Sixty-Four Years of Music ~ Continued

Musical Doldrums

I continued aboard the pop music train until around 1968. If one peruses the top hits of '68, it's apparent that music took a nosedive. I'm not sure what happened. Maybe The Beatles were tired. Maybe the Summer of Love ruined everything. Maybe my life was falling apart.

I don't remember how I came into possession of my battery-operated record player, but I carried it with me throughout my early teens. It was fun at first, but the fun abruptly ended once the batteries wore down. I'd be merrily playing "Thank The Lord For The Night Time" when suddenly Neil Diamond began singing really low and slowwww. I didn't have money to constantly purchase size D batteries and trust me, they weren't alkaline. My dad picked up a so-called battery charger somewhere, which barely masked the problem. Seems those Evereadys were just as tired as The Beatles.

Still, in 1967, pop music retained a glint of joy. I continued to be a mostly singles buyer. The Turtles recorded on the White Whale label, whose '45 color was oddly blue, not white. Neil Diamond was on Bang, with its yellow label with a revolver atop shooting out the word "Bang". The Monkees' Colgems singles sported a prosaic red and white design. The Grass Roots' Dunhill singles were elegantly black. (I wonder what possessors of mp3's stare at while their song is playing.) 

I had my favorites, like this one. I don't think The Turtles were ever taken seriously by the music biz people, but the execs sure liked the money that rolled in:

Lulu had one hit song, but it did land her a part in a movie, so she had a year. This really is beautiful:

I'm not sure what the deal was with Alex Chilton. Granted, he was only sixteen, but he acted like a reluctant fifth grader whose mom pushed him out on the stage. Nevertheless, this was one of my special songs from 1967:

 

This is the only song I ever liked by Herman's Hermits. Because they were a goofy band that essentially did novelty songs. I can't even stand to listen to Peter Noone on Sirius XM, because he's still trying to sound like he's sixteen, when in actuality he's pushing a hundred and five. However, this is a classy song:

 

This song is perfect for a twelve-year-old. It has that great poppy vibe, and (shucks) this performance doesn't feature Graham Nash, who went on to record some of the most boring songs in musical history about puppies and aprons and tidying up the house with his new, hipper, band, CSN or CSNY (whatever). 

 

The Grass Roots were the first rock concert I ever attended. Of course, I was so high up in the bleachers that I could have just as well been at home peering through binoculars. Much like The Turtles, The Grass Roots got no love. I don't understand that, because they had a lengthy string of hits. (And yes, even though this video is fuzzy, I can pick out Creed from The Office.):

 

By 1967 I'd mostly relinquished my obsession with The Monkees. They'd been my lifeline when my family moved to a new town and I suddenly had zero friends. I wrote about it somewhere ~ oh, here. 

I guess life had become a little bit better in some ways, and a hell of a lot worse in others. I never owned this '45, but my big brother did. As was my wont, I snuck into his room to play his records whenever he was away. I didn't know until recently that Carole King wrote this song. It's probably my favorite Monkees recording:

Thus ended my pop music phase. For a long while.

Next ~ immersing myself in country.

The Summer of 1967

My parents moved us in the gloomy month of December, 1966. Three kids, two of whom were barely toddlers; and me, an awkward, bashful eleven-year-old. Like most things we humans think will be magnificent experiences, reality is a letdown. Initially, in the late summer of '66, when my parents casually informed me we would be moving far away, I was elated. Country life had its virtues, but I'd experienced (tiny) city life by then, and I was sick of being isolated. All I had was my bicycle, after all, and it was a long trek into town on a bike.

In my fanciful notion of a new life, as I twirled down the dirt road on my bike, arms outstretched to the winds, I pictured a quaint town where I would window-shop, drop the kickstand down on the concrete, mosey into a little store and purchase an emerald frock. The shopkeeper would smile benevolently and perhaps pat my hand as I proffered my four dollars.

Reality was a sun-dimmed, dirty snow-pile parking lot and a musty apartment far from any town I could traverse on a bicycle. The motel my parents had laid down their life savings for was nineteen rooms laid out in a semi-circle with a cement speed bump smack-dab in the middle and a three-foot-high American elm holding on for dear life poked up through the concrete. Welcome to upward mobility!

The dank apartment attached to the motel's office had two full bedrooms with one microscopic bathroom between them. Thus, I became ensconced in a bunk-bedded room with two waifs sharing the bottom bed and me on the top. "My" room was so minuscule, I could extend my arms and touch the opposing walls.

I hadn't even met my new school yet and I was miserable. It was winter break, so I had approximately seven days to acclimate to my new home. I hated everything about it. Back in Minnesota, I had my own room (albeit shared with my tiny sister) upstairs, away from everyone, where I could play my records as loudly as I pleased, and nobody bothered me, ever. I had privacy. Now I could hear every snap of the bathroom tap; every time my dad got up in the middle of the night to fetch a drink of water.

I set up my battery-operated record player inside the three-shelf recessed closet in my room, stuffed my (two) albums in the cubbyhole above, and made believe that this was "home".

