The Beatles: "Hey Jude"

September 30, 1968 (3 weeks)

It's easy to say so in retrospect — but, then again, I was born in 1977 so it's necessarily in retrospect — but The Beatles sure telegraphed their coming breakup. From the midway point of 1968 until the curtain officially came down two years later, the Fab Four put an awful lot of themselves into documenting their end times. I say "they" but this was mainly the doing of just one of them: Paul McCartney, the only Beatle not to threaten to quit the group only to be the first one to publicly do so.

The bulk of McCartney's end times works come from 1969. During the sessions at the beginning of the year that would eventually result in the Let It Be album he worked on the title track (about accepting what was to come), "Two of Us" (about old friends who might be drifting apart) and "The Long and Winding Road", a song that was so on the nose that it nearly became the title of their massively popular mid-nineties documentary series. (I still say it's better than Anthology, whatever that means) For Abbey Road later that year, he contributed the valedictory "The End" and "You Never Give Me Your Money", a song that Ian MacDonald argued was a proclamation that the dream was over, which was a good year before John Lennon said the same thing. But by far the most effective song in this trajectory is the earliest: "Hey Jude".

(All that said, there's no way Macca wrote all these pieces with their breakup in mind. Whatsmore, other numbers of his from around this time may be interpreted as calls for keeping the band together. The relatively trivial "Get Back" could be said to be his attempt at trying to convince the others to be the group they used to be while "Come and Get It", which he handed off to Badfinger, was a message to Lennon that his nibs shouldn't give up the good thing they had)

Last summer, I read Ian Leslie's wonderful book John and Paul — A Love Story in Songs. In the chapter on "Hey Jude", he discusses how the two had gradually ceased to rely on each other as their romances with the women that would define their lives were blossoming. (While much has been made over Lennon sidelining his longtime friend and partner in favour of Yoko Ono, Leslie brings up an anecdote of Linda Eastman joining the them for a limousine ride to a New York airport in which it became clear that two could play that game) This was the state of their friendship in the middle of '68 and the basis for one of The Beatles' most enduring hits. Lennon was convinced that "Hey Jude" was about him in spite of McCartney's claims. Truthfully, it's about both of them — and, indeed, it's about damn near anyone. (According to MacDonald, the music press assumed it was about Bob Dylan, to which I say...uh, sure, why not?)

Who it's very much not about was Elvis. The King had been slowly regaining his footing in the late sixties after several years of low budget movies and dismal recordings. His famed Comeback Special had already been filmed by that autumn and was awaiting its TV debut that December. The following year he would go on to make some of the finest music of his entire life, culminating in the incomparable From Elvis in Memphis. Unfortunately, there was at least one turkey that resulted from these sessions and that was his version of "Hey Jude". For all of Elvis' ill will towards The Beatles, he was never above reinterpreting some of their material but the majority of it was done in concert (including versions of "Get Back", "Something" and "Yesterday"). Needless to say, his version of "Hey Jude" is horrendous. Elvis stumbles over the words, uses the "take a sad song" line far too often and can barely be bothered to do the "na-na-na's". Even for someone who mastered the art of going through the motions, it's boring, pointless and almost shockingly lacking in warmth.

And it is warmth that makes "Hey Jude" what it is. McCartney's voice has never sounded so tender and poignant. While it's true, as Aidan Curran observes, that it is low on contributions from the other Beatles ("John and George are bit players here: no guitar solos, no vocal response lines or shared verses"; this point is dulled a little by the sight of Paul and John making playful faces at one another in the promo as well as Lennon having encouraged McCartney's lyric writing), this had become their M.O. by this stage. ("Hey Jude" couldn't possibly have found a place on the Fabs' concurrent album release The Beatles but they do share that much talked about 'solo Beatle with the rest as a backing band' dynamic) Yet, pushing the others to the side only makes McCartney's performance stand out even further. While Lennon was becoming more soul baring on tracks like "Julia" and "Dear Prudence", his old friend, who had so often been written off as a pop lightweight, had suddenly become every bit as much the voice of a generation — if only just this once.

Looking back on the first time she heard it, Marianne Faithfull hazily recalled being at a party, perhaps at the opening of a club. Paul came in and put on an acetate of The Beatles' latest single. They had done it again. What she failed to recall was that The Rolling Stones (a band you might say she had been intimately familiar with) had been premiering their new album at the same function. Beggars Banquet is often cited as the first great Stones LP (which is incorrect, it's actually Aftermath), one that would help carry them into the seventies where they became a concert juggernaut. Yet, Mick Jagger's ex seemingly had no memory of this monumental album's launch even while being able to bring back the first time she heard "Hey Jude".

When Oasis emerged in the mid-nineties, there was all this talk (much of it from Noel Gallagher himself) of how much they sounded like The Beatles. I could never hear it myself until 1997's Be Here Now, an album I tried really hard to like. The frequent name dropping of Fab Four song titles was bad enough but the real giveaway was that they couldn't stop, especially on the track "All Around the World". The great thing about "Hey Jude" is that it builds from Paul and his piano into a rousing coda for everything to join in on but without going too far. Whereas, the nine minute "All Around the World" which came awash in layers of guitar noise had no filter. If Elvis' rendition was "Hey Jude" on cruise control, this monstrosity ended up being "Hey Jude" to the absolute max.

No one knew The Beatles would be all but finished just a year after "Hey Jude" hit the top of the charts around the world. Given their productivity — it's astonishing to think that they had two albums worth of material despite '69 being such a fraught year — there was still some ways to go in the tale. Still, "Hey Jude" feels like they're wrapping things up. It's as if McCartney had been gearing up for the conclusion just so he could be ensured of going out on a high note. And in the end, they went out okay but not like this, the last truly astounding single from this most astounding of groups.

Score: 10

Jeannie C. Riley: "Harper Valley P.T.A."

September 23, 1968 (1 week)

We seem to be in a post-hypocrisy world. Well, not so much post-hypocrisy as post-consequences of said hypocrisy. The bread and butter of online discourse has been about exposing the inconsistencies of others for so long that it has ceased to mean anything anymore. We may feel self-satisfied that someone on our side has "destroyed" a political opponent but such rhetoric never sticks. No one is ever destroyed, they just keep coming back.

No doubt that was what happened following the meeting of the Harper Valley P.T.A. While I'm sure that the Taylors, Mr. Baker, the widow Jones, Mr. Harper and Shirley Thompson were all shame-faced as they left this meeting, did Mrs. Johnson destroy any of them? I'm sure they all came back, ready for more gossip, rumour and innuendo to be spread out. In fact, its very poor sequel from 1984 indicates that very little changed other than the now grandmotherly Mrs Johnson (her junior high school-aged daughter must've married and/or given birth at quite a young age) is now far more God-fearing and, naturally seeing eye-to-eye much more with her old adversaries. Instead of making them be more like her, she became just like them.

