Bobby "Boris" Pickett: "Monster Mash"

October 8, 1962 (2 weeks)

August 4, 1973 (3 weeks)

Yes, that is correct, "Monster Mash" managed to reach number one in Canada on two occasions. And while the first entry makes some sense being in October, a look at the date the reissue went to the top seems totally out of whack. August 4?!? Just shy of three months away from Halloween and it's right back at the top? What gives? Did Bill and Marty over at KBBL Radio in Springfield play it by accident and it took off from there?

So, I'm going to come right out and say it: I don't like Halloween. I mean, it was okay when I was a little kid but even then it was by no means one of those days I looked forward to like the last day of school or Christmas or going to the Calgary Stampede. I wasn't a creative child so I never had a clue about choosing a costume and having to trudge around my neighbourhood going door-to-door in search of candy always seemed like more trouble than it was worth. Aptly, one of my favourite Halloweens was in 1984 when Alberta was hit by a cold spell and temperatures plunged to -25. I manged to do half a block before giving up and making due mostly with the Coffee Crisp and Aero chocolate bars my folks bought for kids who were similarly freezing and unwilling to go door knocking.

When I was ten, I unknowingly went trick-or-treating for the last time; a year later we were living in England where no one cared about it (though, apparently, this antipathy has changed considerably since then) and by the time we were back, I was in junior high school and no longer allowed to do it. And I didn't much care. I am now well into adulthood and I think I dislike it even more. I did dress up a couple times when I was a university student mostly to impress girls but that's about it. (My university here in South Korea used to do Halloween events for local kids which I would sometimes participate in. Students never bothered dressing up for it and so neither did I)

Now that that's out of the way, I'm going to go back on what I alluded to above. There's nothing at all wrong with "Monster Mash" getting to number one in the middle of the summer — or, indeed, at any time of the year. People went to see movies like Dracula and Frankenstein and The Exorcist and it mattered little if they came out in October or not. More than being about Halloween, it's about ghouls getting down. It's a party song. Not one that I would play at a party but that's just me. (Notice, too, that it wasn't even much of a Halloween favourite back in '62: with still over a week to go until the big day it had already been dethroned from the top of the Canadian charts by The Crystals with "He's a Rebel" which is also a far better party anthem)

Is "Monster Mash" great? Not especially. Is it utter crap like fellow novelty hit "The Purple People Eater"? No, it's nowhere near that bad either. It's perfectly good for what it is but I'd never choose to listen to it — though I wouldn't crabbily demand it be taken off if it happened to come on. As of late there has been a phenomenon called Whamaggeddon in which "players" are supposed to see how long they can go from the start of December until Christmas Eve without hearing Wham!'s eighties classic "Last Christmas". I've never played it myself seeing as how I quite like that song but I understand the impulse to avoid shit that gets overplayed, especially during the holiday season. The status of "Monster Mash" as a defacto Halloween song means you're not likely to come across it at any other time of the year - and it's easy to avoid and, thus, I never have to get sick of it. Not much of a ringing endorsement but don't forget I'm just a sad old grump who hates Halloween.

Score: 5

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"Can Con"

So, a song called "Montreal" was a Top 20 hit on the CHUM charts in '62. The credited artist is one 'Johnny Williams' who I assumed was a Canadian singer I'd never heard of before. Turns out, he's THE John Williams — or, to be clear, one of THE John Williams: not the author of the splendid novels Stoner and Augustus though. Yes, the film composer who did all those iconic Star Wars scores: "Main Title" (aka the opening crawl theme), "Cantina Band", "The Empire March", "Duel of the Fates". Apparently he scored other movies too. I'm pretty sure he did Superman but I'm not really sure about any of the others and I don't feel like taking a look. As for this "Montreal" single, I would never have guessed it was the same guy who I think also did the score for Jurassic Park. It's kind of a polka and it's okay. It helps that it's brief. Just don't ask me what movie it comes from. (It's not from Minority Report, is it?)

~~~~~

Can Con

On to what was in the charts in '73, we have some genuine Canadiana with The Stampeders and their sixth Top 10 hit "Gypsy Minstrel". Just as Bobby Pickett does a mean Boris Karloff and a decent Bela Lugosi, singer Rich Dodson pulls off a seriously good Gordon Lightfoot impersonation here. I'm not so sure he was as capable of writing as good a song as the Canadian legend but it's not a bad try. A comfy bit of soft rock isn't the worst thing in the world but I'll take "Sweet City Woman" thank you very much.

The Four Seasons: "Sherry"

September 3, 1962 (5 weeks)

1962 saw the rise of an all-time great American band, one that would go on to become something of an institution. They were a vocal group with roots in doo-wop. Their unique harmonies weren't simply hugely successful but also deeply influential. They were so good that they even managed to withstand the rise of The Beatles — for at little while anyway.

I am of course talking about The Beach Boys but I could just as easily be describing The Four Seasons. I've recently been rereading Craig Brown's wonderful book One, Two, Three, Four: The Beatles in Time (with the less imaginative title of 150 Glimpses of The Beatles for its North American release) which mentions how the first time Brian Wilson heard the Fab Four he was gobsmacked by how amazing there were before becoming despondent that his band was already in trouble. Brown then goes on to state that "for the past six months the Beach Boys had been the most popular group in America".

This is by no means a major criticism but I call bullshit on Brown's claim. While it was probably pretty close between the two, I'm going to state that The Four Seasons were the bigger group. Not only that, I'm not so sure The Beach Boys ever completely overtook them either. It's only from the modern point-of-view that the the Wilsons, their dumbass, creepy cousin and chum Al Jardine seem like giants next to the Jersey Boys. This is the group that did Pet Sounds. And released some unfathomably fantastic singles like "California Girls", "God Only Knows", "Good Vibrations" and "Sail on, Sailor". And had a tortured genius take them to incredible commercial and creative heights — as well as drag them down to some seriously embarrassing lows. Yet, I'm quite sure The Four Seasons were every bit as popular as they were.

Let's be honest: there isn't a great deal to their breakthrough smash "Sherry". The verses are of little consequence and most people would be hard pressed to describe the narrative (largely because there isn't one). The beat is not unlike contemporary Motown numbers, albeit without the same flawless musicianship. What made kids flock to it initially and what has been bringing people back ever since is that extraordinary voice of Frankie Valli's and, by extension, the stunning chorus which he brings to life.

Valli's voice isn't for everyone, especially at this early stage. (Having said that, the singer was already twenty-eight at this point so one can only wonder what he must've sounded like a decade earlier) Though I vehemently disagree with his conclusion and the score he gave, Tom Breihan's assertion that Valli sounds "like a playground bully making fun of a kid with a high-pitched voice" is hilarious. I'm not even so sure he's wrong either. Yet, I love it. His range is just incredible as though this humble 45 on a modest Philadelphia-area record label was his last shot at glory. (This was the same company that released Beatles' singles that Capitol wanted no part of in 1963; trying a year later to milk it for all it was worth, Vee-Jay even released a double album set called The Beatles vs. The Four Seasons)

And Frankie Valli sure made it count. His cohorts — Bob Gauido (who also wrote "Sherry"), Tommy DeVito and Nick Massi — all come through in a backing role but there's no mistaking who the star is. I'm not so sure if it's a matter of their powerhouse vocals, studio tricks on the part of producer Bob Crewe or the contrast of coming out of some comparatively dreary verses but each stab at that chorus seems even bigger and brighter and bolder than the last.

The Four Seasons — or one of their aliases — will be coming up several times in this blog over the next several months and years, to the extent that I'm bound to eventually get sick of them. Valli's over-the-top vocal style would eventually be tamed but their success would continue with the seven or eight CHUM/RPM number ones they would rack up vastly outstripping The Beach Boys. History would go on to remember the group on the west coast of the US but their rivals on the other side of the country deserve to be just as fondly remembered.

Score: 8

