Wilbert Harrison: "Kansas City"

May 11, 1959 (3 weeks)

I think we can say at this point that there are two songs by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller called "Kansas City". One of them is a 12-bar blues about sleaze bags wanting to go to the mid-western American city to pick up easy women. The other is a rock 'n' roll stormer about wanting to go there so the slightly less sleazy protagonist can simply "find" his "baby" there — and this is the one that also has the chant of "Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!" tacked on to its second half.

Apparently, they are the same song but I'm not sure how. Yeah, they're about this city I know little about beyond being the place where Charlie Parker was born and raised and where baseball greats George Brett and Bret Saberhagen played in the eighties and they were composed (or co-composed if you include the "Hey's" which came from a Little Richard song) by the same renowned songwriting team but what else is there?

What the "Kansas City/Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!" medley has going for it is a right kick up the backside that the shuffling original sorely lacks. Wilbert Harrison gives a very laid back performance which only makes it even more meandering — and if there's meant to be a degree of humour in his delivery then I'm not hearing it. No wonder the guitar solo is such a highlight since there's really nothing else that's notable. Tom Breihan notes that "it's hard to say why Harrison's version of the song landed and the others didn't" — and that goes for Little Richard's which he says was something he "essentially rewrote". And I join him in this puzzlement.

Breihan is nevertheless charmed enough to give it a respectable score of six in his review but I'm a lot less convinced. While there's really nothing like seeing an elderly blues musician perform in a dive bar on the wrong side of the tracks, it's a genre that doesn't do much for me when it comes to giving it a listen in the comfort of my own home. I suspect that people who are blues music devotees are not unlike those who claim to read philosophy books for pleasure: I'm sure they mean well and do appreciate these genres and have nice collections of them at home but how often do they get round to reading/listening to these works?

Critic Ian MacDonald considered "Kansas City/Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!" to be one of The Beatles' finest covers while my mum, a lifelong fan of the Fab Four, has never cared for it. I fall somewhere in between. I like the rumbling chug of the opening and the "Hey's" make it fun. I also imagine it would've been a stormer in the Liverpool and Hamburg clubs — and, indeed, it was said to have gone down so well at their near-impromptu show at Kansas City's Municipal Stadium that it prompted them to record it for their forthcoming album Beatles for Sale. But most of all it's impressive that they made something out of not a whole hell of a lot. Little Richard played an important part in that as well by sewing the two together into what is effectively a brand new song. They took something that isn't up to much and made it reasonably good and that's genius of a kind.

