1957: Do Your Stuff

7 — Elvis Presley: "All Shook Up"

4 — Pat Boone: "Love Letters in the Sand" 

7 — Jimmy Dorsey with Orchestra and Chorus: "So Rare"

5 — Elvis Presley: "(Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear"

4 — Paul Anka: "Diana"

5 — Jimmie Rodgers: "Honeycomb"

9 — The Bobbettes: "Mr. Lee"

8 — The Everly Brothers: "Wake Up Little Susie"

3 — Bobby Helms: "My Special Angel"

9 — Elvis Presley: "Jailhouse Rock"

7 — The Rays: "Silhouettes"

7 — Sam Cooke: "You Send Me"

5 — Bill Justis: "Raunchy"

5 — Danny & The Juniors: "At the Hop"

Though some of the scores may suggest otherwise, I rather enjoyed these number one hits on Canada's CHUM chart from 1957. Being a music fan who considers fifties' jazz to be vastly superior to either pop or rock 'n' roll from the same period, I hadn't been expecting much but I was pleasantly surprised by a few selections. Jimmy Dorsey's "So Rare" was an early highlight and it would have scored even higher had it not been for that horrible and superfluous chorus. "Jailhouse Rock" proved to be much better than I remember it being, even if I could probably knock it down to an eight depending on my mood. But the real stand out was "Mr. Lee" which I even considered giving a ten at one point until it dawned on me that full marks should be saved for records that I don't have to think about.

There are two big disappointments in this batch as well. The first is "Honeycomb", which impressed me a first only to start to get on my nerves even before that first listen had ended. The other is "Raunchy", which, if nothing else, is proof that simply being 'influential' is not good enough if listening to the bloody thing is otherwise such a chore. (Honestly, I'm a little surprised I didn't give it an even lower score than the modest five it received) As for "My Special Angel", the lowest rated number one hit of the year, it didn't disappoint. I wasn't expecting anything from it and that's exactly what I got. Credit where credit is due.

But '57 is a pretty decent year for Canadian number ones all things considered. There will be stronger twelve month periods ahead but no doubt others will be weaker. A good start.

Next up is 1958. I had been dreading this year of lame novelty hits but I think there are a few gems sprinkled throughout as well. Also, the comedy songs aren't quite as commonplace as I had been expecting. With Elvis' eminent induction into the US military and the overall slowing down of rock 'n' roll's early rush, there was plenty of crap to fill the void but I'm anticipating a respectable collection of hits to come.

Finally, thanks for reading this blog. Please message, friend request or follow me on Facebook, comment, share or just remain silent and keep it to yourself. Whatever you like. I'm in no position to be expecting other people to do the sort of stuff I seldom do.

Danny & The Juniors: "At the Hop"

23 December 1957 (3 weeks)

As a Canadian, I feel a bit resentful that I even know who Dick Clark is. A national treasure in the US he may have been but what does that have to do with the country I come from? American Bandstand meant nothing to me, my sister or any of my friends — yet we would occasionally watch Solid Gold — and I'm not sure it played a significant role among Baby Boomers north of the border either. My parents would talk about watching The Ed Sullivan Show, The Honeymooners, the Mary Tyler Moore Show, Bonanza and the Beverly Hillbillies but I never heard them say anything about seeing the Bee Gees or Gladys Knight on America's favourite pop music show. (For all I know, it wasn't even on Canadian TV back in the sixties) Clark's other notable cultural touchstone was his New Year's Eve show. Again, this was something I never watched and never even considered tuning in to. (Why else would we have local programming if not to see newcasters out of their element on a stage in downtown Calgary uncharismatically counting down the seconds to 1987?) Ultimately, the only reason I know of him is because he would regularly be referenced on favourite American sitcoms of mine — as well as his ghastly appearance in Bowling for Columbine.

Dick Clark got his start as a DJ during the early days of the rock 'n' roll era. While his more rotund and/or bespectacled contemporaries found the transition to be difficult, he managed to make the shift over to TV due in no small part to his boyish looks. But before that really started to happen, he was using his status as a radio personality to influence up and coming groups. On the one hand, this proved to be beneficial. When songwriters Artie Singer, John Medora and David White approached him with their composition "Do the Bop", he opined that it was a little late in the game for them to be jumping on the bandwagon of the latest dance craze of the same name. Instead, he suggested that their catchy number should be a celebration of teenagers getting together to dance at a school gymnasium which had come to be known as a 'hop'. So far, so helpful — or so it would seem.

But there was a price to be paid — literally. While Clark's input could have merited a songwriting credit (Sting contributed far less to the Dire Straits smash "Money for Nothing" and he's listed as one of its songwriters), he chose to demand half the publishing royalties. Not, mind you, for his creative input but for the seemingly herculean task of playing the record on his radio show. This practice would come to be known as 'payola' but it's fine by me if you prefer to use the term 'conflict of interest'. While not illegal in 1957, DJ's like Clark must have known that it was unethical to make such a demand. But, hey, where would rock 'n' roll be without guys with misplaced egos spinning records on the radio and concluding that it's all about them?

It's interesting to think what a single like "At the Hop" could have done without the help of an influential media mogul getting kick backs. On the one hand, it was a big hit in a number of countries where Clark's reach didn't extend; in the UK, for example, it spent seven weeks in the Top 5, peaking at number three. In addition, the fact that it spent five weeks at the top of the American charts as well as three in Canada indicates that plenty of young people liked it. Payola tactics resulted in records getting played a lot but it didn't do much to impact kids either requesting it or buying a copy of their own. That said, the boost it would have received from Clark made people aware of it in the first place. An equally good or better 45 made by people who weren't in cahoots with with shady disc jockeys wouldn't have stood a chance in this environment.

The fact that I could go either way on "At the Hop" sort of says it all. The tune is enjoyable with a hook that is strong enough to make for an annoying earworm which nearly makes up for the white-bred frat boy vocals. Then there's the fact that its lyrics trade on generalities and cliches about "chicks" and "cats" getting down to the latest dance sensation (a remnant of it originally being a song about bopping) rather than the lived experience of kids who were growing up in this era. This was the conundrum of fifties' pop: professional songwriters could be relied upon to consistently deliver a solid product but did gentlemen in their thirties really understand youths they were catering towards? Having said that, I'm clearly listening to it with a gulf of almost seventy years' worth of pop music history.

This benefit of hindsight, however, allows for a greater appreciation of the original "Do the Bop" as performed by Danny & The Juniors under their original name The Juvenairs earlier in 1957. In truth, there isn't a great deal of difference between the two except to say that the earlier stab renders the hit single "At the Hop" even less convincing. The Bop having already been popular over the past several months, it was obviously something that the youthful songwriting pair of Medora and White knew about; with most of the same lyrics then transferred over from "Bop" to "Hop", it suddenly seems awkward and there's a sense that the people behind it were delving into unfamiliar territory. It's difficult to understand why there was this need to alter it anyway, though a creepy disc jockey looking to rake in the cash is probably what it all comes down to.

