Doris Troy: "Just One Look"

August 5, 1963 (3 weeks)

I've recently written in this space about songs that I've enjoyed but which end up leaving little to no impression on me — and here is yet another example. In fact, this may well be THE example. Everything about "Just One Look" is lovely and yet nothing of it stays with me. I can barely remember the name Doris Troy and the title is even more forgettable. The melody, too, keeps escaping me. It does sound vaguely like something I've heard before but I typically have no idea where. I was fourteen back in 1991 when Cindy Crawford appeared in a Pepsi commercial and so it was burned into my brain. (The boys in the ad may have been trying to get a glimpse of Pepsi's new design for the nineties but that sure as hell wasn't where I was looking!) But could I have told you the song that soundtracked it?

One-hit wonders are supposed to be more memorable than this: by definition, they are all that the average person remembers about them. But somehow or other Doris Troy doesn't fit in with the likes of Minnie Ripperton, The Buggles or Chumbawamba. I suppose it didn't help her cause that 1963 was well before the music video age but I'm not so sure that's the only thing going on. Highly competent though it all is, there isn't a whole lot that makes "Just One Look" stand out. While it is a far better song than, say, "Turning Japanese", it's certainly nowhere near as memorable.

But why not? Well, everything is present and correct but nothing stands out. Troy is a fine vocalist but it is just a little generic, a bit of Nina Simone, a bit of Etta James and, frankly, a whole lot of jobbing singer in search of a break. There's similarly nothing showy about the music but these studio cats were meant to stay out of Troy's way and they did their job as well as can be expected. The tune floats by, easing its way into the mind but fails to leave much of an impression. A memorable hook would've done the trick. In any case, I've never encountered such an enjoyable song that left me so empty afterwards.

Some, however, never forgot about Doris Troy and her one big hit. In 1970, she was given a boost when George Harrison decided to produce a comeback album for her which ended up getting released on The Beatles' Apple label. In addition to the Quiet One, an all-star cast join in, including Ringo Starr, Stephen Stills, Eric Clapton and Billy Preston. Well publicized layoffs at the company combined with the breakup of the world's most popular group likely conspired to torpedo the Doris Troy album even further but it's hard to imagine there was much demand to begin with. Again, Troy performs on it in a perfectly respectable fashion albeit without any reason for anyone to get excited over it.

This has been yet another one that has been difficult to evaluate. My sheer indifference to writing about it can't quite overcome just how much I like to have it on. I can totally understand why someone would give "Just One Look" a much more generous score than mine (had it got to number one in the States, I would not have been surprised had Tom Breihan given it a 10) but I would object to anything lower. I'd even have it at least two points higher when I have playing. But, I'm sorry, this has to be the most forgettable great song ever released — and to think, one-hit wonders are normally memorable but terrible.