Score: 4

~~~~~

Can Con

There hasn't been much Canadian content of late with even chart regulars The Diamonds slowing down considerably from a year earlier. (Paul Anka almost always had one single or another wandering around the Top 50 but I'd rather not cover him unless I absolutely have to, which I sadly will have to eventually) But making their debut are Ottawa's The Talkabouts down at number fifty, a spot that had them in a tie with Steven Lawrence's "Only Love Me". (At forty-nine was a similar draw between Billy Storm's "I've Come of Age" and Johnny & The Hurricanes' "Crossfire" which really ought to have pushed the two below them out of the Top 50 altogether being that fifty-two songs is two too many). "Sweet Lovin' Baby" is passable first attempt and indicates that they had considerable promise. They never delivered on said promise but it was promise all that same. The Canadian pop/rock boom of the late sixties cannot come fast enough.

Travis & Bob: "Tell Him No"

May 4, 1959 (1 week)

Whether I've loved 'em, couldn't stand 'em or was utterly indifferent to 'em, I think I have managed to sort of understand what it was that made the previous forty-six entries on this blog popular enough to reach number one on the CHUM hit parade. The highly irritating novelty songs no doubt appealed to the kids and those vaguely jazzy instrumentals must have been favoured by older types — and those are simply the two most obvious examples.

But Travis & Bob's "Tell Him No" is a different beast from the rest. It isn't bad (though neither is it especially good), it's just incredibly hard to imagine it catching on with enough people to take it all the way to the summit of the Canadian chart. Obviously I've got an awful lot of ground still to cover but I have trouble believing I'll come across a single that sounds less like a number one (though there is a certain prog rock number from the early eighties that may well give it a good run for its money but we'll have to see). Weak-kneed, overbearing, convinced they're in control when they have no idea what to do: yeah, this song's got it all for manchild creepiness.

At first, however, "Tell Him No" seems way ahead of its time. It's impressive that a pair of young men in the alpha male fifties would be advocating for 'No Means No' anti-rape values if only that's what Travis Pritchett had intended when he wrote it. Okay, scratch that: they're all for a woman having self-determination over her own body when it comes to other guys who may be interested. Rather than attempting to make a case for why they might be the right the guy for her, they're all about convincing the girl to save herself for them. While the sentiment of the chorus is fair enough, the bargaining done in the song's middle eight comes across as pathetic. "It's all right to go to a party / It's all right to have some fun": I think you've already lost the battle if you're down to giving in on the fun she's permitted to get up to.

If the Canadian public really wanted a new Everly Brothers record then they ought to have been satisfied with their latest release "Take a Message to Mary", which had just entered the Top 10. While a minor work by their standards, Don and Phil's harmonies are as immaculate as ever, the backing is tasteful and Felice and Boudleaux Bryant handed in yet another peerless composition for the brothers to work with. It proved to be a modest hit compared to their recent imperial run but it is superior to "Tell Him No" in every respect. Why would you wish to have a third-rate "Bye Bye Love" when you could have the real thing?

One thing worth mentioning is that this single's rise up the charts is notable. Debuting at number forty-eight for the week of March 30, 1959, it was joined by a rival version of the same song by the duo of Dean & Marc (made up of brothers Dean and Mark Mathis who would go on to form The Newbeats who will be featured on this blog sometime within the next twelve months). This practice of the same song sharing a chart placement was not unusual at the time though in this particular instance something strange seems to have occurred. The two then shot up to twenty-six (where the April Fool's gag listed them as 'Princess Margaret', who, it should be noted, wasn't known to turned down the advances of her suitors) before hitting the Top 10 a week later. A week prior to this, Travis & Bob & Dean & Marc were at number five. But then, the Mathis brothers disappeared and suddenly it was just Travis & Bob who held the top spot. Curious and more than a little suspicious.

This is a shame since I prefer Dean & Marc's more spirited and shambolic rendition — although not by much. While Travis & Bob sound unconvincing as Everly Brothers impersonators, the future Newbeats don't even bother trying to sound like anyone but themselves. Nevertheless, there's only so much that can be done with such a flimsy piece of writing. Putting it on isn't the worst way to spend two minutes but surely you also have far better things to do, right?

Score: 4

Elvis Presley: "(Now and Then) There's a Fool Such as I" / "I Need Your Love Tonight"

April 13, 1959 (3 weeks)

It is official: I am sick of Elvis Presley. Although it helps that I'm not overly fussed by either side of this his eighth Canadian number one hit, The King could have released the best 7" single of his life and it still wouldn't have mattered a whole lot to me. In lieu of a review (I can't even), here are my thoughts on what he should have done to keep the doldrums at bay. I present them as pieces of advice that I wish I could have given.

1) Ditch the Crooked Manager. Let's commence with the low hanging fruit. Colonel Tom Parker isn't your mate, he isn't like a second father to you and he doesn't have your best interests in mind. He's trying to suck every last penny out of you because he's a carny loser who lucked out when he managed to stick his claws in you. Extricating yourself won't be easy but it'll be well worth it.

2) While You're at It, Say Farewell to The Jordaniares Too. Tell 'em that it's has been a slice but it's time you all moved on. Wish them well too. Buy 'em all Cadillacs or something while you're at it as a token of your appreciation. Hell, leave the door open for a possible reunion down the road but for now you're better off without them. They're great a vocal group but you've got more than enough out of them. In fact, they're holding you back. While not the sole problem with your recordings of late, they represent your music being mired in the same old same old. It's great that you're a straight up loyal guy but there are times you gots to cut the dead weight loose. Though you might want to put it to them a little more delicately.

3) Get Into Some Other Kinds of Music. All that cash you've been making the last four years could be used for all sorts of investments and toys and indulgences but set aside a healthy percentage each month for new singles and albums. Get imports from Europe too. Jazz, classical, opera, spoken word, comedy, R&B, country, folk, you name it. Soak it all in. Listening to Paul Anka all the time I'm sure has its merits — even though I can't think of any myself — but your art will benefit by exploring what is out there, especially on the fringes. Then you'll be able to plunder these new sounds and make mint off of them.

4) See the World. Perhaps this has been an upside to your military service but you'd be able to experience a great deal more if you'd go on a world tour and take holidays abroad. Yes, you're world famous but it would still be possible to travel. Hell, even if you don't care for the food in other countries and find their customs baffling, at least you'll come back to the States refreshed and ready to get back to work.

5) If You're Going to Stay Away Then Stay Away. But spare us the detritus that was dashed off in the studio while your induction approached. Not only was very little care placed into the recordings but you sound like your growth has been stunted. Also, let your fans miss you for a while. It's not as if they don't know you've been posted to Germany. They'll look forward to your return a whole lot more if you're actually gone and not throwing them a bone every so often with a lame "new" single.

6) Never Let Hollywood Become the Focal Point. You know how movie stars only ever dabble in music? Well, follow their lead. What you do best should come first. Motion pictures are meant to be fun and so you ought to keep 'em that way by being selective about the roles you choose. But your real job in the studio, on stage and at home with your piano and/or guitar and don't you bloody forget it!

7) Work on Your Songwriting (or, Failing That, Scout Some of the Up and Coming Talent). The nimrods out there who will one day say they hate your music because you didn't write any of it have never had a point. And, yet, you'd be well-advised to try your hand at composing, even if only to get a better grasp of your music. It's time you took control and stopped relying on others to call the shots. All those people who use you need you far more than you need them. Also, songwriting might get the creative juices flowing. Get a collaborator. And use all that new music you've been acquiring (see point 3) to help you seek out others to gift you stronger material.

