Frankie Avalon: "Venus"

March 16, 1959 (2 weeks)

The names of the planets have not been all that well represented in pop. I'm sure that there are several songs with 'Mars' in the title though I can't think of any of them beyond Bowie's "Life on Mars?" and Ash's "Girl from Mars". Stevie Wonder's "Saturn" is a good song — even if it gets a bit lost in the shuffle on his magnum opus Songs in the Key of Life — and I suppose there are all those drum 'n' bass tracks from '97 with titles like "Saturnz Returnz" or something. And what else? Not much — except for Venus. (I imagine our own planet has been covered as well but, again, I'm mostly coming up empty: Voice of the Beehive's "I Walk the Earth" — probably the finest song ever about travel — is the only one that leaps to mind)

The second planet from the Sun has a great deal of representation and this is without even the aid of a simple Google search. Let's see, there's The Velvet Underground's "Venus in Furs", Shocking Blue's "Venus" (which would be memorably covered by Bananarama in the eighties; sadly and soul-crushingly, we'll only get to discuss the original here), Television's "Venus", Wings' "Venus and Mars" (oh, there's a third one for the Red Planet!), Bjork's "Venus as a Boy", Miles Davis' "Venus de Milo" and Prefab Sprout's "Venus of the Soup Kitchen". "Wait! These songs aren't all about the planet," you may or may not be thinking, "they're about the famous sculpture or the Greek Roman goddess or, uh, Serena Williams' sister!" True but I didn't actually say they had to be about a planet, only that they had to have one (or more) named dropped in the title. A win by technicality is a win all the same, chumps!

But let's now go back to one of the first examples, Frankie Avalon's "Venus", a CHUM chart topper. Judging by Tom Breihan's review, as well as many of the comments posted below it, it has its fair share of haters. It does also have its defenders (a minority of the comments on Breihan's blog for one). I can't say I'm either. Or I'm both. Look, I have mixed feelings towards it and when I say "mixed feelings" I mean exactly that. (Isn't it odd that when used this way the term 'mixed' is tilted too far to the negative? If a film gets a "mixed reaction" we interpret that as much more criticism rather than praise when, really, they could be equals) Let's have a look, shall we?

Where the anti-"Venus" crowd is spot on is with the meat of the song. The verses stink and would no doubt have cleared a fifties' diner on a Friday night that had been packed with teenagers the moment it came on the jukebox. Good lord, it's a mess: you can barely hear old Frankie, he doesn't really sing at all (it's probably for the best that you can hardly hear him then) and everything is treacly and sickly and crap. Horrible and utterly unlistenable.

The saving grace, at least to an extent, is the chorus, all haunting echo and Avalon's suddenly more affecting voice gliding in and out. It's actually a shame that they didn't milk it more often, particularly in the song's middle when it needs nothing more than to be lifted out of its self-imposed torpor. The production is dense and foggy which makes it all seem ghostly; I've seen comments that it's ethereal which I can see but I prefer ghostly myself. Quite why this effect wasn't used throughout is anyone's guess. It even manages to make up for the fact that Avalon's wandering vocal appears to say "oh Vera" rather than "oh Venus" as it gets smothered by strings and a choir and a sense of unease. (It may just be me having once been a sad Anglophile teenager who watched Coronation Street religiously but I don't think there's a name with less sex appeal than 'Vera')

"Venus" was also a number one hit on the American Hot 100 but it doesn't seem to be remembered all that fondly especially since Avalon is frequently cited as one of the stars during that wasteland in rock 'n' roll that fell in between the heyday of Elvis and the rise of Beatlemania. It also lacks the cool cred of many of those other songs with 'Venus' in the title. As such, it hasn't been covered much over the last sixty years. Yet, there's a darkness to it that it seems to share with "Venus in Furs" and "Venus as a Boy" and the others. Indeed, I can imagine Siouxsie and the Banshees or Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds adding a much needed Gothic edge to it. Throwaway pop shouldn't reject it's dark side, it should embrace it.

Score: 4

The Coasters: "Charlie Brown"

March 9, 1959 (1 week)

You would think that one of the iron laws of pop music is that you can't just repeat what you did before and expect the same amount of success. It has certainly been tried but it almost always fails, though this never seems to stop record companies from demanding more of the tried and tested formula (even if having just one hit is anything but 'tried and tested' at all).

The Coasters had been an up and coming vocal R&B group who had previously charted when both sides of their double-sided single "Young Blood" / "Searchin'" managed to make the the US Top 10. (Paired together as a single entry in the UK, it just barely cracked the Top 30 but they still managed to make an impact: both songs would end up being recorded by The Beatles for the BBC and their ill-fated 1962 Decca audition respectively) Simply put, they're both bangers. It's easy to imagine the public being split over which one they preferred since there's very little to choose from.

All four Coasters possessed tremendous voices but they were a vocal group from the fifties so of course they all did. What really set them apart was their humour. Studying the lyrics to both "Young Blood" and "Searchin'" you might not necessarily deliver them with tongue-in-cheek but they made the wise decision to do just that. Both would be a good deal creepier and more problematic without them treating the material as a joke. Writers Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller then apparently decided to run with it and give The Coasters a bona fide comedy song. "Yakety Yak" proved to be memorable even if the gag wore thin awfully fast. Better yet, it was a massive hit and one that is fondly remembered to this day — though not so much by me but I am one of those grumpy sorts who likes his comedy funny and his music not so annoying.

Leiber and Stoller then chose to push their luck with their next offering to one of their cash cow acts, the similarly prat fall-esque "Charlie Brown". If you had assumed — as I would have — that it would have been unlikely that a second comedy song would do as well as their first then you'd be dead wrong — indeed, as dead wrong as I would have been. The public ate it up giving them yet another megahit. But while "Yakety Yak" remains a staple of oldies radio/playlists and will even crop up in the odd movie, its follow-up hasn't had the legs to come even close to such a legacy.

Though there are apparently those out there who are convinced it's all about the lead character from the Peanuts comic strip, even a casual listen to the zany tune ought to rule out these claims. High octane antics weren't typically found in the adventures of Charlie Brown, Snoopy, Pigpen and the rest; instead, they were much more laid back, just the sort of cartoon that merited a cool jazz soundtrack. But I might be getting ahead of myself here: I don't think they were making Peanuts cartoons back in the fifties and it was just a newspaper comic strip. The point still stands, however: Charlie Brown was a neurotic boy who never stopped fretting about shit he had no control over and his "friends" were always mocking him for ruining everything. Jesus, those Peanuts kids sucked.

