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

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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 

245. Esther and Abi Ofarim – Cinderella Rockefeller (1968)

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Spring began with the introduction of the Commonwealth Immigrants Act 1968 on 1 March. Reducing the right of entry for immigrants from the British Commonwealth to the UK, I’m sure it will have made Enoch Powell a happy man. The following day, coal mining in the Black Country, which had played a big part in the Industrial Revolution, came to an end after some 300 years with the closure of Baggeridge Colliery near Sedgley.

Ten days later on 12 March, Mauritius gained independence from British rule, and three days later the Foreign Secretary George Brown resigned from his post. One of the most colourful Labour MPs of the decade, Brown had a big drink problem, and following his resignation, Private Eye coined the phrase ‘tired and emotional’ to hint at his alcoholism. 17 March saw a demonstration in Grosvenor Square, London against the Vietnam War. The protest became violent, leading to 91 police injured and 200 demonstrators arrested.

What was the soundtrack to these tense times in? Surely something like Street Fighting Man by the Rolling Stones? No, it was this weird little one-hit wonder – Cinderella Rockefeller, by Israeli husband-and-wife Esther and Abi Ofarim.

Esther Zaied was born in Safed in 1941 to a Syrian Jewish family. She was performing as a child, and loved singing Hebrew and international folk songs. In 1958, she met musician and dancer Abi. Born Abraham Reichstadt in what is now Israel in 1937, he was also a precocious talent, attending ballet school at 12 and owner of his own dance studio at 18. The duo married in either 1958 or 1961 depending on where you look, and were performing as Esther and Abi Ofarim from 1959 onwards. At the same time, Esther would perform solo and won the Song Festival in Tel Aviv in 1961.

Two years later she entered Eurovision, representing Switzerland with the French song T’en vas pas. As the competition drew to a close, Esther looked to be the winner, but due to a last-minute change in the scores from Norway, she lost out to Denmark.

After this disappointment, their career as a duo went from strength to strength in Germany. They had their first hit in 1966 with Noch einen Tanz, and the following year their biggest hit in that country, Morning of My Life, which was written by Barry Gibb as In the Morning, which the Bee Gees had recorded before moving to the UK.

Later that year they recorded Cinderella Rockefella. This bizarre novelty song had been written by US Grammy award-winning classical guitarist Mason Williams and folk singer Nancy Ames, known in America at the time for being a regular on their version of That Was the Week That Was. Together they had written the theme to The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour.

What fresh hell is this? Cinderella Rockefella comes across as a demented version of I Got You Babe, set to the theme of sitcom Steptoe and Son. I was aware of the tune beforehand but assumed it was sung by, I don’t know, perhaps a pair of old comics or actors. So it came as a shock to see it was actually a young Israeli married couple who resembled models. It is, as far as I’m aware, the only song by Israelis to reach the top, and it’s the first to feature yodelling since the days of Frank Ifield in 1963.

I do normally love the more unusual, eccentric side of pop, and I don’t actually mind the rickety 20s-30s-tinged Cinderella Rockefella to begin with. But after 30 seconds or so Esther’s shrill yodel in particular becomes a little bit like some kind of torture, and Abi’s almost as awful in his smugness. The lyrics are awful. And yet, you will end up with that mad bastard of a tune in your head for some time afterwards. So there you go, proof that the late 60s may have been a great time for music, but the charts were still prone to irritatingly catchy weird stuff at times.

Apparently Cinderella Rockefeller was the final song played on Radio Caroline. What an awful way to go out. Williams recorded his own version of the duet he co-wrote later in 1968 with Jennifer Warren. Warren was later very well known for duets, too – as Jennifer Warnes, she recorded Up Where We Belong with Joe Cocker, and (I’ve Had) The Time of My Life with Bill Medley, for An Officer and a Gentleman (1982) and Dirty Dancing (1987) respectively.

As for Esther and Abi Ofarim, well, they recorded the promo you can see above, in which they parade the streets of London, one glammed up and one in top hat and tails. Their song topped the charts elsewhere too, and they toured the world in 1969. However, they divorced in Germany in 1970, and inevitably the musical partnership was over too.

