One Chart Dig: June 1975

June 19th, 2018

Here’s the Billboard Top Ten from its June 21, 1975, edition:

“Love Will Keep Us Together” by the Captain & Tennille
“When Will I Be Loved/It Doesn’t Matter Anymore” by Linda Ronstadt
“Wildfire” by Michael (Martin) Murphey
“I’m Not Lisa” by Jessi Colter
“Love Won’t Let Me Wait” by Major Harris
“Sister Golden Hair” by America
“The Hustle” by Van McCoy & the Soul City Symphony
“Get Down, Get Down (Get On The Floor)” by Joe Simon
“Listen To What The Man Said” by Paul McCartney & Wings
“Cut The Cake” by the Average White Band

Well, any top ten that has two of my all-time favorite summer records is going to be well-received here. “Wildfire” and “I’m Not Lisa” are among the most potent sounds from that summer, which – as has been well-chronicled here – was the best summer of my college years and one of the most fondly remembered summers of my life. As I wrote here nearly five years ago:

[They] play in memory from the boothside jukebox at the Country Kitchen: “Wildfire” by Michael Martin Murphey and “I’m Not Lisa” by Jessi Colter. Same night? Same companion across the booth? Yes and yes.

There are only a couple of misfires in that top ten. I’ve never been fond of the Ronstadt records; I like “It Doesn’t Matter Anymore” more than the other, and that tells me that I preferred Ronstadt when she did the softer stuff. I can take or leave the Average White Band single, and I never heard the Joe Simon often enough that summer to have an opinion.

I’ve never written much about America, but “Sister Golden Hair” is a pretty good record, despite some lyrical oddities, which were almost a trademark of the band. I picked up a greatest hits CD at a garage sale a couple of weeks ago, and I was reminded how good many of the band’s hits were. And those lyrical oddities? Well, I used to forgive the same type of thing when I listened to the Bee Gees way back when, so who am I to complain?

As has been our habit here recently, we’re going to roll the dice and see what’s lurking at the very bottom of that Hot 100 from forty-three years ago. And at No. 100, we find Travis Wammack’s “(Shu-Doo-Pa-Poo-Poop) Love Being Your Fool.”

In Top Pop Singles, Joel Whitburn reminds us that the Memphis-born Wammack was a prolific session guitarist for the FAME studios in Muscle Shoals. His first charting record, “Scratchy,” was released when he was seventeen. (Whitburn notes that it was an instrumental version of Mel Torme’s 1962 hit “Comin’ Home Baby.”) Altogether, Wammack had six singles either reach the Hot 100 or bubble under. “(Shu-Doo-Pa-Poo-Poop) Love Being Your Fool” was the most successful of the six, peaking at No. 38.

Does “(Shu-Doo-Pa-Poo-Poop) Love Being Your Fool” make me want to go out and find Not For Sale, the 1975 Capricorn album from which it came? Not really. But it’s a fun listen with some great drums.

Saturday Single No. 595

June 16th, 2018

So what is there on the digital shelves that was recorded on June 16?

Well, a search comes up with ten tracks, which is a pretty good result, considering that I have recording date information for a very small number of the 72,000 tracks on those figurative shelves. Here are those ten tracks listed chronologically:

“I’m Here To Get My Baby Out Of Jail” by the Blue Sky Boys in 1936
“On The Banks Of The Ohio” also by the Blue Sky Boys in 1936
“That Nasty Swing” by Cliff Carlisle in 1936

(All three of those were recorded in Charlotte, North Carolina.)

“Bucket’s Got A Hole In It” by Washboard Sam in Chicago, 1938
“Stairway To The Stars” by Jimmy Dorsey in New York City, 1939
“Messin’ Around With the Blues” by Alberta Adams in Chicago, 1953
“If You Love Me, Tell Me So” by Paul Gayten in New Orleans, 1955
“Ain’t Nobody Home” by B.B. King in London, 1971
“Janey Don’t You Lose Heart” by Bruce Springsteen in New York City, 1983
“Stand On It” by Bruce Springsteen in New York City, 1983

I should note that June 16 was the date that the B.B. King track was completed; work on the track started on June 9.

