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Post by Prole Hole on Mar 13, 2020 12:24:03 GMT -5
Hello! And welcome to my latest excuse to ramble on about music with this, We're Number Two. I'm sure some of you will remember that, back in the day, The Old Country had a column called We're Number One (I say "back in the day" - it was four years ago but yes, that does seem like several lifetimes). It was an excuse to talk about albums which got to Number One on the Billboard Hawt 100. Well, that's not what I'm doing! Instead, I'm talking about singles, and specifically singles which made it to - you guessed it - Number Two in the charts. I'm going to take one song from every year, starting in 1960 and ending in 2008 and talk about it. Maybe it will be a review, maybe it'll be an excuse to talk about what happened that year, maybe it will be a jumping off point for something else - whatever comes to mind really. The only criteria for entry is that the song in question must have hit the number two position on the charts in either the UK or the US - it doesn't matter if it went in at number two, if number two was the song's highest charting position, or if the song went in at number one and sank back to number two. As long as it's held that slightly coveted position, it's eligible. And I'll be talking about songs that mostly interest me for whatever reason rather than necessarily that year's best known songs, so anyone desperate to find out my stance on the Bay City Rollers will just have to be disappointed I fear. And there shall be no repetition of artists - solo artists who were in a band are eligible - so for example I could talk about The Beatles and Paul McCartney, but not two Beatles singles nor two Paul McCartney singles, and let's not have Wings making life any more difficult for us than it needs to be. Life allowing I shall attempt to cover a song a week, and those songs will be... Song List: 1960 - Eddie Cochrane, Three Steps To Heaven1961 - Jimmy Dean, Big Bad John1962 - Chubby Checker, Let's Twist Again1963 - Billy J Kramer And The Dakotas, Do You Want To Know A Secret1964 - Petula Clark, Downtown1965 - The Animals, We Gotta Get Out Of This Place1966 - The Troggs, Wild Thing1967 - The Beatles, Strawberry Fields Forever / Penny Lane1968 - Tom Jones, Delilah1969 - Sly And The Family Stone, Everyday People
The 60's 1970 - The Kinks, Lola1971 - Jean Knight, Mr Big Stuff1972 - Elton John, Rocket Man1973 - The Sweet, Ballroom Blitz1974 - Queen, Killer Queen1975 - Gloria Gaynor, Never Can Say Goodbye1976 - Wings, Let 'Em In1977 - Stevie Wonder, Sir Duke1978 - Blondie, Denis1979 - Elvis Costello, Oliver's Army The 70's1980 - Adam And The Ants, Antmusic1981 - Ultravox, Vienna1982 - Dire Straits, Private Investigations1983 - Eurythmics, Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)1984 - Cyndi Lauper, Girls Just Want To Have Fun1985 - Bonnie Tyler, Holding Out For A Hero1986 - The Bangles, Manic Monday1987 - Pet Shop Boys With Dusty Springfield, What Have I Done To Deserve This?1988 - Terence Trent D'Arby, Sign You Name1989 - The Beautiful South, Song For WhoeverThe 80's1990 - Suzanne Vega-DNA, Tom's Diner / The B-52s - Love Shack Guest Post: Luciano Pavarotti - Nessun Dorma1991 - James, Sit Down1992 - The KLF with Tammy Wynette - Justified And Ancient1993 - 4 Non Blondes,What's Up?1994 - Kylie Minogue, Confide In Me1995 - Pulp, Common People1996 - Manic Street Preachers, A Design For Life1997 - Natalie Imbruglia, Torn1998 - Madonna - Ray Of Light1999 ... updated as I post. So come and explore some random-ass singles with me! I'll kick off in the very near future and I'll post Spotify and/or YouTube links for the individual tracks as we toddle along. As always I shall be dispensing with the twin straightjackets of fan consensus and objectivity. Feel free to chat until then!
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Dellarigg
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Post by Dellarigg on Mar 13, 2020 14:56:54 GMT -5
1981's gotta be Vienna by Ultravox. Gotta be.
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Rainbow Rosa
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Post by Rainbow Rosa on Mar 13, 2020 16:40:42 GMT -5
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Post by Prole Hole on Mar 13, 2020 17:11:32 GMT -5
This is literally the opposite of great news! However, in the interests of spoilers, I can inform you that the entry for 1983 (I have all entries chosen already) will not be the terrible song "Africa" by the terrible band Toto. And not even wine bribery will work...
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Rainbow Rosa
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not gay, just colorful
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Post by Rainbow Rosa on Mar 13, 2020 19:13:56 GMT -5
This is literally the opposite of great news! However, in the interests of spoilers, I can inform you that the entry for 1983 (I have all entries chosen already) will not be the terrible song "Africa" by the terrible band Toto. And not even wine bribery will work... Ok. What about 1982?
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Post by Prole Hole on Mar 13, 2020 19:35:53 GMT -5
This is literally the opposite of great news! However, in the interests of spoilers, I can inform you that the entry for 1983 (I have all entries chosen already) will not be the terrible song "Africa" by the terrible band Toto. And not even wine bribery will work... Ok. What about 1982?*self terminates*
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Post by Prole Hole on Mar 14, 2020 11:05:23 GMT -5
1960 - Eddie Cochrane, "Three Steps To Heaven"Straightforwardly coolWe could have been talking about Elvis. “A Mess Of Blues” made it to the number two slot, but it’s not a terrifically inspiring song and it’s exactly nobody’s idea of his best performance, despite some nice honky-tonk piano. We could have been talking about Roy Orbison. His voice is one of the great achievements of Western civilization, and even when the material faltered that most perfect of vocals never did – even up to his death he sounded amazing. But no. Instead, we kick this nonsense off with Eddie Cochrane. In rock and roll, Cochrane is a curious figure. He’s vastly influential, yet it’s an influence not often mentioned. He’s an artist who died absurdly young – he was twenty-one when he was killed in a traffic accident, younger than contemporaries like Buddy Holly or the Big Bopper, and significantly younger than later ingenious of the Hendrix/Morrison/Joplin brigade. But his early death didn’t in any way diminish his legacy. He was an experimenter in the studio, yet when the history of recorded music is talked of, Cochrane’s name is rarely mentioned despite pioneering work with overdubs, feedback and a whole host of techniques which would become 60’s standards. And he was a multi-instrumentalist years before people were impressed by the fact that Paul McCartney could play drums as well as bass. But these days Cochrane is a marginal figure. He wrote classic songs, but songs where his name never quite seems to resonate with the same force as others of his era. He’s just a little bit forgotten. And he absolutely shouldn’t be. In a way it’s a shame we’re stuck discussing “Three Steps To Heaven”. It’s not that it’s a bad song, exactly, but it’s not also what one could call representative either. It’s was a huge hit, and indeed remains a standard to this day, which eventually (posthumously) climbed all the way to the top of the charts. But, decent though it is, it’s no “Twenty Flight Rock”. “Twenty Flight Rock”, quite apart from being a fantastic song in its own right, is the reason Paul McCartney joined The Quarrymen – latterly The Beatles – because Lennon was so impressed by his ability to play it, thus making “Twenty Flight Rock” arguably the single most influential song in music history. But lots of people loved “Twenty Flight Rock”. The Who fucking loved it (and “Summertime Blues” is on the original Live At Leeds, a contender for the best live album ever). “C’mon Everybody” is another straight-up classic. “Three Steps To Heaven” is… well. It’s old-fashioned in a way none of those songs are. That’s not necessarily a slight, but it clearly belongs to a different genre, and a different period. “Twenty Flight Rock” is funny – there’s a direct line between that and something like “Drive My Car” – and its simple, direct wit is very charming. “Summertime Blues” speaks, or at least spoke, to teenage frustrations of the time. “Three Steps To Heaven”, with its slightly cheesy backing vocals and traditional, very 50’s sounding crooning, doesn’t quite carry the same weight. It’s not that it carries no influence – even the most cursory listen to David Bowie’s “Queen Bitch” should reveal the fact he quite shamelessly stole the chord change – but it’s not quite Eddie Cochrane at his best. “Three Steps To Heaven” looks back – his best work looked forward. But the voice is there – and he really does have an amazing voice. If “Three Steps To Heaven” struggled to have the same impact that his other songs do, it does at the very least show off his versatility. He nails that crooning style very successfully – honestly, better than Elvis often managed – and if the song is looking backwards, it’s doing so in a style that Cochrane owns. There’s nothing rock and roll about the song, but it’s working within a formula and it’s a formula Cochrane has no problem commanding. It’s not his finest, but in a way that’s almost a compliment – he tosses off something like this, makes it looks utterly effortless, then goes on to deliver a handful of standards that provide some of the foundational tracks to a nascent genre. “Three Step To Heaven” was a huge hit in 1960. You know what else was a huge hit in 1960? Go on, think about it. 1960… 1960… Well, there’s “Apache” of course. And… um… Exactly. “Heartbreak Hotel” was four years in the rear view mirror. “Tutti Fruit” was three years previous. “Johnny B. Goode” was two years ago. If you look at the UK charts there’s a positively obscene amount of Cliff Richard. There’s a lot of bland material, but music is essentially stuck between the initial blast that rock and roll provided by the classics – Presley, Berry, Richard, Lewis – and hanging around waiting for the Beatles to turn up. Buddy Holly died in 1959. What was “Three Steps To Heaven” supposed to achieve in the face of all that? Not much. It’s fine. No innovator, but never quite simple pastiche, it’s an absolutely classic example of “by the book” writing. Cochrane’s voice – he has such a very fine voice – isn’t really utilized to its fullest here, and it’s whole galaxies away from his best performance, yet it’s still easy to warm to. He knows how to hang off a note – “Step one…” pause. And his voice comes in just perfectly, hitting the space the flourishing guitar provides but with an emphasis that makes the line ring. Bits of the song could be mistaken for a sub-Elvis impression (the choruses especially, “aynd asss life travels on…”) yet it never lapses into that kind of easy commercialism. Even in this Cochrane’s voice remains his own. So that’s where we start in 1960. This entry is really just an excuse to mention someone who deserves way more attention than he gets. It’s easy to understand why the likes of Buddy Holly get all the focus, and obviously Holly is great, but Cochrane should get more appreciation. He almost never recorded a song more than three minutes in length and dying so young means he has a short, punchy catalogue that’s easy to become familiar with, and it’s worth doing because there’s some really great music in there. As we go on through this series we will talk about artists who are bigger, more successful and more famous that Cochrane. But as we do, spare a thought for someone who helped all of it to happen. And when I say all of it – well. I mean all of it. Cochrane is a true original, and a great place to begin. What Else Happened in 1960?
