Old Familiar Tunes

Friday, 9 January 2026

That's the Order of the Day: Canadians at Number One in Canada

July 1, 1967 was Canada's one hundredth birthday. To mark the occasion, Queen Elizabeth II visited Parliament Hill in Ottawa, while Expo 67 in Montreal had one of its busiest days. Elsewhere, ecstatic Canadians attended fireworks shows in various cities and no doubt enjoyed picnics and barbecues. The people of Winnipeg were just three weeks away from hosting the Pan American Games, so it must've been busy there. The Order of Canada, the closest thing my homeland has to knighthoods and MBE's, also began on that day, with then Governor General Roland Michner being its first recipient (which was in no way a conflict of interest). Casting something of a downer on the celebrations was native actor and activist Chief Dan George who gave his deeply influential "Lament for Confederation" speech to a packed crowd at Vancouver's Empire Stadium. Over in Ladysmith on Vancouver Island, Barry and Carol Anderson welcomed the birth of their daughter, 'Centennial Baby' Pamela (you may have heard of her). And, finally, The Turtles' "She'd Rather Be with Me" enjoyed its second and final week at number one on the RPM hit parade. One of these things is not like the others.

One of my favourite blogs is Aidan Curran's Irish Number Ones. When I was in the early stages of planning this blog, I was pleased to discover its existence. American and British number ones have been talked about to death so it's nice to see other country's charts being represented for a change. "If this guy can write about Ireland's number ones then I can do Canada's," I said to myself at the time. Curran is also a very good writer with many entertainingly terse observations about a whole heap of pop songs he has no time for. (He is a good deal stingier with his scores than I am)

Curran has covered a lot more ground than I have but even still, it's a little dismaying to see just how many Irish singles he's had the opportunity to review. They aren't always very good but that's a whole other matter. As of the publication of this blog post, he's been on something of a role with homegrown acts: eight of the last twelve singles he has reviewed from the end of 1971 into the spring of '72 have been Irish. Meanwhile, I've just passed the tenth anniversary of the first CHUM chart and only seven Canadian singles have so far managed to make it to the top spot. Canuck pop and rock stars of my parents' youth weren't off to a great start.

It's worth noting that I did leave a handful of Canadians off, mostly because they happened to be members of American groups. Bands like The Lovin' Spoonful and The Mamas and the Papas had Canadian members (in both cases, they were vital as well) but it's a stretch to claim that "Summer in the City" or "Monday, Monday" are "Canadian". That said, Jack Scott isn't terribly Canadian either. He grew up in Windsor, Ontario but eventually found his way across the bridge to Detroit where he remained for the rest of his life. Still, he was a solo artist and that makes a difference. Had Zal Yanofsky or Denny Doherty released solo number ones then they would have been included here too but under the circumstances of playing with Americans, they have been excluded. Basically, if anyone's Canadian-ness had to be questioned then they've been left off — unless, of course, I say otherwise.

