Duke of Earl

February–March 1962

Being that I am a child of the 90s, Gene Chandler's "Duke of Earl" was originally known to me thus:

Like it or not, the Cypress Hill track is one of the defining rap songs of that decade, and it's a great sample in my opinion, even though Chandler's song title gets clipped and looped in the middle of the second word.

As for the original hit: it's another example of a song where the backing vocals are more recognizable than the lead singing, due to that distinctive doo-wop bass voice (cf. "Blue Moon").

Other than that, well... it's a pretty cool old song. Chandler based his whole persona on the concept of "Duke of Earl" (he never had another top ten hit), and here he is in full garb:

I'm not sure how well this was known to our friends across the pond, but they must have thought it was bloody silly—is he a duke or an earl? Whichever he may be, he certainly isn't a web designer; his website rivals Joey Dee's for looking like it was designed by a high schooler in 1999. I'm surprised it doesn't end in "tripod.com."

B+

Peppermint Twist

January–February 1962

Most of January is moot to us since it's taken up both by the Tokens hit carrying over from last year; and Chubby Checker's "The Twist," which hit #1 again on a second chart run (the only song to ever do this). When will the Twist die? It's pretty wild that a song could have such staying power to top the chart twice, almost 2 years apart.

And of course, even though we're finally done with Chubby Checker, we're not done with the Twist. The song spawned countless imitators, and it was inevitable that one of them would crop up on our list—and here it is. It's called "Peppermint Twist," and it's performed by Joey Dee and the Starliters. (Technically, it's listed as "Peppermint Twist—Part 1;" the flip side of the record is a rarely heard instrumental "Part 2" of the song.)

That's Mr. Dee on the left—the one with the huge head (hilariously, a good portion of the Youtube comments center around this aspect of his anatomy). One thing I notice is that choreographed dancing in pop music was much rougher and less tightened than it would become in the next few decades. They don't seem to be fully synchronized with each other. Watch a Backstreet Boys performance and you'll see what I mean. Aside from that, I'd say they get some kudos for being a racially desegregated musical group in 1962, although the blacks are mostly relegated to the back (or even offstage—where's the saxophone player?).

But let's talk about the song. Pretty bland, eh? I definitely got nothing against the Twist—I rated the original version as one of the best entries of 1960—but there's a serious lack of originality here. Also, compared to Chubby Checker's enthusiastic rendition, this seems downright lackadaisical, both in terms of performance (they don't seem all that excited about it) and production (the infectious "whomp" of the original is totally absent). But, it apparently worked well enough to hit #1 for 3 weeks, no small feat.

And did you notice those last 30 seconds or so? Sound familiar? That's right, it's the coda lifted right out of the Isley Brothers' "Shout." I think this kind of thing was seen as more permissible in those days. Today you'd never get away with something like that—you'd get sued to high heaven.

Now, if you were a totally unoriginal group with this hit song, what would you do for a follow-up single? Not unpredictably, their next (and last big) hit was none other than a cover of "Shout," which hit the top ten later the same year.

It doesn't even seem fair to compare this to the more famous version. The Isleys' fiery performance threatens to bring the house down; Joey Dee and the Starliters attempt to drum up some excitement by playing the song even faster than the original, but it fails.

One more thing for your amusement: Joey Dee's official website, which looks like it hasn't been updated since 1995, is a rather hilarious thing. Play the video on the front page for the full experience.

C-

Special Secret Bonus Post—1961 Awards

It's that time of year again. 1961 had its highs and lows; there was some really great stuff in there, as well as some complete garbage, but that's what I'm learning to expect at this point. The biggest hits of the year were by Burt Kaempfert, Chubby Checker, the Marcels, Del Shannon, Bobby Vee, Jimmy Dean, and the Tokens; with the biggest of all being "Tossin' and Turnin'" by Bobby Lewis, spending 7 weeks at the top.

