The Temptations – “I Can’t Get Next To You,” Pop # 1, R&B # 1
By Joel Francis
Surprisingly, “I Can’t Get Next To You” was the first Temptations single to top both the pop and R&B charts since “My Girl,” five long years before. Although these Temptations featured 80 percent of that lineup – David Ruffin had been replaced by Dennis Edwards – the group had been handed off from Smokey Robinson’s smooth, straightforward approach to Norman Whitfield’s groundbreaking psychedelic arrangements.
In other words, just because they had the same name and most of the same members, the Temptations of “My Girl” were long gone by the time “I Can’t Get Next To You” reigned at No. 1.
The song opens with canned applause and a barrelhouse piano roll that sets the song in an old parlor or juke joint before the chicken-scratch and wah guitars thrust the song into the future. Just as they did on the previous year’s “Cloud Nine,” the five Tempts trade lines, adding kinetic energy to the track. The guitars, electric piano and insistent drums and percussion make the song feel like a cousin to something Sly and the Family Stone would have cooked up. When Edwards finally erupts with the line “girl, you’re blowing my mind,” the song carries the same intensity and sexuality of James Brown’s hard funkin’ “Sex Machine.”
There was very little happening on Motown like this at the time. Ironically, the next act to incorporate this much funk was a group aimed at a younger audience, the Jackson 5. They Indiana quintet re-appropriated the bridge from “I Can’t Get Next To You” for their 1970 hit “ABC.”
One year after it’s mid-1969 release, Al Green transformed the song into a smoldering cry for love. Green eliminated the kaleidoscopic vocals and swirling arrangement, building the song around his voice and a slinky guitar line. The only element these versions hold in common is the lyrics. Green rode his arrangement to No. 11 on the R&B charts.
An unexpectedly versatile song penned by Whitfield and Barrett Strong, “I Can’t Get Next To You” was transformed into a jazz number by Woody Herman, converted to reggae by the Jay Boys and given the pop treatment by the Osmonds and Edwin McCain. Most recently, it was covered by Anne Lennox on her 1995 album “Medusa.”
(Above: The original 1974 promotional film for “Ding Dong, Ding Dong.”)
By Joel Francis
It seems hard to believe in wake of the deification of St. John and the myth building of Sir Paul, but George Harrison was far and away the most successful of the solo Beatles after the implosion of the group.
The “Silent Beatle” racked up three No. 1 hits, a blockbuster triple-album, lured the reclusive Bob Dylan to appear at his all-star charity concert alongside Eric Clapton and fellow Beatle Ringo Starr, scored big with the subsequent Concert for Bangladesh soundtrack album.
Harrison rang in 1975 with “Ding Dong, Ding Dong,” the second single from his third solo album and the opening cut on its second side. A gentle kiss-off to his former band and bright look ahead, Harrison’s laid-back, hopeful approach – “ring out the old, ring in the new; ring out the false, ring in the true” – supported his optimistic spirituality.
The catchy number is pretty simple, essentially four choruses and a bridge bolstered by a short, two-stanza verse. The arrangement hangs on Harrison’s slide guitar riff and is punctuated by a horn section. The galloping drums recall Phil Spector’s production on the previous two Harrison albums.
The presence of keyboard player Gary Wright, bassist Klaus Voorman and Starr suggest the basic track may have been laid down during 1973’s “Living in the Material World” sessions. The three musicians aren’t credited anywhere else on the “Dark Horse” album. Guitarists Ronnie Woods, Mick Jones, in pre-Foreigner guise, and Albert Lee also appear in Harrison’s Wall of Sound.
While the song’s roots stretch back, the vocals are unmistakably new. Harrison developed laryngitis while recording the album, and because of a pending U.S. tour – the first-ever American tour by a Beatle since the group’s final show in 1966 – he could not wait for his throat to heal. The resulting vocals were raspy and strained and Harrison’s voice was completely shot when the tour kicked off.
“Ding Dong, Ding Dong” was Harrison’s lowest-charting single to date, but it still cracked the Top 40. For some reason, Harrison didn’t perform it during the North American tour. The trek was one of the first major arena tours, and performers will still figuring out how to translate the nuances of their songwriting to large sports domes. Critics savaged Harrison’s hoarse voice and bombastic band arrangements and silenced Harrison’s ambition as a live act.
The failure of Harrison’s 1974 U.S. Tour ended his reign as Top Beatle. The following year McCartney launched a massively successful tour immortalized on the “Wings Over America” LP and Lennon grabbed headlines with his Lost Weekend escapades.
