A rare stream of mid-winter sunshine beamed into the huge yellow Mexican casa-inspired room, as this record played on a loop. It was day-glow soul for the soul.
The record was purchased from a now deceased, funky record shop in the Brighton North Laines, while the world edged towards the new millennium, and I was holed up in a semi-squatted mansion off Preston Park.
In what felt like a hundred years of solitude, I was mostly a social prisoner in my own private room – in this huge gaff – playing host to an endless 24-7 sound-system party, populated by breakout MC’s, aspiring DJ’s and chemical brothers and sisters from across the City.
I was occupied somewhere else in the cosmic rhythms of this mansion party of life, trying to sooth the black dog, and self-medicating with anti-depressants and booze.
After a few airings of this newly discovered album, I was hooked on the voice, and Gaye gave me a fledgling love of soul music that burns today.
It was the medicinal tonic I craved, for my restless and pained soul, taking me on an episodic journey through the eyes of a combative and tuned-in black man in the early 70’s – sonically crafted to the backdrop of social unrest, the Vietnam war, and bore prophetic witness to the global ecocide that burns today.
I was toxic: had been in a toxic relationship – just split with a free loving party girl I fell hard for; was employed in a toxic job – in telecommunications call centre hell; and living with a toxic body – from caning the prescription drugs too long.
It was here I turned soul to soul and introduced Marvin Gaye to my life. I still load-up this record in times of need: to sooth the rising anger; to combat emotional flare-ups; and ‘What’s Going On’ even miraculously powered up as I lay on the operating table having a skin cancer lesion removed from my left temple.
Day-glow soul for the soul. Indeed.