Running Scared

June 1961

On the surface, Roy Orbison's singing voice sounds kinda like Elvis. It has a similarly confident vibrato, as well as the remarkable ability to sound "deep" even when firmly in the tenor range. His early material sits comfortably in this model, riding on the coattails of Presley's success – indeed, he was signed to Sun Records, the same label as not only Elvis but Carl Perkins as well. His minor early hit "Ooby Dooby" from 1956 is a competent, if not terribly exciting exercise in the genre. Throughout the rest of the 50s, he produced a number of these songs, finally scoring another minor hit in 1959 with "Uptown." It's in a similar boogie-woogie type vein. Understandably, history has mostly forgotten these early singles.

But what Orbison had in store was something entirely different. In his 1960 breakthrough hit, "Only the Lonely," he easily distinguishes himself from the competition by taking his rich, full voice to brave new heights. It's so much more than just a verse-chorus-verse pop song; backed by a string section, it's an elaborate mini-epic, punctuated by orchestra hits and soaring high notes. In the midst of so many banal popular songs of the day, it was purely sensational. Orbison is listed as co-author, along with songwriter Joe Melson – the team would produce a number of his most well-known songs. The songs were finally robust enough to support the full range of Orbison's singing voice.

But wait – this isn't about "Only the Lonely," because that peaked at a mere #2 on the charts. His next two lesser hits were "Blue Angel" and "I'm Hurtin'," which are in a similar vein as his breakthrough, but not quite as strong. Still, they are worth a listen – it's the sound of a struggling artist finally coming into his own.

And then, in 1961, he made it to #1 with "Running Scared," another Melson collaboration. The song is a complete singularity in early 60s popular music, unlike anything else that existed at the time. For one thing, it's flat-out undanceable – the drum beat doesn't even enter until three fourths of the way into the track. Instead, it's a song that tells a complete (albeit short) story. In just over two minutes, we identify with the protagonist, learn about the characters' history, and it all comes rushing together in a brilliant climax. I love when a pop song is brave enough to break all the rules, and yet it still becomes successful against all the odds – and this is a perfect example. It's a fine and dignified first #1 for Roy Orbison, but the story doesn't end here, because he's got another one coming up in a few years.

A-

Travelin' Man

May–June 1961

As you may have noticed, one thing men love to do (in each other's company, at least) is brag about sleeping with women. It's a perennial topic of discussion at the bar, the ball game, or the Sunday poker session. So it's only natural that songs have been written on the subject – a famous example from this era is Dion's "The Wanderer." Ricky Nelson's "Travelin' Man" takes that sentiment one step further by combining it with the classic blues archetype of being on the run, never settling down. Together, it's sort of the ultimate exaggeration of the masculine ideal (certainly, you don't hear many songs by women about this kind of lifestyle).

The Grooveshark widget creator seems to be broken at the moment, so you can listen to the songs on the site here.

In the short three years between "Poor Little Fool" and this song, Nelson remained extremely popular, producing 12 more top 40 hits, half of which were top 10. Most memorable among these are the heartbreak ballad "Lonesome Town," the campy "It's Late," and the upbeat, Elvis-esque "Just a Little Too Much." Soon after, though, he seems to get stuck in a creative rut before petering out in about 1963. His three most prominent hits of '62 – "Young World," "Teen Age Idol," and "It's Up to You" – are all based on the exact same beat as "Travelin' Man." Go ahead, sample the first couple bars of all 4 songs in succession, and you'll see what I mean. It's like he just stopped trying. 1963 only saw one major hit, the decent "For You," and then he pretty much faded away.

A funny thing happened, though. After Nelson had been out of the popular sphere for a few years, he sort of reinvented himself playing country-rock with the Stone Canyon Band. He would never again achieve his earlier level of success, but arguably his later sound was much more mature and it certainly sounds a lot less dated to modern ears. Of particular interest (for me, at least) are a couple of Bob Dylan covers recorded during this period, here and here. I must say, I quite like these versions, especially the latter.

I like the fact that he stopped being so popular (except for one fluke top 10 hit in 1972, "Garden Party," which apparently tells the story of a time he was booed off stage at Madison Square Garden), and yet he continued to mature as a musician. It's like he has a secret canon hidden beneath the surface.

He died an untimely death in a 1985 plane crash, at the age of 45.

B

Mother-in-Law

May 1961

I'm sure most every American should know this next one; I remember it being a staple of oldies radio when I was growing up. But I betcha can't name the singer!



That's right, it's the legendary Ernie K-Doe, famous for such hits as "Mother-in-Law," and uh... well... yeah, he's the very definition of a one-hit wonder. But where most OHWs tend to be annoying novelty songs, this one's pretty rockin' and I like it. He's not exactly probing the depths of the human spirit, but it's a fun and unique idea for a song, and I'm glad we have it.

What is it about the mother-in-law stereotype that is so enduring? Are mothers-in-law really so problematic? I've never been married, so I can't say I've had any personal experience. I suppose all parents want the best for their children, and some can be overly critical of their kid's spouse. But the lyrics here paint a quite literally demonic picture of her: "Satan should be her name/To me they're about the same." I can't help but think ol' Ernie could be doing more to accept his new family member.

His Wikipedia article states: "In the 1990s K-Doe began billing himself as 'The Emperor of the Universe' and, wearing a cape and crown, he became a famous local eccentric on the New Orleans scene." Keep in mind, he was a 60-year-old man in the 90s. This possibly sheds a little light on his relationship with his mother-in-law. Although this story may be an exaggeration, she may not have been so wrong to want him away from her daughter. But hey, he's the one with the song, so his side of the story is a lot more convincing.

B+

Runaway

April–May 1961

A clever little song, this. I heard this a million times on the oldies stations growing up, but I always just knew it as the song where he goes "wah-wah-wah-wah." Spending four weeks at the top, it was a fairly big smash hit.

The most recognizable hook of the song is obviously the falsetto bit in the chorus – this couldn't have been a hit without it. However, as often happens to those who record such hits, Shannon was forever doomed to be that guy who does the falsetto thing. After "Runaway"'s, er, runaway success, he was undeniably goaded into attempting similar hits by his producers. You can't quite call him a one-hit wonder, because he actually had two more top-ten hits in the next few years: "Hats Off to Larry," which is a lame rewrite of "Runaway;" as well as the surprisingly good "Keep Searchin' (We'll Follow the Sun)."

And like so many other of the artists on our list, he has long since faded into obscurity, due to his inability to create more than basically one interesting thing. Oddly, he broke into the Top 40 one last time in 1981 with a terrible cover of "Sea of Love," and after that the world forgot about him. He died less than ten years later at age 55. So it goes.

A-

Blue Moon

April 1961

Doo-wop group The Marcels weren't quite a one-hit wonder (they had another top-ten with "Heartaches") but they are remembered best for the insanely catchy "Blue Moon."

This song is fun because it's a re-imagining of a much sappier, older song. This wasn't uncommon in the day (cf. "Georgia on My Mind," "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes") but this is one of the coolest and most original examples, I think. Really, the only thing it has in common is the melody – The Marcels' version is much faster, it's danceable, and instead of schmaltzy strings it's got one of the most famous doo-wop vocal arrangements ever.

One of the interesting things about this song is that the backing vocals are the most recognizable part of the song – not the lead singer. The "bom buh-buh bom" refrain is what makes the song what it is. I honestly can't think of another song where this is true. Sure, it's a common feature of doo-wop to have a strong baritone to provide the bass notes, but here it's so distinctive that it's elevated to the main stage.

