Revisiting Music Before My Time - Top Hits of 1963

It's not that 1963 was technically before my time. I mean, I was alive. But I had very little cognizance of music at that time. Really, it was only later that I caught up with '63's top hits.

The sixties was an odd time in music. The decade could be cut into thirds. One part schlocky, one part innovative, and another part angry and angsty.  Just like with country music, in the early sixties record producers were not convinced that "roots" music was acceptable, so they proceeded to ruin it, mostly by adding strings and background chorals. By roots music, I mean Jerry Lee Lewis, Little Richard, Carl Perkins, Buddy Holly. By "ruin it", think Elvis Presley.

The advantage to catching up with a year's music after the fact is that one doesn't have recurring nightmares of the world's worst songs blaring through their transistor's speaker. We can separate the wheat from the chaff. Unfortunately, when I peer at Billboard's Top 100 list for the year, the flashbacks wash over me. My sister graduated from high school in 1963, so I was exposed to her favorite tunes, not only on the radio, but during Saturday afternoon's broadcast of American Bandstand, where all the girls wore wide skirts, mohair sweaters and "flats"; and the boys were decked out in sports coats, skinny ties and ducktail hairdo's (it was a much more formal time, I'm assuming).

The number one record of 1963 was this:

I've tried to put my finger on why this song reeks. Some things are hard to describe, so let me just say I find this to be "icky". Maybe it's the misplaced flute flourishes. Maybe it's the fact that Jimmy, while singing about "getting back to that girl", in fact sounds like a girl himself. No offense.

Nevertheless, I'd listen to Sugar Shack all day, given the choice between that and the number two record of the year. Let me tell you why this track is so hateful:  Well, at age eight, I couldn't understand why Bobby Vinton was so obsessed with the material of the dress his girlfriend wore. I still can't, really. It's rather creepy -- his fabric fetish. It seemed to me that he missed the dress more than the girl.

The number three single of the year was better, but it did contain a recitation, which was another big trend at that time. Shoot, Jimmy Dean made a whole career out of recitations (think "Big Bad John"). This was an odd producer choice. So, the song isn't good enough "sung", so let's talk it! Recitations had their heyday in the early sixties and soon fell out of favor, when singers realized they were expected to sing. The number three song brings to mind my other sister, who was a titch older than my American Bandstand-loving sibling. I don't have a lot of memories of my oldest sister from that time, because she graduated from high school, moved out, and promptly got herself married. I do remember that she liked this song, though:

I suddenly had a flashback regarding this next song. I remembering corralling two school friends and lip-syncing to this song in front of my third grade class. It must have been show-off -- I mean show and tell day. I did lots of outlandish things before I finally realized I was a real pain in the ass. 

This song is most remembered for the fact that George Harrison cribbed it for "My Sweet Lord". In George's defense, however, so many songs could be composed from those first three notes. 

Girl singers were all the rage in 1963. Alas, it was a different time, in that, record heads felt the need to ascribe adjectives to their singers. Thus, "Little" Peggy March:

I don't know how "little" she is. Hang on -- okay, four foot ten. That is little -- speaking from one who is apparently semi-little at five foot one and one-half. 

Speaking of girl singers, who would today be referred to as "singers", this next song played a seminal role in my ascension to "singing wanna-be", because I loved it so much and I perched atop our picnic table in the backyard and sang my lungs out along to:

Before I get too far into 1963, I want to make sure I include this next song. In my two-second research, I learned that this is a traditional folk song. Thus, I imagine it was recorded by many artists. However, none could do it better than Bobby Bare. Some songs are timeless and this is one:

And, aside from the Sugar Shacks and fabric-obsessives, there were a few truly innovative artists who scored hits in 1963. If you were to ask me who the best singer of all time is, I am pretty sure I'd need to go with this next one. My older brother had an LP of this artist's greatest hits, recorded on Monument Records, that I wore out when my brother wasn't around (I was not allowed to touch his albums; little did he know). This is what music does at its best -- it makes your heart soar to the heavens. I endeavor to include videos from the time they were fresh, but I make an exception for this one, because one needs to hear it in all its glory:

I've really, really tried to like Elvis Presley. I guess it's like a kid today who seriously wants to like the Beatles, but just can't (although that's not a fair comparison). My memory of Elvis is Sunday afternoon movies that mostly involved sports car driving and/or scuba diving with a song thrown in now and then for good measure. Elvis could have been better than he was, but he was mismanaged. Someone needed to tell him to cut back on the booming baritone, which sounded clownish. It's not that Elvis wasn't a good singer, but he was drowning in sub-par songs. I do understand how my older sisters came to revere hm, because there was most likely nobody like him at the time; certainly not foppish Jimmy Gilmer or Bobby Vinton. Maybe Elvis was too faux-dramatic for my tastes. It's like the way someone is supposed to sing to signal the world that they're a great singer, when they just need to relax and be themselves.

