The Shingaling

Shingaling: like the term “boogaloo,” it’s two separate (but related) mid-'60s pop phenomena.

There's the “shingaling” synonomous with Latin Soul - jazzed-up guajiras and mambos with an R&B kick, sung in English and Spanish by younger Nuyoricans. Possibly more familiar, though, is the “shingaling,” the peculiar evolution of '60s soul dance music shortly before the polyrhythmic funk of “Cold Sweat”-era James Brown changed everything around. It sustained the tradition of silly lyrics, though it was arguably more sophisticated than the dancefloor styles that preceded it. It had big, jazzy horn riffs, it looked good (it dressed in mod suits), and it had a walloping beat. And, most of all, it was just crazy danceable.

It’s from the latter definition that we present these funky bits of discotheque nougat. (Which, incidentally, are all from the Philadelphia area.)

1. Gene Waiters, Shake and Shingaling (part 1) (Fairmount)
We’ve got all the requisite ingredients: the horns, the titantic drum fill, the lyrics about keeping “it” moving. Spiced with guitar and some fab organ, and finally wrapped together like some stylish stick of dynamite, "Shake and Shingaling" is to me the very essence of shingaling soul. It bobs along with the unbounded confidence that comes from being a member of the new breed, whoever they were.

2. Carl Holmes and the Commanders, Soul Dance No. 3 (Blackjack)
Carl Holmes - guitarist, gifted screamer, and a kind of tightly wound version of Wilson Pickett - here conjures the transcendent 1966 blare of American dancefloor mojo-shake. If stomping were a path to enlightenment, then, like dancefloor Buddhas, I really do believe we’d be radiating kindness toward all beings after only a few rounds with this one.

Carl Holmes led various R&B and soul combos throughout the the 1960s and '70s, and toured the Mid-Atlantic extensively, including my old south-central Pennsylvania stomping groundS. (See the fantastic Funky 16 Corners for more info on Carl Holmes.)

I sure dig that hand-drawn label.

3. Bobby Sax, Sock It (DePlace)
Bobby Sax’s “Sock It” careens forth at a heart-pounding tempo for its 1:55 sprint to the finish line, ain't that a whole lotta whoo, indeed.

This hot potato is full of such poetry - a poetry pretty much unique to the shingaling. Even within the genre, “Sock It” is exceptional, though. It's constructed from monumental slabs of echo, horns, and drums, and, with sound bleeding from every available channel, it manages to distinguish itself as possibly the loudest record on earth.