The Rolling Stones: "Brown Sugar"

June 5, 1971 (3 weeks)

1971. Never a Dull Moment, as David Hepworth describes it. A key year with a seemingly endless list of groundbreaking, acclaimed and highly successful albums. (And absolutely none of them are overrated. Can you believe it? Me neither.) Seven of that year's number ones on the RPM charts were from some of these remarkable LPs. In that spirit, I will be adding my brief thoughts on each at the conclusion of the relevant reviews. Let's kick it off with with a big one. (Mind you, it's '71 we're talking about and they're all big — and, lest we forget, none of them are overrated)

So, I might as well be blunt: I don't care. I understand how problematic the lyrics are. There's slavery, there's torture, there's rape, there's...uh, interracial sex (proof that not everything about "Brown Sugar" has aged poorly). It doesn't look good. Mick Jagger admitted back in the nineties that he'd never write it now. The Rolling Stones tried altering the lyrics so as to soften just how disgusting it is but they eventually gave up and stopped performing it live. To their credit, they never cried about being "censored" or how they had become victims of the long arm of the politically correct thought police. The time had simply come to retire it from setlists. Fair enough. I just don't care.

"Brown Sugar" was not the first time the Stones acted like despicable pukes. "Satisfaction" is about self pleasure. At least two tracks from my beloved Aftermath album are about misogyny (though "Stupid Girl" can at least claim to be about one particular female, "Under My Thumb" has no similar case for plausible deniability). Dependable old Charlie Watts aside, everyone else had been arrested for various lewd acts — and it's not as if they entered the seventies vowing to change their ways. If anything, the breakup of The Beatles a year earlier may have freed up The Rolling Stones to act like bigger pigs than they already were. Having long been in the shadow of the Fab Four (to the extent that Paul McCartney playing an acetate of the recently recorded single "Hey Jude" overshadowed the band premiering their own new album Beggars Banquet at a party that had been thrown in the Stones' honour; the following year they titled their follow-up LP Let It Bleed almost as an acknowledgement that they were doomed to be stuck in the shadow of The Beatles — or at least until they broke up six months later), they could do what they wanted and claim without hesitation that they were indeed the Greatest Rock 'n' Roll Group in the World.

"Brown Sugar" was their first major single of the seventies but it dated back to the end of 1969. The Stones entered the famed Muscle Shoals studio in Alabama for a very brief period of recording and they made the most of it. They cut the bluesy "You Gotta Move", the sensitive "Wild Horses" and this searing rock classic. It could have made for an EP for the ages but contract issues with the notorious Allan Klein got them to hold it over for eighteen months. (They didn't have enough time at Muscle Shoals to make a whole album as they were due to perform at Altamont just two days later; they played a rough "Brown Sugar" there for the very first time to an indifferent response) This was the first sign that the Stones of the seventies were going to be a entirely different beast from what they had been in the swinging sixties. Rather than working to the demands of their management and/or record label, they were now going to record at their own pace. (Let It Bleed had been their eighth album in just five years; during the course of the seventies they put out a total of only five LPs) Indeed, "Brown Sugar" sets them up for much of what was to come: the dirty rock sound of their 1972 tour-de-force Exile on Main Street, a greater reliance on bigger and bigger riffs to the point in which 1981's "Start Me Up" verged on self-parody and lyrics that began to turn away from current issues and more towards the carnal desires of Mick Jagger.

It's a little odd to think that this was the same Jagger who only a few months' earlier had been penning anthems of the revolutionary left that rivaled John Lennon's. "Street Fighting Man" and "Gimme Shelter" are so effective that suddenly hearing about "Gold Coast slaves" and "house boys" would cause consternation, especially in the twenty-first century. Perhaps Lennon represents an interesting parallel. While simultaneously going through primal scream therapy, the erstwhile Beatle was still dabbling in Maoist street chants of varying quality. "Power to the People" had been a Top 5 hit on the RPM hit parade and it included the famous line "I ask you comrade and brother, how do you treat the woman back home?". Lennon noticed old fashioned male chauvinism in the left which he was keen (and right) to address. A year later, however, he was comparing the plight of women to that of blacks, even suggesting that they had it worse and using the N word just to hammer the point home. With this in mind, is it really that much of a stretch that Jagger practically celebrates violence against slaves in the American South the same way he eulogizes the Salt of the Earth? If nothing else it goes to show you how being on the political left doesn't necessarily make you a true blue progressive. (And this is even before we get into just how genuinely political Jagger and Lennon were in the first place)

Still, I already said that I don't care so the above shouldn't matter to me anyway. What matters is the song itself and what a song it is. Having long been an advocate for the Brian Jones era I must admit that he isn't missed here. (In fact, it's impossible to imagine the great multi-instrumentalist adding anything to it either) Replacement Mick Taylor, who had been almost as little used on Let It Bleed as the soon-to-be-relieved-of-his-duties Jones, plays a lovely blues counterpoint to Keith Richards' forceful rhythm part, an elegance within the rough. Watts and bassist Bill Wyman prove that they were the finest rhythm section after Donald "Duck" Dunn and Al "The Human Metronome" Jackson of Booker T and the MG's. Fired for not looking the part but still a cog in their inner circle, Ian Stewart makes a strong case for why his Rolling Stone membership should never have been revoked. Finally, there's Jagger. His vocal is as charismatic as his already unmatched stage presence. As if aware of the potential firestorm in his lyrics, he wisely went for an even more garbled than normal enunciation ("I bet your mama was a Cheshire queen..."). And while fans may worship Richards for living by the rock 'n' roll sword — presumably, he'll die from it one day as well — note that it was Jagger himself who wrote virtually all of "Brown Sugar": problematic lyrics and astonishing music, all from one man who isn't given much credit for either of those things.

"Brown Sugar" is really the zenith of the Stones. It has all those qualities mentioned above plus it has everything their other hits are supposed to have. The groove never quits, the intensity keeps building and you can even dance to it if the mood hits. (Of course, when it comes to mood, I am always up for giving it a listen) "Satisfaction" may be the important one that everyone took notice of and "Paint It Black" is their brooding dark side at its finest. "I Am Waiting" is poignant and "Street Fighting Man" is their great anthem. All terrific songs, all basically just also rans compared to the best single they ever cut in all its complex, disgusting glory.

"Brown Sugar" opens Sticky Fingers but it's a testament to the creative roll the Stones were on that its remaining nine tracks very nearly keep pace. It's a nice pot pourri selection of everything they were capable of. "Wild Horses" is such a great country-rock number that The Flying Burrito Brothers (along with among many, many others in the years ahead) promptly did their own superlative version. It is contrasted (or complemented) by the more jokey "Dead Flowers". "Bitch" opens side two and is like "Brown Sugar"'s poor cousin. And "Moonlight Mile" is such a brilliant album closer that Richards decided to leave it untouched after he slept in and missed most of a session. The crown jewel of the Stones' so-called big four. (Did I happen to mention that Aftermath is my favourite album of theirs?)

