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.
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.
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.
"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!
Bobby Darin lived a short life (just 37 years), but he was a very successful recording artist. His only #1 hit was his version of the standard "Mack the Knife," and it was a huge hit, topping the chart for 9 weeks – as well as becoming the definitive version for many listeners.
This is an example of what I think of as "casino jazz" – that sort of swaggering, over-confident lounge singer style with lots of punchy horns and a swingin' rhythm section. But hey, if I had to listen to something in this style, it might as well be this song. I kinda like it in its own way.
But the song itself is more interesting than this particular recording of it. First of all, it seems music fans of 1959 were pretty morbid – first "Stagger Lee" and then this, a portrait of a gangster which even details a couple of murders along the way. But yes, there is a context to all this. The song, and the character, are from the 1928 German musical The Threepenny Opera by Kurt Weill, lyrics by Bertolt Brecht. Weill was actually a prominent composer of classical music and opera – but despite the play's title, it's no more an opera than West Side Story. Even so, this has got to be among the closest a charting pop song has come to mingling with the classical world.
But out of context, just taken as a pop single – isn't it kind of weird to be celebrating a killer in a upbeat number like this? I guess it's just part of America's long history of romanticizing gang violence; think Godfather, Sopranos. The characters are anti-heroes, but there's something about their idealized lifestyles that we admire. Maybe it's their freedom from the constraints of society, their vigilantism, their ability to make their own rules. Hey, remind you of something? Just ask John Wayne and Clint Eastwood. Or for that matter, Han Solo. It's the same kind of escapism that draws us to many kinds of "genre" stories.
Of course, the original version of the song is quite different sounding – indeed, it's in German (gotta love those trilled R's). The singer, who sounds like a cartoon villain from Merry Melodies, actually fits the song's ominous lyrics much better than Darin, to whom a life of crime is some kind of big party. The song has been covered many times, including by Louis Armstrong (whose version predates Darin's), Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, and of course, everyone's favorite band, Westlife. The English-language version has become such a staple of American culture, it's easy to forget its German origins.
But of all the recordings of "Mack the Knife" throughout history, the hands-down greatest and most moving version has got to be this one. You can thank me later.
The next two weeks were ruled by two Italian-American brothers from Brooklyn, going by the name of Santo & Johnny. "Sleep Walk" was their only hit in America, although they had more success internationally.
Another instrumental which, like "The Happy Organ," relies on an unusual instrument for its success – in this case, the steel guitar. To make an instrumental song that has any chance of commercial success, you've got to have something to replace the usual role of singer, and by that I mean you've got to have a lead instrument. Ever since the concerti grossi of the baroque period, more or less all successful instrumental music has one instrument in the lead, more prominently placed above all the others (if you can think of a counterexample, let me know). A common choice is the guitar: see the surf rock songs of the Ventures, and Dick Dale; the heavy metal-tinged jazz (or jazz-tinged heavy metal) of the Mahavishnu Orchestra; or the Allman Brothers with songs like "Jessica." Another popular instrument in the olden tymes was the saxophone (as in the ever-popular "Yakety Sax").
But here, in "Sleep Walk," we hear something we're not accustomed to, and it strikes us in an unusual way. The first impression is that of surprise ("What is that?"), but of course in a few seconds it turns to enjoyment, because the melody really is quite nice and original. But would we even be paying attention if it hadn't shocked us a little in the beginning with a fresh sound?
As we got further into the 60s, and onward, instrumental songs became less commercially viable. But of course, that doesn't mean they ain't good; some of my favorite songs are instrumentals. All guitar-based, though – I'll admit, I have a bias toward the instrument.
Next up is "The Three Bells" by vocal trio the Browns, which was #1 for four weeks.
It's based on an earlier French song called "Les trois cloches," made popular by Edith Piaf (whom I only know of through the biopic La vie en rose); as far as I can tell, the meaning of the lyrics is more or less preserved in translation. It's a story song, chronicling the life of a fictional Jimmy Brown (who, curiously, has the same name as the lead singer). In three hushed, gospel-like verses, and three melodic choruses, we follow the path of Jimmy's life as he is born, gets married, and finally dies.
