Herman's Hermits: "Listen People"

March 21, 1966 (1 week)

Canada's RPM singles chart took a serious step towards legitimacy with two key changes this week: (1) the Top 40 was expanded to the RPM 100 and (2) records that peaked were still being tracked as they fell, rather than the old practice of eliminating them completely. Thus, the previous week's chart topper, The Dave Clark Five's "At the Scene", was now down at number five. Whatsmore, former number ones that had been heaved off the listing had now been reinstated. Nancy Sinatra's "These Boots Were Made for Walkin'" occupied the number nine spot while Lou Christie's "Lightnin' Strikes", which hadn't been on top in a month, was somehow all the way up at four. Yet, David and Jonathan's version of "Michelle" was nowhere to be found so there may still have been some kinks to iron out (either that or everyone in Canada came to the collective realization that it was the worst and needed to be scrubbed from the record).

The number one on this key date in Canadian pop history was "Listen People" by Herman's Hermits, a group who the kids just couldn't seem to get enough of. Having had RPM chart toppers with covers of "Silhouettes" and "Wonderful World", it was perhaps time for them to go back to recording some original material. I say 'original' in the loosest possible sense since lead singer Peter Noone and his bandmates who may or may not have been playing had nothing to do with its composition. No, this task fell to a young Graham Gouldman, a Mancunian who was still just nineteen but who had already racked up a seriously impressive songwriting resume.

"Listen People" isn't one of his top tier compositions but it does just about manage to make Herman's Hermits seem like a real band capable of more than novelty pop and crummy covers. It makes me think of nineties' boy bands and girl groups moving in the direction of R&B in order to come across as more serious but inevitably failing miserably. What groups like The Spice Girls failed to take into account was that becoming serious squeezes out whatever charm and spirit they had to begin with. That's good news for the Hermits since they didn't have any charm or spirit to begin with; the bad news is their music remained as useless as ever.

I'd like to think that a genuinely good singer could've done more with Gouldman's song but I'm not so sure that's the case. While Noone is clearly way out of his depth as he strives for profundity, I think his sweet, endearing nature gives the song a little more gravitas. No one's going to take this clown's advice seriously, a point that manages to make the singer's earnestness all the more effective. He ought to be doing more novelty pap which makes his go at being the voice of his generation all the more laudable — even if it still can't quite rescue yet another lame Hermits' "effort".

While music nerds like to yammer on about "influential" acts like The Velvet Underground and Patti Smith, they conveniently leave out the fact that virtually everyone with a recording career of at least two or three years is bound to influence someone. Take Herman's Hermits: budding musicians jamming on guitars in a garage in Albuquerque or Winnipeg weren't learning anything from them but a pre-fab group was being groomed to move directly into the space they were occupying. If it hadn't been for Peter Noone laying the groundwork for cutesy hopelessness, what would have become of Davy Jones? The Monkees were soon to take to the airways and their lengthy run of singles was about to commence. But they didn't even play their own instruments! Well, neither did the Hermits for the most part. Unfortunately, The Monkees fluked a handful of good-to-great singles which means they couldn't quite recreate the Hermit blueprint.

