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There's no doubt about it, 'Young Girl' is a troubling song. Not because it's a well crafted piece of soulful power pop with a bear trap of a chorus, but because of the little tale that's wrapped up in that soulful power pop and bear trap chorus; Gary is shocked to discover that the girl he's been seeing wasn't quite as old as he first though and now he's trying to shoo away the jailbait temptation by appealing to her understanding and his own reason.
Ah, but the flesh is weak and the final verse has Gary warning her to "Get out of here, before I have the time to change my mind. 'Cause I'm afraid we'll go too far". Does he keep it in his pants? Who knows, the song fades to a silence that tells no tales (though the title of their 1969 single "This Girl Is A Woman Now" doesn't do them too many favours in the benefit of the doubt stakes......).
If played with a careful hand, there's a certain amount of humour to be drawn from Gary's predicament, but 'Young Girl' isn't played for laughs; the lyric relishes in its too much detail than strictly necessary-ness for that. Lines like "Beneath your perfume and make-up, you're just a baby in disguise" read like text from a sleazy paperback bought from a specialist shop, and when Gary tells us "And now it hurts to know the truth" you can almost see that bulge in his crotch. Oh yes, there's a definite 'Awwwww' of disappointment in his vocal and in his frustration Gary's quick to blame the girl for stoking up his libido; "And though you know that it is wrong to be, alone with me. That come on look is in your eyes" - but it's a defence all too common in Crown Court reporting and it always draws a frown. Shame on you man.
'Young Girl' is too thumpingly upbeat to truly offend, and the lack of leer coupled with its surprising honesty makes it more 'Twinky'* than 'Lolita' and as such far more likeable than it really has any right to be. But on the other hand, it's not the most credible or tasteful song to namecheck when you're asked what was at number one the week you were born. I guess like Gary, I have my own cross to bear too.
* A 1970 Richard Donner film in which Charles Bronson gets seduced by a 16 year old schoolgirl (Susan George) with typically seventies 'it's all just a bit of fun' results.
In his 1979 film 'Manhattan', a suicidal Woody Allen recites a list of the things that make life worth living. Among them is Louis Armstrong's recording of 'Potato Head Blues' (recorded by Louis Armstrong and his 'Hot Seven' in 1927), something that Thomas Ward called "one of the most astonishing accomplishments in all of twentieth century music." And that's really all I'm going to say about the importance of Armstrong in the canon of twentieth century popular music. By the time of 'What A Wonderful World', he'd had long since moved away from such innovation to settle into the role of the grinning light entertainer that most are familiar with.
'What A Wonderful World' is a later recording, providing Armstrong with an Indian summer hit (he died in 1971) that has come to define him in popular consciousness in a way that 'Potato Head Blues' could never hope to. A song that's become so definitively associated with 'Louis Armstrong' so as to make all other versions redundant. Yet in a supreme twist of irony, my ears now actively prefer to hear any other version except this one. It's not the song's fault, and it's not Armstrong's, but the conjoiner of the two set off alarm bells of discomfort that make what's meant to be easy listening decidedly uneasy.
Bob Thiele and George Weiss wrote it as a counterpoint to the political chicanery and racial inequality rife in late sixties America, intending it as an optimistic celebration of a more harmonious world that was within everyone's reach. Yet growing up, I'd always regarded 'What A Wonderful World' as a novelty song sung by a comedy performer playing it for laughs ("An ah zink to ma sell, wha ah wunnerfull wurlllzzzzz"). It's only with age did I come to recognise and appreciate the attempt at sincerity from a man not a born singer in any classic sense.
Yet although such sincere sentiment is fine on paper, Armstrong's grizzled vocal casts him in the role of an aged 'Uncle Tom' figure marvelling at the scope of opportunity this brave new world has to offer now that the white man has kindly removed the yoke. When Armstrong sings "I hear babies crying, I watch them grow, they'll learn much more than I'll never know" I physically wince; rather than gaze in wide eyed wonder I instead ponder the ignorance and bigotry that denied Armstrong's 'character' getting that education themselves. The same ignorance and bigotry that put a bullet into Martin Luther King Jr the very month this sat at number one.
Maybe I'm being too sensitive over this, and maybe I'm reading too much into it - after all, it wouldn't be the first time. Nevertheless, for me Armstrong does subvert the message of 'What A Wonderful World' to the extent that it re-focuses my gaze from the outward world he's viewing to the racial perspective of the person singing it, in this case a perspective that's limited to mere acceptance of the status quo and the hope of a better tomorrow. And in that I despise the way that the song and his humble delivery of it makes a very big man look needlessly small. But on that observation I'll make no further comment save to question, for those worthy of recognition in the eyes of the world, whether it's better to be recognised for the wrong thing than for nothing at all?
Once so ubiquitous, Cliff (and his Shadows) have become strangers to these shores, rare visitors overtaken by trends and styles in both popular culture and popular music that they either could not or would not adapt to. Telling then that it took the everyman appeal of a Eurovision Song Contest entry to generate interest enough to take him back to the top; if there's one thing 'Congratulations' has in spades, it's broad appeal.
After a brief introduction build up with a hint of drama to come, 'Congratulations' soon and permanently settles into a gentle Johnny Cash in carpet slippers boom chicka boom rhythm that exerts just enough force to buoy the main melody with a twinkling eye wink. Cliff himself makes no concessions to his roots in his performance - this is Cliff as light entertainer pure and simple, content to let the song play him with its own faceless anonymity; there's no stamp of personality here, virtually any Brit singer from the class of 1959 could have sung it to no greater or lesser effect.