~~~~~

Can Con

Like James Naismith and The Weeknd, Hank Snow is the type of celebrity who we have to be constantly reminded was Canadian - since we'd never know otherwise. On the country classic "I've Been Everywhere" he duly lists of hundreds of cities he's been to in the United States while only managing to fit Toronto and Ottawa in and, thus, is anticipating "North American" tours in which a group or singer visits four dozen towns in the US and just one or two up north. Snow's ability to list off locales at rapid-fire speed is impressive but he lacks the deadpan humour that Johnny Cash would give it on his true masterpiece, 1996's Unchained. From a modern perspective I'm a little turned off by his boasting of covering virtually every inch of the USA while barely mentioning Canada but perhaps this was a point of pride among his fans at the time. Nothing says Canadian pride like making it down in the States, you know.

Tommy Roe: "Sheila"

August 27, 1962 (1 week)

Just as they were becoming famous, The Beatles began appearing on package concerts around the UK. These shows typically had at least half-a-dozen performers, some having already passed their peak, others at the height of fame and others trying to make a name for themselves. John, Paul, George and Ringo started off just happy to be there but before long they had become the sensations of Britain.

Famously, their package tour headlined by teenage English vocalist Helen Shapiro was marked by a noticeable decline in her career prospects just as theirs was on the rise. She had been one of the UK's most successful artists at the beginning of 1963 but by year's end she was all but finished; they, in turn, went from barely known to the four most recognizable faces in the entire country. She might have become bitter by this turn of events but she hit it off with them and only ever had good things to say about the time in which the biggest band that ever lived opened for her.

But not everyone had their showbiz careers ruined by The Beatles during this period. Stars Chris Montez and Tommy Roe were both similarly upstaged by the Fab Four on another package tour and their prospects certainly derailed but they weren't quite finished. Roe, in particular, would get through the ordeal, scoring a second number one on the Hot 100 just as The Beatles were coming apart. (In Canada, Roe would have a three chart toppers, the third, conveniently, in the midst of the Fabs' creative peak)

But we're getting ahead of ourselves. In the late stages of the summer of '62, The Beatles had yet to record "Love Me Do", 'fab' had not yet entered the common parlance and neither had the term 'bubblegum' — unless, of course, you're referring to the pink chewing gum instead of the throwaway brand of pop.

Some genres and sub-genres of music are named retroactively. The most famous is Yacht Rock from the seventies and early eighties. It was known simply as soft rock back in its heyday but has since been re-christened after an online comedy series in 2005 of the same name. Less well-remembered is its British cousin Sophisti-pop which I don't recall even having a name at the height of ABC, Prefab Sprout, Scritti Politti and The Style Council. (I've also heard the term 'Soulcialism' used more recently which I've always thought to be more apt). Bubblegum was not similarly named after the fact. It had been used for "groups" like The Archies as pop music began to make a comeback in the face of all this late sixties' rock.

It turns out, bubblegum has some strict definitions. The Monkees have even been excluded, possibly on the grounds that they proved to be far more creative than they had been expected to be. Tommy Roe would become identified with it when "Dizzy" became a global smash in 1969 — to the extent that his whole career came to be defined as such, even though he was having hits years before anyone had used the term.

In a sense, I suppose "Sheila" is bubblegum. Then again, so was a lot of early sixties' pop. When the bulk of the mainstream music is highly disposable, it's difficult for any particular singers or groups to stand out. On the other hand, Roe was clearly aspiring towards being the next Buddy Holly. Between his vocal mannerisms, the rhythm guitar and the drumming, "Sheila" sounds like it was lifted directly from "Peggy Sue". No one considered Holly bubblegum so why should one of his musical descendants?

Still, bubblegum or not, I'm not fussed by this. While the musicianship is more than credible, the songwriting is slight with all-too-obvious rhymes. Like a good deal of cheap pop, it seems nice enough while it's on but it becomes forgotten about almost as soon as it comes to an end. Whatsmore, it goes downhill with each subsequent listen: what seems like good, harmless fun at first, quickly becomes tiresome and trite in short order.

The poptimist movement of the early 2000's really did a lot of good in terms to ridding the world of that ludicrous idea that the likes of ABBA, Bee Gees and Carpenters were 'guilty pleasures' but it has plenty to answer for as well, not the least of which being that pop should unquestionably be taken seriously when not all of it deserves to be. Some bubblegum is decent but much of it is as disposable as we'd previously been led to believe. Think about it this way: as a kid, Hubba Bubba was the gum to go for. It had the best flavours (even if I'll never understand what was so great about watermelon), it blew the best bubbles and it remained a softer chew for longer. At the other end of the spectrum was Juicy Fruit, which scarcely seemed like bubblegum at all. The flavour would vanish in seconds, you could hardly get a bubble out of a single piece and its dull grey appearance was hardly appetizing. Like the gum, bubblegum pop could vary in quality, from those who lasted to those who rapidly fell apart.

On the other hand, Tommy Roe may have been the Juicy Fruit of pop but at least he wasn't the Thrills gum.

Score: 4

Little Eva: "The Loco-Motion"

August 13, 1962 (2 weeks)

In its first quarter century, "The Loco-Motion" was a major hit three times: by Little Eva in 1962, by Grand Funk Railroad in '74 and by Kylie Minogue in '87/'88. Since then, nothing. You'd think there would have been a sweet R&B girl group version in the nineties, a downbeat post-indie offering in the early 2000's and at least one EDM rendition since then. (For that matter, am I the only one who feels disappointed that it has never been mashed up with Kraftwerk's "Trans-Europe Express"?) A once bankable hit and no one in nearly forty years wants to have anything to do with it. What's the matter with the modern world of pop?