It's funny that with all the fame that bass hook has achieved, the same bass singer is (in my opinion) an incredible distraction during the middle eight section. The endless "doo-doo"s are pretty stupid sounding, and borderline comical. I suspect that most people hear this song without really noticing it, but for me it's unavoidable. When the main section comes back around, I'm relieved.

Well, I'd certainly like to hear this song more than once in a... okay, fine, I'll spare you.

B+

Surrender

March 1961

Another goodie from Elvis, at the top of the chart for two weeks in spring.

Geez, for a song that's less than two minutes long, it's ridiculously epic sounding. It's got a crack production that results in a terribly exciting, but very short burst of pop music. I've thought of a few factors that give it this "epic"-ness.

The first is the minor key. Plenty of Elvis's blues-rock numbers are in the usual minor blues keys, but this one is in a totally different style, and that keeps it pretty dark, compared to most of the guy's stuff. The next thing is the lush orchestration: the piano, horn section, chorus, and effects-heavy, Hawaiian-esque guitar all merge to create a sort of aural storm.

And of course, the thing I'm referring to most when I label this as "epic" is those huge, pseudo-operatic crescendos - one in the middle and then again at the very end. Elvis had a larger-than-life status in his day's culture, and I think that's the reason he could get away with this sort of thing. The enormous, sweeping sound of this record fit perfectly with (and probably enhanced) his demigod persona at the time.

Also, the intro sounds like James Bond.

B+

Pony Time

February–March 1961

One sure way to know that a dance craze hasn't stood the test of time – I can't find a single video on the web of someone doing the "pony." However, I'm sure that 50 years ago it wasn't too hard to find someone doing the dance, as Chubby Checker's song was #1 for three weeks.



You may have noticed that this song is exactly the same as "The Twist." Except he took out the word "twist" and replaced it with "pony." I can't say I'm thrilled about this one, especially since I have no idea what the dance even looks like. I found a description of the steps here, but I'm not about to parse through that tome and figure out what it means.

This was Checker's second and final #1 single, although he would continue to crank out Top 40 hits for the next few years. Browsing through the titles, almost all of them appear to be either attempts at starting a dance craze – "Dance the Mess Around," "The Fly," "Limbo Rock" – or extensions of the twist – "Let's Twist Again," "Slow Twistin'," "Twist It Up."

Talk about a one-trick... pony!

Oof. Sorry about that one. But really, this is the mark of someone who didn't have a lot of talent, but managed to strike it big with one lucky recording. Where someone truly talented would have continued to create new and original things, Checker merely rode out the success of "The Twist" as far as he could, until he was absolutely sure the public didn't care about him anymore. His last hit, "Let's Do the Freddie," barely scraped the Top 4o in 1965 – and I don't have to hear it to know that it's a semi-failed attempt at yet another dance craze. I'll happily acknowledge that "The Twist" is a great song, but, like so many great things, it inspired countless weak imitations.

B-

Calcutta

February 1961

Lawrence Welk was some guy with a TV show that I'll never care about. His instrumental "Calcutta" was #1 for two weeks in 1961. I cannot imagine a public that would put this song at the top of the pop chart. If you own this record, YOU are responsible.

One of the problems with the format of this blog is that I am forcing myself to write an entry on each and every song that fits the category. Which means I have to come up with something meaningful to say about "Calcutta." But really, there is nothing to say. It's an existential problem for me. I'm gonna go watch TV.

F

Will You Love Me Tomorrow

January–February 1961

How to Ruin a Great Song

An Unscientific Study

Our next song, I hope most people would agree, is a pretty rad song. It's the first of several smash hits by the girl group The Shirelles, and the first #1 by any group of that genre; it remains one of the best. Written by Carole King, it features a great, memorable melody; and lead singer Shirley Owens lends it a cool, confident air, helped in no small part by its distinctive string arrangement. This track will serve as the basis for our analysis:

This song, in particular, is notable for having an insane number of cover versions by all kinds of famous musicians. I have not the patience to listen to all of them, but of the one's I've found, they are uniformly boring (with the unsurprising exception of King's own version from her Tapestry album). There are versions of the song by the likes of Dusty Springfield, Cher, Dionne Warwick, Elton John, Joe Walsh, Neil Diamond, The Bee Gees, and countless others; there's even a hilarious version by a very young Ronnie James Dio. However, this being a blog focused on the most popular of songs, I will examine the 3 covers which made it to the top 40.

1968 - The Four Seasons

This rendition's major offenses are twofold. The first is its annoyingly busy arrangement, featuring violins, surf guitar, organ, a frantic bass guitar, and what sounds like a harpsichord. And it's almost as if the song's producers realized this, because they mixed the vocals way above the instruments, creating the effect of the Four Seasons' voices floating above a horrible, swirling chaos.

The second offense is that the harmony of the song is changed, in a forced attempt to make the version differ from the original. The result is that the song remains totally recognizable, but without the lean, economical punch of the Shirelles' version. For example, the reason that one string hook in the original (you know the one) works so well is because 1) it's the only featured instrument in that particular bar, and 2) it's simple and elegant, blending gracefully with the minimal, carefully selected chord pattern. And this is to say nothing of the song's main vocal melody.

1975 - Morningside Drive

This version is curiously unavailable online, so I have not heard it. However, it is purportedly a disco arrangement of the song. Have we really any reason to believe it doesn't completely suck?

1978 - Dave Mason

Mason, of Traffic fame, recorded this bland-as-beans cover, apparently while simultaneously doing his taxes. He simply does not care in the least about the song; it has a distinct "goin' through the motions" feel. The song suffers from an overly slick, late-70s pop production, and lackadaisical, non-shit-giving performances by everyone involved. Accordingly, this track has been largely banished to a far corner of history.

Conclusion

So what have we learned? The moral of the story is, don't cover a classic, time-honored song. There are very few examples of this ever succeeding in history. Unless you truly think you have some amazing new insight into it, just leave it alone. Your version will inevitably be damned by comparison to the far superior original. We will not still love it tomorrow.

A+

Wonderland by Night

January 1961

Ah, time to kick off a brand new year! Let's see what we have here... aaaaaaaand it's off to a bad start. This clinker apparently sold more records than anything else for three weeks.

It's by Bert Kaempfert, a German musician who both wrote and performed it. I've already expressed my hatred of easy-listening music on this blog, so I won't go into a tirade here, but this kind of song definitely fits into the category. It's both mindless and soulless; it neither requires any effort on the part of the listener, nor does it have anything to offer. There's a word I particularly like that describes this music perfectly: "pap."

But hey, hey, wait a minute. How about this cover version? The always (well, usually) dependable guitarist Leo Kottke gives us a pretty nice rendering of the tune. I dare say, it's a pretty nice melody – not that you'd know it, judging by the hit version. This certainly isn't one of my favorite things by Kottke, but it goes to show how much performance can matter. Of course, you need both things – a good song, and a good performance – and only one or the other doesn't cut it, as demonstrated by our friend Herr Kaempfert.

In fact, Kaempfert himself will come up a couple more times in this blog, but only as a songwriter, not a performer. And that's for the better.

