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

Ricky Nelson: "Poor Little Fool"

July 28, 1958 (3 weeks)

By rights, everyone should have hated Ricky Nelson. He was born to parents who were already radio stars in the US and their fame would only increase as they made the effortless move to television. Ricky and his older brother David would join their folks on the hugely popular sitcom The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet which made them show business royalty. Not content to be stuck in their shadow, the younger Nelson boy decided to become a rock 'n' roll singer at the age of sixteen and quickly succeeded in that field too. So much for paying your dues. You might say Ricky Nelson was Hollywood's original nepo baby.

The other thing that must have frustrated his contemporaries is that he didn't make an ass of himself when he became a recording artist. A lot of young entertainers who subsequently made the jump from TV to music would go on to do so with crass commercialism as their guide but Nelson took what he was doing seriously from the off. We're still a couple years away from him dropping the boyish 'Ricky' to the more somber 'Rick', a decade away from his move to country music and it wouldn't be until he was in his thirties that he wrote and recorded history's first protest song about celebrity entitlement but even at just barely eighteen he was already out to prove that in music he was the real deal. And he was, at least some of the time.

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of "Poor Little Fool" is that it was written by a young woman who was about the same age as Nelson. Sharon Sheeley had been a teen model who, much like the subject of this blog entry, suddenly decided to try her hand at songwriting. This happened to be the first song she wrote. Humph, these bloody show offs. My first attempt at a song was some drivel about dreaming of becoming a star. People who hit the ground running make me sick.

But back to Sheeley and her first composition. I find it fascinating that a song about a young man who gets lured in by a girl with "carefree, devil eyes" was written by a woman. Did she sneak a little sarcasm in? The roots of it are said to go back to when she dated Don Everly of The Everly Brothers so it was probably written from the female perspective before switching it around but I like to think that she was sneering a little at the gullible dumbass who fell for the wrong girl. Better yet, sneering at the selfish jerk who now plays the victim as soon as his girl got some sense. Nothing in Nelson's reading would suggest an ulterior motive on Sheeley's part but I'm happy to speculate.

Much of Ricky Nelson's very jam packed forty-five years is of interest, from his childhood stardom all the way to his tragic death. Unfortunately, his music didn't always live up to the man himself. He had his moments but "Poor Little Fool" isn't quite one of them. Everything about it is just all right. It's sort of cool that his voice sounds like it belongs to someone at least twice his age but I'm not convinced that this maturity does Sheeley's work justice. He continued to play it near the end of his life by which point he seemed better suited to it. Elvis Presley's backing singers The Jordanaires do a great job rescuing it from sheer dullness so there's that. I don't quite dislike it as much as I feel I ought to but I certainly don't love it either. And, for the record, this has nothing to do with me being jealous of Nelson. Sheeley and her ease with songwriting, on the other hand...

Score: 5

Elvis Presley: "Hard Headed Woman"

July 7, 1958 (3 weeks)

So, about Elvis' decline...

The CHUM chart's first number one had been in the spring of 1957 which was only about a year after the rise of Elvis Presley to superstardom — and I was already convinced that The King was heading downhill. In some ways I wasn't entirely wrong. "All Shook Up", his first Canadian chart topper, smacks of more of the same, "(Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear" is the first of his big hits you'd be forgiven for forgetting all about and the double A-side "I Beg of You" / "Don't" is just plain coasting. But the good side of Elvis could still assert himself. "Jailhouse Rock" is a certified banger, "Wear My Ring Around Your Neck" is far more enjoyable than its problematic title would suggest and then we come to "Hard Headed Woman" from the film King Creole.

Fred Bronson's The Billboard Book of Number One Hits spends much of the entry on this single discussing the final days of Gladys Presley's life, as well as how much her death in August of 1958 turned her son's life upside down. After initially being refused his request for leave from the army, he was finally given permission to be by her side only for her to pass away just two days later. He was inconsolable. It is said that Elvis collapsed more than once at his mother's funeral. Those close to him would say he was never the same.

With this devastating news, it must have been something of a gut punch that his most recent hit single was an attack on women ruining things for the "soft hearted men" in their lives. Eve failed to listen to Adam and Samson warned Delilah to stay away from him — perhaps a Cleopatra or an Emma of Normandy had also been in line for verses of their own but kept out for fear of hammering the point home. But the figures from history mythology begin to fade away as the lyrics get more vague — and, perhaps, somewhat more personal. Next up is a "king" who was doing "swell" until everything came apart because of an "evil Jezebel". At this point it feels like Elvis didn't regret releasing "Hard Headed Woman" just week's before Gladys' passing since his controlling, over-protective mother would have warned him about those evil harlots.