As you might have gathered from the article, fuck all. The biggest song of the year was “It’s Now Or Never”, a slice of cheese thick enough to have a rind and be sold in supermarkets. The second biggest song, also by Elvis, was the disturbingly similar “Are You Lonesome Tonight?”, which is even more cheesy to the point where the lactose-intolerant may choose to avoid listening. “Apache” got mentioned, but it’s worth drawing attention to again simply because Hank Marvin could credibly be described as the first guitar hero – or the first lead guitar hero at the very least. The Shadows don’t drip cool credibility but Marvin still deserves respect. The Beatles played their first gig under that name (sans Ringo, plus Stuart Sutcliffe and Pete Best) and the venerable 78rpm record bows out as a format, replaced by the new-timey “long player” that all the kids are into these days. Get your vibratos ready – Edith Piaf warbles her way into immortality with “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien”. Ben E King went solo, Bono arrives on the planet, Elvis became a sergeant, and that’s your lot. Rankings: 1. Eddie Cochrane – "Three Steps To Heaven"
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Post by Prole Hole on Mar 18, 2020 7:27:19 GMT -5
Small addendum - I'm going to try and avoid talking about the most recognisable artists or songs here. Some years are replete with possibilities, others are exceedingly barren, but generally I'll try and aim for songs which are maybe a little less talked about. There will be odd exceptions to this, when a song or artist is simply too big a cultural lodestone to be bypassed - it doesn't take a genius to figure out what that will be for the 1960's but hint it rhymes with Extraordinary Concealed Endeavour - but I'll try not to be too obvious.
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Post by Prole Hole on Mar 21, 2020 15:20:35 GMT -5
1961 - Jimmy Dean, "Big Bad John"
Interestingly-titled B-side...
You don’t get a lot of songs about dead miners in the charts these days. Not that “Big Bad John” was the only song about death underground in the mineral extraction business to do well – The Bee Gee’s scored an unlikely hit later in the decade with chirpily-titled “New York Mining Disaster, 1941” (it reached a frankly astonishing No 14 in the U.S. and No 12 in the UK). But as a genre, dead miners aren’t exactly up there with “my baby left me” or “you’re the one for me”. “Big Bad John” reached No 2 in the U.K. charts, thereby becoming our first entry in this series to peak at our coveted position, though in the U.S. it made it all the way to the top. “Big Bad John” was a country crossover hit and earned Jimmy Dean a Grammy nomination for best male vocal along the way – and he actually won a Grammy for “Best Country And Western Recording”. Not bad for a somewhat-lethargic ditty about a squished galoot. It’s worth talking about Jimmy Dean a little actually, because he’s an interesting guy. “Big Bad John”, and indeed his music career in general are only one small portion of his life, though he did co-write our song for today’s discussion, which isn’t nothing. Had had a scattering of hits before and after (including the cheesy million-seller paean to mothers everywhere, “I.O.U.”, in the 70’s), but also helped popularise country music in general with The Jimmy Dean Show, a variety show of the type that, again, you don’t get a lot of these days (thankfully, in this case). He was the first guest host of The Tonight Show when Johnny Carson needed some time away from the camera. He acted, appearing in a James Bond movie (admittedly, not a good James Bond movie) and a bunch of fairly standard made-for-TV fare. And there’s something else… what is it… oh yes, he founded a sausage empire (not something I expected to be typing out when I started this) with the Jimmy Dean Sausage Company, eventually bought out by Sarah Lee. He died in 2010, aged 81, and, well, he lived quite the life. But we’re here to talk about “Big Bad John”, which even if not his biggest seller is certainly the song Jimmy Dean is defined by – there’s even a quote from it on his grave. But then, it’s the sort of song that pretty much exists to be etched on a tombstone. It’s a fairly straightforward narrative of the type favoured by country songs of the day – a drifter strolls into town of the strong-but-silent type, keeps his distance, but when there’s an accident at the mine he doesn’t hesitate to give his life to save his fellows. It’s not a complex narrative, though there are layers. We’re told that perhaps Big Bad John “got into a fight over a Cajun Queen” and killed someone as a result – is his sacrifice a shot at redemption? That fits with the overall country tone of the song though the lyric declines to give us such straightforward answers (to, it must be said, its benefit). The character is basically an archetype, of the kind still in use today – the distance between Big Bad John and, say, Mike Ehmantraut from Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul is surprisingly short. But that makes sense – what “Big Bad John” is keying into is a universality, a sense that this is a character anyone could know. We might not be stuck down a mine with him, but we probably know someone who was quiet and kept themselves to themselves, only to step up when it mattered. It’s not the specifics of the situation that render “Big Bad John” relatable today, it’s the exact opposite. And then there’s the music itself. Old Jimmy Dean has, in today’s parlance, got good flow. Other than the choral backing vocals who take the choruses, there’s no real singing here. Dean gruffly delivers his lines – as much acting as singing – in a style that, listened to today, feels strangely contemporary. He knows where to place and emphasis and where to back off, and that helps give an important emotional register to the song, When he starts – “you don’t give no lip” – we get a laconic, slightly amused delivery. But when “a giant of a man who the miners knew well” turns up Dean pushes his performance just slightly so there’s emphasis. Then we get a key change (a blunt one, and one of my very least favourite techniques) and he’s louder, almost shouting in places as the miners discover “there’s a light up above!” and quieter once more when John’s fate is sealed. There’s a range to his performance, in other words. And throughout a spartan, spare instrumentation there’s the steady, repeated hammering of metal on rock marking out time, a constant pounding reminder of the mines, using sound as a narrative device more than a decade before Pink Floyd would add a ker- ching to “Money” or the Beatles inserted a typewriter into “Paperback Writer”. It would be easy to dismiss “Big Bad John” as a novelty song, but perspective is important here. From the heady distance of 2020 an overly melodramatic song about a dead miner reeks of novelty, but that’s not the case at all. There were dozens, hundreds even, of similar songs in the country charts at the start of the 60’s but “Big Bad John” crossed over when most of the rest didn’t. It would be nice to think Dean’s appealingly droll performance was part of that, but what this song absolutely isn’t is a joke. It’s not meta, it’s not funny – it’s being played straight. Listen to Johnny Cash around the same time – there’s a lot of similarities. “Big Bad John” is unintentionally funny in places, that’s hard to deny, but even that kind of works in its favour. And by crossing over, by helping to bring a ghetto genre into the glare of the mainstream, Jimmy Dean can genuinely be said to have helped move the needle on popular taste. This is absolutely a song that deserves respect. Not bad for a somewhat-lethargic ditty about a squished galoot. What Else Happened in 1961?
I mean, it’s better than 1960, but that’s not saying a lot. The biggest song of the year is “Stand By Me”, outselling Elvis (and, um, Del Shannon), so Ben E King’s decision to go solo paid off. The Supremes sign to Motown, The Miracles land Motown their first million-seller, and the Beach Boys sneak out their first single, the title of which is the not-exactly-hard-to-guess “Surfin’”. Roy Orbison – who will not be troubling this series – releases his first album, Lonely And Blue, which contains the immortal “Only The Lonely” and Mr Aker Bilk releases “Stranger On The Shore” which was absurdly popular for a clarinet-led instrumental piece (the 50’s really are still clinging on). What else, what else… I will grudgingly acknowledge the release of the West Side Story OST. Oh, and Mick Jagger and Keith Richards meet for the first time, while The Beatles play their first Cavern Club gig. Yeah, fine, not much better than 1960. Rankings: 1. Eddie Cochrane – "Three Steps To Heaven" 2. Jimmy Dean - "Big Bad John"
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Post by Desert Dweller on Mar 21, 2020 17:30:44 GMT -5
No Roy Orbison? When "Cryin'" was sitting right there for this very year?? Sigh.
