Roy Orbison: "Running Scared"

May 29 ,1961 (1 week)

I first became aware of Roy Orbison at the exact same time I discovered who Bob Dylan and Tom Petty were. (Although, in truth, I assumed this Bob Dillon I had heard about was a different person from the Bob Die-lan I had read about; it wouldn't be for a few more years that I was set straight) This was because they were all in a video for a song called "Handle with Care" alongside George Harrison, who I was familiar with. I was watching Top of the Pops with my parents and they illuminated me as to the identities of three fifths of the supergroup The Traveling Wilburys. (They didn't seem to know the fifth member, Electric Light Orchestra's Jeff Lynne)

To an eleven-year-old boy Roy Orbison came across as a curious character. His ever-present sunglasses let me to believe that he was blind like Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles but my folks informed me that this was not the case. More bizarre was his grandfatherly voice. Even standing next to what seemed like a bunch of old farts — three of whom were younger then than I am now with a fourth (Dylan) being the same age as me — Orbison looked and sounded ancient. Even that ponytail didn't help.

"Handle with Care" was a Top 30 hit in November of 1988. In the first week of December it fell out of the Top 40 but re-entered seven days later in the wake of Orbison's unexpected death. But it was the posthumous releases that really did well following the tragedy. "You Got It" was a Top 10 hit around the world in the early part of '89 while the acclaimed album Mystery Girl also sold well. I was too young and deluded by pop conventions of being young and beautiful to realize the truth: this old dude had some bangers in his arsenal. But it was only with the 1992 release of "I Drove All Night" that I was mature enough to accept it — and even then I was at first convinced that the only reason I liked it was because I was a horny teenager who was besotted by Jennifer Connolly in the accompanying video.

So, I love me some Roy Orbison. That said, I don't think "Running Scared" is one of his classics. It's by no means a botch but it scarcely sounds like a single at all. Sure, the public tend to be suckers for big ass love songs and doubtless this played a part in its success but weren't they a little disappointed by its two minutes of gradual build only for it to go absolutely nowhere? Apparently not.

It's possible that some were just so taken by Orbison's incredible operatic country and western vocals that it was worth it for them alone. Yeah, it's plausible though I don't know why it took this relatively ordinary song to pique their interest. The Big O had released dozen singles prior to 1961 though only a pair of them — the flawless near-chart topper "Only the Lonely" and its nearly-as-strong follow-up "Blue Angel" — managed to make him a household name. Nevertheless, Orbison would later confess that his long-awaited burst of chart hits was already drying up by the end of 1960. He felt that "Running Scared" gave his career a much needed second wind from which he never looked back.

With all due respect to his first ever CHUM/Hot 100 number one smash, I kind of feel like it could have been any winsome Orbison ballad that could have done the trick. "Only the Lonely" did well a year earlier and it's easy enough to picture it taking the place of "Running Scared" at the top of the heap had things been different. What if the touching "Crying" had been released first? The guy could belt out a slow song for moody teens and couples into some serious necking and petting alike and this one happened to be the one the bulk of them sulked and/or felt up to the most; I can't prove it but I'm saying circumstance was a much bigger reason for why it did so well.

Your biggest hits aren't always going to be your best. This is something that has already come up in this space on a handful of occasions and no doubt there will be many more examples as we get to the decades ahead. Nevertheless, Roy Orbison seems like an especially unique example. Few regard "Running Scared" as a top tier hit anymore and it is now more of an afterthought (significantly, the compilation The Essential Roy Orbison only includes a version that had been re-recorded in 1986 for the re-constituted greatest hits package In Dreams). He'll be coming up at least two more times, once with a signature hit that virtually everyone knows and loves to death and then with a song I've never heard before. Fingers crossed it's another banger but it could just as easily get me to shrug my shoulders. (Suffice it to say, none of "Handle with Care", "You Got It" nor "I Drove All Night" will be on deck at any point. Worse luck)

Score: 6

Ricky Nelson: "Hello Mary Lou" / "Travelin' Man"

May 15, 1961 (4 weeks)

I remember first becoming aware Ricky Nelson and I can even recall the date: January 1, 1986. We had gone to my grandparents' place for New Year's Day and I did what I normally did whenever I'd go over there: I headed down to the basement family room to play with the toys my grandma kept for me. They had a small TV set down there as well — which would one day become my TV set — which I must have switched on. As I rummaged around through the toys, the news came on with a story about a legend of the music business who had perished in a plane crash the night before. Rick "Ricky" Nelson was only forty-five and the song that the newscasters played to commemorate him was "Travelin' Man".

It seemed like a poignant number to pay tribute to the fallen idol. Nelson had been famous for his entire life, first as a child star with his parents and brother on The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet and then with his first love, music. He had been around the world as one of the biggest pop stars around and continued to tour as his popularity waned. His boyish image proved hard to shake. Yet, he never ceased playing shows to crowds grateful, indifferent or hostile. The road had taken its toll and it ended up bringing about his premature end.

Trouble is, there's more to it than the opening line of "I'm a travelin' man, made a lot of stops all over the world". In what should have been a weary anthem of grit and sacrifice, Nelson instead brags about all the women he has shacked up with in various parts of the globe. These aren't the words of a weary faded star in his mid-forties but those of a young man in all his glory. He just chose not to sing it that way.

"Travelin' Man" may seem like an odd song to pair up with the much more sweet-natured and chaste "Hello Mary Lou" but the contrast works counterintuitively well. Listen to him lay it on thick on the latter — which, perhaps due to conservative America not wanting to have anything to do with the sex-obsessed Ricky Nelson, became the track that got the bulk of the airplay — only to have him confess to having a broad in every port of call on the former and he becomes an even bigger creep. He may have pledged his fidelity and heart to this Mary Lou chick but that wasn't about to stop him from hooking up with his little "China doll" in Hong Kong or his "pretty Polynesian" in Waikiki. (The stereotypes are both very hard to swallow and kind of amusing; not because their funny, mind you, but because it's amazing to think that North Americans used to talk this way) And what if Mary Lou finds out? He can always try dishing out more of the charm.

This is a great example of how a double A-side can wind up being more than the sum of its parts. As individual tracks, both "Hello Mary Lou" and "Travelin' Man" are nothing special. Together, they're kind of, sort of special. Not great as a tandem but much better together than apart. It's the kind of single that's not only worth flipping over to hear the other side but it even pays to then go right back to the A-side. Had enough of his yearning for Mary Lou? Check out his notches-on-the-bedpost set to music over on the flip. Feel a bit sickened by all the globe-trotting shagging he was doing? Go back to the other side and give the boy-next-door a pat on the back for being so good to his sweetheart.