For my money, though, the more interesting character is the schoolgirl whose mother has been causing all this friction round Harper Valley Jr. High. When the song begins, she comes home with a note from the P.T.A. and it seems like it's going to be all about her behaviour at school, getting up to no good with the boys, flaunting herself in scantilly clad garments and so forth. It is only in its second verse that we discover that it's her mother whose been causing a scandal in the neighbourhood. Then, the girl reveals herself to have been present at the P.T.A. meeting and even admits to being the one weaving this story all along. Quite why she chose to address herself in the third person earlier is a question no one seems to have an answer for. (In all likelihood, songwriter Tom T. Hall never thought about it)

This teenager seems relatively well adjusted for someone whose father has passed on and whose mother has seen half the bedrooms in the Harper Valley district. Isn't she mortified — and with far greater reason than the town's many busybodies? At the best of times teens find their parents to be intolerable and this is goes for those of us whose folks are perfectly normal. Yet, this girl is in her mum's corner all the way. She's proud of the fact that she "socked it to the Harper Valley P.T.A.". Could this lass be cut from the same cloth as her free spirited mother? So, while "Harper Valley P.T.A." does its part for feminist empowerment, it doesn't quite manage to nail the generation gap. Fair enough though, it's not as if one song is meant to be all things to all people. Nevertheless, I think even a nod to some tension between mother and daughter would have made things more captivating.

Part country-pop delight, part novelty song, it's perhaps easy to both over and underestimate "Harper Valley P.T.A.". While there's little to dislike about its laid back tune and Jeannie C. Riley's classic southern vocal, it's surprisingly inessential for such a huge hit that has had a life of its own in the years since. While Tom Breihan does his utmost to make a case that it is an extraordinary work of art (even if I'm not quite buying what he's selling), I fall more in the camp of seeing it as an enjoyable little piece that overachieved a little in hitting number on both the RPM charts and on the Hot 100 down south. Don't get me wrong: I'm grateful to pop listings of the past that had room for such singles to thrive, I just don't know what young people of the time would have made of it. Country music from this period seldom had kids in mind and this legendary track of a feisty, independent older woman and her daughter who doesn't do much but observe from the sidelines is no exception.

Score: 6

1910 Fruitgum Company: "1, 2, 3, Red Light"

September 16, 1968 (1 week)

It's never great when the best thing that can be said about a single is that it's "more of the same". Still, when it's a genuinely great song we're talking about that's one thing: a group might be repeating the same tricks in order to capitalize on prior success (record labels encourage such stunts and no doubt a few artists have at least given it some thought). But when your previous hit feebly pandered to kids, you really ought to give the whole 'don't mess with the formula' approach a good re-think. That said, kids bought the rotten "Simon Says" so why wouldn't they rush out to pick up a copy of yet another tribute to playground games?

The difference, at least in part, may be down to "1, 2. 3, Red Light" merely using the game to underscore relationship difficulties. (Your love life can't be in great shape to begin with if all you have to compare it with is the likes of Hide and Go Seek and Tag) The last time, it was about playing the game Simon Says in the song "Simon Says". No subtext required. This time, a game of (presumably) Red Light, Green Light becomes a metaphor for a troubled boyfriend-girlfriend dynamic. Not a great premise for a song but progress is progress all the same.

Fortunately, "1, 2, 3, Red Light" is a modest improvement on its predecessor, largely because it isn't nearly as gauche. There is very little to it but there are hints that the members of 1910 Fruitgum Company aspired to let loose. They don't make much of the opportunity — assuming it even was an opportunity — and the composition is badly undercooked so it's still extremely weak, just not to the wretched levels of their last attempt. 

(Well, actually...1910 Fruitgum Company did have a single that came between "Simon Says" and "1, 2, 3, Red Light". "May I Take a Giant Step (Into Your Heart)" somehow flopped while the numbers that bookend it managed to be big hits. I would imagine that Buddha Records failed to promote it properly since it's just as idiodically catchy as the other two. This began an odd pattern of Fruitgum singles either sinking or swimming. It did nearly crack the RPM Top 20 but that was by far the best it managed to do)

During the week "1, 2, 3,..." sat atop the Canadian hit parade, summer shifted over to autumn and with it a slight uptick in the maturity of what was to follow it. That's not to say everything was brilliant but perhaps bubblegum pop was beginning to wind down as a dominant force in pop. Yet, a mammoth of the genre is still to come in 1969 and even 1910 Fruitgum Company weren't yet done. And who knows? Maybe their next attempt will show further progress in their sound just as this their second number one had on their first. I'm not going to hold my breath though, especially since it appears they were about to trade the schoolyard for some casual racism. Oh the gems we have to look forward to...

Score: 3

José Feliciano: "Light My Fire"

September 9, 1968 (1 week)

"So: a pretty catchy sex song from a band with godlike aspirations. But the Doors legend owes more to what they did with "Light My Fire" — refusing to licence it for a Buick ad, refusing to change the verboten "higher" line on Ed Sullivan — than with the song itself. The song itself is fine. It's not anything more than that."

— Tom Breihan

And so concludes the review of the original version of "Light My Fire" over on Stereogum. While the tale of The Doors agreeing to change the "girl, we couldn't get much higher" line only for them to go back on it is well known, I personally didn't know about the Buick commercial. Apparently, the others accepted an offer from the car company while Jim Morrison was in the UK getting laid. When the singer got word of what had gone down he used his veto power to quash it by threatening to smash a Buick.

The Doors sure had integrity. They fought back against network censors and refused to sell out to corporate dollars (well, one quarter of them did but one Jim Morrison is roughly equal to a Ray Manzarek, a Robby Krieger and a John Densmore combined). Way to sock it to the man, boys.

Among all this, they neglected to put the kibosh on José Feliciano's latin pop spin on the very same hit in which had been so precious to them that they wouldn't alter the lyrics. To be fair, they couldn't have known that the Puerto Rican singer would have a breakthrough smash with his cover, even if they must have known that it would be done in an easy listening style. Yet, they refused to distance themselves from Feliciano, no doubt appreciating the songwriting royalties and perhaps the mainstream approval. And even, perhaps, because the two versions really aren't all that different from each other. The Doors weren't quite as radical as they and their devoted fans seemed convinced of while Feliciano isn't quite the milquetoast pop minstrel.

