One of my favorite . . . Milwaukee-area records, this song was the portent of…absolutely nothing. No follow-up, nothing. The group went out to California and broke up. Meantime, it made it to #12 on WRIT’s chart and #17 on WOKY’s over the fall of ’67. What a wasted opportunity!”
âEverybodyâs goinâ, everybodyâs trippin’ Everybody tells you what ya been missinâ”!
“The recorded version of âStop and Listenâ is rather timid compared to live versions The Shag used to do at O’Brad’s. Take it from a guy who was there in the late sixties.” (gordonbrossell1796, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X33V9wEe-J0) Wow, I would have loved to have been there!
Caleb Westphal tells us of the Shag:
When I think of garage rock songs from the 1960s that have a conspicuous anti-drug theme . . . there was a song . . . . [r]eleased as a single by Capitol Records in September 1967 . . . . “Stop and Listenâ . . . features vocalist Ray McCallâwho also wrote the song and contributed its fuzz-tone guitar . . . . The Shag, originally called The Shags, were formed in Milwaukee in 1963 by Layton School of Art students Paul âGreenâ Greenwald (drums, vocals, flute), John Sahli (guitar, vocals harmonica), Mike Lamers (various instruments), and Don Luther (bass). According to Greenwald . . . Sahli was the only musician when the band formed, âBut upon hearing the Stones, then the Beatles, we had to be a band. . . . Iâm pretty sure we were the first band to not wear uniforms in Milwaukee, and being in art school, we already had the long hair and scruffy look[]â . . . . He also said they wrote their own songs because they couldnât play any others. They put out âCause I Love You,â backed with the Bo-Diddley-beat driven âDance Womanâ on Milwaukeeâs Raynard label in 1965. Later that year, Ray McCall joined the band, replacing Sahli. . . . McCall sang, played guitar, and wrote songs for the ensemble. By this time, the group had become the house band at OâBradâs, a basement-bar venue . . . . Although the owner of OâBradâs had at first turned away the group because of their appearance, they eventually were given the keys to the place, could decorate it as they pleased, and played gigs there five nights a week . . . . According to Greenwald, Sundayâs performance included a âspecial psychedelic third set,â where the band would surround the stage with wet sheets, shoot food dye, and use pulsing lights and impromptu sounds. Both RCA Records and Chess Records came to see them there and wanted them to record, but the band did not accede to their overtures, as they wanted to do a live recordingâsomething the record companies were not keen on. Greenwald mentioned that some time after McCall joined the group, everyone in the band was going to try a âpsychedelic experience. . . . Ray had a bad time and wrote âStop and Listenâ about not taking those kinds of drugs.â After the band drove out to New York City to open for The Blues Project [see #1,411, 1,709], they were signed to Capitol Records. . . . Capitol released âStop and Listen” . . . . It was at this time that The Shags became the âThe Shag,â so they wouldnât be confused with some other groups with the same name. A review . . . in the September 17, 1967, edition of the Milwaukee Journal said âJudging by live performances, though, this deck is a lame rendition. It doesnât have the animation of the stage.â . . . [I]t makes me wonder just how entrancing and spellbinding the band was live. . . . “Stop and Listenâ failed to chart on the Billboard Hot 100 . . . . Ray McCall soon left the band and was replaced by Gordon Elliot. The group visited, and later made the move to California. In 1969, they recorded at San Franciscoâs Pacific High Recording Studios . . . . [but these recordings] did not see the light of day until Gear Fab Records put it out in 2005. . . . Within a few years, The Shag would split.
The band developed a local following based on their reputation for a rocking sound with outlandish costumes and special effects. Ray left the band . . . and was replaced by Gordon Elliott when they relocated to California. After dissolving in 1971, Gordon went on to form a group called Elixir, with fellow Chicagoans George Edwards and Michael Tegza, previously of the band H. P. Lovecraft [see #829, 1,073].
“The Shag tune ‘Stop and Listen’ . . . is featured here along with a video of the Shag filmed about the same time during a live performance at O’Brads Lower Lounge, Milwaukee, WI” (TheSahliMan, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X33V9wEe-J0):
Pay to Play! The Off the Charts Spotify Playlist! + Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock Merchandise
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! (ârelating 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 entertainmentâ â dictionary.com).
The playlist includes all the âgreatest songs of the 1960âs that no one has ever heardâ that are available on Spotify — now over 1,100 songs. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song.
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The Lace’s sole LP — Queen Anne’s Lace — is the work of “the hip duo” (liner notes to Soft Sounds for Gentle People 2) of Anne and William Phillips. “The album is in the finest Free Design-sounding tradition, including covers of Beatles, Bacharach, Paul Simon, “Sally Go Round The Roses,” and such top-shelf originals as [“The Happiest Day of My Life”]. Truly splendid.” (gregcaz again)
Anne Phillips’ website states that:
Ms. Phillips career has covered almost every area of the music business. In addition to recording several solo albums, from the classic Born to Be Blue, to her most recent release, Ballet Time on which she sings with such old friends as Dave Brubeck and Marian McPartland, she has worked as a singer, choral arranger and conductor with many of the music worldâs leading artists and is widely known in the industry as the writer/arranger/ producer of many national commercials. Ms. Phillips’ Christmas show, a jazz opera, Bending Towards the Light — A Jazz Nativity, tells the traditional story though jazz and has featured such greats as Lionel Hampton, Dave Brubeck and Tito Puente. It is performed in New York and other cities annually.
Phillips …. played piano growing up but didn’t hear jazz until she was a senior in high school. Phillips studied at Oberlin College where she sang with the school’s big band and had a radio show. She then moved to New York at age 19 and played piano and clubs. [She] started working in demo recordings for songwriters in the 1950s. . . . . [and] was a member of the Ray Charles Singers on the Perry Como Show. In 1959, she recorded her first pop album, Born to Be Blue, for Roulette Records. Phillips has worked as a singer, music arranger, conductor, writer, and producer for national commercials including Pepsi, Revlon, and Sheraton. . . . [She] composed music for a Pepsi campaign with BBDO in the 1960s called “The Taste That Beats the Others Cold, Pepsi Pours it On”. The spot included The Turtles, The Four Tops [see #1,148, 1,429], The Hondells, and the Trade Masters. Phillips worked on demo recordings for Carole King, Burt Bacharach, and Neil Diamond. In 1962, she sang background vocals on Carole King’s It Might as Wll Rain Until September. Phillips is the founder of Kindred Spirits, a not-for-profit organization founded with her husband, Bob Kindred. The organization sponsors a yearly performance of “Bending Towards the Light â A Jazz Nativity,â composed by Phillips. They also have an educational program for inner-city children called The Kindred Spirits Childrenâs Jazz Choirs which teaches jazz music.
Pay to Play! The Off the Charts Spotify Playlist! + Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock Merchandise
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! (ârelating 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 entertainmentâ â dictionary.com).
The playlist includes all the âgreatest songs of the 1960âs that no one has ever heardâ that are available on Spotify — now over 1,100 songs. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song.
All new subscribers will receive a Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock magnet. New subscribers who sign up for a year will also receive a Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock t-shirt or baseball cap. See pictures on the Pay to Play page.
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 and a physical address to which I can sent a magnet/t-shirt/baseball cap. If choosing a t-shirt, please let me know the gender and size you prefer.
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THE GREATEST SONGS OF THE 1960s THAT NO ONE HAS EVER HEARD
Future superstar Stax songwriter Homer Banks sings an Isaac Hayes/David Porter classic. Incredibly, it wasn’t a hit in the U.S., but became a Northern Soul classic (reaching #55 in the UK) and received superb horn-driven cover treatment by Simon Dupree and the Big Sound. And then, Doug Sahm and the Sir Douglas Quintet did it Tex-Mex soul style. Here is 60 minutes of a song I love!
1,727) Homer Banks: “60 Minutes of Your Love“
“There are mere records and then there are RECORDS…Tunes that reach epic proportions of energy and verve. This is one of the latter, a song so hot that it can melt the brain if not a stylus!” (Derek See, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XKttVu26YZw) Indeed.
Jason Ankeny tells us of Homer’s odyssey:
Composer and producer Homer Banks was one of the unsung heroes behind the rise of Stax Records; though a fine soul singer in his own right, he never recorded for the label, instead teaming with Bettye Crutcher and Raymond Jackson as We Three, the songwriting troika responsible for a number of the company’s classic singles. Born . . . in Memphis, Banks co-founded the gospel group the Soul Consolidators before joining the office staff of the local Satellite Studios, later re-christened Stax. He dwelled in relative anonymity during his early years with the company, although co-workers Isaac Hayes and David Porter proved instrumental in landing him a session with the Genie label, resulting in the 1965 release of Banks’ debut single “Sweetie Pie.” The much-imitated and oft-covered “A Lot of Love” followed on the newly-revived Minit imprint in 1966, and over the next two years Banks issued four more singles for the label — “60 Minutes of Your Love,” “Lady of Stone,” “Round the Clock Lover Man” and “(Who You Gonna Run To) Me or Your Mama?” — all to little notice outside of the Memphis area. As his singing career floundered, he increasingly focused on writing, teaming with Crutcher and Jackson . . . to author hits for Stax artists Johnnie Taylor [see #191, 390, 979] (âWho’s Making Love”), the Staple Singers [see #680, 1,452] (âBe What You Are,” “If You’re Ready (Come Go With Me)”, and Isaac Hayes (â[If Loving You Is Wrong] I Don’t Want to Be Right”). . . . Banks also wrote the Sam and Dave classic “I Can’t Stand Up (For Falling Down) . . . his other hits include “Touch a Hand (Make a Friend)” and “Woman to Woman.”
