Classic ye-ye from Marie-Claire’s only EP (’66) — “Un Petit Bigoudi” (” A Little Curler”). Marie-Claire was wise beyond her years. Yes indeed, a little curler looks like many men, desiring to ride, gets pinned.
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The playlist includes all the “greatest songs of the 1960’s that no one has ever heard” that are available on Spotify. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song. At present, over 80% of the songs on the Off the Charts roster are available on Spotify and are on the playlist.
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363) The Appletree Theater — “You’re the Biggest Thing in My Life”
I could swear this wonderful song was an omnipresent 80’s new wave hit, or a demo for Tom Petty’s “You Got Lucky”, but it was actually a ’60’s lark by the Brothers Boylan and the album from which it came “received virtually NO advertising or radio play in [the U.S.] at the time.” (https://psychedelic-rocknroll.blogspot.com/2009/05/appletree-theatre-playback-sunshine.html) Hmm . . . . maybe I had too much to dream last night.
So, the story of Terence and John Boylan, as Brian Sweet describes it on Terry’s website:
Following a chance meeting with Bob Dylan in Greenwich Village in ’62, after which Dylan, [Terence] Boylan and Ramblin’ Jack Elliot went to Izzy Young’s Folklore Center and traded songs for a long evening, Boylan returned to Buffalo, N.Y. with encouragement from his new hero, and began performing in many of Buffalo’s most popular coffee-houses . . . . still a sophomore in high school. . . . He formed a band with his brother, John, The Ginger Men, playing in Greenwich Village[] . . . during summers and ‘field-periods’ [while he attended Bard College] and singing solo [in the Village]. The NY Times’ Robert Shelton gave him a brief but laudatory mention following an appearance at the Village Gate, and the record companies started calling. . . . [B]efore beginning a solo album, he recruited brother John for an experimental ‘rock meets theatre’ album. The duet, along with a dozen top studio musicians, recorded The Appletree Theatre in 1967, a ground-breaking effort among the so-called “concept” albums of the late sixties, fusing brief Saturday Night Live type comic sketches with slightly tongue-in-cheek parodies of contemporary musical genres. John Lennon, in an interview with Penny Nichols in London, called The Appletree Theatre one of his favorite new albums, Time Magazine lauded the Boylans’ sense of humor, and Phillip Proctor acknowledged their influence on his own group, The Firesign Theatre.
Oh, and John Boylan later became a producer for the Eagles.
John Peel loved the album — he “praised [it] in International Times, calling it ‘one of the best and most adventurous LPs I’ve heard‘, played tracks from it on his shows in 1968 and 1969, and returned to it periodically in later decades.” (https://peel.fandom.com/wiki/Appletree_Theatre) And Psychedelic Rock’n’Roll raves:
The songs are so strong. It’s grade-A Sunshine Pop with occasional psychedelic arrangements, dipping occasionally into hard-edged soul and music-hall . . . .offer[ing] up a rather weird concept piece, though admittedly the plotline was largely lost on us. [T]he collection offered up a bizarre collage of interlaced vocal narratives, sound effects, song fragments, balanced by an occasional Pop piece [including] the trippy “You’re the Biggest Thing In My Life”). . . . There was no doubt the Boylans were talented: on the other hand, the set was simply too experimental for the normal listener.
Kingsley Abbott calls it a “strangely beguiling album . . . . essentially a mixture of folkish pop and some Greenwich Village social commentary/satire . . . . The songs here are punctuated by stoner references and outside influences . . . . Charming, weird, questionable, interesting – though not to all.” (https://recordcollectormag.com/reviews/album/playback) And Jason Nardelli throws in that:
It’s an inventive pop album with great songs, strange sound effects, comedy bits and trippy dialogue in between some of the tracks. . . . The real meat of this jaded pop album lies within its best 3 tracks [including] You’re The Biggest Thing In My Life . . . [which is] superb . . . with tons of guitar feedback within the confines of a creepy but pretty conventional pop song.. . .
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The playlist includes all the “greatest songs of the 1960’s that no one has ever heard” that are available on Spotify. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song.
When subscribing, please send me an e-mail (GMFtma1@gmail.com) or a comment on this site letting me know an e-mail address/phone number/Facebook address, etc. to which I can send instructions on accessing the playlist.
Please consider helping to support my website/blog by contributing $6 a month for access to the Off the Charts Spotify Playlist. Using a term familiar to denizens of Capitol Hill, you pay to play! (“relating to or denoting an unethical or illicit arrangement in which payment is made by those who want certain privileges or advantages in such arenas as business, politics, sports, and entertainment” — dictionary.com).
The playlist includes all the “greatest songs of the 1960’s that no one has ever heard” that are available on Spotify. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song. At present, over 80% of the songs on the Off the Charts roster are available on Spotify and are on the playlist.
When subscribing, please send me an e-mail (GMFtma1@gmail.com) or a comment on this site letting me know an e-mail address/phone number/Facebook address, etc. to which I can send instructions on accessing the playlist.
Who knew that Chuck Berry still wrote classic songs in 1965? Well, he did, and I think the greatest is “It’s My Own Business,” which Bruce Eder calls “a great teen rebellion number.” (https://www.allmusic.com/album/fresh-berrys-mw0000841212) Forget teen rebellion, it is a great FU number to all those people stickin’ their noses in your business, and a great mid-life crisis number too. Chuck’s lyrics just kill it. The song is off Berry’s ’65 album (in the UK — ’66 in the U.S.) Fresh Berry’s, which was his final ’60’s album for Chess. As Bruce Eder says, it “was essentially an era-closing album . . . his last attempt at making a contemporary album with his established sound.”
Please consider helping to support my website/blog by contributing $6 a month for access to the Off the Charts Spotify Playlist. Using a term familiar to denizens of Capitol Hill, you pay to play! (“relating to or denoting an unethical or illicit arrangement in which payment is made by those who want certain privileges or advantages in such arenas as business, politics, sports, and entertainment” — dictionary.com).
The playlist includes all the “greatest songs of the 1960’s that no one has ever heard” that are available on Spotify. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song. At present, over 80% of the songs on the Off the Charts roster are available on Spotify and are on the playlist.