Even if they secretly pay tribute to his mother (which, needless to say, he didn't write), the good old fifties' misogyny in the lyrics are hard to swallow. Luckily, you can barely make them out with a powerhouse band performance and Elvis at his belting best. The horn section adds an extra blast to the rollicking 12-bar blues. Good fun all around and yet another welcome reminder that while his love songs could often be dull and lifeless, there really is nothing like Elvis doing pure rock 'n' roll. (As big a fan I am of brevity in pop, a minute-and-fifty seconds though is way too brief; it's difficult to take a record completely seriously if it can't even cross the two minute mark)

So, I'm done with trying to work out the "beginning of the end" of Elvis as a top recording artist. Since I treasure the 1969 From Elvis in Memphis album so much — it's superior to many of that year's big blockbuster LP's like Abbey Road, Let It Bleed and Led Zeppelin II, you know — I ought to be well aware that he still had it long after his military discharge. Deeply flawed and with an erratic muse, Elvis Presley was far from perfect but he had plenty left in him at the tender age of twenty-three. I have no doubt there will be some clunkers ahead but I'm now optimistic I'll be encountering some minor masterworks along the way as well.

Score: 7

~~~~~

Can Con

Oscar McLollie & Jeanette Baker: "Hey Girl — Hey Boy"

If longtime American resident Paul Anka can qualify as 'Canadian Content' then surely an American who spent some of his life residing in Chiliwack, BC should count as well. With that out of the way, may I present Oscar McLollie with this groovy shuffle alongside the equally-unknown-to-me-until-quite-recently Jeanette Baker. Amusing and engaging if a little pointless but I prefer to focus on the positive. Apparently "Hey Girl — Hey Boy" was his only hit. If the number sixty-one spot proved to be disappointing, maybe he took solace in the fact that it spent three weeks on the CHUM chart at a more respectable thirty-two. No wonder he would eventually migrate north. Yet another one who is well worth investigating further.

Sheb Wooley: "The Purple People Eater"

June 16, 1958 (3 weeks)

As anyone who's been following this blog will know — and a big cheers for doing so, by the way — I've been giving scores out of ten to every Canadian number one I've reviewed. This is something I took from Tom Ewing's Popular blog in which he writes about British chart toppers. (Tom Breihan also nicked the practice for his Hot 100 number ones page over on Stereogum; he's so into it that he's been giving scores to other songs that just happen to come up) A score of 10 is reserved for the absolute cream of the crop (Ewing has only handed out a total of eighteen tens and he's covered more than fifty years' worth of UK chart action) while a 1 is meant for the irredeemable dregs (twenty-two and counting over on Popular). So far, the two extremes haven't come up...until now!

On both ends of the spectrum, I did consider going with the most extreme scores but careful consideration ruled any possibilities out (until now!). On the positive side, The Bobbettes' "Mr. Lee", Elvis Presley's "Jailhouse Rock" and The Everly Brothers' "All I Have to Do Is Dream" have so far come the closest to a 10. I seriously considered both the Bobbettes and the Everlys but Elvis' 9 came from deciding that it deserved more than the 8 I initially had it pegged for. On the other end, The Chordettes' "Lollipop" is so far the only 2. Again, I did think about going for the absolute lowest score but figured that there had to be worse options out there — and there are.

As I just recently suggested, I had not been looking forward to covering 1958's number ones because of its over-abundance of novelty hits. Yet, "Witch Doctor" proved to be a pleasant surprise. Sure, it got what is ultimately an indifferent score but my expectations had been low. I got to thinking that maybe all three of them will be hidden gems, that those hustlers from the fifties who shoveled out such shit had some creativity deep down. But my first listen to "The Purple People Eater" in over thirty years dispelled any such sense of optimism.

To describe it as dismal only scratches the surface. It's meant to be funny but isn't. (Sheb Wooley was "inspired" to compose it after hearing the old joke, Q: 'what had one eye, flies, has a horn and eats people?'; A: 'A one-eyed, one-horned, flying people eater'. It really is true what they say about comedy not aging well, isn't it?) It's supposed to be cute but isn't. It's trying to be a song for kids to singalong with but it's lacking in childish wonder. ("Lollipop" had been a lousy work but I was able to recollect the enjoyment we had as kids from the chorus and that popping sound but there's no similar fun to be found in "The Purple People Eater". It's possible that Mr. Dressup, a beloved Canadian kids show presented by the late Ernie Coombs, might have once done a routine based around the song but the real joy there would have been in seeing a national treasure prancing about in a ridiculous purple monster costume)