Score: 10

Unofficial Score for Sticky Fingers: 10

Three Dog Night: "Joy to the World"

April 24, 1971 (6 weeks)

One of the great pop injustices occurred on Billboard's Hot 100 on the week of April 24, 1971. Three Dog Night's "Joy to the World" leapfrogged Marvin Gaye's "What's Going On" into the number one spot thus denying an all-timer's rightful spot in favour of an irritatingly catchy pop hit. (What makes this worse is that 3DN had already passed their short-lived creative peak) Up in Canada, things didn't pan out quite the same. Yes, "Joy to the World" also hit the top spot - and stayed there for an improbable six weeks, matching its stay on top of the American charts — but Marvelous Marvin was not in the runner up position. No, he was all the way down at number seventy-eight, two spots below its peak position from a week earlier.

Resentment towards Three Do Night may have existed down south but no one blamed them for preventing one of pop's greatest songs from hitting the top of the RPM hit parade. Gaye did remarkably well with the best album he ever cut, its title track and two more Top 10 hits ("Mercy, Mercy Me" and "Inner City Blues (Make Me Wanna Holler)" in the United States but his impact on the rest of the world was minimal. A fear of flying and Motown's poor track record of promoting their acts internationally meant that their biggest star had a ceiling. (Ironically, Gaye would later relocate to Belgium and perform a handful of concerts to appreciative audiences around Europe)

Three Dog Night were in the midst of a run of thirteen consecutive Top 10 hits in Canada when "Joy to the World" hit the top. "Easy to Be Hard" and "Mama Told Me Not to Come" only just missed the number one spot and both "One" and "Eli's Coming" weren't far behind. All are vastly better than this one. While a bunch of dudes recording a Laura Nyro composition all about avoiding a sexual predator might seem like a misstep, "Eli's Coming" was likely their finest moment. Granted, her original is that much better (being one of many high spots on her glorious second album Eli and the Thirteenth Confession) but they are to be commended simply for not messing it up. It was during the late sixties that 3DN relied on some of pop's finest songwriters for their material. In addition to Nyro, they recorded songs by Randy Newman, Harry Nilsson and the still largely unknown duo of Elton John and Bernie Taupin. (They also covered lesser known songs by well known acts, including the Lennon-McCartney track "It's for You" which had initially been done by Cilla Black) Yet, by the time they got to fourth album Naturally, however, the songwriting quality had been scaled down from 'first-rate' to merely 'respectable'.

Hoyt Axton was born into songwriting. His mother Mae Boren co-wrote Elvis Presley's "Heartbreak Hotel" in 1954 (and would, surprisingly, discover future pop star Tiffany some thirty years later). While she never could replicate its success, she was respected in Nashville at a time when men dominated everything (as, indeed, they still do). Like his mother, Hoyt struggled to make a name for himself at first and seemed to do better as a character actor on TV. He had a workable melody for a new song but had to make lyrics up on the spot. Some members of 3DN weren't crazy about it but it was felt that something silly and childish might be just the thing they needed. The public certainly agreed.

"Joy to the World" doesn't seem bad at first. The soulful cry of "Jeremiah was a bullfrog..." certainly makes for a memorable opening but not a whole lot happens from that point on. I don't think there's anything wrong with having a song that might appeal to children but I don't think the members of 3DN had many ideas as to going about doing so. Having playful, nonsense verse is a start but the only novel element in the recording was the decision to have all seven members of the group singing together instead of the standard trio of Danny Hutton, Chuck Negron and Cory Wells. This ought to lend it a singalong charm not unlike The Beatles' "Yellow Submarine" but it lacks a folksy Ringo to guide it.

Even still, it needn't be as bad as it is. Thinking about it right now, I feel as though I ought to like it more than I do. Unfortunately, it's irritating. And repetitive. And it's an example of contrived cheeriness in pop music that only makes me want to put on some Cure so I might not be in such a bad mood. Worst of all, it is a perfect example of vocal excess. They might as well be doing a commercial jingle for insurance for all of their misplaced passion. They were willing to try out a silly song but they couldn't bring themselves to become a silly band and only managed to come out of it looking sillier than ever.

Score: 3

The Bells: "Stay Awhile"

April 10, 1971 (2 weeks)

Soft, kind of creepy, bad mustaches. Yes, The Bells had a great deal to answer for. I, however, would rather not be so negative and I'd prefer to focus on the good qualities present in their signature hit: delicate, unsettling (i.e. 'creepy but in kind of a good way'), sensual. "Stay Awhile" can be off putting but it has grown on me. While I wouldn't necessarily go out of my way to put it on, I wouldn't rush to turn it off either.

In researching this review, I discovered that its cover versions are surprisingly few and far between — and those that do exist are by a bunch of people I've mostly never heard of. Fellow Canadian Ken Tobias, who actually wrote "Stay Awhile", did it in a light country style not unlike John Denver. It's interesting but surprisingly free of horniness and it becomes clear that the decision on the part of The Bells to do it as a duet was a wise one. Yet, not many subsequent duos have taken it on. Let's look at a few who might have done well with it:

The Beautiful South

Big in their native Britain but just a cult act at best in Canada (and they only managed to do even that well because support from Good Rockin' Tonite, Video Hits and MuchMusic playing their promos for "Song for Whoever" and "A Little Time"), the sextet with three vocalists would have been perfect for "Stay Awhile". Original female singer Brianna Corrigan had the helium-voiced tone to match Jacki Ralph's seductive reading and she always paired well with the passive-aggressive sneer of Dave Hemingway. Alternatively, leader Paul Heaton and Corrigan's replacement Jacqui Abbott could have done a tension-packed, smokey duet. It would have no doubt been nothing more than a B side though.

Nick Cave and Saint Etienne

One of those unlikely nineties' team-ups (something that both acts had prior experience doing) sees the Australian goth legend Cave really bring out the dark heart in "Stay Awhile" while Sarah Cracknell would have smouldered ironically alongside him. Plus, something tells me that lifelong pop obsessives Bob Stanley and Pete Wiggs were fond of The Bells and would've loved nothing more than to add some loungy synths for that extra bit of sparkle. A fantasy pop winner!

UB40 and Chrissie Hynde

They did an awful cover of Sonny and Cher's "I Got You Babe" but then later put out a reasonably good version of Dusty Springfield's "Breakfast in Bed" and it's possible that they could've been looking for a third potential classic to revisit. Pretenders' singer Hynde could have thrived with it but I'm less certain when it comes to Ali Campbell's phlegmy whine. Also, cod reggae "Stay Awhile"? Just because I'd like to hear it doesn't mean I'd enjoy it. On the other hand, anything would've been better than UB40 and Robert Palmer's horrible version of Bob Dylan's "I'll Be Your Baby Tonight".

