Posts Tagged ‘Chambers Brothers’

‘Funky’

Thursday, December 19th, 2013

I’m basically taking the week off. My buddy’s surgery went all right on Tuesday, but he has a long recovery ahead. I’m relieved, but I’m still concerned. And I have a cold. The last thing I feel is funky.

But here’s the Chambers Brothers, for the second time in a few days, with “Funky.” Forty-three years ago today, on December 19, 1970, the record was bubbling under the Billboard Hot 100 at No. 125. It would move up to No. 106 over the next six weeks before it stopped bubbling.

See you Saturday.

Saturday Single No. 370

Saturday, December 14th, 2013

It’s time once again to dip into one of the least-used books on my music reference shelf: Joel Whitburn’s Billboard Top 10 Album Charts. As the weekly charts in the book only go to No 10, things will be not quite as unpredictable as when we dig into the weekly singles charts, but with luck we’ll find an album that provides us with a nice track for a Saturday morning

The book starts with 1964’s charts, so we’ll by default start there. We’ll be looking at the mid-December albums in the No. 10 slots, moving ahead two years at a time until we hit December 1970. We’ll also note which albums were No. 1 during those weeks. So, let’s go to the charts.

Sitting at No. 10 on the chart released on December 12, 1964, was Something New by the Beatles. The album was another one of those Capitol cobble jobs, offering eleven tracks pulled from various sources, including five tracks that had been in the movie A Hard Day’s Night. I got my copy of the album from Rick in October 1971, when he was clearing off his LP shelves to make space – I assume – for Gram Parsons, Poco and the latter-day Byrds. As I was still working on a complete Beatles collection, that was fine with me. I was a bit baffled and amused that Something New included “Komm Gib Mir Deine Hand,” the Beatles’ German version of “I Want To Hold Your Hand.” The album has peaked earlier in the year, spending nine weeks at No. 2.

Sitting at No. 1 in mid-December 1964 was an album I’ve never heard or considered hearing: Beach Boys Concert.

Two years later, in the chart released on December 10, 1966, the No. 10 LP was another album I’ve never heard (although I’ve heard parts of it along the way): Lou Rawls’ Soulin’. From what I can tell, only one single from the album hit the charts, but that single, “Love Is A Hurtin’ Thing” did very well, going to No. 3 in the Billboard Hot 100 and to No. 1 on the magazine’s R&B chart. I have a fair amount of Rawls’ later work on vinyl, on CD and in digital form, but I probably need to dig past the hits on his early albums. Soulin’ had peaked at No. 7 in November 1966.

The No. 1 album during mid-December 1966 was The Monkees, the first album by the group created for TV that turned out some superb single and, I’ve read, great albums. That’s another album I’ve never heard, and it’s one I maybe should.

As December reached its midpoint in 1968, the No. 10 album was the Chambers Brothers’ The Time Has Come, a sprawling album anchored by the trippy eleven-minute “Time Has Come Today.” The album, made up of several covers and some inspired funkifed and psychedelicized originals, had been released more than a year earlier, in November 1967, but an edited single of “Time Has Come Today” had gone to No. 11 in the early autumn of 1968, and that, evidently, boosted sales enough for the album to climb the chart and peak at No. 4 in November 1968. Do I have the album? Yes, in both vinyl and digital formats. Do I know it well? No, but every time a track from the album pops up in random rotation, I tell myself I need to burn the album to a CD and listen to it over and over.

The No. 1 album as 1969 sat two weeks away was Cheap Thrills by Big Brother & The Holding Company, an album I have and enjoy in small doses. (If I want a heavy dose of Janis, I listen to Pearl.)

Our last stop this morning is the chart from December 12, 1970, when the No. 10 album – on its way to No. 1 – was the rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar, a work that’s been in the vinyl stacks here since sometime during the summer of 1971. And it’s a work that I rarely think about, although I was reminded of it the other day when the Seventies channel on our cable system offered Helen Reddy’s cover of Yvonne Elliman’s “I Don’t Know How To Love Him” as I dozed on the couch. Did that make me want to go listen to the whole thing? No, because I listened often enough to JCS in 1971 and 1972 that I don’t think I can find anything new in it. More than any other album I can think of offhand,* Jesus Christ Superstar, with its gentle hippie Christianity, is a relic of its time.

Sitting at No. 1 in mid-December 1970 was Santana’s Abraxas, an album I know and like very well.

