Creedence Clearwater Revival: "Lookin' Out My Back Door"

September 26, 1970 (3 weeks)

"Dude, dude, dude, lookin' out my back door..."

It isn't one of the sillier nor more frequently discussed misheard lyrics (as opposed to, say, "there's a bathroom on the right"). It's always possible that John Fogerty and/or the various half-assed attempts to revive CCR have leaned into it but it's equally likely that they nor their many fans never even noticed either way. To the extent that the original song meant anything at all, its meaning isn't compromised with the alteration. It was only today that I learned that the actual line is "doo, doo, doo, lookin' out my back door".

It all comes down to The Big Lebowski. Yes, that great film from 1998 that hardly anyone saw at the time. (I had a co-worker at the bookstore I was working at who did see it relatively early on and he couldn't stop raving about it) Word-of-mouth was so positive but belated that we all ended up renting it at Blockbuster. And, yes, we all came away loving it and it wasn't long before the quotations were everywhere. (My personal favourite: "I Am the Walrus?")

CCR's second Canadian number one comes on during a bit of levity for The Dude. He's cruising around in his recently stolen piece of shit '73 Gran Torino with his beloved Creedence in the tape deck, Walter's recent freak out with a gun at the bowling alley and Bunny Lebowski's kidnapping and botched ransom drop off being the furthest things from The Dude's mind. All he needs is his car back and the chance to crank some CCR with a beer and a J and everything's cool, man. (Until he quickly discovers that he's being followed, that is) The 'doo's' aren't clear enough and so it feels like Fogerty wrote it as an ode to The Dude, Dude, Dude himself.

(Surprisingly, "Lookin' Out My Back Door" doesn't appear on The Big Lebowski soundtrack album, even though barely audible and far more trivial numbers like Captain Beefheart's "Her Eyes Are a Blue Million Miles" and Elvis Costello's "My Mood Swings" are included. This is a good example of how OSTs can sometimes present a narrative that is irreconcilable with how music is used in the movies they come from. Creedence might be The Dude's favourite group but you'd never know it given the accompanying CD. This reminds me a little of the film Juno in which Elliott Page's title character expresses her love for the Ramones, a band who are nowhere to be heard in either the movie itself or on its soundtrack album)

Within the context of the film, "Lookin' Out My Backdoor" can be appreciated but what about independent of it? An already fraying CCR seem to be enjoying the experience — which is confirmed by the accompanying promo — but sheer enthusiasm can only do so much. Fogerty's nonsense lyrics ("there's a giant doin' cartwheels, a statue wearin' high heels", etc., etc.) aren't intriguing enough to merit further analysis but that's not necessarily a bad thing either. For his part, the singer has claimed that it was written with his three-year-old son in mind which does track. Maybe that's what's holding it back as far as my affection goes: had it been in my life as a child then maybe I would have grown with it but having only been aware of it since my twenties I don't have that luxury. (That said, neither did The Dude who might've been working on the original Port Huron Statement — "not the compromised second draft" — when "Lookin' Out My Back Door" was released)

Music doesn't age as much is generally assumed. Rather, we age and age out of some of the music we once listened to. Sometimes it passes us by at the optimum age which is why I still love listening to "Yellow Submarine" which was a part of my childhood and why I'm less captivated by "Lookin' Out My Back Door" which wasn't. Still, CCR's output wasn't going to get any better so why not just enjoy this fun little campfire singalong instead? Fogerty wasn't really doing the heavy message songs like "Bad Moon Rising" anymore so this is what we were left with. We might as well be like The Dude and take it for what it is.

