The Young Rascals: "How Can I Be Sure"

October 28, 1967 (1 week)

I haven't been mentioning many of the near number ones of late but there was one I was going to write about just the other day until I decided to save it for this review. Coming in just behind Paul Revere and the Raiders' ghastly "I Had a Dream" is a version of "Groovin'", a laid back chart topper from only four months' earlier. If anything, this recording by Booker T. and the MG's is even happier to kick back and relax. The famed house band for Memphis label Stax were the third finest quartet in the business (the two groups ahead of them, of course, were (in order) the Modern Jazz Quartet and The Beatles) and they were now entering a period in which they proved to be up for any standard they got their hands on. They already had a stellar Christmas album to their credit — the highlight being "Jingle Bells", which they might as well have called "You Can't Hurry Christmas" — as well as an astonishing "Summertime", perhaps the second best version of the Gershwin classic (George Shearing's is best). Coming up, they had Simon and Garfunkel and even a full album of Beatles' covers. The foursome wrote some fabulous instrumentals but they did just as well with cover versions.

I say all this not just so I can heap all sorts of praise upon Booker T. and the MG's (a group who won't be appearing in this space) but also so I can point out just how crazy Canadians were for anything connected to The Young Rascals. "How Can I Be Sure" was their third straight RPM number one and the fourth of eleven consecutive Top 10 hits. "Good Lovin'" and "Groovin'" had been such huge hits for the Rascals in many countries but they mostly struggled to recapture that level of success — the British had basically had their fill of them as soon as the latter had fallen out of the UK chart — but Canada bucked that trend.

I had been starting to agree with the folk in other territories especially after "A Girl Like You" proved so mind-numbingly boring. "It's this fence-sitting ordinariness that irks me," was how I finished off that particular review. How nice of them, then, to have been listening to this sad old blogger who happens to be writing nearly sixty years in the future! "How Can I Be Sure" doesn't completely work but at least they were attempting something new and even had a tune I could just about remember.

It's high time I gave some credit to the Rascal songwriting team of Felix Cavaliere and Eddie Brigati. I respect anyone who takes the example of The Beatles and actually tries out some creativity of their own. (Yeah, take that boring old power pop bands!) I mean, that's the whole point for god's sake! Cavaliere even admitted that "How Can I Be Sure" owed a lot to Paul McCartney's softer Fab Four hits like "Yesterday" and "Michelle". He needn't sell himself and Brigati short though: even if the end result is a little messy, there's plenty of sonic experimentation that surpasses those all-too-familiar hits. Sure, I'd still rather listen to "Michelle" but "How Can I Be Sure" isn't simply a product of The Beatles; rather, it's the result of taking proper inspiration from them.

The composition is rather good but it's debatable if The Young Rascals' original is even the best one out there. A suitably dramatic and sultry reading by Dusty Springfield was only a minor hit in the UK in 1970 but her vocal leaves Cavaliere's in the, well, dust. David Cassidy had considerably more success with it a couple years' later. His version is a little too melodramatic but it's hard to argue with the grandeur of the arrangement. (Notably, all three "major" renditions of "How Can I Be Sure" retain the distinctive concertina even if there's less of an overall Continental feel to the Dusty/Cassidy remakes) Indeed, it could be the limitations of being a pop quartet that holds it back from what its true potential.

All that said, I can't bring myself to score it beyond the 'slightly above average' range. For all its strengths, it's still rather unmoving. I admire the craft but fail to be that drawn to the end result. Good not great, as befits even the best Young Rascals hits that aren't the two everyone knows. That said, maybe my perception has been altered by the discovery that its inspiration was the result of Cavaliere dating a high school student when he was in his mid-twenties. How Can You Be Sure? Maybe it was her social studies homework that should've given you the answer.

Score: 6

The Association: "Never My Love"

October 21, 1967 (1 week)

A peculiar thing has been happening over the past few days in the lead up to writing this review: I keep getting the words wrong. Correction: I keep getting the title wrong. "Never My Love" just doesn't quite hit right and I find myself resorting to "Forever My Love" instead. An easy mistake to make.