What Charlie Brown didn't do was all that "writing on the wall" and "pooping in the hall" that The Coasters claimed - and that's because the song isn't about the curiously bald nine-year-old with the yellow and black t-shirt. In fact, it's about a troublemaker with the same name. Or an alleged troublemaker. As the tall, gawky kid in school, I typically got into trouble for stuff instigated by those short devilish little shits who I always somehow befriended. Perhaps this Charlie guy is misunderstood or was just always in the wrong place at the wrong time and was surrounded by those horrible teachers who'd jump to conclusions rather than try to find out what actually happened. Damn, this bloody song really touched a nerve. I'd better wrap things up. 

Despite what I said above about the comedy not really hitting the mark, "Charlie Brown" is okay. Less irritating than "Yakety Yak" but not in the league of either "Young Blood" or "Searchin'". There's a reason The Beatles never bothered with it and I don't think it was all down to John Lennon being something of a Charlie Brown himself. They had gone to the well once too often but it still worked out. At least, for now. (Oh, and I am aware that the line is "goofin' in the hall" not "pooping..."; I misheard it and like all good monedgreens in pop, I prefer mine to the real thing)

Score: 5 

~~~~~

Can Con

I must confess that I'm a little ashamed as to my ignorance of some of these Canadian recording artists of the early rock 'n' roll era. Looking him up, it seems like I ought to be as familiar with Tommy Ambrose as I am fellow 'Tommy' entertainer Tommy Hunter. How have I not heard of him? I guess hosting your show that followed immediately after Hockey Night in Canada on Saturday nights went a long way. Though a Top 30 hit on the CHUM charts in the spring of '59, "The Magic of You" is currently unavailable on YouTube but b-side "The End of the World" is present for some reason. Ambrose sounds like yet another Elvis wannabe of the era; hopefully it wouldn't take him long to come to the realization that his future lay elsewhere. Perhaps we'll encounter him again in this space before long once he ended up giving his music a good rethink. 

David Seville & The Chipmunks: "Alvin's Harmonica"

March 2, 1959 (1 week)

Let's make this a short one. After-all, what more can be said about The Chipmunks that I haven't already gone into? "The Chipmunk Song" is bad and it was lucky to get a 3 from me last week. "Alvin's Harmonica" isn't so fortunate. Somehow or other, it's worse. Much worse in fact.

How about I tell you instead about my prejudices. It won't take long, I don't have many.

1) Motorcyclists

Seriously, what is with you people? I know there are drivers who run red lights, speed and behave like jackasses and there are pedestrians who j-walk and don't even get me started on those idiots who walk down the street staring at their phones the entire time but there are responsible people who get around either by motor car or on foot as well. If there's a motorcyclist out there who obeys the rules of the road then I've never met them. You guys are bad enough back in North America but here in Asia you're a menace. By the way, you look like children when you ride your bikes on the sidewalk. And we all say so. "Look at the baby on his bike. The poor baby is scared of the big, bad road."

2) Guys Called Alvin (or Calvin)

I don't care for these names. Granted, I haven't known a lot of people called either Alvin or Calvin but they strike me as names for people who have a very high regard for themselves with little to show for it. If anything, Calvins are worse: pop stars of very little in the way of talent but who are nonetheless convinced they're hot shit. I probably get this from Alvin & The Chipmunks. What makes him so special anyway? He's not a nerd like Simon? Not a plump dweeb like Theodore? Well, he must be great because he wears a baseball cap, am I right? He isn't carrying his brothers and may well be dragging them down. Nope, Alvin's a turd. On the one hand, I want to sympathize with David Seville for having to deal with this unruly little arse but he's happy to exploit them so maybe he deserves it. Besides, what kind of unprofessional doofus releases material of himself yelling at a trio of singing chipmunks anyway? Not that I'm siding with Alvin either: the two deserved each other. (Note: I will take this one back when and if I ever meet a nice person going by either 'Alvin' or 'Calvin'; I do not, however, retract anything I have to say about Melvin & The Squirrels Alvin & The Chipmunks nor their sad little svengali)

I'm done. Did I happen to mention that this single is a giant load of shite?

Score: 1

Ritchie Valens: "Donna" / "La Bamba"

February 2, 1959 (4 weeks)

As you no doubt just noticed, Ritchie Valens hit the number one spot on Canada's CHUM chart on the second day of February in 1959. It would also be the last full day of his life as the chartered airplane carrying himself, Buddy Holly and The Big Bopper crashed in the early hours of the 3rd. All three were killed instantly along with pilot Roger Peterson. While it would be nice to think that he learned of his smash hit up north, it's probable he had no idea. News didn't travel as quickly back then and it's likely that having a number one up in Canada wasn't even that big of a deal.

(The advantage Valens had north of the border was that "Donna" and "La Bamba" had been paired together rather than as separate chart entries like on the Hot 100. Had they been counted as one, it's quite possible he would have repeated the feat in the United States)

Ritchie Valens is a difficult individual to evaluate fairly. He died before reaching his eighteenth birthday so it's fair to say he had the potential to do a great deal more than the memorable and highly influential version of Mexican folk song "La Bamba", the fun and rollicking "Come on Let's Go" and the very much of-its-time syrupy love song "Donna". While it isn't ludicrous to suggest that Buddy Holly absolutely would have gone on to do a great deal had weather conditions been better in Iowa that fateful night, it's tough to make a similar claim for fellow passenger Valens. Just compare the very idea of what they might have done: Holly never got the chance to write or record his finest song but with Valens it's impossible to say either way.

A big part of my skepticism is with "Donna" being such a wet, near-caricature that would be funny if not for my feeling guilty at laughing at a doomed musician's tribute to his high school sweetheart. It's a heartfelt number no doubt but it sounds all too much like the product of teenage puppy love. Had he lived to a ripe old age it's quite possible it would have been forgotten or dismissed or apologized for as a twee bit of juvenalia by a respected songwriter who would go on to make many far better songs. Dying so tragically young gives an otherwise trivial tune far more weight than it deserves.

"Donna" was the side that most purchasers came for but its flip side "La Bamba" is its superior in every way - and I like to think that more than a few young people preferred it even then. Los Lobos' version — we'll be getting to it in time — from the 1987 Valens biopic of the same name is the better of the two but there's enough to enjoy in this "original". While "Donna" is by numbers rock 'n' roll balladeering, "La Bamba" actually brings out the best in Ritchie Valens as he merged modern day beat music with traditional Mexican folk. The playing could be a little more forceful but perhaps it was meant as a taster for how he could rip up a theatre when playing live. Fun, spirited, unique and the sort of song that gets stuck in your head and you really don't mind.

Ritchie Valens never got to grow as a songwriter, never developed musically, never really got the chance to explore styles beyond those he'd already covered and never blossomed creatively. He also never stalled, never became a parody of himself, never tried out embarrassing fads like having a disco period and never went downhill. He should have been able to have had a career that allowed for all of these things to happen (especially a disco run twenty years in the future). All we have are a couple of really good recordings — "Come on Let's Go" is his other excellent song — one that isn't up to much and a handful of serviceable tracks. Not much to go on. He deserved to rise and/or fall far higher and/or lower.