My best friend's brother had warned me that North Dakota was backward. When I spied my new sixth grade classroom, his words scorched my ears. I showed up in the tall-windowed eighteenth century chamber, settled into my third-desk-from-the-back, cracked open my fat World History textbook and pretended not to notice that everyone in the room was eyeing me. I looked around and didn't see one friendly face. It took a couple of months (which seemed like years) to find one single person who would deign to talk to me.

I desperately wanted to go back home. Sadly, "home" was now occupied by a family of strangers, which was an insult in itself. They'd probably changed things -- ruined my basement Imagine Land by turning it into a carpeted den or something. Replaced the breezy lace curtains in the living room with heavy damask draperies.

I ached to go home right up 'til the day a girl in my new classroom shot me a grin at something ridiculous Mrs. Haas had uttered, and I instantly realized this skinny blonde girl was somebody simpatico. And just like that, I had a best friend.

Life didn't suddenly become sublime -- I hated, hated my apartment (I refused to call it "home"). I hated the claustrophobia of being tightly packed among people I could barely tolerate on good days. I hated that I couldn't take a walk outside without running into complete strangers.

But, even though she lived miles away and traveled a different bus route, my breath was lighter knowing I had a friend -- Alice.

My big brother was an apparition. Some days he was there; some days no one had any idea where he'd gone. He'd ostensibly moved to North Dakota with the rest of us, but he was his own man, at age twenty. There obviously wasn't room for him in our little dormitory, so he got a motel room all his own; exactly what I yearned for, but didn't possess the requisite number of years to claim. Fortunately for me, my brother was gone a lot, and the motel office had passkeys.

I slipped the lock on his door, dropped the phonograph needle on this 45 and exhaled:

I loved The Turtles, to the point that I memorized the number of times Flo (or Eddie) sang, "so happy together" at the end of the song. And no, Ferris Bueller didn't invent this song:

I loved this one even more:

I almost feel sorry for those who weren't yet born in 1967, because they missed songs like this:

...but not really. Maybe I'm not "cool", but I was at least alive (and kicking) when some of the best music of all time burst into being.

My brother was a carpenter and an entrepreneur, and he knew a good gig when it stabbed him in the eye. He hammered together a fireworks stand and perched it on the edge of our new motel property, placed his mail order requisition, and proceeded to rake in the bucks. 

By late June the sun was hot and I was barefoot, scorching my toes on the melting asphalt. My little brother, Jay, and his best pal Royle, pedaled up to the fireworks stand on their bikes and tried to wheedle Rick out of giving them free bottle rockets (he did).

Dad had invested in an outdoor swimming pool to drive new business, so I reveled in this new windfall. I slipped on an orange two-piece, donned my cheap plastic Woolworth sunglasses, tiptoed across the driveway in front of Rick's little kiosk and settled on a chaise lounge beside the turquoise waters, flipped up the volume on my transistor, and heard this:

And meanwhile, Felix sang this:

This song was so sixth grade:

Not to be outdone by Ray Kazmarek's organ riffs, Procol Harem showed they were no slouches. The only quibble I have with this track is that it unnaturally fades. They could have tacked on another 30 seconds or so, because it seems to end weirdly:

Another of my clandestine break and enters featured this song (which was, in fact, the only song by Herman's Hermits I ever actually liked):

Yes, I liked this one a lot. The Grass Roots don't get the acclaim they deserve. Aside from being the first live rock 'n roll concert I ever attended, these guys had scores of hits in the sixties:

The best thing Graham Nash was ever a part of:

God bless you, Neil Diamond -- you're still going strong -- and you had one of my favorite singles of 1967. I still remember that black and yellow BANG! record label:

So, while 1967 personally sucked mostly for me, I can still say that the music was awesome, and I was there.

So life, in essence, is a series of yins and yangs; searing pain and soaring heavens.

We take what we get and try to remember the joys.

1968 - Transitions

By 1968 my trauma had mostly passed. I was finishing the eighth grade, about to enter high school. I had a best friend. I began the year awkward and pimply, but began to metamorphose into kind of a cute girl, skinny with a dark red bob (and the ever-persistent bangs hiding my eyes). Staring into my bathroom mirror in the mornings, however, I was certain I was the most hideous creature on the face of the earth. I now had my own (private) room, away from judging eyes, so I sometimes carried my battery-powered record player into the bathroom with me as I applied dark eyeliner (with the upward swoop at the corners) and green eye shadow.

My new best friend was firmly ensconced in the bosom of country music and I was trying, really trying; but I wasn't yet ready to give up my lifelong rock 'n roll fix. I don't abandon old friends easily. However, what I'd always loved about rock/pop was that it was joyous. "Do You Believe In Magic?" Music wasn't joyous anymore. It was so, so serious. Granted, there was the odd novelty song, like "Yummy Yummy Yummy", but all the true artists were chronically depressed.