Listening to it now, there's a sense that Feliciano was ahead of his time. The ironic cover version done in a different style from its source was something that didn't really become commonplace until the eighties or nineties. (I always think of Aztec Camera's acoustic pop version of Van Halen's "Jump" as the first example) On the other hand, it's just a bland, faintly pointless cover of a song that had been somewhat bland to begin with. It's not unlike very boring, very predictable carols that pop up on any random artist's contractually obliged Christmas album. Even still, flip side "California Dreamin" (yes, The Mamas and the Papas song) is even more lifeless and it is said that it had initially been meant to be the A side. It has grown on a bit me over the past few days but that only means it has gone from "ghastly shit" to "mildly irritating". Give it another week or so and I might regard it as "okay but nothing special" — not unlike The Doors' original in fact.

Score: 4

Steppenwolf: "Born to Be Wild"

September 2, 1968 (1 week)

There is considerable debate over what was the first heavy metal song. John Lennon maintained that it was his composition "Ticket to Ride" which probably says more about the clever one's lack of knowledge and/or interest in metal than anything else. The Beatles' "Helter Skelter" is another contender and it makes a far more convincing case. Jimi Hendrix's "Purple Haze" has also been cited, as has Iron Butterfly's "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida". The fact that no one can quite agree is significant: clearly, metal was a seventies concern that sixties groups could only aid in building its foundation.

"Born to Be Wild" is yet another one that typically gets brought up. And, sure, the lyrics mention "heavy metal thunder" (even though that's a reference to motorbikes) and pounds like crazy. Still, it's much closer to hard rock or is at best a bridge between the two genres. Metal? I don't quite hear it, though, not unlike many of the above, it does do its part in mapping out the genre's future.

Even since its release, bikers have co-opted "Born to Be Wild" and with good reason. Its use in the 1969 motion picture Easy Rider alone justifies its place as an anthem for generations of leather clad outlaws speeding down highways. I'm not here to dispute this fact. What I would like to emphasize is that it is far from being about their subculture alone. If anything, it's the defacto theme song to every sixties' free spirit, be they biker or hippie. For every "get your motor runnin'" or "fire all your guns at once" there's a "take the world in a love embrace" or "a true nature's child". Rather than welcoming both groups in, it's as if Steppenwolf saw no differentiation.

Metal or hard rock, biker or hippie, "Born to Be Wild" was a much-needed shot of adrenaline to an increasingly dismal pop singles scene in 1968. With bubblegum pop going strong and the increasingly relevant soft rock emerging, a backlash was bound to materialize. It's impossible to say if the members of Steppenwolf had an antipathy towards the charts but there's no doubt that listeners reacted positively to the alternative they were presenting. (Hey, if they can be labelled as metal then why don't we also describe them as punks while we're at it?) The more abrasive side of garage rock that The Velvet Underground embodied failed to catch on with public at large while the popularity of The Doors was mainly down to their more melodic side (and, let's face it Jim Morrison's charisma). In Steppenwolf, there was now a hard rock act with commercial teeth, something that would carry forward even as the band itself began to fade.

Speaking of the band, it's worth noting that about half of Steppenwolf was Canadian. German-bron lead singer John Kay had spent some of his formative years in the Toronto area before relocating down south. He would eventually return to Ontario where he joined local group The Sparrows along with Nick St. Nichols and brothers Dennis — who didn't last as a permanent member but who would write "Born to Be Wild" — and Jerry Edmonton (sadly, not their real names). They would later head down to California where they soon became known as Steppenwolf. They would add a pair of Americans to their lineup by then but they still qualify for Can Con. 

So, what of Steppenwolf's legacy? Did they invent metal? It's highly debatable. Did they unite bikers and hippies? It didn't take but it was worth a try. Did they usher in a Canadian pop-rock revolution? Oh hell yeah. They're about to start rolling in.

Score: 9

The Rascals: "People Got to Be Free"

August 26, 1968 (1 week)

The sixth and final Rascals/Young Rascals number one is here but "People Got to Be Free" was just the third (and, again, final) chart topper for them in the United States. While "Groovin'" and "Good Lovin'" had both gone to the top off the Hot 100 back in 1966 and '67 respectively, Americans weren't quite as taken by many of their follow ups. Sure, "A Girl Like You", "How Can I Be Sure" and "A Beautiful Morning" gave them sizable Top 10 hits Stateside but none of them could quite get them over the top they way had up north. While the first two aren't especially strong, "A Beautiful Morning" was unlucky to be fighting for chart positions with both Archie Bell and the Drells' "Tighten Up" and Simon and Garfunkel's "Mrs. Robinson".

Things were no easier for The Rascals as the summer of '68 began to wind down. The week they began their impressive five week stay at the top of the Hot 100 they were joined in the top five by The Doors' "Hello, I Love You" (the previous number one in both the US and Canada), Mason Williams' "Classical Gas", Steppenwolf's "Born to Be Wild" and José Feliciano's cover of The Doors hit "Light My Fire. (All but "Classical Gas" would reach the top on the RPM hit parade at some point) A mostly strong fab five if you ask me. Yet, "People Got to Be Free" is but the fourth best of the bunch. What gives?

The blunt and obvious answer is that the American public are morons but they've done many stupider things than backing what is a very adequate Rascals single over a pop-rock hit they were probably sick of, a stellar folk instrumental and a hard rock classic. (They were right not to go too nuts on Feliciano's elevator muzak take on "Light My Fire" which, I'm sorry to say, I will have to dive deeper into very soon) Really, though, they were taken by the call-to-arms spirit of the sixties in the wake of the assassinations of both Martin Luther King and Robert F. Kennedy.

Oh Paul, shut the fuck up. I mean, Americans (and, for one week at any rate, Canadians) probably were suckered in by all this bullshit but The Rascals hardly went out of their way to cater to the times. The tune is one of their less inspired grooves, the lyrics are trite, the band is sluggishly gutting their way through the damn thing. In a way, I can't blame them. It's probably what I would have done had I been around back then and had possessed a significant level of talent and had been a hard worker and had loads of other things going for me. It plainly doesn't hold up alongside "Groovin'", "Good Lovin'" and "A Beautiful Morning" and is more in the company of "A Girl Like You" and "How Can I Be Sure". There's nothing really wrong with it but there's no real reason to go back to it — unless you need reminding of the bloody obvious.

Score: 5

The Doors: "Hello, I Love You"

August 19, 1968 (1 week)

In a pop music scene in which groups disavowing their biggest hits is practically a cliche, it's nice to see that The Doors refused to disown "Hello, I Love You". Many fans of the group do not feel it captures the wild chaos and primal poetry of that defines them. It was a song that predated them, a throwback to 1965 and proto-Doors Rick and the Ravens. It is often dismissed as the closest they ever came to pop with its simplistic lyrics. Yet, Jim Morrison refused to take the bait. While he acknowledged that it wasn't their finest moment, he claimed to like it and was even proud of it. The singer did admit, however, that he had wished that B side "Love Street" had been the promoted single instead.

