Joey Beltdrives’ Bumpy Backspins: Haunted Dancehall – The Sabres Of Paradise – November 1994

Haunted Dancehall – The Sabres Of Paradise – Warp Records – Released 28^th November 1994

The Sabres of Paradise were an electronica supergroup in the early 90s consisting of the venerable Lord Sabre, aka Andrew Weatherall, alongside Gary Burns and Jagz Kooner.

Haunted Dancehall was the group’s second album, it was bookended by the two Sabresonic albums; 1993’s Sabresonic and Sabresonic II, which came out in 1995, the same year the group split up.

After the Sabres split Burns and Kooner continued working together as members of The Aloof, while Weatherall joined up with Keith Tenniswood (aka Radioactive Man) to form Two Lone Swordsmen. 

Of the three Sabres albums released, Haunted Dancehall is the most cohesive. Sabresonic plays like a compilation of random recordings, while Sabresonic II is essentially an alternative version of the 93 release, with a few new tracks swapped in.

Sure, there’s still some gold on there (like the evergreen classic Smokebelch) but in other places the Sabresonic albums show their age and essentially play like two versions of the same compilation.

Haunted Dancehall, therefore, can be viewed as the Sabres’ only true album, or at least that’s how I view it, since so much thought as been put into the album’s structure and narrative.

Full disclosure: I had initially intended to do this write-up in time for Halloween cuz, y’know, it’s got the word haunted in it but RL stuff got in the way. (It’s been doing that a lot lately.) As such I’m frantically playing catch-up on a few articles on my list and with my to do list in general.

(I mean I could have just kept silent and made you think I’d timed this post perfectly but well, that’s just not my style.)

I have very fond memories of this album. It lived in my Walkman for years in the 90s before migrating to an old girlfriend’s car stereo where it enjoyed regular rotation on various road trips and adventures.

It’s been a soundtrack to my life now for just shy of three decades and the reissued vinyl version I bought gets spun on a regular basis. 

Today it’s easily one of the most revered releases on Warp’s back catalogue though I do remember the album receiving tepid reviews on release.

Not that the reviews would have influenced my decision anyway. I required only two words for me to brave the elements and purchase the album on tape, “Andrew Weatherall”.

As with many such teenage purchases, my enduring memories are of miserable rain and palpable excitement on the way home.

I recall cursing myself for not bringing my Walkman and, as the wind and rain battered the slow-moving bus, I tried to distract myself by reading the inlay card of the tape (I was still a teenager and didn’t have a CD player yet).

“…It was pissing down, running through the gutters, banging out metallic bongo patterns in McGuires head, rhythms from the basement he’d just left. Squinting from left to right, the days course was plotted.”

– except from The Haunted Dancehall

Inside featured bizarre excerpts from a book called The Haunted Dancehall, which allegedly served as the inspiration for the album.

Only thing is, The Haunted Dancehall by James Woodbourne isn’t a real book at all and, much like the literary works of Audrey Witherspoon, were penned by Weatherall himself, who fans will know was just as adept with the pen as he was wielding a sabre.

By basing an album on fragments of a book that doesn’t actually exist, Weatherall’s created something of a narrative vacuum which I’m going to attempt to fill by telling you the story of the first time I ever listened to this album while being interrupted by a powercut.

So, let’s set the scene. It’s December 1994 and I’m still a teenager, the sun’s just gone down and there’s a huge storm building outside.

Haunting Melodies

I arrived back home drenched – as often seemed to happen during my music shopping jaunts – and promptly slapped the tape into the shitty old Sharp stereo in our old living room.

The volume slider was nackered and therefore had only three settings; no volume, really quiet or really loud with lots of loud crackling in between.

“…McGuires steps were solid over Battersea Bridge. “London bridges at dawn, fuckin’ magic, who needs fuckin’ India or somewhere…no toilet paper and loads of poncey beatnik types.”

– except from The Haunted Dancehall.

Since I had the house to myself that evening I cranked (and crackled) the fucker up to the loud setting. 

The opening tracks, Bubble and Slide parts one and two, seemed to perfectly coincide with the weather outside, which felt as though all of existence was being washed down the drain.

Next came the slinky xylophone funk of Duke of Earlsfield, which I nodded along to waiting for the kettle in the kitchen to boil.

Flight Path Estate is a short, atmospheric ambient piece though it’s probably one of my least favourite tracks on the album. I just recall one of the synths sounds reminding me of the old Duracell jingle sound from the 90s.  

Listening to the track the first time around I was jetting around the kitchen to make a cup of tea before lighting the fire – all sorted just in time for Planet D.

Now this wow, I mean it’s easily one of the dopest instrumental hiphop tracks I’ve ever heard with Portishead’s Geoff Barrow on remix duties bringing some serious boom bappage.

It’s one of my favourites from the album and I can still remember myself eased back on the sofa, feet up, fire crackling, cuppa tea in hand, head nodding along contentedly.

Seriously, how can you not get serious repetitive neck strain listening to this tune?

“…The only way to avoid the Flight Path Estate scenario was to get a bit cosmic. “Not to fuckin’ cosmic mind.” He’d once told me “This planet’s Martian enough without contemplating the whole universe.”

– except from The Haunted Dancehall.

Next, we come to my favourite track on the album, and easily one of the greatest examples of electronic dub ever recorded, Wilmot.