I'm sure the networks putting packages of Rick Nelson's life meant well back on New Year's Day, 1986. As I say, the chorus of "Travelin' Man" fits in perfectly with his image as a workhorse on the road who tragically lost his life between shows. Yet, the more accurate tribute would have been to have pictures of Nelson's life as an actor and singer set to later hit "Garden Party". Not only is it probably the finest single of his career but it's about far more than his love for one woman and his lust for many. Ricky Nelson was a nepo baby who often failed, a dedicated performer who had all the breaks in life but who still couldn't quite maintain his stardom even though he worked tirelessly at it. But we're getting ahead of ourselves here. Suffice it to say, Nelson lived quite the life even if his recorded output sometimes missed the mark — and even then, he was often able to make it work all the same.

Score: 7

Del Shannon: "Runaway"

April 17, 1961 (4 weeks)

So, 1961 is starting to look like a pretty solid year for CHUM number ones. The stink of Andy Stewart's massive haggis farts has finally lifted and it's now possible that his not-especially-good and godawful back-to-back entries may be the exceptions rather than the rule. But let's not go nuts here: there are a handful from that summer and autumn that I'm apprehensive about. But, for now at least, we can bask in some fab pop.

Del Shannon's "Runaway" is the third bone fide classic covered so far and we've only just entered spring. But while "Apache" is a spectacular display of guitar dynamics (along with some production brilliance) and "Blue Moon" an irresistible slice of nonsensical hooks and scatting, "Runaway" is a much more conventional pop outing, albeit one with shifts in style while also being a perfect spotlight for Shannon's magnificent vocal range.

"Runaway" begins by deceiving the listener into thinking that it's a country number — Shannon (under the guise of Charles Johnson; his real name was less rock 'n' roll/more professorial Charles Weedon Westover) had been in a C&W group in his native Michigan prior to his rise to fame — before quickly settling into a brisk R&B groove with a seemingly out of place twinkling piano. Things proceed normally until just after a first pass of the chorus when the song's most distinctive element arrives in the form of what keyboardist, co-writer and inventor Max Crook had dubbed his Musitron, a proto-synthesizer set to a pitch that could just about cut glass. Until now simply a catchy pop song, this clavioline-type instrument lifts it into a whole other level - a good song suddenly becoming great.

The overall experience of listening to "Runaway" for the first time is startling but it manages to hold up over repeated plays as well. The after-effects of the space-age sound of the Musitron is such that the opening with the county guitar I already eluded to makes it seem like you've put on the wrong song. Seldom has a piece of music started one way only to end up in such a radically different place. Meanwhile, Shannon's voice seems to get better and better the more you listen to him. From guttural all the way to hitting a sweet falsetto ("Why-why-why-why-why"), Shannon proves why he was one of the great, if sadly overlooked, vocalists of his era.

There is one tiny problem though. At two minutes and fifteen seconds, "Runaway" ends a little too abruptly and it feels as if another sixty to ninety minutes could have been tacked on with perhaps another Musitron solo or, better yet, some other out there instrument or technique. I'm all for brevity and would much rather a pop song that leaves me wanting more than one that can't bring itself to wrap up but there's a nagging feeling here that there's unfinished business. The coming wave of album orientated rock would have found a simple solution; release this short version as a single and save the full, five or six minute epic for the LP.

The pop/rock boom of the mid-sixties that was ushered in by The Beatles resulted in a great deal of futuristic singles — The Byrds' "Eight Miles High", The Beach Boys' "Good Vibrations", the Fab Four themselves with their peerless run of hits — but it wasn't something that just started off with Ed Sullivan introducing those "youngsters from Liverpool". Rather, the groundwork was being laid by others while the future superstars were still a struggling beat group playing the Cavern and the Hamburg dive bars. The Tornados with the extraordinary "Telstar" (we'll be getting to it in a few weeks) was a huge step forward but the sound of Sputnik orbiting the Earth was something that Shannon and his crew were already mining in the first half of '61. Psychedelic and progressive rock, meet your Rosetta Stone.

Score: 9

~~~~~

Wait...What???

Though I write about pop, I'm also quite the jazz fan. Trouble is, I don't know anything about it so my attempts to review the genre have been laughably bad. While it's nice to see traces of some of the jazz greats pop up, I'd rather, say, Miles Davis, Charlie Mingus or Thelonious Monk than Cannonball Adderley. I know a lot of budding alto sax players cite him as an influence but I've never been crazy about him listening to him. (Though generally considered to be a jazz classic, his 1958 album Somethin' Else makes for a pleasant listen but nowhere near as good as the high placings on many Greatest Jazz Albums of All-Time lists would have you believe) Luckily, Adderley's often dull and methodical style of playing is covered up by bandmates on surprise minor CHUM hit "African Waltz". With the likes of John Coltrane and Ornette Coleman taking the jazz solo to new and unexplored (and, frankly, often unlistenable) heights, this frenetic group performance would have made for a refreshing change of pace. Still, it's quite a racket without a trace of subtlety. I don't know if anyone asked for a spy thriller theme song as played by gathering of tribal elders but I'm glad it's something they embarked upon. I just won't be listening to it as often as something like "Runaway".

The Marcels: "Blue Moon"

April 2, 1961 (2 weeks)

1) The Beatles: "Octopus's Garden"

2) Billy Joel: "Lullabye (Goodnight, My Angel)"

3) Queen: "You're My Best Friend"

4) The Beatles: "Hello Goodbye"

5) Robert Plant: "Angel Dance"

6) Los Lobos: "Shakin Shakin Skakes"

7) The Stray Cut: "Stray Cat Strut"

8) The Beach Boys / Ramones: "Do You Wanna Dance?"

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

10) The Beatles: "Yellow Submarine"

This is a list of the Top 10 Classic Rock Songs for Children on a page called Heart & Harmony Music Therapy. While I'm not sure they really needed to include three Beatles songs, it's actually a pretty good selection and it's hard to argue with the reasons provided. I certainly expected a good deal worse when I clicked on it in a Google search.

I'm no music therapist and I'm only barely an educator but I've often thought about pop songs that could appeal to kids. I'm not referring to tunes they already like — I still can't fathom what the hell they see in bloody "Lemon Tree" — but stuff that they likely haven't been previously exposed to that they might enjoy. Again, I have no idea as to the educational value or healing power of the likes of "Y.M.C.A." or "Our House" but I do know that kids react well to them. I certainly did when I was a youngster.

One of my favourites growing up was "Blue Moon" by The Marcels. I'm not sure when I first heard it (I've still never seen An American Werewolf in London in which it is prominently featured) but it could be one of those rock 'n' roll classics that was just always around, primarily due to my mother's fondness for oldies radio. Even as an impressionable mama's boy, those stations were as likely to bother me as keep me entertained. But "Blue Moon" was always welcome.

As a kid I'm not sure I even knew it was a song. Not only did I not know who The Marcels were but I don't recall ever hearing the name (the only Marcel I knew of was scoring machine Marcel Dionne of the Los Angeles Kings); the title "Blue Moon" never crossed my mind either since who was paying attention to any of the actual lyrics?. All that really mattered was the unforgettable and nonsensical refrain of "Ba-bom-a-bom-bom ba-bom-a-bom-bom ba-bom-a-bom-bom ba-dang-a-dang-dang ba-ding-a-dong-ding". Like many children both older and younger than me, I loved trying to scat along with it; no doubt the vast majority of us couldn't come close to getting it right.

What never occurred to me as a youth was the humour involved. To take something as serious as "Blue Moon" the way Billy Eckstine, Mel Tormé and Elvis Presley all did it and perform what Tom Breihan describes as "an act of beautiful vandalism" took a lot of guts from the Pennsylvania quintet, especially since they'd never previously scored a hit. They could've easily caused a shit storm. DJ's could've refused to spin it. Critics could've lashed out that they were pissing on the legacy of composers Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart. Their record label could've dropped them. Instead, seemingly everyone was bowled over by their bravado in recording what must still be the ballsiest cover version in the history of pop.

Having been a moody teen in the early nineties, there wasn't anything more miserable in the music scene as those R&B Romeos like Boyz II Men and All 4 One. These guys wore suits, sang with their eyes closed and communicated nothing but drippy sentimentality which I wasn't buying. (Yet their female counterparts like En Vogue and TLC were fantastic). What Boyz II Men needed to grab me was something in the spirit of "Blue Moon" to display their tremendous vocal range while performing a work that might have got me singing along. Better yet, kids a lot younger than me. This sort of thing appeals to them.

Score: 9