Yet, a steaming pile of shit can turn into dried-out, colourless dog poop you sometimes see in the park: you like it no more than you used to and you can't believe it has managed to stick around as long as it has. Somehow, it has become a Halloween song like "Monster Mash" or "Thriller" even though there's nothing scary about it and the only thing I would associate it with October 31st are those nasty molasses candies or Thrills gum, the crap that you never get round to consuming. It's also become the theme for Bastion, a supervillain I am unaware of from the X-Men '97 cartoon series on Disney+. According to Wikipedia, "The Purple People Eater" was "self-chosen". I did not know that Marvel animated characters are permitted to choose their own theme songs nor was I aware that they had theme songs. All that's stupid enough but for him to have picked this garbage and it's presumably meant to intimidate? I don't think we're dealing with a bad guy along the lines of Hela, Magneto or Thanos here, are we?

A 10 will come along eventually. I have a few earmarked for a full score but the first of them won't be for a little while yet. There is always the chance one will pop up before then but it will have to be a very pleasant surprise since I'm not anticipating any until we get a couple years into the sixties. As for the next 1, I have no idea. I haven't looked into it. Can't say it's something I'm looking forward to.

Score: 1

Bobby Freeman: "Do You Want to Dance"

June 9, 1958 (1 week)

Popular Songs *You* Didn't Know Are Covers!!!

"I Will Always Love You" (Uh, yes, I did know it was a cover, thank you very much...Dolly Parton did it and it wasn't exactly a secret, so there!)

"Blinded by the Light" (I once got shouted down by a group of people who said I was wrong about believing it to have been written by Bruce Springsteen, so, yes, I am well aware of it being a cover)

"Red, Red Wine" (Song on an album comprised entirely of covers by a band who seldom performed original material so I'm going guess that it's also a cover)

"Nothing Compares 2 U" (G, who could have written this 1?)

"Hallelujah" (Am I the only person alive who thinks Leonard Cohen's original is way better than Jeff Buckley's? k.d. lang's is also better)

"No More "I Love You's"" (When the Medusa album came out a great deal was made about Annie Lennox doing a collection of covers so I just assumed it was one)

"The Only Way Is Up" (Actually, it's easy to forget that this one's a cover but then you don't tend to see it on such lists because Americans just got to American, am I right?)

These types of lists I occasionally see YouTube probably aren't meant for people like me. But then again, who are they intended for? Music fanatics know that there are famous songs that were covers by more obscure acts that preceded them while people who don't care about music so much probably aren't bothered about such trivia.

One that they never mention is "Do You Want to Dance" which I sort of knew was a cover all along but I couldn't have told you who wrote and/or first recorded it. I had been most familiar with The Beach Boys' 1965 cover — altered by then to "Do You Wanna Dance" — which, despite an enthusiastic but ultimately weak Dennis Wilson lead vocal, has sufficient booming kettle drums, a fine guitar solo and plenty of drama that it's easy to assume these qualities had always been a part of it. Maybe these people who are convinced Brian Wilson is a genius have been on to something all along. 

Rewind seven years to Bobby Freeman's original and it's a surprisingly skeletal affair. It could be a dry run for what Brian Wilson would eventually do with it. The guitar solo is about the only element that rivals its future cover version. In place of those drums, there's what sounds like the gentle pounding of pen or pencil on a Kleenex box. Making do with what you've got, I get it. When fans of indie and lo-fi music go on about a recording that is "raw" I don't think they have a single like this in mind. (They're most likely thinking of some godawful Daniel Johnston demo from the eighties) But that's exactly what this is.

