Lorne Greene: "Ringo"

December 7, 1964 (1 week)

The university I work at here in South Korea has been holding English camps for local kids for the last thirteen years (barring the odd global pandemic). The very first one took place in January of 2012 and it was a doozy. No one knew what they were doing, the schedule wasn't exactly loaded with activities and it was three weeks long — and we had dozens of kids who were homesick and made no effort to try to make the best of it. The staff coped by drinking every night.

One rare special event we had planned featured a guest speaker, a middle-age woman from Canada who spoke fluent Korean. I'm not sure it needed to be two hours long but it was good fun for the most part. At the beginning of her presentation she gave an introduction on Canada and did that most Canadian of things: she told everyone in attendance about all the famous people from the Great White North. When her talk finally came to an end, a visiting teacher from New Zealand, itself a country with a dearth of homegrown celebrities, came over to me and asked: "Does everyone in Canada do that?"

"Oh god, yes," I replied, rolling my eyes. To be Canadian is to be proud of the many celebrities who come from our homeland who we otherwise have little to do with. Celine Dion, Pamela Anderson, Drake, Jordan bloody Peterson: schlocky, talentless, moronic or, in the case of the latter, all of the above. Lorne Greene was perhaps the first "He's Canadian, you know" famous person that I was aware of who I largely didn't give a shit about.

No disrespect to the man, I just didn't know why him being Canadian was supposed to be so special. There were plenty of famous Canadians, even back in the early eighties. First and foremost, there were all those hockey players like Guy Lafleur and Mike Bossy and Wayne Gretzky. Then, there was Anne Murray and a bunch of other singers. I knew of Alan Thicke, Monte Hall and Conrad Bain from TV. Pierre Trudeau was perhaps the sole name Prime Minister up to that point — and, indeed, would remain that way until his son Justin took office in 2016. (There's obviously an unwritten rule that PM's in my country are meant to be obscure internationally unless they happen to have the surname 'Trudeau' though perhaps Mark Carney is bucking this trend)

Granted, Lorne Greene had been a significant figure back in his day. People loved Bonanza in the fifties and sixties, just as they were similarly fond of Gunsmoke and Maverick. Kids growing up in that era loved dressing up as cowboys, a tradition they had considerable difficultly passing down to their Generation X kids like myself. No, Greene was best known to me for Lorne Greene's New Wilderness, one of those nature show which always seemed to be on in one of those Saturday afternoon dead slots. Greene's deep voice was a little unsettling, his gravitas lending extra weight to the perilousness of threatened species which I'm sure made for compelling viewing for older audiences but which I was far too young and naive for. I got my nature viewing either from those silly Disney shorts about animals ("Don't fall into that creek, little bear!") or from the National Film Board of Canada's classic Hinterland Who's Who ads that came on between some of my favourite shows. Best to keep nature shows either endearingly corny or brief, especially when you're eight years old.

With his trademark deep drawl that would've shamed Johnny Cash, Greene had been suited to voiceover and narration work. He even spent the War years terrifying Canadians with his radio broadcasts. In that spirit, for him to release recordings of him "singing" all about the American West makes for some very grim listening. It may be cool to hear his voice but to have to take in over three minutes of "Ringo" is way too much to ask. As novelty records go, it's rather nice to encounter one that isn't played for laughs but it still doesn't save what is a painfully boring single.

Following several years of hoaky cowboy laments taking over the charts, Lorne Greene's ode to an olde time outlaw must not have stood much of a chance by '64. It did, however, have one thing in its favour: it was called "Ringo" and that also happened to be the name of one of The Beatles. The one people either say isn't all that great or is their favourite member of the group. (Actually, that isn't strictly true: I think Ringo Starr was a fine drummer and he's either my third or fourth favourite Beatle; I can't imagine why anyone would choose someone other than John or Paul) The populace took to the homely one. I suppose he had that everyman quality that people root for. (People who aren't me, mind you) And this has to be why this otherwise undistinguished, labourious single managed to make it all the way to number one on both Canada's RPM charts and the Hot 100. All over his country of birth, kids were coming home with the 7" record. They'd put it on only to be disappointed that it had nothing to do with the Fab Four only for parents to chime in "Oh, it's Lorne Greene! He's Canadian, you know!". From St. John's, Newfoundland to Victoria, BC, kids could do little more than shrug their shoulders and pretend to give a shit, like the good Canadians they are.

Score: 3

Jay and the Americans: "Come a Little Bit Closer"

November 30, 1964 (1 week)

We have yet to reach any of the major examples (but one is just about on deck, I promise!) but there are acts who never had number ones in either the US or UK who managed to have at least one chart topper in Canada. A handful are even in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. But New York's Jay and the Americans have them all beat. While ten Top 40 hits down in the States is more than respectable, such results pale next to what they managed to accomplish up north: no less than four number ones.

Four?!? Mother of god, how I am ever going to write a quartet of reviews of this band I've barely heard of and who, quite frankly, don't seem to have much of a story that's worth telling. They don't appear to have the personalities and dysfunction of The Beach Boys, nor the presence of a distinctive leader with a powerful voice the way Frankie Valli led The Four Seasons. Whatsmore, they lacked talented songwriters in their ranks and thus had to rely on outside sources for material. None of these are prerequisites for a successful career in pop but they sure make it easier to come up with some crap to write about.

Oh, I know! How about the fact that Jay and the Americans were a quartet or quintet from New York who sound vaguely like Latinos from southern California? "Come a Little Bit Closer" has a chorus that is not unlike "La Bamba" and there's a laid back, mariachi vibe to throughout. I don't wish to accuse them of cultural appropriation or anything, I'm just curious about why they came to sound this way. (Listening to some of their earlier stuff might have helped, you know)

Or how about the fun fact that there was more than one 'Jay' in Jay and the Americans? In fact, there have been three Jays during the group's sixty plus years of activity? First, there was Jay Traynor who was their lead vocalist on their first American hit "She Cried" before he abruptly quit. He was replaced by Jay Black who was on all their Canadian number ones and remained with them for the next forty-four years. Then came Jay Reincke who has been with them ever since. I wonder if when they're auditioning new members they place adds that read something like...Singer needed for the revival circuit. Affinity for V-neck sweaters preferable. Must answer to the name Jay. (That said, I think it's much more impressive that there was more than one 'Martha' in Martha and the Muffins at the same time)

Or I can ponder what it was about this perfectly competent but ultimately pretty unremarkable vocal group that made them catch on in Canada? My gut feeling is that it's down to The Four Seasons and the desire on the part of Canadians for more of that shit but this might be the kind of thing for reviews of future Jay and the Americans' number ones. So, I'll leave it at that. Think of this one as a preface to what ought to amount to a modest pamphlet on the Jay and the Americans story in Canada. I think I'll call it Canada Mia: How a Jay and the Americans Did Quite Well for Themselves Up North. (I might workshop the title a little more)

Score: 6

Elvis Presley: "Ain't That Lovin' You Baby"

November 16, 1964 (2 weeks)

And there I was beginning to think that we were going to get through an entire year without The King.