There are only seven at this point but it will begin to grow steadily from 1969 and on into the seventies and beyond. In fact, in 1996 there were seven Canadian number ones alone. The list will be updated with every new edition while this essay will remain until I eventually decide to publish a new one, perhaps with the next numerically attractive anniversary of Canadian Confederation.

~~~~~

Paul Anka: "Diana"
Jack Scott: "My True Love"

Richie Knight and the Mid-Nights: "Charlena"

Lorne Green: "Ringo"

Guess Who? (aka Chad Allan and the Expressions): "Shakin' All Over"

Little Caesar and the Consuls: "You've Really Got a Hold on Me"

Young Canada Singers: "Canada"

Thursday, 8 January 2026

The Turtles: "She'd Rather Be with Me"

June 24, 1967 (2 weeks)

I recently discussed how it's hard to really place The Hollies. They weren't quite among the elite of the British Invasion but there was more to them than just a mildly irritating throwaway. Occupying a similarly ill-defined zone are The Turtles, the one-hit wonders who in fact had several hits and that rare sixties act not named The Monkees who have so far been snubbed by the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

One-hit wonders? Well, sort of. They had five Top 10 hits on the Billboard Hot 100 and seven on the RPM chart but can many people name any of them other than "Happy Together"? Oldies radio owes a great deal to the song they are best known for but they've never gone out of their way to play, say, their cover of Bob Dylan's "It Ain't Me Babe" or "You Showed Me" or, indeed, "She'd Rather Be with Me". When you're only remembered for one song then you might as well be a one-hit wonder.

But "Happy Together" isn't the subject of this review — and a good thing too because it's very much the "Walking on Sunshine" of the sixties: a gloriously joyful pop hit that I would be perfectly happy never to have to listen to again. "She'd Rather Be with Me" was its follow-up and you'd be forgiven for assuming that it's one of those classic more-of-the-same singles that doesn't quite have the same energy as its predecessor. But that's far from the case. If anything, there's a little more spirit involved this time, like they realised that they couldn't quite recapture the euphoria of "Happy Together" and so added some audacity in its place.

Musical audaciousness may be a little discussed aspect of the influence The Beatles were having at the time. This didn't mean having to copy the Fab Four, the way industry plants like The Monkees were doing or the way whole generations of boring old power pop groups have been doing since the early seventies (even though I'd argue that aping a very narrow element of their sound isn't really something Beatles' devotees ought to be doing at all; being Beatlesque ought to involve being musically curious but I digress). The Beatles had been exploring and experimenting so much that it rubbed off on others — and it wasn't simply The Beach Boys, Bob Dylan and The Rolling Stones they were rubbing off on. Though not all that sonically alike anymore, The Turtles had also modeled themselves on fellow Los Angeles band The Byrds (they had even once toyed with the misspelled Tyrtles in tribute but that was just being silly) who were also becoming far more unpredictable in the studio and whose brilliant fourth album Younger Than Yesterday had been released that February. (In fact, "She'd Rather Be with Me" is closer to The Beach Boys, especially in its Brian Wilson-influenced instrumental passage which is not unlike the ridiculous but adventuresome "Amusement Parks USA" from their 1965 album Summer Days (and Summer Nights!!))

The Turtles weren't in the same league creatively as either The Beatles or Byrds and they likely knew it but I have a lot of respect for the fact that this didn't stop them from trying. "She'd Rather Be with Me" might have come across as bubblegum pop had a less confident group recorded it; in the hands of The Turtles, however, it's loaded with a stomping beat, some honky tonk piano, blasting horns and what may or may not be a circus pump organ in the background. It's one of those songs that reveals a hidden instrument or production quirk with every subsequent listen. Plus, they have far more swagger than a band reliant on outside songwriters has any right to be.

"Yobo!" my wife just called to me from the living room, "the music is bothering me". I proceeded to shut the door so I could listen to it again. Yeah, I know what she means for once (we don't always see eye-to-eye when it comes to music): it does sound like a racket at first and it doesn't matter how much you lower the volume, it can't help but be loud. Yet, "She'd Rather Be with Me" is a classic pop grower, a song I was largely indifferent towards at first but one that I can't get enough of now. An American Hollies? Glorified one-hit wonders? Nah. The Turtles were just an opportunist band making the most of their opportunity.

Score: 9

Wednesday, 7 January 2026

Jefferson Airplane: "Somebody to Love"

June 17, 1967 (1 week)

"Among the velvet-trousered denizens of the Scotch of Saint James, the feeling was that the vaunted San Francisco Sound was strictly Amateur Hour."

— Ian MacDonald

How things had changed. Though the British Invasion was immensely popular, it wasn't without its critics. American pop stars were surprisingly slow to react to The Beatles, with the output of acts such as The Beach Boys and Four Seasons still being rooted in Phil Spector's Wall of Sound. State-of-the-art recording facilities and crack house bands ensured that bigs acts signed to major labels would have nothing but the best at their disposal. (This was also during the last days of the staff songwriters in New York so there was always professional material available if need be) The Beatles generated plenty of excitement but their records were dismissed by pros in the States as rough and unsophisticated. (Only struggling folk artists from Bob Dylan down to David Crosby and John Sebastian were astute enough to look past their supposed faults)

Jump ahead three years and roles had been reversed. The British had become the backbone of rock's aristocracy while a new generation of bands, especially those that came from outside of Los Angeles, seemed crass, unable to play their instruments and were incapable of composing great pop. Hence the Ian MacDonald quote above. There were exceptions of course. Members of the Grateful Dead were all accomplished jug band and bluegrass musicians while the quintet that made up the ill-fated Moby Grape were all talented songwriters, including Canadian-born Alexander 'Skip' Spence who had been the original Jefferson Airplane drummer.

MacDonald's essay on Jefferson Airplane goes to great lengths to describe their amateurism. He's probably not wrong but looking at the "Somebody to Love" cover above — which is identical to the sleeve of their debut album, the hit-and-miss Surrealistic Pillow — I don't think it's Spencer Dryden clasping a banjo which stands out. ("That's about right," MacDonald dismissively asserts; the critic mistakenly claimed that it was Jack Casady, which I suppose is an easy mistake to make: it's not as if many people were paying attention to anyone beyond Grace Slick) Rather, it's the sight of guitarist Jorma Kaukonen on the bottom left. In his shades and boyish t-shirt, he could easily pass for a member of The Velvet Underground.

Though contemporaneous, the Velvets never had much regard for what was going on in California. Their darkness supposedly represented an antidote to all that hippie free-love idealism centred around San Francisco's Haight-Ashbury district. While there's some truth to this, the doom which emanated in some of Jefferson Airplane's work suggests they shared more than a little in common. (Meanwhile, both The Doors and Love weren't exactly all flower power, peace 'n' love down in LA) The only thing really separating the two was that the New Yorkers had one-time professional songwriter Lou Reed as well as the classically trained violinist John Cale leading the way while no one from the Airplane was nearly as prodigious.