Score: 6

~~~~~

Can Con

Rest assured she'll be covered plenty of times in this space so it shouldn't disappoint too many that one of Anne Murray's most recognizable numbers fell just short of the number one spot on the RPM hit parade. The late songwriter Gene MacLellan didn't write "Snowbird" with fellow Maratimer Murray in mind but she seems like the only individual who could've scored a massive hit with it. As we'll soon see, she was a very big deal in her day and "Snowbird" gives you a pretty good idea as to why. No one ever managed to sound so mature while having a childlike delight in her voice as Springhill, Nova Scotia's finest. This quality wouldn't last but it would see her through a highly successful decade ahead. Being a rare country-adjacent song that opens with a sitar solo was bound to catch listeners off guard but it seems few objected — and why on earth would they? You know what? Scratch what I said at the start of this paragraph: it is a pity "Snowbird" never hit number one since it far outstrips bloody CCR (even with a single as relatively endearing as "Lookin' Out My Backdoor"). And I'm not entirely convinced it didn't completely outstrip the rest of Murray's catalog but I guess we'll have to wait and see just to be sure.

Edwin Starr: "War"

September 19, 1970 (1 week)

Muhammad Ali's exile from boxing amounted to three-and-a-half-years of raising a family, court appeals, money making schemes that mostly lost the Champ a great deal of bread and a lot of inactivity. He was in his mid-to-late twenties at the time so his refusal to accept his draft orders meant that he sacrificed a significant portion of his prime as a boxer — not to mention a great deal of money he would've earned along the way. This only adds to Ali's aura in retrospect but it caused him a great deal of stress even if he never regretted what he did.

The United States changed a great deal more than Ali did from 1967 to 1970 — though not always for the better. The liberal Lyndon Johnson (who, lest we forget, was a hawk when it came to the Vietnam War) stepped down from the Presidency and his successor was Richard Nixon. Yet, opposition to the conflict in Southeast Asia only grew. Meanwhile, the Motown label began to go establishment as they prepared to move from their homebase of Detroit to the glitz of Los Angeles, while, at the same time, many of the artists and songwriters in their employ started embracing social issues.

I recently discussed in passing The Temptations' hit single "Ball of Confusion". Rather than being a mere one off, however, the quintet had been dabbling in socially conscious music for a while. Composers Barrett Strong and Norman Whitfield had initially written "War" with them in mind but their version was destined to be just a deep cut on their 1970 album Psychedelic Shack. Still, it had all kinds of commercial potential and so the call went out to find someone who could make it into a hit. Edwin Starr hadn't made much of a name for himself by this stage so perhaps it was deemed suitable for him to record politically contentious song since it wasn't like it was going to further damage his reputation or anything.

Right from the off it is clear why Starr's version of "War" is more suitable than The Temptations'. He's forceful while their conviction, well, isn't as convincing. He really means it while they only mostly do. Tom Breihan hears more than a little James Brown in Starr's grunts and groans but I hear it more as one individual influencing another rather than brazen copying. He never sounds like anyone other than himself. Though a steamroller vocal with an unforgettable agit-prop chorus doesn't a classic make, it doesn't fall all that short of it either.

But before I get to my chief criticism, let's bask in some love for Starr. While label-mate Marvin Gaye has often been described as the kind of vocalist who could pull off "singing the phone book", had Starr been given that task, it's easy to picture him responding with a forceful "fuck that shit!". He had to have material that he genuinely believed in. It is any wonder he had difficulty catching on when all Berry Gordy and co. could give him was mostly sub-standard crap? (The major exception being the 1969 US/Canadian Top 10 hit "Twenty Five Miles" which is probably his finest single) While I may come away from repeated listens to "War" with no idea as to the meaning in the verses, my admiration for Starr only continues to grow. He makes his signature song in every way.

The Beatles were the only figures in popular culture who rivaled Muhammad Ali — even if by 1970 they were fading away just as he was returning to the spotlight — with John Lennon being every bit the loudmouth piece as the Louisville Slugger. "War" may have represented much of what Ali stood for but Lennon must have looked upon it with a certain envy. Those sloganeering choruses were a thing the so-called "smart one" had been working on as early as 1967's "All You Need Is Love". Though successful and memorable, they tended to be low on substance (the "popeyes and rabbis..." verse of "Give Peace a Chance" may well be Lennon's single worst lyric). Though the by-now erstwhile Beatle would praise "War", it is beset by a similar faulty craftsmanship: all sizzle, no steak. And like Lennon himself, Strong and Whitfield had the pop background that should've made them know better.

Score: 7

Mungo Jerry: "In the Summertime"

September 6, 1970 (2 weeks)

While hardly the worst thing about it, I found myself not being able to get past the fact that Miguel Rios' "A Song of Joy" was released smack dab in the middle of the summer. It would have been hard enough to take as a Christmas number one but at least it would have been understandable. This is a position winter and/or seasonal songs can't seem to avoid. Leaving aside pure Christmas favourites, I once blogged about a short lived Liverpool group from the early nineties called River City People. Their sole UK Top 20 hit was with a cover of The Mamas and the Papas' "California Dreamin'" which was released in the summer of 1990. I don't know if anyone else thought it weird but I found the idea of them singing of going "for a walk on a winter's day" very out of place in the midst of a very hot summer.

True summer hits rarely get bogged down by this. You can appreciate either the joy of the sunshine and holidays or the melancholy that comes along with them during your break from school or work. Alternately, you may use them to escape the snow, freezing air, icy streets and bitter winds by taking in the summer fun out of season. Sly and the Family Stone's "Hot Fun in the Summertime", The Lovin' Spoolful's "Summer in the City", Bananarama's "Cruel Summer", Belle and Sebastian's "Summer Wasting": they all work no matter what time of the year it happens to be.

Mungo Jerry's one major North American hit had already been released in the UK and Ireland that June and would top the charts in both countries as a carefree summer anthem. Delays that came with shipping times along with the glacial pace of the charts during this period ensured that "In the Summertime" wouldn't reach its Canadian and US peaks until the cottages by the lake had been boarded up and the kids were back in school bluffing their way through trying to speak French. Rather than being handicapped by this, however, it comes across even better due to its tardiness. The summer that was dragged down by reruns on TV and too many rainy camping trips suddenly seems appealing when the leaves are changing colour and the homework is piling up.

The late sixties movement towards roots music seemed handcuffed to a tedious seriousness. No group epitomized this better than The Band. An accomplished live act with a high standard of group interplay between its five members, they were deeply influential and remain highly regarded by fellow musicians, critics and fans to this day. As a collective they were also gigantic bores. Though at least three of them — Rick Danko, Richard Manuel and Robbie Robertson — were talented songwriters, that Weight that they so stirringly sang of seemed to follow them around. Their material was bereft of humour and they smacked of the sort of people who would look down upon pop or any kind of music that might engage with audiences. The image of a stern Levon Helm on drums seemed to spread to the others even if it may have clashed with their real personalities. (In the documentary Festival Express, a chemically-aided Danko happily duets with Janis Joplin with backing from members of The Grateful Dead. The singer has a boyish charm while acting like a total horndog and he looks relaxed. He clearly isn't some phony pioneer type chopping down lumber for a living in spite of what The Band's mythology would have you believe)

They may have played basic — even primitive — instruments but Mungo Jerry weren't about to be sucked in to some 'real men playing real music' nonsense. If a member of your band is blowing into jugs then you can't get too high and mighty, can you? Tempting though it may be to dismiss "In the Summertime" as good, inconsequential fun, I'd say those are qualities that some of their contemporaries could've done with. Their perspectives on drinking and driving ("have a drink, have a drive, go out and see what you can find") and the opposite sex ("if her daddy's poor, just do what you feel") aren't great but what are a bunch of free spirits in the middle of the sexual revolution to do but be caught up in excess?

