THE GREATEST SONGS OF THE 1960s THAT NO ONE HAS EVER HEARD
2,000) Russell Morris — “The Real Thing”
Warning — if you are from Australia, read no further, as this iconic song for you guys (as well it should be!) reached #1. It’s “a classic, full blown psychedelic extravaganza that amazingly, was somehow brilliantly created . . . by Producer Ian ‘Molly’ Meldrum in the steam powered studio’s of Late 60’s Australia.” (PROGROCKASAURUS, https://rateyourmusic.com/release/single/russell-morris/the-real-thing-parts-1-and-2-its-only-a-matter-of-time/)
Barnaby Smith writes of “The Real Thing”:
[I]n its nods to many of the most recognisable hallmarks of 60s psychedelia, from its use of “phasing” to the Hammond organ and sitar, [it] has its roots firmly in San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury or London’s Carnaby Street. But it was sung by a man from Melbourne and written by a Dutch immigrant who grew up in Perth. Though heavily derivative in nearly every aspect, singer Russell Morris and composer Johnny Young [see #682, 1,681], along with producer Ian “Molly” Meldrum, are responsible for a single that sits as a seismic release in the history of recorded music in Australia. . . . reach[ing] No 1 in May 1969 . . . . The[] . . . one ingredient . . . that does distinguish [it] from the imported rock of the era. . . . [is] Morris[’] . . . iconic “ooh mama mow mow” refrain, an odd but zeitgeisty piece of nonsense – Meldrum, after all, wanted the song to sound like “I Am The Walrus”. In fact, the line was originally meant to be a guitar part, with Morris’s improvised singing a mere guide for the guitarist. Meldrum had the nous to keep it. . . . Meldrum overheard Young playing it in a TV studio one day, and saw it as the perfect fit for Morris, the producer’s great new pop hope. The song’s recording was an elaborate affair, with Meldrum gathering up a coterie of musicians from Melbourne’s finest bands in a hell-bent quest to forge an all-encompassing sound in the vein of “Strawberry Fields Forever” . . . or “Good Vibrations”. . . . As far as Australian pop went, nothing had been quite this ambitious. As well as the sitars and the phasing . . . the track is a patchwork of overdubs and, of course, runs for over six minutes . . . thanks to the extended, multi-layered outro . . . . It was . . . a landmark sequence that proved that Australian studios could also create the new-fangled sounds floating down from the north. . . . Lyrically, the song is not as meaningless as it might seem. Young was apparently less than impressed by Coca Cola’s advertising slogan proclaiming the drink “the real thing”; the song was his retort, a celebration of authenticity . . . .
The definitive Milesago: Australasian Music & Popular Culture 1964-1975 goes deep:
During his eventful London sojourn — which included his first and only experience with LSD — [Johnny] Young began noodling around with a chord pattern on an acoustic guitar and gradually evolved a melody vaguely similar to Donovan’s [see #908, 1,036, 1,064] “The Hurdy Gurdy Man”. . . . . The song started out as a simple, plaintive ditty, which he intended as a “Strawberry Fields” style chamber piece, with acoustic guitar and strings. . . . [but] developed into the full-blown widescreen extravaganza we know and love thanks to the intervention of Russell Morris’ then manager and mentor, Ian “Molly” Meldrum. When Johnny Young arrived back in Australia in early 1968, he realised his pop career was effectively over, so he concentrated on developing his songwriting and producing career, and finding singers for his material. “The Real Thing” was originally earmarked for Ronnie Burns [see #1,657, 1,863], who was by then a major solo star. Young was playing it to Burns in the dressing room of the Channel 0 studios in Melbourne . . . . As luck would have it, Meldrum chanced by at that moment, heard the song and was smitten. Here was the vehicle he’d been searching for to launch the career of his young protege. . . . [N]othing was going to stop him. Young wasn’t particularly keen, but according to legend, Molly turned up at Young’s house in the early hours of the morning armed with a tape recorder and he refused to leave until Young had taped a demo of the song for him. In late 1968, Meldrum was assigned as producer for the new single, and set about assembling a backing group comprising denizens of Melbourne’s healthy and congenial rock fraternity . . . . Meldrum and his collaborators began to fashion the basic tracks . . . . using a session group built around the rhythm section of one of Melbourne’s top bands, The Groop . . . . The track was later augmented with guitar overdubs by Zoot’s [see #1,687] Roger Hicks . . . . Tracking began in late 1968 and continued over several months into early 1969. As the sessions progressed, Meldrum was building a sound collage idea in his mind, but he played