246. Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich – The Legend of Xanadu (1968)

6804-dave-dee-co-cs

Somewhat lost almong the crowd of well-remembered 1960s groups, Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich were, despite their silly name, one very popular outfit, with many top ten hits in the latter half of the decade. After three years of hits they finally reached number 1 on 20 March with The Legend of Xanadu, knocking Cinderella Rockefeller from the top, which must have been a relief to anyone with any sense.

The quintet formed in 1961 in Salisbury, Wiltshire from the ashes of Ronnie Blonde and the Beatnicks. David John Harman had been a policeman after leaving school, and was the first on the scene in April 1960 when Eddie Cochran was killed in a car crash (see Three Steps to Heaven). Cochran’s Gretsch guitar was impounded at his police station, and he started learning to play guitar on it over several nights. He had been friends with bassist Trevor Davies, and rhythm guitarist John Dymond and lead guitarist Ian Amey since school. Harman teamed up with them in the Beatnicks and when Blonde missed a gig, he filled in on vocals. Eventually he took over permanently and the group became Dave Dee & the Bostons. By this time Michael Wilson had become their drummer and the line-up was complete.

Struggling to make ends meet, they began performing in Hamburg at the same clubs as the Beatles, and lengthy (sometimes 12-hour) sets turned the boys into a tight unit, playing rock’n’roll with intricate four-part harmonies. In 1964 they returned to England and took on a summer season at Butlins in Clacton-on-Sea. One night they supported the Honeycombs in Swindon. The Honeycombs had just been at number 1 with the proto-punk Have I the Right?, written by Ken Howard and Alan Blaikley and produced by Joe Meek. Howard and Blaikley managed the Honeycombs and Blaikley watched the support act that night. Suitably impressed, he and Howard took them under their wing and arranged a session with Meek.

It was they that changed the group’s name. They wanted their new group to stand out from all the other beat groups storming the charts, and so decided to simply name them after each member’s nickname. Harman was already Dave Dee. Davies became Dozy (apparently because he once ate the wrapper of a chocolate bar instead of the chocolate, after throwing the bar away…), Dymond was Beaky, Wilson was Mick and Amey became Tich.

The band clashed with Meek and his unusual recording techniques, and the sessions ended with the volatile producer throwing coffee all over his studio and storming off to his room. Although dejected, they soon signed with Fontana Records, and Howard and Blaikely chose to continue to write their material.

It was a slow start, with their initial two singles failing to chart, but third 7-inch You Make It Move reached number 26, and then Hold Tight!, from their eponymous debut album in 1966, climbed all the way to number four. Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich were now pop stars, and later that year, they narrowly missed out on the top spot with their most memorable hit, Bend It! ( they were very fond of exclamation marks in their song titles). Racy for its time, its notoriety helped it sell extremely well, but it couldn’t stop Jim Reeves’ Distant Drums and stalled at number two.

It wasn’t just their name that made Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich unique among the throng. They were, dare I say it, rather zany, and took the pop game less seriously then many of their peers. Want an example? The name of their second album in 1966 was If Music Be the Food of Love… Then Prepare for Indigestion.

Their fame continued, and not just in the UK. Over the years they scored three number 1s in New Zealand, and were also big in Canada and Australia. 1967 wasn’t quite as successful a year, but third album What’s in a Name and singles Okay! and Zabadak! reached the upper echelons of the charts.

And then came The Legend of Xanadu in 1968. At the time there was a fashion for bubblegum, eccentric songs (you’ve only got to look in the Archive to glance at the number 1s so far in this year), and the timing was right.

The Legend of Xanadu is regarded as rather a lost classic these days, but I was a little disappointed. It could be due to the misleading title, which led me to expect a psychedelic pop tune. And no, it’s got nothing to do with Xanadu by Olivia Newton-John and Electric Light Orchestra either. It’s actually a novelty western love song, featuring flamenco guitar, the sound of a whip cracking and a brass refrain reminiscent of the theme from The Magnificent Seven (1960). Dave Dee and co play it straight however, and there’s even a spoken word section near the end. I do admire the energy in the production and performance (recorded in half an hour apparently), but it didn’t leave too much of an impression on me.

