The Chasers - The Ways Of A Man/ Summergirl

Label: Philips

Year of Release: 1967

Romford's The Chasers grafted their way around the British gig circuit in the sixties. Consisting of Roger Pincott on vocals, Len Tuckey on guitar, Jack Chambers on bass and Lenny Butcher on drums, they were formed in 1960, beginning by performing straight-ahead beat pop before hardening their sound to an R&B approach in 1963. This gave them many more opportunities to break out of the local Romford area and perform in clubs nationally, achieving notable support slots with other R&B acts of the day such as the Downliners Sect.

While apparently being a strong live proposition, they failed to break through with any of their three releases across three different record labels during that period. "Hey Little Girl", issued by Decca in 1965, and "Inspiration", issued by Parlophone in 1966, were largely ignored by the public and poorly promoted by both institutions.

Top songwriter (and recording star in his own right) Chris Andrews was friends with the band, and produced all their work. By 1967 Pincott had jumped ship and the band replaced him with Bobby Rio, and there might have been a sense that if they couldn't strike it lucky with a third single, the goose could be cooked. It would certainly explain why Andrews chose that moment to step in and give them an original and powerful composition of his own to work with.

"The Ways Of A Man" is much poppier than the previous singles and lacks a brittle R&B edge, instead sounding very identifiably like a melancholy Andrews track. The delicate nature of the song makes for a compelling listen, but the style doesn't quite suit the band who sound noticeably hemmed in, and as a pop ballad it's crying out for Sandie Shaw's mournful tones to raise it to another level. Unsurprisingly, it followed their other far stronger singles into the dumper, and remains one of Andrews' less frequently heard and undeservedly unappreciated tunes as a result.

Rio also abandoned The Chasers after the failure of this single, and the group limped on as a trio for a few months before giving up when Tuckey joined The Riot Squad.

Excuse the pops and clicks on both sides of this single - it's not a perfect copy, I'm afraid.

One Hit Wonders - Microbe - Groovy Baby

Label: CBS
Year of Release: 1969

Even if you know only a tiny bit about Wonderful Radio One, your natural assumption would be that novelty records emerging from the station itself were not an immediate phenomenon.  Most readers of "Left and to the Back" are probably familiar with Steve Wright's horrendous (if frequently failed) assaults on the charts in the eighties, and Dave Lee Travis's stab at humour in the seventies with his trucking record "Convoy GB".  This, however, is a vintage example from its earliest days.

Ex-pirate DJ turned legitimate broadcaster Dave Cash is behind this record, and the story behind it is  more straightforward than I had hoped for.  While he worked at Britain's favourite station, it would seem that he was informed by the newsreader Pat Doody that Ian Doody, his three-year old son, would sit transfixed by the radio listening to his father's voice and attempting to have conversations with him.  Rather than giving his daft and obviously delirious boy a brutal kick to the windpipe for such unearthly stupidity, Doody was impressed by this cuteness.  So too was Cash, who thought that it might amuse the public to have the boy on record uttering the day's slang, such as "Groovy baby".  The otherwise impeccable - but at this point rather hitless - Chris Andrews penned something appropriate, Maddy Bell, Leslie Duncan and Dusty Springfield (citation needed, the "Dusty" element could just be Internet rumour-mongering - ed) trilled some vocals, and Ian Doody gurgled over the top at regular intervals.

To an extent, the public approved.  This wasn't a monster hit, but it did climb to number 29, which seems somewhat unbelievable under the circumstances.  It's not that this is the worst novelty single I've ever heard, but beyond a certain cute factor it's rather slight.  One can only assume that having a very small child uttering sixties hip-speak seemed far funnier at the time than it does now (and to be fair, people might have howled with laughter at a similar concept around the peak of "Austin Powers").

The B-side is unusual in that it includes silent gaps so the "children at home" can insert whatever exclamations they want, but I'm much more interested in the oft-claimed fact that Natalie Casey was the youngest person to ever chart in the UK with "Chick Chick Chicken" in 1983.  Even if we take into account the performer's ages in days, months, or even hours, Ian Doody actually broke the top forty compared to Casey's number 72 entry. I smell a rat here, readers, and I suspect the rodent has got bits of Mike Read's pantry all around its mouth.

Chris Andrews - Yo Yo/ Hey Babe

Label: Pye
Year of Release: 1970

We had a bit of a chat about Chris Andrews a year ago, and collectively acknowledged (didn't we?) that whilst he was one of the more successful songwriters of the sixties, his own solo material frequently flopped for no good reason.  The track of his we discussed then, "Hold On", was a prime example of the kind of mod floor-shaker which should receive more spins than it actually does.

