On the Record: Eugene McDaniels - Headless Heroes of the Apocalypse (1971)

I first heard the name Eugene McDaniels in 2008 in relation to “The North Wind Blew South”, a cover of a Philamore Lincoln song, by Alela Diane’s side-project Headless Heroes.

Don’t worry, I realise there’s a lot of information crammed into that sentence, a lot of names, none of them household. One of the joys of being a music fan, especially in these days of the internet and Spotify, is that when you find an artist or a piece of music you love there are instant trails for you to follow, darting off in several directions, leading to other similar, interesting and wonderful things. Sure, some of the trails are dead-ends. But many go on for miles. Influences, contemporaries, rivals, genre originators, kindred spirits, sound-alikes. Shared members, labels, studios, home-towns, schedules, fans, managers, writers, producers, lovers. Sometimes it can feel like everyone and everything is connected.

This feeling of interconnectedness is undoubtedly exciting, but it can also be frustrating – no matter how good your intentions and how many names and titles you scribble down onto post-it notes, there are always gonna be paths that you fail to follow as far as you’d like. Some recommendations you just don’t quite get round to, some – the shame! – you forget about completely over time.

So, the see-sawing, sea-breeze strings of “The North Wind Blew South” lead me eagerly to the equally lovely Lincoln original and the relative starkness of Alela Diane’s solo folk LP, The Pirate’s Gospel, but, for whatever reason, I didn't investigate the intriguingly-titled album from which Headless Heroes had taken their name: Headless Heroes of the Apocalypse by Eugene McDaniels.

Must have got sidetracked…

I didn't think again about Eugene McDaniels until a few years later when listening to What It Is!, a peerless four-disk compilation charting the evolution of funk. Nestled in amongst the 91 funky hot grits on the collection was “Headless Heroes”, three and a half minutes of cool but agitated jazz-funk and striking lyrical imagery. “Jews and the Arabs…pawns in the Master Game, the player who controls the board sees them all as the same: basically cannon fodder”, run the opening lines; after 40-odd party tracks urging you to “rock me all night long” and “get on down” and countless (admittedly awesome) instrumentals, the words of “Headless Heroes” packed quite the punch. McDaniels calls for warring sides to stop and realise that "industry and war machines" are the real villains, "the Kings in the Master Game". “Better get it together and see what’s happening to you, and you, and you”, he insists, as an equally insistent guitar outro kicks in.

Eugene McDaniels was born in Kansas City, Kansas in 1935, sang gospel in church from a young age, and developed a love for jazz. He enjoyed some success in the early sixties,  writing and performing as Gene McDaniels.  Following the assassination of Martin Luther King in 1968, McDaniels – disillusioned with America – moved to Denmark then Sweden. He returned to the US a couple of years later, now "Eugene", and signed with Atlantic Records.

Headless Heroes of the Apocalypse, released in 1971, shares many traits with the Marvin Gaye, Curtis Mayfield and Stevie Wonder records that came out at the beginning of the seventies: ambitious and conceptual, taking cues from the rock Album model; less emphasise on radio hits; an embracing of other genres; a move to more politically conscious material in the wake of the Civil Rights Movement and Vietnam.

Yet, Headless Heroes of the Apocalypse has an atmosphere all of its own - there's a eerie wooziness to it, especially on the slower tracks. Paranoia and despair runs throughout. The cover image of “The Left Rev. Mc D” screaming between two warring samurai couldn't be more apt. When the US Vice President Spiro Agnew complained about the album upon its release, I would imagine it was this "heavy" vibe that he objected to, as much as the lyrical content. It's also what, years later and the album long out of print, would intrigue record collectors and inspire the numerous hip-hop producers who'd sample the LP (when talking about musical paths, few are more paved with gold than those leading from late-80s, early-90s hip-hop records with their inspired, eclectic use of source material). That, and the fantastic playing, of course.

Ridiculously tight and accomplished, the assembled studio band (including members of jazz-fusioneers Weather Report) bring an incredible variety to the record. The jazz influence is to the fore on “Jagger The Dagger”, with a sleepy female co-vocal and an irresistible loping groove that's since been lifted by A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul and Gravediggaz among others. “Lovin Man”’s catchy pop chorus works its (Stevie) wonders.

“Susan Jane” is pretty much straight-up folk-rock, telling the tale of a “beautifully insane” girl, “barefoot in the muddy road”. The shuffling drumbeat, when it arrives, lends it a vibe similar to Little Feat or The Band. It’s a little light-weight when compared to the rest of the LP, but does offer some respite directly following the heavy “Master Game” and “get it together” warnings of “Headless Heroes”.

McDaniels sounds by turns pissed off, exasperated and bemused on “Supermarket Blues”, a terrific piece of jazz poetry in the vein of Gil Scott-Heron or Langston Hughes; his tale of everyday racism punctuated with exclamations of “God Daaaamn!”

Though he may never be considered one of the great soul Voices, McDaniel’s singing at the start of final track “The Parasite (For Buffy)” is really quite beautiful, reminiscent of Love’s Arthur Lee. The track begins at a stately pace, but the band’s backing gradually quickens and rises in time to McDaniels’ pulse and anger (“Just let justice go to HELL!” he yells, halfway through). Its jawdropping climax of deranged screams and fevered free-jazz (the sound of the Apocalypse?) is more Fun House Iggy & The Stooges than "good times" Kool & The Gang.

My vinyl copy was bought at Sounds Of The Universe for the bargain price of £8.99, while Fopp are currently selling the CD for a fiver as part of an Atlantic Japanese-import reissue series which also includes titles by Otis Redding, Booker T & The MGs and Aretha Franklin. Oh, and an album by Sam Dees called The Show Must Go On – I've been meaning to check that out for ages.