Robbi Curtice (real name Rob Ashmore) was born in Warwick, in the heart of England, in October 1946. In 1972 he married his wife Eileen, with whom he has two children and five grandchildren. His son Jimi runs a successful music company, Lift Music, in Brighton. Robbi’s songwriting activities began when he met up with Tom Payne at Warwick School in the early 1960s. In June 1968 Mills Music obtained the publishing rights to their song "When Diana Paints the Picture”. The recording was produced by Robbi’s new managers - Ralph Murphy (later vice-president of ASCAP) and Vic Smith, later to be Vic Coppersmith-Heaven, record producer for the Jam. It was they who gave him his new stage name. Although the resulting recording sounded amazing in the studio, plans to release the single in UK on the Decca label fell through. Eventually the single was released in US only on Mike Curb's Sidewalk Label with their song relegated to the “B” side. "The Soul of a Man" was new the “A” side, a song jointly written by Ralph and Vic. After this setback, Rob, who had by now completed his teacher training, decide to concentrate upon his day job, working at home and abroad and finally returning to England to take up the post of a Headteacher at a Berkshire school in the mid 1980s. Then, out of the blue, “When Diana Paints the Picture” was included in Vol. 3 of the Swedish rare 1960s CDs “Fading Yellow”. Then “The Soul of a Man” and “Gospel Lane” were included in Vol. 4 of the same series. In 2007 “Gospel Lane” attracted the interest of French film director, Serge Bozon who chose the song to feature in his feature film "La France", which went on to feature in the Directors' Fortnight at that year's Cannes Film Festival. More recently, another song written with Tom Payne, the previously unreleased demo track “The Things I Do for Pamela” was included in the limited-edition vinyl “Fading Yellow” album, released by Flower Machine Records in November 2011. In October 2014 “When Diana Paints the Picture”, now being described as a “coveted baroque single” was digitally re-mastered by Steve Stanley and re-released on "Book a Trip 2 (More Psych Pop Sounds of Capital Records). In 2020 “The Ashmore-Payne Songbook Vol. 1”, a collection of 12 songs written and recorded in the late 60s/early 70s was published on all digital platforms. Later albums include “The Ashmore-Payne Songbook Vol.2”, “Fast Forward Thirty”, “Jonathan and Alison”, “Life Still” and “Ends and Odds”. Working with his son Jimi, Robbi also contributed lyrics for “Friend of Mine” as part of the project run by Zeamu for music for younger pop fans, and for “To Be With You at Christmas” for “Christmas Crackers” on Poke Music. At the UK premier of “La France” at London’s L’institut Francais, a concert featuring Barbara Carlotti took place after the showing of the film and Robbi was invited to perform “Gospel Lane” with Benjamín Esdraffo and the band. Robbi and Benjamín kept in touch and have since written several songs together.
The cross-Channel way the songs were written was unusual. Robbi sent the lyrics to Benjamin, who, if inspired, composed the melody and electronically sent Robbi his recordings of the backing tracks to be used. Robbi then recorded his vocals and sent them back to Benjamin for mixing. The forthcoming EP - Nothing to Write Home About - represents the best of their recent collaborations.
Non mi è ben chiaro neanche come, in tutta questa temperie culturale e artistica, si possa inquadrare la strana e sorprendente storia di Robbi Curtice, ma ho la netta sensazione che abbia molto a che vedervi e che sia interessante anche perché costituisce una sorta di corto circuito della retromania. Ma partiamo dall’inizio. Negli anni sessanta dello scorso secolo, il giovane Robbi Curtice, aspirante musicista e compositore inglese, incide un singolo (The Soul Of A Man/ When Diana Paints The Picture) e un altro paio di brani che, tuttavia, non gli fruttano alcun successo. Così, messe da parte le sue ambizioni, decide di imbarcarsi con la giovane moglie verso Cipro, dove si ferma a fare l’insegnante per oltre trent’anni (utilizzando il suo vero nome, naturalmente: Rob Ashmore). La storia musicale di Robbi sarebbe potuta finire lì. Magari il Prof. Ashmore avrà raccontato a qualcuno dei suoi alunni del suo passato di wannabe popstar, magari a un barbecue -durante il quale aveva alzato un po’ il gomito- avrà sostenuto che sarebbe potuto essere più famoso dei Beatles, tra le risate divertite degli astanti. Oppure no.
