This Won't Hurt A Bit: Leapy Lee: "Little Arrows"

The experience of falling in love is, to say the least, an interesting one. It is swoony, it is perpetual, it puzzlingly either seems to grow over months or happens seemingly within seconds (or even weirder, both of these occur). To those of you who have yet to fall in love, all I can say is you certainly will know when it happens - it is an overwhelming experience and an understandably confusing one, because the world is being newly refreshed all around you, and this renewal is constant and suddenly the Other is magically everywhere.

After so many songs of death, sacrifice and sorrow this song is a very welcome reminder that, even in the chaos of '68, Cupid is still hard at work, his arrows scattering everywhere. Here these arrows are as common as the twirling maple seeds in Toronto, getting into hair and clothes; not even armour can stop them, so powerful are they.

While Leapy Lee is not exactly the first name you think of when the word "punctum" comes to mind, the piercing quality of those arrows cannot be denied. Falling in love makes you wake up; it makes you vulnerable; and to a certain extent, you have to be ready for love in order to fall into it*. Those arrows may be little but their accumulative power is awesome, and Leapy Lee (dressed much like Cat Stevens was) makes it sound like fun, kind of like winning the lottery. I can only attribute this to the songwriters, Albert Hammond and Mike Hazelwood, who were country/pop writers and not opera composers after all - the lightheartedness here is a joy, a little inane to those who always take love Very Seriously, but a joy nonetheless. Because of its mythological basis this isn't bubblegum (bubblegum never presumes you know anything, or that you're over ten) but a kind of giddy, winking (though not knowing) embrace of Cupid, whose own character was naturally mischievous.

In a way this song is only for those who haven't fallen in love yet; it is fair warning for what is to come, though kind of a camouflage as well for what really happens, which feels less like being covered in arrows and more like a drug-like experience that doesn't let up...

Next up: more romance, courtesy of a Friendly Forbear.


*Erich Fromm says you have to know and respect yourself before you can love anyone else; not terribly romantic, but absolutely true.

Back to the Future: Donovan: "Sunshine Superman"

The term "psychedelic" comes from two Greek words - "psyche" (the soul) and "deloun" (to manifest). With this song the psychedelic era comes to this blog, though in truth psychedelic music had existed for at least a year if not more (Pet Sounds is psychedelic in the sense that it is a soul-manifesting album, for instance). It was recorded a year earlier but due to record company problems was a hit in the UK long after it got to #1 in the US. (Trust a Scotsman to be ahead of the curve musically.)

The term psychedelic was coined in 1957* - ten years earlier - to describe what LSD actually (they hoped) would do. It was never meant to be used outside of psychotherapy, originally, and many doctors and scientists did experiments to see what effect it would have on patients and 'artistic'** types. By the mid-60s they had determined that it was a drug with a rather unpredictable effect on people, and was much tougher to obtain, which didn't stop those in the know from getting it and giving it to those who felt they needed to go on their own trip. Aldous Huxley, Timothy Leary and other respected folks encouraged those who were disenchanted to take it and enlighten themselves - to see the world in a new way and thence evolve.

Suffice it to say this Utopian idea - tuning in, turning on and dropping out - appealed to many who felt that just about everything going on in the 60s was wrong - the war, racism, sexism, the boring straight world with its hierarchies and tragic lack of soul. Others took it to prove they were brave enough to do so - Ken Kesey's acid tests had turned many on the West Coast on in '66-'65 - though taking it was never supposed to be about posing or boasting. It is also true that musicians who took LSD had to have a strong constitution to survive doing so, and that many tried to get their experiences into their songs, via words and/or music. It naturally appealed to those who were bored, restless, experimental - John Lennon and George Harrison were the LSD heads in The Beatles, for instance, as opposed to McCartney (who by this time still hadn't tried it). In the UK it was an American import and was one of those scandalous drugs that led to drug busts, even though it was not a crime to possess it (other ones, such as pot or cocaine, yes).

