Nothing says 1973 like a knitted yellow tanktop

The story of Jimmy McCulloch is not an epic tome; more a slim novella. Born in 1953 in Clydebank he picked up a guitar at 11 wanting desperately to emulate his hero, Hank Marvin. By 1969, aged just 16, he was on Top of the Pops playing with Thunderclap Newman on their #1 single Something in the Air; he hadn't even started shaving.

And although he's probably best known for his tenure with Wings (1974-78), this is where he was at just before Macca signed him up. I'd like to think it wasn't just his silky skills on the fretboard that McCartney took a shine to, but his rather fetching gansey. 

Stone the Crows - Penicillin Blues (1973)

Jimmy's guitar sound defined mid-period Wings - he was all over Venus & Mars - but like many of McCartney's hired hands he would only ever be a sideshow to the ex-Beatle. His one composition for the band, Medicine Jar, was a live favourite - even making it onto the triple album extravaganza that was Wings Over America.

Wings - Medicine Jar (1976)

Quite ironic, Medicine Jar was an anti-drug song: just a couple of years later McCulloch was found dead at his London flat - cause of death morphine and alcohol poisoning. He was just 26; like I said, McCulloch's life was sadly not a long one.

Jimmy McCulloch (1953-1979)

Fit for a King

Elvis had many looks - thin Elvis, fat Elvis, army Elvis. But when you think of early 70s Elvis - the Vegas Years - you picture him in your mind's eye in that iconic white jumpsuit (with the collar turned up. Natch). A sartorial nightmare in the wrong hands, you would have thought: why, who else would be crazy enough to walk down the street in 1972 wearing a heavily sequinned all-in-one jacket/trouser combo verging on the utterly ridiculous; your chances of being run out of town on a rail would, on a scale of 98 to 100, be, well, pushing 100.

Unless, that is, you were the Osmonds. Ever wondered how many white jumpsuits you could fit on a stage at any one time? Five, seemingly. Sometimes six, though long haired (underage) lovers from Liverpool don't really count.

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When the insanely talented brothers released Crazy Horses, their fifth long player, this was, for my money, the best song on the album. And, as I found out only recently, the intro is the perfect soundtrack to brush your teeth to. I kid you not. 

The Osmonds - Hold Her Tight (1972)

Sure Thing

It's 20 years since I first visited Amsterdam. I was going to the North Sea Jazz Festival in The Hague with a few days bookended either side in the capital. My friend Barry and I wanted to go to Europe so we blindly stuck a pin in the map. To cut a long story short (oh, Spandau) I was lucky to come back in one piece. It's an experience that is etched indelibly on my brain; if you ever catch me in an unguarded moment and ask me what happened in Holland I may just tell you. Or I might just act dumb and talk about jazz. Or bikes. 

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Moving swiftly on. One of the hotels we stopped in had a brilliant bar and was always playing great tunes (once back in Blighty I burned them a couple of CDs; I hope the jiffy bag I bunged in the post with a ton of stamps on it reached its destination). It's where I first heard this:

St. Germain - Sure Thing (2000)