The Complete Rock and Pop Curry Handbook

By Dave Bluez

During those heady days of the swinging sixties, I took it upon myself to become a rock journalist. Like most music journalists, having a love of music but lacking the ability to actually play an instrument or compose anything of any musical worth, led me to its closest relative: talking and writing about it. This I did with varying degrees of success throughout the late 60s, 70s, 80s, and even into the 90s.

    They were wild years with plenty of highs and lows. I witnessed the birth of musical planets and shared in the pain of the death of stars. Looking back, I feel lucky to have survived them. This book charts my pilgrimage, a wonderful musical journey of adventure and the people who shared it with me. These people became my friends, my mentors, potential executioners, and my inspiration. But more importantly to you, these people changed the face of modern music.

     Throughout this journey I learned a secret that quite literally blew me away. Please join me on a stroll down this mellifluous memory lane and allow me to share the amazing secret behind popular music.

Where to begin?

THE BEGINNING

Before I became involved in the music industry, I’d never had a curry. I’d never even so much as seen a picture of one. I think I’d maybe heard of its existence somewhere, but nothing more than a fabled whiff, and up until I met and toured with Slade, I truly believed curry was simply a thing of foreign shores and distant folklore. I couldn’t have been further from the horrifying truth. Slade... this was where it all began for me. Let me roll back the years and invite you into my world: a world that was about to rapidly spin out of orbit.

I met the boys in ’66 when they were touring as The ‘N’ Betweens and followed their progress writing small reviews for little or no money. It was on this, my debut tour, that the decadent excesses of the rock’n’roll lifestyle became only too apparent. Every gig the boys played, they would insist that their rider was slightly different to that of the expected norm. For those of you that aren't familiar, a rider is a venue’s complimentary gift to the band, normally an amount of alcohol deposited in the dressing room backstage for the band to tear into before and, if there was any left, after the gig. To my utter amazement, The ‘N’ Betweens' rider not only consisted of alcohol, but also heaps of curry. One table loaded with booze, the other buckling under the weight of aluminum take-away cartons. This was apparently “the way we do things around ‘ere!” I found this rather surprising and more than a little strange, but being the innocent I was, and being extremely excited about being backstage to interview the lads (and of course in an attempt to fit in) I tore straight into this curry stuff.

     Everyone around me was wolfing it down, becoming more and more wasted and the air was permeated with a strange intoxicating trippy smell. I thought I was in heaven. Heaven… if only I’d known. I didn’t even get to see the band perform that evening. I passed out half way through my first korma. Jesus! Passing out from a korma, how things went on to change. Anyway, I was told the lads did a great performance and after finishing the gig went back to the hotel with yet another newly acquired entourage of groupies. And get this: once back they ordered more curry and stayed up for the rest of the night partying. And that’s how it went all tour, night after night; curry, music, groupies, and more curry. Those guys were crazy. No one could get anywhere near keeping up with them. They left a trail of destruction throughout the midlands and soon acquired a reputation for their rock’n’roll excess.

     A big showdown came at the Wolverhampton Civic Hall. The ‘N’ Betweens had been booked to open for Cream. Cream! Jesus these guys were legendary. The dressing rooms backstage were crammed to the hilt with friends, associates, hangers-on and mound upon mound of steaming curry, and, of course, me. I was also there. I stood aghast as mayhem unfolded before my eyes. For years afterwards people would talk about this gig and the fact that they could smell it over a mile away. That night the ‘N’ Betweens tore into their immense curry rider, wrecked their dressing room, went out and hammered out arguably their finest performance on the tour. They left the stage to rapturous applause and, get this: they waited until Cream were on stage (who were pretty curried out themselves by this point) then they sneaked into Cream’s dressing room and completely devoured Cream’s whole rider of curry! Amazing!

     After that they went from strength to strength. On that tour they went on to out-curry John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers, The Move, and The Idle Race, three bands also known for their great rock’n’roll excesses. Unfortunately the omens were already there of an ill-wind to come. Events were rapidly unfolding, sowing the seeds for some hairy times ahead. It was plainly obvious to all present, even back then at Wolverhampton, that Cream guitarist Eric Clapton had already developed a scary tolerance for curry, leaving his two legendary band-mates in the shade. Things went on to get worse for Eric and, as he slipped down the ill-trod curry path, his curries began getting hotter and hotter. After the 70s single release of his ode to blisteringly hot curry ‘Wonder-Phall Tonight’ he became more commonly known in musical circles as Eric Crap-a-ton.