Returning to Memphis in 1964, he tried his hand at solo stardom, working with David Porter and Isaac Hayes at Genie Records, a short-lived venture led by the two soon-to-be hitmakers while they were on a break from the fledgling Stax Record Company. Banksâ association with Porter and Hayesâ dissension from their home label served as a source of tension between Banks and Stax co-founder Jim Stewart, who dismissed his viability as an artist. Nevertheless, Stewartâs sister and business partner, Estelle Axton, encouraged Banks to practice his songwriting while working at her Satellite Record Shop, adjacent to the Stax recording studio. Deanie Parker, Johnny Keyes, Packy Axton, and Allen Jones all co-wrote tunes with Banks. Naturally, though, heâd team up with his longtime friend, Raymond Jackson, whoâd also recently come home from military service, to begin a fruitful and longstanding partnership at the label, beginning with âNext Time,â a song they co-wrote for Johnnie Taylor in 1968. In the same year, Banks and Jackson would team with Bettye Crutcher to write what would become Staxâs biggest selling single at that time, âWhoâs Making Love,â also performed by Johnnie Taylor. The song reached number one on R&B charts and top five in pop . . . [eventually] reach[ing] two million copies sold. Other notable compositions by Jackson, Banks, and Crutcher include Johnnie Taylorâs âTake Care of Your Homework, and âI Could Never Be President,â as well as Jeanne & The Darlingsâ âItâs Time to Pay (For the Fun Weâve Had)â in 1969. . . . Carl Hamptonâs arrival at Stax Records coincided with the de facto dissolution of the partnership between Crutcher, Jackson, and Banks. Hampton took to working alongside Jackson and Banks. Hampton helped the two veteran songwriters to craft â(If Loving You Is Wrong) I Donât Want to Be Rightâ with the intent of placing the song with The Emotions, although the songâs message of infidelity would be deemed too racy for the group. . . . [I]t wouldnât see a release until 1972, when Luther Ingram recorded the song. . . . spen[ding] four weeks at the top of the Billboard R&B chart while netting Ingram a spot at number three on the U.S. pop music chart.
1,728) Simon Dupree and the Big Sound — “60 Minutes of Your Loveâ/âA Lot of Loveâ
SDBS’s (see #51, 96) “early soul-oriented sides are killers, exciting, totally convincing pieces of British-made R&B that, in the case of . . . â60 Minutes of Your Love/A Lot of Love,” should have placed them head-to-head with the likes of Steve Winwood and the Spencer Davis Group.â (Bruce Eder, https://www.allmusic.com/album/part-of-my-past-mw0000465383) it is so sweet.
Bruce Eder writes:
âSimon Dupreeâ was vocalist Derek Shulman, one of a trio of brothers (Ray and Phil being the other two) from Portsmouth, England, who started out in music as R&B fanatics and first formed a group in 1964. . . . [T]heir repertoire was focused . . . on the songs of [soul artists like] Wilson Pickett, Don Covay, and Otis Redding. . . . Simon Dupree & the Big Sound came about in the course of their search for a flashy name. . . . [which] worked locally, because the group prospered on the club scene, its earnings reaching ÂŁ300 a night . . . . [T]hey were signed to EMI’s Parlophone label . . . and cut a pair of powerful R&B-style songs in 1966, “I See the Light” [see #96] and “It Is Finished.” Success on the club scene didn’t necessarily result in serious record sales, however, and the group’s debut, as well as its follow-up records, “Reservations” . . . and “Day Time, Night Time” [see #51] . . . didn’t make much of an impression. Their debut album, Without Reservations, containing the first fragmentary examples of the group’s original songwriting, was released in August of 1967, just in time to be overlooked as cheerfully irrelevant . . . . Then, in October of 1967, the group’s management and record label decided to try moving Simon Dupree & the Big Sound in the direction of psychedelia. . . . The result was “Kites,” a song recorded in the early fall of 1967 . . . . The bandmembers were unhappy with the new song and the sound they were being asked to create, but they tried to make the best of it . . . . The melody was Asian-sounding, and the presence of actress Jackie Chan reciting some poetry over the music didn’t detract from the single’s “Eastern” sound. “Kites” wasn’t R&B, but it was the right song at the right time, and it made the British Top Ten, a major commercial breakthrough for the group. Unfortunately, the band was never able to follow it up, and after several abortive attempts at another psychedelic-style single . . . called it quits in 1969. . . . In 1970, the Shulmanâs were back at the core of a new group, having made the leap past psychedelia and far from R&B in the progressive rock group Gentle Giant.
Ah, Doug Sahm (and the Sir Douglas Quintet (see #383, 1,061)) â he had soul. As Adrian Mack muses: âSahmâs good vibes werenât just some artifact of his â60s roots . . . .â Sahm was internally groovy.âIt was fundamental to his nature.âItâs partly why we love him so muchâ.â(https://thetyee.ca/ArtsAndCulture/2011/03/24/TheGroover/)
Of Sahm, Gary tells us that:
Sahm was a child prodigy â a pop-music Mozart who began performing at age six and released his first record when he was 11. He was on stage with Hank Williams, Sr., in Austin, Texas, on December 19, 1952. It was Williamsâs last performance â he died in the back seat of a car on New Yearâs Eve. The story goes that Sahm was offered a chance to become a member of the Grand Ole Opry, but that his mother said no â she wanted him to finish junior high school. As a teenager, Sahm joined a band that performed blues music, mostly at black R&B clubs in San Antonio. He also got to know a number of Mexican-American musicians. In 1964, Sahm assembled a band and persuaded record producer Huey P. Meaux (a/k/a/ âThe Crazy Cajunâ) to record them. Meaux named the band the âSir Douglas Quintet,â hoping to capitalize on the popularity of British invasion bands. . . . The Sir Douglas Quintet dressed the part of a British invasion band when they appeared on Shindig and Hullabaloo, but no one with half a brain would have been fooled. For one thing, two of the bandâs members were Mexican-Americans. For another, Sahm had an unmistakable Texas accent. Not only that, the Sir Douglas Quintet sounded nothing like a British band. . . .
What did the Sir Douglas Quintet sound like?âMichael Paquette tells us:
[Sahm] began his career as a country singer as a young boy . . . . He crafted his musical skills and style in the barrios, dance halls, juke joints, and parking lots across the Lone Star State. He formed his first band, the Knights, in high school when he realized heâd rather play music than football. He assembled the Sir Douglas Quintet with his childhood friend Augie Meyers . . . in 1964. Their musical style was heavily influenced by the sound of bluesmen Jimmy Reed, Bobby âBlueâ Bland, and Lightnin Hopkins. . . .â[A]n emerging blues and TexMex sound [was coming from Fort Worth and San Antonio] that was also influenced by the Texas swing of Bob Wills, the guitar blues of T-Bone Walker, and the Mexican-American rockers like Don Santiago JimĂŠnez of San Antonio . . . .âWith its rolling Chicano rhythms and pumping Farfisa organ SDQ influenced numerous new wave acts including Elvis Costello who patterned both his band and his vocals after the SDQ. . . . [Sahmâs] fusion of Texas C & W, Western Swing, Texas Blues, South Texas German polkas, and Tex Mex music lives on in artists who remain devoted to his sound.
Arguably the greatest and most influential Tex-Mex group ever, the [SDQ] epitomized Texasâ reputation as a fertile roots music melting pot and established the career of Tex-Mex cult legend Doug Sahm.âThe [band] mixed country, blues, jazz, R&B, Mexican conjunto/norteĂąo music, Cajun dances, British Invasion rock & roll, garage rock, and even psychedelia into a heady stew that could only have come from Texas.âAlthough they went largely underappreciated during their existence (mostly in the â60s), their influence was far-reaching and continues to be felt in Texas . . . and beyond . . . .âAccording to legend, the [SDQ] was the brainchild of Houston producer Huey P. Meaux, who at the height of the British Invasion took a stack of Beatles records into a hotel room and studied them while getting drunk on wine.âHe found that the beats often resembled those of Cajun dance songs and hit upon the idea of a group that could blend the two sounds well enough to fool Beatles fans into giving a local band a chance. . . . Meaux told Sahm his idea and Sahm quickly formed a band . . . .
Pay to Play! The Off the Charts Spotify Playlist! + Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock Merchandise
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! (ârelating 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 entertainmentâ â dictionary.com).
The playlist includes all the âgreatest songs of the 1960âs that no one has ever heardâ that are available on Spotify — now over 1,100 songs. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song.
All new subscribers will receive a Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock magnet. New subscribers who sign up for a year will also receive a Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock t-shirt or baseball cap. See pictures on the Pay to Play page.
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 and a physical address to which I can sent a magnet/t-shirt/baseball cap. If choosing a t-shirt, please let me know the gender and size you prefer.
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THE GREATEST SONGS OF THE 1960s THAT NO ONE HAS EVER HEARD
1,726) Rick Price — âTop Ten Recordâ
Birmingham’s Rick Price (see #1,299, 1,606) dropped this hilarious and rocking take on the pursuit of a chart hit, which did not become a top ten record but should have! “Of course, I can always join an underground band!”
An unidentified newspaper review enthuses that:
[A] tongue-in-cheek fun-poking number about the rat race to attain Chart status. Delivered in a semi-spoken drawl, and with a few amusing asides and distortion effects thrown in for effect, itâs the sort of disc that could well make his fellow musicians fall about with laughter. The fans may not appreciate the subtleties so readily, theyâre more likely to approve of the dual-tracked chorus and the rolling beat. Produced and co-written by Rick, and a thoroughly entertaining track.
David Wells notes that “apart from the drums, Rick did everything on this track, including the girlie backing vocals” (liner notes to the CD comp Rick Price & Mike Sheridan: This Is to Certify: The Gemini Anthology)
Bruce Eder writes about Rick Price:
Rick Price was probably the least-known member of the Move, if only because he never really established a well-defined musical (or personal) identity of his own . . . . Price was born in Birmingham .. . . . His earliest band of any note was the Cimarrons, who sounded a lot like the Shadows (or tried to). . . . [H]e moved on to the Sombreros, who changed their name to Sight & Sound a little later. Their original focus was harmony vocals, their influences the Four Seasons and the Beach Boys, but by 1967 theyâd started doing songs in keeping with the psychedelic boom. And by that time, Price had started a songwriting partnership with Mike Sheridan, the former leader of Mike Sheridan & the Nightriders. The group recorded three singles, âEbenezer,â âLittle Jackie Monday,â and âAlley Alley,â all co-written by the duo and none successful. The group eventually deteriorated into more of a musical comedy outfit. One day in early 1969, after a performance in front of a club audience that included Roy Wood, the leader/principal composer of the Move . . . offered him a spot in the group. He joined just as âBlackberry Wayâ was making its way up the U.K. charts to number one. He was with them through the brief period of cabaret performances, plus their first (and only) tour of the United States, and lasted two years with the group. Price even recorded most of the original bass parts to the first Electric Light Orchestra album, although the latter were re-recorded by Wood . . . . From there, Price moved into an ultimately unhappy contractual relationship with Gemini Records, recording This Is to Certify . . . . Then he was . . . in an outfit called Light Fantastic, who showed a lot of promise but could never get it together in terms of recording. This was followed by a stint in the progressive rock band Mongrel . . . . From there it was on to Wizzard, Roy Woodâs new band . . . . last[ing] through 1975, then Price moved on to the Wizzo Band, playing pedal steel guitar, no less.
