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

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

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+

Are You Lonesome Tonight?

November 1960–January 1961

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

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

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

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

A

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

A Big Hunk o' Love

August 1959

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.

B

The Chipmunk Song (Christmas Don't Be Late)

December 1958–January 1959

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!

F

It's Only Make Believe

November 1958

Conway Twitty, who just might have the stupidest name in all of history, was apparently an extremely successful recording artist, with forty (!) #1 singles on the country charts, which was a record until 2006. However, only this song topped the overall Billboard chart, with a Grover Cleveland-esque run of two nonconsecutive week-long terms.

You may have noticed that Mr. Twitty really, really sounds like Elvis. Of course, in the late 50s there was no shortage of little aspiring Elvises all across this great country, but this song made me do a double take. The similarity is so striking that it is his defining feature. The song itself is fine - a pretty clever little tune that I wouldn't mind hearing from time to time, but you could fool 99 out of 100 people into thinking it was the King crooning those lyrics instead of Sir Twitty.

It's an inevitability of popular music that if somebody is insanely successful, they will be copied. Thinking back on the music that was popular when I was growing up - well, who remembers the band Bush? It's funny because it never occurred to me when I was 13 years old, but I realized later that the singer sounds inexcusably like Kurt Cobain. It's more than wearing your influences on your sleeve - it's completely surrendering to them, living and breathing them. It becomes almost a tribute act. I imagine it's not easy handling your success when you pretty much owe it all to one person you haven't ever met (except, of course, through his records).

In college, me and a few friends spent a semester as a Ween tribute band, playing only covers of their songs. It was a lot of fun, and I was surprised at the generally warm reception we got, but after you do that for a while, you kinda start to wish you had written those songs. Of course, there's a huge difference between something you do for fun in college, and something you devote your life to. It's probably unfair for me to extrapolate my experiences onto Professor Twitty's, but I would be surprised if he didn't spend a sleepless night or two fantasizing about being Elvis. Probably a lot more than one or two. Judging from his singing voice, he was damn near obsessed.

B