Curiously, though, it would inspire at least one far greater pop song which more accurately captures teenage optimism. The Colin Moulding-penned "Life Begins at the Hop" was nearly a UK Top 40 hit for XTC and it ushered in an all-too brief period in which it seemed like the Swindon quartet would become hugely successful. Though described as "magical", this hop is still just a "church on the corner" that they go to for nuts and crisps and "c-c-c-cola on tap". Rock 'n' roll rebellion isn't present, rather it's a world of youngsters taking a peak at the world that lies beyond their quaint lower-middle class homes, rough comprehensive school and football pitch. This is where 'life begins' with fumbling on guitars, pubs, cheap drugs and sex all still way in the future. But by 1979 payola was long gone and all it had was British DJ John Peel in its corner. Influential though he no doubt was, he never had the reach of Dick Clark which meant it was only able to go so far.

Score: 5

Bill Justis: "Raunchy"

December 2, 1957 (3 weeks)

When I first came to live in Korea back in 2006, I gradually began to notice where the record stores were — and by 'were' I mean where they happened to be prior to when the bulk of them disappeared. From there, I began to root around them. While some, like the increasingly minuscule Hottracks located within Seoul's flagship Kyobo Books, Co-Ex Mall's Evan's and the hipper than hip Purple Music in the trendy Hongdae area, were very well organized, many others could be chaotic. The Myeongdong district is still home to Buruttrak which no doubt makes for comfy browsing if you happen to dig K-Pop but if you wish to look around upstairs, the task is much more of a hassle. Boxes block shelved CDs and I nearly tripped and fell down the stairs the last time I paid them a visit. (Still, I'll be back) The same went for the unnamed store in Bupyeong's shopping arcade which always seemed to carry enough stock for a space three times the size.

I was really getting into jazz at the time and I found that they all had excellent selections of the genre. But there were two acts I'd always see among Art Blakey, the Modern Jazz Quartet and Ben Webster whose inclusion would puzzle me. One was Steely Dan. I think I knew that Donald Fagen and Walter Becker had an affinity for the genre but they always struck me as a rock group with jazzy tendencies. The other was country guitarist Chet Atkins. My initial reaction on finding him in the jazz section was that they must've had him mixed up with Chet Baker. It might have been possible had this been an isolated case but every Korean record store I visited did this. Granted, these shops didn't tend to be packed with country artists. Some would have the likes of Johnny Cash, Gram Parsons and Willie Nelson but they'd all be filed under Pop/Rock. But not the man who was responsible for the Nashville sound.

I've since learned that Steely Dan and Chet Atkins share something in common that may explain why Korean record stores classified them both as jazz: because they both sort of were. With a pair of smart alecs who were doubtless convinced they were god's gift to the recording studio, it was very on brand to be lumped in with American music's great improvisers but the case is less clear when it comes to Atkins. But a hint of it may be found in Bill Justis' 1957 smash "Raunchy" because it is that rarest of things: a rock 'n' roll record that had one eye on country and western and another on jazz. This seems like a good idea but it ended up being a better record on paper than in practice.

Perhaps its biggest weakness is its refusal to pick a lane. Had Justis performed it with a flair for improv, the solos would be much more dynamic. It's easy to picture a playful version by George Shearing or as yet another example of Oscar Peterson's stunning virtuosity had it become a jazz standard. If you'd rather stick to the guitar, the great studio ace Barney Kessel could've done a ripping rendition on one of those superb Poll Winners albums alongside Shelly Manne and Ray Brown or Blue Note stud Grant Green could've stretched it out and turned it into one of those marvelous soul jazz pieces from the mid-sixties with the likes of Lee Morgan and Jimmy Smith. From a country perspective, it could've been turned into a fantastic bluegrass number, the sort of thing Chris Hillman's Desert Rose Band might have done or the type of cover you might find on the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band's classic Will the Circle Be Unbroken.

And, yet, the recording of "Raunchy" that topped the charts in Canada and very nearly did the same in the US just is. The riff is no doubt memorable but it doesn't go anywhere. A budding young guitarist like George Harrison aspired to ape Justis' playing (as did Paul McCartney who apparently couldn't quite pull it off) but there's little to see here beyond what it was that more accomplished musicians were able to extract from it. It's that sort of record that is of interest because Harrison supposedly played it for The Quarry Men on a bus in Liverpool which would become a critical moment in the formation of The Beatles but where's the value in actually listening to it more than once?

It's fascinating to think what Chet Atkins would have done with "Raunchy". He might have swamped it in strings while playing a tasteful guitar part along with a crack Nashville session group. Or he might have gone nuts with jazzy riffs that were nevertheless played with discipline. Either way, I'd take it over this frankly boring tune. And a Steely Dan version would've been something else as well. The golden age of the rock 'n' roll instrumental was just getting started and there'd be far greater examples as we move closer towards the rise of The Shadows, The Tornados and eventually on to Booker T. & The MG's. They all could've done a lot more with "Raunchy" too.

Score: 5

Sam Cooke: "You Send Me"

18 November 1957 (2 weeks)

I suppose we ought to be grateful that he got to number one at all — and that he managed to enjoy the achievement while he was still alive as opposed to Otis Redding or Janis Joplin. Sure, it's a pity he didn't have four or five chart toppers as he surely deserved but black artists typically got short shrift, particularly back in pop's early years. But if it had to come down to one, did it really have to be this one?

Sam Cooke isn't normally listed among the greatest singles acts of all time but he belongs right up there with the likes of The Four Tops and ABBA. It is only when taking in his vast discography that you realise just how impressive it is. I'll sometimes think about "Chain Gang" or have "Wonderful World" stuck in my head or randomly hear "Bring In on Home to Me" on the radio but it seldom dawns on me that they were all written and performed by the same guy. For a person who only lived to the age of thirty-three, it feels like there's a lot more than just seven years' worth of recorded material behind him. And to think how much more he could have produced: it's quite easy to picture Cooke thriving in the funk and disco eras had he lived that long.

It's not as though "You Send Me" is a blot on Cooke's otherwise impeccable run of singles, it just isn't in the same league as what he eventually get round to recording. He had only just managed to extricate himself from gospel music so it wasn't as if he had the pop game down this early. The song wasn't even meant to be an A-side as his version of the George Gershwin classic "Summertime" seemed to be the odds on favourite to give him a crossover hit. Yet, DJ's preferred the flip side — something they seemed to do an awful lot back in those days — and that's how it became his first and only number one in North America.

While it was timely on the part of Cooke to record "Summertime" — there were a great deal of pop and jazz versions of Porgy and Bess including a pair of hugely popular and deeply influential releases by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong and Miles Davis — his rendition is far too languid for the charts so they were right to opt for "You Send Me". Rather than being a bit of a downer, it has a relaxed and smooth vibe to it. Cooke's effortlessness was always one his strengths though it must be said that this is a far more impressive trait when it comes to something more challenging like "A Change Is Gonna Come" instead of this which is underwritten and kind of repetitive.

