Cliff Richard: "It's All in the Game"

November 25, 1963 (1 week)

During the summer I turned thirteen, I went to see my first real pop concert with my mum, sister and aunt. He played pretty well and I was surprised that I was familiar with just about every song he performed but the venue wasn't the greatest, his sound much better suited to a concert hall setting than a cavernous hockey arena. Nevertheless, I had a pretty good time. You might say I was going to Tell Her About It! (Had there been a "her" that is)

Yet, I soon learned not to boast too much over having been to a Billy Joel concert. My social standing at school was pitiful enough. Although he'd had a number one hit only a year earlier with "We Didn't Start the Fire", it was clear that discerning listeners and/or those who wanted to appear cool had little use for him. As the nineties rolled into the Millennium, there was an even more widely held distaste for all things William Joel, who seemed to by the epitome of music for people who don't like music all that much, the sort of turgid individual who us music snobs love to shit all over.

All of a sudden, though, things changed. Actually, I suspect it was more of a gradual shift but it was one I didn't pick up on until I began hearing his name being dropped by people who I respected and/or had good taste. It's difficult to say when precisely this occurred but the American sitcom How I Met Your Mother provides something of a roadmap. In the Season 2 episode "Swarley", the character Marshall takes out a girl and talks her up to his friends. "She likes Italian food, I like Italian food," he raves, "She likes Billy Joel, I...also like music". (It is revealed in another episode that Marshall also happens to be a fan of Creed so he has no business judging someone else's taste in music) But then in the Season 8 episode "The Time Travelers", Ted and Barney are seen alongside future incarnations of themselves doing a version of the Joel classic "The Longest Time". So, I estimate that it was sometime between 2006 and 2013 that people began giving the Piano Man a long overdue rethink.

Critical re-evaluations are necessary in pop. Paul McCartney had never been quite as derided as Joel or Phil Collins or Simply Red but for many years he had been the butt end of plenty of jokes. His music had grown far too sentimental, he was only concerned about his commercials prospects and, crucially, he wasn't John Lennon. His partner in The Beatles had spent the last decade of his life getting involved in peace demonstrations, getting wildly drunk and baking bread and pottering around his spacious Manhattan pad. He was also horrifically murdered at the end of 1980 which ended up making him a martyr that he never would have approved of. Macca couldn't possibly compete with any of it. His widely criticized "it's a drag" speech to the press on the day after his friend's assassination sealed it. (To this day people still seem unaware that (a) he was clearly in shock and (b) he actually said considerably more than those three words) Yet, he eventually came back. Time healed all wounds as the nineties proved very beneficial to McCartney. What was once considered to be embarrassing is now thought of as light and fanciful and the product of what is still an active creative mind. Not only has his music aged well but so too has Macca himself. It's just a pity not everyone can be so graceful in the autumn of their years.

Which brings us to Cliff Richard, a man with a cringey reputation of his own who has never really enjoyed a similar re-appraisal, even if it's likely that he isn't as despised as he once was. I often find myself liking a considerable amount of his work, especially as I get older. His early pop-rock material has its moments, his mid-to-late seventies renaissance is pretty damn great all things considered and I don't even have much of a problem with two of his Christmas favourites. (I hated "Mistletoe and Wine" when it first came out as it had ruined my one chance to experience a heated Christmas Number One battle but I have since made my peace with what is a pretty innocuous song; as for "Saviour's Day", I am genuinely fond of it; back in the day, I would've referred to it as a 'guilty pleasure')

But Sir Cliff is a lot more than a cantankerous, holier than thou old fart who happened to cut at least two dozen exceptional pop songs over the course of his lengthy career. Anyone who has been around for even just a fraction of the time he has is bound to have put out some ghastly crap in their time and he's no exception. The overly religious material is merely the low hanging fruit; in fact, there's probably a greater proportion of shit to be found among the secular material. Look no further than his two failed attempts at taking the Eurovision crown for Great Britain: 1968's "Congratulations" and — oh, bloody hell — "Power to Our Friends". Or there's his second (and final) number one on Canada's CHUM charts, "It's All in the Game".

Yes, the same "It's All in the Game" that was also a chart topper for Tommy Edwards five years earlier. (This is the first time the same song by two different artists went to number one in Canada and it's far from the last) As you'll see from reading that entry, I wasn't especially fond of it, finding its original recording to be much better, a sparse and reflective meditation on "the game of love". The updated 1958 version isn't bad but the updates (needless rock instrumentation, yet another tasteless chorus) do nothing to improve upon it and even end up reducing it considerably. Yet, all is damn-near forgiven after sitting through several rounds of Cliff's bastardization.

The biggest difference is that Edwards has some idea of understanding the song's meaning while all Cliff wishes to do is to sing his heart out — and, boy, does he ever. To be sure, he had, in the words of the critic Ian MacDonald, the "smoothest vocal timbre UK pop technicians  have had the pleasure of recording" and he sure seemed to know it too. He sounds like he's out to prove what a fabulous singer he is rather than doing his best to work around "It's All in the Game". Edwards has a knowing assuredness about him, as though he's well-aware that this is indeed a game he's talking about while Cliff sounds like he's got this pop standard working for him rather than the other way around.

The arrangement isn't a whole lot different though the plucking of what sounds like a harp (though it could just be an acoustic guitar or a ukulele) provides an extra layer of pointless treacle. And then there's that chorus which is somehow even sicklier than on the Edwards '58 version. Plus, it was 1963 for god's sake! If there had ever been a time for angelic vocalists to add nothing but candy floss gospel backing it had long since passed. Proper gospel music was beginning to make its mark on the culture so what purpose did these milquetoast phonies serve when they were already pretty superfluous to begin with?

And that brings Cliff Richard's time as a major pop star in Canada (mostly) to a close. He would have hits going forward but his lack of visibility in the US hurt his chances north of the border. (No one that I'm aware of skips the States on their world tour but still goes to Canada) The British Invasion that he helped pave the way for had little to do with him. Fun fact: This would be the last CHUM chart as Canada's de facto national listing without at least one Beatles' single. Barring the odd seventies' comeback or Christmas hit, Cliff would become old before his time. He may indeed merit re-appraisal but we shouldn't overlook just how dreadful he could be.

Score: 2