F

Special Secret Bonus Post—1960 Awards

This was the best year so far, I think. We have some great stuff by Elvis, the Everly Brothers, and Ray Charles; a trilogy of teen death sagas; a dance craze that might be the most influential in recent history; and a helping of ridiculous novelty songs. Unfortunately, the song holding the #1 spot for the longest was the theme from A Summer Place, at nine bloody weeks. Anyway, here are my personal picks of the year:

Best Song: This decision is a little tougher than the previous years. "Cathy's Clown," "The Twist," "Save the Last Dance for Me," "Stay," and "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" are all great songs, among some other good ones this year. But my personal favorite has got to be "El Paso," which portrays a doomed love with all the grand style of the western cinema.

Worst Song: There were a few clinkers this year as well, but it would be pretty hard to top "Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini," which is a terrible abomination of the earth.

Most Surprising Song: Nothing too out of the ordinary this year. But if I have to pick one, I guess it'll be "Mr. Custer." It's incredibly stupid, and it's not even catchy or anything – it's hard to see why this was such a success.

All right folks. 1961 lies ahead!

Are You Lonesome Tonight?

November 1960–January 1961

It's always comforting to see Elvis on our list. His songs (or his hits, at least) are some of the most dependable of this era. He has a seemingly effortless charisma in his performances, and I can totally see how this guy would get so popular. Here's the next in a long line of Elvis hits, "Are You Lonesome Tonight?"

The song dates back to the 20s, but first became popular in 1950 when it was recorded by some guy called Blue Barron. His version charted in the top 40, but it is totally sappy and not worth your time. A couple other singers covered it during the 50s to moderate success, but it wasn't until 1960 that Elvis gave us the definitive version. For me, this is one Elvis's best performances and one of the best examples of his vocal control – his dynamics, his vibrato, his ability to make every note seem perfectly placed. But wait – it only lasts for one verse! Almost half the song is taken up by the "talking" verse that follows.

To our modern ears, the talking verse is one of the most dated aspects of 50s and 60s music. Elvis used this technique pretty often, and I'm afraid his music suffers a bit for it. He couldn't have just come up with a real second verse? Or had his writers do it? The song would be so much better. As it is, it feels incomplete, with only one "real" verse amongst all the padding. Still, while the actual singing lasts, it's terrific.

But my favorite version of the song has got to be a 1969 live performance, where Elvis goofily changes one of the lyrics, which launches him into a fit of uncontrollable laughter which lasts for the rest of the song, while the backing group plays it totally straight. It's hilarious, mostly because his laughter is so infectious. I've always been a big fan of humor in music, and I think it's important for a musician not to take himself too seriously. Here's a guy that understood that.

A

Stay

November 1960

Sometimes, as they say, less is more. "Stay," by Maurice Williams and the Zodiacs, is a fine example of how that advice can be true – it's short, sweet, and simple, and it's endured very well over the years.

It's quite a fine little tune. I also really like the fact that it was written by Williams himself, purportedly at age 15. I could believe that – the song has got a sort of boyish charm to it, although it's in no way a juvenile subject. Who hasn't ever had a time when they wished the object of their affection would stay just a little bit longer?

The falsetto that comes in on the second verse is definitely the song's selling point – that is, what makes it so distinctive and recognizable. Falsetto was a fairly common technique among the doo-wop groups of the time, and it was never used as appropriately as it is here. I like how they don't bring it out until about a third of the way into the track. The song is set up quite nicely in the first verse, then it hits that minor chord, and then when suddenly that super-high note comes in – it's a little surprising no matter how many times you've heard the song.

As simple as the song is, it's no surprise that it's been adapted into several notable cover versions. My favorite of these is the Hollies' 1963 take, which was a top ten in the UK but never charted in the states. Rather than featuring smooth vocal harmonies, they play the song with frenetic energy, flipping it into hyperspeed and barreling through it like only the British rock and roll bands could. It's an awesome reinvention of the song.

Less exciting is the Four Seasons' 1964 version, which was a top 40 hit despite being basically a copy of the original. I suppose the song fits them because of Frankie Valli's predilection for falsetto singing, but they don't do much to make the song their own – it doesn't have the charm of the Zodiacs.

And much later, in 1977, Jackson Browne scored a top 40 hit with a live version of the song, changing the lyrics so that rather than asking a girl to stay, he's entreating his audience to stay at the show a little longer. Cute, I suppose, if you were there, but I'm surprised the single was so successful. It's yer basic 70s soft-rock rendition of the tune, with a lot of instrumental soloing and a not a lot of enthusiasm. Depending on my mood, I could go for Maurice Williams's original, but more often I think I'd take the Hollies.

B

Georgia on My Mind

November 1960

Hey! "Mr. Blue" by the Fleetwoods made an appearance in today's New York Times Sunday puzzle, and as a theme answer, no less! I wouldn't have known it if it weren't for this project.

But anyway, Ray Charles.

Charles had been hugely successful for years in the R&B chart – from 1953 to 1959 he had 18 top ten hits on that chart, including four #1s. But it wasn't until 1959's "What'd I Say" that he broke through to the mainstream, and finally scored a top ten on the pop chart. The song, so long that it had to be split into two halves for release on a 45, is sublime. A lengthy instrumental introduction features Charles's explosively virtuosic keyboard playing over a manic rhythm section – we are then treated to one of the most controversial vocal performances ever in popular music. Many fans and critics deplored the song, particularly the ending, for being imitative of sex. Well, they were right, but they would have never guessed that the tune's mixture of gospel ideas with secular lyrical themes would be so influential – "What'd I Say" is often cited as the birth of the genre of soul music.

So how better to follow that success than with a cool, jazzy ballad about the Peach State? The song had been around since 1930, and had been variously covered by just about every jazz group around, but I don't think many people would disagree that Ray Charles's is the definitive version, due to his passionate vocal performance. I guess it makes sense that his first #1 hit would be a sweet, mellow tune rather than his usual, more energetic fare – this kind of thing is more palatable to a mass audience.

Although the cynic in me must point out that it's hard to imagine such a (relatively) challenging melody being so successful today. Or even back then! For example, compare "Georgia" to "Everybody's Somebody's Fool" or "I Want to Be Wanted" (let alone "Poker Face") – it's not immediately whistlable, it's very non-repetitive, and it takes a few listens for the song to really sink in. These are not common features of pop music, where things usually have to be blunt, obvious, and simple to make it big. But hey, sometimes popularity and quality are compatible. This is a terrific song, and I'm glad it's on our list.

A

I Want to Be Wanted

October 1960

And so here's the second of two #1s by Brenda Lee, following "I'm Sorry." It spent a lone week at the top of the chart in October.

It's worth mentioning again that Little Miss Dynamite was only 15 years old in 1960. And here she is, pining for romantic love in a pop song – a little unsettling, no? Let's even put aside the fact that at 15, we can assume she has no idea what love really means. Any love she may have experienced at this age would be firmly of the "puppy" variety.

But who's the target audience for this song (or any of her other songs, for that matter)? I'm sure at least partly, it's 15-year-olds. But as the song was #1 in America – a substantial portion of the people buying and listening to this record must have been quite a bit older. And without dancing around the issue, there is a definite sort of simmering sexuality to this song. The line about wanting "his lips to really kiss me," and even just the general idea/title are not things you'd expect to hear from a person this age. My imagination can't help but conjure up an image of an unshaven old man, sitting at home playing the record with his wife out of the house, licking his lips and sweating. Think about how many copies this sold – statistically, this must have happened at least once. Think about it. Eeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhh.