Later that year they released fourth album If No One Sang, which featured their number 1 single. Their last 7-inch in 1968 was the ambitious The Wreck of the Antoinette, where the band aped the Beach Boys singing about a sunken vessel and Dozy recited Shakespeare in the intro. However, they were starting to feel like their sound was becoming too complex and that they were merely a vehicle for Howard and Blaiklely’s wild ideas and producer Steve Rowland’s glossy experiments.

By 1969 Dave Dee felt like the public were tiring of the quintet, and he was right, as their chart positions became steadily lower. That summer he chose to go solo. The rest of the band continued, under the less unweildy but also less memorable name D,B,M and T. They never reached the heights they had scaled in the 60s and split in 1972. Dee went on to become a producer, reuniting with his bandmates in 1974 and 1983.

They reformed the original line-up for the last time in the 90s. By then, Dee was also a Justice of the Peace. Sadly he was diagnosed with prostrate cancer in 2001, and succumbed in 2009 aged 67. In 2014 Tich retired and the band carried on, confusingly with new members assuming the nicknames of past members, with names like Mick III, making them sound like royalty. Dozy died in 2015 after a short illness, leaving Beaky, who had returned in 2013, as sole surviving member.

Written by: Ken Howard & Alan Blaikley

Producer: Steve Rowland

Weeks at number 1: 1 (20-26 March)

Births:

Footballer Paul Merson – 20 March
Actor Jaye Davidson – 21 March
Blur singer Damon Albarn – 23 March
Cricketer Mike Atherton – 23 March
Chess player Chris Ward – 26 March 

102. Eddie Cochran – Three Steps to Heaven (1960)

3531407fc50537f445c860a912bddc20.jpg

Following Buddy Holly’s death, record labels soon cottoned on to the effectiveness of a posthumous single, with It Doesn’t Matter Anymore hitting the top soon after the infamous plane crash that instantly killed him, JP Richardson (The Big Bopper) and Ritchie Valens in 1959. A year later, Holly’s friend and fellow young rockabilly and rock’n’roll talent Eddie Cochran also died tragically, and soon after, he too reached the number 1 spot.

Cochran was born in October 1938 in Albert Lea, Minnesota. He became hooked on music in his early teens, learning guitar and playing along to country songs he heard on the radio. The family moved to California in 1952, and Cochran soon dropped out of high school to take the risk and become a full-time musician. He formed a duo with Hank Cochran, and they became the Cochran Brothers (they weren’t related). During this time he also began writing material for himself and demoing solo work in studios when he could. Like his future friend Buddy Holly, he was naturally gifted from a young age, and keen to progress musically. Cochran received his big break in 1956, when he was asked to appear in the musical comedy The Girl Can’t Help It, starring Jayne Mansfield. The rock’n’roll element of the film was originally intended as a satirical subplot, but all it did was speed up the genre’s popularity by bringing rock’n’roll onto the big screen. Eddie Cochran performed Twenty Flight Rock. The performance was so iconic, Paul McCartney later used it as his audition piece to join John Lennon’s Quarrymen (see here). With his film idol looks and a killer track, Cochran was bound for stardom.

The summer of 1958 saw the release of his most famous work. The self-penned Summertime Blues is of course, a classic, perhaps most famously covered by The Who. Further great tracks followed, including C’mon, Everybody (later re-released on the back of its appearance in a Levi’s jeans advert in 1988) and Something Else. Both these tracks were covered by the Sex Pistols, but after Johnny Rotten had departed. Cochran’s interest in getting the best out of recording in a studio was developing, and all his classic tracks featured guitar overdubs to create that unique sound. I wonder how this would have developed had he lived when psychedelia became popular?