One of those late eighties' cross-generational duets

Following Bryan Adams and Tina Turner's "It's Only Love", Aretha Franklin and George Michael's "I Knew You Were Waiting for Me", Pet Shop Boys and Dusty Springfield's "What Have I Done to Deserve This?" and Buck Owens and Dwight Yoakam's "Streets of Bakersfield", "Stay Awhile" by a contemporary pop act their peak along with a faded star from the sixties would have had the markings of a hit single. What about Ann Wilson of Heart and, say, Del Shannon? Or Lulu and Johnny Hates Jazz? Petula Clark and Jimmy Sommerville of The Communards? Okay, now you're just being silly.

A random 90s R&B pairing

As I will no doubt explore further, the contrast between male R&B acts (deeply serious, robotically romantic, all sporting glasses whether they needed 'em or not) and their female counterparts (cheerful yet sassy, actually seemed to enjoy being pop stars, didn't act as if they were carrying the weight of the world on their backs) was stark. While having differing perspectives doesn't always work on a pop duet, it actually might have suited a song like "Stay Awhile". He — Babyface, for example — could be your average soul Romeo and she — I could see Shanice in the role — could be flirtatious and coy. The Nice Cave/Saint Etienne collaboration aside, I think this one would have had the most potential.

Someone Canadian (or Canadian-adjacent)

This is a blog about the Canadian charts and I'm a Canadian so why the hell not? But who exactly do I picture stepping up with a fresh version of "Stay Awhile" c. 2003? Neko Case and Rufus Wainwright seems like a good match. Or maybe Feist and The Unicorns? They could've performed it at the Juno Awards as they honoured The Bells with a Lifetime Achievement award. Or, more realistically, a You're Lucky Anyone Still Remembers You award.

Like it or not, The Bells hit a mark on "Stay Awhile" that not just anyone could have or would have been able to replicate. Some of the examples above seem like cool ideas but it's probably for the best that they remain that way. While we may expect to catch lightning in a bottle with an all-time great pop hit, sometimes similar things can be achieved with much less to work with. Pop music may not have needed The Bells but I'm happy they had their time nonetheless.

Score: 6

Tom Jones: "She's a Lady"

April 3, 1971 (1 week)

It was 1957. The first Canadian singles chart was published to very little fanfare. At the top of this maiden hit parade stood, fittingly enough, Elvis Presley with "All Shook Up", a rock 'n' roll number that kept the momentum of his extraordinary 1956 rolling along. It also happened to be a chart topper in many other countries around the world. Though still at an early stage of The King's career, it must have almost seemed old hat at the time. Another great Elvis song, what else is new?

Future members of The Beatles were, naturally, in awe of Elvis's singing, the sound his band created and the way he looked - and they weren't the only ones. In Ottawa, a teenage singer-songwriter named Paul Anka was similarly impressed. So, too, was a newlywed singer from Wales born Thomas Woodward. But while John Lennon and Paul McCartney kept performing rock 'n' roll — first to some very small and disinterested crowds in their native Liverpool, later to more enthusiastic audiences in Hamburg and, finally, to thousands of screaming girls around the world — Anka and the soon-to-be-rebranded Tom Jones operated almost as if Elvis had never existed at all. They seemed more in the tradition of jazz singers like Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra. It was only after Elvis returned from his stint in the US armed forces that the three began to have careers that dovetailed in style — and that was only because The King became more like them.

Fortunately, Elvis wasn't going to remain stale forever. (Even though he would sadly revert back to form before long) By the end of the sixties he had revived his fortunes with his celebrated Comeback Special, the remarkable album From Elvis in Memphis and the equally brilliant single "Suspicious Minds". Not only had he rediscovered rock but he had also begun to once again embrace country, gospel and R&B. Meanwhile, Jones' chart success and magnetic personality enabled him to host a television variety show of his own, titled This Is Tom Jones beginning in 1969. Musical guests came from both sides of the pond and beyond and weren't confined to the emerging Las Vegas residency clubs that Jones was becoming a fixture on. One of his guests on the December 4, 1969 episode was Janis Joplin of all people. Not one to hide from a challenge, Jones joined her on "Raise Your Hand" — along with his crack house band — and the two were on fire in vocalists' materclass.

So, there's some context to a single like "She's a Lady". But the most important thing is that Jones finally came to realize that rock 'n' roll raunch suited his sexed up fever dream. Even Anka, the song's composer, seemed to have this in mind in his own recording, though he has never had the vocal prowess of the Welsh Tiger. A horn section, a bit of strings and a set of backing vocalists are present and correct but it's the rhythm section that I'm here for. With a greater intensity to the arrangement, Jones ups his game with a grittier performance than what he typically gives. He doesn't sound like he's playing to an audience or that he's sending himself up (qualities that no doubt make him a peerless concert attraction to this day), he just sounds urgently in need of a shag. This being Tom Jones, I'm fully bought into it.

"She's a Lady" is a pleasant surprise following the silly "What's New Pussycat?" and the ghastly "Without You" but this is where the Tom Jones story comes to an end as far as this blog goes. Way to go out on a high note. I don't imagine I'll ever be much of a fan but this does make me interested in investigating this era of his career. (Follow-up single "Puppet Man", which would end up being his final Top 10 hit in Canada, is also strong so I really must give the She's a Lady album a listen) And maybe I should even try to see him if I get the opportunity. I just hope he still has some of that raunchy rock in him.

