The Next Best Thing: Ricky Nelson: "Hello Mary Lou/Travelin' Man"

If you ever wondered where the music video started, you would be wrong to think it was in the late 60s, though certainly by then the idea was gaining some ground; no, it is right here in the summer of '61 that the first music video appears, appropriately watched (though surreally) by the performer's own parents on the performer's show - the performer being one Ricky Nelson, and his parents Ozzie and Harriet. That Nelson was gifted musically was something not too much of a surprise - his father was as well - but young Ricky had a rebellious streak (though he & James Burton here all look as if they are the fathers of flannel-flying grunge, when in fact they are helping to create country rock, not to mention Chris Isaak) and made rock music when rock music was going through what could best be called a 'phase'; the major players all away for various reasons, someone young, familiar, distinctly good-looking without being overwhelmingly handsome - that is, a younger version of Elvis without the oomph - was inevitably going to appear, and that he came out of Hollywood makes perfect sense, since Hollywood is all about (amongst many things) making popular things even more popular. That Nelson turned out to be better than expected was a bonus, not doing anything other than what he wanted to do, and doing it well. (Being enormously rich and having his father's help in these matters was essential, of course, but talent wills out in all matters, no matter what the connections are.)

"Hello Mary Lou"'s b-side was the rather risque (if I do say so myself) "Travelin' Man", a song is as casual in its promiscuity as "Hello Mary Lou" is in its faithfulness; there is a kind of yin-yangness to this double a-side (yea and verily that is the definition of a good one) that is the answer to the teenage girl's question - "Yes, but what is he really like?" Is he able to give his heart to one girl, or does he just aimlessly wander around, like, y'know, guys do? Nelson lets the girls decide here, (though I should note that "Hello Mary Lou" was the hit in the UK , the other the hit in the US...hmmmm).

I should also note that "Hello Mary Lou" was written by one Gene Pitney (fear not, dear readers, I do get to him in time), thus the line about 'wild horses' was no doubt heard by, amongst many others, a couple of young men just south of London who were still teenagers themselves and who for all I know were fans of good-bad boy Nelson himself; indeed Nelson lived a life that was a bit rough and casual and yet somehow, his rather innocent bull-in-the-heather good looks could make you forgive him for all that; and as a product of The Man (Hollywood also tends to be just that, despite itself) he was far more successful than anyone had a right to expect*. He wasn't Elvis, but then he was far more Elvis than Frankie Avalon, and for that rock 'n' roll must say thanks.


*Just think of all the rather lamentable albums tv actors have recorded over the years, some of which I will, even more lamentably, have to write about.

You're Going My Way: Bobby Darin: "Lazy River"

And now, some glamour; some snazziness; some swingin' goodness. But since this is the 60s, there is a ticking clock in the background, one that in this case ticks rather loudly. Bobby Darin (as is known now, but wasn't known in '61) knew he didn't have the best health and was determined to make as much of his life as he could. This condition might drive some to despair, but Darin took it the opposite direction to a kind of rabid joy which must have been incandescent in person.

The vitality here comes from Darin himself, of course, but also from the equally snazzy duo of Ahmet Ertegun and Jerry Wexler at Atlantic, who produced the song and no doubt gave Darin the freedom to start quietly and take this song (by Hoagy Carmichael) - grab it more, really - to the point where he can exclaim "From the halfway mark YEAH!" near the end and make it sound like the 50s are well over and done, that his lion's way of 'rrRROOORRing' his words (like a thick smear of jam on toast) is going to cast off any chains that are left over from the previous decade. This is a man who paid attention to James Brown and Ray Charles, and these influences show, as much as the Catskills swagger he learned when younger. This is young, fresh America, smiling and confident, taking pleasure when and wherever it can...but elsewhere...a young woman - she is still in her teens at this point - must have heard this and admired Darin's freedom to roam over a standard at will, anchored as she was to Mitch Miller's style of singing dutifully and moderately (a style which followed a bouncing ball, just as many tv viewers also did), dimming and shading any signs of ecstatic or erotic experience. She was still stuck, against her will, in the 50s, as so many were at this time, toiling away in jazz standards, having some success but not enough to satisfy her ambition. I mention her to show what Darin accomplished in such a short time was a yardstick for others, a sunny beacon to black and white singers alike.