Jimmy Brown is a mythical figure, I suppose. The tone of the song is undeniably reverent – we are meant to be filled with awe when we hear the story of this legendary man. But here's the thing: we don't hear about a single thing he did in his lifetime, other than be born, get married, and die. I feel this has two effects, which are sort of opposite, and you can take your pick. The first thing it does is it increases the mystery of his life – we've got to use our imaginations to know what great things he did with his life. He becomes Davy Crockett, Paul Bunyan, John Henry, and all the other great American mythical heroes (or, I guess, the French ones).
But here's the other effect: what do being born, getting married, and dying have in common? They are three things that most everyone does in their lives. Jimmy becomes Everyman. So what... he's totally ordinary? So why sing a song about him? Well, I don't think the two interpretations of the song are entirely contradictory, as they might first seem. He's ordinary, yet extraordinary. Don't we all feel this way sometimes? With billions of people in the world, it can be humbling to realize it's pretty damn hard to be special. Of course I can only speak for myself, but I would imagine most everybody feels that they are truly special; extraordinary in some way. We could all be as famous and respected as any of the great figures in history, if we'd just had the right chance at the right time; or if the stars had lined up just a little differently. We could all be Jimmy Brown. But – and this is perhaps the central meaning of the song – we all are Jimmy Brown. For isn't there enough beauty and reward in the simple life described here? It's important to be comfortable with the life you've got, and "The Three Bells" reminds us of that.
Most of Elvis's most famous songs are from before the Hot 100 chart, and thus before the time frame of this blog. But here's the first one that we're concerned with, which was #1 for two weeks:
It's pretty fun to imagine the parents – the conservative, 50s parents – as they realized with horror what their innocent children were listening to. I mean, "Heartbreak Hotel" this ain't. Elvis wants the young women of America to give him a big-uh big-uh big-uh hunk o' love. And he's got a wishbone in his pocket! This is pretty much the raunchiest pop music got in those days.
Let's fast forward 50 years or so. Apart from a few minor stylistic differences, "Big Hunk o' Love" is more or less the same song as a certain 2006 hit by Akon and Snoop Dogg (which also hit #1 – so we'll get to it eventually). What was it Bob Dylan said about the times? Well they have indeed changed, but it's only the delivery that's changed. The message has been there all along. Sure, today's hyper-sexual club music leaves a lot less to the imagination, but let's not kid ourselves – Elvis knew what he wanted.
And let's not forget that this song was one of 10(!) top 40 hits Presley released during his two-year service in the U.S. Army. Here, get a load of the record cover:
Elvis's military service is one thing that redeemed him in the eyes of the older generations. He may have been a hip-swinging corrupter of youth, but he was all-American. Anyway, this isn't one of his best songs, but it's a good enough rocker that displays Presley's more upbeat side. "A Bing Hunk o' Love" will do.
Paul Anka (a Canuck, as my Canadian colleague dutifully reminded me) had his only #1 hit with "Lonely Boy," which topped the chart for four weeks. I guess that makes it his biggest hit, although he had a smash hit with "Diana" a couple years earlier – before the inception of the Hot 100 chart, and this blog. But for the purposes of this blog, this is the one that matters most:
It's similar to "Venus," #1 a few months earlier, in that it's a love song, but not for any specific girl. Rather, it's a general call (to the heavens?) for "someone to love." I guess it's not too uncommon a theme in popular music – I'm reminded of Queen's 1976 "Somebody to Love" – but it's just a little funny that two songs like this were huge hits in such close succession. I guess a lot of people in the late 50s, uh, really wanted a girlfriend? I don't know.
And say, remember when pop singers wrote their own songs? Or at least some of them did. Anka was a pretty talented songwriter – he composed a number of successful songs for himself, as well as for other singers. I'll admit though, "Lonely Boy" doesn't really do it for me. Harmonically, it consists of a whopping 2 chords, which no amount of strings and backing singers could save from repetitiveness. But hey, better songs have been written on only 1 chord (Bob Dylan's "Masters of War" comes to mind). It's a funny thing about simple songs – they can be powerful and pithy, or trite and bland, and it's a fine line. It's just that there isn't really anything else about this song that stands out. It's kind of boring, and Anka is more shouting it than singing it.
But, credit where credit's due – Anka also gave us the far more awesome "She's a Lady," made famous by Tom Jones in the early 70s. And speak of the devil! Except for the bridge and the occasional embellishment, the song is built around, yes, 2 chords. Not the same 2, but what is it that makes this song so much better? Well, I don't think anyone would deny that it's a far better vocal performance (sorry Paul). And here, the simplicity of the song comes off as very direct, almost sexual. The 2 chords of "Lonely Boy," on the other hand, sleepily rock back and forth until the song finally fades out, which apparently worked just fine for listeners of 1959. But hey, if nothing else, here's a guy who was able to adapt to the changing times.