A recurring theme throughout the batch of 1964 number ones — especially in the second half of the year — is examining how various pop stars reacted to the rise of The Beatles. In short, most were better off simply doing their own thing rather than trying to compete with them or, worse still, trying to ape their sound. (Frankly, this is still the case: supposedly 'Beatlesque' groups who play nothing but predictable old power pop have done nothing for the Fab Four's reputation for being influential)

That said, the presence of The Beatles seemed to encourage many to up their efforts. The Beach Boys were improving at a rate that at times exceeded John, Paul, George and Ringo. Bob Dylan began searching further afield from the folk music straightjacket. Motown and Stax had both began thriving commercially and creatively. While other Liverpool groups were mediocre at best, acts from other parts of the UK (The Rolling Stones, The Animals, The Kinks) were now on the scene and offered some degree of credible alternative.

And then there was Elvis Presley, the one time King of Rock 'n' Roll who was now a movie star who happened to put out records on the side. He was shaken by The Beatles' takeover of the United States. Reports are conflicting but it's reasonable to guess that he was jealous and felt threatened by their popularity. Though it is sometimes pointed out that he happily recorded covers of many Lennon and McCartney originals (and at least one Harrison number), they tended to come a bit later when he may have developed a greater appreciation for their music  (even though he would also shit talk them during his summit with Richard Nixon). What is indisputable is that their arrival did little to spur him into a creative renaissance — at least, not yet.

The release of "Ain't That Lovin' You Baby" backed with "Ask Me" (which proved to be the more popular side in the US) smacks of desperation rather than inspiration. Recorded back in June of 1958 while on leave from his military training (the day before he cut "I Got Stung" a double A side and fellow Canadian number one) but left unreleased, it was suddenly deemed good enough to be pressed and in the local record shops and drug stores just as 1964 was coming to end. It was as if to say, "I don't need inspiration from those limeys, I inspired them!"

So, is it a helpful reminder of what Elvis had once been? Yes but only up to a point. By the lofty standards of his pre-army period, it's reasonable but nothing special. But held up against his mid-sixties' work and it's rather good. Still not great but a definite step up from what he had been reduced to. All one needs to do is flip "Ain't That Lovin' You Baby" over and be met by the limp and lifeless "Ask Me", a track which still manages to be superior to everything on the godawful soundtrack to The King's latest film project Roustabout.

Rather than being spurred into finding better material or going out on the road for the first time in living memory or searching for new bandmates/collaborators or — heaven forbid — working on his craft, the ascension of The Beatles did little to motivate Elvis Presley. His longtime record label, RCA, had been clever enough to pull an old session from the archives but it ended up only reinforcing just how irrelevant their cash cow had become. "Ain't That Lovin' You Baby" may have given him yet another chart topper in Canada and Australia but other, bigger markets weren't as keen. Not only were consumers sick of the current Elvis but they didn't want to have much to do with the old Elvis either. It would take a while before they'd begin to find their way back to him.

Score: 5

The Honeycombs: "Have I the Right?"

November 2, 1964 (2 weeks)

As we've all been repeatedly told, The Beatles changed everything the moment they arrived in New York and appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show. It's something I've already gone into in this space so there's no need to re-litigate that one. What isn't typically mentioned is how they completely altered British pop as well. Performers who had been groomed for the spotlight like Adam Faith, Billy Fury and Helen Shapiro suddenly became passe. While Cliff Richard and The Shadows continued to have hits, it was clear that their Imperial Period had ended. Meanwhile, visionary producer Joe Meek began to struggle just as his American equivalent, Phil Spector, started to lose his grip as well.

Meek had been behind The Tornados' remarkable 1962 smash "Telstar" but the hits were beginning to slow down by the time The Beatles took over. "Have I the Right?" returned the troubled boffin to the top of the charts in both the UK and Canada even though his fingerprints weren't all over his latest offering compared to earlier singles. Where it had once been unclear as to how much the members of The Tornados actually contributed to their signature number (it's safe to say that Meek did the heavy lifting), there was no such similar trouble giving the Honeycombs the credit they deserved.

Well, actually...

London/Home Counties quintet The Honeycombs have two notable features: they had one very memorable hit single and they had a woman on drums. Honey Lantree had been a trainee hairdresser who discovered she had an aptitude for percussion. She promptly joined up with older brother bassist John along with Dennis D'Ell, Martin Murray and the very youthful Alan Ward to form The Sheratons. Realizing that having a girl on drums was something no one else had ever done, they were renamed The Honeycombs which combined her nickname and her background in hair styling. A feeble pun but a good name for a band in the early sixties (not unlike The Beatles as a matter of fact).

Lantree's position behind the drum kit was so unusual that a backlash developed as the group found some success. Accusations were made that she was simply there for show and that someone else (hint: someone with a Y chromosome) was playing on their records. Naturally, no proof was given and I have no idea how the naysayers explained how she managed to bluff her way through their live shows. It's rather depressing to consider that her skeptics must have used the very fact that her drumming was so accomplished as a point against her.

And make no mistake: her drum part is one of the reasons "Have I the Right?" is as outstanding as it is. She plays with a forcefulness in the chorus (backed up by the other Honeycombs stomping their feet) while maintaining a solid rhythm during the verses. There are other factors too: Ward's spidery guitar solo is the sort of thing that indie ax players like Suede's Bernard Butler and Radiohead's Johnny Greenwood made entire careers out of, Meek's production tricks aren't all over the place but the echo and trippy organ set it apart from your average pre-Beatlemania pop song and there's loads of energy to spare. It's worth pointing out that deep down this is very much a pre-Fab Four concoction: Dennis D'Ell has that blend of cockiness and 'awe, shucks' humbleness in his voice that makes it a such a throwback to the innocence of 1960 while the band play in a tight, disciplined style not unlike The Shadows which was no longer in vogue with the rise of Merseybeat (not to mention up and coming rough house acts like The Rolling Stones).