This song is not my thing. And I listen to a lot of country music from this period.
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Crash Test Dumbass
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Post by Crash Test Dumbass on Mar 21, 2020 19:01:56 GMT -5
1961 - Jimmy Dean, "Big Bad John"
Most of the men in my ex's family are named John, and all of them are quite tall, so this was a popular song with them. It's not really my thing, though it's mostly OK, except for the end: "At the bottom of this hole lies a big, big man. - uncomfortably long pause- bigjohn."
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Post by Prole Hole on Mar 22, 2020 12:25:54 GMT -5
No Roy Orbison? When "Cryin'" was sitting right there for this very year?? Sigh. This song is not my thing. And I listen to a lot of country music from this period. It's more than likely when I finish with We're Number Two I'll do the same thing for We're Number One, and in that case Orbison is an effortless shoo-in. In truth I felt he was just slightly too obvious a way to go this early on. This entry very nearly ended up being "Walking Back To Happiness" by Helen Shaprio so really, count yourselves lucky...
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Dellarigg
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Post by Dellarigg on Mar 22, 2020 12:34:45 GMT -5
I remember this one from lazy Sunday radio in the 70s and 80s, the golden oldies show that me mam would have on while the dinner was being made. Happier times! Jimmy Savile was the host.
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Post by Floyd D Barber on Mar 22, 2020 14:03:04 GMT -5
The department store the next town over was owned by the folks who owned the jukebox route (and who had other colorful businesses they were/are invested in) so there was a small selection of 45's pulled from jukeboxes that you could buy for a dime or quarter or something, so that, along with WLS in Chicago and, to a lesser degree, KXOK from St Louis, influenced young Floyd's bizarre musical tastes as a kid. Somewhere I believe I still have very worn copies of Big Bad John, and also it's sequels, Little Bitty Big John, also sung by Jimmy Dean and telling the story of BBJ's previously unmentioned son, and Cajun Queen, sung by a female artist whose name I don't remember, as BBJ's wife or girlfriend or something, who shows up at the mine/memorial/gravesite, somehow crawls inside, and raises BBJ from the dead with a kiss. Zombie Dead Miner romance. This wasn't Jimmy Dean's only musical exploration of workplace death. He also had a song about a bridge construction disaster that killed eighteen workers titled " Steel Men". One more reason that the Sausage King of country music deserves remembering is that the Jimmy Dean show marked the first appearance of Rowlf the dog, created by a shaggy puppeteer named Jim Henson, who went on to do few other things of note.
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Post by Desert Dweller on Mar 22, 2020 17:09:54 GMT -5
No Roy Orbison? When "Cryin'" was sitting right there for this very year?? Sigh. This song is not my thing. And I listen to a lot of country music from this period. It's more than likely when I finish with We're Number Two I'll do the same thing for We're Number One, and in that case Orbison is an effortless shoo-in. In truth I felt he was just slightly too obvious a way to go this early on. This entry very nearly ended up being "Walking Back To Happiness" by Helen Shaprio so really, count yourselves lucky...
So, what you're saying is I shouldn't get my hopes up for any of the charting Ray Charles songs from 1962 to be the next selection.
Well, "Walking Back to Happiness" would have at least given me the opportunity to talk about how awesome Helen Shapiro's voice was for a freaking 14 year old.
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Post by Prole Hole on Mar 30, 2020 8:35:04 GMT -5
1962 - "Lets Twist Again", Chubby Checker
Tragically, contrast was only discovered in the late 60's...
Some years are easier than others when it comes to choosing material. Ray Charles very nearly had it this time out, though it would likely mean discussing either “I Can’t Stop Loving You” or “You Don’t Know Me”, neither of which are remotely his best material and both of which are syrupy slop. Elvis rears his inevitable bequiffed head again but will not be distracting us. “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” made it to Number 2, though discussing it would consist of a lot of legal talk about how artists get screwed over copyright. Anyone for “The Loco-motion”? No? Fine, then let’s go with Chubby Checker, owner of the award for most successful single in U.S. chart history. That song – “The Twist” – isn’t what we’re talking about this week though. Instead we’re discussing “Let’s Twist Again”. Dance crazes are a peculiar feature of the singles charts. Nobody – not even the astoundingly successful Checker – made an album dedicated to a particular craze. That would be madness. Checker’s 1962 album may have been called For Twisters Only (featuring – you guessed it – a cartoon tornado on the cover) but it’s mostly a collection of rock and roll standards including such long-in-the-tooth material as “Rock Around The Clock” and “Blueberry Hill”. There’s only two songs which refer to the Twist, and neither of them are “Let’s Twist Again”. It came out a year earlier in 1961 on the album It's Pony Time / Let's Twist Again and is the only song on that album to mention The Twist (though the Mashed Potato and - bizarrely - the Charleston get a look-in). So yes – this trend remains strictly the purview of the singles charts. The Mashed Potato became popular in 1962 as well – is popular the right word? – and dance crazes remain an occasional feature of the charts right up until today. “Gangnam Style” is nothing but the Twist for the 21st century, after all – a novelty single designed to do nothing more than catch the ear, shift units, and be forgotten about until some kind of “I Love The [Insert Year Here]” nostalgia programme rolls round to drag the whole mess back up again. What’s curious about “Let’s Twist Again” is that it practically announces its own obsolescence. Obviously it’s a sequel to Checker’s runaway hit “The Twist”, itself a cover, with the original released in 1959 and a modest success before Checker’s version made it inescapable. But by admitting that the song wants the listener to do what “we did last summer” it’s already tacitly admitting that it’s time has been and gone and is now trying to be recaptured. Since “The Twist” topped the charts twice (in 1960 and 1962) the “last summer” bit isn’t even accurate – it manages to fall exactly between the two stools when it did happen because it wasn't released as a single that year. Great work, everybody! It’s an oddly old-fashioned song as well – the recording sounds astoundingly primitive even by early 60's standards and it wouldn’t sound especially out of place in a run-down of 1940’s hits, never mind the 1960’s. That’s partly due to the instrumentation – the most prominent instrument is a whacking big bassline right in the middle of the song. And it’s a walking bassline as well which can’t help but feel old-fashioned, even this early in the decade. Most of the rest of the instrumentation is pushed into almost inaudibility – the percussion in particular is basically just white noise and there’s a squall of brass on the instrumental break that sounds like it might as well have been played on a paper and comb. Thanks to some legal shenanigans, Checker had to re-record a lot of his hits to get them played, but given the poor quality of the original recording this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. What remains the most compelling aspect of the record itself is Checker’s voice. He doesn’t have a vast amount of range but what he does have is power. He’s singing this silly little novelty song like it really matters to him. When he beseeches his audience to go “round and round and up and down” he’s really compelling the listener to do just that. It’s corny in places – he can’t really land the spoken-word intro nor the “is it a bird?” part of the song - but when he actually sings it’s not hard to understand why the charts fell to such an apparently daft song. Also, if you listen to any of those Mashed Potato songs this seems like Shakespeare and Mozart by comparison, so it’s not like the competition was up to much. But dismissing the competition as poor – which it absolutely is – does “Let’s Twist Again” a disservice. It’s success, built off the work done by its predecessor and a great performance from Checker, is earned if fairly inconsequential. It’s not a great song in its own right, but it’s a fairly representative one. The 60’s – at least, in their cultural sense – still haven’t really taken off yet. It’s a cliché to point to 1963 and the unshakable arrival of The Beatles as the start of that cultural development but it’s still largely true if a little overstated. Songs like “Let’s Twist Again” have both feet in the past and unashamedly appeal to nostalgia in a way that neither of the first two entries in this series do. Even “Three Steps To Heaven” with its crooning feels of the mid-to-late 50’s, whereas if you found out Glen Miller had played the trumpet on the instrumental break from “Let’s Twist Again” shortly before his death in 1944 you wouldn’t be that surprised. 1962 is still part of the Long 50’s, the cultural force that’s about to be swept away. Checker’s career, which will peter out in terms of U.S. hits about three years from now, will be swept away with it. Novelty hits, however, will remain a part of the musical charts and Checker is an important – and endearingly silly – part of that legacy. What Else Happened in 1962?