8) And for the Love of God, Do Better! This last one is a combination of all of the above. One of your biggest fans in a port city called Liverpool will one day say that you died when you went into the army and many will agree even if they will not want to admit it. Prove that grumpy Scouse wrong dammit! Show him that you're The King because you're all powerful and command respect and no one can touch you, not because you're on the fast track to becoming as fat and bloated a mess as Henry VIII.

Score: 5

The Fleetwoods: "Come Softly to Me"

April 6, 1959 (1 week)

1) Board of Broadcast Governors: "Come Softly to Me"

2) Freddy Martin & The Martian Men: "Venus"

3) Dack's: "Pink Shoe Laces"

4) Eddie Fisher: "A Fool Such as I" / "I Need Your Love Tonight"

5) New York Rangers: "It Doesn't Matter Anymore"

6) Conn Smythe: "Please Mr. Son"

7) Charlie Brown: "Smoke Gets in Your Auditorium"

8) The Rams: "It's Late" / "New Be Anyone Else but Ewe"

9) Spade Cooley: "Guitar Boogie Shovel"

10) Newsweek Magazine: "It's Just a Matter of TIME"

This is the CHUM MISS PARADE CHART for the first week of April, 1959. You know a good April Fool's gag when sixty-five years after the fact there's still some sad fool out there who was briefly convinced that the crusty old owner of the Toronto Maple Leafs had a single in on the charts. And to think I was just about to look up Conn Smythe's "Please Mr. Son" on YouTube when it hit me. Oh, those cads who used to work at radio stations!

There's some funny stuff on this "chart". At number two there's former chart topper "Venus" but this time by Freddy Martin & The Martian Men. (Too bad they were at least a decade early to know about Freddie Mercury) "It Doesn't Matter Anymore", the number one a week earlier by Buddy Holly, had now been done by the New York Rangers, a club that had recently missed the playoffs by one measly point to the Toronto Maple Leafs. Talk about rubbing it in. Finally, "It's Just a Matter of TIME" by Newsweek Magazine? You silly, silly people!

Coming in at the top of the charts is "Come Softly to Me" by Board of Broadcast Governors The Fleetwoods. (Perhaps this one is an inside joke) A better one would have been to credit it to "The GLadstones" or "The HUdsons" or "The OXfords" or whichever two-letter prefix they happened to use for the telephone exchange name of CHUM's then-headquarters on Yonge Street. This was how Gary Troxel, Gretchen Christopher and Barbra Ellis came up with the name of their group: the letters 'FL' commenced the Olympia, Washington phone numbers which came to be known as 'FLeetwood'.

It's sort of fitting to be discussing letter prefixes on phone numbers since they're a big throwback much like The Fleetwoods themselves. Perhaps it was hailing from the Pacific Northwest that did it but it's as if they emerged with next to no connection to anything else in music at the time. The city's once-flourishing jazz scene, which included Tacoma native Bing Crosby, bottomed out in the post-War era and legendary names like Jimi Hendrix and Kurt Cobain were either far too young or not even yet born. Someone, anyone, had to fill the void. Three recent high school grads from nearby Olympia managed to do just that.

In addition to being from a musical backwater, the other thing that makes The Fleetwoods seem like such an isolated project is the fact that they were largely self-sufficient. Lifelong friends Christopher and Ellis had begun composing "Come Softly to Me" before they even met trumpet-player-turned-singer Troxel at their school. The song would eventually become something of a hit locally but it would take them the better part of half a year to get it recorded properly. At this point it was a cappella (with the modest rhythm "section" of a set of keys being shaken). The recording was then sent to a studio in Los Angeles where, amazingly, they decided not to mess it up. All that was added was the strumming of an acoustic guitar since that was all that was needed — imagine that.

The results aren't exactly what you'd call a thrill ride. In fact, modern ears are likely to be underwhelmed at first. ("Is that it?" was my reaction the first time I heard it) But it pays to give it a few plays before passing judgement. The simplicity of it may seem quaint but it's also its biggest strength. The lines of "Dum-dum, dum-doo-dum, dooby-doo" attach themselves to listeners which can be damn-near impossible to shake — but it's the sort of earworm that you're glad to have. Its stay is brief so you'll never get tired of it. In short, a nice pop song that you can probably live without though why you would choose not to have it around from time to time is beyond me. A great first effort from Board of Broadcast Governors The Fleetwoods but what could they do next?

Score: 7

Buddy Holly: "It Doesn't Matter Anymore"

March 30, 1959 (1 week)

It wasn't the first posthumous number one on Canada's CHUM charts (that happened to Jimmy Dorsey's "So Rare" which hit the top spot just five days after the jazz bandleader's death; as I recently discuss, Ritchie Valens, who was on killed in the same plane crash as Buddy Holly, only just missed out by one day) but "It Doesn't Matter Anymore" feels like the first one that got there chiefly on its performer's passing. It got to the top spot a few weeks after Buddy Holly's death and, frankly, it wouldn't have made it that far had it not been for the tragic events that would eventually come to be known as, in the words of Don McLean, the Day the Music Died.

Buddy Holly is one of the biggest victims of being influential. What do I mean by that? It's simple: virtually everyone who brings him up nowadays focuses solely on how much of an impact he made with little thought towards what he actually accomplished. The Beatles owed a great deal to him: their name was inspired by his backing group The Crickets and he was the one who inspired John Lennon and Paul McCartney to write their own songs. (I have no idea why Chuck Berry and Little Richard didn't seem to play a significant role in their creativity since they, too, wrote their own songs) Every glasses-wearing pop star from Elvis Costello to Ed Sheeran owes him a debt of gratitude for dawning the specs when it would have been frowned upon. (In spite of his example, the myopic Lennon still refused to use eyewear in public until 1967)

But what of his actual work? Being a towering figure in rock 'n' roll is all well and good but what do I care who he influenced? Listening to him ought to be the concern. But this is where the critics and podcasters and YouTubers who only want to talk about how "influential" people are may be on to something because, well, a fair chunk of Buddy Holly's material isn't all that special. Quite how much is hard to say. The songs he wrote or co-wrote — "Not Fade Away", "Maybe Baby", "That'll Be the Day", "True Love Ways" — are some of his strongest but the outsourced compositions are much more inconsistent. Much as it pains me to say, the Paul Anka-penned "It Doesn't Matter Anymore" is in fact superior to the lackluster songs a young Roy Orbison gave him.

Had Holly lived to the age of, say, seventy-two, it's reasonable to think that this break-up song from the spring of '59 would be little more than a footnote, a forgettable, if brave, stab at something that plainly didn't suit him. His singing is a little all-over-the-place with hints of Broadway, some country and a subtle Elvis impersonation; while I sometimes tire of those trademark hiccups and stutters, I find I miss them in a song in which he was seemingly trying to sound like anyone else but himself. I'm not sure I would have even guessed this was by Buddy Holly had I not already known. (And yet, I prefer his reading to the one Anka gave in his 1963 recording: sounding resigned to a relationship that has fallen apart is far preferable to laying the self pity on thick as Ottawa's favourite son chose to do; Linda Ronstadt's sensitive version from her Heart Like a Wheel album is the one to go with) 

The arrangement also leaves a me shaking my head. Do we need an orchestra when Holly and the Crickets were a crack band who were more than up to the task? Again, much of this is down to this being his final single and I wouldn't be complaining otherwise — especially since there's no way it would have gone to number one under happier circumstances. Sure, "True Love Ways" (recorded at the same session as "It Doesn't Matter Anymore" with also happened to be Holly's final studio date) worked with a lush backing but the more uptempo number would have been better off as a rock 'n' roll tune.

I previously expressed the belief that Buddy Holly never got the chance to record or even write his greatest song which makes his death at the age of twenty-one all the more heartbreaking. But what if I'm wrong? What if he had ended up going the country crooner route instead? What if his best days were already behind him? Peaking at such a young age is out of the ordinary so it's likely he had plenty left in the tank but you never know. As I recently wrote about Ritchie Valens, Holly deserved to have a lengthy career full of ups and downs — and just imagine how influential he would have been had he lived another fifty years.

