Future James Bond tries his hand at romantic balladry
Label: CBS
Year of Release: 1965
An imaginary scene from "Stella Street": Michael Caine is standing on the Surbiton pavement outside, looking somewhat bewildered. "'Ere, I don't know if you've heard... but Roger Moore's recorded a single. Thinks he can use that voice of his to charm his way on to the wireless and into the hit parade. Between you and me, if you're thinking of nipping into town to buy it... DON'T BLOODY BOTHER! It's awful. He's already got 500 copies of it sitting in his shed, not a single bloody buyer for any of them, and Mrs Moore wants the space back for the Flymo".
Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction. By 1965, Roger Moore's acting career was already highly successful - though yet to reach its peak - with roles in films and series such as "Alfred Hitchcock Presents", "The Saint", "Mainly Millicent" (where he first played James Bond), "Maverick", "Ivanhoe" and "The Miracle". It was "The Saint" which first saw Moore's eyebrow-raising, deadpan style being used to maximum effect, which caused the hearts of numerous ladies to pound so hard that blouses and cardies were clutched tightly to chests across the United Kingdom.
Given his reputation as a heart-throb and the appeal of his "warm brown voice" (copyright Alan Partridge) it's not impossible to understand how he might have been asked to try his hand at recording a single. This rather dewy-eyed track was also recorded by the actor Charles Boyer and released the very same month to marginally more commercial success - it would appear it only narrowly missed out on an official chart placing - and Moore finished second in this particular horse race, leaving behind a single that's slightly harder to come by.
Still though, for once its obscurity is richly deserved. Moore's arch delivery could be a wonderful and highly effective dramatic and comedic tool on the big screen, but across a 45rpm single with romantic intentions, it's ill used. Moore sounds depressed, lethargic and weary throughout, narrating despondently, sounding as if a better gig was about to happen just round the corner in Soho and he had to hurry up and get this damn thing done before hot-footing it there. Problematically, it also feels possible to hear the moments his eyebrow is raised, which doesn't work in a song that's supposed to be about the death of a love affair, while the chocolate box arrangements plod behind him throughout. It manages to sound more ironic than a lot of the material from the nineties easy listening revival, which is an interesting achievement of sorts.
