In our tour of Texas music the other day, I missed some tunes that we could have included because I forgot about a variant spelling. In the days before, as I pondered the post and the city of San Antonio, I did check on the digital shelves for tunes that called the city “San Antone.” But as I wrote Tuesday, that spelling slipped my mind.
As it slipped, we lost our chances at hearing Emmylou Harris’ “I’ll Be Your San Antone Rose” from her 1977 album Luxury Liner, and we missed out on two versions of “Home In San Antone,” the first a vocal take by Redd Volkaert from 1998 and the second an instrumental version by the Quebe Sisters Band from 2003.
And we missed out, of course, on one of the classic country songs, “Is Anybody Goin’ To San Antone.” The song was written by Glenn Martin and David Kirby, and its most famous iteration is its first, the version recorded in February 1970 by Charlie Pride:
Pride’s version was No. 1 for two weeks on the Billboard country chart and made it to No. 70 on the magazine’s Hot 100. (It was one of twenty-nine No. 1 hits for Pride on the country chart between 1969 and 1983.) And covers abound: Second Hand Songs lists twenty-eight of them, from Bake Turner’s version recorded in March 1970 to a version by Buddy Jewell that came out in June of this year (and there are likely others not listed there).
Two of those covers – along with Pride’s original – are on the digital shelves here: There’s a pretty basic country version by Nat Stuckey from his 1971 album Only A Woman Like You, and then there’s a 1973 take on the tune by Doug Sahm with some vocal help – according to both my ears and Joel Whitburn’s Top Pop Singles – from Bob Dylan:
The track was released as a single on Atlantic and bubbled under the Hot 100 for three weeks, peaking at No. 115. It was also released on a 1973 album titled Doug Sahm and Band.
The question I wrestled with overnight is one that has crossed my mind a number of times over the past few years as my obsession with pop music of the 1960s and ’70s became an obsession with writing about said music: Why do I like Zager & Evans’ “In The Year 2525 (Exordium & Terminus)”?
It was, of course, a hugely popular record during the summer of 1969, spending twelve weeks in the Top 40, six of those weeks at No. 1. (It was also, of course, widely derided and remains, I think, one of the true “love it or hate it” records in Top 40 history.) I don’t know what other folks heard in the song, but I can make a few guesses at what the sixteen-year-old whiteray – a nascent Top 40 fan at the time – heard when it came across the airwaves from KDWB and WJON.
First of all, it’s a science fiction song. It’s a clunky and not particularly well-written science fiction song, yes, but I was reading a lot of science fiction at the time, and much of the science fiction I was reading was clunky and not particularly well-written. I was clearing the shelves, so to speak, of the lesser authors and making my way toward the giants of the genre: Arthur C. Clarke, Robert Heinlein, Isaac Asimov, Ray Bradbury (whose work often crossed the border into fantasy) and more. And here was this song coming from the radio that spoke to me about my current reading.
Not only did the record speak to me with its lyrics, but it did so musically as well, with the descending bass pattern that I’ve always found intriguing. In addition, twice during the song, writer Richard Evans changes key a half-step up in a manner that I these days call a “slam modulation”: just end one verse in A minor and – with the horns and bass announcing the change in this case – start the next verse in A# minor (more likely Evans called it B-flat minor). It’s an unsubtle way to change keys, but it does get the listener’s attention and gives the record forward momentum. So the record grabbed me both lyrically and aurally.
And then: One of the things I’ve written about frequently during the thousand or so posts for this blog is the indelible impressions made by the first music we care about. The late summer of 1969, as I’ve said many times, was when I fully embraced Top 40 music. And what record was sitting at No. 1 for the last three weeks of July and the first three weeks of August of 1969, dominating the airwaves just about the time when I tuned my old RCA radio to Top 40 for the first time? “In The Year 2525 (Exordium & Terminus)”
So what happens when one finds a clunky science fiction tale backed by a chord pattern and key changes that are musically interesting, and said record is coming out of summertime speakers maybe ten or more times a day? Add to that the fact that “In The Year 2525” would also have been one of the records I heard frequently on my radio that summer as I huddled in the traphouse during my four-day stint working at the state trapshoot. So it’s no wonder the record insinuated itself into my marrow. (And yet, I recognized its flaws enough that the record wasn’t so deep in that marrow to have made the list I compiled last year of my 228 favorite records.)