Score: 5

Frankie Avalon: "Venus"

March 16, 1959 (2 weeks)

The names of the planets have not been all that well represented in pop. I'm sure that there are several songs with 'Mars' in the title though I can't think of any of them beyond Bowie's "Life on Mars?" and Ash's "Girl from Mars". Stevie Wonder's "Saturn" is a good song — even if it gets a bit lost in the shuffle on his magnum opus Songs in the Key of Life — and I suppose there are all those drum 'n' bass tracks from '97 with titles like "Saturnz Returnz" or something. And what else? Not much — except for Venus. (I imagine our own planet has been covered as well but, again, I'm mostly coming up empty: Voice of the Beehive's "I Walk the Earth" — probably the finest song ever about travel — is the only one that leaps to mind)

The second planet from the Sun has a great deal of representation and this is without even the aid of a simple Google search. Let's see, there's The Velvet Underground's "Venus in Furs", Shocking Blue's "Venus" (which would be memorably covered by Bananarama in the eighties; sadly and soul-crushingly, we'll only get to discuss the original here), Television's "Venus", Wings' "Venus and Mars" (oh, there's a third one for the Red Planet!), Bjork's "Venus as a Boy", Miles Davis' "Venus de Milo" and Prefab Sprout's "Venus of the Soup Kitchen". "Wait! These songs aren't all about the planet," you may or may not be thinking, "they're about the famous sculpture or the Greek Roman goddess or, uh, Serena Williams' sister!" True but I didn't actually say they had to be about a planet, only that they had to have one (or more) named dropped in the title. A win by technicality is a win all the same, chumps!

But let's now go back to one of the first examples, Frankie Avalon's "Venus", a CHUM chart topper. Judging by Tom Breihan's review, as well as many of the comments posted below it, it has its fair share of haters. It does also have its defenders (a minority of the comments on Breihan's blog for one). I can't say I'm either. Or I'm both. Look, I have mixed feelings towards it and when I say "mixed feelings" I mean exactly that. (Isn't it odd that when used this way the term 'mixed' is tilted too far to the negative? If a film gets a "mixed reaction" we interpret that as much more criticism rather than praise when, really, they could be equals) Let's have a look, shall we?

Where the anti-"Venus" crowd is spot on is with the meat of the song. The verses stink and would no doubt have cleared a fifties' diner on a Friday night that had been packed with teenagers the moment it came on the jukebox. Good lord, it's a mess: you can barely hear old Frankie, he doesn't really sing at all (it's probably for the best that you can hardly hear him then) and everything is treacly and sickly and crap. Horrible and utterly unlistenable.

The saving grace, at least to an extent, is the chorus, all haunting echo and Avalon's suddenly more affecting voice gliding in and out. It's actually a shame that they didn't milk it more often, particularly in the song's middle when it needs nothing more than to be lifted out of its self-imposed torpor. The production is dense and foggy which makes it all seem ghostly; I've seen comments that it's ethereal which I can see but I prefer ghostly myself. Quite why this effect wasn't used throughout is anyone's guess. It even manages to make up for the fact that Avalon's wandering vocal appears to say "oh Vera" rather than "oh Venus" as it gets smothered by strings and a choir and a sense of unease. (It may just be me having once been a sad Anglophile teenager who watched Coronation Street religiously but I don't think there's a name with less sex appeal than 'Vera')

"Venus" was also a number one hit on the American Hot 100 but it doesn't seem to be remembered all that fondly especially since Avalon is frequently cited as one of the stars during that wasteland in rock 'n' roll that fell in between the heyday of Elvis and the rise of Beatlemania. It also lacks the cool cred of many of those other songs with 'Venus' in the title. As such, it hasn't been covered much over the last sixty years. Yet, there's a darkness to it that it seems to share with "Venus in Furs" and "Venus as a Boy" and the others. Indeed, I can imagine Siouxsie and the Banshees or Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds adding a much needed Gothic edge to it. Throwaway pop shouldn't reject it's dark side, it should embrace it.

Score: 4

The Coasters: "Charlie Brown"

March 9, 1959 (1 week)

You would think that one of the iron laws of pop music is that you can't just repeat what you did before and expect the same amount of success. It has certainly been tried but it almost always fails, though this never seems to stop record companies from demanding more of the tried and tested formula (even if having just one hit is anything but 'tried and tested' at all).

The Coasters had been an up and coming vocal R&B group who had previously charted when both sides of their double-sided single "Young Blood" / "Searchin'" managed to make the the US Top 10. (Paired together as a single entry in the UK, it just barely cracked the Top 30 but they still managed to make an impact: both songs would end up being recorded by The Beatles for the BBC and their ill-fated 1962 Decca audition respectively) Simply put, they're both bangers. It's easy to imagine the public being split over which one they preferred since there's very little to choose from.

All four Coasters possessed tremendous voices but they were a vocal group from the fifties so of course they all did. What really set them apart was their humour. Studying the lyrics to both "Young Blood" and "Searchin'" you might not necessarily deliver them with tongue-in-cheek but they made the wise decision to do just that. Both would be a good deal creepier and more problematic without them treating the material as a joke. Writers Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller then apparently decided to run with it and give The Coasters a bona fide comedy song. "Yakety Yak" proved to be memorable even if the gag wore thin awfully fast. Better yet, it was a massive hit and one that is fondly remembered to this day — though not so much by me but I am one of those grumpy sorts who likes his comedy funny and his music not so annoying.

Leiber and Stoller then chose to push their luck with their next offering to one of their cash cow acts, the similarly prat fall-esque "Charlie Brown". If you had assumed — as I would have — that it would have been unlikely that a second comedy song would do as well as their first then you'd be dead wrong — indeed, as dead wrong as I would have been. The public ate it up giving them yet another megahit. But while "Yakety Yak" remains a staple of oldies radio/playlists and will even crop up in the odd movie, its follow-up hasn't had the legs to come even close to such a legacy.

Though there are apparently those out there who are convinced it's all about the lead character from the Peanuts comic strip, even a casual listen to the zany tune ought to rule out these claims. High octane antics weren't typically found in the adventures of Charlie Brown, Snoopy, Pigpen and the rest; instead, they were much more laid back, just the sort of cartoon that merited a cool jazz soundtrack. But I might be getting ahead of myself here: I don't think they were making Peanuts cartoons back in the fifties and it was just a newspaper comic strip. The point still stands, however: Charlie Brown was a neurotic boy who never stopped fretting about shit he had no control over and his "friends" were always mocking him for ruining everything. Jesus, those Peanuts kids sucked.

What Charlie Brown didn't do was all that "writing on the wall" and "pooping in the hall" that The Coasters claimed - and that's because the song isn't about the curiously bald nine-year-old with the yellow and black t-shirt. In fact, it's about a troublemaker with the same name. Or an alleged troublemaker. As the tall, gawky kid in school, I typically got into trouble for stuff instigated by those short devilish little shits who I always somehow befriended. Perhaps this Charlie guy is misunderstood or was just always in the wrong place at the wrong time and was surrounded by those horrible teachers who'd jump to conclusions rather than try to find out what actually happened. Damn, this bloody song really touched a nerve. I'd better wrap things up. 

Despite what I said above about the comedy not really hitting the mark, "Charlie Brown" is okay. Less irritating than "Yakety Yak" but not in the league of either "Young Blood" or "Searchin'". There's a reason The Beatles never bothered with it and I don't think it was all down to John Lennon being something of a Charlie Brown himself. They had gone to the well once too often but it still worked out. At least, for now. (Oh, and I am aware that the line is "goofin' in the hall" not "pooping..."; I misheard it and like all good monedgreens in pop, I prefer mine to the real thing)

Score: 5 

