Category Archives: Forgotten 45

Resurrection Dance

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(Pictured: Ashton, Gardner, Dyke, and Liber, circa 1971.)

“Resurrection Shuffle,” a 1971 single by Ashton, Gardner and Dyke, is one of our all-time favorite bangers. But “Resurrection Shuffle”—the song written by Tony Ashton, as distinct from the record he made with his mates Kim Gardner, Roy Dyke, and the also-appearing Mick Liber—was popular in more ways that one that summer.

After Tom Jones hit #2 with “She’s a Lady” in March 1971, his next single on the Parrot label was “Puppet Man.” It hit the Hot 100 in May and climbed to #26 for the week of June 26. The original release was Parrot 40062, and the B-side was called “Every Mile.” But on the Hot 100 dated July 3, Jones’ current hit, down to #29, is shown under a different catalog number, Parrot 40064, and is listed as “Puppet Man”/“Resurrection Shuffle.” On July 3, Ashton, Gardner, and Dyke’s version of “Resurrection Shuffle” was in its third week on the Hot 100, sitting at #63. Clearly Parrot, a subsidiary of London Records, had seen a chance to capitalize on the rising popularity of the song, and the fact that Tom Jones was a much better-known commodity than Ashton, Gardner and Dyke.

Starting on July 10, 1971, the two versions of “Resurrection Shuffle” danced at arm’s length on the Hot 100. That week, Jones’ double-A sided release was at #29 and AGD sat at #50. On July 17, Billboard flipped the listing and showed “Resurrection Shuffle”/”Puppet Man” at #38 with AGD at #42. (On that week’s American Top 40 show, Casey played “Puppet Man,” as he’d done every week since June 12, and not “Resurrection Shuffle.”) The two Shuffles moved past one another during the week of July 24, with AGD moving to #41 as Jones fell to #47. During the week of July 31, “Puppet Man” disappeared from the listing and Jones’ “Resurrection Shuffle” alone was shown at #50 while AGD held at #41. For the week of August 7, 1971, 46 years ago this week, Ashton, Gardner and Dyke finally cracked the Top 40, but only for a week. That same week, the Tom Jones version of “Resurrection Shuffle” was gone from the Hot 100. AGD wouldn’t be around much longer themselves—on August 14, their “Resurrection Shuffle” fell to #45, then to #73, and then out.

The AGD version outperformed its national chart number in lots of places, and even hit #1 at KWWL in Waterloo, Iowa, but it peaked as early as July in some cities and as late as September in others. In Chicago, WLS took it all the way to #5, but not until the week of August 30. It reached #8 at crosstown rival WCFL in the same week. So it never achieved the sort of critical mass it needed to rise higher up the national chart. But if it was big on WLS, that was good enough for me. I bought the 45 sometime in August, and it’s still around here somewhere.

Ashton, Gardner and Dyke have a Beatles connection. Dyke was the drummer for the Liverpool group the Remo Four, and Ashton eventually joined as a singer and organist. Dyke and Ashton backed George Harrison on his album Wonderwall Music; he returned the favor by playing guitar on “I’m Your Spiritual Breadman,” which eventually became the B-side of “Resurrection Shuffle.”

“Resurrection Shuffle” was covered by Clarence Clemons and the Red Bank Rockers in 1983, and that version kicks ass all day. But Ashton, Gardner and Dyke’s version is the one that’s still in my head, another indelible artifact of a long-ago summer.

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Yesterday, When We Were Young

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(Pictured: singer/picker Roy Clark raises a toast to you, just before he runs you over.)

You may remember that I carry a torch for the days of locally programmed, small-town Top 40 radio. Babylon, New York, qualifies as a small town, even though it’s on the urbanized western end of Long Island, only about 25 miles from New York City. And from the 50s to the 70s (as best I can tell given the scanty amount of information online), WGLI was rockin’ Babylon on AM 1290. During the week of July 21, 1969, the station’s Mighty 12 & 90 Survey, published in the Babylon Beacon newspaper, revealed a station doing its own thing, playing the big hits of the day sprinkled with the sort of oddballs we love around here.

