Posts Tagged ‘David Blue’

Saturday Single No. 704

September 5, 2020

Among the 81,000-some tracks on the digital shelves, there are a bunch that name “September” in their titles. How many is a bunch? I don’t know. Let’s find out, taking the first half of the alphabet this week and the second half in a couple of posts over the next week.

Alphabetically, the first one that shows up is “23 Days In September” by Richie Havens, from his 1973 album Portfolio. The same song shows up again with a slightly different title: Its writer, David Blue, used it as the title track for his 1968 album These 23 Days In September. Blue’s version of a lover in depression and a love fading into silence is languid with some nice sonic touches; Havens’ take is faster, driven by his acoustic guitar work.

Then we come to Teddy & The Pandas’ “68 Days To September,” a poppy 1968 tribute to the girl the singer will miss during summer vacation: “Things will be so fine when we’re together again . . .”

“Black September/Belfast” from Mason Proffit’s 1972 album, Bare Back Rider, is an odd an disconcerting piece of work, focusing on the murder of eleven Israeli athletes and coaches by Black September terrorists during the summer Olympic Games in Munich, Germany, in 1972 and citing as well the concurrent sectarian Troubles in Belfast at the same time. References to U.S. Olympic swimmer Mark Spitz and to the ongoing war in Vietnam make it all seem a little scattershot, despite evocative, haunting music.

And from that we go to easy listening maestro Mantovani taking on a tune by country singer Hank Thompson: “Come September (I’ll Remember)” is two minutes and forty-one seconds of shimmering strings, the kind of stuff I remember KFAM-FM playing in St. Cloud during the mid- and late 1960s. Beautiful music, you know.

Up next is is a Wall of Sound-ish piece less than a minute long from Brit Paul Weller. “The Dark Pages Of September Lead To The New Leaves Of Spring” comes from his 2008 album 22 Dreams, where I imagine it served as a transition between two longer pieces. I’ll have to go back and verify that some year.

There are two versions of Carole King’s “It Might As Well Rain Until September” in the stacks here: King’s original, which went to No. 22 in 1962, and a cover by Peggy Lipton from 1968, when Lipton was one of the stars of the TV show The Mod Squad. King’s version is pretty standard Tin Pan Alley pop, while Lipton’s is more subtle, almost easy listening with some nice saxophone work in the background. But Lipton’s sometimes uncertain voice seems overpowered by the production. If I could have King’s voice with the production Lipton had behind her, I’d be very happy.

‘It’s September” by Stax man Johnnie Taylor starts in September and chugs and grooves through the autumn and then – by the end of the record – the entire year, wondering where his woman is while he and the children wonder when life will get back to normal. The 1974 release got to No. 26 on the Billboard R&B chart.

The last track we find in the first half of the alphabet comes from the Dream Academy, perhaps best known for the 1985 hit “Life In A Northern Town.” Today we’re listening to “Lucy September,” a tale, it quickly becomes apparent, about an addict:

Lucy September’s put a hole in her arm
She wonders where all daddy’s money’s gone
Lying on the bed with a wasted friend
Oh yeah she could have been someone
With all the advantages under the sun
But sad to say this is where her story ends

It’s an okay piece of work, but not quite to my taste this morning.

So what is our choice this morning? Well, David Blue’s track haunts me, as his work seemingly does whenever it pops up here. That makes his “These 23 Days In September” today’s Saturday Single.

Saturday Single No. 592

May 26, 2018

I’ve been doing kind of a fun daily music post at Facebook lately. It started Monday when I saw someone post something about an event in 1968, that incredible year now fifty years gone. And I got to wondering, just for fun, what the No. 50 record in the Billboard Hot 100 had been fifty years ago on Monday. So I checked it out and found it was Jerry Butler’s “Never Give You Up,” a decent piece of Chicago soul.

And never being one to let a good idea go underworked, I kept at it, posting one a day:

Forty-nine years ago Tuesday, the No. 49 record was “Special Delivery” by the 1910 Fruitgum Company.

Forty-eight years ago Wednesday, the No. 48 record was “Everybody’s Out Of Town” by B.J. Thomas.

Forty-seven years ago Thursday, the No. 47 record was “Booty Butt” by the Ray Charles Orchestra.

Forty-six years ago Friday, the No. 46 record was “Immigration Man” by Graham Nash and David Crosby.

And forty-five years ago today, the No. 45 record was “I Knew Jesus (Before He Was A Star)” by Glenn Campbell.

I’ll probably keep on with the daily posts through the 1970s, or at least through 1978, which will have been forty years ago and will make the series total eleven posts. So I’m about halfway done. And this morning’s post is the first time that the date of the post and the date of the chart matched: The Glenn Campbell record showed up in the Hot 100 that came out on May 26, 1973, exactly forty-five years ago today.

