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 with 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 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." Bobbie 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

The Rascals: "A Beautiful Morning"

May 11, 1968 (1 week)

As followers of this blog will have no doubt noticed, the pickings have been awfully slim as of late. After a rather splendid — if short lived — run of excellence covering "Itchycoo Park", "I Wonder What She's Doing Tonight" and "Baby, Now That I've Found You", there has been very little of note. (The very fact that a Herman's Hermits hit is arguably the finest of the lot says it all) But even when held up against the mid-level chart toppers, the recent quality has been poor.

Thus, "A Beautiful Morning" is an appropriately welcome ray of sunshine to this space. Anything remotely listenable would've been appreciated but The Rascals' fifth RPM number one would be a highlight even if it had been alongside your average fare of the age. (Come to think of it, all this bubblegum pop detritus was your average fare of this particular age)

While their first two chart toppers - "Good Lovin'" and "Groovin'" respectively — had The (then) Young Rascals hitting the ground running, they struggled somewhat to recapture the frenetic energy of the latter and the laid back charm of the former. "A Girl Like You" and, particularly, "How Can I Be Sure" weren't disasters but they still couldn't hope to compete with their predecessors. While they continued to knock out number ones in Canada, returns seemed to be diminishing elsewhere, including in their native United States. While they would never quite return to rollicking heights of "Good Lovin'" (though I don't imagine they had much desire to do so), "A Beautiful Morning" is a return to the graceful R&B of "Groovin'".

While the image of The Rascals was not unlike many within psychedelic rock, they sounded much more at home alongside some of the finest soul acts of the era. Like The Rolling Stones on the much maligned Their Satanic Majesties' Request, The Rascals had already excised the acid pop from their systems with on fourth album Once Upon a Dream. It's a more than respectable work but it was bogged down by comparisons to The Beatles' tour-de-force Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. (Co-leader Felix Cavaliere didn't help matters when he hyped it as "Pepperish" to the Melody Maker in the lead up to its release) But with that out of the way, they could get back to what they did best: mellow vibes for the Beautiful People to trip out on.