Score: 7

~~~~~

Can Con

Not the highest placing domestic hit this particular week — stay tuned for them — but Calgary's own Stampeders round out the Top 5 with "Carry Me". It's a pleasant little tune with a chorus that's easy to sing along with but I'm a little surprised it managed to go all the way to number two. there's a little more country from them than I'd like but, then again, their best known song opens with a banjo solo so what the hell do I know? A little underwhelming but maybe I'm just kind of turned off by the very un-Canadian narrative of a disabled war vet wanting to get back to Birmingham, Alabama and his Sarah-Ann. I would've preferred a story of a draft dodger or deserter taking off with his girl up to Canada so they can start a new life together in a country that didn't wish nothing but pain and suffering from them. A lot of Americans were fleeing north of the border at the time and it would've been nice to have heard that immortalized in a song. Oh well. The Stampeders will be back in this space before long with a banjo to play them in. I can't wait.

The Partridge Family: "Doesn't Somebody Want to Be Wanted"

March 27, 1971 (1 week)

0:29: Oh come on David, it's not that bad! I mean, the song is nothing special at this early stage but there's nowhere to go but up and your vocal is quite strong. You sound committed. You're like the Bret Hart of bubblegum pop: among all this phoniness, you're there to bring it back to reality. A tip of the hat to you, sir!

1:21: Wait, is this a country song in disguise? "Doesn't Somebody Want to Be Wanted" is just The Partridge Family's second single and they're already going for the more conservative audience? What about all their teen fans who lusted after David and/or Susan? Or the very sad eight-year-old boys who looked up to Danny as a roll model? I'm not even fully convinced that this was done to appease Shirley. She couldn't have wanted this for her ambitious stepson David, could she?

1:34: I can't say I'm fond of the syntax used in "Doesn't Somebody Want to Be Wanted". Wouldn't 'anybody' or 'anyone' be preferable? Having possibly alienated them with their shift, perhaps the awkward title is a gesture to the girls (and, I dare say, a few boys) who had feelings for David. "He's lonely and he'll settle for anyone!" coos Audrey, 15, of North Bay, Ontario.

1:47: Oh good lord, David's talking??? Even in genuinely thrilling pop like Pulp's "Common People" spoken word bits ought to be avoided but in the case of a tune that I'm already considering turning off well before it's over, this is an especially ill advised move. He sounds like a televangelist pleading with his followers to send him more seed money. He wasn't crazy about this song to begin with but this was where David almost put his foot down. I suppose he didn't want to make this kind of power move at such an early stage in his career but it's important to stand up for yourself. I don't do it myself but I've been reliably informed that it works at least some of the time.

2:20: The Monkees may not have played on all their singles but at least they looked like they might have liked them. There's no way that even young tykes Jeremy (later Brian) or Suzanne (not to be confused with Susan, not that I would have) would have been into this. And speaking of the least useful members of The Partridge Family (and, yes, that includes Simone the dog), they weren't even pretending that the two brats were playing on their recordings, were they? Still, I'm sure everyone from the TV series had better things to do — as, indeed, do I.

Score: 2

Creedence Clearwater Revival: "Have You Ever Seen the Rain?"

March 13, 1971 (2 weeks)

There are two commonplace theories as to the meaning of "Have You Ever Seen the Rain?". The first is that it tracks the early seventies fall out of disillusioned hippies and radicals following the tragedies at the Altamont Festival at the end of 1969 and the shootings at Kent State the following year. While this smacks of an after-the-fact analysis (and isn't it a good thing I've never stooped to such a level), it should be said that Beach Boy Mike Love was thinking along similar lines at roughly the same time with his divisive number "Student Demonstration Time", from their groundbreaking 1971 album Surf's Up. While seemingly siding with protesters, Love's song concludes with a warning of "you best stay outta sight" which seemed to reflect the hippie-to-yuppie changeover that would occur.

To the extent that it even has anything in common with "Student Demonstration Time", "Have You Ever Seen the Rain?" is much more ambiguous. Is the rain supposed to represent the diminished commitment of these young anti-war, pro-civil rights individuals? I guess it could be but then wouldn't the sun symbolize their renewed desire to keep at it? It can rain on a sunny day so there's a mix of good and bad? Right?

Though very much of their time, I'm not convinced that Creedence Clearwater Revival were ever all that political. I know "Bad Moon Rising" is meant to have a deeper meaning and all that but I think that's mainly down to reverse engineering a memorable hit to fit in with such a polarized time. I imagine John Fogerty would have written it independent of the political situation in the United States. And the same goes for "Have You Ever Seen the Rain?".

The other theory is one that Fogerty has pushed for himself — and, for all I know, he may have been the first person to even broach it. Instead of it being about Vietnam, it was about a coming disaster that was much closer to home. CCR had been living on borrowed time for a while by the start of 1971. Fogerty's older brother and bandmate Tom was unhappy with his role in the group and he decided to leave following completion of their sixth album Pendulum. Lines like "there's a calm before the storm" and "been that way for all my time" would seem to confirm this. I'm happy to take his word for it but, again, there's an uncertainty. Shouldn't the sun hint at the possibility of a bright future for the band in spite of their difficulties? Or is it simply a stark contrast between the rain being his crumbling group and the sun being his future without them?

Something else seems to be going on in "Have You Ever Seen the Rain?" that suggests the end is near. Fogerty sounds like he's ready to give up. There are precisely two verses, the chorus repeats and that's about it. No bridge and not much of a narrative to go by. (The competing theories mentioned above could've both done with greater lyrical explanation) Fogerty also sounds exhausted and who the hell could've blamed him given his workrate over the previous three years. While previous RPM number ones "Up Around the Bend" and "Lookin' Out My Backdoor" have issue of their own, both feel toiled over and completed. Now, a torpor has begun — and it would only get worse from here. Luckily, the coming sunshine in this thunderstorm of CCR's decline is the fact that we're just about done with them.

Score: 4

The Osmonds: "One Bad Apple"

February 27, 1971 (2 weeks)

There was a time when ABBA were considered to be the ultimate in seventies' Eurotrash tackiness. The Carpenters were regarded as soft and bloodless — and, worst of all, they were so establishment that they went to the White House to meet Richard Nixon (though so did Duke Ellington). The Monkees were seen as manufactured pop inanity. The Archies were disliked so much that they didn't even factor as snobby music critics' whipping boys. Yet, the influence of Rolling Stone magazine could only go so far. To one extent or another, all four have been accorded much more favourable critical re-evaluations since roughly the nineties.

Which leaves...well, plenty of other pop acts hoping for a boost to their legacies. Late eighties'/early nineties' teen pop sensations Bros (mostly a UK concern; their name rhymes with 'floss' rather than 'rose') and New Kids on the Block have so far not been favourably re-appraised, even though they had a significant impact on the likes of Take That, Westlife, Backstreet Boys and NSYNC. The same goes for Paul Anka, Frankie Avalon and even Cliff Richard, even though they were all instrumental in keeping the pop industry afloat during the pre-Beatles' interregnum of the early sixties. The leading bubblegum groups like Paul Revere and the Raiders and 1910 Fruitgum Company have mostly been left out, proving that the poptimists would rather re-consider the merits of fake groups rather than real ones.