Score: 6

~~~~~

Hey! Where's...?

In a rare example of an artist living up to the hype — and then some — Little Stevie Wonder emerged in the summer of '63 with the irresistible "Fingertips Part 2", a single which took the thirteen-year-old all the way to the top of the Hot 100. It somehow didn't do quite as well up north though, peaking at number seven. "Fingertips" had been a six minute recording that had been chopped in half with the first part going on side 1 and the second over on the flip side. Energetic and loads of fun, it is also an odd duck of a record. The prodigy does a call-and-response ("Everybody say yeah!") with the live audience, he plays Old McDonald's Farm on a harmonica and then has to be literally pulled off the stage for going long. Honestly, though, if you listen to the thing in full, it's understandable why everyone opted for the B side: it takes a long time to get going and Little Stevie barely utters a word. Flip it over and you get nothing but joy. It isn't much of a song as such but it's a good time and a lot more memorable than "Just One Look".

Elvis Presley: "(You're the) Devil in Disguise"

July 22, 1963 (2 weeks)

On June 29, 1963, a newly famous John Lennon was a guest on the popular UK music-themed panel show Juke Box Jury. The format was simple: a quartet of relatively famous people would sit down and evaluate some of that week's new releases. Panelists who liked a particular single would proclaim it a 'Hit' while those they didn't care for would be deemed a 'Miss'. Apart from getting a good look at the leader of the hottest new group in Britain, JBJ viewers discovered what a great big curmudgeon Lennon was.

Seven brand new singles were up for consideration in that episode — and Lennon wasn't keen on any of them. He gave Misses to The Tymes' "So Much in Love" ("I thought it was Rolf Harris at first..."), Miriam Makeba's "The Click Song" ("It's quite nice actually, but if it was in English it'd mean even less..."), Russ Conway's "Flamenco" ("It doesn't sound anything like flamenco"), Tom Glazer's "On Top of Spaghetti" ("I can't stand these all-together-now records" complains the man who would one day record a song called "All Together Now" as well as "Give Peace a Chance", perhaps the most 'all-together-now' tune of all time), Paul & Paula's "First Quarrel" ("All these American records are about Jim and Bobby and Alfred and all this"; fun fact: Lennon's good-for-nothing dad was called Alfred) and Julie Grant's "Don't Ever Let Me Down" ("Ah, I can't think of a thing to say"; I think it's safe to say this single wasn't an inspiration for a song with almost the same title he would write six years later).

But the bulk of Lennon's fury was saved for Elvis Presley's "(You're the) Devil in Disguise". Well, he doesn't seem angry as such, just disappointed. Probably not all that surprised by this point either. He sounds resigned to his hero having become a part of the establishment. (After claiming that "he sounds like Bing Crosby", actress Katie Boyle asks John "if he did sound like (him), would it be bad?" to which Lennon replies "well, for Elvis...yes") At one point the witty one in The Beatles makes his feelings on Elvis all too clear: "I don't like him anymore". 

Lennon's bitterness over The King's decline aside, he was correct about this particular single (even if he sounds nothing like old Bing), which is depressingly uninspired. I had been wondering when I was going to get to a genuinely miserable Elvis number one hit (I was starting to think there wasn't going to be one) and here it is! First, good on Presley for having put out a series of passable-to-brilliant singles up until this point. Still, no one connects with every pitch, not every batch of cookies and muffins turns out and not every supposedly unmissable travel destination lives up to the hype so it was inevitable that one of his CHUM number ones was going to be a total dud.

This isn't to say "(You're the) Devil in Disguise" isn't entirely without merit. Grady Martin's very brief guitar solo is stellar, a twelve second burst of rock 'n' roll energy which much of the record's running time can only dream of matching. There's also a tight little three second intro which teases the listener into assuming it's going to be a much better single  So far that's an accumulated quarter of a minute of quality pop-rock but there's not much else to recommend. The wistful verses ("You look like an angel...") are meant to contrast with the sped up chorus but the shift is too abrupt to work. The romantic side of Elvis fails to convince while the shuffling skiffle in the refrain is forced.

I have already mentioned that Elvis really should have ditched his longtime backing group The Jordanaires but at that time it was more just to shake things up than anything else. By this point, however, they were starting to detract from his work. Their backing vocals add absolutely nothing with the guttural Ray Walker doing a "comedic" call-and-response turn of "oh yes, you are" near the end just to have something to do. It says a lot that the King stayed loyal to those who had been with him over the years but he could have done with some fresh faces in the studio.

John Lennon's criticism of the man who he credited with changing his life would continue all the way up until Elvis' death. It is said that he took him to task for his recent spate of lousy records when The Beatles met Presley two years later. When he passed away in 1977, Lennon quipped that "Elvis died when he joined the army" which really tells you that he was in no position to give an unbiased view of his work in the sixties. Nevertheless, "(You're the) Devil in Disguise" is a poorly thought out botch and a very much the Miss that Lennon reckoned. But it happens to the best of us: Lennon himself would record a handful of stinkers in his day too.

Score: 3

Jackie DeShannon: "Needles and Pins"

July 8, 1963 (2 weeks)

As has already been established on here, The Beatles and Bob Dylan didn't actually invent the concept of recording artists writing their own material. Plenty of individuals did it before them even though it must be said that an awful lot more did it afterwards. Plus, I think there had long been a desire for professional songwriters to record their own stuff as well as groups and singers who aspired to be composers. Not everyone thrived in both realms though. Some like Gerry Goffin and Ernie Maresca tried their hand at being pop stars but it wasn't really for them

Jackie DeShannon is a curious case in this regard because though she did well as both a pop star and a songwriter, she seemed to keep the two separate from one another. The handful of hits she recorded were written by others while she was unable to popularize her own compositions. While contemporaries such as Carole King, Neil Sedaka and James Taylor are described as singer-songwriters, DeShannon might be more accurately termed a 'singer/songwriter', as though the two jobs could in fact be mutually exclusive.

In much of the world "Needles and Pins" was neither written by Jackie DeShannon nor a hit single for her. (Actually, in the whole world it wasn't written by her since Jack Nitzsche and Sonny Bono wrote it) On the Hot 100 it reached a very modest number eighty-four. She never meant a thing in her day to the British, who would soon take to the song enough when Merseybeat group The Searchers took it to number one at the start of 1964. (Such was the hunger on the North American pop charts for all things British in the first half of that year — don't worry, we'll be getting to it soon enough — that their version managed to make the Top 20 on both sides of the border) It was only in Canada that her version did anything at all of note, going all the way to the top.

The Searchers' rendition has its strengths, not the least of which being that it anticipates Byrdsian jangle-pop, sounding like the blueprint for the Gene Clark-penned "I'll Feel a Whole Lot Better". Yet it's DeShannon's original which is the stronger of the two. Her singing on it takes some getting used to, especially if you're used to the purity of her vocals on "What the World Needs Now Is Love" and "Put a Little Love in Your Heart" (as an aside, she didn't write them either). Her delivery is surprisingly rough with more than a little country and western in her pitch. What feels clunky at first slowly begins to make sense. DeShannon displays a certain ferocity behind the tears that you simply don't hear in The Searchers (or, indeed, in the bulk of the covers you're likely to come across). This is a woman who has been spurned: her heart is broken, yes, but she's also out for blood and who can blame her? Contrast this with the way most men typically sing it which just oozes victimhood.

Handing a score out of ten to this one has been tricky. Much as I like it, I don't really need to ever listen to it again. It's very impressive but it's more effective as a statement than as a truly wonderful pop song. Having been unaware until fairly recently that she ever had anything to do with "Needles and Pins", I'm very happy to have encountered it now. But it's over. Had I been twenty or twenty-five or thirty and had been coming off one of my many breakups, I might have a deeper connection to it but perhaps I've simply aged out of such concerns. (Thank bloody god) But, hey, a good song is a good song so let's just leave it at that.

Score: 7

Richie Knight and the Mid-Nights: "Charlena"

June 24, 1963 (2 weeks)

In the five year span from 1958 to 1963 a great many things happened. Boxer Floyd Patterson lost his heavyweight title to Ingmar Johansson only to regain it a year later. The Berlin Wall was erected and Yuri Gagarin went into space. Coronation Street and The Flintstones both made their debuts on TV. In Canada, the once-promising Avro Arrow program was abruptly cancelled and the seemingly unending dynasty of the Montreal Canadiens was halted (for a few years at least) when an ageing Maurice "The Rocket" Richard retired. Oh, and during that time there had been a hundred and three CHUM number ones since a Canadian act last topped the charts.

Such was the state of mainstream Canadian culture: we could have hardly expected anyone else in the world to be interested when we couldn't be arsed ourselves. If anything, Canadians may have been even more apathetic to their homegrown stars than elsewhere. Toronto's Percy Faith spent nine weeks at the top of the Hot 100 in 1960 with "Theme from A Summer Place", a single which got no further than number four in his homeland. To date, Paul Anka managed to have a pair of number ones down in the States but just the one in Canada.

Somehow or other it took a sextet from Toronto — a garage band who "never rehearsed in a garage" — to break a near five year streak of futility and help cause an influx of Canadian acts to eventually break through. The Mid-Knights were part of the emerging Toronto Sound, an R&B movement which eventually outgrew both its origins and the genre it came out of to encompass stadium rock and singer-songwriter folk.

While having a few listens on to "Charlena" YouTube, I took a look at the comments. First, it's nice to see people not going overboard in their praise. (I don't know about you but I can't tell you how many times I've seen a "I want to build a time machine to go back to..." or "I have a time machine. Who's with me?" accompanying any old random single from the sixties all the way through to the end of the nineties; I do wish I could have a time machine in order to warn everyone about the state of the twenty-first century but I have no desire to do anything else) Then, I took note of one individual who said the following: "The Sevilles version from late '60/early '61 is better.This is very white washed compared to the original though the sax player is good".

I understand what he or she is getting at though I have to respectfully disagree. While not quite as rough around the edges as The Sevilles, this version is hardly what you would call polished or anything like that. Besides, 'white washed' implies that Richie Knight and the Mid-Knights were no better than Pat Boone and that is demonstrably not the case. The closest this argument comes to holding any water at all is in the vocals which do sound like they been honed over several months playing the cafes and clubs all around Metro Toronto. Again, not sounding slick and smooth but just finely tuned to their R&B style.

The result is a solid and respectable single, somehow both catchy and forgettable, likable but also one that inspires indifference in the listener. Enjoy it while it's on and then go about your day as though those two minutes and forty five seconds never happened. What's puzzling is how it caught on to such an extent that it made it to number one when many other similar recordings by Canadian groups came up short. I suppose it's just timing. The Mid-Knights had toured southern Ontario relentlessly and it was finally paying off for them. All they needed was to have a similarly timely release set for the end of 1963 when nothing else of note was on the horizon. Oh damn...

Score: 6

Lesley Gore: "It's My Party"

June 3, 1963 (3 weeks)

So, due to a combination of economics, changes in taste, creative ambitions, a musicians' union ban on recordings and a fateful and mysterious plane crash over the English Channel, the old big bands of jazz began to fade away during the forties. Managing a group of erratic and volatile individuals isn't the easiest of tasks as it is but now the conditions were such that it became damn-near impossible. Some of the established names managed to carry on — Duke Ellington's orchestra would remain a popular attraction for the rest of his life — but many were reduced to getting together much more sporadically — Benny Goodman's band gradually disintegrated until the LP release of their renowned Carnegie Hall concert in the early fifties.

Trios, quartets and quintets began to be the norm.  Yet many of the major practitioners of what would become bop still felt the pull of the orchestras in which many of them had cut their teeth. Charlie Parker satiated this need to some extent by recording some magnificent session with string sections while his longtime collaborator Dizzy Gillespie even attempted to put together big bands of his own — but these were anything but permanent setups. The trumpeter did sessions for what would become his brilliant album Afro on May 24 and June 3 of 1954 using entirely different groups. With Gillespie the chief soloist, one of the backing trumpeters was a young player named Quincy Jones, who would also assume the role of musical director.

When I was first getting into jazz, I head his name on occasion and instantly made the connection to Michael Jackson. Jones produced the fantastic Off the Wall, the slightly overrated Thriller and the very overrated Bad. What I wondered about was how he got from toiling in the dying jazz big bands to being behind the control desk for the biggest pop star in the world. Clearly this wasn't a leap he made over a short period of time but still it seemed like an odd career path. Was Quincy Jones just another case of a sell out or was there something else going on?

I still remember the first time I heard "It's My Party". I was probably about seven years old and it was at Grandma Betty's place. It must have come on over the radio or a snippet of it was featured in one of those KTel commercials but from then on I began to associate it with my grandmother. Never mind the fact that it came out in 1963 and was clearly aimed at my mum's generation instead: I encountered it at my Grandma's place and that sealed it. Funnily enough, I might not have been all that wrong because of Quincy Jones' involvement. His years of toiling for meager pay and next to no job security with Lionel Hampton and Dizzy Gillespie had paid off. For while Lesley Gore may have initially sold it, it is the arrangement and production of "It's My Party" that still makes it a top tier single to this day.

I've written before about singles that seem to play better in one's imagination than they do when you actually sit down to listen to them but this isn't one of them. If anything, it only gets more potent with subsequent listens. Having not heard it in quite some time, I had approached "It's My Party" a little reticently. "Oh great," I thought to myself, "A poor little rich girl whining about how she didn't quite get her way at her sweet 16 and so she throws a giant hissy fit". (And, to be fair, someone in tears at a party is one of those inevitabilities and it's only right that there should be at least one song about the phenomenon) But then I put it on and remembered that Lesley has a perfectly good reason to be in such a state — and at her own party to boot.

But to hell with the narrative, it's the tune that is what really matters here. The horn section is an absolute delight. At first it sounds like an especially vigorous Stax or Tamla Motown number but it's too sophisticated for a simple Memphis horn section. While not exactly Johnny Hodges, Ray Nance and Ben Webster playing in Duke Ellington's band, it's more like a semi-pro jazz orchestra had been commissioned to play on a pop song, helmed by one of the finest musical minds of the twentieth century. While adjectives such as 'catchy' and 'fun' can easily be applied, it's also surprisingly thrilling — and it isn't simply down to the horns. The rhythm section is tight and forceful. I know we're supposed to save the term for long haired dudes playing guitars as basically as possible but you know what else "It's My Party" does? It rocks and rocks hard.

Lesley Gore also plays her part even if she's a lot more subtle than the instrumentalists. While I'm undecided as to the overall quality of her voice, I think it's clear that no one could've done it better (and, indeed, no one has been remotely close in spite of many cover versions over more than sixty years). Though retelling a tale about this disastrous party in a commendably measured tone, the chorus brings about the hysterics. I think the contrast of her sounding as if she's neutrally reporting an incident before revealing her true feelings is the perfect approach. Yet, I don't quite believe her. So, does she expect us to believe that had she been at someone else's party that she wouldn't be crying even with Johnny still going off with Johnny? I don't buy it. I'm guessing that she has a crush on him but she never had the nerve to approach him and now she's bitter that someone else has stepped in. (I've been trying to detect a lesbian subtext to work with seeing as how Gore was part of the LGBTQ community but it doesn't quite fit — but, who knows, maybe she's secretly been in love with this Judy all along) 

As opposed to, say, fellow trumpeter Lee Morgan, Jones was unable or unwilling to make the jump from dues paying in an orchestra to leading a jazz combo of his own. Rather, he took much of what he learned from from Dizzy Gillespie and applied it to pop arrangement. It worked well as he did film soundtracks and eventually began working with Frank Sinatra. I'm still not quite seeing a through line from "It's My Party" to "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" but that will require a deeper dive. Yet, there's a definite connection leading him from jazz to pop and there's nothing to suggest selling out had anything to do with it. Thank god.

Score: 8