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Los Pajaros, the ‘70 album by Chile’s Kissing Spell, “is one of the best and most sought after South American psych albums . . . . [It has w]ell-crafted songs with an attractive dreamy quality enhanced by spacey effects, occasional bursts of well-handled fuzz guitar, and strong harmonies . . . .” (https://johnkatsmc5.blogspot.com/2016/08/kissing-spell-los-pajaros-1970-chile.html?m=1) The Rockadrome store calls it “[w]ithout a doubt . . . one of the best albums from Latin America’s psychedelic ’60s! [– with] beautiful melodic compositions, killer fuzz leads, a superb dreamy atmosphere and great vocals (mostly in English).” (https://www.rockadrome.com/store/kissing-spell-los-pajaros-lp.html) Norman Records calls it “a lovely example of hazy late 60’s atmospherics with nods towards Love, Friends era Beach Boys and the Canterbury bands. Vocals are kinda English-as-a-second-language hesitant but there are lots of sweet harmonies. Ah what a vibe. Was life really all as laid back and chilled as this back then?”(https://www.normanrecords.com/records/148773-kissing-spell-los-pajaros) Kissing Spell formed in Santiago and disbanded following the ’73 coup. (http://rocknrollperolas.blogspot.com/2013/08/psychedelic-rock-kissing-spell-los.html?m=1)
“Gente” (“People”), one of the album’s Spanish songs, is a gentle ballad with a very Beatlesque feel (think: “She’s Leaving Home”).
Please consider helping to support my website/blog by contributing $6 a month for access to the Off the Charts Spotify Playlist. Using a term familiar to denizens of Capitol Hill, you pay to play! (“relating to or denoting an unethical or illicit arrangement in which payment is made by those who want certain privileges or advantages in such arenas as business, politics, sports, and entertainment” — dictionary.com).
The playlist includes all the “greatest songs of the 1960’s that no one has ever heard” that are available on Spotify. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song. At present, over 80% of the songs on the Off the Charts roster are available on Spotify and are on the playlist.
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This is not your mother’s “Happy Days Are Here Again”, or even Richie and the Fonz’s “Happy Days.” Bruce Eder and John McCarthy say that the song, from the band’s ’69 album Together (as a Way of Life), is “a dramatic mid-tempo number with choral vocals and prominent electric piano.” http://rockasteria.blogspot.com/2018/02/the-illusion-together-as-way-of-life.html Translation: it is a chilling rock retelling of the Old Testament sagas of Adam and Eve and Noah and the Flood — but chilling in a really cool way! The repeated foreboding piano refrain is classic. I’d love to hear Dylan play this song — it’s right up there with “Foot of Pride.”
And to top it all off, the Illusion was a Lon-giland band! Now I can’t imagine Billy Joel doing the song, but the melody is sad and sweet. Anyway, Dennis Folger writes on the band’s official website that:
[O]ne of long Island’s greatest bands[, t]he Illusion will always be remembered for their incredible harmonies, insane light shows, raw energy, intense mind-expanding sound effects, & great musicianship. . . . The[ir first] album did very well, & the band had a hit with: “Did you see her eyes?” which went to #1 in some areas of New York & #[3]2 in the nation. Although the album didn’t make it to gold, it did so well that Paramount (instead of advertising the record) wanted another record from the band. The band’s new album [Together (as a Way of Life)] was rushed in three days, however, it did not have the success of their first lp. Two songs from this second album charted — “Together” reached #80 and “How Does it Feel?” #110 . . . .
Michael Unold, also on the band’s website, writes that:
Some say the Long Island Sound were The Rascals. The Vagrants. The Vanilla Fudge. But to many, leading the way was a five-man outfit called Illusion. Known for their sweet harmonies and stellar musicianship, the band drew a large & loyal following on the East Coast. . . . Having a top 40 hit on Jeff Barry’s Steed label, “Did You See Her Eyes”, gave them the opportunity to do their first tour with Mitch Ryder. Illusion later went on to open for such acts as Chicago, The Who, Savoy Brown, The Allman Brothers and Sly and the Family Stone just to name a few. Also, along with Cactus, the Illusion were a support act for Jimi Hendrix at the Boston Garden in 1970, shortly before his tragic death.
Please consider helping to support my website/blog by contributing $6 a month for access to the Off the Charts Spotify Playlist. Using a term familiar to denizens of Capitol Hill, you pay to play! (“relating to or denoting an unethical or illicit arrangement in which payment is made by those who want certain privileges or advantages in such arenas as business, politics, sports, and entertainment” — dictionary.com).
The playlist includes all the “greatest songs of the 1960’s that no one has ever heard” that are available on Spotify. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song. At present, over 80% of the songs on the Off the Charts roster are available on Spotify and are on the playlist.
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357) Canterbury Music Festival — “Super Duper Trooper”
What more could you want: a super fun fuzz guitar-driven romp of a song “about a psychedelic cop that will pull you over using a light show”? (https://www.gullbuy.com/buy/2003/9_2/canterburymusicfest.php) Contrary to scurrilous rumor, ABBA did not steal “Super Trooper” from the CMF. “Super Trooper” is about a rock star singing to tens of thousands of fans yet desperately lonely — until her love arrives!
Rain & Shine, the album from which “SDT” comes, is as rare as they get (though Discogs lists the song as an A-side in Australia). Light in the Attic records says that:
If you are looking for ultra-rare Softpop, you’ve come to the right place! Only 150 copies were pressed (in order to establish copyright) [of] Rain & Shine, an almost willfully secret psych-pop masterpiece of sorts, on the obscure and collectable BT Puppy label out of New York City, owned by the legendary Tokens . . . . [It is] scarily collectable . . . . one of the rarest albums in all the collectable Softpop genre!
Tim Sendra says that “the label really had no distribution and the[ CMF’s] one shot at the big time slipped away.” (https://www.allmusic.com/album/rain-shine-mw0000042587) Phil Margo, a Token and co-owner of BT Puppy, says that “[m]y personal regret is that this band . . . had quality material, but the distribution wasn’t there to back it up. . . . I wish more stuff had happened for them.” (liner notes to the CD reissue of Rain & Shine) Roger Germelle, the band’s leader, says that “I never [even] knew an LP was released! . . . It must have been released after we split up.” (liner notes) The LP, if a a copy could be found, was selling for $300, but then the “soft pop aficionados at Rev-Ola in the UK” (https://www.gullbuy.com/buy/2003/9_2/canterburymusicfest.php) had to ruin all the fun by reissuing the album on CD!
[It is] a ’60s pop delight. There’s a shimmering and delicate sheen to the album, like rain falling on a bed of leaves in the fading days of Autumn. . . . [T]he sweet harmony vocals and the sunshine sadness of the lyrics . . . all combine together for a host of amazing songs. . . . Super Duper Trooper is the fuzzed out psych pop tune buried on this album, just waiting to be dug out and enjoyed.