This year saw its share of one-hit wonders, like Ernie K-Doe and Joe Dowell, as well as early successes that made superstars of their singers, like Roy Orbison and Dion. Here are my awards:

Best Song: I really loved a lot of the songs this year. I was particularly impressed by some of the great rock and roll tracks that made it big; "Tossin' and Turnin'," "Quarter to Three," and "Runaround Sue" are all terrific and exciting songs whose effect hasn't worn off in the least. But, for my money, I'll take The Shirelles' "Will You Love Me Tomorrow." It is, for all intents and purposes, a perfect pop song. Its writing, arrangement, and performance are flawlessly executed—it's a tour de force of the girl-group genre.

Worst Song: For this award, I easily narrowed it down to just 2 songs—the only 2 this year to receive a score of F—Bert Kaempfert's "Wonderland by Night," and Lawrence Welk's "Calcutta." The songs are similar in that they are both instrumentals in the blossoming "easy listening" genre of the 60s. However, since I actually like Leo Kottke's cover version of the Kaempfert hit, I'll have to pick "Calcutta", which is a particularly egregious example of how low popular music can sink.

Song With the Curiousest History: Several of this year's hits were covers, but the Tokens' "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" goes back to Africa in the 30s, and in my entry, I included no less than 4 versions that are each notable in their own right—not counting the numerous other cover versions over the years.

Most Blatantly Unoriginal Song: Chubby Checker may not have invented "The Twist," but he was certainly on to something when he made it an international sensation. However, it soon became obvious that he didn't know how to do anything else, as each of his subsequent songs were attempts (some more successful than others) at creating a dance craze, essentially ripping himself off again and again. "Pony Time" is just one of the many that he cranked out. (Joe Dowell's "Wooden Heart" would be a runner-up in this category.)

Most Hypocritical Song: It may not have seemed so at the time, but when Dion hit it big with "Runaround Sue," he was decrying the very same promiscuity he himself would later admit to in "The Wanderer." The nerve!

Most Offensive White Appropriation of Black Music: Mainstream audiences generally like things sanitized for their consumption. "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" was certainly guilty of this, retaining very little of the spirit present in the original "Mbube." However, it's still a pretty good song, so it gets a pass in favor of the much blander "Michael" by the Highwaymen. This one is especially bad considering their follow-up hit, "Cotton Fields," which is literally about picking cotton, something these sheltered college boys surely knew so much about.

That's about it, folks. 1962 lies ahead, another year with 19 fresh songs to chronicle. I can't wait!

The Lion Sleeps Tonight

December 1961–January 1962

The Evolution of a Song

Here's a tune called "Mbube" by the Zulu South African singer Solomon Linda. In the 40s, it was a hit among black audiences in that country.

Sound familiar? That's because you (and I both) know it in a pretty different version. But I must say I was pretty taken with this old song when I first heard it just now. I can't be sure how much of the lyrics are actually in the Zulu language and how much are just nonsense (I'm out of practice in African linguistics), but it doesn't really matter; the song is infectious, due in no small part to the underlying "wimoweh" chant. Apparently, Pete Seeger felt the same way when he heard it—he recorded an adapted version with his group, The Weavers, and it became a top ten hit in the United States in the 50s. Seeger and co. were known for adapting folk songs, but mostly those of American origin. A tune from another culture wasn't too far of a leap, though, and this one fit right in with their repertoire, under the name (appropriately) "Wimoweh."

It sounds pretty silly, these white college boys imitating an African chant. But it's good fun, and they seem to be just having a whale of a time. Obviously, whatever meaning the original lyrics may have had is lost, but nobody hearing it is going to be able to tell the difference.

But it wasn't until 1961, the present year in our chronology, that the song was transformed into its most well-known form, and a huge sensation. A new arrangement was commissioned by the RCA company, and, among other things, the most crucial component was added—the lyrics. The group hired to perform the song was the unknown doo-wop group The Tokens, who took on the task with relish.

I'm not going to lie—I'm a little torn on this one. As in the Weavers' version, the affectation of African chant is extremely silly, and borders on parody. I could understand if someone were offended by this. But I can't help but enjoy the song. It's just really good—totally unique in the history of pop music, and relentlessly catchy. I don't blame the American public at all for rocketing this one to #1, leaving it at the top spot for 3 weeks.