Meek's production style was becoming outdated by the time The Honeycombs had hit the top of the charts. Similar to Phil Spector (they didn't just have murdering in common), he had a tendency to make his contributions the focal point which contrasted with the way George Martin used production as a means to get the best out of the artists he worked with. It's to his credit that Meek backed off considerably on "Have I the Right?"

But it wasn't just Meek who was finished once "Have I the Right?" had become a worldwide smash. While not strictly speaking a one-hit wonder, very few people could name as many as two Honeycombs' songs, possibly even back in their heyday — and, frankly, this is with good reason. They couldn't recapture that magic perhaps because they were operating using a dying sound with a producer who had peaked creatively. The fact that they were able to get one brilliant hit out of this arrangement is a tribute to everyone involved. Competing with The Beatles would be out of the question in the longterm but they did okay in that regard for a few weeks in the second half of 1964.

Score: 8

~~~~~

Can Con

It wasn't just British and American acts who had to deal with the overwhelming popularity of The Beatles, Canadian groups and solo artists reacted in their own way. "Unless You Care" by Vancouver's Terry Black is among the first credible attempts at a CanRock Merseybeat. Having studio pros like Glen Campbell and Leon Russell doing some jangle pop is never a bad thing especially when you're a teenage idol in need of a hit. Black's voice is deeper and sounds more mature than your average pretty boy and the result is something that isn't close to as throwaway as one might assume. A pretty good first stab though, not unlike The Honeycombs, it would end up being the biggest hit of Black's career. Yet he managed to have a respectable career; I'll have to see if he managed to live up to the early promise.

The Beach Boys: "When I Grow Up (To Be a Man)"

October 19, 1964 (2 weeks)

As a compact disc loyalist, I am already in the minority when it comes to how I consume music. Records are too big and expensive and, speaking as a careless and clumsy person, I don't trust myself with fragile vinyl and/or stereo equipment. As far as streaming goes, it's just a way to give someone I'm unfamiliar with a listen and that's where it begins and ends. If I'm interested, I'll try to track your album down on CD — either that or I'll forget all about you. Nope, I'm a CD guy. But even within that narrow class, I am virtually on my own in my fondness for the CD two-fer.

The two-fer is a throwback to the late eighties and early nineties when albums were being reissued on the new format. While big name releases such as Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and Dark Side of the Moon were released on their own, many shorter albums got paired up in order to take advantage of CD's having eighty minutes of running time. Pet Sounds was a marquee album to put out on its own but the remainder of The Beach Boys' works got the two-fer treatment. I, for one, loved them. They were good value for money, with some even including bonus tracks (when your albums from the sixties tended to clock in under the half-hour mark, they had lots of time to play with). Releases such as Friends / 20/20, Sunflower / Surf's Up and Carl & The Passions 'So Tough' / Holland were all big favourites of mine — and they remain so to this day. Buying them was like getting an album and a greatest hits all at once. Were they cheap affairs? Possibly but that was a concern for others.

Perhaps the most fascinating of the two-fers is The Beach Boys Today / Summer Days (and Summer Nights!!), a compilation of their two major works from 1965 (even though much of the former was initially recorded and released in '64). Because much of The Beach Boy narrative centres around Pet Sounds (and, to a lesser extent, the unfinished and ill-fated Smile), it is easy to hear these two albums as a warm up for what was about to come down. There's no doubt there's some truth to this claim as well. The former's second side is surprisingly reflective while Brian Wilson's increasing reliance on legendary LA session group The Wrecking Crew was a sign of things to come.

Yet, there's juvenalia involved as well which betrays this sense that Brian Wilson was maturing. The first side of Today! has material covering topics ranging from teen romance (their hit version of "Do You Wanna Dance", "Good to My Baby"), the desire to blow off some steam after "six hours of school" ("Dance, Dance, Dance") and an intimidating older brother giving a stern lecture to a young boy up to no good ("Don't Hurt My Little Sister"). Even an early run through of future hit "Help Me, Ronda" is given the youthful, milk-fed treatment by Al Jardine and his frat boy vocals. (As for Summer Days, it is crammed with silly tunes about the capital city of Utah and amusement parks which obscure the fact that it has freaking "California Girls" on it)

Fitting in alongside them is "When I Grow Up (To Be a Man)". Sung mostly by twenty-three year old Mike Love with help from the twenty-two year old Brian, it is about a teen who wonders what he'll be like when he gets older. The very nature of it is forced. Only an adult would come up with such sentiments. No teen ever thinks about how they'll turn out, they only ever wonder about what's in store. I remembered being a self-obsessed fourteen year old and I never worried that I wouldn't dig the same music or different women in the future. My mum used to tell my coffee hating sister that she would one day enjoy that hot beverage which was always met with denial. (Naturally, she now drinks coffee) We might fret that others will change but it seldom occurs to us that we might change too.

All that said, I love "When I Grow Up". Brian's vocal arrangements are sublime with more of a jazz influence than on earlier works. The use of an electric harpsichord is an inspired choice and it made me assume that it was the work of a Wrecking Crew member like Leon Russell; imagine my surprise to discover that it was in fact played by Brian himself. In fact, the instrumentation was all the product of The Beach Boys themselves. I used to think that Dennis Wilson was merely a competent drummer but he holds time perfectly well on this. Imagine that: not only could they all sing but they could even play too! Finally, Brian and cousin Mike have rarely sounded so good playing off one another. In many respects opposites as people, their opposing vocal styles mesh beautifully.

Beach Boy fans can have that second side of Today; I'll take the first side along with much of the Summer Days album. Brian's best work of this period seemed to merge sophisticated musical ideas with some youthful diary entry shenanigans. While he could pull off profundity ("In My Room"), he was often better off sticking with childish shit. It was what he was into and, as they say, you should write what you know. (1977's bizarre, erratic and sometimes uncomfortable Beach Boys Love You as well as its unreleased follow-up Adult Child indicate that he never really lost his love of childlike wonder) You may assume that Brian Wilson matured as an artist but he seemed just as content to immature at the very same time.

Score: 9

Manfred Mann: "Do Wah Diddy Diddy"

October 5, 1964 (2 weeks)