After going their separate ways, Esther ended up performing on the late Scott Walker’s 1970 album ‘Til the Band Comes In (their manager, Ady Semel was also Walker’s, and he wrote lyrics for the album). Semel even talked up the idea of the duo becoming more permanent, but nothing came of it. She recorded an eponymous solo album of folk songs with orchestral arrangements in 1972. Since then, she has disappeared into obscurity, but there are videos out there if a beaming Esther performing in Hamburg in 2017.

Abi continued in music too, but developed alcohol and drug problems. He also became a manager through his company PROM, and, somewhat bizarrely, managed one of the greatest groups of all time, Can, before he was sacked in the early 70s. He mounted legal challenges but they ended badly for him. In 1979 he was arrested for posession of drugs and suspected tax evasion and sentenced to a year on probation. Abi documented his issues in his autobiography Der Preis der wilden Jahre (The Price of the Wild Years) in 1982.

In 2009 he released his first album in 27 years, Too Much of Something, with his long flowing locks on the cover, he looked rather like Iggy Pop with a tan. Five years later he began running Jugendzentrum für Senioren (Youth Center for Elderly People) in Munich to help lonely old people. Abi Ofarim died in May 2018, aged 80.

Written by: Mason Williams & Nancy Ames

Producers: Abi Ofarim & Chaim Semel

Weeks at number 1: 3 (28 February-19 March)

Births:

Actor Daniel Craig – 2 March
Actress Patsy Kensit – 4 March
Politician Theresa Villiers – 5 March
Politician Paul Marsden – 18 March 

244. Manfred Mann – Mighty Quinn (1968).

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Valentine’s Day, 1967, and Northampton, the county town of Northamptonshire, is designated as a New town. Prime Minister Harold Wilson hoped it would double in size and population by the year 1980. Ten days later, the scientific world was staggered by the announcement that the year before, astronomer Jocelyn Bell Burnell and Antony Hewish at the University of Cambridge had discovered a pulsar for the first time. Two days after that, fire broke out at Shrewsbury Mental Hospital, killing 21 patients.

Manfred Mann were at number 1 that fortnight, for the third and final time, with their best chart-topper, Mighty Quinn. The group’s line-up had changed since Pretty Flamingo in 1966 – Paul Jones had been keen to go solo for some time, and was finally replaced that July with former Band of Angels member and Jones lookalike Mike d’Abo. Bassist Jack Bruce had only been with the band briefly before leaving to form influential rock trio Cream with Eric Clapton and Ginger Baker. His replacement was Klaus Voorman, who was close friends with the Beatles from their Hamburg days, and designer of the memorable sleeve of Revolver.

Around this time they left EMI to sign with Fontana Records, and their cover of Bob Dylan’s Just like a Woman made the top ten. As they moved further away from their jazz and R’n’B roots with new album As Is, their singles continued to do very well, with Semi-Detached, Suburban Mr James and Ha Ha Said the Clown both reaching the top five. The latter was their first release of 1967, but despite the early psychedelia of Pretty Flamingo, the year before, they failed to capitalise on the burgeoning hippy movement as they spent much of the time working on their soundtrack album to British film Up the Junction and Mighty Garvey, which turned out to be their final album.

Among the material was Mighty Quinn, another Bob Dylan cover. Quinn the Eskimo (The Mighty Quinn) was originally a ragged folk-rock number recorded during the sessions with the Band that became known as The Basement Tapes – despite never making it to that album. It would be three years before a version by the song’s author would be released. However Manfred Mann got hold of the song that December, and correctly saw hit potential in the bizarre tale of Quinn the Eskimo, and decided to add suitably psychedelic colour to the bare bones Dylan presented.

Plenty of Dylan’s songs were lyrically obscure in this period, but this throwaway contained some of his most impenetrable words. It is believed to have been inspired by actor Anthony Quinn’s role as an eskimo in 1960 drama The Savage Innocents. Dylan has dismissed it as nothing more than a nursery rhyme, and there’s certainly a flavour of Yellow Submarine in there. Such was Dylan’s power back then, songs he tossed to one side could be made into number 1 singles by the right groups.

It’s fair to say the lyrics don’t really mean anything, and it would be tricky to create a story from them, but we can say that Quinn is some kind of saviour figure – ‘Everybody’s in despair, every girl and boy/But when Quinn the eskimo gets here, everybody’s gonna jump for joy’. The final verse suggests the influence of drugs, as ‘Nobody can get no sleep, there’s someone on everyone’s toes/But when Quinn the eskimo gets here, everybody’s gonna wanna doze’. Is Quinn a drug dealer? Hard to say, but one thing I do know is my favourite line is ‘But jumping queues and making haste/Just ain’t my cup of meat’. The idea of Dylan sitting down for a nice cup of roast chicken really tickles me.