And who couldn't love "A Beautiful Morning" (even if you happen to be one of those sad people who claim to hate hippies)? It's not unlike (them again) The Beatles' "Good Day Sunshine", only you likely haven't heard it too many times. Or it's like (jesus, lay off all the Fab Four talk!) The Beatles' "Good Morning Good Morning", only it's missing the cynical humour. (Which may or may not be a bad thing depending on who you ask and/or what mood they're in) It's so good that it managed to survive despite the better part of a decade as the theme song to McDonald's pimping out their Egg McMuffins. If you're anything like me then you might well hum it to yourself as you're walking the dog or heading over to catch the bus — even if it happens to be miserable out. And if you happen to be one of those silly night owls then you probably don't deserve to have this minor masterpiece in your life anyway. That's right: I said what I said.

~~~~~

Finally, a little more on their re-christening from The Young Rascals to simply The Rascals. While hardly the most radical re-branding, it was apparently important enough for them to go through with it at the start of 1968. It was the name they had intended but they hadn't been permitted previously. Personally, I prefer the original. We've already met the rather poor Spanky and Our Gang and we didn't need yet another pop group who brought to mind the likes of Alfalfa and Buckwheat, particularly at pretty much the same time. Either way, though, it isn't a great name and one that didn't really suit them anyway. While they were able to carry on successfully after the name change (at least for a while), you have to wonder if it was really worth the trouble. In any case, they're hardly the only example of a good group with a lousy name (English sophiti-pop group Prefab Sprout are still the champs in this regard) so that's all I'll say on the matter.

Score: 8

Bobby Goldsboro: "Honey"

April 27, 1968 (2 weeks)

I spend far too much time on the social media app Threads. (I keep meaning to join Bluesky but one of these damn things is more than enough) While I have come across occasional bits of worthy music discussion, the majority of what I've encountered is the same old turgid crap. Stuff like, Remember the time U2 put a free album on iTunes and everyone freaked the fuck out??? or Can you name an album with no skips? or If I have to choose between Blur or Oasis, I'd choose Pulp. For the love of god.

Quite often I'll see a What is the worst song ever and why is it What's Up by 4 Non Blondes? thread (or something to that effect). Quite apart from the fact that if these dummies are able to answer their own question then maybe they should be explaining why (or, better yet, keep this shit to themselves), these clickbaity posts make me wonder if songs like "What's Up" and "We Built This City" are just stock answers now. (And, hey, I can hardly blame posters for offering these easy, thoughtless answers since they're responding to social media slop) Still, the music nerd in me can't help but shudder a bit since these people do not have even the slightest sliver of an idea what a crappy song is.

Just going by what's been included on this blog, have they heard "The Purple People Eater"? "Paper Roses"? "Donald, Where's Your Trousers?"? "Bread and Butter"? "Don't Think Twice"? "Simon bloody Says"? And these are just the absolute stinkers at the bottom: the Canadian number ones that have received scores of 2 or 3 from me aren't much better. Spoiler alert: Starship's "We Built This City" will eventually come up for consideration in this space. While I don't anticipate giving it an especially high score, I don't think it will be down with the dregs either. (Actually, I know exactly the score I'm going to give it but you're just going to have to wait!)

Which brings us to "Honey", an incredibly popular song at the time but one that has become nearly universally disliked by critics ever since. Aidan Curran describes it as "twee, simpering, condescending, hypermaudlin schlock" (I can confirm that every word of this analysis is correct). Meanwhile, the best thing Tom Breihan can say about it is that it isn't as awful as "The Ballad of the Green Berets" (again, no arguments coming from me). (The single's Wikipedia page isn't completely impartial itself with a claim that its status as one of the 'Worst Songs of All Time' is "hyperbolic") What strikes me is how it starts poorly and only gets worse from there. The last few seconds is a tasteless mush of choir and strings and almost makes me long for Bobby Goldsboro's insincere pleas from the beginning.

Where "Honey" really stands out though is in its ability not to imprint anything whatever on the listener. "We Built This City" has been stuck in the public consciousness for over forty years — which explains why it has remained so disliked — while Goldsboro's signature hit is somehow erased from the memory as soon as it is over. I have listened to it many times over the past week or so and I still can't recall a line from it or even the glimmer of its melody. My only takeaway is that while it does bring out the urge to be sick while its playing, my symptoms appear to clear up as soon as I've turned it off. Along with its advancing age, this is perhaps why very few on social media seem aware of this crime to recorded music.

1968 is beginning to look like an especially bad year for Canadian number ones. Bubblegum pop was already doing its part in dragging the charts down. Not to be outdone, maudlin country balladry came along and said "hold my beer!" and a new standard of crumminess had been set.

Score: 1

The Union Gap: "Young Girl"

April 20, 1968 (1 week)

So let's try to be as generous as possible. This guy knows what's been going on is wrong. He wants this young girl to go home to her mother so she can get on with the rest of her life and he can act like nothing happened. He's blaming himself at least as much as he's blaming her. (As the "get out of my mind" line in the chorus implies, he's responsible for his own thoughts) He didn't intend to be such a giant creep.

I shall now refute much of my generosity. Knowing it's wrong really doesn't make it any better and in fact takes what could plausibly be adjudicated a serious mental health issue and turns it into a straightforward crime. While going home would probably do her some good, this advice places the bulk of the responsibility on her shoulders. Sure, he blames himself for having some disturbing thoughts but she's still the one causing them. Creeps are seldom self-aware.

"Young Girl" makes for an uncomfortable listen in this day and age. Actually, it's hard to believe this hasn't always been the case but I can recall hearing it on sixties radio as a kid and not noticing just how inappropriate it is. I didn't care for it back then either but that was just because I couldn't stand the sound of Gary Puckett's overblown operatic voice. Now, it is perhaps the least offensive aspect of "Young Girl".

Like Anita Bryant's unbearable "Paper Roses", The Union Gap's biggest international hit would be an easy thing to crap all over even if it wasn't such a bad song; the fact that it is the shits to listen to is a bonus. While not quite as dreadful — Puckett's over-singing is still preferable to Bryant's ghastly excuse for a voice — it is still just as unnecessary to have around anymore. There are at least a couple more crappy Union Gap singles that oldies radio can play instead. It was a different time? It sure was — and that's precisely why we can happily leave "Young Girl" in the past where it belongs.

Score: 2