Pay to Play! The Off the Charts Spotify Playlist! + Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock Merchandise
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! (ârelating 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 entertainmentâ â dictionary.com).
The playlist includes all the âgreatest songs of the 1960âs that no one has ever heardâ that are available on Spotify — now over 1,100 songs. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song.
All new subscribers will receive a Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock magnet. New subscribers who sign up for a year will also receive a Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock t-shirt or baseball cap. See pictures on the Pay to Play page.
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This dreamy, ethereal B-side written by Kenny Young (who wrote âUnder the Boardwalkâ with Art Resnick) is one of the Searchersâ (see #352, 394, 636, 1,278) great songs from the latter half of the 60âs. They recorded it under the name Pasha, “named after the producer’s dog”. (Vernon Joynson, The Tapestry of Delights Revisited) It was “[e]rroneously credited as ‘Pussy Willow Dragon’ on the label. (Popsike.com, https://www.popsike.com/PASHA-SEARCHERS-Somebody-Shot-The-Lollypop-Man-Pussy-Willow-Dragon/351328292922.html)
This record is atrocious and little wonder that The Searchers did not want their name on the label so picked another one. You can’t even tell it’s The Searchers although the B-side has a slightly more Searchers sound to it. I sold my copy to a Searchers completist and he was very welcome to it.
Pay to Play! The Off the Charts Spotify Playlist! + Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock Merchandise
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! (ârelating 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 entertainmentâ â dictionary.com).
The playlist includes all the âgreatest songs of the 1960âs that no one has ever heardâ that are available on Spotify — now over 1,100 songs. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song.
All new subscribers will receive a Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock magnet. New subscribers who sign up for a year will also receive a Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock t-shirt or baseball cap. See pictures on the Pay to Play page.
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 and a physical address to which I can sent a magnet/t-shirt/baseball cap. If choosing a t-shirt, please let me know the gender and size you prefer.
Just click on the first blue block for a month to month subscription or the second blue block for a yearly subscription.
THE GREATEST SONGS OF THE 1960s THAT NO ONE HAS EVER HEARD
1,724) The Montanas — âA Step in the Right Directionâ
This fantastic propulsive beat number, written by Jackie Trent and Tony Hatch, âeasily had the potential to be a hit”. (Vernon Joynson, The Tapestry of Delights Revisited) Alas, â[t]here was a big buildup and considerable radio interest . . . but as usual, the heavy sales in and around Wolverhampton failed to spread out nationally. . . . Its UK failure led to its relegation to B-side status in the US”. (Roger Dopson, liner notes to the CD comp You’ve Got to Be Loved (Singles A’s & B’s))
Birminghamâs Montanas [see #1,245] were âessentially a mainstream harmony-pop band. . . . They issued a series of beautifully crafted mid-sixties singles that marked the development of beat into summer pop with even a hint of psychedelia, without getting the success they deserved.â (Vernon Joynson, The Tapestry of Delights Revisited) Their “Pye Records recordings . . . [constitute] one of the more self-consciously beautiful bodies of music that one is likely to cross paths with from mid-â60s England.â (Bruce Eder, https://www.allmusic.com/album/youve-got-to-be-loved-mw0000229331)
Bruce Eder tells us more:
A middleweight outfit from Englandâs Midlands, their sound was a kind of high-energy pop/rock, with chiming guitars and seriously elegant and robust harmonies, somewhere midway between, say, the Hollies and the Ivy League. . . . generally runs toward fairly punchy beats, chiming rhythm guitars, and high harmonies. . . . By 1967, theyâd evolved a bright sunshine pop sound that, had they been based in America on a reasonably strong label, mightâve had them breathing down the necks of the Association . . . .
The group originated in Birmingham in 1964 . . . . The group had a very theatrical presentation, which included bits of comedy between the songs. The Montanas were managed by Roger Allen, who was able to get them a contract with Pye Records, which brought them under the wing of songwriters Tony Hatch and Jackie Trent. . . . [who] also wrote hits for Petula Clark . . . . They had three songs, âCiao Baby,â âYouâve Got to Be Loved,â and âLetâs Get a Little Sentimental,â that were favorites among reviewers, and got very heavy radio play, all without scoring any major chart action in England. Somehow, however, âYouâve Got to Be Lovedâ managed to make the American Top 50 â but they lacked the resources to come to the United States to promote the record, and watched as it rose and fell from the sales listings, all under its own power. . . . Everyone who ever saw the Montanas perform live respected and admired them as one of the top bands in Birmingham; they were first-rate musicians and had a powerful sound playing live, and were deserving of a break and a hit. . . . Their reliance on outside songwriters, which had been a mere detail . . . in 1965, had become a liability by 1967, and their records, for all of their excellence, didnât reflect the groupâs actual sound, which was a lot less pop-oriented than their singles would have led one to believe.
Tony Hatch was convinced he was going to get us away eventually . . . he spent an enormous amount of time and trouble with us. He produced all our releases . . . and he wrote some really strong songs for us. But in hindsight, we really should have gone over to The States once we found out âYouâve Got to Be Lovedâ was moving . . . that would probably have made all the difference . . .
liner notes to Youâve Got to Be Loved (Singles Aâs & Bâs): The Montanas
Finally, Brian Nicholls notes that:
Their unique blend of R&B, pop, and classic covers together with their close harmony versions of Beach Boys and Four Seasons hits ensured sell-out crowds, particularly in the Midlands area where fans would literally queue before the venue opened to ensure a seat. . . . The Monts were also constantly in demand for live radio broadcasts on Radio One Club with the shows hosted by Jimmy Young, Dave Lee Travis and Simon Bates. On 16 July, 1967 they appeared on âEasybeatâ performing âRiver Deep Mountain Highâ, âMorning Dewâ and âTake My Handâ and were told it was one of the finest live performances in the history of the show.
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“[T]he question of why [Salisbury] isnât a household name becomes inevitable as [his] great sunshiney songs fill your head with melodies a surgeon would have a hard time removing. Just sublime bubble-gummy pop.” (Scott Homewood again) As to Salisbury’s solo songs, most unreleased at the time, “The sense of hook, the clean, gorgeous vocals, the sappy melodies, and the Baroque stylings . . . make them all ready for pop heaven. . . . This is magical, beautiful, and yes, sappy pop music. It’s lush, textured, and overly sentimental, as innocent as it gets, and as pretty as it gets.” (Thom Jurek, https://www.allmusic.com/album/falling-to-pieces-mw0000663715)
Tim Sendra tells us of Salisbury:
Sandy Salisbury is a singer and songwriter whose main claim to fame is being one of the integral members of sunshine pop guru Curt Boettcher’s cast of singers and players, appearing on records by the Ballroom [see #707] and the Millennium [see #397, 506, 586, 662, 810, 1,002] in the late-60s. He also recorded solo during that time, though most of his work, like the 1969 album Sandy, remained unreleased until they were discovered and issued decades later. Salisbury was born and raised in Kailua-Kona, Hawaii, but moved to Santa Barbara, California to pursue his musical dreams. After playing with a group called the Chances for a year, touring the state and cutting an album that was never released, he moved to Los Angeles. Once there, he met . . . Boettcher, who was riding high off his work on the Association’s [see #1,264] “Along Comes Mary.” The two found that their musical sensibilities and high, angelic voices were a good match and decided to pair up in a new group Boettcher was starting called the Ballroom. The group blended vocal harmonies and baroque melodies to come up with a singular sound, but their existence proved shortlived and soon Salisbury and Boettcher formed the very similar-sounding Millennium. Salisbury wrote songs as well as sang, and . . . did work on Sagitarrius’s classic 1967 album Present Tense as well as other Boettcher projects. The Millennium released only one album before the members went their separate ways. Salisbury went solo and tracked a record for producer Gary Usher’s Tomorrow label that featured most of the members of the Millennium . . . . to be called Sandy, but it was never released due to problems at the label. Also consigned to the vault were numerous songs written and performed by Salisbury over the years. He thought that Boettcher was sharing them with his music publisher, or that he might be able to record them himself, but instead the songs were kept under wraps to be used on future Boettcher-helmed projects. These imagined projects never happened, mainly because the producer lost favor with the music business and pretty much disappeared as the decade ended. Salisbury, too, put his musical career on the back burner. After reverting to his given name of Graham, he began writing well-received children’s and young adult books. . . .
[Boettcher] worked with a core group of musicians, and none of them were more talented than Sandy Salisbury. His pure-as-a-Hawaiian-beach singing was a key part of the Boettcher sound, and . . . the producer used him on a variety of sessions for artists like Tommy Roe and Paul Revere & the Raiders [see #109]. Salisbury was also a strong and prolific songwriter, and the duo worked on writing and demoing tracks at a furious pace for a few years in the late ’60s. Almost none of the songs were released . . . . and Salisbury quit the music business thinking that his songs weren’t good enough. . . . Both Boettcher and Salisbury possess high and clear voices that sound untouched by care or wear.
[Salisbury] wrote dozens of songs and recorded them demo – style on a sound – on – sound tape recorder in his California beach house before turning them over to his publisher, who did absolutely nothing with them because he was instructed by the band’s producer and arranger, Curt Boettcher, to shelve them for further band productions. What Boettcher essentially accomplished was keeping under wraps pop songs that would have . . . landed Salisbury near the top of the pop heap.
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After a suffering an LSD-induced mental breakdown, Los Angeles-based songwriter Craig Smith renamed himself Maitreya Kali and custom-pressed Apache/Inca, a double-LP documenting his musical, personal, and spiritual journey. His message to the world, encoded on the album jackets in rambling, quasi-mystical Messianic verse, was urgent, desperate, delusional, and disturbing. Recorded between 1967 and 1971, the music tells a different story. Achingly beautiful, haunting acoustic folk songs; luminescent psychedelic folk-rock; eerie, off-kilter acid rock; fragments; field recordings — all meticulously woven into a magical, mesmerizing whole. Apache/Inca is an extraordinary work. Not the dark, self-indulgent ramblings of a cracked Messiah, but a thoughtfully-crafted collection of work by a singer and songwriter of remarkable depth and talent whose world was falling apart. Soon afterwards Maitreya â and Craig â disappeared into the shadows. He died homeless in a North Hollywood Park in 2012.