Analyse the lyrics all you like, but the reason Mighty Quinn was a number 1 was the killer chorus. It’s a real earworm, and Voorman’s rendtion of the main hook on a flute adds emphasis and a kooky charm. The stuttering drums from drummer Mike Hugg are also very effective. It’s very much a product of its time, but this psychedelic bubblegum pop can’t help raise a smile.

The video above features the band performing on the steps of a large country house, deliberately crap dancing and some nice far-out camera work.

Despite Mighty Quinn begin a resounding success on these shores and in the US, some members of Manfred Mann were growing increasingly disillusioned with how far they had strayed from their roots. D’Abo probably wasn’t among them, as he wrote Handbags and Gladrags for Chris Farlowe and co-wrote Build Me Up Buttercup for the Foundations that same year. After two more top ten singles in 1968 (My Name Is Jack and Fox on the Run) and one in 1969 (Ragamuffin Man), Manfred Mann split up.

Manfred Mann and Hugg were writing advertising jingles together already, and when their band split they formed experimental jazz rockers Manfred Mann Chapter Three as a reaction to the pop they had been churning out. They split in 1971, and Mann formed a new group under his name, which turned into Manfred Mann’s Earth Band, best known these days for their cover of Bruce Springsteen’s Blinded by the Light, a top ten hit in 1977. They also released an inferior version of Mighty Quinn, so Mann must have been rather fond of that last number 1.

Guitarist Tom McGuinness formed McGuinness Flint with Hughie Flint, who had a Christmas number two in 1970 with When I’m Dead and Gone. Voorman was rumoured to be McCartney’s replacement on bass in a post-Beatles group. Although it never happened, he did work with Lennon, Harrison and Starr separately, most notably becoming a member of the Plastic Ono Band. He had a cameo in the ill-received live-action Popeye in 1980, and became the producer of German band Trio, who had a hit over here with Da Da Da in 1982.

Manfred Mann briefly reformed in 1983 to celebrate the Marquee Club’s 25th anniversary. Minus Mann, who had set to work with his Earth Band again, they got together again in 1991 for McGuinness’s 50th, and decided to carry on as the Manfreds. Featuring both vocalists, this group continue to this day.

Due to the sheer volume of great acts in the 60s, Manfred Mann are rarely mentioned as up there with the legends, but nonetheless they were an interesting, unique act. Too jazzy to stay a pop group, too pop to be true to their R’n’B roots, they perhaps deserve further investigation.

Written by: Bob Dylan

Producer: Mike Hurst

Weeks at number 1: 2 (14-27 February)

Births:

Comic-book writer Warren Ellis – 16 February 

Deaths

Actor-manager Sir Donald Wolfit – 17 February
Director Anthony Asquith – 20 February 

243. Love Affair – Everlasting Love (1968)

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On 4 February, 96 Indians and Pakistanis arrived in Britain from Kenya. By this date, 1,500 Asians had arrived in the country from Kenya, where draconian immigration laws had been forcing them out. Two days later the Winter Olympics began in Grenoble, France. Great Britain and Northern Ireland were rubbish, and didn’t win a single medal.

Enjoying a fortnight at number 1 were London-based pop and soul quintet Love Affair with their slick, anthemic Everlasting Love. Singer Steve Ellis (barely 16), keyboardist Morgan Fisher, guitarist Rex Brayley, bassist Mick Jackson and drummer Maurice Bacon formed the group, originally the Soul Survivors in 1966.

Impressive live shows led to Decca Records signing them that year. However, their first and last single for the label, a cover of She Smiled Sweetly by the Rolling Stones, was a flop. Around this time, Fisher left briefly to be replaced by the perfectly named Lynton Guest.

They then signed with CBS Records, and had their first stab at recording Everlasting Love, with Muff Winwood of Spencer Davis Group producing. This song was written by Buzz Cason, better known to the music world as rock’n’roll singer Garry Miles, and country singer-songwriter Mac Gayden. Soul singer Robert Knight originally made it a hit in the US, but when it was offered to Marmalade, they rejected it. They were to have a number 1 in 1969 with their cover of Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da.