The version on the album is simply labelled Wilmot but isn’t the original. It’s actually the “Wilmot Meets Lord Scruffage” version.

Pedantry aside, both versions take their name and melodic inspiration from the song Black But Sweet by the 1930s jazz/calypso singer Wilmoth Houdini.

So it’s electronic, it’s dub, it’s calypso. And I can understand why the uninitiated might raise an eyebrow at this most unlikely combination of elements but omfg does it work! 

“…It was the trumpet line that did it. Never mind chasing after ethereal angels or earthly skirt. Chase that tune, scour the shacks, pester the sound boys…”

– except from The Haunted Dancehall.

Next comes Tow Truck, a lumbering keep-on-truckin’-hop tune with bluesy guitar riffs and Hammond organ stabs on top.

The Sabres also released a remix EP of Tow Truck which featured the Chemical Brothers in their prime plus Depth Charge on the flip, well worth a listen but I digress, let’s get back to my sitting room in 1994…

And as the sky grew darker and the wind grew stronger, I arrived on Theme, the funky follow-up to Tow Truck sporting wide-flared 70s rock stylings.

Alas, around a minute into the track, just as that sweet wah guitar solo kicked in, my listening experience was interrupted by a power cut.

Cue a furious dash around the house to light candles and find some batteries.

It’s hard to imagine now, in an age of readily chargeable music devices, how valuable a find a pair of untouched AA batteries were while rummaging around by candlelight in the messy ass drawer of random shit that one finds in every kitchen.

A few minutes later and we’re back in business, I’ve got the album playing on my Walkman now as Theme gives way to Theme 4, a bloopy ambient track which will always be synonymous with Irish rain.

Return To Planet D is yet another bloopy ambient piece, it has an eerie, broodiness which, coincidentally, also goes remarkably well with watching raindrops hitting the window in contemplative darkness.

Ballad of Nicky McGuire sits atop a flanged hiphop beat, reminiscent of the earlier Bubble and Slide II, and again I can’t listen to it without thinking of driving rain and clogged-up storm drains.

Jacob Street 7am is a slow and melancholic ambient piece which just so happened to coincide with a break the wind before Chapel Street Market 9am began fluttering into my eardrums.

As it done so the wind picked up once again with a howl, making the leaves dance and the rain skew sideways against the windows.

It reached a crescendo just as I got to the end of the album and its title track, Haunted Dancehall. 

“…Then he heard it. Pushing past early morning commuter and the market stall workers, he found himself standing outside a boarded-up cafe. Wrenching the planks from what was once the front door, McGuire stepped inside…”

– except from The Haunted Dancehall.

This track is up there among the greatest tracks Weatherall has ever produced. Though based upon a rather simple arpeggio and with minimal layers of additional melody, it’s still one of the most compelling pieces of music I’ve ever heard.

It also somehow manages to sound both haunting in the spooky sense and hauntingly beautiful at the same time.

It could easily work in a horror movie; one imagines a frenzied poltergeist whisking objects in a vortex of rage as the protagonists look on in terror.

But then halfway through the track something magical happens, perhaps our heroic dancehall exorcist knows exactly what dubplate to play so that the dancehall demon can finally be laid to rest.

The angry fluttering subsides, the music sweetens, with otherworldly synths and poignant strings stretched to breaking point, as our spirit fades through the walls before finally passing through to the world of the dead.    

Sabre Rattling

My enduring memory of this album is of sitting alone by the blazing fire, earphones on and listening to the titular track by candlelight – now if that’s not the true meaning of xmas what is?

I think that’s part of the reason why this album is so special to me; it’s weird and it’s wonky, it’s dubby and funky and melancholic, yet in my mind it’s also festive.

My original tape enjoyed a second lease of life in an old girlfriend’s car, which only had a cassette player, and we owned few if any tapes at the time. Which is why some tracks remind me of winter in my teens and others remind me of summer in my 20s driving around the countryside.

More recently I bought a vinyl copy and created new memories, that of a semi-regular gig I shared with some friends playing at a local biker bar. We done vinyl-only sessions with an anything goes music policy and Wilmot and Theme always went down a treat.

Some albums exist to remind you of specific times and places. They may be the good times you celebrated, or they may be bad times you endured while the music helped you through.

Once those times have, passed, however, the music often fades just like the memories.

But then there are those other albums, ones inextricably linked with your identity and life experiences. Listening to them has nothing to do with nostalgia but stems from instinct.

Like salmon swimming upstream, we subconsciously return to the source, the crackling of the groove, those familiar beginnings, the reassuring throbs of bass and percussion, the immutable melodies projecting a kaleidoscope of memories inside our minds.

Haunted Dancehall is one such album. I repeatedly return to it on a regular basis, as I have done throughout the various phases of my life, to the point where it’s indelibly etched into my memories like eternal sunshine.

And yet no matter how many times I do, it still sounds fresh.

Haunted Dancehall was original and inventive back in 1994 and still sounds unique now.

A rare feat.

Strange to listen back again today in a similar setting, with similar weather, at the same time of year, relistening while reliving memories, much like revisiting a longtime friend.

Course, in a way we are all spirits haunting the dancehalls of our youth, existing now only in memory, but still refusing to simply fade away.

Am I talking bollocks? Of course I am, tizz the season.