Score: 6

The Platters: "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes"

January 12, 1959 (3 weeks)

It feels like I'm harping on about this of late but I'm feeling vindicated in my criticisms of Tommy Edwards' "It's All in the Game". The Virginia-native had already done an exquisite version of the 1911 classic when the decision was made to remake it. 'Update it' is probably more accurate. The strings were toned down in favour of a prominent guitar, more forceful percussion and, egads, a chorus. The song's loveliness had been stripped away but how can I argue with success? A Top 20 hit in 1951 had suddenly become a chart topper seven years later.

"It's All in the Game" hadn't been alone as a standard that had been re-jigged for the rock 'n' roll/R&B era. Connie Francis' "Who's Sorry Now?" had been similarly updated, albeit with much more subtlety. Yet The Platters proved that there was still a place for the simple and classic as a means to make it to number one.

Clearly not everyone agreed with this assessment. While lyricist Otto Harbach is said to have approved of what The Platters had done with "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes", the widow of co-writer and Broadway legend Jerome Kern was so displeased that she threatened to have its release blocked. Perhaps she found the 1958 recording by singer-songwriter Richard Barrett to be objectionable (if that had been the case, she wouldn't have been wrong) or perhaps it had to do with matters I'd rather not speculate on in this space. In any case, it's hard to imagine she heard what The Platters had done with it and then said something like, "no, this will not do!"

While it's natural to assume that the great songs from Broadway's golden age had always been recognized as such, this wasn't always the case. "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" had originally been part of the 1933 musical-comedy Roberta. (Never heard of it? Me neither) While by no means a flop — it had an initial run on Broadway of over six months and it would soon be adapted into a feature film in Hollywood — it wasn't exactly a runaway smash either. Just another musical at a time when there were hundreds of them. Nevertheless, a good song can't remain hidden away forever. Even as early as 1934, it was already becoming a smash in its own right with a hit cover by the Paul Whiteman Orchestra. Many versions of it would come and go over the years with no one quite making their mark with it. (Charlie Parker's very brief, very scratchy rendition is barely recognizable though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised; no one listens to Bird expecting a faithful note-for-note copy of anything, even a Charlie Parker composition)

It would fall on The Platters to turn it into something really special. Doo-wop music can sometimes go overboard but they keep themselves in check here. In fact, it hardly seems like doo-wop at all. Lead singer Tony Williams (not to be confused with the jazz drummer of the same name) delivers an absolutely spell-binding performance, punching out every ounce of drama possible while managing to avoid sounding overbearing and/or melodramatic. He's so much the focal point that you'd be forgiven for scarcely noticing his fellow Platters. Yeah, they could have taken on a more prominent role but, then again, they were right to stay out of Williams' way. Though I already mentioned above that it was by then a standard, this was likely the point when it fully became one: once an interpretation becomes the one every subsequent rendition is based on is when the term 'standard' really does apply.

The Great American Songbook now seems like a curio. Aside from the likes of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" popping up on a holiday release, you don't get much from it anymore. This collection of classic pop songs is so formidable that it presents something of a no win situation for artists attempting to tackle them: stick to close to the standard and you run the risk of squeezing the life from it; stray too far and you'll wind up trivializing an all-time great. This approach can work exceptionally well such as with Willie Nelson's groundbreaking 1978 album Stardust. But stylistic changes ought to be used to service the song and not detract from it. Best leave the rock 'n' roll frills to the rock 'n' roll songs.

Score: 9

1958: Your Future's Looking Dim

8 — Billy Vaughn: "Sail Along Silvery Moon"

4 — Elvis Presley: "I Beg of You" / "Don't"

7 — The Silhouettes: "Get a Job"

6 — The Chantels: "Maybe"

4 — Chuck Berry: "Sweet Little Sixteen"

7 — The Champs: "Tequila"

2 — The Chordettes: "Lollipop"
8 — Connie Francis: "Who's Sorry Now?"

6 — Elvis Presley: "Wear My Ring Around Your Neck"

5 — David Seville: "Witch Doctor"

9 — The Everly Brothers: "All I Have to Do Is Dream"

6 — Bobby Freeman: "Do You Want to Dance"

1 — Sheb Wooley: "The Purple People Eater"

7 — Elvis Presley: "Hard Headed Woman"

5 — Ricky Nelson: "Poor Little Fool"

5 — Jack Scott: "My True Love"

7 — The Everly Brothers: "Bird Dog" / "Devoted to You"

4 — Robin Luke: "Suzie Darlin'"

5 — Tommy Edwards: "It's All in the Game"

8 — Conway Twitty: "It's Only Make Believe"

4 — The Kingston Trio: "Tom Dooley"

6 — Elvis Presley: "One Night" / "I Got Stung"

7 — The Teddy Bears: "To Know Him Is to Love Him"

3 — The Chipmunks with David Seville: "The Chipmunk Song"

"How does he decide the score?" I hear you ask. Good question. A lot it comes down to how a particular single measures up to the others, especially recent entries that I've reviewed. So, if I'm stuck I'll take a look at how I've scored others and see how they compare. "To Know Him Is to Love Him" felt like it ought to have been an 8 but I didn't think there was enough of a gap between it and "One Night" / "I Got Stung" which preceded it. If I have, say, a 4 earmarked for someone then I'll look at others with the same score to judge if I would rank them similarly.

With the exceptions of 1's and 10's, generally a score will have a margin of error of one point in either direction. Thus, "Do You Want to Dance" could plausibly be a 5 or a 7 depending on my mood at the time. Actually, Bobby Freeman's breakthrough hit isn't a great example: thinking about it now, it's a 6 and only a 6. But there are others this rule applies to. "Get a Job", "Tequilla", "Hard Headed Woman": all of the 7's come to think of it. 7 is a fascinating score being in that grey zone between the mediocrity of a 6 and the point where you enter banger territory of an 8.

One that is quite a bit different from the rest is "It's All in the Game" which ended up being compared to itself. Tommy Edwards' original from '51 was far too good while the remake from seven years later sounds like an anticlimax. It might have scored slightly higher had I not known about the earlier version though I can't imagine I would've been all that thrilled by it either way. Like the modern day 12" mix which sucks all the life out of a great pop song, this redo added much but also took an awful lot away from the original.

I had been worried that the novelty songs were going to drag the year down but one of them wasn't all that bad. The other two, however, are. Joining them is "Lollipop" which has next to no merit as well. Nothing else was bad though. So, four fantastic singles, five more that are quite good and bunch that are okay is not such a bad outcome. I had been expecting a whole lot worse.

Next up is 1959. We may see out first 10 this year though that does remain to be seen. On a sour note, one of the year's biggest hits is an absolute piece of crap and I don't imagine it will be the only one. But, hey, you might hate the songs but my writing about them can't be anywhere near as painful an experience as listening to them is. Right? Right???

The Chipmunks with David Seville: "The Chipmunk Song"

December 15, 1958 (4 weeks)

I wasn't aware of it at the time but I was becoming a music fan by the time I was around four. I had already some idea of what I liked and didn't. My favourite song was Frank Mills' "Music Box Dancer" and I also really liked The Beatles' "Baby's in Black" and "Rock and Roll Music", Blondie's "The Tide Is High" and Billy Joel's "My Life". I knew next to nothing about any of these people though I had some idea of who the Fab Four were. On the other side, I didn't care for Kiss - they scared the crap out of me - and I wasn't convinced by the bulk of the children's music my parents and/or friends and family had given me and my sister.