The album mixed some decent if innocuous original compositions . . . with less impressive material supplied to them by their producers, the Tokens. Though at their best they were adept at soft pop-rock songs with string arrangements, accomplished harmonies, and a tinge of psychedelia, the record was weighed down by Tokens-devised tunes with a more gimmicky bubblegum-psych flavor.
Richie, for once, is actually out-snarked by his fellow All Music Guide critic Tim Sentra:
The music remained unheard until [a label] decided to reissue the album. The question that arises here is: Did they need to? Yes and no — mostly no. . . . Anyone who isn’t a sunshine pop fanatic will wonder why [the label] bothered, as most of the tunes are pretty insubstantial and sometimes downright embarrassing [including] the silly “Super Duper Trooper[.”] Unless you are a sunshine pop nut with a fat bankroll, you can rest easy with the knowledge that you aren’t missing anything . . . .
Well, I may be a sunshine pop nut — wouldn’t that be a great name for a new snack food? — but I bought the CD. So I get to keep my fat bankroll!
Please consider helping to support my website/blog by contributing $6 a month for access to the Off the Charts Spotify Playlist. Using a term familiar to denizens of Capitol Hill, you pay to play! (“relating to or denoting an unethical or illicit arrangement in which payment is made by those who want certain privileges or advantages in such arenas as business, politics, sports, and entertainment” — dictionary.com).
The playlist includes all the “greatest songs of the 1960’s that no one has ever heard” that are available on Spotify. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song. At present, over 80% of the songs on the Off the Charts roster are available on Spotify and are on the playlist.
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Duncan was one of those beautiful souls who was lost to us all too early (in ‘93). Bruce Eder says that:
[His revered ’68 album — Give Me Take You] was one of the jewels of the Immediate Records catalog, a quietly dazzling work that embraced elements of folk, rock, pop, and classical, all wrapped around some surprisingly well-crafted poetry and Browne’s stunning voice. Over the decades, it has been compared to the best work of Paul McCartney and the Moody Blues, and also to such albums as Astral Weeks by Van Morrison . . . .
Yes, what an album it was (see #155). “[O]ne or two tracks, particularly . . . ‘The Death of Neil’, hinted at the dark self -doubt that the likes of Nick Drake were about to bring to the singer/songwriter genre.” (David Wells’s liner notes to CD reissue of Give Me Take You).
The Aquarian Drunkard writes that:
[Browne was] sensitivity, sophistication, artful baroque and progressive leanings. . . . [with] the ability to chart his own arrangements, buoyed by a flair for melodies so sweet and sad that they almost hurt to hear. At a time when most of his fellow countrymen desperately tried to sound American, Browne dared to embrace his British-ness . . . . Andrew Loog Oldham . . . first snapped up a young Duncan . . . . When I asked Andrew to share his first impressions . . . he replied: “other worldly, attractive, mannered, confident.” Oldham encouraged him to record a solo album, and Duncan recruited a friend [David Bretton] to add fanciful lyrics to his then-wordless new songs. . . . Andrew professed, “Duncan was therapy in a time of madness. And I got to be in the studio for my therapy. How good is that?” . . . .
Yes, how good was that. In 2 Stoned, the second volume of his memoirs (both are great reads), Oldham writes that “‘Give Me, Take You’, is well remembered but did not sell well at the time. . . . Duncan . . . remains one of the artists I was proudest to stand in a room with and watch evolve.”
And why didn’t the album sell well? Bruce Eder elaborates:
Despite its many virtues, the album died a commercial death, largely as a result of its being released just at the point when Immediate’s financial underpinnings were beginning to collapse. . . . Browne probably could have gotten some concert work from the release, but for a certain degree of confusion as to who he was, owing both to Immediate’s slipshod publicity operation and the design of the album jacket — the triple superimposed image of Browne, coupled with the multiple overdubs on many of the songs, led some promoters to think that Duncan Browne was a trio of some sort.
And as Oldham himself tells the Aquarian Drunkard:
[Unfortunately, “m]y partner Tony Calder was going through a period where he loathed anything I championed. Duncan and Billy Nicholls fell victim to that and got no pragmatic promotion. Tony wanted big – I wanted good.” . . . [Browne’s widow] Lin confirmed that “they were still in touch right up until Duncan’s death” . . . .
Now, Bretton’s lyrics are certainly an acquired taste:
The only dream that Neil had was to fly on self-made wings, to realise the dream of man, become the king of kings. To have a private world alone where no one else could be. Entered through a secret door, and he would have the key. He worked alone till night and day became just dark and light, the outside world a distant haze with two dimensional sight. They thought that Neil was off his head and laughed so he could hear. But Neil could smile at what they said, his arrêté was near. He built his wings like those of old, with pedals, strings and wheels. A universe he’d soon enfold with stardust on his heels. He’s fly across Lorentia and touch its mountain peaks. Atlantis he would soar above and find what memory seeks. From back to front of ages’ words by candle light he read. From dead alerts the reason why brought Icarus was dead. With geometric line and curve his plans began to shape a pair of wings that soon would serve to accomplish Neil’s escape. Silent now, the people watched and no one laughed or spoke. A memory in their souls was touched, was no longer just a joke. And through their midst a path was cleared for Neil, a golden way that lift-up and his dream he neared, no longer far away. He stood alone with wings unfurled and watched the rising sun. Apollo and another world he’d soon have lost or won. He spread his wings, unfurled them lift among the gods he peeked. By silent lips his soul was kissed, and Neil at last was free.
Thankfully, Mick never recruited Browne to be an opening act. I can just imagine the Hell’s Angels at Altamont singing along to these words! Wait, on second thought, maybe Altamont would have turned out differently if he had . . .
Anyway, Bretton recalls that “Duncan came to me one day and said, ‘I’ve got a problem. I’ve got a record deal with Immediate, an album to make and no lyrics. Have you got any ideas?’ I said ‘Sure”, and we started working on the songs . . . .” Oh, and Bretton explains that this is a reference to a “province of olden Europe. I suppose it was being clever, but back then you could be a little pretentious and people didn’t attack you for it — the Age of Aquarius and all that!” (liner notes to the CD reissue of Give Me Take You).