"The Twist" is the most popular and best remembered but there were many other dance craze hits back in the early sixties. (In addition, singles like "The Hustle" revived this trend in the disco era) It wasn't even Chubby Checker's sole attempt as the much more forgettable "Pony Time" gave him a second number one on the Hot 100. Dee Dee Sharpe's "Mashed Potato Time" was a major hit in the spring of '62 (kept off the top spot of the CHUM chart by The Shirelle's "Soldier Boy"). A group called The Orlons had their sole hit with "The Wah-Watusi". (Not every dance fad spurned a novelty pop song to accompany it even though you'd think that "Swimming on the Dancefloor" pretty much writes itself)

Oddly enough, "The Loco-Motion" isn't quite a part of this tradition. Far from being the thing that "everybody's doing", it wasn't a dance move at all but a pop hit which contrived to create one. It really tells you about the kind of roll songwriters Carole King and Gerry Goffin were on that they could fabricate a dance sensation and then have it immortalized in one of their most endearing works. But while the song would take off, the dance itself never became the thing to do.

I don't know if it played a role at all but there could have been a little too much prodding on the part of Little Eva (and then Mark Farner and then Kylie Minogue). Chubby Checker encourages his baby to do this twist of his but he doesn't hammer the point home; by contrast, Eva sounds like she's doing some serious arm twisting — see what I did there? — in order to get people to do this loco-motion with her. "I know you'll get to like it if you give it a chance": since when was dancing supposed to be the equivalent of getting kids to eat their vegetables? It's not unlike that person at a party or wedding reception who's always trying to get others to join them in behaving like a giant dick on the dancefloor rather than doing what sensible people do in such situations, ie getting absolutely wasted and making an even bigger dick of onself.

None of Eva, Farner or Minogue have or had especially good voices but that's not we've come for anyway. Which begs the question: the dance move is stupid and pointless, the lyrics serve little purpose and the singers aren't anything special so what are we here for? Simple, the good times. Like "Take the 'A' Train", "Sing Sing Sing" and "Rock Around the Clock" before it and "Dancing Queen", "Don't Stop Till You Get Enough" and "Back to Life" since, it is the sound of pure joy. You don't even have to enjoy dancing to be into it. In the end, "The Loco-Motion" is a song less about a dance fad than it is about itself and glorious pop music in general. "It even makes you happy when you're feeling blue": great songs are able to accomplish this far more effectively than the twist, the mashed potato or the watusi ever could.

Finally, a word on the title. It is but one of three great songs known as "Locomotion". Little Eva's wasn't even the first with "Locomotion" by John Coltrane (from his breakthrough album Blue Train) predating it by five years. In the eighties, synth-pop group Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark — aka OMD — had a UK Top 10 hit with a "Locomotion" of their own. A message to up and coming bands out there: write a song called "Locomotion", it's bound to be a hit. (Failing that, cover one or more of them or, better yet, mash them up...uh, mash-ups are still a thing, right?)

Score: 8

Neil Sedaka: "Breaking Up Is Hard to Do"

July 30, 1962 (2 weeks)

The last time he came up in this space, I knocked Neil Sedaka's "Calendar Girl" for its naff lyrics. Being that this was the task of childhood friend Howard Greenfield, this isn't directly the singer/composer's fault but it was his name and picture on the sleeve of the 45 so the buck stopped with him. Much to Greenfield's credit, he got better as a wordsmith — even though there's a good chance he and Sedaka weren't even aware of it at the time.

Rather amazingly, "Breaking Up Is Hard to Do" is one of two CHUM chart toppers from 1962 to manage to make it back to number one on Canada's RPM Top 40 over a decade later. (RPM would take over from CHUM midway through 1964 which will be dealt with when we get there) But while the other one will be blogged about just the once - because it was a straight up reissue, rather than a re-recording; again, I'll discuss it further when it comes up - what might well be Neil Sedaka's signature hit will be the subject of two separate entries, one on the original here and another on his "cover" from 1976. For, apart from the lyrics being the same, the two have very little else in common; listeners who have only been half paying attention — of which I may or may not be one, I'd rather not say — would likely assume that they are two entirely different songs that happen to have the same title. (As if to address this, the '76 version begins with a brief sample of the original)

Revamping old songs is nothing new. Louis Armstrong was constantly doing updated recordings of his work, even some from his groudbreaking Hot Fives and Sevens sessions. His maudlin rendition of "Do Nothing Till You Hear from Me" from the orchestra and strings adorned I've Got the World on a String was followed a couple years later by a happy-go-lucky take for his team up with composer Duke Ellington on the astonishing The Great Summit. Others in jazz were similarly interested in multiple tries at with the same songs including Miles Davis, Charles Mingus and Thelonious Monk. In pop and rock the practice is less common but not unheard of. The Beach Boys turned the goofy novelty of "Help Me Ronda" into a bona fide smash "Help Me Rhonda". The stadium rock plea of Eric Clapton's "Layla" later became more mature and reflective on the guitarist's MTV Unplugged show.

Sedaka's two versions of "Breaking Up Is Hard to Do" are not unlike "Layla" (and, therefore, the reverse of "Do Nothing Till You Hear from Me"). On this first attempt, it's as if crafting the most addictive pop sound was the priority with little consideration for Greenfield's lyrics. And, honestly, if you're clever enough to conjure up a doo-wop arrangement like this, why would you have concern for anything else? Sedaka has admitted that he and Greenfield couldn't come up with lyrics to fit so they settled on a bit of scat-filled fun. Even where there are proper words, the 'come-a, come-a down, dooby doo down down' line still hogged the spotlight. And why not? As Tom Breihan notes, "he sounds like he already knows that this pathetic plea is going to work because he sold it with all the verve it needed". The '75 version might beg to differ but that's an argument for another time.

Sedaka's voice is so unabashedly bright and cheerful that, once again, you might not notice that deep down this is a sad song. Plus, he was still just twenty-three years old and perhaps not yet worn down by decades of love gone pear-shaped to be appropriately depressive or cynical. (That said, my early twenties was when I was at my peak of relationship pessimism so who the hell knows?) But in catering towards what was still a young and naive audience, a big bright pop hit was all that was needed. He just wasn't to know that there would be much more below the surface.

Score: 8

Eddie Hodges: "(Girls, Girls, Girls) Made to Love"

July 23, 1962 (1 week)

Australia: #47

UK: #37

US (Cashbox): #20

US (Hot 100): #14

Canada: #1

These are some chart positions for "(Girls, Girls, Girls) Made to Love" that I nicked from Wikipedia. (As an aside, I really must make a donation to them) As you no doubt noticed, I have them listed from lowest peak position to highest — or, if I am feeling especially grumpy and/or cynical, from sanest to silliest.

