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

The Carpenters: "We've Only Just Begun"

November 14, 1970 (1 week)

Feeling as though I'm going to be repeating myself here (And why the hell not? Richard and Karen basically repeated themselves going from "Close to You" to "We've Only Just Begun" so why should I be any different?), I have decided just to go with it an just write the same damn review. Sure, I could be the bigger person and compose something fresh but I've never been a bigger person — in spite of my generous height — and this by no means a bigger person blog. Thus, I have taken my last review of a Canadian number one by The Carpenters, edited it slightly and turned it into a form essay. Just insert song titles, band names and other details where needed. The score, appropriately enough, remains the same.

~~~~~

"Critical acclaim came too late for The Carpenters," states a somber Todd Nathanson at the beginning of his TrainWreckords episode on the duo's brave failure Passage. Indeed, they were probably an even bigger joke than (unfashionable seventies act) in the era prior to their reassessment. A turning point was the release of (ultra hip tribute album with loads of indie cred) in (relevant year). A rare tribute album from the (relevant decade) that didn't include (random artist who always seemed to appear on tribute albums; he/she was just there to ensure decent sales), it featured (hipster genre) and (same hipster genre repeated)-adjacent stars such as (band that cool people claim to like) and (singer-songwriter everyone pretends to despise) doing unique but affectionate covers of some of Richard and Karen's most famous numbers.

Like a lot of tribute albums, (ultra hip tribute album) is all over the place — though in this case more in terms of it being genre bending rather than its overall song quality. Most of the artists involved chose to stick to their own styles rather than mimicking The Carpenters. (indie band that will never, ever sell out!)'s "(random Carpenters' song)" sounds exactly like a grungy take on (random subgenre). (indie band you pretend to have heard of)'s "(yet another random Carpenters' song)" brings a welcome (trademark Generation X quirk) vibe that would never have occurred to the diligent Carpenters. 

The song that sticks out the most is The (band with a cult following though you can't name anything they ever did)'s "(Carpenters' song you happen to be reviewing)". The (American city: probably Seattle) quartet had only recently broken through with the yearning beauty of "(whatever song they did even if it didn't break through at all)" and their next major hit, the less engaging "(its rather sucky follow-up)", would be released just a few days after the Carpenters' tribute album came out. They were arguably the most popular act to participate and they had chosen one of Richard and Karen Carpenter's signature tracks. With all due respect to (lead singer of indie group), he/she was no Karen and it seemed like (band with a cult following) had bitten off more than they could chew.

(In retrospect, their version of "(Carpenters' song)" also stands out due to (lead singer/random bandmember's untimely (insert "death", "accident", "departure" or whatever else that may or may not apply here) as well as his/her dangerously (I don't know, just describe how bad they looked due to a drug addiction or drinking problem or the hideous tattoos they've subsequently acquired) appearance during the group's peak which in some ways mirrors Karen's tragic demise)

Listening to it today, however, I'm struck by wishing that The Carpenters' original was more like (indie band)'s remake. The latter feels like it was produced in house with little to no participation from anyone else which was seldom the approach taken by Richard and Karen. To be fair to them, they were young and easily swayed by record execs and studio producers. A&M Records' Herb Alpert and his colleague Jack Daughtery knew how to create hit singles and they were aware of how a (name of a songwriter) piece like "(Carpenters' song)" needed to be drenched in strings and backing vocals since they'd all been recorded that way. What they missed out on was getting the best out of Richard and Karen: the older brother did the arrangement and played some lovely piano while the younger sister sang as angelically as any human ever has. You'd think those elements would have been more than enough. (That said, The Carpenters would continue to rely far too much on members of the (LA-based session musicians) and various jazz musicians to flesh out their albums up to Karen's death. In all likelihood, they probably never even considered the possibility of doing stripped-down duo sessions)

Call it being sick of (songwriter) — and I've never been particularly fond of them in the first place — and/or the same damn LA studio cats who'd been playing on virtually everything over the past decade but I am done with this lush shit. Yes, somehow the same man who apologized for what Phil Spector had done to The Beatles' "Long and Winding Road" just over a week ago is now in open rebellion against flutes and oboes on Carpenters' records. Bloody hell, Richard and Karen aren't going to be treated well by me in the *checks notes* (a number no higher than four) reviews of their remaining Canadian number ones. Hopefully, this will pass before long. Either that or the critical reappraisal of The Carpenters is going to be taken to task no matter what the members of (band that cool people claim to like) will have you believe.

