You Can’t Hurry Love was one of The Supremes’ biggest hits in 1966. But it was Phil Collins who took it to number 1 in the UK, with a faithful rendition of the Motown smash. Collins had left Genesis and begun a solo career, and went on to become one of the world’s bestselling singers of all time. Seriously.
Before
Philip David Charles Collins was born 30 January 1951 at Putney Hospital in Wandsworth, South London. The youngest of three children, Collins and co moved twice before he had reached three, and they settled in Brentford and Chiswick, Middlesex. At the age of five, Collins received a toy drumkit for Christmas. He would play along to music on the television and radio, and developed a keen ear. Aged seven, he interrupted his own talent show performance of The Ballad of Davy Crockett to tell the accompanying orchestra they were in the wrong key. In his formative years, Collins loved The Beatles and the soul music of Motown and Stax Records. Although he received basic music tuition when he was 12, he never learned to read or write music notation.
Collins moved from Nelson Primary School in Twickenham, Middlesex to Chiswick County Grammar School in 1962. He formed his first band, The Real Thing (not the group that scored a number 1 with You to Me Are Everything in 1976), which featured his future wife Andrea Bertorelli on backing vocals.
In his mid-teens, Collins quit school to enrol at Barbara Speake Stage School. He was uncredited in his role as an audience member in The Beatles’ A Hard Day’s Night (1964) and later that year he had his first starring role as The Artful Dodger in Oliver!. Although he had two West End runs, his days in the role were numbered when his voice broke. Collins also nearly starred in ChittyChitty Bang Bang (1968), but his role was cut.
While trying to make it big as an actor, Collins continued to love music, and frequented the Marquee Club so often that the management asked him to help out there. Eventually he decided to concentrate on music, and he auditioned unsuccessfully for Vinegar Joe and Manfred Mann Chapter Three. But The Cliff Charles Blues Band enlisted him, and he then jumped ship to a backing band known as The Gladiators. Incredibly, he had the chance to audition for Yes after he spoke to singer Jon Anderson, but he failed to turn up.
In 1969, Collins was part of John Walker’s (of The Walker Brothers) backing band during a live tour. When that ended, the band became Hickory, before settling on Flaming Youth. They recorded the concept album Ark 2. A year later, his path crossed the Fab Four’s once more, when he recorded a conga part for George Harrison’sArt of Dying.
The rock band Genesis, who had formed in 1967, signed to Charisma Records in 1970 and released their second LP, Trespass. Genesis were in a period of upheaval, having lost their guitarist, Anthony Phillips, and fired their third drummer, John Mayhew. Singer Peter Gabriel, a former drummer himself, was impressed by Collins, and he got the gig.
For the next five years, Collins played drums and percussion and sang backing vocals with Genesis. Over time, the band noticed the strength and synergy of Gabriel and Collins’ voices when put together. Then, in 1975, Gabriel decided to leaPve Genesis, and although Collins sang backing vocals for would-be applicants, they decided he would become their new lead singer for the album A Trick of the Tail. The decision was vindicated when the album became a hit in the UK and US.
In 1977, Genesis became a trio after the departure of guitarist Steve Hackett. The 1978 LP that followed – …And Then There Were Three… – was also a smash, and contained their first UK top 10 hit in Follow You, Follow Me. But Collins’ marriage was in trouble, and following their December tour, Genesis went on hiatus.
Collins failed to save his marriage and so returned to music, resuming his role in jazz fusion group Brand X, who he had helped since 1975. No stranger to cameos elsewhere, having collaborated with Brian Eno previously, he also helped out John Martyn. Genesis resumed in 1980 with their 10th album, Duke. Collins was becoming more involved as a songwriter, and it paid off, becoming their first UK number 1 album.
Soon after, Collins was working on demos for songs he considered too simple for Genesis. They also had a personal nature, often concerning his impending divorce. In January 1981 came his debut solo single, the haunting In the Air Tonight. Featuring one of the most famous drum breaks in pop, the song went to two in the charts. Quite the introduction to a solo career, but nothing else from that album, Face Value, matched it, with I Missed Again and If Leaving Me Is Easy reaching 14 and 17 respectively.
The early 80s were an extremely busy and successful time for Collins. In 1981, he also found time to be on Genesis’s next LP Abacab and produce Martyn’s album Glorious Fool. The following year, he produced and played on Anni-Frid Lyngstad of ABBA’s LP Something’s Going On and drummed on Robert Plant’s first solo album Pictures at Eleven.
He then set to work on his second solo album, Hello, I Must Be Going!. As with his last, much of the material focused on his divorce. However, the first single, Thru These Walls, didn’t bode well. A song about listening through walls to neighbours having sex, the song sounded like an inferior retread of In the Air Tonight. Released a month before the album, in October 1982, it didn’t even reach the top 40. Collins would have been better off releasing his cover of You Can’t Hurry Love first.
You Can’t Hurry Love had been one of The Supremes’ signature tunes. It was penned by prolific Motown hitmakers Lamont-Dozier-Holland and based on the gospel song You Can’t Hurry God by Dorothy Love Coates and the Gospel Harmonettes. The Supremes single was a pulsating, bright and breezy pop stomper with backing from the Funk Brothers, and it peaked at three in the UK in the late summer of 1966. Collins wanted to pay tribute to Motown (his latest album said ‘Motown, we salute you’ on the back) and worked with producer Hugh Padgham to attempt a remake, rather than interpretation, of the classic recording. He later admitted he didn’t succeed, dissing specifically the ‘naff strings’ on his version.