his cards close to his chest . . . . Meldrum reputedly spent over $10,000 on this one track — many time more than was usually budgeted for an entire LP at that time. It was far and away the most expensive and complex single ever recorded to that time, and set new standards of production for Australian rock music. As a result of his supposed profligacy, Meldrum was reportedly sacked from the project, but he refused to let it go. When EMI decided to release the single only in Victoria, Meldrum personally took copies to Sydney to get it played on local radio stations. . . . The Groop played the body of the song through, but then they began to jam and improvise on it as the “take” continued past the presumed fade-out point. The quick ears of Molly and [engineer John] Sayers picked up that this was good stuff, and they wisely kept the tapes rolling, exhorting the musos to keep going . . . . [T]his spontaneous jam . . . provided the foundation for the extended “freakout” sound collage that makes up the second half of the song. . . . [It] was the first major Australian recording to employ [phasing], and to such a devastating extent. . . . impart[ing] an alien, tripped out feel to what, after all, began as a simple acoustic ballad. . . . [It] became a hit in several American cities, reaching #1 in Chicago, Houston, and New York. . . . [Russell recalls “]I loved ‘The Real Thing’ when I first heard it but in the end it drove me crazy. It was a big gimmick, a big commercial commodity that was forced on everyone and it almost killed me.” . . . [O]nce he established his solo career, he refused to perform it at all for many years. . . . A major rift between [Morris and Meldrum] arose out of Russell’s refusal of Molly’s urging that he undertake a promo tour of the States, where [it] had come out on the tiny Diamond label. Molly was so incensed at this apparent act of career self-sabotage that he withdrew completely from the project in disgust . . . .
Johnny Young says that:
“I give Molly 100 per cent credit for what he did . . . . He can be an incredible bullshit artist, but in a studio he can be a genius. Considering the time and the technology back in 1969, what he achieved was incredible.” [When asked whether he ever looks back and thinks that he should have done the song himself, h]e shakes his head. “It wouldn’t have been a hit if I’d sung it. My time as pop star was over. Russell Morris was unique, like a Roy Orbison, and I was like a Frankie Avalon. The reality was that it was the right song by the right person at the right time.”
https://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/music/i-write-the-songs-20030128-gdg6ed.html
Ed Nimmervoll tells us of Russell Morris:
[O]ne of Australia’s most enduring singers[, a][ major pop star in the late ’60s, he went on to become one of the country’s first singer/songwriters. . . . [His] career started in September 1966 with the formation of the Melbourne group Somebody’s Image, which rose to prominence with a local hit version of the Joe South song “Hush.” Morris was convinced to leave Somebody’s Image for a solo career. . . . Once [“The Real Thing”] was released to shocked radio programmers who had never been asked to play such a long Australian single before, it was up to Morris’ personality, singing, and performing talents to make the record work. . . . The second single — “Part Three Into Paper Walls” . . . and “The Girl That I Love” . . . became a double-sided number one hit, the first time an Australian artist had scored consecutive number ones with their first two singles. Morris, in the meantime, had traveled to the U.K. to help promote the release of “The Real Thing.” Morris had now decided to concentrate on his own songwriting and with the cream of Australian musicians, spent almost a year painstakingly recording and re-recording what became the Bloodstone album. It was one of the first Australian albums of its kind, the first from an Australian singer/songwriter, and a whole world away from the extravagant “The Real Thing.” The hit single . . . was the resonant, romantic “Sweet Sweet Love.” The following year, in 1972, Morris delivered the equally beautiful “Wings of an Eagle.” In 1973, Morris moved to London to record an album only to discover there was no record contract waiting for him. He relocated to New York and set to work on an album there, including new versions of both “Sweet Sweet Love” and “Wings of an Eagle” and the single “Let’s Do It.” A second American album appeared in 1976. It was two more years before Morris was granted his green card, enabling him to tour America. But by then, any chance of an American career had bolted. Instead, Morris returned to a very different Australia than the one he had left behind five years earlier.
https://www.allmusic.com/artist/russell-morris-mn0000808614#biography
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