Score: 4

~~~~~

Can Con

With the chart being expanded from forty entries to a hundred, there was ample opportunity to include some Canadian talent. The Guess Who? and Little Caesar and the Consuls are both present and correct, as is Terry Black who I previously covered in this subsection. A couple of acts I'd never previously been familiar with also appear. At a respectable number twenty-seven is Toronto's The Big Town Boys with "Hey Girl Go It Alone" and it's rather good. A bit like a minor Byrds track, it won't blow anyone away but it's solid and even a little inventive. One to look out for, assuming they ever did anything else of note. The same cannot be said for fellow Hogtown group The Shays. The only thing interesting about them is that their number sixty-seven "smash" is that it's called "This Week Has Seven Days", which they obviously stole from the popular news discussion CBC TV show of the same name. Too bad they didn't have the same quality control and/or influence.

The Dave Clark Five: "At the Scene"

March 14, 1966 (1 week)

Though the charts didn't quite reflect it in the first part of the year, the music of 1966 proved to be considerably darker and tougher than previous years. Though considered to be a seminal album from 1967, The Velvet Underground's The Velvet Underground and Nico had been recorded nearly a year earlier — which perhaps goes some way to explaining how it managed to stand out so starkly up against all that lovey-dovey flower power. A rougher edge took hold of The Rolling Stones as they really began to come into their own. The Who's Pete Townshend crafted some magnificent pop but with some questionable themes while their hits were being played live at increasingly louder volumes. Even The Beatles began moving toward the dark side on Revolver cuts like "Eleanor Rigby" and "Tomorrow Never Knows".

Yet, there was still a place for bubblegum pop. While they were becoming increasingly irrelevant back in Britain, Herman's Hermits and Peter and Gordon continued to find success in North America as younger kids turned their backs on much of that dark stuff. (With The Beatles having failed to sell out Shea Stadium in the summer of '66 for their second show at the famed venue, CBS interviewed some youngsters at the concert to see if they felt the Fab Four might be fading away. Older teens still spoke highly of them while a little girl admitted that she preferred 'Herman and the Hermits'; as an aside, I'm not sure that asking kids at a concert really proved anything: they ought to have gotten the perspective of some adolescents who weren't in attendance instead) While Canada remained loyal, they were but a taster for what was to come in the late sixties. The Monkees were on the horizon, The Bee Gees weren't far off and American pop was soon to take over from the British Invasion. It seemed like everyone had to take a side.

As if trying to place themselves on the right side of the divide, The Dave Clark Five returned with their roughest number to date. Lead singer Mike Smith is in fine sandpapery form, Clark pounds the drums with his usual ferocity and their bandmates even sound energetic — and not just because they've been cajoled into stomping their feet on a wooden stage the entire time. The DC5 always played with a booming presence but they found a new level here. Too bad, then, that "At the Scene" is feeble and smacks of throwaway pop played at maximum volume to hide just how empty it is.

Though not terribly great, "At the Scene" isn't a total disaster. Not nearly as fun as "Over and Over" but a modest improvement on "Bits and Pieces". Ultimately, this third and final Canadian number one from the DC5 sort of sums them up. While they may have aspired to be ranked alongside The Beatles and The Rolling Stones, they lacked talented songwriters and were unable or unwilling to explore musically. On the other hand, they couldn't quite grasp how to craft truly great pop either, as if pandering to commercial demands was below them or something. What they did they did reasonably well but they could never quite rise above being a dance band from London's East End. Merseybeat may have faded away but they were going to drive the Tottenham Sound into the ground.

Score: 4

Nancy Sinatra: "These Boots Are Made for Walkin'"

March 7, 1966 (1 week)

The best thing about "These Boots Are Made for Walkin'" is after the third or fourth go of that distinctive descending bassline when Nancy Sinatra asks "are you ready boots?" pauses and then adds "start walkin'!" The horns kick in and now we really have a killer tune. But no sooner has it peaked then it starts to fade and it's all over.

In a way, this is the right approach. Leave 'em wanting more, as old showbiz types (like Nancy's dad Frank) used to say. Still, leave me wanting more after twenty or thirty seconds of a kick ass horn part rather than eight. It's not as if there's anything that I feel is itching to be cut from the first two minutes or so; I'd just like it to be longer is all.

Up until this point, brevity has linked virtually every entry in this space. Several have even clocked in under the two minute mark. As a matter of fact, the single which displaced "These Boots Are Made for Walkin'" from the top of the RPM is a tidy minute and fifty-two seconds (spoilers: its conciseness does absolutely nothing for it even if it would have been that much worse had it had an extra sixty seconds tacked on). 1966 seems to have been a year in which the two minute pop song seems to have fallen out of favour but clearly still had its adherents.

"Boots" is considered something of a classic and it's easy to see why. Jon Savage's comment that it's an "extraordinary mixture of Las Vegas and Los Angeles, of S&M fantasy and feminine revenge" is right on the money. It's a feminist anthem if one chooses it to be so but it can just as easily be a suggestive account of Sinatra's smoldering sexuality. The fact that it's about both is to the credit of everyone involved.