If you are wondering why I am going on about a drug as opposed to a song, that is because this year is unlike any others. This is the crossroads; this is the tightrope moment when musicians - particularly UK ones - begin to break down barriers and experiment and really listen to each other. LSD has a way of breaking down barriers as well of course, of making what is there simply more intense or perceptible in a way close to a mystical experience. It's a Utopian time all right, but with drugs there is always the risk that something will go wrong, that the classic "good idea at the time" will evaporate and what seems to be glaringly obvious to the tripper will be fuzzy or incoherent to those straighter folk who are trying to understand what the heck is going on.

1967 is unlike any other years in that so many musicians did their best to express the inexpressible and give the world a chance to hear what they heard, see what they saw, with uniformly stunning results. Apart from the strobe lights, fluorescent posters and the like, the music is what really lasts from this period; that a huge generation experienced it and gave it its popularity in the first place means I have always known it, almost have over-heard it, if that's possible.

Donovan's proud boasting that he can outdo Superman and Green Lantern in his exploits in order to win his girl are one thing, but a video with no lip-syncing is another, not to mention those psychedelic hallmark: distorted pictures, kites and random wackiness (avec kitten). This is psychedelic courting, full of pearls and rainbows and a sly wink in the song that doesn't take away from its seriousness. I grew up in a house full of Donovan's records and so this is as familiar to me as The Beach Boys. That it could be heard as an invitation from the hip to the straights to succumb to the ennobling and beautiful world post-trip is also there, the appeal as warm and enriching as, well, sunshine itself. But as we all know, too much sunshine can be dangerous, and LSD was never meant to be taken for that long.

This is the sunny introduction to a year that will transform a great deal of what can be thought of as 'rock' (in just about every way possible). It brings Jimmy Page (electric guitar) into this saga as well, then just a session musician who was still (at the time of recording) to join The Yardbirds. A whole world is opening up, erratically but inevitably, as the counterculture/flower power movement moves in from the fringes and starts to get noticed; hippies spring up wildflower-like and the enchanting strangeness and startling humor - not to mention rebelliousness - give The Man plc a big headache. The laid-back mood of the year is set, with barely one or two club hits managing to make it to #2, and none make it to #1 (save "I'm a Believer"). The torrid excitements of '66 are fading, to be replaced by musicians who are starting to slow down so they can hear each other better, who are becoming - for now - a real community. Their souls, if you like, are staring to manifest.



*LSD itself was invented in 1943, though its psychedelic properties weren't discovered for a few years.

**My father was the subject of an experiment, along with another painter, in Los Angeles in 1959. Everything he saw was brighter than usual, so the painting he did was darker, just to give his eyes a break. He later saw Hollywood Boulevard and thought it was on fire. He didn't show any interest in LSD afterwards, though we had old Psychedelic Reviews around the house, so he must have been curious...

Lend Your Voice: Petula Clark: "Downtown"

The man, in the dark, after he cries and perhaps is a bit cold and numb, turns on the radio, and hears this.

He is perhaps warmed by it, by the simple piano and then the unveiled band behind her, as if the city's core itself were made of music, bright and shiny and capable of lifting even the most tired and bedraggled soul. Of course he resists and tries to pretend that what is on offer - all the distractions - are beneath him or beside the point. But then it filters through slowly that it is just being out there that matters. He does not have to do anything but go and walk and look, really look and let himself become part of a greater whole. There is no great mystery to it, or conspiracy. Yes, the city is yours too. Do with it as you will. And yes, I am there, you might meet me, and we can exist, if only for a while. The city knows no time or particular emotion; it is what it is, and it accepts you, whoever you are.

It is easy to feel as if you don't mean very much, but then you can turn it around and say, it's just a city, of course; and cities are made of people. The idea of "life" making you lonely is no joke, and the city can only act as a bandage at first, while the real work goes on underneath. But all reviving souls need a distraction, and the city is there for you, if you can stand the "noise and the hurry."