Nonetheless, Collins had recorded his vocal, drums and tambourine in May and June 1982, with help from Daryl Stuermer on guitar, John Giblin on bass and J Peter Robinson on piano, glockenspiel and vibraphone. Strings were provided by Martyn Ford and credited to The Mountain Fjord Orchestra.
Review
Collins’ standing in the music world is interesting. From drummer in one of the biggest prog rock bands of the 70s, to global superstar in the 80s. Capable of bangers like In the Air Tonight and Easy Lover, yet also guilty of the hypocritical Another Day in Paradise. A bland, uninteresting character, yet also blessed with an unassuming charisma. He was subject to ridicule for years, yet his stock has rightfully improved in recent years. He didn’t deserve such disdain, yet I can see why he was attacked.
Depending on my mood on the rare occasion I now hear it, his version of You Can’t Hurry Love is either unnecessary or not bad. It’s a serviceable attempt at covering a real classic, but why bother? If his aim really was to capture the 60s sound, while updating it a little for 80s audiences, he’s right that he didn’t really achieve it. Having said that, who could, especially in the early 80s, when production techniques were as far removed as Motown’s raw yet sugary pop could be?
The best part of this version is Collins’ voice. You’d never choose it over Diana Ross, Florence Ballard or Mary Wilson’s, but it does work surprisingly well here. Less surprising is that the other highlight is Collins’ drumming. It seems that unfortunately it may take his passing for people to realise he was an excellent drummer, not just an MOR pop star. You can feel his love for the sounds of his youth, and the enthusiasm somehow shines through this average but pleasant cover. There’s no wonder it became his first number 1, as it appealed to his many fans and the record buyers of the 60s, who by then will have loved this unthreatening new version of a tune from their teens.
They’ll have also enjoyed the novelty of the video, in which Collins performs the song under a spotlight, with two other versions of him on backing vocals – one wearing sunglasses. Collins as The Supremes. I will have been four when I first saw it, and I was fascinated to know how he was able to be in three places at once. Was he magic?
After
You Can’t Hurry Love became the first new number 1 of 1983, toppling the 1982 Christmas chart-topper Save Your Love. It also topped the charts in many countries and was a US hit. Collins was well on the way to becoming a global megastar.
The Outro
Lamont Dozier was impressed by Collins’ cover, and was happy to say yes when Collins asked him to co-write Two Hearts, a lovely Motown tribute that featured in his film Buster (1988).
The Info
Written by
Holland-Dozier-Holland
Producer
Phil Collins& Hugh Padgham
Weeks at number 1
2 (15-28 January)
Trivia
Births
21 January: Labour MP Wes Streeting 24 January: Scottish footballer Shaun Maloney 27 January: Scottish Conservative MP Douglas Ross
Deaths
18 January: Composer Cedric Thorpe Davie/Writer Colin Watson 22 January: Trade unionist Walter Citrine, 1st Baron Citrine 28 January: Singer-songwriter Billy Fury
Meanwhile…
17 January: Breakfast Time became the first British breakfast television programme when it launched on BBC One.
19 January: The two policemen who wounded the innocent Stephen Waldorf were charged with attempted murder and released on bail. They were suspended from duty pending further investigation.
23 January: The prohibition on non-British boats fishing in British waters was lifted when the European Economic Community’s Common Fisheries Policy came into effect.
25 January: The Infrared Astronomical Satellite was launched, becoming the first-ever space-based observatory to perform a survey of the entire sky at infrared wavelengths.
26 January: Red rain fell in the UK, caused by sand from the Sahara Desert within the droplets.
28 January: Escaped prisoner David Martin (who Stephen Waldorf had been mistaken for) was rearrested.
It’s one of pop’s sadder ironies that it took the shocking murder of John Lennon to give him his first solo number 1, with a song that begins ‘Our life together is so precious together’. The former Beatle had returned to music in 1980, and was talking about his hope for the new decade in his final interviews. The year instead ended with vigils across the globe for a murdered hero.
Before
‘Let’s take a chance and fly away, somewhere.’
Lennon was born 40 years previous, on 9 October 1940, at Liverpool Maternity Hospital. His childhood was famously a mix tragedy and luck. His father Alfred, a n’e’er-do-well merchant seaman, was away from home at the time. At four, his mother, Julia, gave her sister Mimi custody. Aged six, Lennon’s father visited and attempted to take his estranged son to live in New Zealand with him, but it didn’t happen and there would be no further contact between the two until Beatlemania.
Raised by the well-to-do Mimi and her husband, Lennon was considered the class clown, and would draw surreal cartoons for his school magazine TheDaily Howl. He was regularly visited by Julia, who bought him his first guitar in 1956. Famously, his aunt turned her nose up at this, saying: ‘The guitar’s all very well, John, but you’ll never make a living out of it.’ The 15-year-old Lennon payed no mind to this and started a band – The Quarrymen. In 1957, at a legendary village fete in Woolton, Lennon met Paul McCartney and asked him to join the band.
Lennon’s mother was killed when she was hit by a car driven by an off-duty policeman who was under the influence. The trauma brought Lennon and McCartney, who had lost his own mother to cancer, closer together, but the already wayward Lennon drowned his sorrows and frequently got into fights. Now a Teddy Boy, he was accepted into the Liverpool College of Art.