19.  “Good Old Rock & Roll”/Cat Mother. Full name Cat Mother and the All-Night Newsboys, this band’s claim to fame is twofold: their album The Street Giveth and the Street Taketh Away was produced by Jimi Hendrix, and they were on the bill at the famous Toronto Rock and Roll Revival concert in September 1969 that included a surprise appearance by John Lennon and the Plastic Ono Band. At its formation, Cat Mother included a fiddle player named Jay Ungar. Although he wasn’t with the group when it recorded “Good Old Rock & Roll,” he rejoined for a 1970 album. Ungar is best known today as a folk musician, and for writing and performing “Ashokan Farewell,” the iconic theme heard in the 1990 Ken Burns documentary The Civil War.

20.  “My Pledge of Love”/Joe Jeffrey Group. I’ve written here about Gerry Rafferty Syndrome, where your first hit is the best record you could possibly make, and the rest of your career is spent trying to live up to it. But Rafferty had a successful career before “Baker Street” and for years thereafter. Better we should call it Joe Jeffrey Syndrome. “My Pledge of Love” is utter perfection that made #14 on the Hot 100, the Top 10 in just about every significant radio market in the United States and Canada, and #1 in Atlantic City. The group, based in Cleveland, followed it with four more singles, but nothing caught on and the band drifted into history.

23.  “Abergavenny”/Shannon. There are certain titles that have caught my eye on various music surveys over the years but I’ve never looked them up to listen. “Abergavenny” is one. It’s not particularly good, but it’s notable because Shannon was Marty Wilde, part of the first generation of homegrown British pop stars. Impresario Larry Parnes gave them names like Billy Fury, Tommy Steele, Johnny Gentle, Georgie Fame . . . and Marty Wilde, who was born Reg Smith. (Wilde’s daughter, Kim Wilde, scored a handful of American hits in the 80s, including the #1 “You Keep Me Hangin’ On.”)

30.  “Yesterday When I Was Young”/Roy Clark. I am betting that few people today remember “Yesterday When I Was Young,” although it was a significant multi-format hit in the summer of 1969, peaking at #6 Easy Listening, #9 country, and #19 on the Hot 100. It was also widely covered, by everybody from Bing Crosby to Lena Horne to Dusty Springfield to Andy Williams. The song was written by French crooner Charles Aznavour, which explains the feeling of it: a tired and dissipated man sits alone in the dark, resigned to a fate he knows he deserves. Very continental.

Pick Hit: “True Grit”/Glen Campbell. It couldn’t have hurt WGLI to deliberately program some adult flavor alongside “Mother Popcorn” (#14) and “Honky Tonk Women” (#38). True Grit was one of the top movies of the moment, a western starring John Wayne with Campbell in a supporting role; the title song went #7 Easy Listening, #9 country, and #35 on the Hot 100.

In the summer of 1969, the radio was on at our house, because it was always on. I would have heard Roy Clark and Glen Campbell as I went about my nine-year-old routine, getting ready for the county fair or going off to play park-and-rec baseball. I did not imagine looking back on it from another summer 48 years in the future, because people aren’t wired that way. But here we are just the same.

I’m Not Here to Forget You, I’m Here to Recall

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(Pictured: Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings, 1978.)

Forty years ago this week, Waylon Jennings was enjoying the biggest hit of his legendary career in country music. “Luckenbach, Texas (Back to the Basics of Love)” wrapped up a six-week run at #1 on the Billboard country chart, finally knocked off on July 2, 1977. It was his fifth #1 country single in the last three years; over the next three, he’d score six more, and add three on top of those by 1985.