The thing is, it nearly happened in Canada. Actually, scratch that: it did happen in Canada, albeit only briefly. On the week of July 6, 1968 there were a dozen new entries on the RPM hit parade. (Somehow, "Autumn of My Life" by Bobby Goldsboro was the highest newcomer) Entering at number eighty-eight was "Love Street" by The Doors. The following week it had shot up to number fifty-three — the highest climber — and was now listed as "Hello, I Love You". (Curiously, the same thing happened to the Canadian/American group Steppenwolf, who debuted on July 6 at number seventy-one with "Everybody's Next One" only for it to replaced by a little tune called "Born to Be Wild" a week later; more on them real soon)

"Love Street" is a fine track but it's no "Hello, I Love You". Dismissed by hardcore fans of The Doors, as I have already mentioned, and knocked a bit by the band themselves — in spite of their refusal to disown it — amid overstated charges of plagiarism, it's an easy target. And sure, there's not much to it. The story goes that a twenty-year-old Morrison had noticed a young woman who he fancied and was smitten like the sex-crazed shit heel he was. He evidently hadn't started exploring Blake at this point (or hadn't started to incorporate him into his lyrics at any rate) because the words are very simple and to the point - and are repetitive too. Easily its most memorable lyric is "do you hope to pluck this dusky jewel?" which was inspired by this girl being black. (I don't know whether to be creeped out by the racism or the sexual fetishism of the verb to pluck or if I should critique just how incorrect it is; I mean, who the hell describes African Americans as 'dusky'?)

Yet, Morrison's energy as a performer and the trio of Krieger, Ray Manzarek and John Densmore backing him make it a strong single, perhaps the best they ever released. The charismatic frontman is in top form with his customary swagger while the basic tune leaves room for their musical element to thrive, which they eventually do. Through most of it, they sound like their going through the motions but then just as Morrison begins his repeated screams of "Hello!" they start in on some frantic jamming which should have been the basis of it all along: a gradual rise from mundane playing into lunacy rather than such an abrupt shift. Plus, hard rock was something The Doors could only flirt with — which, to be fair, wasn't really an established subgenre during much of their heyday — which is a shame since it would have suited them and this is a prime example: sometimes the best hard rock comes out of the tamest pop.

At this point we might as well get to the thing that "Hello, I Love You" is now best known for, its status as an alleged rip off of The Kinks' "All Day and All of the Night". Of course, the chorus is unmistakable and the chords have more than a passing resemblance. Yet, I don't much care. Pop groups borrowed from one another and oftentimes it was intended as a tribute rather than being outright theft. The Kinks admitted to ripping off The Doors as well so it wasn't a one way street either. If such practices end up producing better pop than I'm all for it.

Finally, I would like to say how taken I've been by the official lyric video for "Hello, I Love You" up on YouTube. It is presented as a series of texts sent from "Jim's phone" to this "Dusky Jewel" of his. (Not sure how he got her phone number and/or social media handles without learning her name but I'm willing to overlook it for now) He shoots off the lyrics accompanied by some imojis, all of which end up going unreplied by her. Yeah, I'd say this tracks. It is certainly easy to imagine an octogenarian Jim Morrison being obsessed with Twitter and Instagram. It's not even all that difficult to picture him as an avid MAGA supporter — although he could just as easily have ended up a nutjob survivalist, a conspiracy theory freak, a follower or leader of a dangerous cult or a barely coherent casualty of his era; the one thing he could never have ended up was becoming a halfway normal human being.

Score: 7

Gary Puckett and The Union Gap: "Lady Willpower"

July 13, 1968 (5 weeks)

It was a month prior to the now renamed Gary Puckett and the Union Gap's third Canadian number one hit on the bounce that the RPM singles chart had its fourth anniversary. During this time, no fewer than a hundred and sixty-nine singles topped the survey. (For the sake of comparison, there were a hundred and fifty number ones from the CHUM chart era, which went over a seven year span) Of them, only thirty-one managed a reign of longer than a week, a rate of less than twenty percent. The longest stay at the top was "Rag Doll" by The Four Seasons during the summer of '64. Until now that is. Puckett spent five long weeks at number one with his latest hit "Lady Willpower".

Yes, you read that correctly. For the first time since RPM became Canada's national singles chart, a number one hit remained on top for over a month. An impressive feat, if dampened slightly by the fact that only three hit parades were compiled during its reign. The staff at RPM seemed to get some summers and/or winters off and this was during one of their slack periods. Still, they were at the top of each hit parade so there's no taking it away from them.

Still, the question needs to be asked: why this? While far from the worst thing The Union Gap put out, it's a curious choice to have been on top for as long as it was. On the surface, it may seem like an unexpected summer smash but I have to wonder if there were simply a lot of horny teenage boys who could identify with Puckett's plea against celibacy while girls of around the same age could take it as a call to greater sexual empowerment. Having recently been at the top with the far more inappropriate "Young Girl", an effort seemed to have been made at finding a balance: guys want nothing more than to get laid and girls know it and can hold it over them. Admittedly, this is a generous take. His claim to be able to teach her all about the facts of life is super creepy and gives off a whiff that things aren't going to go well for her. That said, the very fact that he acknowledges that she's the one who has the power at the moment is progress of a kind.

Standards aren't exactly high but it must be said that this is comfortably Gary Puckett and the Union Gap's best effort to date. His nibs dialed back on the histrionics which is a definite plus and the Union Gap and an assortment of session aces give a tight performance. (Speaking of which, it's worth noting that the group had made an alternation to their name. Normally I scoff at bands changing from a 'The' to a '....and the...' but I'll overlook it in this instance. Puckett was the star and he was even credited as such in other territories so it's only right that he would the more prominent listing) It isn't anything special even in the grim wilderness of '68 but it is nevertheless a marked uptick from "Woman, Woman" and, especially, "Young Girl". For all I know, they would only continue to improve but that's irrelevant now since "Lady Willpower" would end up being their final Canadian number one. Good to go out on a high note, boys!

Score: 5

Merrilee Rush and the Turnabouts: "Angel of the Morning"

July 6, 1968 (1 week)

Some songs need a movie or TV show to propel them into the public consciousness. Others manage to grasp the zeitgeist — generally without even being aware they've done so — and remain a fixture in the collective memory. Still others just connect with the masses enough and never quite go away. This song isn't any of these.