Songwriter and longtime collaborator Lee Hazelwood initially wanted to record "Boots" himself until Sinatra talked him out of it — and she was absolutely correct on that one. It's hard to imagine a grown man getting much out of it (and Hazelwood was in his mid-thirties at the time so he didn't even have youthful exuberance on his side). How empowering could it be coming from an individual who looked like he owned a chain of moderately successful drycleaning stores? Granted, his mustache did make him look like he threw key parties on the weekend but the sexual aspect of this song is meant to be titillating not creepy. Nope, these words had to be sung by a young woman who took no bullshit from others and who owned her sexuality.

Out of curiosity, I looked up some notable cover versions and discovered that both eighties' metal group Megadeath and country-pop star Billy Ray Cyrus both gave it a whirl. (They, along with pop diva Jessica Simpson, make for a curious selection of acts to take on the same pop hit from the sixties) In fairness to Hazelwood, the idea of any man at all taking on "Boots" seems so out of place that I had to check them out.

Megadeath's version is the pick of the bunch. I don't care all that much for it but I respect what they did with "These Boots" (as they renamed it). Rather than pretending to be liberated, they interpret the lyrics as literally as possible. This boot of theirs is meant to kick in the head of a poor Slayer fan or something. Violence and aggression may not have been the what Hazelwood and Sinatra had intended but it's probably the only effective way of doing it in a metal or hard rock style. While they changed the lyrics around a bit, it isn't at the expense of the composition. (Hazelwood was said to have been unhappy with their version but only, as singer David Mustaine pointed out, after receiving royalties on it for a decade) As for Miley's dad, it's as bland and boring as you'd imagine. He isn't standing up for himself, he isn't expressing sexual liberation and he isn't even threatening violence; in effect, all he's doing is reaffirming his place as a white guy who gets to do his thing 24/7. Way to take a stand there, Bill.

My number one blog brethren think more highly of "Boots" than I do — Toms Ewing and Breihan both consider it a perfect 10 while Adian Curran hedges his bets with a 9 — but only because I want more from it. Going for another half-minute or so wouldn't simply make for more of the same but for something that would have been even better. A joyful instrumental to see out one of the finest pop songs of the era is only teased at and it's something I can't quite get past. It's not unlike my main hang up with the classic sitcom Fawlty Towers. While it's often praised for its near flawless dozen episodes, I feel they left too many potentially good storylines on the table. (One in which a group of grubby backpackers turn up would've been brilliant; I also feel they had a Christmas special in them) Sure, they never let the quality slacken but they could've kept the quality going. Don't outstay your welcome but don't just leave early right when the fun is about to kick off either.

Score: 8

David and Jonathan: "Michelle"

February 28, 1966 (1 week)

You know what I said just the other day about Petula Clark being such a pro? Well, I take it back. This is not meant as a slight in any way to Clark but simply as a way of distancing myself from the idea of pop professionalism. Why? Because some consummate pros are godawful, that's why.

Like every Beatles' album before and after it, Rubber Soul was never milked. Of its fourteen cuts, a dozen of them are absolutely brilliant with most having unrealized commercial potential. Had it been released in the eighties, it's easy to imagine the likes of 'Drive My Car", "In My Life", "Norwegian Wood", "I'm Looking Through You" and "You Won't See Me" as possible singles. Held off of the North American version of the album, "Nowhere Man" ended up a sizable hit in its own right which will be discussed in this space soon enough but the only other Rubber Soul track that proved to be of much interest on the singles charts at the time was the Paul McCartney ballad "Michelle", even if The Beatles had little interest in putting it out themselves.

Bob Dylan wasn't keen, considering it and "Yesterday" to have been "cop outs" to their "teenybopper" following. No doubt many McCartney haters have followed suit in their derision of songs like "Michelle" but they're missing out on some sly touches that raise it above the usual commercial fluff. Most important is the air of melancholy that hangs, especially in its closing seconds. That lonely guitar solo (which I had always assumed to be a bass) sees out a bleak story. The language barrier has caused McCartney and this Michelle girl to be isolated from one another. As long as I've been listening to "Michelle", I've pictured a petite young woman who is so shy that she wouldn't be able to communicate her feelings even if she could.

Released by the Pye label as a token of appreciation for them agreeing to quash Freddie Lennon's "That's My Life" (John not wishing to see his estranged dad piggybacking his way onto the charts), The Overlanders ended up hitting number one in the UK for three weeks with a slightly more upbeat version of "Michelle" that even has a touch of reggae about it. It's pretty bad in its own right but I respect their ultimately botched attempt to distinguish themselves from The Beatles. Meanwhile, the songwriting duo of Roger Cook and Roger Greenway, whose composition "You've Got Your Troubles" had been a Canadian chart topper the previous autumn, did their own rendition, in this case with the aid of the Fab Four's producer George Martin. This doubtless contributes to how strikingly similar it is to the original even if its flaws become even more apparent as a result.