Losing yourself to find yourself; getting rid of loneliness by becoming part of the lonely crowd - these are primal Sixties ideas and gathering together in order to do something good is a natural when there is a sudden boom in people who are young and don't have much else to do; but this song goes deeper than just addressing gawky, awkward wallflowers and hermits to go out and learn to socialize. In Canada a man the same age as Clark heard this song and was struck by it, and it was something of a soundtrack to his own outings, wherein he began to think of the voices of others - the sound of the crowd, if you will - as instruments in and of themselves, interweaving, contradicting, supporting, that the flow of life itself was music.

This was far beyond producer/songwriter Tony Hatch's idea of course - he simply wanted to get the song finished (it was, in the men's room minutes before recording) and give Clark a hit in English (she was doing much better in France than the UK at this point). It was a fragment he played for her at first, something he'd written hoping it would be recorded by The Drifters; Clark immediately recognized it was for her, and Hatch had only a few days to finish it. So in a way she is pouring herself into this song, singing directly to you to join her, in a way that is not just pretty or elegant but a personal invitation. There is a small clause in her "might" at the end, but this is because so many will turn out that she may not be able to see you. The song gives confidence to the listener that s/he will not be alone, whatever happens, and that includes the shattered man, gathering pieces of himself, recognizing himself in others, and others in himself.

A Young Girl Shall Lead Them: Millie Small: "My Boy Lollipop"

Where there is a will (and some willing backers) there is a way; and so it was that pirate radio began, Radio Caroline the rebellious daughter playing her records just loud enough off the southern English coast to get the attention of not just the aforementioned bored teenagers but their moms as well. It all started when one man couldn't get his artist (Georgie Fame) on to the playlist at Radio Luxembourg; he got an old passenger ferry and rigged it up to be a floating station, complete with places for the DJs and staff to eat, hang out, and sleep (as best they could).

The monotony of British state radio was broken up, as suddenly pop was available not just for an hour but all day, and into the night. The effect on the charts was not immediately apparent; but here we are in May of '64 and all of a sudden there is a veritable English civil war going on between the government's idea of proper music (Vera Lynn, Mr. Acker Bilk) and what the public wanted to hear. (This is also when the old-school Rockers and the hip young Mods had a huge and in some ways parallel fight, the Mods being the pirate stations, of course.)

The old order was indeed being challenged and millions listened to Caroline and others as they sprang up around the coast; and this song was the first proof of their power. It is a song as sweet and swinging as the object of Millie's affections - and importantly for this blog, it's not from the US or UK but Jamaica. The wave of late 50s immigrants brought their music with them - bluebeat, ska - and with this massive hit pop music in the UK essentially changed overnight, even if the musicians themselves didn't always prosper. Was the UK ready for a different beat*? OH yes it was, and Caroline was instrumental in getting this heard and thus giving the fledgling Island label its sea legs. The kids and moms (not to mention Mods) were most definitely alright. Would the government find a way to fight back? Soon, but not this year...



*Late in '64 The Beatles showed their effortless cool in picking up ska and doing it their way; it would take reggae to bring a lot of other UK musicians into the Jamaican groove.

People Who Know People: Billy J. Kramer and The Dakotas: "Do You Want To Know A Secret?"

One of the continuing threads in the charts of the 60s - starting very successfully here - is the Beatles album track being covered by another group and made into a hit single. I don't know of any other group being covered so much in their own time, with (of course!) their permission and indeed help; Billy and his band were from Liverpool themselves and thus knew The Beatles when no one would give them the time of day, and so were more than happy to help their pals out with not just already-recorded songs but songs they had written but didn't, for whatever reason, want to record themselves. Other groups may have been jealous of handsome Billy and his tremendous luck, but Billy could definitely sing and The Dakotas could definitely play and this song survives the transition from shadowy flirtation to gleeful proclamation quite well. It seems to move closer and closer incrementally, just as "Can't Get Used To Losing You" seems to move further and further away, bit by bit. The joy is in knowing that the secret is theirs and theirs alone, and can be that way, deliciously, as if their new happiness was a particularly rich cake they can either eat and/or admire...