~~~~~

Hey! Where's...

I've been phasing out these extras of late but it's fun to occasionally bring them back. While it's hardly a chart injustice or anything but it's notable to see The Beatles stuck at number two while a pair of lousy singles had the top spot. "Lady Madonna" had been in the runner up spot while The Monkee's were in first place with "Valleri" and it remained there for "Young Girl". While hardly the Fab Four's finest work, it's still a rousing number with nifty fifties' piano work from Paul McCartney. Released while The Beatles were off in Rishikesh, India studying Transcendental Meditation and unknowingly entering their last act, it's a step up from the mediocre "Hello, Goodbye" but still not close to their peak. I tend to think it should've been released as an E.P. along with "Across the Universe", "The Inner Light" and "Hey Bulldog" which would've made for a more satisfying package. Meanwhile, coming up short no doubt gave the critics yet another chance to theorize over The Beatles going downhill. Relax guys, it won't be long now.

The Monkees: "Valleri"

April 13, 1968 (1 week)

Stan Mikita was a Slovak-born Canadian hockey player. A really good hockey player. He led the NHL in scoring several times and would eventually wind up enshrined in the Hockey Hall of Fame. Since he retired back in 1980, he is perhaps best known to my fellow Generation Xers for 'Stand Mikita's Donuts', a fictional coffee and doughnut franchise from the Wayne's World cinematic universe and obvious spoof of Canada's famous Tim Horton's chains. (For my part, I associate him more as being one of a handful of notable celebs with whom I share a birthday. Philosopher John Stewart Mill and singers Joe Cocker, Cher, Israel "Bruddah Iz" Kamakawiwo'ole and Nick Heyward are the others)

An oft-told story about Mikita is about his supposed change of heart from frequently penalized roughian to gentleman of the game. It is said that his young daughter had been watching him play on TV and later asked her daddy why he spent so much of the game "sitting down". It then dawned on Mikita that being in the penalty box for so long wasn't helping his team. In a remarkably short period of time his penalty minutes dropped off a cliff. He would soon end up winning the Lady Byng Trophy as the NHL's most gentlemanly player.

The story doesn't end there though. Mikita played his entire career for the Chicago Blackhawks, a talented but underachieving club for much of the sixties. He along with Bobby Hull, Glenn Hall and Pierre Pilote gave them a formidable top four but they routinely ended up getting bounced out of the playoffs by the more disciplined Toronto Maple Leafs, the deeper Montreal Canadiens or the tougher Detroit Red Wings. While it's certainly true that Mikita's habit of taking too many penalities hadn't helped the Blackhawks' cause, the playoff upsets continued even with his more well-mannered style of play. Gradually, his penalty minutes began to go back up, albeit not to the same grotesque extent of his early career.

I bring up this anecdotes because I think it illustrates how easy it can be to fall back into old habits. The Monkees had been formed as a vehicle for a sitcom as well as having records released in their name — but with a mandate that while Mickey Dolenz, Davy Jones, Mike Nesmith and Peter Tork would handle vocal duties, the musicianship would be kept mainly to studio pros. This worked a charm until the quartet staged a successful coup, wresting control away from the suits and giving them free reign over their singles and albums. Yet, this bid for self-sufficiency that they had fought so hard for wasn't to last: by the beginning of 1968, they once again began to rely more and more on sessioners. In effect, they group who had been belittled for not playing on their hits had reverted back to once again not playing on the few remaining hits they had left in the tank.