The Osmonds are yet another bright and shiny pop act who were looked down upon by critics at the time and who are still waiting for second chance to make a first impression. They may have to wait a while longer. "One Bad Apple" is likely the best they'd ever do and that's only because they were doing an unabashed Jackson 5 ripoff. Perhaps not wishing to hammer the whitewashing home, they proceeded to record a series of bland, middle-of-the-road numbers that perfectly suited such a bland, middle-of-the-road group of brothers. Unfortunately, they aren't very good but that's — sadly — for future reviews of the Ogden, Utah family act.

In any case, it's clear even from their one passable pop hit why the re-evaluations haven't been forthcoming. Thieving from the Jacksons would be bad enough but they don't even do it very well. Donny Osmond was ahead of his time in one regard: he would be the first of many to try (and fail) at capturing Michael Jackson's lightning in a bottle. He was two years Michael's senior so maybe it was puberty but whatever it was, he simply didn't have the range. The playing is a little clunky too. Then, there's the other Osmonds: Alan, Wayne, the other one, the other other one. Try as they might to sound like Tito, Jackie, Jermaine and Marlon (See? I only had to double check their names, not look them up half-a-dozen times only to keep forgetting them all), they just end up sounding more like members of the barbershop quartet they had always been. Even the song itself it third rate compared to gems like "I Want You Back" and "ABC": I guess if you're going to copy someone badly you might as well go all in with it.

ABBA, The Carpenters, The Monkees and even the bloody Archies all had pop craft backing them up. You could dismiss how they looked, how they were presented, what they stood for and even what was at the heart of their material but there was no denying that there was genuine human talent involved, whether on stage or behind the scenes. The same can't be said for The Osmonds. While nowhere near as deplorable as someone like Pat Boone, they were his seventies' equivalent. (That is until we get to Debby Boone) Credit to them for not being horrible which just about the best that can be said. So, yeah, the critical re-appraisal is not happening. As for Bros and New Kids, you never know...

Score: 4

Gordon Lightfoot: "If You Could Read My Mind"

February 20, 1971 (1 week)

It didn't exactly wow critics and fans to begin with but John Lennon's Plastic Ono Band album played the long game: over time, its influence has been felt. The rise of breakup/divorce albums over the course of the seventies and beyond — Bob Dylan's Blood on the Tracks, Fleetwood Mac's Rumours, Bruce Springsteen's Tunnel of Love just to name the most obvious examples — owes more than a little to Lennon's raw nerve lyrics. Then, there's the role it played on barebones, lo-fi releases from Nick Drake's Pink Moon to the largely unlistenable yet still compelling demos of the sick and tortured Daniel Johnston.

Lennon's solo debut isn't often lumped in with the burgeoning singer-songwriter movement of the early seventies. Though not dissimilar, they floated independently of one another. Lennon's openness contrasted with a group of individuals who struggled to express their feelings so directly. Relationships collapsed around them but they were unable or unwilling to dive deep into what caused their breakups. This must read like a criticism but it shouldn't be taken as one. Couples drift apart all the time but the how and/or the why can sometimes be virtually impossible to answer. Lennon was all for getting the truth out there — even if he could still be prone to mythologizing the life he and Yoko Ono had together — but this could be easier said than done when it came to even some of the more accomplished coffeehouse folk singers of the era.

A look at the above photo from the Italian release of "If You Can Read My Mind" (which is nearly identical to the cover of the album Sit Down Young Stranger from the previous year) shows Gordon Lightfoot looking out the window, his appearance tight lipped, concerned but not giving away too much. He looks caught between being a rugged man's man who keeps his issues to himself (and, perhaps, a trusty bottle of vodka) and a more modern day guy who's open with his feelings. In order to keep with the times he is keen to share his inner thoughts but his instinct is to be guarded. Having a song called "If You Could Read My Mind" is practically daring his audience to give it a try.

I first heard "If You Could Read My Mind" while in my late teens. Being used to Neil Tennant's sophisticated wit, Morrissey's outsider meditations, Michael Stipe's irresistible nonsense and Billy Bragg's charmed agitprop, I thought it was absolute dreck. Sure, Lightfoot could sing pretty well and I could even see why people found it so moving but I couldn't get past the old time movies and paperback novels from the drugstore and all that crap. While I would gradually grow to appreciate the song on the whole, these references were remained cringey. Who sings this stuff? And who would write it? Who would even think such shit? Turns out, I do.

I think there are a couple ways of looking at the lyrical quirks in Lightfoot's first RPM number one. First, he's stalling. Rather than being unaware of what divides him and his ex, he actually knows whats up but can't face dealing with it so he invents these roadblocks of ghosts and fallen heroes. He even recognizes what he's up to when he chimes in with the line "but for now love, let's be real". Excuse me, but aren't you the one coming up with all this fanciful stuff in order to avoid having to face up to your responsibilities and you're telling someone else to "be real"?

The other thing going on is a kind of subconscious bullshit. I have looked back on the ruins of failed relationships and thrown out theories as to what went wrong without careful consideration of facts or logic. (If you're going to be a conspiracy theorist make all the crap you conjure up about yourself rather than the outside world) Lightfoot is referencing crummy B movies and crappy romance novels the same way I might quote from Seinfeld or The Simpsons — and he's gone and applied them to his own situation. I don't what these similes are supposed to mean and I'm not sure anyone is — I'm not even convinced that Lightfoot himself could have told you (not that he would have).

Again, this surely reads as if I'm bashing the song and Lightfoot in general but nothing could be further from the truth. I like the fact that he keeps avoiding the topic because that's what I do. We already had Lennon and Dylan and Leonard Cohen to provide mental images that we'd never imagined before, what Lightfoot did better than anyone else was putting into words thoughts that everyone has had before but never sang or wrote about. Some of us can't deal with confrontation and want nothing more than to hide away from it. Other forms of media will lecture me that I should "stand up for myself" but I shouldn't have to. We the meek and mild need a voice of our own. Some will no doubt opt for Jesus but old Gord is saviour enough for me.

"I never thought I could act this way..."

Lightfoot has detoured enough and at last he can get to the point — but only up to a point. He still doesn't know what happened and won't let on what he did wrong. (A second pass at this sort of chorus has him admitting that he "never thought he could feel this way" but I prefer how it comes out the first time; at least there's an attempt at accounting for his actions even if, as ever, he declines to go into detail) A bluntness hangs in the air with the resigned "...but the feeling's gone and I just can't get it back": we've all been there.

Gordon Lightfoot will be back in this blog before long. His remaining RPM chart toppers are both great in their own right with many fans and members of the wider Baby Boom generation preferring one or both of them to this single. (His trio of Canadian number ones is made up of the three songs he remains arguably best remembered for which is a surprisingly rare feat) While I can understand the differing views, I can't possibly agree. "If You Could Read My Mind" not only survives what is on the surface some shaky lyrics but it has also withstood a seemingly endless parade of well-meaning cover versions — and none of them are even all that bad. Yet, topping Lightfoot's skill move of saying so much, expressing so little and still creating an emotional steam engine was always going to be a tough act for him — or anyone else — to follow.

Score: 10

Lynn Anderson: "Rose Garden"

February 13, 1971 (1 week)