It feels like "Angel of the Morning" is a very well known song and has been for a number of years but what else is there to know about it? Merrilee Rush, who first popularized it in 1968, only had the one major hit and doesn't even seem to track in terms of one-hit wonders. Juice Newton, who we'll be getting to eventually with this very same track, did have a little more mustard on that wiener but her cultural imprint wasn't massive either. Shaggy, who we'll also be getting to eventually with — imagine that — an adaptation of this very same track, was a pretty big deal for all of about four months a quarter of a century ago but who remembers him now? Now, I'm not much of an authority so I will confess to have gotten Rush mixed up with Jeanine C. Riley, Newton with Janice Ian and old Shags with Shabba Ranks. "Angel of the Morning" has remained even if time eventually ran out on the individuals who helped make it.

While not quite the original version — singer Evie Sands did it first but the chances of her dramatic and ethereal rendition were hampered by record company financial problems — Rush had the first opportunity to take it into the charts. She displays quite the malleable vocal range here: at times, she sounds like a folk singer while she can also do a mean Dusty Springfield impersonation when she wants to. ("Then slowly turn away..." has that distinctive breathy, sandpapery tone that the English soul-pop diva had patented; she would record her own version in 1969)

Considering the image on the cover of the French release above and the fact that legendary singer Connie Francis had turned down the chance to record it herself due to the damage it might do to her public image, it's not a terribly scandalous song. Sexual revolution or not, the idea of a woman having sex outside of marriage would no doubt have ruffled a few feathers but whatever blowback it faced missed the point. She's looking for love but seems to have become resigned to not finding it — or, at best, has made due with a night of romance that vanishes the next morning. She's well aware of the score ("I'm old enough to face the dawn") which makes her surprisingly empowered in such a situation. (And even if she isn't feeling much empowerment, that won't stop her from communicating otherwise to the gentlemen she gets together with)

Juice Newton had been reluctant to take it on since she considered it to be too "pop" for her tastes. Oddly, though, her recording is more or less the same as Merrilee Rush's. Appropriately enough for a song that has been covered by a wide range of artists over many genres, "Angel of the Morning" transcends categorization. Rather than artists adapting it to fit their particular styles, it seems to force singers to adapt to it. I'm normally skeptical of labeling music as "timeless" but I will make an exception here. Acts come and go but "Angel of the Morning" has remained. It isn't quite the glorious slice of pop it probably deserves to be but ignore it at your peril — besides, it's bound to make yet another comeback sooner or later.

Score: 7

Herb Alpert: "This Guy's in Love with You"

June 29, 1968 (1 week)

In an age in which absolutely everything is owned by ghastly private equity firms, it's difficult to imagine a time in which companies were headed by people who actually liked what they were selling. The car industry was once run by automobile enthusiasts, bakeries were run by bakers and so on. While this didn't necessarily guarantee higher quality, competition in a capitalist system (in which the deck wasn't stacked against virtually everyone who wished to be involved) generally produced results.

According to Wikipedia, there were twenty-four record companies that began operating in 1962. There's not much to say about the bulk of them. Dimension Records out of New York City released Little Eva's worldwide hit "The Loco-Motion" while Thelma made an unsuccessful attempt to be a Detroit-based competitor to Tamla Motown. But by far the biggest label to emerge that year was A&M Records.

A&M's distinctive logo featured a trumpet which must have made the public assume it to be a jazz label. In reality, however, it was the instrument that Herb Alpert excelled at and he was the 'A' in A&M. (His partner Jerry Moss, the 'M', didn't seem to have much of a musical background) While it would be the home to such notable acts as Bryan Adams, The Carpenters and Janet Jackson, one of their first big signings was the Tijuana Brass led by the very same Herb Alpert. Their hits such as "The Lonely Bull", "A Taste of Honey" and "Spanish Flea" are kind of charming in their own way but a little of them goes a long way. In truth, Alpert would be more at home in the seventies where he could dabble in easy listening, disco, funk and jazz fusion (sometimes all at the same time). The American Hot 100 chart topper "Rise" from 1979 is an excellent example of his enjoyable if unspectacular sound.

Unfortunately, Alpert's trumpet playing takes a backseat to his singing on his one and only Canadian number one hit "This Guy's in Love with You". Like Richard Harris on "MacArthur Park", it displays a talented individual on sabbatical from his day job. I'm sure there are professional lounge singers scattered throughout the world who have less characterful voices but they also don't have fifty percent stakes in record labels to give them a much needed boost. Yet, the biggest knock against it is that it's so incredibly boring and unmemorable. Somehow it was the first American number one for composers Burt Bachrach and Hal David when I'm not so sure that even the dramatics of Dionne Warwick or the vulnerability of Cilla Black could have helped it much. Fittingly, the highlight is a very brief trumpet solo which is the only part of the song that actually feels truly laid back.

Happily, "This Guy's in Love with You" would be Alpert's one and only major hit that he sang on. While his instrumental music would never be challenging or adventurous or unique, he was practically the epitome of the all right middle-of-the-road artist — a trait he would share with many of the acts signed to his label. I wouldn't go out of my way to hear some Herb Alpert but neither would I rush to turn his music off — with one glaring exception. 

Score: 3

Richard Harris: "MacArthur Park"

June 22, 1968 (1 week)

I recently reviewed Bobby Goldboro's irredeemably bad "Honey" and made some remarks about how Starship's "We Built This City" and 4 Non Blondes' "What's Up" have become stock answers to the 'what's the worst song ever?' question. I also wondered why older bad tracks no longer have their champions. Of course, this wasn't always the case. Back in 1997, humourist Dave Barry's Book of Bad Songs came about when he surveyed his baby boomer fans as to the pop songs they disliked the most. The results? Goldsboro's "Honey" came in fourth, Ohio Express' "Yummy Yummy Yummy" ended up in second and Richard Harris' "MacArthur Park" actually topped the damn thing. (The third place finisher also happens to be a Canadian number one which we'll be getting to)

Yes, "MacArthur Park" was once considered to be the worst song ever. The same song that is something of a baroque pop masterpiece which Harris badly oversings and with a notoriously clumsy line about a cake left out in the rain. Far from being the worst song ever it sounds more like a perfectly adequate pop number to me!

But let's first deal with its two major howlers, one of which is all too well known while hardly anyone ever says anything about the other. "I'll never have that recipe again" must be the single most mocked line in pop history and with good reason. Beyond it sounding absolutely ridiculous, it brings up far too many questions that no one could possibly ever answer. Why has the recipe disappeared? He may blame "somebody" for leaving it out in the rain but why didn't he rescue this beloved dessert? Did it ever occur to him that the reason it was left behind was because it was terrible and wasn't worth saving? And, most vital of all, why the hell was it chosen as the song's de facto chorus? Had Webb slotted the line in once it could have been easy to dismiss as harmless or even something the listener could have chuckled at; instead, it has become the chief reason why a whole generation of Dave Barry fans had such little regard for the song in the first place.