All that said, this is still Sam Cooke we're talking about so I shouldn't quibble too much. Maybe the real problem is that most of us will never experience his releases in real time: without all those brilliant future singles to spoil his early work, one could have appreciated the simplicity of "You Send Me" all the more. Plus, can you imagine what it must have been like to hear Cooke's voice on the radio for the first time back then? Yeah, there had been Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole before him but they had been there for older generations to bug out to. Had I been fourteen in 1957 I may well have flipped the first time I heard "You Send Me" too — and I might well rate it every bit as highly as "Chain Gang" or "Wonderful World".  

Score: 7

~~~~~

Can Con

The Canadian singles charts were joined by the ever present Paul Anka and The bloody Diamonds by a third homegrown act during the second week at the top for "You Send Me". Buddy Burke is someone I wasn't familiar with until earlier this week and now I can confidently say that there's a reason. Strange, though, that I had never heard about a Canadian Elvis which is clearly what Burke was doing his best to be. Just because he was doing his best, that doesn't mean it was good enough though. I'm happy for him that "That Big Old Moon" gave him a Top 50 hit but the record itself is the shits. And the wait for a genuinely good Canadian pop song continues...

The Rays: "Silhouettes"

November 11, 1957 (1 week)

"Met my friends down at the pub, for a beer,

Got real drunk and began to cry, shed a tear,

Missing you from all the silhouettes we made

While we were getting laid..."

Maybe it's for the best that songwriters Bob Crewe and Frank Slay cut this proposed opening stanza from their hit single "Silhouettes". Or it would be if it hadn't been so obviously made up on the spot by a humble blogger nearly seventy years after it was composed. For a lyric with a giant red flag, I thought a bit of context to this creepy tale of jealousy, stalking, voyeurism and miraculous reconciliation was in order. Though the song doesn't say so, there's no way the guy in this story didn't wander the streets that night completely shit-faced, right?

Like a lot of men from my generation, I always thought that I was above petty jealousy. And to an extent, I am. Toxic masculine bullshit that justifies cheating on a spouse while going ballistic if they do likewise is something that I have no patience for. You don't want someone fooling around then don't do it yourself! (Amazing that something like this even needs stating) Yet, when I was a lot younger I could get jealous. I was so lacking in self-confidence that I expected the girls I was interested in were wishing they could be with others. It would eat away at me. But then I grew out of it. Becoming an adult isn't without its benefits.

It would be easy to dismiss "Silhouettes" as irredeemable crap but for the fact that it's a pretty good record, one that would result in a handful of notable cover versions (see below for one that even attempted to compete with The Rays' original). Weirdly, a cutesy bubblegum pop group would have a big hit with it a decade later (which we'll get to in due course) and ultra-Christian Cliff Richard would record a live rendition which would go Top 10 in his native UK in 1990. A chilled R&B group, a milquetoast Canadian doo-wop combo, a teen pin-up and a Bible thumper: not exactly the people I would've expected to embody toxic masculinity. A key to The Rays is that they treat the material with just enough sensitivity to pull it off. It's up to us as listeners to decide if the narrator of this song is a paranoid loser, we don't need The Rays to do it for us.

Which brings us to John Lennon, who was a compulsive cheater, admitted to hitting women and would write a pretty notorious song called "Run for Your Life" which he would eventually repudiate. Lennon acknowledged that "No Reply", the opening song on The Beatles fourth album Beatles for Sale, had been inspired by The Rays' "Silhouettes". The tunes aren't all that similar but the thematic approach of stalking and confronting the young women in question certainly was. "No Reply" has its merits but it sadly lacks the comedic payoff of its predecessor which is something you wouldn't normally expect from the witty Lennon.

With several covers and at least one song of note inspired by it, there's a question that arises: just what did they all see in it? Well, in addition to The Rays' very sturdy performance, it can't be avoided that it puts a happy face on being a creepy stalker. See? It was all a misunderstanding! I got the wrong house! It's all good! I was convinced those silhouettes on the shade were you and some other guy. But the people I confronted were good sports about it and you should be too! It'll never happen again! So problematic even if the simple act of listening to it isn't.

Till we meet again, "Silhouettes". I just hope that the next group to take you to number one is able to be as tasteful as The Rays.

Score: 7

~~~~~

Con Can

The Canadian Content feature has been on delay due to there being very little on the CHUM charts to choose from but I thought I devote this post to a cover by Toronto's The Diamonds. According to Wikipedia, segregation caused a demand for a white doo-wop group to act like great big creeps, though not enough of one to give them much of a hit to piggyback on The Rays. Though it did get some radio play Stateside, few in Canada cared. I'd be proud of my compatriots embracing a group of African-Americans rather than a homegrown act and their rather bland cover but Canadians weren't always so progressive in their music tastes. As we'll see when we get to the sixties, they didn't seem quite as keen on Motown as listeners down south. I hope at least that the people of Windsor were open to it: Detroit was just across the river after-all.

Elvis Presley: "Jailhouse Rock"

November 4, 1957 (1 week)

"Heartbreak Hotel" — 8 weeks

"I Want You, I Need You, I Love You" — 1 week

"Don't Be Cruel" / "Hound Dog" — 11 weeks

"Love Me Tender" — 5 weeks

"Too Much" — 3 weeks

"All Shook Up" — 8 weeks

"(Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear" — 7 weeks

"Jailhouse Rock" — 7 weeks

There's dominance and then there's the first eighteen months of Elvis Presley's reign. It's impressive enough that he had eight number one hits in the US but to have spent fifty weeks at the top of the singles charts is a whole other thing. (That's just shy of a year, you know) During this span, everyone else combined for a total of thirty-six weeks. While the likes of Drake and Taylor Swift have obliterated many old American chart records, it's still incredible that he managed to have five singles spend at least seven weeks on top. Look at "Love Me Tender": it's one of The King's signature songs, it was at number one for just over a month and it brings down the average a bit. Unreal.

But this blog is all about Canada's singles charts where Elvis didn't quite dominate to the same extent. In part, this can be attributed to lateness. A weekly survey that isn't established until the middle of 1957 is inevitably going to miss out. When CHUM finally began publishing a national chart "All Shook Up" was the maiden number one but it only had a week on top before being usurped by Pat Boone's "Love Letters in the Sand". "(Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear" managed to be equally big on both sides of the world's longest undefended border but this would prove to be Elvis' lone gargantuan smash in Canada.

"Teddy Bear" was huge but arguably the main reason it hit as big as it did was because of timing. Anything coming in the midst of imperial period Elvis was bound to be massive. There's a reason why it's one of his more obscure hits like "I Want You, I Need You, I Love You'" and "Too Much" rather than the others listed above which are still remembered by a mainly ageing proportion of the population. That said, his imperial peak was still a going concern so why was follow-up "Jailhouse Rock" a number one for just one lousy, pathetic week?