Yet for that "only 10,000 people bought the first The Velvet Underground album but everyone who did formed a band" malarkey, they never had anything even in the same universe as "Somebody to Love" (and don't think for a second that there weren't garage bands all over North America who were all about the Jefferson Airplane). Sure, I dig "I'm Waiting for My Man" and "Venus in Furs" and "The Black Angel's Death Song" but these are songs to rock out to and contemplate and be unnerved by respectively; "Somebody to Love" is as cool as anything Reed ever recorded while being the kind of thing people can't not sing along with.

As simple and direct as vintage Velvets, the trump card is Grace Slick, who wasn't just an attractive, charismatic front but a powerful vocalist which is easy to overlook. Male or female, there wasn't anyone who sounded like her. Amateurish? Maybe. Certainly she wasn't going to be anyone's first choice to do Bachrach and David or Greenway and Cook covers but that wasn't what she was there for. You can sort of hear in her original version with previous group The Great Society that she was in need of an accompaniment that was as committed as she was. There's something hesitant about her voice which contrasts sharply with the confidence she oozes in the more famous recording here.

The Bay Area was said to have been full of groovy kids dropping acid but the truth was much darker and suspect. "You'd better find somebody to love" is a surprisingly threatening statement that seems to reflect the countercultural ideals while offering a sobering warning to all. Slick and her bandmates may not have known that the Haight was soon to devolve into cults, madness and murder but they surely could see through the bullshit. Just because they were amateurs doesn't mean they didn't know what they were talking about.

Score: 8

Tuesday, 6 January 2026

The Mamas and the Papas: "Creeque Alley"

June 10, 1967 (1 week)

Bird and Dizzy, in a bit o' tizzy

Tryin' to play their solos so fast,

Roach and Blakey, gettin' kind of achy

Worried that the money won't last

In a jazz club, Bud played and played

And once in a while he even got laid

Monk and Miles quarrel over styles

A young Trane, he's way too green

And everyone played real mean

Except Prez and Bean

"Creeque Alley" ought to be the sort of song that's ripe for parody. With rhyming that clearly didn't cost writers John and Michelle Phillips (aka 'John and Michi': yes, they wrote themselves into it because of course they did) any brain cells, it kind of reminds me of the "Diarrhea Song" that we used to sing and try to make up verses to on the playground in elementary school ("when you're swimming in a pool and you feel something cool", "when you're driving in a chevy and you feel something heavy", etc., etc.). Surely I can't be the first person to make fun of all the bloody name dropping, can I?

Noel and Liam, you'd have to see 'em

Acting like a pair of old fools

Justine and Damon, lookin' for some fame in

Bein' the couple who broke all the rules

Jarvis, he mooned at the Brits

And after that he ran out of hits

Suede did not seem to care

And all in Britpop did fair

Except poor Menswear

Or maybe I am? While "Creeque Alley" had been a Top 10 hit in a number of countries, it hasn't really remained a part of the public consciousness in the years since. The idea that "Monday, Monday" would have been a bigger hit at the time than "California Dreamin'" surprises a lot of people but surely this fun but inconsequential single outpacing — at least in some territories — what is The Mamas and the Papas best known song is far more of a shock. Or what of "Dedicated to the One I Love" or "Dream a Little Dream", Mama Cass' two signature numbers? I thought the masses were suckers for slushy love songs. Yet, they opted to send this to the top of the Canadian charts instead. Though not terribly likely, it's possible that some might find my verses here to be amusing but for the fact that they've never heard "Creeque Alley" before.

Suga and J-Hope, seemingly cannot cope

With never being the Fab Four

Lisa and Jennie, made a pretty penny

But they'd really like to have a lot more

At Dongshin, Beast got their start

They got big, then they fell apart

IU and Suzy, still a pair o' cutties

In K-Pop you need to look thin

And everyone doesn't appear too shabby

Except Psy, he's flabby!

Okay, these lyrics don't exactly write themselves, so credit to John and Michelle for fashioning a tidy narrative around such a silly concept. Finishing off each of these parody verses is the tricky part. Did I choose bad subjects to immortalize? Jazz musicians from the be-bop period (except for Coleman 'Bean' Hawkins and Lester 'Prez' Young, since they were older and more rooted in the big bands which is why they didn't play so "mean"), some of the Britpop stars (and Menswear) and the KPop icons (along with Beast, who were very much the Menswear of Korean popular music) No, I think they're all good categories. Honestly, it's mostly down to me. I haven't really kept up my chops as a comedy songwriter so no wonder I'm slipping. On the other hand, if I had something more inspiring to work off of, I might have had better results. This entry doesn't say much for my talents but I'm not sure it does John and Michelle Phillips any favours either. Still, at least Mama Cass Elliot and Denny Doherty were present and correct: if nothing else could save a ropy Mamas and Papas single, their sparkling voices could go a long way.

LIps and Zoot, they seem kinda cute

Though they can't seem to open their eyes

Floyd said to Jan, "Hold on there man"

"We'll play whatever Dr Teeth decides"

Rowlf's not even part of the group

And as for Clifford, he flew the coupe

Animal should be in a cage

Although his drumming is all the rage

And everyone was a pro on the Muppet Show

Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem?!? Okay, I think I've made my point. Assuming I even had one.

Score: 5

Sunday, 4 January 2026

The Young Rascals: "Groovin'"

June 3, 1967 (1 week)

It's Sunday afternoon here as I write this. My wife just headed down to the gym. I thought about going but I figured this was as good a time as any to share my thoughts on The Young Rascals' "Groovin'".

We sometimes stay at my father-in-law's place on Saturday nights. She generally cooks dinner for the three of us and then I get breakfast ready the following morning. He isn't fussy which means he's okay with me preparing eggs, beans, toast and salad, instead of rice, kimchi and soup as many Koreans are used to.

We then accompany him to church. Actually, he walks over there about an hour early while we're typically twenty minutes late. I would trade with all those believers I've known over the years who never bother attending service though I did recently start toying with becoming a 'reform Christian', someone who practices what Christ stood for and taught without necessarily loving him nor needing a made up creator to pray to. (Wait, isn't this called 'just being a decent human being'?)

Lunch following the service is always very unremarkable. They never serve anything I've ever craved but I do appreciate how healthy it generally is. I think they've finally begun to accept that we don't eat meat, just as they long gave up on trying to get me to teach English Bible study.

We don't tend to get home until around two. We sometimes stop at a park on the way to walk the dog a bit but the air was really shitty today so we came straight home. Nevertheless, I still took out our little puppy while my wife put everything away. We were only out for about ten minutes but by the time we returned, she was ready to take a nap. She told me to wake her up in twenty minutes but I know full well that she's going to sleep a lot more than that.

With the wife abed, I prepare some afternoon coffee. I would love to read a book on these chilled out Sunday afternoons but I never get enough sleep to be able to concentrate. So, I'm faced with Netflix or YouTube as my main options. The lift I get from a couple cups of coffee sometimes gets me to the office to begin blogging but it didn't happen quite as quickly today.

I check on my wife every so often but she keeps muttering in a mixture of English and Korean about how she wants to rest for another half hour. After a while, I basically give up. It's at this point that I begin to nod off myself. But while her naps can stretch to three or fours hours, I'm never able to get much more than ten minutes.