~~~~~

Can Con

I must confess that I'm a little ashamed as to my ignorance of some of these Canadian recording artists of the early rock 'n' roll era. Looking him up, it seems like I ought to be as familiar with Tommy Ambrose as I am fellow 'Tommy' entertainer Tommy Hunter. How have I not heard of him? I guess hosting your show that followed immediately after Hockey Night in Canada on Saturday nights went a long way. Though a Top 30 hit on the CHUM charts in the spring of '59, "The Magic of You" is currently unavailable on YouTube but b-side "The End of the World" is present for some reason. Ambrose sounds like yet another Elvis wannabe of the era; hopefully it wouldn't take him long to come to the realization that his future lay elsewhere. Perhaps we'll encounter him again in this space before long once he ended up giving his music a good rethink. 

David Seville & The Chipmunks: "Alvin's Harmonica"

March 2, 1959 (1 week)

Let's make this a short one. After-all, what more can be said about The Chipmunks that I haven't already gone into? "The Chipmunk Song" is bad and it was lucky to get a 3 from me last week. "Alvin's Harmonica" isn't so fortunate. Somehow or other, it's worse. Much worse in fact.

How about I tell you instead about my prejudices. It won't take long, I don't have many.

1) Motorcyclists

Seriously, what is with you people? I know there are drivers who run red lights, speed and behave like jackasses and there are pedestrians who j-walk and don't even get me started on those idiots who walk down the street staring at their phones the entire time but there are responsible people who get around either by motor car or on foot as well. If there's a motorcyclist out there who obeys the rules of the road then I've never met them. You guys are bad enough back in North America but here in Asia you're a menace. By the way, you look like children when you ride your bikes on the sidewalk. And we all say so. "Look at the baby on his bike. The poor baby is scared of the big, bad road."

2) Guys Called Alvin (or Calvin)

I don't care for these names. Granted, I haven't known a lot of people called either Alvin or Calvin but they strike me as names for people who have a very high regard for themselves with little to show for it. If anything, Calvins are worse: pop stars of very little in the way of talent but who are nonetheless convinced they're hot shit. I probably get this from Alvin & The Chipmunks. What makes him so special anyway? He's not a nerd like Simon? Not a plump dweeb like Theodore? Well, he must be great because he wears a baseball cap, am I right? He isn't carrying his brothers and may well be dragging them down. Nope, Alvin's a turd. On the one hand, I want to sympathize with David Seville for having to deal with this unruly little arse but he's happy to exploit them so maybe he deserves it. Besides, what kind of unprofessional doofus releases material of himself yelling at a trio of singing chipmunks anyway? Not that I'm siding with Alvin either: the two deserved each other. (Note: I will take this one back when and if I ever meet a nice person going by either 'Alvin' or 'Calvin'; I do not, however, retract anything I have to say about Melvin & The Squirrels Alvin & The Chipmunks nor their sad little svengali)

I'm done. Did I happen to mention that this single is a giant load of shite?

Score: 1

Ritchie Valens: "Donna" / "La Bamba"

February 2, 1959 (4 weeks)

As you no doubt just noticed, Ritchie Valens hit the number one spot on Canada's CHUM chart on the second day of February in 1959. It would also be the last full day of his life as the chartered airplane carrying himself, Buddy Holly and The Big Bopper crashed in the early hours of the 3rd. All three were killed instantly along with pilot Roger Peterson. While it would be nice to think that he learned of his smash hit up north, it's probable he had no idea. News didn't travel as quickly back then and it's likely that having a number one up in Canada wasn't even that big of a deal.

(The advantage Valens had north of the border was that "Donna" and "La Bamba" had been paired together rather than as separate chart entries like on the Hot 100. Had they been counted as one, it's quite possible he would have repeated the feat in the United States)

Ritchie Valens is a difficult individual to evaluate fairly. He died before reaching his eighteenth birthday so it's fair to say he had the potential to do a great deal more than the memorable and highly influential version of Mexican folk song "La Bamba", the fun and rollicking "Come on Let's Go" and the very much of-its-time syrupy love song "Donna". While it isn't ludicrous to suggest that Buddy Holly absolutely would have gone on to do a great deal had weather conditions been better in Iowa that fateful night, it's tough to make a similar claim for fellow passenger Valens. Just compare the very idea of what they might have done: Holly never got the chance to write or record his finest song but with Valens it's impossible to say either way.

A big part of my skepticism is with "Donna" being such a wet, near-caricature that would be funny if not for my feeling guilty at laughing at a doomed musician's tribute to his high school sweetheart. It's a heartfelt number no doubt but it sounds all too much like the product of teenage puppy love. Had he lived to a ripe old age it's quite possible it would have been forgotten or dismissed or apologized for as a twee bit of juvenalia by a respected songwriter who would go on to make many far better songs. Dying so tragically young gives an otherwise trivial tune far more weight than it deserves.

"Donna" was the side that most purchasers came for but its flip side "La Bamba" is its superior in every way - and I like to think that more than a few young people preferred it even then. Los Lobos' version — we'll be getting to it in time — from the 1987 Valens biopic of the same name is the better of the two but there's enough to enjoy in this "original". While "Donna" is by numbers rock 'n' roll balladeering, "La Bamba" actually brings out the best in Ritchie Valens as he merged modern day beat music with traditional Mexican folk. The playing could be a little more forceful but perhaps it was meant as a taster for how he could rip up a theatre when playing live. Fun, spirited, unique and the sort of song that gets stuck in your head and you really don't mind.

Ritchie Valens never got to grow as a songwriter, never developed musically, never really got the chance to explore styles beyond those he'd already covered and never blossomed creatively. He also never stalled, never became a parody of himself, never tried out embarrassing fads like having a disco period and never went downhill. He should have been able to have had a career that allowed for all of these things to happen (especially a disco run twenty years in the future). All we have are a couple of really good recordings — "Come on Let's Go" is his other excellent song — one that isn't up to much and a handful of serviceable tracks. Not much to go on. He deserved to rise and/or fall far higher and/or lower.

Score: 6

The Platters: "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes"

January 12, 1959 (3 weeks)

It feels like I'm harping on about this of late but I'm feeling vindicated in my criticisms of Tommy Edwards' "It's All in the Game". The Virginia-native had already done an exquisite version of the 1911 classic when the decision was made to remake it. 'Update it' is probably more accurate. The strings were toned down in favour of a prominent guitar, more forceful percussion and, egads, a chorus. The song's loveliness had been stripped away but how can I argue with success? A Top 20 hit in 1951 had suddenly become a chart topper seven years later.

"It's All in the Game" hadn't been alone as a standard that had been re-jigged for the rock 'n' roll/R&B era. Connie Francis' "Who's Sorry Now?" had been similarly updated, albeit with much more subtlety. Yet The Platters proved that there was still a place for the simple and classic as a means to make it to number one.

Clearly not everyone agreed with this assessment. While lyricist Otto Harbach is said to have approved of what The Platters had done with "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes", the widow of co-writer and Broadway legend Jerome Kern was so displeased that she threatened to have its release blocked. Perhaps she found the 1958 recording by singer-songwriter Richard Barrett to be objectionable (if that had been the case, she wouldn't have been wrong) or perhaps it had to do with matters I'd rather not speculate on in this space. In any case, it's hard to imagine she heard what The Platters had done with it and then said something like, "no, this will not do!"