So, sorting out those could take some time, if I wanted to assess each record. I do know that I’ll skip the Blue Sky Boys’ “On The Banks Of The Ohio,” as I included that track in a post about the song and its origins a while back. I’ll pass on the Springsteens, as they’re not nearly my favorites among his work.

And I’m just going to go with B.B. King. The track – found on the album B.B. King in London – was also released as a single on the ABC label. It went to No. 46 on the Billboard Hot 100 and to No. 28 on the magazine’s R&B chart, and it’s today’s Saturday Single.

One Chart Dig: June 15, 1968

June 15th, 2018

A few days ago, I featured by default the No. 100 record in a Billboard Hot 100 from 1971. As I was scrolling down the screen toward the bottom of that chart, I was concerned that I’d find a dismal record, or at best, mediocrity.

I got lucky, stumbling into a Stephen Stills record that I’ve always liked. And this morning, I thought, “Well, that’s a strategy that might work on a frequent basis. So let’s try it again.”

So we – Odd, Pop and I – cast our line into the depths of the Hot 100 from June 15, 1968, fifty years ago today. And we weren’t quite as lucky. But we’ll get to that in a bit. First of all, let’s look at the Top Ten in that long-ago chart:

“Mrs. Robinson” by Simon & Garfunkel
“This Guy’s In Love With You” by Herb Alpert
“Mony Mony” by Tommy James & The Shondells
“Yummy Yummy Yummy” by the Ohio Express
“MacArthur Park” by Richard Harris
“Tighten Up” by Archie Bell & The Drells
“Think” by Aretha Franklin
“A Beautiful Morning” by the Rascals
“The Good, The Bad & The Ugly” by Hugo Montenegro, His Orchestra and Chorus
“The Look Of Love” by Sergio Mendes & Brasil ’66

That’s a pretty good Top Ten. I can do without “Mony Mony” and “Yummy Yummy Yummy,” and I’ve gotten a bit tired of “Tighten Up” over the years, but the other seven are fine, and if together those seven tilt the list toward easy listening, well that’s okay here.

As usual when writing about stuff before the summer of 1969, I should note that I only heard any of these by default, when either my friends or my sister were listening to the radio while I was around. But all of these records – save perhaps “Think” – were familiar to me during that summer between junior high school and high school.

But I don’t think I’d ever heard that week’s No. 100 record until I sought it out this morning. It’s “Congratulations” by Cliff Richard, an artist whose stardom baffles me.

I know he was a big deal in England, with – says Wikipedia – sixty-seven Top Ten singles, second only to Elvis Presley. And he didn’t do badly here, with twenty-one records in or near the Hot 100 between 1959 and 1983. Three of those hit the Top Ten: “Devil Woman” in 1976 and “We Don’t Talk Anymore” and “Dreaming,” both in 1980. I liked “Devil Woman,” but the other two did very little for me, just like anything else I’ve ever heard from Richard.

I especially don’t get the appeal of “Congratulations,” which went to No. 1 in the United Kingdom and in five other European nations. If I weren’t in a generally good mood this morning, I’d label it “insipid.” As it is, I’ll settle for “unpleasant.” But fishing on the bottom of the ocean – something we will do again – can be risky. So here’s “Congratulations.”

One Chart Dig: June 12, 1971

June 12th, 2018

By this time during June 1971, I was mowing grass every day, riding across the lawns at St. Cloud State, sometimes enjoying it but mostly worried that I was going to have some kind of accident. That worry slowed me down, and I did not cut as much grass as my supervisor expected, so by mid-summer, I was transferred to the janitorial crew, which was fine with me.

Anyway, during June I’d come home with the roar of the lawnmower in my ears – no protective headgear for us in those long-ago days – and it would be an hour or two before the sound subsided, which was usually right around dinner time. Once I could hear, I’d turn the radio on in my room or stack a few LPs on the stereo in the basement and kick back for the evening.