This was turning out to be some British Invasion. The Beatles and a bunch of groups of questionable talent desperate for a hit. Gerry and the Pacemakers had once been one of the premier acts around Liverpool but by the time stardom hit they were an amusing little music hall sideshow. The Dave Clark 5 sounded like a garage band that hadn't left the garage. Peter and Gordon may have had some Lennon-McCartney originals to keep them afloat but there's no escaping the fact they sounded out of date by the time they started to make the charts.

For all the talk of Liverpool being a rough town, you'd never know it listening to most of the Merseybeat groups of the time. Instead, the tough types hailed from elsewhere. The Animals came from Newcastle up in the north of England while The Rolling Stones came from some of London's satellite towns, as did associates The Pretty Things. So much for southerners being soft, especially compared to those hard northerners.

Manfred Mann ought to have been one of those similarly tough bar bands who played the London clubs. And in a way they were. Their chops are thick and solid and in Paul Jones they had a lead singer who could have ripped his vocal chords to shreds on any given night. While there's no guarantee they would've gotten anywhere as a recording concern as a tough as nails R&B band, there's every reason to believe they could've been a top flight concert attraction had they stuck to what they were best at.

But they didn't do so. "Do Wah Diddy Diddy" is stupidly silly single but one that could have worked under the right circumstances. American vocal group The Exciters had initially recorded it in 1963 and it's genuinely thrilling and far less irritating than Manfred Mann's vastly more successful version. The studio pros backing The Exciters give a very strong performance with some booming precussion while the vocals are suitably exciting. For whatever reason, it fell through the cracks and could only be rescued by a group from the UK — even one that was going to suck all the life out of it.

To be as generous as possible, perhaps "Do Wah Diddy Diddy" has simply been played too much. It is one of the staples of oldies radio so it clearly still has its fans — and they aren't exclusively all Boomers. Tom Breihan considers it to be a "blast", praising its hook as "basically one big euphemism for fucking". The Exciters' version certainly succeeds in that regard but Manfred Mann's is far too lame and plays it too safe. They could have gotten into it with a similar vigour as The Exciters or they could have played it off as a joke. But they chose to do neither making it nothing more than a slog to get through — and one that easily gets on your nerves.

Manfred Mann would go on to record some stronger singles, including UK chart toppers "Pretty Flamingo" and their fab cover of Bob Dylan's "The Mighty Quinn", but we won't be encountering them in this space again until well into the seventies by which time they will have altered their name while releasing another massive hit which also happened to be a cover. Just hold your horses before getting reved up like a douche.

Score: 4

Roy Orbison: "Oh, Pretty Woman"

September 28, 1964 (1 week)

The hugely popular 1990 romantic comedy Pretty Woman is now best-remembered as the launch pad for Julia Roberts' superstardom but it was a significant motion picture for a number of other reasons. It fully established the nineties as the decade of the rom-com, it seemed like one of the first home video releases that people could actually afford to purchase (my sister bought it with a Christmas gift certificate so we watched it on a semi-regular basis) and it would have been the first time large audiences became familiar with an actor called Jason Alexander, who also happened to be getting started on a then-little know sit-com known as Seinfeld. Honestly, do any of Francis Ford Coppola's films have this kind of legacy?

Being a big hit movie of the day, Pretty Woman also had a must have soundtrack release. In addition to the album being a multi-million selling hit, three charting singles came off the back of it. The biggest hit was Roxette's "It Must Have Been Love", which — spoilers — will be coming up in this space in due course but Go West's memorable if not stunningly brilliant "The King of Wishful Thinking" did almost as well. And the third? The forgettable "Wild Women Do" by Natalie Cole.

But none of them could hold a candle to Roy Orbison's "Oh, Pretty Woman". At a time when re-releasing hits off of current movies was commonplace, it is surprising that it didn't enjoy a Top 40 second wind the way the likes of "Stand by Me", "What a Wonderful World" and "Unchained Melody" did. (Even in Britain, where they're normally such suckers for classic pop songs in films, it wasn't given a proper reissue) It had only been around eighteen months since Orbison's passing so that was still fresh. People loved "You Got It" and there's every reason to think that this chestnut from 1964 would have given him another posthumous Top 10 smash.

What's curious about this non-release is that "Oh, Pretty Woman" still managed to take that year's Grammy award for 'Best Male Pop Vocal Performance'. Officially, it was awarded to a live version from a 1987 concert which was released two years later as Roy Orbison and Friends: A Black and White Night but who was talking about it in the middle of 1990? Renewed interest in The Big O's signature number was down to the Julia Roberts movie and little else.

Listening to it as an adolescent, I found Orbison's memorable call of "Mercy" and his growl to be so off putting as to practically cause me to hurl. (Similarly, my wife can't listen to The Beatles' "Girl" due to the way John Lennon suggestively sucks in air) As an adult who has harboured lustful thoughts at times, I will admit that these touches make it that much better. For the bulk of its three minutes, Orbison is content to be gentlemanly as he sings of this pretty woman of his but then, fleetingly, his true feelings come out. He isn't just respectful of her, he doesn't simply adore her, he isn't just going to write trite verse about her, he desires nothing more than to take her to bed. We've all been there.

It's loads of fun but just because it outshines Natalie Cole, Go West and Roxette doesn't mean that "Oh, Pretty Woman" is an absolute top drawer single. The trouble with a lot of Roy Orbison's work at his peak is that he was stuck in the limbo of Nashville's conservative production values. Compare this to the stuff he recorded near the end of his life (when, it's worth noting, he was well past his prime) and it's his later work which sounds far better. Jeff Lynne produced Roy Orbison like he was a rock 'n' roll opera singer with all the appropriate bells and whistles. Sure, restraint can be the best way to go with a lot of artists but Orbison wasn't most artists. A great song held back by its surroundings — maybe the Grammy voters really did prefer the the fuller live version all along.

Score: 8

The Four Season: "Save It for Me"

September 21, 1964 (1 week)

"The American groups who were getting to #1 in the early Beatles era weren't necessarily chasing the Beatles. They were chasing Phil Spector".

— Tom Breihan

The Fab Four's conquest of the United States in 1964 was massive but the full impact wouldn't have been felt for quite some time. In the short term, it meant enormous record sales, crazy merchandising opportunities and lucrative tours. Long term, however, it proved to be a game changer for up and coming musicians. American youngsters such as Chrissie Hynde, Tom Petty, Suzy Quatro, Nile Rodgers and Bruce Springsteen were set on a path towards careers of their own. Struggling musicians who were approximately the same age as The Beatles chose to change things up, including the chancer David Crosby who made the abrupt switch from folk to pop-rock when he saw them on the Ed Sullivan Show. But those who were already successful were slower to act.

