Oh Well, Fleetwood Mac (1969)

Can't help about the shape I'm in / I can't sing, I ain't pretty and my legs are thin / But don't ask me what I think of you / I might not give the answer that you want me to

I must have been in the habit of singing these words around the house a lot, because when I was a high school senior, my dad could pretty much recite that whole verse by heart.

Other than the rhythm section of drummer Mick Fleetwood and bassist John McVie, the band that gained lasting notoriety as Fleetwood Mac bears little resemblance to the original, which was a standard bearer of the late-60s British blues movement.

Fleetwood Mac was fronted and founded by guitar virtuoso and songwriter Peter Green, who earlier replaced Eric Clapton in John Mayall's Bluesbreakers during one of Clapton's many career changes, and whose signature style tended toward free-form instrumentals. Those inclinations were showcased to fabulous effect in Oh Well Parts 1 & 2, a two-verse song that had a radio version and a lovely extended version that went on for 9 minutes. Danny Kirwan and Jeremy Spencer completed this particular incarnation's lineup.

What was it about Oh Well? Well ... there was nothing else at the time that was quite like it. Call it progressive blues - it wasn't full throttle rock, but it totally belonged. The distinctive guitar workout and use of percussion was just so appealing, and the two quirky verses lodged in the brain. It was a song that, when you heard it, quite simply demanded your attention.

Fans of Green know well the sad story of his descent into schizophrenia, brought on at least in part by one too many LSD trips. He famously sold his 1959 Gibson Les Paul to Skid Row and Thin Lizzy's Gary Moore, who paid impressive homage to his hero in Blues for Greeny (stay to the end of the video for a cameo appearance by Green). Thanks go out to my sister Dawn for her contribution of this factoid, which had completely eluded me.

His departure from Fleetwood Mac in 1970 set the stage for the personnel changes that ultimately morphed the band into the pop-rock institution comprised of Fleetwood, McVie and his wife Christine, Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham. A worthy band in its own right, but a far cry from its blues-infused beginnings.

It Hurts To Be In Love, Gene Pitney (1964)

Continuing with our cavalcade of male vocalists whose talents were well beyond what anyone would consider normal - let's look at an early song by Gene Pitney, It Hurts to Be In Love.

Gene Pitney and I were born in the same hospital in Hartford, Connecticut, so for some dopey reason I always felt a kinship with him. One of the pre-Beatles artists who proved able to withstand the siege of the British Invasion, Pitney was already very well known in 1964 as a singer, musician and songwriter when this song broke into the Top 10.

It's a recording with many unusual qualities, not the least of which is that the unrequited love theme is presented in such rocking fashion. Get out there on the dance floor, kids, and work off that heartbreak! Love sucks, but there's no reason not to get the endorphins flowing just the same!

The dramatic Pitney treble, usually multi-tracked to even more acute effect, also had the perfect showcase in this song. One of the notable features is the intervals of rushed lyrics - the breathless "who's not in love with you" and "no matter what you do" are awesome touches.

The song was co-written by Howard Greenfield, Neil Sedaka's Brill Building partner, with Helen Miller, and seemed a perfect vehicle for Sedaka. In fact, the song's first incarnation came in the form of a Sedaka demo but various contractual issues prevented its release. There seems to be a controversy over whether the Pitney version of the song was accomplished by merely laying his vocals over the existing backing tracks of the demo (see this interesting blog where some fairly first-hand knowledge from a commenter disputes the conventional wisdom).

And the controversies keep coming: One of the many songs Pitney wrote for others was He's A Rebel, by the Crystals. Should be a fairly straightforward statement, except that as I looked for the connection between Pitney and Darlene Love, who inducted him into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2002, I come to find that Phil Spector allegedly used Love and her Blossoms to record the song to rush it out ahead of a Vicki Carr version, yet still gave credit to the Crystals, who were not available for the recording session when it was scheduled. Oh, bad form, Phil!

By the end of his life in 2006, Gene Pitney had had many more interesting associations, but further anecdotes will make this post too long. I'll end with a final oddity of which I was completely unaware: before It Hurts was released, that same year Pitney recorded That Girl Belongs to Yesterday, written by none other than Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, their first song to chart in America. How bizarre is that?