It being Saturday, of course, I’m looking for a Saturday Single, so we’re going to dig a bit further into that chart from forty-five years ago. We’ll likely not find our single in the top of the chart, but here’s the Top Ten from that week:

“Frankenstein” by the Edgar Winter Group
“My Love” by Paul McCartney & Wings
“Daniel” by Elton John
“Tie A Yellow Ribbon Round The Old Oak Tree” by Dawn featuring Tony Orlando
“You Are The Sunshine Of My Life” by Stevie Wonder
“Pillow Talk” by Sylvia
“Little Willy” by the Sweet
“Drift Away” by Dobie Gray
“Wildflower” by Skylark
“Hocus Pocus” by Focus

That’s a mixed bag, to be sure. The singles by Dawn, Sylvia and the Sweet were never among my favorites, and I tired quickly of the Stevie Wonder and Focus singles. The rest were good records but none of them were anything I thought of as great. The best one here was “Drift Away,” and that didn’t make my top 250 when I put it together as the Ultimate Jukebox in 2010.

But let’s look lower. Since my Facebook post this morning looked at No. 45, let’s look at the records in other “5” positions in that forty-five year old chart:

No. 15 was “Funky Worm” by the Ohio Players
No. 25 was “Will It Go Round In Circles” by Billy Preston
No. 35 was “I Can Understand It” by the New Birth
No. 55 was “Shambala” by Three Dog Night
No. 65 was “Hey You! Get Off My Mountain” by the Dramatics
No. 75 was “Peaceful” by Helen Reddy
No. 85 was “Smoke On The Water” by Deep Purple
No. 95 was “Outlaw Man” by David Blue

Well, that’s an interesting mix: A fair amount of R&B, some pop, one classic riff and one utterly lost record.

That lost record, for those keeping score at home, is Blue’s “Outlaw Man,” which would move up one more notch to No. 94 and then fall out of the Hot 100 entirely. It was Blue’s only entry in the Hot 100, and it had been pulled from Blue’s 1973 album Nice Baby and the Angel, the fifth of seven albums Blue would release (none of which charted in Billboard.).

To top off that run of futility, Joel Whitburn notes in Top Pop Singles that Blue, who hailed from Providence, Rhode Island, had a brief life, dying while jogging in December 1982 at the age of forty-one.

Two of Blue’s seven albums and one additional track are in the digital stacks, and though I don’t know them well, I’ve enjoyed what I’ve heard of them. And because “Outlaw Man” popped up for attention today, it may as well be today’s Saturday Single.

A Baker’s Dozen from 1966

April 22, 2011

Originally posted June 6, 2007

As 1966 rolled around, I was in the second half of seventh grade. I’d become adept at working the combination on my hallway locker, I hated P.E. and loved band, and I enjoyed social studies with Mr. Sales. We talked a lot about current events in social studies, and even then, I was a news junkie, looking through the newspapers – the Minneapolis Star and the St. Cloud Daily Times – almost as soon as they were delivered every afternoon. I also saw some news on television, and although I didn’t grasp the meaning of all of that I saw, I understood enough to begin to ask questions. I was, at the age of twelve, a reporter in training.

In mid-February, the Twin Cities Top 40 radio stations began playing a song that made news itself: “Ballad of the Green Berets,” a tribute to the men in his unit, written and recorded by Staff Sgt. Barry Sadler. The song moved up the charts and was No. 1 for five weeks in March and April. For a brief time, to a public increasingly wary of bad war news coming from a small country in Southeast Asia, the Green Berets were heroes. Exactly what they did and whom they were fighting when they dropped into the jungle, we didn’t know. But we were glad they were doing it. After all, the government said that the Green Berets – and the rest of our boys who were in Vietnam – were fighting the Communists there so we wouldn’t have to fight them here.

Robin Moore, a writer with connections, trained with the Green Berets and wrote a laudatory book about them that hit the best-seller lists. He also turned out to have helped – to what degree, who knows? – Barry Sadler with the lyrics to his No. 1 song. (Out in Hollywood, John Wayne got hold of the rights to the book and – with his son producing – made the film The Green Berets, which came out in 1968 and had little resemblance to the book beyond the title and a fawning admiration for the soldiers of the special forces.)

It was likely in the spring of 1966 that my social studies class broke up into groups to do reports on issues in current events. Topics included civil rights, Indonesia, the USSR and more, including, of course, Vietnam. When Mr. Sales told us to find a group we were interested in, I gravitated to the cluster of desks labeled “Vietnam.” I wasn’t all that interested in the topic, but a girl whose name began with K had headed for those desks, too, and she was the current object of my unrequited affection.

Mr. Sales had said we should start by asking questions that needed to be answered about our topics. K had her notebook ready. “Any questions?” she asked, looking around the group. No one said anything for a moment.

I said, “How about, ‘Why did we send our military to Vietnam in the first place?’”

She looked at me and nodded, and wrote the question down in her notebook, neither of us realizing that answering that question accurately and completely would likely be enough to earn a doctoral degree someday. A couple other members of the group offered questions, and K wrote them down. Mr. Sales stopped by to see how we were doing, and K showed him the list of questions.

“Who asked that first one?” Four fingers pointed at me. He nodded and chewed his cheek and then told me, “The folks over in Poverty could use some help. You’ve got five people here and there are only three there. Why don’t you go and give them a hand?”