Quello che accade per certo, invece, è che, nel 2007, a una quarantina d’anni dall’incisione di quei brani, il regista francese Serge Bozon, andando alla ricerca della musica per accompagnare i titoli di coda del suo film “La France”, si imbatta, grazie al suo consulente artistico, in una compilation svedese di oscuro pop vintage, Fading Yellow 4. Tra le tante canzoni contenute in quella raccolta, Bozon rimane colpito da Gospel Lane, brano firmato dalla sconosciuta coppia Curtice-Payne, e decide di utilizzarlo per i titoli di coda del suo film. E’ proprio in questo momento che nella storia di Robbi Curtice entra in gioco la retromania. Perché non fosse per la retromania imperante, probabilmente il regista francese si sarebbe fermato qui. Ma, circondato da un delirio di revival, ristampe e riscoperte, Bozon pensa bene di mettersi in viaggio con l’amico e consulente musicale Benjamin Esdraffo, grande fan della musica garage americana e del Northern Soul, per ritrovare Robbi Curtice.
Una volta trovatolo, però, evidentemente si rende conto che Curtice non ha un corposo per quanto oscuro back-catalogue da cui tirare fuori una clamorosa nugget from the past, e così, senza perdersi d’animo, invita Robbi di pubblicare, con l’aiuto di Esdraffo, un vero e proprio album d’esordio. A soli 55 anni dalle sue prime canzoni. Non è dato di sapere qual è stata la reazione del Prof. Ashmore, né se l’insegnante avesse già alcune composizioni nel cassetto. Sta di fatto che, ascoltando i sette brani che compongono Nothing To Write Home About, (titolo straordinariamente adatto al lungo esilio di Curtice), ci si trova avvinti in una specie di vortice spazio temporale, degno della trama di un cinefumetto Marvel. Non è più chiaro se ci si trovi di fronte a vecchie registrazioni remasterizzate o a brani nuovi, ma fortemente influenzati da passato, né se chi canta sia un ventenne che ha ascoltato i classici dei sixties a più non posso (c’è più di un punto di contatto sonoro con il magnifico Better Days di Alex Pester, per esempio), o un ex insegnate che, facendo due calcoli, dovrebbe aver superato la settantina. Siamo in una macchina del tempo che ci ha riportato nei sixties? Oppure questa è musica che proviene dai sixties grazie a una macchina del tempo? Il timbro vocale non lascia trasparire l’età del performer, la maestria negli arrangiamenti di Esdaffro rimane in bilico tra nostalgia e “contraffazione” vintage. Passando da brani deliziosi, pieni di malinconia, trasudanti Carnaby Street, double decker bus e cabine telefoniche rosse, quali Seven Years Later o Pick Up The Phone, per arrivare alla fantastica title track, imbattendosi in una 1943 che potrebbe essere un’outtake o una b-side del primissimo Bowie, o in One Man, che sembra uscita dalla penna di un altro outsider dell’epoca (ma un po’ più fortunato) come John Howard, nulla ci permette di capire che queste sono canzoni nuove, scritte e incise nel 2023 e non pepite d’oro nascoste in un forziere sepolto una cinquantina d’anni fa da un musicista talentuoso e folle. Se aggiungiamo che Carrie’s World è una piccola gemma pop che trasuda psichedelia (quella dei primissimi sessanta inglesi), e Divided City è una delicatissima ballata glam (che potrebbe far parte del catalogo di Paul Roland), allora il quadro è davvero completo. Non so se Robbi Curtice inciderà ancora musica in futuro, né se da questa storia il regista francese Serge Bozon ha intenzione di trarre un documentario o una fiction (sulla scia di Searching for Sugar Man). Quello che conta, adesso, è che il corto circuito culturale dovuto a quella retromania, che di solito minaccia di mettere una pietra tombale sulla creatività (non solo musicale), ha, questa volta, prodotto un piccolo, splendente e succinto condensato di squisitezze british, che potremo goderci a lungo, senza farci troppe domande e con buona pace di tutte le implicazioni socio-culturali connesse.