Harrison returned to his familiar post, turning out reliable, if largely unchallenging, albums and guesting on songs with friends. Once again, he was the most celebrated second fiddle in pop music. “Ring out the old, ring in the new” indeed.
Jr. Walker and the All Stars – “What Does It Take (To Win Your Love),” Pop # 4, R&B # 1
By Joel Francis
“What Does It Take (To Win Your Love)” was Jr. Walker’s second chart-topper and first since 1965’s “Shotgun,” but the two songs couldn’t have been more different. While “Shotgun” was a raw roadhouse rumble with the horn dominating the vocals, “What Does It Take” was a smooth love song designed to drive traffic to the bedroom.
Although Walker penned many of the All Stars’ best numbers, like “Shake and Fingerpop,” “Hip City” and “Last Call,” he handed the reigns over to the songwriting and production duo of Harvey Fuqua and Johnny Bristol in a bid for greater pop success in the late ‘60s.
On paper it looked like a solid decision. Fuqua and Bristol were trusted entities. The latter discovered Walker, and the former gave Walker his first record deal. When Fuqua’s Harvey Records were purchased by Motown, Fuqua, Bristol and Walker became part of the Hitsville family.
While Fuqua and Bristol were successful in taking Walker back to the top of the charts, they did it by depriving Walker of his signature sound. The great saxophone that propelled so many All Stars singles was relegated to anonymous responses that could have been handled by any session player. Walker has overcome his initial microphone shyness to deliver a credible vocal, but his delivery his hardly distinct. All the right elements may be in place, but the product is competently forgettable.
Any thoughts that Walker strayed too far from the sound that made him great are reinforced by Kenny G’s 1986 cover featuring Bristol on lead vocals.
(Above: Ceoltoiri Chluain Tarbh [Clontarf] go on the wren in 2008.)
By Joel Francis
Information on St. Stephen is scarce. Everything known about his life is contained in two chapters in the New Testament’s book of Acts. Stephen was one of several men appointed by the 12 disciples to preach the gospel. A man “full of faith,” Stephen “did great wonders among the people.”
However, the religious leaders in the synagogues at Libertine, Cyrene and Alexandria were not impressed. They falsely accused Stephen of blaspheming against God and Moses, and bribed witness to lie and corroborate the charges. Stephen was found guilty, taken outside the city limits and stoned.
At this point, history ends and religion takes over. The Catholic Church paid tribute to Stephen, Christianity’s first martyr after the crucifixion of Christ, designated Dec. 26, St. Stephen’s Day. On this day, also known the Feast of St. Stephen, families gathered to eat and drink together. Because Christmas Day was celebrated with friends at parties at the time, this day with family was a nice counterpoint.
Centuries later, the Irish further appended the legend with the hunting of wren. At some point during the Feast of St. Stephen, the children from each family would find a wren and chase it until it was captured or died from exhaustion. After “going on the wren,” the children would tie the dead bird to the end of a pole or put it in a cage and parade around town singing.
Each group would stop at homes around the neighborhood, show their bird and collect some money. At the end of the day, the money the town’s children gathered was pooled and used to host a huge city-wide dance.
There are two tales why the wren became the unfortunate victim of the day. In one version, St. Stephen had all but eluded his capture when a singing wren betrayed his hiding place. This account conveniently ignores Stephen’s statement on trial about seeing the heavens open and Jesus standing at the right hand of God. The other explanation is that during the Viking raids on the Emerald Island in the eighth century, wrens betrayed the Irish soldiers’ location and foiled a potential ambush.
With this tradition in mind, Catholic-raised songwriter Elvis Costello teamed with Irish luminary Paddy Maloney and the Chieftains to pen a song depicting one of the most Irish of holidays. Against the backdrop of an Irish reel, Costello paints the picture of family “feeding their faces until they explode and getting drunk in an attempt to hide the awkwardness that comes with not having seen each other since this time last year.
The day’s only relief comes when the nattering, obnoxious children finally go out to murder the wren and the adults are finally “rid of them (rid of them!).”
“St. Stephen’s Day Murders” originally appeared on the Chieftains’ 1991 holiday album “The Bells of Dublin.” The theme of the wren is revisited in the songs “The Arrival of the Wren Boys” and “The Wren in the Furze Dance.” “St. Stephen’s Day Murders” also appears as a bonus track on the Rhino edition of Elvis Costello’s “Mighty Like A Rose.”