Which brings me back to the opening of this review. Yes, Petula Clark was a pro who could pull off pop convincing pop in at least five European languages but she was never performing material that was meant to portray her as a novice of German or Spanish (which she very well may have been but that's beside the point). "Michelle" is about two people who can't communicate so to sing it in damn-near perfect French is very much the wrong way to go. While he doesn't exactly fluff it, McCartney doesn't really sound sure of himself on the line "sont des mots qui vons tres bien ensemble" (a small point but I always thought it was "les mots"); by contrast, David and Jonathan (Roger and Roger being an absolutely shit name for a vocal duo) sound confident, their French way too well done for people who otherwise aren't able to speak a word of it. (Which raises another small point: why didn't Paul just learn the French for 'I love you' — je t'aime — rather than 'these are words that go together well'? I've never had the luck with women he's had but even I know a bad chat up line)

Most of its near three minute run time are a copy of The Beatles only done as blandly as possible. With his charm, fame, looks and money, Paul McCartney never had trouble with women but he beautifully articulates the difficulty he was having in this instance since he couldn't talk to her. But Cook and Greenway do not sound remotely bothered by this and I'm not even sure they're aware of how troublesome the situation is supposed to be. They're just singing a song as perfectly and as pointlessly as they know how. Musically, I'm sure having Martin there paid off though he messes things up at the end with a meaningless piano solo to close it out which can't compare with Harrison's rather overlooked haunting guitar part (which I already mentioned above).

The one thing I'll say for David and Jonathan — as well as The Overlanders — is that these dismal Beatles' covers only make me appreciate the originals even more. Nice as it is, the Fabs have many, many songs that are superior to "Michelle". Yet even with something relatively trivial, the competition still couldn't even to come close. The Beatles were great even when they were just okay.

Score: 3

Lou Christie: "Lightnin' Strikes"

February 21, 1966 (1 week)

"The hardest part was that we had too many ideas. If we wanted to write a song, it would never stop".

— Lou Christie

What must have been going through the mind of a fifteen-year-old Lugee Sacco when he first laid eyes on Twyla Herbert? Was it "finally, someone who understands me!"? Or "gosh, who is this red-headed dame who insisted on telling me my fortune before hearing me play"? Or "I can't wait to start collaborating with her!"? Or "I am scared for my life!"? Or was it all a little of all of them?

Sorry, I'm projecting here. Of course I have no way of knowing how the future Lou Christie reacted to first meeting his lifelong collaborator, I can only imagine how I would have taken it all in. To encounter this oddball bohemian woman in her thirties would have been interesting and then to discover that she was my musical kindred spirit would have made it thrilling but I would have come away also somewhat freaked out. That said, that's what separates the successful from people like me: they dive right into the pool while I pass on going for a swim entirely because I happen to see a band-aid on the floor in the shower.

Chris Pine Lou Christie was born just six days before George Harrison, the youngest member of The Beatles. Yet, he seemed to be in the unenviable position of somehow still representing an older generation of pop star while the Fab Four had already cleared the decks of all those Frankie Avalon, Fabian and Paul Anka sorts. Bob Dylan may have sneered at The Beatles themselves for giving in to the teenybopper crowd with songs like "Yesterday" and "Michelle" (more on that one next time) but it was nothing like the matinee idol pop royalty that Christie seemed to come out of.

Like Anka, Christie was a songwriter in his own right. A high school music teacher tried to sway him in the direction of the classics but meeting Twyla Herbert gave him the chance to have an older mentor who didn't simply encourage his pop aspirations but conspired along with him to bring them to reality. As The Beatles would discover in the classically-trained George Martin a few years later, the right kind of creative partner brought out the best in Christie by adapting her skillset to him rather than the other way around.

I really like the story of Christie and Herbert but I'm cooler towards what they created together. To be sure, "Lightnin' Strikes" is good but I must admit I find myself admiring it while not necessarily enjoying all of it. The song opens like a grandiose Motown number. The pace speeds up and slows down at will with the session crew at New York's Olmstead Studios earning every penny of their fee. Christie's smooth delivery shifts dramatically into an astounding falsetto in the chorus, a sound I initially assumed to be that of the backing vocalists. Frankie Valli couldn't have done better.

The quotation above does give away the one real criticism I have for "Lightnin' Strikes", there's just too much going on. Christie and Herbert couldn't stop, couldn't quit piling details upon details. While unquestionably a gas to have on, it's also exhausting after a while, an unstoppable locomotive of sound. It gets to be too much yet at the same time it's also what makes it stand out. Had Christie and Herbert written something much more conventional, it likely wouldn't have stood a chance at even a modest spot in the charts, much less the number one spot on both the RPM chart and Billboard's Hot 100. A fantastic song that just has to hammer the point home about how freakin' unreal it is at every opportunity — and that's both it's chief selling point and the one thing stops me from really raving about it.