Des sempiternels adeptes du “c’était mieux avant”, il nous faut une fois de plus tempérer l’engouement envers un passé fantasmé. Non, ce ne fut pas forcément plus fécond, ni décidément plus facile pour la créativité artistique, un demi-siècle avant notre ère… Pour un Cat Stevens (révélé dès 1966-67 par ses “Matthew & Son”, “First Cut Is The Deepest”, etc), combien de candidats à l’ascension éphémère des charts s’y brisèrent-ils les ratiches en vain? Car comme de nos jours, la compétition pop dénombrait alors déjà une foule d’impétrants pour bien peu d’élus. Et à moins de s’en remettre à l’aléatoire curiosité des radios pirates, il ne subsistait guère de repêchage pour les pétards mouillés et autres feux follets (ni les réseaux sociaux ni le streaming n’existaient en effet déjà). Et si Elton John, David Bowie, Marc Bolan, Rod Stewart et Genesis ne s’étaient pas obstinés (tandis qu’ils grenouillaient tous encore dans les limbes), la face des seventies (et des décennies suivantes) en eût été bien différente. Que croyez-vous qu’il advint des nombreux recalés de l’âge d’or de la sunshine pop? Eh bien, comme pour les déboutés de la politique ou des Grandes Écoles, il leur fallut se trouver un autre job, pardi. À la différence d’un Jesse Hector (front man légendaire des Hammersmith Gorillas, qui finit technicien de surface, comme la pauvre maman de notre Sinistre de l’Intérieur), et en dépit de titres prometteurs co-signés avec son complice Tom Payne, le jeune Robbi Curtice ravala ainsi ses ambitions de teenage idol, pour embarquer avec femme et bagages vers Chypre, où il exerça trente ans durant le noble métier d’enseignant (sous son véritable état civil, Rob Ashmore). Sa destinée eût pu en rester là, et ses premiers efforts demeurer plus méconnus encore qu’oubliés, sans le proverbial twist of fate, dont Sixto Rodriguez demeure l’épigone le plus fameux (remember “Searching For Sugarman”?). En 2007, le réalisateur français Serge Bozon se mit en quête d’une musique pour accompagner le générique final de son film “La France” (retraçant les amours tragiques du personnage qu’incarnait à l’écran Sylvie Testud, lors de la Première Guerre Mondiale). Son conseiller artistique lui dénicha alors une perle incunable sur une compilation suédoise de vintage pop obscure: “Gospel Lane”. Soit l’un des deux titres de la paire Curtice-Payne ayant surmonté l’obsolescence (l’autre étant “When Diana Paints The Picture”). De fil (Carnaby Street) en aiguille (de gramophone), ce modeste regain d’intérêt n’en vaut pas moins à ce brave Robbi de publier à présent son tout premier album, 55 ans après ses premières démos! Mais le plus étonnant, à l’écoute des 7 plages qui le composent, réside dans l’ambiguïté temporelle qu’elles recèlent. Tel un Hibernatus sonore, ni le timbre vocal de Robbi, ni la facture des arrangements que lui prodigue Benjamin Esdaffro, n’attestent de leur caractère récent. En effet, des délicieux “Seven Years Later” et “Pick Up The Phone” (que l’on pourrait aisément prendre pour des outtakes du “Horizontal” des Bee Gees) à la plage titulaire, en passant par “1943” (rappelant le Bowie pré-“Space Oddity” période Deram) et “One Man” (du Paul Williams millésimé), rien ne signale ici que nous ne sommes pas en présence de l’une de ces time-capsules excavées de leur gangue par quelque entomologiste fou. D’autant que “Carrie’s World” accuse également un fort ascendant “Arnold Layne” et “See Emily Play”, et que pour ajouter à la confusion, l’expression “Nothing To Write Home About” était le leitmotiv du “I Am The Walrus” des Fabs… I really wish it could be 1967 again! Patrick DALLONGEVILLE