Stresses involving homesickness, my very unpopular, irrelevant blog, friends I've been avoiding, my boredom with teaching and the appalling state of the world eat at me but these lazy, go nowhere Sundays offer some reprieve. I may appreciate our lifestyle more when we're taking a trip to Southeast Asia or to South Korea's island paradise of Jeju-do but this is our real life and I wouldn't trade it for anything. I'd trade to be a believer who always gets to skip church but I wouldn't trade my home life for anything.

As for my thoughts on The Young Rascals' "Groovin'"? Those are my thoughts on The Young Rascals' "Groovin'".

Score: 8

Saturday, 3 January 2026

The Happenings: "I Got Rhythm"

May 27, 1967 (1 week)

From the very beginning jazz musicians seemed to get George Gershwin. Classically trained, he was nevertheless open to modern music which allowed him to compose with jazz in mind. As early as the nineteen twenties figures like Duke Ellington were already fascinated by his work in a way that they weren't with Irving Berlin's compositions. "I Got Rhythm" was one of the earliest examples with it inspiring jazz standards such as Ellington's "Cotton Tail", Thelonious Monk's "Rhythm-a-Ning" and Charlie Parker's "Anthropology". In the fifties, Gershwin's Porgy and Bess began to be adapted by jazz musicians with notable complete or partial recordings by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, Miles Davis, and the Modern Jazz Quartet.

But the jazz greats weren't alone. Singers with a background in Broadway musicals can always be relied upon to have a perfectly enjoyable "I Got Rhythm" in their repertoires. They tend to sound more or less the same but what do you expect from a chorus of pros hitting all the right notes to make for one of the most glorious pop songs of the twentieth century?

Pop stars, on the other hand, have had a tougher time with Gershwin's works. A handful have been great but the majority are largely forgettable, mostly due to singers who gamely try out a "But Not for Me" or "Embraceable You" but who simply aren't up to the challenge. And then there's The Happenings who simply butcher "I Got Rhythm". The frat boy act had previously topped the RPM chart nine months' earlier with "See You in September". I can't stand it myself but at least it was daft enough to suit the cheery vocal group. In the case of "I Got Rhythm", however, they went well above their very modest pay grade.

Perhaps smart enough to know that they couldn't hope to compete with Miles or the MJQ, The Happenings can't help but try to overdo the Broadway tradition. With The Beach Boys moving further and further away from their patented doo-wop-influenced sunshine pop, they may have sensed an opening. It isn't the worst idea a fellow vocal group could've come up with but all their backing harmonies end up doing is drowning out much of the lead. (The powerful block harmonies of The Four Seasons would've served it far more effectively, just so long as Frankie Valli had shown some restraint with his falsetto; incidentally there is a faithful version by Brian Wilson from his 2012 album Reimagines Gershwin which sounds pretty much as you would imagine)

For all of their vocal prowess, there's something flat in their delivery too. "I Got Rhythm" is supposed to communicate a feeling of unrestrained joy but there's none of that in The Happenings' version. I'm sorry but it sounds like you guys could and would ask for a great deal more. But what do I know? All I ask for is a dynamic performance that works or a more conservative rendition that sticks to Broadway orthodoxy. This is an abject failure on both counts. Pitiful.

Score: 1

Friday, 2 January 2026

The Who: "Happy Jack"

May 20, 1967 (1 week)

"We'd like to play three selected hit singles, the three easiest... uh, there's "Substitute" which we like very much...(applause)...thank you, that was our first number four...and "Happy Jack" (more applause) which was our first number one in...Germany...brump-ump-ump-ump...and funnily enough our first big hit record in the States...and "I'm a Boy" which according to the...(even more applause)...thank you, according to the Melody Maker was our first number one in England, I think for about half an hour."

He's trying to make light of his group's lucklessness but it clearly bothered Pete Townshend that a number one smash continued to allude The Who. In their native Britain they peaked at number two with both "My Generation" and "I'm a Boy" and had an additional eleven Top 10 entries but they could never quite reach the summit. Elsewhere, they couldn't even do that well with just one Top 10 appearance — with the sublime "I Can See for Miles" — on Billboard's Hot 100. "My Generation" was also a number two hit in Australia while "Squeeze Box" would reach the same spot in Ireland, where they seemed to have this curious habit of doing no better than number fourteen. As for Germany, they had a number of Top 20 entries in Europe's biggest market but their supposed chart topper only got to number four.

The country that Townshend seems unaware of — and honestly, who can blame him? — is Canada where The Who managed to buck convention. In addition to "I'm a Boy" hitting the top spot on RPM in May of 1967 (fun fact: it happened precisely ten years before I was born), they would have another the following decade. They weren't exactly racking up the number ones like, say, Herman's Hermits or The Monkees, but a pair of chart toppers in one territory when they couldn't buy one anywhere else is nothing to sneeze at.

Pete Townshend's above quote (incidentally, it always surprises me what a soft, playful speaking voice he has) is taken from The Who's acclaimed album Live at Leeds. The quartet had just finished an intense four-minute rendition of "Young Man Blues" (which somehow feels like it's a great deal longer though it never drags) and may have been keen to lighten the mood with a series of fan favourite hits. But this was still The Who in their element (for all that is made of studio LPs, particularly Tommy and Who's Next, as well as their impeccable run of singles, they were primarily a live band) and, as a result, the trio of "Substitute", "Happy Jack" and "I'm a Boy" never sounded better.

That is the one thing big thing that holds the single release of "Happy Jack" back: on Live at Leeds, its deficiencies are easy to brush off or be blissfully unaware of. I scarcely notice Towenshend's lazy rhyming ("Happy Jack wasn't tall but he was a man / He lived in the sand of the Isle of Man") or the effeminate backing vocals because I'm either too caught up in Keith Moon's tendsion-bulding drumming or they wisely toned down trying to sound like a bunch of old ladies. The "Happy Jack" that appears on Live at Leeds comes from three years of playing it in concert halls and arenas around the world and working out how to best present it to an audience. While lengthy workouts like the fifteen minute power-fest of "My Generation" and a killer closer in "Magic Bus" showcase a band stretching out to full effect, even their two-minute pop songs could be concert showstoppers.

Whereas the studio version here sounds very much like an early attempt before the kinks were fully worked out. (Wouldn't it be nice if this happened to be at the same time The Kinks were struggling to figure out Who they were meant to be? Sorry, I couldn't resist!) About the only thing that is more or less the same is Moon knocking it out of the park, somehow guiding the rhythm while also being its lone soloist. The remainder of the group — singer Roger Daltry, bassist John Entwhislte, Townshend himself — do just about enough to keep the song afloat but this is hardly a vintage performance from three fourths of a band that acquitted themselves better on both previous singles and many future recordings.

Of course, fans weren't to know that The Who had merely scratched the surface in terms of what Townshend's compositions were capable of. What they had in 1967 was surely charming enough and youngsters were probably relieved to hear a Who song that was dripping in cynicism and/or rage. Cute little character studies had been more the kind of thing that Ray Davies and Paul McCartney specialized in and I'm not convinced Townshend was fully comfortable with them at this stage. but it's a worthy if slightly underwritten attempt on his part. I suspect it's a lot better divorced from how The Who would perform it on one of the greatest live albums of all time but I wouldn't know how to go about separating the two. Good as their albums and singles are, there's simply nothing like The Who on stage.

Score: 6