By 1963, Elvis's best days were already behind him, sadly. But my best friend and I dutifully paid our twenty-five cents to see his movies on Sunday afternoons, and this one is semi-okay (I believe it is from "Clambake"):

Truth be told, I took a lot of my musical cues from my dad. Of course, I was nine years old. Anything my dad liked, I liked. Looking back, my dad's taste in music tended toward catchy lines and/or catchy melodies. I have a fuzzy memory of skipping down the street, singing this song:

This next song is more of a 1964 memory than a 1963. Novelty songs were HUGE at that time. By 1964 I was living at Triple Service with my cousins. Triple Service was situated in a tiny town that had nothing in its favor. My mom had enrolled me in the local Catholic school, which was an ill fit. A really tight fit. I had long had a bias against nuns, with justification. After-school time was my freedom. My cousin Karen and I climbed to the roof and perched between the red wooden letters that spelled out T-R-I-P-L-E S-E-R-V-I-C-E and serenaded unsuspecting patrons with this song (sorry, no live video, but that's probably for the best):

It's not that 1963 wasn't a harbinger of things to come. We had the Four Season, who apparently have no live videos on YouTube, and we had the Beach Boys just coming on the scene. Too, we had Sam Cooke (no live videos, but kudos to the person who created this for their creativity):

Dion hadn't become all maudlin with Abraham, Martin, and John, and was still doing songs that we needed to dance to:

1963 was getting ready for 1964, when all heck would break loose.  Nobody knew in 1963 that the musical world was about to spin off its axis. We were still pining for velvet and traipsing down to the Sugar Shack. 

But oh boy...

Sixty-Two -- And Music

I should be in a more reflective mood today, I suppose, since I have turned sixty-two. When my mom was forty, I thought she was ancient. Looking back, forty was actually pretty good. Every birthday is good, and bad, in its own special way. This year I decided to revel in it. I learned well the lesson (thanks Mom) to never call attention to myself. But I decided today to pay attention to myself. I'm pretty easy to please -- I turned on Sirius and searched my favorite channels for songs to mark the day. I found three that essentially sum up my weird musical history:

1. "It's A Beautiful Morning" by the Rascals
2. "I Wish I Could Fall In Love Today" by Barbara Mandrell
3. "Glory Days" by Bruce Springsteen

(I danced in my chair to that last one.)

What have I learned this year?

Well, I learned that just when I thought music was all in the past, I still love it. Thank you, Sirius Radio. As I gaze about this room, I see approximately 300 CD's, which I never play. They've become part of the decor. In a bookcase in the hall sits all the albums I've possessed since the mid-sixties. I never ever toss one on the turntable. My external hard drive holds songs I really wanted and didn't have until Amazon offered me anything I ever wanted. I never click on my music player. It took Sirius to remind me that I still love music. I don't have to make any choices other than which of my favorite stations is playing a song I want to hear right now. Based on my Sirius experience, I estimate there are approximately 10,000 songs I really like - give or take a thousand. Of course, when one has been on this earth for sixty-two years, they accumulate a lot of favorites. And they forget a bunch of them.

I've learned that music is my best friend. It'll never have a snit and stomp off because of something I've said or didn't say. If I feel sad, music will accommodate me. If I feel like chair-dancing, shoot, music is right there egging me on. If I want to sing, music offers lots of harmonies, at least one of which I can latch onto.

Life's circle.

Right now on Sirius, The Shirelles are singing, "Will You Love Me Tomorrow". My big sister played that record in 1961. I was six years old and I remember seeing the red 45 spinning on her turntable.

"Oh, Pretty Woman" is playing now. Wow, that song, in 1964, was a revelation. I watched Roy Orbison in his sunglasses perform that song on the Lloyd Thaxton Show in my uncle's dark living room. Nineteen sixty-four essentially set my life's path.

Now I'm hearing "A White Sport Coat". The very first concert I attended was a Marty Robbins performance my mom took me to in Grand Forks, North Dakota. I was maybe five? My mom urged me to go up after the show and get Marty's autograph, but I was too shy.

Most every song I hear dredges up a memory. I wonder sometimes how many memories I've lost that would be recovered if only the right song turned up on my Sirius playlist.

"Norwegian Wood" came from the best Beatles album of all time -- "Rubber Soul". If a voice seeps into one's soul, John Lennon's is the one for me. I think it's an organic thing. I can't explain it.

"Bye Bye Love":  Well, again, 1964. I had a little trio with my two cousins, and this was the only song I got to sing lead on. "There goes my baby..." I can't tell you how proud I was to be able to sing lead on that song.

It's too bad one can't make money knowing music inside and out, because I guess I would have the market cornered. Name a song and I can give you a dissertation on the state of the world when that song was popular. Unfortunately, it's a talent not much in demand. I'm still glad I have it, though.

So, as my birthday winds down, I figured I would post videos of the first three songs I listed in this post:

(Sorry if an ad plays before this song, but somebody (Bruce?) decided that ads before great videos were a good thing):

That one makes me happy, and it's a great finishing touch for today.

Through these sixty-two years I've also heard enough bad songs to know what good songs are. But even the bad songs evoke fond memories, if only because they made me laugh with friends.