The version that Love Affair made didn’t meet the approval of their new label, and so the released version only actually features Ellis on vocals, with the rest of the band replaced by session musicians. The rhythm section featured Russ Stableford on bass and the number 1 session legend Clem Cattini behind the drum kit. The trio were bolstered by strings, brass, flutes and female backing singers (one of which may or may not have been future number 1 star Kiki Dee). This arrangement came from Keith Mansfield, later the man behind the theme to BBC’s Grandstand. Production came from Mike Smith, making this two concurrent number 1s in a row for him after the success of Georgie Fame’s The Ballad of Bonnie and Clyde.

Everlasting Love is an effervescent blast of slick 60s pop, and it’s not hard to see why it’s endured over the years. Smith and Mansfield crafted a sophisticated sound that puts it above lots of pop of the era. Ellis’s vocal is great – despite his age, that boy had soul, much like his contemporaries Steve Winwood and Steve Marriott. It’s the rhythm section that really shines though, particularly Stableford, whose bass pulsates throughout, and it’s a wonder that his break in the intro hasn’t been sampled by now.

It’s a weird one though – as much as I can admire this single, I don’t love it, and everything tells me I should. It ticks all the right boxes, but I feel something is missing. Yet I can’t put my finger on what it is. Such is the subjectivity of taste, I guess. Click above and you can see the promo video the band put out, featuring Love Affair performing in front of posters of Mick Jagger and Jimi Hendrix, and dancing from the archetypal 60s blonde model and another girl, dancing strangely and dressed a bit like a clown in John Lennon-style shades.

There was some controversy when it was discovered that Love Affair didn’t perform on the single, which seems a little unfair to me. Plenty of bands I’ve reviewed on this blog used session musicians, even culturally significant ones such as the Byrds on Mr Tambourine Man.

It didn’t seem to damage the band at first though, with the next few singles reaching the top ten too, namely Rainbow Valley and A Day Without Love. But they stuck too rigidly to the template of their biggest hit, and grew wary of having become teen idols when they wanted to be considered serious soul musicians. They also continued using other musicians on their A-sides, which won’t have helped. The true band only got a say in the B-sides.

Debut album The Everlasting Love Affair, with Fisher back in the band, also featured mostly session musicians. Despite their singles success, the album flopped, and in 1968, that was the wrong way round to go about things.

By the end of 1969, an increasingly frustrated Love Affair tried to change the template with the single Baby I Know, but it didn’t chart. That December, Ellis left the group to go solo. He recorded with Zoot Money as Ellis, sang with Widowmaker and released an album under his own name in 1978, but none of this made much of a mark.

Love Affair soldiered on as LA for a few years, taking a more progressive rock direction with new vocalist August Eadon. In 1971 their second album New Day did so badly they were dropped by their label. Fisher eventually ended up in Mott the Hoople, and Love Affair returned several times, but without any original members, for cabaret shows.

Love Affair’s Everlasting Love became popular once more when it featured in the romantic comedy sequel Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason in 2004, where an inferior version by Jamie Cullum also featured on the soundtrack and over the closing credits.

Written by: Buzz Cason & Mac Gayden

Producers: Mike Smith & Keith Mansfield

Weeks at number 1: 2 (31 January-13 February)

Deaths:

Welsh journalist Gomer Berry, 1st Viscount Kemsley – 6 February 

241. The Beatles – Hello, Goodbye (1967)

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As Christmas approached, the British-French Concorde supersonic aircraft was unveiled in Toulouse, France on 11 December. A day later, Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones won his High Court appeal against a nine-month prison sentence for posession and use of cannabis. Jones was instead fined £1000 and put on probation for three years. 22 December saw the first transmission of BBC Radio 4 panel game Just a Minute, hosted by Nicholas Parsons. It’s still one of the most popular programmes on the station, over 51 years later.

And so we round up a rather odd year in the singles chart, as always, with the Christmas number 1. 1967 saw albums take over singles in importance, and that was in large part due to the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. A knock-on effect of lots of landmark albums by rising counterculture bands, including The Piper at the Gates of Dawn by Pink Floyd and Are You Experienced? by the Jimi Hendrix Experience, was that this was the least impressive year for number 1 singles in some time, with ballads back in vogue and lots of lengthy stays at the top.