~~~~~

Can Con

I've really been neglecting this feature of late. To some extent, this is down to laziness on my part but I haven't been helped along by some of the scans I've been presented with on the RPM archives page run by the Government of Canada. (Some of them are just a little hard to read, is all) Feeling like it was time for a ~~deep~~ shallow dive, I found teenage singer Susan Taylor, who according to a very short bio over on Discogs, was a librarian at a Toronto radio station prior to her short-lived recording career. Her minor RPM hit "Don't Make Promises" opens promising an old fashioned string arrangement before melting into an agreeable country-folk-pop ditty. It's nothing spectacular but as it builds there's some nice Motown-influenced harmonies. I would say she's one for me to look out for but it seems she only ever released two singles before vanishing. Good to know she was able to make the most of her opportunity by hitting the national charts.

Wednesday, 31 December 2025

The Spencer Davis Group: "I'm a Man"

May 13, 1967 (1 week)

Going out on a high note is something that many aspire towards but few manage to pull off. I imagine it's the kind of thing that's easier said than done. Since groups rarely tend to finish up while still on top, the majority are naturally at a disadvantage. Thus, the Bee Gees final hit single was 2001's "This Is Where I Came In", a respectable enough effort for such a late-stage release but it doesn't even hold up all that well next to eighties and nineties tracks like "You Win Again" and "For Whom the Bell Tolls", let alone their two-pronged peak from the late sixties and mid-to-late seventies.

Not surprisingly, the better grand finale singles are from short-lived acts. Wham! came to an end with "The Edge of Heaven" while The Jam closed up shop with "Beat Surrender": in both cases, they weren't quite top level songs but they each provided soft launches for George Michael's solo career and Paul Weller's next project The Style Council respectively. But the king of going out on a high note has to be the late Terry Hall. First, he and fellow bandmates Neville Staples and Lynval Golding quit The Specials while they were still at number one in Britain with the extraordinary hit "Ghost Town" but then he walked away from Fun Boy Three just two years later following the release of their version of The Go-Go's "Our Lips Are Sealed". Both are phenomenal singles with Hall subconsciously telling audiences that he was leaving while potentially their best material was still to come.

Steve Winwood would join and leave a handful of bands before eventually deciding to go solo in 1977 but it was only with The Spencer Davis Group that you could say he went out on top. (Blind Faith was never going to last more than one album so it hardly counts; his time with the on-again, off-again Traffic would have ended well had they finished with their masterpiece, 1970's John Barleycorn Must Die) Rather than pulling a Michael or a Weller by easing fans into what was to come with his next organization, he managed to succeed in bowing out while his band still had plenty left in the tank. Judging by "I'm a Man", the SDG could have easily carried on as a reliable chart act with plenty of critical standing for the remainder of the sixites — and, indeed, they may well have kept it up well into the following decade for all we know.

Actually, we do sort of know. While Steve Winwood was ready to explore acid rock, prog rock and jazz fusion with Traffic and his brother Muff was eyeing a more behind the scenes role in record company A&R, Spencer Davis himself wasn't as keen to pack things in. (This is a definite advantage to having the group named after himself) Not deterred in the least by having to replace Steve freakin' Winwood, he brought in Eddie Hardin who was no slouch himself but his time with the ground would be brief. Suffice it to say, the SDG didn't thrive as a revolving door with a figurehead leader on guitar.

With all due respect to Davis, Hardin and others (including drummer Pete York, who stuck it out for another year after the Winwoods' departure), The Spencer Davis Group as a going concern ended in the spring of 1967. And they happened to do so with the best song they ever recorded. A classic R&B groove holds "I'm a Man" together but it's that chorus that makes it so addictive. It may not need howling backing vocal sound effects and an excess of percussion piled on top for it to thrive but they don't detract from it either. It's damn-near impossible to keep up with Winwood's vocal - much less understand him — but, again, what does it matter when it's in service of a quartet giving it their all one last time.