David Ruffin – “My Whole World Ended (The Moment You Left Me),” Pop # 9, R&B # 2
By Joel Francis
Former Temptation David Ruffin stuck pretty close to his old band’s template on his solo debut. The Harvey Fuqua/Johnny Bristol song was slated to be the Tempts’ next single, but Ruffin was able to sweet talk taking the song with him when he was fired. With backing vocals provided by the Originals, the song sounds enough like the Temptations casual listeners could be forgiven for thinking the news of Ruffin’s departure was nothing but a bad dream.
The lyrics also deal with the frequent Temptations theme of lost love. Like he did in “I Wish It Would Rain” and “Since I Lost My Baby,” Ruffin ruminates over how a promising relationship soured and what to do with the loneliness and ache.
A Top 10 pop hit that just missed the top spot on the R&B charts, “My Whole World Ended” was a promising start to Ruffin’s new career. Unfortunately, the problems that plagued him in the Temptations continued to haunt. Because he wasn’t a songwriter, Ruffin was dependent on others for material, and Ruffin’s erratic behavior and continued drug use didn’t endear him to many Hitsville songsmiths. Ruffin caused further problems when he started forcing his way onstage during Temptations concerts. Fans were ecstatic to hear the old singer deliver the hits, but the group, with new member Dennis Edwards, was less than enthused.
Despite these problems, Ruffin maintained a decent solo career. Although he never matched the success of “My Whole World Ended,” he had several minor hits peaking with another Top 10 smash on 1975’s “Walk Away From Love.”
There was a flurry of immediate covers after the release of “My Whole World” in early 1969. The Chi-Lites, Kiki Dee and the Spinners all recorded interpretations of the song within 18 months of its initial release.
(Above: The video for “Love Kills,” one of two songs Joe Strummer wrote for 1985 film “Sid and Nancy.” These songs represented his first post-Clash solo work. )
By Joel Francis
Every Christmas Eve, a significant block of time is set aside to honor the late Joe Strummer, who died on Dec. 22, 2002. This year, The Daily Record examines four songs from the last days of The Clash and Strummer’s reluctant transition to solo artist.
“This Is England” by The Clash, from “Cut the Crap”
The final single in the Clash’s illustrious career, “This Is England” has been unfairly overlooked. After firing manager Bernie Rhodes in 1978, Strummer convinced the rest of the group to bring Rhodes back in 1981. That decision hastened the end of the band. Rhodes played Mick Jones off of Strummer, and after the difficult “Combat Rock” sessions convinced Strummer the band would be better with him in charge and without Jones.
Strummer fired Jones, but regretted the decision for the rest of his life. Realizing he had been duped, Strummer and Paul Simonon, the only remaining members in the band at the end, abandoned the material recorded for the post-Jones album “Out of Control.” Rhodes finished the album alone, changed its title to “Cut the Crap” released the album without the band’s permission.
As sad and unfortunate as this tale may be, it shouldn’t detract from the greatness of “This is England.” The synths and drum machine may not line up with the Clash’s established sound, but the diatribe against the Motherland, soaring chorus and knife blade guitars are pure Strummer.
“Sightsee MC” by Big Audio Dynamite, from “No. 10 Upping Street”
When Mick Jones found artistic success with his post-Clash ensemble Big Audio Dynamite, Joe Strummer was both elated and devastated. He was happy for his old friend, but fell into a depression, because he knew the Clash were over. Strummer found a way to work with Jones again, though, when he appeared in the studio and offered to produce the group’s second album.
Despite being penned by its two best-know members, “Sightsee MC” sounds nothing like The Clash. Full of samples, synth beds and big drums, the production hasn’t aged well, but the song was very its time when it was released in 1986. Jones’ rap delivery recalls the Clash song “The Magnificent Seven,” and the Jamaican patios fits in with the band’s love for reggae. Spidery guitar line and references to “send out a mayday to London” delineate Clash connection.
Strummer frequently performed “Sightsee MC” in concert during his 1988 “Rock Against the Rich” tour with his new band, the Latino Rockabilly War.
“Filibustero” by Joe Strummer, from the “Walker” soundtrack
After writing songs for “Sid and Nancy” and “Straight to Hell,” Strummer became British director Alex Cox’ go-to guy for soundtracks. “Walker,” Cox’ 1987 “acid Western” starring Ed Harris and Peter Boyle has been mostly forgotten, but its soundtrack stands proudly as Strummer’s first post-Clash, solo LP.