It's difficult to say but it certainly didn't help that he was done touring Canada by the autumn of 1957. As I have already discussed in this blog, Elvis made a handful of appearances north of the border that summer with a final show in Vancouver in September but he would never return. On the other hand, the five concerts he performed in Canada are still five more than anywhere else outside of North America. TV spots had also dried up following a trio of famous performances on The Ed Sullivan Show. If Canadian DJ's either disapproved or had grown sick of The King, hearing him on the radio could've become a challenge. The one place to really see and hear him? On the big screen.

"Teddy Bear" had been released in conjunction with Loving You, Elvis' first lead role in a Hollywood feature. Not content to milk it, he already had a second movie out in time for the Christmas season, Jailhouse Rock. Along with Love Me Tender, which came out a year earlier in which he played a supporting character who (gasp!) died, and King Creole, which followed just before his induction into the US armed forces, these are the films which hinted at the serious actor he could've been. Yet even among these pictures, the story of a young Vince Everett languishing in prison only to discover a talent for singing stands out. With its famous dance sequence, Jailhouse Rock is impossible to separate from the hit single of the same name which is a rarity for him. The title of Elvis' first film would be awkwardly changed from The Reno Brothers to Love Me Tender in order to connect it with the hit single of the same name. "Loving You" evidently wasn't even considered commercial enough to be released as an A-side. Future soundtrack hits would be in further service to the increasingly B movie quality of his motion pictures post-Army. Thus, Jailhouse Rock is the only title in which film and soundtrack hit could be seen as equals.

Having said that, I should admit that I've never seen it. I meant to recently but I confess I couldn't find the time. But I will as soon as I can. In any case, I am confident about what I wrote in the preceding paragraph which means the movie must be really good because the song is just shy of being a banger. A massive upgrade on "Teddy Bear" and even a marked improvement on "All Shook Up", it still isn't quite at the level of those remarkable '56 hits so it doesn't merit full marks. Still, his preceding hit could have easily given listeners the feeling that Elvis was going downhill so it's to his credit that he was able to dismiss the any naysayers — for now, at least.

In the US, "Jailhouse Rock" was given the double A-side treatment along with fellow soundtrack number "Treat Me Nice" (despite the fact that it somehow also managed to peak at number twenty-seven on its own) but the two had been split up in Canada. Whereas "Don't Be Cruel" and "Hound Dog" each managed to pull their own weight — it's actually hard to believe they were released together, a quality it shares with the only other double A that is superior to it, "Strawberry Fields Forever" / "Penny Lane" — there's really no reason for the pretense of egalitarian principles in this instance. One side is damn-near exceptional, the other is just Elvis going through the motions. While the fact that it was recorded at the same September '57 sessions that resulted in the Elvis' Christmas Album ought to have been a red flag, he arguably put far more care into the seasonal favourites than on this tossed off bit of filler.

Loaded with humour that mercifully avoids homophobic prison innuendo (though it is suggested) and with a beat that makes it one of the most addictive tunes in his vast discography, there is plenty to admire in "Jailhouse Rock". Listening to it pretty much constantly over the past few days, I wonder why it hasn't been covered more often. Sure, Elvis set the bar pretty high but there are places others could have gone with it. For one, wouldn't it have been nice had Johnny Cash performed it at one of his prison shows? The crowds were up for having a laugh and it could've been yet another show stealer for At Folsom Prison or At San Quinten (and the more obscure and much less enjoyable På Österåker, recorded at a jail in Sweden, could've definitely used it)

Fame would really begin to take its toll on Elvis in the sixties and seventies but there's a good chance it had already become a prison for him in many ways. The looming military induction, too, would have been something he couldn't have been looking forward to. As such "Jailhouse Rock" proved to be the perfect final burst of rock 'n' roll: one that nodded towards the early rush of thrilling hits, one that captured the cloistered life he had begun to lead and one that looked towards the more regimented lifestyle that awaited him in Germany just a few months' later. And with that, goodbye imperial period — though the hits would keep on coming.

Score: 9

Bobby Helms: "My Special Angel"

28 October 1957 (1 week)

As a music blogger, there are a few rules I try to stick to in my writing. One is I'm not keen on describing an artist, song or album as 'underrated'. I've used it but I haven't gone overboard. Describing even relatively unsuccessful bands like Prefab Sprout or Scritti Politti as 'underrated' isn't simply supremely lazy, it's also inaccurate. Critics loved those two groups and they both retain loyal, if small, fanbases. Yes, it would have been nice had they been more popular but that's irrelevant when it comes to the claim that they haven't been evaluated properly. When pressed, I'll try to use 'overlooked' instead. And don't get me started on the inane 'criminally underrated'. (Just once I'd like to find an artist or group who is 'criminally overrated')

Another is to try to scale back talking about importance and/or influence. Yes, I am well aware that The Velvet Underground & Nico is a deeply influential album. I imagine everyone who follows pop music history knows this. You know what else? It's actually quite a brilliant album. I don't have it on heavy rotation on my home stereo or anything but I always enjoy it whenever I put it on. It having influenced David Bowie, Iggy Pop, The Sex Pistols, Pixies, etc., etc., etc., is nice and interesting but it doesn't change how I listen to it. The Velvet Underground's debut album could've influenced no one of note and it would be every bit as good.

Finally, I really try to stay away from saying that a work of recorded music "hasn't aged well" or sounds "dated". Call me a massive hypocrite but I don't think it's wrong to discuss an album that has aged well but there's something about the opposite claim that bothers me. Honestly, I don't know what 'dated' means. Synthesizers do not sound like relics of the past to me. Like much in music criticism, it seems like the sort of thing that people can be very selective about. So, a fairlight synth is hokey but Kraftwerk's acclaimed 1982 album Computer World with sound effects nicked from a Little Professor calculator has somehow aged like a fine wine. Ultimately, it isn't the music that ages, it's us. I used to be on Twitter a lot and I once said the following about not enjoying Belle & Sebastian's album The Boy with the Arab Strap like I used to: "It has aged well but I haven't". I mostly meant it as a joke but I came to realise it's true. I aged out of their work even though their songs sound very much the same as they always did.

And yet...

Starting up this blog on number one hits in Canada has forced me to examine singles from the fifties that I either hardly noticed earlier in my lifetime (I was born in 1977) or wasn't aware of to begin with. When it comes to Jimmy Dorsey's "So Rare" (minus that awful chorus) and The Bobbettes' "Mr. Lee" this has been a pleasure; when it comes to Pat Boone and Jimmie Rodgers, not so much. But the distinction is an easy one: those first two are great, the others aren't. But it's another matter when it comes to "My Special Angel" by Bobby Helms because it makes me wonder the following: was it once a great song but just isn't any longer?