As I mentioned yesterday, I was a little startled to find a number of covers of the song. But after some consideration, perhaps it shouldn’t surprise me. I posted the Ted Heath cover yesterday, and at least a couple of the other covers of “In The Year 2525” are by similar outfits: instrumental orchestras that made their bucks converting pop hits into easy listening music. Two additional examples of that trend were the covers released by two Frenchmen: Raymond Lefèvre, whose cover of “In The Year 2525” showed up on the 1972 LP Oh Happy Day, and Franck Pourcel, who included a cover of the tune on 1970’s Paraphonic. There’s not much to differentiate those three versions, but I tend to like Heath’s a bit more. (There are a few other gems on Heath’s posthumous album The Big One, like a trippy take on the Beatles’ “Get Back.”)
A couple of other covers of the tune caught my ear: Country singer Nat Stuckey included an cover of the tune on his 1969 album New Country Roads, and it seemed an odd choice, but then, the album is packed with seemingly odd choices: Rod Stewart’s “Cut Across Shorty” (recorded before Rod by Eddie Cochran, as reader Larry mentions in a note below), Herb Alpert’s hit, “This Guy’s In Love With You,” “Hound Dog,” “The Letter” are just the most notable. And Brit pop-rockers Whichwhat – about whom I know nothing else – covered the song as well in 1969.
There were a few oddities, too: The British group Visage is described by All-Music Guide as “[p]ioneers of the New Romantic movement,” and AMG tells the tale:
“Visage emerged in 1978 from the London club Billy’s, a neo-glam nightspot which stood in stark contrast to the prevailing punk mentality of the moment. Spearheading Billy’s ultra-chic clientele were Steve Strange, a former member of the punk band the Moors Murderers, as well as DJ Rusty Egan, onetime drummer with the Rich Kids; seeking to record music of their own to fit in with the club’s regular playlist (a steady diet of David Bowie, Kraftwerk, and Roxy Music), Strange and Egan were offered studio time by another Rich Kids alum, guitarist Midge Ure. In late 1978, this trio recorded a demo which yielded the first Visage single, an aptly futuristic cover of Zager & Evans’ ‘In the Year 2525’.”
I found two other covers that caught my attention but I’m still not sure what to think of them. Laibach is a Slovenian group described by Wikipedia as an “avant-garde music group associated with industrial, martial, and neo-classical musical styles.” Laibach retitled the song simply “2525” and revised the lyrics to begin the count of years in 1994, which was when the group recorded the song. The Teutonic heaviness makes the track sound like parody, but – being neither a fan of the band nor Slovenian nor even European – I’m not at all certain what the target is.
Finally, among the covers I found, there’s a lengthy take on the Zager & Evans hit by the British band Fields of the Nephilim, another group I knew nothing about until AMG told me:
“Of all the bands involved in Britain’s goth rock movement of the 1980s, Fields of the Nephilim were the most believable. The group’s cryptic, occult-inspired songs were sung in a guttural roar by vocalist Carl McCoy. Live appearances were shrouded with dim light and smoke machines, while bandmembers stalked the stage in black desperado gear inspired by western dress. The group was also one of the longest lived of the original goth rock groups, finally breaking up in 1991 when McCoy left for another project.”
Here’ what Fields of the Nephilim did with Richard Evans’ song. From what I can tell, it was recorded during a 2006 reunion, and it’s interesting but ultimately not my deal (and I doubt that’s surprising).
I think for a cover version, I’ll stick to Ted Heath . . . or maybe Visage.