During the year I spent in Britain in the late eighties, my family and I seemed to take our homesickness out on the culture at large. We'd get irritated by constant references to America and, by extension, no one knowing anything about Canada. We naively assumed that our far deeper connection to the old Empire would have endeared us to the locals but it meant nothing to them. Thus, we'd cling to even the most modest of acknowledgments. (Except, of course, when it came to the Ben Johnson steroid scandal at the Seoul Olympics) The slightest mention of our homeland on TV would get us excited. If we happened to drive by a large hotel we'd be sure to check to see if a Canadian flag was flying alongside the American, Australian, French and German standards — and we'd all be indignant when it wasn't in its rightful place (which it never was).

It was a pleasant surprise, then, when "I Beg Your Pardon" by Toronto's Kon Kan started climbing the UK Top 40.in the spring of 1989. It mattered little that they sounded like the most British synth-pop group imaginable (Graeme Kay in Smash Hits was unimpressed by their unoriginal sound, describing them as a "cross between New Order and Depeche Mode"): they were from Canada and so were we and that was all that mattered! While my hope that "I Beg Your Pardon" might go all the way to the top was wishful thinking, its eventual peak at number five was an achievement nonetheless.

The clearly sampled bit — you know, as opposed to a good deal of the rest of the song whose many sampled bits weren't quite as easy to spot — was from "Rose Garden", a song that I had long assumed to be by fellow Canadian k.d. lang. (Actually, I wasn't entirely wrong on that one because the performance artist turned torch singer did record it a couple years prior to Kon Kan's use of it) I had no idea who Lynn Anderson was and it wasn't as if the success of "I Beg Your Pardon" brought her back into the public eye. In fact, "project" leader Barry Harris didn't go out of his way to acknowledge her, claiming at the time to have written it "in a Lisbon subway". It was only later that he admitted that he wanted to do with "Rose Garden" what the Pet Shop Boys had done with the Elvis Presley/Willie Nelson standard "Always on My Mind": take a popular country anthem and transform it into a slice of glorious pop. (He failed to do so but writing a whole new pop song around another is not just something any old fart can do so we'll let it slide)

Lynn Anderson had been a country star since the mid-sixties with a handful of hits on the American and Canadian country charts to her credit, including the number one smash "Big Girls Don't Cry", which had nothing to do with The Four Seasons song of the same name. She also began to make a name for herself on The Lawrence Welk Show, which, much to my surprise, wasn't the name of a mind-numbingly boring political panel show on American public broadcasting. (I'm sorry but the name Lawrence Welk says 'candid, off-the-cuff, hard hitting analysis', not 'all-around family entertainer') Like Welk, Anderson hailed from North Dakota but this meant she was an outsider when it came to being accepted by Nashville's country establishment. Rather than looking to the emerging Bakersfield sound like Buck Owens and Merle Haggard (a scene that frankly could've used a female lead singer) or leaning towards mainstream pop, she doubled down on her pursuit of being accepted by Music City. (Considering the lengthy career she subsequently enjoyed and the fact that she died in Nashville, it would seem she succeeded) And in doing so she had her one and only pop hit.

"Rose Garden" was written in 1967 by Joe South who also took a stab at recording it. There's nothing really wrong with his original but it does sound like he had Elvis Presley in mind while singing it. For whatever reason the King never tried it out himself but star Billy Joe Royal did put out a version of his own. Again, his take on it is all right though a little too jokey and cornball for my taste. Playing up the comedy aspect of "Rose Garden" is a legitimate choice and it is one that Anderson makes herself albeit with more subtlety. Her reading is not unlike a serious dramatic actor playing a comedy role as straight as possible who then still gets the required laughs. It helps as well that it's delivered from a female perspective: Anderson lends a touch of wisdom that simply isn't there in either the South or Royal versions.

Which brings us back round to "I Beg Your Pardon": it's almost a duet. Yeah, I know that Anderson's sample ("Smile for a while and let's be jolly...") is only brief but her part provides an effective counterpoint to singer Kevin Wynne's angst, a suggestion to "Cheer Up!" that doesn't come across as patronizing. The country singer would reflect on the huge success of "Rose Garden" and comment that it fitted the times when the United States was divided and coming out of the Vietnam years and needed some light relief. There's probably something to this and it works just as well in a spot of synth doom and gloom. So, props to Lynn Anderson: she took an ordinary country-pop song and made everyone take notice and then her vocal was used on a modern synth-pop hit and did the same the thing. Ignore all her country hits and she could even qualify to be a double one-hit wonder.

Score: 7 (which is precisely the same score I'd be giving to "I Beg Your Pardon" only it peaked at a measly number nineteen in Canada; there aren't many Canadians who can claim to be more popular in Britain than they are back home. It's basically them and former Prime Minister R.B. Bennett, the man who did as little as possible for his people during the Great Depression)

Bee Gees: "Lonely Days"

February 6, 1971 (1 week)

It was on Boxing Day, 1967 that the British public received a shock to the system: they discovered that The Beatles weren't infallible. Their hour-long feature film Magical Mystery Tour baffled millions of viewers with its surrealism and lack of plot. The group's plan was to board a bus with a collection of actors, friends, musicians and circus performers and film whatever happened along the way. "Unfortunately", as Malcolm McDowell in the classic eighties' documentary The Compleat Beatles put it, "nothing did".

Magical Mystery Tour was considered to be The Beatles' folly. The BBC, who showed it, faced minimal, if any, backlash. It was perhaps with this in mind that they agreed to broadcast yet another oddball film also starring a pop group, the Bee Gees' Cucumber Castle on the day after Christmas, 1970. Though a clear (if very flimsy) storyline is present, it may well be worse than Magical Mystery Tour. The Beatles had some decent music to keep them afloat while the brothers Gibb were floundering creatively. Whatsmore, their numbers were reduced with Robin having left the group following the fallout caused by Odessa, their one true album masterpiece. Whether a trio or a duo, the Bee Gees weren't John Lennon or Ringo Starr when it came to screen presence. They weren't even Paul McCartney. At best they were a band of George Harrisons which was problematic since one was more than enough. (Charismatic actress Eleanor Bron was part of a talented but underutilized Cucumber Castle cast; she had previously been in The Beatles' pointless and silly 1965 film Help!, another deeply flawed picture that is nevertheless superior to the Bee Gees' debut motion picture)

The funny thing is, Cucumber Castle didn't harm their reputation all that much. Their popularity had already begun to wane in the UK (despite recent number two hits for both the Barry-Maurice incarnation — "Don't Forget to Remember" — and for Robin's solo career — "Saved by the Bell") while their stock in North America as reliable soft rock hitmakers remained largely unchanged. While the BBC's flagship channel put Magical Mystery Tour on the air, it was left to poor cousin BBC2 to deal with the Bee Gees' cinematic endeavour. Being a ratings bonanza, The Beatles ended up embarrassing themselves in front of more or less an entire nation; on the other hand, since few bothered tuning into Cucumber Castle, Barry and Maurice faced little in the way of blowback. (It's likely that their second foray into the cinematic world overshadowed their first since it's even more unbearably awful)

Cucumber Castle's plot of a king on his deathbed splitting his realm in two so his two sons could each rule which only caused a rift seemed to mirror that of the Bee Gees. While Robin's departure was long enough for everyone to notice, Barry and Maurice would also split from each other. It was only because of manager Robert Stigwood that the battlin' brothers would find a way back to each other with even Robin rejoining. If there were longterm solo careers to be mined from their ranks, they weren't yet ready — and, as it would turn out, they never really would be. By the time Cucumber Castle premiered on British TV, the Gibbs had managed to find their way back to one another.