[The two albums] are among the more interesting rare late-â60s folk-rock psychedelic relics, alternating between full electric band arrangements and solo acoustic guitar ones. . . . The mixture of folk-rock with harmonies, a slight country influence, and sunny Californian pop is . . . reminiscent of Merrell Fankhauser [see #10, 235, 327] . . . . The acoustic cuts, while still pretty, are a bit creepy and odd in the manner of a somewhat less cutting-edge Dino Valente or Skip Spence. . . . There are also some pretty ambitious meditations upon religion, loneliness, and mysticism, although in general the tone is upbeat, the melodies accessible, and the singing pleasantly normal. . . . The electric material . . . was not recorded by Maitreya Kali, but by a Southern Californian 1967 pop-folk-rock-psychedelic band, the Penny Arkade. And the rest of the songs were recorded a few years later by one of the two singer/songwriters in the Penny Arkade, Craig Smith, aka Maitreya Kali. . . . [T]he record covers . . . [were] crudely patched together from photos of the apparent perpetuator, taken on his travels around the world; hand-drawn inscrutable symbols for religious deities and planetary bodies; and rambling written dedications and musician credits. . . . Maitreya Kali was a pseudonym for Craig Smith, a guitarist and songwriter . . . . The liner notes are in a scrambled syntax that only renders them inscrutable, but is of a style that one associates with the mentally ill. For all that, however, the music is often fairly well-produced, well-played, and likable, not at all the kind of acid-damaged mush youâd suspect from the packaging. . . . [A]bout half of the LPs, were unreleased recordings done by the Penny Arkade in 1967, before Smith traveled around the world and got much weirder. . . . [T]hat group recorded quite a bit of material that never came out, produced by Mike Nesmith of the Monkees [see #1,718]. Smith was not the sole singer/songwriter of that band; he shared equal time with Chris Ducey, with whom heâd done an obscure [and quite good] single for Capitol in 1966 as half of the duo Chris and Craig. When the Penny Arkade broke up without having released anything, Smith took off on travels around the world, funded by his songwriting royalties from covers of his songs by the Monkees (âSalesmanâ), Andy Williams (âHollyâ), and Glen Campbell (âCountry Girlâ). . . . When he returned to the States, he combined a bunch of unreleased Penny Arkade tracks with more recent, sparer, and spookier recordings heâd done on his own, most likely in the early â70s. The results were . . . pressed in extremely small quantities, essentially as vanity pressings credited to Satya Sai Maitreya Kali. . . . [I]tâs odd but accessible Californian country-influenced folk-rock. On the most acoustic ballads, thereâs a gentle yet spooky mysticism . . . .
I now turn to the great Mike Stax, who wrote a book (Swim Through the Darkness: My Search for Craig Smith and the Mystery of Maitreya Kali, https://a.co/d/cVyefT6) on his 15-year quest to get to the heart of Smith’s darkness:
It was the music that first hooked me. I acquired reissued copies of his solo records Apache and Inca. I didnât really know what to expect because the cover art was so mysterious, deranged, and disturbed. I expected some kind of spacey, incoherent psychedelic folk music, so I was surprised to find that the music was coherent, and the songwriting and playing accomplished. . . . Some of it sounded like the Byrds [see #1,430, 1,605] or Buffalo Springfield [see #1,555], other tracks were desolate acoustic folk musicâand then there were weird interludes with snippets of dialogue. I couldnât stop listening to it. . . . [T]here was no information out there, just some speculation among collectors. The only known fact was that this strange loner guy who called himself Maitreya Kali had originally been known as Craig Smith . . . . His change around from this very wholesome, talented, happy-go-lucky guy into this very dark, almost Manson-like figure was absolutely fascinating to me. . . . His parents were dead, and I made every effort to reach out to the remaining family, but they were reluctant to talk. At the time, I didnât know that Craig had badly assaulted his mother in 1973. The family wanted nothing to do with him, and didnât even want to claim his remains when he died . . . . I talked to tons of people who knew Craig before he leftâright up until he had a going away party at [the Beach Boysâ] Mike Loveâs houseâand he was fine at that point. Prior to the trip, he had been happy, outgoing, gregarious . . . . But when he came back . . . he was completely different. Nobody knew what had happened. . . . I found out that Craigâs lawyer . . . had to help Craig get back from Afghanistan, where heâd allegedly been put in a lunatic asylum and couldnât even remember who he was. He had changed completely. . . . He was now Maitreya, and he believed he was Christ and the Buddha reincarnate, the next messiah. . . . [A]t some point he had a black widow spider tattooed on his forehead . . . . His friends were deeply concerned about the disturbing changes in him. They tried to help him, but eventually they had to push him away once he seemed dangerous. . . . Craigâs mental state was so unbalanced that he had alienated all of his old contacts. Nobody wanted to help him. Reportedly, he managed to arrange a meeting with Mike Curb [see #57], who had been his high school classmate and was, at the time, president of MGM Records. But when Curb saw what Craig had become, he had him forcibly removed from his office. With no record deal possible, Craig decided to have the records pressed himself. He sold them on the street or gave them to friends and they were quickly gone. Itâs my firm belief that Craig knew that his mental state was declining rapidly. For that reason, he wanted to gather all of his music together onto these records as a kind of last will and testament to the world, while he still had the faculty to do so.
His story . . . is perhaps the most unusual and tragic Iâve come across in all my years writing and reasearching the musicians of the 1960s. I was hoping it would have a much happier ending. One last farewell, Craig, one last goodbye.
* Wikipedia tells us that the hippie trail was âan overland journey taken by members of the hippie subculture and others from the mid-1950s to the late 1970s, travelling from Europe and West Asia through South Asia such as Afghanistan, Pakistan, India, Nepal, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh to Thailand.â (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hippie_trail)
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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! (ârelating 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 entertainmentâ â dictionary.com).
The playlist includes all the âgreatest songs of the 1960âs that no one has ever heardâ that are available on Spotify — now over 1,100 songs. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song.
All new subscribers will receive a Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock magnet. New subscribers who sign up for a year will also receive a Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock t-shirt or baseball cap. See pictures on the Pay to Play page.
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THE GREATEST SONGS OF THE 1960s THAT NO ONE HAS EVER HEARD
1,721) Zoot Money’s Big Roll Band — âBarefootinââ
From âquite simply the biggest character on the British rhythm and blues scene since the early 1960sâ (see #726, 727, 1,106, 1,269) (http://zootmoney.org/bio/), “a romping cover” (Bournemouthbeatboom, https://bournemouthbeatboom.wordpress.com/zoot-money/) of Robert Parkerâs #7 hit (#2 RE&B) âBarefootinââ. It is a “song Zoot would frequently take literally and remove not only his shoes but those of as many members of the audience he could, a procedure that invariably turned to chaos as Densonâs and Mary Janes flew through the air.” (monkey, https://monkey-picks.blogspot.com/2018/02/zoot-moneys-big-roll-band-big-time.html)
Bournemouth Beat Boom talks of the LP â Zoot! in the UK and Live at Klooks Kleek in the U.S.:
[T]hey left the confines of the studio and decamped to Dick Jordanâs Klooks Kleek club above the Railway Hotel in West Hampstead on Tuesday, 31st May 1966. The band had set an attendance record there the year before and could guarantee a packed house. On the evening of recording, hundreds of people were turned away, but the lucky few who gained entry joined invited guests Chas Chandler, Eric Burdon [see #513, 949], Georgie Fame [see ##103, 169, 634, 695, 721, 1,044], and Brian Auger [see #1,031-33, 1,312] for a night of high-octane entertainment. Future Elton John [see #1,598] producer Gus Dudgeon . . . captured the Big Roll Band at the top of their game, whipping up a storm with twelve slices of raw R&B . . . . The Record Mirror reported, âThis is quite an exciting album. One of those live LPs where the artist has succeeded in putting across a variety of atmospheres, instead of just the usual frantic beat and muzzy vocalsâ. Downbeat, the bible for jazz buffs, gave the album five stars. This time the reviews were reflected in sales, as it climbed to a respectable number twenty-three in October 1966.
[A]dmired, respected, and sought after by his colleagues, and able to fill halls in England nightly, he never managed to sell lots of records, even in England. . . . During the mid-â50s, he discovered rhythm & blues and its younger offshoot, rock & roll, which quickly consumed his interest in music â he switched to the keyboard under the inspiration of Jerry Lee Lewis and Ray Charles, and by the beginning of the â60s was developing a distinctive technique on the Hammond organ. Heâd also picked up the nickname by which heâd be known for most of his career after attending a concert by Zoot Sims. . . . He passed through the lineups of a few groups as a keyboard player . . . . [Then] classic version of the Big Roll Band . . . . took root in London, consisting of Money on vocals, piano, and organ, [and including] Andy Somers [yes, the Policeâs Andy Summers] on guitar . . . . They quickly became a popular attraction on Londonâs burgeoning R&B and jazz scene, partly owing to Moneyâs impassioned interpretations of American R&B standards and his wild sense of showmanship, coupled with the bandâs overall excellence . . . . They were good enough to attract the attention of Englandâs Decca Records . . . . [and by] the following year, theyâd moved over to EMIâs Columbia Records imprint . . . . [By] late 1966. . . . the audience for American-style R&B and soul was already giving way to a growing listenership for psychedelic sounds, and the name âBig Roll Bandâ sounded like something just a little bit too far from the wafts of incense . . . . [I]n 1967, they transmuted, almost Doctor Who-style, into Dantalionâs Chariot [see #727, 1,106, 1,269].
Money . . . was a charismatic personality, a soulful singer and an excellent Hammond organist. He was much loved by the mods who flocked to his bandâs shows at London clubs such as the Flamingo in the swinging 60s. Members of the Beatles, Rolling Stones and the Animals were also among his greatest fans. . . . On leaving school Money trained to be an optician but lost his job when he kept turning up late for work after nights gigging with his Big Roll Band, formed in 1961. By 1963 the Big Rollers featured Andy Summers on guitar, Nick Newall on saxophone and Colin Allen on drums. Money also switched from piano to the funkier sounding Hammond organ. When spotted by Alexis Kornerâs manager, Money was invited to play with Alexis in Blues Incorporated and moved to London. The Big Rollers rejoined him and began to play regularly at the Flamingo, where they replaced Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames as the resident band in 1964. . . . The Rollers . . . began touring extensively and released a debut single, “The Uncle Willie” (1964), followed by an album, It Shouldâve Been Me (1965). . . . Money recalled the Flamingo as âa really groovy place ⌠We loved playing to black American servicemen that came to the club and were familiar with the soul and R&B music we were trying to play. For them, it was like being at home. We also backed visiting American blues men like John Lee Hooker and Sonny Boy Williamson. They were surprised we were so good.â . . . The Big Rollers packed out clubs such as Klooks Kleek in West Hampstead . . . . Money loved to entertain the crowds with his extrovert showmanship, pulling fansâ shoes off while singing “Barefootinâ” and dropping his trousers on stage; but it was difficult to crack the all important singles charts and his only hit was “Big Time Operator” [see #726], which got to No 25 in 1966.