Tell It Like It Is, Aaron Neville (1966)

The first time Aaron Neville opened his mouth to sing with people present must have been quite a memorable experience for all involved. In any man, that unearthly falsetto would be remarkable; from this towering gentle giant, it's well and truly surreal.

Last week's news about the triumphant return of Neville and his brothers Art, Charles and Cyril to the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival for the first time since their homes were destroyed in Hurricane Katrina in 2005 reminded me that I wanted to write about his 1966 hit recording Tell It Like It Is.

Up to that point just kicking around the New Orleans clubs, working construction jobs to earn his living, Aaron's big break came when he learned that some local acquaintances were starting an R&B label called Par-Lo. George Davis and Lee Diamond had written Tell It Like It Is and, aware of Aaron's vocal talents, wanted him to cut the record.

Although a ballad, its message had certain anthemic qualities that resonated with the times, and it was a huge smash, kept at bay from the #1 spot only by the Monkees' I'm A Believer, of all things. As Art Neville says in the oral history The Brothers, "I heard Tell It Like It Is and I told Aaron, I said, 'Bro, this is the shit right here. This is the serious shit."

Unfortunately, the label wasn't solvent (the backstory on that is here), and Aaron never saw any return on that success. Though he continued to perform solo and with his brothers, it wasn't until 20+ years later when he began a collaboration with Linda Ronstadt, on which she acted as producer in some instances as well his duet partner, that he returned to the national spotlight.

Though the duets aren't his best songs by any stretch of the imagination - for one I would put in that category, check out his rendering of Ave Maria and prepare for your heart to burst - Ronstadt's care and feeding of Neville helped bring his gifts to the masses, where they deserve to be.

I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry, B.J. Thomas (1966)

And while we're on the subject of B.J. Thomas ... I'll write about one of his songs that brings me to tears at the first note, his gorgeous cover of Hank Williams' I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry.
"Never listen to this sad song after cocktail hour," says one YouTube commenter. Probably good advice, unless you feel like having your heart ripped out.

Growing up, country music was a musical genre that was largely relegated to a subculture many associated with Hee Haw and cariacaturish women with gigantic wigs. Consequently, my primary exposure to its worthy songs came through more contemporary artists like B.J. Thomas who took Williams' version and made it his own.

A more pleasing singing voice you couldn't hope to find. Thomas began honing that voice in church as a child in Houston, and the rich, gospel-esque tones that I've always responded to must have been nourished in that environment. He was lead singer for a group called the Triumphs when I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry was first recorded, which led to his being signed by a national label. With national distribution, it became a Top 10 hit.

Thomas achieved more enduring stardom when as a solo artist he released Hooked on a Feeling and Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head. The story goes that Thomas was handed the opportunity to record the soundtrack version of the Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid song thanks to Dionne Warwick, who was a fellow artist on Thomas' record label and brought him to Burt Bacharach's attention as he was casting about for the right singer. (Bob Dylan and Ray Stevens were among those who turned down the opportunity, apparently.)

I Knew You When, Billy Joe Royal (1965)

(Note: I'm sure that's a CD cover over there, but I can't find the image for the original Down in the Boondocks album, on which I Knew You When was released, anywhere.)

I don't know what got me started thinking about I Knew You When this week. It's not like Billy Joe Royal can be easily found in the airwaves mainstream anymore, although apparently he still tours and is as active as ever. I'm listening right now to all kinds of recordings he's had since that I knew nothing of, and he's good!!!

Royal grew up in a thriving regional music scene in and around Atlanta that included the likes of Joe South, B.J. Thomas (with whom he still tours), Swinging Medallions and Classics IV. Best known for Down in the Boondocks, which broke nationally when he was busy working the club circuit in Cincinnati, Royal followed it with the chillingly irresistible I Knew You When, both of which Joe South wrote for him. A prolific songwriter, South attained national stardom with Games People Play, and was also the composer of (I Never Promised You a) Rose Garden which became a huge hit for Lynn Anderson.

