The Delfonics: "La-La (Means I Love You)"

April 6, 1968 (1 week)

As everyone knows by now, the shift from one decade to another is largely meaningless. The future that we either can't imagine or are far too fanciful about doesn't occur simply because, say, the fifties comes to an end and is replaced by the sixties. (This is a fact that has been easier to accept in the post-Millennial world of climate change and regressive conservative policies) At best, a decade is able to soft launch and then gradually fade away over the course of roughly five years.

English critic Taylor Parkes has labeled the era from 1978 to 1983 as the 'eighventies', a period in which the seventies closed out and eighties opened up over the same time. Pretty much the same thing happened ten years earlier as well during what might have been dubbed the 'sevixties'. Musically speaking, one the first signs of this transition was the rise of hard rock in around '68, which will be coming to this blog in a few weeks. The other was what was to become Philly soul.

Smooth African-American pop was nothing new in the late sixties. This blog has already encountered The Rays' "Silhouettes", The Silhouettes' "Get a Job" and The Platters' "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" while much of Smokey Robinson's sixties output ("You've Really Got a Hold on Me", "The Tracks of My Tears", "I Second That Emotion": damn, how did he never have a Canadian number one?) leaned towards the slick side, even by Motown's standards. But very little until now had been so lush, so produced. In a rare case of black music borrowing from white pop, the influence of Phil Spector, Brian Wilson and baroque pop really began to grasp on to soul.

There will be far better examples of Philly soul to come — especially with the rise of funk music which gave it the shot in the arm it needed — but The Delfonics' "La-La (Means I Love You)" is as good enough a place to start as any. The original lineup of brothers William and Wilbert Hart and Randy Cain had gorgeous harmonies, the kind of which even The Temptations would have envied. Their signature song is really nice to have on but it does lend itself to being relegated to the background. It isn't especially moving or heart stopping the way seventies' soul acts — or even some eighties' quiet storm artists — managed to do with relative ease. It's just there. A good if unremarkable song in a year with its fair share of dismal pop hits. Better music would eventually come along, even if the 'sevixties' also had more than enough crap to answer for.

Score: 6

Georgie Fame: "The Ballad of Bonnie and Clyde"

March 23, 1968 (2 weeks)

"As I mentioned above, Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames will be appearing again in this space before long so we'll see if (a) he managed to get the hang of this jazz-pop stuff, (b) he somehow or other got worse at it or (c) he gave up and decided just to be another British invasion beat act. I'm not going to spoil the surprise so I'll be on a Fame embargo for a little while which won't be hard since I barely knew who he was until just recently".

Such were my closing thoughts in my first review of a number one smash by the former Clive Powell. We are now at his third and final RPM chart topper so I think the points above can now be answered.

(a) He got the hang of that jazz-pop lark - at least for a little while.

(b) If he didn't quite get worse at it, he sure as hell didn't improve beyond some early promise.

(c) He didn't resort to jumping on the British Invasion bandwagon just as it was grinding to a halt. Unfortunately, he moved in the direction of novelty Dixieland Americana instead.

Sixties' solo artists tended to be at a disadvantage when it came to their career paths. The majority were reliant on outside compositions which put them in the position of someone else calling the shots. (The one real exception in "British" pop was the American-born Scott Walker who became an accomplished songwriter,.even if his creative emergence seemed to coincide with faltering commercial prospects) Fame had been locked in with backing group The Blue Flames but their role began to take a backseat as the decade started to wind down. Though previous number ones "Yeh Yeh" and "Get Away" were flawed, they had a stylish, Continental appeal that fitted in with Sean Connery-era James Bond films and the novels of John le Carré. As for Stateside gangster films? Yeah, not quite so seamless.

I can sort of get what Fame was trying for on "The Ballad of Bonnie and Clyde" but I still can't help but wish that an old legend like Jack Teagarden had been recruited instead. (Yeah fine, the trombonist/singer from Paul Whiteman's orchestra and Louis Armstrong's group had been dead for four years by this point but it's still nice to dream) The panache of "Yeh Yeh" is nowhere to be found. While many British singers sound right at home pretending to be American, Fame sounds painfully out of his element. Songwriters Mitch Murray and Peter Callandar had been so inspired by the film Bonnie and Clyde that they promptly wrote this tribute which, appropriately enough, sounds hastily assembled. The lyrics are not quite accurate while the arrangement leans too far towards old time jazz-pop cliches. And despite being just over three minutes in length, it still wears out its welcome at around the halfway mark.