Cochran was deeply affected by the deaths of Holly, Richardson and Valens, and recorded Three Stars in tribute to them. He began to have premonitions that he too would die young, and told family and friends that he wanted to spend more time in the studio to avoid suffering a similar fate. However, he needed the money, and pop impresario Larry Parnes made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. At the time, Parnes had quite a stable of homegrown rock’n’roll stars, including Billy Fury, Johnny Gentle (love that name) and Tony Sheridan (who the Beatles later backed, on their recording debut). Cochran accepted the offer to travel to the UK, along with his friend, Gene Vincent, and be the two biggest acts on the tour. Rock’n’roll fans loved the shows, and Cochran has been credited as having introduced the music of Ray Charles to UK audiences, with a blistering performance of What’d I Say.

The final show, at the Bristol Hippodrome, took place on 16 April. Cochran and his fiancée Sharon Sheeley were keen to get back to the US, and he asked for a lift with Johnny Gentle, but his car was full. Instead, the couple, Vincent and tour manager Pat Thompkins opted for a taxi. Travelling through Chippenham, Wiltshire, the speeding taxi blew a tire at a notorious black spot. The driver, George Martin (thankfully not the Beatles producer) lost control, and the car span backwards into a lamppost. Instinctively, Cochran threw himself over Sheeley to protect her, but a door flew open and he was thrown out of the car. Martin, Thompkins and Sheeley were uninjured, and Vincent had broken his collarbone, but Cochran’s head injuries were fatal. Martin was convicted for dangerous driving but had his license returned in 1969, but one of the music world’s most promising stars was gone, aged only 21.

Three Steps to Heaven had been recorded that January, with backing from the Crickets. It has their mark all over it, and is unlike Cochran’s earlier tracks, adopting the prevailing soft-pop sound of the time. Cochran adopts a smooth croon, not unlike Elvis, and the backing vocals bring to mind those of the Jordanaires. The three steps to heaven are to fall in love, get someone to fall in love with you back, and make them feel loved. It hasn’t aged as well as his other hits, but the opening riff is classic Cochran, and David Bowie seems to have been a fan, having come up with something very similar on Hunky Dory‘s Queen Bitch in 1971. The lyrics to Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps)’ opening track, It’s No Game (No. 1) in 1980 also mention ‘free steps to heaven’. Whether it would have been released as a single had Cohran not died, I’m not sure, but it’s mention of heaven made it a natural choice. Strangely, the song didn’t do nearly as well in his home country. Perhaps the fact the accident took place in the UK made the tragedy hit his British fans harder.

Over the years, Eddie Cochran’s star seems to have diminished, which seems a shame. He was one of the most innovative and influential musicians of the 1950s. In addition to the stars already mentioned, guitar god Jimi Hendrix had Cochran played at his funeral, on his request. After a gig at the Hackney Empire, Cochran allowed a 13-year-old fan to carry his guitar out to a waiting limousine. The boy, Marc Feld, later became Marc Bolan, who was also to later die in a car accident. Following the crash which killed Cochran, his guitar was impounded at the police station, and a local policeman, David Harman, used the instrument to teach himself how to play. Harman went on to become Dave Dee, of Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich fame. A memorial plaque was placed at the site of the accident, and was restored on the 50th anniversary in 2010.

Written by: Eddie Cochran & Bob Cochran

Producers: Eddie Cochran & Jerry Capeheart

Weeks at number 1: 2 (23 June-6 July) 

Births:

Erasure songwriter Vince Clarke – 3 July

Deaths:

Tennis player Lottie Dod – 27 June
Politician Aneurin Bevan – 6 July 

99. Lonnie Donegan – My Old Man’s a Dustman (Ballad of a Refuse Disposal Officer) (1960)

http---com.ft.imagepublish.prod.s3.amazonaws.com-f1f7adb2-41a9-11e7-9d56-25f963e998b2.jpeg

Following Johnny Preston’s Running Bear, the charts took another strange turn. ‘King of Skiffle’ Lonnie Donegan was back, but skiffle wasn’t. It burnt out not long after his second number 1, Gamblin’ Man/Puttin’ On the Style in 1957. So what style was Donegan putting on now? Sadly, it was music hall.