The last time we heard from the Beatles they were riding high on the popularity and critical acclaim of their new album and Summer of Love anthem All You Need Is Love. But that August, the band suffered the shock of the death of their manager Brian Epstein, who seemingly committed suicide by an overdose while they attended a Transcendental Meditation course in Bangor, Wales. This set into motion the internal problems that would be a large factor in their split before the end of the decade.

Paul McCartney meant well, but with John Lennon largely lost in an acid haze at the time, he decided the best thing for his group was to get stuck into work, and his bossiness began to rankle the other three. It won’t have helped that their first post-Epstein project, Magical Mystery Tour, a film to be shown on the BBC on Boxing Day, was hit by criticism after transmission. Largely directed by McCartney, it was a psychedelic hodge-podge, with a few great moments. Luckily, they were still coming up with the goods musically. While working on Magical Mystery Tour that autumn, they also set to work on what would be their fourth and final Christmas number 1, Hello, Goodbye.

Now that the Fab Four were all influnced by LSD, they had embraced randomness in their songwriting and production. Earlier that year McCartney was visited by Epstein’s assistant Alistair Taylor. Asking the Beatle how he came up with songs, he found himself sat beside him on a harmonium. McCartney asked Taylor to say an opposite word to whatever he sang. A nice little exercise in songwriting, but was it enough for the basis of a single? Not unless there was a decent tune to go along with it, which luckily, there was. Whether McCartney already had the tune ready to go or not is unclear. Some sources claim Hello, Goodbye was in the running to be their choice for the Our World TV special, some say it didn’t come about until September.

The Beatles began recording Hello Hello (the working title) at EMI Studios on 2 October, as they were coming to the end of making Magical Mystery Tour. The line-up on take 14, which was selected as the backing, featured McCartney on piano, Lennon on Hammond organ, George Harrison on maracas and Ringo Starr on drums. Lennon wasn’t too enamoured with the track until they set to work on the coda, which they ad-libbed in the studio. Once engineer Geoff Emerick added reverb to the percussion of this section, the track came alive and they had their rousing finale.

On 19 October, two days after they attended a memorial service for Epstein, Harrison added his lead guitar, McCartney performed the vocal and Lennon joined them both on backing vocals and handclaps. Tensions likely rose over the fact that Harrison originally had a more prominent role. The version featured on Anthology 2 featured more guitar interjections and a solo. McCartney chose to wipe these and perform a scat vocal in place of the solo. McCartney was revelling in his new role as band leader, and to him, Harrison was still like a little brother. Harrison’s resentment would only increase from here on in.

The next day saw two violas added to the mix, scored by producer George Martin, based on a piano line from McCartney, who added his bass five day later. He finished the song with more bass on 2 November after a trip to Nice in France to film his Fool on the Hill segment for Magical Mystery Tour. The mono mix was completed that same day, with the stereo finished four days later.

Despite Lennon warming to Hello, Goodbye, he felt I Am the Walrus was superior and should be the Christmas single, but McCartney and Martin were adamant and Lennon got the B-side instead, causing yet further resentment and resulting in Lennon becoming even more insular.

They were all right, in their ways. I Am the Walrus was a startling artistic statement, and the superior song, but Hello, Goodbye is more commercial. I Am the Walrus, is full of stark, dark, snarling acid-drenched imagery, whereas Hello, Goodbye might be lyrically the weakest single since the group’s early days. However, the nursery-rhyme-style simplicity was entirely in tune with the times too, with so much psychedelia at the time retreating to childhood. Bowie’s first album that year may have been a flop but he was on trend with songs like There Is a Happy Land.

I may sound like I’m damning the Christmas number 1 with faint praise, but I’m a big fan. Despite the weak lyrics, it’s very very catchy indeed, and the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. The backing vocals are sublime, and the coda is one of my favourite endings to any Beatles song. In fact, I picked this as my favourite Christmas number 1 of the 60s here, when I described the coda as ‘life-affirming pop at its best’, and I stand by that now. Alan McGee of Creation Records once described the single in Mojo magazine as ‘the greatest-ever pop song, bar none’.

Released on 24 November, Hello, Goodbye climbed to number 1 and stayed there for seven weeks, the longest stint at the top for any Beatles single. Unusually, they also found themselves holding the number 1 and number two spots for three weeks from 27 December, thanks to the Magical Mystery Tour double EP (see here). The TV broadcast may have caused confusion among many critics and fans, but there was always the music. The coda of their number 1 played out as the credits rolled on the special.