So what did I hear? Here’s the Billboard Top Ten from June 12, 1971, forty-seven years ago today:

“Want Ads” by the Honey Cone
“Brown Sugar” by the Rolling Stones
“Rainy Days & Mondays” by the Carpenters
“It Don’t Come Easy” by Ringo Starr
“Joy To The World” by Three Dog Night
“It’s Too Late/I Feel The Earth Move” by Carole King
“Sweet & Innocent” by Donny Osmond
“Treat Her Like A Lady” by the Cornelius Brothers & Sister Rose
“I’ll Meet You Halfway” by the Partridge Family
“Bridge Over Troubled Water/Brand New Me” by Aretha Franklin

Well, from nearly fifty years later, that’s a pretty good set; I’d still wince at the Donny Osmond, but I’d likely enjoy the Partridge Family single more now than I did then.

That takes care of the radio. What would I hear if I headed to the rec room and the stereo? Here are the rock albums I’d acquired so far in 1971:

The Beatles (The White Album)
Crosby, Stills & Nash
“Yesterday” . . . and Today by the Beatles
Ram by Paul & Linda McCartney
Pearl by Janis Joplin

I was still working on my Beatles collection, but was beginning to branch out, too. By the end of the year, I’d have a few more albums by the Fab Four as well as albums by the Doors, Jethro Tull, Stephen Stills and Three Dog Night. I’d also acquire the original version of Jesus Christ Superstar and The Concert for Bangla Desh.

But to get back to that Billboard Hot 100 from forty-seven years ago today, I was going to play Games With Numbers with today’s date – 6/12/18 – and check out the records at Nos. 18, 24, 30 and 36. But only one of those four interests me – “Don’t Pull Your Love” by Hamilton, Joe Frank and Reynolds at No. 30 – and I’ve heard it recently.

So I dropped to the bottom of the chart, and at No. 100, I found a Stephen Stills record that I liked a fair amount: “Change Partners,” which also showed up on Stills’ second solo album. I recall hearing it that summer, but probably not often, as the record stalled at No. 43.

Saturday Single No. 594

June 9th, 2018

I woke to the sad news this morning that Danny Kirwan, one-time guitarist and songwriter for Fleetwood Mac, died in London, according to a statement from Mick Fleetwood and the band.

Kirwan, who was 68, was a member of Fleetwood Mac from 1969 into 1972, an era when the band shifted its style from its blues-based origins to pop-rock, presaging the West Coast rock direction the band would take in the mid-1970s with the addition of Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham.

By that time, Kirwan was gone, having been booted from the band in 1972 for alcoholism, according to Rolling Stone. He released four solo albums during the second half of the 1970s, but then his fortunes deteriorated, the magazine’s website says, quoting from a 1993 interview with the Independent in which Kirwan said, “I get by and I suppose I am homeless, but then I’ve never really had a home since our early days on tour. I couldn’t handle it all mentally and I had to get out. I can’t settle.”

In that interview, Kirwan then added, “I was lucky to have played for the band at all. I just started off following them around, but I could play the guitar a bit and Mick felt sorry for me and put me in. I did it for about four years, to about 1972, but . . . I couldn’t handle the lifestyle and the women and the traveling.”

Kirwan’s high point during his time with the group is almost certainly Bare Trees, the 1972 album for which he wrote five songs, including the title track. That track been seen here before, but it’s been a while, so in memory of Danny Kirwan, Fleetwood Mac’s “Bare Trees” is today’s Saturday Single.

Some Friday Songs

June 8th, 2018

When I sort the 72,000 tracks in the RealPlayer for “Friday,” the returns are not encouraging: I get twenty-two tracks. Two of them are set aside immediately: They’re performances of “Remedy” and “Willie McTell” by The Band during 1994 on the NBC show Friday Night Videos.

The other twenty tracks, however, provide an interesting mix, though I think we’ll pass by the theme from the television show Friday Night Lights by W.G. “Snuffy” Walden. So what we’ll do is sort the other nineteen tracks by their running time, set the cursor in the middle of the stack and find four tracks.

And we start with a churning, loping and somewhat dissonant boogie decorated by one of those odd lyrical excursions typical of Steely Dan: “Black Friday” from the 1975 album Katy Lied:

When Black Friday comes
I fly down to Muswellbrook
Gonna strike all the big red words
From my little black book

Gonna do just what I please
Gonna wear no socks and shoes
With nothing to do but feed
All the kangaroos

When Black Friday comes I’ll be on that hill
You know I will

I’m not an expert on Steely Dan, though I enjoy the group’s music almost any time I hear it and recognize the skill and talent on display. But the artistic visions of Walter Becker and Donald Fagen almost always leave me a little off-kilter, as if – to use an idea I think I’ve expressed at other times describing other artists – I’m suddenly living in a world of eighty-nine degree angles.