Even still, a single like The Four Seasons' "Save It for Me" is a sign that things were moving away from of the influence of traditional NY/LA American pop. While Phil Spector's influence could be heard on earlier recordings such as "Sherry" and "Rag Doll", this recording looks across the Atlantic but not to The Beatles per se. No, Joe Meek and his extraordinary "Telstar" was the blueprint for the Jersey boys as they began to spread their creative wings.

Now, to be fair, The Tornados' number one smash from late 1962 may not have been the sole influence on "Save It for Me". It's possible that Del Shannon's "Runaway" played an equally vital role in its sound, although given that it was three years old by this time it's hard to say with any certainty. (It's just as plausible that the chart topper from '61 had been entirely forgotten) Beyond the spacey organ sound, the song's beat is not unlike current Motown, a record label with a sound that stood out next to Brill Building pop coming out of New York and Spector's Wrecking Crew out in LA.

The unorthodox combination of The Four Seasons' magnificent vocals and space rock shouldn't really work but they somehow managed to pull it off. Had it been more of an outright Meek/Tornados' rip off then it's likely that its two distinct elements would have competed with each other for the listeners' attention but the effects are used sparingly so they simply provide backup for Frankie Valli and his group. There may not be much a reason to have the  sound of a satellite hurling through outer space but its a welcome one nonetheless.

An issue that vocal groups like The Beach Boys and Four Seasons had was in how to remain relevant when they weren't as musically adventurous as, once again, The Beatles. No matter how well arranged, vocal harmonies can easily sound old fashioned rather quickly. Not unlike their competitors on the west coast of the US, the Seasons were blessed with a formidable songwriting team, one which was as uninterested in standing pat as Brian Wilson — and, indeed, John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Four Seasons member Bob Gaudio and his partner Bob Crewe had composed their previous hit singles but it was only now with "Rag Doll" and "Save It for Me" that they were emerging as a force.

I'm starting to wonder when the bottom is going to fall out but a part of me is also beginning to suspect that it may be more of an "if" than a "when". Out of the five Four Seasons' Canadian number ones, four are superb and the last two indicate that they were only getting better. More will be coming once we get to 1965 (including a surprise cover version recorded under another name). As the sixties progressed, acts such as The Beatles, Bob Dylan, The Beach Boys, The Byrds, Otis Redding and The Rolling Stones were on such a creative roll that each single and each album would make people wonder what they might possibly do next. "Save It for Me" clearly establishes that if The Four Seasons weren't held in similar esteem, they certainly deserved to be.

Score: 9

The Newbeats: "Bread and Butter"

September 15, 1964 (1 week)

"The review you had on "Bread and Butter" which was merely a three-word review, just said 'Shit and Butter'".

As you may have noticed, there's been a significant upswing in the quality of number one hits in 1964 compared to previous years. Where there is normally a mix of classics, average offerings and garbage, the number of high spots has been heavily outweighed so far this year. Obviously, The Beatles lead the way with four singles averaging a score of 9 but there have also been superb offerings from The Dixie Cups, The Beach Boys, The Four Seasons, Jan and Dean, The Supremes and The Animals.

But not everything so far has hit. The poppy British Invasion stuff not recorded by Lennon, McCartney, Harrison and Starr is indifferent at best with the nadir being The Dave Clark Five's pathetic "Bits and Pieces". Johnny Rivers' "Memphis" is another one I could give or take. But that's just four out of fourteen so far that are in the bad-to-all right range which is an excellent average so far.

And yet here comes a single so utterly annoying, so bereft of anything salvageable that it damn near ruins everything before it. Well, not quite. It doesn't actually destroy the legacy of what is an undeniably great year for pop music but it does provide a welcome reminder that there's always a room on the charts for godawful crap no matter how strong the competition.

The one thing in its favour is the sneaky feeling that maybe "Bread and Butter" is just your average, mediocre single that only seems rotten because of all those mighty singles that came before it. I wondered this but the fact that I couldn't get through its two minute run time without wishing to puncture my eardrums brought these suspicions to rest. "Bread and Butter" is the shits. As unfunny  as "The Purple People Eater", as sickening as "Paper Roses" and as a much of a slog to get through as "Donald, Where's Your Trousers?". Those three all suck something awful but this might well be worse. There isn't even the glimmer of a passable song tucked away somewhere in there.

Time for something decent. Luckily, it was 1964 so there was still lots more of the good stuff. Bring it on.

Score: 1

The Animals: "The House of the Rising Sun"

September 8, 1964 (1 week)

They recently announced the cast of the quartet of biopics that will be released in 2028 on each member of The Beatles. To say there's been an outcry is an understatement. All four actors main actors are experienced which disappointed some who were hoping they were going to cast a set of relative unknowns. Others had been hoping for some degree of local Merseyside flair represented. Then there were complaints that some looked far too chiseled to be playing those spindly thin mop tops, although there was one notable exception. Irish actor Barry Keoghan, they claimed, is far too ugly to play Ringo Starr!

Jesus, imagine being too unattractive to pull off a convincing turn as Ringo of all people. That's gotta sting. Fair assessment or not, it seems clear to me that Keoghan really ought to have been cast as Eric Burdon instead. (You know, for that inevitable Animals biopic; I doubt very much he'll be appearing in, say, the John Lennon movie) There are only so many people out there with a face that looks like they've just sucked on a lemon so it seems like a perfect match to me.

"The House of the Rising Sun" sure is a great song for impressionable youngsters in the nineties who want to form a rock group but have no idea in how to go about doing so. Is this because it is punk or some other type of D.I.Y. genre? No, even though The Animals were one of the early exponents of the British blues boom, which was one of the original 'fool around with instruments you don't know how to play and see what comes of it' styles. No, the reason it makes such an impression on youths with guitars is because of the authenticity involved.

Authenticity? From a Newcastle five-piece that all surely went to art schools recording an ancient song about whore houses in Louisiana? Absolutely. I think you'll find that many of the most earnest of rock musicians are also the biggest fakers. Though we may try to convince ourselves otherwise, authenticity is artifice.