According to his fansite, Royal debuted as a paid performer when he worked a New Year's Eve show in Atlanta that also featured Gladys Knight. He began to get significant attention regionally when he became a regular on The Georgia Jubilee radio show; this is how he met South. He soon became part of a house band in Savannah, where he sang in front of thousands and with such acts as Fats Domino, George Jones, Roy Orbison and the Isley Brothers.

I've just learned from reading a fragment of Rock'n' Roll and the Cleveland Connection by Deanna R. Adams that an American Bandstand-inspired show called Upbeat that aired here was the launching pad for Royal's national breakthrough. Interesting! I didn't live here at the time so was not familiar with the show, but I love those local angles.

Royal's exposure to - and mining of - such diversity in his musical influences infused his work with sensibilities that ranged from soul to r&b to country, making him yet another example of a 60s artist who probably would have gotten limited airplay today because he was too hard to shoehorn into any one genre.

My Conviction, Jonathan Kramer (1968)

Forty years ago today, the American Tribal Love-Rock Musical known as HAIR opened on Broadway and ran for 1,750 performances. From the standpoint of mainstream theatre, with its interracial cast, nude scene and "Be-In" finale involving the audience, it was pure anarchy.

The first soundtrack album I ever bought, HAIR was positively awash with a lust for life and many of the songs - including the lesser ones - have been indelibly imprinted on my brain. For reasons that I can't begin to fathom, My Conviction, performed by cast member Jonathan Kramer, is one of the songs from that album that to this day I can sing every word of without skipping a beat. I also know the entire What A Piece of Work is Man soliloquy from Hamlet by heart because it was used (slightly modified) in one of the songs on the soundtrack.

With book and lyrics by James Rado and Gerome Ragni and music by Galt MacDermot, the play was a celebration of life, a plea for peace and an uninhibited enactment of the freedom of youth to say just about anything and get away with it. Most of the people who attended, according to this TIME magazine article from 1968 (complete with Groucho Marx quote), were adults, however.

I always liked the clever My Conviction because it pointed out so minimalistically why it went against the natural order of things to get upset about long hair on boys. In those days, of course, it was common to kick kids out of school for such sins; I myself, part of a very small group of hippies in my school, was sent home more than once because my skirt was too short (the principal was a former Marine and did not take kindly to our bucking the system).

HAIR's original cast included Diane Keaton, Melba Moore and Shelley Plimpton, and apparently many of the alumni will be gathering in New York soon to celebrate. That sounds like a reunion that would be a lot more fun than my 20th high school reunion was!

When A Man Loves A Woman, Percy Sledge (1966)

I just got back from a business trip to Alabama, so wouldn't this be a good time to mention one of the most sublime songs ever to have been incubated there, Percy Sledge's unforgettable When A Man Loves A Woman?

The backstory may very well explain why it feels like one of the most authentic soul ballads ever recorded. Not a song that was handed to him by other composers as was so often the case, Sledge spontaneously belted it out one night when he was being paid to sing songs written by others in a nightclub in Sheffield, Alabama.

According to Gerri Hirshey's Nowhere to Run, one of the definitive histories of American soul music, Sledge's regular singing gig - he worked as a hospital orderly by day - was suffering mightily because a broken heart had put him off his game. One night he asked the bass player and organist accompanying him to give him any key. (He later gave them writing credits on the song.) Howling "a bunch of stray thoughts on the blindness and paralysis of love," according to Hirshey, the anguish streamed out of him in the form of When A Man Loves A Woman. I'm trying to imagine what it must have been like to be in that audience!

Later, he was signed to Atlantic Records following a local record shop audition, having further refined the fruits of that spontaneous combustion into the song we know today. Session musicians from Alabama's legendary Fame studios in Muscle Shoals backed him up on organ and horns, with the result being the perfect expression of a man hopelessly in love and being played for a fool.

I was a mere 13 years old when this was released - as I've written previously, so many of the soul songs of this period were way beyond my maturity level in their focus, yet they left an indelible impression upon me of what life was going to be like down the long and winding road.