Apologies for the delay in getting around to “I Want to Be Wanted.” I suspect three factors: a sudden influx in work due to the real start of a new semester, blowing my wad with the lengthy “Mr. Custer” post and not being particularly inspired by Brenda Lee’s second number one. If this were a middling single, that wouldn’t be much of an issue – compare its good points with its bad points and blame its overall blandness for the short entry. The problem is that I actually like ‘I Want to Be Wanted” quite a bit. I think it does a better job than the (quite good) ”I’m Sorry” of establishing Lee’s persona: the little girl with the big voice that can sometimes mask her insecurities. Really, though, this is just another solid Brenda Lee single. That shouldn’t be taken as a dismissal, but a sign of the uniformly high level of quality present in her early ’60s records. The song itself may or may not be that great, and the production is pedestrian though not overbearing. But Brenda herself is always believable, with a powerful yet vulnerable voice that set her apart from her contemporaries. (Wanda Jackson had the power and Connie Francis the vulnerability, but neither of them could convey both simultaneously.) Before writing this post, I thought that the most difficult songs to write about were the boring ones that give you nothing to say, either positive or negative. Turns out it’s the good ones that just aren’t special. 7
Hit #1 on October 24, 1960; total of 1 week at #1
39 of 965 #1′s reviewed; 4.04% through the Hot 100
(Apologies for the video – it’s the only one I found on YouTube that used the original recording.)
The ascendance of “Save the Last Dance for Me” almost seems to be a bit of overcompensation on the part of the American listening public. After “Mr. Custer,” anything would have been an improvement, but instead we get one of the best records of 1960 and an instant classic. The proto-Wall of Sound arrangement (there’re rumors that Leiber and Stoller’s protegee Phil Spector may have had a hand in the recording) is the absolute summation of the bittersweet lyrics. The brisk, dance beat shuffle of the percussion in the verses (“You can dance every dance with the guy who gives you the eye, let him hold you tight”) is offset by the stirring strings that sweep in during the chorus. “But don’t forget who’s taking you home, and in whose arms you’re gonna be,” Ben E. King sings, his assertive rasp keeping things from getting too sappy. It’s an eloquent statement of pure love, one that’s patient and understanding, never jealous or arrogant. 9
Liner Notes
Doc Pomus, the song’s lyricist, walked on crutches as a result of childhood polio. He was allegedly inspired to write the song by his own wedding, having watched his wife dance with his brother in his place.
Hit #1 on October 17, 1960 for 1 week; repeaked on October 31, 1960 for 2 weeks; total of 3 weeks at #1
38 of 964 #1′s reviewed; 3.94% through the Hot 100
The great film critic Roger Ebert has a rule for rating movies: even the really, really bad get half a star. The rare bestowal of zero stars is reserved only for ”movies that are artistically inept and morally repugnant.” I’ve borrowed Ebert’s mindset for my ratings on this blog – no matter how poor it is, it’ll usually manage to scrape up a 2. For a 1, though, the song must not be only bad but offensively terrible. I don’t necessarily mean offensive in the sense of espousing a racist or sexist message, but offensive in the sense of so aggressively bad that everyone behind the song must have been determined to drag down the overall quality of American popular culture. This isn’t the everyday badness of insipid lyrics or cheesy production, but something darker: pop antimatter, the pure absence of any redeeming elements and complete disregard for creating a listenable product.
At this early stage in reviewing the Hot 100, I have rated 36 singles, with a median score of 6 and a mode of 7. Based purely on statistics, these rankings are a little higher than expected. But each single that’s topped the charts has had to pass through a number of gates to get there – production, distribution, airplay, popular consensus, and so forth. One would assume that a song chosen at random from a list of Hot 100 chart-toppers would be of a higher quality than a song randomly chosen from all songs released in the U.S. from 1958 to the present. (This isn’t to say that all songs that top the Hot 100 are necessarily of a higher quality than all non-#1′s, but that they generally adhere to a more consistently high level of quality than any random song you’d find on the street.) This gate-keeping is obviously present in the film industry as well, which is why Ebert hands out four stars to movies by the fistful each year, yet doles out bagels only once in a blue moon. (A search of all reviews on rogerebert.com reveals 809 movies given top honors and only 59 rated zero stars.) It’s not because there are masses more great movies made than terrible ones (as Sturgeon’s Law states, 90 percent of everything is crap), but that the true no-star movies, your Manos: Hands of Fate-s, never make it far enough up the ladder for a wide public, and thus critics, to see it. One would expect the same in the cluttered world of popular music.