Despite McCartney’s father’s disapproval, Lennon and McCartney began writing songs together. Despite initial reluctance, Lennon agreed to allow George Harrison into the band. The three guitarists’ ranks were soon bolstered by Lennon’s art school friend Stuart Sutcliffe on bass, even though he could hardly play. By 1960, they were The Beatles, and Lennon was their leader. They went to Hamburg for a residency, along with new drummer Pete Best. Three residences in and The Beatles, buoyed by the drug Preludin and playing stupidly long sets, became a force to be reckoned with.
Brian Epstein became their manager in 1962, and although the rebellious Lennon bristled at the idea of cleaning up their act and donning suits, he relented. When Sutcliffe decided to stay in Hamburg, McCartney took over on bass, and Best was replaced by Ringo Starr before their debut single on Parlophone, Love Me Do.
From The Beatles rise to fame, through to Beatlemania and the British Invasion, Lennon was their acerbic leader. Brilliantly witty, sarcastic, and prone to many unfortunate ‘cripple’ impressions, he and McCartney were the greatest songwriting team of all time. Writing most of their early work together, they co-wrote three number 1 singles in 1963 – From Me to You, She Loves You (the greatest 60s chart-topper) and I Want to Hold Your Hand.
In 1964 The Beatles released their first film – A Hard Day’s Night. Lennon wrote the film and accompanying LP’s title track, and also the 1964 Christmas number 1, I Feel Fine, which featured feedback from Lennon in the intro. The Beatles had begun to widen their sonic palette.
By 1965, despite being at the peak of their commercial fame, Lennon was feeling disillusioned. He was overweight, exhausted by Beatlemania and literally crying out for help, which translated into the title track of their second film – not that their screaming fans were noticing – they were too busy shaking their heads to yet another pop classic. He and Harrison took LSD for the first time, and further experimentation came from one of their greatest mid-period songs, Ticket to Ride – another primarily Lennon song, and another number 1. But in a sign that Lennon and McCartney were growing apart as songwriting partners, they disagreed on their Christmas single, resulting in the former’s Day Tripper sharing equal billing with We Can Work It Out – although Lennon came up with the pleading middle eight of McCartney’s track.
1966 was a tumultuous year for the Fab Four. An interview with Lennon about the decreasing popularity of the church was blown out of all proportion, resulting in a rare public apology, most likely forced on him by Epstein. Nevertheless, records were burned, and Lennon was threatened. All this, plus the group exhaustion with their endless touring, resulting in a decision that would ultimately change popular music. They didn’t go public with the decision, but that August, they stopped performing for audiences. Despite all this, they entered their imperial phase of studio recording. Lennon was integral in this, contributing the concept of backwards recording in Rain and then the amazing experimentation of Tomorrow Never Knows.
The increasingly pioneering sounds coming out of Abbey Road contributed to the cultural zeitgeist of the Summer of Love in 1967. Although perhaps their single finest record – Lennon’s Strawberry Fields Forever, combined with Penny Lane – failed to top the charts, they were at the peak of their creative powers, releasing Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. And Lennon was responsible for the anthemic number 1 All You Need Is Love, too. But Lennon was lost in constant use of LSD, and later said it came close to erasing his identity. This and the loss of Epstein resulted in McCartney increasingly looking like the band’s new leader, and this started to cause problems.
Lennon’s wife Cynthia found her husband at home with the artist Yoko Ono in May 1968, after they had recorded what became the experimental LP Two Virgins. Soon, the duo were inseparable, for most of the rest of his life. This inevitably had an impact on the already often strained relationships of The Beatles, who wrote and recorded much of their eponymous double album as solo songs, which the rest of the band would merely provide backing to. Although Lennon and Ono were turned on to heroin, his decreasing use of LSD saw a return to his more fiery personality. While more experimental than ever on the sound collage of Revolution 9 and the unreleased What’s the New Mary Jane?, Lennon’s pop dominance of the band had decreased so much, he only contributed one song to the two number 1 singles in 1968, and Revolution was relegated to the B-side of Hey Jude – written by McCartney to give comfort to Lennon’s son, Julian, while his parents divorced.
While Peter Jackson’s Get Back has proved that the Let It Be sessions of early 1969 weren’t as miserable as the world was led to believe, the initial sessions were an often bleak affair, yet by the time of their last public appearance on the rooftop of Apple Studios, Lennon was in his element, offering surreal banter inbetween their set, which featured one of his best later-Beatles-period songs, Don’t Let Me Down.
Relieved that the project was over, The Beatles splintered. Relations between the four were not fab, as Lennon persuaded Harrison and Starr to sign Allen Klein as their new manager, while McCartney relented. Lennon focused on Ono, developing their new project, the Plastic Ono Band. Most of the duo’s material between 1969 and 1974 was credited to this revolving line-up, featuring, at various points, Harrison, Starr, Eric Clapton, Klaus Voormann and Keith Moon. Lennon and Ono married that March, resulting in the last Beatles number 1 in the band’s lifetime – The Ballad of John and Yoko. The first Plastic Ono Band release was the anti-war classic Give Peace a Chance, in July, which peaked at two. The band went on a brief hiatus while The Beatles recorded what was to be their swansong. Lennon was absent for some of the sessions after a car accident with Ono, but his raunchy Come Together was promoted to an A-side.
With Abbey Road in the can, Lennon went back to concentrating on his new band, and privately decided he was going to leave The Beatles. The grim account of heroin withdrawal, Cold Turkey, followed, then the concert recording Live Peace in Toronto 1969 was released as the 60s – and unbeknownst to the world – The Beatles, drew to a close. The dream was over.