This was the number one song from 1968, and I'm not saying it went on too long, but well, yea, it did kind of go on too long. Catchy, though. Paul was known for writing catchy songs:

In 1968 instrumentals could still top the charts. That would soon end. What began with "Wipe Out" in the early sixties saw its zenith toward the end of the decade. There was Mason Williams with "Classical Gas" (an unfortunate title), and there was this one, that my dad really liked:

I preferred this, as it was more dramatic:

The Lemon Pipers is quite the hippie-ish name, isn't it? It doesn't mean anything. What's a lemon piper? Some kind of snake? In the sixties a lot of songs were written about tambourines. Honestly, though, how long would you stand around watching some guy beat a tambourine against his leg? I guess he could raise his arm in the air and shake it around theatrically, but still. Inexplicably, this was one of the top singles of 1968:

The 1910 Fruitgum Company is not a name one hears every day. I guess 1968 had to include some tunes for the pre-teens, too; not just songs for the angsty doom-and-gloom gluttons. I like this video because the band seems thoroughly embarrassed, as they should be, to be singing:

My dad's old juke box claimed a dusty corner of the garage. He'd since upgraded his bar to a rainbow-splashed Wurlitzer. We kids loved that juke box (or maybe it was just me). We (or I) played this record a lot:

My older brother attended National Guard camp for two weeks each summer. He'd enlisted in the Guard to avoid the draft. Viet Nam played on every boy's mind in 1968. Nobody wanted to go. They would do whatever it took to not get bundled onto that plane. My brother had gotten married in 1967, but that was no out. Nixon was taking anyone and everyone...to fight a war that killed thousands of American kids for no Godly reason. The war was something most of us didn't even think about, because it had droned on and on, on our TV screens for what seemed like forever. We became inured of the killing and maiming. Viet Nam was a fact of life. Of course, we were kids, so we didn't really understand.

My sister-in-law asked me to stay with her while my brother was at Guard camp, so we doubled up in her bed. I wasn't used to actually living in a town, so I made the most of my freedom during the day, strolling downtown to Dahmer's Music and making pilgrimages to St. Joe's Catholic Church (I was pseudo-religious at age thirteen). One night, my sister-in-law woke me up and said, "They're talking about Kennedy being shot. I thought at first they meant John Kennedy, but it's not...it's Robert!" In the middle of the night, I had no comprehensible words, but the two of us stayed awake for a couple of hours, listening to the news coverage.

This song kind of sums up that summer for me: 

Tommy James was a writer of creepy pop songs. Not creepy as in, a slasher hiding around the corner, but creepy as in, who likes this stuff? "You put your arms around me and we tumble to the ground and then you say..." He did write one song, though, that will live forever at wedding dances and corner taverns across the USA. I can't put my finger on what it has, but it has something. A good beat? Repetition? The fact that the crowd can willy-nilly change the lyrics to something mildly obscene? You be the judge:

Another oddity of 1967-68 was the big balladeer. Gary Puckett had five Top 100 tracks in 1968. Five! Gary recorded smarmy songs that were all surreptitiously about sex, which at age thirteen I was a bit uncomfortable with. I guess it was music to have affairs by...or something. I was an innocent -- more kid than woman. So, while Gary was a great singer, his songs, to me, were a bit disturbing:

You and I both know that you haven't heard this next song enough; not enough on TV commercials; not enough on sixties documentaries. So as a public service, I give you Steppenwolf:

The Grass Roots don't get the credit they deserve. Theirs was the first rock concert I ever attended. "Let's Live For Today" is a classic. I bought the group's greatest hits LP. I guess it's not cool to like the band. If it wasn't for The Office and Creed, no one would've given the group a second thought. Music fans can be snobs. The Grass Roots had a top single in '68 (and yes, that's Creed on the left):

It may have been network TV -- the big three networks were kind of lost when it came to rock and roll -- but they had variety shows to produce and they did want the "youngsters" to watch. Well, what choice did we have? Cable? Is that the cord that connects the television to the outlet? Five minutes to midnight, after George Gobel's comedy routine and Johnny's visit with Joan Embery from the San Diego Zoo, HERE ARE THE YOUNG RASCALS! It was a struggle to stay awake that long! And Dean Martin didn't want anything too "out there" for his boozy variety show. Flip Wilson had to throw in the random musical act to attract "the kids".  Voila! Tom Jones!

I had by this time dipped a toe in country music. I wasn't fully convinced, but I gave it my all. Unlike rock and roll, which my marrow had been steeped in for twelve-going-on-thirteen years, country music took some serious study to learn. I knew the basics -- "Heartaches By The Number" and "Tiger By The Tail", thanks to Mom and Dad; but honestly, I found a lot of country to be rather corny. It seems strange now that country music seemed so strange. Country long ago seeped into my bones and now it's wholly natural. Of course, I lived in the rock and roll realm for twelve years and the country world for about forty, so, yes, country is natural. Thanks, Alice. 

Even if one wanted to avoid country all together, they could not escape the dreaded crossover hit. The crossover didn't do much to redeem the reputation of country music, because the singles that crossed over were an amalgam of pop and strings and a vocalist with a southern accent, a la Glen Campbell. "What the hell is this 'By The Time I Get To Phoenix' shit?" everybody would exclaim. My thought was, either be rock or be country. Make a decision. 