B-

Save the Last Dance for Me

October–November 1960

Once in a while the people know what's good for 'em, and so the same America that made "Mr. Custer" #1 turned around and started buying "Save the Last Dance for Me," a now-classic sung by Ben E. King and the Drifters (many will recognize King as the singer of "Stand by Me").

The story goes that co-writer Doc Pomus was sick with polio and could not dance – the idea for the song came to him when he sat watching his wife dance at a party. And unlike most of these stories, this one seems to be pretty much true. I mean, who knows about when exactly the inspiration came to him, but the basic fact remains that he did have polio and couldn't walk without crutches. So it's kind of sweet. It's a remarkably simple, yet unique concept for a song, when you think about it. You could see it one of two ways – either he's all right with his girl having a good time, because he knows she's really and truly his; or he's a little nervous about his girl having a little too much fun and he's sort of calmly entreating her to remember him at the end of the evening. It works just fine either way.

But on the other hand, it's kind of a strange relationship they have if throughout the evening, multiple men are "holding her tight" and holding her hand "beneath the pale moonlight." I know the times and dancing conventions were different, but there's a definite line between dancing and some of the stuff mentioned in the song. I'm just sayin'.

So to me it's a little odd when a female singer does a cover version of the song from the girl's perspective. It's called "I'll Save the Last Dance for You" and it was a Top 40 hit for the singer Damita Jo a couple months later. It's like saying, "yeah baby, I'm gonna mess around a little bit with some other guys, but you know I still love you."

The song has been a Hot 100 hit for several different artists, including an apocalyptically bad version by the dependably awful Michael Bublé. But the song is enduringly popular because it's really a damn good song – there's no substitute for good songwriting. And I'd say the original Drifters recording is the best, most honest sounding version we've got.

A

Mr. Custer

October 1960

If you thought only one song featuring hammy Indian war cries could make it to #1 in one year, well you were wrong. In January we had "Running Bear" and here we've got "Mr. Custer," a dramatization of the Battle of Little Bighorn.

As you may have noticed, this song is totally ridiculous. It's the story of a bumbling fool in General Custer's 7th Cavalry, begging his commander not to make him fight the Injuns. For a 50-year old novelty song, it's about as good as it gets. That is to say, it's about as funny as say, "Alley Oop" or "Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh." It's kind of dark actually, in a weird way – he describes his nightmares of being scalped and shot, and as he sings the song, his friend Charlie is killed with an arrow ("I bet that smarts!"). And I guess it's implied that he himself dies in the end.

Custer's Last Stand is one of the most well-known examples of a battle where the American forces suffered a complete, unambiguous loss, which casts a rather ominous shadow over the whole track, Kemosabe jokes and all. And let's put ourselves in 1960 – the Great Sioux War was only 83 years in the past (thanks, Wikipedia!), so in other words, slightly more recent at the time than World War I is for us today. It was history for sure, but while there probably weren't any living veterans, there were definitely people still alive who remembered hearing the news of it. I'm not sure what point I'm trying to make with that, but it gives it some perspective.

Other thoughts:

- The singer, Larry Verne, is in his early 20s here. Is it just me, or does he sound older?

- Long gone are the days when dramatizations of historical battles were a commercially viable genre of song. Of course you'll remember "The Battle of New Orleans" from 1959.

- You also don't hear the word "redskins" a lot in pop music these days.

D

My Heart Has a Mind of Its Own

September–October 1960

Connie Francis was a big deal in 1960, with two songs topping the chart and two more in the top ten. In a way, she sort of typifies this sort of pop-country style that was popular at the time. I'd say this one is a better song than "Everybody's Somebody's Fool" from the summer.

I like those vaguely Mexican-sounding trumpets (see also: "Ring of Fire"). Notice that the harmonized vocals are, in fact, Connie Francis and Connie Francis, as opposed to the Everly Brothers who were two different people (or so they claimed). Obviously this would be impossible in a live performance – she'd need a backup singer, or else just sing the main melody line without the backup, which would change the character of the song. Also, on the subject of the Everlys – contrasting a song like "Cathy's Clown" with this one just doesn't seem fair. Connie's harmonies sound totally flat and by-the-book in comparison.

But hey, it's not a bad song at all. It's one of many songs which anthropomorphize the singer's heart, something I've always found a little strange when you think about it. I'd say it's a cliché, but this tune sort of gets around that by just going ahead and stating it directly - my heart has a mind of its own. There you have it. It's slightly meta.

Otherwise, well... not the most terrificly exciting song. Ergo, I don't have much to say about it. Oh welps!

C+

The Twist

September 1960 & January 1962

Ah, "The Twist" – the biggest dance craze of all time, and the one that arguably had the most lasting impact. Who could forget it? It's so ridiculously simple that it's amazing nobody had thought of it before.

As you probably could have guessed, Chubby Checker didn't invent the Twist – in fact, he wasn't even the first one to have a hit single with the song. That would be Hank Ballard and the Midnighters, whose version is curiously unavailable on Youtube. And people have dated the dance back much farther, back through plantation dances and even farther back to Africa. But what matters is that it exploded into popular culture in 1960, and you could say it never really went away.

After all, the concept of rhythmically "twisting" your hips back and forth, well – isn't that the basic idea behind dancing in nightclubs today? Is it a stretch to say that the Twist permanently changed the way people dance? Moving one's hips seems such a fundamental part of dancing (at least in the popular idiom) that it's hard to believe there was a time when it wasn't done. Look back on dancing footage from before the 60s – people don't swivel their hips unless it's a burlesque show or something. And so I can imagine how it must have felt for this to suddenly become socially acceptable. Liberating, I suppose. This song came along at just the right time – people were ready for it. Any earlier and it might have been dismissed as grotesque. Not that the parents didn't find it objectionable, or at least some of them. Apparently, it was controversial at the time for being overtly sexual. And well, I guess it is. Isn't that the point?

And yes, those are two different dates up there in the title of this post. "The Twist" is, in fact, the only song ever to do this – reach #1 on two separate chart runs. Not to mention the numerous Twist-themed songs Chubby Checker churned out in the following few years – "Let's Twist Again," "Twistin' U.S.A.," "Slow Twistin'," and "Twist It Up" were all charting singles. Even as late as 1964, the Beatles nearly topped the chart with their cover of the Isley Brothers' "Twist and Shout." That's four years later – an eternity!

A+

It's Now or Never

August–September 1960

And so we return to Elvis, one of the true stalwarts of the #1 slot. In my opinion he never had a bad hit (to my knowledge – I may eat my words later), and so it's nice to see his name pop up on the list a few times a year. Ol' reliable.

You may recognize the melody (or not – it's okay, I didn't either) from the classic Neapolitan song "O Sole Mio." And so this song has the nice effect of sounding familiar, even if you've never heard it. And what else can I say? It's classic Elvis, on top of his game, delivering his typically charismatic performance and making it sound easy.

Hey, but isn't this cheating, from a songwriting point of view? Can't think of a melody? Just reuse an existing one! Well, not really. I see it more as a new take on an old classic (the original song was written around the turn of the century), breathing new life into an old song and introducing it to a new generation. There's something to be said for that – the original author likely didn't live to hear Elvis's version 62 years later, but I'm sure he (or she) would have been pretty darn happy to hear people whistling his tune again. Of course, if this happened today, there would probably be a lawsuit (the Internet tells me that the song has somehow been re-copyrighted until 2042. Sigh).