The first moments of the next track are oddly similar to “Black Friday,” but then the tune slides into the familiar jangly sound of “Friday On My Mind” by the Easybeats, a 1967 hit that peaked at No. 16 in the Billboard Hot 100. The tune has its own moments of dissonance as it tell the tale of a fellow enduring another week of work or school, looking for the weekend so he can get to the city and spend time with his gal: “She’s so pretty!”

So were the Easybeats a one-hit wonder? It depends on how you define the term. I’ve seen some chartheads define a one-hit wonder as a group that had only one record reach the Hot 100. I tend to think that’s a bit stringent, and use the qualifier of only one hit in the Top 40. Why discuss that here? Because the Easybeats had one other record in the Hot 100: a 1969 release titled “St. Louis” that spent one week at No. 100 and then dropped off the chart.

By my terms, then, the Easybeats – who hailed from Sydney, Australia – are definitely a one-hit wonder. Their hit is a record I’m not particularly fond of, but there it was at No. 16 during the spring of 1967.

Larry Jon Wilson, who died in 2010, was a Southern storyteller whose songs never seemed to hurry, even when they clipped right along. “Friday Night Fight At Al’s” fits into that style very well. I found it on an album titled Testifying: The Country Soul Revue, a 2004 sampler put out in the United Kingdom by the Casual Records label. (Among the other artists on the album were Tony Joe White, Bonnie Bramlett and Dan Penn.)

The track starts with Wilson’s laconic explanation that Al’s Beer Depot was a bar out near the bomb factory, a place where he went for a banquet one Friday when things went as they normally did at Al’s:

The Friday night fights at Al’s place: The situation was grim and I was forced to face
The extreme possibility of no one ever seein’ me alive again
When the night was over, chairs are busted, tables are flyin’
Get me out of here, Jesus, I’m afraid of dyin’
It’s the Friday night fights at Al’s place . . . We didn’t have no referee

Wilson’s body of work is a little thin: Four albums between 1975 and 1979, another in 2008, and a few other things here and there, two of which are included on Testifying. I like his stuff a lot.

Our fourth stop today brings us the Tulsa sound of the late J.J. Cale, a shuffling tune titled simply “Friday,” a track from a 1979 album titled, with equal simplicity, 5. I’ve loved Cale’s work since I came across his first album, Naturally, back in 1972, a year after it came out. There is a sameness to his work, yes, but it’s a comfortable sameness, if that makes any sense.

In any case, just lean back and listen to “Friday.”

First Wednesday: June 1968

June 6th, 2018

In this space ten years ago, I put up a series of monthly posts looking at the year of 1968, then forty years gone. I thought it would be interesting to rerun those posts this year as we mark the fiftieth anniversary of that remarkable and often horrifying year. We’ll correct errors or update information as necessary, but the historic portion of the posts will otherwise be unchanged. As to music, we’ll update our examination of charts from fifty years ago and then, when possible, share the same full albums from 1968 as we did ten years ago, but this time – as is our habit now – as YouTube videos. The posts will appear on the first Wednesday of each month.

As 1968 entered June, nearing its halfway mark, the body blows kept coming.

June 5 was a Wednesday, one of the first days of summer vacation, so I slept in, as did my mom. We weren’t sluggards, but neither of us had risen with Dad as he left for the college before seven o’clock, which was his custom. Instead, we wandered downstairs about eight o’clock.

And there was a note on the kitchen table, in Dad’s distinctive hand, sharing the news he’d heard on the radio as he had his breakfast: Senator Robert F. Kennedy had been shot in Los Angeles after winning the previous day’s California primary. He was in critical condition. I’m not sure if it actually said so, but the note at least gave the impression that Kennedy’s survival was unlikely.