So apparently "Forever Never My Love"  was the second most played song on American radio and TV in the United States over the entire twentieth century. The people at Broadcast Music, Inc (BMI) must have some idea what they're doing but I can't help myself: I call bullshit. I realize it has been covered a lot (it was also Top 10 hit on Canada's RPM hit parade for both The 5th Dimension and Blue Swede) and you can always count on the masses to fall for the slushiest of ballads but it seems too hard to believe that every song but The Righteous Brothers' "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling" registered fewer plays over the radio (and TV). The Beatles' "Yesterday" came in third in this 1999 survey. What about The Stones' "Satisfaction"? Elton John's "Your Song"? Carole King's "It's Too Late"? What about hits by Elvis, the Bee Gees, Michael Jackson, Diana Ross? Or Frank Sinatra or Bing Crosby, who both had the advantage of coming along during the thirties and forties? They — and, indeed, many, many other hits of note — couldn't match this???

That's not to say I hate it. If anything though, my indifference towards it only makes me even more baffled as to how it managed to get played so often. Granted, radio has been there to provide people with music to tune out just as much they might tune in. I've been to the dentist several times in my life so of course there's a place for "Forev...Never My Love" to be piped in. I just never thought it would have been such a staple of youngsters waiting with marshmallow-flavoured floride in their mouthpieces.

While "Windy" had been a pleasant surprise, "Forever My Love" (I'm just going to go with it at this point) is a return to the schlock of "Cherish". Not exactly dreadful but not something to seek out either. The sort of thing that DJs from all over North America could play at an apparently alarming rate but which was scarcely noticed by listeners. (Perhaps it being the second most played song of the last century isn't as crazy as it seems, it's just that hardly anyone was paying attention to it). Not me though: I've had its melody stuck in my head over the past three days even as I still can't get the title right.

Score: 4

Paul Revere and the Raiders: "I Had a Dream"

October 14, 1967 (1 week)

The rise of The Monkees ushered in a healthy period for American pop. (I was going to say 'golden age' but let's not go nuts; 'silver age' and 'bronze age' were also considered but I'm not sure even they apply) Most — though not quite all — of the dregs of the British Invasion had been weeded out which left the door wide open for bright but disposable US pop to flourish. Bubblegum has a lot to answer for but at least it was enjoyable. Most of it at any rate.

It had been nearly a year-and-a-half since Paul Revere and the Raiders last hit number one on the RPM chart. A long time in the music biz. They predated The Monkees and it's likely they would've had plenty of success with or without the Prefab Four. It's even quite possible that the conditions that led to the Raiders finally becoming a going concern also worked in the favour of Dolenz, Jones, Nesmith and Tork. Yet, one group seemed to be making creative progress while the other could only fail upwards.

That's not to say that Revere and his cohorts weren't trying to keep up, only that in attempting to do so they come out of it sounding like they had less of an idea what they were doing. "I Had a Dream" has some good ideas. The influence of The Byrds was as present as it had been on "Kicks" but they seemed to be trying to follow the jingle-jangle band as they headed towards their fruitful period of mixing raga rock, psychedelia, space rock and country on seminal albums Younger Than Yesterday and The Notorious Byrd Brothers. While I might admire the effort, I can't appreciate the results. Paul Revere and the Raiders were simply out of their depth.

"I Had a Dream" has the elements to work but the song itself is dismal — or, at best, not worthy of all the adornments. A simple folk-rock arrangement or perhaps something with a soul or Motown feel would have been good enough. But their ambitions got the better of them and the result is a mess, a giant production with far too much activity. With more restraint, the horns might have sounded nice rather than being lost in the mix; similarly, the swirling organ — which was already becoming a period piece by '67 — barely registers. (Amazingly, they had been working with studio musicians which makes it even more of a wonder that this single is such a shambles) The Raiders themselves sound like they're straining with their vocals as well.

Paul Revere and the Raiders will not be featured again in this space but other American acts from this healthy period of American pop will be along shortly. Let's see if they were able to stay in their wheelhouse or would they too get lured in by the siren song of misplaced ambition.

Score: 2

Lulu: "The Boat That I Row"

October 7, 1967 (1 week)

I first heard the name 'Lulu' back in 1987 when she turned up as the replacement for Julie Walters in the now mostly forgotten Adrian Mole TV series. Based on the classic teen diaries by the titular Mole — who was very much the Ignatius J. Reilly of comedic British lit and, thus, a hero to me as an angsty youth — the show was faithful to the Sue Townsend novels, even if it never seemed quite right that more than a year's worth of journal entries ended up condensed to just six episodes. Walters played irresponsible matriarch Pauline Mole in The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole series with Lulu in the role for follow-up The Growing Pains of Adrian Mole.