The Bee Gees seemingly hadn't been away for any length of time and they were already embarking on a comeback. It would be the first of many. In the short term, it was as if they had never come apart and had never been away. "Lonely Days" was, surprisingly, their first Top 5 hit on the Billboard Hot 100 and their third number one smash on the RPM hit parade. (It did less well in Britain, being their lowest charting single since "To Love Somebody" failed to reach the Top 40 back in 1967) In retrospect, however, it may have been wise to have kept a low profile, delaying their ultimate return a few more months.

Rather than being re-energized, "Lonely Days" only confirms that this was an outfit that had run out of ideas — or, better yet, had ideas aplenty but had no idea what to do with them. Their ambition remained but the at times stirring pop of old had vanished. Cut to a trim two minutes or so it would have been a passable attempt at reviving what they once had but at nearly double that length it just becomes an irritant. A reminder that their strained relations made the Bee Gees' story was often far more interesting than much of the music they recorded. It would be a while before they'd even get back to their old mediocre ways.

Score: 3

Dawn: "Knock Three Times"

January 23, 1971 (2 weeks)

They would later become 'Dawn featuring Tony Orlando' (even though his nibs was the focal point of the group rather than being the implied guest star) and then 'Tony Orlando and Dawn' but, first, they were simply known as 'Dawn'. With so much emphasis on the singer, it's a wonder they didn't just end it and become 'Tony Orlando and to Hell with Those Losers in Dawn'. But it wouldn't be until their ultimate break-up in the late seventies that it became the solo project that it had long been in all but name.

Wikipedia describes the band name was used for "obscuring the actual performers". The rock quartet on the cover of "Knock Three Times" is meant to be a fictional group, although I think that only applies to the trio of clean-shaven gentlemen on the left; on the right, is what I am pretty sure is Tony Orlando trying to do as convincing a job as he can looking the part of a true blue rock 'n' roller. Maybe it's the stache, maybe it's the perm, maybe it's the well-nourished body type (or maybe it's a combination of all three) but he can't pull it off. The gaunt dude on the far left, however, is a sex machine, party animal who embodies everything about the rock lifestyle — except, perhaps, the music.

One listen to "Knock Three Times" and it is clear that this photo is a ruse. The seventies will produce many former rockers who chose to go soft or who went disco but Orlando was above all that. He had long been a jobbing middle-of-the-road pop guy and now the culture had finally caught up with him. Not so much an opportunist as an individual who had commendable patience. There, I did it. I showed some respect for Tony bloody Orlando.

But wait! There's more! I also think his second major hit (the first, "Candida", was kept off the top of the RPM charts by Neil Diamond's the equally MOR "Cracklin' Rosie") is not too bad. "Knock Three Times" is hardly genius pop but it's inoffensive enough and in that catchy sweet spot. Tom Ewing reckons Orlando overdoes his vocal but I don't hear it myself. The Popular blogger is also bothered by having only just worked out that the girl he's fancies is in the apartment just below him rather than above. My only issue here, however, is that if someone's knocking three times it probably means they want me to turn the noise down; I wouldn't take it as a signal for a booty call. Still, why should I question the romantic overtures of a Lothario in those pre-text message iron age days? Just as I shouldn't be too harsh on a reasonable single in a year with some far more questionable selections. To wit...

Score: 5

1970: Sparkle Someone Else's Eyes

 4 — B.J. Thomas: "Raindrops Keeps Fallin' on My Head"

 5 — The Archies: "Jingle Jangle"

 6 — Shocking Blue: "Venus"

 1 — Tom Jones: "Without You (There Is Nothing)"

 3 — Eddie Holman: "Hey There Lonely Girl"

 9 — The Guess Who: "No Time"

 9 — Simon and Garfunkel: "Bridge Over Troubled Water"

 6 — The Beatles: "Let It Be"

 8 — Norman Greenbaum: "Spirit in the Sky"

 9 — The Guess Who: "American Woman" 

 5 — Creedence Clearwater Revival: "Up Around the Bend"

 3 — Ray Stevens: "Everything Is Beautiful"

 7 — The Beatles: "The Long and Winding Road"

 4 — Rare Earth: "Get Ready"

 5 — Melanie with the Edwin Hawkins Singers: "Lay Down (Candles in the Rain)"

 1 — Miguel Ríos: "A Song of Joy"

 4 — The Carpenters: "(They Long to Be) Close to You"

 8 — Mashmakhan: "As the Years Go By"

 7 — Mungo Jerry: "In the Summertime"

 7 — Edwin Starr: "War"

 6 — Creedence Clearwater Revival: "Lookin' Out My Backdoor"

 3 — Neil Diamond: "Cracklin' Rosie"

 7 — Sugarloaf: "Green-Eyed Lady"

 4 — The Carpenters: "We've Only Just Begun"

 2 — The Partridge Family: "I Think I Love You'"

 9 — George Harrison: "Isn't It a Pity"

Average Score: 5.42

1970 is the first year since 1963 not to have a single Canadian number one get full marks from me. As you can see, a handful came close but they weren't quite good enough. I had actually been expecting several more underperforming singles here but I think it came down to mediocrity triumphing over absolute badness.

This is of course the year in which The Beatles came to an end. While "Let It Be" and "The Long and Winding Road" are hardly poor efforts, neither of them approach what the Fab Four were capable of at their very best. Perhaps this suggests that had they continued either as a full-time or part-time recording concern in the seventies that their output would never have returned to form. I sort of suspect that's exactly what would have happened even if I will happily acknowledge that a lot of the music they recorded after the Get Back/Let It Be sessions was a return to form. Still, it's difficult to imagine them accomplishing more had they carried on.

The post-Beatle landscape was ably filled in by their longtime rivals The Rolling Stones who, rather fittingly, see a return to the top spot after a pretty lengthy stretch of coming up short. The former Fabs all do well for themselves too but I have to wonder if the public was judging John, Paul, George and Ringo on a curve. With the likes of Dawn (soon to be 'featuring Tony Orlando), a creatively bankrupt Bee Gees, more dismal crap from The Partridge Family and Tom Jones and the rise of The Osmonds, Canadians clearly had a lot of time for pop's shitty underbelly but they seemed to expect better of The Beatles even in their waning solo years — but this is more the concern of what lies beyond 1971.

Much has been said and written about '71 as being the peak of rock music. For the most part, this has been examined from the perspective of the many huge selling, critically acclaimed and/or deeply influential LPs that came out during that particular twelve month stretch. For the purposes of this blog, attention will be devoted to the singles. As ever, they're a mixed bag. The bad ones are coming but so, too, are some genuinely great RPM number ones. If not quite the Year Rock Exploded then certainly it is the Year Rock Did Quite Well for Itself, Thank You Very Much.

George Harrison: "Isn't It a Pity"

December 19, 1970 (5 weeks)

From 1963 to 1970, twenty-four songs written or co-written by George Harrison ended up on a variety of Beatles' albums, singles and one EP. As if out to prove a point, he had nearly as many originals on his first proper solo album. All Things Must Pass is said to be pop's first triple album which underscores just how quietly productive the Fab Four's third best songwriter had always been. Let's ignore the fact that the jams on disc three aren't worth bothering with or that the smattering of rockers ("Wah-Wah", "Awaiting on You All") unwittingly expose Harrison's weak voice and just appreciate such an impressive burst of creativity. No one — not least his erstwhile colleagues — would've thought he had it in him.

At least half of what appears on All Things Must Pass was written while Harrison was a Beatle. Most of them - "What Is Life", "Let It Down", the title track — have their origins during the tumultuous late '68/early '69 period in which the Fab Four were moving away from each other creatively and even their close bond had begun to fray. While John Lennon and, to a lesser extent, Paul McCartney began drying up on the songwriting front, their oft ignored junior partner was prolifically churning out the compositions. Still, "Isn't It a Pity" (along with fellow All Things Must Pass track "Art of Dying") dates all the way back to 1966 when it was offered up for the classic Revolver.