~~~~~

Can Con

Hmm, I'm sensing a shift. Canadians are appearing on the CHUM charts and it isn't simply Paul-bloody-Anka. It's almost as if a music scene was in the midst of developing organically or something. London, Ontario's Larry Lee seems to have a bone to pick with those ladies who stand him up and I know what he means. I mean, I was never stood up as such but I have had girls cancel on me and there was this one time I emailed one in my pre-cell phone days who supposedly didn't get the message I sent her and we ended up meeting at separate places. But, yeah, it must suck being such a loser that you end up getting stood up on multiple occasions. He might have wanted to look in the mirror at some point. At any rate, his Top 30 hit "Stood Up" is a punchy C&W 45 with a welcome dose of humour with some zany musical touches. He hammers the point home however which leads me to conclude that if there's anything I can't stand it's two-minute pop songs that outstay their welcome. Yeah, it's not as catchy a statement as old Larry's, I know.

Cliff Richard and The Shadows: "Summer Holiday" / "Dancing Shoes"

May 13, 1963 (3 weeks)

The American and British charts have had many differences over the years but no major artist has ever had such contrasting appeal as Cliff Richard (and yes, he sure as hell counts as a major artist). In his homeland, he has been consistently popular for the better part of seventy years with fourteen number ones and a hundred and twenty-four Top 40 hits. Meanwhile in the US, he is a total unknown and he seems like the longest of longshots to one day make it in to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. (I like the Pet Shop Boys' chances by comparison, a band who no one other than myself and critic Chris Molanphy talk up) Neither of these statements are exactly true, however. He has at least as many detractors in Britain as he has fans and his popularity has had its ups and downs over the years. And while he has remained rather obscure in America, he has had three Top 10 hits on the Hot 100 which isn't nothing — even if it's dwarfed by what he has accomplished back home.