~~~~~

Can Con

The Marcels only had one other hit following the success of "Blue Moon" but they did amazingly well compared to many other vocal groups of the time. Toronto's Billy Van Four managed a lone Top 30 appearance on the CHUM chart with "The Last Sunrise" and it's a little strange they weren't given the opportunity to record a follow up (either that or they squandered the chance). The single's okay though it suggests that they weren't quite ready for the big time. Better recording equipment would've helped as well. Having a hit didn't end up getting them much but leader Billy Van did go on to a lengthy career as a noted comedian so there is that. Too bad more didn't come out of his music.

Elvis Presley: "Surrender / "Lonely Man"

March 27, 1961 (1 week)

One of the nice things about not expecting much from Elvis Presley's early sixties' dry spell is that I'm never disappointed. If his work is as bland and lifeless as many claim, then at least I'm expecting it; if it's better than the wags reckon, then it's been a pleasant surprise. This hasn't been much of an issue so far because I had been familiar with The King's singles since his tour of duty in Germany ended. Until now, that is.

For someone who had been residing in Europe for about a year-and-a-half, it cannot be a coincidence that Elvis' recorded output took on a more Continental feel once he had returned to civilian life. It probably didn't hurt that his manager was the Dutch-born Andreas Cornelis van Kujik who had spent the bulk of his adult life trying, largely successfully, to pass himself off as an American southerner named Tom Parker. Perhaps most importantly, his post-army material (at least initially) had been intended to be much more adult than the teenage anthems he'd been pounding out during his mid-fifties' peak.

Like "It's Now or Never", "Surrender" had its roots in Italy, specifically within the Neapolitan tradition. The title had originally been "Torna a Surriento" which translates to "Come Back to Sorrento" but it's notable the name of a picturesque Italian town would evolve into a song called "Surrender". (Something was lost in the translation) Rather than being a plea for a couple to find their way back to each other, it is now a lustful song. The tune is a fine example of early sixties' exoticism to groove along with and it ought to be a great display of Elvis' vocal chops except he does not seem to know when to lay off. The usual Presley vocalisms have been replaced by a whole new set of styles and it's as if he's trying them all out at once to see which ones fit. Yet, it clocks in at just under two minutes so it's not as if he grates for long.

Nice as "Surrender" is, "Lonley Man" is the stronger of the two. While I don't quite agree with Tom Ewing's assessment that "Surrender" is the first Elvis single in which "he doesn't really sound like he's trying" — if anything, I'd say he's trying way too hard - there is something a little off about it while its flip side sounds much more natural. An accordion accompanies it to give the song yet more European flavour — which, incidentally, contributes to the two meshing very well together, making it Presley's most consistent single release in years — but this time in service of a gentle country and western hymn. The pace is relaxed which may have prompted Elvis to give the appropriately laid back reading.

"Surrender" / "Lonely Man" marks the place where Elvis was continuing to have major hits but without expanding his audience. Elvis fans would snap up his latest releases but it's doubtful that many neutrals, agnostics and kids venturing out to buy their first 45 single at the drug store or the local Woolworths were interested in what a suddenly much older King was up to. My parents were eight and nine years old at the time and neither of them had any desire to own the latest Elvis single — though they were both still keen to watch his movies. As such, it didn't have the lifespan of many of his earlier hits. It is now largely forgotten which is a bit of a shame since it's a mid-range Presley work: by no means one of his best but far from one of his duds. Though maybe that's just me and my low expectations talking.

Score: 6

Jørgen Ingmann: "Apache"

March 13, 1961 (2 weeks)

1960: Bert Weedon

1961: The Shadows; Jørgen Ingmann

1973: Incredible Bongo Band

1981: The Sugarhill Gang

The above is a very rough, very incomplete timeline of "Apache". To be sure, it has been done by plenty of others as well. Hot Butter chose to follow their influential and catchy hit "Popcorn" with a very uninspiring version of their own and I'm sure virtually everyone has done it at some point. (I must say, though, I was disappointed to discover that the Canadian Brass never seem to have tried their hand at it, the bloody stuffed shirts)

But it is the five acts above who took turns transforming "Apache". Bert Weedon's original is surprisingly group-focused with star turns from his drummer and whomever appeared on flute. First try and it's already a masterpiece. The Shadows couldn't quite live up to Weedon's standard but their rendition is tight and tough, an ideal demonstration of why Cliff Richard's backing band was for a time the finest foursome in music after the Modern Jazz Quartet. Skipping ahead a bit, the Incredible Bongo Band's cover is admittedly gimmicky but it's still what they used to call a "gas": there may be better "Apaches" out there but none of them are as much fun. Finally, there's The Sugarhill Gang. By this point, "Apache" had been altered so much that it can scarcely even be considered the same song but that recognizable tune is definitely in there so let's include it too.