While it's natural to assume that the great songs from Broadway's golden age had always been recognized as such, this wasn't always the case. "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" had originally been part of the 1933 musical-comedy Roberta. (Never heard of it? Me neither) While by no means a flop — it had an initial run on Broadway of over six months and it would soon be adapted into a feature film in Hollywood — it wasn't exactly a runaway smash either. Just another musical at a time when there were hundreds of them. Nevertheless, a good song can't remain hidden away forever. Even as early as 1934, it was already becoming a smash in its own right with a hit cover by the Paul Whiteman Orchestra. Many versions of it would come and go over the years with no one quite making their mark with it. (Charlie Parker's very brief, very scratchy rendition is barely recognizable though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised; no one listens to Bird expecting a faithful note-for-note copy of anything, even a Charlie Parker composition)

It would fall on The Platters to turn it into something really special. Doo-wop music can sometimes go overboard but they keep themselves in check here. In fact, it hardly seems like doo-wop at all. Lead singer Tony Williams (not to be confused with the jazz drummer of the same name) delivers an absolutely spell-binding performance, punching out every ounce of drama possible while managing to avoid sounding overbearing and/or melodramatic. He's so much the focal point that you'd be forgiven for scarcely noticing his fellow Platters. Yeah, they could have taken on a more prominent role but, then again, they were right to stay out of Williams' way. Though I already mentioned above that it was by then a standard, this was likely the point when it fully became one: once an interpretation becomes the one every subsequent rendition is based on is when the term 'standard' really does apply.

The Great American Songbook now seems like a curio. Aside from the likes of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" popping up on a holiday release, you don't get much from it anymore. This collection of classic pop songs is so formidable that it presents something of a no win situation for artists attempting to tackle them: stick to close to the standard and you run the risk of squeezing the life from it; stray too far and you'll wind up trivializing an all-time great. This approach can work exceptionally well such as with Willie Nelson's groundbreaking 1978 album Stardust. But stylistic changes ought to be used to service the song and not detract from it. Best leave the rock 'n' roll frills to the rock 'n' roll songs.

Score: 9

1958: Your Future's Looking Dim

8 — Billy Vaughn: "Sail Along Silvery Moon"

4 — Elvis Presley: "I Beg of You" / "Don't"

7 — The Silhouettes: "Get a Job"

6 — The Chantels: "Maybe"

4 — Chuck Berry: "Sweet Little Sixteen"

7 — The Champs: "Tequila"

2 — The Chordettes: "Lollipop"
8 — Connie Francis: "Who's Sorry Now?"

6 — Elvis Presley: "Wear My Ring Around Your Neck"

5 — David Seville: "Witch Doctor"

9 — The Everly Brothers: "All I Have to Do Is Dream"

6 — Bobby Freeman: "Do You Want to Dance"

1 — Sheb Wooley: "The Purple People Eater"

7 — Elvis Presley: "Hard Headed Woman"

5 — Ricky Nelson: "Poor Little Fool"

5 — Jack Scott: "My True Love"

7 — The Everly Brothers: "Bird Dog" / "Devoted to You"

4 — Robin Luke: "Suzie Darlin'"

5 — Tommy Edwards: "It's All in the Game"

8 — Conway Twitty: "It's Only Make Believe"

4 — The Kingston Trio: "Tom Dooley"

6 — Elvis Presley: "One Night" / "I Got Stung"

7 — The Teddy Bears: "To Know Him Is to Love Him"

3 — The Chipmunks with David Seville: "The Chipmunk Song"

"How does he decide the score?" I hear you ask. Good question. A lot it comes down to how a particular single measures up to the others, especially recent entries that I've reviewed. So, if I'm stuck I'll take a look at how I've scored others and see how they compare. "To Know Him Is to Love Him" felt like it ought to have been an 8 but I didn't think there was enough of a gap between it and "One Night" / "I Got Stung" which preceded it. If I have, say, a 4 earmarked for someone then I'll look at others with the same score to judge if I would rank them similarly.

With the exceptions of 1's and 10's, generally a score will have a margin of error of one point in either direction. Thus, "Do You Want to Dance" could plausibly be a 5 or a 7 depending on my mood at the time. Actually, Bobby Freeman's breakthrough hit isn't a great example: thinking about it now, it's a 6 and only a 6. But there are others this rule applies to. "Get a Job", "Tequilla", "Hard Headed Woman": all of the 7's come to think of it. 7 is a fascinating score being in that grey zone between the mediocrity of a 6 and the point where you enter banger territory of an 8.

One that is quite a bit different from the rest is "It's All in the Game" which ended up being compared to itself. Tommy Edwards' original from '51 was far too good while the remake from seven years later sounds like an anticlimax. It might have scored slightly higher had I not known about the earlier version though I can't imagine I would've been all that thrilled by it either way. Like the modern day 12" mix which sucks all the life out of a great pop song, this redo added much but also took an awful lot away from the original.

I had been worried that the novelty songs were going to drag the year down but one of them wasn't all that bad. The other two, however, are. Joining them is "Lollipop" which has next to no merit as well. Nothing else was bad though. So, four fantastic singles, five more that are quite good and bunch that are okay is not such a bad outcome. I had been expecting a whole lot worse.

Next up is 1959. We may see out first 10 this year though that does remain to be seen. On a sour note, one of the year's biggest hits is an absolute piece of crap and I don't imagine it will be the only one. But, hey, you might hate the songs but my writing about them can't be anywhere near as painful an experience as listening to them is. Right? Right???

The Chipmunks with David Seville: "The Chipmunk Song"

December 15, 1958 (4 weeks)

I wasn't aware of it at the time but I was becoming a music fan by the time I was around four. I had already some idea of what I liked and didn't. My favourite song was Frank Mills' "Music Box Dancer" and I also really liked The Beatles' "Baby's in Black" and "Rock and Roll Music", Blondie's "The Tide Is High" and Billy Joel's "My Life". I knew next to nothing about any of these people though I had some idea of who the Fab Four were. On the other side, I didn't care for Kiss - they scared the crap out of me - and I wasn't convinced by the bulk of the children's music my parents and/or friends and family had given me and my sister.

There was really only one that we liked and it was an LP called Sesame Street Disco, which we played to death, typically while dancing around the family room in the basement, my sister's Lite-Brite — minus the translucent pegs — providing the appropriate discotheque atmosphere. The others, not so much. My dad liked the Pete Seeger children's album we had on cassette more than we did and it being played on car trips only succeeded in getting us to despise folk music. Sharon, Lois & Bram, Fred Penner, Raffi: they were all good fun when we went to see them in concert but their albums could never keep my attention past one or two songs.

But the album we had the least amount of use for was The Twelve Days of Christmas with The Chipmunks. We played it once in December of 1981 and never again but it always seemed to be around. I remember kind of liking the title track but it doesn't take Alvin, Simon and Theodore to get me to into the joyous nonsense of 'four colley birds' and all that malarky. "The Twelve Days of Christmas" is a funny song with or without those naughty rodents. (Though, strangely, its many parodies are all universally unfunny) What's odd about this seasonal release is that their signature hit which first brought The Chipmunks to attention isn't even on it. The song that commonly has "Christmas Don't Be Late" in parentheses. Whatsmore, it didn't matter in the least. Having "The Chipmunk Song" on it wouldn't have improved it any way. That said, it also wouldn't have made it any worse so there's that.