It's a jarring listen at first knowing what it would become less than ten years later but after a few listens Bobby Freeman's original version of "Do You Want to Dance" reveals merits of its own. While his voice is solid but unspectacular, he probably gives a stronger reading of it than either those with much better vocal chops (Cliff Richard, Bette Midler) or those of more modest talents (the aforementioned Dennis Wilson, The Ramones). It's nowhere near as catchy as The Beach Boys but it isn't without hooks. The nagging problem of there not being a chorus when one is badly needed is an issue though. Repeating the title of the song again and again must have been staring at him right in the face too! (For god's sake, even Cliff and The Shadows managed to figure it out!)

Coming in just after The Everly Brothers' "All I Have to Do Is Dream", this has been the second of what amounts to a two part series on cover versions. I didn't intend for them to be written that way but that's where we are. How about a change of pace next time then? Something distinctive that no one has successfully managed to copy or improve over the years. Something that stands alone. Up next is...oh crap!

Score: 6

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

May 5, 1958 (5 weeks)

It was during the month long reign at the top for "All I Have to Do Is Dream" that the CHUM chart celebrated its first birthday. Over the course of this first year, twenty different groups or solo artists managed to reach the summit but just two managed to do so more once: Elvis Presley with five number ones (needless to say with several more to come) and Don and Phil Everly with two. Once again, all hail the dominance of The King!

"All I Have to Do Is Dream" has been covered a lot over the years. As Fred Bronson points out, it managed to chart in the fifties by the Everlys, in the sixties as a solo by Richard Chamberlain, the seventies back in duet form by Glen Campbell and Bobbie Gentry and in the eighties once again as a duet by Andy Gibb and Victorial Principal. True, there was a clear downward trend in the chart placements but there's no question that the tune had legs. (The streak would be broken in the nineties because, let's face it, we Generation Xer's are dead inside; that said, Cliff Richard managed to have a Top 20 hit with it in his native UK in 1994) But my first exposure to this classic was in the musical-comedy-drama Rags to Riches in around 1987.

When the show first started there was talk of comparisons to Annie. But instead of one happy-go-lucky orphan girl being taken in by a wealthy old miser, this time five young ladies of varying ages had been adopted by a rich playboy trying to improve his image. Oh the hilarity! My sister was interested in watching it and I went along with her. We were already loyal fans of Our House with the late Shannen Doherty and Chad Allen and I'm pretty sure this new series either came on right before it or just after. Bloody hell, I really would watch anything, wouldn't I?

The songs used in Rags to Riches were from the late fifties and early sixties but they all seemed familiar. Exploiting a Baby Boomer nostalgia that the forthcoming series The Wonder Years and hit motion picture Dirty Dancing would be vastly more successful at, the show's creators weren't going for obscurities of the era. My sister and I both recognized "All I Have to Do Is Dream" but we couldn't have told you who had originally done it. I think we both scoffed at Rose singing it about her unrequited crush — especially in the way she altered the words (a common practice on this show) to fit around the plot: "only trouble is, gee wiz, I can't treat Diane this way" — but the actress, Kimiko Gelman, doesn't do such a bad job of it. To be sure, I was expecting a good deal worse.

But that's the thing: "All I Have to Do Is Dream" covers well. Most versions out there are pretty good and it doesn't seem any manage to mess it up. The Campbell/Gentry rendition is perhaps the finest. R.E.M.'s interpretation, as seen in the 1986 documentary Athens, GA: Inside/Out, is instructive: while the indie quartet's smattering of other covers ("Superman", "Love Is All Around") manage to sound like R.E.M. songs that happen to have been written by other people, Michael Stipe and Mike Mills can't help but sing like Don and Phil Everly. For someone with such a distinctive voice, Stipe has never sounded so much unlike himself.

With all due respect to Glen and Bobbie, Michael and Mike and even Rose from Rags to Riches, none of them can quite match the magic of the Everlys, which perhaps explains why everyone tries to copy them rather than trying something new. And what can possibly be done with "All I Have to Do Is Dream"? If not quite a masterpiece then it's near enough with Tom Ewing describing it as a "big step forward for pop". Quite right. If others had little difficulty replicating the Everlys, then Don and Phil would have a challenge ahead of them in trying to match their biggest hit to date. Credit to them that they managed it since it's doubtful many others would.

Score: 9