This is a conclusion I can make as a grown man in his late forties but it never would have occurred to me thirty years ago. Eric Burdon looked pained as he sang the words to "The House of the Rising Sun" and he even closed his eyes at times. Of course he meant every word! And I'm not accusing him of anything untoward — I don't even doubt that he was sincere. But it's still a performance. And a very strong performance at that. On the other hand, what am I doing listening to this now that I no longer dream of being a rock star myself? 

The British Invasion seemed to be cooling off a bit by the second half of 1964. Since the move from CHUM to RPM that July, The Beatles had been the sole UK act to reach the top spot. In reality, it was only just getting going. While the Merseybeat groups as well as bands who owed a debt to the Fab Four had been the early beneficiaries of the trend, acts from a wide range of areas of the British Isles who played a variety of styles were beginning to emerge. While The Beatles had a power and sound that was all their own, The Animals were one of the first groups to provide an alternative to all that sunshine pop. While the bubblegum UK groups would continue to flourish, a much more well-rounded second wave was beginning to arrive on North American shores. It won't be for a while yet until we get Rolling Stones, Who and Kinks number ones so until then it's (a) The Beatles, (b) a load of silly Brits doing what amounts to music hall and (c) The Animals.

"The House of the Rising Sun" is one of those singles that brings to mind my claim that music doesn't age, only we as listeners do. I like to think there are youths around the world who are learning from The Animals or are at least inspired by their authenticity. Youngsters could do a whole lot worse than consuming this deeply influential tune but they should also keep in mind that it's merely a stepping off point. Bob Dylan's brave but flawed version from his self-titled debut is worth hearing once but it doesn't come close to what he be recording even a year later. Similarly, Burdon and the Animals had stronger records in them, even if few would be nearly as memorable. So, get into something this powerful and gripping but then let yourself explore and be far more artificial even as you're becoming more authentic. The two needn't clash — in fact, ideally they go hand-in-hand.

Score: 7

The Supremes: "Where Did Our Love Go"

September 1, 1964 (1 week)

The metro areas of Seattle and Vancouver practically spill into one another while Buffalo, New York might as well be the US extension of Ontario's Golden Horseshoe but the major American city that is closest to Canada is Detroit. All one has to do is to cross the Ambassador Bridge and they'll be in mid-sized Canadian city of Windsor. 

(Madcap British singer-songwriter-historian Julian Cope believed that John Lennon and Yoko Ono initially wanted to have their famous bed-in for peace at a hotel in the Michigan city but when they couldn't get a visa, they went across the river to Toronto. Now where to begin with this claim? First, far be it from being just over the river, it takes around four hours to drive from Detroit to Toronto. Next, the Bed-In as well as the recording of the seminal "Give Peace a Chance" took place at a hotel in Montreal. Oh, and there's nothing in the way of evidence that this was even contemplated in the first place. But, otherwise, good job there Jules!)

The proximity to Canada hasn't done much for Motor City artists. There had already been three number one hits by Motown acts on the Hot 100 but they all came up short on the CHUM charts. (The Marvelettes' "Please Mister Postman" doesn't seem to have charted at all which must be down to either neglect on the part of Motown or disinterest on the part of Canadians — or both) Though The Supremes ended up having their share of chart toppers on the RPM listings — even if a total of five is still rather low - this trend seems to have continued with both The Four Tops and The Temptations being without a single Canadian number one between them. No "Baby I Need Your Loving"? "My Girl"? "Reach Out (I'll Be There)"? "Just My Imagination (Running Away with Me)"? Nah, screw that shit, Canadians had Herman's Hermits singles to buy. (Spoiler alert: Herman's Hermits will be coming up a lot in this space. I predict at some point you'll read a review of one of their RPM number ones and you'll think, "well, that's got to be the last one from them, right?" and you will be dead wrong)

I love The Four Tops and I dig The Temptations nearly as much but neither of them were close to The Supremes. With all due respect to Florence Ballard and Mary Wilson, much of this was down to Diana Ross. While seemingly everyone else in the Motown stable possessed a stronger voice — and that even includes her own bandmates — there wasn't anyone who sounded remotely like her. It's scarcely singing at all, more a lilting whisper with the volume cranked up. Surely no one else in the history of pop has made the word 'yearning' sound so, well, yearning. The girl groups effortlessly pulled off sass but they couldn't do innocence and vulnerability like she could. Whatsmore, Ross also gave off the distinct impression that she wasn't someone to mess with.

While some of those wonderful Holland-Dozier-Holland compositions would soon begin to dazzle listeners with instantly lovable choruses and tight grooves, "Where Did Our Love Go" is remarkably low-key. Ian MacDonald described it as having a "frugal starkness" not unlike The Beatles' "Love Me Do" and it's hard to disagree. You don't even get one of those trademark drum rolls that kick start virtually every other Motown single of the era. (On the other hand, Mike Terry's rough, almost barroom baritone sax solo is as good as the one he played a year earlier on Martha Reeves and the Vandellas' "Heat Wave") I don't know if this was his intention but introducing the public to The Supremes with something very intimate was a masterful stroke on the part of label kingpin Berry Gordy. This was not your typical girl group. They were taking you into their private lives, into diary entries that were otherwise locked tight and into notes passed around the classroom.

The Supremes aside, there won't be any further Motown singles covered in this space until we get to the seventies — and even then there won't be all that many. As we're already starting to see, Canadians were simply too caught up in the British Invasion to be all that concerned about all the outstanding music being made just on the other side of the Detroit River. The craze for British pop, however, was only just getting started.

Score: 9

The Beatles: "A Hard Day's Night"

August 17, 1964 (2 weeks)

(This week's entry presents the first of many oddities that crop up with RPM's charts. First, Jan and Dean's "The Little Old Lady (from Pasadena)" was the number one single for the week of August 11, 1964 meaning it was in fact a chart topper in Canada for just six days rather than a full week. Second, there doesn't appear to have been a published issue of RPM magazine the week after this one and, thus, no Top 40 to speak of. Because of this, I have credited the present single with a two week reign even though it only appeared on top on one chart. There will be gaps like this in the future (some much longer than just a week) so my policy is that the incumbent remains on top until evidence proves it has been dethroned. While it may seem ludicrous to credit a single with, say, eight weeks at number one when it clearly did merit such a lengthy stay at the top, I just have to shrug my shoulders and say, "there's not much you can do")