Well, the Beatles are infamously turned down by Decca, though that story has a happy ending (both in the sense of The Beatles getting picked up by EMI, and Decca getting the not-exactly-poor second prize of The Rolling Stones). Pete Best also departs the group and his place in history to be replayed by Ringo Starr. Bob Dylan’s inventively-named first album, Bob Dylan, is released and kicks off the whole folk thing that’s going to be kind of unavoidable in the 60’s. Actually eponymous albums are quite the thing in 1962, with Howlin’ Wolf releasing Howlin’ Wolf, Bo Diddly releasing Bo Diddly and John Coltrane releasing the at-least-slightly truncated Coltrane. The 50’s are still hanging on though – Tony Bennett scores a number nineteen hit with his signature song “I Left My Heart In San Francisco”. Elsewhere, Dinah Washington releases the utterly amazing Drinkin’ Again. The biggest hit of the year goes to Elvis with “Return To Sender” (at least better than dreck like “Can’t Help Falling In Love”, which takes the number four slot. The Sun years really are a long way away now, aren’t they?). “Telstar” becomes the first British single to top the U.S. charts. And to end as we began, the Beatles release their first single. It’s “Love Me Do” and does not kick-start Beatlemania. Rankings: 1. Eddie Cochrane – "Three Steps To Heaven" 2. Jimmy Dean - "Big Bad John" 3. Chubby Checker - "Let's Twist Again"
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Post by Prole Hole on Apr 7, 2020 9:46:06 GMT -5
1963 - “Do You Want To Know A Secret”, Billy J Kramer And The Dakotas
Nothing like the Beatles at all...
Another feature of the charts which has been lost to time is the idea of multiple artists releasing the same song around roughly the same time. In this case we have the Number Two hit “Do You Want To Know A Secret”, a comparatively slight Lennon/McCartney* number from the debut Beatles album Please Please Me while at the same time Billy J Kramer knocked out a single of the same song. The Beatles version doesn’t even scrape past a two-minute running time – Kramer’s version extends that by a whole eight seconds. They even share the same producer, George Martin overseeing Kramer and his slightly drafted-in backing band The Dakotas. Indeed a deal with Parlophone and Martin was a condition of The Dakotas playing with Kramer at all – they only agreed once the contract was inked and it kind of shows (it's worth noting in passing that the Beatles version is considerably better produced despite being produced by the same man). The Beatles hit the top spot an astonishing four times in the in singles charts that year and none of them were “Do You Want To Know A Secret”. It did make it to number two in the U.S. charts the following year although – spoilers – that’s not what will be covered next week. In other words, in a year when just about anything with the word “Beatles” attached to it would sell by the bucketload even Brian Epstein – never a man scared of flogging dodgy product – and the band didn’t think this was worth chancing as a single. With good reason, too. In this case it’s instructive to compare the Beatles version with the Kramer version. To be frank, the Kramer version just isn’t very good, though it does very clearly delineate why so much of 1963 reduces to The Beatles and then “pretty much all other recorded music”. Kramer’s version starts off with the faux-melodramatic “you’ll never know how much I really love you” while a strummed guitar underneath shudders to try and provide some feeling or sentiment, just as the Beatles version does. But in Kramer’s version it’s being played straight. On the Beatles version, with Harrison’s light vocal taking lead, it’s clearly being sung by someone aware of the silly, slightly corny nature of the material. Harrison is, in point of fact, taking the piss where Kramer just sings it as-is. And that’s the two versions in a nutshell. The Beatles version is funny, Kramer’s version is sincere. In that battle, The Beatles win hands down. “Do You Want To Know A Secret”, in the hands of Lennon, McCartney, Harrison and Starr, is mocking a style already redundant and about to be annihilated. In Kramer’s hands, it’s an innocently-delivered paean to faintly teenage-sounding gossip. In 1957 it might have been remarkable, or at the very least compelling. In 1963 it feels so long ago it might as well be like comparing silent movies with talkies. Well, and there’s the playing. Turns out that the Dakotas aren’t all that fantastic as a backing band anyway. Listen, especially, to drummer Tony Mansfield completely fail to land the transition from the snare being on the beat to it being on the off-beat at “say the words you long to hear”. Ringo makes it sound so utterly effortless it’s practically off-handed (making things sound effortless is one of Ringo’s strongest points as a drummer, in fact). Mansfield just can’t manage it with the same casualness and sounds like he stumbles every time the break comes up. He’s not alone though – the other big thing that’s lacking here is the bass. McCartney’s bass is all over the Beatles version, but – perhaps unsurprisingly – he captures the very 50’s feel of the material with ease. Genre pastiches are one of McCartney’s great strengths and it is, again, easy to under-estimate just how much skill it takes to make them look so easy. The bass (well, some of the bass) is present in the Kramer version, but it feels almost mechanical – there’s no ebb and flow to it and it lacks McCartney’s breezy delivery. Kramer himself has a voice well-suited to this sort of material – it’s a bit winsome though not a poor fit for the song, but there is again the sense that Kramer is a bit out of time. If his career had started a few years earlier he’d have been perfectly in synch with the mood and music of the time. In 1963, he’s already yesterday’s man even as he’s scoring big hits with this sort of song. Tellingly, the Kramer version of this song is taken at a faster lick than the Beatles version – that ought to give it more energy but it achieves exactly the opposite, smoothing out the song’s genre origins in favour of something that sounds like everybody else. Any Mersey Beat band could have recorded this version of “Do You Want To Know A Secret” and have it sound like this – there’s just no colour or personality to the recording. This could be Gerry and The Pacemakers. Or the Dave Clark Five. Or Freddie And The Dreamers. Or any one of a hundred other copycats. By contrast, only The Beatles could have recorded their version. It’s full of humour and good cheer (Lennon and McCartney are audibly grinning doing the intentionally-dumb “doo-da-doo” backing vocals), not at all taking itself seriously and just enjoying being a two-minute knockabout designed to give Harrison something to sing on the album. It’s not that Kramer’s version isn’t remarkable, it’s that it often barely even manages to be ordinary. It might seem somewhat unfair to compare the Kramer version to the Beatles version. After all, who comes off well, especially in 1963, in comparison to the Beatles? But it’s worth remarking on simply because this really isn’t a good single, but it is a representative one. The charts are going to be flooded with this kind of stuff – a fair few of which will also be written by Lennon/McCartney – and it’s the sort of hack-work cash-in that’s still around to this day. One break-out hit inspires a multitude of copycats until the seam is worked out and we move on to something else. That’s what Mersey Beat was. A trend that was inspired by the arrival of one band that no other band was able to equal. Billy J Kramer and the Dakotas certainly weren’t up to the task. They’d have a few more hits then peter out around the middle of the decade, their one-trick pony finally taken to the knacker’s yard. Their version of “Do You Want To Know A Secret” all-too-well captures why they weren’t able to survive. And why the writers of the song were. * Look, I know they’re McCartney/Lennon on Please Please Me before the more common usage takes over on With The Beatles, but I’m sticking to the most well-known version for the sake of simplicity and to not look like too much of a pedant. What Else Happened In 1963?The 60’s have arrived! But, also, they very much haven’t! The Beatles are the big news this year, obviously, with those four number one singles and a number one album with Please Please Me. And then another number one album in the shape of With The Beatles and its iconic half-light cover. Not bad for a year’s work. Elsewhere though its remarkable how little has changed. The album charts are still full of schlocky leftovers from the Long 50’s in the shape of Dean Martin, Pat Boone and Tony Bennett. Johnny Mathis and Frank Sinatra have albums out, as does Sammy Davis Jr. But there are signs that things are starting to shift. Elvis doesn’t even crack the top five songs of the year – no surprises that number one is The Beatles with the ebullient “She Loves You”, but number two is the Kingsman’s “Louie Louie”. Get used to that riff – it ain’t going anywhere. Mersey Beat takes off in earnest, though listing all those bands would probably use up the whole of the internet. The Beach Boys have their own stab at joyfulness with Surfin’ U.S.A., Bob Dylan releases one of the most influential albums of all-time, The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan, and Thelonious Monk releases the simply dazzling Monk’s Dream, so jazz is still very much A Thing. But, most importantly of all, one of the most glorious pieces of music humanity has ever produced in millennia of existence is released in April of 1963 – Boots Randolph gives us the timeless, peerless, immortal glory of “Yakkity Sax”. [New Section!] What Did We Nearly End Up Discussing?