Props to all of them for trying but none of them manage to come all that close to Jørgen Ingmann's incredible interpretation from 1961. Amusingly credited to 'Jorgen Ingmann and His Guitar' (and it's hard to say which of the two is doing the heavy lifting; I like to think they both did their part), it is sparse yet chock full of activity. While it's nice to think that the Danish ax wizard managed to play it all in one take, there's little doubt that he did some over-dubbing. In fact, his "Apache" is as much a triumph of studio trickery as it is Ingmann's virtuosity. (The Ventures recorded a credible, if unremarkable, version for their 1963 album The Ventures Play Telstar and Lonely Bull and you can hear Ingmann's influence much more on the production side of things than on the actual playing)

With The Shadows having already taken "Apache" to number one in the UK, it's startling to think that what practically amounts to studio experimentation would be the one that ended up taking off in North America. Cliff Richard, who has always been prickly about his relative lack of success in the new world, sniffed that Ingmann's version was just a "cover job" even though he added a few "tricky bits" (way to heap on the praise there, Cliff). This claim is absurd but I will say that one of those singles has obvious commercial potential and it sure as shit isn't the one featuring a Dane fooling around on his guitar. Good old fashioned luck and timing likely aided putting Ingmann over the top but in the end Americans and Canadians went with the right one. ("Apache" made it all the way to number two on the Hot 100 with only The Marcel's "Blue Moon" — a song we'll be getting to soon enough — getting in its way)

I was going to argue that "Apache" is a grower but that implies a negative reaction the first time its heard which isn't the case at all. Rather, it builds with each subsequent listen. At first, it's a curiosity: yeah, it's clearly an achievement but shouldn't there be more to it than just a masterclass in guitar technique? But then it evokes the childhood wonder of discovering stringed instruments for the first time: I was seven or eight the first time I ever held a guitar and I wasn't interested in playing it, I was keen to play with it. Tapping the body, plucking the tight strings on the headstock, trying to get the wackiest sounds out of it. After a couple more plays it brings back memories of the first guy I knew in high school who could seriously play the guitar. While the rest of us were attempting to studiously copy our musical heroes, this friend of a friend was off in his own world, playing like no one we had heard before. Finally, it's oddly sneaky as well, like the first time I really listened to Chic's "Savoire faire" (the B-side to their massive hit "Le Freak", which we'll also be getting to in good time) and realized it was a mind-blowing tour-de-force on the part of guitarist Nile Rodgers — who I would be willing to bet is a huge fan of "Apache". The dynamics are such that it can't possibly continue and yet it just keeps going and going.

As I say, the five major versions of "Apache" deserve all the praise they've received over the years, as well as the financial rewards they've all enjoyed. Then there's the not inconsiderable influence they've all had. Hopefully even to this day there are youngsters who will be exposed to it — either for the the benefit of their tastes in music or for their growth as students of the guitar. Weeds, Shads, Bongos, Sugars, they're all great and should be listened to, learned from and danced around to for decades to come. But even in a world full of "Apaches" there's only one that you shouldn't be without. There's simply nothing else like it.

Score: 10 (with unofficial scores of 9, 7, 8 and 7 for Bert Weedon, The Shadows, Incredible Bongo Band and The Sugarhill Gang respectively)

Andy Stewart: "Donald, Where's Your Troosers?"

March 6, 1961 (1 week)

It really ought to take someone special to be able to replace themselves at number one. Though it had occurred prior to the establishment of the Hot 100, Elvis Presley was the first person in the rock 'n' roll era to pull it off when the mighty double A-side "Don't Be Cruel" / "Hound Dog" was overtaken by the nearly as great "Love Me Tender". The Beatles did one better by having three chart toppers on the bounce with "I Want to Hold Your Hand", "She Loves You" and "Can't Buy Me Love" during their dominant run in the first half of 1964. The Fab Four also became the first act to replace themselves at the top in their native Britain, with the feat not happening again until the devastating aftermath of John Lennon's murder (it has become a little more common in the twenty-first century now that hardly anyone bothers paying for music anymore; it helps, too, that spending ten or more weeks at the top is not longer a rarity so artists have plenty of time to put out follow-up usurpers).

Yet, it was Andy Stewart of all people who was the first to pull the same trick on Canada's CHUM charts. After three weeks of "A Scottish Soldier" on top, the Canadian public opted for the cheerful "humour" of novelty song "Donald, Where's Your Troosers?", perhaps as supposed light relief. Originally released in 1960, it was ignored until its follow up helped bring it back from the dead. A tartan revolution in pop had begun and this was a decade in advance of the Bay City Rollers. Elvis Presley, The Beatles, Andy Stewart: one of them is not like the others.

I grew to find "A Scottish Soldier" to be just about tolerable but the same cannot be said for "Donald, Where's Your Troosers?". Stewart's brogue takes some getting used to but if used on something worthwhile, I can accept it. On here, however, the singer in his mid-twenties who looks like Rick Astley's goofy older brother with a secret gambling addiction is suddenly transformed into a seventy-three year old Scot who can't stop moaning about everything. Well done, I suppose, for doing a convincing turn as an elderly Scots git but the sound is rubbish.

Things do not get off to a promising start and only get worse from there. Forty seconds in and I've already had enough of this crap. Coming from an era when the two-minute pop song was still the norm, its three-and-a-quarter minutes is agonizing to get through. As if sensing that even his fans were getting restless, he ventures down to London and does a shocked upper class reading of the line "Donald, where's your troosers?". Before long, he grudgingly admits that his Highlands twang isn't going to appeal to many outsiders and he begins impersonating Elvis. Oh my god, the comedy this man was capable of. Ninety seconds of Stewart hamming it up as the most Scottish person who ever lived is terrible enough but then to add on those horribly unfunny voices makes a bad thing that much worse.

One of the problems with "A Scottish Solider" is that it plays far too much into that "postcard" impression people have of Scotland. With "Donald, Where's Your Troosers" it's now more like a caricature of the country in which all the laziest stereotypes emerge. Tartan, bagpipes, even deep-fried Mars bars — which weren't even a thing back then — swirl around Oor Andy. Maybe there's something to making light of what a Scotsman wears under his kilt but this is the equivalent of a crass postcard depicting some old jock showing off his bare buttocks. Not funny and not pleasant — and not a part of the Scotland that I am fond of.

A fair number of Scots will eventually be featured in this space including the Bay City Rollers, Pilot, Sheena Easton and Simple Minds (though, surprisingly, not Donovan). None will come even close to overt Scottishness of Mr. Stewart here. In fact, the majority won't even seem especially Scottish. A trait shared by many acts in the eighties and nineties is that they tended to look to the United States for inspiration rather than down south towards hated England. While there were a few exceptions like Big Country and The Proclaimers, most seemed reticent to embrace their own culture in their music as well. Was it because of people like Andy Stewart? It's hard to say though I wouldn't blame them if that was indeed the case. Proud of your Scottish heritage? You don't need to release something this diabolical in order to prove it.