Thoughts that The Beatles' phenomenon might be short lived must have eventually passed - but when exactly did that happen? As late as 1966, there were reports that they could no longer sell out giant stadiums around the United States and then rumours began to spread that they were finished because they no longer wished to tour. Yet, the creativity continued to pour out of John, Paul, George and Ringo and the hits didn't cease. It was only when they chose to end it that they were done — and, yet, vast swathes of the populace around the world still aren't close to being done with them.

No, I think the moment when the nay sayers should have realized that the Fab Four would be around for good was "A Hard Day's Night", song, album and, yes, even movie. The LP was a major advance on their first two (which, let's not forget, were great as it is) with the Lennon-McCartney partnership being on such a roll that they could forgo cover versions altogether. And this was by no means a case of quantity over quality: its thirteen cuts represent a masterclass in consistency. The ballads ("If I Fell", "And I Love Her") are their strongest yet, the lyrics are more thoughtful (especially on standouts "Things We Said Today" and "I'll Be Back") and the energy doesn't let up for a second. Those who tend to get hung up on Rubber Soul being their creative breakthrough are overlooking that A Hard Day's Night — from roughly twenty months earlier — is their first true album length masterpiece.

I don't know if I'd say that the title track is the LP's best song (I prefer the quartet mentioned above as well as "You Can't Do That"; "A Hard Day's Night" is probably more on the level of "Tell Me Why" and "I'll Cry Instead"; sorry to belabour the point but damn this album is great: "I'm Happy to Dance with You" is probably its weakest track and even it's pretty good) but it is the opener and it signals both their position as kings of pop while hinting at what was to come. While John Lennon could be a lazy bastard when given the opportunity, he had been working a backbreaking schedule packed full of tours, promotion, recording sessions, songwriting and that blasted movie they were making with little in the way of let up. If not quite a diary-entry-as-song the way 1969's "The Ballad of John and Yoko" would be, I think it presents a pretty accurate summation of his hectic life in the middle of 1964. The whole thing is a rush but burnout must have been inevitable. (Sleep seemed to be sacrificed even when in the sanctuary of his newly purchased Kenwood estate, presumably because of wife Cynthia making John "feel all right")

For a group who had been rapidly in and out of the studio ever since recording "Love Me Do" near the end of 1962, The Beatles managed to make the most of the precious time they had at Abbey Road with producer George Martin. Recorded in mid-April following several weeks of filming, "A Hard Day's Night" is their most idea-packed number to date. George Harrison's 12-string solo adds a whole new dimension to their sound while the accompanying cowbell gives the song a sense of urgency, a clock ticking the hours away. (They say that when you notice the bongos you'll never unhear them which is something that I'll have to take their word on) It also has their most striking bridge yet, a pleading McCartney longing for the refuge of being back home for a bit. While the bulk of the song was written by Lennon, having his partner come in on the middle-8 to both complement and contrast him must have made an impression on the pair since they would utilize this trick again on such future recordings as "We Can Work It Out", "A Day in the Life" and "I've Got a Feeling".

I haven't discussed the movie largely because I haven't seen it in a long time. Honestly, none of their five films have ever meant a whole lot to me. I'd almost go so far as to say that it wouldn't matter to me had they never made them but with one caveat: the pressure to release soundtracks for both A Hard Day's Night and 1965's Help! upped the ante. Sure, there still would have been heavy demands placed on them but I suspect that the deadlines placed on them for both filming and recording resulted in an uptick in the quality of their work. (Though it admittedly doesn't prove a great deal, it's still worth considering that their so-so fourth album Beatles for Sale came during a creative lull when there weren't quite as many demands) If film making didn't do a great deal for them then providing music for their cinematic releases was inevitably going to be a venue for them to thrive. If not for the movie A Hard Day's Night, we would not have been given the pleasure of the song of the same name, which is reason enough to cherish their cinematic adventures.

Ultimately, "A Hard Day's Night" is the final gasp of Beatlemania before exhaustion began to set in. It was also perhaps the final time that the hunger for commercial success was a driving force. The major markets had all been conquered, the tours were selling out and audiences and critics alike seemed awfully fond of their first feature film. Now it was time for them to broaden their horizons. The Beatles would become far deeper, more experimental and much more mature with subsequent releases but they would never be this thrilling again.

Score: 9

Jan and Dean: "The Little Old Lady (from Pasadena)"

August 11, 1964 (1 week)

It might not have ended up being Jan and Dean. Childhood friends William Jan Berry and Dean Torrence had been singing together with another buddy of theirs and just as it looked like they were about to have their big break, Dean got drafted into the US military reserves. Rather than wait for his service to conclude, the other two carried on. And this was how Jan and Arnie was born.

Jan and Arnie? Jan and ARNIE??? Barry and Torrence's college pal with thick, pop bottle glasses who didn't drink and couldn't talk to girls actually tried to pass himself off as a serious pop star? (I've actually never met anyone called Arnie in my life but I imagine that's what they all must be like; similarly I have no idea if Barry and Torrence ever attended university, let alone if they ever had a college chum called Arnie) Amazingly, it actually worked out for old Jan and his accountant moonlighting as a singer. The pair scored an out-of-nowhere Top 10 hit on both the Hot 100 and the CHUM hit parade with the rock 'n' roll boogie "Jennie Lee" — and it's not terrible. They make some musical choices that I wouldn't have gone for but it's brisk and spirited. Well done, Jan and Dweeb!

Torrence's stint as a reserve came to an end just as Jan and Arnie began struggling to have a second hit and he was welcomed back. Then, Arnie Ginsburg began getting tired of the pop life and he decided to go back to school to study architecture. But whether it was Jan and Arnie or Jan and Dean, one thing remained: success seemed to come and go. The new duo had a second Top 10 hit with "Baby Talk" in 1959 and then they spent the next several years seemingly unable to repeat it. Were they one-hit wonders twice over?

Luckily for them, surf rock began to take off. While Brian Wilson was too withdrawn and Mike Love didn't go for risky pursuits and Carl Wilson may have been much too young and timid and Al Jardine looked way too much like an Arnie, Dennis Wilson was the only surfer in The Beach Boys. But Jan and Dean looked the part and they seemed to take to the new music sensation. For a little while they managed to outpace and clearly out-surf The Beach Boys.