An odd quirk involving Georgie Fame was that his chart success was largely sink or swim. His trio of RPM chart toppers represents seventy-five percent of his total chart activity in Canada while in his native Britain, he had several Top 40 entries but only three of which managed to place in the top quarter — and they all happened to go to number one. (They were the same three singles that went all the way to the top in Canada) Nevertheless, it's an achievement to have multiple number ones, something he should be proud of to this day. Yet, by the time he was reduced to recording this dismal number it should have been clear that his run was just about done — and not a moment too soon.

Score: 2

1910 Fruitgum Company: "Simon Says"

March 16, 1968 (1 week)

The unjustly maligned "Revolution 9" aside, there may not be a more disliked Beatles' original than "Maxwell's Silver Hammer". The negative feelings go all the way to the top, with three quarters of the Fab Four either despising it outright (John Lennon) or having grown completely sick of it due to Paul McCartney's perfectionism in the studio (George Harrison and Ringo Starr). As if following their lead, virtually everyone — including many die hard Beatle obsessives — has a similar intolerance for it. Ian MacDonald described it as "tasteless" while Ian Leslie argues that its presence on Abbey Road allowed for John to construct a "public narrative in which McCartney was the cute populist, [while] Lennon [was] the fearless artist".

Complicating matters is that "Maxwell" is well made. McCartney's skills as a master pop craftsman are on display and the other Beatles (those who showed up to play on it at any rate; Lennon not being among them) are also in fine form. The production is clear, the arrangement is nice and who doesn't love a good Moog synthesizer solo? All that said, while it sounds nice, it's still awful. (My main gripe with "Maxwell" is lyrically: the rhyme schemes — "Maxwell Edison, majoring in medicine", "Rose and Valerie, screaming from the gallery — are too contrived to be believable while it's unclear if the murderous title character is meant to be a university undergrad or an eight year old; while McCartney could put hours of care into his music and arrangements, he could lack attention to detail when it came to the words)

There is more than a little of "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" in 1910 Fruitgum Company's debut Canadian number one "Simon Says", minus McCartney's Midas touch. Well made? Sure, I suppose so. The members of this band with the insanely stupid name sound like a capable group. Yet, they were going for the lowest common denominator and in this particular era that meant bubblegum pop. The clever strategy would have been to subversively edge the kids along with them but instead they chose to go out of their way to appeal to them. And, credit to them, it seemed to work. Though they never had a number one smash down in their native United States, the Fruitgum boys did okay for themselves for little while. (Sadly, we'll be seeing them twice more in this space) While they had their (presumably youthful) fanbase, their childish tunes probably inspired just as much of a backlash.

"Sometimes there is no gulf wider than the one between the 12 and the 13 year old boy," observes Tom Ewing in his review of the wretched novelty pop "Star Trekkin'" by The Firm. Too true. Sightly less contentious, though still noticeable, is the divide between kids who are just starting school and those who've been in it for a bit. A kindergarten student might really be into "Simon Says" as it plays in the gymnasium while standing in a circle with his classmates waving a parachute up and down. Join the big kids who sit at desks and learn about passe compose in French class and it becomes the first kind of music that they begin to look down upon. The kind of song that an eight year old would be embarrassed to even mindlessly tap their toes to. Perhaps the first example of how music doesn't age but listeners sure as shit do.

Score: 1

Bee Gees: "Words"

March 9, 1968 (1 week)

@spittingonbaldspots355        2 days ago

April 2026 anyone?

👍 87    👎    Reply

@PaulHeartsTelstar        1 day ago

OMG! I'm listening to Words in the same month of the same year as you! We must have a connection! Either that or this is just one hell of a popular song with millions of views.

@prussiansonthegolfcourse        3 years ago

What a song! I'm building a time machine to go back to the sixties...who's with me???

👍 513    👎    Reply

@PaulHeartsTelstar        1 day ago

I think I'll give it a miss actually. I don't want to risk accidentally killing one of my parents or triggering a butterfly effect that prevents them from meeting in the first place or getting involved with a member of the Manson Family. I'm happy just to idealize the past from the safe distance of the future, as God intended.

