Freddie and the Dreamers: "I'm Telling You Now"

May 3, 1965 (1 week)

The history of UK pop is awash in unlikely looking stars. The likes of David Bowie, Elton John, Noddy Holder of Slade, Ian Dury, Elvis Costello, Joe Jackson, Robert Smith of The Cure, Morrissey, Neil Tennant of Pet Shop Boys, Shaun Ryder of Happy Mondays, Bret Anderson of Suede and Jarvis Cocker of Pulp did not look the part of your conventional frontman though they all thrived in that role, at least for a time. 

This was even the case during the sixties where Mick Jagger, John Lennon and Dusty Springfield could legitimately hold their own in the charisma stakes even if they weren't all as dazzlingly attractive as Paul McCartney and Marianne Faithfull. Good looking or not, lead singers in bands and solo artists tended to look like pop stars with one very notable exception: Freddie Garrity, the 'Freddie' in Freddie and the Dreamers.

With his trademark glasses (question: is eyewear a trademark of everyone famous who happens to sport frames?), Garrity had few who resembled him. Buddy Holly was the obvious predecessor, especially since the Mancuian singer looked like the late Texan's hyperactive kid brother. (Fun fact: Garrity was born only two months after Holly; being in his late twenties at the time, it was initially put round that he was born in 1940 so that he might seem younger; apparently having glasses was far less of a problem than — gasp! — being old!) John Lennon was said to have been so myopic that he couldn't see the audiences he was playing to yet vanity prevented him from donning specs until the end of 1966. Guitar hero Hank Marvin had the studious, nerdish look which worked well in an instrumental group like The Shadows but which would've been harder to pull off had he handled vocal duties.

(It may have helped that Garrity had an equally unlikely looking quartet of musicians playing with him. As Lester Bangs would one day point out "the Dreamers looked as thuggish as Freddie looked dippy")

There's lots to like about Freddie Garrity — at least up to a point; a little of his bouncy shtick would have no doubt gone a long way — but sadly his music isn't one of them. "I'm Telling You Now" sounds cheap and cheerful but there's nothing else to it. Garrity co-wrote it with Mitch Murray, a British composer who had also penned hits for Gerry and the Pacemakers. His biggest hit up to that point, "How Do You Do It?", had been resoundingly rejected by The Beatles, a group who had the good sense and talent to realize there was nothing to be gained by putting it out under their name. It was said that they wouldn't have been able to show their faces up in Liverpool again had they released it.

I bring this up because Garrity clearly had no similar qualms about "I'm Telling You Now". For this, he deserves our respect: only the truly shameless can get away with writing and recording something so embarrassing. I'm sure he was proud of it and good for him. I like fun fluff as much as the next person but the singer's enthusiasm couldn't disguise the fact that it's a surprisingly dreary song. Watching him perform the "Freddie" is one thing but having to listen to his nasal voice is decidedly less thrilling.

With The Beatles on the cusp of an unprecedented creative breakthrough, as well as the emergence of The Rolling Stones, Dusty Springfield, The Kinks, The Yardbirds and The Who, UK pop was at its zenith. Yet, fans weren't quite prepared to catch up. Or rather, they were at least equally content to play around in the shallow end of the British Invasion pool. The lightweights were doing arguably better in terms of chart positions though they wouldn't have the longevity. Still, for now it mattered little that Lennon and McCartney could've farted out something that would've easily topped "I'm Telling You Now". Just so long as they were British and could perform okay then that was good enough.

Score: 4