Of course, some Trojan horses still manage to sneak through these gates. As your guidance counselor advised, “Just because something is popular, doesn’t mean it’s right.” We’ve already seen a few cases of songs whose baffling popularity belies their overall lack of quality. But at least the cloying sentimentality of “Why” or “Teen Angel” was tolerable (if unpleasant), versus the blatant submediocrity of “Mr. Custer.” Of course, the song is packed with musty sterotypes about Native Americans (war whoops, Indian drums, references to scalping and “redskins”), but the most offensive part of the song is how completely unfunny it is. It’s a comedy record without a modicum of comedy. The premise of the tune is that one soldier in General Custer’s unit at the Battle of Little Bighorn is afraid to fight the Indians. Not a bad launching point for a song, but “Mr. Custer” goes nowhere with it. There’s no punchline, no twist, nothing clever at all in the entire song. Sample lyrics: “Look at them durned Indians/They’re runnin’ around like a bunch of wild Indians-heh heh heh.” Oh, the hilarity. And yes, the “heh heh heh” is actually part of the lyrics – it’s like a laugh track in song form, but even worse because Verne (or at least his character) is laughing at his own terrible non-joke.
While the lyrics are the most blatantly offensive part of the song, they’re only the tip of this crap iceberg. There’s Verne’s mugging “comedy voice,” the off-key offspring of Droopy and a Clarence Ashley beset with acute appendicitis. And the lack of melody, harmony and any other sort of tunefulness. Don’t forget the ”sound effects” of flying arrows, which sound like someone sucking through his dentures - because nothing says funny like sound effects! When the simultaneously weak and overbearing male choir is the highlight of your song, perhaps your song needs a bit of revising. Although I think even a team of song doctors would have trouble doing surgery on a patient that’s D.O.A. So I’m a little startled that I’m handing out a 1 before a 10, but you can’t always pick ‘em. I still haven’t listened to all of the hundreds of #1′s that haved peaked since this song’s puzzling, yet mercifully brief, stay atop the chart. However, I fully expect (and desperately hope) that “Mr. Custer” is the Hot 100′s absolute nadir. 1
Hit #1 on October 10, 1960; total of 1 week at #1
37 of 964 #1′s reviewed; 3.84% through the Hot 100
Unfortunately, most of Connie Francis’s best songs never topped the Hot 100. Sure, “Everybody’s Somebody’s Fool” was cute, but I’d much rather write about “Who’s Sorry Now?” or “Stupid Cupid.” “My Heart Has a Mind of Its Own” is a solid chart entry, but there’s not much really memorable about it. It’s a slow, faux-country mope, so thick and sticky that it feels like a hot, humid evening in August. Connie’s double-tracked vocal, the drums, the instruments, are all so heavy that it’s almost oppressive. The production matches the lyrics – Francis yearning to leave a relationship but unable to break away – but it also makes the song lack the pep of her previous chart-topping rumination on the cruelty of love. While Francis is inarguably one of the great female singers of the rock and roll era, her voice’s naturally languid quality is the main element weighing the song down. Perhaps Brenda Lee’s would have been a better choice. Lee’s clear, strong voice could could slice through the haze, with her permanent sob adding the missing emotional note. Still, the right singer can only do so much to improve a merely passable song. 5
Hit #1 on September 26, 1960; total of 2 weeks at #1
36 of 964 #1′s reviewed; 3.73% through the Hot 100
When you’re out on the dance floor, you’re not paying attention to lyrics, you’re not looking for meaning. You just want to move, to set yourself free, maybe catch the eye (or more) of a particularly attractive dancer. When you’re dancing, really dancing to a song, you connect with it in a way that’s difficult to match in any other environment, except maybe a truly great concert, or perhaps lying blissed out on the floor while unknown but newly loved music streams into your soul via your headphones. While dancing, your whole body’s committed to the song. You’re packed in with a crowd of people all experiencing the same emotions, the same visceral connection to the music as you are, a horde united by the mystical power of killer beats and catchy melody. There’s nothing wrong with dancing to a song purpose-built for ass-shaking, even if it doesn’t hold up in the cold, sober darkness of midday in a lonely apartment. But the best dance songs can use their exceptional power of fusing themselves with your psyche for deeper purposes, whether it’s heartbreaking lyrics or an arrangement that richens on repeated listens. We’re lucky to be able to discuss a few dance songs of this caliber over the course of this blog.
“The Twist,” however, is something more basic: a sped-up blues jam about getting your rocks off, whether through its namesake dance or through twisting of a more horizontal sort. It knows its job and does it well enough to spawn the dance craze against which all future dance crazes are judged. But apart from nostalgia, there’s not really much of a reason to listen to it off the dancefloor. It’s not the fault of Chubby Checker, who invests fully in his performance. But there’s something hollow about it. Maybe it’s the generic, too-clean rock and roll sound, or the primitiveness of its message (we’d never settle for exhortations of “just dance!” in 2009 … ). But despite the iconic status of “The Twist,” there’s nothing for someone who missed out on the ’60s to really glom on to. It’s an OK song, but without Checker’s loose-limbed moves in the above video (much more agile than what the Twist would become after Middle American teenagers caught on to it), it’s just a slight, forgettable dance tune. 5
Liner Notes
After peaking for one week in 1960, “The Twist” would again hit #1 on its second chart run in 1962. This is the longest gap between a song topping and retopping the charts in the history of the Hot 100 – and offers a sneak peak into the strange, mysterious future world of 1962.