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The playlist includes all the âgreatest songs of the 1960âs that no one has ever heardâ that are available on Spotify — now over 1,100 songs. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song.
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THE GREATEST SONGS OF THE 1960s THAT NO ONE HAS EVER HEARD
1,720) The Dimensions — “Mary Lou”
Here’s a cool garage version of the ’55 R&B blazer co-written and recorded by Young Jessie. Bill Dahl writes that “its unusual minor-key arrangement must have appealed to rockabilly wildman Ronnie Hawkins who hit the pop lists [#26, #7 R&B] with it in 1959 for Roulette” and “a remade [’63 version] found Jessie collaborating with a trio of Phil Spector associates: Jack Nitzsche arranged, and Lester Sill and Steve Douglas co-produced.”(https://www.allmusic.com/artist/young-jessie-mn0000687322#biography) The song has been covered by everyone from Steve Miller to Bob Seger.
As to the Dimensions’ sole LP — ’66’s From All Dimensions — which included “Mary Lou”, Patrick Lundborg writes:
[It is a] somewhat legendary Chicago area frat-garage LP . . . . A solid uptempo party mood reigns, with an attactive cover selection that mixes frat-rock, ’50s r & b and British beat, with a notable Rolling Stones fixation. The band plays with snappy enthusiasm, and unlike many period albums there are no dull ballads or misplaced Broadway tunes. . . . [It is a]n unusually consistent and well-played moptop era club band LP.
The Acid Archives: The Second Edition
As to Young Jessie, Bill Dahl tells us:
The Los Angeles R&B vocal group scene of the 1950s was a fairly incestuous one — members flitted from one aggregation to the next . . . . Young Jessie was a member of the Flairs, Hunters, and Coasters, as well as scoring a solo West Coast hit with his 1955 rocker “Mary Lou.” Obediah Jessie was a Los Angeles high-school classmate of Richard “Louie Louie” Berry. The two put together the Flairs and debuted on the . . . Flair label in 1953 with “She Wants to Rock.” The Flairs recorded steadily for the firm, but solo status awaited Jessie, who cut a cover of Big Mama Thornton’s . . . “I Smell a Rat” . . . in 1954. “Mary Lou,” arranged by saxist Maxwell Davis, emerged the next year . . . . Platters manager Buck Ram took over Jessie’s career in time to pen his torrid 1956 rocker “Hit, Git & Split” under the sobriquet of Lynn Paul. . . . Jessie reverted to his vocal-group roots in 1957, joining the Coasters to sing harmonies on their smashes “Searchin'” and “Young Blood” for Atco. The same firm issued a solo Jessie 45, “Shuffle in the Gravel,” before moving him to Atlantic for “Margie.” Later singles for Capitol and Mercury did little to rekindle Jessie’s career . . . .
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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! (ârelating 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 entertainmentâ â dictionary.com).
The playlist includes all the âgreatest songs of the 1960âs that no one has ever heardâ that are available on Spotify — now over 1,100 songs. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song.
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Pay to Play! The Off the Charts Spotify Playlist! + Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock Merchandise
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! (ârelating 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 entertainmentâ â dictionary.com).
The playlist includes all the âgreatest songs of the 1960âs that no one has ever heardâ that are available on Spotify — now over 1,100 songs. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song.
All new subscribers will receive a Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock magnet. New subscribers who sign up for a year will also receive a Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock t-shirt or baseball cap. See pictures on the Pay to Play page.
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Despite the fact that the Monkees gained creative control of their recordings from Don Kirshner at the beginning of 1967, they very smartly were not opposed to utilizing the Brill Building writers who had been under Kirshner’s rule earlier. “Shades of Grey,” a fabulous Barry Mann/Cynthia Weil ballad, was perfect for both the group and the time. A poignant and beautiful pop statement about the loss of innocence, the song makes references to both the civil rights struggle as well as the Vietnam War . . . . Tastefully arranged with a fine vocal duet between Davy Jones and Peter Tork . . . .
This is as pretty a song as the Monkees would ever record, a richly orchestrated ballad with stately piano by Tork (who shares the vocal spotlight with Jones) and session players fleshing out the understated chamber-pop arrangement on French horn and cello. The song was written by one of the Brill Buildingâs more inspired duos, Mann and Weil, as a bittersweet reflection on the changing times that finds them pining for simpler days when âit was easy then to tell right from wrong.â There are no easy answers here . . . .
Headquarter’s finest showcase of the group’s newfound arrangement expertise. “We created that stuff from scratch,” says [Peter] Tork. “Mike wrote the horn and cello parts, sang them to me, and I notated them. I was also really pleased with that little piano introduction I wrote. We were just thrilled to death with that song.”
liner notes to the CD reissue of Headquarters
As to Headquarters, Tim Sendra writes:
After the release of More of the Monkees, on which the band had little involvement beyond providing vocals and a couple Mike Nesmith-composed songs, the pre-fab four decided to take control of their recording destiny. After a well-timed fist through the wall of a hotel suite and many fevered negotiations, music supervisor Don Kirschner was out and the band hit the studio by themselves. With the help of producer Chip Douglas, the band spent some time learning how to be a band . . . and set about recording what turned out to be a dynamic, exciting, and impressive album.
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THE GREATEST SONGS OF THE 1960s THAT NO ONE HAS EVER HEARD
1,716) Jesse Colin Young — “Four in the Morning”
This devastating âhaunting, all acoustic solo masterwork, [is] so stark and so blue you can almost hear the water dripping in his apartment.” (Mark Rosen, https://www.facebook.com/groups/240098362684435/posts/23878830535051219/) It lead off JCY’s first LP, ’64’s The Soul of a City Boy: “A stripped-down production of solo folk performances . . included a cover of the George [also known as Robin] Remaily song ‘Four in the Morning’ which gained radio airplay and helped launch Young’s career.” (Matt Collar, https://www.allmusic.com/artist/jesse-colin-young-mn0000331846#biography)
Ellaysium enthuses:
i fell in love with this song the moment i heard it. the lyrics are poignant, saturated in melancholy. it tells the tale of a man so haunted, so deranged, and so entrenched in his own pain that he murders his old girl and her new lover. heâs also troubled by alcoholism it seems – the phrase âlying on my backâ draws to mind the image of an insect, floundering before it dies. this man is dying without a drink. the cockroach, in his fevered mind, mocks him. the lyrics are subtly genius and beautifully dark. this is, in my opinion, the most devastating melody i have ever heard – from the lonely acoustic picking to sorrowful singing. the deep, profound misery of this tune reminds me of jackson c. frank [see #8]
Twenty-two-year-old Perry Miller was spotted by pianist/composer Bobby Scott at Folk City in Greenwich Village and signed to Capitol Records under the auspices of Scottâs employer, Bobby Scott. Scott took Miller, now renamed Jesse Colin Young, into New York’s A&R Studios in the spring of 1964, and they emerged four hours later with this 31-minute, 11-track acoustic-guitar-and-vocal debut album. Young proved to be an adept guitarist conversant with all the basic fingerpicking folk patterns, and to have an expressive, elastic tenor voice with just a touch of graininess to keep him from sounding too smooth. His six originals were fine but unexceptional, and his covers of songs like “Rye Whiskey” were pleasant. In the folk boom of the early ’60s, The Soul of a City Boy was just one more entry in the dominant style, and it would not be remembered today if Young had not gone on to bigger and better things. But it demonstrates that in his early 20s, he had a good grasp of the playing, singing, and writing talents upon which he would build in later years. The album did not sell upon release . . . .
Born Perry Miller . . . . [he] enrolled at Phillips Academy Andover in Massachusetts where he took classical guitar as an elective. His musical interests soon overtook his other school studies . . . . [and he] was ultimately expelled from the academy, and after finishing high school enrolled at Ohio State University. There, he lived behind a record store and further expanded his musical knowledge, digging deeper into folk, blues, and jazz artists. . . . By 1961 he had transferred to NYU and spent several years balancing his studies with playing gigs at local Greenwich Village coffeehouses. Dropping out of school, he took a day job . . . and continued playing solo folk shows. . . . Prior to [The Soul of a City Boyâs] release he had adopted the name Jesse Colin Young (an amalgamation of western outlaws Jesse James and Cole Younger, and Grand Prix racer Colin Chapman) to avoid undue comparisons to pop singer Perry Como. A second Scott-produced album, Young Blood, followed a year later on Mercury . . . . [H]e met guitarist Jerry Corbitt . . . . They began hanging out and working on music together. Inspired by the Beatles, and looking to move toward a more electrified sound, they joined forces with keyboardist/guitarist Lowell “Banana” Levinger and drummer Joe Bauer with Young moving to bass. Naming themselves the Youngbloods after Young’s second album, they developed a rambling, harmony-laden sound that touched upon the blues, country, and lyrical folk-rock. Playing regularly at New York club The Night Owl, they gained valuable experience . . . . They signed to RCA and released a debut single . . . which charted in the Top 60 in November 1966. Their full-length debut, The Youngbloods, followed in 1967 and featured their cover version of Dino Valenti’s . . . . [which reached] number 62 . . . . As they were beginning work on the album[ Elephant Mountain,] Corbitt dropped out of the band . . . . [T]he album found the Youngbloods exploring more of their jazz and Americana influences. There was also a more introspective tone to many of Young’s songs . . . addressing themes of death and depression and evoking the war in Vietnam. At the same time in 1969, RCA re-released “Get Together” as a single . . . landing at number . . . . In 1970, Young built a home and recording studio on a ridge top in Inverness, California where he recorded his third solo album, 1972’s Together. . . . The album marked the beginning of the end for the Youngbloods, who released . . . 1971’s Good and Dusty and 1972’s High on a Ridge before calling it quits. Signed to Warner Bros, Young moved forward as a solo artist, issuing 1973’s jazz-infused Song for Juli. . . . A creative and commercial breakthrough, the album hit number 51 . . . and helped solidify Young’s return to solo work. More albums arrived in quick succession with 1974’s Light Shine and 1975’s Songbird hitting number 37 and 26 . . . . He followed with 1976’s On the Road and 1977’s Love on the Wing, both of which charted . . . .