Steve Winwood had only turned nineteen just the day before "I'm a Man" reached number one on the RPM singles chart. He wouldn't return to the top until he was knocking on the door of forty with a highly lucrative if creatively bankrupt pair of solo hits. This means we'll be missing out on his peak with the magnificent Traffic. Yet, "I'm a Man" is the first indication that he was reaching the level of Lennon, McCartney, Davies, Dylan, Gaye, Wonder and Wilson — and unlike many of them, he knew when to bow out. (For a while at any rate)

Score: 9

Nancy Sinatra and Frank Sinatra: "Somethin' Stupid"

May 6, 1967 (1 week)

Had social media in the sixties consisted of more than (a) two (or more) people speaking to one another face-to-face, (b) correspondence over the mail or (c) conversing on the telephone, it's quite possible that Nancy Sinatra would've been bashed as a nepo baby. I'm sure people knew that having a famous father opened doors for her — even if they may not have always been the doors she wished to have opened — and perhaps there had been resentment in some quarters that her connections gave her fame but this sort of criticism didn't seem to dog her. If anything, the fact that she and longtime collaborator Lee Hazelwood struggled to have a hit prior to "These Boots Are Made for Walkin'" suggests that daddy's pull was either ineffectual or nonexistent.

With Frank Sinatra, he too had been coming off a US and UK number one smash from a year earlier with "Strangers in the Night" (which could do no better than number three in Canada). While no longer quite the transcendent figure he had been in the forties and fifties, Sinatra could still sell out venues around the world. Thus, it wasn't as if either of them really needed the other to sell a pop song. Fans of Nancy's probably weren't clamouring for records from Old Blue Eyes — and vice versa. It turns out, Frank didn't even need his glamourous daughter for their supposed duet "Somethin' Stupid".

Vying for crossover appeal must have been the reason for why she's even on this thing. Nancy is just a glorified backing vocalist and one, it must be added, who doesn't sound particularly excited to be there. Singing a song about a romance between a couple with your dad couldn't have made her comfortable and it's possible she wasn't especially thrilled to be going in the direction of MOR pop at such a crucial point in her career. This is where the idea of a crossover falls flat on its face: despite having her name credited first, this is a Frank Sinatra solo record in name only, one that barely has room for Nancy much less in attempting to accommodate her style.

There's a heavy doling of intimacy on the original "Something Stupid", sung by composer C. Carson Parks (the brother of eccentric singer-songwriter and Brian Wilson collaborator Van Dyke Parks) and his wife Gaile Foote. The pair sound like they're whispering the lines to each other as if it's all a big secret. It's a nice recording, one that has the duo singing the same lines while seemingly communicating different messages to each other. In his case, it's the more literal sense of feeling turning a lovely evening into something awkward by spoiling it with the L word; for her, she knows that in spilling her heart out, she's about to relinquish the power in the relationship. Parks and Foote also communicate an obvious fondness for one another, something that the Sinatras fail to do.

Frank Sinatra's status in the world of showbusiness was such that he wasn't about to take suggestions from anyone beyond maybe Nelson Riddle. His daughter? Forget about it. This is a shame since the parallel universe scenario of Lee Hazelwood composing a far more appropriate single for the pair is tantalizing. It could have catered to Frank's talents while also bringing out the best in Nancy. Instead, we get a typically good Frank vocal with little else of note going on. And not only was Nancy poorly utilized but "Somethin' Stupid" also coincided with the end of her days as a top pop diva. So, not only did her dad do little to help her get started but he also may have played a part in her premature decline. See? It's not as easy being a nepo baby as some would have you believe.

Score: 4

Tuesday, 30 December 2025

Young Canada Singers: "Canada"

April 22, 1967 (2 weeks)

I was born in 1977 so, naturally, I came along far too late to appreciate Canada's centennial. Nevertheless, its legacy has carried on, not the least of which may be found in the numerous malls, monuments and parks spread throughout the country with the name 'Confederation'. I grew up just a stone's throw from Calgary's Confederation Park. Not coincidentally, it opened in 1967.

'67 was a year of change. Canada's two main political lions of the age, Conservative John Diefenbaker and Liberal Lester B. Pearson, both resigned, making them the last two Canadian prime ministers to be born in the nineteenth century (no wonder the incoming forty-eight year old Pierre Trudeau was seen as a fresh, young upstart). The venerable six-team NHL was about to come to an end - and with it, the demise of the Toronto Maple Leafs as a dominant franchise. The big event of the year was Expo '67 in Montreal which was praised as the finest world's fair to date and one that arguably set the standard for such expositions as a point of pride among host nations and cities. (The city that was then still the world's second largest Francophone metro would be granted a Major League Baseball expansion team two years later and, what with Kansas City already declaring dibs on 'Royals', 'Expos' was the logical choice, even if it makes next to no sense as a sports team name)

I grew up knowing about more or less all of these facts but the theme song for Canada's birthday bash was something no one ever bothered to inform me about. It never seemed to crop up on oldies radio, not even on the CBC's Finkleman's 45's, and has rarely been included on compilations (aside from a pair released at around the same time). It's as if "Canada" is the one thing people would like you to forget about that most memorable of all years.

It would be easy to dismiss it as a cheesy bit of pointless patriotism — which, to be sure, it is — but I'd like to take some time to apologize for it and/or find something of worth first. Sure, the Young Canada Singers sound like they might as well have been chanting endless praise to Chairman Mao in the midst of the Cultural Revolution (which was underway by this point) but I buy these kids. They sound coached but not to an insulting degree. Songwriter — and (ahem) "Pied Piper of Canada" — Bobby Gimby might have given some consideration to lyrics that children might have actually sang and/or spoken themselves. That said, he had already proven to be a master of nationalist propaganda songs with "Malaysia Forever" and "Canada" is an improvement on that bit of banal dross.