Which leads me to Tom T. Hall. I was unaware at the time that Tom T. Hall was a revered songwriter in Nashville. He had something unique -- and that was, he wrote songs that had no choruses. Now, generally, a song should have verses, a chorus, and ideally a bridge. Tom was having none of that. And that's why his songs, to this day, are like dirges. A songwriter needs to change things up a bit, which is where a chorus comes in. Otherwise, they go like this:

Da da da da da

Da da da da

Da da da da da

Da da da da

...for the whole damn song! 

Of course, the one country song that would cross over in 1968 was a Tom T. Hall creation, recorded by Jeannie C. Riley (there's something odd about all the middle initials, but I won't try to psycho-analyze). If it wasn't for the dobro, this recording would be even more banal than it already is.

Listen for the da da da da da's:

I remember this next single was a hit in the winter. I don't know why I remember that, but people's brains are wired to remember inconsequential things, like this one dessert I used to make all the time in the seventies, that had a Ritz Cracker crust and Cool Whip and chocolate pudding (it's better than it sounds). 

John Fred and His Playboy Band apparently sat down one night, stoned, and wrote these immortal words:

Judy in disguise, well that's what you are
Lemonade pies with a brand new car
Cantaloupe eyes come to me tonight
Judy in disguise, with glasses

It gets worse.  

But the strangest recording to become a hit song in 1968 and possibly, ever, was done by an actor who, honestly, couldn't sing. The song was written by good old Jimmy Webb, who brought us "By The Time I Get To Phoenix", among other disasters. Jimmy Webb gets lots of acclaim for being the quintessential songwriter, and he even wrote a book about songwriting. Don't be fooled. 

Actor Richard Harris:

Unlike Tom T. Hall's compositions, this next song actually had a chorus. And it's catchy. The Cowsills were the real-life version of The Partridge Family. Of course, one could never release a single called, "Indian Lake" today. But you'll find yourself singing along. That's what good pop songs do:

I've essentially exhausted the top hits from 1968. My memories of the year consist of snow, more snow, piles of snow. Being dropped off by the bus and slopping through the mounds of snow in my mini-dress and "fashionable" black rubber boots. Twisting the telephone cord as far into the hallway as it would reach, so as to conduct a private phone conversation after school about....nothing, really. Flicking through my homework; not giving a damn about things like math that made absolutely no sense. Chewing on my pencil, writing down answers to history questions in my blue spiral notebook. Drawing doodles in the margins. Wondering how any of this was of any importance to anyone at any time. 

I wanted to go out with a bang and sum up the year. Scanning the Top 100, the year wasn't all that great, in hindsight.

So, I chose this one:

It's The Summer Of Love! Again!

Have you been following along? Are you sick of this topic yet? Are you wondering if I will ever stop?

Well, of course I will stop! There is an ending to the charts, naturally. Well, maybe there isn't. Maybe there's a chart somewhere of every record that sold at least one copy in 1967, but trust me, that won't be happening here. By the time I get to the record of some guy humming through a comb, I know it's time to stop.

But, in all seriousness, this does end. At number 50.

And believe me, there are some really good songs yet to relive.

Unfortunately, this isn't one of them. Oh sure. "I've Got Rhythm" ~ who doesn't know that song, right? Written by George Gershwin. A nice song that perhaps Fred and Ginger would dance to. This version? Hmmm....The group calls themselves "The Happenings", because apparently, the name "The Crew Cuts" was already taken. I'm as conservative as the next guy, but the Happenings just don't seem to fit with 1967. Kudos on the lemon yellow blazers, though.



Number 37 is by Petula Clark, and just let me say, I have absolutely no recollection of this song whatsoever. That doesn't mean it's bad, because I'm a sucker for French, even though I don't understand it. But I don't remember this song....at all. And it was #37? Well, here is This Is My Song:



Now, this is more my style. And one of my all-time favorite singers. As you know, this song was also recorded by the Four Tops. I love the Four Tops, but I love this version more.

As a side note, don't you find these "dancers" distracting? I bet Johnny wanted to do a couple of moves of his own, and reach out and just smack them. And trust me, we didn't dance like that in 1967. But I guess that's what you get when you try to do the Jerk to a slow song....morons.

Here is Johnny Rivers:



I'm really excited about number thirty-nine. This is one of my all-time favorite pop songs. Yes, everybody thinks "Happy Together" is the Turtles' best song. Maybe it is; maybe it isn't. I just happen to like this one better:



That was fun! People forget sometimes that music is supposed to be fun! And I love seeing a performer really enjoying himself. This was a really nice find!

Number forty is another one of my favorite songs from the era. Oh sure, you can have your Last Train To Clarksville and your Daydream Believer, but this was the Monkees getting all ironic and cynical (and that in itself is ironic, considering it was the Monkees).

I do also appreciate that, though Micky Dolenz is upfront about the guys not playing on their own records, he almost looks like a drummer in this video.