The song has certainly been adapted plenty of times, too. Among the most successful versions is a later 1972 top-ten by the singer Robert John; however, in my view, it isn't different enough from the more famous version to warrant much attention. Simply put, the Tokens did it better.

A much more interesting cover appeared in 1982, by the British group Tight Fit. A delightfully 80s backbeat turns the song from a clever novelty to a propulsive dance track. The record was huge in the United Kingdom, hitting #1 there (but not charting at all in the States).

Maybe it's because it's closer to the age I grew up in, but that might actually be my favorite version of the song. It's either that or the original Solomon Linda version—they are so different that it seems useless to evaluate them against each other. This entry was one of the more fun ones to write recently, since the song has such a long and curious history; also helpful is the fact that it's just a plain good song, so I didn't mind listening to so many different interpretations of it. The rating, of course, is only for the Tokens version, the very reason why I'm writing about this in the first place.

B+

Please Mr. Postman

December 1961

1961 is soon coming to a close. Our next song, the penultimate one, is this hit by the Motown group The Marvelettes, notable for being the very first #1 hit by the famous Detroit record label (although it's not the first girl group entry – that would be "Will You Love Me Tomorrow").

Considering the song's continuing popularity (or maybe because of it), I can't think of much to say about it. It's a nice, original concept for a song, but it's certainly not among my favorites of the girl group genre. In fact, I am guilty of preferring the Beatles' version, a sacrilege to purists, I'm sure.

The Marvelettes themselves were not one of the more successful Motown artists, having only 3 major hits, "Postman" being their first and biggest. The song was predictably rewritten for next year's "Playboy," and it wasn't until 1966 that they scored their last top-ten, "Don't Mess With Bill." That last one is my favorite of the 3 songs by far; its cool, funky sound demonstrates how much the genre had developed in five years.

Some may appreciate the rawer, less polished sound of "Please Mr. Postman," and I'm not saying I don't like it. Maybe it's just that my opinion has been jaded from overexposure to the song.

B

Big Bad John

November–December 1961

Unless you're old enough to remember this song, you probably identify Jimmy Dean not with country music, but with this:

But in fact Dean, who died last summer, was a very successful country singer, and "Big Bad John" was his breakthrough hit, as well as one of the most popular songs of the year, holding an impressive 5 weeks at #1. It tells the story of the eponymous John, who it turns out isn't really "bad" at all, although he is indeed big; he uses his legendary strength to rescue a group of trapped miners, only to be killed himself when the mine collapses. It plays as a sort of American "tall-tale" story, not unlike Paul Bunyan or John Henry.

It is, in fact, a "talking song," a genre which I don't believe we have encountered yet in this project. We've discussed the talking verse in "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" but this is sort of a separate category. Country and folk music have their roots in storytelling, and this kind of song does that in the most direct way: by simply telling the story (in verse, of course). Dean's voice is appropriately deep and grave for the tale, although to modern ears, the whole thing seems hopelessly dated.

One approach to the talking song which has survived better, I think, is infusing it with comedy, as Bob Dylan was wont to do, as in this very amusing early performance:

This is rooted in the same folk tradition as "Big Bad John" – Dylan's near-worship of Woody Guthrie is well documented – but Dylan's unwillingness to take himself seriously is what gives it its real charm and staying power. Dean's approach, while somewhat convincing, is too plain to have any real value besides historical curiosity. Perhaps the talking song will make a comeback someday, but it doesn't seem likely, in the near future, anyway.

Jimmy Dean continued to have success into the 70s in the country charts, but in terms of crossover appeal, he only had this song and a nationalistic 1962 top-ten "PT-109." I wonder if his sausages are any good?

C+

Runaround Sue

October 1961

A lot of these old songs that were once huge hits are now almost completely forgotten. But here we've had a few in a row which are still staples of oldies stations. Dion's "Runaround Sue" continues in that category.