2016 Country Music Hall of Fame Inductees -- FRED FOSTER

The first time I ever saw Fred Foster's name was on the back of a Dolly Parton album:

Dolly was new. I possessed next-to-no knowledge of country music, but my new best friend Alice had her finger on the pulse and I was a fast learner. Album covers were treasures one held in their hands while the music played. They had heft -- they weren't tiny squares like CD jewel cases; they certainly weren't impossible-to-read like cassette cases. No, album covers were like giant books; books we studied. We read the names of the studio musicians, we learned who wrote each song, and we saw the name of the producer; in this case, Fred Foster. 

I, of course, didn't know what a producer did. He was most certainly the man in charge of the whole outfit, but what he did? In my twelve-year-old mind, he was the one who put the magic together. Ironically, all these years later, I find I was right.

Did you ever sit and listen as a songwriter strummed his newest song on an acoustic guitar and sang? You might think, well, that song has potential -- it could be something with some good sounds surrounding it. As is, though, it's nice but forgettable. I've been there and I've been her. I've written songs I think possess a certain spark, but if one was to listen to me plunk them out on my guitar, they would say, that's the worst thing I've ever heard. I've said that when I listened to a playback of me and my out-of-tune guitar busting out the song. Then my producer sprinkles something akin to fairy dust on it and suddenly it's damn good (it's also not necessarily my song anymore, but I'm so enamored with the final product that I feel righteous claiming credit for it).

That's what a producer does.

Fred Foster was that.

Here's what he did for Dolly:

Little did I know, or maybe I just forgot, that Fred Foster produced the most glorious tracks of all time. I might be a bit biased, but I don't think so. In the pantheon of "voices", this voice, and this sound, is exquisite:

And Fred Foster produced the penultimate rock and roll song:

Mercy.

For a country producer, Fred did rock just right.

If Roy Orbison was alive, he would be inducting Fred Foster into the hall of fame. I hope Dolly does it. I hope Dolly and Ray Stevens and Willie Nelson and Kris Kristofferson show up that night to do it right. 

Fred Foster made magic, like great producers do; music that will live forever.

God bless you, Fred Foster. Thank you for the sounds of heaven.

 

 

 

 

Perfection

That's all.

Oh, Pretty Woman

I don't claim that Oh, Pretty Woman is the best rock song ever (it might be).  I have always said, however, that Oh, Pretty Woman is the perfect rock and roll song.

After all, what are the elements that make up a great rock song?  A compelling guitar riff?  A driving beat?  A woman?

Yup ~ this song's got it all.  Plus, it has one helluva singer.

Bill Dees died on October 24.  Bill Dees co-wrote Oh, Pretty Woman with Roy Orbison.

Dees, who died in Arkansas last week at age 73, had said writing that song with Roy Orbison in 1964 changed his life.

In a 2008 interview with National Public Radio, Dees recalled that the night they penned the hit song, Orbison told him he wouldn't need to go to work that Monday if he didn't want to. 

'He said, "Buy yourself an electric piano, and I'll take you on the road with me." And he said, "I'll pay you what the band's getting."''

Dees went on to tour Europe and perform on the Ed Sullivan Show with Orbison, with whom he also co-wrote numerous other songs, including 'It's Over,' which also was a No. 1 hit.

Dees said in a 1970 interview with the Amarillo Globe-News that he first met Orbison when he performed in Amarillo, Texas. 

Dees went to Nashville twice in 1962 to work with Orbison, then decided to move his family there in 1964, traveling in a 1955 Pontiac.

'My wife and I decided that we would go as far as the car would take us,' Dees told the newspaper. 'If it broke down before we got there, we would save money and move further on later.'

They made it to Nashville, where the car soon broke down — and Dees said he had to use his overcoat as payment to get the car towed to a mechanic, the newspaper reported Wednesday.

Dees didn't initially seek out Orbison after moving to Nashville because he wanted to establish himself without help, according to a biography on Dees' website. But the pair reconnected, and with Orbison, Dees crossed Europe and twice went to England.

'I was shocked when we got off the plane in London, and there was like 10,000 people there at the airport meeting the plane,' Dees told NPR. 'It was like The Beatles when they came over here.'

They appeared with The Beatles and the Rolling Stones, and played on the Ed Sullivan Show.

Dees continued to write songs and perform, and released his first solo album in 2002, 'Saturday Night at the Movies,' which includes songs he wrote with Orbison.

 

Source

I wonder how many times, how many bar bands, have performed Oh, Pretty Woman.  I'm guessing about 358,000,000 (give or take).

If a songwriter can claim that (and how many actually can?), I guess he can call himself a success.

 

Everything's Been Said

My husband told me to write a protest song.  So I did.  I don't like it.  But at least I can say I wrote one song in 2012.

The trouble is, the songs I write when I'm pissed off are ugly to me.  I want to write something pretty.  If I write something.

Everything has been said.  It's been said the same way, with minor variations, ten zillion times.

Thus, the old axiom comes into play.  PLEASE YOURSELF.

This whole music thing is just a scam; a delusion.  Everybody wants to get rich off their music.  Nobody's getting rich.  Nobody is making one thin dime.

Neil Young is recording old folk tunes.  Just like Springsteen did awhile back.  "This Land Is Your Land"?  I sang that in my third grade music recital.  And just as good as Neil does it.  Maybe better.

Even Neil Young has forgone his Harvest Moon days.  If Roy Orbison was alive today, he'd be recording Diane Warren songs.

