1910 Fruitgum Company: "Indian Giver"

March 17, 1969 (1 week)

That's right, "Indian Giver". Not "Cowboys and Indians" as recent history would have predicted. No, 1910 Fruitgum Company's tradition of performing odes to schoolyard frolics ends here. Could the ultimate bubblegum pop group have actually grown up? Perhaps they had, though you'd be advised not to seek out the artwork for their recent album of the same name.

Oh, so they've swapped childish things for casual racism then? Hey, nobody's perfect. Again, the cover art does them no favours but it's not as if they went all out on their latest hit with ululating war cries or anything. Okay, the percussion is rather tribal but that's as far as it goes, I swear!

The bubblegum acts seemed to operate in a world in which no one grows up, no one has a plan for the future and no one has a creative rebirth. This stands in contrast to modern day manufactured pop acts who eventually ditch the fun times and glorious hooks in order to have a depressing R&B phase that normally closes out a boy band or girl group's peak period. Growing up is necessary but only when it results in something worthwhile; otherwise, disposable pop acts are probably better off sticking to what they know. In other words, if you can't be like The Monkees or George Michael then don't bother trying.

Typically the nadir of a genre without much in the way of quality control, it was perhaps a good move on the part of the Fruitgums to move in a more mature direction. (I mean, mature for them) They actually sound like a serious pop-rock group on "Indian Giver". But do they sound like a passable pop-rock group?

In a way, they kind of do. Singer Mark Gutkowski has all the confidence of a jock bully in an eighties sex comedy — and, sadly, about as much charm — while the band plays with all the swagger of a Rolling Stones tribute act. (You'd be correct in describing these as backhanded compliments but for the fact that there's not even much in the way of my being complimentary) The character that "1,2,3, Red Light" had — such as it was — had vanished from their work. No longer irritating, 1910 Fruitgum Company had now developed to the point of becoming painfully boring instead.

The bubblegum groups were beginning to fade by the early part of 1969 so it may have seemed like the best possible option at the time but there was no way the progress of a hopeless band was going to end well. But, again, they might as well have stuck to their MO for as long as possible. Some older artists were even beginning to embrace bubblegum so there was still signs of life in the well-chewed, graying piece of Hubba Bubba yet.

Score: 2

1910 Fruitgum Company: "1, 2, 3, Red Light"

September 16, 1968 (1 week)

It's never great when the best thing that can be said about a single is that it's "more of the same". Still, when it's a genuinely great song we're talking about that's one thing: a group might be repeating the same tricks in order to capitalize on prior success (record labels encourage such stunts and no doubt a few artists have at least given it some thought). But when your previous hit feebly pandered to kids, you really ought to give the whole 'don't mess with the formula' approach a good re-think. That said, kids bought the rotten "Simon Says" so why wouldn't they rush out to pick up a copy of yet another tribute to playground games?

The difference, at least in part, may be down to "1, 2. 3, Red Light" merely using the game to underscore relationship difficulties. (Your love life can't be in great shape to begin with if all you have to compare it with is the likes of Hide and Go Seek and Tag) The last time, it was about playing the game Simon Says in the song "Simon Says". No subtext required. This time, a game of (presumably) Red Light, Green Light becomes a metaphor for a troubled boyfriend-girlfriend dynamic. Not a great premise for a song but progress is progress all the same.

Fortunately, "1, 2, 3, Red Light" is a modest improvement on its predecessor, largely because it isn't nearly as gauche. There is very little to it but there are hints that the members of 1910 Fruitgum Company aspired to let loose. They don't make much of the opportunity — assuming it even was an opportunity — and the composition is badly undercooked so it's still extremely weak, just not to the wretched levels of their last attempt. 

(Well, actually...1910 Fruitgum Company did have a single that came between "Simon Says" and "1, 2, 3, Red Light". "May I Take a Giant Step (Into Your Heart)" somehow flopped while the numbers that bookend it managed to be big hits. I would imagine that Buddha Records failed to promote it properly since it's just as idiodically catchy as the other two. This began an odd pattern of Fruitgum singles either sinking or swimming. It did nearly crack the RPM Top 20 but that was by far the best it managed to do)

During the week "1, 2, 3,..." sat atop the Canadian hit parade, summer shifted over to autumn and with it a slight uptick in the maturity of what was to follow it. That's not to say everything was brilliant but perhaps bubblegum pop was beginning to wind down as a dominant force in pop. Yet, a mammoth of the genre is still to come in 1969 and even 1910 Fruitgum Company weren't yet done. And who knows? Maybe their next attempt will show further progress in their sound just as this their second number one had on their first. I'm not going to hold my breath though, especially since it appears they were about to trade the schoolyard for some casual racism. Oh the gems we have to look forward to...

Score: 3

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