123 or 1-2-3

It never ceases to amaze me how, yet again, seemingly unrelated old memories can be triggered by songs.  There I was, browsing a post over at RockRoots about Spanish one-hit-wonders Los Bravos, like you do, and the memories attached to their mighty opus, ‘Black is Black’ came flooding back.  For some reason they involve the purchase of my first bike, a handsome blue-framed affair, and why I inexplicably decided to cover it with football stickers.  ‘Black is Black’ with its Gene Pitney-esque vocal is one of those songs that define my childhood as a sixties kid but quite why the bike is involved is beyond me.

This post also led me on to musing about other sixties one-offs and it was then that a fragment of a song forced its way into my consciousness.  I could hum it with reasonable certainty yet couldn’t quite get a handle on its entirety.  As much as I tried I just couldn’t remember who sang it or what it was called.  It went…er, let me see…

One two three…

Da da da daah da da dah

Da-da-da-dah, da da da dah da dah

It’s easy (it’s so easy)

Like taking candy, FROM A BABY!

First I tried searching all the possible singers.  The timbre of the voice suggested singers like Andy Fairweather-Low (Amen Corner), Chris Farlowe, Frankie Valli or Barry Ryan but no luck with any of them.

I then tried every ‘find your song through its lyric’ website I could find, but none of them could reveal it despite using all the keywords like ‘123’, ‘candy’ and ‘baby’.  I tried my old standby, Everyhit.com but it still didn’t come up.  It was only days later that it suddenly popped into my head.  Of course!  It was ‘1-2-3’ by Len Barry.  Hurrah!  I’d got the song title right all along but all the lyric sites I’d consulted didn’t recognise ‘123’ in place of the official title of ‘1-2-3’.  Search engines eh?  Who writes these things?

The other discovery I’ve made about this single is that Len Barry is actually an American where I’d just assumed he was British.  My apologies to my US readers for taking the credit for this single for well over 40 years but I’m putting the record straight now.  In my defence, ‘1-2-3’ does have a very British feel to it and during the 1960s beat boom it is perhaps not surprising that it does.

Funnily enough, this one doesn’t have a specific memory attached to it; it was just sort of…there.  I still love it, so here it is.  Nice suit!!

Fathom OST - John Dankworth

I have to admit that only a decidedly small proportion of my music collection is given over to Soundtrack albums – less than 5 in fact.  I have a couple of well-loved John Barry/James Bond compilations and a collection of ‘Bronze’ acts from the Buffy TV series, but that’s about it…until I downloaded John Dankworth’s soundtrack to the film ‘Fathom’.

‘Fathom’ is my very-guilty-indeed film pleasure, a British made Bond/Avengers spy-spoof made in 1967, directed by Leslie H Martinson and starring my 60s pin-up, Raquel Welch in the title role.  It was shot on location in sunny southern Spain and in the probably rainy UK at Shepperton studios and the cast includes a whole bunch of British character actors like Ronald Fraser, Richard Briers, Tom Adams and Clive Revill along with America’s Tony Franciosa as the film’s other major draw.  Adapted from the unpublished draft of Larry Forrester’s second Fathom novel, ‘Fathom Heavensent’, the screenplay by Lorenzo Semple Jr (of Batman TV series fame) tells of how Fathom, a US dental assistant-cum-vacationing skydiver, is drawn into a web of espionage and intrigue involving H-bombs and valuable Chinese artefacts.  The script is full of twists and turns with a host of running gags to keep it light and airy – it’s no coincidence that Leslie H Martinson had also directed ‘Batman – the Movie’ the year before.

Whilst never more than a ‘B’ movie (I saw it first when it was doing the rounds as second feature to ‘Beneath the Planet of the Apes’ around 1970), it has a classic 60’s vibe of tongue-in-cheek innocence and frothy inconsequence.  However, the photography, especially over the brilliantly lit Spanish Costa Del Sol, is quite stunning, Ms Welch, at 27, is at the peak of her sexpot period and the performances range from competent to hammy, but who cares?  I watch it quite regularly and am charmed every time by its dated yet engaging point-in-time aura.  It just oozes 60s appeal from the unique make-up and clothes to the curious ‘bright’ yet slightly washed out colour rendition that all films of that period seem to have.

Last but not least is the soundtrack.  Written by well-known jazz musician and spouse of Cleo Laine, John Dankworth, it is the epitome of hep-cat sixties jazz and it fits the joie de vivre of the film perfectly.  In places it veers a bit too close to Henry Mancini or Ray Conniff territory for my liking but the theme itself is a masterpiece – conjuring up the sort of ‘hip’ jazz that films used to use as ‘party’ music in the early 1960s, pre-Beatles in an effort to sound cutting edge.  In particular, there is a flamenco styled section that accompanies Raquel’s skydive to a villa perched on the Spanish Coast that is quite exhilarating and worth the price of the album alone.