"In the Summertime" is a very likable song but only up to a point. It doesn't command attention, doesn't expect us to listen to it on repeat. It doesn't need to be heard many times before it implants itself in the mind. Like Billy Joel's "My Life" and Blondie's "The Tide Is High", it is one of those tunes that it feels like it was always around despite the fact that my parents never had it on record when I was growing up. While some overly familiar numbers can surprise you when re-visiting them in adulthood, Mungo Jerry's signature hit sounds more or less the same as it always did. This is no bad thing only that it leaves "In the Summertime" as the type of thing you never need to hear again. Unless, of course, it's summer — or winter.

Score: 7

Mashmakhan: "As the Years Go By"

August 22, 1970 (2 weeks)

With sixteen Top 40 entries to date, including four number ones, The Guess Who have been credited with ushering in a golden age of Canadian pop and rock, one that would last through much of the seventies. This blog will be looking at Gordon Lightfoot, The Bells, The Stampeders, Anne Murray, Neil Young and Edward Bear before long but not everyone can be fondly remembered or, in some cases, ridiculed for being shite. Some ended up slipping through the cracks even if their biggest hit is something of a minor masterpiece.

Quebec's Mashmakhan. They named themselves after a locally acquired brand of hash and got away with it. Though obviously big enough to have had a number one smash (which also charted internationally), they would become overshadowed by the group that was formed out of their ashes, hard rockers April Wine. They must've seemed like part of Can Rock royalty until they proved unable to follow their one big hit. Not quite one-hit wonders though they might as well have been.

The problem with progressive rock groups during this time was that their ambitions stretched far beyond what the pop singles charts had to offer. Many only bothered putting out 45s because that was what was expected of them. Singles were a mass-produced water colour on a Hallmark greeting card; albums were the canvas for all their grand plans of conquest. And when they weren't cutting LPs they were doing the next best thing: extended jams on stage to small but very appreciative audiences. (Ironically, a number of British prog rockers would go on to do very well on the RPM charts as they began to scale back in the wake of punk's rise in the second half of the decade)

It's a shame so many of them were attracted to the concept album madness of Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and In the Court of the Crimson King since packing all their dynamic skills into a 7" pop song would've been good discipline. Plus, with singles going well beyond the three minute mark by this point, it wasn't as if they would've had to sacrifice a whole lot of soloing anyway. Singles were also a good and cheap starting off point: the place where bands with aspirations that far exceeded their budgets and even skills could cram some promising ideas together and see what came out it.

Considering how long it took for a domestic act to master Britain's other major subgenre of the early seventies (glam rock), it is surprising how quickly at least four Canadians managed to master progressive rock. Groups like Yes and Genesis were only getting started while Pink Floyd were still working out the kinks of shifting over from acid rock. Yet Mashmakhan took to it right away. That said, "As the Years Go By" is merely a glimpse of what they had in mind. Perhaps they were already outgrowing the pop charts.

Aided along by stellar performances in Toronto, Winnipeg and Calgary as part of that summer's notorious Transcontinental Pop Festival (which would eventually be immortalized in the wonderful documentary Festival Express), "As the Years Go By" would be a bittersweet hit just as August was wrapping up. That sort of 'goodbye summer love' smash that ought to be part of every teenager's vacation. It's that type of song that feels like it has something for everyone. You could just as easily get stoned to it as have your first kiss as it was playing. Kids might have even danced to it had the desire struck them. Whether you were hearing on the CHUM radio station or at McMahon Stadium, its status as a prog rock classic wouldn't have even entered into it. "As the Years Go By" was merely a great pop song that loads of Canadians embraced. Sometimes that's the best that can be hoped for even if you're the type of band who has far bigger fish to fry.

Score: 8

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

August 8, 1970 (2 weeks)

"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 ABBA in the era prior to their reassessment. A turning point was the release of If I Were a Carpenter in 1994. A rare tribute album from the nineties that didn't include Elton John, it featured indie and indie-adjacent stars such as Sonic Youth and Sheryl Crow doing unique but affectionate covers of some of Richard and Karen's most famous numbers.

Like a lot of tribute albums, If I Were a Carpenter 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. Babes in Toyland's "Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft" sounds exactly like a grungy take on prog space rock. Cracker's "Rainy Days and Mondays" brings a welcome slacker vibe that would never have occurred to the diligent Carpenters. 

The song that sticks out the most is The Cranberries' "Close to You". The Irish quartet had only recently broken through with the yearning beauty of "Linger" and their next major hit, the less engaging "Zombie", 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 Dolores O'Riordan, she was no Karen and it seemed like The Cranberries had bitten off more than they could chew.

(In retrospect, their version of "Close to You" also stands out due to O'Riordan's untimely death as well as her dangerously rake-thin 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 The Cranberries' 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 Bachrach and David piece like "Close to You" 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 Wrecking Crew 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 Bachrach and David — 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* 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 Sonic Youth will have you believe.

Score: 4

Miguel Ríos: "A Song of Joy"

July 25, 1970 (2 weeks)

Yes, you're reading that right. "A Song of Joy" hit the number one spot on the RPM hit parade on July 25, 1970. Precisely five months earlier (or, indeed, seven months later) would've made more sense. The Canadian public hadn't really shown much interest in taking a Christian hymn to the top of the pop charts at Christmastime but somehow or other one managed to do so in the middle of the summer.

So, how did Miguel Ríos' "A Song of Joy" become a chart topper, especially at such a random time of the year? Was it helped along by a notable lull in the charts that July? Here is the RPM Top 10 from the week that Ríos reached the summit:

1. Miguel Rios: "A Song of Joy"
2. Three Dog Night: "Mama Told Me Not to Come"
3. Freda Payne: "Band of Gold"
4. The Carpenters: "Close to You"
5. Mountain: "Mississippi Queen"
6. The Temptations: "Ball of Confusion"
7. The Pipkins: "Gimme Dat Ding"
8. Five Stairsteps: "O-o-h Child"
   
9. Melanie with the Edwin Hawkins Singers: "Lay Down (Candles in the Rain)"
10. Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young: "Teach Your Children"

Not terribly impressive competition on the surface. About half the acts present are in effect one-hit wonders. That said, there are some solid singles present. "Band of Gold" is groovy, "Mississippi Queen" rocks and "Mama Told Me Not to Come" just about manages to do both. "Ball of Confusion" is an appropriately confusing mess but it has its charms — and I will always wish we could return to an era in which ambitious songs like this have at least a fighting chance of making the Top 40. Yet, it's "O-o-h Child" that should've been the number one smash that I'm writing about now. (I would've given it a 9) The second worst song present is probably "Gimme Dat Ding", a British novelty hit that had no business crossing the Atlantic. It's first half is moronic fun but there's no reason to even bother sticking with it to the end. On the other hand, that's more than what can be said for "A Song of Joy", a grim, sickly outing that can't quite even make the most of its use of Beethoven's 9th.

Though either way too late or far too early for Christmas, timing was very much on Ríos' side. Spiritual pop was at its peak and this was also the beginning of the apogee of progressive rock. While no one was confusing this for something that The Moody Blues or King Crimson or Procol Harum had worked on, the use of symphonic elements inevitably rubbed off on a few of the lesser lights. But then, it isn't great spiritual music either. While the search for enlightenment and meaning that came out of the ashes of the hippie movement has a great deal to answer for — mostly a load of dangerous cults which, at best, ruined families and wiped out savings accounts — it did result in some strong pop, rock, soul, gospel and even jazz. (Say what you will about Scientology but at least it inspired the works of Chick Corea, Stanley Clarke and Edgar Winter) Rather than exploring new ideas, Ríos retreats into tired old Christianity. The fact that he's sincere in his piety doesn't help either. The running time of just short of five minutes seems to stretch out like a sermon delivered by a parson who loves the sound of his own voice. "A Song of Joy"? I don't sure don't hear any.