Because it's all been done.

I think maybe music has an expiration date.  After, say, sometime in the late nineteen eighties, music expired.  Like sour milk.

Why do we all keep going back to the trough of "oldies music"?  Because that's the last time music was good.

I was reading an article in Entertainment Weekly (which is becoming increasingly irrelevant to me), about this HUGE hit song, "Call Me Maybe".  It's supposedly one of the best songs ever created, in the annals of all mankind.

So, curiosity got the best of me, and I checked out the song on YouTube.  I'm always on the lookout for good new music.

What the hell?  

The article went on and on about how this song got wedged into everyone's brain, and they couldn't shake it, no matter how hard they tried.

I couldn't recite one line of that song to you now, if my life depended on it.

This is what passes for genius nowadays?

You be the judge:



I take it, one just has to come up with a three-word hook, and the world will beat a path to their door.

I could probably cobble something together like that, but geez, I just don't want to.

I want to say something, not necessarily profound, but meaningful.  At least to me.

That's where the "please yourself" mantra comes into play. 

If I was to write a song, it would be something pleasing to my ear.  It would be personal.  Not universal, because what is universality nowadays, but another word for crap?

I prefer something like:

I have seen the morning burning
Golden on the mountain in the sky
Achin' with the feelin' of the freedom
Of an eagle when she flies



Neil may have abandoned his Harvest Moon days for oddly-construed renditions of Oh Susanna, but not me. 

The next song I write will be something nice; something that makes me happy to sing it.

And I will make millions of dollars.  In my imagination.  But that's okay. 

I'm going to go old school.  When people wrote songs for the love of music.  Not for the love of riches.

When all bets are off, that's the time when inspiration soars.

I've got no one to let down, except myself.  I don't intend to do that.

The Aftermath of Music

I wonder if even adults outgrow things.

I was born loving music.  When I was small, we lived in the country, and I had to find ways to amuse myself.  A lot of my time was spent outdoors, exploring and pretending.  I'd walk through the shelter belt of trees back behind the house, where a large tree had fallen many years before, and I'd balance on that hollow log, as if I was walking the tightrope at the circus.  Or I'd wander along down the gravel road, and meander off onto different dirt paths, just to see what I would find.  All the while I was doing those things, I had my own melodies streaming through my head.  Sometimes I would make up words and sing my songs aloud.  I was alone, after all.

My older sisters and brother listened to the early sixties music on the car radio, or on that big Philco radio that was perched astride a side table in the kitchen.  Early sixties music was its own unusual genre.  It was straddled somewhere in the middle between Chuck Berry and Motown.  It was a lot of doo-wop and girl groups, like the Chiffons and the Shirelles.  It was Eddie Cochran, with his Summertime Blues.

My own personal radio time began in 1964.  I was in the third grade, and I distinctly remember having a conversation with a girl named Debbie from my class, on the walk from my elementary school to Wednesday catechism.

We solemnly discussed a new group we'd heard on the radio, and which of their songs we adored the most, and which of the four guys was our favorite.  It was all a very mature discussion.  We both agreed that we liked I Wanna Hold Your Hand better than She Loves You.

I had pondered the import of this new group for a good couple of months, and had determined that the cute one was my favorite singer, although it turns out I was completely misinformed, because the songs I liked the best weren't actually sung by him, but by that other one; the one who was married.  Things began to clear up for me once I actually had the opportunity to see the group perform on the Ed Sullivan Show.

Then, of course, along came other groups, like the Dave Clark Five.  And then came Motown and the Supremes, in their lovely chiffon gowns.  They were so elegant.

The song I loved the best, though, was performed by a guy wearing dark sunglasses.  He stood stock still on the stage, and he seemed sort of like a stone, since you couldn't see any expression behind those glasses.  But his voice was anything but a stone.  It soared; it growled.  It started way down here and then it glided way up there.  And he had those female backup singers, adding their "la la la's".  It was heavenly music.  The song was called, as my Monument 45 record told me, "Oh, Pretty Woman".  People think it's just "Pretty Woman", but they obviously never owned the 45, because if they had, they would know.

This is how I first saw it, back then:



Music was so exciting!  It was something new and somebody new every day.  I had little to no money, but every time I saved up a dollar, I walked across the bridge to Poppler's Music and bought a 45.  And since I so seldom had any money, I really had to ponder my purchase in advance; weigh my options.

My older brother, though, had tons of LP's.  He had everything that was worth having.  I was exposed to "Help" and "Rubber Soul" and "Revolver" through my brother.  When he was away, I would sneak his record albums out of his room and spin them on my little portable record player.  Those were heavenly times.

As times and locales changed, I met the girl who would become my best friend.  She was a country singer.  I had known country music from my parents' records and from their radio listening habits, so it wasn't foreign to me.  I did like Buck Owens and I liked Ray Price.

Alice introduced me to a whole bunch of country artists I had heretofore had little, if any, acquaintance with.  Porter Wagoner, Jim Ed Brown, Bobby Bare.  I don't know if I liked country music because Alice was my friend, or because I liked it.  Either way, I turned away from rock and roll, and became immersed in country music.