Elvis started the year at Number Two with “Return To Sender”, not his finest work but not bad as far as post-drafting material goes. If you want some irony he was being held off the top spot by Cliff Richard… Richard himself spent a couple of weeks at Number Two with the blandly bland “Summer Holiday”, a bland hit which is very bland indeed. In some ways Richard is an interesting figure, having had approximately a bajllion hits across half a century, not one of which is genuinely well-regarded, and has had absolutely zero impact on popular culture – a rare feat indeed (to be strictly fair, it’s not like popular culture has ever had much of an impact on him either). Anyway, no. The Crystals at least bring something a bit more interesting with “And Then He Kissed Me” for fans of Phil Spector’s Wall Of Sound. Gerry And The Pacemakers, one of the least awful Mersey Beat groups, spent quite a few weeks occupying the Number Two slot with a number of different singles, one of which was their now-a-standard football-worrying “You’ll Never Walk Alone”. Pass. Anyone remember the twee, forgotten “Sukiyaki” by Kyu Sakamoto? No? Then let us quietly move on to 1964… Rankings: 1. Eddie Cochrane – "Three Steps To Heaven" 2. Jimmy Dean - "Big Bad John" 3. Chubby Checker - "Let's Twist Again" 4. Billy J Kramer And The Dakotas - "Do You Want To Know A Secret"
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Post by Desert Dweller on Apr 11, 2020 20:53:00 GMT -5
Yikes, it really is quite a bit worse than the Beatles version. It sounds so bland. Yes, the difference in the drumming immediately stood out to me. Mansfield is not remotely capturing the vibe of Ringo, it sounds like he's just late on the on-beat. I played back the Beatles version right after, and the difference with McCartney's bass work is almost shocking.
Your analysis here is spot on. You can really feel the difference, as the Beatles version genuinely feels looser and deliberately funny. I think it actually helps that Harrison isn't as polished a singer as Kramer.
"You'll Never Walk Alone" - It is deeply odd to me that this major emotional chorus from Rodgers & Hammerstein's "Carousel" would go on to be this big soccer anthem.
I would have voted for The Crystals "And Then He Kissed Me". Would have to be better than this.
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Post by Prole Hole on Apr 14, 2020 11:36:20 GMT -5
1964 - "Downtown", Petula Clark
Nice jumper...
By some distance the best song covered so far, Petula Clark’s “Downtown” is an easy stand-out in 1964 music. If 1963 saw the start of what we think of as “the Sixties” in a cultural sense, 1964 is where that seed really bloomed. Everything in 1964 is the arrival of the Sixties. The vast majority of that cultural momentum comes, naturally, from The Beatles, and their complete domination over the first half of year means hardly any other music even got a look-in. “Downtown” came out at the end of 1964, when things had calmed down a little, but so many bands that we think of as quintessentially Sixties really found their footing during this year. Some of them were high-quality mainstays of the music scene – The Rolling Stones, The Who, The Kinks – and some were destined to clog up cheap, tacky compilations and nostalgia television for ever – Manfred Mann, Dave Clark Five, Herman’s Hermits and many, many others. The sheer number of bands that broke through in 1964 is remarkable, even while so many of them prove Sturgeon’s Law. Petula Clark falls into neither camp – more than simply nostalgia but never quite destined to be a name in lights for all time – and “Downtown” doesn’t fit conveniently into a year whose material is otherwise fairly easy to categorise. Which is one of the reasons it stands out, and one of the reasons it’s such a fantastic song. No dreary Mersey Beat influence here. No pop/rock sensibilities either. No attempt to ape existing musical trends on either side of the Atlantic. “Downtown” is a remarkable song because it seems to straddle so many different genres without belonging to one and as a result it’s mostly a song on its own and very much the better for it. Stylistically it’s not a million miles away from something that Tom Jones, Matt Monroe or Shirley Bassey might sing, but Clark has a voice all of her own – a little girlishly innocent, but more thang grown-up enough to understand the world of neon lights, movies and food places that never close. It’s a song that manages to be grown up without simply being parental, and in 1964 that’s a real trick. Though now in terminal decline, the odd crooner and 50’s hangover still pops into the charts upon occasion, something for Mum and Dad to enjoy. And the music of the Beatles and vast wave of other bands that follow in their wake is clearly aimed at a younger, predominantly teenage market. “Downtown” is in the middle. It’s sophisticated enough for a young listener to feel grown up listening to it without sounding like something their parents might slip into their record collection alongside the Mantovani. And at the same time, because the actual music is based primarily on an orchestral rather than a guitar-drums-bass arrangement, it might be something the older generation could enjoy without all that new-fangled noise the kids are into these days. It’s an artfully constructed song, and a piece of music that understands exactly its place in the world. It was written by Tony Hatch, a man with an extraordinary career who’s as well-known for writing TV theme tunes as he is smash-hit singles, and who’s worked with everyone from David Bowie to Bruce Forsyth – his is a fascinating career and “Downtown” is just one of many, many notable highs. It starts on those elegantly-constructed introductory piano chords. They already feel sophisticated before Clark’s voice comes in. Even on that first line her voice is so full of warmth and understanding the listener can’t help but be drawn into this word because it’s an escape. And that line, “where you’re alone and life is making you lonely you can always go downtown”, is a masterclass of how to draw a listener into your song. Set up a problem – alone, lonely, in other words relatable problems – and offer an exit, an alternative for the listener to invest in. It’s followed by a second line that repeats the trick – other problems but the same solution, head off to a place where the world is simply better. It’s a trick the lyric constantly repeats, always entreating you to enter that world and leave your own behind. The first line of the second verse shifts from explanation to encouragement, “don’t hang around and let your problem surround you”. There’s an inclusiveness present in the song that pulls the listener inexorably towards the vast, joyful chorus. The way Clark’s voice surges and finally explodes on the “Down! Town!” of the chorus is successful partly because of the sheer, unbridled pleasure of what she’s singing about and partly because her voice, ever so slightly tinged with a coquettish reserve on the verse, doesn’t suggest the sheer power that Clark delivers on the chorus. It’s quite exhilarating. It’s also an exquisitely well-produced song, recorded live and it shows. There’s touches (the little “downtown” backing vocals that gently push the appeal of the destination during the verse) that show a producer’s hand but nothing quite matches the power of the full band, whether the perfectly positioned timpani on the run-up to the chorus that give the song just that little extra momentum or the unhinged, ecstatic squall of the deranged trumpet right at the song’s conclusion, everything is orchestrated for maximum effect. It’s more than a little melodramatic, but the instrumentation is written and delivered as if it were scoring some imaginary film scene, the neon lights glittering in Piccadilly Circus or Times Square, the tempestuous thrill of a city lit by artificial illumination and the intriguing scent of mysterious food joints. The appeal isn’t just in the lyric, it’s layered through every single note of the song. And at the end, as the music fades and our protagonist vanishes into the city’s depths to swallow up everything it has to offer we, the listener, are left breathless but cheered, ready to follow but never to intrude. As we gasp at the song’s conclusion, a gasp of breathless joy, we find ourselves beguiled. And that’s the only word to describe this song – it is completely beguiling. Petula Clark would never have quite such an impact again but she’s had a very successful career touring, singing and acting (including a Golden Globe nomination). She’s one of the singers on John Lennon’s “Give Peace A Chance”. She had a by-today’s-standards very mild scandal when – gasp – she took Harry Belafonte’s arm on TV in 1968. She’s an accomplished stage actor. There’s been a couple of remakes of “Downtown”, a cover by Dolly Parton and at time of writing – aged 87 – Clark is still around, still out there, and still performing. But “Downtown” will always be her signature song, the one that above any other she will always be associated with. Nobody can cover, sing or deliver it in quite the way she did, and if “Downtown” is to be her legacy despite a huge body of other work, well, it’s still an amazing legacy to have, and it is absolutely one she can be proud of. So many songs in 1964 were disposably forgettable. “Downtown” is the exact, precise opposite of that. What Else Happened in 1964?OK, now the Sixties have arrived. In an attempt to get “with it” the BBC launch, for the very first time, a programme dedicated to popular music in the shape of Top Of The Pops. It’s a landmark programme, has an astonishingly long run, and remains a by-word for the singles charts even as the show itself has now fallen to the passing of history. There’s unsurprisingly a lot of Beatles news – that famous Ed Sullivan performance, holding five of the top five slots in the Billboard Hot 100, releasing both the movie and album A Hard Day’s Night, that sort of thing. The Stones are coming up though, having their first (and second) U.S. tours and also doing that Ed Sullivan thing. Keith Moon joins The Who, which can only end well. Shirley Bassey bellows her way into infamy with the immortal “Goldfinger”. The Animals hit the top spot with the always-cheerful subject of finding a corpse in the middle of nowhere with “House Of The Rising Sun”, and the Kinks make their first significant impact with “You Really Got Me”. It’s not all quality singles though – Manfred Mann score a huge hit with the unforgivably awful “Do Wah Diddy Diddy” and fans of screechy Sixties kitsch can be reassured by the presence of puntastic Sandie Shaw’s “(There’s Always) Something There To Remind Me”. And I can only apologise by informing you that “Surfin’ Bird” by the all-too-aptly-named Trashmen is released but then again, it is the word. What Did We Nearly End Up Discussing?For America it’s all Beatles all the time in 1964 – not a lot else gets a look in. Louis Armstrong got to Number 2 in the U.S. charts with “Hello Dolly”, which isn’t bad but if you’re going to discuss Armstrong there’s better songs than that to cover. He makes it there in May (after nearly half a year of the Beatles occupying the Number 2 slot with various different ditties) and – ironically, given our last entry – is held off the top spot by their version of “Do You Want To Know A Secret”. He does eventually gets to number one though. Martha and The Vandellas get to Number 2 with the inexplicably-popular “Dancing In The Street” – they’re held off the top spot by The Supremes (it’s “Baby Love”, a song that never sits at Number 2) and, um, Manfred Mann. In the UK it was the usual shuffle-the-deck collection of Mersey Beat dreck, the Rolling Stones (watch this space), the Kinks (“All Day And All Of The Night”, a strong contender were it not for Nudeviking already covering that band so adroitly), and little else to capture the imagination. Rankings: 1. Petula Clark - "Downtown" 2. Eddie Cochrane – "Three Steps To Heaven" 3. Jimmy Dean - "Big Bad John" 4. Chubby Checker - "Let's Twist Again" 5. Billy J Kramer And The Dakotas - "Do You Want To Know A Secret"
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Post by Desert Dweller on Apr 20, 2020 0:23:10 GMT -5
Aw, definitely using the UK chart here. "Downtown" was not ever #2 in the USA in 1964. It was #1 in the USA in January 1965, though.
