Happy 40th Anniversary to Level 42’s eponymous debut album Level 42, originally released in August 1981.
On June 22, 1948, the MV Empire Windrush docked at Tilbury, near London, carrying 802 passengers. Those passengers came from the Caribbean with the promise of a new life filled with opportunities—a promise made by the UK government in the form of the British Nationality Act of 1948. This act gave the right to settlement in the UK from all colonies of the former British Empire, but it was enacted not through any sense of altruism but rather the practicalities of rebuilding a nation ravaged by World War 2.
The arrival was both unexpected and unwelcome to large swathes of British society. But despite the often violent resistance to the migrants coming to staff public services and rebuild the nation, the numbers of people coming from the former empire accelerated. It was estimated in 1951 that the number of people born in the West Indies and residing in the UK was 15,000—by 1961 this had risen to an estimated 172,000. More came from other corners of the empire.
The change in British society that this wave of migration brought is impossible to overstate—every single aspect of British life was changed forever. Indeed, parts of the country are still coming to terms with those changes as we find a fractured nation still reckoning with its murky past and what that means for its identity. Those who resist a change made 73 years ago cling to a society and identity that have long since vanished from these shores, but they are given wind to their regressive sails by a craven government that continues to plant and water the seeds of division—as evidenced by its hostile environment policy and total disrespect for that Windrush generation.
Despite all of the challenges that faced immigrants, their influence was soon felt culturally. As the first generation of Black British kids grew up, there was precious little representation of them in the music they heard. Instead, they looked to their parents’ music collections and to the US where Black artists blossomed (comparatively) through the ‘60s and early ‘70s. Where some engaged with calypso and reggae courtesy of their parents, others heard the jazz funk coming out of the US in the early ‘70s—The Blackbyrds, Lonnie Liston Smith, Earth Wind & Fire and Herbie Hancock to name but a few—and danced the nights away in the clubs that allowed them to.
Of course, it was only a matter of time before the need to dance and find release changed into the need to create and be the reason for others to dance—instruments were picked up, bands created, and songs written. As arguably the first home grown black music movement, those times were exciting. Bluey, founder and driving force of Incognito, recounted this febrile, fertile and inclusive scene my interview with him earlier this year.
The big turning point came when Hi Tension (from Harlesden, NW London) appeared on Top Of The Pops in mid-1978 with their eponymous hit. As writer Paul Lester said in the Guardian earlier this year, "to see Hi-Tension, all scratchy guitars and indelicate brass, exorbitant afros and jittery motion, perform it on Top of the Pops is to witness underground late-70s black London in full effect." Their breakthrough was the inspiration for countless other groups to put their own spin on jazz funk.
Perhaps no group exemplifies this inspiration as much as Level 42. Hailing from the Isle of Wight, a place more readily associated with beaches, retirement homes and Jurassic era fossils, the group started their journey with 1981’s eponymously titled debut album. Though the island may only be a couple of miles from the coast of southern England, the cultural divide between there and the jazz funk movement of London and other urban centers may as well have been a million miles.
Mark King and the Gould brothers (Phil and Rowland “Boon”) had played in bands through their teenage years, but when Phil went to London to study at The Guildhall School of Music and Drama, he met keyboard player Mike Lindup. A shared love of legends like Miles Davis and John McLaughlin saw them bond and then, in 1979, the four of them began to jam together.
Initially, roles were fluid, but soon they settled on a lineup of the Goulds on drums and guitar, Lindup on keys and percussion and King on bass guitar. But King had not played bass guitar before, so he learnt. Very quickly. Taking his love of thumb slap bass guitar techniques created by the likes of Larry Graham, he very soon established his own version thereof.
Beyond those four members, there is another name that plays a vital role in the development of the group. Wally Badarou is a French musician of Benin heritage who was an integral part of the band from their inception through to 1994, playing keys and producing their records. Beyond his work with Level 42, he is a hugely talented and in-demand player/producer having worked as part of Island Records’ Compass Point All Stars and much more.
Though the name Level 42 may be more associated with their mid-1980s output in all its stadium playing pop music glory, their first two albums (at least) are drenched in the positivity and lightness of groove of the Brit Funk era. When I reviewed the STR4TA project earlier in the year, I sandwiched it between two albums of the era to see how it fared against them. One was Incognito’s eponymous album (also of 1981) and the other was this Level 42 debut.
The first sign that pop matters are not on the agenda is the fact that 3 of the 8 tracks here are instrumentals, in keeping with the jazz funk ethos. Album opener “Turn It On” is full of archetypal jazz funk features—there’s the exhortation to optimism, the sprinkles of astral keys and a lowkey groove good enough to sneakily shuffle to. Vocally it sets the framework for much of the band’s output—King takes lead vocals, but Lindup’s gentle falsetto is always there lighting things up delicately with a warm glow.
The three instrumentals (“43,” “Heathrow” and “Dune Tune”) are all great examples of Brit Funk, each highlighting a slightly different piece of the puzzle. On “43,” it is the keyboards, on “Heathrow” it is the chugging, funky bass work from King and on “Dune Tune,” it is the scratchy funk guitar work of Boon Gould. “Dune Tune” in particular is infused with the aspirational, ambitious mysticism that jazz funk groups from the States so often utilized.
Of the three remaining songs, “Almost There” is the one most obviously in a jazz funk vein—once again (and, indeed, as ever) it is Mark King’s hyperactive right thumb that smashes the song into shape, allowing the other components to work their magic too. The other two songs are at once in keeping with the tone of the album in all its jazz funk wonder, but also a sign of things to come further down the line for the band.
“Starchild” bears so many hallmarks of the US jazz funk that they clearly loved. Lyrically, it captures the same Afro-futuristic cosmic vibe that Earth, Wind & Fire, Funkadelic and others captured so memorably (“When I was an infant in my mother’s arms / I would watch the starlight in her face / Cause I was reaching out to understand the cosmic charm / I am just a starchild born in space”).
Musically, it is a tight bumping groove with King playing a much more mellifluous bass line than his usual percussive groove and it features some subtle keyboard interventions. While it would be wide of the mark to suggest Lindup’s voice is the equal of Philip Bailey’s (from Earth, Wind & Fire), it serves the same purpose. It matches the dreamy quality of the lyrics and the child-like innocence in his voice suits it to perfection.
The remaining song though is a monster and one of the finest of the band’s career, but also points towards a future formed more from songs than grooves. That is not to say that there isn’t a groove on “Love Games,” there absolutely is. It is immense and the equal of any groove to come out of the Brit Funk scene, but it also (as the title makes obvious) begins to tiptoe into lyrical waters that go beyond the usual fare of jazz funk. Here affairs of the heart take root: “Once I hoped to be / Your lover and your friend / But it turned into a game / I won’t play no more.”
The signature positivity and optimism of the genre is gone, replaced by the misery of lost love. “Love Games” is the sound of a band in perfect harmony and at the peak of their jazz-funk iteration.
I first came to know Level 42 in the mid ‘80s as a school kid who knew only that which sprang from Radio 1 or Top Of The Pops and their brand of funk infused power pop certainly appealed to me (and many others). But as I have grown older, this work has come to mean as much to me, if not more, as those initial forays into their more pop-oriented work. It’s lightness of groove and freshness still retains its power 40 years after its release and is testament to the reach and appeal of the newly resurgent Brit-funk movement.
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