     What this tour opened my eyes to was the devastating curry excess of the rock and roll lifestyle and those who lived it. By the end of the tour my innocence was gone. My girlfriend of four years stopped complaining about the smell in the bedroom, simply because she stopped coming home. The last I heard she was living with a baker and I wish her well. They were difficult times for both of us, but if I had the choice I know I’d do it all again. Sorry babe.

I couldn’t believe how naïve I’d been. All of these bands, all the greats, and how influential curry was to their lives, their music, and, to the unfortunate few, their deaths. What we non-musical mortals do not appreciate is that if it wasn’t for the curry, a lot of those great albums that many of us own and love wouldn’t be with us today. A lot of them were inspired by, and actually made under the influence of, curry. Jimi Hendrix’s, ‘Electric Lady-Naan’, The Beatles, ‘Sgt Peppers Lonely Farts Club Band’, Frank Zappa’s ‘We’re Only In It For The Curry’, Pink Floyd’s, ‘Dark Side Of The Bhoona’, and a wealth of others that I hope to touch upon later. The list is endless.

     Jimi Hendrix was allegedly inspired to his own dangerous curry excess by the towering influence of Bob Dylan’s song ‘Phall Along The Watchtower’ which Jimi went on to cover with phenomenal success on the album ‘Electric Lady Naan’. Sadly, as we all know, Jimi succumbed to curry excess in very controversial circumstances. Bob Dylan’s huge influence continued to inspire countless others, and it was Dylan who gave The Byrds their first hit in 1965 with ‘Mr.Tambourine Naan’ inspired by Bob’s habit of attaching bells to his Naan bread and pretending it was a real person. Whenever Bob was out dining with friends at his local Indian restaurant, he used to attach his bells to his bread, make it dance on the table (he was a very talented puppeteer) and he’d say, “Hey Mr.Tambourine Naan, play a song for me.” Interestingly enough, Dylan himself was inspired to his own dizzying musical heights by an old and well-respected American folk singer Woody Guthrie. Bob covered one of Guthrie’s famous songs ‘This Naan Is Your Naan’ an early example of Guthrie’s selfless, giving nature, which obviously had a similar effect on Dylan.

     I was told a lovely story by the legendary Paul McCartney concerning a time when the Fab Four were dining in one of their favourite Indian restaurants in Liverpool following a lengthy tour of the United States. As the waiter brought over their side dishes, the normally shy George Harrison suddenly burst forth into song and began singing ‘Here Comes The Sundries.’ Paul told me, “We knew at the time it was going to be a winner, it’s just such a beautiful song. But then that’s George all over. He had such an effortless talent for plucking a song out of the air like that.”
 It is also widely rumoured that after a week-long curry bender, in 1968, with long time friend and sometime musical collaborator, Eric Clapton, that George Harrison penned the words to ‘While My Poor Arse Gently Weeps’. Clapton’s contribution goes further than just inspiring Harrison to write this song as Eric also plays lead guitar on the recording, released on the Beatles ‘White Album’. Of course, not the first Beatles song to be inspired by curry by any means: ‘Paper Back Raita’, ‘I Wanna Hold Your Naan’ and ‘It’s Bhoona Hard Day’s Night’ are just a few that spring to mind from their huge back-catalogue.

I started this story recollecting my first tour with The ‘N’ Betweens, who, as you now know, went on to become the hugely successful Slade, as well as, to my great pride, good friends of mine. Slade were given a helping hand on the road to success by a man called Chas Chandler. Chas used to be the bass player in a band called The Animals, and they had successfully covered the well-known traditional folk song ‘House Of The Rising Naan’ which topped the charts on both sides of the Atlantic. Now, interestingly enough, Chas Chandler also brought Jimi Hendrix to the attention of the music-loving public. And all this got me thinking. Everywhere, around every musical corner, there seemed to be an underlying connection. And it was always curry. I was amazed, and with this startling revelation I was drawn slowly into the secret world of Indian cuisine influenced music. I thirsted for more knowledge. It was a thirst that almost killed me…

THE ORIGIN OF OUR SPICES

Slade went on to release such classics as ‘Mama We’re All Jalfrezi Now’, ‘Tikka Look At Wot U Donn’, and ‘Cumin And Feel The Noise’, and they were very much in competition with another great artist at that time, Marc Bolan and his band T-Rex, who released a number of hits including ‘Telegram Naan’. These are all well-known song titles that you will have heard a hundred times before, but maybe now, with this insider information and possibly with a little lateral thinking, their origins start to become glaringly obvious.