As for the rest of the world, we're somewhere in between when it comes to the former Harry Webb. I think he can be rightly described as a star in Australia given that he has two dozen Top 10's, even if only one managed to make it to the very top. The same goes for New Zealand where he managed to have several chart toppers. But what about Canada? We're a country that has always been almost literally in between the US and UK (you know, if not for Greenland, Iceland, Ireland and the Atlantic Ocean being in the way). If Cliff was going to be treated as an afterthought south of the border, than he was hardly going to be getting much attention north of it either. The 1959 UK number one smash "Living Doll" gave him a minor hit in North America but that's all there was for the first few years of his imperial period. That said, the ties that bind were still strong especially in Canada during the early sixties when the Red Ensign was still being flown.

In 1962, Cliff's musical film The Young Ones came out. It proved to be an enormous hit, as was the single of the same name. Once again, interest in the US was minimal but Canadians were more receptive to it to the tune of a Top 5 hit on the CHUM charts. He went on to have two more Top 20 entries with "It'll Be Me" and the North America-only 45 "Wonderful to Be Young". An upward trend for sure but they couldn't have guessed what would have taken place the following spring.

The film Summer Holiday was released in Britain in February of 1963. As Tom Ewing notes, it would have been a "canny release date" to see a group of English lads basking in the Grecian sun in the midst of a rotten winter. It wouldn't come out in the United States — and possibly Canada, more on that point below — until November 13, just two days after the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Yet, goodwill towards Cliff in Canada was such that not only did the "Summer Holiday" single start climbing the charts in the spring of '63 but it was hot on the heels of another single of his which came from the same movie.

"Bachelor Boy" entered the CHUM charts at number forty-one on April 1 and then quickly moved into the Top 20 the following week. Just seven days later, as it was on the cusp of that big Top 10, it was joined, also at forty-one, by "Summer Holiday", paired with "Dancing Shoes". Its ascension was even swifter, getting to number four just a fortnight after its debut. At the same time, "Bachelor Boy" was at number two. A week later they were in the silver and bronze spots respectively and a week after that "Summer Holiday" was at number one. All told, the two competing singles spent sixteen weeks in the Canadian Top 10 from April to June. (Notably, "Bachelor Boy" had this chart run about two months' prior to Cliff's appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show)

(Which leads me to wonder, had the Summer Holiday film managed to come out in Canada approximately six months prior to its ill-fated US release? As I mentioned above, he had made a name for himself the previous year so it's possible that his latest motion picture would have been made available at an earlier date than down south. Given that he doesn't appear to have done any other forms of promotional work in Canada at around this time, it seems likely. Whatsmore, the soundtrack managed to top the CHUM Albums Index at around this same time. The only problem is, I can't find any evidence to confirm when this film came out)

With two Cliff Richard singles to choose from, the question must be asked: did Canadians make the right choice in sending "Summer Holiday"/"Dancing Shoes" to the top over "Bachelor Boy"? I think they did. For one thing, the latter is a bit wet, a childish throwaway, albeit one that Cliff has perhaps grown into over the years as a performer. Being still in his early twenties, few would've guessed that he would go on to live that very bachelor life over all these many years. But now that he is well into the back half of his career, it has more resonance since that is indeed what he has become. What likely didn't have much meaning to him at the time has come to practically define him.

"Summer Holiday" at first seems naive and generic but now I think those might be among its strengths. As someone who has visited a few countries over the years, the song's narrative reads like a bland postcard but it's meant to be sung from the perspective of a group of young mates who've never been anywhere and are embarking on an exciting European road trip. "We've seen it in the movies, now let's see if it's true". That is the thing about idealizing a trip to Europe in particular: we tend to over romanticize the Continent which typically leads to severe disappointment. Perhaps Cliff and his chums were as let down as the gang in the 2004 sex comedy Eurotrip (a movie which happened to include a scene featuring characters traveling Europe on a double decker bus, possible as a nod to Summer Holiday).

On its own "Summer Holiday" might be a tad underwhelming but its enhanced by its flip side "Dancing Shoes". Having not actually seen the film since the early nineties (and I'm not even sure I saw the whole thing then), I had imagined that Cliff would be singing it in a dance hall or on a patio by the sea in the moonlight. Instead, he used the song to cheer up a peasant woman in the fields of what I think was the former Yugoslavia. (Just an old musical trick of inserting a tune into any old scene regardless of whether it makes sense to do so) Though Cliff sings it as immaculately as ever, the real stars are The Shadows with guitarist Hank Marvin in particularly fine form. Is it any wonder he was idolized by a whole generation of young guitarists, some of whom went on to be far more famous than their hero. I've heard talk that Cliff Richard and his longtime backing group released some first rate B sides during their heyday and I think this is my cue to investigate further.

As many already know, Cliff Richard can be a salty individual at times — and that's probably an understatement. He has expressed bitterness towards the press, The Beatles, plenty of other pop stars, Eurovision Song Contest judges for denying him the victory he felt he had been entitled to and young fans for booing sleazy politicians at award ceremonies but one that really gets his goat is his relative lack of success in the US. (The man likes to think of himself as an innovator so perhaps he should take pride in being the first in a long line of Brits who failed to make it in America) Does he at least appreciate the fact that Canadians took to him when their neighbours to the south failed to do so? I don't imagine he's aware of it — he last did a tour of Canada back '81 during his renaissance — so someone ought to let him know.