One Lump or Two: The Allisons: "Are You Sure"

The Eurovision Song Contest is something that I, an American, still regard with some confusion and puzzlement - why does it exist? Why is it called Eurovision when it's about music? Nevertheless, the UK has entered many a song, some good and some...not so good, since the beginning. And here we are, just a year into the course of events with a song that was heard & seen* by many and indeed bought by many as well. But, I ponder, why?

There's a rather strange thing going on here - instead of getting, oh, Cliff Richard on the show (he would show up eventually), the UK contingent was made of two 'brothers' singing very politely about abandonment and possible heartbreak, as if they were asking the girl in question if she wouldn't rather like to stay and have another cup of tea. That they sound an awful lot like the Everly Brothers isn't a coincidence either, and must have helped; but instead of the marmalade sweet-sharpness of those actual brothers, these two chime like particularly pleasant tower clock bells, their very voices reassuring the listening public that nothing as bad as misery was ever really at stake. It is a terribly nice song, but something tells me that there are two other men from England who are elsewhere who have also studied the Everlys quite closely and who will add a certain something lacking here which could be called many things - energy, drive, punctum - that will make this black-suited politeness look as if it is from some other world altogether, let alone year. But this is 1961, a year of compromises and shifting powers, and those with their antennae up, so to speak, could tell something was happening, though just where they couldn't be sure. (There is a strong hint of what is to come in the chart where this appears - The Shirelles - but they are drowned out by clean-cut boys, for now.)


*Ah, now I get it - you see the songs being performed, as well as hear them.

I've Come To See A Man About a Horse: Duane Eddy: "Pepe"

It is something of a puzzle that I am trying to unravel now: namely, when do the Sixties, as such, appear? The line between them is indeed fuzzy still, but a certain loosening of inhibitions and morals in general (for better or worse) seems to be happening here, in a song that sounds more or less like Eddy's usual sturdy hardy brevity being subverted (or perhaps just adjusted, in a way) by Lee Hazelwood's addition of roaring saxophone and what can best be called more-than-slightly drunken demented laughter, insouciant and indiscriminate. (I am aware that Russ Conway also had a version of this song in the chart at the time, but then again The Ventures' rather tamer also-as-well "Perfidia" was also present.) There are harbingers amidst the clean-cut crew of something wholly other about to spring up out of seemingly nowhere, in this case entering as the theme song to an all-but-forgotten movie set (of course) in Mexico. So much of what is to come arrives slowly this year, but steadily; the genuine warmth and good nature of most of it masks its essential radical quality. The Sixties may not start right here, but this is where the slippery slope begins.

First Among Equals: The Drifters: "Save The Last Dance For Me"

There is something to be said for freedom and generosity - not just in political terms (when last I wrote here, did anyone expect the election to bring a sharing of power?), but of the heart as well. Popular music is popular in part because it expresses (like all arts) things that maybe are too extreme or hapless or abject to say in person. And since love is the main topic of songs period, a great deal of insecurity and nervousness and, yes, possessiveness comes into music, for better and also for worse.

This song is unique in that the man is utterly sure and happy and generous with his girl; she can be held tightly by someone else, she can stand in the pale moonlight, she can look a man who gives her the eye right back.