And it certainly deserves it – it's a terrific song. After a portentous opening in which Dion declares that the girl he once loved started running around "with every single guy in town" (either it's a very small town or this is some world-class promiscuity), the song launches into a screaming tale of heartbreak and rock and roll vitriol. It's a classic song topic – man has been cheated on and is now very upset – but it's done with such conviction here that it's a resounding success, mostly thanks to Dion's powerful and charismatic singing voice.

Dion's follow-up single, "The Wanderer," was nearly as popular, and I'm sure I'm not the first one to notice the irony in the two songs' messages.

In "Sue," he so eloquently decries his ex for having the very same quality he would later champion in himself. I must admit, there's a certain charm to the sheer bravado that would inspire him to commit such a blatant hypocrisy, even though the song isn't quite the tour de force that the previous one is.

In fact, the more I listen to Dion's various hits, the more I like the guy. He produced a whopping 10 top ten singles between 1959 and 1963, and they are nearly all quite good. For a short list of the best, I'd pick the early charmer "Teenager in Love;" the gloomy, kazoo-featuring "Little Diane;" and the bluesy "Ruby Baby." For a pop singer, he's displayed considerable versatility. Before doing this entry, I'd more or less written him off as a campy 60s relic, and I'm glad I had the chance to change that opinion.

Dion made a moderately successful attempt to reinvent himself as a hippie folk singer in the late 60s. This culminated in "Abraham, Martin and John," a song in remembrance of Lincoln, King, and Kennedy, respectively, which was the last commercial success of his career. What could have easily been trite is actually well done and it comes across as pretty honest. However, my favorite song from this period of Dion is a hilariously misguided cover of Jimi Hendrix's "Purple Haze." It must be heard to be believed:

That nonsense aside, this entry has been a pleasant surprise. A bunch of these songs are worth knowing, even though "Runaround Sue" remains the biggest success of Dion's career and his defining song.

A

Hit the Road Jack

October 1961

And so we return to Ray Charles. His previous chart-topper was a strings-drenched ballad, but here he strikes it big with an upbeat R&B number; the kind that made him who he was. I would say this song should be recognizable to just about anyone, or any American at least.

One thing that I like about Charles's style is that he has a propensity for interacting with his backup singers, rather than the more traditional approach of simply having them, well, back you up. I'm thinking also of his tour de force "What'd I Say," where he banters back and forth with his singers, to create a risqué sexual exchange. Here, Ray is the eponymous "Jack," and it's his backups who are telling him to get the hell out. He can only plead for mercy to this faceless and unforgiving woman – having the part sung by several women instead of only one serves to make Charles seem even more helpless. It's a neat trick, and it makes the short song a fairly effective mini-drama. Ultimately, we can't help but to side with "Jack;" this is clinched when we hear his sly spoken appeals at the very end.

It seems that for every cherished Ray Charles classic, there's a few missteps that haven't lasted quite as well. Take for example "Ruby," which was released around the same time as "Jack," and was top 10 on the R&B charts. It hasn't really stood the test of time. But his other smash success from this year, a brassy instrumental version of "One Mint Julep," is pretty well done in my opinion.

So this post covers a fairly brief portion of Ray Charles's career – that's because we're not quite done with him yet. He'll be back again next year. Until then, "Hit the Road Jack" will do just fine.

A-

Take Good Care of My Baby

September–October 1961

It seems we have a perennial affection for teenage singers. Miley Cyrus and Justin Bieber today are simply the current iterations in a trend that goes back for decades. And so we come to Bobby Vee, who was only 18 when he had his only #1 hit, "Take Good Care of My Baby." Who could resist those boyish charms?

The song is one of several highly successful hits written by Carole King and Gerry Goffin, before King became well-known as a performer (they also brought us "Will You Love Me Tomorrow," and they're not done yet on this blog). The young singer, Bobby Vee, is not really much more than a vehicle for the song, which is really quite charming. But what can you expect from such a young teen idol? He gets the job done reasonably well.