Before its release, the Beatles made three promotional films for the single. The most famous of these featured the group in the outfits they wore on the cover of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, performing in front of a multi-coloured backdrop. It’s a fascinating watch, mostly because Harrison is clearly having an absolutely awful time, and the most dour member of Beatles has never looked more pissed off. They also don their mop-top suits and wave, and Lennon and McCartney mug for the cameras, before they round off the clip getting down with sexy hula dancers.

The Beatles’ first Apple-related venture, the ill-fated Apple Boutique, opened the day after they went to number 1. The song held court for most of the first month of 1968 too. While ruling the charts, long-running horticultural series Gardeners’ World debuted on BBC One, featuring Percy Thrower. These days it’s been relegated to BBC Two but still has millions of fans.

Written by: John Lennon & Paul McCartney

Producer: George Martin

Weeks at number 1: 7 (6 December 1967-23 January 1968)

Births:

Politician James Brokenshire – 7 January
Model Heather Mills – 12 January

 

240. Long John Baldry – Let the Heartaches Begin (1967)

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November 1967 was a particularly cold, yet sunny month. On the 27th, President Charles de Gaulle of France once again vetoed British entry into the European Economic Community. Cheers! The foot-and-mouth outbreak resulted in a number of horse-racing events being cancelled the next day. 1 December saw further inroads into a bright new ethnically diverse future when Tony O’Connor became the first non-white headteacher of a British school, at a primary in Smethwick, near Birmingham.

There may be some sarcasm in my last sentence, as the UK still had a long way to go in becoming progressive. The law had only just changed to decriminalise homosexuality, yet many stars of the time felt they needed to keep their sexuality private. Although Long John Baldry was openly gay in showbiz circles, he didn’t announce it to the public until the 1970s. This giant of the blues scene was highly influential, yet his one chart-topper is disliked by many purists, and is considered unrepresentative of the singer.

John Baldry was born around Brixworth, Northamptonshire in January 1941 after his parents had fled London during the Blitz. His schooldays were spent in Edgware, Middlesex. When he began singing in the 50s he stood out from the crowd as one of the first known blues and folk singers in the country, listening to Muddy Waters and learning the 12-string at the age of 12. He also stood out because he had grown to six feet and seven inches, earning him the nickname ‘Long John’.

By the early-60s he was performing in coffee houses and R’nB clubs in London. A small scene began to formulate, and Baldry joined the fledgling Blues Incorporated, led by the pioneering Alexis Korner. They released the first British blues album, R&B from the Marquee, in 1962. Future members of Blues Incorporated included Charlie Watts from the Rolling Stones and Cream’s Ginger Baker and Jack Bruce. From this point onwards, Baldry’s career features cameos from an impressive number of future rock stars of the next decade or so.

In 1963 he joined the Cyril Davies R&B All Stars, featuring future ace session pianist Nicky Hopkins, and when Davies died the following year, he renamed them Long John Baldry and his Hoochie Coochie Men. While looking for a singer for his new outfit, Baldry chanced upon a busker and Baldry gig-goer called Rod Stewart, performing a Muddy Waters song at Twickenham Station. With Stewart on board, they changed their name to Steampacket in 1965. The group now featured Julie Driscoll as a singer and Brian Auger on organ, later known for their cover of Bob Dylan’s This Wheel’s on Fire. When Steampacket broke up in 1966, Baldry formed Bluesology. His new band had Reg Dwight on keyboards and future Soft Machine guitarist Elton Dean. When Dwight went solo, he took Dean and Baldry’s forenames and became Elton John.

So, it’s clear that Baldry was moving in the right circles (he also appeared on a TV special by the Beatles in 1964, had a fling with Dave Davies of the Kinks and introduced the Rolling Stones on the US live album Got Live if You Want It!), and yet fame still eluded him. And so he wound up on the cabaret circuit with a harmony group called Chimera backing him, and started working with pop producer Tony Macauley, who had produced Baby Now That I’ve Found You by the Foundations, and co-wrote it with John MacLeod. Together, they also wrote Let the Heartaches Begin, and gave it to Baldry to record.

