When synths and drum machines first became more widely available during the mid-’70s, acclaimed soul/funk stars such as Sly Stone, Shuggie Otis and – a bit later – Prince were quick to sample the creative potential of the new electronics. Whereas the new equipment was only a small part of established artists’ toolkit, for aspiring musicians struggling on the private press circuit, self-financing their small-scale releases far, far away from professional studios and session musicians, the new technology, including affordable high-quality tape recorders, presented a ground-breaking opportunity to finally capture their ideas on tape in full.

Personal Space offers 17 examples of the unlimited creativity that duly ensued in the soul/funk underground. In most cases, the artists, often working solo, dabble in the new electronics, using them to the fill the blanks where other musicians would customarily step in, rather than diving headfirst into the cosmic potential of synthesised sounds. There’s the odd (in more ways than one) cosmic groove odyssey (most notably Guitar Red’s appropriately titled ‘Disco from a Space Show’), but for the most part these are still classically-shaped tunes belonging under the expansive umbrella of soul music, only that extra bit more odd-shaped and out-there courtesy of the lo-fi surroundings created by the rudimentary electronics.

Some cuts are nearly great – whatever evils interfering A&R folk may have caused during the history of popular music, the frustratingly tiny gap that separates Kay & Cleary’s intriguing but half-formed ‘I’m a Man’ and Deborah Washington’s outrageously funky but ultimately one-dimensional ‘Shortest Lady’ from true brilliance could’ve easily been bridged by more commercially astute ears. A few are verging on weird: check out Otis G. Johnson‘s awkwardly crooned but moving gospel ballad ‘Time to Go Home’.

For the most part, however, Personal Space hits a staggeringly high strike-rate, especially when you consider that these are sounds that have until now occupied a space so far in the margins they’ve practically fallen off the edge. The likes of ‘Super Lady’ by Jeff Phelps (minimalistic fun-funk), the steamy grunt ‘n’ moan groove of ‘Are You Ready to Come’ by U.S. Aries or Jerry Green’s ‘I Finally Found the Love I Need’ – an impassioned loverman testimonial transported from plush studios to a single microphone and synthesiser in the bedroom set-up – remind once again that for every worthy cut that finds an audience, several others deserving a break are doomed to languish in obscurity due to bad luck, lack of funds, poor timing, residence in the shadow areas of the music biz, and other manifestations of bad luck.