     Noddy Holder pointed out to me one night, in a Birmingham Balti-House, that Slade were far from the originators of this kind of music. All curry influenced rock music can be traced way back to where it all began: American blues music and the men behind it. One such man was the great Chicago blues man, Jimmy Rogers. He recorded ‘Blow Wind Blow’ which I think speaks for itself. Another Rogers’ classic ‘Poos All Day Long’ is a classic heart felt cry for help, as is Memphis Slim’s ‘E’vry Day I Have The Poos’. These guys were hurting, and it was only in their ability to articulate their anguish and utter despair through their music that we get some indication of the pain and frustration that these guys were experiencing. Something never more apparent then when immortal bluesman B.B.King sang to us ‘Still Got The Poos’. The list is endless, and the heartfelt pain obvious with every strained guitar lick. Things began to change, music was moving swiftly on, constantly morphing into new styles, with each emerging style having an almost-hidden underlying link, a universal connection. You guessed it...

THE 50s

A 1954 interview with Bill Hailey (and The Comets) had him citing some of his influences as being Jackie Brenston and Jimmy Preston. Bill Hailey, a white country and western singer, covered Jackie Brenston’s 1951 R&B hit ‘Rocket Achey Ache’ which was Jackie’s tribute to his morning visits to the toilet following his legendary all night curry sessions. Finally, in 1953, ‘Jalfrezi, Man, Jalfrezi’ hit the number 15 slot in the charts. This music was known as Rockabilly, and curry influenced music was slowly entering the mainstream. Rock’n’roll was soon to follow.

     All over America and the UK the smell began to emerge. Fats Domino hit the US charts in 1955 with ‘Ain’t That A Shami’, which stayed in the R&B charts for 11 weeks. The whole curry-music love affair began to steam roll. Artists began popping out of the sandalwood-work. The great Elvis Presley appeared singing ‘That’s All Raita Mama’, Eddie Cochran with ‘Summertime Poos’, Little Richard with ‘Good Curry Miss Molly’ and of course Johnny Cash’s ‘Ring Of Fire’. By the time Johnny Cash had released this song, his curry problem had ascended dangerous heights, and if you compare it back to the days when he had released the wonderfully innocent ‘A Joy Named Poo’ the differences are painfully obvious. All these artists were sharing one thing in common: a love of curry. Maybe to the untrained eye and ear that connection was not so noticeable, but to those of us that know the signs, the love of curry was glaringly obvious. And whether that love was slowly killing them in the form of addiction, or it was “under control” recreational use, the love was certainly there. But that love, in many ways like life itself, was a double-edged sword. I felt both those edges in my journey.

MY STORY

As I described earlier, my first brush with curry was no walk in the park. To my utter humiliation I had passed out halfway through a korma in front of a fair number of hardened curry eaters. I was so completely out of it that the following morning I had absolutely no recollection of the night before or how the curry had made me feel. I was extremely confused and had come to the completely ridiculous conclusion (based on one experience that I couldn’t even remember) that the whole curry culture was rubbish and it’s effects were nothing to be desired. I felt simply awful. I spent that morning and the early part of the afternoon traipsing back and forth to the toilet. My hands stank something awful. The smell of them made me feel worse and yet the stupid thing was I couldn’t stop sniffing them. I just could not understand what all the fuss was about. And then, to top it all off, one of the guys came into my hotel room and told me they were all off to get a curry. Another curry. Already? So soon? I just made some excuse about feeling a bit flu-like and went back to bed for the rest of the day. That evening, it all began again. And so did I...