My Old Man’s a Dustman (Ballad of a Refuse Disposal Officer) had its origins in the song My Old Man’s a Fireman (On the Elder Dempster Line), which was a student’s union song in Birmingham before becoming popular with soldiers during World War One. Donegan and his band would perform this on stage, and at some point some foolish A&R man told him he thought it could be a hit. The band adapted it, and once they had enough to work with, decided to record it. My Old Man’s a Dustman (Ballad of a Refuse Disposal Officer) was credited to Donegan and his road manager Peter Buchanan. After its original release, Beverley Thorn also received a credit. Thorn was in fact a pseudonym for Leslie Bricusse, who was soon to enjoy a fruitful writing partnership with Anthony Newley. Why Beverley Thorn? No idea.  The single was recorded live at Gaumont Cinema in Doncaster, Yorkshire, on 20 February, and released a month later, hitting the top very quickly. Why? Again, no idea.

The fact a man responsible for pioneering music like Rock Island Line and Cumberland Gap should become best known for such a dire song is criminal. My Old Man’s a Dustman (Ballad of a Refuse Disposal Officer) should have remained a live skit and nothing more. Now obviously, it made him number 1 for a third time, and opened him up to a new audience, but the release shocked hardcore skiffle fans, and did his credibility no good at all. I have to side with the skiffle fans. I’m no purist, and I have plenty of time for comedy songs too, but I can’t hear anything funny here at all. For example:

‘Lonnie: I say, I say, I say!
Les: Huh?
Lonnie: My dustbin’s full of lilies
Les: Well throw ’em away then!
Lonnie: I can’t: Lily’s wearing them’

Clearly music hall still had a place in the 60s. In fact it was still popular into the 80s, judging by the success of the BBC’s The Good Old Days. Also, Donegan released this at exactly the right time, as, with Adam Faith and Anthony Newley scoring two number 1s each, cockney singers were clearly the in thing. But that craze died down very soon, and by 1962, as several of the acts inspired by him began to make waves, Donegan fell out of favour with mainstream audiences, and he turned to producing instead. In the mid-70s he temporarily reunited with the rest of the Chris Barber Band, but was waylaid by a heart attack in 1976. Two years later, his album Putting On the Style featured re-recordings of his old tracks, with backing from big names such as Ringo Starr, Brian May and Elton John. By the end of the millennium, Donegan had the reputation of a music legend, appearing at Glastonbury Festival in 1999 and becoming an MBE in 2000. However, he had continued to suffer heart problems, and passed away in 2002 at the age of 71.

Lonnie Donegan has been one of the revelations of this blog for me. Although highly-regarded at the end of his life, I feel he should be considered more important for his influence on British music. Had it not been for his incendiary recordings and shows in the mid-50s, the Beatles, the Who and Led Zeppelin may not have existed, and we may have been permanently stuck with the safe pop and easy listening that was so popular in 1960. Cumberland Gap was a very close runner-up for the best number 1 of the 50s, as I stated here. It’s best to remember him for that, and look upon My Old Man’s a Dustman (Ballad of a Refuse Disposal Officer) as a bad joke that got out of hand.

During Donegan’s final four-week rule of the charts, a Mr Bill Griggs of Northampton began marketing Dr Martens boots on 1 April. A week later, the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh had their second son christened as Andrew Albert Christian Edward, and on 17 April the music world was shocked when US rock’n’roll star Eddie Cochran, who was touring Britain, was killed in a car crash in Wiltshire. There’ll be more on him in a future blog.

Written by: Lonnie Donegan, Peter Buchanan & Beverly Thorn

Producers: Alan A Freeman & Michael Barclay

Weeks at number 1: 4 (31 March-27 April)

Births:

Athlete Linford Christie – 2 April
Soprano Jane Eaglen – 4 April
Presenter Jeremy Clarkson – 11 April
Chef Gary Rhodes – 22 April
Duran Duran drummer Roger Taylor – 26 April
Author Ian Rankin – 28 April