Here is Pleasant Valley Sunday:



No time-appropriate video of number forty-one, but Tommy James still sounds the same, doesn't he?

Oh yea, this song had a couple of lives. But we who were there will never forget our AM radios blaring this song...over and over and over...



I didn't even know that Smokey Robinson and the Miracles were still making hit records in 1967. Well, I was wrong, wasn't I?

Because here is "I Second That Emotion":



I had absolutely no idea what "Expressway To Your Heart" was; until I heard it.

So, yes, of course, I know this song. Kind of reminds me of the Rascals, and yet it is by the Soul Survivors. I don't know how or why the song rang no bells with me, but obviously I've heard this a million times, and here is one more time:



Number forty-four is by my favorite, and I'm sure yours (okay, that is irony, of course), Engelbert Humperdinck, doing that old country favorite, "Please Release Me".

There are so many things to say about this video, I'm not sure where to start.

First of all, why are there strobe lights flashing on his nether regions? Is this a natural phenomenon? Because I've never personally experienced that.

Number two ~ she's just trying to sleep, and here's Engelbert belting out a number in the bed, on his zebra-patterned sheets, and that's just insensitive. Let her sleep, Engelbert! Geez, I would take my zebra-striped pillow and smack him over the head a few times! Bastard.

And notice he wants her to release him "after the lovin'". Typical.

Yes, he's found a new love, dear. That's because she's got a steady supply of booze.

And he's singing this whole thing while admiring himself in the mirror.

Engelbert, you are just a pig! Seriously. You have no redeeming virtues.

And you sing it with such angst. There's no angst, Engelbert! You are a narcissistic creep. You and your new floozy deserve each other.

I hope you and Fabio are deliriously happy comparing hairdos.

I'm thinking the women of 1967 maybe outwardly put up with this crap, but inwardly, they cleaned out the guy's bank account and moved on to the Italian Rivera. And never again listened to another Engelbert Humperdinck song.



And thus we end tonight with number forty-four. Sorry to end this on a sour note. But seriously, Engelbert? That's just sorry and shallow and sad.

But more, better songs to come!

Stay tuned, as we round out the top fifty from the summer of love!

Billboard's HOT 100 Chart Of All Time

Billboard recently compiled a list of the top 100 HOT singles of the past 50 years.

How did they do it?

HOT 100 50th Anniversary Chart

So, that's all the industry mumbo-jumbo. (Just thought you might like to know how they did it.)

So, what, pray tell, were the top singles of all time? "Hey Jude", maybe? How about, "Happy Together"? (I don't know why that song sprang to mind, but it's been played a lot since 1967).

No. The number one HOT 100 single of all time is this:



Really.

Hey, I've got nothin' against The Twist, or Chubby Checker, for that matter. I'm just kind of surprised. Granted, it was a number one song in 1960 and 1962; and I think that must be what put it over the top. There aren't too many songs released once, then once again two years later (okay, there aren't any). I don't know what the deal was with that, but nice goin', Chubby! You just barely got in under the wire, too! The song was a hit 48 years ago!

What? 48 years ago? That can't be. I think I still could remember how to "twist" right now. Just a sec. Let me get up off this chair and try it.

Yup. I can "twist". Okay, yea, I was five years old when this song was a hit for the first time, so naturally, I was more limber then. But I can do a faux-twist right now today. Not that there's much call for that.

Before I digress further, here's the link to the top 100 HOT singles, so you can peruse them yourself:

The All-Time HOT 100 Top Songs

And, believe me, if you're disappointed to see "The Twist" at number one, you're in for even more heartache, once you peruse the rest of the list.

And, by the way, "Hey Jude" did make it - at number 8. But alas, no "Happy Together". Bummer.

But, since this is MY blog, let's watch the Turtles, shall we?

Rock & Roll Of The Sixties - The Groups

There were so many groups in the sixties who had hit records, to try to include them all would be a hopeless task. Since I've already devoted an entire topic to the British Invasion, this post will focus (mainly) on American groups. I thought about ways that I could kind of "group" these groups together in some sort of logical fashion, but I'm not seeing any obvious classifications here, so I thought I would just start with the most famous group:

THE BEACH BOYS - LITTLE DEUCE COUPE

Well, here is Mike Looove, introducing the rest of the band. And not to be nitpicky, but Carl "Lead Guitar" Wilson is actually just playing rhythm guitar here. It's a minor point, but don't call him "Lead Guitar Wilson" if he's not going to play lead guitar. I really love the Beach Boys, and this performance shows a still-lucid Brian. Plus, their matching outfits are so sweet. But isn't Mike Looove sort of a goofy doofus? I mean, c'mon. Does he really need to act out the song?

P.S. What is a "deuce coupe" anyway? I know that a "coupe" is a car, but I don't know about the "deuce" part. Doesn't deuce mean "two"? So it's a "little two car"? That makes no sense. But I'm not mechanical at all.

P.P.S. When I first heard this song, I thought they were saying, "She's my little do scoop". Of course, that was nonsensical, but it sounded cute. At my young age, I just thought that you could string words together, as long as they sounded good, and in that way, you could make a song. Sort of like how I write songs today.