     Things moved on, the tours continued, different towns, different venues, different girls, and different curry. We‘d each individually get obsessed with certain dishes. Whether they were Chef’s Specials, main courses or just mere sundries, it didn’t matter. Mine became Aloo Gobi. Don’t get me wrong, I was now eating the real stuff, you know, Madras, Vindaloos, the proper gear, nuclear fallout, the real deal, but my particular benchmark on the quality of a restaurant was judged by their Aloo Gobi. Everyone was different. A girl I once knew, beautiful, her benchmark was simply the rice. Crazy days.

     The whole thing’s really just a blur to me now. If only I’d kept a diary. Every now and then I stumble across, or a friend will have found, one of my old published reviews of some gig in some long-forgotten town. Rarely do I remember it. The one thing I do not need a diary for, nor do I need anyone to remind me, is that from such humbling beginnings the curry had inexplicably crept in and gotten hold of me. It had taken root in my very bones. The touring was relentless and rock’n’roll curry excess had me by the balls and was asking, “Who’s the daddy now?”

My message here, the lesson I bring to you, is one painfully learnt through poor information. You see, the reality is that curry isn’t initially addictive, and that’s what I believe makes it so damn dangerous. Not just for yourself, but also those around you, and unfortunately, as is always the case, those closest to you. One minute you’re thinking, “Is that it? Is that all a curry is? No problem for the likes of me, eh?” and suddenly the next thing you’re aware of is the sudden pain, the awful dreaded realisation that it’s got you. But of course, by then it’s too late...

THE 60s

As you are now aware, it was genuine intrigue and amazement that inspired me to begin documenting the sheer volume of influence curry has had on modern music. This book is merely an introduction, designed just to touch upon that oft-overlooked influence and hopefully make others aware of its importance.

     I’ve mentioned its roots in blues music that lead up to the 60s and into a new musical era, revealing new musical directions and emerging stars. Marvin Gaye signed to Motown in 1961 and recorded ‘Wherever I Lay I Shat’ a song exposing his very personal curry problems. Incidentally, it’s also a song that has been covered many times over the years, a great tribute to a great man. Staying with Motown, the enormously popular Supremes recorded, ‘You Can’t Curry Love’. The 60s were a hugely successful musical decade, not just with the meteoric rise of Motown, but also with the explosion of popular music. The great Quincy Jones produced his first number one hit in 1963 when Lesley Gore sang ‘It’s My Chapatti And I’ll Cry If I Want To’. Phil Spector signed The Ronnettes also in that same year and they recorded the million selling hit ‘Be My Bhaji’. Such huge, influential names in the industry, and so obviously influenced by curry.

     It continued this way throughout the 60s. Sam and Dave recorded ‘Soul Naan’; The Small Faces ‘Lazy Sundrie Afternoon’, Sly & The Family Stone achieved a transatlantic hit with ‘Dansak To The Music’. In 1966, Percy Sledge had a smash hit with the release of his beautiful song ‘When A Naan Loves A Woman’ which would be used twenty years later in a Levi’s commercial prompting a greatest hits album of same name in 1987.

     Before the birth of rock, back in the 50s, black and white music had been traveling on different roads. White artists like Pat Bhoona began recording their [white] versions of black music to create chart hits. This began to change in the 60s with more white artists attributing black inspiration. This helped ensure more accessibility to black music and a much greater understanding of the all-important role it played in the birth of modern music. Just as importantly, this also helped lead to the recognition of black artists as artists in their own right. Damn right.

THE 70s

The 60s quickly merged with the early 70s to produce an unbelievable era of musical brilliance. Some artists who amazed us in the 60s continued to do so into the 70s. The Rolling Stones continued with ‘Street Fighting Naan’ off the ‘Let It Bleed’ album, (still no one knows the real story behind the naming of that album) and of course they gifted us the incomparable ‘Sticky Fingers’ album. Again, these are just a few tasters from the vast back catalogue of a band renowned not just for their musical genius, but also infamous for their rock’n’roll curry excesses.