The 70s got off to a great start for Lennon, releasing perhaps his greatest post-Beatles single, InstantKarma!, which began a long working relationship with the unhinged Phil Spector. McCartney angered Lennon, by announcing he had left The Beatles, as publicity for his first solo album. Lennon had been working through primal therapy, resulting in the raw, often painfully honest eponymous album JohnLennon/Plastic Ono Band, one of the last lyrics of which was ‘Don’t believe in Beatles’.
In 1971, Lennon and McCartney were publicly fighting via song, resulting in the bitter How Do You Sleep? on Lennon’s best solo LP, Imagine. That August he and Ono moved to live in New York and began their association with radical left-wing politics. President Richard Nixon’s administration became determined to deport him. At Christmas the couple released their festive classic Happy Xmas (War Is Over) with the Harlem Community Choir.
Over the next few years, Lennon’s commercial standing began to drop, with he and Ono releasing the highly political but average Some Time in New York City with Elephant’s Memory in 1972. Then he self-produced and released the decidedly poor Mind Games in late-1973 – although the title track is excellent. He and Ono’s marital problems resulted in their separation, and the start of an 18-month period immortalised as the ‘Lost Weekend’, in which he had a relationship with his and Ono’s personal assistant, May Pang. Lennon ran wild, often with Harry Nilsson, drinking heavily and making headlines.
During that time he released Walls and Bridges, featuring one of his best solo songs, #9 Dream. Elton John featured on Whatever Gets You thru the Night – his first US number 1. Lennon had made a bet that that if the single topped the charts, he’d perform live with John, which he duly did. Lennon and Ono were reunited in 1975, and he co-wrote and performed on David Bowie’s first US number 1, Fame. But following Rock ‘n’ Roll, a covers album, in 1975, Lennon went on hiatus to help raise his and Ono’s son, Sean, and would only record the occasional demo when inspiration took hold.
When McCartney released the single Coming Up in 1980, Lennon was impressed and even said so publicly, with the former Beatles having made amends and occasionally meeting during the 70s. Then in June, Lennon was involved in a sailing trip which was hit by a storm. As all the crew fell ill, Lennon was forced to take control, and the incident affected him profoundly. His confidence restored, and with a newfound zest for life, he decided to release a new album with his wife – their first since Some Time in New York City.
Ono approached producer Jack Douglas with a batch of demos, and that August they started recording in secret at New York City’s Hit Factory, as Lennon was concerned the sessions might not be good enough. By September they were more confident and went public that they were back. The newly formed Geffen Records was successful, thanks in part to David Geffen making it clear he regarded Ono’s contributions as the same quality as Lennon’s.
With its warm, nostalgic 50s feel and lyrics about rejuvenation, it made perfect sense to place (Just Like) Starting Over at the start of Double Fantasy, and to make it his comeback single. The song’s origins began with the demo recordings Don’t Be Crazy and My Life. Lennon wrote Starting Over, as it was originally called, in Bermuda, and despite being recorded on 9 August, it was one of the last songs to be completed for the album, mixed at the Record Plant on 25 and 26 September. Featuring on the recording are David Bowie’s guitarist Earl Slick, Hugh McCracken, also on guitar, King Crimson’s Tony Levin on bass, keyboardist George Small, Sly and the Family Stone drummer Andy Newmark and Arthur Jenkins on percussion. Providing the doo-wop-style backing vocals are Michelle Simpson, Cassandra Wooten, Cheryl Manson Jacks and Eric Troyer.
Review
(Just Like) Starting Over (the extra bit in brackets was added to avoid confusion with Dolly Parton’s Starting Over Again) begins with a deliberate callback to Mother, the opening track on John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band 10 years previous. Whereas the bells that toll on Mother are slow and foreboding, and reminiscent of a funeral bell, the ringing here is light and airy, and (sadly ironically) herald a hopeful, optimistic Lennon, softened by years of time as a father and absent from the music business. His fire seems to be gone, he’s retreated into the rock’n’roll of his youth, and he’s perfectly content with that. And so am I.
Lennon might not have thought (Just Like) Starting Over was the best track on Double Fantasy, but it’s one of the strongest on what is otherwise a pretty average album. Had he not been out of the public eye for so long, this track wouldn’t have had that added poignancy, and wouldn’t have sounded out of place on Rock ‘n’ Roll, that ropey collection of mostly poor covers that soundtracked his youth. Gone is one of the best voices of his generation, as Lennon ramps the pastiche levels up even more by singing in a style that brings to mind Elvis Presley and Roy Orbison. Sure, this idealistic vision of Lennon and Ono is schmaltzy, saccharine and most likely somewhat false, but it’s rather charming and lovely. And of course, in hindsight, those lyrics are desperately sad. Thumbs down to the awfully mixed backing vocals, though. Was it a failed attempt by Douglas to capture that echoey 50s sound?
After
(Just Like) Starting Over was released in the UK on 23 October, and a day later in the US. Riding on a wave of goodwill as the world welcomed back an old friend, the single was Lennon’s strongest performing record in the UK since Happy Xmas (War Is Over), which had reached four in 1971. It peaked at eight, and although reviews for Double Fantasy were warning that Lennon had lost his bite (and he was looking older than his years and was painfully thin), the future looked bright. He and Ono had recorded enough material for a follow-up, and with his confidence returning, maybe we’d see some of that fire return. Of course, we’ll never know.