1,717) The Sunshine Company — âFour in the Morninââ
“Man, this is groovy! Digging the fuzz!” (Leachz1, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oWVxsX9fTZk) Took the words right out of my mouth! J Rodger writes of the Companyâs take on the song and its debut album Happy Is the Sunshine Company:
The Sunshine Company melds their signature harmonies with some killer fuzz guitar action showing the tune a new light. It’s further accompanied by piano, bongos and handclaps giving the listener a refreshing change of pace. The hard-time lyrics don’t particularly reflect their namesake… In fact, quite a few tunes on the record contain moments of beautiful melancholia. Aside from a few happy go lucky âfluffersâ the sad undertones are a far more prominent theme.
But what was the great sunshine pop band the Sunshine Company (see #691) doing recording this song?! Richie Unterberger explains:
Much of their material may have been pure sunny SoCal pop . . . . But their real heart lay closer to rootsy singer-songwriter folk than the child-like naivete conveyed by their name and some of their songs. . . . âIt was a struggle with Imperial, because they kind of wanted to carbon-copy âHappyâ over and over,â confesses [singer/guitarist Maury] Manseau. âWe didnât like a lot of the pop, bouncy material they brought us. . . . [We had] this ongoing fight . . . with the record company . . . . We had to give a lot to get a few things on that we liked[.]â . . . [Producer Joe] Saraceno [said] “‘Look, letâs get a hit and then invite the public into your world after youâre popular,â and they agreed to that.[“]
liner notes to the CD comp The Best of the Sunshine Company
Jason Ankeny tells us that:
[The s]outhern California soft pop quintet . . . . [s]ign[ed] to Imperial Records in the fall of 1967 . . . [and] issued its debut LP . . . scoring their lone Top 40 hit with the single âBack on the Street Again.â The album also generated the minor hit âHappy,â although with their self-titled sophomore effort, the Sunshine Companyâs commercial momentum dissipated, and in the wake of their third LP, 1968âs Sunshine and Shadows, the group disbanded . . . .
[Joe Saraceno] calls them âthe most talented group Iâve ever worked with or seen,â [and] puts a lot of blame on their failure to go further on the record company politics that had kiboshed the release of âUp, Up and Awayâ [lost to the Fifth Dimension] (âthey really got screwedâ). . . . Manseau recalls Bill Graham introducing the[m] at a San Francisco show at the Filmore with the words âI know that San Francisco audiences havenât really warmed to this group. But I think itâs one of the few good things that ever came out of L.A.â
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Honeybus is one of my favorite bands (see #6, 52, 207, 434, 562, 605, 764, 1,100, 1,439, 1,582), with the honey being especially bittersweet with what should have been, what could have been. LN writes:
When I once lent a friend a copy of my beloved Story [including “She Said Yes”] he quipped that it sounded almost like a Beatles album from the 1960s that had somehow escaped release. I had for some time lacked just the right phrase to describe the album, and here it was; my friend had completely summed up my feelings about one of rock musicâs true lost treasures in one neat soundbite.
Honeybus had the pop touchstones of the Beatles and the Hollies, while balancing the more sunshiny, twee aspects of the early Bee Gees with some mild touches of post-Sgt. Pepper psychedelia. . . . Their songs were unusually tuneful, some lovely little hooks paired with sweet harmonies, and itâs almost shocking to hear these songs today and realize the band had pretty much zero commercial success (at least here in the US).
Bruce Eder beautifully ponders what made the band so special and what could have been:
Considering that most have never heard of them, itâs amazing to ponder that they came very close, in the eyes of the critics, to being Decca Recordsâ answer to the Rubber Soul-era Beatles. The harmonies were there, along with some catchy, hook-laden songs . . . . The pop sensibilities of Honeybusâ main resident composers, Peter Dello and Ray Cane were astonishingly close in quality and content to those of Paul McCartney and the softer sides of John Lennon of that same era. Whatâs more, the critics loved their records. Yet, somehow, Honeybus never got it right; they never had the right single out at the proper time, and only once in their history did they connect with the public for a major hit, in early 1968. . . .
Dello and Cane . . . were the prime movers behind Honeybus. In 1966, they formed the Yum Yum Band . . . . A collapsed lung put Dello out of action in early 1966, and it was during his recuperation that he began rethinking what the band and his music were about. He developed the notion of a new band that would become a canvas for him to work on as a songwriter â they would avoid the clubs, working almost exclusively in the studio, recreating the sounds that he was hearing in his head. . . . It was a novel strategy, paralleling the approach to music-making by the Beatles in their post-concert period, and all the more daring for the fact that they were a new group . . . . The group was one of the best studio bands of the period, reveling in the perfection that could be achieved . . . .
They were duly signed to Englandâs Decca Records and assigned to the companyâs newly organized Deram label . . . . The critics were quick to praise the band . . . [but their first two singles were commercially] unsuccessful. Then . . . their third release, âI Canât Let Maggie Go,â [see #6] . . . . . . peaked at number eight. . . . [It] should have made the group, but instead it shattered them. Peter Dello resigned during the singleâs chart run. He had been willing to play live on radio appearances and the occasional television or special concert showcase . . . but he couldnât accept the physical or emotional stresses of performing live on a regular basis, or the idea of touring America . . . . Dello left . . . . [and] Jim Kelly came in on guitar and vocals, while Ray Cane . . . took over most of the songwriting, and Honeybus proceeded to play regular concerts. The group never recovered the momentum theyâd lost over âMaggie,â however, despite a string of fine singles . . . . [that] never charted . . . . [T]he group had pretty well decided to call it quits once they finished the[ir] LP . . . . The Honeybus Story . . . was released in late 1969, but without an active group to promote it, the record sank without a trace. . . . [I]t was a beautiful album, with the kind of ornate production and rich melodies that had become increasingly rare with the passing of the psychedelic era . . .
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THE GREATEST SONGS OF THE 1960s THAT NO ONE HAS EVER HEARD
(song first featured as#113) John Lennon and the Plastic Ono Band â âLoveâ
As I do each year on September 11, and also in light of Charlie Kirkâs murder yesterday, I will play John Lennon and the Plastic Ono Bandâs âLoveâ from 1970, one of the most beautiful, delicate and consoling songs ever written. I present it along with five wonderful cover versions, by Barbra Streisand, the Lettermen (yes, the Lettermen), Shirley Bassey, Jimmy Nail, and Beck.
The Beatles Bible says:
âLoveâ, the tenderest moment on John Lennonâs debut solo album, was a simple love song inspired by his feelings for Yoko Ono. ââLoveâ I wrote in a spirit of love. In all that shit, I wrote it in a spirit of love. Itâs for Yoko, it has all that connotation for me. Itâs a beautiful melody and Iâm not even known for writing melody.â Lennon had recorded a guitar demo of âLoveâ in Bel Air, Los Angeles, where he stayed in the summer of 1970 while undergoing Primal Therapy with Dr Arthur Janov. The recording is the only one of the time that lacked the anger or bitterness that coloured much of [the album]. Back in England, âLoveâ was recorded at EMI Studios, Abbey Road. Lennon again played a simple acoustic guitar part, over which he sang his plaintive lyrics. . . . After recording a satisfactory take, Lennon asked Phil Spector to add a piano part. . . . âLoveâ was not released as a single in John Lennonâs lifetime, although he considered issuing it as one. It received considerable radio airplay from stations who baulked at the prospect of playing âMotherâ, Lennonâs eventual choice of single in the US.
Clocking in at around three-and-a-half minutes, it is actually quite astonishing that Lennon manages to convey so much of the emotion he felt for Yoko Ono in the time it takes to brew a cup of tea. . . . âLoveâ is one of the most minimalist songs Lennon ever released, featuring just two musicians, Lennon himself on guitar and vocals, and Phil Spect[or] on the piano. . . . [It] is a remarkably stark track, as if he wanted to avoid anything that might detract from his adoration. The stripped-back, elemental sound that Lennon pursued on âLoveâ feels almost like an extension of the primal therapy that he and Yoko Ono took part in following the break up of The Beatles in 1970. Itâs as if all that screaming into the wind allowed Lennon a period of calm in which he was able to sit down and write something honest, sensitive, and undeniably vulnerable. . . . [I]tâs possible that, at least in some ways, it was intended as a gift to Ono. âWith Yoko, I really knew love for the first time,â he once said: âIâd never met anyone who was my equal in every imaginable way. My better, actually. The dream came trueâ
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Opening with a stately cello figure (not unlike some of the unreleased Beach Boys Smile-era recordings such as “The Old Master Painter”), [it] closes out the underrated Songs for All the Seasons of Your Mind with fabulous style. The song is indeed a rock/folk suite, compromising several different passages, not unlike an opera. The main melody is rock and folk based, featuring some chillingly dissonant choral patterns on the keyboards by the great Artie Butler. The song even quotes from another of the album’s songs, “Sunflakes Fall,” which adds to the chilling quality of the recording. Insanity, suicide, and teenage angst and blues are all a part of Ian’s world here, and she neatly (and disturbingly) ties all of this up in one great statement. Chronicling the actual suicide of a young girl (by jumping off of a building), Ian illustrates all of this in gory and emotional detail, and the effect is truly terrifying, as well as artistically brilliant.