I was not necessarily a supporter of Bobby Kennedy; I had some parochial pride that two of the Democratic candidates for president – Eugene McCarthy and Hubert H. Humphrey – were Minnesotans. I was, however, beginning to pay some attention to Kennedy’s message, and so – I think – was my father. My mother’s political sympathies, I know, were on the other side of the aisle. But those preferences and differences were unimportant at that moment.

I remember standing there, next to my mom, looking at the note, reading it a second time. Its content was, as had been so much already that year, difficult to grasp, to process. To a boy of fourteen – even to a fairly bright boy who kept up pretty well with current events – it was one more piece of an adult-sized puzzle, a mystery that seemed further and further from solution as every bit of new information came to light. The import of the morning’s news and its insanity – there is no other word for it – tumbled through my mind as I ate breakfast and went out to take care of my only chore of the day.

And I remember clearly that as I pushed the lawn mower that morning, I was distracted. It struck me as strange, as somehow wrong and disrespectful, to be doing something so ordinary, so mundane, while in a distant hospital room a life, a family and – yes, I thought this – maybe even the country hung on the edge of tragedy. And early the next morning, Robert Kennedy died.

The next days felt unhappily familiar and unreal: The ceremonies of grief and farewell, the funeral in New York’s St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the slow train ride from New York to Washington, D.C. with crowds of mourners lining the tracks. My attention wandered; I was tired of grief, conflict and anger, and that seemed to be all the adult world was offering. So I paid less attention to those ceremonies than I otherwise might have.

And when those events ended, the rest of the month went by with little notice. In an odd bit of cosmic timing, James Earl Ray, the suspected killer of Martin Luther King, Jr., was arrested in London on the day of Robert Kennedy’s funeral. And with that, the major news of June pretty much ended.

The days lengthened, at least for a couple more weeks, and turned warmer. For all the sorrow that 1968 had brought so far, there was a summer. And I think a lot of us moved toward that warm season numbly, wondering “What next?”

During those moments we sought comfort from music, as many of us always have done, what did we hear that month? Here’s the top fifteen from the Billboard Hot 100 for June 1, 1968:

“Mrs. Robinson” by Simon & Garfunkel
“The Good, The Bad And The Ugly” by Hugo Montenegro
“A Beautiful Morning” by the Rascals
“Tighten Up” by Archie Bell and the Drells
“Honey” by Bobby Goldsboro
“Yummy Yummy Yummy” by the Ohio Express
“Mony Mony” by Tommy James and the Shondells
“Ain’t Nothing Like The Real Thing” by Marvin Gaye & Tammi Terrell
“Cowboys to Girls” by the Intruders
“Do You Know The Way To San Jose” by Dionne Warwick
“This Guy’s In Love With You” by Herb Alpert
“MacArthur Park” by Richard Harris
“Think” by Aretha Franklin
“Love Is All Around” by the Troggs
“She’s Lookin’ Good” by Wilson Pickett

Well, that’s about seventy percent okay. Of the top four, I can imagine a large number of people looking askance at the Hugo Montenegro single, but I’ve always loved it for some reason. So the first four on that list are just fine with me. The bottom eight are fine, too: “Ain’t Nothing Like The Real Thing” was one of best things Marvin and Tammi did during their too-brief time as partners; the Intruders’ track is pleasant, if a little slight; and “Do You Know The Way To San Jose” might be the third best thing among these fifteen, challenged for that spot only by the Marvin and Tammi duet, “Mrs. Robinson” or “Think.” As to the top two for me, the Alpert single and “MacArthur Park” have always been favorites of mine.

But those other three, from No. 5 through No. 7! They look like a bad tongue twister. Of the three, the Goldsboro is the worst, but I’ve never cared much for the other two, either. Those three singles would create a ten-minute segment on the oldies countdown when I’d find a reason to leave the room, maybe change the furnace filter or take out the recycling.

You’ll note that even the good singles there are all pretty light. There are some R&B grooves in “Tighten Up” and hints of that in “Ain’t Nothing Like The Real Thing,” and “Cowboys to Girls,” but this is a pretty soft Top Ten. Maybe the album chart was a little tougher.