Oh, and I never did attempt to answer the question above: how the hell did "A Song of Joy" go all the way to number one? Well, I think there are two possibilities. The first is that Canadian youths on the whole weren't really paying attention to the music scene that summer. They were on camping trips with their parents or friends, attending summer school or summer camps or maybe they had summer jobs. Perhaps they were just hanging out and enjoying their holidays with little thought to what was popular at the moment. Seven or eight selections from the Top 10 listed above could've been memorable summertime faves — teenage boys rockin' out to "Mississippi Queen", "O-o-h Child" and "Band of Gold" could've been popular on jukeboxes all over Canada and "Close to You" would've been a great anthem for fleeting summer love — but "A Song of Joy" got the faithful out to push it over the top when the secular folk had better things to do. There's also the possibility that people are idiots. They had several good-to-great singles to opt for but they went with the worst one. Well done.

Score: 1

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

July 11, 1970 (2 weeks)

Over 400,000 people attended the Woodstock Music and Art Fair in August of 1969 but it might as well have been 400,000,000 the way some people describe it today. Not only do a suspiciously large number of individuals claim to have been there (it's as if none of them died over the past fifty-seven years other than many of the artists and most of the organizers) but mythology masking as history wishes we'd all buy into this crap too. The truth is, only a tiny fraction of Baby Boomers managed to make it to Bethel, New York that summer.

It's probably for the best most people weren't there. Many, many more got to enjoy a glimpse of it when they attended the film a year later and they got to experience the great music while being able to avoid the bad weather, the mud, the smell, the hunger, so many drug overdoses and, crucially, a handful of bad or indifferent performances from those not included in the footage. (The Incredible String Band went down badly, Ravi Shankar wasn't to everyone's taste and The Band were a bunch of surely, overrated tools)

Joni Mitchell famously decided to give Woodstock a miss. She had been interested in performing at the festival but her manager persuaded her to go to New York City instead so she could be a guest on The Dick Cavett Show. Her then-boyfriend Graham Nash played at Woodstock with the newly formed Crosby, Stills and Nash and he promptly told her all about it. She then sat down and wrote "Woodstock" in honour of the festival that she wasn't even at. It would go on to become one of her signature numbers, a major hit for both CS&N and, in the UK, Matthews Southern Comfort and a song still associated with late sixties' flower power counterculture. Mitchell's composition is a celebration of the back-to-nature spirit of the age which only manages to emphasize the idealism. You may not necessarily know she wasn't there by the lyrics but it makes sense given new age mysticism and good vibes present. Meanwhile, some of those who did show up wrote Woodstock tributes of their own but they were burdened by accuracy.

Poor old Melanie. She did a well received thirty minute set at one in the morning on the opening day yet she was left out of the movie. Still, not only did her career continue to take off but she had a breakthrough hit with "Lay Down (Candles in the Rain)", a far more realistic take on the Woodstock experience. Subsequent generations may have bought into the romance of the hippie era but the general public at the time clearly didn't mind having a much more measured view. There's a particular verse that I would like to highlight. Here are its four lines along with my own brand of analysis:

We were so close, there was no room. Yeah, no shit. It was uncomfortable. Nearly half-a-million people crammed into a farm will do that. Sure, that Max Yasgur guy was a successful dairy farmer or something but his property could've only been so big. Yet, everyone being packed in so tight was in keeping with the times so you all should've just sucked it up, right?

We bled inside each other's wounds. Gross. (On the other hand, I initially misheard Melanie and thought she's used a word other than 'wounds' which would've been even more disgusting) Charitably, she could have been singing about how members of her generation had these wounds that had been caused by the Kennedy assassination and the Bomb and 'Nam and all that shit and that everyone in attendance was giving each other emotional blood transfusions or something along those lines but she could've done with more elegant phrasing had that been her intention.

We all caught the same disease. Yeah, leftism, am I right? I jest but I can imagine a few sad, crew-cut sporting Nixon fans saying something along those lines. It would be interesting to find out if there were any long term health problems that affected attendees as Melanie seems to be suggesting. In any event, I think Mel has hammered the point home sufficiently by now. (There is a longer version of "Lay Down" out there but I'd rather not risk hearing about people sharing each other's backwash or stepping on discarded ban-aids or other stomach-turning activities)

And we sang the songs of peace. Seeing as how crowded and teeming with disease and rain-soaked it was, it's a wonder there weren't riots like at Woodstock '99. A credit to everyone that peace and love was a constant throughout the weekend's festivities — and hopefully it carried over in their everyday lives, even those who were on the way to becoming Yuppies.

Joining Melanie on "Lay Down" are the Edwin Hawkins Singers. While the best thing about this single, their presence seems to take you out of being at Woodstock. Like Joni, the gospel act best known for "Oh Happy Day" weren't there, though they would appear earlier that the summer at the so-called 'Black Woodstock' held in Harlem (and not to be confused with the music festival that was supposed to run concurrently with the famous Muhammad Ali-George Foreman Rumble in the Jungle fight in the former Zaire). A gospel act at the hippie love fest might've been a good idea but having them on this song doesn't right a wrong. It even manages to trivialize the overt realism of Melanie's lyrics a little.

The other thing wrong with Hawkins and his group of female singers is that they do not do Melanie any favours. I must say I'd been expecting her to sound like a prototype of those quirky female folk singers from the Lilith Fair era — a sort of Manic Pixie Dream Girl with an acoustic guitar — but her voice was far too gravelly. She did all right for herself anyway with her Woodstock set being more than respectable. Nevertheless, she's way out of her depth next to a choir full of commanding vocalists. If she had been hoping that they might build her up then I hope she wasn't too disappointed. Last time I credited Rare Earth for being "pioneers in the 'nondescript white band with a Motown fixation' game". As if not to be outdone, Melanie Safka's first of two RPM number ones place her at the forefront in the 'white girl singers who think they can play with the gospel vets' stakes.

"Lay Down" isn't a great song but it remains a fascinating period piece from a time that has been mythologized to death. This first hand account may not feed into the public's dream of peace and love and music but it ought to be an antidote to much of the accompanying bullshit. Perhaps it would be better remembered had Melanie been as talented a songwriter as Joni Mitchell. Alas, we all can't be Joni, can we?

Score: 5

Rare Earth: "Get Ready"

July 4, 1970 (1 week)

The simplicity of Motown must've really done a number on generations of white pop and rock groups. Knocked by soul purists as commercial pablum, the hits of The Supremes, Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, Four Tops, The Temptations, Marvin Gaye and many, many more left a mark on young people that remained. Some artists flourished because they couldn't or wouldn't allow the Motor City influence to weigh them down. For example, would anyone even be aware of the role Motown played musically on English singer-songwriter Billy Bragg if not for directly name checking one of his idols in "Levi Stubbs Tears" or in the one off pastiche "Upfield" (a 1996 single that few even remember anymore)? Others haven't been so fortunate. Just as Beatles influence seems to inevitably result in lots of critically acclaimed yet surprisingly unsuccessful - not to mention boring - power pop and Dylan influence amounts to an endless stream of very basic folk rock, Motown influence seems to come down to copying its formula but not quite getting the magic.

Rare Earth were pioneers in the 'nondescript white band with a Motown fixation' game. They, like many others who followed them, no doubt made a decent living as a glorified hotel bar covers band. This was something they weren't terrible at. You'd be forgiven for dismissing them as one-hit wonders - or, more accurately, I'd like you to forgive me for jumping to this conclusion - but they had five Top 20 entries in both the United States and Canada. Clearly, they had something that worked, at least for a little while. White guys who did a reasonable job at aping the most commercial form of black music since the heyday of swing jazz? Let's print some money!

"Get Ready" had been written by Smokey Robinson as another possible hit for The Temptations, a vocal group who leader of The Miracles had been writing for. While The Supremes and Four Tops had been knocking off Top 10 hits with ease, The Temptations had been a little more up and down. "Ain't Too Proud to Beg" stalled at number eleven on Billboard's Hot 100 and somehow missed the Top 40 entirely up in Canada. Other singles failed to even do that well but they did hit gold with the effortlessly brilliant "My Girl". Still, it was their sole Top 10 hit of the Smokey era. "Get Ready" proved to be yet another fairly minor hit which would pave the way for the more commercially successful Norman Whitfield years. 