Lennon’s comeback single had slipped to 21 here, and six in the US by 8 December, but promotional work continued for Double Fantasy, released a few weeks prior. At around 5pm, he was stopped outside his home, the Dakota building, by a random fan. Lennon was photographed signing a copy of his new album for the grinning Mark Chapman, and then left with Ono for a session at the Record Plant. At approximately 10.50pm Lennon and Ono returned and were walking through the archway of the Dakota, when Chapman shot him twice in the back and twice more in the shoulder at close range. Lennon was pronounced dead less than half an hour later.
Shocked, confused and in mourning, the world chose to pay tribute to Lennon, who had soundtracked the lives of so many, by listening to his music. In much the same way his hero Buddy Holly’s It Doesn’t Matter Anymore became a posthumous chart-topper after his untimely death, (Just Like) Starting Over inevitably began to sell once more. 12 days after his death, Lennon had his first solo number 1. Such was the magnitude of his loss, it wouldn’t be his last.
The Outro
In 2010 Ono and Douglas released Double Fantasy Stripped Down, which was an attempt to wipe away the studio sheen of the original album. The version of (Just Like) Starting Over is thankfully free of those odd backing vocals, and is OK but pretty inconsequential.
The Info
Written by
John Lennon
Producers
John Lennon, Yoko Ono & Jack Douglas
Weeks at number 1
1 (20-26 December)
Trivia
Births
20 December: Footballer Ashley Cole/Footballer Fitz Hall 21 December: Scottish actress Louise Linton
Deaths
20 December: Locomotive engineer Roland Bond/Footballer Tom Waring 22 December: Magician Lewis Ganson/Physician Thomas Cecil Hunt 23 December: Playwright Frank Norman/Anglican bishop Ambrose Reeves 25 December: Comedian Fred Emney/Explorer Quintin Riley
Meanwhile…
26 December: Sightings of unexplained lights near RAF Woodbridge in Suffolk became known as the ‘Rendlesham Forest Incident’ – the most famous reported UFO sightings in the UK.
I’ve done it. 186 blogs in 17 months and I’ve now reviewed all the chart-toppers in that most incredible decade of transformation in pop culture. It’s been fascinating, exciting, dreary and terrifying at times, and sometimes, while listening to songs such as Cinderella Rockefeller, it’s been all those things at once.
The 60s, pre-Beatles, is an era I knew little about, so I suspected this could prove as enlightening as my reviews of the 50s, but I was surprised to learn so much once The Beatles invaded the charts too. Their impact in 1963 and 64 was even bigger than I’d ever imagined, and their move into a more ‘mature’ sound would effect the singles charts of their later years too, but detrimentally.
To commemorate reaching the end, it’s only right that I repeat what I did with Every 50s Number 1, and relisten to them all once more, before deciding on the best and worst of each year, and whittling them down even more to the best and worst of the whole decade.
Despite knowing and loving much of this music so much, I admit to being a bit nervous. How do I choose between some of the greatest bands and songs the world has ever seen? Only one way to find out…
1960
They say that it takes a few years for a decade to get started, and it’s certainly true in the case of the swinging 60s. The music from the dawn of the decade is mostly a hangover from the fag ends of the initial burst of rock’n’roll. There’s a strange short-lived fad at the start of the year for cockney pop by Adam Faith and Anthony Newley (a big influence on early David Bowie). Things don’t really get going until May when the Everly Brothers return to the top with The pioneering drum sound ofCathy’s Clown. This was followed by the first posthumous chart-topper – Eddie Cochrane’s Three Steps to Heaven. Legendary singer-songwriter Roy Orbison makes his number 1 debut with the classic melancholy of Only the Lonely (Know How I Feel). There’s also a great comeback from Elvis Presley with It’s Now or Never. Less impressive were Cliff Richard and The Shadows’ two number 1s together. Weirdest? That can only be Johnny Preston’s bizarre tail of the love between a cowboy and a native American, Running Bear.
This could and arguably should have been The Shadows’ surprisingly edgy and menacing Apache, which is a true pre-Beatles classic and hugely influential on pop, rock and even hip-hop. But just pipping it for me was this raunchy, dangerous slice of British rock’n’roll. The band brought theatrics into their live shows and inspired The Who, among others, plus it features number 1 session drumming legend Clem Cattini.
How quickly the mighty can fall. In Every 50s Number 1, the ‘King of Skiffle’ Lonnie Donegan’s incendiary performance of Cumberland Gap was my runner-up for number 1 of the decade. Three years after inspiring some of the future decade’s brightest talents, he was performing this music-hall rubbish in a live recording from Doncaster. Terrible, terrible jokes littered throughout. Shame.
1961
A bumper crop and a real mixed bag. The women finally get a look in, featuring a young Petula Clark, Shirley Bassey and Helen Shapiro, but I have to say none of these tracks impressed. Elvis had started his ‘will this do?’ era, butAre You Lonesome Tonight? still hits the spot and(Marie’s the Name) His Latest Flame deserves a mention. Wooden Heart does not. His sometime pianist Floyd Cramer’sOn the Reboundis still full of vim and vigour. The Everlys bow out with Temptation, a nice atmospheric number. There’s a lot of oddities about, and they’re mostly good, particularly the gothic melancholic pomp of Johnny Remember Me. Blue Moon is a lot of fun, as is the demented wailing of Frankie Vaughan on Tower of Strength.
Not for the last time I found myself torn between a song that pushes the boundaries of pop and a simple, much-loved standard. This time the former, Del Shannon’s still-popular Runaway fell behind the timeless beauty of the South African singer’s take on Moon River, number 1 that Christmas.