As a child star, it's quite likely that Eddie Hodges wasn't as much of a household name in the UK or Australia as he had been in North America. This tracks with showbiz trends, especially prior to the 1990 release of Home Alone and the subsequent worldwide stardom of Macaulay Culkin. This goes at least someway towards explaining how Hodges wasn't exactly running up the hits abroad. That said, he also only performed modestly in his native America compared to up north. Not many fifteen-year-olds can claim to have had a pair of number ones, even if it was only in Canada.

It's impossible to say what Canadians saw in him though I will admit that "Made to Love" is better than his previous chart topper, 1961's "I'm Gonna Knock on Your Door". While far from brilliant, it's a respectable work. I hadn't been expecting much and my eyes rolled when I discovered that it was a cover of an Everly Brothers' song. Amazingly, Hodges even managed to top the original.

A bit of a qualifier before we move on though: "Made to Love" by Don and Phil Everly isn't all that great. I've expressed my admiration for the duo a few times in this space already but there's a reason this one had been unknown to me until just recently. (Well, I suppose there are two reasons: (a) as I just said, it isn't up to much and (b) it's a deep cut off an album I'm unfamiliar with; like the vast majority of pop stars from the pre-Beatles/Dylan era, the Everlys were a singles band)

The Everlys were still only in their early twenties by the time their fourth album, A Date with the Everly Brothers, came out. Highlights include the magnificent Boudleaux Bryant composition "Love Hurts", their outstanding cover of Little Richard's "Lucille" and the sublime "Cathy's Clown", a Don Everly original. Yet, younger brother Phil didn't take to songwriting as effortlessly. "Made to Love" might have suited them five or six years earlier but they had clearly outgrown such childish stuff by the sixties. (The only possible explanation as to why they chose to have it open their latest album was to get it over with as quickly as possible; the logical thing would have been to bury it in the middle of sides one or two)

Being overly juvenile wasn't a worry for the teenaged Eddie Hodges. Indeed, it's likely that Nashville studio houseband Charlie McCoy and the Escorts played up to the song's naive innocence. Whoever it was playing the piano really seemed to get it. (Judging by the group's info on Discogs, it's unclear they even had a regular keyboardist though McCoy himself was well known for playing multiple instruments at once: he famously played both bass and trumpet on Bob Dylan's "Rainy Day Woman #12 & 35") The twinkling keys really give it a playful atmosphere that you won't find on the Everly original. Plus, Hodges sounds like a boy who has no idea how to talk to girls, something I don't imagine Don or Phil ever having trouble with.

Hodges' time at the top of the entertainment world would slowly start to unwind following "Made to Love". He would only make one more Top 40 appearance in Canada while the hits dried up entirely elsewhere. His film career carried on until the late sixties when he ended up getting drafted into the US army. Soon after his release, he would turn his back on Hollywood. He is now a grandfather living in Mississippi, having spent the bulk of his adulthood as a counselor specializing in mental health. It's nice to know that he didn't become a childstar casualty of the ruthless showbiz world. Hopefully, he has been able to set an example for others that there is life beyond the applause and the cheers.

Score: 5

Brian Hyland: "Sealed with a Kiss"

July 16, 1962 (1 week)

One of my main tools for running this blog is the invaluable CHUM Tribute Site. Run by enthusiast Doug Thompson, it includes photos, memorabilia and, most relevant to this endeavour, scans of CHUM charts from the fifties all the way through to the eighties. I can't do without it and I plan to continue using this resource even after the Toronto-area radio station stopped being Canada's national chart.

That said, there are errors. I'm not judging, especially since I am well aware that I've committed my share of mistakes in my writing. One such howler is listing Bobby Vinton as the credited artist on "Sealed with a Kiss" on their list of number ones from 1962. I initially chalked this up to the Polish Prince having had the previous chart topper with "Roses Are Red (My Love)" until I remembered that he would go on to have a hit of his own with it a decade or so later. (There is also an error just below it, which credits Ernie Mareska (sic.) as the artist behind "(Girls Girls Girls) Made to Love" which was in fact recorded by Eddie Hodges)

Vinton's version of "Sealed with a Kiss" is one of three that are worth discussing. The others are by Brian Hyland, who actually topped the CHUM charts with it in the summer of '62, and Australian actor/pop star Jason Donovan, who managed to have his third UK number one on the bounce with it. Vinton's is probably the best-produced and most professional of them and he was (and, indeed, probably still is) at least a hundred times the singer as either of them but it is also by far the worst. 

Tom Ewing considers Vinton's version to be "insincere" which I can see. In fact, I hope that's what it is. Otherwise there's something creepy about a guy in his late thirties singing about teen romance and longing for the girl he won't be seeing until September. Definite creepy-gym-teacher-who's-been-sleeping-with-students-on-the-down-low vibes here. Hyland was nineteen when his recording of "Sealed with a Kiss" made the charts; Donovan was a year older. The two could've at least still passed for high school students.

As for Hyland, this is a marked improvement on the lousy "Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini", a single that I generously gave a 3 for some reason. Having previously celebrated the joys of summer in such crass fashion, it's rather nice to hear him expunge on how July and August can be such a drag. (One of my many pop obsessions is with songs about how the summer can be a giant load of suck; I don't know if I'd put "Sealed with a Kiss" quite as high as Bananarama's "Cruel Summer" and Belle & Sebastian's "Summer Wasting" but it might not be too far off)

Though not a technically proficient singer, Hyland does a good job pleading with his best girl that they'll be right back to where they left off once the summer holidays are done with. While not quite pathetic, he manages to sound desperate enough and is more than convincing. (By contrast, Jason Donovan's take is darker, as though something ominous is about to befall the couple in question during their separation)

Another point that Ewing makes in his review of Donovan's cover is that no one has ever "quite nailed a definite take on it". Again, I'm inclined to agree. One comment accompanying his review states that George Michael would've done wonders with it. True but I can't imagine the late Wham! superstar having any use for it either. The big problem with "Sealed with a Kiss" is that individuals who either can't sing all that well or are stuck in a perpetual state of youthfulness are the only ones who seem interested in recording it. A truly gifted artist like a George Michael or a Smokey Robinson or a Rufus Wainwright, on the other hand, would have far better things to do than lay down a session for a nice piece of juvenalia such as this

Score: 6

Bobby Vinton: "Roses Are Red (My Love)"

June 25, 1962 (3 weeks)

That boyish smile, those honey-drenched melodies, being nicknamed the 'Polish Prince': Bobby Vinton seemed to be the ultimate teen idol. (Indeed, going by the name 'Bobby' rather than 'Bob' or 'Robert' or even 'Rob') Yet, he was twenty-seven by the time "Roses Are Red (My Love)" reached number one in Canada and the US. This is obviously no great age in the scheme of things but by a pop star standards of the time, he was getting up there. He was the same age as Elvis Presley who was still being strongarmed into putting out teenage love songs and other fluff but he also seemed to be looking for a way out. What excuse did Vinton have?