Richard Harris' faulty singing isn't brought up enough as a legit criticism of "MacArthur Park". To be fair to him, the vocals on notable cover versions by both the Four Tops and Waylon Jennings are no better with the former being uncharacteristically bland on the part of the normally astounding Levi Stubbs. Still, an old theatre vet like Harris — they say his King Arthur was the toast of the Old Vic — could have gone for something with a bit more flair rather than coming across like a labourer who blew his weekly wages at the dog track. The trouble with Harris, Jennings and Stubbs is that they took to it like a serious piece of work. This is why the reading by Ricky Gardiner of Scottish prog rock group Beggars Opera makes for such a refreshing change of pace: he seemed to realize that it was an over-the-top piece of nonsense and treated it as such.

(The other thing the Beggars Opera version has going for it is that they fully exploited the musical possibilities in "MacArthur Park" which other renditions merely hint at. Honestly, to its credit the Harris original probably does a better job of it than the disappointingly restrained versions by either the Four Tops or Waylon Jennings but nevertheless it can't hope to compare with the heights of prog rock pomp)

Anyway, I ought to offer up at least a half-baked defense of the Richard Harris "MacArthur Park" and I shall do so in point form. Here goes:

✓ While its seven-and-a-half minute length is notorious, I gotta say it doesn't drag. Its movements seemed perfectly timed so that none of them outstay their welcome. (Not to pile on the Beggars Opera praise but their rendition tacks on an extra minute or so and is similarly well pacing; the Tops and Jennings versions, by contrast, are both shorter and somehow also feel far more drawn out)

✓ Beyond being musically impressive, Webb's lyrics manage to just about approach the absurdist dream world of The Beatles' "Penny Lane". The songwriter has admitted that he witnessed everything that takes place in its narrative including the old men playing checkers (no elitist chess for these old timers) and even the cake being rained on. Some of Paul McCartney's acid-fueled memories and humour would have helped water down all that mushy melodrama and Webb acknowledged that he was an "emotional machine" during this time but I appreciate the attempt all the same.

✓ That said, lyrics clearly weren't a Webb specialty (he also wrote "Up, Up and Away") and it's tempting to imagine what could have been done with a proper wordsmith, like his very own Tony Asher. Webb seems like the type who would have had connections in the world of advertising jingles which makes it a wonder he never went in that direction.

(I said it was going to be half-baked, didn't I?)

For all its flaws, "MacArthur Park" is not the worst song of all time. Neither is "Yummy Yummy Yummy" for that matter. (On the other hand, there's certainly a good case to be made for "Honey") I should state that I have no problem with anyone considering them to be the worst, only that it be something they believe rather than being the low hanging fruit for everyone to take swipes at. I'm quite happy to live in a world free from "MacArthur Park" but I don't mind the fact that it no longer seems to crop up on worst ever lists either. Now if only the same could be said for "We Built This City" and "What's Up".

~~~~~

You may have noticed that I didn't mention what is probably the most famous and successful version of "MacArthur Park". That is because it will be coming up as an entry in its own right at some point in the future. Assuming I think to do so, some of the ideas from this review may find their way into that one. Suffice it to say, those magnificent bastards from Beggars Opera outstripped that one too.

 

Score: 4

Ohio Express: "Yummy Yummy Yummy"

June 15, 1968 (1 week)

A number of singles covered so far on this blog (and speaking of which, we just recently passed the three review hundred milestone!) have been familiar to me in some capacity. The Beatles have been this ever present element in my life so naturally their many, many number ones are as known to me as the members of my family. Others, though, have just seeped in over the years through various means. Some I always seemed to understand were very, very good; others revealed themselves as stupid even when I was a child.

"The Purple People Eater" was a song I always seemed to know of and deep down always knew was the shits. It never connected with me as a kid and then proved to be bloody annoying as I got older. The golden era of Bubblegum pop is full of similar examples, the nadir being the dreadful nonsense that 1910 Fruitgum Company kept shoveling forth upon the public. 

Like a lot of Bubblegum acts, Ohio Express were a manufactured entity. The Monkees had the higher profile due to their TV show and far stronger material and faced a considerable backlash when it came out that they didn't play the instruments on their singles but this type of blowback never harmed their competitors. If anything, the Ohio Express were worse because the quintet who posed for photos and did the promo work didn't even sing on "Yummy Yummy Yummy" (or didn't on the actual recording at any rate).

The thing that is most surprising about the Ohio Express' most notable chart entry (it's hard to believe they weren't a one hit wonder) is how garage rock it is. Had they been a genuine rock combo who had come out of Akron or Toledo or Youngstown then it would have been perfectly natural for them to have sounded that way but for them to have been a manufactured studio group their playing ought to have had all the ferocity of a Tonka truck. Yet, "Yummy Yummy Yummy" rocks, a quality that is easily its best feature.

The moronic lyrics are bad enough but they could have been sung in a style that could have made them funny. No, the thing that really brings it down is the deliberately dweebish singing. (I say "deliberately" because I can't imagine anyone, in any situation thinking they could be anything but the sound of a giant dork amping up his dorkness to the max) I suppose it's a choice I can respect since why would anyone with any sense equate romance with food so brazenly but it doesn't make the experience any more listenable.

"Yummy Yummy Yummy" is another of those singles that I have pretty much always been aware of. But unlike "The Purple People Eater", it has revealed itself to be (slightly) more than just an irritant. The solid tune just about makes me want to put it on again. Granted, I won't be putting it on again but at least I'm not out to avoid it at all costs for the rest of my life.

Score: 4

Four Jacks and a Jill: "Master Jack"

June 1, 1968 (2 weeks)

"Did you ever run into a musical group, runs out of Kansas City, calls themselves Four Jacks and a Jill? They've been at a Ramada Inn for the past eighteen months. If you're ever in Kansas City and you want to hear some good music you might want to drop by."

— Air Force Lieutenant Bob Hookstratten

~~~~~

Bobbi Flekman had had enough. She'd spent the past two days warding off handsy record execs and drunken rock stars and needed to unwind. Being in Kansas City for a music industry convention meant that her choices of nightlife were limited so she resigned herself to returning to her hotel and having a few drinks and then maybe ordering room service.

She got out of the taxi and entered the Ramada, smiled at the clerks at reception and headed straight for the bar. A five piece band was playing. She wasn't really in the mood for more music but at least they were fairly quiet so she could tune them out. She took a seat at the bar, ordered a cosmopolitan and lit a cigarette.