David Wells writes that “The skeletal, acoustic versions of . . . ‘The Death of Neil’, . . are breathtakingly gorgeous. Shorn of the subsequent studio embellishments, they are certainly none the worse for that: instead, the sparseness of the arrangements serves to throw the magnificence of the songs into even sharper focus.” Take a listen:
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Please consider helping to support my website/blog by contributing $6 a month for access to the Off the Charts Spotify Playlist. Using a term familiar to denizens of Capitol Hill, you pay to play! (“relating to or denoting an unethical or illicit arrangement in which payment is made by those who want certain privileges or advantages in such arenas as business, politics, sports, and entertainment” — dictionary.com).
The playlist includes all the “greatest songs of the 1960’s that no one has ever heard” that are available on Spotify. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song. At present, over 80% of the songs on the Off the Charts roster are available on Spotify and are on the playlist.
When subscribing, please send me an e-mail (GMFtma1@gmail.com) or a comment on this site letting me know an e-mail address/phone number/Facebook address, etc. to which I can send instructions on accessing the playlist.
Please consider helping to support my website/blog by contributing $6 a month for access to the Off the Charts Spotify Playlist. Using a term familiar to denizens of Capitol Hill, you pay to play! (“relating to or denoting an unethical or illicit arrangement in which payment is made by those who want certain privileges or advantages in such arenas as business, politics, sports, and entertainment” — dictionary.com).
The playlist includes all the “greatest songs of the 1960’s that no one has ever heard” that are available on Spotify. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song. At present, over 80% of the songs on the Off the Charts roster are available on Spotify and are on the playlist.
When subscribing, please send me an e-mail (GMFtma1@gmail.com) or a comment on this site letting me know an e-mail address/phone number/Facebook address, etc. to which I can send instructions on accessing the playlist.
Some of my favorite Bee Gees songs were written and sung by Maurice and were never (or only barely) released. What are the odds? Let’s start with the wonderful “The Loner.” Bruce Eder writes that:
Maurice . . . has been almost exclusively a backing vocalist for his four-decade career . . . . The major exception arose during the 1969 split between . . . Robin Gibb and his two brothers . . . . Maurice . . . did begin work on a solo LP to have been called “The Loner.” He worked for three months with Billy Lawrie [brother of the British singer Lulu, Maurice’s wife] playing and singing, and with guitarist Les Harvey of Stone the Crows, drummer Geoff Bridgeford, and John Coleman and Gerry Shurry, the latter three members of the Australian band Tin Tin — whose 1970 debut album Maurice . . . had produced . . . . [The sessions] only yielded one released song, “The Loner[“, which] appeared on the soundtrack of the movie Bloomfield (aka The Hero), starring Richard Harris [and the soundtrack version was released as a single in ’72 by the Bloomfields (Maurice and Lawrie)] . . . . Like the other solo albums begun by his brothers [during the break-up, the] LP was never released officially . . . .
Maurice stated in an interview with Nicky Horne on Radio 1 that:
“My solo LP is one thing that, well, to tell you the truth, I don’t think it should be worth releasing because I did it a while ago, and I was under a great depression at the time when I did it, because I missed the boys very much. I just did it because I thought I had to do it.”
Joseph Brennan believes that the brothers’s shelving of their solo albums was an aspect of their reconciliation. (http://www.columbia.edu/~brennan/beegees/70.html) That might be the case. Maurice sings in the song that “I’ve been hung up and I’ve been let down by the only friends I had.” Could those words be about his brothers?
This is such a miraculously beguiling song that it’s almost impossible to believe that it wasn’t released. The song is also uncannily reminiscent of John Lennon and the Plastic Ono Band’s “Love”, released just about 12 months later (see #113). Could Lennon have possibly heard “Touch and Understand Love”? What do people think?
Here is a ’71 version by Myrna March:
355) Tin Tin — “She Said Ride”
“She Said Ride” appeared on Tin Tin’s first album in ’70. How could this song with such a brilliant and buoyant melody (complemented by downbeat lyrics) not have been a hit? The authoritative Milesago: Australasian Music & Popular Culture 1964-1975 states that:
Tin Tin are really only remembered for their shimmering 1971 single “Toast and Marmalade For Tea”, a US and Australian hit in mid-1971. Predictably they’ve been pegged as one-hit wonders, which obscures the fact that Tin Tin recorded a body of quality harmony psych-pop songs during its short life, with nine singles and two LPs to their credit. . . . Tin Tin was founded in London in 1969 by Steve Kipner and Steve Groves. Both were ambitious young veterans of the fertile Aussie beat scene of the mid-1960s. Kipner . . . had been the lead singer-guitarist with popular mid-60s Sydney band Steve & The Board. His partner in Tin Tin, Steve Groves, came from another highly-rated band of the same period, The Kinetics, who scored a Melbourne Top 20 hit in 1966 with “Excuses”.
Please consider helping to support my website/blog by contributing $6 a month for access to the Off the Charts Spotify Playlist. Using a term familiar to denizens of Capitol Hill, you pay to play! (“relating to or denoting an unethical or illicit arrangement in which payment is made by those who want certain privileges or advantages in such arenas as business, politics, sports, and entertainment” — dictionary.com).
The playlist includes all the “greatest songs of the 1960’s that no one has ever heard” that are available on Spotify. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song. At present, over 80% of the songs on the Off the Charts roster are available on Spotify and are on the playlist.
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Oh, the wonderful Searchers. the thought of their signature songs — “Sugar and Spice,” “Needles and Pins,” “Love Potion Number Nine,” “When You Walk in the Room” . . . — always brings a smile to my face. As Bruce Eder writes in All Music Guide:
Hailing from Liverpool, the Searchers were one of the many bands on the Merseybeat scene that enjoyed international fame in the wake of the Beatles’ breakthrough. The group’s trademark sound was bright, tuneful pop with ringing 12-string guitars and strong harmony vocals which gave even their covers of American R&B hits a touch of sweetness that made them hard to resist. . . .
But, as Eder goes on:
By the beginning of 1966, the group’s string of chart hits seemed to have run out . . . . The[y] continued working, however, playing clubs and cabarets in England and Europe.
Andrew Darlington picks up the story of “Popcorn, Double Feature” from there:
As hair grew longer and riffs got wilder elsewhere in Pop, as other first-generation Beat Boom names were falling by the wayside, the Searchers were graduating into mild string-laden protest . . . . [u]ntil eventually the[y] slide out of the Top Forty with a row of goodish 1966 forty-fives [including] one called “Popcorn Double Feature” which muses wistfully about how ‘music’s coming out of the woodwork, sounds so strange, nobody sleeps’. There’s a kind of amused bewilderment to its tone as if they’re surveying the increasing weirdness around them, the scene they’d once dominated…
‘Rather late in the game and with one year of cabaret gigs under its belt, the group and producer Tony Hatch . . . stepped up the production on its 1967 single “Popcorn Double Feature”. Despite being the grooviest song the band ever attempted, its sinister sawing cellos, housewife strings and hip lingo (“Everybody’s going through changes/ Everybody’s got a bag of their own…” What? Of popcorn?), it failed to change any chart anywhere.