The generosity of The Beatles here is amazing, but even more amazing are the songs that were just left on albums for others to cover; I don't get to write about any of the others, but suffice it to say by the time The Beatles prove themselves to be more than a passing fad, it is a regular occurence, whenever an album of theirs was released to pounce on it for any songs that could easily be covered. Of course at this time there were almost no unsigned bands in Liverpool, as managers and agents went on a veritable gold rush of whatever they could find, and soon the charts were full of Merseybeat, produced by George Martin (as this was). (In almost too perfect timing, this was a hit around the time of the Profumo Affair, when secrets were spilled, lives changed, and the Sixties, as understood by many, really begin.)

Holding On For Life: Andy Williams: "Can't Get Used To Losing You"

The plucked strings sound like a man itching, restless, pacing the floor back and forth, willing something to go away that just won't. He can't relax. He can't talk on the phone, not for long. The strings slide and glide in a way that is glassy, as if he is trying to walk on emotional black ice. He loves her, it's over, he still loves her, but it's no use. He could go out and yet she would be there, the pluckings now signifying his eye catching this and that, the steps of his walk, the beats of his heart. There is nothing to do but keep loving, because that at least shows he is alive, not just a bundle of nervous moments.

He has lost her, yet he plays it light. He doesn't, like Darin, look back - this is not a nostalgic song, but one that keeps trying, trying, trying to somehow move forwards. But there is no way out, at least for now (Williams' essential warmth means there will be a way one day). The very slipperiness of the song, its goings back-and-forth are elegant and neat, as if the rawness of the experience are gone, and now it is all routine, helpless, he still suffers but at least he is buoyant, proud in his own way to love and keep loving long after there is any real point to it.

There is a more general loss here, of course; the gradual loss of the early 60s, the Camelot age of the New Frontier. It hasn't gone just yet, of course, but by this time (May) the seemingly-placid world of, say, 1960 is pretty much gone. The last Aldermaston march/founding of the CND in the UK, Dr. King's Letter From A Birmingham Jail - these are just some of the more obvious pointers to the intensity of the sixties, and the corresponding need for songs like this (lyrically and sonically) that acknowledge that things are permanently changing, but put them in the most graceful and hummable context this side of Cole Porter (kudos to Pomus and Shuman)...

...my parents not being the easy-listening types (not that this is easy listening, exactly; the poor man does nothing but hit one void after another), the first time I heard this song it was by The (English) Beat; a version so faithful that Williams himself at first thought it was a remix of his own and not a cover. That it works is due to that semi-ska rhythm that is inherent in the song, but also Dave Wakeling's own soulful voice, one which meets the loneliness here head on and understands. ("Mirror In The Bathroom" is just an extension of this feeling, only there is no love for anyone else; just the self. I can only wonder if Williams has heard it.)

Not Now But Now: The Beatles: "Please Please Me"

"I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after."

"Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" Wallace Stevens


"So life was never better than
In nineteen sixty-three
(Though just too late for me) -
Between the end of the Chatterley ban
And the Beatles' first LP."

"Annus Mirabilis" Philip Larkin


"The men there all looked as though they distrusted him, and, as for the women, they were all intent on showing their contempt for this rather odd creature, but no one seemed quite sure how to do it...I knew I was taking on more than I was ever likely to be capable of bearing, but there never seemed to be any choice..."

"He thinks he's got a sort of genius for love and friendship - on his own terms. Well, for twenty years I'd lived a happy, uncomplicated life, and suddenly, this - this spiritual barbarian - throws down the gauntlet at me."

Look Back In Anger, John Osborne


The word novelty is used to connote things which are new at the time but then quickly wear off, to be remembered as a passing phase or craze but embarrassing and childish in retrospect. But novelty means new, and music doesn't move ahead without newness.

George Martin was in the business of taking what was most difficult - comedy - and somehow getting it committed to tape. Parlophone was the label for comedy at EMI, whether it was The Goons, Sellers & Loren or Bernard Cribbins; if you were at all strange or different, such as Mrs. Miller or Rolf Harris, this is where you ended up - being produced by a frank but polite man who knew how to get the best out of what could be best called a unique group of people.