Bobbie sipped on her drink and jotted down notes for the next day. She'd make a brief appearance at the convention and then head to the airport for her flight home at just after lunchtime. Her schedule was jammed for the next three weeks but at least she'd be back in New York.

She gradually began to notice the music playing. It was a song she recognized but hadn't heard in years. Being in the business, she was normally really good at identifying songs in a short amount of time but this one stumped her. The PA system at the Ramada Inn bar wasn't great and neither were the acoustics. Then, it hit her.

"Oh, "Master Jack"", she said to herself. She didn't think she'd heard it since she was in high school. She swiveled a bit in her bar stool to watch the band. They weren't too bad. She had never been a big folk music enthusiast but "Master Jack" had been a good song in its day. It had been popular around the time she graduated from high school and it was felt that it represented leaving teachers behind as adulthood loomed. Others said it had a connection to Apartheid in South Africa but she was never sure about that. The song wrapped up and she was one of handful of people in the bar who applauded. Bobbi then went back to her day planner. The band played another number but she went back to just having them there in the background.

"Miss Fleckman?" a man with a timid voice said. Bobbi turned.

"Oh, hi Artie. How are you?"

In spite of his appearance and mannerisms, Bobbi had a soft spot for rep Artie Fufkin. He was dedicated, enthusiastic and she could trust him, which was more than could be said for many of her other colleagues at Polymer Records. He made his share of mistakes but he always owned up to them. He could come on a little strong at times but her interaction with him was minimal so it normally didn't matter.

"So, what brings you here tonight? I thought you were staying at the Motor Lodge on the outskirts of town?"

"I am", Artie replied without a trace of embarrassment. "No, I'm actually here to meet the band."

"What? These guys?"

"Oh sure, everyone in Kansas City says they're great. Have you been listening?"

"Yeah, a little. I heard them do "Master Jack" a while ago. It was good but nothing I'd get excited over."

"I hear they do it better now than ever before."

"I'm sorry?" Bobbi looked confused. "What do you mean 'before'?"

"What can I get you, sir?" the bar tender interrupted.

"Hi, how are you doing? Artie Fufkin, Polymer Records. A club soda for me and a bottle of your best red wine for the band."

"You got it."

"I thought I'd wine 'em even if I can't dine 'em," Artie said, turning back to Bobbi.

"Artie?"

"Yes, Miss Flekman?"

"What do you mean that it's better now than before?"

"I mean back when they originally put it out."

"Are you telling me this is the actual Four Jacks and a Jill from the sixties?"

"Yeah, you didn't know? They stopped having hits but they never broke up and have been plugging away ever since. I think we should help them make a comeback. What do you think?"

"I don't know, Artie." Bobbi watched the band for a few seconds. "Are you sure that's them?"

"Positive. Tell you what: I'll go have a word with them when they're taking a break. Mind if I bring them over to speak to you?"

"Fine but I can only spare a few minutes. I should be heading up to my room soon."

"No problem, Miss Flekman."

Bobbi ordered another cosmo and looked at her agenda while Artie approached the band. She deliberately kept her head down. She hoped nothing would come of it.

"Miss Fleckman?" Artie said softly, "may I introduce Bernice and Todd, members of Four Jacks and a Jill."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Bobbi greeted the pair. "I really enjoyed your performance."

"Oh, thank you," Bernice replied with a friendly smile.

"Where is it you're from exactly?" the record mogul inquired.

"We're from Oklahoma City but we've been the house band here at this Ramada for nearly two years", Todd responded.

"Oklahoma City? I was under the impression you were from South Africa."

"Well, we were originally but we got out of there a number of years ago," Bernice said.

"Good thinking," she responded. "So, you're Bernice? Is that right?" Bernice nodded. "It's funny, I could've sworn the singer from Four Jacks was called Glenys or Glynnis."

"That's my sister." Bernice replied.

"Oh really?"

"Yes, she's unfortunately been unwell but we're hoping she'll be able to join us again sometime soon."

"That would be nice. So, "Master Jack" is a song that really takes me back. Tell me, did you write it?"

"No, we didn't. It was written by...oh gosh, what was his name?"

"David Marks," Artie promptly interjected.

"The same David Marks who was briefly in The Beach Boys?" Bobbi quizzed them.

"That's right," said Todd.

"That's fascinating. I admire you for sticking with it all these years. Well, I am going to have to excuse myself. It was a pleasure making your acquaintance. Artie, I'll speak with you in the morning." Bobbi downed the rest of her cosmo, stood up and left the hotel bar.

~~~~~

Bobbi half expected to see Artie waiting for her when she went down for breakfast the next morning so she was pleased to discover there was no trace of him. She ate and then went outside to get a cab to the Kansas City Convention Center.

It was just after ten in the morning but there were already a number of people milling about at the music convention. As always at such functions, music of various kinds could be heard. As she got closer to Polymer's booth, she began to notice the strains of "Master Jack" once again. Bobbi's heart sank.

The same quintet from the night before was now playing adjacent to Polymer's kiosk. Bobbi could see Artie standing close to them with a shit eating grin on his face. She stormed over to him and grabbed him by his leather jacket, pulling him off to the side so she could speak to him in privacy.

"Artie, what the fuck is going on?"

"Miss Flekman, wha' do you think?"

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

"What are you talkin' about? Listen, after you went up to your room, I kept talking to them. They're really nice guys. Anyway, they were interested in the convention so invited them along and I set it up so they could play a few songs. Let me introduce you to their manager, he's a great guy too." Bobbi then noticed in the distance her boss, Sir Dennis Eton Hogg.

"Artie, I have to talk to someone. Please tell Four Jacks and a Jill to take five and I'll be right back."

"Sure thing, boss. I can handle it."

Bobbi approached the head of Polymer with the best forced smile she could manage.

"Sir Dennis, good to see you."

"Good morning, Miss Flekman. What do we have here?"

"My apologies, sir. I didn't clear this. One of our valued and diligent reps thought it would be fun to have a local group playing at our booth. It's not costing us anything and it seems to be drumming up some attention."

"Are they a Polymer act?"

"No, not as such."

"Well, perhaps we could consider signing them if we have room."

"We are certainly aware of them now, aren't we?"

Four Jacks and a Jill performed "Master Jack" again. She was getting sick of this damn song now. Sir Dennis watched them which gave Bobbi a chance to go grab a cigarette in peace. She stood over by the fire escape and lit up.

"Bobbi!"

Andy Reynolds of CMS Records was a longtime friendly rival of Bobbi's. While neither of them was ever above poaching artists from each other's roster, they had a mutual understanding to always inform the other either in writing or over the phone when doing so. They respected each other so much that had even avoided sleeping together. Andy lit up smoke.

"So, what's going on at your kiosk? I hear there's a band you're going to be signing up."

"Yeah, they wish. They claim to be Four Jacks and a Jill but they're full of shit. They tried to convince me last night that "Master Jack" was written by the same David Marks who replaced Al Jardine in The Beach Boys back in '63. What kind of sucker do they take me for? I'm a record exec for chrissake, they think I don't know this stuff?"

"Yeah, I've crossed paths with them too."

"You have? When?"

"A few months ago. I was in town on business and saw them at the Ramada. They couldn't even make half-assed effort to pretend to be South African by putting on cartoonish Australian accents. And they tried telling me that the original singer Glynnis was dead."

"Jesus, these idiots can't even keep their story straight. They told me she's sick. And now I'm worried that they've suckered in Dennis Eton Hogg. I gotta nix this whole thing before it gets out of control. But how?

"I don't know," Andy replied. "Let me buy you a cup of coffee and maybe we can come up with something."