I have to confess to knowing next to nothing about Baldry, other than him being a fascinating and important figure in R’n’B, so it’s fair to say I wasn’t expecting Let the Heartaches Begin to sound anything like it does. It’s a big let down, and it seems Macauley thought he could turn Baldry into an Engelbert Humperdinck, or a Tom Jones-style figure. You could draw similarities to Johnnie Ray too, with the over-the-top, mock histrionics on show here, set to syrupy backing, but with less impact than Ray’s recordings. But the singer is clearly revelling in the fact he has a broken heart, much like Ray in the 50s. Apparently Baldry had to knock back a fair bit of booze to record it, so it’s likely he wasn’t entirely comfortable with this new direction either.

In spite of this, it was well-timed, with 1967 being the year of Humperdinck, and it earned Baldry his place in chart history, so who am I to argue with Macauley? In fact, this single earned he and MacLeod two consecutive number 1s in a row… no mean feat at all.

Baldry stuck to this new balladeer style for the next few years. In 1968 he and Bernie Taupin came to the aid of Elton John, who was struggling with his sexuality. The duo talked him out of marrying Linda Woodrow to cover up being gay, and John was so grateful he wrote Someone Saved My Life Tonight to thank them.

Baldry returned to his beloved blues in 1971 with his most well-known album It Ain’t Easy with Elton John and Rod Stewart producing a side each. They did the same again on 1972 follow-up Everything Stops for Tea. He claimed to have been the last person to see Marc Bolan alive on 16 September 1977, having interviewed him for US TV just before he got into his car for the final time.

After stints in New York and Los Angeles, Baldry moved to Vancouver, British Colombia in 1978. Bar a brief spell in psychiatric hospital (he recorded the album Baldry’s Out shortly after release), he seemed happy and remained there the rest of his life. He released several albums in the 90s (including It Still Ain’t Easy) but his main source of income was in voiceover work for adverts and animated children’s TV series Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog (he was Dr Robtonik) and Bucky O’Hare and the Toad Wars. Plagued with ill health in his later years, he died of a severe chest infection in 2005, aged 64. Only a one-hit wonder in the singles chart, Baldry nevertheless left an impact on music to match his considerable stature.

Written by: Tony Macauley & John MacLeod

Producer: Tony Macauley

Weeks at number 1: 2 (22 November-5 December) 

Births:

Politician Shahid Malik – 24 November

Deaths:

Phonetician Daniel Jones – 4 December 

238. Bee Gees – Massachusetts (1967)

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The Bee Gees. Through thick and thin, in hard times and great times, the iconic Gibb brothers, Barry, Robin and Maurice sang together for 45 years (minor the occasional split) until Maurice’s untimely death in 2003, creating some of the bestselling songs of all time for themselves and other high-profile artists, and yet, seem to me to be strangely underrated. They had five number 1s as Bee Gees, spanning three decades, and this is the story of their early years and first number 1, Massachusetts.

The Gibb brothers were born on the Isle of Man to English parents. Barry was born 1 September 1946, and twins Robin and Maurice on 22 December 1949. They moved back to their father Hugh’s home town of Chorlton-cum-Hardy in Manchester in 1955, where they formed skiffle and rock’n’roll group the Rattlesnakes. The group featured Barry on vocals and guitar, Robin and Maurice on vocals too, and friends Paul frost on drums and Kenny Horrocks on tea-chest bass.

The story goes that some time in December 1957, the Gibbs were on their way to a cinema to mime to a record, as other children had in previous weeks, but the record broke on the way, and so they sang together live and it went down a storm. Whether it’s true or not, it makes for a good tale. The following year the Rattlesnakes disbanded when Frost and Horrocks left, so the Gibbs formed Wee Johny Hayes and the Blue Cats, with Barry as Hayes.

That August the Gibb family emigrated to Queensland, Australia. The trio began singing to earn pocket money. In 1960, speedway promoter and driver Bill Goode dug those harmonies and hired the Gibbs to entertain the crowd at Redcliffe Speedway. During intervals they would be driven around the track and as they sang the audience would throw them money on to the track. Goode introduced them to Brisbane DJ Bill Gates. It was Gates, who, noting that he, Goode and Barry shared the same initials, named the boys the BGs.