Although he's not exactly well-known today, Vee was very successful at the time. "Take Good Care of My Baby" was one of five top 10 hits he released between 1960 and 1962 – aged 17 to 19. Most of the others aren't too exciting to today's ears, though. One is a blatant ripoff of the song "Earth Angel," and another is a lame Buddy Holly impersonation. Let's just say the guy didn't have a unique artistic vision all his own. But the last big hit of his teenage years, "The Night Has a Thousand Eyes," is quite good. I dare say it might be my favorite Bobby Vee song.

Like so many teen performers, his success didn't really depend on his own talent, but on the people around him that were involved in the production of his music. The upshot of this is that his fame didn't last long. He managed to eke out one last top 10, in 1967, at the ripe old age of 24. It's fairly mediocre, and it was his last whiff of real success. He turned out to be just one more disposable teenage face, crooning on the radio. America quickly lost interest, but at least "Take Good Care of My Baby" has had some lasting resonance, thanks to its sharp songwriting.

B

Michael

September 1961

Next up is an adaptation of a black American spiritual that should be familiar to damn near everyone. It's "Michael Row the Boat Ashore" and it's sort of a campfire classic, I guess. Easy as pie to play and sing, and it always seems to come out pretty well. The subject of this entry is the Highwaymen's version, which I'd say is probably the most well-known recording of the song:

This is pretty typical of popular music of the 20th century: music borrowed from black culture, then whitified for the masses. That was apparently the modus operandi of this group – here's their other major hit from the following year, an adaptation of a Leadbelly song:

It just doesn't sound quite right coming out of the mouths of these preppy white college boys. But the American populace ate this stuff right up. Just look at the major popular trend of the first half of the century: jazz. The revolutionary music genre was codified by black Americans, but generally the most successful music of the time was produced by whites in a much more toned-down, easy listening style. It's what the people want.

Not that this song, in this version, is all that bad. Actually, it's all right by me. I'd say it's such an innately good song that it would be pretty hard to screw up. It's catchy without being annoying; a perfect balance. And the Highwaymen's reading of it is pretty straightforward. They don't do anything outlandish with it. It works.

B-

Wooden Heart (Muss I Denn)

August 1961

One of Elvis Presley's innumerable films was a flick called G.I. Blues, some of which was actually filmed on location in Germany during his stint in the Army. It was released in 1960, soon after Presley returned to civilian life, and it contained a charming, if insubstantial, little ditty called "Wooden Heart."

As you'll notice, the second half of the song is in German, apparently adapted from a Swabian folk song. Our old friend Bert Kaempfert is even listed as a co-writer.

But wait!

This post is not about Elvis at all. His recording of the song was successful in Europe, but was not even released in the United States until far after the fact. Hence, it certainly did not become a #1 single stateside. So why am I even mentioning it, then? Well, because of a highly successful cover version which did hit the #1 spot, sung by this flat-topped doof:

Wrong choice, America. Not that the song was so great to begin with, but Dowell strips any of the charm the original may have had right away. Instead, it's a saccharine clone of all the other easy-listening schlock out there. His German accent is slightly better than Elvis's, and that's probably the only (faint) praise I can muster. Probably the best thing this guy ever did was to promptly go away – he never made the top 10 again, only scoring two other minor hits, including the insipid "Little Red Rented Rowboat." I've got to say, 1961 has been probably the best year so far for this project, but this sure isn't helping.

D

Tossin' and Turnin'

July–August 1961

1961 has had a lot of rock and roll so far. It's a welcome development in my opinion, and the trend continues with this terrific number by Bobby Lewis, which spent a formidable 7 weeks at the top, making it the most successful single of the year.

Who ever thought insomnia could be so much fun? When you think about it, the topic of the song doesn't really fit the tone of it at all. He's so distressed by his lady that he's losing sleep at night; and yet the song itself is a rollicking good time, upbeat, and catchy as sin to boot. But somehow you don't even notice this glaring inconsistency until you slow down to think about it. For whatever reason, it plainly works. I suppose part of the appeal is that it takes a bad experience that practically everyone has had, and makes it sound like a party. How could you resist?