I didn't have to wonder if I really liked a new singer who came upon the scene around that time.  I knew I really liked him.  He was young and good-looking, and he had a sound that wasn't like the stuff coming out of Nashville.  They called it the Bakersfield Sound (or at least they do now).  The electric guitars were upfront.  He didn't have any silly strings, like Chet liked to throw on every record by every Music City artist her produced.  Listening to Merle was like watching a bar band in concert (a really good bar band).  And his songs were so profound in their simplicity.  I still don't get how he does that, but he does.



There were others, too.  Another new guy named Waylon Jennings.  I liked him a lot.  This Tammy Wynette gal.  Wow, she could sing!  Porter, around this time, found himself a new girl singer and duet partner.  She was really different, but Porter and Dolly made beautiful music together.

Popular music went through some long stretches of bad times, but I still always managed to find the gems.  There was always good music; it's just that sometimes there wasn't a whole lot of it.

Sometime in the 1980's, I just said the hell with it, and turned my radio dial over to the rock station, because country music had lost its way, and I felt embarrassed for it.

1980's rock was great.  Hall & Oates, Prince.  Huey Lewis & The News, Springsteen.  Journey, Tom Petty.

I'm not sorry I changed that dial. 

When I finally decided to give country music another go, I found out that I had missed out on the cutting edge of country music.  In my absence, it had once again changed.  It had found its way back to its roots, and I had been completely oblivious.

I heard artists who would forever be my favorites:  George Strait, Dwight Yoakam.

I heard awesome folks like Highway 101 and Restless Heart.  Earl Thomas Conley, Clint Black.  Randy Travis.

Country music was once again alive for me, and I was exhilarated!



Around the year 2000, music changed, and I changed.

There was no longer any joy in the music.  It became contrived, and I was tired of being a patsy.

For solace, I would turn to my older recordings, but how many times can one listen to the same songs over and over?

And slowly, music lost its glow for me.

I have tons of music on my computer.  Tons.  I never listen to it now.  The closest I come to music nowadays is finding videos on YouTube to paste here.

I listen to talk radio; not "music" radio.

I'm thinking of selling my CD's to the local record shop.

Today, when someone says that I need to listen to some new artist that they found, I will listen out of politeness, but I already know I will be bored.  I'm jaded.  I rarely listen to the whole song.

I thought I would love music forever.  Strolling along those country roads, music was as natural to me as breathing.

As a child, I used to make up melodies.  A few years ago, I used to write songs.  My guitar looks sad, there in the corner, neglected.  Don't tell it this, but I walk past it every day, and I don't even notice it.

Maybe in my old(er) age, I will lean back in my easy chair and play some of those songs again that I love.  I hope so.

I can't place the blame entirely on the music.  Sure, it's all been said and it's all been done, and all the same chord progressions have been played over and over.  We've seen and heard it all, and nobody is going to surprise us anymore.  And even if they could, their record producer would ensure that they come out sounding like strained baby food.

I think maybe I just have outgrown music.

I'm mourning the loss, though.

Golden Voices

NPR (one of my faves?) has an online article, titled, "50 Great Voices".

Lists such as these are always interesting, but are generally consensual ~ a group of individuals gets together and hashes out their mutual top 50; weeding and eliminating and ranking artists as they go.

Music, however, is personal, emotional, and, I believe, mostly biographical.  Perhaps most of us can agree that certain voices are technically superior.  That does not account, however, for each of our life stories, and the way certain singers have influenced our own lives.  It's not necessarily the vocal prowess; often it's the way they have laid their hand upon our shoulder.     

And who, really, can even think of their own top singers, without first hearing them and realizing, hey!  This is one of my top singers!  Truly, one cannot even narrow the list to 50.  Somebody else is inevitably going to pop up; someone we hadn't even thought about.

I do know who my ultimate favorite singer is, but, in fairness, I have had almost 60 years to ponder the question (although I don't think I actually ever pondered it.  Maybe I did, when I was around 13, but what did I know then?)

But, for fun tonight, I thought I would search out some video performances of singers I really like.  All of them may not be the world's greatest singers, but don't forget the emotional and biographical aspect of this exercise.

There is no order to this, so I'm not ranking anybody.  I will, however, save the best for last (at least my best).

Steve Perry




Burton Cummings (and the Guess Who)



Art Garfunkel





Sam Cooke





Gordon Lightfoot



Daryl Hall (Hall & Oates)



Al Green (yea, the real one)



John Lennon (and the Beatles)




Eddie Brigati (and the Rascals)



Brian Wilson (and the Beach Boys)



Bill Medley (and the Righteous Brothers)



Connie Smith



Gene Watson




Tammy Wynette



Patsy Cline



Merle Haggard




George Strait



Dwight Yoakam



Roy Orbison




I know I have left out a bunch.  Inevitably.  I'm one of those people who is all about the songs, more so than the singers, usually.  I mean, if I was just going to list songs, I'd include Sheena Easton here.  Seriously. And ABBA.

I did try, however, to include the singers whose bodies of work are, to me, indisputable.

And yes, Alex, ultimately, I will go with Roy Orbison for the win.  I've heard a bunch in my 57 years, but I have never, and will never, hear one better.