Lots of songwriters rewrite their own songs, or create different versions with different lyrics. Bob Dylan's "Boots of Spanish Leather" is almost musically identical to his earlier "Girl From the North Country," but with different words. And both are great, emotionally distinct songs in their own right – there would be no reason to compare them if it weren't for the similarity in the melody and guitar part.

So is taking a melody from someone else's song so much different? Ethically perhaps, it may be wrong to seek monetary gain from another writer's work. But aesthetically, it works just fine. Hey, the entire genre of blues is basically made up of only a few different song formulae. And what about the folk tradition? Once a tune becomes part of the popular awareness, it takes on a life of its own and can take many different forms. Dylan got in legal trouble with his slily-titled Love and Theft album, when he tried to adapt the folk tradition to our modern world of copyrights and lawyers, but he wasn't doing anything that countless other singers haven't been doing since forever ago.

And to take it even further, here's a meta-songwriting example – Neil Young's "Borrowed Tune."

I'm singin' this borrowed tune

I took from the Rolling Stones

Alone in this empty room

Too wasted to write my own

B

Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini

August 1960

It's hard to think of a more annoying song than this monstrosity. Maybe "The Chicken Dance" could give it a run for its money. For one sad week in the summer of 1960, it was the #1 song in America.

It's funny how this incredibly stupid novelty song has endured into the 21st century, while most of the other #1s from this year are relegated to the annals of history. Lasting popularity is usually a mark of quality, but obviously the system fails us occasionally.

But come to think of it – I can't remember the last time I actually heard this song. It's immediately familiar to me, and I think many people my age would agree. But until today, I don't believe I'd heard it since I was a child. Maybe it's not that it's popular really, but that it's so idiotically catchy that even hearing it one time is enough to scar you forever. Who knows.

Anyways, let's remember that the bikini was relatively new and still somewhat controversial in 1960. The word's etymology is one of the more awesome ones I've read lately. According to my Oxford American Dictionary: "named after Bikini [in the Marshall Islands], where an atomic bomb was exploded in 1946 (because of the supposed explosive effect created by the garment)." So, uh... I learned something today!

F

I'm Sorry

July–August 1960

Did you know that when Brenda Lee recorded the smash hit "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" in 1958, she was only 13 years old? I must have heard the song millions, nay, billions of times, but I never realized the singer was such a young girl. And so, two years later, she hit #1 with "I'm Sorry," at 15 years old.

As I remember from my high school years, the New York state law demanded that a person be 14 years old before being able to work legally. And even then, there are restrictions on hours until you're 16, I believe. I wonder how it works for child stars such as Lee. Singing, or any kind of performing, is certainly work – unless the laws have changed significantly since 1960, she would have been underage when she was rockin' around the Christmas tree. But even today, we have child actors, models, etc. I have no idea how they dodge the legality of it.

But legality aside, is it right for a child to be a performer so early? Lee supposedly was singing locally for money at age 10. You have to wonder how much of her success was due to her wanting it, and how much was due to her parents wanting it. She clearly was very talented at an early age, and we can only assume she enjoyed singing. So is it categorically different from other kinds of labor?

But anyway, it's a pretty dang good song. Lee's vocal performance is certainly beyond her years. During the "talking" verse (unfortunately, a pretty dated aspect of many songs from this era), her voice is deep and grizzled – it's hard to believe she's only 15. And of course that makes it all the more dramatic when she flips back into the song's hook. It's a convincing song with an unique melody, and I'd dare say it's a classic.

A-

Alley Oop

July 1960

Ah, there's nothing like a novelty song, as a nice break from all the romantic woes we usually encounter in the pop charts. #1 for only one week, it's "Alley Oop," by the one-hit wonders The Hollywood Argyles.

It is the only popular song I know of that's based on a comic strip, unless you count "Charlie Brown," but I don't remember him calling the teacher "Daddy-o" in the strip. Anyway, I've never read the Alley Oop strip, even though it is apparently still in publication. I can only assume his depiction in the song is fair and accurate.

Most sources agree that the singer on the track is a guy named Norm Davis – although one of the record's producers, Gary Paxton, claims it was himself who recorded the lead vocal, in a somewhat bitter-sounding note on his personal website. An excerpt: "In the last 42 years, so many people have claimed things, all B.S. You've just read the actual truth."

Disputed authorship is fairly common in music, and it isn't hard to see why – if a record is a runaway success, everyone involved with it will want to claim the credit for themselves. It's a natural human reaction, but I have trouble understanding how a lead vocal could be disputed. To anyone who knew the performers personally, wouldn't it be obvious who the singer was? Wouldn't it be extremely difficult to fool people into thinking you sang a song that you didn't really sing? I guess this happens all the time in pop music – lip synching to someone else's voice (see Milli Vanilli). But here I just don't get it. It's not like this is a straightforward pop vocal – it's a highly unusual and distinctive performance.

Well anyway, as for the song itself, it's mildly amusing, which is all you can hope for in a novelty hit from the 60s. The funniest part of the song is the improvisation at the end – "He sho' is hip, ain't he? Like, what's happening?"

- Factoid: it's the second #1 hit in two months to contain the word "grizzly bear."

D+

Everybody's Somebody's Fool

June–July 1960

Who was the top charting female singer of the 50s and 60s? If Wikipedia is to be believed, it's Connie Francis, whom I've never heard of before in my life. So much for posterity! Neither did I recognize her first #1 single, "Everybody's Somebody's Fool."

Assessment: average pap. I guess there's a reason someone from my generation has heard of the Everly Brothers, but not Francis. Also, the song's title declaration doesn't strike me as, well, true. Really? Everybody? "There is no exception to the rule," she sings. I for one don't think I'm somebody's fool. Not currently, at least. Unless there's someone out there that I don't know of, claiming me as her fool, in which case I'd appreciate it if she'd leave me alone.

In case you were wondering what the song sounds like in German, here it is. It seems to have been pretty common in the 50s and 60s (and earlier? I don't know) for a pop singer to record a hit song in two or more languages. Even the Beatles sang a couple of their early hits in German. It makes sense from a business perspective, and it's not clear to me why this isn't done anymore. Here in China, English-language pop music is ubiquitous – the language barrier doesn't seem to dampen its appeal. In fact, many Chinese-language songs have a line of English in the chorus, as the main "hook" of the song. And this song, which is currently a smash hit here, is half Korean, half English – which hasn't stopped it from being a ringtone on about 5 billion Chinese cell phones.

It's counterintuitive that non-Chinese songs could become so popular here, especially since karaoke is one of the defining features of Chinese (and East/Southeast Asian) pop culture. Hang out at a KTV bar and you'll probably hear someone croaking out "Hey Jude" or "My Heart Will Go On," even if they have no idea what the lyrics mean (or how to properly pronounce them).

Of course, the situation in 60s Europe was vastly different from modern China. No Western music company would bother translating a song for the Chinese market, because it's almost impossible to make money with music here, due to a lack of intellectual property rights. And really, music piracy plagues record companies everywhere, even if it's to a lesser extent than in China. The future of the music business is pretty uncertain in this day and age. But in the days of "Everybody's Somebody's Fool," with no downloading or pirating, you had to actually buy a record to hear a song. So it made perfect sense to produce a version of a popular hit that was suitable for a foreign market. But what about the time between the 60s and the computer age – let's say the 80s? Why didn't Michael Jackson record multilingual versions of "Billie Jean"? Maybe there are examples of translated pop music that I'm overlooking. If so, I'd like to hear about them. And no, I'm not talking about "Mr. Roboto."

