Summer Clearance: 1965

The year, 1965. It’s a magic charm of sorts. Say the year, summon the mystical brilliance of one of the greatest years in musical history—great in the sense that so many bands and songs that would become contributors to the canon were born in these 12 fortuitous months. So many great entries, so many great authors, at the forefront of this beautiful revolution that keeps turning, keeps revolving, keeps innovating, despite the modern trends that seem so bent on working against its progress. Rock is dead, they say? Daltrey sang it so in 1972—he wasn’t the first; he won’t be the last.

If rock survives, it should be in spite of all those whole take such joy in declaring it flat lined while celebrating the latest trend and innovation that take music in some new, misguided direction. If rock survives—and seriously, stop bitching about it—it will be by virtue of a strange alchemy of swagger, sex, rebellion and a whole host of attitudes and behaviors. It will not depend on the older generation's disapproval and the sneering reaction of the younger one--rock will always be frowned upon by ‘polite’ society. How many times has the press declared rock’s heartbeat to have ceased and insisted on putting it in the ground, ignoring the funky, beautiful rhythm of the dirt falling on the casket? Rock dies and comes back to life in the same ragged breath. How many times? Too many. And none of them have ever been right. Look at this year, look 5 years, 10 years, 20 years back. Rock is rebellion, rock is pure eff you attitude, rock is refusal to be labeled, dead, alive, whatever.

Look back as far as you want--rock music thrives off being the anti. But look at the year 1965 if you want to get a historical frame of perspective—so many songs that would be exemplars for what was to come, and what the rest of rock ‘n roll history would always have to live up to came out in one simple year. It’s hard to believe. It’s a bit of magic, and with that kind of mojo working in it's favor, you have to admit, rock ‘n roll has got all the odds beat, and while it might go through fits and spurts and change its appearance, maybe get a little silly, a little bitchy, and little funny at times, might even need a smack to set it right, it will never die.
Not with this kind of pedigree…

Rather than linger any longer on this sermon I present a small sampling of a few of the sacred verses from that blessed year, of 1965. Imagine hearing these songs for the first time? Did those kids have any idea of the history making moment they were listening to?

Dominus Ominous, pass the wine, hit the chords, turn it up, Long live rock…




In 1965, The Who released I Can't Explain, from their debut, My Generation. Power chords and madman drummers. The Who is rock 'n roll. pure, simple. Rock 'n roll.














Bob Dylan abandoned his acoustic, to a very well-documented collective howl of betrayal from his folk-purist fans and put out Highway 61 Revisited . the lead track? "Like a Rolling Stone What else can you say? Nothing has been the same since.












The Tracks of My Tears, by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles has always been one of my favorites. Immortalized in Oliver Stone’s Platoon, “Tracks” is soul at it’s best: smooth vocal harmony, bittersweet lamentation, pure groove, all all right.








Van Morrison defined badass cool so much better, and earlier, than anyone else with his band, Them.  Baby Please Don't Go" still sounds like the toughest tough guy you know showing just a little bit of vulnerability in the face of losing the hottest girl you’ve ever know. Or wish you did. Switchblades included with purchase of this 45.

("I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction" by The Rolling Stones. Seriously. If you don’t understand the absolute holy place this Keith Richard’s riff holds in the very echelon of rock’s greatest, absolutely greatest, moments, than you’ve missed the whole point. A few notes, a bit of fuzz, and everything—EVERYTHING—changed. Amazing what a hard snare-driver beat, a thumping base, and repeating riff can do to stir the soul of a few million kids looking for a brand new way to give the finger to the generation before, and the one to come.

Oh yeah, and there was also this little group called The Beatles. They released a lot of music between 1964 and 1965. Help, Ticket to Ride, Eight Days a Week—The Beatles. What else can you say?

Rubber Soul…Released December 3, 1965. One of the greatest pop/rock albums ever recorded. Nice way to end one of the greatest years rock will ever know…
1965—what would rock be without it?

Summer Clearance (1965): Herman's Hermits

Hard to believe - and I confess that I actually purchased this 1965 album - Herman's Hermits had 3 of the top 100 hits of 1965 - No, wait ... Wikipedia says 4!
I'm even more contrite about the fact that I collected this stuff after listening to the clips below, but ... that's what it was back then. Top 10.. gotta buy it. The power of the media - AM radio was the media venue we all followed and it (in retrospect) appears to have dominated not just the air waves.

Be that what it may, Herman's Hermit's were hot. Top of the Pops.

We've got Peter Noone (aka Herman) doing vocals with a bit of a put-on accent - see Mrs Brown, Derek Lekenby on lead/solo guitar - see Henry the Eighth. And- apparently typical of Mickie Most's production style - some additional musicians doing things like keyboards that aren't visible in the stage versions below.