Bookends by Simon & Garfunkel
The Graduate soundtrack by Simon & Garfunkel and Dave Grusin
The Birds, The Bees & The Monkees by the Monkees
The Beat of the Brass by Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass
Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme by Simon & Garfunkel
Honey by Bobby Goldsboro
Aretha: Lady Soul by Aretha Franklin
The Good, The Band And The Ugly soundtrack by Ennio Morricone
Disraeli Gears by Cream
Music From “A Fistful of Dollars” & “For A Few Dollars More” & “The Good, The Bad And The Ugly” by Hugo Montenegro

Again, those are pretty light, with only the Cream and the Aretha entries having much weight, although it should be noted that Simon & Garfunkel were always a good listen. The soundtrack to The Good, The Band And The Ugly had originally been released with the film in 1966 and popped back into the album charts after the success of Montenegro’s album of covers.

I’m not sure when the album I’m sharing today was released, beyond the fact that it was 1968. And it’s an odd album, even though there are portions of it that I enjoy very much.

Fever Tree came out of Houston, Texas, and recorded and released four albums between 1968 and 1970 without drawing much attention. In fact, I’d wager that the group is better known these days as a result of its music having been released on CD than it ever was back in the Sixties.

Still, there is some interesting music in Fever Tree’s catalog, especially on the first, self-titled album from 1968. The song that most folks know is “San Francisco Girls (Return of the Native),” which has popped up on a number of anthologies over the years, including one of the highly regarded Nuggets collections in the 1980s. It’s a track that, if not great, is at least fun to listen to and worthy of some attention because of, All-Music Guide notes, its “dramatic melody, utopian lyrics, and searing fuzz guitar.”

(Ten years ago, my music library was in process, so I was unable to report that a single release of “San Francisco Girls (Return of the Native)” had spent six weeks in the Billboard Hot 100 but never got any higher than No. 91. It was Fever Tree’s only chart entry. As to the album, it went to No. 156 on the Billboard 200. I should also note that when it came time to compile the records in my Ultimate Jukebox in early 2010, “San Francisco Girls (Return of the Native)” was one of the 240 records included.)

The rest of the album? Well, it’s all over the musical map. The opening track – “Imitation Situation 1 (Toccata and Fugue)/Where Do You Go?” – begins with a Bach quote and a snippet of what sounds like a lift from an Ennio Morricone soundtrack before settling into a swirling song that alternates harsh vocals and lilting flute. On my first listening some time ago, that first track reminded me of a review of another musician I once read, noting that the performer in question “never threw away any idea.” That’s kind of the sense I got about Fever Tree and its producers, Scott and Vivian Holtzman (who wrote or co-wrote all of the original material on Fever Tree).

Elsewhere on the records, the Wilson Pickett cover “Ninety-Nine and a Half (Won’t Do),” doesn’t work all that well as a psychedelic freakout, but a couple other covers connect: A medley of the Beatles’ “Day Tripper” and “We Can Work It Out” includes sly brass quotes from “Norwegian Wood” and “Eleanor Rigby,” and the cover of Buffalo Springfield’s “Nowadays Clancy Can’t Even Sing” is simply beautiful.

Of the originals, beyond “San Francisco Girls (Return of the Native),” the two closers come off best. The other originals are not bad, but “Unlock My Door” and “Come With Me (Rainsong)” are mellow, maybe sentimental, and close very nicely an album that seems to have wandered all over the map before coming home at last.

Tracks:

Imitation Situation 1 (Toccata and Fugue)/Where Do You Go?
San Francisco Girls (Return of the Native)
Ninety-Nine and a Half (Won’t Do)
Man Who Paints The Pictures
Filigree & Shadow
Sun Also Rises
Day Tripper/We Can Work It Out
Nowadays, Clancy Can’t Even Sing
Unlock My Door
Come With Me (Rainsong)

Here’s a link that will take you to the entire album as an automatic playlist at YouTube: Fever Tree (1968).

Historical error corrected after first posting.

Saturday Single No. 593

June 2nd, 2018

So my little music history game on Facebook has made its way to 1980, and this morning, I offered the No. 38 record in the Billboard Hot 100 from thirty-eight years ago, which turned out to be “Love Stinks” by the J. Geils Band.