Sadly, Dankworth died quite recently and much of his work is not available on CD but the soundtrack to ‘Fathom’ is a wonderful reminder of what a talent he was.  Cool, Daddy-O!

Cyndi & Sandie

Having nothing better to do on New Year’s Eve, I watched a bit of Jools Holland’s Hootenanny (HOOTENANNY!) to usher in 2012 and whilst enjoying the usual entertaining mix of acts backed largely by his own Rhythm and Blues Orchestra, I was constantly nagged by one question that seemed to loom large over the proceedings.  And it was this: Why do the older generations of popular music just refuse to go quietly?

Don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining, just a little mystified that most acts who are now edging retirement age are not donning the comfy slippers and having an early night.  Exhibit A was Sandie Shaw who did first rate versions of both ‘Always Something There to Remind Me’ and ‘Long Live Love’ whilst predictably bare footed and wearing a dress that she probably bought in 1967 and showed acres of well preserved leg.  But not only that, she danced, flirted with Jools, sat on fellow guest James Morrison’s lap and generally terrorised the audience.  No wonder Jools saw her off with a ‘Wild Woman of Rock’ accolade.  ‘Such fun’, to coin a phrase.

The other thing that I find a bit disconcerting about performers of her vintage is the voice.  Obviously, age plays tricks with your vocal chords and the register and timbre often change as the years go by.  This is only to be expected.  But what is a little disconcerting is that every now and again, the younger version of the voice peeps through and it feels like the years have rolled back just for an instant.  This was very apparent during Sandie’s performance.  If you closed your eyes it was like her older and younger selves were vying for prominence in a Dr Who timey-wimey sort of way.  Weird.

Exhibit B was Cyndi Lauper, who whilst not quite as old as Ms Shaw, also refuses to grow old gracefully.  She also is beginning to show signs of the dual voice syndrome when doing her hits.  We were treated to an utterly mad version of ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ and a beautifully re-arranged version of ‘Time After Time’ with strings and pipes.  Not only that, she showed us a new side to her with a traditional blues number from her 2010 album, ‘Memphis Blues’ which I thought suited her perfectly.  It takes character to sing the blues and Cyndi has it in spades.

I like Cyndi Lauper a lot.  She is humble and has a true musical soul.  Her performances were mesmerising and full of heartfelt honesty.  How unlike her hard-nosed business woman contemporary, Madonna.  Madge, take note – you may be infinitely richer but you could learn a lot from Cyndi.  And even Sandie.

While My Guitar Gently Weeps

Every now and then I’m drawn back to listening to The Beatles’ ‘White Album’.  Owing to its sprawling all-styles-and-quality nature, it is an album that invites debate – that is its weakness and its strength – but for me personally, there are three songs that always stand out.  Neatly, but quite by chance, the trio comprises one effort each from John, Paul and George.  Even more intriguingly from an album where many of the songs are acoustic guitar based, they all have a piano introduction.  Spooky or what?

The first is McCartney’s ‘Martha My Dear’.  Most commentators dismiss this as a typical piece of McCartney whimsy but I like it.  It just drips with melodic invention where the same idea is barely used twice.  The main theme is curiously phrased across bars so that it has a slightly wonky rhythm which extends and then contracts like an elastic band.  Love the jaunty piano and orchestral flourishes as well.

The second is John’s ‘Sexy Sadie’, his scathing sideswipe at the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi.  Who’d have thought that Lennon, an instinctive writer rather than a grafter, could come up with such a McCartney-esque melody?  It too has a slightly strange melodic progression which tends to be linear rather than cyclical.  In this respect it is a natural bedfellow for ‘Martha My Dear’ but where MMD is jaunty, SS has a classic Ringo backbeat that just nails it to the floor making it tougher and more Lennon-like.

But I’ve saved the best till last.  The third is probably my favourite song from the whole album and it is George’s ‘While My Guitar Gently Weeps’.  This is where Harrison comes of age, baring his soul in the most emotional way and underpinned by the uncredited Eric Clapton’s mesmerising guitar.  Up to that point The Beatles didn’t entertain guests on their albums but the addition of El Clappo adds a new dimension to their sound.  George noted later that when Eric arrived to do his stuff the whole band upped its game.  That’s peer pressure for you.  Interestingly, Jethro Tull guitarist Martin Barre tells a similar story about the recording of ‘Aqualung’ when Jimmy Page paid a visit to their studio.  Martin’s solo on that track is probably his finest ever!

Hundreds of years before, the likes of Bach and Mozart knew all about the power of a descending harmonic progression and George hammers this home in a stately yet frankly over-the-top way during the verse and then glides weightlessly over the chorus cum middle section.  It is a powerful combination which lends itself to a massive guitar solo.  It is the kind of trick that Pink Floyd used frequently some years later but here Eric Clapton shows remarkable restraint and taste.  Perhaps he was frightened of showing up the most famous band on the planet?  Either way, it works beautifully.