I probably wouldn't have noticed had it not been for my mum pointing it out. Yet looking back now, she wasn't as well suited as Walters. Her predecessor was seemingly born to play mothers (good or bad) while Lulu couldn't really be anything other than Lulu. It was the part she was born to play and one that has seen her through a long and varied career. But she is a peculiar type of celebrity. As a singer she didn't exactly rack up the mega-hits (she is probably still best known in the UK for her version of "Shout!" which only managed to make it to number seven) while her modest filmography is filled with little-remembered cinematic efforts (there was a To Sir with Love II?) Her real home was in British variety TV which means she was famous for being famous, albeit not to a fatuous extent. As Tom Ewing observes in his review of her one British number one hit — in which she guested alongside Take That, the nation's biggest group of the time — "I only had a fuzzy grasp on why Lulu was famous and I doubt I was along in this". No, Tom, you were not.

Lulu's signature hit in the United States was "To Sir with Love", the theme song from the 1967 film of the same name starring Sidney Poitier. Though not a hit in her native Britain — it was in fact a mostly ignored B side to her Top 20 hit "Let's Pretend" — it was a sensation across the Atlantic, reaching the number one spot on the Hot 100 on October 21, 1967. Its flip side was previous UK hit "The Boat That I Row". For whatever reason, the two sides were reversed in Canada which nevertheless gave the Scot a chart topper on RPM fortnight prior to her breakthrough on the Hot 100.

I must say, this is a cracking single. "To Sir with Love" has always been a good song (kudos to everyone involved for avoiding sappiness) and its companion might even be a bit stronger. While Neil Diamond had recently done no creative favours to The Monkees, this composition for Lulu is spot on and sounds like it must have been written with her in mind. It may sound that way but his nibs had already had a bash at recording it himself a year earlier for his album Just for You. (Incidentally, it is a remarkable LP with just about every song a hit for someone. In addition to "The Boat That I Row", it also includes "I'm a Believer" and "Red Red Wine" which means he placed three Canadian number ones on the same thirty minute record. "Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon" stands out as that rarest of things at the time, a Neil Diamond-penned single that was a hit for Neil Diamond of all people)

Diamond's version is far too serious for me to give a shit. Lulu has fun with it which is exactly what this statement of stubborn individuality needs. "Solitary Man", yet another well-known track off of Just for You, works as an earnest plea because of the rugged determination in the lyrics whereas "The Boat That I Row" is rather more flippant, an anthem for that free spirit who just goes about life the way they please and is immune to the critiques of others. A man like Diamond might be tempted to make it into a po-faced statement of intent but a good-natured young woman like Lulu transformed it into a song of liberation.

In addition, "The Boat That I Row" might as well be a theme song for Lulu's lengthy career in showbusiness. Her decades of shifting around from pop to the stage to film to TV variety and back again has been done on her terms. Others may have sung, acted or hosted more effortlessly than she did but no one performed the task of all around entertainer quite like Lulu.

Score: 8

The Box Tops: "The Letter"

September 30, 1967 (1 week)

As a music nerd I've long been aware of the name Alex Chilton. He is adored by music critics, grumpy guys who work in record stores and members of bands that I think are okay. Nothing wrong with that, of course. Still, you can probably detect that I'm not a huge fan, which I'm not. I'm not much of a music critic, I've never worked in a record store (though I've tried, believe you me; I'm certainly grumpy enough to be qualified) and I haven't been in a band since I was in junior high school — and, to be sure, we weren't even close to being "okay". But there's more to it than that. Mainly, I've never been that crazy about power pop so why would I be into the band that practically defined it?

The band I'm talking about is Big Star, Chilton's Memphis-based project that followed the dissolution of The Box Tops, his much more successful outfit from his teen years. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say his much better outfit. For while I'm sure garage bands the world over may learn a great deal from listening to albums like #1 Record and Radio CIty, far greater actual listening pleasure comes from a dozen-or-so first rate Box Top singles. And kudos to Chilton, who sings like a demon and was a steady rhythm guitarist — the only trouble was, he didn't write many of their great songs.

"The Letter" was the group's first and biggest hit and it is the one they are remembered for but it isn't quite their best. Not cursed with the power pop straight jacket that would stick to Big Star, they actually improved during their three years as a going concern, their background in Memphis soul blending perfectly with their debt to The Beatles. Still, their debut single is remarkably mature. The sixteen year old Chilton with his gravelly voice of a seventy-two year old helps the song's urgency.

