Big Girls Don't Cry

November–December 1962

Another Four Seasons entry, so soon after the first! Everyone should know this one.



Is it just me, or is this exactly the same song as "Sherry"? It's like, they found something that worked, so... let's do it again! You can literally put one of these songs on, and sing the other along to it. Go ahead, try it.

Anyway, you can hardly blame me for not getting too excited about the second Four Seasons song in just four entries. I would say that this actually works slightly better than their former hit. Just sounds a little more tightened up, and the song's big hook is a little bolder and catchier. I'll take it.

B

Sherry

September–October 1962

Now, I know that the Four Seasons are one of the most loved musical groups from this time period, but I've got to be honest, right up front: I find Frankie Valli's singing voice to be shrill, silly, and frankly annoying. There have been lots of songs I've covered by artists with enduring reputations, where I totally get the appeal—Elvis's charm is contagious, the layered sounds of Motown can be marvelous, and hey, I can even dig Neil Sedaka—but this is where I draw the line.



I guess some things just can't cross the generational divide. It's not like the Four Seasons were some flash in the pan group, either—"Sherry" is merely the first of five #1 hits the group recorded, and there are two more from Valli's solo career. Not having been alive in 1962, it's impossible for me to have a true sense of what this music sounded like to people at the time, but there must be some way to explain this kind of massive appeal. Certainly they have a unique, easily recognizable sound, due mostly to the lead vocals. Perhaps it's the boldness with which Valli lunges into this performance, flipping in and out of falsetto, giving it everything he's got, injecting it with a charming youth energy. At any rate, you couldn't accuse this group of sounding like anybody else. Whatever it was, people got it.

Certain kinds of music are more generationally specific than others, I think. Radiohead's album Kid A, widely regarded as a masterpiece of the millennial age, probably has limited appeal to the folks that made the Four Seasons popular (and who knows how the children of the future will hear it?). Its cold, fearful depiction of the brave new world of the computer age is something that is pretty damn specific to people in my demographic or thereabouts, who grew up experiencing the emergence of personal computers and the Internet firsthand, during our formative years. When Kid A is as old as "Sherry" is now, people might look back and wonder what all the fuss was about.

I guess what it comes down to is that music sounds different to different people, and that's that. A great many cultural and societal factors go into how someone perceives a given piece of music, and I'll never be able to hear the Four Seasons from the frame of the early 60s zeitgeist. I can only relate my totally subjective experience.

B-

The Stripper

July 1962

Stripper is just about the last word I would have expected in a #1 song title from the conservative early 60s, but here it is (and yes, it means what you think it means). It's one of those sleazy sounding, big band striptease numbers—perhaps the definitive one, written and performed by bandleader David Rose.



Call me crazy, but I can't hear this without thinking of the finale music to the 1990 video game Super Mario World:



The similarity is most striking near the end, starting at about 3:27. I would not be surprised at all if the game's composer, Koji Kondo, used "The Stripper" as a reference for this passage. Behind the cheap-sounding MIDI instruments and repetitive structures that define the medium of video game music, Kondo is one of the very best, for what it's worth: classic themes like this one have inspired a generation.

Anyway, I'm not sure what to make of the David Rose track in question. It's well done for what it is, but it's certainly a curve ball. Maybe I'm feeling generous today.

B

Good Luck Charm

April 1962

Believe it or not, we are almost done with Elvis Presley on this blog, now that we're up to the sixth (of seven) songs on the list. It's funny because all the Elvis songs I've written about were more or less new to me at the time—funny because he has so many songs that are famous to the point of being cultural staples; but you must remember that the likes of "Jailhouse Rock" fell before the August 1958 start of our timeline. And although the start date of the Billboard chart is arbitrary, there is a certain stylistic change in Elvis's music that happens around this time. In the 50s, he did his share of crooning, but it was always offset by raucous, noisy rock and roll songs. As he got older (well, relatively—he's still only 27 at this point), he mellowed out significantly.



It's not a bad track—pretty good, really, and a welcome respite from the mediocrity of most of March and April of this year. But doesn't it seem like a bit of the fire has gone from Elvis's belly? This is about as upbeat as Elvis gets, this far into his career. Compare it to "Hound Dog" and it's like listening to two different performers.

But he's not exactly phoning it in, either. Hairstyles and controversial dance moves aside, the one thing that always set Elvis apart, and the reason he's still remembered so fondly today, is his voice. And what a voice he had—his control was flawless, and his stylish inflections inimitable. Sure, it's a silly little song, but it's not like he wasn't doing these in the 50s (how about "Let Me Be Your Teddy Bear"?). The song would be pap for most singers, but Elvis makes it his own.

How much of this style change was due to Elvis's own personal decisions, and how much to pressures from the industry to take his music in a more accessible direction? It's impossible to know, but I like to think that this kind of thing was part of a maturing process for him. He wasn't a kid swinging his hips anymore, and he took it gracefully. This more subdued, mature style is reflected in the other hits that followed this one. The other top-tens he released later in 1962 showed similar characteristics—both "She's Not You" and "Return to Sender" are good songs, but neither strays too far past a sort of mid-tempo shuffle.

However, this comfortable groove that Elvis seemed to have reached would be short-lived. The next year, 1963, produced another two top-tens, "(You're the) Devil in Disguise" and "Bossa Nova Baby", but this was apparently the beginning of the end—a sort of Vegas-rock style started to creep into his sound at this point, a marker of empty commercialism for many fans. The former song is still quite good (and was the earlier, and more successful of the two), but the latter hints strongly at the tired stagnation Elvis would display throughout the mid-60s.

After that, Elvis just sort of went away. He was getting older, his voice wasn't what it used to be, and his style was increasingly old-fashioned in the face of a rapidly changing 1960s zeitgeist. For five long years following the songs I just mentioned, the former juggernaut of hits didn't score a single top-ten. (Technically, you might note, there is an exception—the strongly personal, and overtly religious "Crying in the Chapel". It charted very well around Easter of 1965, but in fact was an archival recording, dating from 1960.)

However, the King did not fall quite yet. We will return to him later in this project, to deal with his late-60s comeback. Until then, let's move along.

B

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+

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

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-

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-

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+

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-

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

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-

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

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

Mack the Knife

October–December 1959

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.

B-