Billboard named “The Twist” the #1 song of the Hot 100′s first 50 years. The ranking was based on chart performance, so I assume the single remained on the chart for a good long time – three weeks at #1 isn’t that impressive on the Hot 100. (In comparion, the previously-reviewed version of “Mack the Knife” by Bobby Darin topped the chart for nine weeks but earned only a #3 slot on the “All Time Top Songs” ranking.)
Hit #1 on September 19, 1960 for 1 week; repeaked on January 13, 1962 for 2 weeks; total of 3 weeks at #1
35 of 964 #1′s reviewed; 3.63% through the Hot 100
”Stuck On You” may have lacked some of the verve of Elvis’s pre-army hits, but he abandoned rock and roll entirely for his next #1, “It’s Now or Never.” Presley had heard Tony Martin’s 1950 hit “There’s No Tomorow,” based on the Neapolitan aria “‘O Sole Mio,” while stationed in Friedberg, Germany and commissioned new lyrics on his return to the U.S. While he had been serving in the army, pop chart rock and roll had gone soft. Chuck Berry was in jail, Jerry Lee Lewis had scandalized the public by marrying his 13-year-old cousin and Little Richard became a Christian evangelist. Rock and roll’s fan base had always been teenagers, but younger teen idols crooning a sanitized version of rock were in large part replacing the rootsier innovators. In order to compete, Elvis had to tone down his image a bit, to appeal both to the softer tastes of the teen audience as well as to adults. Presley had recorded ballads before like “Love Me Tender,” but “It’s Now or Never” was his attempt to reach out to the easy listening crowd who would likely remember Tony Martin’s hit from a decade earlier. “It’s Now or Never” was also Presley’s attempt to validate himself as something more than the hip-swiveler who drove teenagers crazy with his black music. Not only did he have a great voice for rock and roll, but he had a great voice period. The vibrato is perfectly measured, the timbre is rich and he nails the high note at the end of the song. It’s no wonder that his next two #1′s are of the same ilk (one even borrows its ethnic arrangement). “It’s Now or Never” was Elvis meeting his audience’s parents, proving that he wasn’t as bad as everyone said and that he was worthy of their time and affection. 7
Hit #1 on August 15, 1960; total of 5 weeks at #1
34 of 964 #1′s reviewed; 3.53% through the Hot 100
Here’s a riddle: how did a song by an unknown teenage singer hit #1 on the Hot 100 when it has almost every element guaranteed to irritate listeners? Insipid lyrics, shrill female co-singer, obnoxious backing vocals, corny rock-lite arrangement – all it’s missing are a children’s choir and a rapping opera singer. My guess? The phrase “Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini” is really fun to sing. The countdowns – “2, 3, 4 – tell the people what she wore!” – invite listeners to chant along and give them something to look forward to. ”Bikini” is also packed with so many hooks that it’s impossible to rend it from your mind, even when your mind is begging for blissful escape. It’s one of the few songs where almost everyone, even small children and people who aren’t into pop music, knows the chorus, partly because the song itself is so memorable and partly because it’s been used in so many commercials, movies and sing-alongs. (The first time I remember hearing it was at Vacation Bible School when I was about four years old, although it’s possible I knew it even before then.)
Even though it was singer Brian Hyland’s biggest hit and only Hot 100 #1, it’s suprisingly difficult to find a decent version of it on YouTube. Even the video posted above is a later re-recording. Hyland’s later (albeit smaller) hits, such as “Sealed with a Kiss” and ”Ginny Come Lately,” are much easier to come by. My theory is that most of the people still listening to “Bikini” don’t know or care that Brian Hyland was the singer, and that fans of Brian Hyland prefer to listen to listen to his legitimate singles over “that” novelty song. (Stats on last.fm confirm that “Sealed With a Kiss” is listened to more than three times as much as “Bikini.”) Nearly 50 years on, the joke behind “Bikini” has worn thin. Still, despite its irritating elements, it’s hard to really hate the song – even if that’s just nostalgia talking. 3
Hit #1 on August 8, 1960; total of 1 week at #1
33 of 964 #1′s reviewed; 3.42% through the Hot 100
The lyrics to “I’m Sorry” are as simple as they come: Brenda just apologizes. There’s no hint in the song as to what her misdeed was, who she wronged, why she’s so self-flagellating even when the person to whom she’s apologizing tells her that “mistakes are part of being young.” “”But that don’t right the wrong that’s been done,” she replies, her voice softly betraying depths of sadness. The nonspecificity of the lyrics could be interpreted as a maneuver to allow for listeners to plug in their own interpretations, but also adds an air of mystery. Is this some simple romantic snag, or is it something so sinister that Lee cannot bring herself to utter it aloud? “I didn’t know love could be so cruel,” she sighs, shaking her head in dejection. It’s a wonder David Lynch hasn’t used it in a movie yet.