But the question remains....Who are your golden voices?  Let me know, please.   I would love to discover artists I've missed, or don't even know about.

What's better than sharing music?  Nothin'.

The Music Cycle

I distinctly remember, around 1980 or so, desperately searching for some good music. Anything!

1980 was kind of a seminal year for me, because it was shortly after this time that I just finally GAVE UP on country music. I mean, gave up. I think Charley Pride did it. (Thanks, Charley!)

I remember house-sitting for my parents when they took their trip to Vegas. I had my four-year-old, and my two-year-old, and me just hanging around, kind of faux-housecleaning, and tuning the stupid console stereo to the country station, and longing...yes, LONGING for one, just ONE, decent country song.

I had gotten the Thorn Birds from the library, so that was a nice distraction, but something was still missing. And that missing piece was some decent country music.

You see, there was no such thing as DECENT country music in 1980.

You can look back now, and pinpoint some classic songs, but truthfully, if one is honest, it was all Crystal Gayle and Sylvia, and others. And this chart will point the way.

It was a sad, demoralizing time for country music.

I just scrolled through the chart, and I don't even recognize most of these songs. That's how bad it was.

Sure, I can pick out some good ones. But that really doesn't give you the flavor of 1980.

I would hate to be someone who charted in that year, because, well, if you were still doing concerts, you'd have approximately three people show up for your show, and two of them would have been dragged by their wives, just to keep peace in the family.

Country music in 1980 deserved what it got.

I wonder sometimes about cycles in popular music, and what causes them. Is it societal? Does the culture dictate what kind of music is created?

If we're feeling complacent, and not challenged, is the music complacent and unchallenging? The answer must be yes.

But what about music now?

One would think that the times we're living in would create angst and disharmony. Instead, it's blase. Maybe everyone has just given up.

In the sixties, everyone was ticked off. They were all mad about the war and about this and that, or at least they pretended to be mad, when they weren't prancing around with flowers in their hair. And look at the music of the sixties. It was great!

1980? I don't know. I'm thinking, we were at the tail end of that "long malaise" that the guy in the White House told us we were in. Way to buck everybody up, there, Jimmy! Such inspiring words!

And thus, the music on the radio was still malaise-ackal, as well. The music said, "Really, we just don't care. Don't listen to us ~ we're hideous! Just like the economy!"

Amazingly, after 1980, the music started looking up! Coincidence? I think not.

The nineteen eighties were really some of the best times country music has ever seen. If you don't believe me, check out these songs and artists.

So, maybe if things get better, the music will get better? There's always hope.

Like I said earlier, you can pick out the good songs from any year, even a crummy one. And that's what I'm going to do.

I don't feel like depressing myself, or you, and as you know, my motto is, music should be fun.

So, no Sylvia; no Crystal; no Charley Pride (sorry, Charley).

EDDIE RABBITT



THE OAK RIDGE BOYS



MERLE HAGGARD Sorry about the re-route. I don't know what's up with that, but at least this video works!



One of the best country voices EVER ~ GENE WATSON



EMMYLOU HARRIS



Sorry, no performance video available of this song, but I still feel it needs to be included:

JOHN ANDERSON



RONNIE MILSAP



It's becoming an unfortunate pattern that I am not finding performance videos of some of the best songs of 1980, but to leave them out would be unthinkable:

ROY ORBISON & EMMYLOU HARRIS



I honestly didn't even remember that this song charted on the country charts in 1980, because this isn't a country song. Is it? Yes, to me, it's an homage to Roy Orbison, so I guess, since Roy charted on the country charts, why not JD SOUTHER? Plus, I love this song! So, fine by me!



My son probably wouldn't admit it, but he was obsessed with this TV show in 1980. Remember, he was four.

So, we had to rush home on Friday nights (from Happy Joe's Pizza Parlor) to tune in to CBS to watch Bo and Luke. This was one of the worst shows I was ever forced to watch (ha!), but I did it for my kid.

By the way, my son, Chris, thought the sheriff's name was Roscoe PEE-Co-Train, when, in fact, it was Roscoe P. Coltraine. I'm sure he knows the difference now.

Here is WAYLON JENNINGS (at least here are his hands):

(Note to YouTube posters ~ you can "disable embedding by request" all you want. One can find ANYTHING on the internet. It wasn't hard, really. And by the way, who is requesting that you disable embedding? CBS? This show was 32 years ago, for God's sake! Do you (CBS) think someone is going to steal your "intellectual property"? C'mon).



So, here we are. The best songs from a bad, bad year in country music.

Yes, you think, well, these are pretty good! Sure! I cherry-picked them! Just check out my Wikipedia link to see all the bad ones! You know, ten songs, out of all the records released in a year, is a woefully bad percentage.

WOEFULLY bad.

Just trust me on this ~ it was a bad year. I was there.

Yes, I know what you're thinking. Aren't you forgetting one, oh Sage?

No, I didn't forget it.

Here's the deal. When anybody says, "This is the best song EVER. The best song that mankind ever created", well, I kind of bristle at that. The truth is, there is no such thing as the best song ever. There could be a best song today. A best song that you like a whole lot, because you heard it on the radio when you were driving to work, and you forgot how much you liked it, but now you think you should get home and download it, because it's the best song EVER. At least, that's how you feel today. Tomorrow, there will be a new best song.