The veteran Welsh singer is loved for her powerful voice, but it not only leaves me cold most of the time, I find it painful, and this is her at her wailiest (it’s a word, now) over a very boring track. I was very tempted to throw my headphones across the garden when I got to the final note.
1962
The first sighting of what may have been had The Beatles not arrived. Frank Ifield was the year’s biggest star, with his penchant for amusing yodelling over two number 1s, and was still going strong until the rise of Merseybeat. Elvis’s bestsellers range from the dire to classics – even within a single release. Cliff Richard and The Shadows return with strong material, The Young Ones and Wonderful Land respectively. The country-soul of I Can’t Stop Loving You is far from Ray Charles’s best work, but I confess it’s grown on me a little. Nut Rocker is ace, and is fully deserving of its ubiquitous usage in TV and film.
Like 1961, this was tough. I very nearly picked the quirky space race euphoria of The Tornados’ Telstar. Joe Meek was innovating pop before The Beatles, and despite Telstar being famous, I can’t help but think it’s still a little underrated. However, once more, the timeless pop ballad wins out – am I getting soft in my old age? Perhaps, but how can I deny the brilliance of one of the finest love songs ever written? There are many versions, but none compare to Elvis’s. I’m far from his biggest fan at times but this is pure gold. That the flip side of this is the awful Rock-A-Hula Baby (“Twist” Special) makes it all the more remarkable.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for a bit of Carry On humour, and it’s wrong to expect a song from 1962 to live up to the political correctness of the #metoo era, but Come Outside is woeful. Sarne’s flat vocal irritates, Richard is charmless, and it’s all a bit, well, rapey. The rhythm track isn’t bad, though.
1963
Never has a year in pop seen such a seismic shift. For the first third it’s very similar to the year before with appearances from Cliff (Summer Holiday is still a lovely blast of pop), The Shadows and Frank Ifield, and then Merseybeat happens, and things change forever. It’s nearly always The Beatles, acts performing Lennon-McCartney tunes (Billy J Kramer with The Dakotas) or inferior copycats (Brian Poole and The Tremeloes). Bar one good single from Elvis,(You’re the) Devil in Disguise, US artists don’t get a look in. None of these other groups can match The Beatles, although Gerry and the Pacemakers have some decent material with their hat trick of bestsellers. A lot of Merseybeat is too twee for me to really get into, but some of the greatest pop songs of all time are right around the corner now. Exciting times!
The Fab Four shook things up like no act before or since in 1963, and that’s largely due to this, the decade’s biggest-selling 7″. The chorus of She Loves You is lightning in a bottle, pure unbridled joy and ecstacy, and it sparked a thousand imitations. From Me to You is nice enough, andI Want to Hold Your Hand showed new maturity in their songwriting, but this is easily their finest early song. And the lyrics are smart too, moving away from the template of ‘I love you’ and introducing a third party. I’ve always loved She Loves You, but hearing it arrive in the context of this blog increases my respect for it even more.
Cliff Richards’ sometime backing band’s impressive run of number 1s with him and alone came to an end this year, with tracks ranging from the great (Apache) and the good (Wonderful Land) to this, which isn’t awful, it’s just incredibly boring and leaves no mark on me whatsoever. Adding an exclamation mark to the end of the title doesn’t make me any more enthusiastic, either.
1964
An incredible year of number 1s. I envy anyone who lived through this. In fact, listening to them all in one stint, I’d say there’s a very strong argument that this is the high watermark for number 1s. Merseybeat mutates and expands in strange and exciting ways, most notably the momentous folk-rock classicThe House of the Rising Sun by The Animals, meaning that the legendary Bob Dylan’s influence was now being felt on these shores. Then The Rolling Stones made their debut (It’s All Over Now), and became so popular, they got a blues cover to the top (Little Red Rooster)! Roy Orbison bows out by getting the girl at last with the brilliant Oh,Pretty Woman. Joe Meek had his third and final chart-topper too, producing The Honeycombs’ insanely underrated Have I the Right?. Women make their belated return, with Sandie Shaw and Cilla Black both topping the charts with two songs by the masterly Burt Bacharach and Hal David – ((There’s) Always Something There to Remind Me and Anyone Who Had a Heart), and The Supremes had their sole UK number 1. As for the Fab Four, well, there’s three classics from them, in particularA Hard Day’s Night. But they don’t win this time.
Facing incredibly strong competition, Muswell Hill’s finest were my choice, because despite all the other great tunes in 64, it was this primal expression of pure animal lust that pretty much kickstarted rock and heavy metal. Ray Davies may have become one of our wittiest, most quintessentially English songwriters, but The Kinks perhaps never bettered this scorching slab of raunch.
A staid, old-fashioned, boring ballad from Ireland’s original boy band. Wouldn’t have sounded out of place 10 years previous (it actually dates back to 1927. That’s right, it’s even worse than Billy J Kramer with The Dakotas’Little Children, because at least that had a tune.
1965
Tons of pop gold again, but stylistically more varied than the previous year. More strong material from The Kinks and the Stones, and one of the finest epic break-up songs of all time – namely The Righteous Brothers’ You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’. On a similar note, I’ve always loved The Moody Blues’ version of Go Now that preceded it. We’re starting to see the rise of the hippy movement – hair is getting longer, and the lush jangle of Mr Tambourine Man marks another sea change. Cynics may balk at Sonny & Cher’sI Got You Babe, but I think it holds up well, as does the debut of Tom Jones with his anthem It’s Not Unusual. Four songs from The Beatles, all of them – Ticket to Ride, Help! and Day Tripper/We Can Work It Out, among their finest work, in particular Ticket to Ride. The latter, and Day Tripper, are built around some of the finest riffs in existence. And yet, and yet… Ticket to Ride is just trumped by perhaps the greatest riff there has ever been.