As a postscript, Herbert passed away in 2009 at the age of eighty-seven while Christie lived on until just this past June. The two forged a partnership that seems unlikely to be replicated nowadays which is both a shame and, frankly, inevitable: the right people aren't always the ones we expect. In fact, we're better off if our expectations go out the window.

Score: 7

Petula Clark: "My Love"

February 14, 1966 (1 week)

One thing you've got to give Petula Clark even if you think her music is more or less dog shit: she was (and no doubt remains) a pro. By the mid-sixties she'd already been a showbusiness veteran for over twenty-five years so she likely learned a thing or two. Just the fact she could sing in French, German, Italian and Spanish and not sound awkward and not sound over-rehearsed is a testament both her skills as a vocalist and her consummate professionalism.

Clark has long been open about her dislike for "My Love" and yet you'd never know it listening to her. If anything, she sounds a great deal more convincing here than on her previous Canadian chart toppers, especially "Downtown", a song I have grown increasingly disinterested in. (I have a policy, borrowed from Tom Ewing, not to alter the score given once a review has been published; otherwise, I'd knock "Downtown" down to a 4 or possibly even a 3) Her earlier North American hits had been about finding a refuge either by losing herself in New York City's downtown or in a small live music venue so it's perhaps understandable that she found the trite lyrics to "My Love" so underwhelming. Nevertheless, she brims with confidence and enthusiasm, transforming a very ordinary song into a credible performance.

The story goes that songwriter Tony Hatch was on an airplane from London to Los Angeles and was struggling to complete a song called "The Life and Soul of the Party". The American sitting next to him advised against it — he supposedly claimed that the title would "mean nothing" in the States which means he was almost as big of a moron as some of the strangers I've sat next to on planes) and so the Englishman ended up dashing off "My Love" instead. (Hatch didn't give up on "The Life and Soul of the Party" entirely as it ended up as a deep cut on Clark's album My Love (aka A Sign of the Times/My Love, because nothing says serious albums act like changing the title after it has already been released), released in the spring of 1966)

I'm not quite sure if the airplane story is true — unless the jerk in the seat next to him happened to be a record exec, I'm not sure why he even gave his advice a second though — but no doubt "My Love" sounds like it was written in a hurry. The laundry list of romantic cliches ("my love is deeper than the deepest ocean, wider than the sky") is the first giveaway that Hatch probably didn't put a great deal of care and attention into it. With a less experienced singer the whole thing may well have been abandoned after no more than a two or three studio takes; but an old pro like Petula Clark managed to take chicken shit and turn it into chicken salad — albeit one heavy on the dark meat.

Score: 6

The Rolling Stones: "As Tears Go By"

February 7, 1966 (1 week)

There are many reasons why pre-1968 Rolling Stones deserve a lot more praise. Most obviously, because they had such a glorious collection of singles. (Even more overlooked are their albums, especially Aftermath and Between the Buttons) In addition, I don't think they were ever the same after Brian Jones began to spiral out of control towards his untimely demise. And then there's the fact that they weren't yet a colossus: while hugely popular, they weren't stadium rock gods and weren't being pushed as the "World's Greatest Rock 'n' Roll Band" or any of that tripe. If there was ever a time when the Stones were just a modest pop group, it was during this time.

This extends to Mick Jagger. While always a striking frontman — though a largely underappreciated vocalist and songwriter — he hadn't yet become a figure of depravity, nor was he parodying himself. I think there was more of a musical curiosity to him during this period, as though hanging out with John Lennon and Paul McCartney wasn't just to make himself look cool. The two chief Beatles were raking in cash from songwriting royalties while also flourishing creatively. There's no doubt all that all this rubbed off on Jagger and longtime partner Keith Richards.

1966's Aftermath has long been my favourite Stones album. I don't have anything against the great '68-'72 quartet of long players that they tend to be acclaimed for nowadays — even if I've never been fully convinced by 1969's Let It Bleed — but I don't think there's that same sense of inventiveness. (The Stones' album from the seventies that maybe comes closest to Aftermath's scope is 1978's Some Girls) It was as if they hadn't fully grasped who they were; by the time they did, they became very good at being The Rolling Stones but at the price of youthful wonder and excitement.

In any case, one of the main reasons I am so fond of Aftermath is Brian Jones picking up instruments seemingly at random and adding new sounds to virtually every one of its fourteen tracks with them. What I often overlook, however, is Jagger displaying a range that he would ultimately abandon as his group became a rock concert behemoth. On the track "Lady Jane" - cleverly placed on the album between the cheeky sexism of "Stupid Girl" and the outright misogyny of "Under My Thumb" — he sounds grand and sincere. On "I Am Waiting" he gives off a desperation you don't typically hear in him. The grotesque dirtbag is still present and correct (look no further than "Under My Thumb") but it is but one of his characters rather than the full show.

Aftermath hadn't yet been completed by February of 1966 so it was still the group's singles that did the heavy lifting. While mostly strong and steadily improving, the mess they made of "Get Off of My Cloud" indicates that they could be erratic (and, truthfully, always would be). Yet in spite of its relatively poor quality, it was a big success going number one around the world. The temptation may have been to keep the aggressive rockers coming but Jagger and Richards wisely went in another direction.

