Let’s take some time, not just any time but a time just before rap when the streets of New York, Chicago, Philadelphia and every other major city moved to a different beat. The ghetto areas were the first to be affected by the economic downturn, and strident politics collided with equally strident rhythms to create music that was both unique to it’s time and totally relevant to today.

This compilation brings us the feel of an era when jazz clubs were on every corner, and subterranean hives of iniquity pumped out soulful funkiness to an afro’d crowd wearing hot pants, platforms and flares. Today these grooves are searched out by break hunting B-Boys, deep funk aficionados and refugees from the Blue Note end of club culture.

“Living In The Streets” taps into that era, and lets you know what it felt like musically to walk from street corner to bar with the hot air billowing up from the subway grills. The radios in the cars adjacent to you blaring out the local urban station WE-COOL and the heavy sensual voice of Isaac Hayes forcefully pleading his woman to ‘Use Me’ has all the right shivers running down your spine. Entering the bar you rapidly order a beer, greedily gulping down the first few mouthfuls of the frothy portion as you head to the jukebox, add some money and make your choices - they flow out one by one - the sweet soul of Tammi Lynn and the uplifting funk of Spanky Wilson - leaving you feeling elated and along with the beer refreshed and ready once more to face the day.

The day is moving on and you have some money in your pocket, and time to kill before you head out to meet some friends, you catch a cab across town to see your girl. The taxi driver’s no De Niro but he does drive like a homicidal lunatic - but his eight track is delivering some soothing jazzy vibes - Dave Hamilton you think, followed by Tjader. Jumping out at your journey’s end, Luis the Puerto Rican grocery store owner informs you that your girl is out and that you might as well have kept the engine running. But the cab is gone so you share a soda with Luis, whose playing some groovy latin-tinged funk courtesy of the Pazant Brothers to amuse his customers.

The sun is starting to set and the intensity of the heat has ebbed in the late afternoon, so you walk the couple of blocks - soundtracked by the big city funk of the Fatback Band - that take you to Jimmy’s where the music has a jazzy tinge. Not jazz for beard-stroking university professors but gritty funky grooves that demand sweat from every pore of your body and the attention of your feet and your mind. Caesar Frazier, Houston Person, the music is so good, as is the company. Male and female dressed to kill; hot pants and clingy tops, trousers of glossy velvet, long coats and boots to kill for. You hook up with some friends, get a table, and eat some food from Jimmy’s soul food menu. Chatting and talking about the price of gas, the crooks in the White House and City Hall and that great funky seven you picked up the other day by Jacqueline Jones.

Heading out of Jimmy’s, it’s across the street to a basement that hasn’t even got a name, but where you know that the DJ will be laying down some seriously good tunes - Ripple, Preston Epps or Idris Muhammad - guys that know where to find the groove. You dance you drink maybe you work some other angle and then you leave, silently slipping out and heading back across to your own apartment. A lush affair with wall to wall white carpets that form themselves into the sunken sofa that dominates the middle of the room. A large orange ball is suspended from the ceiling - it is your state-of-the-art Japanese television which you switch on but with the volume down - so that you can provide your own soundtrack. You do this from the Hi-Fi that is positioned at your side - a silver concoction covered with monstrous knobs and dials that is also very much state of the art with its quadrophonic amplifier and eight track player, the mogged-out take on the Stones ‘Gimme Shelter’ is exactly the vibe you need to take you off to dream land. - Dean Rudland, 1999