Too bad, such a cool song and such a wise reflection on its era. The song, especially as masterfully sung and played by the Searchers. should have been a hit.
Not too long ago, Jason Barnard interviewed Searcher Mike Pender, during which Barnard professed that “One of the late Pye singles is ‘Popcorn Double Feature’ from 1967. It’s one of my favourite singles by The Searchers”. Pender responded that:
It wasn’t a song that really grabbed me actually. You get songs offered to you and record companies say “Give it a try, let’s go and do it in the studio and put it down.” You think, “You never know it just might be. It’s a quirky type song that just might get in the charts.” So you go do it and do the best job you can. It’s a song that I’ve never really gone on stage and done. If I’m honest there’s isn’t anybody I can remember that ask for “Popcorn Double Feature”. But obviously there’s going to be people who like it and Jason you’re one of them.
Talk about stripping away my illusions and taking away the romance — I wish I never read that interview! Anyway:
[Punk legends t]he Fall covered Merseybeat boy-band The Searchers’ 1967 flop “Popcorn, Double Feature” (written by Larry English and Arthur Weiss and originally recorded by Tim Wilde . . .) and . . . released it as a single in 1990.
This Joe Meek* written and produced November ‘64 B-side is some friggin’ phenomenal freakbeat.** Roger Dopson’s liner notes to the Joe MeekFreakbeat comp rightly calls it “magnificent.” Owen Adams calls this one of Meek’s 10 landmark recordings (not including “Telstar”): “Boasting a singer with the same sublime hues as Roy Orbison, and a proto-punk stomp that . . . remains a cult hit on the Californian garage frat-party scene.” (https://www.theguardian.com/music/musicblog/2007/oct/17/blessedwasthemeek)
The Rondos’s guitarist Roger Hall recalls that “Joe [Meek] was convinced [that the single would] be a hit . . . but it never quite took off.” (liner notes to the Joe Meek Freakbeat comp). Further:
According to Paul R. Moy in ‘Thunderbolt’, The Joe Meek Society Magazine, #89, the July 2020 edition, only around 3000 copies of this disc were produced in 2 pressings, the first was for 1000. Sales were disappointing due to the fact that Pye Records refused to deal with Radio Caroline as they were an illegal pirate station at the time and where lots of potential listeners had moved to from Radio Luxembourg.
The Blue Rondos’s bassist Bill-Pitt Jones informs us that:
[The song was] written by Joe [Meek] under an alias. . . . We considered the song an absolute joke and had no time for it ..BUT.. you did NOT upset Joe Meek. SO… We CAMPED IT UP! We did every thing we could think of to make a ‘Mum wouldn’t like it’ Rock’n’Roll cliche. Hence the booming Bass and chaotic guitar solo. Joe LOVED it. Thirty years later during reunion gigs we were amazed to learn that – because of more internet misinformation – younger people believed The Blue Rondos were part of the Punk movement and the record featured prominently in the Californian Punk revival scene of the 1990s because of that bootleg C.D.
Nice. Now, I feel the need to address one of the most enduring bits of fake news/misinformation circulating on the internet — one of “R&R’s most irksome myths” (N.E. Fulcanwright’s liner notes to the Freakbeat Freakout comp). JIMMY PAGE DID NOT PLAY THE CRAZY-COOL GUITAR PART!!! THE RONDOS’S ROGER HALL DID! I’d say that we need a truth and reconciliation commission, but the guilty party has fessed up:
@A40FARINA – Funny that we should bump into each other again. And this time I have a confession to make; some 40 years after the Blue Rondos’ “Baby I Go For You” was included on the “James Patrick Page Session Man” bootleg, it’s time to come clean & admit that it was partly my fault, though unintentionally so, that it did. Having written an article on Page’s session work in the first issue of my mag Rock & Beat Tranquillizer in ’76, I followed this up with an issue devoted to Joe Meek in ’77, where I had a short piece on the Blue Rondos, stating that Page played the gtr solo on “Baby…”
With most subscribers being located in the US, this eventually resulted in ALL the sessions I mentioned, including two I said I wasn’t sure about – the Zephyrs & the Redcaps (lucky for me, as it turned out Jimmy wasn’t on either) – ending up on the “Session Man” LP. I do want to make it clear that although I found out who the culprit behind the damn thing was, I had nothing whatsoever to do with its compilation/release (wouldn’t have minded getting a fat cheque from the proceeds, though, as it must’ve sold by the buckets to scores of Led Zep fans!)
It was with mixed feelings that I read guitarist Roger Hall’s comments on the Blue Rondos’ career/recordings in the leaflet to the “Joe Meek The Pye Years Volume 2” CD on Sequel (’93). He was understandably upset about reading/being told that one J Page played the gtr solo on “Baby…”, when in fact he did. I can only offer my sincere apologies for my part in the mix-up, but need also explain that in the mid-70’s info on Page’s & Meek’s recording activities were very scarce to come by. For instance, the first-ever record compiling a set of Meek recordings was the “The Joe Meek Story” on Decca from ’77.
So why did I think it was Page on “Baby…”? Well, I knew he’d done sessions for Joe, & to be frank it was the tone/aggression of the solo, that reminded me of some of his wilder efforts, like the solo on Wayne Gibson’s “Come On Let’s Go” (mentioned in my R&BT piece). Little did I know that Meek had “doctored” the gtr solo by making Roger record it 3 times, as he explains in the CD notes, & then put the takes together into one mind-boggling solo. If I’m to burn in hell for my mistake for all eternity (+ some more), so be it, but I wonder what Hall made of the fact that he wasn’t even credited with his full name – only identified as Roger – on the CD?
Now, this cheeky quip from the Rondos is so utterly classic: “In those days [Page] simply wasn’t yet up to the high standards of Roger Hall . . . .” Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha . . . .
Hi This is Billy Blue Rondo – Welcome to our Website
for the meantime we would just like to state, quite clearly, that JIMMY PAGE never EVER performed on any recording credited to The Blue Rondos. In those days he simply wasn’t yet up to the high standards of Roger Hall and Micky Stubbs.
Watch the ‘SHOWCASE — Live Preformance’ Video Clips —- See (hear) what I mean?