There was really only one that we liked and it was an LP called Sesame Street Disco, which we played to death, typically while dancing around the family room in the basement, my sister's Lite-Brite — minus the translucent pegs — providing the appropriate discotheque atmosphere. The others, not so much. My dad liked the Pete Seeger children's album we had on cassette more than we did and it being played on car trips only succeeded in getting us to despise folk music. Sharon, Lois & Bram, Fred Penner, Raffi: they were all good fun when we went to see them in concert but their albums could never keep my attention past one or two songs.

But the album we had the least amount of use for was The Twelve Days of Christmas with The Chipmunks. We played it once in December of 1981 and never again but it always seemed to be around. I remember kind of liking the title track but it doesn't take Alvin, Simon and Theodore to get me to into the joyous nonsense of 'four colley birds' and all that malarky. "The Twelve Days of Christmas" is a funny song with or without those naughty rodents. (Though, strangely, its many parodies are all universally unfunny) What's odd about this seasonal release is that their signature hit which first brought The Chipmunks to attention isn't even on it. The song that commonly has "Christmas Don't Be Late" in parentheses. Whatsmore, it didn't matter in the least. Having "The Chipmunk Song" on it wouldn't have improved it any way. That said, it also wouldn't have made it any worse so there's that.

It isn't simply that the high-pitched Chipmunk vocals are annoying — though they certainly are — but that the song itself is dire. It being not quite the middle of September, I'm not especially keen to be listening to much in the way of Christmas music but I nevertheless put myself through two whole minutes of The Goo Goo Dolls and their 2002 cover renamed "Christmas Don't Be Late". John Rzenik isn't one of my favourite vocalists and he's particularly raspy here and there's nothing he nor his fellow Dolls can do with it. If anything, I find myself missing The Chipmunks since at least they managed to make it distinctive.

"The Chipmunk Song" was the last CHUM number one of 1958 as well as being the third and final novelty chart topper that year. While Seville's earlier "Witch Doctor" was a bit of a pleasant surprise (if it's possible for a song that is merely okay to qualify in that category) and "The Purple People Eater" was unbearably awful, this one falls right in between — with the score to prove it. Still really bad but I could manage to get through it two or three times without being overcome by the overwhelming urge to stab myself in the eye with a compass. What "Witch Doctor" has over it is, quite obviously, far less of a reliance on the helium-voice effects as well as a catchy tune that could hold up on its own well enough even without the accompanying gimmicks. There will be other novelty number ones going forward but they'll never command a year in quite the same way. Fine by me.

Score: 3

The Teddy Bears: "To Know Him Is to Love Him"

December 1, 1958 (2 weeks)

Let's leave aside murder, spousal abuse and keeping firearms with him in the studio and just discuss a problem I have long had with Phil Spector: his music wasn't all that great. Not all of it, mind you, but a little of his trademark Wall of Sound could go a long way. Within two months from now we'll begin to hear Christmas music in public places and while for many cafes and shops, there's not much to play beyond Mariah Carey and Wham!, there will be some space reserved for selections from A Christmas Gift for You, Spector's seasonal magnum opus. 'Selections' is a key word here since in truth it's a chore getting through its full thirty-four minute running time. Heaven help you if you're committed enough for his vast Back to Mono boxset. Nope, the production work of this demented genius is best served by some of his magnificent singles rather than in album form.

(To even describe it as "his music" is to give the douchebag more credit than he deserves. Like the coach who demands pro athletes play his way, he couldn't not make everything about himself rather than work around the skills of those he was producing. Following the chaotic sessions for the Rock 'n' Roll album, Spector sent the following message to his one time friend: "I only went into the studio to do one thing, and you can tell this to John Lennon. They were making records, but I was making art...")

Perhaps this explains why I'll inevitably be praising the bulk of the six or seven CHUM number ones he had something to do with despite the fact that I don't think much of him. It helps, too, that they'll be spread out over the next several months and even years as we cover his beginnings as a young and hungry producer and songwriter to his early sixties' peak to the cusp of his mental breakdown and, finally, to a brief renaissance alongside individuals who were his creative superior before the wheels came off for good. Oh what a wild ride it will be.

Let's begin with "To Know Him Is to Love Him" by his trio The Teddy Bears. When Spector was nine his father committed suicide. His would tombstone read, 'To Know Him Was to Love Him' which clearly stuck with the grieving boy. He would eventually form a band in high school which would evolve into the trio The Teddy Bears along with friends Carol Connors and Marshall Leib. Searching for a hit, the mercurial teenage songwriter came up with "To Know Him Is to Love Him" which transforms the sorrow of losing a parent at a young age into the heartbreak of unrequited love.

The song didn't just become a big hit but it also went on to become a favourite of a number of budding pop stars and, as a result, it has been covered a great deal over the years. While I have no doubt that it sounded magnificent at the time, the very fact that virtually everyone who has done a cover of it has at least equaled its quality does diminish the original a tad. The Beatles — I really can't stop bringing them up, can I? — did two recordings of it (with the lyrics altered to "To Know Her Is to Love Her"; some subsequent versions have made it gender neutral) with their Live at the BBC rendition from 1963 being especially good, with stronger harmonies and musicianship. If you prefer something more delicate, it's hard to beat Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt and Emmylou Harris' reading from their 1987 collaborative album Trio. That's not to say that I'm not impressed by The Teddy Bears and their original, it's just it's hard to be wowed by something that others managed to equal or even top.

"To Know Him Is to Love Him" was a massive success but The Teddy Bears were not able to keep the momentum going with its follow-up "I Don't Need You Anymore", which only just cracked the lower reaches of the Billboard Hot 100. You'd think that having a major hit be followed by a giant flop would have prepared Spector for the ups and downs of fickle pop fans and radio programmers but the crushing disappointment and bursts of madness that resulted from the lack of a decent chart placement for both Ike & Tina Turner's "River Deep — Mountain High" and then-wife Ronnie's "Try Some, Buy Some" suggest he didn't learn a goddamn thing. He was right, everyone else was wrong: a definite red flag that you're dealing with a giant piece of shit.

Can't wait to hate listen to his next number one!

Score: 7

Elvis Presley: "One Night" / "I Got Stung"

November 17, 1958 (2 weeks)

Elvis Presley's seventh number one hit on the CHUM chart is the start of a lengthy run of chart topping double A-sides for The King. The relatively poor "I Beg of You" / "Don't" was his first but it was followed by both "Wear My Ring Around Your Neck" and "Hard Headed Woman" which somehow managed to do just find on their own. But from this point all the way up until the dawn of Beatlemania

A possible reason for this was because the Billboard Hot 100 permitted A and B sides to chart separately during this time which sort of made the differentiation redundant. DJ's and listeners could fight it out among themselves over which side of a single became more prominent, leaving artists, managers, producers and A&R reps to not have to worry about such matters. Though it may not have altered the approach of some groups, in effect, every single had become a double A side. Even those that weren't worthy