~~~~~

Bobbi and Andy weren't able to come up with an immediate solution so she resolved to get in touch with members of the real Four Jacks and a Jill or, failing that, someone from their old record label or management. She had a lot to do back in New York but this would be a priority. She was just hoping that Polymer wasn't going to end up becoming a record industry laughing stock because of this blunder.

Reluctantly, she wandered back to Polymer's booth. Mercifully, the band had moved on. The normally indefatigable Artie Fufkin was suddenly looking beaten down. He looked up to see Bobbi approaching.

"Miss Flekman, I'm so sorry."

For a moment, Bobbi felt relieved. Artie had come to his senses, finally realizing that this band was a fraud. Polymer's reputation might take a beating in the short term but she felt confident that people would forget all about it before long.

"Artie, what happened?"

"We were getting a deal done. I promised them strong promotion and a nice advance and everything was looking good. I began making calls to recording studios. We were even talking about a national tour..."

"Get to the point."

"Right, well I went off to make a call and by the time I got back, Saul Fielding from FBI Records had poached them away."

"They're going to sign with FBI instead of with us?"

"I'm afraid so. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Bobbi sighed. She could tell that Artie felt he had let her down. "Really, it's fine."

"No, it's not. See those stairs over there?" Artie motioned towards the staircase which led to the main floor. "I want you to kick my ass down the stairs."

"Artie..."

"I mean it, Miss Flekman. Kick this ass down the stairs. Be my guest. Enjoy yourself."

"I'm not going to do that, Artie. Listen, in future remember that your focus ought to be on finding new acts for us to sign, those older groups are more trouble than they're worth. And try to keep your enthusiasm in check in a little."

"I'll do my best."

Bobbi left the convention soon after and got a cab to the airport.

"It's a strange, strange world we live in Master Jack..."

"What's that?" the cab driver asked. Bobbi suddenly realized she'd been singing out loud.

"Sorry, it's nothing." Bobbi was glad of the outcome but she knew it wasn't quite over. She still had some phone calls to make once she got back to New York

Score: 7

Simon and Garfunkel: "Mrs. Robinson"

May 18, 1968 (2 weeks)

There's a story that Joe DiMaggio once confronted Paul Simon over the reference to him having "left and gone away". Joltin' Joe was still alive and was seen on TV commercials and was still a figure of some significance, particularly in New York where he starred for the Yankees. Simon is said to have responded that this line was more to do with there being no heroes left (and, since the Yankee Clipper was shilling on TV, he couldn't have been much of one anymore) right when the United States of America needed one. 

(Was Joe DiMaggio a hero? I mean, he gave up three years of his Hall-of-Fame baseball career to serve in the US armed forces but his main role was to play exhibition games to entertain the troops. His remarkable fifty-six game hitting streak in particular and all-star career in general ensured he'd be a much-admired player. So, too, was his $100,000 contract with the Yankees and his marriage to Marilyn Monroe but none of this is particularly heroic. Still, I suppose if the public views someone as a hero then that's what they become whether it's deserved or not)

Yes, America in 1968 was evidently lacking a hero for the country to rally around at a crucial time. Muhammad Ali? Yeah, fuck that guy apparently. Oh but he was a divisive figure! No, he stood up for what he believed in and then the establishment came after him. They were the divisive ones. New Yorkers like Paul Simon have a tendency to fail to see beyond their vast hometown where DiMaggio may not have been as revered. Plus, even within the five boroughs there were plenty of fans of the Brooklyn Dodgers and New York Giants who may not have had the same esteem that Yankee fans had for him. Yes, DiMaggio was (and remains) respected and even beloved but I'm not sure he was much of a unifying force to begin with. (With all that said, could a national hero have done much in the sixties? Neil Armstrong would set foot on the Moon a year after this and his great feat didn't exactly do anything to end polarization)

There is a point to all this, I promise. One of Simon's weaknesses as a lyricist was the way he would hammer through all kinds of theories and notions all the while ending up in a dense fog of incomprehensibility. Yet, when he could be understood, his ideas felt hollow. Much of "Mrs. Robinson" dwells in vagueries about a "pantry with your cupcakes" and "going to the candidate's debate" which may have a poetic ring to them but are otherwise empty calories. Bob Dylan and John Lennon could get away with nonsense verse because there was typically something for listeners to grasp onto. (Dylan's "Positively 4th Street" is supposedly about someone known to the singer-songwriter but it really doesn't matter since many will identify with its feelings of resentment) Simon, by contrast, seemed to trade in pseudo-intellectualisms that I may admire but seldom connect with.

Troublesome lyrics aside, there is one more thing to "Mrs. Robinson" that turns me off a little: its length. While four minutes doesn't seem like much and there are two vastly longer Canadian number ones coming up, Simon's distinctive acoustic guitar riff really does wear out its welcome after the third or fourth go round of the chorus. And what's with the twenty seconds or so of absent-minded soloing at the end? Had Simon and Garfunkel struggled to bring it to a satisfying conclusion or were they signalling that the bloody thing could've gone on even longer?

I could bitch at length over my distaste for Paul Simon — and, believe me, I have — but there's lots to like about Simon and Garfunkel at their very best. "Mrs. Robinson" is nearly there but it is neither as engaging as their early work nor as impressive as much of what makes up their masterpiece Bridge Over Troubled Water. (Some cite Bookends as the better LP but I respectfully disagree even though the track "America" absolutely slaps) If I am only half-paying attention then it's a pretty great song. I'll always prefer to sing along with "The Boxer" but I can get into "Mrs. Robinson" in spite of myself. I could stand to learn from a pair of New York elites on not being such a rotten snob, you know.

Score: 6