Originally a big hit for Jagger's future girlfriend Marianne Faithfull, "As Tears Go By" must have seemed suited to the female voice. While Faithfull does a good job of it, she doesn't sound completely at ease with it. (She would later acknowledge that it wasn't a favourite of hers) Whatsmore, the arrangement isn't anything special: uptempo chamber pop is normally a lovely thing but it doesn't do much for either the singer or the material.

With all this in mind, the Stones chose to tone things down for once. I say "Stones" in the barest sense since it only features Richards strumming an acoustic guitar alongside Jagger's vocal. Though I'm sure Jones could have added a poignant cor anglais solo, I like the fact that they pared "As Tears Go By" down so much. The string section could have very easily come out gloopy but Mike Leander's arrangement is tasteful, not unlike the job he'd do a year later with The Beatles' "She's Leaving Home". (It also brings to mind the work of the great Robert Kirby, whose gentle orchestral touches add that little something extra to Nick Drake's masterpieces Five Leaves Left and Bryter Layter) Could the Stones be serious artistes? Oh shit yeah...at least when they wanted to.

Like John Prine's "Hello in There" and Neil Young's "Old Man", "As Tears Go By" is all the more remarkable for having a younger individual document aging so thoughtfully. Entering the RPM Top 10 this week was The Who with their monumental single "My Generation". While guitarist and songwriter Pete Townshend has been asked about its memorable line "I hope I die before I get old" even long before his dotage, few have thought to query Jagger about a song he wrote when he was twenty now that he is an octogenarian. Not that it even matters all that much: just the fact that he was trying to wrap his head around an elderly lady in the final act of her life is astounding enough. Mick could take the piss out of bored middle-aged housewives and be a nasty piece of shit to the women he sang about but don't think he didn't have a sensitive side.

Score: 9

Chris Andrews: "Yesterday Man"

January 31, 1966 (1 week)

Had "We Can Work It Out' been credited together with "Day Tripper" as it was supposed to be, it's possible that the pair could have remained on top of the RPM chart for more than a week. I wouldn't have placed money on it but I would have liked its chances more. Had it done so, it would have ended the run of single week number ones at seven; instead, this trend would continue into May, covering twenty-one straight weeks.

Thus, after just seven days at the top, the Fab Four were gone completely (RPM would stick to their bizarre 'singles-are-removed-from-the-charts-when-they-start-to-fall' policy until that March) and someone had to take their place. While seven entries on that week's Top 10 were taken by acts who'd already been to the top of Canada's pop charts (in order of chart position from highest to lowest you've got: The Rolling Stones, Gary Lewis and the Playboys, The Toys, Johnny Rivers, Elvis Presley, Petula Clark and Gerry and the Pacemakers) with an eighth (The Lovin' Spoonful) soon to be hitting the number one spot themselves. Taking the remaining spots were Canadian country singer Wes Dakus (see below) and Chris Andrews, Canada's number one vocalist — for one week, at any rate.

Who??? Yeah, I don't know much about him either. He had been toiling in the British music scene for a number of years and had already started to make a decent living as a songwriter, composing hits for the likes of Adam Faith and Sandie Shaw. Not, mind you, any of the hits people remember them for but never mind the trivial details. He was a young and respected songwriter who, like many of his contemporaries, wanted to make the jump towards cutting records of his own.

Many tried to do it before him and a lot more would continue to do so in the future but not many did it like Chris Andrews who actually pulled off the 'professional-songwriter-turned-pop-star' trick pretty well. Barry Mann only managed it because he wisely went the novelty song route but there was no similar approach with "Yesterday Man". Or was there? While it is a pretty standard song for its time, the dual use of both Jamican ska and German oom-pah meant that there was not going to be anything else like it on the charts, so its uniqueness made it a kind of novelty song in its own right. While it has been credited as a forerunner to the white-bred ska-pop of The Beatles' "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da", you might say the circus-like atmosphere makes it almost a dry run for the Fab Four's "Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite" as well.

John Lennon and Paul McCartney may very well have been listening but I prefer to think of how youngsters at the time reacted to "Yesterday Man". Future members of pop outfit and minor British national treasures Madness (who will, I am happy to report, will eventually be coming up in this space) would have been under the age of ten when it hit the UK Top 5 and something tells me this is just the sort of thing that would have been the germ of pop classics like "My Girl", "Baggy Trousers" and "Night Boat to Cairo". Schoolkids have better things to do than to ruminate on influences and styles of music and songwriters generally having a tough time making it as performers. What would have concerned them was the relentless beat and party vibes. Madness themselves would carry on the tradition of producing mainstream pop that catered to children without patronizing them. And though coming from their creatively fruitful but commercially lackluster melancholy period, it's significant that Camden's finest had a single called "Yesterday's Men".

Score: 7