It's an impossible question to answer especially since I have no way of knowing what it sounded like twenty years prior to my birth. My grandpa Roy was a big fan of Jim Reeves who was at the forefront of mainstream Nashville country, a scene that attempted to remove the pedal steel guitars and fiddles (and, it must be added, virtually all the character) from a commercially waning genre that wished to compete with rock 'n' roll. It wouldn't surprise me at all to discover that he thought similarly highly of Bobby Helms, a crooner who is now only remembered for the definitive version of "Jingle Bell Rock".

For a generation that had survived the War and the Great Depression and were now busy starting families all over North America, I can see the appeal of people like Helms and Reeves. These gentlemen possessed formidable voices, effortless and soothing. People who'd been through enough hard times of their own probably weren't about to embrace singers who had nothing to impart except for their own struggles. The Nashville sound offered escapism which is what many people's parents wanted. I get all that.

And yet...

"My Special Angel" is a chore to get through. It's so dreary, so devoid of life, so lacking in spark that it couldn't possible inspire anything in anyone (What do you know? Maybe being influential is important!). Not exactly dreadful, just painful and cringey. I feel guilty disliking it this much because Helms is sincere and he's singing from the heart and Grandpa Roy would've loved it but these reasons aren't close to good enough. Has it aged badly? Impossible for me to say but there's no question the culture has aged out of it.

Score: 3

The Everly Brothers: "Wake Up Little Susie"

October 14, 1957 (2 Weeks)

Though he probably has a handful of better songs, "Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)" is perhaps the epitome of John Lennon. With a lovely melody, that famous sitar line giving it some dignity and Lennon's relaxed voice (with partner Paul McCartney joining in here and there), it is a joy to listen to. A lot has been made of the influence Bob Dylan played on it as well as his alleged parody "4th Time Around" but simply unraveling the story establishes that by far the most important figure involved was Lennon himself. Think about it: he is explaining where he was the night before to a woman (presumably his wife), acknowledges that, yes, he did go to another woman's place only for him to claim that nothing happened beyond lots of talking and plenty of wine being downed. They stayed up late, he slept in the bath and then got up and burned her house down out of "revenge" or, as I prefer it, to hide the evidence.

"Norwegian Wood" is a spin job. Lennon's clearly lying. Of course he didn't burn down her place. He did, however, sleep with the woman he was visiting. Yet, people scarcely noticed at the time and it doesn't even get brought up nowadays. All anyone could say about it was how much Lennon had been maturing as a songwriter and how nice that mysterious stringed instrument sounded. The power of Beatlemania was such that a scandalous topic could be easily ignored.

Less than a decade earlier with a duo that Lennon admired, this was anything but the case. In "Wake Up Little Susie" you have a young man having accidentally fallen asleep and in a panic that he and his girlfriend are coming home way past curfew. Mostly, the stress is on her and how her parents are going to react ("What we gonna tell your Mama? What are we gonna tell your pa?") with his folks not even mentioned. He's expecting to get joshed by his chums but otherwise he's coming out of it largely unscathed.

It's possible though that there's as much of a spin job going on in "Susie" as there is in "Norwegian Wood". What if the young man is coaching his girlfriend, feeding her some crap about watching a boring movie that led them to falling asleep from at least ten until four in the morning. Maybe it's just me being a very light sleeper but a six hour nap seems implausible. (That said, my wife's sleep habits would beg to differ) There are other holes in this tale. If they were supposed to be at a Drive In movie, why didn't an attendant knock on the windshield of their car to get them to clear out? Somehow I doubt that the songwriting couple Felice and Boudleaux Bryant considered all the variables as they churned this number out. It's possible that it's only because of "Norwegian Wood" and, as we'll get to at the end of this review, "Papa Don't Preach" that "Susie" seems more suggestive than it was ever intended to be

Not that it didn't cause some controversy when it came out. Through modern ears we can listen to "Wake Up Little Susie" and wonder what all the fuss was about, as well as refuting the notion that people being easily offended is some kind of modern phenomenon. The people of Boston threw such a shit fit that it got banned in a city that is now lampooned for its foul-mouthed citizens. (I had no idea the practice of prohibiting certain pieces of music, films and books in the capital of Massachusetts was so commonplace as to merit its own Wikipedia page) Just to broach the subject of a young, unmarried couple falling asleep next to one another was bound to ruffle the feathers of the hardline church bible-thumpers of the day; if only they knew how much worse it was going to get for them. Leaving the self-righteous aside, it's nice to imagine how youngsters would've reacted when they first heard this latest offering from Don and Phil Everly. I can imagine being caught up in the rebellious thrill of being out all night with a member of the opposite sex while feeling sympathetic to the kind of grief that awaited them when they returned home.

One thing that has long bothered me, however, is the use of 'trouble deep' in the lyrics. I was thinking that it comes up a lot in pop, perhaps even as frequently as the tired 'don't mean maybe'. Then I concluded that it has only cropped up in a pair of songs, albeit both very prominent. Nearly thirty years after "Susie" caused a furor in Boston (and elsewhere), Madonna sang about getting knocked up on her 1986 smash "Papa Don't Preach". Unable to pretend she hadn't been up to something, her pregnancy had left her in 'trouble deep'. I haven't tried to write a song since I was a teenager with silly aspirations but I wouldn't use it. Nor would Lennon I daresay ('I told my wife about it and she said that I am a creep / I wish I'd said nothing cos now I am in trouble deep': "Norwegian Wood" didn't need that extra verse, did it?). I don't care for the lyrical twist but I appreciate the subtle nod. Of course Madonna and co-writer Brian Elliot intended to pay tribute to a hit single that paved the way for it. (It's just too bad they had to spoil it with the use of (shudder) 'don't mean maybe'. Oh dear)

But why must I get so bogged down by details I can't really prove? While not quite as great as "Bye, Bye Love", "Wake Up Little Susie" is a wonderful single. The big Everly Brother hits (along with the two just mentioned, "All I Have to Do Is Dream" and "Cathy's Clown" are the others I associate with them) seem baked into my conscious. Yet there are things I'd missed along the way. They're a lot more country than I remember. Don and Phil Everly don't sound as milk-fed and naive as I imagined either. And you know else? Good on them for standing by old Suse when plenty of other boys their age would have left her to face the music alone. They're in trouble deep, not just her.

Score: 8

The Bobbettes: "Mr. Lee"

September 23, 1957 (3 Weeks)

I first got the idea to do this blog a few years ago. I think it was one of many things I toyed with during the Covid pandemic just to try to keep busy. It seemed like everyone took on extra projects back in 2020 but I only got to the point of considering doing this one. In fact, I came closer to starting up Life Ends at 40: The Hits That Peaked at the Bottom (about singles that only managed to make the lowest spot on either the US or UK Top 40s; I still haven't ruled out getting to it eventually) instead.