Clearly there had been some debate in Elvis' camp over which of "One Night" and "I Got Stung" ought to get the feature role. (You'd think that sharing the A side would have decided such a non-issue, wouldn't you?) On some covers of the American single, "I Got Stung" has the larger print size; on others, it's "One Night". Much like "I Beg of You" and "Don't", there is a sense that he was catering to different sets of fans on each side. I generally prefer more uptempo music and often resent how a slow song (or 'ballad' if you must) can throw an album off. As such I ought to prefer "I Got Stung" of the two. I do not.

No, "One Night" is an easy choice here and it even exposes the folly of these half-baked double A's. Had it been released on its own, I would be giving it a stronger score than the one given bellow but it gets docked for having to carry the so-so number that has tagged along with it. While not exactly a top tier Elvis number, it rests comfortably in the next level along with fellow CHUM number ones "All Shook Up" and the recent "Hard Headed Woman". Being a cover of a sizable R&B hit for New Orleans singer Smiley Lewis, it has plenty of sleazy gospel which Elvis always seemed at home with. His manager and record company tried to talk him out of recording it but he insisted, with only minor alterations to the lyrics in order to make it less obviously about sex. It's as if devout Christians have trouble keeping their noses clean — not to mention other extraneous body parts.

By contrast, "I Got Stung" is a filler. Fine enough as the sort of B side that you listen to once, never play again and then hear on a compilation and think "oh, this isn't so bad". And while it isn't so bad, it isn't all that brilliant either. Compared to the down and dirty passion on the other side, the narrative of being stung as a metaphor for falling in love seems especially trivial. Those who held the puppet strings had no qualms about him recording this one (if anything, they probably pressed for it to be the headline song in favour of its much more controversial companion). The fact that it was quickly forgotten while "One Night" was considered highly enough to merit inclusion on Elvis' famed comeback special says it all.

I've spent much of this blog so far discussing when exactly Elvis started to go downhill but now I intend to move on a look for great double A-sides of his that had been hiding in plain sight. I expect that the bulk of them will have one top notch song backed by a very unremarkable track but I'm hoping there will be one that might be able to at least begin to approach the high quality of "Don't Be Cruel" / "Hound Dog" or "Strawberry Fields Forever" / "Penny Lane" "Let's Spend the Night Together" / "Ruby Tuesday" or "Going Underground" / "Dreams of Children" or "Megablast" / "Don't Make Me Wait". It's a tall order but The King has pleasantly surprised me so far so he may just do it again. I'll keep you posted.

Score: 6

The Kingston Trio: "Tom Dooley"

November 3, 1958 (2 weeks)

So apparently I'm really missing out by not yet having seen Inside Llweyn Davis. David Hepworth has brought up this 2013 motion picture on more than one occasion on The Word podcast he co-hosts with Mark Ellen. I've heard it mentioned elsewhere though I couldn't tell you most of the sources. I suppose I ought to see it, it's just a matter of how. It doesn't appear to be on Netflix in my part of the world so basically my hands are tied for now. It sure would be nice to have a neighbourhood video rental shop now!

Until then I'll have to rely on 2003's A Mighty Wind for the purposes of this entry. I just re-watched it in fact, on the long obscure VCD format. (What can I say? I've been in Asia for a while now) At the time I remember being puzzled about the film's idea of folk music. These groups getting together for a tribute show to their manager from back in the sixties didn't represent the genre that my parents attempted (and failed) to get me to appreciate when I was growing up. The New Main Street Singers? Creepy evangelical music. The Folksmen? Purveyors of unfunny novelty songs about diners and barnyard animals. (Which is not to say the movie itself isn't very funny because it is) Mitch & Mickey? Yeah, they were probably the closest having clearly been modeled on Ian & Sylvia — not coincidentally played by fellow Canadians Eugene Levy and Catherine O'Hara respectively — but hardly voices of a generation or any of that claptrap.

It was only until I got older that I realised that my concept of folk was as manufactured as anybody else's. There have been figures like Woody Guthrie, Bob Dylan and Billy Bragg over the years to represent the "protest" side of folk (and in Dylan's case, that's really only some of the time) but that has only ever been one branch — and these three all wrote and performed love songs so it wasn't like they were always out in the streets with megaphones either (come to think of it, I'm not sure Dylan ever did that). Other folkies may have done some protest songs but few did so often and hardly any others ended up getting tied to them.

The truth is, folk has always been far more diverse than it's given credit for. Perhaps this is why a hip hop group like Arrested Development can get away with appearing at summertime folk fests that aren't as righteously puritan as others. Folk isn't so much a style of music than it is a way of life or philosophy. As such, a group of squares like The Kingston Trio hardly seem to belong at all anymore.

It seems like there's some polarization when it comes to their biggest hit "Tom Dooley". Young and impressionable student types in the late fifties and early sixties seemed to eat this shit up — and they'll stand by it to this day. The songs of our youths can do such things to otherwise rational individuals. On the other hand, subsequent generations have become far less charitable towards the first folk song to get to number one. Tom Breihan reckons, in his usual over-the-top fashion, that it "sounds like the rankest kind of poverty tourism". Such bluster for a mere pop song, you gotta love it. He seems to dock it points because of how the Kingstons allegedly trivialize a murder ballad by making it a "showcase for their tastefully plucked banjos and their bleached-out harmonies". Oh dear me.

I don't completely disagree with Breihan's critique but his overthinking it (and, seemingly, having too much sympathy for the song's subject who was on death row for murdering his lover and who also happened to have been a Confederate soldier; I can't say I'm losing sleep over him myself) makes me want to side with The Kingston Trio — at least up to a point. The critical grilling it deserves is for its undeniable blandness; otherwise, I don't give a shit. Taking the killer's side (or, more accurately, seeing it from his or her perspective) may be something Johnny Cash and Bruce Springsteen have done successfully but that doesn't have to be the only way to tackle a murder ballad. Some may opt for siding with the victim while others, like the Kingstons, use it for little more than reportage.

Simply put, "Tom Dooley" isn't worth the effort on either end. It's virtually impossible to see why folkies in '58 were so taken by it but it doesn't deserve the hate either. It's a record to feel extremely neutral about. For this reason, it feels like there isn't quite an equivalent to The Kingston Trio depicted in A Mighty Wind. The New Main Street Singers are much too cringey to come close while The Folksmen are somehow both far too serious and too much the lame comedy act. As for Mitch & Mickey, now you're just being silly. Perhaps I really do have to check out this Inside Llewyn Davis thing. If only Coen brothers pictures didn't bore me so — aside from The Big Lebowski of course.

Fifties' coffeehouse folk isn't for everyone but that's also the case with folk in general — and, indeed, every other genre. Like a lot of individuals who hit it big where others failed, The Kingston Trio got lucky. They weren't exactly chart sensations but they did have a few Top 40 hits until Dylan and Beatlemania put an end to them. Folk music owed a lot to them: they were around until the precise moment they were no longer needed. Funny how that works.

Score: 4