Oh wait, I know! He had the smile and the voice but not much else to speak of! Of course he was going to be doing nothing but songs of teen heartbreak when his talents were so relatively modest!

That's not to say that there's anything wrong with "Roses Are Red (My Love)", only that it's just nothing special. Well, scratch that: it's kind of engaging in its own way. The tune is surprisingly solid and Tom Breihan even makes the worthwhile point that a "country singer could have made something out of it". Too bad Vinton is far too bland to make this recording of much interest. That said, the guitar picking is pretty nifty. (Perhaps this is why Breihan got the idea that it could've been an effective country number)

In the fourth season of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, cousins Will and Carlton begin university and they start sharing an apartment. Rich kid Carlton manages to get a date and he asks her to dance. The music being played is "Mr Lonely" by Bobby Vinton, which bemuses the statuesque Jackie. Carlton had already expressed a fondness for the likes of Tom Jones and Barry Manilow which is supposed to make everyone laugh that an African American would be so fond of such painfully white music. But being into the 'Polish Prince' makes him seem like even more of a square with tastes that are even more old-fashioned. (Significantly, it was during this same season that Will and Carlton pledged to a frat house only for the latter to memorably be rejected for "not being enough of a brother to be a brother")

Why did I bring this anecdote up? Mainly to pad what is an admittedly slight review but also to bring up the fact that teens fell for Vinton's shtick, even though he had been out of high school for the better part of a decade. Somehow or other, they kept buying it even as another ten years would pass by — as we'll be discussing further in the very next entry on here.

Score: 4

~~~~~

Can Con

A Canadian single on the CHUM charts?!? And in the Top 10 no less??? It feels like it's been a while. And we've got a future titan! "Gord" Lightfoot - yes, this is actually how he was credited on the single, minus the inverted commas - isn't much remembered for his work in the pre-singer/songwriter era but he was big enough in his homeland to manage to crack the Top 40 on multiple occasions. That said, this is a far cry from "If You Could Read My Mind", "Sundown" and "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald". That distinctive, warm voice is present but his talents as a songsmith aren't apparent. If I'm being extremely charitable then I'd say that "(Remember Me) I'm the One" shows promise but, in truth, I'm only bringing this up because I know what he would one day become. A welcome reminder to never give up!

Ray Charles: "I Can't Stop Loving You" / "Born to Lose"

June 11, 1962 (2 weeks)

Canadian multi-instrumentalist Garth Hudson has just passed away and the sad news has reminded me that his group The Band seemed to be cursed with being overwhelmingly influential. What do I mean by that? Well, they're a group (or Band, if you must) who are seldom mentioned because of their sturdy discography but rather on how much other musicians got from them. The Beatles were influenced by The Band. So were Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, Eric Clapton, Traffic, The Beach Boys and an entire generation of seventies' country-rock artists. That's great and fascinating but what does it tell us about the quality of their debut album Music from Big Pink or their self-titled follow-up? Not much and very few critics or fans seem able or willing to weigh in. Instead, the main thing we hear about them is how they were a big influence on virtually everyone in rock at the time.

The Band are hardly alone in this regard. An even better known example is The Velvet Underground who seemed to base much of their retrospective reputation on Brian Eno's claim that only 10,000 people bought their first album but everyone who did formed a band. (I've never been completely convinced that this is a special characteristic of the Velvets anyway; afterall, as Eno also may have said, "only 10,000 people bought the first Band album but everyone who did formed a band then then saved up to buy a lowery organ") And what about indie acts like Nine Inch Nails or Depeche Mode? Much of the hype surrounding their entries into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame had to do with their influence — are there any people up for Rock Hall consideration who are not influential? — rather than their recorded work.

Which brings us to Ray Charles, who many cite as a major influence, even to this day. Then again, there's a big difference between himself and The Band and The Velvets: he was really popular. (As Brian Eno never said, Ray Charles sold 10,000,000 records and not everyone who bought them ever considered forming a band, some just wanted to listen to them) Yet, analysis of his actual music tends to fall by the wayside. His renowned Modern Sounds in Country and Western album (from which both "I Can't Stop Loving You" and "Born to Lose" were taken) is routinely cited as being deeply influential in both soul and country music but, again, what of how it sounds?

I personally prefer my Ray Charles in small doses so a double A side is just about right. My main grip with him has always been his voice. While certainly distinctive and even at times appealing, his singing can be easy to tire of. Getting through an entire album of his can be hard work. He also had his gifts as a genius of the piano to fall back on but the arrangements on Modern Sounds... frequently drown him out. Marty Paich had previously worked on Art Pepper's remarkable Modern Jazz Classics but I'm not so sure his presence is as required this time around. Just having Charles and a small group to accompany him would have been enough.

But back to the single in question. While "I Can't Stop Loving You" is very good, "Born to Lose" does not deserve its share of the credit. It would have been a perfectly respectable B side and isn't out of place on Modern Sounds... but I can't imagine anyone opting for it over the much better song on the flip. As with many of those double sided Elvis releases on the CHUM charts, there's simply no need for the pretense for such an egalitarian arrangement. As such, I'm docking it a point.

Perhaps the reason so many choose to emphasize a group or singer's influence in lieu of analysis is because there's not much more to be said. If, say, Paul McCartney, Aretha Franklin, Willie Nelson, Stevie Wonder and Billy Joel all claim to love Ray Charles then what more is there to say on the matter? They all worship him so why shouldn't the rest of us? Unfortunately, it shouldn't work that way. Those individuals are pop stars and accomplished musicians who learned a great deal from him; I, on the other hand, have no musical ear to speak of, I just like what I like and try to evaluate songs based on what my thoughts about them. Pretty simple really. And for the most part, Ray Charles is just fine. Not exactly my thing but I don't mind giving him a listen every so often. Not an influence, just a hugely talented artist who I can give or take. Sorry.

Score: 7

Claude King: "Wolverton Mountain"

May 21, 1962 (3 weeks)

It really is never too late.

Claude King was born on February 5, 1923, approximately seven months before the birth of Hank Williams. The Hillbilly Shakespeare had been a country and western superstar for seven years until his untimely passing in the early hours of New Year's Day, 1953. Though he never looked a day under forty-five, he wouldn't live to see his thirtieth birthday. Though gone, the hits continued to be rolled out and his influence has been a constant presence ever since.

In the meantime, Claude King had been struggling. He earned a baseball scholarship to a university in Idaho, was a member of the US Navy during the Second World War and then worked in his native Shreveport, Louisiana. Music had been a lifelong passion but it was never more than a sideline until his late thirties. All of a sudden he became an overnight sensation.

The handful of country numbers that have been covered in this space haven't been all that special on the whole. I quite liked Jim Reeves' "He'll Have to Go" even if I don't have to hear it again but the rest haven't done much for me. "Wolverton Mountain" ought to be no different than many of those hokey tunes about soldiers fighting in old wars or going on adventures. Yet it succeeds where many of its contemporaneous singles fail.

A key difference may be that "Wolverton Mountain" comes from a place of truth, rather than mythology. Co-writer Merle Kilgore based it on his uncle Clifton Clowers residing in near isolation on the side of Woolverton Mountain in Arkansas. Did Kilgore desire Clowers' beautiful daughter as much as he leads us to believe in the song's lyrics? It's difficult to say but not out of the question give the time and part of the world we're dealing with. Perhaps there was a general interest in taking this young woman for the wife of many men in town, who knows.

So, as the singer, Claude King has declared dibs on this girl with lips that are "sweeter than honey". I like that he has a cautious optimism towards his pursuit. He knows full well that he's risking his life to make a play for her but he figures it's well worth the effort, as if he's one of those perpetually hopeful players on Squid Game or something. I buy this kind of narrative far more easily than one about brave war heroes risking their lives for their fellow men or whatever malarkey other country pop hits of the age had 

It's not completely to my taste and I don't quite understand why it managed to catch on the way it did but "Wolverton Mountain" is charming enough to make it a passable CHUM number one, one that deftly manages to transcend novelty into something that is just about compelling. And there's a welcome lightness to it that country songs don't normally have. Most would have gone the melodramatic route but I think that would have cheapened the song's overall message: I'm going to try to get this girl or literally die trying. Whatsmore, he has made his decision and he's comfortable with it. No need whatsoever to pull at the heartstrings.

Good on a mature Claude King for going about it the right way and having a smash hit as a result. There is indeed hope for all of us.

Score: 6