As a member of Buddy Holly’s band in 1959, Waylon famously gave up his seat on the fateful airplane to the Big Bopper, thereby surviving the crash. He scored his first country hit in 1965 and took Gordon Lightfoot’s song “For Lovin’ Me” into the country Top 10 in 1966. His first #1, “This Time,” came in 1974. In 1976, he appeared on Wanted: the Outlaws with Willie Nelson, Jessi Colter, and Tompall Glaser, an album that helped make “outlaw country” fashionable. Wanted: the Outlaws made the Top 10 on the Billboard 200 and included “Good Hearted Woman,” which went #1 country, made the Hot 100, and peaked at #25.

Before “Good Hearted Woman,” you’d have to go back several years, to Donna Fargo’s “Funny Face” and “Happiest Girl in the Whole USA” or maybe Charley Pride’s “Kiss an Angel Good Morning,” to find a Top 40 hit so unapologetically country. “Luckenbach, Texas” is even more country than “Good Hearted Woman,” but it also reached #25 on the Hot 100, spending 16 weeks on the chart and seven in the Top 40, peaking during the week of July 16, 1977.

Some big-time Top 40 stations were playing “Luckenbach” during the summer of 1977. Its highest position was #6 at WHBQ in Memphis in early June, charted between Bill Conti’s Rocky theme and “Undercover Angel.” It made #10 at KLIF in Dallas, comfortably tucked between “Life in the Fast Lane” and Marshall Tucker’s “Heard It in a Love Song” during the week of June 17. (KLIF ranked the album from which it came, Ol’ Waylon, at #6 for the week on a chart topped by Rumours and Hotel California, ahead of Steve Miller’s Book of Dreams, Live From the Hollywood Bowl by the Beatles, and Foreigner.) It was also a Top-10 hit at WNIN in Wichita Falls, Texas. “Luckenbach, Texas” rose as high as #31 at WLS in Chicago in a five-week run during July and early August; although WLS would in later years chart songs without playing them, I don’t know if the station was doing that as early as 1977. It also charted at WPGC in Washington, D.C., KTKT in Tucson, and WAKY in Louisville.

In the next couple of years, “Luckenbach” would be followed up the charts by singles that still define Waylon’s career nearly 40 years later, and 15 years after his death: “Mamas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys” (co-credited to Willie), “There Ain’t No Good Chain Gang,” “I’ve Always Been Crazy, “Amanda,” and Waylon’s recording of the theme from the TV show The Dukes of Hazzard, which went to #21 on the pop chart in 1980, among them.

(It has always surprised me a little that the followup to “Luckenbach, Texas,” which went #1 country in November 1977, didn’t cross over. According to ARSA, no pop station charted “The Wurlitzer Prize (I Don’t Want to Get Over You),” a melancholy number that would have fit reasonably well in a year when Kenny Rogers’ twangy “Lucille” was a big hit and Ronnie Milsap’s “It Was Almost Like a Song” did big business, and in the same season with Crystal Gayle’s “Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue.” The song, written by Chips Moman and Bobby Emmons, is built around a brilliant jukebox metaphor any writer would love to have written: “They ought to give me the Wurlitzer Prize / For all the silver I let slide down the slot / Playin’ those songs sung blue.”)

As one of the pivotal figures of the outlaw country movement of the mid-1970s, Waylon’s legacy is audible in the work of Jason Isbell, Sturgill Simpson, Chris Stapleton, and other alt-country figures today. Just as those guys have trouble getting on mainstream country radio (except for Stapleton), Jennings himself isn’t heard on the air anymore either. But some of us still think he’s the real thing.

You Haven’t Done Nothin’

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(Pictured: Stevie Wonder at work, 1974.)

On May 17, 1973, the Senate began televised hearings into the Watergate scandal. I was in Miss Alt’s seventh-grade social studies class that spring, and I can remember watching the hearings in class. I am not sure how well anybody understood what we were seeing. The scandal had been in the headlines for only a few weeks, even though the break-in happened the previous June. A kid such as I, obsessed with radio in an era when that meant I heard a newscast every hour, was probably better informed than many of my classmates, but I wouldn’t have been up on the nuances, either.

