1965 Cliff Richard: The Minute You're Gone

Blimey - hands up who'd forgotten about Cliff Richard? It's been a while. In all the excitement of the past two or so years, I know I for one had, even though those short years ago he (and The Shadows) were synonymous with the number one spot. It would be tempting to say, with the rise of the Merseysound/Beatlemania and the burgeoning London scene, that he'd been wiped off the face of popular consciousness as just another teenage fad causality to rank alongside the Guy Mitchell's that were and the Slade's and Adam Ant's to come.

Tempting, but inaccurate; a quick look at the full chart run downs of the sixties and beyond shows that he's always been there or thereabouts; never far away from the top ten anyway, and certainly never far enough to dismiss him as all washed up. But what this research hasn't shown up is whether 'The Minute You're Gone' was a pre-planned attempt to crack that elusive (for Cliff anyway) American market, whether Cliff fancied a change of direction to spring clean his output and broaden his appeal or whether it just happened to be the next song he was given to record. But whatever, 'The Minute You're Gone' finds Cliff temporarily jettisoning The Shadows and hitching himself to a rustic country wagon with backing vocals from The Jordanaires and some obligatory weeping steel guitars.

In the circumstances, I don't know whether to award Cliff kudos for not attempting a country drawl to try and make this more authentic or whether to damn him for phoning in a vocal in that usual sing speak quiver. On balance, I'll plump for the latter - not that having Cliff going all 'Y'all' on us would be any boon, but because 'The Minute You're Gone' has a heartfelt lyric that Cliff manages to deliver with all the personal touch of junk mail addressed to 'The Occupier'. When he sings "The minute you're gone I cry, the minute you're gone I die" I simply don't believe him, and while the rest of the playing is as slick as you like, the overall effect is one of covering a dusty, mouldy wall with a quick coat of gloss to try and freshen it up; it might look fine at a glance, but peer not all that closely and all you'll see is a hack job.