@uncoolfriend4chad        7 months ago

According to Wikipedia Robin Gibb appears on harmony vocals but I can't hear him at all. What do the rest of you think?

👍 6    👎    Reply

@PaulHeartsTelstar        1 day ago

Yeah, I don't hear him either. It sounds like a Barry Gibb solo work to me. I wonder if Barry had his part deleted which then played a part in Robin's departure in 1969.

@thisisanailshop        4 years ago

You think that I don't even mean

A single word I say

It's only words and words are all I have

To take your heart away

Words to live by...thank you Bee Gees. ❤

👍 408    👎    Reply

@PaulHeartsTelstar        1 day ago

Not to be that guy (even though I am that guy and always have been) but they're still only words as the Bee Gees themselves said. Plus, if the girl or guy he's singing to thinks he's completely full of shit then why shouldn't we feel the same? Of course, I'm just a sad old fart whose words have never done anything for anyone's hearts. Keep living your truth!

@SkegnessRocker

Such a great song from the late sixties. And what has come out since then? Nothing but crap!

👍 38    👎    Reply

@PaulHeartsTelstar        1 day ago

Hear, hear! I'm with ya buddy! 👊 There has been so much crap since then! That includes plenty of crap from the Bee Gees themselves, am I right? Not to mention Andy Gibb, Barbra Streisand, Dolly Parton, Kenny Rodgers, Dionne Warwick, Diana Ross...an endless parade of crap.

Score: 4

Herman's Hermits: "I Can Take or Leave Your Loving"

March 2, 1968 (1 week)

"We're just about done with Peter Noone on this blog and I can't say I'm going to miss the cheeky bugger."

Or so I claimed last November, the last time a Herman's Hermits single came up for consideration. Even though I didn't hate their cover version of The Kinks' "Dandy", it was clear that it succeeded in spite of the Hermit treatment; it only made me appreciate Ray Davies' songwriting genius even more than I already do.

So, I ought to be glad that they're finally bowing out after six RPM number ones and for the most part I am. Half-a-dozen is more than enough. Tom Ewing and Aidan Curran only had to write a single review apiece ("I'm Into Something Good" being their sole British and Irish chart topper) while Tom Breihan had just a pair to cover ("Mrs. Brown, You've Got a Lovely Daughter" and "I'm Henry VIII, I Am" which, surprisingly though mercifully, somehow failed to hit the top of the charts in Canada). Those guys might be able to write me under the table but how would they fare with having to share their thoughts on six chart toppers by Herman's bloody Hermits. That said, a small part of me is sad to see them go.

It's bizarre to think that Herman's Hermits were still a relevant chart act by the end of the sixties. They had seen off the majority of the competition — longtime rivals Peter and Gordon had begun to fade a year earlier — with the remaining elements of the British Invasion having grown into serious recording artistes with concept albums and drug addictions. Yet, with bubblegum pop at its peak, there was still a place for Peter Noone and his band who may or may not have played on their records. Noone was still young and boyish enough to hang with Davy Jones of The Monkees and that was more than enough of a reason to stick around.

Previous Hermit hits were unconvincing. In their cover of "Silhouettes", we're expected to believe that Noone would have drunkenly stalked his best girl so they he may catch her in the act of cheating on him. Nope, I don't buy it. On "Listen People", he's delivering an allegedly profound message of peace and understanding to a populace that had been looking to The Beatles and Bob Dylan for "the answer". Again, a good try but his nibs was out of his depth. This is what makes "I Can Take or Leave Your Loving" so refreshing: I can imagine him saying this to a groupie or even to a girl-next-door with a pretty smile. This is only from listening to it casually, as the narrative paints the young woman as the one at fault while our hero attempts to put on a brave face. This is the acceptable, pop-friendly side but I prefer to think of it as him having a nonchalant view on relationships in general. I mean, why else would he sound this chipper?

But that is the thing with Noone: very few in pop sound as genuinely optimistic as he does — and all the better for it since he sounds like he's being himself for once. "I Can Take or Leave Your Loving" isn't all that special in the scheme of things but I think it does fairly well when held up against the new generation of American bubblegum groups. It has no more substance than what the likes of The Union Gap and Paul Revere and the Raiders were putting out but it has a chorus you might want to sing along with and a melody that could see you through your day. Will I miss having to review Herman's Hermits singles? Not particularly but this final go has given me a newfound respect for Noone (as well as whoever it is that happens to be playing on this). Good to go out on a high note!