~~~~~

Hey! Where's...?

On the Hot 100, Creedence Clearwater Revival hold the "dubious" distinction of having the most number two hits without ever getting to number one (a problem they certainly did not repeat in Canada as we'll eventually see). Their equivalent north of the border might well be Gene Pitney who reached the runner up spot on five separate occasions but never made the summit. Actually, doing as well as he did is still something of an achievement since his chart positions elsewhere paled in comparison. (It wouldn't be until the early part of 1989 that he would have a number one hit, reaching the top spot in the UK with a superlative version of "Something's Gotten Hold of My Heart" alongside Marc Almond) Still, if you're good enough to get to number two then you're entitled to be disappointed that you never got any higher. "(The Many Who Shot) Liberty Valance" his is first number two. He would go on to record better material over the years but even with just a so-so song, Pitney's voice alone is worth the price of entry. In this instance, I could go either way with this or "Wolverton Mountain" but we'll see if his remaining number twos really should've done better. Until next time, Gene-o!

The Shirelles: "Soldier Boy

April 30, 1962 (3 weeks)

It's perhaps natural to assume that "Soldier Boy" is about Vietnam, especially in light of all that went down there over the next decade. And while the former French Indochina is certainly a part of where US troops were being sent in the early sixties, it was far from the only destination. A ceasefire had only been declared in Korea nine years earlier and who was to know if and when tensions there would escalate back to those deadly levels. Meanwhile, the Berlin Wall had only just been completed and the situation in the divided Germany was in question.

The Shirelles' "Soldier Boy" isn't sung as a tragedy, rather than as a pledge from the young woman left behind in the States that she will remain faithful — and that he, in turn, should be equally upright in their relationship no matter where he ends up. There isn't a sense that these girls won't see their guys again, only a question of whether the time and distance separating them will strengthen what they had together or be what ultimately brings about their breakup.

And, to be sure, things aren't going to go well for most of them. Let's say all four Shirelles have bid their boyfriends farewell. Two are sent to the Far East, another one to West Germany and the fourth goes to...uh...Panama. I say that at least two of these boys start cheating on their girls within a month. A third tries to hold out for as long as he can and he might even do what he thinks is the right thing by writing her a letter (or series of letters) to explain his situation but in the end this relationship goes tits up as well. The fourth might end up being tempted away but he stays strong and does his duty without distraction. He eventually returns home but the strain of having been apart for so long does them in too. (At the same time, three out of four Shirelles manages to stay out of trouble with the fourth eventually being tempted away by a guy who is not off serving his country)

The goodhearted nature of the song belies the reality that couples were systemically being broken up by the American Armed Forces. It doesn't matter how much The Shirelles try guilt tripping their guys into fidelity, the vast majority of these relationships just aren't going to survive. And it isn't even anyone's fault. Young men serving halfway around the world are bound to get lonely and depressed and many of them will avail themselves of what's on offer.

"Soldier Boy" is a much better song when considered from this perspective, rather than as a goodbye to young men being sent to die in Southeast Asia. For one thing, the Vietnam War was not what it would be four or five years later. And, as I say, the girls sound way too cheery to be seeing off lads who they must've known had a good chance of returning in coffins. While the Cold War made a number of parts of the world unstable, there was still a good chance the bulk of American men would be returning home someday. This is how they sing it.

The only thing left to consider is how young couples reacted to "Soldier Boy" when it came out. Also an American chart topper, it was evidently popular enough but how were couples like the ones described above taking it? Did girls give their boyfriends copies of the 45 when they were about to depart for Asia or Europe? Did they send them letters with some or all of the lyrics printed out as a not-so-subtle reminder? Conversely, were the young men listening? Did they take these words as a warning — or, indeed, even a threat? Did they find that its lyrics carried greater meaning as they got sent from one part of the world to another or had its meaning dulled on them by that time?