Perpetual followers of “it was better before”, we must once again temper the enthusiasm for a fantasized past. No, it was not necessarily more fertile, nor decidedly easier for artistic creativity, half a century before our era... For a Cat Stevens (revealed from 1966-67 by his “Matthew & Son”, “First Cut Is The Deepest”, etc), how many candidates for the ephemeral ascent of the charts did they break their ratiches in vain? Because as nowadays, the pop competition then already counted a crowd of applicants for very few elected officials. And unless you rely on the random curiosity of pirate radios, there was hardly any draft for wet firecrackers and other will-o'-the-wisps (neither social networks nor streaming already existed). And if Elton John, David Bowie, Marc Bolan, Rod Stewart and Genesis hadn't persisted (while they were all still frolicking in limbo), the face of the seventies (and the decades that followed) would have been very different. What do you think happened to the many dropouts from the golden age of sunshine pop? Well, as for those rejected by politics or the Grandes Ecoles, they had to find another job, of course. Unlike a Jesse Hector (legendary front man of the Hammersmith Gorillas, who ends up a surface technician, like the poor mother of our Interior Sinister), and despite promising titles co-signed with his accomplice Tom Payne, the young Robbi Curtice thus swallowed his ambitions of teenage idol, to embark with wife and luggage towards Cyprus, where he exercised thirty years during the noble profession of teacher (under his real marital status, Rob Ashmore). His destiny could have ended there, and his first efforts would have remained even more misunderstood than forgotten, had it not been for the proverbial twist of fate, of which Sixto Rodriguez remains the most famous epigone (remember “Searching For Sugarman”?). In 2007, the French director Serge Bozon went in search of music to accompany the final credits of his film "La France" (retracing the tragic loves of the character played on screen by Sylvie Testud, during the First World War World). His artistic adviser then unearthed a pearl incunabula on a Swedish compilation of obscure vintage pop: “Gospel Lane”. Either one of the two titles of the Curtice-Payne pair having overcome obsolescence (the other being “When Diana Paints The Picture”). From thread (Carnaby Street) to needle (from gramophone), this modest revival of interest is nonetheless worth it to this brave Robbi to now publish his very first album, 55 years after his first demos! But the most astonishing thing, when listening to the 7 tracks that compose it, lies in the temporal ambiguity that they conceal. Like a sonorous Hibernatus, neither Robbi's vocal timbre, nor the craftsmanship of the arrangements that Benjamin Esdaffro lavishes on him, attest to their recent character. Indeed, from the delicious “Seven Years Later” and “Pick Up The Phone” (which one could easily take for outtakes of the “Horizontal” of the Bee Gees) to the titular track, passing by “1943” (reminiscent of the Bowie pre-“Space Oddity” Deram period) and “One Man” (vintage Paul Williams), nothing indicates here that we are not in the presence of one of these time-capsules excavated from their gangue by some crazy entomologist . Especially since “Carrie's World” also shows a strong ascendancy with “Arnold Layne” and “See Emily Play”, and that to add to the confusion, the expression “Nothing To Write Home About” was the leitmotif of “I Am The Walrus” from the Fabs… I really wish it could be 1967 again!
Patrick DALLONGEVILLE
Après quelques chansons quasi invisibles publiées fin sixties, cet Anglais revient, à 76 ans, via le label liégeois Freaksville pour sept nouveaux titres. Cet improbable come-back est d'autant plus étonnant que l'album est un véritable appel au festin, celui d'un pur plaisir musical. Parfois pas loin du spleen endémique d'un Nick Drake (One Man), cousin de la pop ombilicale de Robert Wyatt, dont Robbi approche le timbre rovalement fissuré (1943). Dans une enveloppe archi-mélodieuse, les reflets d'un psychédélisme passé (Divided City) rebondissent sur des moments irrésistiblement entraînants (Pick Up the Phone). Le tout, garni d'arrangements fruités, d'un genre qui aurait dû s'inviter dans les charts sixties. Il n'est pas trop tard pour les bonnes radios actuelles, genre France Inter. Allô, la RTBF? • PH.C.