I must say I'm not the biggest fan of The Temptations. While the other major Motown acts had qualities that made them stand apart — the powerhouse vocals of Levi Stubbs with the Four Tops, the silky smooth yet somehow melancholic Smokey Robinson, the gritty ladies man Marvin Gaye — there wasn't really anything truly distinctive about them. They had solid harmonies but that was something virtually every in the Motown family had going for them. Not helping matters is that The Temptations have been treated to some absolutely horrific cover versions, including Rick Astley's "Ain't Too Proud to Beg" and UB40's "The Way You Do the Things You Do". While being undermined by an interpretation isn't their fault, I think these covers only managed to expose how these weren't quite top tier songs to begin with.

That all said, I have nothing against the original "Get Ready". I'm not as crazy about Rare Earth's version from 1970 but it is merely serviceable. Is it a crime against pop justice that they had the huge hit with their faux-live recording when The Temptations only did modest numbers? I suppose so but there were loads of Motown hits for the public to attach themselves to in the mid-sixties. A white rock band's spirited but weak take on the Detroit sound? Not quite as commonplace, even if it wouldn't be long before half the bands out of Britain would be trying much the same thing. The novelty is probably its main selling point. Listen to those rough and tumble guitar parts! The disciplined Funk Brothers must've had a fit. Otherwise, there isn't much to recommend it besides giving you a greater appreciation for what The Temptations were able to get out of it.

The decline of Motown is difficult to track. It could be down to boss Berry Gordy's twin decisions to (a) move company headquarters to Los Angeles and (b) focus more on the motion picture industry. Nurturing young groups and singers from the Michigan area became less and less of a priority. Ironically, the members of Rare Earth were from Detroit making a white rock group one of the label's last home grown acts. While there's nothing inherently wrong with a black label signing a milquetoast rock group, it does smack of the sort of thing they'd do to capitulate to radio stations that wished to continue their own brand of segregation. Whites seldom did much creatively when they were too in the thrall of Motown but that didn't mean there wasn't truckloads of money to be made off of them.

Score: 4 

The Beatles: "The Long and Winding Road"

June 20, 1970 (2 weeks)

"Recurring wrong notes at 0:28, 2:10 and 3:07; mis-strikes at 2:39 and 2:52; drop outs at 2:59 and 3:14; a fumble at 0:19; a vague glissando at 1:03; a missed final push at 3:26. (One can hear McCartney grin at his partner's incompetence at 1:59)"

The above is a footnote in Ian MacDonald's extraordinary book Revolution in the Head. It is probably my favourite passage from it. The fact that MacDonald took the time out to listen for all of John Lennon's mistakes made as a bassist is remarkable enough but for him also to note the presence of an audible smile is a whole other thing indeed. Can anyone say for sure if Paul McCartney was in fact grinning at Lennon's clumsy playing? No, probably not, especially considering that he had gone a few bars without fucking up at that point. While there's no mistaking Paul's grin, it's more likely he had been prompted by John pulling a face.

McDonald took the time to point out all these errors because he wished to put Phil Spector's work on "The Long and Winding Road" in context. Recordings of the song were rough even without Lennon's awful bass playing factored in and the eccentric producer "had no choice" but to cover it up with layers of orchestrated Wall of Sound nonsense. And you know something? Some of it even belongs.

Now, for sure there's too much of it and it drowns out George Harrison's guitar part and Billy Preston's organ (and, mercifully, Lennon's bass). If I had been in Spector's position, I would have (a) not murdered anyone, (b) not acted like being a producer was an "artiste" and (c) not bothered with the tasteless choir. He also expressed his disappointment with the harp which closes the song out and on this he is one hundred percent justified.The orchestra, on the other hand, isn't bad all things considered. McCartney requested that it be "reduced in volume" but, notably, he never explicitly called for it to be removed completely. Even as is it isn't a total distraction. The real saving grace of the Spector mix though is the lonely trumpet solo which yearningly accompanies the singer's anguish.

As I have already discussed, many of McCartney's compositions during the last year or so of The Beatles seem to be either consciously or unconsciously bidding his old life farewell. "Hey Jude" has him and Lennon beginning to live their lives apart from one another with the loves of their lives replacing each other. "Two of Us" looks back at a burgeoning friendship from the vantage point of a pair of individuals who are growing apart. "Let It Be" has him learning to accept that the future might be different that what he had had in mind. While "The Long and Winding Road" seems to be cut from the same cloth, its narrative is vague. Lennon's shadow hangs over the others but his presence here is as non-committal as his bass playing. 

As MacDonald states, McCartney was a "hurt and worried man" during this time. His other major works balance out the potential loss of his friend and chief collaborator with the promise of a future with soon-to-be-wife Linda but she doesn't seem to play much of a part here either. Having been the de facto leader of the Fab Four since the autumn of 1967, it seems a little out of character for him to be seeking to "know the way" from someone else — but I guess it just goes to show you that even the biggest control freaks on Earth sometimes lose control. The lyrics to "The Long and Winding Road" don't read particularly well but McCartney does such a convincing job that it couldn't matter less. Very few in pop have ever been able to sell what they're offering as consistently as Macca and this is a particular credit to him given that he hasn't always made much sense with the words he puts to paper.

All that said, "The Long and Winding Road" is far from perfect: a flawed if misunderstood Spector remix covering up for a very flawed performance of what sounds like a not-quite-finished work. While MacDonald (and Spector himself who may have had Revolution in the Head in mind when he explained in a 2009 documentary that his use of orchestration was to mask the shoddy bass playing) can go after Lennon's inability on an instrument he had very little interest in, it's likely that his biggest affront to the present single is his lack of participation in the writing. The eyeball-to-eyeball approach from the Beatlemania period was long gone but even the regular consultations between Lennon and McCartney seemed to be disappearing by 1969. (Their final 50-50 collaboration was "I've Got a Feeling" and even it is more like two separate songs stitched together rather than a genuine co-write) Even if the two were no longer best mates it must've bothered McCartney that they couldn't even operate as a fully functioning songwriting two-headed monster anymore. If he had been kept waiting on that road for the restless Lennon to rejoin him then it's no wonder he never got back to his door.

Score: 7

Ray Stevens: "Everything Is Beautiful"

June 13, 1970 (1 week)

A few years ago I read a novel called 419 by Will Ferguson. He had previously been known for his humours travelogues but this was a big departure for him. He admitted in interviews that his initial idea had been a comic work of fiction about a Nigerian prince who had been trying to save himself, his family and his fortune and had been seeking out individuals on the internet to help him. It was meant to be a parody of online scamming but it quickly took a dark turn and became a serious work on people getting swindled out of their savings and the dangers of trying to get by in a developing nation.

419 makes me think that something similar was going on with Ray Stevens when he was working on "Everything Is Beautiful". He had done pretty well for himself in the sixties with novelty pop and, crucially, he would return to his specialty before long (as we'll be seeing in this space before long). It's tempting to imagine him thinking he'd be doing a yet another comedy number spoofing the peace and love hippies only for it to turn into a love in of his own. The spoofer becomes the spoofee, or he would have been had anyone bothered spoofing this shit.

I like to think this is true but there's no way of knowing. Stevens has never suggested this was what was going on and, whatsmore, his latest album, also titled Everything Is Beautiful, includes nothing but earnest covers from country, pop and rock. (Only a spirited, if hollow, gospel-style take on The Beatles' "She Came in Through the Bathroom Window" even hints at his background in comedy and even it is short on laughs) Realistically, Stevens just wanted to go in a different direction, albeit on that he would ultimately be unable to sustain. This shit happens all the time.

I should utterly despise "Everything Is Beautiful" but mild dislike is as far as I can go. Doing my best to hear it as a novelty song of its own actually endears me to it a little. In hammering the point home about everything being so beautiful, it practically anticipates Tegan and Sara's stupidly catchy "Everything Is Awesome" from The Lego Movie. Plus, it could easily have been cheesier and far more cloying. I don't ask much from devotional music so if it manages to make avoid the urge to hurl then we're good. In short, it's a crappy song but I would've predicted far worse — and, who knows, that parody of the hippies I mentioned above would've probably sucked something awful as well.

Score: 3