You're correct that this is a great song. When I saw it I said - out loud - "Nice!" This is such a fun song. Clark's singing on it is fantastic. The catchy melody and orchestral backing always make me feel like this would have been such a great song in a Broadway show.
I see it was blocked from #1 in the UK by the Beatles "I Feel Fine". I'm a huge Beatles fan, but I think this song is better than "I Feel Fine".
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Post by Prole Hole on Apr 21, 2020 11:18:09 GMT -5
Aw, definitely using the UK chart here. "Downtown" was not ever #2 in the USA in 1964. It was #1 in the USA in January 1965, though. You're correct that this is a great song. When I saw it I said - out loud - "Nice!" This is such a fun song. Clark's singing on it is fantastic. The catchy melody and orchestral backing always make me feel like this would have been such a great song in a Broadway show. I see it was blocked from #1 in the UK by the Beatles "I Feel Fine". I'm a huge Beatles fan, but I think this song is better than "I Feel Fine". I, too, am a massive Beatles fan but I'm inclined to agree this is better than "I Feel Fine". Not that "I Feel Fine" is a bad song, but once you get past the feedback and the intro riff (both of which are excellent) there's not a lot to it. "Downtown" is definitely a better song. Spoilers, ish, but our next entry will also be kept off the Number One spot by the Beatles... (more tomorrow, assuming I get round to finishing).
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Post by Desert Dweller on Apr 22, 2020 5:07:52 GMT -5
Oh, I think "I Feel Fine" is a perfectly decent song. I love it's happy lyrics. But it is not what I'd call top tier Beatles.
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Post by Prole Hole on Apr 23, 2020 8:57:20 GMT -5
1965 – “We Gotta Get Out Of This Place”, The Animals
Smoulder for us, sweetiesQ. What’s so great about “We Gotta Get Out Of This Place” by the Animals? A. Everything. I mean, as a band the Animals are best known for two songs and this one is probably, and appropriately, number two after “House Of The Rising Sun”. And there’s clearly no denying how great “House Of The Rising Sun” is, because that would be insane. It’s a melodramatic classic, full of brooding Southern Gothic, pain and loss. It’s an amazing song, and almost anything would be eclipsed by a song of that magnitude. And yet here’s “We Gotta Get Out Of This Place” popping up to prove that almost comprehensively wrong. The opening bass riff here – ominous, beckoning, alluring even – draws you in just as much as the arpeggiated opening to “House Of The Rising Sun” but lyrically we have universality rather than the specificity of, “there is a house in New Orleans”. “In this dirty old part of the city” could refer to almost anywhere because what city doesn’t have a “dirty old part”? The band themselves didn’t write the song and hail from Newcastle, but the song – written as part of the whole Brill Building songwriting system – comes from New York. The line applies equally though, and it could just as easily be London, Paris, Moscow, Hong Kong. Or, perhaps relevantly, Saigon, since “We Gotta Get Out Of This Place” became a huge hit on Forces Radio and a major touchstone for American forces serving in Vietnam. Point being – anyone and everyone can get it. Eric Burdon’s voice on that opening line is hushed, almost reverential and that reserve is well placed because when he gets to “see my daddy in bed a’dyin” he can go full throttle, belting the line out like his life depends on it. Which, in the spiritual sense of the song, it pretty much does – this is a song clearly drawing from and rooted in the blues and the delivery completely supports this. Burdon doesn’t have a traditional Geordie accent – in fact his voice is positively accent-free again leaning into a feel of universality – so when he goes full throttle what we hear is a scream of pure desperation and near-hopelessness as he pelts towards the chorus. Oh, it’s melodramatic to be sure, but the melodrama never descends into camp and adds to the song rather than subtracts from it. It adds genuine power. And when we finally get there the gasp of relief that lies at the heart of the song’s title feels like a cathartic release, a way to move on from the desperation of the first verse. That’s a single verse and a chorus. It’s indelible – it takes one minute and ten seconds before we hit the chorus and the song is already a vast emotional rollercoaster. What’s so impressive is that “We Gotta Get Out Of This Place” never loses that momentum and the quiet introduction to the second verse follows the same pattern before we get the same explosion preceding the chorus. The story of pain and loss – again rooting this so firmly in the blues tradition that the Animals hail from – is re-emphasised. People are “dead before their time is due”. They can be “young and so pretty” but that youth and vitality can be stolen before they even know it. Another wasted generation. That could be referring to coal miners, or generations of slaves, or cotton pickers, or shipbuilders. Or soldiers. Universality is a tricky concept to get right. Make something too universal and you smear out anything interesting – you produce something acceptable but bland. Swing too far in the other direction and you claim universality but still end up exclusionary. “We Gotta Get Out Of This Place” lands its universality perfectly. Everyone’s had the desire to run, to escape, to flee circumstance. By having the song and performance rooted in the blues it gains an authenticity without subtracting from the universal appeal. That’s a pretty neat trick – the Rolling Stones would base a half-century long career doing just that. The fact that the song is being sung by a bunch of white northern lads rather than some old black man from the Delta doesn’t damage the song either – northern England was struck by punishing hardships at the time and the sense of suffering and the desire to escape it eclipses any concerns about proprietary or “white men singing black men’s music”. So it’s worth pointing out that the song was written by Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil, a Jewish husband and wife team from Brooklyn. They were phenomenally successful, but blues travellers they were not. They wrote over-produced saccharine housewife’s favourite “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling” for the Righteous Brothers. Dolly Parton was gifted “Here You Come Again”. A few Grammy’s are attached to their name. There’s the novelty hit “Who Put The Bomp (In The Bomp Bomp Bomp)”. But nothing they wrote quite had the lightning-in-a-bottle moment of “We Gotta Get Out Of This Place”. The Animals are not, in fact, an on-the-surface obvious fit for Mann/Weil as a writing team even though the husband and wife team wrote a few of their hits, and indeed this song was originally intended for the Righteous Brothers. It is their loss and music’s gain that it ended up with the Animals instead because it’s impossible to imagine them bringing the same raw power and pain that Burdon is able to deliver on the vocal. Similarly, a Righteous Brothers production – smooth, accomplished rather than primitive and energetic – would perhaps turn out a more technically competent performance but it would never come close to capturing the vitality and urgency of the Animals version. How could it? No band that has ever recorded the song – of which there are hundreds, up to and including Bruce Springsteen who’s on record as saying everything he's ever written is that song – has quite managed to capture the heart of it as well as the original version. The Animals themselves wouldn’t hit this high again – the original line-up would last only another year and a second iteration of the band wouldn't manage to see out the decade – “We Gotta Get Out Of This Place” represents their last hurrah and nobody could match that. Plenty of cover versions improve on the original in some fashion. But “We Gotta Get Out Of This Place” will never be on that list. It already exists in its perfect, ideal form. It is unimprovable. And it is unimpeachable. What Else Happened in 1965?
Previous entry Petula Clark scored a number one with “Downtown” the U.S., so good for her. The Supremes give us the classic “Stop! In The Name Of Love” and the Temptations “My Girl” so Motown is doing pretty well. Maria Callas gives her final performance, bringing to an end arguably the finest career in all of opera. The Beatles – we had to get there at some point – break the record for the biggest gig ever when they play Shea Stadium, named after the famous Cuban gruella leader Shea Stadium (thank you, The Rutles). They also meet Elvis, which is A Thing, and receive the MBE from the Queen. A couple of defining songs get released, “My Generation” by the Who and “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” by the Rolling Stones (the biggest song of the year), and Bob Dylan gives us another classic with Bringing It All Back Home. Speaking of folk-rock, The Byrds secure their early legacy by covering Dylan, giving us the definitive version of “Mr Tambourine Man” (noting in passing that “definitive” is not a synonym for “best”). The Grateful Dead, Captain Beefheart and Pink Floyd are all founded. Paul Simon releases his first solo album (the inventively-titled The Paul Simon Songbook), and if the album title is anything to go by, apparently Everything’s Coming Up Dusty. Help yourselves. What Did We Nearly End Up Discussing?