It is hard to imagine what is either The Beatles' best or second best album having a different track listing (although I can imagine it since I grew up listening to my mother's copy of the North American edition that had just eleven cuts; with just two tracks, this was my first inkling that Lennon was a lazy git) not to mention it having four Harrison compositions. Having three writing credits on Revolver was something of a achievement as it was but you've got to think that he was pushing his luck even getting that many. (Follow-up Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, which is The Beatles' other best or second best album, includes just one Harrison track, the remarkable "Within You Without You"; another, the forgettable "Only a Northern Song", was deservedly left off) In addition, at just over seven minutes, "Isn't It a Pity" would have been way too long next to the economical length of Revolver's fourteen tracks.

That's not to say that there wasn't a place for it on any Beatles' albums. Like many of his subsequent tracks rejected in favour of the Lennon/McCartney monolith, Harrison would put "Isn't It a Pity" in his back pocket, awaiting the inevitable solo project. Had he offered it up for Abbey Road, there's a good argument that it would've been more suitable than "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" or the "Sun KIng"/"Mean Mr Mustard"/"Polythene Pam"/"She Came in Through the Bathroom Window" part of the side 2 medley. (Honestly, "Golden Slumbers"/"Carry That Weight"/"The End" is the only bit that anyone gives a shit about, right?) As I have already noted, while many praise Harrison's contributions to the group's last hurrah, I only wish they'd included more by him.

Though stretching to over seven minutes, "Isn't It a Pity" doesn't outstay its welcome. Its slow build doesn't really go anywhere but there's just enough going on to keep listener interest. In fact, a compromised, edited down version probably wouldn't be as impactful. (That said, the pointless four minute reprise on disc two of All Things Must Pass does it no favours) Phil Spector's uncharacteristically restrained string section blends beautifully with Harrison's now patented slide guitar. If it isn't quite as potent as album stand outs "All Things Must Pass" and "Ballad of Sir Frankie Crisp (Let It Roll)", it is only a notch below (the former being by far the best song The Band never wrote and the latter with a melodic magic that ought to have impressed deeply both Lennon and McCartney)

Interestingly, "Isn't It a Pity" wasn't the flagship side of Harrison's single to promote All Things Must Pass in most territories. As a matter of fact, it wasn't even a B side outside of North America. "My Sweet Lord" (b/w "What Is Life" in the rest of the world) would just about run the table as far as topping global singles charts were concerned but Canada's RPM hit parade proved to be an exception. While its flip side had the greater commercial potential, I prefer the the present single which comes across as a brave move from an individual who was attempting to make a name for himself beyond his renowned band. 

And about that group Harrison had been in: there's a notion that floats around that even as early as the beginning of the seventies, the music scene was managing just fine without the Fabs. For sure, even if Lennon and McCartney themselves were having trouble moving on, the pop charts were churning along just fine without Beatles' singles keeping them afloat. Yet, the public's hunger for them remained. If you include the three weeks that "Isn't It a Pity" carried over at number one into the new year, all four Beatles would hit the RPM top spot at some point in 1971. Evidently, they were as big as ever even if they'd never be the same again. A pity indeed.

Score: 9

The Partridge Family: "I Think I Love You"

November 21, 1970 (4 weeks)

Devolution. The American entertainment industry started off with The Monkees, a quartet of cheeky actors and musicians who had a sitcom as a vehicle for their pop careers. Then, they staged a coup and won and the cash cow imploded. Next, there was The Archies, comic book characters adapted to the small screen who had suddenly become a band. They had their hits but the public could never fully embrace them as a cartoon and it all went tits up. Finally, there was The Partridge Family: another sitcom, this time based on a family band trying to make it. In spite of the premise, the music was a total afterthought.

Matriarch Shirley Jones, the painfully stereotypical All-American post-War housewife. David Cassidy, all charming cockiness and the air of someone who's convinced he's cooler than anyone watching him on TV. (He may have had a point) Susan Dey, doe-eyed girl-next-door who made looking bored out of her mind sexy. (Supermodels really ought to acknowledge the influence she had on their profession) Danny Bonaduce, smart alec kid and dirty bag waiting to happen. The other two little twerps whose names escape me, as poor at acting as they were at pretending to be musically proficient. Ladies and gentlemen, The Partridge Family. I'd say you can't make this shit up but that's exactly what a TV network exec did.

Of course, the idea wasn't just conjured out of thin air. It was the unlikely pop stardom of The Cowsills in the late sixties that inspired the concept. At first, it was proposed that Billy, Bobby and the rest would star in the show themselves but their acting wasn't considered good enough. (I also have to wonder if they were hamstrung by their waning popularity coupled with the older boys growing up and leaving their wholesome image behind) Too lazy to consider rising family acts in, say, Gary, Indiana or Ogden, Utah, it was decided just to cast a bunch of actors instead. Jones and Cassidy could sing and that was all that was needed. Studio vocalists would handle the rest and the music itself would be played by The Wrecking Crew because it was evidently against the law to utilize anyone else. Oh, the promise of an exciting and fresh venture.

Critics and pop fans would eventually re-evaluate The Monkees and even The Archies. They may have been misguided in doing so — especially when it came to the latter — but they had their reasons. A similar reconsideration has never been granted The Partridge Family (at least not on a wide scale) and with good reason. Manufactured pop acts always had artifice dialed up to the max but at least there was some effort to be contemporary. The best of the hits of The Monkees are poor cousins to the extraordinary work of The Beatles; The Archies had a young pop craftsman in Andy Kim to give the project some currency. They may not have always succeeded but you can at least respect the attempt.

Sadly, nothing even close is going on with the first Partridge Family hit "I Think I Love You". It is pure old fashioned establishment pop cheese. Tony Romeo had been a pretty successful songwriter since the early sixties but it sounds like he had spent the past several years in isolation since there's nothing of The Beatles, Bob Dylan, Motown or psychedelic rock in his most famous work. To do a throwback to simpler times is one thing but to do so with something so forgettable and lifeless makes it even worse. Cassidy's Keith Partridge is doing his best to add some life to his lead vocal but it's too little too late. The people behind The Partridge Family may have had ambitions for the show but it's clear that the desire to craft great pop along the way was never a priority.

A seldom — if ever — discussed 'what if' surrounds The Partridge Family following its first season in which the sextet travel around in their bus on tour. The show's subsequent seasons are centred around the family home in LA with less of an emphasis on the band itself. But imagine a scenario in which they gradually have Keith Partridge branch out to become a folky singer-songwriter not unlike James Taylor and Cat Stevens. It would have made for some interesting storylines in which the young heartthrob becomes more mature. (They could have also had stories at the same time revolving around the musical ambitions of Laurie — either as a singer or a keyboardist — and even Danny jamming with his friends from school) The family band concept would have evolved as the three oldest children became more independent. What, then, does this have to do with "I Think I Love You"? Not a whole lot but it says an awful lot that a blogger more than fifty-five years after the fact has better ideas for a show he never thought much of and their music which is somehow even worse.

Score: 2