Score: 1

~~~~~

Can Con

 

Ronnie Hawkins again??? Well, yeah. Who else is there? As I have already stated, I'm done with Paul Anka until I absolutely must deal with him again and there's no one else. (Underscoring this point, when was the last time I even did a Can Con segment?) And I'll happily discuss The Hawk at any chance I can get. This time it's with a cover of the Hank Williams classic "Cold, Cold Heart". Ronnie puts a good deal more passion into his rendition than the original which is a mixed blessing. The dry wit of the Williams original is sacrificed in favour of something that is easier to listen to. He may not have topped the so-called Hillbilly Shakespeare but he certainly did one of his finest songs justice. Dammit, why couldn't Ronnie Hawkins have had a number one in his adopted homeland? And, no, I'm not including a future charity hit which we'll be getting to at some point. For now, Rompin' Ronnie is still one of Canada's national treasures for bringing southern American music up north. All hail!

Andy Stewart: "A Scottish Soldier"

February 13, 1961 (3 weeks)

Like most rock stars, Paul McCartney's concert setlist has been more or less the same for the last several years. (Look him up on the excellent Setlist wiki and see for yourself) "Here Today" is his tribute to John, "Something" is dedicated to George and he always trots out old favourites such as "I've Just Seen a Face", "Hey Jude", "Maybe I'm Amazed" and the banger "Nineteen Hundred and Eighty-Five". There have been alterations here and there whenever a new album comes out or with the addition of "Now and Then" to The Beatles' canon last year but the old standbys dominate — and that's the way it should be.

One number which doesn't always feature is his 1977 UK Christmas number one "Mull of Kintyre". While hugely successful in his homeland, it was never released as a single in the US, reduced to the status of B-side to "Girls School". Yet, it managed to do very well elsewhere. To this day it pops up typically during encores of shows in Australia, New Zealand and Canada. Something tells me the people of these Commonwealth countries appreciate "Mull of Kintyre" more than Macca's British fans. In a very disdainful review, Tom Ewing states that "Mull" "evokes nothing more than standard Highlands postcard imagery". I can't disagree but that's also why it's so endearing to many. The same goes for the appeal of Andy Stewart, a Scots performer who seemed to be far more popular in the old dominions than he ever was back in the UK — at least until his unexpected resurgence at the end of 1989.

Andy Stewart is as Scottish as a tin of shortbread decorated in tartan with photos of Loch Lomond and Ben Nevis. Not realistically Scottish but one that tracks with mental images of bagpipes. kilts, whisky and pretending to like Robbie Burns' poetry. One can even go to Scotland and still come away with the same idyllic impression of the fabled country despite the fact that much of it isn't like that. I spent a week there with my family in the autumn of 1988 and I experienced several things that clash with those "postcard" images. Bizarre food? Not really. Gruff people? More a mix of polite, rude and indifferent, just like everywhere else. Bad weather? Not for the entire time we were there. People in kilts and tam o' shanters? Almost no one. (I initially assumed that 1996's Trainspotting was set in seedy Glasgow rather than in the regal beauty of the Scottish capital until Hibernian FC posters and mention of the Edinburgh Fringe Festival set me straight. It was quite a shock)

The point is, Scotland manages to hang on to its stereotypes better than most other parts of the world. In part, this is down to citizens of the old colonies clinging to roots of a country many haven't even been to (or have left and have no desire to ever go back). Being ultra-Scottish almost necessitates being a foreigner. (Apologies for bringing up Trainspotting again, but when Ewan McGregor's Mark "Rents" Renton goes on a memorable rant about how it's "shite being Scottish", this was news to most of us around the world with Caledonian ancestry) This helps explain why Andy Stewart's "A Scottish Soldier" managed to go all the way to number one in those same countries where McCartney — along with various local bagpipe associations in what must be the most memorable gigs any of them ever played in — still performs "Mull of Kintyre". (In Britain, it had sufficient legs to spend the better part of a year moving around the Top 40 but it could only peak at a modest number nineteen)

"A Scottish Soldier" is an old song that goes back to the Crimean War, its tune "borrowed" from a nineteenth century Rossini opera. The narrative about an anonymous warrior bravely fighting only to give his life is surprisingly stirring considering all the potential for self-parody that could have tanked it. Yet, it's still not the kind of thing I ever need to hear again. Stewart sounds about as good as possible — we'll get an idea of how bad he could be very, very soon — but it's not enough for me to enjoy him. I have gotten somewhat used to it over the last several days but my enthusiasm for it is still low.

One thing worth noting about Stewart's lyrics is his brave move not to put the Scottish soldier's death in the Middle East or in the trenches of the Somme or some other ghastly place. I mean, to take your last breath amidst the beauty of the Austrian Alps can't be the worst way to go, can it? But it's not good enough since his wish is to be in those Highland hills. (I guess he wasn't a lowlander, huh?) Too bad for him that a war hasn't been fought on Scottish soil since the Jacobites. Then again, listeners in Canada, Australia and New Zealand could identify: they, too, wanted nothing more than to return to the pacific pure air of Scotland — even if, deep down, they had no desire to go back.

Score: 4

Neil Sedaka: "Calendar Girl"

January 23, 1961 (3 weeks)

I recently watched the Netflix documentary Return of the King: The Fall and Rise of Elvis Presley. I didn't learn a whole lot but there are definitely worse ways to spend an hour-and-a-half. I had been led to believe that manager Colonel Tom Parker had envisioned Presley's comeback show as being a Christmas special with his famous client sitting around a fireplace and singing Christmas carols but this presentation made it out to be more like cheesy skits being engineered to undercut The King's prowess as a rock 'n' roll star. Very little is mentioned as relates to producer Steve Binder, who is generally credited with convincing Elvis to abandon the showbiz glitz and go back to his roots.

Anyway, one of the talking heads was this critic who seemed like a parody of the self-righteous American music fan who demands his heroes be "authentic". The angrier he got, the more it made me want to laugh. If only he had bothered making a few good points as many of his colleagues managed to do. Instead, he offered up tired crap like "people didn't write their own songs before The Beatles". As I have already discussed here, this is totally false. Some artists did double duty as composers, others didn't. What the Fab Four and Bob Dylan did was to make it a rule that one had to be self-sufficient in the songs department.

So it wasn't simply Lennon, McCartney and Dylan — in fact, their paths were far less conventional than many of their contemporaries.  A crucial scene that helped foster a whole generation of singer-songwriters was Brill Building pop which acted as a kind of apprenticeship for talented young musicians. Neil Diamond, Carole King and Neil Sedaka all cut their teeth as staff songwriters, composing material for popular teen idols and girl groups of the day while being barely out of high school. (Randy Newman, Laura Nyro and Lou Reed all got their starts in not dissimilar circumstances, albeit not under the influential umbrella of Brill Building) The record labels wanted fresh, bouncy pop hits for their artists; these individuals delivered and acquired invaluable experience for their own careers along the way.

Different from the likes of late bloomers Diamond and King, Neil Sedaka managed to carve out a pop career of his own while still just a youngster himself. A piano prodigy — his domineering mother always dreamed of him as a concert pianist and only accepted her son as a pop star when the cheques from "Calendar Girl" began rolling in — he also happened to have a cracking All American "gee whiz" singing voice and he even looked the part. The only thing he seemed to lack was a lyrical flair but he had childhood neighbour Howard Greenfield to fill in the words.

Yeah, about that. "Calendar Girl" is a splendid pop hit but I'm not crazy about the lyrics. A low hanging fruit complaint? Maybe. These Brill Building guys worked hard but they weren't exactly busting many brain cells trying to get their rhyme schemes to work. Yet, even with that said, there's some awfully lazy writing going on. So, as the song plays, a chorus lists off each month of the year followed swiftly by Sedaka describing his plans. The first two months start off all right ("You start the year off fine" and "You're my little valentine") before we get to the third when it all goes awry. "I'm gonna march you down the aisle". March: I see what you did there! Very clever if utterly meaningless. Wasn't there anything else Greenfield could've thrown in there? St Patrick's Day? The Ides of March? The start of spring perhaps?