She can do all these things because he knows (and she knows) that their love is safe and secure, that he is taking her home - indeed in Ben E. King's satisfied "hmmmms" you can tell that what they have is special and that their relationship is one of equals. I cannot ignore that we are still (only just) in 1960 and that true equality hasn't really arrived yet, but I don't get the sense that there is any patronizing or condescending attitude here - 'little girl you can do what you like' is one way of looking at this, but the confident cha-cha asserts there is more going on here than that. (And indeed, there was - Doc Pomus, who wrote the song with Mort Shuman, had polio and couldn't dance; the song was for his wife, who liked to go out and dance.) So this is a song of love and in part dependence, of longing and freedom and understanding. I can see him saying these things to her as she puts on her shoes and does her makeup, just as I can see her coming back, her feet a little tired and longing for him and his arms, where she ultimately belongs, after maybe not having such a great time. He rubs her feet and she sighs, happily.

No Matter What: Shirley Bassey: "As Long As He Needs Me"

Even though we are now in the fall of 1960 (Kennedy newly elected; Lady Chatterley's Lover is cleared of obscenity, and in a few weeks Coronation Street is about to begin), in my mind's eye this song is played out on a stage that starts in the Victorian period with Charles Dickens acting out the death of Nancy (for this is her song, from Oliver!) in 1868, an experience he puts so much of himself into that he has to stop doing his readings on doctor's orders. Nancy is of course a sacrificial character, and while I don't know enough about Dickens to know why he would put himself through this time after time, he did, and his early death was perhaps due to these readings (not to mention the general headlong way he went about treating, or mistreating, his body). In the song Nancy's need for Sikes is so great that she cannot contemplate being without him, she is loyal and yet dies because that loyalty is falsely suspected. It is something of a doormat song, but Nancy, after her death, is triumphant - Oliver is safe and Fagin's gang are found out.

Bassey's voice, sounding youngish here, nevertheless are those of a woman who is determined to do the right thing, even if she suffers; a kind of nobility creeps in, the nobility of someone who perhaps has her doubts and might reveal them if you ask her carefully - but will not, as the phrase goes, give face. It is a big voice and needs big sentiments. (The problem with having a big voice like hers is getting those songs, as well as ones that work skilfully against it, as Bassey's latest album shows.) One man who was a figurative Oliver to Bassey's Nancy was just a toddler when this song was a hit; some 25 years later he would work with her in Switzerland (too excited for words and almost shy, not his usual self) on a song of profound and deep emotions - not to mention a cool sensuality. The man was Billy Mackenzie. So "As Long As He Needs Me" leads me directly to Switzerland, a recording studio, an hour of magic and nerves; and I wonder if Nancy isn't half singing to Oliver himself, that Bassey might have some story to tell about Mr. Mackenzie and that glorious day, when his voice blended with hers.

Blue Teardrops of Pride: Elvis Presley: "A Mess of Blues"

It is quite appropriate, on this day of days, to leisurely (I hope all readers had a fine holiday!) continue with...Elvis, who was born 75 years ago today, and is in some ways just as alive as ever. (For a fine book on his immediate afterlife, Dead Elvis by Greil Marcus is essential reading, though sadly I don't have a copy.) Hearing this song - which happens to be his last entry here for some time - makes me understand what makes him valuable and interesting, to say the least. "A Mess of Blues" is a song of sorrow - he can't eat, he can't sleep, he's missing his baby so much that "Every day is just blue Monday" (Elvis predicts New Order?!?!) and yet he will not be ashamed: "If you cry when you're in love/It sure ain't no disgrace" - Elvis the liberator again, this time telling men that yes, they can cry (years before Rosie Grier says the same in Free To Be You And Me.) "Whoops there goes a teardrop" he even sings in defiance, as if he knows damn well that this is going to end and not a minute too soon, but dammit he's a man and can do whatever the hell he wants - for a sorrowful song there's an awful of swagger in here, the Jordanaires even sound as if they are in it, 'wooo-wooo'ing like they really are his posse. In the end he catches a train (presumably to be with her, who sent him the letter of misery in the first place) and will kick his own troubles to the curb. He's in a mess, his room is blue blue electric blue, but he is getting out of there and into the world, and we will not be seeing him again, dear readers, for some time. Wish him well...