C-

Cathy's Clown

May–June 1960

Well folks, this is the 29th song so far, and yet it's the first one I would say I was familiar with before I undertook this project (young 'un that I am). Even cultural staples like "Mack the Knife" – I've definitely felt its influence, but I didn't really know the original version. But when I heard oldies stations in the car growing up, this one by the Everly Brothers definitely got a ton of airtime. It's the singing duo's third #1 single, but it's the first (and last) within our time frame.

First off, and I hope you'll agree – it's a terrific song. Foremost are the vocals, with as brilliant a two-part harmony as I can think of. The Everlys' singing was certainly an inspiration to many singers of the day, including a certain Paul and John. And the musical arrangement is great, too – especially those stuttering drums which seem to mimic the protagonist's nervousness. Because really, although he claims he's going to finally break it off with the titular girlfriend, we listeners aren't so sure if he'll really go through with it.

The situation in the song is pretty extreme – her cheating on him is so well-known that people openly laugh at him in the street – but it works because the emotion is believable on a basic level. I'd say most people have had the experience of staying in a relationship longer than they probably should have. With love can come a sense of attachment that's hard to exaggerate. People stay in abusive relationships all the time – everyone else around them can see the problem except themselves. It's easy to forget how powerful that feeling can be, but this song is strong enough to remind us. But in this case, it's not hopeless. He's finally declaring he's had enough. It's a pretty heavy emotion, and furthermore a dynamic one. What I mean is that the change from powerless cuckoldry to freedom feels like it's happening during the course of the song. It's not just a static image of heartbreak, or true love. I think this is why you can listen to the song so many times and it doesn't tire out. And those harmonies!

And here – in case you want the song ruined for you forever, be sure to check out this version.

A+

Stuck on You

April–May 1960

Because of my arbitrary starting date of August 1958, I won't be covering most of Elvis's biggest hits. Ask someone to hum a bar of an Elvis song, and 9 times out of 10 they'll come up with "Hound Dog," "Don't Be Cruel," or another of his many smash hits that were popular before the Hot 100 chart existed. But even so, he had 6 number ones in the 60s – it's pretty remarkable that he was able to chart with some kind of regularity, all the way up to his death in 1977, 21 years after his first big hit, "Heartbreak Hotel."

So it's interesting that so far, both of the Elvis songs I've covered (this and "Big Hunk o' Love") were previously unfamiliar to me. Two of the biggest hits of the best-selling solo artist of all time, and I'd never heard them. Success in one's time doesn't guarantee that a song will be remembered, as we've seen with many other songs already. Why are his earlier hits so much more familiar in my lifetime?

Well, for one thing, they were more original. "Heartbreak Hotel" was pretty different from what else was out there in 1956, and you could probably say the same about a number of his other songs. On the other hand, "Stuck on You" is, musically, more or less the same exact song as his earlier hit "All Shook Up." By 1960 Elvis was still a mainstay of the zeitgeist, but his performances weren't as shocking as they had been 5 years earlier. He'd settled in his ways.

So a lot of his early 60s songs have a sort of "crankin' out the hits" kind of feel to them, in that he didn't really progress any more artistically, even though he continued to dominate the charts. The people knew what they liked and by golly, he gave it to them. This certainly isn't a bad song. You can be damn sure I'd rather listen to this than the Summer Place theme.

Other observations:

- Elvis is apparently "stuck on you" against your will – you can hide in the kitchen, hide in the hall, ain't gonna do you no good at all. This conjures up some bizarre imagery of Elvis as some kind of gremlin, holding on for dear life.

- He uses "yessiree" when addressing a woman.

- The way he says "GRIZZ-a-lee bear" is probably my favorite part of the song.

B

Theme From "A Summer Place"

February–April 1960

It's not uncommon for a song from a movie to become a big hit. But here's an instrumental movie theme that was not only a hit, it was a monster smash that spent 9 weeks at the top. The movie was A Summer Place, and no matter how old you are, you'll instantly recognize Percy Faith's rendition of the tune:

It's one of those pieces of music that is so ingrained in our culture – in movies, TV, commercials, etc. – that it's easy to forget it actually had to come from somewhere, originally. Frankly, I have no desire to see the film – although its director, Delmer Daves, also gave us the classic western 3:10 to Yuma, this romantic drama is not remembered as fondly. The musical theme has far surpassed the film itself in our cultural environment.

The tune was written by Max Steiner, whom you may know as the composer for the film Gone with the Wind, but the famous version definitely bears the Percy Faith stamp. A lifelong opponent of good taste, Faith made a career out of producing campy, "lite" orchestral versions of popular tunes – he's known as one of the premier champions of the "easy listening" genre. This sort of music used to be a lot more successful on a widescale, commercial level. These days it's relegated to a niche market, and even banks and grocery stores don't play it anymore. (Strangely, neither do elevators – did they ever?)

Except, apparently, in China, where muzak is ubiquitous and always, always too damn loud. Tourist spots of cultural importance or natural beauty (as well as the bus rides to and from them) are all too often accompanied by a sort of easy listening music which is so sickening it makes me pine for Percy Faith. It is actually difficult for me to understand the appeal of this music. It is supposed to be soothing and calming (I guess) but for me it has the exact opposite effect of irritating me to no end. A misty mountainside or a river at night is serene enough for me without a sappy piano ballad telling me how serene it is. I guess it's pretty much my ultimate pet peeve – being subjected to bad music against my will. It's one of the main reasons I disliked working at corporate retail stores in high school and college.

So listening again to "A Summer Place," well... it's not so bad, I guess. But 9 weeks at number one... wow, people. The times they have a-changed.

F

Teen Angel

February 1960

Our next tragic love ballad is a one-hit wonder by Mark Dinning that took the #1 spot for 2 weeks.

The first two months of #1 singles in 1960 have got to be the most morbid in the entire timeline. First, a ranchero gets tangled up in a deadly love affair in Mexico. Then two American Indian lovers are swept away together by a raging river. Now, it's the most realistic one yet: it involves a high school class ring, a train, and two teenage sweethearts just like you, kids! (Never mind that Dinning was 26 when he recorded the track.)

The song was allegedly controversial at the time, and that's understandable, especially in the socially conservative climate of 50 years ago. Not only does it feature a 16-year-old girl getting hit by a train, but the lyrics are fairly direct. It doesn't hide behind ambiguous hinting – we witness the girl's death and then we see the ring clutched in her cold, dead fingers. (Okay, I added the "cold, dead" part, but still.) I myself am mildly offended by the song, not because of its violence, but because of the stupidity it promotes. Running back into a car that's about to get hit by a train? Really? Just for a ring? She deserved everything she got, I say.

Tragedy has been popular ever since drama has existed, and musical tragedy has been around ever since opera existed. The first fully surviving opera (or at least the first well-known one) is Claudio Monteverdi's L'Orfeo from 1607. It tells the Ancient Greek tale of Orpheus, who followed his dead lover into the underworld and successfully bargained with Hades himself, only to lose her again forever in an act of similar stupidity. Fast forward to the 2oth century, and what are the most popular operas? The death-filled tragedies of Puccini. In the world of popular music, such themes were clearly common as well.