Finally, N.E. Fulcanwright provides an equally cheeky and hilarious explanation for why the term “freakbeat’ had to be invented: you can’t call 60’s UK teenage punk rock “garage rock” because the Brits’s garages totally sucked!!! —
[T]hink about it — back in the 60’s the average Yank’s garage was double-sized and brick-built, comfortably housing a Chevy, a Harley-Davidson, a surfboard and a deep-freeze, leaving plenty of room for a R&R band to rehearse: its UK counterpart . . . was an infinitely smaller, rickety, prefabricated affair, invariably housing a clapped-out old Austin A35 van, a moped, an ironing board and a tin larder, with barely enough space left for grandad’s old piano-accordion.) No, 60’s UK Beat Groups had tended to rehearse in pubs’ backrooms and either church or village halls, rather than garages — but somehow, neither “Pubrock” nor “Churchbeat” really fitted the bill . . . The term “Freakbeat ” was in fact coined in the early 80’s by Phil Smee . . . during a memorable, alcoholically-fuelled session with his erstwhile henchman Brian Hogg, as the pair attempted to define a “new” category under which they could file some of their favorite 60’s UK R&B singles. . . . The description perfectly fits the bill, accurately defining a sound and style too wild to be categorised simply as “White R&B”, and yet rather early — not to mention far too wigged-out — to qualify as “Psychedelic”.
As much as I love John Bromley’s songs (see #337), I would not have predicted that my blog featuring his classic “Weather Man” would be my second most popular of 2022. Well, as someone once said, “You might need a weatherman to know which way the blogs blow.”
“If You Are There With Me” is another wistful and wonderful song by Bromley. He recalls that “[t]wo well known session singers (Yvonne “Sue” and Heather “Sunny” Wheatman) brought the song to life with their counterpart melody. I don’t think I should claim credit for their counterpoint vocal lines. It was probably Graham Dee who came up with the idea for the counter harmony part.” (liner notes to Bromley’s Songs expanded edition of Sing).
349) Tony Worsley and the Fabulous Blue Jays — “Oh, How Can It Be?”
Tony’s ‘65 cover of the Birds’s (see #33, 99, 220) “How Can It Be” is “considered by many to be superior to the original” (Paul Culnane, http://www.milesago.com/artists/worsley.htm) and is “a savage take” on the song (Mike Star, http://rockasteria.blogspot.com/2012/07/). Alec Palao’s liner notes to the Hot Generation comp say that “[w]ith a guitar sound like cut glass, their cover . . . exaggerates the inherent power of the song, resulting in less an imitation and more a celebration.” I love the Birds, but the Blue Jays’s version truly soars, swoops and sings (and stomps)!
What is it about that Aussie beat? Mike Stax:
According to popular stereotypes, Australians prefer their beer strong and their football played by their own rules: hard’n’fast. It’s an attitude that frequently extends to their music. Rock’n’roll down under has long held a reputation for being hard, fast, loud and delivered with an untamed, youthful abandon analogous to the land itself. In Australia’s mid-60s beat scene this wild spirit flourished, manifesting itself in the music of hundreds of young bands, some of which, fortunately, made it onto vinyl. Unfortunately, with a few notable exceptions (the Easybeats, the Missing Links, the Masters Apprentices), most of these amazing records remain largely unknown and unreleased outside of their homeland. . . .
For a few years, no one soared higher than Tony Worsley & the Fabulous Blue Jays. Paul Culnane recounts that:
In the wake of the incredible success enjoyed by pioneering Aussie ‘beat’ acts Billy Thorpe & the Aztecs and Ray Brown & the Whispers in 1964, just about every local A&R man, artist manager and would-be talent scout in the country was on the lookout for similar acts . . . . [I]mpresarios . . . would take . . . seasoned groups and team them with a fresh-faced front man with the requisite pin-up appeal for the young ladies (remember — these were the “scream years” of Aussie pop . . . ). And so it was that Tony Worsley & The Fabulous Blue Jays, one of the most accomplished and exciting of these groups, came to be. Tony was born . . . in England . . . and emigrated . . . when he was 15. Tony had already set his sights on a show biz career [and] was determined to fulfill that dream in his adopted country. By day he worked as an apprentice rigger in the Brisbane dockyards, but at night he patrolled the dance halls, waiting for his chance to get up on stage . . . . “One time . . . some people in the crowd were yelling out for ‘Little Sister’, by Elvis, ‘cos it was big hit at the time … And I knew the words, so I got up. And the next minute I was on there for an hour, and that all started from there!” . . . Tony quickly developed into a consummate performer, gigging around Brisbane’s dance circuit . . . . His outrageously long collar-length hair, wild stage presence and repertoire of Merseybeat tunes . . . earned him his early nickname “Brisbane’s Beatle”. Tony had come to the attention of Ivan Dayman, a pop entrepreneur, and a budding ‘svengali’ figure . . . . Dayman’s offer of AU£35 per week . . . . was a huge salary for the times . . . as late as 1966, even the members of The Small Faces . . . were being paid just UK£20 per week each! . . . Dayman promoted the group in package extravaganzas up and down the coast . . . . [H]e soon gained a reputation as a wild man on and off the stage . . . . 1965 was . . . the peak of their meteoric career. . . . Probably the most notorious show from this period was the now-legendary 4BC Sound Spectacular concert in Brisbane in December 1965. [W]hen Tony and The Blue Jays hit the stage things had started to get out of hand, and by the time . . . The Easybeats came on a full-scale riot had broken out, with kids breaking down barriers . . . storming the stage and smashing chairs and equipment. Police stopped the Easys after only 17 minutes and . . . . the[y] only barely escaped the frantic fans, who stopped their ‘getaway’ car and stomped all over it . . . .
Oh, and Worsley reminisces that “to me it was never artistic or financial, it was always the chicks.” (liner notes to Hot Generation)
348) Circus Maximus — “You Know I’ve Got the Rest of My Life to Go”
Geoffrey Himes recounts that:
[Jerry Jeff Walker] was born Ronald Clyde Crosby on March 16, 1942, in Oneonta, N.Y. He joined the National Guard and went AWOL under the name of Jerry Ferris, thanks to the borrowed ID of a fellow guardsman [Who is he, Don Draper?!]. He hitchhiked around the country and wound up in Louisiana. “The folk music boom of the Fifties and Sixties barely touched New Orleans,” Chris Smither told me in 2014. “The Quorum Club on Esplanade had folk acts, and I used to go down there to hang out. This guy Jerry Ferris played there and I thought he was pretty good. Many years later I opened for him when he was calling himself Jerry Jeff Walker. But it was a fringe thing in New Orleans; it has always been a horn and keyboard town.” [I]n Greenwich Village, Ferris renamed himself Jerry Walker after Harlem jazz pianist Kirby Walker. He wasn’t making much headway as one of a thousand guitar-strumming, singer-songwriter folkies that had popped up like mushrooms in the wake of Bob Dylan. So he joined a psychedelic-rock band called Circus Maximus for two albums, before drifting back to the folk scene in the Village.