The other positive thing to say is that the opening isn't awful. The first ten seconds bounce along quite agreeably in fact. It has a nice swing beat that wouldn't have been out of place from one of the better entrants on a Eurovision Song Contest of the age. Then, it begins to unravel with the choir. There, I've done my best describing everything I don't hate about it. Yet, I will say I was expecting a great deal worse. It isn't quite "Purple People Eater"/"Paper Roses"/Snoopy vs. the Red Baron" levels of badness which I suppose is something of a win!

And, if nothing else, at least it ended a near year-and-a-half long drought of Canadians failing to top their national singles chart. But could pop and rock follow suit? They'd be coming along soon but there'd still be a bit more of a wait.

Score: 2

Monday, 29 December 2025

The Monkees: "A Little Bit Me, a Little Bit You"

April 1, 1967 (3 weeks)

"Probably the worst album in the history of the world".

— Michael Nesmith

No, the one with the toque wasn't talking about Lou Reed's insane feedback-fest Metal Machine Music. Nor was assessing Having Fun with Elvis on Stage, the notorious Elvis Presley live album of between-song banter and a distinct lack of music. What about nineties' over-hyped disasters like The Stone Roses' Second Coming or Oasis' Be Here Now? Nope, not them either.

No, the album that Nesmith hated so much was More of the Monkees, the mundanely named followed up to their self-titled debut. Few would agree with him. First, it sold like mad. It replaced its huge-selling predecessor at the top of the American album charts and stayed there for eighteen very long weeks. Fans tend to prefer it too - even if they'd in turn opt for later releases like Headquarters and Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn and Jones Ltd. (I'm less crazy about it but, then again, I'm happy just listening to a decent Monkees' best of rather than any of their studio releases)

Yet, he had a point. As the title suggests, it was little more than a cash grab from their self-titled debut release as well as their hit TV sit com. There are a handful of gems — the garage rock "She" and "(I'm Not Your) Stepping Stone", the Nesmith original "Mary, Mary" — but it is scattered and directionless. Basically, it has everything that made The Monkees so charming as well as what made them mildly irritating. More of the Monkees nevertheless dominated the album charts for the first half of 1967 but the group wasn't putting up with being puppets any longer. Nesmith led the revolt with Mickey Dolenz, Davy Jones and Peter Tork backing him up. Amazingly, the higher ups capitulated - or so they thought.

"A Little Bit Me, a Little Bit You" is a final piece of moronic Monkee pop before the band had their first manager Don Kirshner ousted. In the aftermath of More of the Monkees, their record label had already agreed to allow them a considerable amount of creative control moving forward but Kirshner went against their directive and had this piece of shit released anyway. Making matters worse was the fact that the intended B side, the Nesmith-penned "The Girl I Knew Somewhere" which The Monkees actually played on, ended up being turfed from the Canadian release in favour of Jeff Barry and Ellie Greenwich's "She Hangs Out". (To be fair, they couldn't have been too unhappy with Kirshner's power play since they ended up re-recording "She Hangs Out" for Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn and Jones and ended up having the last laugh in the process by doing far more with it than the studio pros could manage)

Having cheeky chappy Davy Jones on lead for the first time may have been a good way to handle such a passive-aggressive lyric. (For all of his strengths as a rather underrated vocalist, the material wouldn't have suited Mickey Dolenz whose disdain would've shown through) Still, he fails to fully convince that he's making a good faith effort at some middle ground in the face of a crumbling relationship. His case isn't aided by his feigned ignorance ("don't know, just what I said wrong...") nor his condescending "yes, you may have a point" tone ("I'm a little bit wrong and you're a little bit right..."). Jones was the cute one but that only underscores what a nasty song it is. (Also, what was up with them quoting themselves so soon? "We've got things to say" is an obvious nod to their their theme song and if it was clear they were woefully lacking in such depth then, this feeble attempt only confirms it)

Worse, though, is the tune which is hopeless. Just as Tom Ewing has acknowledged that "Mama Mia" is the ABBA song in which the haters at least have a bit of a case, "A Little Bit Me..." is The Monkees' number which best encapsulates the distaste with which they are still held (at least in come circles). If "I'm a Believer" had been a noticeable, if not crippling, step in the wrong direction following "Last Train to Clarksville", their third RPM number one has them falling off a creative cliff. Neil Diamond had written its predecessor and must have been so pleased with it that he didn't do anything different this time round.Those child-like organ parts may have worked the first time but now they grate. The Bo Diddley-esque acoustic guitar that guides it might well be its one real selling point but otherwise this is dismal.

Fortunately, that promised freedom wasn't to be denied The Monkees any longer. Yet, "A Little Bit Me, a Little Bit You" was still yet another massive hit for them. It's counter-intuitive to take a band that was racking up hits and, as Beach Boy Mike Love famously put it, "fuck with the formula" so brazenly but The Monkees almost seemed designed for such bouts of self-sabotage. Don't get me wrong, they made the right decision in siding with Nasmith and his bandmates but it was risky and isn't to be expected of svengalis dealing with a group that they manufactured. Plus, there were still more twists and turns ahead: we're only at the halfway point of The Monkees' incredible, inconsistent and incomprehensible imperial period.

Score: 3

Tuesday, 23 December 2025

The Beatles: "Penny Lane"

March 25, 1967 (1 week)

"Anyone unlucky enough not to have been aged between 14 and 30 during 1966-7 will never know the excitement of those years in popular culture."