Score: 8

~~~~~

Hey! Where's...?

The CHUM charts seemed to have a lot more time for British acts than their counterpart listing, Billboard's Hot 100, did down south. For example, Cliff Richard managed to notch his first Canadian Top 10 hit with "The Young Ones" during The Shirelles' reign while it did nothing in America. On the other hand, Mr. Acker Bilk underperformed a little bit compared to in the US when "Stranger on the Shore" only got to number three. It's a fair enough chart position for a lovely trad jazz recording, just not great considering what was a sensation in the States it had been. (Though it only spent a week at the top of Billboard, it would end up being the year's biggest hit) If anything, I would've expected it to have done even better in Canada where inferior singles by Andy Stewart and Charlie Drake found, for whatever reason, appreciative audiences. That said, "Stranger on the Shore" is a different beast from your typical cheery singalong fave from across the pond. Not exactly a form of pop injustice that it failed to get all the way to number one on CHUM, just a little surprising is all.

Ernie Maresca: "Shout! Shout! (Knock Yourself Out)"

April 9, 1962 (3 weeks)

In the artist-record company dynamic there's one side eager to get signed on and another that isn't always so keen. Millions of aspiring pop groups try to get picked up by a major label (and oftentimes a minor label will do) but only a few manage to get contracts. Fewer still end up cutting more than one record for the companies they've made deals with. Only the slightest number achieve much in the way of chart success — and even some of them don't even manage to have their record deals renewed.

But this was (allegedly) not the case for Ernie Maresca. Already a successful songwriter with credits on several of Dion's biggest hits (including his 1961 CHUM chart topper "Runaround Sue"), it must have seemed like he was destined to life as a staff composer for the Brill Building or, better yet, in a freelance position. Though he had sung in doo-wop groups in his youth, his skills were in a more behind the scenes capacity. Until, that is, a record company came calling to launch a recording career of his own. Maresca (allegedly) protested, claiming he wasn't a strong enough singer but the suits insisted.

Yeah, I don't believe this story either. I realize that A&R men, headhunters and scouts can get things wrong more often than not but it's hard to imagine this sort of conversation ever taking place, in any capacity:

"You know what? I'm very flattered by the offer but I don't think I'm a good enough midfielder to play for Arsenal."

"Well, I've thought it over and I don't think I'm a strong enough actor to be in Dr. Shivago. Do you think you could get me a gig as a key grip instead?"

"No, you're not listening! I am patently unqualified to be CEO of Pepsi Cola! I don't care how much more money you keep offering or the stock options or the twice-yearly use of luxury flats in Hong Kong and St Barts, I'm not interested! Now kindly leave me alone!"

Concerns that his voice wasn't strong enough, however, were well founded since while commanding, his vocal doesn't have much in the way of range. On the other hand, it doesn't matter in the slightest when your sole hit is something like "Shout! Shout! (Knock Yourself Out)": the single is just over two minutes long, the frenetic pace is all that really matters and the backing singers (who may or may not include Dion himself; if he isn't present then Maresca sure found an excellent soundalike) do much of the heavy lifting.

"Shout! Shout!" is a good time pop record all about good time pop records. The magnificent "Runaround Sue" is even name dropped, as though it had come out in irony-soaked 1992 rather than thirty years earlier. It's tempting to try to find other pop songs referenced but they aren't there — unless you count "The Twist" and that's only on a technicality since he's referring to the dance instead of the song. But really it's just about getting down and enjoying a night of dancing.

Weirdly, the material that Maresca either wrote or co-wrote for people like Dion seems much more personal than this enjoyable but ultimately disposable offering. One might assume that he'd give this bit of anthemic nonsense away and maybe keep, say, "The Wanderer" for himself. Maybe he knew that his limited range would get in the way of anything remotely real and thus he had to settle for this raucous party anthem. If so, kudos to Maresca for knowing his limitations and thriving within them.

In the years leading up to the charge of The Beatles and Bob Dylan towards artists being mostly self-sufficient, a number of singers and songwriters faced the prospect of double dipping. Buddy Holly and Chuck Berry did well in both camps while others like the Everlys eventually adapted as well. Elvis Presley may have aspired to songwriting but it was beyond him (and it certainly didn't help that he never had a full time collaborator to work on compositions together). In the other camp, many established songwriters looked to recording careers of their own. Some, like Neil Sedaka, managed to do so relatively quickly while others like Carole King had to be very patient. But then there were those like Barry Mann and Ernie Maresca who had bursts of stardom only to have it rapidly fall off. They had to fall back on songwriting as their main source of income. It was what they did best so why not?

Score: 7

Elvis Presley: "Good Luck Charm" / "Anything That's Part of You"

April 2, 1962 (1 week)

"Elvis Presley really wasn't trying anymore", states Tom Breihan at the start of his review of "Good Luck Charm", The King's seventeenth and, as it would turn out, penultimate American number one smash. I know what he means — and I don't think Elvis was the only one who was guilty of not giving much of a shit by this point either. Manager Colonel Tom Parker had been focused on Hollywood and the maximum profit he could squeeze out of the film industry, his client's acting chops be damned. The material he was being provided wasn't great either. But if you only bash one individual in Presley's camp for phoning it in then look no further than the turkey who designed the sleeve for "Good Luck Charm": the colours clash, the design is cheap, Elvis looks puffy and someone really should've sorted out his hair.

The one thing I'd say to refute Breihan is that he should've flipped the single over to hear B side "Anything That's a Part of You" (which happened to be co-credited as a double A alongside "Good Luck Charm" in Canada, as was the custom; this practice would come to an end by the time of Elvis' next CHUM chart topper). Honestly, it's pretty slight as well. The minimal arrangement suits the recording but, again, the composition is lacking somewhat. Yet, Elvis sounds pretty damn great on it. It's almost as if this twenty-seven year old who had clearly outgrown rock 'n' roll was looking to more mature gospel sounds as a possible way forward. Too bad no one cared to ask him.

Either that or he could've been more forthright. A recurring issue with Elvis is that the old bugger wouldn't or couldn't grow a pair when it came to his career. He had allowed the Colonel to call the shots for so long the very idea of standing up for himself wouldn't have even occurred to him most of the time. Handed something as unremarkable as "Good Luck Charm", he did his best with it but there's no question Elvis had left a great deal on the table; with "Anything That's Part of You" he was trying that much harder, probably because his heart was in it.Yet, the pop material that meant so little to him took precedence.

Yet, hiding in plain site was a way out: country-gospel wasn't going to prolong The King's status as a pop idol but it would have attracted that older audience that he and Tom Parker had sought following his discharge from military service. Singer Darlene Love would go on to befriend Presley at around the time of his acclaimed '68 Comeback Special, their bond forged by a mutual love of spiritual hymns. But these meetings were practically clandestine affairs: no one else wanted to know about this other side of Elvis, least of all his interfering manager.

"Anything That's Part of You" was by no means a one off. Gospel would gradually take on a more prominent role in the second half of Elvis' career, though it would be merely one side of his often overlooked musical catholicism. (What really makes From Elvis in Memphis such a brilliant album is that it's a collision of country, gospel, rockabilly and soul and, thus, a supreme document of The King's artistry) Just as Presley being a rock 'n' roll parody of himself sucked and serving up tenth rate soundtrack detritus sucked and becoming a grotesque stage show act sucked, a full on Born Again Elvis performing nothing but devotional material would have really sucked. Fortunately, he had little interest in being pigeonholed.