I grabbed my books and, with a last quick look at K (who either didn’t notice or chose not to), went to the other cluster of desks with Mr. Sales. He told them I was there to make the groups more equal, and I pulled a desk up and sat down. I don’t recall who had the notebook in which they would write their questions, but the page was blank. So were the looks on their faces as they turned to me.

“Well,” I said, “do we know what ‘poverty’ really means?” They all shook their heads from side to side. “Okay,” I said. “First question: What is poverty?” The recorder wrote the question down, and someone else asked the next question, which I think was “Where do poor people live?” We had no clue that the answer was “All around us.” And the discussion went on for a few more moments, and then Mr. Sales came along to see how we were doing.

He looked at our list of questions and asked, “Who asked that first question?” Three fingers pointed at me again. Mr. Sales nodded and then said to me, “Why don’t you just wander from group to group and look at their lists of questions and see if you can think of any for them?”

Oh, my god, I thought. Why don’t you just make me wear a shirt that says “Dork” on it?

But I spent the rest of the hour wandering from group to group, looking at questions and maybe even offering a question or two myself. The result of my being made a roving whatever resulted in my being a group of one, assigned the task of enlightening my classmates about Indonesia.

I frittered my time away, and on the day of my presentation, I taped an annotated map of Indonesia to the blackboard and dove in. What looked like hesitation due to stage fright was really me giving myself moments to scan the information in the little boxes on the map before relaying that information to my audience. I got a B on the presentation.

Even after the years for dating came along, I never did have a date with K. But we were friendly. In high school, she was a cheerleader and I was a manager, and, in the dark and quiet of school buses coming back from athletic events late at night, we did have some intense discussions about issues all of us were facing. I remember them vividly; I hope she does, too.

And here’s a Baker’s Dozen from 1966, the year Staff Sgt. Barry Sadler topped the charts for five weeks:

“Bleak City Woman” by Donovan from Mellow Yellow

“Great Airplane Strike” by Paul Revere & The Raiders from sessions for The Spirit of ‘67

“Journey To Time” by Kenny & The Kasuals, Mark Ltd. single 1006

“I Saw Her Again” by the Mamas & the Papas, Dunhill single 4031

“Muddy Water” by Johnny Rivers, Imperial single 66175

“So Long Babe” by Nancy Sinatra from Boots

“Got To Get You Into My Life” by the Beatles from Revolver

“If Your Monkey Can’t Get It” by David Blue from David Blue

“Tomorrow Is A Long Time” by Elvis Presley from the Spinout soundtrack

“Georgy Girl” by the Seekers, Capitol single 5756

“Looking the World Over” by Big Mama Thornton from Big Mama Thornton with the Muddy Waters Blues Band

“Double Crossing Time” by John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers from Bluesbreakers With Eric Clapton

“Don’t Bring Me Down” by the Animals, MGM single 13514

Some notes on a few of the songs:

I found Kenny & the Kasuals’ recording on Nuggets, Original Artyfacts from the First Psychedelic Era, 1965-1968, Volume 2, one of the great box sets from Rhino of mid-1960s recordings. The record didn’t make the charts, so Kenny & the Kasuals aren’t even one-hit wonders, but music like theirs was busting out of garages and basements all over the country.

“I Saw Her Again” is one my favorite songs by the Mamas & the Papas, who delivered a string of strong, melodic singles in 1966 and 1967 – and a series of albums that had better non-single material than most albums did at the time. When the song comes out of the instrumental bridge at about the 2:43 mark, Denny Dohety delivers one of the classic moments in pop history with his “I saw her,” an instant before the other vocalists come in. It sounds perfectly arranged, but from what I’ve read, Doherty miscounted and came in too early. The rest of the group liked the way it sounded and kept it in. (Also, listen for the drum rolls far under the rest of the sound; it sure sounds like Hal Blaine to me!)

The cut by David Blue came from his self-titled debut, issued by Elektra in August, less than a month after Bob Dylan had his famous motorcycle accident that left his career – and life, for all anyone not connected with Dylan knew – in doubt. Blue was a friend of Dylan’s and their music sounds similar, notes All-Music Guide. AMG also notes that by the time Blue’s debut came out, he was already behind the tight curve of pop history, as the Beatles’ Revolver had upped the ante.

The Nancy Sinatra cut is pretty lame, a Lee Hazlewood-penned artifact recorded with crack musicians for the album that supported her No. 1 single, “These Boots Are Made For Walkin’” Not quite as lame, but still gimpy, was Elvis’ take on the Dylan song, “Tomorrow Is A Long Time,” which the King recorded for one of his mediocre movies. Elvis was still two years away from returning to musical relevance with his return to Memphis in 1968.

Big Mama Thornton was an elemental force of nature, bold, brash, supremely confident and extraordinarily talented. The first to record “Hound Dog,” in 1953, she faded from general view for most of that decade and came back to some extent with Ball ’n’ Chain in 1968, after Janis Joplin recorded and popularized the title cut. The recording here, with the Muddy Waters Blues Band, was recorded in 1966 but not released until 2004, twenty years after Thornton’s death.