A common complaint I've been noticing on YouTube is that it's too short. Certainly at just a minute and fifty-four seconds it is brief, especially during the late sixties when tracks going past the three minute mark was no longer an exception. More problematic, however, is that it doesn't have much substance within that swift running time. A verse, another verse, chorus, then they're repeated. If anything, the insubstantial writing on the part of Wayne Carson Thompson makes it guilty of going on a bit too long. No doubt it ought to be another sixty seconds longer but only if there was more for them to work with. Luckily, The Box Tops give such a fine performance that it almost doesn't matter. Almost.

(A big point in its favour is that "The Letter" is a clear influence on the typically outstanding "From a Whisper to a Scream" from Elvis Costello and the Attractions' album Trust. I'm kind of surprised I never noticed this before but, then again, it doesn't seem to have been remarked upon by anyone else either. I guess it wasn't just bloody Big Star who influenced everyone, huh?)

Alex Chilton would never hit this level of pop success again. As I mentioned above, The Box Tops released better material than this but their popularity waned enough that they would only have two more Top 10 entries on the RPM hit parade. From there, he would have critical acclaim to look forward to but sales never materialized. (Big Star seem to be one of those bands who are always being praised but still remain "underrated" in the eyes of their fans; I've never been able to square this one) Bad luck and a lack of record label support are frequently blamed but it couldn't have helped that he never wrote anything close to as catchy and engaging as "The Letter" or all those other Box Top numbers that I, for one, would much sooner be coming back to. The critics, record store clerks and so-so bands are welcome to the rest of Chilton's material.

Score: 7

Eric Burdon and the Animals: "San Franciscan Nights"

September 23, 1967 (1 week)

Sing with your eyes closed if you must but know that it doesn't make what you're doing any more profound or soulful.

The above is something I've been meaning to post on social media recently but I have so far resisted due to fear of backlash or, worse, of it being completely ignored — and also because my oldest and closest friend is a committed eyes closed performer. He knows how I feel about it but I don't think he needs reminding - even if by reading this review that's exactly what will happen.

It would be tempting to say that it wasn't always this way. I was once convinced that singing with eyelids firmly shut was a novelty in pop. Bernard Sumner from New Order and Canadian national treasure Gord Downie of the Tragically Hip seemed to be the only people who did it back in the early nineties. Because they were the only people I noticed doing so, I allowed them to get away with it. Then, everyone started doing it. In fact, as long as there have been stage-frightened singers, there have been those who won't open their damn eyes while singing.

It isn't done simply as a matter of avoiding crowds, however; it is also, as my un-posted Thread suggests, a way to add gravitas, particularly when there isn't much there to begin with. Eric Burdon had the good fortune to come up during the initial burst of the British Invasion but he lacked the looks and stage presence of contemporaries John Lennon, Paul McCartney and Mick Jagger. He didn't have the look nor the personality of an entertainer. What he did have was a sick bluesy baritone. The combination of that gravelly voice and while keeping his eyes closed ensured that everyone knew that he meant it.

Being earnest in pop isn't my favourite quality but I will acknowledge that there is a place for it. As I previously blogged, the reason The Animals' "House of the Rising Sun" is so effective is because of what it does to impressionable young musicians. Forget 'Dublin Soul', this is the real music of commitment. Burdon lays it out on the line and puts everything he has into it. You've got to give that much to stand any chance of making it.

But this isn't "House of the Rising Sun" we're dealing with. No, "San Franciscan Nights" is an entirely different beast. Still, I don't doubt Burdon's sincerity. He has always struck me as one of those English rock stars who loves America while wishing to have as little to do with his homeland as possible — and fair enough. Celebrating the US is one of the most quintessentially British things imaginable (along with, of course, expressing nothing but contempt for the US; I can't think of any offhand but no doubt there are a handful who have done both).

Opening as if he'd missed his calling as a carnival barker, we're treated to a rare example of Burdon's sense of humour in song as he shills for the city as place that Europeans should "save up all your bread" in order to pay it a visit. Wait, is Burdon joking? It's impossible to tell with him but I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that for once he wasn't always such a deeply serious old downer. Sadly, it doesn't last once the song gets going. While there is an attempt at capturing the spirit of '67 with some wistful music and Burdon's flowery lyrics, it is nonetheless unconvincing. Eric Burdon was a blues singer from the north of England: the chap who sang "We Gotta Get Out of This Place" didn't need to tell us all about where he ended up.