One of my main concerns with a blog on number ones in Canada was that the songs covered on it would be too similar to the US Hot 100 chart toppers. So far that would seem to be the case. Of the six hits I have written about, five went to number one in both the States and Canada. The lone exception, Jimmy Dorsey's "So Rare", still managed to make it to number two south of the border. So far, so very similar.

It is only with the seventh entry in this space that we begin to see some real differentiation. The Bobbettes' "Mr. Lee" only go to number six in the US but it managed to strike enough of a chord to go all the way to the top in Canada. Not a huge gap but a sign that the Canadian public wasn't just going to copy whatever had tickled the fancy of their neighbours to the south. Spoiler alert: in time we'll see the likes of The Hollies, Supertramp, INXS and Rick Astley go on to chart success in Canada that would eclipse their popularity Stateside. Beating them all to it was The Bobbettes all the way back in the autumn of 1957.

A quintet from New York, The Bobbettes had originally billed themselves as The Harlem Queens even though they looked much more like princesses. Their oldest member was sixteen-year-old Laura Webb while Jannie Pought, the youngest Bobbette, was just twelve. Not only had they become an accomplished professional R&B group while still just schoolgirls, they had even begun songwriting together. Appropriately enough, their first composition was about a teacher at their school who they all had a crush on. 

Actually, this initially wasn't the case at all. "Mr. Lee" was originally a song about hate and revenge. Convinced that he was out to get them, Jannie, Emma, Reather, Laura and Helen plot to bring the old grouch down. Kids around their age would've obviously identified with it but adults around them seemed to be less convinced. It was only after their record company Atlantic insisted they take it in a different direction that it became a love song. Once the "ugliest teacher", he was now the "handsomest sweetie that you ever did see". Nevertheless, traces of the original may still be found in the line "here comes Mr. Lee, he's coming for me", which, admittedly, takes on an even darker tone in its altered form.

Though compromised, The Bobbettes give a very energetic performance on the recording. One of its two lead vocalists — either Emma Pought or Reather Dixon — even unleashes some near-guttural screams. Backed by a house band at Atlantic, the music is disciplined but someone in the studio — possibly a musician or maybe someone behind the mixing desk or perhaps even a Bobbette — also managed to come up with some amusing squeaks that pop up every now and then. Come for the cutesy doo-wop, stay for something much more impassioned and real even in the rather contrived setting.

The promise of such a big early hit didn't result in much, however. Atlantic decided that they should remain tied to novelty songs which became the focus of The Bobbettes' songwriting. Subsequent singles "Speedy" and "Zoomy" were fun but they were cartoonish and didn't come from the reality that spawned "Mr. Lee". Eventually, they decided to revive what had first made them famous with the updated "I Shot Mr. Lee", which saw them go back to portraying the titular character in a negative light. Once again, their bosses didn't much care for it and so the group chose to have it released elsewhere which then got them in trouble for breach of contract. Unfortunately, it was simply too much of a blatant re-write to work. Plus, it's over-written with far too much detail of Lee's downfall thrown at the wall. A shame since I like the idea of an R&B take on the country music murder ballad. There's just no way they were going to match the magic of the original.

Score: 9

Jimmie Rodgers: "Honeycomb"

August 26, 1957 (4 weeks)

Last time, our subject was Canada's own Paul Anka. Something of a prodigy, he was one of a surprising number of pop stars who wrote his own songs a good six or seven years before The Beatles and Bob Dylan supposedly established the practice (though in reality they made it practically compulsory; in the fifties it was optional). And he did so while still just a teenager. Success, as we've already seen, came relatively quickly and he was beloved by both adolescent girls and scary men who operated nightclubs.

Naturally, not everyone was able to follow Anka's path. Jimmie Rodgers — not to be confused with the country pioneer of the same name, aka The Singing Brakeman — may have taken to a career in music just as quickly only it took him a lot longer to figure it out. Some artists do take their sweet time. It wasn't until Wes Montgomery was around nineteen or twenty that he really got serious about playing the guitar. Getting such a late start shouldn't result in becoming arguably the greatest jazz guitarist of all time but that's exactly what when down. Kim Chang-wan wasn't a whole lot younger when he purchased a classical guitar on a whim from a Seoul music store. He set about figuring out how to play it which prompted his older brother Chang-hoon to do likewise. Along with younger brother Chang-ik, they would eventually form the extraordinary Korean rock outfit 산울림 (Sanullim).

And while we're on the subject of Korea, the Hermit Kingdom was where the twenty-year-old soldier Jimmie Rodgers happened to be stationed when he bought a used guitar from a fellow member of the US Armed Forces. No doubt piano lessons from his mother growing up and studying music in college gave him something of an edge because he was already performing in bands while still in South Korea.

Anka attempting to balance pop stardom with being a jazz singer was tricky but Rodgers seemed to have no trouble bouncing around from genre to genre. Though he spent time in Nashville, he was either unwilling or unable to fit in fully with the city's rigid country and western scene. He was popular in the folk clubs but never became a huge favourite of the purists. He did devotional material from time to time but never did the gospel circuit. It probably helps that Rodgers hailed from Washington State, a region of the US that was still isolated from the various east coast epicentres of mainstream pop, country and jazz; all he could wish to be was an entertainer.

"Honeycomb" was his debut single and it seems to reflect his musical catholicism. With the lyrics making references to God ("And the Lord said now that I made a bee / I'm gonna look all around for a green, green tree"), it suggests a little faith-based pop, albeit in a much more playful manner than your typical gospel singer. Musically, it's tight and sturdy like a lot of mainstream country music though in a more aggressive fashion like rockabilly. Rodgers' singing, however, is more like a laid back teen heartthrob of the day (though certainly more like Ricky Nelson than Paul Anka) which stands out given that he was already twenty-four by this time.

But while "Honeycomb" sold very well and was really popular all over North America, I'm still undecided as to its quality. It may depend on how I'm feeling at the time: if I'm feeling grumpy, it isn't going to help; if I'm cheerful then I'll happily sing along. But there's no way it's lifting me up. (Nor is it lifting me out of anything either). And that isn't Jimmie Rodgers' job anyway; he was an entertainer, not a folk singer, not a country artist, not a rock 'n' roller, not a Christian doing hymns. He didn't wish to fit in and all the more power to him for doing so. But if I'm in the need of someone to provide me with folk or country or rock 'n' roll or gospel (I've never needed the latter in my life before but I suppose there's always a faint chance I might someday) I'll seek them out elsewhere. It's best to go see a specialist rather than a general practitioner.