So we have four albums from which to select a track this morning. We’ll pass on Jesus Christ Superstar and on Something New (although I was tempted for a moment with the thought of “Komm Gib Mir Deine Hand”). That leaves us Lou Rawls or the Chambers Brothers. I clicked through a few tracks from both of the mentioned albums this morning, and in the midst of a lot of good music, I found one that grabbed me hard. That’s why “Uptown” by the Chambers Brothers is today’s Saturday Single.

*Well, perhaps the Rolling Stones’ 1967 headtrip, Their Satanic Majesties Request, is as firmly lodged in its time, too. And I suppose there might be others, but the fact remains that Jesus Christ Superstar does not translate at all well in 2013.

The Baton Twirler & The Red Army

Wednesday, June 9th, 2010

One of the things about music that fascinates me is my reactions to pieces I’ve long loved. When one of those songs cycles randomly through the mp3 player in the kitchen or shows up on the radio while I’m driving down St. Germain, what are the first thoughts, the first images that come to mind?

Mostly, those long-loved songs bring back people, times and places that are also cherished. Sometimes, the connections between the record and the memory images are harder to figure out. I wrote a while back about “Desiderata,” the spoken-word record that was a hit for Les Crane in 1971 and how its strains take me back to a corridor as it existed in 1971 just outside the bookstore at St. Cloud State. Ever since I wrote about that, I’ve pondered at odd moments why that is, what – if anything – that juxtaposition means. And I still sit clueless.

Another record, one I like much more than I like “Desiderata,” presents me with an odd collage of images. Whenever I hear its percussive introduction and its swelling harmonies, I see in my mind – jarringly – Soviet tanks and troops entering Prague, Czechoslovakia, in August 1968, crushing the liberalization of government and life there, a period now known as the Prague Spring.

And after a split-second of that, the strains of “Turn Around, Look At Me” by the Vogues bring to mind something far more normal: the image in memory of a young woman, one who was a baton twirler for the marching band and so much more, walking between classes at South Junior High, looking for something she’s unable to find in front of her. If only she’d turn around, I often thought during that summer of 1968, the summer between freshman and sophomore years, the summer when “Turn Around, Look At Me” went to No. 7.

With its strings piled on top of horns and its lush vocals (ending with what a musician friend of mine used to call “an MGM climax”), “Turn Around, Look At Me” is a beautiful record that is not at all of its time, 1968. Listening to it this morning, I pegged it as being far more appropriate for the years 1957-62, perhaps recorded by one of those male vocal groups with a number in its name: the Four Freshmen, the Four Lads, the Four Dorks. But that displacement in style and time probably worked for the record among the listening public. The week “Turn Around, Look At Me” reached its peak at No. 7, the other songs in the Top Ten were:

“People Got To Be Free” by the Rascals
“Hello, I Love You” by the Doors
“Classical Gas” by Mason Williams
“Born to Be Wild” by Steppenwolf
“Light My Fire” by José Feliciano
“Stoned Soul Picnic” by the 5th Dimension
“Sunshine of Your Love” by Cream
“Grazing in the Grass” by Hugh Masekela
“Hurdy Gurdy Man” by Donovan

That’s a great bunch of songs, but the nearest things to the lush pop of the Vogues there are the Latin-tinged cover of “Light My Fire” and Mason Williams’ instrumental, and neither of those are really in the same block. I don’t have any idea how “Turn Around, Look At Me” did on the chart that’s now called Adult Contemporary, but while the record was still in the Top 40, Reprise released another Vogues’ single, “My Special Angel,” and that one spent one week two weeks atop the AC chart (and peaked, like its predecessor, at No. 7 in the Top 40). So I’m guessing that “Turn Around, Look At Me” did pretty well on the AC chart, as lush as it was.

And for me, the lushness of the Vogues’ pop was certainly one of the attractions of “Turn Around, Look At Me.” Rock music was not yet my thing, and it was nice to hear something easy to listen to coming from the radio, and it was even nicer that the record spoke to my life. As the summer faded and the school year began, I still hoped that the baton twirler might figuratively turn around. She didn’t. The time wasn’t right (although it never would be in her case), and I knew that even as I hoped for a different outcome.

So the song slid from the charts and quit coming out of the radio, but sometime during August, I must have heard the song at least once very close to the time when international news reporters were giving us the lowdown on what was happening in Prague and elsewhere in Czechoslovakia. Because for some forty-two years, when the first strains of that lovely song reach my ears, it seems as if I have to fight my way through the Red Army to get to the sweet object of my hope. And how’s that for a romantic notion?