(I say "they" but it's worth noting that The Monkees' sixth and final Canadian number one features just a quarter of their membership. Davy Jones appears on lead vocals and that's where it begin and ends as far as Prefab Four involvement)

Reverting really is the name of the game on "Valleri" as well as on its accompanying album The Birds, the Bees and the Monkees. (The previously released "Daydream Believer" is the only one of its twelve tracks to include all four members and only one other track — "Auntie's Municipal Court" — has even two of them together; Peter Tork, in a move which foreshadowed his departure from the group at the end of the year, doesn't appear at all beyond his "Daydream Believer" piano part) In addition to the use of outside musicians, their penultimate Canadian hit marked the return of Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart to The Monkees' camp. (Though not as forgettable, its rather irritating follow-up "W.D. Washburn" somehow made it all the way to number two at the start of the summer) Yet despite having recently been at number one on the RPM hit parade with the perfect pop of "I Wonder What She's Doing Tonight", the pair failed to gift their favourite act anything close what they had saved for themselves. Even when held up against a brainless trifle like "A Little Bit Me, a Little Bit You", "Valleri" still comes across as underwritten and insubstantial.

Davy Jones was never the finest singer in The Monkees — though he also wasn't the worst (sorry Peter) — but he could typically be relied upon to add some charm. Not here though. His role appears to have been reduced to shouting over the racket. In turn, the noise seems to be there just to cover up for the fact that the song is so slight. Two verses of trite sentiment (even though the second verse hints at an Ugly Duckling-esque tale which Boyce and Hart neglected to elaborate on) and a chorus repeated ad infinitum. The studio musicians more than earn their modest session fees but that's about the best thing I can say about this real nothing burger of a single.

So that brings an end to The Monkees story on this blog. While a top chart act for only around a year-and-a-half, they sure packed a lot into their time on top. In addition to their hit TV series (which had only just been cancelled), they had two standout chart toppers, two more that were above average and a pair that basically sucked. Not exactly models of consistency but they nevertheless did quite a bit better than most would have predicted. Plus, they experienced an entire lifespan of your normal pop group in such a short period of time. And they were pop puppets who took back control, only for them to relinquish it when they couldn't or wouldn't handle it themselves. They were pioneers for all future manufactured groups who aspired to creativity and independence but who wound up in over their heads. And people say The Velvet Underground were influential.

Score: 2

The Delfonics: "La-La (Means I Love You)"

April 6, 1968 (1 week)

As everyone knows by now, the shift from one decade to another is largely meaningless. The future that we either can't imagine or are far too fanciful about doesn't occur simply because, say, the fifties comes to an end and is replaced by the sixties. (This is a fact that has been easier to accept in the post-Millennial world of climate change and regressive conservative policies) At best, a decade is able to soft launch and then gradually fade away over the course of roughly five years.

English critic Taylor Parkes has labeled the era from 1978 to 1983 as the 'eighventies', a period in which the seventies closed out and eighties opened up over the same time. Pretty much the same thing happened ten years earlier as well during what might have been dubbed the 'sevixties'. Musically speaking, one the first signs of this transition was the rise of hard rock in around '68, which will be coming to this blog in a few weeks. The other was what was to become Philly soul.

Smooth African-American pop was nothing new in the late sixties. This blog has already encountered The Rays' "Silhouettes", The Silhouettes' "Get a Job" and The Platters' "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" while much of Smokey Robinson's sixties output ("You've Really Got a Hold on Me", "The Tracks of My Tears", "I Second That Emotion": damn, how did he never have a Canadian number one?) leaned towards the slick side, even by Motown's standards. But very little until now had been so lush, so produced. In a rare case of black music borrowing from white pop, the influence of Phil Spector, Brian Wilson and baroque pop really began to grasp on to soul.

