Ain’t Too Proud to Beg: The Temptations.
I loved Tamla Motown. It ruled when we were in school in urban Glasgow (Scotland’s Detroit). It was the only acceptably cool choice and all the in-girls in Holyrood Secondary were militant supporters. But that wasn’t my only driver; I was amazed at the sheer quality of the vocals and the lush production (though I didn’t know it was called that at the time). I was more than curious about the rhythm section in this song in particular, but soon discovered that Carol Kaye crafted the bass lines for most of the tracks I loved. Eventually I bought my first Epiphone Rivoli bass guitar with a head full of Tamla lines. While the hardcore Tamla followers stubbornly resisted even the early Beatles-Stones onslaught, I succumbed earlier than most, but the sound still transports me in time and place.

I’d Rather Go Blind: Chicken Shack.
This version of the Etta James classic left me shaken, for two reasons. The voice of Christine Perfect was so haunting I found it cut to the heart in the same kind of way that soul music did. I wasn’t so clear about the blues-soul connection back then, but this number spells it out for me. That it came from this all-Brit band was also fascinating and politically significant. The second reason lay in the power of the lyrics. That someone would feel a love so strong they would consider blindness as a means to protect it was something that seemed both compelling and terrifying in my years of teenage angst. Love, blues, fear and the soul all tangled up in one short song.

On the Road Again: Canned Heat.
The ultimate truckin’ song. I recall camping in Scotland as a teen and walking into town for food with my Dansette portable radio at my ear when I first heard the Bear, his harp and his weird falsetto. What a buzz. That harp sound fuming from the small speaker cut through as I truly went truckin’ for the milk and rolls, there I was, on the road again. I chased that harp sound whenever I could through the life and times of Capt Beefheart, John Mayall and Paul Butterfield. I’ve since spent a fortune on harps and still can’t get the sound right. Truckin’ on a desert island? Why not!

First Girl I Loved: Incredible String Band.
Well, Liz in 4B didn’t ever know it, but this one was written for her. The ISB were a musical sensation in Scotland in those post-folk/blues days. They appeared on the scene like some mystical medieval tribe trading tunings of the acoustic guitar not yet known to man. Weird tunings and equally bizarre lyrical trysts that defied understanding but were sharply humorous. Even Dylan later described their October Song as “not bad”. First Girl wove Robin Williamson’s acoustic guitar with visiting upright bass player Danny Thomson’s astounding style and the result was heavenly. I still don’t know if Liz ever heard it. She was still into Tamla.

Bare Wires: John Mayall & The Bluesbreakers.
A bit of a cheat, this one. Bare Wires is the name of the album and the first track, but it’s also a suite that runs all of side one. Mayall and his long list of ‘discoveries’ were legend. He was responsible in many ways for importing black musicians’ blues into the UK and bestowing on it a respect not yet attained in much of the US. While never the greatest vocalist or guitar player, his command of the Hammond organ made up for it. Always the innovator, he contemporised the UK Blues scene. I had the honour, aged sixteen, to see him play all of Bare Wires in the dingy Maryland club in Glasgow. It was extraordinary. I was dazed and confused all weekend until I borrowed the money to buy it.

Over The Hillside: The Blue Nile.
Paul Buchanan has one of the most extraordinary and emotive voices I have ever heard. The Blue Nile’s music, once described as “songs about love and traffic”, is awash with poignant memories of my hometown, Glasgow. Having decided a long time ago never to return there, the Nile is my link to a past never forgotten. This gem is the opening song on the much lauded album Hats. Sheer emotional perfection.

All You Need is Love: The Beatles.
It was partly the song, partly the tension and spectacle, partly the reach and definitely the sentiment. I recall rushing home to catch this first live transatlantic broadcast from the Top of the Pops studios in London, complete with full-on orchestral support. The scene was so cool. They all looked fab and they were among their crowd. The live studio and production team tension was palpable as they launched into the strangest time signature imaginable. I welled with a mixture of pride and joy as the message of all messages was beamed across the planet. What better time to re-broadcast I’d say!

Book: The Complete Works of Dylan Thomas.
Learning ruined my childhood pleasure in reading. What had been a source of enjoyment distorted and became in my mind a compulsory chore which kept me indoors day and night while I was compelled to read for functional outcomes I didn’t understand. It all seemed wrong. I wanted to, well, play. Then Norrie Smith, one of those magicians disguised as a school teacher, introduced us to the works of Dylan Thomas. This was no chore. This was subversion combined with cinematic imagery that distorted the imagination. Exams? I dare them to ask me about Dylan Thomas. It still works for me. I want it all on the island to keep my imagination a-fire. And when my time comes, I will not go gentle into the night.