Strummer was surprisingly tentative in his leadership of the project, though. Every day he showed up at the Russian Hill recording studio in San Francisco with a boom box and cassettes of sketches and ideas he had heard and recorded the night before. Instructing his musicians to “work something up” he’d disappear for several hours, then return to hear what developed. Under those circumstances, it’s amazing the music not only turned out well, but pleased Strummer.
The lead-off track, “Filibustero” sounds like something out of the Buena Vista Social Club or Afro-Cuban All-Stars. The former punk rock warlord uses Latin American rhythms, arrangements and melodies to capture the film’s Nicaraguan setting. For some reason, “Filibustero” was released as a single, which included several remixes. It did not chart, but it did establish Strummer on the road to world music he would explore in depth a decade later with the Mescaleros.
“Trash City” by Joe Strummer and the Latino Rockabilly War, from the “Permanent Record” soundtrack
Strummer’s work on the “Permanent Record” album marked his fourth soundtrack in as many years, but these sessions were different. After flirting with world music on “Walker,” Strummer was ready to rock out again. He recruited several L.A.-based underground musicians, including former Circle Jerks bassist Zander Schloss and former Red Hot Chili Peppers/future Pearl Jam drummer Jack Irons, and dubbed them the Latino Rockabilly War.
Of the five songs the group contributed to the “Permanent Record” soundtrack, only “Trash City” was released as a single. The track fades in like a party already in progress, as Iron’s drums and Strummer’s guitar hammer the rhythm home. Dropping his normally serious, political façade, Strummer sings about visiting “a girl from Kalamazoo” and tosses in non-sequiturs about coffee shops in Seoul, bowling and vandalism for good measure. The yelps and scream on the outro show how much fun Strummer is having.
Big Star’s third album isn’t a happy affair. The record was delayed for four years by their label and issued in various configurations before finally being issued on CD as “Third/Sister Lovers,” nearly 15 years later. More than three decades later, it remains a fascinating mish mash of songs about death, abandonment, sexual paranoia and odd Velvet Underground and Jerry Lee Lewis covers.
Yet – perhaps metaphorically – out of this mess comes “Jesus Christ.” The fourth cut on the album, the song eschews the expected sarcasm and is a straightforward celebration of the Savior’s birth. In two short verses, songwriter and vocalist Alex Chilton paints an image of angles rejoicing that “Jesus Christ was born today.”
“Jesus Christ” is barely over two and a half minutes, but Chilton doesn’t even need that much to get his point across. The track starts with 20 seconds of nonsense before song kicks in, and closes with a saxophone solo from guest Carl Marsh that betrays the band’s Memphis roots. The performance has a deceptively spare arrangement, alternating between raw verses delivered with just Chilton’s guitar and voice and Jody Stephens’ drums. The touches of piano and percussion on the chorus, however, show that the boys have studied Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound. Although he’s barely audible in the mix, producer Jim Dickinson is presumably somewhere in the background, thumping away on bass.
Big Star may not have been big stars – a video for this song couldn’t even be found online – but they were very influential. Power pop acts like Teenage Fanclub, Matthew Sweet and the New Pornographers owe a lot of their sound to Big Star. Paul Westerberg name-checked Big Star’s leader in the Replacements single “Alex Chilton.” Both Teenage Fanclub and Athens, Ga.-based acolytes R.E.M. have recorded memorable versions of “Jesus Christ.”
(Above: “Fairytale of New York” is the best modern Christmas song of all time.)
By Joel Francis The Daily Record
There aren’t many Christmas songs set in jail, but dang if songwriter Shane McGowan and the Pogues don’t turn lockdown sunny side up during the four and a half minutes of “Fairytale of New York.”
“Fairytales” opens famously on Christmas Eve in the drunk tank. As an old man sings and mourns his last Christmas, the narrator’s mind drifts to a Christmas Eve with the love of his life.
McGowan paints a vivid picture of that day in the New World with “cars big as bars,” “rivers of gold,” and a wind that “goes right through you.” After exploring the Big Apple together, the pair stumbled into a place where
“Sinatra was swinging, All the drunks they were singing. We kissed on a corner, Then danced through the night.”
Irish composer Fiachra Trench’s string arrangement captures perfectly the hope of the moment and excitement of a new life in a new world. During the subsequent verses, love fades and is replaced by drunkenness and addiction. But even as the couple exchanges insults, they keep returning to that Christmas Eve when the choir sang and the bells rang out.
Guest singer Kirsty MacColl appears as the woman in the story. Her melodic voice is a nice counterpoint to McGowan’s gruff brogue. MacColl’s part was originally written for Pogues bassist Cait O’Riordan. That plan fell through in 1986, when O’Riordan absconded with Elvis Costello, who was producing the band’s second album.