~~~~~

Can Con

A new entry at number ninety-one this week. Sure, she didn't climb to the heights of Ray Stevens but it's worth noting the RPM chart debut of Joni Mitchell. The most famous alumni of the Alberta University of the Arts had a gem you may have heard of called "Big Yellow Taxi" which is for many her greatest composition. (It finished sixth in Mojo's recent "50 Greatest Songs of Joni Mitchell" list although take that with a grain of salt since I've never been particularly fussed by their choice for the top spot, "Coyote") Had it come out a decade or two later it probably would have been given longer title of "Big Yellow Taxi (Put Up a Parking Lot)" even though that confusingly makes it seem like the taxi itself was responsible for said parking structure. Notice, too, that it's 'PARKING LOT', not 'Parking Garage' as Americans seem to think it should be. I'm personally partial to her reworking of it on Mitchell's great 1974 live set Miles of Aisles, which is somehow both jazzier and more countrified as well as being even more effortlessly breezy than the original. Her more famous folk rendition here is perfectly good, of course, but I like the idea of Joni having a chuckle at the absurdity of paradise being transformed into a parking lot rather than simply mourning it. In fact, it's surprising how laid back she sounds even on the 1970 single release. Even coming out of Saskatchewan and Laurel Canyon and still being in her twenties, Joni Mitchell wasn't about to cater to what was expected of her. (Sadly, she won't be reviewed here until her involvement in an eighties' charity single but I'll try to follow her RPM chart progress as she enters her insanely great peak. Stay tuned.)

Creedence Clearwater Revival: "Up Around the Bend"

May 30, 1970 (2 weeks)

Few made the most of their opportunity like Creedence Clearwater Revival. Parlaying what could easily have been a one-and-done hit with their cover of Dale Hawkins' "Suzie Q" into a path towards their unlikely, if brief, bout of chart dominance, they had the advantage of leader John Fogerty's creative roll to end all creative rolls. The hits poured out of them through all of 1969 and they showed no signs of slowing down the following year. They already had six Top 10 hits in Canada prior to their first chart topper. In addition, CCR put out no less than three albums in '69 with two more to follow in '70. Pop stars just don't do prolific anymore, do they?

All that said, you have to wonder just why the masses fell for them so hard. Fogerty's faux-southern drawl might have prompted some interest at first but didn't anyone get sick of them after a while? The British may have had the right approach. "Proud Mary" gave them a well-deserved debut Top 10 hit in the UK and it was followed by "Bad Mood Rising" which made it all the way to number one. From there, chart placements were more mixed. The forgettable "Green River" peaked just inside the Top 20 which is fair enough but then fan favourite "Down on the Corner" only made it to thirty-one. From there, CCR would only have two more Top 10 entries in Britain. People got into them, liked some of their singles, couldn't be arsed about others and moved on. A perfectly respectable performance for your average band.

Then again, CCR were never your average band. I'm by no means showering them with praise, only I wish to point out that they were unique in how ordinary they were — and how ordinary they had crafted their image to be. Flower power hippies who tried to pretend they were at home doing swampy bayou blues and they actually got away with it. Your average band doesn't act this way. Their laid back style and songs about aimless dudes going about their business hit a nerve which no one else had even thought about touching. If they weren't the band that the era needed then at least they were what was deserved.

As if knowing that that their shtick would only last for so long, CCR just kept churning out the product. It was only the spring of 1970 when "Up Around the Bend" hit the top of the RPM hit parade but they had only a year-and-a-half left as a serious chart act. And it sounds like it too. "Proud Mary" and especially "Bad Moon Rising" may not have been exceptional singles but they were agreeable enough that they remain karaoke faves and campfire singalongs to this day but the bulk of their subsequent hits lack that connection with the broader public. "Who'll Stop the Rain" looked to the folky singer-songwriters of the age but it lacks poignancy. Country rockers like "Green River" smacked of being a genre exercise. A CCR that knew its place was one thing but when they attempted to branch out they looked like even bigger posers than they already were.

"Up Around the Bend" is yet another example of them subtly jumping from one style to another. In this case, it's the newly popular stadium rock. Considering Fogerty's croaky voice, his spidery guitar playing and the band's overall power, this isn't the worst shift they made. It might be the only one that sort of works. You even just about forget that they were a bunch of Bay Area phonies. In fact, it's more a realignment than a change of direction at all. They were a rock band at heart and this them doing it about as well as they could. It's no "Bad Moon Rising" but it is superior to just about everything to come in what was left of their stint at the top.

As I said above, CCR only managed to top the UK charts on one occasion. Meanwhile, in their native United States, they famously kept coming up short with no less than five number twos. Up in Canada, however, they hit the top spot four times. Considering they had already peaked creatively by the time "Up Around the Bend" reached the summit of the RPM listings, this quartet of reviews ought to chart their rapid decline from passable rootsy rockers to fairly miserable rootsy rockers. Such a meteoric rise merits a similarly rapid decline.

Score: 5

The Guess Who: "American Woman"

May 9, 1970 (3 weeks)

when: Summer 1987

why: Jealous of their culture, resentful of Reagan and how our PM sucked up to him/them.

Canada back in 1970 must've seemed like a pretty cool place to be for the most part. The Prime Minister was Pierre Elliot Trudeau, a wealthy intellectual playboy, who stood in stark contrast to the gremlin sitting in the White House — and Nixon was far closer to the norm in terms of quality of world leader at the time. Americans began flooding north in order to avoid and/or desert the Vietnam War draft and the majority of them remained. Culturally, we had an emerging, home-grown rock scene paced by The Guess Who, a group that would have its fourth and final number one hit just as almost everyone else was only getting started.

One the themes central to "American Woman" is that even when our collective self-esteem is registering well, we can't help but look south of the border. Many of the Canadians who are deemed national treasures reside in the States. (No judgement on my part since I don't live in Canada either) Some of the more renowned Canadians of the age were hockey players — Gordie Howe, Bobby Orr, Bobby Hull, Phil Esposito — who played for American teams while many of the leading voices in music — Neil Young, Joni Mitchell; Gordon Lightfoot tried it out but he swiftly moved back his homeland — had already sought out New York and/or Los Angeles in order to make make their fortunes. They became national heroes because they managed to hit it big down south.

I was ten years old back in '87. While I was interested in current events for a youngster, I found the Iran-Contra Affair coverage to be highly boring. Yet, I could tell that the US establishment was as corrupt as any of the countries they either propped up or tried to bring down. I watched Rocky IV that summer and had two big takeaways: (a) Apollo Creed getting beaten to death was highly traumatic and (b) the pro-American manipulation was staggering. Yet some in my homeland refused to see through this shit. Prime Minister Brian Mulroney spent the bulk of his nine years in power kissing US ass. He came by it so naturally that it was almost as if our PMs always bent the knee to their American counterparts. Yet, Trudeau butted heads with Nixon and Pearson and Johnson rarely saw eye-to-eye and Diefenbaker and Eisenhower must've made each other physically sick (because of course they did). That year or so in which Barack Obama and Justin Trudeau crossed paths as leaders was celebrated as one of the great bro-mances of our time but I'd rather they'd had more of a pleasant indifference to one another, as it should be.

when: 1988-89

why: I got sick to death of everyone in Britain going on about "Amer-eee-ca" and wondering if I was "Amer-eee-can".