When we look back on the Vietnam Era, pop and rock music is inextricably a part of it. When the story of Watergate is told, there’s no obvious soundtrack, although the scandal inspired several songs.

—One of the first Watergate-themed songs was David Allan Coe’s May 1973 single “How High’s the Watergate, Martha” backed by “Tricky Dickey, the Only Son of Kung Fu.” Both songs name-check prominent Watergate figures, but “How High’s the Watergate” is the much better of the two.

—Tom T. Hall’s “Watergate Blues” came out in June 1973, made it up to #16 country, and bubbled under at #101. It’s not among Hall’s best songs, although it does contain one nice line, referring to Nixon’s 1972 landslide: “The USA bought a new used car.”

—Also in the summer of 1973, Chicago DJ John Landecker recorded “Make a Date With the Watergate,” based on Lou Reed’s “Walk on the Wild Side.” Early in 1974, Landecker did another political novelty, “Press My Conference,” a break-in record featuring clips of then-current hits and the voices of other WLS personalities. (Hear them both here.)

—Don Imus cut his own Watergate break-in record, “Son of Checkers,” in 1973, which is not at YouTube.

—On impressionist David Frye’s 1973 single “Nixon Meets the Godfather,” the embattled president consults Don Corleone for advice.

—Phil Ochs’ “Here’s to the State of Richard Nixon,” released in 1974, was overtly a protest song, a rewrite of Ochs’ song “Here’s to the State of Mississippi.”

—Fred Wesley and the J.B.’s put Watergate in two songs, neither of which had much to do with the scandal: the nominally anti-poverty 1973 release “You Can Have Watergate (Just Give Me Some Bucks and I’ll Be Straight),” and 1974’s“Rockin’ Funky Watergate,” the entire lyric of which is the phrases “rockin’ Watergate” and “funky Watergate” over and over.

—Stevie Wonder’s “You Haven’t Done Nothin'” is not so much a Watergate song as it’s a general indictment of Nixon. It hit the Hot 100 during the week of the resignation in August 1974 and slow-cooked its way to a single week at #1 in November.

—Running the chart with “You Haven’t Done Nothin'” was Lynryd Skynryd’s “Sweet Home Alabama,” with the lines “Now Watergate does not bother me / Does your conscience bother you?”

—Frank Zappa’s “Son of Orange County,” from the 1974 live album Roxy and Elsewhere, pegged Nixon as a megalomaniac and quotes his famous line “I am not a crook.” It came out in September, almost exactly a month after Nixon went home to San Clemente.

—In 1975, Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes mentioned Nixon obliquely in “Bad Luck,” although you don’t hear it on the single. On the full-length version of the song, Teddy Pendergrass testifies about how he opened his newspaper and saw that the President of the United States “was gonna give it up.” “They say they got another man to take his place / But I don’t think that he can satisfy the human race.”

—James Brown had been more slightly optimistic about Gerald Ford on “Funky President,” which peaked at #44 on the last chart of 1974.

During the 16 months when Watergate was at its peak, the pop charts were notable for their escapism. The most topical record of the times might have been “The Streak,” Ray Stevens’ #1 novelty hit. Compared to Vietnam, Watergate lagged far behind as an inspiration to artists.

Four decades later, the careful tuning of political radar makes it unlikely than an anti-Trump song could become a radio hit at all, let alone reach #1. And while we might hope that Trump will fall as Nixon did, it’s hard to be optimistic right now. In Nixon’s day, members of his own party declared that certain lines could not be crossed, which led to discussions of impeachment and Nixon’s eventual resignation. In contrast, today’s Congressional Republicans haven’t done nothin’.

Under One Roof

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(Pictured: the Rubettes—John Richardson, Tony Thorpe, Mick Clarke, and Alan Williams—in 1976.)