As Bruce Eden notes in All Music Guide, Circus Maximus was “[a] precursor to the cosmic cowboy movement, [a] folk rock/outfit [that] had more than a touch of psychedelia and plenty of country. Jerry Jeff Walker got his start here.” Ochsfan says:
Had this group received a little more exposure during its brief existence, they would undoubtedly be spoken of in the same reverential tones as Buffalo Springfield. Indeed, the competition in songwriting between Jerry Jeff Walker and Bob Bruno mirrors the duel between Neil Young and Steve Stills. Circus Maximus added enough psychedelic touches to be in step with the times, but not so many that they completely obscured the country-folk base of their sound. If The Byrds had kept David Crosby instead of making Sweetheart of the Rodeo, you’d have something pretty close to what’s found here. Jangly guitars mingle with close harmonies and frenzied keyboards, but none of it sounds forced. . . . Bruno is clearly the heavier, more psychedelicized of the two. . . . “Rest of My Life To Go” [is a] high-energy, guitar-drenched rave-up . . . .
Richie Unterberger, of course, has a different point of view:
[Their ’67 album is a] jumble of folky electric guitars, Farfisa organs, and eclectic lyrics . . . . [M]uch of this psychedelic folk-rock sounds quite dated. . . . Some of the . . . songs (such as “You Know I’ve Got the Rest of My Life to Go” . . . .) are awkward derivations of the Byrds’ jangly folk-rock.
All Music Guide
OK, Richie, I knew awkward, awkward was a friend of mine, “You Know I’ve Got the Rest of My Life to Go” is no awkward. In fact, it’s awesome!
347) Gene Chandler & Jerry Butler — “You Just Can’t Win (By Making that Same Mistake Again)”
Two soul greats combine forces to make a wonderful album — ‘70’s Gene & Jerry One & One — and no one buys it. Well, the album did produce two minor R&B hits, including “You Just Can’t Win,” which reached #32 on the R&B chart (#94 on Billboard’s Hot 100) in January of ‘71. Andrew Hamilton writes in All Music Guide that:
Gene Chandler achieved a million in sales with Mel & Tim (“Backfield In Motion”) . . . and some minor R&B hits with Simtec & Wylie . . . . Both acts were unknown until Chandler’s discovery, yet they made the charts. What would two name artists do? That prospect energized this project . . . . [T]hey all pooled their talent to come up with material and production ideas to make Gene & Jerry: One and One a success. . . . Despite its dismal sales, this is a good album of uptown male duets by two of soul’s greatest.
Jerry Butler needs no introduction, but Craig Lyle notes, also in AMG, that:
[His] career spans four decades; he recorded more than 50 albums, and his voice is one of the most distinguished in all of music. As soulful as ever, yet smooth as ice, his nickname “The Ice Man” epitomizes his demeanor — and sound.
Gene Chandler is a bit less well known — outside of “Duke of Earl” — but Richie Unterberger provides a good overview in AMG:
Gene Chandler is remembered by the rock & roll audience almost solely for the classic novelty and doo wop-tinged soul ballad “Duke of Earl” . . . a number one hit in 1962. He’s esteemed by soul fans as one of the leading exponents of the ’60s Chicago soul scene, along with Curtis Mayfield and Jerry Butler. Chandler never approached the massive pop success of that chart-topper (although he occasionally entered the Top 20), but he was a big star with the R&B audience with straightforward mid-tempo and ballad soul numbers in the mid-’60s . . . .
Nobody’s talkin’, everybody’s singin’ “That’s the Bag I’m In.” Take one classic semi-comic song and listen to two radically different but fab and buzz-worthy interpretations.
344) Fred Neil — That’s the Bag I’m In”
This sly ‘66 album track was also a ‘68 B-side to Neil’s original version of “Everybody’s Talkin’”, which Harry Nilsson famously took to #6 in August ‘69. Matthew Greenwood writes in All Music Guide that:
Primarily known for introspective, emotionally deep songs that truly make Fred Neil the father of the singer/songwriter genre, it’s not always readily apparent that Neil had a sense of humor. “That’s the Bag I’m In” certainly shows that he indeed does. With its litany of trouble and depressing circumstances . . . it’s one of the few folk songs that can’t help but make you laugh. Guided by a simple yet effective bluesy groove, the song has a wonderfully funky quality that mirrors the lyrics.
Richie Unterberger writes in AMG that:
Moody, bluesy, and melodic, Fred Neil was one of the most compelling folk-rockers to emerge from Greenwich Village in the mid-’60s. . . . For all his tangential influence, Neil himself remained an enigmatic, mysterious figure. His recorded output was formidable but sparse.
The Fabs transformed the song into a formidable ‘66 garage rocker — the A-side of the only single by the Fullerton, California band. On the Flip Side says:
The Fabs . . . played the SoCal circuits with bands like The Seeds and The Arrows. They made one and only one single in 1967 . . . . The A-side of the double-sided gem is the superb cover of folkster Fred Neil’s That’s The Bag I’m In. The Fabs add a defining bass line that lifts this far above other versions and change some lyrics to highlight their teen angst LA lifestyle a bit more.
Another humdinger, this time from Fullerton, California’s The Fabs. They take an already brilliant “everything I do seems to go wrong” song by legendary singer-songwriter Fred Neil and transform it from a subtle folk number into a garage stomper. Some of the lyrics are changed in the process; it seems The Fabs needed to address some of their own problems – like not being able to get the girl.
Buzzy recorded his friend Neil’s song with his band Music on the ‘70 album Music. Joe Viglione writes regarding the legendary asterix that:
Linhart auditioned for Tennessee Williams, and Williams’ office immediately called to invite [him] to be on staff as an actor . . . That same evening Linhart saw Fred Neil and Neil asked [him] to play vibes with him. “I called . . . Williams’ office the next day, I was young and didn’t quite realize what was happening . . . . I wanted to play with [Neil] so badly that I called [the] office back and said, ‘Could you please tell him I’m very sorry but I can’t work with him this season (laughing now at the absurdity of what he was doing) but I certainly would enjoy working with him some time in the future.'” So he joined the folk-rock scene “and started really starving.” He began hanging out with Tim Hardin, Fred Neil, Dylan. . . .