So, I like Bobby Braddock's and Curly Putman's writing a lot. They wrote a ton of classic country songs.

And this is a good song. No doubt. But is it the best country song ever? No.

Because there is no such thing.

But no, I'm not going to leave out GEORGE JONES.



So, eleven. Eleven good songs from 1980. And you could quibble about whether a couple of them are even country songs. That's a bad average.

I guess, though, you could take any year and dissect it, and find that there weren't a whole lot of good songs. But music is meant to be taken in its entirety. Our brains don't sort songs by year (leave that job to me ~ ha).

I do find it interesting, however, that when you take even a bad year like 1980, the usual suspects pop up ~ the classic artists ~ Merle, Gene, Emmylou, Ronnie, George, Roy (of course), Waylon. There aren't any one-hit wonders (and JD Souther, by the way, wrote some classic songs for the Eagles, so no, he's not a one-hit wonder, either).

The cream rises to the top. Even in 1980.

Pioneers Of Rock - The Early-To Mid-Sixties

In my previous post, I tried to note some of the very early 1960's songs that were major hits, but have somehow gotten lost amidst the sheer numbers of songs that have been released throughout the years.

As I write this, I'm not working from a list of any kind. I'm just going on memory here. If something rings a bell (ding!) in the recesses of my memory, I try to find it on YouTube.

So, here is where my mind is taking me tonight:

SAM THE SHAM & THE PHARAOHS - WOOLY BULLY

This was the biggest selling song of 1965. 1965? Really? I wouldn't have guessed 1965. I remember hearing the song on the radio. It was catchy. I, at my tender age, didn't know what "sham" meant. So, I just figured they were real Arabian guys - hey, what did I know? I was 10 years old, for pete's sake. In hindsight, I realize that he seemed to be well versed in the English language, with nary a hint of an Arabian accent. Later, much later, I found out that "Sam" was really Domingo Samudio, from Texas. Kind of disillusioning. On a side note, the reason I don't dance anymore is because I would dance exactly like they're dancing in this video. That would kind of date me.



THE VOGUES - FIVE O'CLOCK WORLD

Well, whaddaya know? This song was from 1965! This is one of my all-time favorite songs. I even have it on my MP3 player. I saw the Vogues in concert. They played a gig at Lee's Steakhouse, in the basement (Lissa, help me out here. What was the name of the bar?) This was in the early '70's. They put on a great show, and I was very impressed. Not to digress here, but I saw a few major acts in Lee's Steakhouse basement bar. I saw the Doobie Brothers there, too. I had forgotten about that until just this minute. Admittedly, I was underage, but that's neither here nor there. Geez, I'd totally forgotten about that. I guess I saw some great shows that I didn't even know I'd seen. But back to the song at hand, did I say I love this song? I do.

THE RIGHTEOUS BROTHERS - YOU'VE LOST THAT LOVIN' FEELIN'

Okay, this is getting a bit spooky, but apparently, this song was also released in 1965. Here'e what I remember....Shindig was on Wednesday nights. Unfortunately, I also had my accordion lessons on Wednesday nights (DAMN YOU, ACCORDION LESSONS!) The biggest stress I had at that time was that I did NOT want to miss Shindig. And the artists who I remember most vividly from Shindig were The Righteous Brothers. I'm guessing they were on there every week ~ whaddya think? The Righteous Brothers were RIGHTEOUS; there's just no two ways about it. Bill Medley, Bobby Hatfield. Back then, "You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'" wasn't even my favorite Righteous Brothers song. It was "(You're My) Soul & Inspiration". Funny story......I had a birthday party when I was nine (I think). I had all my friends from school, plus my best friend, Cathy, who didn't go to my school. Some of my friends asked me what I wanted for my birthday, and I told Cathy I wanted something by Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass (I can't even remember which song it was!) and I told my friend, Debbie Fischer, that I wanted the single, "(You're My) Soul & Inspiration" by the Righteous Brothers. Well, when I opened my gifts, I made the mistake of saying, "Oh, just what I wanted!" (in reaction to the RB song), and that set off a big snit by my friend, Cathy. So, I somehow had to smooth that over. And I haven't heard from Cathy in about 43 years. I guess she really holds a grudge.


THE TORNADOS - TELSTAR

Can't actually find a live performance of this song, but it's still kinda cool watching the guy put the record on his turntable (ummm... what's a turntable?) Ha ha - I'm just kidding. This song was NOT from 1965, so that's a plus. I like this one. It reminds me of those JFK years, when my brother was trying to tell me what to think and what was what, and I blindly went along, because I was just a kid. And we were all gung ho about going into space, for whatever reason, but I just liked the song.

SAM COOKE - TWISTIN' THE NIGHT AWAY

I couldn't NOT acknowledge Sam Cooke here. Everyone seems to have forgotten him. That's a real travesty. He was a SUPERB artist. This is not the video I would have chosen, but it's one of the few that actually shows a live performance by Sam. I think we would do well to not forget Sam Cooke. If Sam was alive today, we'd probably all be swooning over his songs. As is, it's good to remind people of what a unique talent he was.