~~~~~

Can Con

Here's a name that's new to me: Sheila Guthrie. She was a Toronto native who cut a few singles and a pair of albums over the fifties, sixties and seventies but, alas, she seems to have been largely forgotten with the passage of time. Her prospects must have seemed bright when debut solo "Love Is Universal" took her into the CHUM Top 40. It proved to be just a cup for coffee in the hit parade however. I would like to say a little more but I can't find seem to find any trace of it on YouTube. Some of her future recordings are up so I really ought to investigate. It's worth noting that she chose some good material for her first album Is That All There Is. Fingers crossed her name pops up before long on another old CHUM chart. Rest in power.

David Seville: "Witch Doctor"

April 28, 1959 (1 week)

""Witch Doctor" was the first of three novelty song to go to number one in 1958," Fred Bronson states in The Billboard Book of Number One Hits, "making it the most successful year for this genre". Too true. The Americans would soon cool to the charms of the novelty pop smash though it's something that has carried on over the generations over in Britain. There have even been a handful — Lieutenant Pigeon's "Mouldy Old Dough", Doop's eponymous 1994 hit celebrating the charleston...damn, my brain can't conjure up a third example — that are actually rather good. Yet a trilogy of "comedy" singles that topped the charts Stateside proved to be more than enough — and given the overall quality, is it any wonder?

Canada's CHUM chart could differ from what was soon to become known as the Hot 100 south of the border. Close to half of the entries in this space have been Canadian number ones that came up short in the US. Yet, our country's obsession with trying to prove that we're not exactly the same as our neighbours to the south didn't apply when it came to the novelty pop invasion of '58. The one time we just had to follow suit...

In a vacuum, "Witch Doctor" is fairly tolerable and it's clearly the best of a poor crop. The fact that the high pitch is used sparingly certainly helps. That said, it couldn't be anything but a novelty song. Those horns that guide it along could be straight out of a silly old pratfall video. Creator Ross Bagdasarian (the real name for singer David Seville who would, confusingly, then become a cartoon character when he began managing an unruly trio of rodents) also has an ideal voice for children's music, which begs the question: did he always sound like a pop star for kids or does it just seem like it because everyone who has come along since sounds just like him? (See? It isn't just The Velvet bloody Underground who are influential!)

Bronson says that its infamous refrain of "Oo-ee, oo-ah-ah. ting-tang, walla walla bing-bang" is the sort of thing you'll wind up bursting into when doing a bit of dusting round the house but I respectful disagree. Rather, I'd say it's what you end up singing out loud while in a grocery store or in IKEA as it's playing over the PA — until you catch yourself, possibly when an attractive girl suddenly laughs at you singing along with what amounts to the Chipmunks. It would be fine if the scourge of "Witch Doctor's" earworm only affected us in the privacy of our own homes but it's real purpose is to humiliate us in public.

To its credit, "Witch Doctor" doesn't manage to get on the listener's nerves until pretty close to its conclusion. (Plenty of a other big novelty hits are not able to come close to the two minute mark before the desire to hurl a brick at whatever or whomever is playing it becomes overwhelming, as, indeed, we'll see shortly) Not much of a recommendation but sometimes not hating something is an achievement of sorts. Sorry to be hammering the point home but it could've been worse so well done David Seville and the weirdly squeaky-voiced shaman he went to see: you didn't suck. Not this time at any rate.

Score: 5

Elvis Presley: "Wear My Ring Around Your Neck"

April 21, 1958 (1 week)

Khao San Rd is in a part of Bangkok that I have long been fond of. I lived a ten minute walk from the famous backpacker ghetto and as a result it ended up being my go-to area when I didn't have anything else to do, which, given that I was largely friendless during the six months I lived in the Thai capital, was quite often. I'd go on weekends in the middle of the day when there weren't as many people around and I'd browse the dusty old bookshops. Sometimes I'd be there in the evening when it was teaming with tourists of all kinds and plenty vendors trying to hawks essentials like disco balls and model helicopters made from beer and pop cans.

There is now what amounts to an island of street food vendors who park down the middle of the strip but back in the early two thousands it was much more open for the hundreds of people in the area. It was a chance to see all kinds of travellers, from crunchy granola backpackers to the sleaziest sex tourists and everything in between. (I was once gawked at by seemingly everyone on Khao San the night I went to meet a friend for dinner not long after being released from the hospital after a serious accident. You don't see many white guys who are just shy of two meters with bandages on their heads and casts on their arms)  It was during one of my sojourns that I noticed a young couple: he was a fair haired westerner who was about my height and wore glasses, while she was a petite Thai girl. Nothing special there but for one thing: he had his hand around her neck.