And now we come to the first nationalistic song on the list. It's also the first country-western song on the list – coincidence? It was apparently written by a high school history teacher, but the famous version is the massive (six weeks at #1) hit by Johnny Horton.
Funny this song should come up right now, because this Friday (January 8th) will be the 195th anniversary of the battle, which is often seen as the deciding American victory in the War of 1812. Of course, in the song, the details of the battle are not important. The Americans won, and the British ran away like little girls. However, it doesn't even purport to be a true account of the facts. It's deliberately mythologized and exaggerated – one of the later verses involves using an alligator as a cannon.
So it's all in good fun, but it raises the question: what did Americans of 1959 have against the British? This wasn't some flash-in-the-pan ditty – it was the number one single in America for a month and a half. The British had been our allies in both world wars, and most recently in the Korean war. Why the hostility at this particular time?
But maybe this has nothing to do with the U.K. Maybe people just wanted to remember a time when America won a war so triumphantly. The modern wars were American victories too, but they were increasingly bittersweet, being closer to the present, rather than history. And let's not forget that in the summer of '59, the U.S. had been funding a war in Vietnam for half a decade, and we would enter it ourselves in a short few months. Maybe people were scared enough that a nice little tale of red-blooded American victory seemed very appealing. But I'm betting this song didn't chart in England.
The songwriting team of Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller was one of the most successful in early rock and roll. They're probably best known for giving us several of Elvis's biggest hits ("Hound Dog," "Jailhouse Rock," and "Loving You," among others), as well as most of the Coasters' hits. "Kansas City" was one of their early successes, becoming a minor hit for Little Willie Littlefield in 1952. But it wasn't until '59 that it became a staple of rock music, due to a version by Wilbert Harrison that spent two weeks at #1.
It's since been covered by countless singers and groups (here's the Beatles playing it, in an altered version). But let's compare the original to the #1 hit version that came out seven years later. I think this is a very good example of the development of rock and roll music. The Littlefield version could be considered R&R, if you were so inclined. But not exactly.
Probably the most defining aspect of rock music is the drum beat. In the 1951 song, it has a very clear jazz "swing" feel to it – listen especially to the hi-hat. And how about those saxophone lines that run constantly throughout the song? Again, very heavily jazz-inflected. The whole song has a sort of lazy trotting feel to it (not in a bad way).
And now the Wilbert Harrison version. The difference is night and day – just listen to the pound-pound-pounding of those drums. This, in particular, is perhaps the most important part of what makes rock music what it is. The beat goes "one TWO three FOUR..." with a strong emphasis on beats two and four. Listen to any pre-50s music, and you won't find this rhythm. It seems so basic and intuitive, but it was indeed an innovation – somebody had to do it first. Jazz music often placed the emphasis on two and four, but it was never a strong drum hit like it is here. Both songs feature a Fats Domino-esque rolling piano figure, and a similar vocal style, but the later version is much more "rock and roll" than the earlier one. And what's that in the '59 version? An electric guitar solo! Here is the influence of another major figure in rock music, Chuck Berry. Although he never had a #1 hit (What's that? He did? I CAN'T HEAR YOU LALALALALALALALALALA), his influence was felt throughout the next decade and long after that.
Another thing that struck me about Harrison's "Kansas City" – I'm surprised a pre-civil rights America was so enthusiastic about a black man singing such implicitly sexual lyrics. But I guess if "Stagger Lee" could pass muster then so could this.
In what might be the most unintentionally hilarious artist/song-title combination ever to become a hit, a guy calling himself Dave "Baby" Cortez recorded an instrumental song called "The Happy Organ."
It's surprising to see an instrumental song at the top of the chart, if only for one week – even fifty years ago when instrumentals were somewhat viable as a genre. And of course I'm always happy to hear a rock and roll song instead of a schmaltzy pop track.
And what sets this one apart from the rest is, of course, the organ as a lead instrument. Jazz artists like Jimmy Smith were using it earlier in the decade, but as far as I know, "Happy Organ" was the first rock and roll hit to feature the instrument. The implications of this are pretty far-reaching – the organ came to be an essential feature of the R&B, garage rock, and psychedelic music of the next decade.