MITCH RYDER & THE DETROIT WHEELS - JENNY TAKE A RIDE

Here's Mitch and his Wheels, performing on a show called, "Swingin' Time". I've never heard of this show. I guess it never cracked the Nielson Top Ten. Probably a local channel, by the looks of the dingy sheet they hung up as a backdrop. I'm guessing this group was from Detroit....ha ha...I'm just kidding. I'm not really that stupid.......or am I?? Mitch was sort of the king of medleys. He always combined two songs into one. Here he's doing CC Rider and Jenny Take A Ride. But it's still catchy! When he gets to the "Jenny Jenny Jenny" part, you can't help but dance in your chair. But I still like "Devil With The Blue Dress" the best.


THE LOVIN' SPOONFUL - DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC

Hey, John Sebastian! Welcome back! Isn't this just an infectious performance? I love the enthusiastic lead guitar player. I had to look him up ~ his name is Zal Yanovsky. Unfortunately, he apparently passed away in 2002. That's sad. I'm almost sorry I looked him up now. But he sure enjoyed what he was doing. I really love this video. And, on a side note ~ an autoharp, John! That's a unique choice!


THE BEE GEES - MASSACHUSETTS

I know. Like you, when I think of the Bee Gees, I picture John Travolta walking down the street, carrying a can of paint. But the Bee Gees had a thriving career long before that movie. I was surprised to find that Barry isn't singing the lead on this one. I'd thought he sang lead on all their songs. But this one is done by Robin. It's a very pretty song. So, see? They didn't just do disco. ("ha ha ha ha - stayin' aliiiiive" - sorry, couldn't resist.)


THE BEAU BRUMMELS - LAUGH LAUGH

The Brummels are here, performing on Shindig (at last! A show I've actually heard of!) One might think with a name like Beau Brummels, that these guys were British. Alas! They were from San Francisco. But you can't blame them for trying to capitalize on the British Invasion. And I didn't even know that Peter Tork played the drums. (No, I know that's not Peter Tork). Anyway, the lead singer played a mean tambourine. He really played it with feeling. Good job, Brummel!

And, at the end of this performance, we almost caught a glimpse of this group, getting ready to perform:

THE MAMAS & THE PAPAS - CALIFORNIA DREAMIN'

The Mamas & The Papas are here performing on a show called, "Shivaree". Okay, this is another show I've never heard of. Was this on a cable access channel or something? I think it came on right after "Swingin' Time". The M&P had two great things going for them: Denny and Cass. Two great singers. Well, okay, John wrote the songs, so that's three good things. As for Michelle? Well, she could clap her hands in time to the music. I heard that they turned off her mic during performances. Okay, I didn't actually hear that. I just made it up. But I bet it's true.


GARY PUCKETT & THE UNION GAP - YOUNG GIRL

What I'd like to know is, if they are the "union" gap, why are they wearing Confederate uniforms? Hmmm? I know that's a minor point, but it's something that I think has been overlooked. Anyway, this group has always been a guilty pleasure of mine. Let's face it, it wasn't cool to admit that you liked this group back in 1967. But Gary is from Hibbing, Minnesota. There was another guy from Hibbing.....who was that again? Somehow I can't see the two of them getting together for a jam session, though. Can you? I just this week got an autographed picture of Gary, and he blessed me. So, he's a cool guy. It's always nice to be blessed. So, bless you, Gary Puckett.


THE BUCKINGHAMS - KIND OF A DRAG

This hit song, from 1967, is memorable for the reason that the background singers sang a much longer part than the lead guy sang. I never knew what they were singing, and I never will, but all I know is, the lead guy sang, "listen", and then the background singers sang something that went on for about five minutes before the lead guy came back and sang, "to what I've gotta say", and then they sang something again for another five minutes. Unusual, to say the least. And you gotta feel sorry for the drummer here. All he had was a snare and a bass. Not even a cymbal. I bet he had to go find a couple of twigs in the park to use as drumsticks. And they didn't have "The Buckinghams" printed on the bass drum. I guess they were waiting to see if this whole band thing was going to work out.


THE SIR DOUGLAS QUINTET - SHE'S ABOUT A MOVER

Well, lo and behold. "Sir Douglas" wasn't even a "sir". He was just a guy named Doug from Texas. That's blasphemy. Don't you have to have that title bestowed upon you by the queen? Doesn't she have to hit you with her scepter and stuff? I'll admit, I'm not real familiar with the whole British royalty bit, but I'm thinking that is the case. And who were the other guys in the band? A duke, an earl, a viscount, and a viceroy? (Okay, I made up "viceroy", because I couldn't think of any other British monikers) And, believe me, they don't play the maracas in Buckingham Palace. So, that's a dead giveaway.


THE TURTLES - ELENORE

The Turtles. Flo & Eddie. (I actually don't know which is which.). I love the Turtles. They were very clever, and they wrote catchy tunes. And doesn't Flo (or Eddie?) look just like Chris Sligh from last season's American Idol? By the looks of the guys in the band, I bet they were in the chess club in high school. Nowadays, they'd work in the IT industry. But they wrote great lines, such as "you're my pride and joy, et cetera". What a heartfelt sentiment.