It isn't simply that the high-pitched Chipmunk vocals are annoying — though they certainly are — but that the song itself is dire. It being not quite the middle of September, I'm not especially keen to be listening to much in the way of Christmas music but I nevertheless put myself through two whole minutes of The Goo Goo Dolls and their 2002 cover renamed "Christmas Don't Be Late". John Rzenik isn't one of my favourite vocalists and he's particularly raspy here and there's nothing he nor his fellow Dolls can do with it. If anything, I find myself missing The Chipmunks since at least they managed to make it distinctive.

"The Chipmunk Song" was the last CHUM number one of 1958 as well as being the third and final novelty chart topper that year. While Seville's earlier "Witch Doctor" was a bit of a pleasant surprise (if it's possible for a song that is merely okay to qualify in that category) and "The Purple People Eater" was unbearably awful, this one falls right in between — with the score to prove it. Still really bad but I could manage to get through it two or three times without being overcome by the overwhelming urge to stab myself in the eye with a compass. What "Witch Doctor" has over it is, quite obviously, far less of a reliance on the helium-voice effects as well as a catchy tune that could hold up on its own well enough even without the accompanying gimmicks. There will be other novelty number ones going forward but they'll never command a year in quite the same way. Fine by me.

Score: 3

The Teddy Bears: "To Know Him Is to Love Him"

December 1, 1958 (2 weeks)

Let's leave aside murder, spousal abuse and keeping firearms with him in the studio and just discuss a problem I have long had with Phil Spector: his music wasn't all that great. Not all of it, mind you, but a little of his trademark Wall of Sound could go a long way. Within two months from now we'll begin to hear Christmas music in public places and while for many cafes and shops, there's not much to play beyond Mariah Carey and Wham!, there will be some space reserved for selections from A Christmas Gift for You, Spector's seasonal magnum opus. 'Selections' is a key word here since in truth it's a chore getting through its full thirty-four minute running time. Heaven help you if you're committed enough for his vast Back to Mono boxset. Nope, the production work of this demented genius is best served by some of his magnificent singles rather than in album form.

(To even describe it as "his music" is to give the douchebag more credit than he deserves. Like the coach who demands pro athletes play his way, he couldn't not make everything about himself rather than work around the skills of those he was producing. Following the chaotic sessions for the Rock 'n' Roll album, Spector sent the following message to his one time friend: "I only went into the studio to do one thing, and you can tell this to John Lennon. They were making records, but I was making art...")

Perhaps this explains why I'll inevitably be praising the bulk of the six or seven CHUM number ones he had something to do with despite the fact that I don't think much of him. It helps, too, that they'll be spread out over the next several months and even years as we cover his beginnings as a young and hungry producer and songwriter to his early sixties' peak to the cusp of his mental breakdown and, finally, to a brief renaissance alongside individuals who were his creative superior before the wheels came off for good. Oh what a wild ride it will be.

Let's begin with "To Know Him Is to Love Him" by his trio The Teddy Bears. When Spector was nine his father committed suicide. His would tombstone read, 'To Know Him Was to Love Him' which clearly stuck with the grieving boy. He would eventually form a band in high school which would evolve into the trio The Teddy Bears along with friends Carol Connors and Marshall Leib. Searching for a hit, the mercurial teenage songwriter came up with "To Know Him Is to Love Him" which transforms the sorrow of losing a parent at a young age into the heartbreak of unrequited love.

The song didn't just become a big hit but it also went on to become a favourite of a number of budding pop stars and, as a result, it has been covered a great deal over the years. While I have no doubt that it sounded magnificent at the time, the very fact that virtually everyone who has done a cover of it has at least equaled its quality does diminish the original a tad. The Beatles — I really can't stop bringing them up, can I? — did two recordings of it (with the lyrics altered to "To Know Her Is to Love Her"; some subsequent versions have made it gender neutral) with their Live at the BBC rendition from 1963 being especially good, with stronger harmonies and musicianship. If you prefer something more delicate, it's hard to beat Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt and Emmylou Harris' reading from their 1987 collaborative album Trio. That's not to say that I'm not impressed by The Teddy Bears and their original, it's just it's hard to be wowed by something that others managed to equal or even top.

"To Know Him Is to Love Him" was a massive success but The Teddy Bears were not able to keep the momentum going with its follow-up "I Don't Need You Anymore", which only just cracked the lower reaches of the Billboard Hot 100. You'd think that having a major hit be followed by a giant flop would have prepared Spector for the ups and downs of fickle pop fans and radio programmers but the crushing disappointment and bursts of madness that resulted from the lack of a decent chart placement for both Ike & Tina Turner's "River Deep — Mountain High" and then-wife Ronnie's "Try Some, Buy Some" suggest he didn't learn a goddamn thing. He was right, everyone else was wrong: a definite red flag that you're dealing with a giant piece of shit.

Can't wait to hate listen to his next number one!

Score: 7

Elvis Presley: "One Night" / "I Got Stung"

November 17, 1958 (2 weeks)

Elvis Presley's seventh number one hit on the CHUM chart is the start of a lengthy run of chart topping double A-sides for The King. The relatively poor "I Beg of You" / "Don't" was his first but it was followed by both "Wear My Ring Around Your Neck" and "Hard Headed Woman" which somehow managed to do just find on their own. But from this point all the way up until the dawn of Beatlemania

A possible reason for this was because the Billboard Hot 100 permitted A and B sides to chart separately during this time which sort of made the differentiation redundant. DJ's and listeners could fight it out among themselves over which side of a single became more prominent, leaving artists, managers, producers and A&R reps to not have to worry about such matters. Though it may not have altered the approach of some groups, in effect, every single had become a double A side. Even those that weren't worthy

Clearly there had been some debate in Elvis' camp over which of "One Night" and "I Got Stung" ought to get the feature role. (You'd think that sharing the A side would have decided such a non-issue, wouldn't you?) On some covers of the American single, "I Got Stung" has the larger print size; on others, it's "One Night". Much like "I Beg of You" and "Don't", there is a sense that he was catering to different sets of fans on each side. I generally prefer more uptempo music and often resent how a slow song (or 'ballad' if you must) can throw an album off. As such I ought to prefer "I Got Stung" of the two. I do not.