The pairing of "Good Luck Charm" with "Anything That's Part of You" adds little in the scheme of things to Elvis Presley's discography yet it's a significant release. On the one side, there's a torpor having set in; on the other, a roadmap, albeit one that wouldn't always be followed. Along the way, he would manage to wrest a degree of control away from the Colonel, abandon Hollywood and go back to the studios and concert halls where he belonged. Obviously his final years are tragic but at least he found a musical redemption along the way.

Score: 5

Shelley Fabares: "Johnny Angel"

March 12, 1962 (3 weeks)

I have no doubt that compiling singles and albums charts over sixty years ago was a tremendous challenge. (Not like now when any old doufus can just stream a pop video and this gets automatically counted) Calculating record sales would have been difficult enough but then factoring in radio requests must have made the task damn-near impossible.

Therefore, I don't blame the CHUM compilers for cutting a few corners. I have no way to prove this but there are some coincidences which seem just a bit too convenient. At the start of 1962, the re-release of Chubby Checker's "The Twist" gave him the Canadian number one smash that he had been denied fifteen months earlier. Whatsmore, follow-up "Let's Twist Again" put him at number two while Joey Dee and the Starliters' "Peppermint Twist" came in third. (It's a pity an enterprising Canadian star of the age like Paul Anka didn't put out "Maple Leaf Twist" to further take command of the top of the charts)

Which brings us to Shelley Fabares, teen star of The Donna Reed Show. (American TV execs have never had to strain any brain cells in coming up with names for their sitcoms, have they?) A guest of the show, James Darren, had already achieved pop stardom at the end of 1961 and here was your classic girl next door with her own attempt. Not only that but her TV brother, Paul Petersen, also had a record out at the same time. While the limp "She Can't Find Her Keys" could only dent the Hot 100's Top 20, it managed to climb as high as number two north of the border, held off only by big sister Mary Shelley. Meanwhile, US number one and vastly superior number "Hey Baby" by Bruce Channel got no further than number four before gradually dropping off. I suppose enough Canadian kids were charmed by Petersen to give him a legit smash but rigging the charts so that a TV brother and sister could have the top two spots

Of the two, "Johnny Angel" is the much stronger effort. There isn't a great deal to it but her vocal isn't bad considering she didn't even think much of her singing. Plus, like Frankie Avalon's even more feeble "Venus", there is touch of murkiness involved, a ghostly quality to it which suggests a potential Siouxsie Sioux cover (which, sadly, never happened). Marianne Faithfull could have made convincing recordings over her own from both her sixties' angelic waif period and her late seventies coming down off of hard drugs years. I guess there's a reason why goths like Nick Cave saw so much potential in pre-Beatles' pop.

Otherwise, there's not much more to say. I mean, it could have been a good deal worse — especially had co-star Petersen beat her to the number one spot — but it's just a dreamy yet insubstantial record at the end of the day. Fabares does the best she can with it so there's no point in blaming the teen idol here. Singers Laurie Loman and Georgia Lee both released versions of "Johnny Angel" prior to this one and their's are no better. Again, just decent enough.

Shelley Fabares would enjoy a number one smash in both Canada and the United States but her recording prospects rapidly began to dwindle. A soundalike follow-up, "Johnny Loves Me", gave her a piggy backed hit but then the law of diminishing returns really began to set in. (Even duets with Paul Petersen failed to convince record buyers) But acting would always be her day job so it's hard to feel too sorry for her. And that's all there is to say about a single that I will no doubt forget all about in about within a week or so.

Score: 5

Gene Chandler: "Duke of Earl"

February 19, 1962 (3 weeks)

"Doo-doo-doo Doosan Bears-bears-bears, Doosan Bears-bears-bears, Doosan Bears-bears-bears, Doosan Bears-bears-bears..."

The above is not the official chant of the Korean baseball club the Doosan Bears. It isn't even an unofficial chant. As far as I know, no one without a connection to me has ever thought to use it at one of their games at Seoul's Jamsil Stadium. I have chanted it on occasion and a handful of my friends have joined in and I once got a dozen elementary school kids into it at a summer English camp at my university but that is, to the best of my knowledge, as far as it has ever gone. I think there are a few crucial reasons why:

1. Gene Chandler's biggest hit never made much of an impact on this side of the Pacific — though the sleeve of the 7" single above would suggest otherwise.
2. Koreans have a practice of performing chants based on songs that they're familiar with which is entirely understandable.
3. I'm admittedly not a Doosan Bears fan, preferring to root for fellow Seoul club and perennial underdogs/hopeless cases the Kiwoom Heroes, so it's not likely to catch on. In addition, I reside down in the southwest sticks of the country which is very much Kia Tigers territory.
4. Humanity is dead inside.

The latter is especially important to consider here. I can't possibly be the first person to think to connect "Duke of Earl" to one of Korea's most popular baseball teams. In fact I know I can't be since it was my buddy Jay who came up with it first. With all due respect to him, could he have been the first person to make this connection? Of course not! Someone else must have tied the two together over the last few decades. Yet, it never managed to catch on.

"Duke of Earl" seems like the sort of pop song which should have been ripe for parody but this has mainly been consigned to TV advertising jingles for shampoos and odd mayo-mustard hybrids. Fair enough but I would've expected more. Affectionate tributes by geeky American public broadcasting entertainers or childish spoofs done in the style of Weird Al Yankovik perhaps. It doesn't even seem to appear on The Residents' grotesque medleys of sixties hits as performed under Nazi Germany The Third Reich 'n Roll, though there's always a chance a snippet of it is hiding in there somewhere.

The cover versions I have managed to find tend to be, if anything, far too respectful. Frank Black's rendition on the now forgotten mail order Hello CD of the Month Club of the mid-nineties is really well done even if it lacks the joie de vivre of both Gene Chandler and The Pixies. (Have these two ever been mentioned in the same sentence?) Black's decision to perform those memorable baritone backing vocals on his acoustic guitar is interesting but at first it smacks of gimmickry. I can give or take it but what he manages to do is provide a welcome reminder that there's far more to Chandler's signature hit than just a catchy, and sometimes mildly irritating, earworm refrain.

Frank Black's cover also helpfully points out that there are lyrics involved and that "Duke of Earl" might even possess a narrative. By the time it had been released, Chandler has managed to portray himself as a vaguely aristocratic man about town. If not quite a genuine article English nobleman than at least one in the tradition of jazz artists such as King Oliver, Duke Ellington, Count Basie and Lester "Prez" Young" (a friend of mine once argued that even sax giant Coleman Hawkins ought to be classified alongside these members of the musical gentry class since his nickname of 'Bean' could well have been a contraction of 'Old Bean'). But whereas those titans only had to play their instruments to prove their upper class bone fides, Chandler went out and sang all about his place in the aristocracy as this so-called Duke of Earl, which is not unlike naming yourself the 'Prince of Baron' or the 'Lord of Viceroy'. (I think it's what they call a hat on a hat)

So much drivel to write about a such silly little song but that's the thing about pop: you may wish to chant its lyrics at baseball games or find opportunities for parody or discuss obscure covers or ponder its implied meaning — and, indeed, find meaning where there isn't any. Or you may just wish to enjoy a sweet tune with a fun chorus. With seemingly limitless potential, it's just a shame we don't do more with those precious two or three minutes great pop gives to us. I have wasted my life pondering everything of relevance (and, to be sure, plenty that is irrelevant) surrounding pop and I wouldn't have it any other way.  

Score: 8