Then, there's some feeble punning. "Maybe if I ask your dad and mom": May/maybe, some real lyrical playfulness going on here. "They'll let me take you to the junior prom": June/junior, I love it. I take it the prom is supposed to be in May or June so good one there. Now, September ought to have been an open goal what with school starting and homecoming which is probably around that time. But no, instead we get "Light the candles for your sweet sixteen" all so they had something to match with October's "Romeo and Juliet for Halloween". ("You're my one and only homecoming queen" sounds much better to me but maybe that's why Sedaka and Greenfield are and were wealthy songwriters and I'm in the "I get paid nothing cos nobody reads this shit" blogging game)

Oh but I complain far too much. "Calendar Girl" is still a rousing pop song with a glorious shuffle, toy piano solo and Sedaka's wide-eyed optimism. Such a good time is being had by all involved that it's impossible not to want to join in. And what a great song to have around for the start of a year! Whether it's a 1960 Pittsburgh Pirates calendar or one from 1977 featuring the cast of Charlie's Angels or one from any given year filled with pictures of tiger cubs, no song better captures getting a new calendar and flipping its pages as we look ahead to a new year. We just got our 2025 UNICEF calendar in the mail: it may not look like a great year to come but we can always hope for the best. Good thing we got Neil Sedaka to help us along the way.

Score: 7

1960: Turn the Jukebox Way Down Low

2 — Johnny Preston: "Running Bear"

5 — Jimmy Clanton: "Go, Jimmy, Go"

5 — Mark Dinning: "Teen Angel"

7 — Jim Reeves: "He'll Have to Go"

5 — Johnny & The Hurricanes: "Beatnik Fly"

4 — Johnny Horton: "Sink the Bismark"

4 — Elvis Presley: "Stuck on You" / "Fame and Fortune"

1 — Anita Bryant: "Paper Roses"

5 — Jeanne Black: "He'll Have to Stay"

3 — Lonnie Donegan: "My Old Man's a Dustman"

7 — Connie Francis: "Everybody's Somebody's Fool" / "Jealous of You"

4 — Hank Locklin: "Please Help Me, I'm Falling"

3 — Brian Hyland: "Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini"

5 — Elvis Presley: "It's Now or Never" / "A Mess of Blues"

9 — The Ventures: "Walk — Don't Run"

8 — Jimmie Rodgers: "The Wreck of the John B"

6 — Bob Luman: "Let's Think About Living"

6 — The Drifters: "Save the Last Dance for Me"

3 — Lolita: "Sailor (Your Home Is the Sea)"

3 — Johnny Horton: "North to Alaska"

7 — Elvis Presley: "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" / "I Gotta Know"

8 — Bert Kaempfert: "Wonderland by Night"

"1964 can't come fast enough". These words appear in my write up on 1959 and it's a sentiment I've been thinking to myself for quite some time. Certainly it will be nice to welcome The Beatles to Old Familiar Tunes but with them come a whole new crate of problems. First there will be all those Fab Four rip off artists or, to be slightly more charitable, groups who hit it big simply because they too happened to hail from Merseyside. Then, there's the fact that all this mostly great instrumental pop will have faded away by the time John, Paul, George and Ringo came along. Finally, '64 marks the changeover from the CHUM hit parade to the RPM listings as Canada's national chart. While it's nice that things won't be quite so Toronto-centric, the new charts will have an almost weekly turnover of number ones for the next four or five years. Forty-seven number ones in 1966? Sign me up!

I hadn't anticipated much out of 1960 and at least I wasn't disappointed. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised by the odd number that came up. Jimmie Rodgers' "The Wreck of the John B" wasn't quite my favourite of the year but it wasn't all that far off either. That said, six entries scoring a 3 or less isn't great. Plus, there's another ten which fall in the mediocre range. Luckily, things are going to steadily improve from this point forward.

1961 looks set to be a fine if unspectacular year. The likes of The Marcels, Del Shannon, Ricky Nelson, Roy Orbison and Dion look set to raise the standards while the novelty hit makers of the age continue to seem content with dragging everyone down with them. Some people never learn, do they?

1964 can take its time getting here. Let's just leave it at that for now.

Bert Kaempfert: "Wonderland by Night"

December 5, 1960 (7 weeks)

Over the years, a number of people have opined on the sixties and when they came to an end. The catastrophic and tragic events at the Altamont Festival are frequently cited, as is the Manson Family murder spree. Both happened to take place in 1969 so the calendar helps them along. A more economically thoughtful take is that the decade of peace and love carried over until 1973 when the Yom Kippur War sent oil prices through the roof and led to a slowdown in spending and worldwide recession. But maybe The Simpsons got it right as they so often did: in one episode, Homer meets a pair of hippies who used to know his mother. The subject of the old van they used to drive around in comes up and one of them wistfully mentions that "in a way, the sixties ended the day we sold it - December 31, 1969".

What doesn't tend to get brought up a whole lot is when the decade began. This is more than a little odd since Americans like to make everything about themselves and they could easily point to either the assassination of John F. Kennedy or The Beatles performing on the Ed Sullivan Show as obvious examples. The British also have a pair of events that marked significant changes in the culture: the 1960 trial over the long-delayed publication of D.H. Lawrence's Lady Chatterley's Lover and the release of the first James Bond film Dr. No. As for me, I dare not suggest a legitimate candidate but I will say that the sixties didn't really begin until some point after "Wonderland by Night" went to number one.

Don't get me wrong: Bert Kaempfert's signature number slaps. Though as smooth as butter, the solos are riveting. I can't find any evidence of such a show but it's easy to imagine Kaempfert and his orchestra stretching it out to ten or twenty minutes the same way Duke Ellington did with the likes of "Sentimental Lady" and "Mood Indigo" in concert settings. It's just impossible to picture the peace and love sixties existing with something like this topping the charts despite the relaxed pace and my suspicion that a fair number of children would have been conceived to it.

I'm something of a jazz fan and it's nice to hear something like this doing so well at such a relatively late stage even if I wish it had been courtesy of Ellington or Louis Armstrong or the Modern Jazz Quartet instead. Mention of Sir Duke and Satchmo reminds me that they would get together for a pair of session dates the following spring. The resulting albums, Together for the First Time and The Great Reunion (later reissued together on CD as The Great Summit), are as brilliant as anyone could have dreamed. Couldn't the CHUM charts have found room for their jaunty version of "Do Nothin' till You Hear from Me" or their rip roaring take on "Cottontail"? Alas, the pop landscape was changing and no longer had space for these two giants. (Full disclosure: while Pops' star would remain bright enough that he would go on to have number ones in both the US and UK with "Hello Dolly" and "What a Wonderful World" respectively, he sadly will not be coming up in this blog)

Kaempfert wore many hats in West Germany's music scene. In addition to being proficient at several instruments, he was a composer, producer and arranger. Though rooted in jazz and easy listening, he was also smart enough not to poo-poo the beat craze of the day (at least not publicly). It was in his native Hamburg that he became aware of some of the English groups who were playing the dive bars around the city's notorious red light district, the Reeperbahn. Based on the recommendation of a colleague, he signed up The Beatles to back stalwart Tony Sheridan to play on his studio sessions which resulted in their first commercially available record "My Bonnie". He would later reach a gentlemen's agreement with fellow broadminded producer George Martin to release them from their German contract. Unbeknownst to Kaempert, The Beatles would usher in the sixties as everyone now remembers them which also closed the lid on songs like "Wonderland by Night" ever breaking through again.

 

Score: 8

Elvis Presley: "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" / "I Gotta Know"

November 28, 1960 (1 week)

And Elvis racks up his twelfth number one smash. All hail The King. Who could possibly challenge him? (The group that would eventually dethrone him was in the midst of getting thrown out of Germany at around this time. They had honed their craft but they were still miles away from this 'Toppermost of the Poppermost' they dreamed of)

A while back, I spent an entire review of a previous Presley single offering him advice that he no doubt didn't want and certainly never asked for. I stand by all of it though I must admit that there's one that has now led me to eat my words. In my defense, I hadn't considered this one at first and only ended up including it in a subsequent entry. Cease and desist with the ballads, they suck. 

Yeah, about that. Elvis Presley's slow songs used to sound like pleasant bits of nothing when held up against whichever rocker happened to be on the other side of basically any random single he had released between 1955 and well into his stint in the American armed forces. The girls (and, I daresay, a few of the guys) may have swooned over the weepies but it was the fast-paced dancefloor fillers that kept him in business - and rightly so. With "Love Me Tender" being the major exception, Presley's uptempo numbers always got the prominent A-side while the so-called ballads would languish on the flip. But now 