PAUL REVERE & THE RAIDERS - KICKS

Whereas Gary Puckett and his Union Gap were kind of stuck in the Civil War era, here's a group that goes back even further! To the Revolutionary War! Nice jodhpurs! Sometimes they even wore their 1770's hats, but unfortunately, not in this video. I was never a big fan of the Raiders' music, but that didn't stop me from plastering Mark Lindsay's pictures all over my bedroom wall at age 12. A couple of notes regarding this video: It's nice that they got both Amy Winehouse and Goldie Hawn to be background dancers. And, if you look closely, that is a much-embarrassed Freddy Weller ("Games People Play") singing backup.



THE GRASS ROOTS - LET'S LIVE FOR TODAY

Introduced by Jimmy Durante (who had no idea who these guys were), here are the Grass Roots with their 1966 hit, "Let's Live For Today". Wikipedia says it was from 1967, but Wikipedia is WRONG. I distinctly remember when this song was a hit. I had the single. The Grass Roots had a lot of hits, but this is my favorite. And don't you love their saucy neckerchiefs? You do have to feel kind of sorry for the drummer, dressed in a suit and tie, though. "Oh, man! You guys said you were going to dress up!"


BUFFALO SPRINGFIELD - FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH



This song, from 1967!! (as annoyingly splashed on the screen), is the soundtrack for EVERY documentary you will ever see on PBS regarding the '60's counterculture movement. I maintain, however, that the band didn't appear to be too upset during this performance. They seemed like they were having a pretty good time. The song features, of course, Steven STILLS, who went on to be a part of Crosby, STILLS, and Nash and/or Crosby, STILLS, Nash, and Young. Coincidentally, this performance also features a heavily-disguised Neil YOUNG, who went on to be a part of Crosby, STILLS, Nash, and YOUNG. On the drums was Richard Dawson, who went on to become part of THE FAMILY FEUD, starring Richard DAWSON. (Okay, yes, I know, but it still kind of looks like him, if you squint.).

A little known fact about Buffalo Springfield is that they originally tried out to be a part of this band (and I'm not kidding):

THE MONKEES - I'M A BELIEVER


It's difficult to explain the lure of The Monkees, unless you were there. But for a pre-teen junior high school girl, The Monkees were HUGE! They had a weekly network TV show that was AWFUL, but at the end of each episode, they would have a music "video", and that was well worth waiting for. Micky Dolenz was always my favorite Monkee. Some girls preferred Davy Jones, but he was a bit too "fey" for my taste (sorry, Davy fans). Plus, I always liked drummers. This song was written by Neil Diamond, and it was a really good song! Let's face it. The other members of The Monkees were Peter Tork and Mike Nesmith. Mike Nesmith's mom invented liquid paper, so I'm guessing he had a nice trust fund. He always looked kind of bored or embarrassed in these music clips, but I bet he wasn't too embarrassed to collect the royalties. I bet not.


THE BYRDS - MR. TAMBOURINE MAN

The Byrds had a big hit with this Bob Dylan song in 1965. You know, the Byrds had quite the lineup. Not only were Roger McGuinn and Gene Clark in the band, but also David CROSBY, who went on to become part of CROSBY, Stills and Nash, and later, CROSBY, Stills, Nash, & Young (oh no, not THIS again). But also, did you know that Gram Parsons was a member of the Byrds at one time? Also, the band included Chris Hillman on bass (who later went on to have a career in country music). In addition to this hit song, the Byrds' other major hit was ripped off from the Bible. But I guess if you're going to rip something off, what could be better to rip off from??


These next two acts aren't technically "bands", but actually "duos", but you just can't leave them out of this discussion. One of the duos was a major influence on popular music; the other one was less so.

So, let's start with the "lesser" one:

SONNY & CHER - BABY, DON'T GO



I deliberately chose this song, because who isn't sick of, "I Got You, Babe"? When I think about Sonny & Cher, I always feel a bit guilty. You see, one year, for Halloween, my friend and I decided to "be" Sonny & Cher. Well, since I had short hair at the time, I got to be Sonny. Oh sure, we had a great time at work, doing our impression of "I Got You, Babe". I tried to sing it like Sonny, but it came out more like Dylan. But it was still fun, and the "fans" (our co-workers) enjoyed it. But not long after that, Sonny met his demise, so I can't really enjoy pleasant memories of that time, if you know what I mean. But on a less personal note, Sonny Bono started out as a go-fer for Phil Spector, and, from what I understand, good ol' Phil didn't treat Sonny so well. (Phil wasn't known to be very magnanimous then.....or ever). But Sonny had a lot of talent...For one thing, he wrote the song, "Needles and Pins", which was a really good song. Plus, he discovered Cher (somewhere), and they ultimately had huge success as a duo. As for Cher, well, I've heard that there was a lot of "magic", let's say, in getting her vocals to sound as good as they did, even after she went off on her own. But hey! Whatever works and makes you tons of money. So you can live in your penthouse suite. "Newww York is where I'd rawther stay. I get ALLERGIC smelling hay. I just ADORE a penthouse suite......." Sorry, I lost my train of thought there for a minute.