Unsurprisingly, the idealism of "San Franciscan Nights" clashed with reality. George Harrison, his then-wife Patti and their entourage visited the Bay Area only a month or so earlier. Expecting to find enlightened people meditating and painting pictures, he was aghast to discover that the famed Haight-Ashbury region had become a ghetto full of stoned losers and homeless drifters. In retrospect, Burdon should have scrapped the paean to the centre of flower power and instead gone for a far gloomier take on hippie free love and dope and fuckin' in the streets in a kind of sequel to "House of the Rising Sun". Impressionable youths descend upon the city from all over only to wind up penniless and with crippling drug addictions. Those who did not end up as casualties of LSD are instead the target of cult shysters and dangerous madmen. If nothing else, it would've suited Burdon's overly-serious nature; hell, he could've even sung it with his eyes closed for all I care.

Score: 3

Bobbie Gentry: "Ode to Billy Joe"

September 16, 1967 (1 week)

A while back I blogged about Bobby Freeman's rather nice if somewhat underwhelming version of "Do You Want to Dance". Though successful at the time, this original would eventually become overshadowed by the fuller and more upbeat recording by The Beach Boys which opened their seminal 1965 album Today!. I used that review mainly as a excuse to dump on YouTubers and their silly, clickbaity 'Songs You Didn't Know Were Covers' lists. What has since occurred to me is something that music influencers have largely steered clear of up until now: 'Songs You Didn't Know That Have Superior Covers'. I was going to provide a list of examples but I couldn't think of any so I'm just going to go into the present single and a little-known rendition of that I think surpasses it.

~~~~~

The Singing

There's no shame in not being able to match Sinéad O'Connor. The late Irish vocalist was a generational talent, one who effortlessly made covers all her own. For all I know, some of her singles that aren't "Nothing Compares 2 U" like "Troy" and "The Emperor's New Clothes" might as well be covers as well; it's ultimately irrelevant just what she did or didn't write herself. For her part, Bobbie Gentry is a terrific singer as well though she doesn't come close. Still, her rather flippant interpretation isn't the way I'd choose to go with it.

Winner: Sinead

The Mood

O'Connor famously handed in her contribution to the WarChild charity album Help at the last minute but the compilers were so affected by it that they just had to make room. Considering that some of the others involved farted out fresh versions of previously recorded material or uninspired covers, she put a lot of effort in, sparing no expense on having a haunting flute part and a full band joining her. (I looked it up and she wasn't even working on anything else at the time; her previous album Universal Mother was already a year old and a follow-up wouldn't emerge for another five years) There's even the sound of a baby crying in the background at one point. I know that people dig the rawness of Gentry's recording but there's no escaping the fact that the O'Connor version is how it was always meant to sound.

Winner: Sinead

The Narrative

I mean, it's the same for the most part. O'Connor's cover dispenses with the "frog down the blouse" verse but it isn't as though its missed. I suppose there's the subtext of the Brother's involvement and how he and Billie Joe had been a pair of mischievous friends — and it sort of hints that he too knows more than he's letting on (more on that below). 

Winner: A slight edge to Bobbie

The Experience

Gentry is a Southerner. This means that she's more likely to be a MAGA nutjob nowadays but it also means that she had a lifetime of Baptist repression and smalltown folk spreading rumours to lend itself to her great composition "Ode to Billie Joe". She didn't necessarily have to have lived the gut-wrenching world of the characters in this song but she was clearly qualified to know how they'd react — and, in some cases, not react — to this type of situation. for all of O'Connor's gravitas, her telling is more like reportage than recalling an experience she lived through.

Winner: Bobbie

The Bias

Aka 'My Bias'. I own precisely as many albums by Sinéad O'Connor as I do Bobbie Gentry. That's right, zero. I may write like a Sinead fanboy but I don't really have a dog in this fight beyond my preference for the '95 remake. But it's also the one I'm most familiar with, having been listening to it since the day I bought it. Gentry's original wasn't something I encountered much as a lad and it isn't the kind of sixties' classic that I seek out aside from when I'm doing this review.

Winner: Sinead (but I would say that, wouldn't I?)

The Vagueries