As Tom Breihan points out, the spoken-word section sounds like Elvis "improvised it mid-take" even though it had been a part of the song from the get go. It could be the way he extends the the letter F on "I wonder if...you're lonesome tonight" which makes it seem like he's organizing his thoughts as he speaks, rather than trying to conjure up the next bit he was supposed to memorize. Breihan uses this passage as proof that The King could have been a far greater actor than the bulk of his movies ever suggested. (I think this is what Jason Alexander's character in Curb Your Enthusiasm meant by 'Acting Without Acting')

The spoken bit also has one of the most unintentionally funny lines you're likely to come across. "You know someone said that, 'the world's a stage," The King informs us. That someone would be this guy called Shakespeare who was sort of a big deal in his day and is even known to some in modern times. I suppose if you happen to be Elvis then even the Bard can just be this "someone" who once said something of note. But there's also something sweet about this. I'm old enough to remember when everyone used to think they were quoting Churchill. For example, I'm quite sure the old fart never actually said to the female parliamentarian who accused him of being drunk, "yes, and you, ma'am, are ugly - but in the morning I shall be sober". You'd quote Churchill just as you'd recite lines from The Simpsons: in order to pretend to be funny. But here, Elvis is intent on making a point and not out to prove what a clever bugger he is by quoting Shakespeare.

As post-army Elvis goes, "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" is about as good as he gets. I'm not entirely convinced the composition is particularly brilliant but Presley gets everything out of it. The whole thing seems like a romantic gesture until the malice slowly reveals itself. Elvis sounds as gooey at song's end as at he did at the beginning which makes the spiteful lyrics even more hard hitting. And no one can convince me otherwise that he tweaked the final line to "tell me dear, are you loathsome tonight?"

It all works so well especially considering that it is one of those tunes that feels as if it has existed forever. I seldom hear it yet it's as familiar to me as "Yesterday". If I don't quite love it to pieces, then at least I greatly admire the gravitas that Elvis managed to give it. As always, however, my spirits are dampened considerably by "I Gotta Know" which is probably his most forgettable B-side to date. While his flip sides weren't always among his finest works, I can certainly imagine young fans wishing to give them a listen every so often. But in this instance it's clearly a case of 'play it once and never again'. As Neil Tennant someone said, people buy singles for the B-sides but I seriously doubt there was much interest in them coming from The King. 

Score: 7

Johnny Horton: "North to Alaska"

November 14, 1960 (2 weeks)

So far four acts have managed to tally at least three number ones on the CHUM chart: The Everly Brothers, David Seville and, now, Johnny Horton all racked up a trio of chart toppers while Elvis Presley has no less than eleven — with, needless to say, plenty more to come. Even considering the grip The King had on popular music, this is still an astonishing number. Plus, it's worth remembering that the establishment of a national Canadian chart didn't begin until the middle of 1957: had it come along a year or so earlier, his total likely would be even higher.

The other three are more of a mixed bag. Obviously, The Everly Brothers were great and belong here even if they got jobbed out of a fourth number one when their masterpiece, "Cathy's Clown", lost out to some piece of crap. And then there's David Seville and Johnny Horton: proof, if any was needed, that success doesn't always come out of quality work. But at least the former has one contribution that I would almost consider listening to for pleasure, 1958's "Witch Doctor". Which leaves Horton, a man who never met a song he couldn't completely mess up.

Well, it's important to point out that he didn't seem to choose very good material to begin with. So, either he had a knack for ballsing up mediocre songs or he treated the crappy songs he recorded with all the respect they deserved. (I could go either way on this one) But it doesn't say much for Horton that at best he selected shit songs that weren't improved by his presence. (That said, he was the co-writer of his two most recent number ones so it's also his responsibility that the compositions weren't up to snuff as well)

To give him his due, "Sink the Bismark" had been a modest improvement on the abominable "The Battle of New Orleans" but "North to Alaska" is a return to wretched form. It's as though he found himself a cozy spot doing novelty country anthems for Hollywood motion pictures and he was happy to ride that wave. If this made him a living and bought him a nice house to raise his family then bless him but I'll pass on having to listen to the crummy fruits of his labours.

Okay, one more listen. I guess if I'm going to be as generous as possible, I'll acknowledge that it's not quite as irritating as "The Battle of New Orleans". But that's probably the best I can do. Frankly, I'm glad I don't have to blog about any more of his hits even though I wish it had been due to his career stalling rather than the tragic circumstances that befell just as this his most recent single was climbing the charts.

Sadly, Horton would not live long enough to enjoy the success of "North to Alaska". He was killed in a car accident while en route from Texas to Louisiana between gigs. (Bandmate Tillman Franks, who also co-wrote Horton's final hit, was also in the same the automobile but he managed to survive). I don't care for his records but there's no question he deserved a much longer time on Earth than his thirty-five years. And who knows? He might have even found the inspiration to write and record a passable or even brilliant hit but we'll never know.

Score: 3

Lolita: "Sailor (Your Home Is the Sea)"

October 31, 1960 (2 weeks)

It was in 1955 that the literary world was rocked by the publication of Lolita, a supposedly erotic novel by Russian-American writer Vladimir Nabokov. I say "supposedly erotic" because there's nothing remotely titillating about a grown man grooming a school-age girl. I'm not trying to condemn the book or author, mind you; I read it and thought it was rather good, if not quite as brilliant as many literary types would have you believe (still, I got through it which is more than can be said for the baffling and utterly unenjoyable Pale Fire).

I'm not sure it was inevitable that a female singer from Europe would adopt the stage name 'Lolita' but I'd say it tracks. What would have been unexpected is that she didn't come onto the scene as a fifties' equivalent of Britney Spears in a crop top school uniform but as the smiling, wholesome, unglamourous and very much adult persona of one Edith "Ditta" Einzinger, who had previously been a kindergarten teacher in her native Austria. If she had been out to troll middle aged dads for clout then well done!

It's a shame she didn't put as much effort into her recording career. To be fair, however, Lolita is probably the best thing about "Sailor (Your Home Is the Home)". Her voice isn't especially notable but it's more than good enough which makes it a good deal preferable to everything else. The music plods along at a languid, vaguely country and western pace (something that is far more apparent in Petula Clark's English version) and there's a thoroughly nauseating chorus that pops up from time to time. Though recorded near the end of 1959 (with the English spoken-word part tacked on at a later date in anticipation of its release in North America), it somehow sounds older than its sixty-five years. If not for the lack of technology, it might as well have been recorded centuries ago. That's timelessness for you, even if the record itself isn't all that good.

"Sailor (Your Home Is the Sea)" — aka "Seemann (Deine Heimat ist das Meer)", to give its full German title — is the third Canadian number one of 1960 to be about seafaring which may or may not be of significance. What matters is that it is the only one which doesn't seem to have an appreciation for the water. Johnny Horton's "Sink the Bismark", for all of its ills, is a naval call-to-arms while Jimmie Rodgers' "The Wreck of the John B" gives a stirring account of being out at sea for far too long. "Sailor", on the other hand, is given from the female perspective: a schoolteacher from landlocked Austria is probably not going to have much of an understanding of life as a merchant marine. The lonely girlfriend stuck at home while her man sails the around the world is a topic that hasn't been covered much in pop and it deserved better than this feeble attempt. 

Continental pop would be slow to adapt to the beat group boom and it would take even longer for female artists to really start sexing up their images. This is no bad thing but what really holds back a record like "Sailor" is that there's little for the listener to relate to — and not just because I don't speak German. Luckily, there would be another number one from a neighbouring country coming along soon that would really get hearts fluttering, as indeed it still should.

Score: 3