When the group hired Steve Lillywhite to produce their third album, he suggested MacColl, his wife at the time, to sing guide vocals on a demo until the band could find a replacement. McGowan liked her part so much she was asked to sing on the record.
Released in December, 1987, “Fairytale of New York” has become a holiday staple. In 2005 the song was re-released as a single, to benefit “Justice for Kirsty,” a crusade to uncover the truth behind MacColl’s 2000 death in a controversial boating accident.
“Fairytale of New York” has been covered numerous times, but never improved.
Edwin Starr – “Twenty-Five Miles,” Pop # 6, R&B #6
By Joel Francis
If the horn arrangement on “Twenty-Five Miles” sounds like something out of the Stax studio, that’s because it is. Motown songwriters Harvey Fuqua and Johnny Bristol based their number on the obscure Wilson Pickett song “32 Miles Out of Waycross (Mojo Mama)” written by Bert Berns and Jerry Wexler and recorded in 1967.
It’s little surprise Fuqua and Bristol turned to a Pickett number when looking for material for Edwin Starr. Like Pickett, Starr was a strong baritone who sang from the throat. And like fellow Motown family member Levi Stubbs of the Four Tops, Starr’s voice was seeped in the Southern style.
Unlike, Stubbs, however, Starr didn’t have a string of hits under his belt, which made him a bit of an outcast at the label. A Detroit native who somehow escaped Berry Gordy’s eagle eye for talent, Starr’s biggest hit. to date was the 1965 song “Agent Double ‘O’ Soul” recorded on the Ric-Tic label. Three years later, when Motown purchased Ric-Tick in 1968, Starr joined the Hitsville stable.
“Twenty-Five Miles” opens with Benny Benjamin’s athletic drumming and he stays front and center as the funky scoutmaster that keeps Starr’s (and everyone on the dance floor) feet relentlessly moving. The bass line echoes a horn line that has become a staple of marching and pep bands across the country. The listener never learns what happens when Starr reaches his destination, but the energetic vocals definitely prove that getting there is half the fun.
Although “25 Miles” was a Top 10 hit, it often been overlooked when acts mine the Motown catalog. For nearly 20 years, Charles Wright and the Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band were the only group to cover the song. Their version was released several months after Starr’s as an album track on “In the Jungle, Babe.” In 1989, UK dance outfit the Cookie Crew sampled “25 Miles” on their hit “Got to Keep On.” Australian boy band Human Nature covered “25 Miles” on their 2005 release “Reach Out: The Motown Album.”
Smokey Robinson and the Miracles – “Baby, Baby Don’t Cry,” Pop # 8, R&B # 3
By Joel Francis
“Baby, Baby Don’t Cry” ended the Miracles streak of seven consecutive Top 10 R&B hits and was the group’s fourth and final hit of 1968.
At four minutes, the song was one of Motown’s longest singles to date, but Smokey Robinson and Motown staff writers Al Clevelend and Terry Johnson made the most of every second. As a singer and arranger in 1950s doo wop group the Flamingos, Johnson wrote the arrangement for “I Only Have Eyes for You” and other genre classic. Recruited to Motown by Robinson in 1964, the pair turned in some of their finest work on this number.
“Baby, Baby Don’t Cry” starts on the piano, but gives way to Miracle Marv Tarplin’s immortal guitar line. A full orchestra stealthily enters after the third stanza and explodes on the chorus. Again, Robinson and Johnson apply a deft touch to the score as the horns punch lightly and the string soar. For the spoken interlude, the song scales back to guitar, bass and drums, but never loses its warmth and fullness. On the last verse, the song shifts gears again, as the key changes and the bass and organ lean on the throttle.
Rare among Motown hits, the Funk Brothers are completely absent on this recording. Strings and horns aside, the Miracles play all the instruments on this album, with Robinson’s wife Claudette’s distinct voice sitting atop the vocal arrangement.
Robinson’s singing performance on “Baby” is one of the best in his career. His voice aches with pain and sympathy, but is strong and encouraging at the same time. This is a man who clearly knows the sting of lost love and the warmth of new romance. It’s impossible to deny Robinson and the Miracles evocation that “love is here, standing by.”
It’s hard to imagine anyone improving or adding anything new to these four minutes of perfection, and for once the rest of the industry agreed. “Baby, Baby Don’t Cry” is a rare Motown hit that hasn’t been covered.
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