Score: 7

~~~~~

Can Con

Ronnie Hawkins: "Bo Diddley"

Another Ronnie Hawkins Top 10 hit so another Can Con write up it is! There aren't many left so I might as well keep 'em going. By now residing in the Toronto area, Rompin' Ronnie had formed The Hawks with a drummer from Arkansas by the name of Levon Helm and some young local musicians including Robbie Robertson and Garth Hudson. Imagine being on the verge of making history and not knowing you're doing so. (That's always the way though) Fascinating as all this is, "Bo Diddley" isn't one of his better efforts. I suppose it probably sounded better in some of those rough bars in Ontario towns like Cornwall, North Bay and Sudbury but there's not much to recommend in its 45 state. That trademark Bo Diddley shuffle isn't even all that prominent. Had they replaced this sound with something else of note then it would be fine but that's not the case at all. Just rugged rock 'n' roll which goes through the motions: Cliff Richard at his most depressingly dire would've struggled to be this piss poor.

Little Peggy March: "I Will Follow Him"

April 15, 1963 (4 weeks)

Before cementing her place in North American pop music with the smash "Downtown", veteran singer Petula Clark had been releasing pop singles since 1949. While she didn't spend the entirety of the first fifteen years of her career toiling in obscurity, her fortunes were very up and down. While she did have four Top 10 hits in the UK between 1954 and 1957, she then went into a lengthy dry spell before her version of "Sailor" went all the way to number one in the early part of '61. It was at around this time that she began to exploit her facility with singing in a number of languages, something she had already began doing in French with some success. A Francophone version of "Sailor" took her to number two on the France's singles charts with "Garde-moi la derniere danse" (aka "Save the Last Dance for Me") giving her another big hit there. Clark's next big French language hit, "Romeo", would top the charts in La Republique. She would go on to record her next hit in German and Italian, as well as English and French. 

In France, "Chariot" went to number two, while in Germany, "Cheerio" got to number six and in Italy, "Sul mio carro" went all the way to number one. So far, so good. (In various languages it was also a sizable hit in some other European countries) But in the UK, it stalled outside of the charts altogether. Though she still hadn't cracked North America, there wasn't going to be much hope for a record that failed to chart in her homeland — no matter what those Continental types thought. Yet, people still believed in this orchestrated pop song. The by-now thirtysomething Clark was out of the question but someone else could be found to make it the hit it deserved to be. And this was where Little Peggy March enters the picture.

"I Will Follow Him" is the English version of "Chariot"/"Cheerio"/"Sul mio carro" but only in terms of it having the same melody and arrangement; in terms of lyrical content, it really doesn't resemble its cousins at all. The French song is about taking a chariot to the ends of the Earth and the freedom that goes with it; in English, it's basically about, well, following "him", whoever "he" may be. As its use in the nineties Whoopi Goldberg comedy Sister Act indicates, "he" could be God or Christ but it doesn't have to be. It could be a guy Little Peg has a crush on, one who may or may not be into her. This being the sixties it could also have been a guru or cult leader she was determined to follow. Whatever the case may be, what began as a song about liberation was somehow transformed into submission.

Peggy March's version is good in its own way but Petula Clark's various readings in four different Western European languages (is it asking too much for a Spanish version as well?) dampen it somewhat — and this is only partially down to the wonky English "translation". Its other weak link is the backing vocals. When Tom Breihan states that "if you hear "I Will Follow Him" when you're in the wrong mood, it is instant headache material", it is that mix of  ceaseless "de-de-de, de-de-de..." from the men and "I love him, I love him..." from the women that it is the element most like to trigger a migraine. Also, the clash between those relatively relaxed verses and the shrillness of the chorus is too much to take. Yet, the whole thing isn't a complete waste of time: March sings with a surprising amount of maturity and the steady beat drives the tune along at a nice pace.

It is only in terms of age that March has Clark beat. The former had only turned fifteen a month prior to "I Will Follow Him" reaching number one on the CHUM charts which plays into the naivete of the song. You can buy the idea of her following a slightly older guy (perhaps a joke who plays for the high school basketball and football teams and is never seen without his lettermen jacket) around town, all wide-eyed and keen to make the best impression on him. I imagine a sweet girl in a nice dress, her hair done up perfectly, perhaps carrying around a basket of chocolate chip cookies to share with him if the opportunity presents itself. But this scenario just seems sad in the hands Clark who was twice March's age. While a faithful translation of "Chariot" could've been an appropriate anthem for suburban housewives seeking careers and options that went beyond TV dinners and baking Duncan Hines devil's food cake, a grown woman blindly following some doofus — religious or secular — is beyond sad.

Petula Clark ought to have been considered ahead of her time in terms of recording pop songs in a variety of languages. Turns out, the practice would soon become a relic as English really began to take over. Music fans on the Continent didn't seem to mind either. In fact, one of the most popular singers throughout the sixties in Germany was Peggy March. By then, she had grown up, the "Little" had been dropped from her stage name and her prominence in the US had declined. Good on those Europeans for always appreciating those that America has left behind.

Score: 5

The Chiffons: "He's So Fine"

March 25, 1963 (3 weeks)

Who are the great secondary songwriters in bands? By this I mean composers who were less prolific than their counterparts in the same group. Let's see, there's Dave Davies of The Kinks, Chris Bell of Big Star, Bryan MacLean of Love and Colin Moulding of XTC, individuals who took a backseat to Ray Davies, Alex Chilton, Arthur Lee and Andy Partridge respectively. There aren't all that many really. (If you happen to know of other examples, please leave a comment below; feel free to also remind me of just how ignorant I am while you're at it) Oh, but there is one more who shouldn't be forgotten: George Harrison.

Long in the shadow of Lennon and McCartney, the quiet one gradually improved. Most observers could tell that he was a first-rate composer in his own right by the late sixties but arguably the only two people who weren't aware of this were the senior partners in his own group. Abbey Road is frequently cited as George's coming out as the equal of John and Paul but the album would almost certainly have been better with more of his material in place of, say, "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" and/or "Sun King".

Harrison had so many unused and unwanted songs that his first solo album, All Things Must Pass, ended up being a triple disc set. And even though it would have been priced at a premium, it still sold like crazy while at the same time Lennon and McCartney stumbled out of the gate somewhat. Harrison even had a (mostly) global number one with "My Sweet Lord", a song I ought to be saving for later but for the fact that it technically never topped the charts in Canada. (The subject of which I will deal with in a future entry either through deep research or idle speculation)

In the aftermath of his new found solo purple patch, Harrison was sued by Bright Tunes Music, the company that owned the publishing to the Ronnie Mack song "He's So Fine". Legal wranglings connected to it continued for a few years. Though it wasn't his sole roadblock, it is said that Harrison's momentum halted and he never had quite the same confidence as a songwriter. The judge in the case famously found him guilty of what he called "subconscious plagiarism" and in the end he paid dearly for his carelessness.

George Harrison lost the famous "He's So Fine" case but it wasn't simply Bright Tunes Music who won. The Chiffons themselves got in on it by recording a version of "My Sweet Lord" in the mid-seventies and it's likely the publicity did them no harm. But the song itself ended up winning as well: by finding in its favour, it gave people the misguided impression that it was much better and more significant than it ever deserved to be.

Sure, "He's So Fine" went to number one on both the CHUM charts and the Hot 100 so obviously plenty of young people enjoyed it at the time. (For all I know, maybe it even had some older fans as well) And listening to it now, it has a perfectly agreeable tune that can really implant itself in the brain. Songs like this hard hard to dislike. But there's not much more to it than that. Clocking in at under two minutes, it's surprisingly short, even for the era. More importantly, it's pretty much all chorus. It's as if Ronnie Mack had developed on the germ of a song but hadn't quite seen it through, like he needed a collaborator or even just someone else to bounce ideas off of.

The Chiffons do give a strong vocal performance and it's impossible to ignore that hook (had Harrison not "subconsciously plagiarized" it, someone else surely would have) but beyond that there's not much else to it. A solid if routine piece of music that lucked out when a much more capable songwriter actually did something with it when Mack wasn't up to the task himself. Whatsmore, The Chiffons have better songs in their discography. The Goffin-King "One Fine Day", for one, is miles better than bloody "He's So Fine" — and George Harrison would never have pilfered from it since it's great just the way it is.

Score: 6

~~~~~

Can Con

Coming from a country in which virtually all of our famous comedians, hockey players and musicians end up relocating down south, I've always held American immigrants to Canada in high esteem. While her life north of the border was far from ideal, Jackie Shane recognized that she was in a much safer situation residing in Toronto. For a jazz lounge act, her debut single "Any Other Way" did surprisingly well going all the way to number two on CHUM. A shame she didn't have any more big hits though. This one, however, is sultry and seductive and indicates there would have been much more to her live act than cheeky gags. It's great, too, that she is finally receiving posthumous acclaim now that we live in an age that's finally coming to terms with accepting and respecting transgender individuals — at least among some of us, though sadly not so much in her native US of A.