The British certainly talk a good game when it comes to anti-Americanism but they can't quite commit to it. And you know something? I get it. Here I am listing off all the times I've been fed up with the US and their bullshit which only goes to show you that it hasn't been a constant. Still, we could use a lot more of their support on this one. I know it always comes back to music with me (this is a music blog so what do you expect?) but would it kill British pop stars to dial back on the North American tours with two dozen stops in various American cities plus an obligatory visit up to Toronto US tours? Would British podcasters and YouTubers care to acknowledge the presence of international audiences from outside the United bloody States?

"Sparkle someone else's eyes": an easy command to make. The British, for one, seem to be even bigger suckers for pro-US bullshit than the rest of us. I suppose if we as Canadians happen to be immune to their charms, there's always going to be others out there happy to lap it up. Still, it's the twenties and there's K-Pop and Netflix dramas from Norway and the appetite to adapt British sitcoms into toothless American remakes isn't really there anymore. We can easily opt out of the US and their cultural hegemony. Canada back in the seventies wasn't quite as fortunate.

I was baffled by the way Britons in the eighties seemed so in thrall to the US. (Of course, they'll deny this was ever the case but take no notice of these silly people) They had the best music, their TV wasn't as poor (I mean, the best American shows were pretty great but US TV is never short on dreck), their writers were generally of a higher caliber. More importantly, they didn't act like annoying Americans. British culture was far from perfect but I've never understood why the citizens of a country that has consistently punched above its weight would be so enamoured by that big uncouth monolith on the other side of the Atlantic.

when: 1993-1999

why: Incessant news coverage of freakshow shit about cutting off dicks, female teachers raping young students, the President getting a B.J., the Nancy Cerrigan-Tonya Harding incident and O.J. Simpson, all of which conspired to trivialize genuine tragedies that occurred during the same time.

The closest I ever got to becoming desensitized was during the Clinton years (I won't even bother trying to re-name them 'the Chretien era') when the news seemed jammed with all that crazy shit above and I began thinking of school shootings as more or less equal to all of them. The O.J. situation was a genuine tragedy but the media circus surrounding it drowned out any semblance of humanity. This may well have been the one bright spot surrounding 9/11 since it seemed to signal an end to this absurd period of time.

Even still, Americans like to make everything about themselves. A thousand people may lose their lives in Bangladesh but if a housewife drowns her children, which one do you think makes the headlines? The Clash put it best when they went right out and proclaimed "I'm So Bored with the USA" but The Guess Who said much the same thing seven years earlier on their most famous song. Speaking of which, it's pretty amazing that "American Woman" managed to top the Billboard Hot 100 when it was so brazenly anti-American. It's almost as if there are people in the States who are able to think for themselves and don't need right wing media to hold their hands and reassure them that their country is the greatest. That said, morons who figured it was all about American women being too much for foreigners to handle couldn't have hurt sales either. It's always a bonus when you can appeal to both enlightened Americans who know something's wrong while failing to turn off the idiots.

when: 2003

why: Their POS president and his godawful war in Iraq.

What was Lenny Kravitz thinking? Or that's what you typically hear nowadays. I think he deserves the benefit of the doubt on this one though. An African-American rock star who arrived at a time when he would've been expected to go into either rap or R&B set him apart. He has resided abroad for much of his adult life and many of his romantic relationships have been with women who come from other countries. Kravitz isn't Ted Nugent or Kid Rock. He isn't even Bruce Springsteen or Tom Petty. I think he hears "American Woman" and finds himself in agreement with much of it.

That said, his cover isn't in the same league as The Guess Who's original. While many interpretations of classic rock and pop songs are notable for how bloodless they are, his has energy and guts to spare but nevertheless fails due to it being no better than a competent but unremarkable band you might see at a local pub. You might find yourself singing along with it — as well as covers of "Sunshine of Your Love" and "All Right Now" — and their show might liven up your night of drinking with your significant other or group of friends but that's as far as it goes. While the original is a great song, there's surprisingly little too it. The chords don't change, the riff repeats itself, Burton Cummings doesn't veer off of 'spitting out bile' mode. You might think that such simplicity would've given Kravitz room to improvise and/or add a few touches of his own but, if anything, he only manages to reduce its complexities, if such a thing is even possible.

Americans and their nauseating apologists north of the border wondered where all this anti-Americanism came from but it has always been there in one form or other. There was resentment when the US stayed out of the two World Wars until they made their belated appearances in both. Canadians have used the old 'we don't want to be just like the Americans' excuse in order to justify keeping the royal family and for why Quebec's status is so important. We define ourselves in part based on how un-American we are. Wishing to have nothing to do with George W. Bush was reason enough to stay out of the war in Iraq.

when: 2016-present

why: Somehow the Americans elected and even bigger POS, one who also happens to be highly grotesque and a bully.

Trump is all of the above rolled into one. The blatant corruption, the upsetting way that people bow to the US even when we should all be united in opposition to them, the ghastly way a reality TV star conducts himself as leader of the free world, his unjustified, immoral war. It's remarkable it has come to this but perhaps it had been inevitable ever since American exceptionalism became normalized.

I don't know whether Cummings or Randy Bachman would agree but there is responsibility on the part of Canadians in all of this too. We can opt out. We don't owe them a goddamn thing. And Canadians who advocate "giving Trump the win" (yes, he's definitely the type of individual who is satisfied with winning just the once) or appeasing his increasingly deranged demands are perhaps worse than all the MAGA dimwits put together. What they do with their country is their business but keep it the hell out of ours. And this is what makes "American Woman" is even more relevant today.

Score: 9

Norman Greenbaum: "Spirit in the Sky"

May 2, 1970 (1 week)

It was 1970 and the landscape of a new generation of British rock and roll stars seemed bleak. A young Marc Bolan was still a hippie love guru fronting the still unshortened Tyrannosaurus Rex. The group formerly known as Ambrose Slade and now The Slade was trying to shake their skinhead roots. Bryan Ferry was teaching ceramics at London's famously progressive Holland Park School. David Bowie and Elton John were still struggling musicians with the former already being labelled a one-hit wonder. The Sweet were trying (and failing miserably) at making it as a bubblegum pop sensation. A year or two later they'd all be Glam Rock royalty.

Like a lot of subgenres, glam didn't mean anything until it suddenly meant everything. While they were still a decade out from music videos becoming commonplace (at which point many of the groups they had influenced were becoming popular), it was perhaps the first style to really benefit visually, especially since more and more British households had colour TV sets. Britons of a certain age will wax about how arresting it was seeing Bowie perform "Star Man" or Bolan's re-christened T.Rex doing "Hot Love" on Top of the Pops: while the singles themselves were fantastic, the makeup and outlandish gear the two sported proved just as significant.

The term 'glam rock' had yet to be coined and the presentation was still a ways away but the very first glam smash came in the spring of 1970. Rather than coming from the UK though, it grew out of San Francisco's hippie subculture. Spirituality had been at the core of flower power and youths experimenting with LSD but many were beginning to leave acid behind. Some moved on to even harder drugs. Others pursued religion with many winding up in all sorts of dangerous cults. The smart one in all of this proved to be Norman Greenbaum who turned acid-soaked folk into a charming gospel groove that espouses an enlightened and even chummy connection with Jesus Christ.