~~~~~

Can Con

The Canadians are slowly starting to come on strong here. Even with Anka missing, three home grown entries are present. I've already gone over both The Diamonds and Jack Scott so let's focus on The Four Lads. If they had intended to make The Kingston Trio look like testosterone-fueled ruffians by comparison then they couldn't have been more successful. "The Mocking Bird" could actually be a good song if someone other than them had given it a go but perhaps they all understandably became turned off by this load of sheer crumminess. A welcome reminder that just being Canadian doesn't mean you should be given the benefit of the doubt. So they were Nickelback before Nickelback.

Conway Twitty: "It's Only Make Believe"

October 20, 1958 (2 weeks)

You name someone 'Conway Twitty' you're setting them up for a career as a country music singer. Well, not quite. First, he started out in rock 'n' roll and rockabilly and only went the C&W route when he was in his thirties. Second, he had been a serious Major League Baseball prospect prior to making his way in music, with the Philadelphia Phillies going as far as offering him a contract. Third, he contemplated life as a Christian preacher before that. And finally, 'Conway Twitty' was a stage name. Oh, and he was going to revert to his real name when he made the crossover into country until he reconsidered it. (Otherwise, I stand by what said above)

Conrad Marcellus Twitterman Harold Lloyd Jenkins lived quite the life before stardom with a stint serving in the American armed forces wedged in between his time as a promising baseball player and a rising rock star. It was while he was posted in Asia that he formed a band called the Cimmarons which pointed the way forward. While it's easy to imagine a young man from Arkansas called Harold Jenkins as the Phillies' starting shortstop — assuming that's the position he played — his birth name wasn't going to cut it in the world of showbusiness. The story goes that he named himself after the towns of Conway, Arkansas and Twitty, Texas and he was away. Doesn't seem especially glamourous but maybe that was the key. A good stage name shouldn't sound made up even though that's exactly what it is.

Upon Twitty's death in 1993, the talk was about losing a country music legend who had more number one hits than anyone in history, more than Elvis, more than The Beatles. And, yes, his total number of chart toppers is impressive. Forty-one on Billboard. Damn. One thing about that though: precisely forty of them were on the country music charts. Only one got to the top of the pop charts and it's the subject of today's entry: "It's Only Make Believe", number one in the US, UK and Canada in the latter part of 1958.

Tom Breihan calls it a banger. Uh, not quite. What we have is a vocal masterclass on the part of Twitty with a competent enough backing that may or may not even need to be on the recording for all it matters. What we're here for is the singing. And bloody hell, there's no way he could have hit a line drive or preached some Christian madness or been a sleazy G.I. in Asia as well as could hit those notes. It is astonishing. He sounds like Elvis at the start but by the end it's hard to remember the names of any of his contemporaries. The one real helping hand is — them again, bloody hell they were everywhere — The Jordanairs, who aid him along to build the tension as the dramatics pile on top of one another.

So, why is it not quite as brilliant as Breihan thinks? Well, the Twitty's vocals are more than enough to make it well above average as well as the type of thing you'd wish to come back to again and again but there ought to have been something else to really put it over the top. It's great that the music doesn't intrude but what if it had been able to be even half as dynamic as the vocalist? I get that it's all done in service to Twitty and that's perfectly fine. In fact, I probably wouldn't change "It's Only Make Believe" even if I could. If the worst thing you can say about a single is that it falls just shy of being an all-time classic then you've done well for yourself.

While not quite fit for Con Can, much less a little maple leaf next to this entry on the 1958 sidebar, Twitty did have serious connections to Canada which are well worth mentioning. For one thing, "It's Only Make Believe" was written with bandmate Jack Nance during a break at the Flamingo Lounge in Hamilton (Fred Bronson in The Billboard Book of Number One Hits states that it was in Toronto but that's like confusing Fort Lauderdale for Miami or Incheon for Seoul: understandable but incorrect all the same). Just as significantly, he would suggest touring up north of the border to friend and fellow Arkansan Ronnie Hawkins, recommending Ontario in particular for the audiences who really like them some down home rockabilly. Hawkins would end up relocating permanently to Toronto and he went on to become something of a national treasure in his adopted homeland. As such, Conway Twitty played an important role in Canadian music history. Just think how revered he'd have been had he also been the starting shortstop for the 1969 Montreal Expos.

