Mr. Blue

November 1959

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Come Softly to Me

April–May 1959

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.

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