Quick, name a movie where nobody dies. Not a comedy, or a kids movie. But even there you'll find deaths-a-plenty. People love reenacting death. It, along with its partner, love, are the cornerstones of drama. Story-songs are out of vogue these days, so teen tragedies seem to be a thing of the past. But given our human race's fixation on the subject of dying, I fully expect the genre to strike again. It's impossible to predict what form it will take, but you heard it here first.

C

Running Bear

January–February 1960

If, for some reason, you were not aware that the racial climate in America has changed since before the civil rights movement, then I suppose this song by Johnny Preston will suffice to enlighten you. It enjoyed 3 weeks at #1:



"Running Bear" is, needless to say, extremely racist, and to modern listeners it can only be heard as, well, a sign of the times. The song was written by the Big Bopper (who died about a year ago in our timeline), and indeed, it kind of sounds like something he would have released on a B-side. The story itself is fairly innocuous - a sort of Romeo and Juliet-esque love tragedy. But of course the whole thing is backed by that "hum-da-hum-da" chanting, and I am reminded of the scene in Peter Pan that Disney has all but disowned ("Squaw no dance! Squaw get 'em firewood!").

I think it's important to distinguish between two different kinds of racism; that which is hateful, and that which is merely ignorant. Peter Pan and Johnny Preston are guilty of the latter. Not that I'm excusing it, though – White Americans dressing up in feather headdresses and chanting is such a grotesque parody of American Indian cultures, it's sort of unbelievable that it was so acceptable in the mainstream. I come from a generation where it was never okay to do this kind of thing, and although it doesn't directly offend me, I understand why it's upsetting to people. It's particularly insidious, I think, when it's American Indians that are being lampooned, since the European settlers all but eradicated them from existence and reduced those that remained to lives of poverty. Then to have some kind of pretense of understanding anything about their various cultures, let alone to make fun of them – it seems to me to be very mean-spirited.

Even on a story level, "Running Bear" doesn't make much sense. If they are separated by an uncrossable river, then how did they fall in love in the first place? I don't often find myself feeling deep passion for women I see hundreds of yards away.

And so soon after "El Paso" – what is it with tragic love stories in the hits of 1960? Strangely enough, the streak actually continues with the next one...

F

El Paso

January 1960

First entry for the 60s, and we're off to a great start. It's "El Paso," written and sung by Marty Robbins, who was a massively popular country musician. He had a whopping 16 #1 singles on the country charts, but only 1 on the pop charts – this gripping story-song.

Man, I just love everything about this song. The archetypal story of love and tragic death, the odd way the rhythm is counted, the Spanish-flavored lead guitar, the lush harmonies. It is surely a classic, although I'd never heard of it before I researched it for this blog.

The story itself is one we've heard a thousand times. The narrator falls in love with a girl (as he tells us quite plainly in the first line), she's stolen away by another suitor, he kills his rival in a duel, and finally he himself is slayed in return – after a chase, of course. The same plot, or a variation of it, has been used so many times in plays, grand operas, ballads, and movies, that it's practically a basic part of our cultural consciousness. And the reason it endures is that it works so well, so often. Here it happens to be in the context of the Western genre, which so often draws upon these basic, primal themes. It's certainly not the first or the last time this story arc would be associated with the American West and Mexico – even Bob Dylan used it in his "Romance in Durango," which I'd bet is a direct tribute to this song. Actually, it just so happens I'm currently in the middle of Cormac McCarthy's "Border" trilogy (I just started the third book), and so these days the Wild West is on my mind more than usual. And it's hard not to see the parallels between those contemporary Western novels and the stories of old that are typified in country songs like "El Paso."

Not to turn this into a personal diary, but I myself am in the midst of a sort of love tragedy, or at least that's how I'd like to think of it – one in which situational and societal circumstances may prove the downfall of a hopeful romance. And in a foreign land, no less! Perhaps that's why I'm especially attracted to this particular song – but probably not. This is the kind of song I think I'd appreciate just about any time. Regardless of my personal situations, I'm always drawn to these sort of grand, sweeping archetypal gestures in art. It's just something about, I dunno, the human spirit or whatever.

My affinity for this song is (was?) apparently shared by the Grateful Dead, who made this song a recurring part of their live sets starting in the late 60s. I haven't really shopped around for different versions, but here's one from 1972. It's no surprise that they liked this song so much – they were students of American folklore as much as they were a psychedelic jam band. But their version of the song is a pretty good example of why I never really got into the Dead – the Spanish guitar in the original is replaced by Jerry Garcia's usual aimless noodling, and the overall feeling and sweep of the song is reduced to their sort of DIY aesthetic that doesn't carry nearly the same weight as the Marty Robbins version. They were a band that certainly had their moments, but I feel there's too much to sift through in each concert recording to get to the good stuff. Although guitarist Bob Weir claims the song was their "most requested number." So what do I know.

A+

Special Secret Bonus Post—1959 Awards

When I started this blog, I was fearing the first few years would be bogged down with too many schmaltzy, dated love ballads. And there were a few of those in 1959 (almost all of them by Frankie Avalon or the Fleetwoods), but for the most part I was pleasantly surprised. A song based on a historical battle, a song based on a German operetta, a couple of great rock and roll tracks, a couple of instrumentals – when you put 'em all together it's not a bad year at all. So here goes:

Most Weeks at #1: "Mack the Knife," with a monstrous 8 weeks at the top.

Best Song: "Stagger Lee" is a pretty easy choice for me. Lloyd Price delivers a great vocal over a great rock and roll backing band – and the story is of a cold-blooded barroom murder over a Stetson hat. What's not to like? Incidentally, since I originally posted on it, I discovered Bob Dylan's underrated 1993 album World Gone Wrong, in which he plays an assortment of old blues and folk songs, including none other than "Stagger Lee"! But as much as I love Dylan, I do prefer Lloyd Price's more spirited rendition.

Worst Song: Technically, "Christmas Don't Be Late" carried over into 1959, but since I already called it the worst song of '58, that wouldn't really be fair. Instead I'll go with "Why," continuing the tradition of the last song of the year being the worst. Maybe it's the cold weather?

Most Surprising Song: Gonna have to go with "The Battle of New Orleans." As if a nationalistic song about the War of 1812 weren't odd enough on our list, it went ahead and stayed at the top for an alarming 6 weeks. I still can't figure out why this was so darn popular.

And that just about does it! See you in the 60s.

December 1959 - Why

Our friend Frankie Avalon joins us again for the last #1 hit of the 1950s (and mercifully, the last of his career). It's called "Why," it topped the chart for only one week, and it goes like this:



It's hard to find much redeeming value in the song, besides the obligatory "why... was this a hit" snide comment. But here's one way to enjoy it: when the female singer comes in for her two lines in the second verse, pretend it's Avalon doing a falsetto "woman" voice. Way funnier that way.

What is it about this song that's so... lame? Well, I guess it really doesn't have any emotion or dynamics whatsoever. It's a happy love song, a man extolling the mutual love he shares with his significant other. But wait – it isn't really that happy, is it? It's more... content. Here, this is what a happy song sounds like. Listen to a couple minutes of "Keep On Growing" and then flip back to "Why" and you'll see what I mean. Frankie Avalon says a lot of things about "love" and "forever," but he kinda sounds like he doesn't give a shit. But it's hard to blame him – even Marvin Gaye himself probably couldn't have done anything with that insipid backing music behind him.