SIMON & GARFUNKEL - BRIDGE OVER TROUBLED WATER

Okay, yes, this is not a vintage music clip, but I couldn't NOT include this song. Is this one of the most gorgeous vocals ever or what? And one of the most beautiful songs? It's difficult to condense these guys down into one paragraph. Paul Simon is a songwriter extraordinaire, and Art Garfunkel? Could anyone sing this song more beautifully? I think, to be remembered for this song alone, would make living worthwhile. And don't forget who wrote this glorious song - Paul Simon. So, there you go.


THE ASSOCIATION - CHERISH

Unlike some people, who are ASLEEP, I wasn't a huge fan of the Association. They had one GREAT song, but alas, I cannot find a video of it. That was, "Never My Love". So, I had to default to this song, which isn't too bad. Funny how a band/group can have one song that is AWESOME, and yet, their other songs are snoozerzzzzzz. Well, I just call 'em as I see 'em. This group/band/whatever was what I'd label the precursors to the boy bands of the eighties. You know, the Boyz To Men or Backstreet Boyz or any group that had "Boyz" in its name. (I'll admit, I have no idea what these boyz sounded like, so I'm just kind of riffing here, but I do like putting a "z" at the end of every word). So, if and until "Never My Love" is posted on YouTube, I will reserve further comment on this group. But I do have to say, "The Association" is a lame name for a band/group. How about the "Corporation"? The "DBA's"? The "Limited Partnerships"?


So (ta-DA!) I'm going to end this long and winding post with five bands and/or songs that I love. The first one goes like thus:

THE GUESS WHO - SHARE THE LAND

Burton Cummings, a TRUE Canadian. Note the maple leaf motif on the back of the piano here. And who wouldn't love Burton's long, flowing locks? Burton, I'm afraid, has most likely ballooned up to about 300 pounds nowadays, from the looks of him on this video clip. So?? That doesn't take anything away from his great singing voice. Sure, we make fun of the overweight. It's the last bastion of "making fun of". But one cannot deny that Burton ("call me Burt") was a great singer. And, luckily, he had that lead guitarist dressed in scrubs, who was always at the ready to perform CPR, if Burton needed it.


THE BOX TOPS - THE LETTER

Ah, Alex Chilton, the quintessential recalcitrant teenager. He would never come out of his room, he refused to cut his bangs, even though his mom pounded on his bedroom door incessantly and implored him to get a haircut, and to stop messing with that "devil music". But Alex wouldn't abide. "Mom!", he'd yell. "I'm working on my masterpiece! Leave me alone!" He later found some guys at the high school, who didn't have much going on, and he talked them into forming a band. The guys were a bit wary of Alex, knowing his reputation of being sort of a prima donna, but they signed on anyway, because they were getting bored experimenting in the science lab. They did their best to bring Alex out of his "funk", but Alex was Alex, and, anyway, at least they got ONE hit song out of the deal, and they have fond memories of their time with the Box Tops, although they disavow any knowledge of Alex to this day.


THE (YOUNG) RASCALS - GOOD LOVIN'

Felix (that's not a name you hear every day) was a great singer. Unfortunately, the group felt that they needed something to set them apart from all the others, so they made the decision to wear knickers and pork-pie hats. Not necessarily a well-informed choice. It's a shame, really. Because The Rascals was a great group. They didn't need the knickers. Of course, hindsight is 20/20.


CREEDENCE CLEARWATER REVIVAL - BAD MOON RISING


John Fogerty always said, "If there is one thing I would do over, I would choose a much better hairstyle. I'd probably not go with the curled bangs, but something a bit more natural." That's really the one regret that John has. If only he'd paid a bit more attention to his hair, who knows what might have transpired? He could have been a big star, to this day. Well, much like the (Young) Rascals, it's too little, too late, at least in the hairdo department. Darn! And I thought this band was really on to something.


THE DOORS - BREAK ON THROUGH

Question: Was Jim Morrison an actual human being? Because I'm questioning that. Reason being, he seemed just a bit too "perfect", you know, as far as looks and stuff. Needless to say, I like Jim Morrison. To play devil's advocate for a moment, however, his lyrics weren't the greatest. "Our love becomes a funeral pyre"? "Hello, I love you, won't you tell me your name? Hello, I love you, let me jump in your game." (??) He's just rhyming stuff that makes no sense! I know he drank a lot, but geez, that just seems lazy. But anyway, I remember when "Light My Fire" came out in 1967. If I could have found an embeddable video of that song, I would have used that one instead of this. Sorry that his light was extinguished so soon, but I think everything happens for a reason. You really wouldn't appreciate a 70-year-old Jim Morrison in the same way that you appreciate the 20-year-old. But good golly, Miss Molly, this was a great band. And Ray Manzarek played a mean organ.