     Chicago born Patti Smith began her uncompromising career reading curry-rock inspired poetry and soon went on to form The Chapatti Smith Group. The inspired British rock group Free released ‘All Raita Now’ and when Steppenwolf’s John Kay was first introduced to the delights of Indian cuisine he became so obsessed with it he spent the next six months eating the same starter for breakfast, lunch and dinner, spawning the release of Steppenwolf’s ‘Prawn Puri Wild’ a song which has now become synonymous with that era, and an anthem to all bikers and rockers when it was included on the soundtrack for the 1969 Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda road movie ‘Easy Riata’.

     In the late-70s even punk, it seemed, was briefly fired up by the curry connection. In ’77 The Clash released ‘London’s Burning’ and that obviously wasn’t the only thing burning with the 1978 release of Blondie’s ‘Arse Of Glass’. Angry new wave singer songwriter Elvis Costello released ‘Oliver’s Byriani’ a tribute to the curry excesses of Oliver Reed, a man who needs no introduction in the story of excess. Even the quirky Leo Sayer released the up-tempo ‘You Make Me Feel Like Dansak’ inspired by the whiffs that emitted from the Indian take away next to his local pub. I do remember interviewing Leo about this hit, but I’ve forgotten what he said. Chaka Naan signed her solo contract with Warners in 1978 and went on to great success, mainly in the 80s, with huge hits including ‘Ain’t No Bhaji’. Sister Sledge sang to us ‘He’s The Greatest Dansak’ released off of their third album ‘We Are Family’ in 1979.

The 70s, if you remember, also brought us disco. “Disco?” I hear you cry. How on earth can that be included here? Now, I can appreciate that, on the face of it, disco is not normally a style of music necessarily associated with curry. But when we actually take stock, have a closer look and delve into our murky musical past, we suddenly find things that have been there all along, staring us in the face, and shouting, “Hey buddy, look at me!” And these little discoveries can, quite literally, blow us away. This is why I love my job; it gives me the opportunity to discover these things, not just for me, but also for you. Then I too can blow you away. Ka-Pow! I’m a musical detective, hunting clues, checking angles, looking for leads, rummaging through old lost forgotten crime scenes, thirsting for that one extra piece of knowledge, the key that will open yet another emotive musical door of memory. So when I say to you ‘Disco’, just stick with me. Okay? Think of me not just as your teacher, but as your tour guide and we’ll both come out of this much wiser musical people. Now, where were we? Oh yes, let’s get back to that tour. Yeah.

So, disco, as I said, is not a style normally associated with the curry connection, but when we actually take a closer look at one of the all time disco greats, Abba, we can see a clear pattern emerge. Abba’s many famous and hugely popular songs include ‘Chicken Tikka You And I Know’, ‘The Winner Takes The Phall’, ‘Tikka Chance On Me’, and the all time 1976 disco classic ‘Dansak Queen’. Let’s be honest here, it’s not that difficult to see where their obvious inspiration lay. Abba also reached out to the new decade and a new generation with their 1980 hit ‘Super Pooper’. Things were obviously still moving for them.

THE 80s

The 80s have been much criticized for their lack of musical talent and musically worthless bands, but I disagree and think that’s lazy journalism. A lot of what was emerging with the solo artists and bands of the 80s was what could only be described as a mass tribute to their musical forefathers, a pilgrimage to the musical Mecca that is curry.

     The Smith’s released ‘Girlfriend In A Korma’ (something I immediately related to), Madness released ‘Bhaji Trousers’, Culture Club ‘Korma Chameleon’, Lionel Ritchie released many classics including ‘Dansak On The Ceiling’ written after he’d had an argument with his manager in The Taste Of Raj in Los Angeles. And who amongst us can forget Lionel’s haunting ode to the Indian potato ‘Aloo’? Bruce Springsteen’s classic ‘Bhoona In The USA’ took America by storm; the queen of pop, Madonna, released songs such as ‘Poppadom Preach’ and ‘I’m Jalfrezi For You’; and rising star T’Pau released ‘Channa In Your Hand’.

     Wham’s famous coupling of George Michael and Andrew Ridgley dominated the charts in the mid 80s producing tributes like ‘Wake Me Up Before You Gobi’ and ‘King Prawn Massalla Drinks Are Free’. All these classic songs are not only just tributes, but often have a story behind them, an inspiration. On doing an interview with George Michael he told me, “People have always tried to read too much into my music. I read these stories in the press about where they attribute my inspiration and I really cannot believe some of the garbage that they print. Take ‘King Prawn Massalla Drinks Are Free’ for example. It’s simply as it says. There’s an Indian restaurant round the corner from Andrew’s house where we go quite a lot after rehearsals. If you order the king prawn dish, you get a free drink. It’s that simple. I mean, I’m not stupid, I do realise that the king prawn dishes are the most expensive on the menu and the free drink costs them nothing, but I just think it’s a nice touch.”