You cannot imagine how much self-restraint it took not to do “Woolly Bully” by Sam The Sham. Not that it’s a deathless work of art or anything, but still. “Woolly Bully”! The Righteous Brothers spent a few weeks at Number 2 with “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling” before scraping to the top of the charts, but it’s a terrible song even as it represents a genre that’s rather passed into history. “Stop! In The Name Of Love” spent a lot more time at Number 2 than it did at the top spot and was a close-run thing. Dylan’s “Like A Rolling Stone” spent a few weeks at Number 2 but I’m not really sure there’s much more to be said about one of the most over-analysed songs in history. See also “My Generation”. Rankings: 1. The Animals - "We Gotta Get Out Of This Place" 2. Petula Clark - "Downtown" 3. Eddie Cochrane – "Three Steps To Heaven" 4. Jimmy Dean - "Big Bad John" 5. Chubby Checker - "Let's Twist Again" 6. Billy J Kramer And The Dakotas - "Do You Want To Know A Secret"
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Post by Desert Dweller on Apr 24, 2020 2:10:02 GMT -5
Clearly the UK had better taste than Americans, because this song only hit lucky #13 in the USA. What could possibly be ahead of this awesome song, America? LOL, let's list (the first week it was at #13):
1. Eve of Destruction - Barry McGuire 2. Hang on Sloopy - The McCoys 3. You Were on my Mind - We Five 4. Catch Us if You Can - Dave Clark Five 5. Help! - The Beatles 6. The "In" Crowd - Ramsey Lewis Trio 7. Like a Rolling Stone - Bob Dylan 8. It Ain't Me Babe - The Turtles 9. Heart Full of Soul - The Yardbirds 10. Laugh at Me - Sonny 11. You've Got Your Troubles - The Fortunes 12. Treat Her Right - Roy Head and the Traits
That was eye opening. Wow. I have some questions, America.
Week 2 that it spent at #13 is a bit more understandable, if only because the songs that leapfrogged it are:
"Yesterday" - The Beatles "Baby Don't Go" - Sonny and Cher "Do You Believe In Magic" - The Lovin' Spoonful
Ok, at least I understand that, America.
This is an awesome song! The bass line! Burdon's vocals are phenomenal! The lyrics are incredible! I can't even imagine The Righteous Brothers performing this song. That idea is ludicrous.
Which Beatles song blocked it from #1 in the UK? I hope the answer is "Help!"
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Post by Prole Hole on Apr 24, 2020 4:16:25 GMT -5
Desert Dweller - you got it in one, "Help!" kept it off the Number one spot. I love "Help!" it's one of my favourite Beatles songs actually, but I'm really torn between whether it deserved the number one spot over this. Tough call. Jesus, the Turtles. One of the worst bands of all time? I mean, I can forgive "The In Crowd" even though I'm more familiar with the Bryan Ferry version and obviously "Like A Rolling Stone", "Help!" and "Hang On Sloopy" pass muster. But the Turtles?
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Post by Desert Dweller on Apr 25, 2020 2:33:21 GMT -5
Desert Dweller - you got it in one, "Help!" kept it off the Number one spot. I love "Help!" it's one of my favourite Beatles songs actually, but I'm really torn between whether it deserved the number one spot over this. Tough call. Jesus, the Turtles. One of the worst bands of all time? I mean, I can forgive "The In Crowd" even though I'm more familiar with the Bryan Ferry version and obviously "Like A Rolling Stone", "Help!" and "Hang On Sloopy" pass muster. But the Turtles?
Ah, I'd give "Help!" the edge. It is one of my favorite Beatles songs. Such a great song. The singalong quality to the chorus alone would easily put it #1 for me. It wouldn't be that close for me, really. There are some structural things concerning how the verses lead into the chorus of each that give Help the edge. I feel the verses of We Gotta Get Out Of This Place are more intense, while energy drops too much in the chorus. I prefer the structural buildup from the verse to the chorus in Help.
I barely remembered that Turtles song. I went to YouTube. It is written by Bob Dylan. Gotta say, not my favorite Dylan lyrics. And I HATE the way those guys perform it.
I don't particularly like "Eve of Destruction" Barry McGuire, but I do understand why it was a hit in 1965. I'd forgotten it existed until I saw it listed here.
The We Five cover of "You Were On My Mind" is boring, and I don't like it. Wasn't sure I even knew which one this was. But I remembered it once I heard it. I grew up listening to Ian & Sylvia's performance. Which I quite like. I also like Crispian St. Peters version of it more than this one.
"Catch Us If You Can".... that song is just not better than "We Gotta Get Out Of This Place".
Not down with this Sonny Bono solo song "Laugh at Me". I kind of hate Sonny's voice, and particularly so on this. And I also don't like the lyric to this. This gets a thumbs down from me.
The Fortunes - "You've Got Your Troubles" ..... I wondered if I was unreasonably down on it, so I went to play it on YouTube just now. No. I mean, it is nicely harmonized, but 1965 had some peak Brian Wilson Beach Boys writing, so this kind of harmonization doesn't really impress me. I find it bland.
Edited to add: I mean, to add your your "What else was happening" and "defining" songs, in 1965 the Beach Boys released "California Girls". Which hit #3, so I expect to see you cover this when you do "We're Number 3!"
"Treat Her Right" - No. And it being in a recent Tarantino movie didn't make me like it any more.
The Yardbirds "Heart Full of Soul" - yeah, ok that's a good song. I understand why that's top 10. That's not a better song than "We Gotta Get Out Of This Place"
As you say, the others pass.
Thumbs up for "Hang on Sloopy".
"Like a Rolling Stone" = yep.
I'd still put "We Gotta Get Out Of This Place" ahead of both of those. (Sorry, Dylan.)
"Help!" I spoke about above.
"The 'In' Crowd" is just a great song. I'm most familiar with the original version by Dobie Gray. That one is so great. This Ramsey Lewis Trio is a fantastic jazz version of this song. It sounds really cool. Of course, this was an era were a jazz song could hit #6 on the chart. (Actually apparently it hit #5!) I still wouldn't rank this above "We Gotta Get Out Of This Place".
UK wins.
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Post by Prole Hole on Apr 25, 2020 5:36:13 GMT -5
Desert Dweller - wow some good researchin' there! I'm already honestly thinking about it, I'm having a tremendous amount of fun writing this. Or I may do We're Number One but with singles like this rather than the way TOC did it. I don't know why but I always think of "Surfing USA" being the defining Beach Boys song over "California Girls" even though the latter is both a much better song and almost certainly better-known. On which subject, welcome to 1982 early and an advert for the now-defunct British Caledonian Airways and "Caledonian Girls". So remember, when people say "nothing ever chages"... well, they definitely do. It never ceases to amaze me how good "Like A Rolling Stone" is. Still sounds fresh after all these years and a bajillion dreadful cover versions (see also "Subterranian Homesick Blues"). Im not a massive Dylan fan but it's still just so well put together. I listen to it a lot when i am was on the rowing machine at the gym, perfect rhythm for it.
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Post by Desert Dweller on Apr 25, 2020 19:16:21 GMT -5
That advertisement made me check what year David Lee Roth released his cover of California Girls, which I saw sooooooo many times on MTV. All I knew was it was from the 80s. The answer is 1985. So, the airline was clearly riffing on the original from nearly 20 years ago. Which sounds nuts until I consider that 2000 was 20 years ago, which feels so wrong.
Also, that response didn't really require much research. I remembered most of those songs by title. Just had to confirm via YouTube on a couple of them. Though I really had forgotten "Eve of Destruction" existed until I saw it listed there. Seeing the title brought it back for me.
And I definitely didn't need to look up any info on 1965 Beach Boys releases, as I am a massive Beach Boys/Brian Wilson fan.
When I was in high school I lived in a small town in rural AZ that didn't get any Top 40 radio. There was a top 40 station from Phoenix that rarely had reception in my town, and when we could hear it, it was about 50% static. Nor any contemporary radio at all, and this was essentially pre-internet. (mid-90s) So, zero contemporary radio stations, but FOUR stations playing music of the 50s-70s. Our exposure to contemporary music essentially came entirely from MTV.
So I will likely be much more knowledgeable about music from the 60s and 70s than I will be about the 90s.
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Post by Prole Hole on May 1, 2020 9:22:46 GMT -5
1966 Wild Thing – The Troggs
Arrrrr you sure that's the best picture to use?