It is this anecdote which comes to mind whenever I listen to Elvis Presley's fifth Canadian number one single "Wear My Ring Around Your Neck". I'm prepared to believe that both incident and song were not intended to have any ill feeling but that's still not the impression I get. The gentleman on Khao San looked to be holding his girlfriend's neck gently but the act still seemed violent. Same goes for a song about keeping an engagement ring around a girl's neck rather than on the left hand where it belongs. If we're being charitable, maybe it could be about having the ring on a necklace but is pulling a Frodo much of a statement?

"Wear My Ring Around Your Neck" broke a string of ten straight number ones in the US. It also missed the top spot in Britain, ensuring that it wouldn't be one of the better remembered Elvis numbers of the era. It didn't help that the overall quality of his work had been trending down even though it was a recovery of sorts from the ordinariness of the double A-side "I Beg of You" / "Don't". The band sound in good form with D.J. Fontana's drumming a particular high spot. Despite the brisk pace, it still doesn't quite measure up to the standards of even a year earlier. Still, a tip of the hat for Elvis managing to hold off the quality bottoming out — at least for now anyway.

Elvis seemed to have a knack for making problematic material just a little less uncomfortable. His masterpiece L.P., From Elvis in Memphis, contains a deep cut called "Power of My Love", an aggressive bar band blues with references to having to "punch it", "pound it" and "drag it all around". It gets especially tense in the chorus with his warning that "every minute, every hour, you'll be shaken by the strength and mighty power of my love". Not nice imagery but I'm not quite sure he's advocating for violence against women so I'll let it slide. (A couple of points in its favour: (a) it's followed on the album by the lovely "Gentle on My Mind" which offers some redemption and (b) it's an absolute banger; a good song can cover up many sins) Same goes in this instance: the wording isn't great, it's controlling not unlike putting a leash on a dog but I might give Elvis the benefit of the doubt because he's an insecure guy who's going to be away for some time.

Sgt Elvis Presley was by now stationed in Fort Hood (now Fort Cavazos), Texas where he put on a brave face about life as a soldier but longed for Memphis and feared for his career. If his previous hit could be interpreted as a message from his fans to him, this one could be seen as reciprocal: keep the faith, stay committed to The King, don't forget about him and he'll be back before you know it. I'd keep that ring on my finger or put away someplace special but you do you.

Score: 6

Connie Francis: "Who's Sorry Now?"

April 7, 1958 (2 weeks)

"Any chance for me, lads?"

Jimmy Rabbitte's neighbour only appears for a snippet to deliver a lighthearted audition for a band that would soon become known as The Commitments. She's not half-bad, especially compared to most of the singers and/or musicians who turned up for a place in the "saviours of soul" and the "hardest working band in the world". Yet the song she chose must have seemed ancient to Jimmy and his recruits Derek Scully, Outspan Foster and Dean Fey. Connie Francis' definitive rendition of "Who's Sorry Now?" may have come from the era of Elvis Presley and Buddy Holly but it might as well have predated them by a century for all these young Dubliners knew and/or cared.

It matters not that "Who's Sorry Now?" was recorded not long before most of what would appear in the acclaimed film The Commitments as well as its two best-selling soundtrack albums. Perhaps that's because it was an oldie even then. Published way back in 1923 (which means it could have been written at least a year or two prior to then), it had floated around as a foxtrot standard recorded by several artists and appearing in the Marx Brothers' 1946 film A Night in Casablanca. Not exactly a tune that was instantly familiar to the masses but not an obscurity either.

(While we're on the subject of its age, "Who's Sorry Now?" topped the Canadian and British charts in 1958, while The Commitments came out in 1991 which means that hits like "Losing My Religion", "Justified and Ancient" and "Set Adrift on a Memory Bliss" are as old in 2024 as Connie Francis' signature song was back then. Oh, what the passage of time does, eh readers? Also, it's about time we got a Commitments streaming series. In fact, I'm a little surprised it hasn't happened already)

It was perhaps with this in mind that George Francis cajoled his talented but unsuccessful daughter Connie to record it in a last ditch attempt to save her failing singing career. She wasn't keen but eventually relented. Giving the arrangement a contemporary beat proved to be a wise decision. Not only was it a huge hit around the world but Francis managed to take a song that was already a third of a century old and make it her own. Significantly, not a whole lot of cover versions have come along since. It's as if everyone immediately recognized there's no topping this one.