It was as close a call as it’s possible to have, but for once in my life, I’m choosing the Stones over The Beatles. Keith Richards’ legendary riff, allegedly created in his sleep and intended for horns, never dates and combined with Mick Jagger’s frustrated world view make for a dream combination. After paying homage to the blues time and again, this saw the birth of Jagger and Richards as songwriters to rival Lennon and McCartney.
Oh Cliff. Behind the times as early as 1965. And what does he do, to counteract Beatlemania? He abandons The Shadows, perhaps a shrewd move to appear ahead of the curve? Oh, he’s gone and recorded an old-fashioned country song from 1963. Never the genre’s biggest fan, this sounds like a pale imitation of I Can’t Stop Loving You. Ken Dodd’s huge-selling Tearsmay have also sounded like a relic, but at least the chorus was catchy.
1966
The last of the peak years of the decade, before albums began to overtake singles in importance. In general, a superlative blend of pop and the rise of drugs and psychedelia in music. British pop now striding into a bold, experimental future, and combined with England winning the World Cup, there was an overwhelming sense of optimism and pride in the UK. The Beatles were approaching the peak of their abilities in the studio, and minds must have been blown by their dark ode to the lonely, Eleanor Rigby. As startling a song as it is, I’ve always found it easier to admire than to enjoy. I’d take previous single Paperback Writer over that, and wish their jangly guitar era had lasted a bit longer. 66 got off to a blistering start with the Spencer Davis Group’s still storming Keep on Running, and Nancy Sinatra helped shape modern female pop with the sassy cool ofThese Boots Are Made for Walkin’… yet Dusty Springfield’s only number 1, You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me is uncharacteristically pleading. By and large, 1966 is another embarrassment of riches, particularly The Rolling Stones’ apocalyptic Paint It, Black, almost their best song ever.The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore, Sunny Afternoon, Reach Out, I’ll Be There… all classics. It would take a very special song to shine above all these.
And a very special song this is. That’s right, Brian Wilson’s ‘pocket symphony’ means that I haven’t picked any number 1s by The Beatles during their peak years, which is probably the biggest surprise I’ve had since starting this blog. What it does prove is that the Fab Four inspired their contemporaries to do better than them. Had they not released their landmark album Revolver, we may never have had the finest three-plus minutes of The Beach Boys’ career, which in turn spurred the Beatles on to Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. But anyway… in a year of great tunes and studio innovation, The Beach Boys combined both beautifully, devoting as much time to Good Vibrations as lesser bands would to entire albums. The peak of Brian Wilson’s creativity. The only downside being the burn-out that followed recording their next LP.
Released two years after the US country star’s untimely death, this was a bizarre number 1 to have in 1966, particularly for five weeks. It’s unclear why it was considered single-worthy, as it’s more B-side material, and it’s completely out-of-step with prevailing trends. But the anti-war message may have resonated with Vietnam in mind, and it probably gave succour to old folk baffled by yellow submarines et al. Not awful, like some of the other dire material I’ve mentioned, just out of place.
1967
The tectonic plates of British music and culture shifted once more this year, only not as much as you might imagine in the singles chart. As some of the most famous acts concentrated on complex psychedelic LPs influenced by the rise in LSD, the 7″ chart was largely dominated by light entertainment acts – the most since 1962. Top of the pops was smoother-than-smooth balladeer Engelbert Humperdinck, who enjoyed 11 weeks at number 1 and famously, criminally, prevented Penny Lane/Strawberry Fields Forever with Release Me. Other than the pop brilliance of The Monkees’ I’m a Believer, nothing remotely hippy-like gets a look in until the Summer of Love finally gets underway that June with Procul Harum’s earnest and excellent lysergic standard A Whiter Shade of Pale. Only two other, wholly appropriate chart-toppers followed – The Beatles anthem All You Need Is Love and Scott McKenzie’s dreamy San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair), before Humperdinck brought everything down to earth again. We say hello to the Bee Gees for the first time with the lovely Massachusetts, and goodbye to Nancy and Frank Sinatra, with their ‘incest anthem’ Somethin’ Stupid. All in all, 1967 was a surprising letdown.
This isn’t even the best Beatles single of 1967, but thanks to Humperdinck, I can’t rate Strawberry Fields Forever. So I’m settling for this instead, which may seem controversial when lined up against A Whiter Shade of Pale, but personally I love Hello, Goodbye. I rated it the best Christmas number 1 of the 60s here, and I stand by it. It’s infectious, upbeat and catchy, and the finale is as joyous as the chorus to She Loves You if you’re in the right mood. The B-side, I Am the Walrus, is better, though.
The famously barefooted singer hated this song, which was our first ever Eurovision winner – and I don’t blame her, because it’s awful and I’m betting it did her career lasting damage. The lyrics are awful, the tune is demented and it makes me want to pull my teeth out and feed them to sparrows.