In truth, this is the only category in which Gentry's original has the upper hand on O'Connor's cover — and that's only if you buy the idea that "Ode to Billie Joe" is meant to be vague. Apparently, the secret pregnancy/infanticide/suicide plot was one of many being discussed back in the sixties. Billie Joe might have been gay and she was the only one who knew. Or the two of them had been planning to elope. The object they were seen throwing off the Tallahatchie Bridge might have been a wedding ring or maybe it was drugs. Now, it could be might familiarity with O'Connor's version but I call bullshit on all of this. It's about an unwanted baby that they did away with and old Billie Joe was too guilt ridden to live with what they had done, end of story.

To be fair, there is one aspect of this that Gentry's recording captures. While the Father is an out-to-lunch old drunk, the Mother, Brother and "nice young preacher" Brother Taylor all know she's involved in this. None spell it out but they all seem aware that that girl has been up to something with Billie Joe. O'Connor's reading makes it seem like just idle gossip but the way Gentry delivers it, there's this ineffable feeling that virtually everyone involved has some idea of what's going on. 

Winner: I refuse to acknowledge that this song is meant to be vague but if I have to choose...Bobbie.

The Verdict

I like Sinéad O'Connor's cover version much more than Bobbie Gentry's renowned original. It's more interesting, it sounds better and it makes me want to listen to it again. Nothing against its predecessor though, even if I can't quite get past how much I'd rather be listening to a little-known rendition of it that popped up on a fairly obscure British charity album.

Score: 8

Unofficial Score for Sinéad's Version: 10

The Young Rascals: "A Girl Like You"

September 2, 1967 (1 week)

I've been complaining a lot about the rapid turnover of number ones on the RPM chart — believe me, we're just about done with it — but one thing in its favour is that it's provided me with a good chance to explore songs that I otherwise would never have heard. I had been ignorant of exemplary Four Seasons' hits like "Rag Doll" and "Save It for Me" prior to establishing this blog. The same goes for Jay and the Americans with "Let's Lock the Door (and Throw Away the Key)" and The Turtles' with "She'd Rather Be with Me". All received rave reviews and scores that were just short of perfect 10s yet a lifetime of being raised on sixties radio stations failed to edify me on their existence.

The corollary to this, however, is that I haven't been similarly grateful towards all Canadian number ones that I had previously been unaware of. All those Herman's Hermits and Peter and Gordon chart toppers that aren't "Mrs Brown You've Got a Lovely Daughter" and "A World Without Love" or the abomination that is The Four Seasons' alter-ego The Wonder Who? with "Don't Think Twice" (I would happily never have to think of it again). That there have been many shitty RPM number ones goes without saying but it's important to consider all the ordinary singles that have topped the charts as well. Reasonably good songs but which simply didn't deserve the honour. Entries like The Hollies' "Stop! Stop! Stop!" and The Mamas and the Papas' "I Saw Her Again" — and, indeed, The Young Rascals' "A Girl Like You".

The Rascals had been on quite a high over the past year with at least two major hits which are beloved today, "Good Lovin'" and "Groovin'". Wait, did I say "at least two major hits which are beloved today"? Sorry, I meant "at most two major hits". Nothing against the rest of their material but there's a reason you never hear any of it today. "A Girl Like You" is a coattail riding hit and nothing more. Its position of number ten on Billboard's Hot 100 is also overly generous to a mediocre piece but at least it tracks with the momentum they had been on. A number one smash that displaced "All You Need Is Love" for a week? I don't think so.

Nothing about it sticks out at all. "A Girl Like You" isn't so much a grower than an 'exposer': the sort of song that sounds all right the first time you play it and, indeed, maintains some interest  with subsequent listens. However, flaws subtly start to expose themselves over time. I'm usually a sucker for R&B horn sections of the era but not so much in this instance; they strike me as hackneyed. The backing vocals seem strained. Plus, it's such a thoroughly unremarkable song that I couldn't begin to even hum the tune after over a week of steady listening. You'll never forget their two major hits to date but you'd struggle to remember this sad little turd.

The amazing thing is, we've only just begun. Another Young Rascals' single would go on to top the RPM hit parade before 1967 was out with two more the following year after they finally got their way and rebranded to simply 'The Rascals'. Six number ones from a group I hardly know beyond the two songs everyone knows...oh, this is going to be something. Hey, I'm prepared to judge their trio of upcoming singles fairly but I can't say I'm thrilled to be doing it. That said, finger's crossed they'll give me a pleasant surprise. Failing that, I wouldn't be opposed to their music dropping off a cliff. It's this fence-sitting ordinariness that irks me.

Score: 4