No harm in that - 'Congratulations' isn't something that lends itself to individualistic interpretation. Like hospital food, it's purely functional and serves its purpose by getting multi-cultural hands clapping at its predictability to the point that its own language is superfluous; does nobody think to question just what is being congratulated here and why? Is Cliff congratulating himself on finding such a lover, or are his mates slapping him on the back in a more polite version of a Sid James 'Phwoaar!!'? And aren't both just a teeny bit patronising? Ah who cares; just like hospital food, 'Congratulations' is too bland and tasteless to be worth the worry. Collect the points and move along.
By 1968, the main instigators of the psychedelic movement had turned their backs on the genre to return home to some more basic roots. Dylan had already released the folk influenced 'John Wesley Harding' (and would shortly go all out country on 'Nashville Skyline'), The Byrds pioneered country rock on 'Sweetheart Of The Rodeo'. The Rolling Stones, never comfortable with psychedelia in the first place, produced the raw blues of 'Beggars Banquet' before heading into darker waters still while The Beatles decamped to India to follow the teachings of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi before releasing the stripped down double 'The Beatles/The White Album'.
Before that though came 'Lady Madonna', which in itself was a conscious move toward the style of music that inspired the band to pick up guitars in the first place. McCartney is on record as saying he was aiming for a Fats Domino, deep south rolling rhythm in writing it and on that level at least it succeeds. But that's part of the problem I think - 'Lady Madonna' sounds more a studious exercise in songcraft than the sound of a band with anything on its mind. McCartney knew the sound he wanted, but then having nailed it had no set plan on what to do with it. So rather than let it coast on a boogie woogie groove, 'Lady Madonna' gets embellished with the usual fattening studio trickery including the band mimicking a brass section by blowing through their cupped hands (really).
And that's fine as an exercise with something with the throwaway nature of 'Hello, Goodbye', but 'Lady Madonna' comes with a central narrative that presents a curious mix of sympathy and meanness - is McCartney expressing admiration for the put upon the mother juggling life's problems, or is there a snide, Daily Mail put down ("Who finds the money when you pay the rent, did you think that money was heaven sent?") of such feckless lifestyles? In fairness it's probably neither; McCartney is celebrating motherhood in the round and like 'Eleanor Rigby' before it, 'Lady Madonna' is purely song as observation, albeit not observation drawn with sufficient clarity that we know exactly what it is we are looking at. Which, taking on board it's already aping tone, makes it a lazy release with only McCartney's still functioning ear for melody keeping it afloat.
Xanadu, of course, was the capital of Kubla Khan's China, but on this evidence writers Ken Howard and Alan Blaikley locate it somewhere near the Mexican border. There's a definite Western air about 'The Legend Of Xanadu' that tips its hat to Elmer Bernstein's theme to 'The Magnificent Seven' while adding some mariachi trumpet blasts, flamenco guitar runs and gunshot whipcracks that are all its own. At heart, it's more death song nonsense about some guy killed in a duel over some gal - but whatever, 'The Legend of Xanadu' is three and a half minutes of lightning in a bottle, a thrill ride of tightly wrapped bundle of hooks, riffs and cod drama that gallops along like a horse on the prairie. Or like the finest pop song. Which is what this is. Fantastic.
Well where to start? 'Cinderella Rockefella' is a song I seem to have been familiar with forever. To my young years, having no idea what these people looked like, I'd always pictured Esther's disembodied ghostly shrill as coming from an aged Bianca Castofiore lookalike (yes, I was a big TinTin fan as a lad) while Abi was a suave, middle aged Dean Martin type in tuxedo and spats. It didn't make the song any more enjoyable, but it did give it an 'adult' context that made sense of why I found it so strange and unyielding. And with that in mind it came as some surprise when I eventually found out they were actually a young couple with film star good looks. Not that this made the song any more enjoyable either - three minutes of yodelled sweet nothings over a variation on the theme from Steptoe and Son is going to need more of a boost than a good looking front end to salvage it. Yes I know it's meant to be humorous and all that, but compared to the genuine warmth emanating from that 'other' couple singing sweet nothings to each other, 'Cinderella Rockefella' is cold and charmless. Esther sings with intensity yet still sounds like a flake while Abi is too smug and self satisfied for anyone's good, creating a mismatch car crash sound of a couple on a blind date going off the rails.
It took a keen ear to hear any pop promise in the rambling bagatelle of Bob Dylan's decidedly lo-fi "Quinn the Eskimo (Mighty Quinn)" - it should be next to impossible to say that title without smiling, but Dylan seems to manage it just fine and his throwaway song with its throwaway subject matter seemed destined to never leave the cutting room floor. Enter Manfred Mann to provide an unexpected payday with a version akin to The Beatle's own 'Yellow Submarine' - i.e. a larger than life schoolyard sing song. But while former at least had a message of togetherness at it's heart, 'The Mighty Quinn' has nothing beyond a chunky chorus heralding the imminent arrival of Quinn.
What he's coming to deliver we're not told, and the verses don't shine too much light either, being little more than a nonsense stream tapped from Dylan's consciousness ("Everybody's building ships and boats. Some are building monuments, others jotting down notes"). Thankfully it's given a thick protective padding by the band that might be out of proportion to the strength of the song, but it serves to hide its weakness with a rolling swagger that emphasises that satisfying chorus with a neat tease of a pause before it's launched. And an added airy flute motif highlights the playful fact that we're not meant to be taking this too seriously. And I never do, which is why I find it so enjoyable.
There's no doubt about it, 'Young Girl' is a troubling song. Not because it's a well crafted piece of soulful power pop with a bear trap of a chorus, but because of the little tale that's wrapped up in that soulful power pop and bear trap chorus; Gary is shocked to discover that the girl he's been seeing wasn't quite as old as he first though and now he's trying to shoo away the jailbait temptation by appealing to her understanding and his own reason.