There will be far better examples of Philly soul to come — especially with the rise of funk music which gave it the shot in the arm it needed — but The Delfonics' "La-La (Means I Love You)" is as good enough a place to start as any. The original lineup of brothers William and Wilbert Hart and Randy Cain had gorgeous harmonies, the kind of which even The Temptations would have envied. Their signature song is really nice to have on but it does lend itself to being relegated to the background. It isn't especially moving or heart stopping the way seventies' soul acts — or even some eighties' quiet storm artists — managed to do with relative ease. It's just there. A good if unremarkable song in a year with its fair share of dismal pop hits. Better music would eventually come along, even if the 'sevixties' also had more than enough crap to answer for.

Score: 6

Georgie Fame: "The Ballad of Bonnie and Clyde"

March 23, 1968 (2 weeks)

"As I mentioned above, Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames will be appearing again in this space before long so we'll see if (a) he managed to get the hang of this jazz-pop stuff, (b) he somehow or other got worse at it or (c) he gave up and decided just to be another British invasion beat act. I'm not going to spoil the surprise so I'll be on a Fame embargo for a little while which won't be hard since I barely knew who he was until just recently".

Such were my closing thoughts in my first review of a number one smash by the former Clive Powell. We are now at his third and final RPM chart topper so I think the points above can now be answered.

(a) He got the hang of that jazz-pop lark - at least for a little while.

(b) If he didn't quite get worse at it, he sure as hell didn't improve beyond some early promise.

(c) He didn't resort to jumping on the British Invasion bandwagon just as it was grinding to a halt. Unfortunately, he moved in the direction of novelty Dixieland Americana instead.

Sixties' solo artists tended to be at a disadvantage when it came to their career paths. The majority were reliant on outside compositions which put them in the position of someone else calling the shots. (The one real exception in "British" pop was the American-born Scott Walker who became an accomplished songwriter,.even if his creative emergence seemed to coincide with faltering commercial prospects) Fame had been locked in with backing group The Blue Flames but their role began to take a backseat as the decade started to wind down. Though previous number ones "Yeh Yeh" and "Get Away" were flawed, they had a stylish, Continental appeal that fitted in with Sean Connery-era James Bond films and the novels of John le Carré. As for Stateside gangster films? Yeah, not quite so seamless.

I can sort of get what Fame was trying for on "The Ballad of Bonnie and Clyde" but I still can't help but wish that an old legend like Jack Teagarden had been recruited instead. (Yeah fine, the trombonist/singer from Paul Whiteman's orchestra and Louis Armstrong's group had been dead for four years by this point but it's still nice to dream) The panache of "Yeh Yeh" is nowhere to be found. While many British singers sound right at home pretending to be American, Fame sounds painfully out of his element. Songwriters Mitch Murray and Peter Callandar had been so inspired by the film Bonnie and Clyde that they promptly wrote this tribute which, appropriately enough, sounds hastily assembled. The lyrics are not quite accurate while the arrangement leans too far towards old time jazz-pop cliches. And despite being just over three minutes in length, it still wears out its welcome at around the halfway mark.

An odd quirk involving Georgie Fame was that his chart success was largely sink or swim. His trio of RPM chart toppers represents seventy-five percent of his total chart activity in Canada while in his native Britain, he had several Top 40 entries but only three of which managed to place in the top quarter — and they all happened to go to number one. (They were the same three singles that went all the way to the top in Canada) Nevertheless, it's an achievement to have multiple number ones, something he should be proud of to this day. Yet, by the time he was reduced to recording this dismal number it should have been clear that his run was just about done — and not a moment too soon.

Score: 2

1910 Fruitgum Company: "Simon Says"

March 16, 1968 (1 week)

The unjustly maligned "Revolution 9" aside, there may not be a more disliked Beatles' original than "Maxwell's Silver Hammer". The negative feelings go all the way to the top, with three quarters of the Fab Four either despising it outright (John Lennon) or having grown completely sick of it due to Paul McCartney's perfectionism in the studio (George Harrison and Ringo Starr). As if following their lead, virtually everyone — including many die hard Beatle obsessives — has a similar intolerance for it. Ian MacDonald described it as "tasteless" while Ian Leslie argues that its presence on Abbey Road allowed for John to construct a "public narrative in which McCartney was the cute populist, [while] Lennon [was] the fearless artist".