The ones I recall [purchase links embedded]:

Mrs Brown You've Got a Lovely Daughter

Henry the VIII

Wonderful World
 

1965: Go Now

purchase Go Now

I've said it here before: writing a post generally involves learning something new.  1965 was the year I started listening to pop/rock, but my interest wasn't particularly academic. For the most part I couldn't name the members of a band or who played what. Hence the need to research today when I go back to 65.

My weekly allowance wasnt enough to cover the cost of an LP, so my record collection was built mostly of 45s, and by the end of 65, I had probably 25 and a couple of LPs. I can recall, for example, when and where I first heard "Like a Rolling Stone" or "Eight Days a Week".

My exposure to the top hits - like most American kids of the time - was through Hullabaloo, American Bandstand, Shindig and AM radio. (FM radio listener numbers didn't surpass AM until the 1970s.) Aside from the in-dash car radio, the device of choice was a battery operated portable transistor radio, maybe with a single ear plug. It seemed to me like it was a good year for American kids.

It was also a good year for pop music. A turning point. Bob Dylan goes electric, playing a Fender Stratocaster for the first time on stage. 65 is also the year that Leo Fender sold his company to CBS. 1965 was the year that Ford began installing 8-track tape players as an option - the simplicity of a cassette that could be inserted and removed with minimal distraction was a factor in its success.

Justin Hayward is the name most commonly associated with the Moody Blues. In actual fact, the singer/guitarist didn't join the band until 66. Before then, the Moody Blues, under various names and combinations were mostly trying to get noticed. It happened in 65, with Go Now. Without Hayward.
 

1965: Oh Sister

Dan Bern: Oh Sister [purchase]

There was a hell of a lot of great music released in 1965.  Other writers have posted about some of it, and I hope that more posts about this music get written before the theme ends. But when I looked at a list, while I acknowledged that, yeah, there are some great songs there, nothing jumped out and said, “J. David (or whatever you real name is), you need to write about me.”

Instead, I decided to go with my first reaction to hearing the theme, which is that in 1965 my incredible sister was born. Although I was just shy of 4 years old when it happened, I do have some clear memories of the day, or at least the first time that I saw her at the hospital. And since then, I don’t think a cross word has ever passed between us.

When we were kids, we would get up early on Saturday to watch cartoons and eat cereal and Charles Chips pretzels from those big cans. And as we grew up, we always had each other’s back. My parents drilled into us from an early age that we were each other’s best friend, no matter what, and I suspect that there are still some things that went on that my parents don’t know about. Which is a good thing.

Interestingly, although we have always been close, we didn’t really share too many interests—she was not a big sports fan, we never really had the same musical taste (and music was much more important to me than it ever was to her), and history wasn’t her favorite subject—and four years (and five school years) can be a big age difference when you hit your teens. She went through some difficult times in high school while I was off in college, and in the pre-Facebook, pre-cell phone era, I wasn’t really around, and I’ve often felt bad that I wasn’t there for her, although she got through it, and turned out great.

I’ve always envied my sister because she found work that she loved and was good at, and which benefited humanity, way more than I ever did, and although her personal life hasn’t always been easy, right now she has two wonderful kids and seems happy in her personal relationship with a guy who, amusingly to me, drags her to concerts that she never would have imagined a few years ago. I’ve also envied her large group of close friends, with whom she regularly travels and socializes, although to be fair, with my borderline loner personality it isn’t surprising. Luckily for me, she lives only 15 or 20 minutes away, depending on traffic and how fast I drive, so we get to see each other fairly regularly. A few weeks ago, we were walking in town, and she and her boyfriend coincidentally stopped at the light as they drove through and were able to join us for dinner.

We’ve been able to watch her kids grow up, as she has watched mine. She babysat for my kids, and we have done the same with hers. She shops with my daughter and I’ve seen hers play soccer (and fed her dinner last night).

When I thought about writing about my sister, I thought of Dan Bern’s song, “Oh Sister.” Now, the song really doesn’t exactly fit our situation—Dan’s sister was the older one, who he credits for teaching him stuff and being there for him, and my sister is the younger one, although, to be fair, she’s taught me stuff and been there for me. And Dan’s family situation was different from ours, but the song works here for a couple of reasons. First, despite the differences, the song is about the love of a brother for a sister, and that definitely applies. And second, Dan Bern was born in……1965.

1965: Wer Kennt Den Weg

   In 1965 Johnny Cash recorded his 1956 #1 country single "I Walk The Line" in German. Fifteen years earlier, Cash was assigned to the 12th Radio Squadron Mobile of the U.S. Air Force Security Service at Landsberg, Germany as a Morse Code Intercept Operator for Soviet Army transmissions. While his friends headed to downtown bars to pick up women, he'd often stay at the barracks playing his guitar and dreaming of the day he'd become a country music star. 

    In 1965, the same year The Beatles recorded some of their songs in German, Cash tackled his old hit.