LESLEY GORE - IT'S MY PARTY


This hit song, from 1963, was produced by Quincy Jones. Yes, THAT Quincy Jones, who also produced Michael Jackson. Lesley does a fine job lip-syncing here, despite the distraction of the dancers, who are over-dancing, if that is a word. I like, though, that the guys on the dance floor are all wearing suits and ties. You just don't see that anymore. Very respectful. Their moms told them to dress up. This created resentment in later years, so they all let their hair grow out and they got tangled up in the drug world of Haight-Ashbury. They are now all mortgage brokers. Just a bit of trivia and follow-up.

I like to end my posts with something special. Here is something special:

ROY ORBISON - OH, PRETTY WOMAN

My stance has always been this: This is the quintessential rock and roll song. If one was forced to choose one song that represented rock music, I feel this would be the ideal choice.

So, onwards and upwards. There are many songs and artists yet to explore.

P.S. I had originally included Gary Lewis & The Playboys in this post, but some moron deleted the video from YouTube.

An "Oldie"? Who, me?

(originally posted 07-07-07)

Sometimes I feel like a relic. Sort of like my grandmother, who used to pine for the good old days of 1928; you know, before the stock market crashed.

Funny, I don’t think of myself as being old, but when I think about how much popular entertainment has changed in my lifetime, I realize, hey, I guess I’ve been around for awhile.

It’s weird to think that there is a whole generation that doesn’t even know what an LP is, or a 45. It’s like talking about high-button shoes or something. It’s the stuff of history books.

What brought this all to mind for me was listening to some songs from a Time Life collection, called “Malt Shop Memories” that my husband ordered on a whim.

Some of these songs are even before my time! If you can believe it.

But, as I was listening, the ones that really caught my attention were the ones from the early to mid-sixties; the ones that I actually heard when they were NEW, and weren’t oldies.

Songs like, “It’s My Party”, by Lesley Gore. I remember loving that song when I was about nine years old. I used to sing along with the transistor radio, standing atop the picnic table, pretending that I was giving a concert.

Songs like “Breaking Up Is Hard To Do”. I was about 8 years old when that song came out. I loved it! It was pop music at its best.

“California Girls” - one of the best recordings of all time. I loved the song so much, I wrote a parody version I called “English Boys”.

I happened to LOVE the Beach Boys! “I Get Around”, “Help Me, Rhonda” - I had good taste in music even back then, if I do say so myself.

I have to give credit where credit is due, and that is to my brother. Unbeknownst to him, I obtained a whole musical education by sneaking into his room and playing his records when he was away.

I remember the Beatles’ album, “Help”. I loved that album. I created a whole musical based on that album. And then there was “Rubber Soul”, and then “Revolver”. My brother had great taste in music.

Then there was Motown. I loved, “I Can’t Help Myself”, by the Four Tops, although I seem to have gotten the lyrics wrong at the time (1964?) And the Supremes. They were so glamorous.

Funny how my earliest memories all revolve around music. I remember “Last Date” by Floyd Cramer. Frankly, that is still one of the best recordings of all time. I remember “Summertime Blues” by Eddie Cochran. I was about six years old when that song came out, but I remember it.

I remember riding in the backseat of my sister’s car and listening to “Last Kiss” by J. Frank Wilson. I even knew at the time how cheesy the song was, and yet the part that went, “Where oh where can my baby be?” was seared into my brain.

Funny when I think about it, but back then, there was no line of demarcation between genres when it came to what was being played on the radio. Anything and everything was played, and all the styles were mixed together. That would NEVER happen now. Too bad, in a way. Although I found “Ode To Billie Joe” to be too perplexing to my young mind. I like the song somewhat better now than I did then, but I still don’t know what the heck she was talking about.

The thing that younger folks don’t get is that we were exposed to EVERYTHING. We heard Frank Sinatra, we heard Neil Sedaka, we heard Johnny Preston, we heard Buck Owens. It was truly a radio democracy back then. I think that actually was a good thing.

Now we’re all broken up into splinter groups, and we only listen to the kind of music that we’re told we should be listening to. We have preconceived notions about certain types of music, although we haven’t actually heard them, but we’re cool, and we subscribe to whatever someone in the media is telling us we should be listening to. We like to be told what kind of music is cool, because, left on our own, we would just founder, and we might actually find ourselves humming along to a song that isn’t cool, and how embarrassing that would be!

We might (gasp!) be suddenly singing along with Huey Lewis And The News, and our friends would refuse to carpool with us anymore.

What I find perplexing is that Generation X or Y or whatever it is (it’s all too confusing to me) seems to like those sad and whiny types of songs; as if they don’t ever want to be happy; like they enjoy wallowing in self-pity. I don’t really get that. Life is too short – lighten up!

Get down with Marvin Gaye! Rock out to “Brown-Eyed Girl”!

And one piece of advice from the doddering generation: Don’t ever let “Oh, Pretty Woman’ rope you in. Cuz you’ll never be able to explain that to your carpool buddies.

(The song is available on CD and on MP3, although the original 45 and the LP were far superior.)