Like many 45's from the era, "Who's Sorry Now?" isn't long — it can't be anything but brief since the lyrics are so concise — but it manages to pack a great deal into its two minutes and twenty seconds. Tom Ewing admits to feeling like the point had been made ninety seconds in until it dawned on him that it's only near the song's end that she "coldly rubs her ex's misery in his face". For it to begin with Francis being much more regretful is a helpful reminder of how artists and producers once used economy to their advantage; far more happens here than in most modern songs that are at least double its length.

Giving it a rock 'n' roll beat and some chugging guitar parts, the arrangement is indeed up-to-date but there's still enough of a swing holding it all together to ensure it would have appealed to older listeners as well. Yet, the overall effect looks much more towards the future than it spends wallowing in the past — which is appropriate for a song about moving on from a poisonous relationship. Francis may sound more buttoned down early on but her stand out performance near the end even anticipates sixties' women's lib. I don't know if I hear stripper music as Ewing does in this part but certainly there's a commendable bravado as the climax approaches.

Jimmy Rabbitte's mandate in forming The Commitments was to bring soul to what he called "the blacks of Europe". (If such a statement seems hard to swallow, it pales in comparison to Roddy Doyle's novel from 1987 with its use of multiple racial slurs and the claim by veteran trumpet player Joey "The Lips" Fagan that jazz great Charlie Parker "didn't deserve his black skin") And while the likes of "Dark End of the Street", "I Never Loved a Man (the Way I Love You)" and "Try a Little Tenderness" clearly struck a nerve with the Northside Dublin crowds, they wouldn't have lost a beat had they added "Who's Sorry Now?" to their repertoire. They wouldn't have bettered Connie Francis but they hadn't been able to match Aretha Franklin and Otis Redding either so there you go.

Score: 8  

The Chordettes: "Lollipop"

March 31, 1958 (1 week)

I have friends who seem to think I have an encyclopedic knowledge of music. I imagine this is because they know a lot less than I do — either that or I've been faking just how much I know. But I mix things up and get stuff wrong a lot. For example, I was well into my twenties when I discovered that the hit single "Copacabana" wasn't done by The Kinks. (It was the opening line of "her name was Lola" that caused the confusion; people would talk about the song "Lola" assuming I was already familiar with it which I clearly wasn't) 

It was perhaps with this howler in mind that I took my Korean wife confusing The Beatles' "Across the Universe" for Glenn Medeiros' notorious eighties' hit in good humour instead of being appalled. (Both songs having choruses beginning with "nothing's gonna change..." is, if anything, more understandable than mixing up The Kinks and Barry Manilow; before you say anything, yes I have composed a mash-up entitled "Nothing's Gonna Change My Universe", which I sung to her on her birthday a few years ago; if anyone happens to be interested in recording it, please let me know and I'll send you the lyrics) I could very well be wrong but I suspect that John Lennon would have found this mistake to be amusing too.

A good deal less embarrassing was that I always used to get the two well known pop songs with the word 'lollipop' in the title mixed up: the present single by The Chordettes — and, in Britain, The Mudlarks — and "My Boy Lollipop" by Millie Small. (Again, there's a potential mash-up if it hasn't already been done) Naturally, this was down to the hard candy on a stick rather than the quality of the two records, which couldn't have differed more in that respect. "My Boy Lollipop" is frequently cited as the first major international pop hit to emerge out of Jamaica but it's a great song even if its historic significance is ignored. Millie Small's story is a sad one but hopefully her family is proud of what she accomplished. Even if she never did anything beyond her signature hit, she would have a tremendous legacy.

Unfortunately, I will not have the chance to write about "My Boy Lollipop" in the future. While it would top the CHUM charts, it only managed to make runner up spot on the RPM listings, which was by then had become the official national pop survey of record. Instead, I am reduced to padding out this meager entry on a pop song I really can't stand by praising one that I love. (For the record, I would have scored "My Boy Lollipop" an 8) But let's finish up by crapping on the worst number one to date (though I don't imagine it will hold the crown for very long; there are a few chart toppers coming up that I am not looking forward to having to listen to but which I am looking forward to crapping all over)

As a boy "Lollipop" seemed like a lot of fun. I paid no attention to its verses and was simply happy to repeat the chorus as well as make that distinctive popping sound by hooking my thumb into the side of my mouth and abruptly pulling it out. While that side of things still appeals, it's just a shame everything else going on here is so pitiful. Their harmonies are flat but that's okay because it's bursting with humour — or so we are meant to believe. The whole thing just makes my skin crawl and I can't get through its two minutes and ten seconds without the overwhelming urge to turn it off. Was "Mr. Sandman" always this rotten too? I would investigate but I think I've put myself through more than enough, thank you very much.