~~~~~

Can Con

Bloody hell, the CHUM charts have been low on homegrown talent of late. Only Paul Anka and Jack Scott have been appearing with much regularity. But then a new act emerged out of Quebec. The Beau-Marks had already made the CHUM hit parade earlier in the year with "Clap Your Hands", which also somehow managed to reach the number one spot in Australia, and "Billy, Billy Went A-Walking" was the follow-up. Both singles are strong if somewhat low on character, which is something a lot of non-American acts struggled with prior to around 1964. The sort of songs you can listen to three dozen times and still not remember even if you enjoyed it while it was on. If only they'd been active a few years later.

The Drifters: "Save the Last Dance for Me"

October 24, 1960 (1 week)

Over the previous eight weeks, the CHUM charts had been topped by three hit singles: The Ventures' "Walk — Don't Run", Jimmie Rodgers' "The Wreck of the John B" and Bob Luman's "Let's Think About Living". None of them managed to accomplish the same feat on either the Hot 100 or the UK's Record Retailer chart, the longest such streak to date in which the Canadians refused to be in concert with either the Americans or the British (or both).

This modest run concluded with "Save the Last Dance for Me", an American number one and UK number two for The Drifters. It also managed to top the charts in New Zealand and South Africa — and perhaps a few more than I'm not aware of. No doubt millions of people bought it and many continue to play on streaming services. It has also been covered by the likes of Dolly Parton and Michael Buble. A great many people love this song; I just think it's pretty good.

What do I have against it? Nothing much. It's perfectly fine for what it is, it's just never grabbed me. I'm frankly amazed that there to learn that there are people out there who consider it to be about a controlling husband or boyfriend attempting to manipulate his lover into staying with him. I mean, it could be about that for all I know, I just can't believe anyone has ever put so much thought into such a relatively innocuous song. (And I say this as someone who regularly puts way too much thought into even more innocuous songs)

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame began in 1986 with a bang, inducting twenty-five members in its first two years. It was only in '88 that things began to settle. And what a class it was that year. The Beatles (who somehow weren't a charter member; yes, I'm aware the Rock Hall has their twenty-five year rule but you'd think they would have looked the other way when it came to the biggest group of all time), Bob Dylan (ditto), The Beach Boys and The Supremes make up a rock solid quartet that no one could've quarreled over. But there was a fifth new member: The Drifters. Among such lofty company, they must have been pretty special in their own right.

Yeah, not really. "Save the Last Dance for Me" is nice a nice R&B song but they don't have much else. The Coasters got into the Hall a year earlier with a far greater discography. Ultimately, their induction just goes to show that the American rock critics were going to be loose with who ends getting in, which is fair enough. I'd much rather have Halls of Fame in music and sports that induct too many members rather than not enough. The Drifters can be in for all I care. But let's not go nuts here. A fine vocal group with one major hit and a handful of smaller ones with a rotating lineup (appropriately enough, they Drifted in and out) does not a legend make.

It's significant that the best song involving a member of The Drifters is Ben E. King's remarkable solo hit "Stand by Me" which will eventually be coming up in this blog. I have far more to say about it than I do this competent single. It may sound like I'm trashing "Save the Last Dance for Me" but it's more that it's a good song that I don't care about. I'd sooner be blogging about number ones that I can't stand than those I'm largely indifferent towards. Oh, and look! It looks like there's one coming up next!

Score: 6