Cortez himself had another top ten hit a few years later called "Rinky Dink" (okay – song titles were not this guy's strong point). Aptly, the very same year (1962), Booker T. and the M.G.'s had a hit with "Green Onions." The difference in style between the two songs is striking. Cortez may have been the innovator, but his songs were essentially novelty hits. The M.G.'s had soul in a big way. If you haven't watched the video because you figured you already know the song from its (over)use in commercials and sports venues, watch it – it's a particularly good live performance. In just a few short years, the organ had been transformed from a curiosity to a major driving force in music, particularly in the R&B genre.
The singing trio Two Girls and a Guy recorded a pleasant little number called "Come Softly to Me" – by the time the song was released, they had changed their name to the Fleetwoods, and the song became #1 for four weeks, their first and biggest hit.
You don't really hear pop music anymore like this – where the music's entire appeal is in the vocal arrangement for a small group of singers. (Or do you? Let me know if you think of something.) There are no frills whatsoever, and the pleasure that the Americans of 1959 derived from hearing the song is derived from hearing a few voices sing a nice tune, and harmonize with each other. The instrumental arrangement is sparse, and the singers don't have much personality. The success of the song rides almost completely on the notes put down on paper, as opposed to many pop songs which have passionate performances, or unique production techniques. Any vocal trio could have sung this song and it would have turned out more or less the same.
It reminds me of – bear with me – classical music. Schubert's fifth symphony will sound basically the same no matter which orchestra is playing it, under which conductor (assuming a competent performance). Obviously some performances/recordings are more passionate or inspired than others, but the beauty of the symphony lies largely in the written notes. As a counterexample, the Rolling Stones' "Symphony," er, "Sympathy for the Devil" sounds lousy when it's played by anybody but the Stones, as proved by any number of useless cover versions. The power of the song lies not in the written notes, but in the hugely inspired performance thereof.
Clearly these are two extremes, and lots of music falls in between. I purposely chose something from the Classical (late 18th to early 19th c.) period because of the music's reserved nature. Cognoscenti may scoff, but I would say that performances of Haydn and Mozart don't vary as greatly as performances of, say, Stravinsky. The 20th century modernist's music is much more dynamic and varied, so various interpretations could be quite different, while still playing the same notes on the page. On the other side, we have a group like the Beach Boys – if, in a parallel universe, a different five guys had played and sung the exact same notes and the exact same words, it's likely that their story would have worked out pretty much the same. Indeed, the band's lineup changed quite a bit, even in the 60s – did you notice? Sure, they were greatly talented performers, but the greatest aspect of their music is in the masterful writing of Brian Wilson.
Okay, okay... back to "Come Softly to Me." To me, this is firmly on the Schubert side of the fence. The music shares almost nothing else with that of the great classical master, and its similarity is pretty far under the surface, but it's there. Let's go back to our parallel universe – a different two girls and a guy had the exact same idea, at the exact same time, and recorded the same song. Would it have been a hit? Methinks so.
Non-threatening crooner Frankie Avalon scored a five-weeker with "Venus," probably the most popular song ever written about Roman mythology.
This is the kind of soulless pap I'm glad we're rid of (don't worry, it's been replaced by a different kind of soulless pap). While it gets maybe one coolness point for essentially praying to a pagan god, it loses thousands for being about half as exciting as tying your shoes. Also, "a little girl for me to thrill" might have flown in the 50s, but today this guy would be on Dateline NBC.
Almost twenty years later, Avalon rerecorded the song in a disco version, which actually charted, despite being completely dull. We'll have plenty of time to talk about disco, though, when it comes around in the blog – can't wait!
It's hard to believe that the same America that gave the Chipmunks a #1 single turned around and started buying Lloyd Price's "Stagger Lee," a surprisingly graphic tale of a barroom murder which was #1 for four weeks. Here it is, accompanied by a pretty fun fan video:
What can I say, this song is just plain awesome. It's based on an old blues song of obscure authorship, which in turn was apparently based on a real murder; the most famous recording before 1959 was by Mississippi John Hurt, who spells it "Stack O' Lee" but still seems to pronounce it the same. The older version is pretty different, and not just in the musical arrangement. The main theme in Hurt's version is made pretty explicit by the oft-repeated refrain: "That bad man / Oh, cruel Stack O' Lee." The later hit version stops at the murder, but Hurt goes on to tell of Lee's execution by hanging, further reinforcing the character's villainy: "At 12 o'clock they killed him / We was all glad to see him die."