Complicating matters is that "Maxwell" is well made. McCartney's skills as a master pop craftsman are on display and the other Beatles (those who showed up to play on it at any rate; Lennon not being among them) are also in fine form. The production is clear, the arrangement is nice and who doesn't love a good Moog synthesizer solo? All that said, while it sounds nice, it's still awful. (My main gripe with "Maxwell" is lyrically: the rhyme schemes — "Maxwell Edison, majoring in medicine", "Rose and Valerie, screaming from the gallery — are too contrived to be believable while it's unclear if the murderous title character is meant to be a university undergrad or an eight year old; while McCartney could put hours of care into his music and arrangements, he could lack attention to detail when it came to the words)

There is more than a little of "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" in 1910 Fruitgum Company's debut Canadian number one "Simon Says", minus McCartney's Midas touch. Well made? Sure, I suppose so. The members of this band with the insanely stupid name sound like a capable group. Yet, they were going for the lowest common denominator and in this particular era that meant bubblegum pop. The clever strategy would have been to subversively edge the kids along with them but instead they chose to go out of their way to appeal to them. And, credit to them, it seemed to work. Though they never had a number one smash down in their native United States, the Fruitgum boys did okay for themselves for little while. (Sadly, we'll be seeing them twice more in this space) While they had their (presumably youthful) fanbase, their childish tunes probably inspired just as much of a backlash.

"Sometimes there is no gulf wider than the one between the 12 and the 13 year old boy," observes Tom Ewing in his review of the wretched novelty pop "Star Trekkin'" by The Firm. Too true. Sightly less contentious, though still noticeable, is the divide between kids who are just starting school and those who've been in it for a bit. A kindergarten student might really be into "Simon Says" as it plays in the gymnasium while standing in a circle with his classmates waving a parachute up and down. Join the big kids who sit at desks and learn about passe compose in French class and it becomes the first kind of music that they begin to look down upon. The kind of song that an eight year old would be embarrassed to even mindlessly tap their toes to. Perhaps the first example of how music doesn't age but listeners sure as shit do.

Score: 1

Bee Gees: "Words"

March 9, 1968 (1 week)

@spittingonbaldspots355        2 days ago

April 2026 anyone?

👍 87    👎    Reply

@PaulHeartsTelstar        1 day ago

OMG! I'm listening to Words in the same month of the same year as you! We must have a connection! Either that or this is just one hell of a popular song with millions of views.

@prussiansonthegolfcourse        3 years ago

What a song! I'm building a time machine to go back to the sixties...who's with me???

👍 513    👎    Reply

@PaulHeartsTelstar        1 day ago

I think I'll give it a miss actually. I don't want to risk accidentally killing one of my parents or triggering a butterfly effect that prevents them from meeting in the first place or getting involved with a member of the Manson Family. I'm happy just to idealize the past from the safe distance of the future, as God intended.

@uncoolfriend4chad        7 months ago

According to Wikipedia Robin Gibb appears on harmony vocals but I can't hear him at all. What do the rest of you think?

👍 6    👎    Reply

@PaulHeartsTelstar        1 day ago

Yeah, I don't hear him either. It sounds like a Barry Gibb solo work to me. I wonder if Barry had his part deleted which then played a part in Robin's departure in 1969.

@thisisanailshop        4 years ago

You think that I don't even mean

A single word I say

It's only words and words are all I have

To take your heart away

Words to live by...thank you Bee Gees. ❤

👍 408    👎    Reply

@PaulHeartsTelstar        1 day ago

Not to be that guy (even though I am that guy and always have been) but they're still only words as the Bee Gees themselves said. Plus, if the girl or guy he's singing to thinks he's completely full of shit then why shouldn't we feel the same? Of course, I'm just a sad old fart whose words have never done anything for anyone's hearts. Keep living your truth!