~~~~~

Can Con

Spoiler alert: after having two chart toppers in 1965, Canadian artists would end coming up short in '66. Not a single home-grown number one. It wasn't the first time this has happened and I imagine it won't be the last either. Still, Canadians were becoming more prominent on the hit parade. At number four this week is Alberta's Wes Dakus with "Hoochi Coochi Coo" which is nowhere to be found online while Nova Scotia's Patrician-Anne was at thirteen with "Blue Lipstick". Previous entry in this space Guess Who? — who seem to have decided to go along with what had at first seemed to be a temporary name change — also appear with a single called "Hurting Each Other" so acts from the Great White North were doing well. Patrician-Anne (real name Patrician McKinnon, sister of singer and actress Catherine McKinnon) sounds like she's trying to show off the fullest extent of her range which doesn't always suit the material but at least the end result isn't as much of a mess as it ought to be. The opening sounds like bubblegum pop goth which she really should've tapped into further. (For that matter, anyone should've gone in that direction) Not spectacular but a nice little single all the same.

The Beatles: "We Can Work It Out"

January 24, 1966 (1 week)

The RPM chart for the week prior to The Beatles notching their ninth number one smash prints an additional bit of info next to its title. It reads: WE CAN WORK IT OUT (f/s)

I can't find anything either to confirm or deny it so I'm just going to assume that '(f/s)' stands for 'flip side'. I suppose it could also be 'first side' but that doesn't sound quite right to me. In the UK, Ireland, Australia and New Zealand, the Fab Four's latest hit was a double A side. Though the CHUM chart had been more than open to them, this practice wasn't observed by RPM who presumably were following the American Hot 100's rule of only recognizing a single side. That said, the US singles charts also allowed for B sides to chart in their own right. Thus, The Beatles held two spots on the American Top 5 with the same single (while "We Can Work It Out" was number one, "Day Tripper" peaked at five); for whatever reason this wasn't permitted in Canada. (If I had to guess, I'd say it was due to Can Con regulations)

Famously, The Beatles had to rush to record their sixth album Rubber Soul so that it could come out in time for the Christmas market. Though deep cut "Wait" had been a holdover from the "Help!" sessions earlier that year, they wrote and recorded the thirteen remaining tracks in around a month. In addition, they had enough left in the tank for a standalone single and an unreleased instrumental. The pressure might have got to some but John, Paul, George and Ringo thrived under these conditions. Though not quite every track proved to be a classic — "What Goes On" is a Ringo number and therefore isn't especially great while "Run for Your Life" has an unsettling message even if the tune itself is quite good — more than enough of them are. The likes of "In My Life", "Norwegian Wood", "Drive My Car", "The Word" and "I'm Looking Through You" were by no means album filler: if anything, they rival and even top the two songs that ended up being selected for the group's next single.

The decision was made to pair "Day Tripper" and "We Can Work It Out" together. (While it's easy to imagine "Paperback Writer" and "Rain" ending up on Revolver and "Strawberry Fields Forever" and "Penny Lane" on Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, I find it impossible to come up with a version of Rubber Soul that includes either of side of this single) Though John Lennon and Paul McCartney co-wrote them and their vocals appear on both, they quarreled over which one should be the A side. The more rockist Lennon preferred the former's memorable riff (as well as its suggestive lyrics) while the pop purist McCartney favoured the latter. (This isn't to suggest that they disliked the each other's picks however) Unable to agree, they gave up and let radio stations and audiences decide for themselves.

I don't know if there was a rift that developed between Lennon and McCartney over "Day Tripper" / "We Can Work It Out". If there had been the two parties must have moved on from it fairly quickly. In any case, it couldn't have been as serious as the issues that began to divide them at the end of the sixties. But what's interesting about this is that it seemed to divide listeners as well. The fanbase seems split over which one is better and which one should have received the bulk of the promotion. (As far as the critics I like to cite go, Tom Breihan prefers "Day Tripper" while Aidan Curran is firmly on the side of "We Can Work It Out". As if unable or willing to act as tie breaker, Tom Ewing doesn't specify)

Personally, I find it hard to take a side on this one. If I ever find myself leaning towards "Day Tripper" then I begin to think about how much more considered "We Can Work It Out" is. Then again, if I'm feeling like more of a "We Can Work It Out" guy, I'll immediately think about how audacious and relentlessly catchy "Day Tripper" is. The respective strengths of each are partially revealed by the other. Does "We Can Work It Out" feel just a bit too carefully thought out? Well, look no further than the more spontaneous "Day Tripper". Do you ever get the sense that "Day Tripper" isn't really doing anything new and that The Beatles might even have been phoning it in? The waltzy middle eight, Lennon's harmonium playing and even the Motown-esque use of tambourine all contribute to "We Can Work It Out" being a considerable step forward.

The Lennon-McCartney divide is there for a reason but it sometimes feels like people are searching a little too hard for examples. Lennon's section in the bridge of "We Can Work It Out" is often described as a pessimistic counter to McCartney's optimism in the verses and chorus but this over-simplistic analysis misses a couple key points. One is that McCartney is being much more bull-headed than he's normally given credit for with few even noticing his perspective is based entirely around doing things his way in order to resolve the issues he and his girlfriend have been faced with. Which brings us to Lennon, who is really there to reaffirm his partner point, even if his words are far more blunt and to-the-point. Contrary to them being polar opposites, the two had a lot more in common than we might initially assume.

Mention of the song's bridge brings to mind the group's tendency around this time to have repeated middle eights when one would have sufficed. For a two-minute pop record, there doesn't seem to be much of a reason to have a second pass through the "life is very short..." bit other than to fill up some space where another verse or a guitar solo might have gone. This could at least partially explain why Lennon and McCartney were able to dash off so many brilliant numbers within such a narrow window of time (even though many of the songs on the less hastily recorded Help! also utilize the same trick). I don't wish to pick on "We Can Work It Out" specifically for a mildly irritating trend in their work during 1965 — the next time The Beatles come up it will be with a single that has three larbourious middle eights — but the song's brevity really does make it stand out - and not in a good way.