Score: 2

~~~~~

Can Con

So, "Lollipop" is dreadful but at least there's an engaging slice of rockabilly from Sudbury, ON native Terry Roberts. I'd never heard of him either but he and backing band The Deans make me wonder why they've been such an obscurity despite hitting the CHUM Top 10 with "Oh Lonesome Me". He sounds rather too American for my tastes ("...I thought of everything from A to zee"? I know it rhymes but come on!) but his voice is strong and it's easy to imagine the choppy C&W chords morphing into some killer bar band rock. Maybe that's what everyone in Bermuda and much of the Caribbean saw in him in the seventies. Their gain was our loss.

The Champs: "Tequila"

March 24, 1958 (1 week)

It had been just over a month since The Silhouettes went to number one in Canada with a single that had initially been earmarked as a B-side and now in March of 1958 it was happening again. It's stunning to think that the quintet that made up The Champs as well producer Joe Johnson of Challenge Records sized up the two instrumentals cut on December 23, 1957 and agreed to give the prominent spot to the undistinguished "Train to Nowhere" over "Tequila", a piece of music that is so catchy and iconic that an awful lot of people could still hum its tune.

"Tequila" is the fourth Canadian chart topper to either be an instrumental or be be close enough. I've heard people online say that vocals of any kind should not be allowed for a song to qualify but I beg to differ. If lyrics and a singer aren't there to anchor a record then I think that's good enough to be an instrumental. A great deal of the jazz I listen to is vocal-free but you still might catch Thelonious Monk humming along in the background on some of his extraordinary recordings and Keith Jarrett's massively popular (though slightly overrated) The Köln Concert is littered with the pianist moaning and screeching as he's playing. My favourite example of a jazz musician "singing" along with themselves though is Duke Ellington on the insanely earworm-heavy "Limbo Jazz" from the terrific album Duke Ellington Meets Coleman Hawkins, in which you can hear the legendary bandleader enjoying himself so much that he just has to scat along with it. Fantastic.

So, all of these pieces of music are instrumentals in my book, as indeed "Tequila" is since it's only "lyric" is its title being shouted out three or four times. What was it about the fifties that made it such a friendly era for groups that didn't bother having a singer? It's common for fans of pop and rock to long for a return to the sixties but in this respect I'm all for going back a decade earlier than that. I do love me some Booker T. & The MG's but they had become pretty much a one off by the time "Green Onions" gave them a Top 10 hit. The Beatles released only one instrumental during their day and with all due respect to "Flying" it doesn't add a whole lot to their legacy. It's likely the only reason The Beach Boys put out as many vocal-less tunes as they did — "Summer Means New Love", "Let's Go Away for a While", "Pet Sounds", "The Nearest Faraway Place" — was because they couldn't get a half-decent lyrics out of Mike Love or Tony Asher to fit around them.

To be an instrumental act by choice is a whole other matter. The results could vary but when these sorts of groups were at their best, they could really deliver. It's uncertain if The Champs were up to the task, however. The December '58 session which resulted in both "Tequila" and "Train to Nowhere" actually included two more recordings. One of them is "Night Train" which was even more inconsequential than their spurned A-side while the other, "All Night Rock" has never been heard from since. It was only when all three of these masterpieces by leader Dave Burgess were out of the way that fellow Champ Chuck Rio had the chance to fool around in the studio with his jam piece built around some memorable sax playing that is best described as "dirty".

"Tequila" is one of those songs that feels like it's always been around. Being so familiar to me, it's not the sort of thing I'd normally sit down and listen to. I approached it this week wondering if I'd missed anything by not having ever listened closely until now. A sweet guitar lick perhaps. Or a subtle drum solo. Maybe even something cool in the production I'd never noticed before. Was there anything I missed? Nope, nothing. For sure Chuck Rio's sax is outstanding as it always has been but there isn't a great deal to it otherwise. It sounds exactly how I remember it sounding even when I was a little boy. How we hear some music changes as we get older but not in the case of "Tequila". Now that's what I call being timeless.

Score: 7