Alan Byron’s film is an absorbing docu-celebration of the northern soul scene that flourished from the late 1960s to the end of the 1970s. It was a fascinating, vernacular youth movement and a kind of regional open secret: a club culture, a zine culture, a music-and-fashion culture which uncynically invented and sustained itself without the need for any svengali figure from London to keep the show on the road. Northern soul fans were passionate about thumpingly sensual mid-60s American soul, a musical style which they kept alive on the all-night dancefloor by doing spectacular spins and drops, while the official voice of the music business decreed that disco or MOR rock or glam or heavy metal was where it was at.
DJs would travel to the US to sort through the boxes and mounds of 7-inch vinyl which had been discarded by Motown and the radio stations – basically prospecting for gold – and bring it back to northern English clubs. The principal clearing house was the mighty Wigan Casino which mounted legendary all-nighters from 2am to 8am, attracting soul fans from miles around who knew that this was the only place where certain tracks could be heard. (No Spotify or Apple Music in those days.)