Well, it could have been a lot worse. Looking at the Top Ten from that week in 1980, we find:

“Funky Town” by Lips, Inc.
“Coming Up/Coming Up (Live at Glascow)” by Paul McCartney & Wings
“Biggest Part of Me” by Ambrosia
“Don’t Fall In Love With A Dreamer” by Kenny Rogers with Kim Carnes
“Call Me” by Blondie
“The Rose” by Bette Midler
“Against The Wind” by Bob Seger & The Silver Bullet Band
“Hurts So Bad” by Linda Ronstadt
“Cars” by Garu Numan
“Little Jeanie” by Elton John

For me, that’s a dismal assortment, with eight records that I wouldn’t miss if I never heard them again. The two keepers, the only two of those ten that show up among the 3,938 tracks on the iPod, are “Funkytown” (mostly because it’s a Minnesota production) and “Call Me.”

As I wander further down that Hot 100 from the first week of June 1980, I see the time when I began – as I’ve noted here before – to look for a different format to satisfy my musical appetite. I eventually found it partly in the adult contemporary format offered by the Twin Cities station KSTP-FM, but the next few years found me listening to country and pop jazz and a few other things on the radio. On the turntable, I listened to my old favorites and some recent stuff that was rapidly heading into the oldies category.

Then there were a few months sometime around 1980 when the Other Half’s boss loaned us a stack of LPs from her husband’s extensive collection of Big Band music. For most of a summer, when we weren’t watching TV or listening to the radio (even the AC format wore on both of us at times), the house was filled with the sounds of the 1930s and 1940s. We were surprised how much we liked it, and we bought a few LPs – hits packages from Glenn Miller, Tommy Dorsey, and Duke Ellington – and they went into an informal rotation on the stereo.

But to get back to that 1980 Hot 100: As I scroll down I do see some things I liked then and still like, records by Boz Scaggs, Pure Prairie League, the Manhattans, Carole King, Fleetwood Mac, the Eagles, and a few more. And I see a lot of stuff I’m not sure I’ve ever heard.

So I’m going to just drop to the bottom of the Bubbling Under portion of the chart, where we find “Into the Night” by Benny Mardones at No. 110. The record, which would eventually peak at No. 11, is one I have never mentioned, just as I’ve never mentioned Benny Mardones during these past eleven-plus years. (“Into the Night” was re-released in 1989 and went to No. 20 on both the Hot 100 and the Adult Contemporary chart.)

It’s not a bad record, as I listen to it this morning, and it’s today’s Saturday Single:

One Chart Dig: May 30, 1970

May 30th, 2018

With the Texas Gal on vacation for a couple days following the holiday, it’s been a lazy time here. But I thought I’d take a few moments during a humid afternoon to look briefly at the Billboard Hot 100 from May 30, 1970, forty-eight years ago today.

Sitting at No. 1 was Ray Stevens’ “Everything Is Beautiful,” a record I might have liked the first time I heard it. I soon tired of it, and today I find it trite and bathetic. But we rarely do much business around here with the top of the charts, and today, Odd, Pop and I are playing a quick bit of Games With Numbers and looking at the record parked at No. 30.

And we find a record that’s never once been mentioned here in more than eleven years and about 2,400 posts: “Soolaimon” by Neil Diamond. That’s a little odd, given that I like Diamond’s work enough that his name is among the artists listed in the side column of both this site and the Echoes In The Wind Archives, which collects posts from early 2007 into 2009.

“Soolaimon” came from the 1970 album Tap Root Manuscript, where it was part of “The African Trilogy (A Folk Ballet),” a suite that took up the entire second side of the LP. I do wonder today exactly how African the suite truly is, but that’s a question for another time and for others more qualified than I to answer. (And I fear getting caught up in questions like: Should current concepts like cultural appropriation be applied to artistic works from earlier – and different – times?)

But back to “Soolaimon” the single: I liked it well enough when it was on the radio, I liked it when I heard it across the street at Rick’s place, and I still liked it when I heard it from my own vinyl copy of the album, which I finally collected in Wichita, Kansas, twenty years after its release. (And as I write, I’m pondering whether I should shell out a few bucks to get the CD; I likely won’t.) So why have I never written about it? I have no idea.