Score: 8

Tommy Edwards: "It's All in the Game"

September 29, 1958 (3 weeks)

Fears on my part that the CHUM chart might resemble the American Hot 100 a little too closely have happily been proven to have been misplaced. From Jimmy Dorsey's mostly wonderful "So Rase" right up to Robin Luke's just okay "Susie Darlin'", there have been a number of Canadian number ones which failed to repeat the trick down south. There has been plenty of crossover as well but not nearly enough to render this blog to utter pointlessness. Unfortunately, this divergence between the Canadian and US number ones mostly took a pause for the remainder of 1958. So much for trying to be different from our neighbours to the south.

As many people know, "It's All in the Game" was already an old song in 1958, having been initially written by future American vice president and Nobel laureate Charles Dawes as the instrumental "Melody in A Major" way back in 1911. It was even an old Tommy Edwards song by the late fifties. The singer had previously recorded it seven years earlier and it had been a sizable hit for him, peaking inside the US Top 20. This recording also happens to be a good deal stronger than the present — and far more famous — version of the same song which topped the charts around the world.

The original puts Edwards' gorgeously expressive voice at the forefront, something which must have been obvious to the single's producers and/or engineers considering they had the next best thing to Nat King Cole at the mic. The only backing he needed was a tasteful string section, a piano part that doesn't need to draw attention to itself and the odd woodwind popping up. Nothing else was added because nothing else was needed.

Seven years later the decision was made to have "It's All in the Game" redone so that it would transfer better over to the new stereo format. They could have just had Edwards give his vocal another go and hired either the same orchestra or another one to replicate what had been done the first time round. Instead, it was decided that it needed to address the recent rock 'n' roll boom despite the fact that Edwards being in his early thirties had no use for that noise the youngsters had been subjecting themselves to. This time there's a mere string quartet to accompany a guitar, drums and a piano that suddenly wished to stand out. Oh, and there's a group of backing singers present, no doubt trying (but ultimately failing) to emulate The Jordanaires. Plus, someone had the bright idea to toy with the sound of Edwards' voice, giving it a needless echo. So many additions that ultimately add nothing. 

The whole thing would be an even bigger mess had the composition not been so outstanding. A good song can withstand a great deal and this is far from the worst example of drenching a tune in far too many frills. Had there not been the '51 version, there's a pretty good chance I'd be every bit as impressed by the '58 rendition as its many fans are to this day. But the classy simplicity of the former makes it an easy choice over the former which just has way too much going on for its own good.

This re-recording of "It's All in the Game" was not unlike when The Beach Boys ended up re-tooling deep cut "Help Me Rhonda" from their album Today! and giving it a commercial sheen for its single release — as well as the curiously pointless editing of the girl's name to 'Ronda'. It's understandable why they chose to do it but something was lost in having done so. In fact, it's probably worse than The Beach Boys since "Ronda" was only revamped in order it rid it of the kazoo, hokey guitar part and needless drop outs; removing the clutter makes far more sense than adding to it.

'51 Version Score: 8

'58 Version Score: 5 (which, sadly, is the one we're going with)

Robin Luke: "Susie Darlin'"

September 15, 1958 (2 weeks)

Well, what can be said about this number one hit from September of 1958? I have a few thoughts but they don't really come together in a unified review so I figured I'd jot them all down in point form this time.

— I've twice been to Hawaii. More precisely, my wife and I went to Oahu at the start of 2019 and we returned just over a year ago as a creative stopover on the way back to Canada. We loved everything about it except for how prohibitively expensive everything is. I heard an awful lot of ukuleles when I was there. Not, mind you, being played by buskers on shabby Honolulu streets but in well-appointed shopping centres. As you might expect, they've turned the instrument into a sanitized part of the local culture. I like that they are keen to build up the legacy of Israel "Bruddah Iz" Kamakawiwo'ole but not so much when it comes to sanitizing traditional Hawaiian culture. In any case, it would be kind of nice to hear "Susie Darlin'" when I'm visiting Oahu as well. Robin Luke is no Bruddah Iz but I'll take him over bloody Don Ho any day.

— So, I'm beginning to think that many of the things music enthusiasts say about The Beatles are bullshit. Actually, I've long suspected this. They didn't invent the pop video, the double album nor the concept of a rock group. Plus, they didn't really invent the concept of writing your own songs either. (If anything, they and Bob Dylan pioneered the idea that one must compose the bulk of their material) You've got to think that writing songs just comes naturally to many young musicians, especially those growing up in a time when the amount of music made available to them was in limited supply. It's easy to imagine a teenager like Robin Luke owning half-a-dozen scratchy 45's while his pals at school have similar sized collections. You've only got so many songs to listen to so you might as well create some of your own.

— I really must stop bringing up The Beatles so much on here. I'll be blogging about many of their own Canadian number ones and I really ought to save the majority of my observations on them for when we get to 1964 and beyond. I don't see myself cutting them out completely but I could do with trimming the Fab Four references down somewhat.

— If you're going to be a one-hit wonder you might as well make it count. (Wait, by definition that's what a one-hit wonder is, right?) Okay, not much of an observation. Let's see...All right, I've got something. It must be nice to come from an era in which a recording artist has just one hit single and they're not dunked on for the rest their life for it. Since Americans have to make everything about themselves, they seem to delight in giggling over the likes of Dexys Midnight Runners and Soft Cell and Madness and Thomas Dolby for "only" having one giant hit. This ignores the fact that they had several successful singles in the UK or elsewhere. Not as much seems to be said about Americans who only managed a single hit. For what it's worth, Robin Luke has claimed that he never dreamed of having a professional singing career. He would go on to become an academic. Respect to him for the life he has had in and out of music. Also, stop crapping on one-hit wonders!

— A lot of the recent Canadian number ones covered here have been songs that have grown on me but "Susie Darlin'" isn't one of them. I'm not quite sick of it but I've heard it enough, thank you very much. Catchy and cute it certainly is but it doesn't go anywhere. Hey, as I would also say about the teen songwriter Sharon Sheeley, his work may have been trite but I couldn't have written anything close to as good as "Susie Darlin'" or any of his far less successful follow-ups (and songwriting was my strong suit when I was in a hopeless junior high group). It isn't anything all that special but it certainly holds up next to your typical lousy high school poem about the "mind's eye". Is that the best that I can say for it? I'm afraid so.