One of America’s most important singer and songwriters, Janis Ian melds intimate personal insights with sociopolitical polemics, and has never been afraid to share her secrets or her opinions with her audience through her intelligently melodic songs. Ian’s career has gone through three distinct stages. She had an initial burst of fame as a teenager with a precocious gift for social and political commentary as documented on her self-titled 1967 debut album and its hit single “Society’s Child.” She returned to the public eye in the mid-’70s with deeply personal songs about life and relationships . . . . In 1993, after ten years away from the spotlight, Ian re-emerged as an independent artist . . . . In each stage of her career, her lyrics were literate and affecting and her vocals have a warmth that reflects strength and vulnerability with equal eloquence. . . . [Her parents] were political activists who supported a number of progressive causes, which led to the F.B.I. investigating the family . . . . Growing up, Ian was fond of the music of Joan Baez and Odetta, often played in the house, and she started playing music at a very early age. . . . In 1963, Ian wrote her first song, “Hair of Spun Gold,” which was published in the noted folk music journal Broadside. She briefly attended the High School of Music & Art in New York City . . . and she began performing at school functions that spread the word about her talent. Soon she was making the rounds of New York folk clubs . . . . In 1965, Ian wrote a song about an interracial romance between two teenagers, “Society’s Child,” and word about the song and its young composer made its way to Atlantic, which arranged for Ian to record it with producer Shadow Morton . . . . [W]hile Atlantic opted not to release “Society’s Child,” Verve/Forecast signed to her a record deal and issued the tune as a single in 1966 . . . . The song initially met resistance from radio programmers due to its controversial theme, but after Leonard Bernstein featured Ian on a television special, Inside Pop: The Rock Revolution, the single took off . . . . Ian suddenly rose to stardom, and her first album, Janis Ian, appeared in early 1967. She dropped out of high school in tenth grade to focus on her music full-time, and before 1967 was out, she’d released a second LP, For All the Seasons of Your Mind. A song from the album, “Insanity Comes Quietly to the Structured Mind,” was issued as a single, but rose no higher than number 109, and her third full-length, 1968’s The Secret Life of J. Eddy Fink, produced no hits and failed to chart. Ian stopped working with Shadow Morton[.] . . . 1969’s Who Really Cares . . . was a creative step forward for Ian as a songwriter and performer . . . [but] it was promoted poorly and proved to be her last album for Verve/Forecast. . . . Frustrated with the music business, Ian retired . . . though she soon reconsidered, and signed with Capitol, which issued Present Company in 1971. The album received little attention, but it reawakened her interest in songwriting, and she soon wrote the songs “Jesse” and “Stars.” The former . . . would become a hit when recorded by Roberta Flack . . . and the latter . . . became the title track for her first album under a new contract with Columbia. 1974’s Stars sold only modestly, but received strong reviews, and the song “The Man You Are in Me” was issued as a single and peaked at number 104 on the pop charts . . . . Ian’s second Columbia LP, 1975’s Between the Lines, became a major commercial and critical breakthrough, earning some of the best reviews of her career, rising to the top of the Top 200 albums chart, and spawning “At Seventeen,” a vivid recollection of adolescent angst that unexpectedly made its way onto AM radio and became Ian’s signature song, peaking at number three on the pop singles survey.
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The playlist includes all the âgreatest songs of the 1960âs that no one has ever heardâ that are available on Spotify — now over 1,100 songs. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song.
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I was the bloke who started [the Riot Squad] and discovered a young unknown drummer ‘Mitch Mitchell’ (who is drumming on this). I did not want to record [the song], but our Manager (Larry Page) insisted that we did, so for a laugh I borrowed a friend of mine’s voice (Georgie Fame) and sung it like he would have done it. . . .
I know Georgie, and when I recorded the song I hated it, still do, so I ‘borrowed’ Georgie’s voice to record it!! When I saw him next I told him what I did, he did not believe me, but a few days later he heard it on the radio and told me that he thought it was him singing, and we had a big laugh about it.”
Bruce Eder has told us the story of the Riot Squad Mark II (see #1,461). Here is his telling of the story of the band Mark I:
Their story began in 1964 when producer Larry Page decided to put together a group whose sound would be a more pop-focused brand of British Invasion-style rock from that of his one big success of the time, the Kinks. The resulting lineup included Graham Bonney (aka Graham Bradley) (guitar/vocals), Ron Ryan (guitar/vocals), Mark Stevens (organ), Mike Martin (bass), Bob Evans (saxophone), and John Mitchell (later better known as Mitch Mitchell (drums). They were all young, from 17 to 22, but had surprisingly extensive experience as session musicians, and each was proficient on more than one instrument . . . . Page was going to call them simply “Riot,” but Evans proposed and he accepted the alternative of Riot Squad. The irony was that once he had them assembled and they began working together, they plunged in exactly the opposite direction from what Page had intended — the sextet discovered that they shared a natural affinity for and ability with the bluesier, more R&B-inflected side of British rock & roll. They roared into 1965 with a debut single, “Anytime” b/w “Jump,” a double-sided soul shouter that got great reviews . . . . A follow-up single eight weeks later, “I Wanna Talk About My Baby” b/w “Gonna Make You Mine,” got similar high praise and both earned considerable airplay without actually selling a lot of copies . . . . But by then the group was starting to build a reputation as a live act and their shows were pulling serious crowds. Things started to go wrong just as they were looking up — the band’s hopes were hinged on a tour with the Kinks and the Yardbirds, but when the Kinks had to pull out, owing to an injury to Ray Davies, everything else fell apart, as the Yardbirds’ commitment became shaky as well. . . . A third single, “Nevertheless” b/w “Not a Great Talker,” was also well reviewed and seemed to portend great possibilities. But amid these efforts to break through in the year 1965, there were already internal stresses threatening the group — Martin was the first to exit, followed by Ryan, who’d sung lead on the first two singles; and then Bonney, who’d sung lead on “Nevertheless,” decided to opt out in favor of a solo career. That seemed to mark the end for the group as a coherent, cohesive unit, and before that point even Larry Page had moved on to other projects and opportunities. Mitch Mitchell jumped to Gerogie Fame’s band the Blue Flames, and that seemed to be all for the band. But then saxman Bob Evans, recognizing that the group had a stage reputation and also that those positive reviews of the first records comprised something to build on, however small, decided to try and salvage something from the previous year of work. He assembled what was essentially the Riot Squad (Mark II) by recruiting a promising London-based outfit called the Chevrons.
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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! (ârelating 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 entertainmentâ â dictionary.com).
The playlist includes all the âgreatest songs of the 1960âs that no one has ever heardâ that are available on Spotify — now over 1,100 songs. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song.
All new subscribers will receive a Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock magnet. New subscribers who sign up for a year will also receive a Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock t-shirt or baseball cap. See pictures on the Pay to Play page.
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 and a physical address to which I can sent a magnet/t-shirt/baseball cap. If choosing a t-shirt, please let me know the gender and size you prefer.
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THE GREATEST SONGS OF THE 1960s THAT NO ONE HAS EVER HEARD
1,712) Nirvana — âIllinoisâ
Two expatriates in Swinging London — one from Ireland, one from Greece — as Nirvana (see #287, 391, 475, 1,238, 1,525) give us this pop psych masterpiece (along with all their other pop psych masterpieces), a “remarkable tour-de-force with a quite exceptional orchestral backing” (Softman, https://rateyourmusic.com/release/album/nirvana/dedicated-to-markos-iii/), a âheartbreaking tale of a young man leaving his family to try and find work. The lyrics are full of hope, but you know he’s never coming back”. (Kimsganglion, https://rateyourmusic.com/release/album/nirvana/dedicated-to-markos-iii/) This is nirvana to me.
Softman writes of the album — Dedicated to Marcos III/to Markos III:
This is quite simply a masterpiece – Patrick Campbell Lyons was never again to achieve such poise, maturity and sophistication in his songwriting. Given the quality of the songs and the smoothness of the production, it is something of a surprise to learn of this achingly beautiful album’s troubled history. Record-company machinations meant that – at its original time of creation – it was barely released, and sank without a trace. Talk about injustice! . . . For those not only with ears to hear, but with the pureness of heart to receive, To Markos III . . . is balm for the soul.
[The LP has a] big and cool late 60s sound and . . . swooning melodicism . . . . Recorded over just three short days in between March and June 1969, it was originally intended as their third album on Island. Instead only a small number of copies appeared in 1969 on more or less instantly folding American label Metromedia, after the Island contract had been abruptly cancelled. A small number of copies were also released in Italy and Brazil, and in 1970 on Pye in the UK. . . . It appears that one of Alexâs cousins gave Nirvana money to remix the tapes on the condition that they dedicated the album to his son Markos who had a terminal disease. Although the original Metromedia release appears to have no visible title at all, the dedication to Markos III appears on the back sleeve just above the band name. However, on the Pye release, the record labels have Dedicated to Markos III printed on them. . . . [T]he music on this album is quite grand and rather unique. More continental (Francophile, even) than its 1969 peers in the UK, it has a cinematic sheen and combines sweeping orchestral arrangements with some quite dramatic and well-written pop songs. It also benefits from being less naive than Nirvanaâs earlier material.
Nirvana’s third album pretty much spelled the end for the band . . . . [It was] originally recorded for Island Records’ Chris Blackwell [with] the working title Black Flower, but Blackwell rejected the project as too derivative and declined to release it. The duo secured funding, reportedly from a family member of Spyropoulos, and issued a limited run titled Dedicated to Markos III on the Pye Records label in 1970, which may have been intended only as a promo. There was also an Americas release on Metromedia Records around the same time. This is the same label that was an experiment on music promotion by the MetroMedia communications conglomerate. The label never managed to properly promote any of their acts . . . . The only act they did manage to succeed with was the pop icon Bobby Sherman. The label folded not long after their Nirvana release . . . . [It] is a cohesive album of sorts, with most of the tracks centering on themes of love, love lost, and yearning. One exception is the West Coast pop-psych sounding “Christopher Lucifer” which was supposedly written in response to Chris Blackwell’s refusal to release the album.
David Wells writes that âNirvanaâs sound involves âmystical, gently romantic lyrics . . . [with a] breathy falsetto and a gorgeous combination of soft psych/pop melodic flair and baroque-flavoured arrangements that incorporated the use of cello and French horn.â (Record Collector: 100 Greatest Psychedelic Records: High Times and Strange Tales from Rockâs Most Mind-Blowing Era)
Steven McDonald sketches the band’s early history:
Nirvana appeared in 1967, starting as a six-piece led by Patgrick Campbell-Lyon from Ireland, and Alex Spyropoulos from Greece. They were quickly signed to the fledgling Island label, which had formed out of Chris Blackwell’s street-level R&B and rocksteady label operations, when Blackwell recognized a need to hook into the exploding psychedelic genre of the time. The first LP to emerge was the science-fiction concept album, The Story of Simon Simopath, which yielded their second single, “Pentecost Hotel” [see #287] (their first and third singles appeared on the follow-up, All of Us). The band’s early performances yielded something of an audience, but this did not translate into explosive sales in England or America, though the band achieved some success in Europe. Winnowing down to the core duo of Campbell-Lyons and Spyropoulos, Nirvana continued to release singles from All of Us, with the title track [see #1,525] going on to be selected as the theme song for The Touchables, while “Rainbow Chaser,” [see #1,238] an almost-hit, came to be considered a classic psychedelic outing.