Score: 5

~~~~~

Hey! Where's...?

The Crickets: "That'll Be the Day"

A chart topper in both the US and UK, "That'll Be the Day" couldn't quite manage to do so up in Canada as it got stuck behind Jimmie Rodgers. Cute as "Honeycomb" is when I'm in the mood for it, there's no question that the better song missed out. That said, Buddy Holly is a bit of an acquired taste: while his voice has character, it isn't exactly tremendous and those hiccups and stutters can grate. Few would've guessed that it would end up being one of the highlights of his tragically brief career; if anyone from rock's first decade only scratched the surface of their potential, it was Buddy Holly. What was his best song? Tragically, he never got the chance to record it.

Paul Anka: "Diana"

August 12, 1957 (1 week)

I'm not sure if it began with Fay Wray, the Dionne Quintuplets or — him again! — Guy Lombardo but at some point Canadians began taking a little too much pride in the famous names who hailed from their homeland. If I was to guess, I'd say it really got going after the war with the likes of Glenn Gould, Christopher Plummer, Lorne Greene, Monty Hall, Wayne & Shuster and Oscar Peterson. When Gould crossed through the Iron Curtain to play Moscow's Bolshoi Theatre in 1957 it would have been a point of pride for many Canadians, even for some who didn't care for his Goldberg Variations. Similarly, having the chance to witness entertainers like Greene and the comedy duo of Johnny Wayne and Frank Shuster perform on the Ed Sullivan Show would have meant a lot to viewers who lived north of the US border.

But at some point there seemed to be this expectation that Canadians ought to be proud of anyone from our country who happened to find fame in the States, regardless of our distaste for them. I was once doing an English language camp one winter break at my university here in Korea and one day we had a special guest speaker. She spoke to students, teachers and staff for nearly an hour. At first, the kids liked her. Speaking pretty good Korean no doubt helped. But she began to lose them when she started to boast of the many famous Canadians out there. This being 2012, she would've been well-advised to bring up a still popular and (relatively) trouble-free Justin Bieber. Instead, she informed everyone that Jim Carrey and Celine Dion and Avril Levigne all happen to be Canadian. These people meant nothing to the kids at this assembly. Afterwards, a teacher from New Zealand — itself a country short on well known individuals beyond Peter Jackson — came up to me and asked, "does everyone in Canada do that?" "Oh god yeah", I replied, my eyes rolling in exasperation.

Paul Anka could very well have been a pioneer in this respect. I don't think there's a Canadian from an earlier time who people would boast proudly over and yet not want to have anything to do with otherwise. I can only speculate on this. He was very popular so of course some of his fellow citizens could tell people from other countries about Anka's birthplace and be a fan of his but there's certainly no question his music isn't for everybody. "Diana" isn't even the worst offender as equally large future hits "Lonely Boy" and, particularly, "(You're) Having My Baby" are a good deal worse. Growing up in the eighties, I didn't know anyone who liked him but he did seems to command a certain degree of respect though only if your definition of 'respect' is to not be making fun of someone all the time. A British or American equivalent would have been mocked ceaselessly in spite of having a lengthy run of hits; but for Ottawa native Anka it was more like 'let's be excited that he managed to make it Stateside even if we'd rather not have anything to do with him otherwise'.

Watching the groundbreaking National Film Board of Canada documentary Lonely Boy, it's clear that Anka went down a storm as much among the the older generations than he did with sobbing girls. Maybe more so in fact. Playing New York's legendary Copacabana club, he is in his element, confidently strutting about behind a mic and hob nobbing with intimidating nightclub owner Jules Podell. "Diana" would've worked better in this kind of environment rather than having disguised as ersatz rock 'n' roll. But the screaming girls had to be satisfied: the pleading Anka just had to have something approaching beat music in the background.

Better than I remember it being but nevertheless completely undeserving of the nine weeks it spent at the top of the UK chart, the "Diana" single week it spent on top of both the Canadian and US charts seems much easier to accept. Countrymen may indeed have been proud but they weren't interested in keeping him at number one for any longer than need be. And who could blame them? After all, we'll tell the rest of the world about how Paul Anka happened to have been born and raised in the same country as us but we wouldn't go so far as to listen to his music. We're just very Canadian that way.

Score: 4

~~~~~

Con Can

Paul-bloody-Anka and nothing else. But being a lone Canadian looks nicer at the top of the charts instead of hanging around near the bottom. But couldn't B side "Don't Gamble with Love" have grabbed a lowly spot of its own? I can see it going down well among the well-to-do socialites and mob bosses at the Copacabana but maybe the shrieking females had little interested in it. But what am I saying? One Paul Anka song is more than enough.

Elvis Presley: "(Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear"

July 1, 1957 (7 weeks)

Lately I've been re-reading Peter Guralnick's masterful pair of Elvis biographies Last Train to Memphis and Careless Love. Well, skimming is much more accurate. With an awful lot of The King to cover in this blog in the weeks and months ahead, I feel it's incumbent to re-familiarize myself. Nevertheless, plundering them for anecdotes has reminded me of just how brilliant Guralnick's account is which only makes me want to plow through his books again. (Which is more than can be said for Albert Goldman's judgemental, malicious and, worst of all, horribly boring 1981 biography; say what you will about his scandalous John Lennon book but at least it's a good read)

It is midway through Last Train to Memphis that one of the looming signs of Elvis' creative decline emerges. Where Sam Phillips of Sun had provided him with suitable material and the near-unlimited resources at RCA managed to acquire some of the best songs available, Colonel Tom Parker's insistence that songwriters sign restrictive exclusivity contracts beginning in 1957 meant that first-rate compositions could dry up. Elvis had previously received misleading co-writing credits on some of his earlier hits but from this point on songwriters had sign over a third of their royalties instead. Parker knew that the chance to write a hit single for his famous client would have been too tempting to resist no matter the clauses.

It was at around this time that the quality of songs at Elvis' disposal began to take a bit of a dip. Songwriters such as Otis Blackwell were no longer feeding material to the cash cow. In his place was a team like Kal Mann and Bernie Lowe. They weren't without talents of their own — the former had been one of the co-writers of the monster smash "Hound Dog" a year earlier — but they lacked a killer composition to hand over. Instead, they took an anecdote about The King having a fondness for cuddly toys and wrote an engaging, if rather empty, song about it. At one minute and forty-seven seconds, "(Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear" is brief even by the standards of early rock 'n' roll but the swift running time only reinforces what an insubstantial piece of work it is.

The one real saving grace is the recording. Elvis sings it beautifully, the tune is a boogie-woogie blast and The Jordanaires provide a pleasant backing that avoids stepping on toes. Yet, it's still awfully forgettable by his early standards. The frenetic energy of old had been replaced by a contented, relaxed sound. Playing the new song for a close friend, his companion "flipped over it" and proclaimed it a "damn hit". Well, no kidding. Elvis having the imperial phase to end all imperial phases alone ensured it would be a smash. And it didn't hurt that its melody borrowed heavily from "Don't Be Cruel".