~~~~~

The only question that remains is will I do a similarly half-assed job the next time The Carpenters come up? Will I end up just posting the same damn thing a third, fourth and fifth time? I can't say for sure but it's possible. We'll just have to see what Richard and Karen have awaiting us. But I'm down for repeating myself if that's all they were capable of.

Score: 4

Sugarloaf: "Green-Eyed Lady"

October 31, 1970 (2 weeks)

Whether you're a lover or a hater it seems like everyone comes to progressive rock with the same prejudices. First, prog rock groups are expected to be British — or, at the very least, they're made up of London-based exiles originally from other parts of Europe. Second, their records by and large should be made up of a combination of complex, classically-derived arrangements, virtuoso soloing and lyrics centred around Norse mythology. Finally (and this is probably a consequence of the second one), band members must be as highfalutin as possible.

Yet, the first two prog groups to make it to number one on Canada's RPM hit parade were Mashmakhan and Sugarloaf. Both hailed from different parts of North America and, while their arrangements and playing were first rate, their songs were sadly free of references to Odin and the Bifrost and Stormbreaker (sorry, my knowledge of Norse myth is entirely dependent on the MCU's Thor movies) and they all looked like either apprentice pipe fitters or those weirdo career students you used to encounter (you know, back when higher education wasn't prohibitively expensive).

Yes, the members of Sugarloaf unknowingly bucked a number of trends that hadn't even become trendy by 1970. And while largely a British concern, the other traits are exaggerated anyway. Sure, Rick Wakeman of Yes would prance around in a blend of silks while playing mammoth church organs that were no doubt designed by Joseph Casavant and his progeny but he was more of an exceptional case. Meanwhile, Keith Emerson was hardly one to concern himself with how he looked while members of the prog-adjacent Supertramp proved that their name was all too fitting. Prog rockers were as likely to look like complete dirtbags as any of their contemporaries from such traditionally unwashed genres as folk and hard rock.

As for its lyrical content, "Green-Eyed Lady" could practically be dedicated to Sif. Well, perhaps not quite but there's plenty of mysticism present to make it close enough. The Eagles were by this point still a glint in Gram Parsons' eye and, thus, we were still a couple years away from the terrifying enchantress "Witchy Woman". Luckily, its counterpoint had already been written and recorded by the members of Sugarloaf. Rather than floating through life tripping on absinthe, however, the damsel in this narrative exists on a natural high. While the extended organ solo and overall sinister vibes suggest that something more untoward may occur, we are not privy to it. (I gave the extended version on their self-titled debut album a listen and musicianship is further fleshed out but not the story of this "child of nature, friend of man"; it doesn't appear they ever wrote a sequel about her either: how un-prog of them!)

While I can't quite say that I love it, "Green-Eyed Lady" is the sort of thing I'm grateful to be encountering while doing this blog. It's cool to think that prog rock was just about accessible to the wider public during its infancy. The members of Sugarloaf could really play but they seemed to also have an eye on hooks and engaging with listeners. Call me a biased Canadian but Mashmakhan's "As the Years Go By" is the stronger single, though maybe not by much. That said, I suspect that the band formerly known as Chocolate Hair — I can't decide if this name is brilliant or utterly hopeless but maybe it's both — would not go down as one-hit wonders. (They would have a second and final RPM/Hot 100 Top 10 hit with "Don't Call Us, We'll Call You" in the spring of 1975) They may not have ultimately cut it as prog rock royalty but they had the chops and could even look the part even if their nationality got in the way.

Score: 7