A Six-Pack from the Ultimate Juke Box, No. 20
“Quarter to Three” by Gary U.S. Bonds, Legrand 1008 [1961]
“Time Has Come Today” by the Chambers Brothers, Columbia 44414 [1968]
‘Turn Around, Look At Me” by the Vogues, Reprise 0686 [1968]
“Treat Her Like A Lady” by the Cornelius Brothers & Sister Rose, United Artists 50721
[1971]
“One Fine Morning” by Lighthouse, Evolution 1048 [1971]
“Galileo” by the Indigo Girls from Rites of Passage [1992]

Because of – as I understand it – a record label’s promotional hi-jinks, “Quarter to Three” and the hit that preceded it, “New Orleans,” were credited to one U.S. Bonds rather than to Gary Bonds, which is the singer’s real name. Although the Billboard Book of Top 40 Hits lists him as “Gary Bonds (U.S.),” over the years, it’s become commonplace to simply call the performer, as I have, “Gary U.S. Bonds.” Whatever name you call him, his body of work is a good one, and “Quarter to Three,” especially, is a great and infectious party song, one that spent two weeks at No. 1 during the summer of 1961.

With “Time Has Come Today,” the Chambers Brothers added psychedelia to their menu of blues, gospel and R&B. This was one of those records that could not be ignored as it came out of the radio, even if the listener were more attuned to other styles. In other words, as “Time Has Come Today” entered the room, it demanded attention, right from the “tick-tock” of the percussion and the lightly spoken “cuckoo!” On the album – The Time Has Come, released in 1967 – the track ran a little longer than eleven minutes; the single edit released in the autumn of 1968 spent nine weeks in the Top 40 and peaked at No. 11.

I wrote a brief bit about the Cornelius Brothers & Sister Rose about a year ago, and those words still hold true: “The Cornelius Brothers & Sister Rose had two Top Ten hits, and what great records they were! ‘Treat Her Like A Lady’ was the first of them, riding that chugging guitar, superb hook and gospelish call-and-response all the way to No. 3. ‘Too Late To Turn Back Now,’ which went to No. 2 during the summer of 1972, was also a good record, but it was smoother and somehow less demanding. If forced to choose, I’d give the decision to ‘Treat Her Like A Lady’ on points, but both sounded great coming out of the car radio. (The group had two other Top 40 hits, ‘Don’t Ever Be Lonely (A Poor Little Fool Like Me)’ and ‘I’m Never Gonna Be Alone Anymore,’ neither of which reached the Top Twenty.)” “Treat Her Like A Lady” peaked at No. 3 in July of 1971.

Percussive and jazzy, with a great horn chart, Lighthouse’s “One Fine Morning” probably should have done better than No. 24, which is where the single spent two weeks during November of 1971. But better singles have performed less well, and the charts – and record bins – were crowded with horn bands in those days: Chicago, BST, Mom’s Apple Pie, Chase, the Ides of March and more. And Lighthouse was from Canada, which might have limited the group’s appeal here in the U.S. But it’s still a great tune: “We’ll fly to the east! We’ll fly to the west! There’s no place we can’t call our own.”

“Galileo,” the Indigo Girls’ meditation on reincarnation, came along at an awkward time for me as a collector. By 1992, when the Indigo Girls released Rites of Passage, I was happily using my growing LP collection to make about one mix-tape a week for friends. But almost no new music was being released on vinyl, and I was still a few years away from having a CD player. So when I heard “Galileo” on the radio, I knew, first, that it was a song I wanted to include on mixes, and second, unless I bought a CD player or ran into some sort of miracle, I’d have to live without it. And I went without for a few years. I eventually got a CD player, and began collecting lots of new music I’d gone without, but at the same time, I kept on buying vinyl. And in late 1999, I found a white-labeled promo album in one of the bins at Cheapo’s. The label was blank and the white jacket had only a sticker that asked three questions, the first of which was: “What artist has been nominated for 4 Grammy awards, won 2, sold over 3 million records and doesn’t get played on very many commercial radio stations?” There was a toll-free phone number listed for those who wanted answers. But what interested me more than the sticker with the questions was the little scrawl on the other side of the front cover: “Indigo Girls, Rites of Passage.” So I bought it, and after I figured out which track was “Galileo,” the song began to show up on my mix-tapes. Eleven years later, and eighteen years after I first heard the song, it remains a favorite of mine, partly for the thoughtful and sometimes witty lyric, partly for the guest spot on the chorus from Jackson Browne and partly because miracles – even small ones – should be embraced.