Flipping the record over, listeners could take in a far better song, the title track to Elvis' latest film Loving You. I don't begrudge it not being the single since it's slow and even a little moody but there's no question which of the two was composed by a truly excellent songwriting team. Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller didn't exactly hit it off with Elvis at first but they were quickly becoming The King's most reliable hit makers. They were said to have been impressed by the singer's dedication in the studio with Leiber even describing him as a "workhorse". Their material proves that Elvis could rise to the occasion when presented with a challenge, even if having a conniving, greedy manager and an increasing posse of yes men surrounding him would eventually become obstacles. Other songwriters would come and go but at least they would remain for a while so as to keep an eye on quality assurance. Very few others seemed to care.

Score: 5

~~~~~

Can Con

Priscilla Wright with Don Wright and His Orchestra: "Me and My Bestest Feller"

With a certain Ottawa-born schoolboy on the rise to the top (spoilers!), it's down to London, Ontario's Priscilla Wright and her dad Don to provide us with an alternate piece of Canadian content. "The Man in the Raincoat" gave her a US hit a year earlier but she had to make do with a much more modest success with "Me and My Bestest Feller". Fans expecting something similar to the sophisticated "...Raincoat" may have been disappointed but this one's cute and charming in its own way. Priscilla (incidentally, a name that would one day have a strong association with Elvis Presley) is more girlish rather than brash and confident as she had previously been. Having her musician/composer/academic father be in charge meant a beautiful orchestral sound to back her. The composition is no more meaningful than bloody "Teddy Bear" but the producers and sound engineers really earned their fees.

Jimmy Dorsey with Orchestra and Chorus: "So Rare"

June 17, 1957 (2 weeks)

I just recently returned from a short trip to Guam. At one point I made a remark to my wife about the increasing number of people with tattoos. She commented that they can sometimes look nice.I agreed before stating that they still never manage to improve the body part they happen to be on. I can't imagine looking at someone's shoulder and thinking "you know what this could use? A ladybug or a flower or the Chinese symbol for reincarnation". Then again, maybe I'm just jealous for never having gone through being tattooed myself.

Still, I stand by the notion that parts of the body are never improved with some ink. Just like big band records accompanied by a chorus. A solo singer can sometimes work — even if more often than not they're unnecessary as well — but a group of vocalists singing in unison does nothing but distract from the musicians who put the real work in. Before I get to Jimmy Dorsey's recording of "So Rare", I'd like to compare it with a few other versions of the standard and how they fared without the use of a glorified church choir.

One of the earliest recordings of "So Rare" was by Guy Lombardo and His Royal Canadians from 1937. The first minute or so is taken up by some sweet little solos and you almost feel like they decided not to bother with a vocal part before Carmen Lombardo (Guy's younger brother) finally joins in for its second half. Again, I don't necessarily need to hear him sing — for one thing, his voice isn't the greatest, especially given the fact that he was in his early thirties at the time and not, as I had assumed by the sound of his voice, in at least his mid-fifties — but I'm okay with it being on there.

In competition with Lombardo's rendition was a version by Gus Arnheim and His Coconut Grove Orchestra. I like this one a little bit more than Lombardo's, at least in some part because it is a good deal less gimmicky. Jimmy Farrell's part commences slightly earlier but he has a much stronger voice than Carmen Lombardo. I'd even say in this instance that a vocal is vital to the recording. The solos are less distinctive but the playing has a stronger overall cohesion to it.

Moving ahead about ten years, we get to the version I am most familiar with: George Shearing's. Like everything the British legend recorded, the key here is lightness. Shearing tickles the keys, his fingers seemingly brushing over them. The mood is relaxed but this betrays a certain intensity that typically lurked in the background of Shearing's work. You scarcely notice the rhythm section which is at least as much to do with Shearing's incredible talent as it is the rough recording and piss poor mastering.

Finally, let's jump forward again and examine Mose Allison's take on "So Rare" from 1961. There's a trio version in which the so-called 'jazz sage' doesn't even bother singing. But, hey, when you're as gifted a pianist as he was, why bother opening your trap even if it produces a nice sound? There's also a five-piece rendition with horns that really don't serve much of a purpose. Once again, it's Allison's skills on the keys that keeps the listener invested as he doesn't bother singing on this one either. Good stuff and a helpful reminder of just what a terrific and sadly overlooked figure Mose Allison has become. (Come to think of it, the same can be said for Guy Lombardo. And Gus Arnheim. And George Shearing. Hell, let's throw Jimmy Dorsey in with this lot while we're at it!)

So, that's four separate renditions of "So Rare", two with vocals and two without. The first two are more restrained, being relics of the big band era, while the other two are much more modernist with Shearing and Allison both playing superbly. Jimmy Dorsey seemed to bridge the two in his hit single from 1957 and he succeeded for the most part. The Wikipedia article states that Dorsey's style was indebted to that of sax player Earl Bostic which allowed for a more R&B and even rock 'n' roll feel but I hear some of Ben Webster's aggressive, breathy tones as well.

As I suggest above, the thing that lets Dorsey's version down is the highly unwelcome chorus. While the singing on the Lombardo and Arnheim recordings doesn't kick off until after the one minute mark, the Artie Malvin Singers make their presence felt straight away and I seem to notice them a lot more than either Dorsey or any of the members of his orchestra. Given their prominence in a great deal of pop from this era, I imagine the chorus was considered one of the highlights of "So Rare" rather than it being its greatest weakness. 

"So Rare" got to number one on Canada's CHUM chart on June 17, 1957, just five days after Jimmy Dorsey's death from either lung or throat cancer — or both. Though just fifty-three years old, he must have seemed ancient compared to people like Elvis Presley. Nevertheless, he admirably attempted to stay current which no doubt helped score him a big band smash at a time when jazz orchestras had started to become the rusted out hulks of a bygone age. Not unlike the way a hokey old chorus sounds to twenty-first century ears.

Score: 7

~~~~~

Hey! Where's...

The Everly Brothers: "Bye Bye Love"

My planned Can Con segment is going to have to go on hold for a while. Basically, there just aren't enough Canadians populating the pop charts around this time. (Apparently, Guy Lombardo wasn't quite the force he'd been twenty years earlier) So, let's go with another concept that I can dig out every now and then Hey! Where's... which, you may have guessed, deals with big songs that somehow missed topping the Canadian charts. I already brought this one up but it bears repeating: "Bye Bye Love" is a fantastic record while "Love Letters in the Sand" isn't terribly good and "So Rare" is just all right with that bloody chorus there to ruin it. While it's tempting to focus on just how influential Don and Phil Everly were on The Beatles and Simon & Garfunkel and, well, quite a few others I'm sure, why not just bask in what a glorious two minutes and twenty seconds of countrified pop "Bye Bye Love" is. Don's lead vocal is strong but it's when the brothers harmonize that magic happens. Also, dig the crack band backing them: Chet Atkins plays lead guitar like the giant that he always was while everyone else sounds suitably ragged. Amazing how such a simple song and be so mind blowing: that's good pop for you.