Nirvana, the nonchalantly enigmatic duo of Patrick Campbell-Lyons and Alex Spyropoulos . . . . releas[ed] a brace of the most airily accessible and mercilessly hooky albums to have floated into being in the culturally charged domain of 1967 and â68, without sacrificing a neutrino of integrity. . . . [We must] ponder anew why Nirvana didnât make a deeper impression on the malleable hearts of the record-buying public. They fared rather better in mainland Europe, admittedly, where their billowing, romantic, sumptuously arranged and gracefully baroque compositions were tailor-made for trailing fingers in petal-strewn lakes on warm nights and contemplating Greco-Roman statuary. Nevertheless, their comparatively brief entry in the historical record remains mystifying when they were the perfect panacea for intense times. [A]n ambrosial, benevolent air blew over them and lightly draped a paisley pattern over most everything they recorded. Theirs was a sonic picture unassailed by acid horrors . . . . For the most part, this was sweet-natured, serenely uplifting mood music for the watering of ferns and the lighting of joss sticks; and even in the hard light of 1968, when the compass-overboard hedonism of the previous year had tipped over into revolution, riots and a return to rock, you still had the option of sinking into Nirvanaâs plushly-upholstered sound cave of incense, patchouli, silks and satins after a hard day at the barricades.
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THE GREATEST SONGS OF THE 1960s THAT NO ONE HAS EVER HEARD
1,711) Bob Dylan — âNo More Auction Blockâ
Well, everyone in the world has heard this song â at least the song that was either inspired by or adapted from this song. For the anti-slavery Black spiritual âNo More Auction Blockâ begat âBlowing in the Windâ. Here is the version that Dylan sang at the Gaslight CafĂŠ in New York City in October 1962 â â[t]he best version . . . I’ve ever heard. I can’t believe how young he was when he performed it because it’s so plaintive and nuanced at once.” (johntustin3122, https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=5_KHDWpnDjg) âBesides the unfettered raw virtues of the performance, I can’t unhear the making of âBlowin’ in the Windâ in its nascent form.” (jaggers4808, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5_KHDWpnDjg)
Jochen Markhorst gives us some history:
The practice of slave auctions has been immortalized in the song âNo More Auction Blockâ, a song that surfaced somewhere in the middle of the nineteenth century. Its origin is unknown, but we know that it was sung as a marching song by the so-called Black Regiments during the . . . Civil War . . . . A decade later the legendary Fisk Jubilee Singers travelled around with that song on the repertoire and a century later it is still on the setlist of black artists â Odetta, in particular, keeps it alive. Dylan sang it one time, in 1962, and then knocks up the melody for âBlowin âIn The Windâ . . . .
Dylan has not planned th[e] success [of âBlowing in the Windâ] and can not foresee that the song will grow into the hymn of the civil rights movement, of the Sixties as such, even. But a calculating cold-blooded strategist could not have figured it out craftier. The melody comes from an old slave song from the nineteenth century, âNo More Auction. . . . In a radio broadcast of National Public Radio, October 2000, comrades from day one, Happy Traum and Bob Cohen (from The New World Singers) recall more details: One night at Gerdeâs Folk City, Dylan heard The New World Singers perform a Civil War era freedom song, one that Bob Cohen still remembers. âIt was very dramatic and a very beautiful song, very expressive. And Dylan heard that and heard other songs we were singing. And some days later, he asked us, he said, âHey, come downstairs.â We used to go down to Gerdeâs basement, which wasâis it all right to say?âfull of rats, I donât know, and other things. And he had his guitar, and it was kind of a thing where when he added a new song, heâd call us downstairs and weâd listen to it. And he had startedâand he wrote, (singing) âHow many roads must a man walk down before you can call him a man?â And the germ of that melody of âNo More Auction Blocksâ certainly was in that.â
[T]he influence has never been denied, it has always been described as a point of departure, an inspiration, but hardly more than that, and the similarities really arenât that substantial. . . . obvious but limited. The beginning is identical, when it comes to the melody, the harmonization (the album version differs slightly, but most live versions use the same harmonization as on No More Auction Block), and the phrasing . . . . Nobody would dispute this, and nobody has. . . . Dylan himself said so: ââBlowinâ in the Windâ has always been a spiritual. I took it off a song called âNo More Auction Blockâ â thatâs a spiritual and âBlowinâ in the Windâ follows the same feeling.â Should further evidence be needed in Dylanâs defense, one might point out that the loan is limited to the first and last phrase and to the overall mood of a spiritual â âthe same feelingâ; and that the rest of the song structure is very different: Auction Block is a stylized call-and-response type of song, where one phrase is sung and then repeated in a slightly varied form . . . . [O]n a scale from complete independence (0), through influence (1), similarity (2), striking similarity (3), identity (4) to theft/plagiarism (5), and with a second axis going from open to covert and a third from innocent to crooked, this one obviously scores a clear 2 on the first axis and zeroes on the other axes: Blowing in the Wind is influenced by and therefore shows some similarity with Auction Block, but it is an open loan and morally white as a dove.
âBlowinâ in the Windâ is, according to Bob Dylan, and as is repeated endlessly by commentators, based on âNo More Auction Blockâ. Indeed, if you concentrate, you can hear the melody of âthe answer my friend is blowing in the windâ in the instrumental introduction to âNo Moreâ, and again within the song most particularly in the last line of each verse. . . . But I think this whole thing about âBlowin in the Windâ actually being based on âNo more auction blockâ is rather a simplification. Of course we accept it because Dylan is quoted as saying ââBlowinâ in the Windâ has always been a spiritual. I took it off a song called âNo More Auction Blockââthatâs a spiritual and âBlowinâ in the Windâ follows the same feeling.â But that is a key point â I am not at all sure how many people would trace âBlowing in the Windâ back to âNo More Auction Blockâ without being told. In short, Bob may have started with âNo More Auction Blockâ but that is not the same as the two songs being inexorably linked. . . . I wonder just how true that link that we are regularly told about actually is. For really just as there is little more than one musical line in Dylanâs version of the song that relates âNo more auction blockâ to âBlowin in the windâ and there is not much in the lyrics at all to suggest [they are] related . . . . Is there really any link between the MUSIC of âNo More Auction Blockâ, and the MUSIC of âBlowing in the Windâ? Now I know . . . that if you go onto Googleâs AI Overview it will tell you that âThe melody of Bob Dylanâs song âBlowinâ in the Windâ comes from the 19-th century African-American spiritual âNo More Auction Block For Meâ and so I am disagreeing with AI, because quite simply I am saying âNo it doesnâtâ. Of course you can hear half a phrase of music in the title line to âAuction Blockâ as equivalent to âHow many roads must a man walk down,â but then that latter line only contains four notes, and yes it if you play it in the right key they are the same four notes as âHow many roads,â although at a different speed, and with a different rhythmic lilt. But this is true for hundreds of thousands of songs. . . . [I]n every song there are almost certainly elements of other songs. The musical opening to âNo More Auction Blockâ is made up of just four notes. The musical opening of âBlowing in the Windâ is made up of the same four notes in the same order BUT the rhythm, speed and indeed feel of those notes is completely different. . . . [T]here is some link . . . but it is the same sort of link that can be found between characters in two different novels saying âI love you.â The words are the same but most likely the situation, the feeling, the emotions, the reaction, the volume, the speed â in short everything â is different. . . . I think the amount of impact that song had on âBlow in’â is minute.
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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! (ârelating 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 entertainmentâ â dictionary.com).
The playlist includes all the âgreatest songs of the 1960âs that no one has ever heardâ that are available on Spotify — now over 1,100 songs. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song.
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On the other hand, Wilson & Alroy’s Record Reviews calls “Bobby” a “blatant and unsuccessful attempt to create another âDon’t Mess With Bill'” (the Marvelettes’ #7 hit (#3 R&B) in ’66) (https://www.warr.org/marvelettes.html) What?! “Bobby” is way, way better than “Bill”, it’s the one for me!
Richie Unterberger writes of the Marvelettes:
Probably the most pop-oriented of Motown’s major female acts, the Marvelettes . . . recorded quite a few hits, including Motown’s first number one single, “Please Mr. Postman” (1961). “Postman,” as well as other chirpy early-’60s hits like “Playboy,” “Twistin’ Postman,” and “Beechwood 4-5789,” were the label’s purest girl group efforts. Featuring two strong lead singers, Gladys Horton and Wanda Young, the Marvelettes went through five different lineups, but maintained a high standard on their recordings. After a few years, they moved from girl group sounds to uptempo and midtempo numbers that were more characteristic of Motown’s production line. They received no small help from Smokey Robinson, who produced and wrote many of their singles; Holland-Dozier-Holland, Berry Gordy, Mickey Stevenson, Marvin Gaye, and Ashford-Simpson also got involved with the songwriting and production at various points. After the mid-’60s Wanda Young assumed most of the lead vocal duties; Gladys Horton departed from the group in the late ’60s. While the Marvelettes didn’t cut as many monster smashes as most of their Motown peers after the early ’60s, they did periodically surface with classic hits like “Too Many Fish in the Sea,” “Don’t Mess with Bill,” and “The Hunter Gets Captured by the Game.” There were also plenty of fine minor hits and misses, like 1965’s “I’ll Keep Holding On,” which is just as memorable as the well-known Motown chart-toppers of the era. The group quietly disbanded in the early ’70s after several years without a major hit.
Pay to Play! The Off the Charts Spotify Playlist! + Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock Merchandise
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! (ârelating 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 entertainmentâ â dictionary.com).
The playlist includes all the âgreatest songs of the 1960âs that no one has ever heardâ that are available on Spotify — now over 1,100 songs. The playlist will expand each time I feature an available song.
All new subscribers will receive a Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock magnet. New subscribers who sign up for a year will also receive a Brace for the Obscure 60s Rock t-shirt or baseball cap. See pictures on the Pay to Play page.
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 and a physical address to which I can sent a magnet/t-shirt/baseball cap. If choosing a t-shirt, please let me know the gender and size you prefer.
Just click on the first blue block for a month to month subscription or the second blue block for a yearly subscription.
Brace for the Obscure (60s rock)! / Off the Charts: 60s Rock Revelationsđ 