     When Howard Jones released his hit ‘Like To get Samosa Well’ he was overwhelmed by the response he got. He explained to me, “At one point, I was getting literally hundreds of letters a week with advice on how to cook the perfect samosa. I was so overwhelmed. They helped me a great deal and I realised it was all in the preparation of the pastry, not the filling.”

     Sometimes things crossed the boundaries of taste. When Barry Manilow released ‘I Make The Pongs That Make Your Whole Ring Sting’, he took a lot of flak from the curry community. Everyone knew Barry wasn’t into curry and he was just trying to cash in on the trend. When I interviewed him and brought this up he said, “I am aware that this has hurt a lot of people and I am very, very sorry. If I could turn back the clock I would. I just wasn’t thinking straight at the time. The crime here is that it really is such a fantastic melody and I’m sure I could have thought up a better title given time.”

The 80s continued with tribute after tribute. Phil Collins paid tribute to the Supremes by covering their 60s classic ‘You Can’t Curry Love’. Adam and The Ants released ‘Stand And Dhall Liver’; Dire Straits’ album ‘Brothers In Naans’ became a transatlantic number 1 album; Kim Wilde followed in her famous father’s footsteps with her debut release ‘Skids In America’, her social comment on the quality of American cuisine; Kylie Minogue branched out from her acting career with her single release ‘Tears On My Pilau’ and subsequently found a career in music more alluring than one in Hollywood. In 1987 Whitney Housten seemed to hit the curry nail on the head when she sang the words the world was thinking, ‘I Wanna Dansak With Somebody (Who Loves Me)’. Let’s face it, who hasn’t thought that before? Again we see those same, very real, genuine feelings, expressed so well in song.

     On the subject of expression in song, we should remember to be objective and not forget to examine the other side of that expressionable musical coin. Eddie Grant released his anti-curry song ‘I Don’t Want A Dansak’ which was surprisingly well received. He told me, “I was just so fed up with the whole curry thing. It seemed every time I turned on the radio there’d be another tribute to curry. This was just my way of saying a big ‘NO!’ I don’t like it, and I don’t want it. Music has to subjectively diversify if it’s going to successfully continue, and I think the success of this record has proven that there are a lot of people out there who just don’t like curry and are ready for change”.

     But be that as it may, the tributes still came raining in during the late 80s and into the 90s, although Eddy Gant’s moralistic ‘no to curry’ stance didn’t fall completely by the wayside as his sentiments were later echoed in the 1988 Bobby McFerrin hit ‘Don’t Curry Be Happy’. In some ways it appeared that the curry excesses of the 60s and 70s, which had died off somewhat in the 80s, were now coming back. And boy did it smell. The end of the 80s brought us a new breed of curry-fuelled mayhem. Amongst them, heading the list, were American rockers Guns N’ Roses. Their legendary curry excess was proudly advertised with their debut album ‘Appetite For Destruction’ and for me to print any of their many crazy stories I would have to request this book be placed on the top shelf, away from young, innocent eyes, which I’m just not willing to do. Music, like curry, is best when it’s shared.

THE 90s

This re-emergence of the bad boys of rock’n’roll continued into the 90s and arrived by chilli-fuelled speedboat back to our shores. Two brothers from Manchester wrestled control of the musical reigns and blasted our senses with a new raucous brand of rock’n’roll. Oasis had arrived. These boys came with a health warning. Any ideas where their inspiration came from? Yep, you guessed it. I interviewed Liam Gallagher after the release of their second album ‘What’s The Story’ (Morning Tandoori). “We’re just mad for it we are. Luv it. We can’t get enough. We’re gonna be the biggest rock’n’roll band in the world and we’re gonna eat more curry than anyone else!” The boys went on to pay tribute to their musical and culinary influences by covering Slade’s ‘Cumin and Feel The Noise’.