@SkegnessRocker

Such a great song from the late sixties. And what has come out since then? Nothing but crap!

👍 38    👎    Reply

@PaulHeartsTelstar        1 day ago

Hear, hear! I'm with ya buddy! 👊 There has been so much crap since then! That includes plenty of crap from the Bee Gees themselves, am I right? Not to mention Andy Gibb, Barbra Streisand, Dolly Parton, Kenny Rodgers, Dionne Warwick, Diana Ross...an endless parade of crap.

Score: 4

Herman's Hermits: "I Can Take or Leave Your Loving"

March 2, 1968 (1 week)

"We're just about done with Peter Noone on this blog and I can't say I'm going to miss the cheeky bugger."

Or so I claimed last November, the last time a Herman's Hermits single came up for consideration. Even though I didn't hate their cover version of The Kinks' "Dandy", it was clear that it succeeded in spite of the Hermit treatment; it only made me appreciate Ray Davies' songwriting genius even more than I already do.

So, I ought to be glad that they're finally bowing out after six RPM number ones and for the most part I am. Half-a-dozen is more than enough. Tom Ewing and Aidan Curran only had to write a single review apiece ("I'm Into Something Good" being their sole British and Irish chart topper) while Tom Breihan had just a pair to cover ("Mrs. Brown, You've Got a Lovely Daughter" and "I'm Henry VIII, I Am" which, surprisingly though mercifully, somehow failed to hit the top of the charts in Canada). Those guys might be able to write me under the table but how would they fare with having to share their thoughts on six chart toppers by Herman's bloody Hermits. That said, a small part of me is sad to see them go.

It's bizarre to think that Herman's Hermits were still a relevant chart act by the end of the sixties. They had seen off the majority of the competition — longtime rivals Peter and Gordon had begun to fade a year earlier — with the remaining elements of the British Invasion having grown into serious recording artistes with concept albums and drug addictions. Yet, with bubblegum pop at its peak, there was still a place for Peter Noone and his band who may or may not have played on their records. Noone was still young and boyish enough to hang with Davy Jones of The Monkees and that was more than enough of a reason to stick around.

Previous Hermit hits were unconvincing. In their cover of "Silhouettes", we're expected to believe that Noone would have drunkenly stalked his best girl so they he may catch her in the act of cheating on him. Nope, I don't buy it. On "Listen People", he's delivering an allegedly profound message of peace and understanding to a populace that had been looking to The Beatles and Bob Dylan for "the answer". Again, a good try but his nibs was out of his depth. This is what makes "I Can Take or Leave Your Loving" so refreshing: I can imagine him saying this to a groupie or even to a girl-next-door with a pretty smile. This is only from listening to it casually, as the narrative paints the young woman as the one at fault while our hero attempts to put on a brave face. This is the acceptable, pop-friendly side but I prefer to think of it as him having a nonchalant view on relationships in general. I mean, why else would he sound this chipper?

But that is the thing with Noone: very few in pop sound as genuinely optimistic as he does — and all the better for it since he sounds like he's being himself for once. "I Can Take or Leave Your Loving" isn't all that special in the scheme of things but I think it does fairly well when held up against the new generation of American bubblegum groups. It has no more substance than what the likes of The Union Gap and Paul Revere and the Raiders were putting out but it has a chorus you might want to sing along with and a melody that could see you through your day. Will I miss having to review Herman's Hermits singles? Not particularly but this final go has given me a newfound respect for Noone (as well as whoever it is that happens to be playing on this). Good to go out on a high note!

Coming up, a vocal group of considerable importance. One who took themselves very seriously while quite often appearing to be a joke. Barry, Maurice and Robin Gibb could've learned a thing or two from shameless spotlight hogger like Peter Noone.

Score: 6