But enough background. By the time 1964 rolled around they had become a more reliable chart act but they could no longer depend on Brian Wilson who was focused on writing material for his own group while also going through some serious shit. "The Little Old Lady (from Pasadena)" was their first single since the terrible "Honolulu Lulu" not to have at least some creative input from the wayward Beach Boy. Not a good portents then.

But wait! "The Little Old Lady" is really good! Silly and stupid but what else is new? This is surf rock we're dealing with here. The Beach Boys may have been leaving this type of thing behind (at least for now) but there was still life left in it for those unable or unwilling to progress. When Mike Love would argue that all fans wanted from America's Band was songs about surfing, he might as well have been pointing at Jan and Dean: "You see that group that's trying to be just like us? We ought to be more like them!"

Jan Berry got the idea for the song from a TV commercial starring Kathryn Minner, a seventy-two year old whose film and TV credits had her type cast as 'Old Lady' or 'Little Old Lady'. She was the embodiment of the frail old gal with a sweet face and a mouth — I assume — that would make a sailor blush. Seeing her speed around in a Dodge roadster was inspiration enough. While we tend to think of old people perpetually driving slowly, the mental image of an elderly dame shutting down guys called Lance in their hot rods rings oddly true. She's lived this long, why wouldn't she be all in on a game of chicken down on the strip?

With such crazy subject matter, Jan and Dean managed to pull off the surf rock-novelty song crossover. On paper, this sounds like a terrible combination but the result is loads of fun and it's impossible to dislike. There's even an instrumental break that could've easily been the brainchild of Brian Wilson. But with the chief Beach Boy getting more and more dour, it fell to their imitators to deliver what they no longer could. In addition to being an addictive rocker, "The Little Old Lady" is funny but the joke doesn't wear off, perhaps because they don't treat it like it's a comedy.

The Beach Boys, however, were soon to take a supposed step back with their magical but admittedly pretty dumb album Summer Days (and Summer Nights!!), which I recently mentioned in my review of "I Get Around". With songs about girls from both California and New York as well as odes to Salt Lake City, Utah and the many amusement parks spread throughout the United States, the subject matter is more or less fluff but I like that they anticipate the travelogue of their seventies album Holland. Unfortunately, the concept wasn't seen through so only about half of it is about travel. Much like "I Get Around" itself, "The Little Old Lady (from Pasadena)" would've worked well on the Summer Days album. The best song Brian Wilson and Mike Love never wrote? Quite possibly. But who needs the bloody Beach Boys when you've got Jan and Dean?

Score: 8

The Four Seasons: "Rag Doll"

July 13, 1964 (4 weeks)

As I have mentioned previously, the early years of the RPM chart were dominated by single week number ones. For fourteen straight weeks at the end of 1964 and well into '65, there was a run of one-week wonders and that was by no means an isolated case. There were a total of forty-four chart toppers in the first full year of RPM as the national singles listing with just seven singles hitting a fortnight or more on top. A year later, a there were a whopping forty-seven number ones. It wouldn't be until '68 when three weeks became the norm rather than the exception.

The Four Seasons' mighty "Rag Doll" somehow managed to hit the top and remain there for four weeks, an accomplishment no one would equal or better for exactly four years. It must have been something special to have done so, right? To quote the great Ron Nasty of The Rutles, yes, it must have been.

"Rag Doll" is the fourth Canadian number one for The Four Seasons — making them the first act other than Elvis Presley to rack up more than three chart toppers — but just the first of their's to do so with a degree of subtlety. I really like Frankie Valli's incredible falsetto but he could overdo it. "Sherry" had been such a fantastic debut hit that it might have been easy to overlook that high pitch but clearly by follow-up "Big Girls Don't Cry", this was beginning to grate. Whatsmore, this is their first hit to make good use of the other three Seasons Tommy DeVito, Bob Gauido and Nick Massi. Valli had been hogging the spotlight and it seems likely that fans were going to tire of his shtick before long. That distinctive pitch is still there but it operates alongside the others and the effect is outstanding.

Strangely, while "Rag Doll" is unquestionably their finest moment to date, oldies radio did not seem to agree. All three of "Sherry", "Big Girls Don't Cry" and "Walk Like a Man" would be played with some regularity on sixties' stations but the much more measured "Rag Doll" has languished in relative obscurity. This is despite the fact that it was a major hit at the time (four weeks!). The toning down of those distinctive Valli vocals would be one big reason why it hasn't managed to remain relevant in subsequent decades but probably the biggest point against it is it doesn't have the hooks of its predecessors. For annoying and slight though it may be, "Big Girls Don't Cry" is certainly not something you're likely to forget.

The same cannot be said for "Rag Doll" which is really the sole knock against it. Its near three minutes is just about perfect but it comes up short as an earworm. (Honestly, though, is that really such a problem anyway? If a song isn't able to stay in the mind for any length of time then it also won't get stuck there) Yet, it proved popular enough to be a summer smash and listeners nowadays who may find that a little Frankie Valli goes a long way should be pleasantly surprised by it. A hidden gem in plain sight. (That said, the New York City radio station WCBS-FM named "Rag Doll" the number one song of all time in a listener's poll so there were some who still loved it and rightly so; maybe it wasn't as forgotten as I seem to think)

Score: 9

~~~~~

Hey! Where's...?

You know what? There aren't enough number ones by Dusty Springfield. Not even close to enough. She had a chart topper in her native Britain with "You Don't Have to Say You Love Me" and she would eventually reach the summit of the Irish charts with Pet Shop Boys on their single "What Have I Done to Deserve This?" but that's pretty much it. Maybe she had a stray number one in, say, Argentina or Hong Kong at some point there are only two I know of. The utterly brilliant "I Only Want to Be with You" only managed to make it to number twenty-one on the CHUM chart (how that song wasn't a worldwide number one is beyond me) but "Wishin' and Hopin'" was her first Canadian near miss and, it would turn out, her highest charting hit of her life. Originally a Dionne Warwick B side, the Bachrach and David composition was dusted (so to speak) off for Dusty. Both versions are first rate but this one is a little more sultry so it gets the edge. It would have been a toss up as well choosing between it and "Rag Doll" but it's a shame it couldn't have taken one of those four weeks for itself. A little more Dusty in people's lives never hurt anyone.