Soon they were appearing on Australian television, and in 1962 they supported Chubby Checker. In 1963 the family were living in Sydney, when the star Cal Joye helped get them a record deal with Festival Records under the name the Bee Gees, and they began releasing singles under this name while Barry would also write for other artists. They had a minor hit in 1965 with Wine and Women, which led to their debut album, The Bee Gees Sing and Play 14 Barry Gibb Songs. Talk about ‘it does exactly what it says on the tin’…

The following year they came very close to being dropped when they met their new manager and producer Nat Kipner, who signed them to Spin Records. By getting unlimited access to a recording studio, the Bee Gees skills rapidly grew, but they became increasingly frustrated, and having paid close attention to the UK music scene, they made the decision to return to the UK in January 1967. Before they left, tapes had been sent over to the Beatles manager Brian Epstein, who had passed ther tapes over Robert Stigwood, who had previously worked with Joe Meek and John Leyton, and recently joined NEMS. Ironically, it was on the journey to Blighty that they discovered their last Australian single Spicks and Specks, off an album of the same name, had been named Best Single of the Year by the influential music newspapaer Go-Set.

In February the Bee Gees signed with Stigwood and began work on their first international album, with fellow Australians Colin Petersen and Vince Melouney joining them on drums and lead guitar respectively. Inspired by the Aberfan mining tragedy, they released New York Mining Disaster 1941 as a single, and confusing some DJs who thought this was a new single by the Beatles thanks to some lovely harmonies and considerable charm, the single garnered some attention. They followed it up with To Love Somebody. Originally written for Otis Redding, it didn’t even reach the top 40, yet is now a pop standard. Their third album, The Bee Gees 1st, was released in July. Fitting in perfectly with the sound of the Summer of Love, the gentle psychedia made it into the top ten albums.

While promoting the album in New York, Scott McKenzie was at number 1 in the UK with the mournful hippie folk of San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair). Barry, Robin and Maurice wrote (The Lights Went Out in) Massachusetts as their reply. They knew nothing about Massachusetts, but they liked the sound of the name, and while strumming away to a tune not entirely dissimilar from McKenzie’s song, they decided that the song would specifically reference San Francisco, with the subject of their song having travelled there like so many others. So many others, in fact, that ‘the lights all went out in Massachusetts’

It’s a quirky little song, but lovely with it. Although deliberately similar to McKenzie’s ode to the Moneterey Rock Festival, it outdoes it, and that’s largely due to those gorgeous, idiosyncratic harmonies. Robin’s plaintive lead also works a treat. It’s hard to say from the sparse lyrics whether the Bee Gees were attacking the hippy movement, paying tribute to it, or just taking the piss somewhat, but it has rightly taken up place as another one of those patchouli-flecked psych-folk ballads that summed up the abiding spirit of 1967. Nicely understated and a sign of a future force to be reckoned with.

So it had been a wise move by the Gibbs to release it ASAP, rather than wait until they had finished their next album Horizontal, released in 1968. They were even considering not releasing it at all and were keen on giving it to Australian folk stars the Seekers. Massachusetts helped make Bee Gees one of the brightest new acts of the era, and of course, there was much more to come.

Massachusetts spent for weeks at number 1 that autumn. On 11 October, Prime Minister Harold Wilson won a libel action against Birmingham psych-rockers the Move after they depicted him nude in promotional material for their record Flowers in the Rain. A fortnight later, Parliament passed The Abortion Act, legalising abortion on a number of grounds from the following year onwards.

2 November saw Winnie Ewing of the Scottish National Party win the Hamilton by-election. Having formed in 1934, this was the first time the party had won a by-election. The single’s final week at number 1 was marred by two tragic accidents., with Iberia Airlines Flight 062 from Málaga Airport, Spain hitting Blackdown Hill in West Sussex. All 37 on board were killed. The very next day, an express train from Hastings to London derailed in the Hither Green rail crash, which killed 49 people. Amongst the passengers was Robin Gibb, who recalled in The Mail on Sunday on 1 November 2009, ‘Luckily I didn’t get injured. I remember sitting at the side of the carriage, watching the rain pour down, fireworks go off and blue lights of the ambulances whirring. It was like something out of a Spielberg film.’

Written by: Barry Gibb, Robin Gibb & Maurice Gibb

Producer: Robert Stigwood & Bee Gees

Weeks at number 1: 4 (11 October-7 November) 

Births:

Presenter Davina McCall – 16 October
Novelist Monica Ali – 20 October 
Footballer Paul Ince – 21 October 
Politician Douglas Alexander – 26 October
Bush singer Gavin Rossdale – 30 October