Score: 4

The Everly Brothers: "Bird Dog" / "Devoted to You"

August 25, 1958 (3 weeks)

With "Bye Bye Love", "Wake Up Little Susie" and "All I Have to Do Is Dream" all done and dusted, Don and Phil Everly would only have one more hit single in them that the general public would become widely familiar with. Wait, only? Only??? Having four very well known hits is really good going if you think about it. It's about three more than some of the biggest acts in pop music history.

Anyway, they were down to just one more big time number but neither "Bird Dog" nor "Devoted to You" was going to be it. No, they were going to have to wait until 1960 and the release of US/UK chart topper "Cathy's Clown" (which, for the record, just missed out on the top spot in Canada which naturally means it won't be appearing in this space). Until then, the Everlys were going to just have to make very good country-pop records that would chart well but few would remember even just a handful of years later. (Edit: Wait. Are "Crying in the Rain" and "Lucille" famous enough to be included? I don't think they were quite as big as the others but they can be on the periphery of signature Everlys' numbers)

As if they were hedging their bets, the Everlys decided to put out a double A-side as their follow up to their spring '58 smash "All I Have to Do Is Dream". They must have known what they were doing — either that or someone from their record label Cadence did. Except for the fact that nothing of the sort happened. American pressings had "Devoted to You" as 'side 1' with "Bird Dog" as 'side 2'. (Didn't anyone notify them that singles have lettered sides while albums are numbered? It's just basic vinyl common sense) Perhaps feeling weary from a back-to-back slow love songs, DJ's and the public opted for its lighter, more amusing flip side, which was definitely the right call.

Much like an E.P., a double A can be a nice way of presenting a fuller representation of where a group is at than a typical single release. Take The Beatles and the single which ought to have been their first double side. "I Feel Fine" and "She's a Woman" are both a little flawed and mundane but the two hint at a great deal that was coming. The latter opens with that trademark bit of feedback and the guitar work in general is terrific. Though played enthusiastically, it's a rather hollow song especially in the context of recent John Lennon compositions with far greater depth. Its B-side was very much the same even though it is an altogether different song. Derived from the emerging ska scene, its bouciness is tempered by a clanging proto-industrial sound. Great musically but the lyrics are a mess. Paul McCartney has never been much of a wordsmith (the title character from "Maxwell's Silver Hammer"  is either a little boy or a university student) and "She's a Woman" is one of his weaker efforts in that regard as he seemingly went through a rhyming dictionary to get everything to fit.

Back to Don and Phil Everly, their double sided effort of "Bird Dog" and "Devoted to You" proved to be much less ambitious than the Fab Four with "I Feel Fine" and "She's a Woman" but neither were they as flawed. The latter has a much rougher edge to it than your typical Everly hit, with the guttural 'he's a bird'/'he's a dog' something of a welcome addition when held up against those sweet, southern harmonies they'd been perfecting since childhood. (It's a shame they never seemed to go in the direction of grittier country music following the magnificent 1968 album Roots) "Devoted to You" is less immediate than its companion. While lovely, it feels too much like a deep cut off a studio album that the hardcore fanbase latches on to rather than as a serious single in its own right.

Neither side is particularly stunning but they're both strong enough and could easily take a spot on any good Everly's compilation — as, indeed, they typically do to this day. But they likely weren't winning over any new fans with this single the way they would have with their three big hits that preceded it. Not every song can be a winner and they can't all knock the socks off listeners. Still, even when they were serving up just reasonable fare by their own standards it was still well above just about everyone else at the time. It's just too bad they won't be coming up in this space again since the likes of "Cathy's Clown", "Walk Right Back" and "Crying in the Rain" would have been welcome additions. They may have "only had four songs most people can remember but there were many, many more that deserve to be much better known.

Score: 7

Jack Scott: "My True Love"

August 18, 1958 (1 week)

As a Canadian, it is my duty to know the names of every individual who has achieved even the slightest bit of fame, especially if they managed to do so south of the border. I tend not to reveal how proud I am of them but I do know who they all are. Or perhaps not. The number one single on the CHUM chart for the week of August 18, 1958 was by a gentlemen who I'd never heard of before going by the name of Jack Scott. I have no excuse as both a Canadian and a music obsessive but I had never heard of him until this past week.

Hailing from Windsor, Ontario, Giovanni Domenico Scafone Jr spent the first ten years of his life in Canada. Then, his family moved across the Detroit River to Hazel Park, Michigan where he would more or less remain for the rest of his life. While differences might be more noticeable now, it is likely that crossing the world's longest undefended border wasn't that big a deal, especially to a family that could still see the city and country they'd just left. At a time when families risked everything in order to cross the Atlantic for a better life, crossing a river was nothing. (In fact, it still is, especially if you have a bridge to aid you in your journey)

An Italian-Canadian-American of the time would have been expected to be into Frank Sinatra or Mario Lanza or the current chart topping smash on the newly established Billboard Hot 100 Domenico Modugno's "Volare (Nel blu, dipinto del blu)" (it only managed to peak at number two in Canada so we won't be dealing with it here). For all we know, Scafone did indeed dig them but his true love was heartbreaking country and western laments. Perhaps feeling that his given name might end up holding him back, he subsequently had himself re-christened as 'Jack Scott' just to make him seem as WASP-y as possible.

"My True Love", Scott's first hit, takes some getting used to. It isn't simply a slow song like "Please Don't Go Girl" or "Right Here Waiting" for horny teens at a junior high dance, it's a slow song. Dude, pick up the pace! Though running at a then-standard two minutes and forty seconds, it initially fails to keep the listener's attention for not even half its length. Gradually, however, it gets more tolerable. Fellow Windsor natives The Chantones do provide a welcome spark with their doo-wop backing vocals. While still plodding, it slowly builds into something rather impressive. Not exactly completely enjoyable but impressive all the same.

Jack Scott would go on to have five Top 5 hits in Canada as well as some more success north of the border. (Note: The Detroit-Windsor crossing is a rare example of Canada being to the south of the US. Sorry but it was necessary for me to explain the gag) Though the chart positions would being to slip during the early sixties, he nonetheless maintained a very respectable career as a singer-songwriter until his death in 2019. Plus, did I mention that he was Canadian and maintained close ties with his country of birth? I really should have known who he was even if his records aren't exactly to my taste.

Score: 5