Who invented punk music anyway? We can be certain it wasn’t the Sex Pistols and The Clash, and glam-rock trash aesthetic embracers The New York Dolls definitely didn’t. Iggy and the Stooges? Well, there’s some credibility there. Maybe The Velvet Underground. That takes us back to 1967, but what about The Troggs? Of course the real answer is “nobody” since, like all genres of music, punk is both an amalgam of what came before it and something emergent in its own right – there’s no unique progenitor, just a sequence of them. And there’s no correct answer to “who invented punk”. But “Wild Thing” with its profoundly simple three-chord verse and two chord chorus, played by a band who sound like they’ll never both to learn any more, delivered with a snarled vocal over primitively-recorded instruments? Well, that sounds pretty much like the punk scene that would materialise a decade after Reg Presley and his merry band of troglodytes threw the hand-grenade of “Wild Thing” at the public then ran away gleefully to see what the explosive effect would be. As with the last couple of entries, The Troggs didn’t write “Wild Thing”. In an era where the Beatles, the Stones, the Kinks and thousands of other bands were doing away with Tin Pan Alley and the very idea of “professional songwriters” it’s remarkable just how many songs continued to be written and recorded in the old-fashioned way. Not that Presley didn’t write, but he didn’t write this. The song itself was composed lightning-quick – it shows, and not to its detriment – and on demand. It’s sexual, but there’s nothing remotely sexual in the lyric. The title is suggestive, sure, but Reg Presley’s big declaration is “I think I love you / but I wanna know for sure”. The music is primal but we’re still very much in an age where the idea of sex, or at least explicit sex, as the subject of a song destined for (very nearly) the top of the charts just Isn’t A Thing Yet. It’s a song which takes just slightly over two and a half minutes to blast out its declaration. It’s idiomatic of the 60’s (“you make everything groovy”) but there’s only about a dozen lines in the entirety of the song so there’s not a whole lot of analysis to be done on the lyric. Reg Presley himself is – or rather was, since he passed away in 2013 – a terribly nice chap with an absolutely charming oo-arr West Country accent more reminiscent of The Archers (or any given pirate) and in no way seems like a natural fit for this growling piece of libido. And yet he’s absolutely perfect. Even the name of the band – it doesn’t exactly take a Masters in music theory to work out the derivation of the name Troggs – is suggestive of the primitive. And “Wild Thing” is primitive in every way. The wailing opening note sounds like the death cry of a bird shot out of a prehistoric sky. The thudding drums might as well be two rocks being smashed together. The guitar sound, crude and basic, barely sounds like it’s even being played through an amp. The bassline is two notes and might as well be being played on a tea-chest-and-broom. And oh yes, we mustn’t forget the flute solo. Erm, yes, the flute solo. Not obviously compatible with a broodingly sexual mini masterpiece, but there it is anyway. Yet things aren’t quite as primitive as they seem (even given the oddity of a flute rather than, say, a guitar solo). There’s a really clever little ability to build and deliver tension throughout the song. It’s not structured verse-chorus-verse chorus. Indeed, it starts with the chorus, but even then we get the song’s primary riff first, and then the music hangs on the D chord for two bars before finally plunging into the chorus and Reg’s first drawled “wild thaaang” (and the vocal is double-tracked, another sign things aren’t simply stand-up-and-blast). And then everything stops. Just so Reg can declare his love for the song’s unidentified subject. Another quick, pugnacious burst of guitar. And he wants to know for sure. Another pause while he asks to be held tight before slithering out “I… love you”. And in kicks the guitar riff again. It’s a terrific demonstration of how to achieve a huge amount with extremely little, and it carries on throughout the song, using the same technique after the flute solo as the song hangs on the D chord again, building expectations that we’ll plunge back into the chorus… except this time we wait for four bars instead of two, ratchetting the tension up even further before the final climactic release of the chorus arrives and we shudder our way towards the end of the song and fade out (the fade out may be the one error in the recording, dissipating the built-up energy rather than concluding it, though it’s hard to be too critical). “Wild Thing” is a great little song. It does everything you could ask of a two and a half minute blast of power. It wouldn’t go on to be The Troggs best-known song – that would be “Love Is All Around” and the horrors of the Wet, Wet, Wet version – but it’s their best. And, sure, a little progenitor of punk, why not? This isn’t a song that concerns itself with trivialities like staying power. And that’s precisely why it’s got it. In a musical landscape where the very ideal of music was developing at an astounding pace – no more “groups”, now people join “bands” – “Wild Thing” represents the old way of doing things, and the old way would, in time, become the new way again. The cycle will repeat and repeat, but The Troggs were the first time through the loop. And absolutely one of the best. What Else Happened In 1966?Let’s get the Beatles stuff out the way first. John Lennon says they’re more popular than Jesus – cue book burnings and record burnings – and meets Yoko Ono (these events are not connected). Revolver is released, they play Japan (more troubles there) and play their last ever “proper” gig, rooftops excepted. Brace yourself for tartan overload in about a decade – The Bay City Rollers are formed. Of slightly more musical importantance, so are “supergroup” Cream. Simon & Garfunkel release The Sound Of Silence and the Byrds embrace psychedelia with “Eight Miles High”. Since Revolver has been released we could scarcely pass on mentioning Pet Sounds, as well as Brian Wilson starting the ill-fated Smile sessions. Ike And Tina give us River Deep, Mountain High in case your geography was in need of improvement, and right at the end of the year The Who give us A Quick One, very much signalling where they’re going to be heading. The Jimi Hendrix Experience release their first single (“Hey Joe”) and, rather joyfully in fact, the very first episode of The Monkees is broadcast in America. The Rolling Stones release “Paint It, Black”, a boon for both comma and sitar lovers, and Gerry And The Pacemakers call it quits, upsetting almost exactly no-one. And after years of the 60’s finally nailing the 50’s coffin shut it suddenly creaks back open again – Frank Sinatra unexpectedly has the biggest single of the year with the twee, soppy “Strangers In The Night” (it’s not very good). The rest of the top five songs of the year are The Beatles and The Beach Boys (including the sublime “Good Vibrations”), so don’t give up hope. What Did We Nearly End Up Discussing?The year started with Simon & Garfunkel’s “The Sound Of Silence” occupying the Number 2 position in the U.S., a worthy contender but it only occupies that slot for a couple of weeks before sliding down the charts – in the UK it was Cliff Richard yet again and he’s never going to be in this series. Nancy Sinatra spent a few weeks at Number 2 with “These Boots Are Made For Walking” (it did stamp briefly to Number 1 before falling back again). There’s that Frank Sinatra song but really, fuck Frank Sinatra. The Beach Boys gave us a plethora of possibilities with “Barbara Ann”, “Sloop John B”, “Good Vibrations” and “God Only Knows” (held off the top spot in the UK by “Eleanor Rigby” / “Yellow Submarine” and if you had to choose between whether “Eleanor Rigby” or “God Only Knows” is a better song, well good luck making that call). The Supremes spent a couple of weeks at Number 2 with “You Can’t Hurry Love” but sadly Phil Collins traumatised me with that song as a teenager – one of the very worst cover versions in the history of music – so sorry that’s not happening. But yeah, honestly? Not a lot. Rankings: 1. The Animals - "We Gotta Get Out Of This Place" 2. Petula Clark - "Downtown" 3. Eddie Cochrane – "Three Steps To Heaven" 4. The Troggs - "Wild Thing" 5. Jimmy Dean - "Big Bad John" 6. Chubby Checker - "Let's Twist Again" 7. Billy J Kramer And The Dakotas - "Do You Want To Know A Secret" Next Week On We’re Number Two…The best single of the 60’s bar none.
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Post by MyNameIsNoneOfYourGoddamnBusin on May 1, 2020 9:35:26 GMT -5
What Else Happened In 1966?Let’s get the Beatles stuff out the way first. John Lennon says they’re more popular than Jesus – cue book burnings and record burnings – and meets Yoko Ono (these events are not connected). Revolver is released, they play Japan (more troubles there) and play their last ever “proper” gig, rooftops excepted. Brace yourself for tartan overload in about a decade – The Bay City Rollers are formed. Of slightly more musical importantance, so are “supergroup” Cream. Simon & Garfunkel release The Sound Of Silence and the Byrds embrace psychedelia with “Eight Miles High”. Since Revolver has been released we could scarcely pass on mentioning Pet Sounds, as well as Brian Wilson starting the ill-fated Smile sessions. Ike And Tina give us River Deep, Mountain High in case your geography was in need of improvement, and right at the end of the year The Who give us A Quick One, very much signalling where they’re going to be heading. The Jimi Hendrix Experience release their first single (“Hey Joe”) and, rather joyfully in fact, the very first episode of The Monkees is broadcast in America. The Rolling Stones release “Paint It, Black”, a boon for both comma and sitar lovers, and Gerry And The Pacemakers call it quits, upsetting almost exactly no-one. And after years of the 60’s finally nailing the 50’s coffin shut it suddenly creaks back open again – Frank Sinatra unexpectedly has the biggest single of the year with the twee, soppy “Strangers In The Night” (it’s not very good). The rest of the top five songs of the year are The Beatles and The Beach Boys (including the sublime “Good Vibrations”), so don’t give up hope. The Troggs also released a version of "Good Vibrations" that I always thought was better than the original (placing me in a category of one I assume, but I never liked the Beach Boys anyway).
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