Lloyd Price's telling is much more matter-of-fact. Stagger Lee got in a fight with Billy over gambling, went home to get his .44, and came back to shoot Billy dead. The morality of the situation is not explored. Stagger Lee might be the bad guy, but then again he might be the hero – the story is told completely from his perspective, and how about that upbeat rock and roll arrangement?
TV host Dick Clark surely acknowledged this moral ambiguity, and so his solution was to have the lyrics changed so that Price could appear on American Bandstand. The altered version is so absurd that it's practically a parody. Not only is there no gambling; there's no murder. Stagger Lee and Billy even make up at the end. History is full of Bowdlers and Braghettones – as long as there's art, there'll be people declaring it obscene. The good news is that history invariably sides with the artist. "Stagger Lee" is a classic, and the Dick Clark version has been relegated to a small corner of history (only 174 views on that Youtube video!).
Originally written in the 30s for the musical Roberta, "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" has been covered many a-time, most famously in this version by the Platters, which was #1 for three weeks. Here it is, if you can pardon the inept lip-syncing:
This is an example of a song I knew as a jazz standard before I had ever heard the original version. To choose just one example, here's Thelonious Monk playing it. Starting with the bebop artists of the 40s, converting popular songs and show tunes into jazz abstractions was standard fare, and this continued through the 50s and 60s - unquestionably the most productive and creative three decades for jazz music. But as somebody from a much later time, all that music is from the past for me, and you might say I tend to discover these old songs backwards. After all, the intended listeners of all the old jazz greats were expected to already be familiar with songs like these. With the occasional exception, it's the opposite for me - the jazz version is a brand new tune.
It could just be my biased opinion, but I believe you really don't have to know the original song to appreciate improvisations based on it. Although for my favorite example of this, I think everybody knows the original - "My Favorite Things" from The Sound of Music. The show tune is ridiculously campy but kind of cute, I guess, in its own way. However, John Coltrane's interpretation of it is deeply spiritual and moving (I won't link to it - it's very long, and you should really hear a version with good sound quality to do it justice). If you haven't heard it, it probably seems impossible to take such a corny old song so seriously, but Coltrane and his (terrific) band completely reinvent the song, so much that you totally forget where it came from.
So what do I think about "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes"? I don't really have much to say about it other than it's a good song. A damn good song. I don't know the original show tune version, and quite frankly I don't really care to seek it out, but I really like the Platters singing it. Okay well... till next time!
During the holiday season of 1958, America failed.
This is the only Christmas song to ever hit #1 (Thankfully, Billboard created a separate Christmas chart a few years later). Not only was it the top selling single for the two weeks leading up to the big day, it continued to hold the top spot for the first two weeks of January. For the next few years, it reentered the top 100 every winter. In 2007, following the release of a new Alvin and the Chipmunks movie, it was back in the top 100 again. Another "remixed" version of the song also entered the charts.
What can I really say about Alvin and the Chipmunks, other than they are extremely annoying, and inexplicably popular. But I guess I can use this opportunity to talk about Christmas music a bit. It seems most Americans have a love-hate relationship with the genre. We won't hesitate to complain about hearing "Sleigh Bells" for the thousandth time in the mall, but I think almost everybody has a selection of holiday-themed music that strikes a certain chord. For me, it's the Nutracker Suite and Elvis's Christmas music. I think what's most important is that I used to hear these every year as a child, at a time when I was particularly excited about being a kid. There's nothing like a dose of nostalgia from time to time, and this stuff really does it for me. Then there's a Christmas album by gospel singer Mahalia Jackson, whose often indecipherable vocal eccentricities were a constant source of amusement for me and my sister ("the Hebrew chil-DRAH-NAH").
Even in China, a place where you'd most expect to be able to escape from the banalities of American consumer culture, jingle bells abound at the ever-increasing number of malls and big box stores. Seeing wiry Chinese Santa Clauses walking around, and signs that say "Xmas Merry!" is slightly bizarre - it's a variety of Western/American holiday symbols, completely removed from their cultural context.
But anyway, I guess the main conclusion I can draw from the Chipmunks, Elvis, and Tchaikovsky is that I can't really like new Christmas music - it's all about what I grew up with. I shudder to think that, had my family played the 'Munks around the house when I was young, I might have the same wistful feeling for this stupid song as I do for Elvis. I have only Mom and Dad to thank for that one!