Over the years, we have occasionally mentioned the Rubettes, who, in the middle of the glam-rock era, were one of the most popular groups in Britain. The awesomely cheesy and insanely great “Sugar Baby Love” was a #1 single in the UK in May 1974, followed by “Tonight,” “Juke Box Jive,” “I Can Do It,” and “Foe-Dee-Oh-Dee,” all of which made the UK Top 20 during the next year-and-a-half. Only “Sugar Baby Love” charted in the States, and only for a moment, spending two weeks in the Billboard Top 40 during September 1974, reaching #37.

The Rubettes started as a creation of producer Wayne Bickerton, who in 1973 assembled a bunch of studio cats to make a demo of some songs he had written with Tony Waddington, a childhood friend. (Bickerton and Waddington had also been bandmates of erstwhile Beatle Pete Best in the mid 60s.) Polydor Records liked the sound of them and wanted to release one as a single, but told Bickerton he would need to have an actual band to promote the record on TV and on the road. The lead singer on the demos was under contract to another label, so he couldn’t join, but three of the other studio musicians were willing; they rounded up three of their mates, and the Rubettes were launched, their name intended to conjure up the sound of 50s American rock ‘n’ roll.

After a couple of years, the band shrunk to five members, and eventually four. Although the hits began to thin out at the end of 1975, the Rubettes remained a popular concert draw, especially in France, into the early 80s. (Rubette Alan Williams told a reporter in 2015 that Paul McCartney told him of sitting down with a French interviewer whose first two questions were, “Are you Paul McCartney?” and “Do you know the Rubettes?”)

In 1976, the newly four-piece Rubettes decided to change their sound, as Williams says “the glam thing” was mostly at the behest of Bickerton and Waddington. The single “Under One Roof” was intended to be different—not only its sound but its subject matter. “Under One Roof” is the story of a neglected teenage boy who runs away from home, is taken in by a man, and falls in love with him, only to be murdered by his own father.

“Under One Roof” ran up against resistance almost immediately. The BBC pop-music station wouldn’t play it because of its subject matter, which Williams and his bandmates found frustrating because the same station didn’t blink at Rod Stewart’s similarly themed “The Killing of Georgie.” Rubette John Richardson remembered that the band was booked to play their new single on Top of the Pops, only to have the billing canceled when producers got wind of the song’s theme. While some singles managed to climb high on the charts without BBC exposure, “Under One Roof” wasn’t one of them. It stalled at #40 late in 1976.

My laptop music stash includes a Rubettes compilation, which I own entirely because I dug “Sugar Baby Love” the handful of times I heard it over the years. One recent afternoon, “Under One Roof” came up on shuffle, and it cut through the clutter of the day like few records have lately. It’s a compelling story with a beautiful melody, sensitively sung. As is usually the case with Rubettes records, it’s extremely well made. If you can listen to the end without feeling a surge of emotion, I don’t know what to say to you.

“Under One Roof” is worth hearing 40 years later not just as a historical curiosity. For the last few years, we have bent the arc of history toward justice, with gays and lesbians no longer singled out for discrimination—but we are governed now by bigots eager to return us to more backward times. “Under One Roof” is a reminder of just how much ignorance and cruelty can cost.

The Orange and the Green

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(Pictured: the Irish Rovers, circa 1968.)

One St. Patrick’s Day, my boss took me out for dinner at a bar owned by his wife’s family, and I got loaded on green beer. (I don’t recommend it.) Another year, the station’s jocks were scheduled to walk in our town’s St. Pat’s parade, dressed in green-trimmed tuxedos and handing out green-tinted carnations. However, a strong thunderstorm rolled through just as the parade was lining up. We got caught in it, trying to take refuge at one point under the overhanging back end of the nearby Oscar Meyer Wienermobile. (I don’t recommend that, either.) Although the parade went on after a delay, it went on without the four of us, who had gone back to the station to wring out our rented suits.

I don’t have any other St. Patrick’s Day memories, and the most Irish thing about me is all the Van Morrison records I own. But I’m not writing about Van today.

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