The runaway success of the song is a little strange in retrospect, considering that Lewis almost immediately fell out of the public eye completely. One-hit wonders make it to the weekly #1 spot all the time, but rarely do they score the #1 single of the year. Besides the inevitable, less successful follow-up single ("One Track Mind"), he never made another hit for the rest of his life. The guy is still alive (he's 76), and you've got to wonder what he does with himself. Well, I suppose he can rest easy knowing that he recorded more #1 singles than most of us have. One, to be exact; but boy, was it a good one.

A

Quarter to Three

June–July 1961

The story goes that Gary Anderson changed his last name to "U.S. Bonds" so that radio stations might mistake his records for government bond advertisements. Whether or not that's true, he ended up getting some attention anyhow, and he's fondly remembered today as that guy who sang "Quarter to Three."

You've got to love that early rock and roll sound, and I'm always glad to see this kind of thing turn up on our list – it's a welcome relief from some of the schmaltzier things that were around 50 years ago. Bonds and his group stir up an atmosphere of real, genuine excitement and fun, which is something that I think is harder than it appears. Just because the musicians are having fun doesn't mean that feeling will necessarily make it onto the final product, and believe me, I know. There have been times where I've had a blast in some jam session, but then later been disappointed by the recording. It's easy to assume that since those guys up there on the stage are having a great time, it's only natural that their music is so effective; but it takes more than just exuberance to make a great rock and roll performance. You've got to have talent (obviously), but also a group synergy that takes time to hone. Whatever it is, Bonds & co. have got it in spades.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but it's my impression that Bonds is remembered as a one-hit wonder; although actually he had 4 other top ten hits from 1960-62. The few that followed "Quarter to Three" are disappointing; the formula is the same but the energy is largely absent. However, the year before "Quarter" he broke into the charts with a track called "New Orleans" which I quite like:

It doesn't have the raucous attitude that made his biggest hit so distinctive, but it's a solid early rock song. Unfortunately, the guy doesn't seem to have enough material to make a "Best of Gary U.S. Bonds" record worth it. He actually ended up breaking back into the mainstream in the early 80s with a few singles, one of which nearly broke the top ten. However, they are quite uninteresting and not worth your time. "Quarter to Three," on the other hand, is a classic, and rightly so. I'm happy to have it.

A

Moody River

June 1961

Well, it's been quite a hiatus. Being busy with school and work and things, I haven't updated the ol' blog in a while. But I've always said you've got to finish what you started (actually I've never said that), and so here goes nothin'. I'm sure you're excited to know that Pat Boone is next up. Now, as a member of what might be called Generation Y, my introduction to the singer was this:

Not exactly representative of his style, you might say. But maybe it's more typical than it seems on the surface. Let's consider it: it's a clearly bored Pat Boone in the studio croaking out some song for a handful of money. Is that so different from "classic" Boone? Hasn't he always been a shill?

Boone had a number of very successful songs starting in 1955 (before this project's timeframe). After sampling a few of them, I started to wonder: how did this guy get famous in the first place? He must have made friends with the right people. His voice is just not very good. You could say it was his boyish charms, but come on, lots of other guys had those in spades. I am simply confounded. Most of his songs are simply boring – not particularly offensive, but certainly not exceptional at all. But one song in particular, "I Almost Lost My Mind" from 1956, practically had me laughing out loud at the sheer badness of this man's singing voice. Observe, Pat Boone in all his glory:

What this guy needs is a great, well-written song to hide the shittiness of his talent. Oh! Speak of the devil! The subject of this post, "Moody River," fits that description exactly! It's his only number one hit during the Hot 100 era, so it's the only one I'll have to cover (dodged a few bullets there). But I'll be damned if it isn't a very listenable, country, soft-rock-y sort of thing. It even has the tragic death of a lover, such a popular theme in this era's hits – you'll remember the first few entries of 1960. I think I'll go so far as to call it a... good song!

Okay. I can stop listening to Pat Boone now, right?

B-