And in come the newcomers to Parlophone - The Beatles.

The story of their first meeting is well-known, just as is the song Martin predicted would go to number one (it did, but not on the chart I'm following) is well known as the song that started Beatlemania, a song that had its roots in Orbison's longing and long vowels (sped up to Everly Brothers harmony-bearing levels) and the Bing Crosby line "Please lend a little ear to my pleas" which Lennon took and then altered in his own way. Martin didn't want a ballad*, hence it was sped up, but the lyrics didn't change and this is where the watershed is - though for the listening public, it was all in the alternately breezy and urgent playing and singing and above all eager noises emanating from their wireless that gave the impetus to lifelong loyalty.

And it could have been heard as a novelty, at the time; as something that would blaze up and die down in a matter of months; but enthusiasm like this cannot and does not fade away easily, zipping through the air like lightning and refreshing a rather parched public like nothing else. (That it was a hit once spring had finally arrived after a bleak winter is most fitting.) Indeed the public responded to this so strongly that I wonder if they ever stopped to notice what the lyrics were about (or to put it another way, how did this ever get on the BBC)...it is almost as much as what isn't being sung/said here as what is that counts, the desires and urges that have been denied or scheduled or just plain tucked away as wrong or bad or immoral are here, the urgent "Come on" calling forth not just those urges but seemingly the rest of the 60s to get on with it, it's not the 50s any more, happen already.

Where did this urgency come from? From the United States, of course! It is somewhat odd to realize this, but The Beatles were essentially making their own version of American music. Now, I know I should know better in this regard, that they had been churning out the US and UK chart hits for years on the club circuit, playing any number of favorites and songs they may not have liked but had to play in order to please the punters...but I can guess this was not the easiest or most pleasant of lives, and to sustain it and not get tired of the music is an achievement in and of itself; to take a girl group*** (The Shirelles) as an example of great songwriting (not forgetting Motown) and championing that sound and feel and putting their own particular stamp on that is, as Bob Dylan said in a different context, outrageous. No one in the UK could have done this, at this point**; written an original song that was utterly loyal to its American roots and yet not come off as a rip-off or lame imitation but be its own thing, quickly altering the direction of influence (once they reached the US in a year's time) and giddily asking for the audience's love and attention.

It could be that this song did so well because of the producer; because it was utterly new; in part because a laugh was hiding in the song as well as pleading eyes; but for whatever reason, music in the UK and thereafter the rest of the world would and did change. Just how much is to be shown by this blog, amongst so much other music writing, and when we return to them, it will be with something so different from this as to be from a whole other band altogether.


*At EMI George Martin was in competition with Cliff Richard & The Shadows producer Norrie Paramor and the last thing he wanted was something like what Paramor did (it is hard to imagine The Beatles doing a cover of "I'm Looking Out The Window", for example). The Beatles could have recorded a song they wrote but didn't think was quite for them ("How Do You Do It" which they gave to Gerry and the Pacemakers) for Martin instead - he thought it was much better than the "dreary" original version of this song - instead they worked on "Please Please Me" until Martin approved of it.

**I realize there are those who believe that if The Beatles hadn't come along then someone would have - The Man plc would have found some group that did the same thing - but as it stands there were no rivals and in many ways, if I may say so, the rivals they did have would not have gotten as far as they did without the example of The Beatles in the first place. The lyrics of this song matter not just because they suggest so many interpretations, but that they were written by the group and not a couple of people hunched over a piano somewhere (that said, The Beatles paid a great deal of attention to the Brill Building, of course)...

*** Between their love of girl groups and their long hair, The Beatles also bring in ye olde feminisation of rock, which is perhaps why this song only caught on in the US once the Beatles were not just heard but seen on tv; parents may have approved of them at first, but the moptops irked (and as I know from personal experience) continue to irk those who thought the tidy early 60s needed no change or improvement.