by far the best records the band put out, because of Wilko Johnson’s song writing and guitar playing. Both these factors made Dr Feelgood distinctive, interesting and highly entertaining. It was also useful, for a break from Lee Brilleaux’s growl, that Johnson took some vocals.

From Be Seeing You. Dr Feelgood became just an ordinary British R & B band albeit with more of a pedigree than most, and I’d wager the band lasted as long as it did, changing guitarists, losing the original rhythm section and eventually Brilleaux passing away, yet with the band carrying on regardless, because of the massive impetus, influence and name it gained from the Wilko Johnson years. I’d also bet that the most loved Feelgoods tunes were written by Johnson.

In about 2006 I acquired CD copies of the first four albums, and when I signed up for Apple Music, I downloaded those albums, with “bonus materials,” to my phone.  I had no interest in the other albums I used to own but now I’ve gone to the trouble of listening to the four albums from Be Seeing You to A Case of the Shakes for the first time probably since the Eighties. Even then I didn’t play the later albums as often as the first four.

My recollection had been that I liked A Case of the Shakes best because the songs were top drawer and the production, and music, gave the record a tough Eighties new wave rock edge and sharpness that made it a joy to listen to. I didn’t listen to the record much at the time because the surface of the vinyl had deteriorated rapidly, leaving jumps and scratches that made the listening experience challenging.

Now, with pristine digital sound, my first impression of the album is reinforced.  The band sounds tough and committed to the material (which is the best in a while) and John Mayo is at the top of his game. Even lee Brilleaux relies less on his gruff growl and sings a bit more, especially on “Violent Love.”

Private Practice is the second best of the four. Where Be Seeing You was quick product to introduce John Mayo to the fans on record, the album that followed it was a more considered affair and Mayo was allowed to do play for more guitar than before. The original Feelgoods' sound was  a simple instrumental trio, with some slide guitar and some blues harp, with not that much studio overdubbing of guitar parts because of Wilko Johnson’s characteristic guitar style. On Private Practice, Mayo puts down many guitar parts, to the extent where the reviewer from the NME compared final track, “Sugar Shaker,” to Jimi Hendrix’s extravagant use of guitar overdubs on “Night Bird Flying.”    

For this reason, at least musically, Private Practice is as conventional a  rock album as the band ever made, and with “Down at the Doctor’s” and “Milk & Alcohol,” contains two bona fide Feelgoods classics not written by Wilko Johnson.  At the time, I was dubious about the jerky, riffy guitar sound Mayo used. On listening to the album now, I appreciate how good it was, much improved from Be Seeing You and far superior to Let it Roll, how ambitious it was and, still, how shaky the song writing was.

\Where Private Practice was a natural development and expansion of the new sound of the band on Be Seeing You, the latter album was vastly and jarringly different to Sneakin’ Suspicion. There was little transition between the one style and the next, because John Mayo, if no less accomplished, was a very different, more traditional, guitarist than Wilko Johnson.  With Be Seeing You, the band lost its edge and immediately sounded like just another journeyman British R & B band; in fact like the competition Dr Feelgood had managed to rise above.

At the time I was quite fond of Be Seeing You and preferred it to Private Practice, but now it sounds lame, dull and, at best, worthy; far from exciting or compelling.

In contrast, and surprisingly, Let it Roll, now sounds far better than I remembered it. It’s still the work of a journeyman band, with no flashes of genius or quirky creativity and one cannot think this band could make A Case of the Shakes only a year later. Let it Roll is smooth, polished, accomplished within limitations the band’s accepted, and therefore a bit dull. 

Today, after listening to and reconsidering these albums, I don’t think I’d be persuaded to add them to my music collection again, even digitally, because they just don’t move me. Private Practice and A Case of the Shakes have merit but both made more sense when they were contemporary and I was a general Feelgoods fan. Since then, I’ve concluded that I’m a Wilko Johnson fan and, without him, that Dr Feelgood represents an ordinary, banal style of R & B I don’t much care for because it lacks quirkiness and a compelling USP.

Dr Feelgood became a brand and carried on regardless of how many founding members it shed along the way, and I suppose that demonstrates the longevity of a powerful brand, if carefully managed  but it’s also sad that brand became bigger than the music it represented. A whole bunch of later Dr Feelgood albums are available on Apple Music and yet I feel absolutely no need to listen to any of them. I’ll stick to the first four albums. The opening chords of “I Can Tell” (Malpractice)  still gives me a visceral excitement and anticipation for what’s to come, and “Back in the Night” from the same album still sounds as otherwordly as when I heard it on Radio 5, amidst the general disco playlist it favoured in 1975.  All the Wilko Johnson songs on Sbeakin’ Suspicion are works of genius and shine so much more brightly than any of the other songs on the record, that it’s ridiculous to think he was kicked out of the band.