The key word in the lyrics of "Spirit of the Sky" is 'recommend'. I love the idea that Christ is just some friendly dude who puts in a good word for you in the afterlife, not unlike a friend of a friend who recommends you for a job. Or what about the idea that he's going to be "set up with the spirit in sky" like it's a blind date or something. This afterlife seems resassuringly casual. It's not something to fear. Try not to be a sinner but, otherwise, don't sweat it too much. As an atheist who attends church (don't ask), this appeals to me. 

Being proto-glam (or, as Aidan Curran puts it, "the John the Baptist of glam"), it's fascinating to consider the false promise that the British glam acts may have inferred from "Spirit in the Sky"'s North American success (it peaked at number three on Billboard's Hot 100 in addition to topping the RPM hit parade). T.Rex had only one Stateside smash with the re-christened "Bang-a-Gong" while Slade wouldn't crack the American Top 20 until the eighties when "Run, Run Away" gave them a fluke hit (and they remain beset with a prevailing falsehood that "Cum On Feel the Noize" is a Quiet Riot song; and, yes, I am aware that the hair metallers covered it). Roxy Music's belated US ascendancy — such as it was — missed out of their creative peak which led to the assumption that albums like Siren and Avalon are their best (they are not though the latter is very good). It took Bowie forever to catch on in the States. Elton John did become huge but he was more of a rock 'n' roll spectacle than a glam rock jewel. Granted, The Sweet did all right for themselves. Still, glam didn't really hit it big in North America like it did back in Britain. (As for north of the border, it wouldn't be until the rise of disco and punk that there would be a homegrown glam chart topper and there was only the one at that) Curious that it would be an American who got it all going.

Greenbaum tried it out as a folk song but it wasn't until his record label got a hold of it that "Spirit in the Sky" actually started going places. Here is another layer to just how unconventional it was: a non-Christian gospel song by a secular Jew who also happened to be an American pioneering a style of music that resonated far more over in Britain backed by a record company who helped make it better. Is it any wonder Greenbaum failed to have another real hit? He lucked out in his first opportunity but how can he have been expected to recapture something so unlikely?

Score: 8

The Beatles: "Let It Be"

April 11, 1970 (3 weeks)

"Are we supposed to giggle during the solo?"

Not everything that great wit John Lennon uttered made sense or was especially funny. Most of the time he nailed it but everyone whiffs a few. His little comment to Paul McCartney just prior to yet another take of "Let It Be" is one of them. His partner even replied with a quick "yeah" but nothing else. While often a no nonsense pro in the studio, Macca was not above cracking up and/or trading barbs with his old friend Lennon. But he clearly didn't find the line about having to "giggle" to be particularly funny — and neither do I.

Honestly, I don't even know what the hell John was talking about in this exchange. Some have said it was meant as a jab about the religious sanctimony of the song "Let It Be" being not unlike laughing in church but then why didn't ask about them NOT being allowed to giggle during the solo? Wouldn't that have made more sense? Ian MacDonald described Lennon's comment as "cruel" but I don't find it cutting enough to take it that seriously. (Mind you, I am the one writing about it at the moment so I guess I must take it somewhat seriously; I'll be getting to why soon, I promise!) It's just lame.

John Lennon in 1969: he found the time to hang out in hotel rooms with his new wife, meet with Prime Ministers and great thinkers of the age, go toe-to-toe with obnoxious cartoonists, promote peace, crash his car in the Scottish Highlands and raid Ronnie Hawkins' fridge for cold cuts but his musical contributions were remarkably minuscule, especially when you consider the prolific songwriting run he went on just a year earlier. While he was never above critiquing the work of his Fab Four co-leader, he seemed unable or unwilling to contribute to any of it. (His complaint about all the "junk" on the second side of Abbey Road might be one to take seriously but for the fact that he was responsible for much of that junk) The promo for "Let It Be" shows McCartney giving an impassioned performance, with a stern Ringo Starr providing reliable rhythm and George Harrison looking very committed as he gives solid backing vocals and a strong guitar solo. (Yeah, like I'm going to giggle at a George solo, John!) Guest star Billy Preston puts his gospel organ background to good use. Meanwhile, Lennon sits on the floor, plucking a superfluous guitar and is barely able to bring his lips close to the mic. Yoko Ono sits next to him looking profoundly uninterested but she's probably just feeding off of his boredom.

But even when he was in the wrong, Lennon could still have a point. The old curmudgeon would frequently knock much of McCartney's work in the seventies but his derision typically boiled down to expecting more from Macca — and I think this lies at the heart of why Lennon never cared for "Let It Be". Being comforted by his dearly missed mother in a dream was something close to McCartney's heart but perhaps it meant too much to him. While "Hey Jude" was worked on and altered at length until The Beatles finally got together to record it, "Let It Be" strikes me as very much finished almost as soon as it had begun. Three verses of vague wisdom and lots and lots of chorus. Of course, there's an upside in keeping things simple but not when it feels like it's covering up for a lack of ideas.

(Its message also rubs me the wrong way, particularly in the context of the 1987 Ferry Aid charity single released following the Zeebrugge Disaster in which nearly two hundred people lost their lives when the MS Herald of Free Enterprise capsized off the coast of Belgium. The right wing newspaper The Sun had promoted discounts on the vessel and their subsequent push to have many of the finest pop stars of the age was a clear PR campaign. In light of the negligence involved in the disaster, it feels a bit creepy to be singing of being resigned to one's fate. No, I'd rather not just let it be, thank you very much. How about we look into the role government deregulation played in the ship's sinking instead?)

All that said, "Let It Be" isn't a total bust. McCartney sounds as good as ever and, as I already mentioned, everyone else save for Lennon is in fine form. (It's a reminder that Macca and Harrison were the two Fabs who mattered most in '69 and I say that as a big Lennon guy) While it may feel like he's hammering home the "say goodbye to The Beatles" sentiment, it's hard not to feel touched by it. I wouldn't sing along with it at a McCartney concert (I can't even remember if he played it when I saw him in Seoul back in 2015 though I'm sure he did) and I have zero interest in ever hearing covered again but "Let It Be" is able to sneak up on me from time to time — and I've still managed to resist the urge to giggle during the solo.

Score: 6

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Hey! Where's...

He may have been comparatively inactive on the musical front in '69 but John Lennon got the seventies off to a hot start with his first solo triumph "Instant Karma! (We All Shine On)". Whack job producer Phil Spector may have been messing up remixes for The Beatles but at least he did his job properly here. The fantastic earworm chorus is only improved by Lennon's closeness to the mic as you can practical hear the saliva make contact. Ringo is as steady as ever too. Stuck first behind Simon and Garfunkel and then the Fabs themselves, "Instant Karma!" sat at number two for over a month. A pity since it would've been a sure fire 10 had it managed to climb to that elusive top spot. Lennon and Yoko Ono had made at least three visits to Canada the previous year but Montreal and Toronto weren't on their travel itineraries in 1970, especially after their plans for a music festival to rival Woodstock were permanently shelved. If only he'd been around that spring, the promo might have put it over the top.