— Ian MacDonald

Yes, it's true: those of us "unlucky" to have been born outside the window from 1936 to 1953 will never have the opportunity to experience this level of excitement first hand. (We also didn't have to live through the era of tuna and lime jello salads as luxury dining so it's not all bad though) Instead, we had the chance to swallow it up whole.

I am a second generation Beatles' fan. Only for the first three-and-a-half years of my life did I live in a world in which they were all still alive. The earliest association I have with John Lennon is that he was that he was dead. (He was probably the first person I can recall being dead and this was a year or two away from discovering that I, too, will one day die) The eighties became the decade in which unspeakable tragedy brought The Beatles back only for the pop scene to carry on having as little to do with them as possible before eventually accepting that there was simply no getting rid of them.

The Fab Four discography was in a shambles during my youth. Those weird seventies' compilations — Rock and Roll Music, Ballads — were still available as were the American albums. No one seemed to own the entire catalog. My mum had a half dozen old records that looked like they'd been played and scratched to death but did have newer copies of Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, the 1962-1966 and 1967-1970 compilations and, for some reason, Beatles '65. She also had Rubber Soul, Hey Jude and Rock and Roll Music on tape. This meant that I had much to explore but far from the whole thing. (It wouldn't hear The White Album in full until I was eighteen when Mum gave it to me on CD for Christmas) Rather than getting into them chronologically, I made due with what was made available to me. Not ideal but at least I never lived through the rush of Beatlemania which left fans prone to eventual — if misguided — disappointment.

~~~~~

The time between the release of the Revolver album and their first single of 1967 was by far the biggest gap since The Beatles reign began. For much of late '66, the foursome went their separate ways. Famously, John Lennon accepted a role in a movie which led to him spending several weeks in Spain where he began wearing his trademark granny glasses. It was also where he worked on "Strawberry Fields Forever". Returning to England that November, he presented his latest composition to the others who were immediately impressed by it. Paul McCartney then went off and wrote his reply "Penny Lane". Both songs were inspired by their childhoods spent in Liverpool though from suitably different perspectives. Yet, they're very much two sides of the same coin (or, better yet, two sides of the same 45). Whatsmore, it marked a turning point: far from being from Liverpool, now The Beatles were Liverpool.

On any given day, it is said that you can spot tourists from all over the world wandering around Liverpool in search of The Beatles. I'm sure the majority are aware that Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr no longer reside there — or, indeed, that none of the Fab Four have made Merseyside their permanent homes in over sixty years. Yet, visitors still turn up to see where they grew up, where they went to school and where they cut their teeth as just another struggling band who happened to go on to become the biggest thing in popular music. Visitors to London, Hamburg and New York may also take Beatles' guided tours but Liverpool has the lion's share of the landmarks and is probably the one to go to. (Though, admittedly, I wouldn't know since I've never been on one)

But beyond simply taking in the spotless middle class home of John Lennon and a replica of The Cavern, more adventuresome types may also indulge in visiting spots mentioned in Beatles' songs. In truth, there aren't all that many, with arguably the two best known sites coming from both sides of the same single. While the Salvation Army-run Strawberry Field — just a stone's thrown from the Lennon home — might still retain a mysteriousness that shrouds the song of (almost) the same name, there's no way on earth that the real Penny Lane manages to evoke the sunshine absurdity of McCartney's composition. If there happens to be a nurse selling poppies from a tray then she'll only be there in the fortnight or so leading up to Remembrance Day. Curious tourists may pop into the Tony Slavin barbershop to see if they do indeed have photos of "every head [they've] had the pleasure to know" but that's the case with every hair salon the world over. (Had "Penny Lane" been written a few years later by a North American it could easily have had a line about the drycleaner with "every celebrity headshot they've had the pleasure to know", even though it isn't quite as catchy)

If the real Penny Lane is indeed a disappointment to tourists then you can bet that they'd sooner blame the Liverpool town council and/or visitor board than The Beatles themselves, which may not be entirely fair. While Merseyside may wish to brand itself to the Fabs, there's no possible way they could recreate the area to satisfy the song that immortalizes it. This extraordinary composition paints a picture of a world that never really existed beyond the mind of its creator. Penny Lane may be in his "ears" and in his "eyes" but it is so far gone from any real person's interaction either then or now to be unrecognizable.

For all of its plaudits, "Penny Lane" is somehow still the weaker side of what is The Beatles' finest single. Paul's song is glorious and it should be listened to on as close to a daily basis as possible but "Strawberry Fields Forever" is simply streets ahead of anything a pop mind has ever come up with. Yet, young fans weren't ready for either of them. They were unprepared for how unusual their sound had become but they were equally bemused by the way the group looked with their mustaches and psychedelic gear. Though listeners grew up with The Beatles and could go along with how they had changed, in this instance many weren't ready. They had long since left much of their competition in the dust and now even loyal followers were being left behind — if only temporarily.

Thus, this brilliant double A side broke a lengthy run of consecutive UK chart toppers, managing a peak of just number two. Meanwhile in North America, the two were split up. On the Hot 100, "Penny Lane" gave The Beatles yet another US number one while its companion managed to go no higher than number eight. On RPM, it was much the same, except that "Strawberry Fields" didn't even merit its own chart position. Being at the top of the charts in both the United States and Canada is fair enough but it could only manage one week on top. (While single week number ones was still commonplace in '67, the massively inferior usurper to "Penny Lane" managed to hold on to the top spot for three weeks, as we'll be seeing soon) Even at their breeziest, peak-of-powers best, The Beatles couldn't dazzle everyone everywhere, ludicrous though this may be to those of us second and third generation fans who really did grow up with them.

Score: 10