As it happens, we’re catching the record on the anniversary of its peak, as it had been at No. 31 a week earlier and would return to that spot as June began. So, with all that, here’s Neil Diamond’s “Soolaimon.”

Saturday Single No. 592

May 26th, 2018

I’ve been doing kind of a fun daily music post at Facebook lately. It started Monday when I saw someone post something about an event in 1968, that incredible year now fifty years gone. And I got to wondering, just for fun, what the No. 50 record in the Billboard Hot 100 had been fifty years ago on Monday. So I checked it out and found it was Jerry Butler’s “Never Give You Up,” a decent piece of Chicago soul.

And never being one to let a good idea go underworked, I kept at it, posting one a day:

Forty-nine years ago Tuesday, the No. 49 record was “Special Delivery” by the 1910 Fruitgum Company.

Forty-eight years ago Wednesday, the No. 48 record was “Everybody’s Out Of Town” by B.J. Thomas.

Forty-seven years ago Thursday, the No. 47 record was “Booty Butt” by the Ray Charles Orchestra.

Forty-six years ago Friday, the No. 46 record was “Immigration Man” by Graham Nash and David Crosby.

And forty-five years ago today, the No. 45 record was “I Knew Jesus (Before He Was A Star)” by Glenn Campbell.

I’ll probably keep on with the daily posts through the 1970s, or at least through 1978, which will have been forty years ago and will make the series total eleven posts. So I’m about halfway done. And this morning’s post is the first time that the date of the post and the date of the chart matched: The Glenn Campbell record showed up in the Hot 100 that came out on May 26, 1973, exactly forty-five years ago today.

It being Saturday, of course, I’m looking for a Saturday Single, so we’re going to dig a bit further into that chart from forty-five years ago. We’ll likely not find our single in the top of the chart, but here’s the Top Ten from that week:

“Frankenstein” by the Edgar Winter Group
“My Love” by Paul McCartney & Wings
“Daniel” by Elton John
“Tie A Yellow Ribbon Round The Old Oak Tree” by Dawn featuring Tony Orlando
“You Are The Sunshine Of My Life” by Stevie Wonder
“Pillow Talk” by Sylvia
“Little Willy” by the Sweet
“Drift Away” by Dobie Gray
“Wildflower” by Skylark
“Hocus Pocus” by Focus

That’s a mixed bag, to be sure. The singles by Dawn, Sylvia and the Sweet were never among my favorites, and I tired quickly of the Stevie Wonder and Focus singles. The rest were good records but none of them were anything I thought of as great. The best one here was “Drift Away,” and that didn’t make my top 250 when I put it together as the Ultimate Jukebox in 2010.

But let’s look lower. Since my Facebook post this morning looked at No. 45, let’s look at the records in other “5” positions in that forty-five year old chart:

No. 15 was “Funky Worm” by the Ohio Players
No. 25 was “Will It Go Round In Circles” by Billy Preston
No. 35 was “I Can Understand It” by the New Birth
No. 55 was “Shambala” by Three Dog Night
No. 65 was “Hey You! Get Off My Mountain” by the Dramatics
No. 75 was “Peaceful” by Helen Reddy
No. 85 was “Smoke On The Water” by Deep Purple
No. 95 was “Outlaw Man” by David Blue

Well, that’s an interesting mix: A fair amount of R&B, some pop, one classic riff and one utterly lost record.

That lost record, for those keeping score at home, is Blue’s “Outlaw Man,” which would move up one more notch to No. 94 and then fall out of the Hot 100 entirely. It was Blue’s only entry in the Hot 100, and it had been pulled from Blue’s 1973 album Nice Baby and the Angel, the fifth of seven albums Blue would release (none of which charted in Billboard.).

To top off that run of futility, Joel Whitburn notes in Top Pop Singles that Blue, who hailed from Providence, Rhode Island, had a brief life, dying while jogging in December 1982 at the age of forty-one.

Two of Blue’s seven albums and one additional track are in the digital stacks, and though I don’t know them well, I’ve enjoyed what I’ve heard of them. And because “Outlaw Man” popped up for attention today, it may as well be today’s Saturday Single.