1968
Stylistically speaking, 1968 is all over the place when it comes to number 1s. The main trend among the bigger bands this year was to adopt a back-to-basics approach as a reaction to flower power. The Beatles led the way, as usual, but Lady Madonna doesn’t match up to The Rolling Stones’ rocking, witty comeback single Jumpin’ Jack Flash, and Do It Again is a bit of a letdown after Good Vibrations, even if the drumbeat proved pioneering. There’s still room for psychedelia in the charming theatrical demonic pomp of Fireby The Crazy World of Arthur Brown, but then there are some number 1s that are downright odd more than anything, such as The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, and particularly Cinderella Rockefeller, with its deranged yodelling and godawful rickety tune. I loved the Bee Gees’ I’ve Gotta Get a Message to You and Louis Armstrong’s What a Wonderful World, an evergreen classic which gave Satchmo a chart-topper shortly before his death. Cliff finally remembered how to record a catchy tune and whatever you think of Eurovision runner-up Congratulations, you can’t deny its popularity.
In much the same way John Lennon’s Imagine is now considered uncool, it seems to be the done thing to slate McCartney’s lengthy classic, but I’m having none of it. It’s soulful and poignant, written for Julian Lennon when his parents were splitting, and its universal message of the power and importance of love speaks more to me than the simplistic sloganeering of All You Need Is Love. The Beatles may have been already splitting at this point, but there was still plenty of magic in the tank.
This could so easily have been the profoundly irritating Cinderella Rockefeller, but that at least had a memorable hook, albeit a very irritating one. No, this is as bland as they get, sang with no soul or meaning whatsoever. He’s supposed to be broken-hearted, but he sounds like he’s having a great time. I like Des, but I get why Morecambe and Wise ripped the piss so much now.
1969
The end of an era in more ways than one as we say farewell to The Beatles and The Rolling Stones. Despite the fact Abbey Road is one of their finest albums, The Beatles’ singles before its release weren’t them at their best, leaving The Ballad of John and Yoko a rather odd way to bow out of the blog. Honky Tonk Women was more appropriate, showing the future for the Stones as the archetypal good-time rock band of the 70s and beyond that they became. For the first time, album sales outpaced singles, as the teens of the mid-60s grew up and moved on to LPs. This left a gap, to be filled by inferior bubblegum pop, resulting in Sugar Sugarby The Archies becoming the year’s biggest seller. Other than that, it’s another mixed bag, like 1968. Some of the highlights include the tranquil Albatross by the original incarnation of Fleetwood Mac and Something in the Air by Thunderclap Newman. Lots of great tracks from overseas acts too, particularly the horny Je t’aime… moi non plus by Jane Birkin and Serge Gainsbourg, plus the apocalyptic boogie of Bad Moon Rising by Creedence Clearwater Revival and ska pioneer Desmond Dekker’s Israelites.
Originally recorded in 1967, Motown boss Berry Gordy Jr was uncharacteristically blind to the greatness of Gaye’s version of this track. Slowing things down, adding an incredibly cool bass line for the intro, and singing with the kind of feeling that was completely alien to the likes of Engelbert Humperdinck and Des O’Connor, this is soul music at its finest, and peak Motown. To hear just how stunning Gaye is here, check out this clip that’s currently doing the rounds online, which isolates the vocal. Spine-tingling.
Had I been deciding this before Harris was outed as a paedophile, I’d have said Zager & Evans deserved it, because I, like so many others, had a soft spot for Two Little Boys. Now obviously it just leaves a very sour taste, and it’s a downbeat way to end the decade.
The Best 60s Number 1 Ever is…
The Beatles – She Loves You
It was always going to be the Fab Four, wasn’t it? They’re the greatest group of all time, so it’s a no-brainer. However, I’d be lying if I said She Loves You has always been my favourite Beatles single. I’d probably say Strawberry Fields Forever or Something, but of course neither went to number 1. But it would be wrong to make my choices for best and worst chart-toppers of each decade simply my favourite. I also look at the impact of each song, ine innovation and the influence it had, as well as the catchiness of the chorus. She Loves You easily covers all three bases. It’s modern music’s ‘big bang’ moment, and as I’ve said before about this and other legendary number 1s, it’s listening to them in the context of this blog that really separates the wheat from the chaff, and Every UK Number 1has truly brought home what a monumental few minutes of pop music The Beatles conjured up here. What alchemy.
But also, what competition, what an often astounding selection of songs I was honoured to listen to and choose from. It could just as easily been You Really Got Me or (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction, but in the end She Loves You got there first and laid the groundwork that allowed all the other classics to be made in the first place.
The Worst 60s Number 1 Ever is…
The Bachelors – Diane
You could argue it’s unfair to single out Diane because it was number 1 in a year full of brilliance. I’d argue that’s exactly why I’ve given it this dubious honour. It spoiled my listening experience and stuck out like a sore thumb! Its dull tweeness would have earned it a slating if it had been released in 1954. 10 years later, it’s unforgivable really. And if they were the first Irish boyband, well, that’s nothing to be proud of, is it?
The Outro
The 60s were the decade in which pop came of age and became an integral part of the youth movement. From the dreariness of post-rock’n’roll, to Merseybeat, to the British Invasion, to psychedelia, to bubblegum pop and rock, music mutated rapidly, thanks in large to The Beatles, but also The Beach Boys, The Kinks, The Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, and more. Reviewing each number 1 in turn was really fascinating, and has increased my knowledge of the decade greatly, and for me the most interesting parts were just how much Merseybeat completely upturned the charts, and how little impact psychedelia actually had in 1967, due to the rise in popularity of albums.
So obviously it’s the 70s next. The decade in which I was born, albeit very late in the decade (1979). Pop changed and changed again here too, many times, and it was an often dark and turbulent decade in the news, so I can’t wait to get stuck in once more.
Blogs on every 60s number 1 are available to view via the Archive section.
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