The lyrics, although enigmatic, are still rather simple and repetitive on paper. But where lesser singers might have descended into histrionics or insipidness, Lee makes you believe in the sincerity of every apology. The restrained production – muted guitar, minimalist strings, backing singers barely audible except in the spoken interlude - allows for the specter of her voice to fill the record. The unaffected catch in her voice, as in nearly all of her songs, adds an emotional note to the song that feels real when so many others just sing the words on the page. ”I’m Sorry” is often considered Lee’s signature “straight” song, although “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” will be around as long as there are winter holidays. But despite her usual brilliant performance, “I’m Sorry” never really lives up to its promise. It’s not a great song, but it’s a good one, and she’s superlative. 7
Hit #1 on July 18, 1960; total of 3 weeks at #1
32 of 964 #1′s reviewed; 3.32% through the Hot 100
Novelty records have a mostly deserved reputation for being one-joke “wonders” that age poorly. “Alley Oop,” based on an old caveman comic strip I’ve never read, doesn’t seem at first blush to be a likely candidate to break this pattern. Written in 1957 as a country tune by Dallas Frazier (whose “Elvira,” as performed by The Oak Ridge Boys, was a staple of my elementary and middle school P.E. line dancing classes), it features such lines as “He’s got a chauffeur that’s a genuine dinosaur/And he can knuckle your head before you count to four.” So while the recording could still be easily mucked up in the wrong hands, you’re already starting with superior material for a novelty song (i.e., it’s actually kind of amusing). Fortunately, “Alley Oop” couldn’t have been recorded by folks more suitable for crafting an oddball hit. In one corner, it’s legendary producer, svengali and raconteur Kim Fowley, who had a hand in such future novelty hits as “Nut Rocker” and “They’re Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa,” produced straighter material for artists ranging from The Byrds to The Modern Lovers and manufactured teenage girl rock band The Runaways. In the other corner is Fowley’s roommate Gary S. Paxton, who had already sung a couple of hits as half of Skip & Flip and would go on to become a prolific producer, Jesus freak singer and all-around eccentric. (He’ll also make a repeat appearance on this blog in the near future.) Paxton was The Hollywood Argyles, and it’s his singing that makes the record so fascinating, sounding like a cross between Shorty Long on “Devil With a Blue Dress” and one of the more psychedelic offerings on Nuggets, but predating both. Take the lines quoted above, which Paxton drawls as “He’s got uh sho-fur that’s a genuwine dy-no-so-wah/ And he can knuckle yo head befoh you count to fo-wah.” Even for a novelty song, this was weird. And next to the spit-polished sounds of Guy Mitchell or Frankie Avalon (or even Elvis), this had to be a revelation. Under the guise of a throwaway novelty single, “Alley Oop” prepared record buyers for the sound of psychedelic rock that would define the latter part of the decade – and, perhaps, presaged ’60s drug culture. 7
Liner Notes
Apologies for the lapse in posts – I’m out of town right now. Posting should be back to normal on Monday.
Hit #1 on July 11, 1960; total of 1 week at #1
31 of 964 #1′s reviewed; 3.22% through the Hot 100
The Everlys may moan about being someone’s clown, but along comes Connie to argue “So what? So’s everyone else.” “The tears I cried for you could fill an ocean/ But you don’t care how many tears I’ve cried” paraphrases the “When you see me share a tear” verse of “Cathy’s Clown,” but the bouncy melody makes the lyrics sound like a big shrug. Francis’s song doesn’t have the emotional heft of the Everly Brothers’ song, or of her own 1958 hit “Who’s Sorry Now,” but it’s a cute pseudocountry trifle. In lesser hands, it could be shrill or precious, but Francis’s warm, clear voice has just the right air of self-depricating ruefulness. Aside from Francis, the most interesting part of the song is the Wurlitzer (?) organ on the intro and outro. It hints at the carnivalish nature of love: some rides make you queasy, some are fun but end too soon, but there are always plenty to go around, and at the end of the night you can’t wait to do it all over again. 6
Hit #1 on June 27, 1960; total of 2 weeks at #1
30 of 964 #1′s reviewed; 3.11% through the Hot 100
A rundown of every #1 on the Billboard Hot 100, starting from the top (1958) and progressing in order. Ratings on a highly subjective 1-10 scale. Comments perpetually open. Supposedly published weekly.