But wait, you say. What about that feeling of quiet content that we can sometimes feel when thinking of a loved one – can that not be captured in song? Are the more violent and passionate emotions the only ones suited to the format of popular music? Well, I guess it depends on whom you ask. But I'll go with: no, it probably can't. And yes, they probably are.

And with that, we conclude the brief year-and-a-half period that our timeline extends into the 50s. Ahead lie the 60s – a decade more mythologized than any other, but in which the sounds and attitudes of popular music become much more palatable to our 21st century tastes. But let's not get too far ahead of ourselves – first there's the early 60s. Not too much different from 1959, really.

D

Heartaches by the Number

December 1959

Haven't updated in a while, as I was on a trip around the northeast provinces of China - take a look at my pictures here. But now I'm back, and it's back to business! We'd left off at Guy Mitchell's 2-week #1 hit, "Heartaches by the Number." It's a very corny song of unrequited love, without much going for it other than a counting gimmick.



The counting thing is mostly the fare of children's songs, and maybe that's why I'm writing this song off as a dated curiosity. However, I'm sure there are plenty of great songs that use a counting rubric as their structure – Shel Silverstein's "25 Minutes to Go," famously performed by Johnny Cash, comes to mind – but "Heartaches" comes off as pretty lame, especially considering he only makes it to 3. Come on, only three heartaches? Hardly enough to merit being listed "by the number."

My opinion on this song improved a little bit when I discovered an earlier, superior country version by Ray Price. It's funny how that used to happen – a hit song is remade less than a year later, and becomes a hit again for another singer. This isn't all that uncommon when we're talking about popular music from 50 years ago, but I can't think of a modern example (if anyone can, speak up). Like if next week Lady Gaga came out with a cover of "I Gotta Feeling," would it even have a chance at charting? Today's pop culture moves too quickly. A song that's one year old might as well be 20 years old. (God forbid!) Think of the viral clips that were circulating last year. Can you even remember any? Hell, "Epic Beard Man" is already old hat, and it's hardly 2 weeks old.

D+

Down Under

January–February 1983

No, Men at Work weren't around in 1959 – they probably would have frightened people. I'm jumping to early '83 when the Australian group took over the world (briefly) with the whimsically patriotic smash hit "Down Under." Why would I do such a thing? Am I not disrupting the order of the cosmos by interrupting the chronology of this blog? Maybe I am. But you may have noticed this song in the news a few days ago, and so I figured it would be timely to cover this song out of order.

A court has recently ruled that, in "Down Under," Men at Work plagiarized a 1934 song called "Kookabura Sits in the Old Gum Tree" by Marion Sinclair (the song has since been bought by a company called Larrikin Music). "Kookabura" is apparently considered somewhat of a national folk song in Australia, and, like "Happy Birthday" in the U.S., most people are probably not aware that it is copyrighted. But nevertheless, somebody does own it, and that person has sued and won. Here's the story from the BBC.

The article has audio clips of both songs, for your comparing convenience. The part in question is the flute refrain that plays in the beginning of the song, and then again after each chorus. It's pretty clear to me that this tune is an intentional reference to "Kookabura," especially given the context of the song – the lyrics are loaded with references to Australian culture, and so here's a subtle musical reference as well. It's actually pretty clever – most people won't even notice it, but those that do notice it will have an "a-ha!" moment.

Intellectual property laws serve a great purpose, which is to protect original ideas. A competitor who isn't allowed to simply copy an idea is now forced to come up with a new one – and thus innovation is encouraged in our society. Compare this to a country like China, where there is practically no enforcement of these laws, much to the dismay of foreign companies who watch helplessly as their products and logos are ripped off ubiquitously. Here, search the web with Gougou, or crack open an ice-cold Laoshan Cola. When it's that easy to copy your competitors, there's no reason to come up with anything new, and there's no progress.

But an unfortunate byproduct of these laws is that they often allow frivolous lawsuits like this one. Is the snippet of melody taken from "Kookabura"? Of course it is. But come on, people. I highly doubt that the song's success would have been any different if the flute refrain had been changed. In fact, this brings up two fundamentally different situations in which an artist uses a piece of another artist's music. The first is what Men at Work are accused of: taking a piece of music and passing it off as your own. The other is what Men at Work actually did: referencing a piece of music. The listener is not meant to think that Men at Work wrote the famous Australian folk song. And there is a chasm of difference between these two things. One is okay, and the other is not okay.

But to me, the most frustrating thing about this case is the remarks made by Colin Hay (a member of Men at Work). From the BBC article:

"It is no surprise that in more than 20 years, no one noticed the reference to Kookaburra... it was inadvertent, naive, unconscious... by the time Men At Work had recorded the song, it had become unrecognisable. It may well be noted, that Marion Sinclair herself never made any claim that we had appropriated any part of her song Kookabura... Apparently Marion Sinclair didn't notice either."

...Huh?

So he's denying the similarity between the two songs? The obvious truth is that the group, along with most of the population of Australia, assumed that the folk song was in the public domain (as it, quite frankly, should be by now). The band referenced it in their song (remember – referenced it) without giving it a second thought, just as you would have no problem referencing "America the Beautiful" or something. In this case, the law is on the wrong side, and I understand why he would have to tell a white lie in court, in his own defense. But come on man, the trial is over. Stand up for yourself.

Anyway, none of this takes away from the fact that it's a great, classic song, and lots of people love it, including myself.

All right, stay tuned. Next it's back to scheduled programming!

A+

Mr. Blue

November 1959

"Mack the Knife"'s 9 weeks at the top were not consecutive. Its run was interrupted for one week by another hit by the Fleetwoods, whom you'll know if you've been following this blog. "Mr. Blue" was not as popular as their April hit, but (imo) it's a better song.

I think most would agree that the Fleetwoods' music has not aged well. I was trying to think what it is about this music that's so, I dunno, lame. It's a corny love ballad, but that doesn't disqualify it per se – so is "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes," and that's held up a lot better.

Well here's what I think: it's just too quiet. It's hard to put passion into a song when you aren't singing any louder than you'd normally speak. But this isn't something that's limited to the 50s – think of Nick Drake, or Elliott Smith, both of whom are very respected by many people but just aren't my bag of beans, for this very reason.

Maybe my aversion to this singing style stems from my feeling that it's unnatural, in a way. Think about it – it's a phenomenon that could only happen in the recording age. If the Fleetwoods didn't have microphones, they wouldn't be able to sing for an audience larger than a small room, and so they could never have become well-known. Again, this is probably a personal thing, but I love a singer who can really belt, and I quickly lose patience with a singer who can't. Of course, some straddle a comfortable middle ground – one of my favorite singers is Joni Mitchell, who neither bellows nor mumbles – but as a rule of thumb, I'm more drawn to the Mick Jaggers and Roger Daltreys of the world. In comparison, "Mr. Blue" doesn't really cut the mustard.

This reminds me of another recording-era singing phenomenon – and I can't believe I'm about to make this comparison – death growling. In reality (like the Fleetwoods) it's only about as loud as a speaking voice, and so the monstrous roar is an effect that can only be achieved by holding a microphone close to one's mouth. Of course, those that know me know that I am in the minority of people that thinks this sounds really awesome. But why my acceptance of this when I discount so many other singers for it? Well, here it produces the illusion of loudness – the fundamental difference. And like good special effects in a movie, it's a strong enough illusion for me to temporarily forgo my knowledge that it isn't "real."

Thankfully (for the purposes of this blog), the Fleetwoods never had another #1 hit. So let's forge onward!

C+