  With his customary twang, Cash delivered the lines:  Am allerschönsten war es doch zu Haus/ Und doch zog's mich einst in die Welt hinaus /Und in der Ferne suchte ich mein Glück /Wer kennt den Weg, den Weg zurück?

  And you know what? Country music doesn't sound half bad in German.

1965: A Hard Day's Night

   In a performance that spoofs Laurence Olivier's Richard the III, Peter Sellers recites "A Hard Day's Night" on a 1965 show called "The Music of Lennon and McCartney". The single would peak at #14 on the UK charts with Sellers doing "Help" as a vicar on the B-Side

     Just as fun is a series of outtakes from the performance. He even slips into an Indian accent that would reappear in the 1968 Blake Edwards comedy "The Party".

1965: EVE OF DESTRUCTION/Barry McGuire

This song is somehow so apposite of 1965, a gruff yet never more Dylanesque slice of protest, replete with frantically strummed acoustic guitar and brief toots of harp. For, in 1965, many truly felt we were on the eve of a self-imposed destruction, nuclear holocaust a mere button away and seeming so close. Earnest troubadours were on every corner warning of the same, anti-war diatribes billowing forth, from Bob himself to would-be Bobs aplenty. And these were no mere paranoid ideations, as there was a palpable sense that oblivion lay waiting ahead, eagerly itching in the wings for the over-eager finger of a Brezhnev (or even an LBJ). This was the year of US troops arriving in ‘Nam and occupying the Dominican Republic, the assassination of Malcolm X, the Watts riots, with fighting breaking out between India and Pakistan, between China and Taiwan, in the Congo, with coups commonplace elsewhere in sub-Sahara, in Indonesia, in Aden. Hell, no wonder folk were nervous.

It was almost an accident that McGuire came to be the one-hit wonder he became. The Byrds had been given first shout, rejecting it. Offered then to the Turtles, it was tucked away on their debut, taking a full 5 years to eventually sneak into the Billboard Hot 100 as a single. At 100. P.F. Sloan, the writer, had a successful early 60s career as a staff songwriter at publisher Screen Gems, coming to the attention of Dunhill records music mogul, Lou Adler, who put him to work penning for many of his roster, from the aforementioned Turtles to Herman’s Hermits and Jan and Dean. He was also an accomplished musician, playing guitar with celebrated sessionmen the Wrecking Crew, who would be responsible for backing, anonymously, many a more famous name and often instead of the musicians otherwise credited. (Go see.) Back to Eve, and, mid July, McGuire recorded a rough demo vocal to the backing track, laid down with Sloan, together with other wrecking Crew alumni, Hal Blaine on drums and Larry Knechtel on bass. Although this was intended to be later tidied up, the demo found its way to a radio station. This all happened within 5 days, and the song became a worldwide hit, hitting the Billboard top slot within about  8 weeks. The more polished version was never made.

In 1965 I was 8. It was the year, impending doom regardless, that my parents first bought a record player, a neat little Dansette, capable of playing a stack of singles one after the other. It came with a selection of about 30 or so of said 45rpm discs, ranging from Elvis, through the Beach Boys, to the Swinging Blue Jeans, none of which were to my parents taste. However they were just the ticket for my elder sister and I can probably blame my enduring infatuation with music on this particular acquisition in the autumn of ‘65. And, of course, Eve of Destruction was one of the records and I own it still, being one of a select few I sneaked from home when my sister left for University, writing my name on each of them for keepsake. 

So what happened to McGuire? It seems he was far from the rough hewn counter culture warrior the song suggests, having been earlier a member of the uber-kitch New Christy Minstrels. (He was the singer on this, their best known number.) After stardom beckoned, he retreated from the limelight, becoming a born again Christian, refusing the play the song again for decades and only then with a bowdlerisation of the lyrics to avoid any possible offence. Sloan continued to write and to seek his own stardom, which largely eluded him, but was the subject of this intriguing song, by the arguably far more successful Jimmy Webb, who claimed his inspiration was fired by Sloan's experience.

50 years on, the world lurches on. Is the Eve of Destruction any the further? Or any the nearer? At least we are still here. Yet the song remains worth singing, as performed here by the Pogues.

Buy the original here

Same Artist, Different Version: I'm Looking Through You

   Written after an argument with then girlfriend Jane Asher, Paul McCartney's bitter "piss off" tirade was recorded multiple times by The Beatles. First, in October of 1965, they spent nine hours knocking out a slower, groovier version that makes me think of The Who's "Magic Bus".  There was no "Why Tell Me Why..." middle-eight. Instead you get a blistering, very 60's raga style guitar solo from George Harrison.  This version is on the Anthology Volume II release.

   Three weeks later The Beatles revisited "I'm Looking Through You". Americans get two false guitar starts before the band launches into the Rubber Soul version everyone knows. McCartney double tracks his vocals while Ringo can be heard tapping his fingers on a matchbox and slapping his lap for percussion. If you're going to slap your lap, may I recommend you lock the door so Mom doesn't walk in on you?