Skeeter Davis: "The End of the World"

March 18, 1963 (1 week)

Solipsism. Children tend to think that everything is about them — and, if they don't grow out of it, some adults carry on acting that way. It has attracted humanity to religion and puts us in a further vulnerable spot when we get seriously ill (soon after writer Christopher Hitchens learned he had esophageal cancer, he offered up the perfect answer to the common rhetorical question 'why me?': "why not me?"). It helps us at times and it quite often holds us back. In the first half of the year I turned eighteen I had to deal with my first breakup and the death of my grandfather and in both instances I couldn't believe that everyone else just kept getting on with their lives. Wait, the world doesn't revolve around me???

Solipsism is at the heart of "The End of the World": a girl has had her heart broken and sees the sunshine and the waves crash on the shore and birds in the midst of song and wonders how they aren't as affected by it as she is. This ought to be a recipe for overwrought melodrama at its worst, the sound of a self-indulgence that only makes us as listeners have less pity for this devastated young woman. And without a doubt, many female vocalists have allowed this song to lapse into an excuse for feeling sorry for themselves. (As an aside, haven't any men tried their hand at it over the years? If anything, males are much more likely to be convinced that everything is about them than their female counterparts)

Legendary American torch singer Julie London was too much of a pro to completely mess it up but being too downbeat isn't ideal since it involves far too much self pity. Karen Carpenter had a voice like no one else but she was too technically accomplished to make the pain she was singing about believable. English pop star Sonia covered it in 1990 and her version comes across as trying too hard to prove herself as a serious artist — when, in truth, she had been far more convincing on the charming but idiotic pop throwaway "You'll Never Stop Me from Loving You", a chart topper in the UK in the summer of 1989. Of the "major" versions I came across in researching this, Nancy Sinatra's rendition is more successful than most, probably because she kept it as close to the standard as possible.

Over singing "The End of the World" is perhaps understandable but it's ultimately the wrong choice. The solipsism is already there in the lyrics, there's no need to add to it in the vocal. Restraint is the name of the game and this is why Skeeter Davis nailed it. She's no diva over-emoting to an over-the-top orchestra but, rather, a simple, girl-next-door type who is feeling isolated but who is eventually going to get through this in spite of her predictions of an impending apocalypse. 

Seemingly for want of anything more accurate, "The End of the World" is typically labelled a country song. I mean, I guess so but is it really? True, Davis was a country singer with many recordings that were a lot closer to C&W orthodoxy but there isn't a great deal of it present in the case of this, her signature hit. A gentle pedal steel guitar joins in at around the one minute mark but it barely sticks around for a single verse. Then she does a spoken-word part (a longtime hallmark of country music) which, again, is surprisingly brief. Otherwise, it's a straightforward pop song — and an outstanding one at that. (Weirdly, east-coast elite Sinatra's recording is far more overtly country)

Davis' sense of restraint is echoed in the arrangement which is similarly tasteful and unobtrusive. Again, something far more grandiose could have been called for by people who have forgotten a great deal more about music than I have ever known but it would have made it an inferior recording. This is not a sentiment to be blasted out to the world but one that is meant for a lonely individual who may have been listening on a transistor radio late at night in the darkness of their bedroom as they cry into their pillow. (Is this not unlike my own experiences of teenage heartbreak? I'd rather not say) A parallel is Duke Ellington's gorgeous "Solitude", a song enjoyed by millions but performed and sang to one person at a time.

Recent entries in this space like "Hey Paula" and "Rhythm of the Rain" — and, to be sure, plenty of others — are a load of crap but must all slow love songs ('ballads' if you must) be so crummy? No, indeed not. When done right they can be fantastic but everything must be kept in check. Solipsism has its place in pop music but the trick is to not make it all about the singer; a sort of dual-solipsistic world of artist and listener has to come together so they may both feel immeasurable pain while being convinced that it's all about them at the centre of the universe.