There are several versions on YouTube but this is one of my favourites from the Concert For George in 2002.  Eric gets to sing as well as play and he is backed by a bewildering array of drummers, guitarists and keyboardists – including Ringo and Paul and Dahni Harrison who looks so like his Dad, it makes your heart bleed.

Christmas and the Rite of Disco

There comes a time in most people’s lives when life catches up with them and they are willingly or otherwise, exposed to the social event that is the disco and more specifically, the Christmas Disco.  Generally this occurs around the teenage years and beyond where a large number of participants are squeezed into a very small space for the purpose of dancing or shouting at each other over the din.  Schools, higher education establishments and nightclubs are all responsible for this rite of passage and whether you are the life-and-soul or wallflower, the experience does tend to alter your perception of humanity, but for better or worse?

But it is not the outcome that interests me here, but the din.  Dependent on your age, and I shan’t ask, there are always a few tunes that seem to haunt you through the years – those hits that were so prevalent at discos that the very thought of them now makes you shudder with long suppressed memories.  Of course there is always ‘Hi Ho Silver Lining’ but this doesn’t count as it has been a juvenile disco staple for so long that nobody bothers about it anymore.

No, it is the ones like the Eagles’ ‘Lyin’ Eyes’ that are one of my bêtes noirs.  It was EVERYWHERE during my non-dancing years and didn’t I just hate it.  It put me off The Eagles for several decades.  Another season ticket holder was Steve Harley’s ‘Make Me Smile’ which even today brings back that slight eye twitch that I’d thought I’d finally got rid of.  What is it about these tunes – and I’m sure you can supply your own list - that provokes such a reaction, years after the event?  Is it the thought of your younger, gaucher and generally less assured self trying to grapple with life after one too many vodkas or is it something deeper?

For me it was certainly the above but also it was because I loved music and somehow the environment of the disco always seemed to degrade it and make it nothing more than background noise or worse, the soundtrack to someone else’s mating ritual.  Nothing will erase the memory of the isolation of the partner-less last dance and for this, 10cc has much to answer for.  I realise that this is a very esoteric stance to take as all through history, music has been specifically composed for the express purpose of dancing (Minuet anyone?) and to complain about it now is a bit churlish but nevertheless that is still how I feel about it.

Which is why you will always find me at a concert rather than a nightclub.  It became clear to me very early on that discos are for those who enjoy dancing and who need not be music lovers at all.  In fact, they were frauds.  ‘Make me Smile’ indeed.


Merry Christmas, everyone!

The End of Abba

Like most people, I do like the odd Abba song.  ‘SOS’ was the one that did it for me and I was hooked: my collection of 70s vinyl singles is the proof.  You see, even at the time, I judged that Abba were really a singles band and never bought an LP of theirs except for the singles compilation double LP ‘The First Ten Years’, released when they had thrown in the towel (probably of Ikea design).  And I think I was right.  Madness was another such band.  Great singles band but name me a killer Madness album? (On second thoughts, don’t bother – it’s probably ‘Rise and Fall’)

But unlike most people - and yet again I find myself a little off kilter with the great general public – I have two distinct Abba quirks.  First, I can’t stand ‘Dancing Queen’, by general consensus most people’s favourite.  Never have, never will.  It would not be on any Abba ‘Best Of’ that had me as a compiler and I would be more than glad if I never heard it again.  The fact that my most hated person on the planet, Bono, attempted a version of it has nothing to do with it.  When that dreadful leaden intro starts up my heart sinks, after all there are so many other decent tunes to pick, so why that one?

Second, despite the undoubted fact that they served up some corking stuff from ‘Waterloo’ onwards (although actually ‘Waterloo’ is also on my Very Iffy list…along with ‘Ring Ring’ but let’s not dwell on this), my real preference is for the material they were writing just at the very end, around the time of ‘The Visitors’.  ‘One of Us’, ‘Head Over Heels’, ‘Under Attack’ and the sublime ‘Day Before You Came’ are the songs that really get to me.  Magnificent slabs of Scandinavian melancholy without the over-extrovert backing tracks.  It’s obvious that I’m swimming against the tide here as these were the singles that sold in fewer and fewer quantities as the public deserted them and must have played a big part in the decision to pack it in.

Which is a shame.  There is something about their song writing at this point that was just coming to the boil.  Bjorn’s lyrics were darker and more literate as he mastered the obtuse English language and Benny’s music, whilst still veering towards the whimsical, had an edge to it.  The bleak Swedish railway station in the film-noir video for ‘Day Before You Came’ just about sums up where they were at that point but it is a fascinating place, artistically.  The final single, ‘Under Attack’ is one of their finest yet it sold very poorly (peaked at 26!) and suddenly they were gone.  But what a note to end on!