Coming up, a vocal group of considerable importance. One who took themselves very seriously while quite often appearing to be a joke. Barry, Maurice and Robin Gibb could've learned a thing or two from shameless spotlight hogger like Peter Noone.

Score: 6

Classics IV: "Spooky"

February 24, 1968 (1 week)

"What the hell is this place, this music? Since when do you listen to the Classics IV? What the hell did you do here? Who the hell are you?"

It was in the classic Six Feet Under episode "The Room" that main character Nate Fischer learns of just how little he knows about his recently deceased father Nathaniel. Discovering some unusual bookkeeping practices at his family's funeral home, he seeks out individuals who made unconventional deals for burials of family members. A mechanic exchanged regular oil changes for a funeral service while a horticulturalist gives Nate his father's monthly supply of hydroponic weed. Finally, he meets the owner of an Indian restaurant who shows him a secret room that his father would use.

Nate looks around the dusty, unkempt room and soon begins to rummage through a crate of records. Having previously believed his dad to have been mostly interested in old big band tunes, he is surprised to discover pop and rock in his collection. He puts on The Amboy Dukes' "Journey to the Center of the Mind" and imagines his father playing cards, doing drugs the bikers, sleeping with mysterious women and firing a gun out the window just for the hell of it. He then smokes some weed himself and has a fantasy chat with his dad over the mellow sounds of the Classics IV.

As with all music used in Six Feet Under, "Spooky" is an excellent choice of soundtrack for this scene. (A third selection, "Let's Go Out Tonight" by Craig Armstrong and Paul Buchanan, plays at the episode's end and it's in a very poignant scene) Nate has been chilling under the influence of all that J but he is still dumbfounded by what he has learned — and, indeed, by all that he'll never learn. You might say he's spooked by it all. Significantly, the show's main character has also recently begun an intense and tumultuous relationship with Brenda, a messed up genius who he finds equally intriguing and intimidating. But most importantly, he ultimately feels uncomfortable that he, a grown man in his thirties who has lived much of his life running away from loved ones and responsibilities, could become just like his mysterious father who know one really knows.

The relationship between Nate and Brenda is the essence of the spookiness in "Spooky": while she challenges him to become so much more, he refuses to get dragged into her manipulative games (or, more accurately, he refuses yet still often gets sucked into them anyway). The two are rocked by what the other represents. While their on-again, off-again relationship doesn't work out in the end, there's no question that they've changed each other profoundly. Sadly, there's less of a give-and-take dynamic in the song itself. Normal, everyday guy has this bird who changes on a dime. She blows him off one minute, then comes right back to him the next. It's unclear if we're supposed to sympathize with him or not but it does feel like he's more than a little turned on by her flightiness.

I could go on about Six Feet Under. (I have considered doing a blog about it, believe me) What I'd prefer not to delve into is Classics IV or, indeed, much beyond how their biggest hit works in an episode of one of my favourite TV shows. While there are many remarkable aspects to the HBO dark comedy, its use of music is largely overlooked. I can praise music supervisors Gary Calamar and Thomas Golubic for selecting great songs by Radiohead or slow-core masters Spain but I'd rather give them props for choosing material that buttons up scenes regardless of whether I like them or not. Some hipsters from my generation seemed to like Death Cab for Cutie but they never did much for me. That said, the use of their song "Transatlanticism" in a season four episode is inspired and for a fleeting moment I can understand why many people got into them back at around the time of the Millennium. 

While it has a sparkling, jazzy rhythm, "Spooky" isn't nearly as sexy at it thinks it is — nor is it even all that spooky. (Billboard would have you believe otherwise, putting it at number twelve on their list of the 25 Biggest Halloween Songs of All time on the Hot 100, stating that it's a favourite of "sensual spectres", whoever they are) Still, it is rather creepy, I'll give it that. Plenty of perfectly normal people have ended up in toxic relationships but the vast majority of us have the decency not to celebrate them so openly. At least Nate and Brenda learned something from all the shit that they put each other through which is more than can be said for the loser narrating this passable yet strangely unmoving song.

Score: 5