Score: 9

~~~~~

Can Con

It was the spring of 1963 and the greatest hockey player who had ever lived had just won his sixth scoring title to go along with a sixth Hart Trophy given to the "player adjudged most useful to his team". A month later, he would lead the Detroit Red Wings to another appearance in the Stanley Cup Finals where they would come up short to the Toronto Maple Leafs. He was also just five goals away from breaking "Rocket" Richard's all time record of 544. He was already an advanced thirty-five years old but he would keep playing until he was fifty-two. Yes, if anyone deserved to be immortalized in song it was Gordie Howe and that's what he was treated to hear with the imaginatively-titled "Gordie Howe". If only it had been a better song. On the other hand, at least Big Bob & The Dollars were a real Canadian rockabilly act capable of punching out a reasonably good tune to make up for some dreadful lyrics. Plus, Gordie Howe recording a pop song of his own would surely have been way worse, as Johnny Bower, Dave "The Hammer" Schultz and the 1987-88 Calgary Flames no doubt all confirm.

The Four Seasons: "Walk Like a Man"

March 11, 1963 (1 week)

So, "Sherry" and "Big Girls Don't Cry" had been written and recorded at more or less the same time which means they ought to go together, right? Well, no. The former is a superb display of Frankie Valli's magnificent falsetto backed up some killer harmonies from the rest of The Four Seasons while the latter grates as effortlessly as it enchants. A little of that high-piched squeal can go a long way — and it has more than a little of it. No, if a pair of Four Seasons hits go together it's "Big Girls Don't Cry" and its follow-up "Walk Like a Man".

There is a long tradition in pop of answer songs. A number of the singles I have written about in this space had replies that were available in the record stores and drug stores for kids to purchase (even if they typically didn't). The Bobbettes answered their own CHUM number one "Mr. Lee" with "I Shot Mr. Lee", singer Dimita Jo put out "I'll Save the Last Dance for You" as a very on-the-nose response to The Drifters' "Save the Last Dance for Me" and Jeanne Black's "He'll Have to Stay" was a famous reply to Jim Reeves' "He'll Have to Go".

While not completely unheard of (as I just said, The Bobbettes for one had already done it while the "He'll Have to Go / Stay" pairing were both written by the team of Audrey and Joe Allison), The Four Seasons took a relatively unique approach by answering their own hit single. While not a reply sung from the perspective of the other side, "Walk Like a Man" is more of a counterpoint to its predecessor. While "Big Girls Don't Cry" takes a peak at how members of the fairer sex were meant to conduct themselves, its follow-up does much the same for the menfolk. It's an old school, tough love, suck it up mentality all the way. Mature young women aren't supposed to get overwhelmed by heartbreak and adolescent males are expected to  Those tough as nails New Jersyans, I tell you.

Where the two singles differ from other answer songs as well is in the fact that the response was the stronger of the two. As I previously said in my review of "He'll Have to Stay", "reply songs always seem like a nice idea but they don't tend to work out". Maybe they're too much of a cash in and as result aren't given the care their predecessors may have enjoyed. In a way they're a no win proposition: do it too much like the original and you'll be perceived as a copy cat; do it in a more individual style, more divorced from the song it answers and people won't even notice the connection. As I say, "Big Girls Don't Cry" is all right but "Walk Like a Man" is a definite return to form, if not quite as thrilling as "Sherry".

Clearly, The Four Seasons could no longer rest on Valli's incredible range. The fact that the band would eventually evolve into Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons — and, indeed, even took on the appearance of a Valli solo project at times — sort of gives away that he would take centre stage. And I'm not disputing this but I think it must have been natural for the other three to want to fight for a share of the spotlight themselves. Honestly, they were the group's secret weapon: people might have come for Valli's high pitched wails but they stayed for their dynamic block harmonies which created a powerhouse of sound that their rivals couldn't hope else was in a position to do so.

Score: 7

The Cascades: "Rhythm of the Rain"

February 25, 1963 (2 weeks)

At some point in 1990 it was becoming clear that segments of the pop world were attempting to turn back the clock. Madonna did it in her own way with her big hit "Vogue" which name-dropped a host of iconic individuals from the forties and fifties — and made not-so-subtle hints that she was carrying the torch for the likes of "Dietrich and DiMaggio". Elsewhere American legacy bands like Wilson Phillips and Nelson had become stars on a level to rival their famous parents — at least for a few months. Over in Britain, Candy Flip had a huge hit with an updated cover of "Strawberry Fields Forever" while The House of Love had a predictably small chart peak with "The Beatles and the Stones". Who would have known that the nineties would have brought the sixties back into fashion?

"Strawberry Fields" wasn't the only cover or revival of an old hit to do well in 1990. In fact, it wasn't even the biggest hit of the year that had its roots in an earlier era. Sticking with the UK, their biggest summer hit was an absolutely revolting version of "Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini" which an act which called itself Bombalurina took to number one. The year started off with Kylie Minogue having another British chart topper with "Tears on My Pillow" from her film The Delinquents. Its use in a TV commercial (or 'advert' as those Brits call them) prompted a re-release of the Steve Miller Band's "The Joker" which hit the top that September. But the biggest hit of the year on the other side of the Atlantic was a reissue of "Unchained Melody" by The Righteous Brothers after memorably being featured in the movie Ghost.

On a lesser scale there were also a pair of covers of The Cascades' 1963 hit "Rhythm of the Rain", one by Australian actor/singer Jason Donovan and another by American soft rock vet Dan Fogelberg. Here we had a sixties' throwback that few even noticed: Donovan and Fogelberg were not unlike Cilla Black and Dionne Warwick having hits with the same Bachrach and David song an ocean apart from each other at pretty much the same time. Since the smooth stylings of Fogelberg had never taken off in the UK and since Donovan meant so little in the US that his overdose outside LA's notorious Viper Room in 1995 was scarcely noticed, the two didn't have to compete their one another. It was only in our household that the subject even came up: my sister, still clinging to her love for Richard Marx and Chicago, preferred the American's take while I, still somewhat firmly aligned with pop in spite of the creeping influence of indie, went with the Aussie heartthrob who I secretly wanted to be.

What's funny now is that both of their versions of "Rhythm of the Rain" aren't all that bad. Fogelberg's still isn't really my thing. He overdoes the passion which was on brand for an artist who always sounded like he could've made a healthy living TV jingles but I respect that he tried to do something with it. Donovan's is more of an updated version of the Cascades: all Stock Aitken Waterman production sheen with synths to basically copy the original. (As it turned out, Donovan had enough goodwill to take his version into the UK Top 10; meanwhile, Fogelberg did manage to scrape into the Canadian Top 40 but he failed to dent the American Hot 100 altogether)

These two covers don't suffer in comparison because the original isn't all that great to begin with. Fogelberg's decision to put a little too much soul into it suddenly becomes understandable when you hear the bloodless Cascades sound about as heartbroken as child playing with a puppy. While hardly an example of rock 'n' roll muscle, the Donovan rendition has a little more pop to it than the anemic recording from the early sixties. While it probably sounds like I'm defending what are deep down a pair of mediocre singles from thirty-five years ago, I just want to be clear that the sixty plus years old original isn't all that great either — and, in fact, might be a bit worse.

Anything good to say about The Cascades? I suppose it is the shortest of the three, so there's that. Donovan's isn't a whole lot longer and doesn't quite wear out its welcome but at just under four-and-a-half minutes, Fogelberg's is painfully long. I know it's been said before but stadium rock excess and the expansion of time brought on by the compact disc sure conspired to destroy pop's sense of brevity. And, although this says nothing about its overall quality, "Rhythm of the Rain" is said to have been the ninth most played song on American TV and radio of the twentieth century. It seems hard to believe, I know, but that's what the info says. The Cascades must have been doing something right. I can't hear it myself but you can't argue with the power of a "simpering ballad" as Aiden Curran over at the Irish Number Ones blog says.

1990 was a mixed year for music. The Madchester acts — Happy Mondays, The Stone Roses, The Charlatans, Soup Dragons, The Farm — were at their peak of notoriety and looked to become a force (wow, that sure didn't happen: for sure it is the biggest boner prediction I have ever made). Harder indie rock acts like Jane's Addiction and The Pixies opened the doors for the coming grunge wave. Both Pet Shop Boys and Depeche Mode released the finest albums of their careers which brought the golden age of synth-pop to an end. On the other hand, commercial pop was at a nadir of garbage via the likes of New Kids on the Block and Paula Abdul. While some in hip hop were thriving, its biggest stars — MC Hammer, Vanilla Ice — were pitiful. As if aware of such shortcomings, covers or reissues of vintage hits became popular, especially in the UK. What this trend failed to reckon with, however, was that just because a single was old didn't mean that it was worth going back to. Jason Donovan and Dan Fogelberg did their best with what they had but "Rhythm of the Rain" has always been a feeble pop song, one that can't possibly be worth the trouble of revisiting.

Score: 3

Paul & Paula: "Hey Paula"

February 4, 1963 (3 weeks)

One day when I was in elementary school our class had a visitor. It was a girl we all recognized who was from the grade below us — and, as it turned out, she hadn't stopped by to ask us big kids a question. Our teacher announced that she would be joining our class. She had been promoted to the big time.

I had never heard of such a thing. I knew of kids who'd failed and had to repeat a grade but I never knew anyone who managed to pull off the reverse. As if not content to be so far ahead of everyone her own age, she instantly proved to be just about the best student in our class too. She fit in instantly from what I can recall. There was only one problem as far as I was concerned: her name was Paula. Other boys in my class teased me about our near identical names but fortunately for me they had obviously never heard "Hey Paula" by Paul & Paula because I surely would have petitioned my parents for a name change if they had.

Paula was and probably still is a very nice person but "Hey Paula" is vile, a skid mark of bland and vapid pop. While Tom Breihan savages it in his review, if anything he doesn't go far enough. Sure, it is indeed a prime example of early sixties pop's reputation for being a "sanitized wasteland" and that it "sounds like nothing" but he neglected to mention that it's remarkably free of passion. These two young people are supposed to be absolutely crazy about each other but you'd never know it by listening to their vocals. Paul (real name Ray Hildebrand) in particular sounds completely lifeless in his delivery. I don't know if he was going for a laid back vibe but his opening "hey Paula" is so unconvincing and so brushed off

Paula (aka Jill Jackson: I suppose 'Jack & Jill" would've been too predicable a name for the duo; what about 'Ray & May'? 'Arnie & Marnie'?) is more tolerable than her partner but even then that could be more down to the wistful looks she gives her partner in a TV clip. That glance of hers sells the song better than the two of them singing to one another ever could. Hildebrand's awful lyrics certainly don't help either. Rather than sharing their own perspectives, he has the two of them repeating the same trite slush back-and-forth to each other. Just to give it an added touch of tackiness, the whole thing is backed by a Hammond organ straight out of an old soap opera.

Paul & Paula represented a segment of American kids who grew up just before hippie free love began to take off. The sort of young couple who'd rush to get married just so that they could get laid and not feel pangs of guilt that they might have made the Baby Jesus cry or that God might have slaughtered a kitten as punishment for their sinful ways. I'm probably giving them more credit than they deserve but maybe that's why their vocals are so devoid of feelings of love — because they don't have any. That said, I'm not hearing any lust either. In short, "Hey Paula" should make everyone happy that the Sexual Revolution was right around the corner. While it's impossible to imagine Paul & Paula playing at Woodstock six years later, it would've done the pair of them a world of good had they been in attendance.

Score: 2