No, "One Night" is an easy choice here and it even exposes the folly of these half-baked double A's. Had it been released on its own, I would be giving it a stronger score than the one given bellow but it gets docked for having to carry the so-so number that has tagged along with it. While not exactly a top tier Elvis number, it rests comfortably in the next level along with fellow CHUM number ones "All Shook Up" and the recent "Hard Headed Woman". Being a cover of a sizable R&B hit for New Orleans singer Smiley Lewis, it has plenty of sleazy gospel which Elvis always seemed at home with. His manager and record company tried to talk him out of recording it but he insisted, with only minor alterations to the lyrics in order to make it less obviously about sex. It's as if devout Christians have trouble keeping their noses clean — not to mention other extraneous body parts.

By contrast, "I Got Stung" is a filler. Fine enough as the sort of B side that you listen to once, never play again and then hear on a compilation and think "oh, this isn't so bad". And while it isn't so bad, it isn't all that brilliant either. Compared to the down and dirty passion on the other side, the narrative of being stung as a metaphor for falling in love seems especially trivial. Those who held the puppet strings had no qualms about him recording this one (if anything, they probably pressed for it to be the headline song in favour of its much more controversial companion). The fact that it was quickly forgotten while "One Night" was considered highly enough to merit inclusion on Elvis' famed comeback special says it all.

I've spent much of this blog so far discussing when exactly Elvis started to go downhill but now I intend to move on a look for great double A-sides of his that had been hiding in plain sight. I expect that the bulk of them will have one top notch song backed by a very unremarkable track but I'm hoping there will be one that might be able to at least begin to approach the high quality of "Don't Be Cruel" / "Hound Dog" or "Strawberry Fields Forever" / "Penny Lane" "Let's Spend the Night Together" / "Ruby Tuesday" or "Going Underground" / "Dreams of Children" or "Megablast" / "Don't Make Me Wait". It's a tall order but The King has pleasantly surprised me so far so he may just do it again. I'll keep you posted.

Score: 6

The Kingston Trio: "Tom Dooley"

November 3, 1958 (2 weeks)

So apparently I'm really missing out by not yet having seen Inside Llweyn Davis. David Hepworth has brought up this 2013 motion picture on more than one occasion on The Word podcast he co-hosts with Mark Ellen. I've heard it mentioned elsewhere though I couldn't tell you most of the sources. I suppose I ought to see it, it's just a matter of how. It doesn't appear to be on Netflix in my part of the world so basically my hands are tied for now. It sure would be nice to have a neighbourhood video rental shop now!

Until then I'll have to rely on 2003's A Mighty Wind for the purposes of this entry. I just re-watched it in fact, on the long obscure VCD format. (What can I say? I've been in Asia for a while now) At the time I remember being puzzled about the film's idea of folk music. These groups getting together for a tribute show to their manager from back in the sixties didn't represent the genre that my parents attempted (and failed) to get me to appreciate when I was growing up. The New Main Street Singers? Creepy evangelical music. The Folksmen? Purveyors of unfunny novelty songs about diners and barnyard animals. (Which is not to say the movie itself isn't very funny because it is) Mitch & Mickey? Yeah, they were probably the closest having clearly been modeled on Ian & Sylvia — not coincidentally played by fellow Canadians Eugene Levy and Catherine O'Hara respectively — but hardly voices of a generation or any of that claptrap.

It was only until I got older that I realised that my concept of folk was as manufactured as anybody else's. There have been figures like Woody Guthrie, Bob Dylan and Billy Bragg over the years to represent the "protest" side of folk (and in Dylan's case, that's really only some of the time) but that has only ever been one branch — and these three all wrote and performed love songs so it wasn't like they were always out in the streets with megaphones either (come to think of it, I'm not sure Dylan ever did that). Other folkies may have done some protest songs but few did so often and hardly any others ended up getting tied to them.

The truth is, folk has always been far more diverse than it's given credit for. Perhaps this is why a hip hop group like Arrested Development can get away with appearing at summertime folk fests that aren't as righteously puritan as others. Folk isn't so much a style of music than it is a way of life or philosophy. As such, a group of squares like The Kingston Trio hardly seem to belong at all anymore.

It seems like there's some polarization when it comes to their biggest hit "Tom Dooley". Young and impressionable student types in the late fifties and early sixties seemed to eat this shit up — and they'll stand by it to this day. The songs of our youths can do such things to otherwise rational individuals. On the other hand, subsequent generations have become far less charitable towards the first folk song to get to number one. Tom Breihan reckons, in his usual over-the-top fashion, that it "sounds like the rankest kind of poverty tourism". Such bluster for a mere pop song, you gotta love it. He seems to dock it points because of how the Kingstons allegedly trivialize a murder ballad by making it a "showcase for their tastefully plucked banjos and their bleached-out harmonies". Oh dear me.

I don't completely disagree with Breihan's critique but his overthinking it (and, seemingly, having too much sympathy for the song's subject who was on death row for murdering his lover and who also happened to have been a Confederate soldier; I can't say I'm losing sleep over him myself) makes me want to side with The Kingston Trio — at least up to a point. The critical grilling it deserves is for its undeniable blandness; otherwise, I don't give a shit. Taking the killer's side (or, more accurately, seeing it from his or her perspective) may be something Johnny Cash and Bruce Springsteen have done successfully but that doesn't have to be the only way to tackle a murder ballad. Some may opt for siding with the victim while others, like the Kingstons, use it for little more than reportage.

Simply put, "Tom Dooley" isn't worth the effort on either end. It's virtually impossible to see why folkies in '58 were so taken by it but it doesn't deserve the hate either. It's a record to feel extremely neutral about. For this reason, it feels like there isn't quite an equivalent to The Kingston Trio depicted in A Mighty Wind. The New Main Street Singers are much too cringey to come close while The Folksmen are somehow both far too serious and too much the lame comedy act. As for Mitch & Mickey, now you're just being silly. Perhaps I really do have to check out this Inside Llewyn Davis thing. If only Coen brothers pictures didn't bore me so — aside from The Big Lebowski of course.

Fifties' coffeehouse folk isn't for everyone but that's also the case with folk in general — and, indeed, every other genre. Like a lot of individuals who hit it big where others failed, The Kingston Trio got lucky. They weren't exactly chart sensations but they did have a few Top 40 hits until Dylan and Beatlemania put an end to them. Folk music owed a lot to them: they were around until the precise moment they were no longer needed. Funny how that works.

Score: 4

~~~~~

Can Con

The Canadians are slowly starting to come on strong here. Even with Anka missing, three home grown entries are present. I've already gone over both The Diamonds and Jack Scott so let's focus on The Four Lads. If they had intended to make The Kingston Trio look like testosterone-fueled ruffians by comparison then they couldn't have been more successful. "The Mocking Bird" could actually be a good song if someone other than them had given it a go but perhaps they all understandably became turned off by this load of sheer crumminess. A welcome reminder that just being Canadian doesn't mean you should be given the benefit of the doubt. So they were Nickelback before Nickelback.