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Vampisoul's third "all-KILLER-not-a-single-filler" set, compiled by NYC's DJ Mr. Fine Wine, featuring his personal favorites from the King Records catalog. This is an odd King compilation; for one thing, there's no James Brown on it -- nor any J.B. productions. It isn't even, strictly-speaking, a funk comp; isn't northern soul, precisely (no Cody Black or Junior McCants); certainly isn't R&B (no Little Willie John, no Hank Ballard, no Five Royales). In fact, it's kind of all over the place. Like some of the worst compilations in your collection. What is it, then, that has you so eager? Well, the Swinging Seven, for one thing. That mysterious Kentucky outfit whose lone King single, the stuff of myth, you've never heard (though you saw the look in the eyes of that DJ you grudgingly respect when you overheard someone asking him about it, and since then you've combed Gemm and eBay and Google and sales lists and... nothing!). Here's Mickey Murray, yes, his up-tempo funky Federal track; you danced to that one somewhere once. One you don't know by his brother Clarence Murray -- surely not a cover of the Moonglows? Well, you'll find out soon enough. Ah, quite a bit of southern stuff, recordings from Criteria Studios in Miami, from Bobby Smith's Macon, Georgia, setup. Robert Moore, hmmm, these two sides must predate his famous funk outing on Saadia. How will they compare to that monster? Oh, and the Presidents -- from Indianapolis, you learned on Indiana45s.com -- the tracks they somehow borrowed from Otis Redding's "Nobody's Fault But Mine" and Eddie Floyd's "Big Bird." Finally, you can practice those mash-ups that have 'til now been purely theoretical. More: Queenie Lyons, with the best "Fever" this side of Bobby Bland's, you've been made to understand by those who've heard it. Charles Spurling, Cincinnati tough guy, rumored to have punched out Mr. Brown himself (and paid for it). Frank Howard, that Beasties sample! Wayne Cochran -- well, at least he looks a bit like a bleached-out J.B. But wait, ugh, liner notes by that jive-ass Mr. Fine Wine. Well, no matter; you must get home and hear this music.
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