More than "Strawberry Fields Forever" and "Penny Lane", more than "Hey Jude" and "Revolution" and more than "Something" and "Come Together", the pairing of "We Can Work It Out" and "Day Tripper" is one which needs the other. (The only other Beatles' single that comes close is the non-double A "Get Back" and "Don't Let Me Down" and that's only because they sound so much alike) Though the two aren't quite enough on their own, together they're as good anything the Fab Four ever created. If I listen to one, I have to put on the other. It's not unlike how Lennon and McCartney themselves were always far better when working together as pop and rock music's unchallenged greatest duo ever.

Score: 8

The T-Bones: "No Matter What Shape (Your Stomach's In)"

January 17, 1966 (1 week)

Eww, you like The T-Bones?!? You know they don't write their own songs.

They do so!

They don't even play their own instruments.

No. No!!!

That's not even Joe Frank Corollo's own V-neck sweater!

Ahhh!

~~~~~

As just about everyone knows, a pop sensation emerged in 1966 that took the charts by storm. It later came out that the public face of this band didn't play the instruments on their recordings which forever tarnished their reputation. Fortunately, they would seek a degree of creative freedom and would find a bit of redemption, even if shaking the image of them as frauds would never quite wear off.

This is The T-Bones, a five-piece act that had been put together in order to "perform" and promote the single "No Matter What Shape (Your Stomach's In)" since the actual musicians on it were members of Los Angeles studio group The Wrecking Crew who were preoccupied with more pressing matters and who, presumably, weren't terribly photogenic.

What's funny about this now is that a pop hit credited to The Wrecking Crew would be something would please music geeks today — especially if it had been something that had just slipped through the cracks and had only been unearthed decades later. But to hell with obscurity! Even a big hit single would've been regarded as a feather in the cap of a hardworking and talented but largely overlooked group of musicians. They were invaluable in the fame and fortune of countless stars and they deserved a taste of it themselves.

The idea of taking advertising jingles and turning them into releasable pop music is an inspired one — not to mention alien when you consider that TV ads normally get their tunes from existing recordings rather than the other way around. (I always think of the Canadian ads for butter from the late eighties that used Donovan's "Mellow Yellow" with the whispered bits altered to "just butter it") While Brian Wilson was working on his magnum opus Pet Sounds with a lyricist who'd come from the world of copyrighting, at least one record company was using the compositional skills of people in the advertising industry to supply them with potential hits.

The problem is, the Wrecking Crew are far too much the polished pros to have much fun with the theme song from an Alka-Seltzer commercial. Working under the direction of a Brian Wilson or a Phil Spector might get them to push out creatively; similarly, their deft all-around abilities displayed on singles such as The Byrds' "Mr Tambourine Man" and Simon and Garfunkel's "The Boxer" marked them out as being able to mimic the sound of just about any band out there. Nothing of either sort is going on with "No Matter What Shape". It's easy to imagine Booker T and the MG's playing around with it, gifting listeners with some typically sublime organ and guitar solos and just making it so much more than a lightweight TV jingle but that's not what the finest crew of LA session cats did with it. ("Feelin' Fine", the B-side, is surprisingly spirited, sounding far less like they were simply phoning it in)

The public face of The T-Bones went out and did the promo work. While it must've been exciting to have been on national TV, it couldn't have been very fulfilling to be a professional musician miming along to a record they didn't have any involvement in. Luckily, this didn't hold them back in the long run. Three of the fake Bones went on to a successful recording career in their own right and they'll even be appearing in this blog in a while. Hamilton, Joe Frank and Reynolds did their own singing and playing and even wrote some of their own material. I imagine they'd outgrown the V-neck sweaters by then though.

Score: 5

~~~~~

Can Con

I suppose back in the mid-sixties the idea of a Dylan parody must've seemed fresh rather than hackneyed. As for it being funny? Uh, not with this dreadful mess. Of course, it just has to be the product of a DJ who likes the sound of his own voice. (Ed.: That's every DJ that has ever lived) I previously blogged about CHUM legend Gerry Ferrier and his novelty single "The President's Canada Congress" — which I still haven't had the chance to hear; YouTube still comes up short when it comes to shitty Canadian comedy discs from decades past — but the man just wouldn't take a hint and get lost so there was lots more from him. This time, he actually made the Top 10 with "Like a Dribbling Fram" under the name Race Marbles. If you're going to make a bad Dylan-esque copy then you might as well do it as poorly as possible and in this respect Ferrier couldn't have done better. He sounds a lot more like Gordon Lightfoot than the Bard himself and that's probably the best thing I can even bring myself to say about it. I don't make many worthwhile comments in this space but I have to say I stand by what I wrote the last time his nibs came up: "Say what you will about old pop and rock stars hosting their own radio shows but they tend to be better suited to spinning records and yammering about nothing than DJ's do when it comes to cutting quality music". Quite.