Let there be Light. The Idle Race (see also #30) and its “cheerfully trippy” (Bruce Eder, All Music Guide) first album, ‘68’s The Birthday Party, are the divine sparks that lit the Electric Light Orchestra. Fittingly, this gorgeous and fleeting album track and B-side is titled “The Morning Sunshine.” Bruce Eder writes that:
“Morning Sunshine[“ is] one of the prettiest songs to come out of the entire Birmingham music scene and display[s] a languid guitar flourish that anticipates any number of ELO songs circa A New World Record . . .
[T]he Idle Race earned plenty of critical acclaim but little commercial success . . . . They did, however, help launch the careers of several British rockers of note, most significantly Jeff Lynne, who first presented his talents to the world on the group’s 1968 debut album, The Birthday Party. The band also introduced Lynne to Roy Wood, paving the way for their later work together in the Move and Electric Light Orchestra. . . . The Birthday Party, was an album whose impact and influence would far outstrip its meager sales figures . . . [It] quickly earned praise for its witty and sparkling tunes and inventive arrangements and production . . . . The album was championed by influential disc jockeys John Peel and Kenny Everett . . . [but it failed to] find[] an audience.
In accord is David Wells:
Having debuted in the UK with the October 1967 single Imposters of Life’s Magazine, Jeff Lynne and his merry men were quickly adopted by the nascent Radio One, [with] their hook-laden melodies, quirky lyrics and slight underground frisson making them acceptable to everyone . . . . Kenny Everett was also a big fan, describing hem as “second only to the Beatles” . . . . But despite their relationship with Radio One . . . The Idle Race just couldn’t buy a hit. . . . While [The Birthday Party] attracted attention within the industry — Kenny Everett adored it . . . [it] failed to engage the hearts, minds and wallets of the public.
Record Collector: 100 Greatest Psychedelic Records: High Times and Strange Tales from Rock’s Most Mind-Blowing Era
Well, the 70’s were just a few years away, and the world was soon about to fall in love with Jeff Lynne. . .
342) Keith Everett — “She’s the One Who Loved You”
I don’t play hometown favorites. We’ll, actually I let YouTube do the playing — witness the Del-Vetts from Highland Park, Illinois (see #250) and today’s selection — Keith Everett (real name Keith Gravenhorst) from the bordering town of Deerfield. I went to Highland Park High School. My sister went to Deerfield.
This ‘66 A-side is a very cool song, with a Greek chorus hectoring* a guy for letting the girl who truly loved him get away.
But whatever notoriety Everett possesses (and it ain’t much**) has come from his prior single — “Don’t You Know”/“Conscientious Objector.” Chris Bishop says that “Don’t You Know” “is a fine ballad, while the flip is an outrageous indictment of conscientious objectors . . . .” (https://garagehangover.com/keitheverett/) Man, I have never really delved into that subgenre. Here are some of the lyrics to “Conscientious Objector” —
“They call themselves the conscientious objectors. But all they’re tryin’ to do is tryin’ to infect us with their fear and their shame. They hide under the name of conscientious objectors. They might as well be defectors. The way they act, well keep it up boy the way you’ve been goin’. And who can tell son, you’ve got no way of knowin’ that tomorrow we might be the way that Vietnam is today. And you’ll be sorry you fools for the things that you do. You’re conscientious objectors. You might as well be defectors. The way you act.”
Wow, that makes “The Ballad of the Green Berets” sound like Abbie Hoffman wrote it! I checked — “Conscientious Objector” is not on Spotify. If it was, Neil Young would have to put his songs back on just so he could pull them off again!
Anyway, Bishop says that “Don’t You Know” “did well in Chicago, entering WCFL charts in March, and reaching as high as #10 two months later.” Yellow Paper Suns informs us that Everett’s “music career stalled somewhat when he was posted to Vietnam shortly after ‘Don’t You Know’ started to make inroads on the charts. Presumably, the follow up was released whilst he was fighting the yellow man.” (https://yellowpapersuns.com/2011/12/01/keith-everett-the-chant/)
* I hope you caught that I said “Greek chorus hectoring.”
** Matt Grayer has put out this desperate plea:
I ask anybody who knows anything about this artist . . . to please, PLEASE contact me or submit it to this site. I have spoken to a few old-timers in the Chicagoland area who claim to remember the record but know nothing of its history or what the deal was with Keith Everett, despite the fact that the song “Don’t You Know” appears to have charted. However, it is the “B” side that gets this collector all hot and bothered. Songs like this are what dreams are made of. I included the “A” side of the single to show that right-wing folk-rockers have feelings, too.
341) The Remains — “Why Do I Cry”(May 26, 1966 live in the studio version)
“Why Do I Cry,” the band’s second A-side (’65) (see also #125), was a hit in the Remains’s home town of Boston. Mark Deming in All Music Guide calls the song “swaggering” while Nuggets says it “demonstrates how the Remains were producing material easily on par with the best British groups of the period.” I think they’re crying about that ball that went through Bill Buckner’s legs, but wait, that was ‘86.
Now that I have brought up a sore subject, I’m gonna double down and post a picture of me getting a champagne shower as I celebrate the Mets winning the ’86 World Series! —
Deming goes on to write that “[a]mong garage rock obsessives, the Remains have long been the stuff of legend,” that “[i]n New England, few bands of the ’60s are remembered with greater awe,” and that “[they] were tougher, smarter, and tighter than the vast majority of their competition . . . . mid-’60s American rock & roll at it’s best,” but that they “had trouble making an impression outside of New England.” The band broke up in ’66 following its inability break through nationally.
As Mike Stax explains in the liner notes to volume 2 of the Garage Beat ’66 comp:
The band was . . . dissatisfied with the sound they were getting in the studio, feeling it captured little of the fire of their legendary live shows. So . . . [s]till geared up from a gig . . . the previous night, the band assembled at the studio on the morning of May 26[, 1966], gulped down some coffee, then proceeded to rip through a full-throttle live set . . . . The highlight of the session was [singer and songwriter Barry] Tashian’s own “Why Do I Cry,” a raucous, high-energy performance that creams the more disciplined rendition they’d done for Epic the previous year. [T]he tape was shelved and more or less forgotten until it was exhumed for release decades later.
Brace for the Obscure (60s rock)! / Off the Charts: 60s Rock Revelations😊 