     Music was still changing, reinventing itself, and its latest pioneers continuing to bow down to the Balti altar. Dance bands began emerging. The Prodigy released their groundbreaking album ‘Shat On My Hand’ to critical acclaim. The influences of Bristol trip-hop trio Madrassive Attack were obvious, and award winning innovative DJ, Fart Boy Slim, and Dance act, F-Artful Dodger, look set to be around for a while.

As I mentioned earlier, there’s a strange obsessiveness surrounding the musical curry addict. One such obsession being that desire to find their chosen dish cooked to perfection, no matter what the cost. Never was this more apparent than with the emergence of singer Lisa Stansfield. Her song of unrequited curry love, ‘Been Around The World And I Can’t Find My Bhaji’, speaks volumes about what she must have been going through and struck an only too familiar chord with those that heard it. This single went platinum in America and topped the US R&B charts, making her only the second white artist to do so. This song reached out to people and it was surely only a matter of time following its release that another artist would release a tribute to Lisa’s pain.

     When Ace of Base released their single, ‘All That She Wants Is Another Bhaji’, it was obvious to most where their inspiration lay. “When I first heard Lisa’s song, I just sat down and cried. Here was this beautiful woman, with such a beautiful voice, and yet her life was filled with so much misery and pain. It made me realise that we can’t take anything for granted in this world. That song changed my life. I can only hope that she appreciates where we’re coming from. I’d love to work with her.” Here again we see the see re-emergence of the artist in anguish. Maybe drawn from the same kind of anguish that originally spawned this culture of modern music back with those American blues greats. Although decades apart, how much has really changed since Muddy Waters sang ‘I’m Your Hoochie Koochie Naan’ back in 1954, and half a century later, Britney Spears released, ‘Hit Me Bhaji One More Time’. With lines in her chart topping hit such as, “Bhaji, bhaji, you’re killing me!” I think we can all agree; the inextricable link between curry and the birth and development of popular music will go on forever.

AND THE SMELL GOES ON...

Where there is curry, there is rock ‘n’ roll. Where there is curry-influenced rock ‘n’ roll there is a lifestyle indigenous to those under its influence. A lifestyle with roots lying deep in the blues, the roots having sprouted and grown with the rhythm and blues of the 50s, which, through the popular music of the mid-60s, had grown into a huge forest, it’s curry canopy covering America, Europe, and the rest of the world.

     Throughout my journey I’ve been fortunate enough to meet some amazing people. Each decade continues to throw up more musical genius, and always it’s just when you’re thinking there can surely be no more room. Luckily for me, my work and my life brings me into contact with some of these ‘untouchable’ people and gives me an insight into them and their music. One such musical genius, from the 90s to the present day, himself no stranger to curry, has kindly given me permission to reprint the words to one of his most famous songs. I honestly believe that this song encompasses most of what I’ve been saying about the musicians’ inherent link with all the joys, frustrations and heartache that curry brings. I’ve chosen this song as it shows that even this far down the well-trodden curry path, to those that are involved, it’s still as fresh and genuine a sentiment as was felt all those years ago.

     I would like to thank Richard Ashcroft from the bottom of my heart, and here is The Verve’s massive hit, ‘Curry Man’, taken from their best selling album ‘Urban Hymns’.

CURRY MAN (such a LUCKY MAN)



Curriness, it’s such a mess

I’ve got my poppadoms, something from the pickle tray

Oh oh, my Naan


Curriness, cumin and Goan

I eat my Jalfrezi watch my fever growing

Oh oh, I love my Naan


How many Kormas do I have to make?

How many Bhoonas do I have to take?

All the Aloo I have is in my Naan


Cos I’m a Curry Man

With Curry in my Naan



Curriness, delivered to my own place

I’m stood here naked, not smiling, I get no free dish

And no Naan


Curriness, cumin and Goan

I eat my Vindaloo, feel my fever growing

Oh oh, still no Naan


How many orders will it take for them to learn?

How many delivery-men do I have to burn?

Before I have my Naan in my hand?


I hope they understand

I hope they understand


Cos I’m a Curry Man

With Curry in my Naan

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Dave Bluez is a writer and cultural historian who unfortunately lives in a bookshop near you.