~~~~~

Can Con

He may have been known as 'Canada's Country Gentleman' but to me Tommy Hunter was always that old man who'd come on TV directly after Hockey Night in Canada which was a signal for me to (a) change the channel, (b) turn off the TV or (c) get my ass out of the TV room as swiftly as possible, quite often with my hands covering my ears. Being in my late forties now, I wouldn't be quite so quick to bolt at the sound of old Tommy but I wouldn't be rushing to watch and/or listen to him either. Officially listed as a double A side of "Poor Little Bullfrog" / "Penny Wishes", the latter is all that is listed on the CHUM chart for the week of February 18, 1963 and with good reason. While it is merely a serviceable C&W ballad, it outstrips its rather silly flip side — a song that is apparently so unloved that they only bothered to include its first ninety seconds on YouTube. Who could possibly need to hear the rest?

The Rooftop Singers: "Walk Right In"

January 21, 1963 (2 weeks)

It takes up only about thirty seconds but the dual 12-string acoustic guitar opener play by Erik Darling and Bill Svanoe to open "Walk Right In" is easily its brightest feature. The mind has a number of reactions to it during that half minute: "oh, this is unique" and "damn, these stick-in-the-mud folkies can play!" and "I don't think many people have tried to imitate this" and, finally, "wait, what are The Rooftop Singers, of all people, doing playing an instrumental?" It is only then that the singing starts — and it's all downhill from there.

Well, slightly downhill. "Walk Right In" is harmless and pleasant but there's no doubt that its most thrilling moment has already been done and dusted in those first few seconds. The trio of Darling, Svanoe and former jazz vocalist Lynne Taylor sound like evangelical Christians, albeit more on the cheery, Ned Flanders-style rather than the terrifying fire and brimstone kind.

Bob Dylan was about to emerge as a force in 1963. His protest song masterpiece The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan would come out that May but the bulk of it — including future standards "Blowin' in the Wind", "A Hard Rain's a-Gonna Fall" and "Don't Think Twice, It's All Right" — had already been recorded prior to "Walk Right In" making it to number one. Now, it seems as though this ultra white-bred trio (who must have been in their late twenties at the very least) would not have been prepared for the coming folk boom that would ultimately render groups acts like them redundant but the altered lyrics of "Walk Right In" suggest otherwise.

Originally written by blues singer Gus Cannon for his act Cannon's Jug Stompers, the 1929 recording of "Walk Right In" is similarly accomplished musically with some terrific banjo playing and a sweet little kazoo solo. It's also sung with more humour than The Rooftop Singers would bring to it but the subject matter is also more menacing, with references to an "evil way of walking" which could be a reference to a popular dance craze of the time or goosestepping Nazis or to something I'm not aware of. The Rooftop Singers had this changed to a "new way of walkin'" which is equally oblique to my modern ears. But they also put in a line inviting people to "let their hair hang down". (They weren't to know just how long everyone's hair would get by decade's end) Cannon's composition invites guests in but then quickly points out that they "can't stay too long"; this Rooftop remake is only concerned with making them feel at home.

The result is a welcoming singalong, one that almost seems aware that the times were a-changin'. I can imagine entering a crowded and smokey folk club in New York or Toronto and being greeted by this. Clean cut groups like The Kingston Trio and The Rooftop Singers may have commandeered the stage but they would have made room for younger musicians as well. Few genres have a sense of community the way folk does and "Walk Right In" might as well its theme song. (Rather objecting to his decision to turn away from topical material or his embrace of rock music, perhaps the real reason folkies objected to Dylan by the mid-sixties was because they felt he had turned his back on them)

I have my problems with folk music at times — and not just because my parents subjected me and my sister to so much of it on childhood camping trips. "Walk Right In" may indeed be cheesy, overly cheerful and square but it's also catchy and charming. True, a little of it goes a long way and I certainly wouldn't recommend playing it on a loop for almost an entire afternoon (and I should know) but it's a perfectly fine single, even if its last two minutes can't possibly measure up to those first thirty magnificent seconds.

Score: 6