Without wanting to retread over old ground too much, "Yo Yo" is one of the singles he recorded for Pye Records once it became apparent that Decca no longer cared for his services.  Recorded at the bum end of his solo career when his fan base had reached its most selective point, it failed to generate much interest in the UK despite numerous concessions to the emerging seventies sounds.  Whilst his late sixties records did often show a little bit too much faith in raw beat sounds at a time when sophisticated rock and pop was the order of the day, this leans so heavily towards bubblegum pop and glam rock that  you're left wondering why it didn't do some business at the turn of the new decade.  True, "Yo Yo" does indeed seem rather like "Sugar Sugar" in places, but the stomping beats and the euphoric chorus show he'd lost none of his knack for commercial songwriting.  Still, never mind - it was apparently a number seven hit in South Africa which perhaps served as some minor consolation.

Chris Andrews remains an active singer/songwriter, and among the more unusual strings to his bow is the theme music to Channel Four's "Chart Show" in the eighties.  Meanwhile, "Nothing Less Than Brilliant" by Sandie Shaw, issued in 1988, remains a ridiculously ignored piece of greatness which showed the world how jangly, female-fronted indie pop really should be done.

Chris Andrews - Hold On

Label: Decca
Year of Release: 1967

"Babeeee you're just tooooo much!" screeches Chris Andrews at the start of this record, before seductively uttering: "And I waaaaant you".  Hearing such lines over the years has frequently made me wonder just how much self-confidence you'd need to have, either in the studio or on stage, to deliver bold sexual declarations without the slightest hint of irony.

In the context of this record, all is forgiven.  "Hold On" is such a needle-into-the-red mod screecher that it seems entirely appropriate that the lyrics should essentially be a human version of a mating call.  It's yet another example of a sixties record which really acts more as a declaration of sexual frustration for teenagers everywhere than a studied, lyrically thoughtful piece of work.  Guitars squeal and wail, the chorus hammers itself into your cranium, Chris is so unsubtle in his delivery that he may as well be beating his chest, and its so relentless that you can only jump around along to it whether you sympathise with the bedroom related plight of Mr Andrews or not.

Of course, Chris Andrews had a successful career prior to this record, writing many of Sandie Shaw's biggest hits ("Girl Don't Come", "I'll Stop at Nothing") as well as working with The Mamas and The Papas and Adam Faith.  On top of that, he'd managed hits of his own with "Yesterday Man" and "To Whom it Concerns".  Despite this, his career begin to stall once the music of the period became more diverse and experimental, and like so many beat boys before him, could only watch helplessly as the flops piled up.  "Hold On" was his last single for Decca who by 1967 had clearly given up all hope of him having any kind of mainstream presence again.  One has to wonder whether the record was in some way nixed by the label's pessimistic attitude towards it, as "Hold On" sounds to my ears like one of his finest recordings - it's brittle, punchy and incredibly addictive, and is an astounding track to blast loudly around a room.  I've yet to hear the record played once in a club, but I'd be willing to place money that any DJ who dared to spin it would get a favourable reaction.

Irrespective of my personal views, the public didn't take to it at the time, and Andrews moved to Pye Records to deliver three more flops.  A comeback of sorts was attempted in 1977, but once again nobody bit, and the utterly astonishing "Nothing Less Than Brilliant" single he co-wrote with Sandie Shaw in the eighties also found little appreciation outside of late-night Radio One play.  Hopefully the royalties he receives from his prime hits are enough to keep the wolf from the door - he certainly deserves the security, as many of his records are actually supremely under-rated in the UK, and he's surely due a major reappraisal soon.

We Do Like To Be Beside The B-Side

I was having a discussion with a friend the other week about how, in idle moments of boredom on Sunday afternoons, no time is ever truly wasted flicking through those 50p sixties singles you picked up at the local junk shop and just quickly checking what's on the flip side.  There's a modern aversion to the concept of the B-side, a lingering suspicion that the second division side of the disc will only be hiding rush-recorded, rush-written pieces of flannel, or something only the band's most ardent fans could love.  In truth, not only did B-sides in the sixties frequently hide some uncharacteristically freaky jams - as with Dave Clark Five's "Concentration Baby" above, the flip to the monotonous middle-of-the-road ballad "Everybody Knows" - they were also often the place where established acts would leave the dancefloor friendly material, or up-and-coming acts would showcase some of their other quality tunes for the kids out there who might be tempted to dial the 200+ numbers on a jukebox out of curiosity.

Sitting neatly within the dancefloor groover category is "Hey Hey Girl", the flip to Amen Corner's number one single "If Paradise Is Half As Nice".  The organ honks away on this like nobody's business, and the track itself has a repetitive, barn-storming energy which would be the envy of most sixties mod bands.  My copy of "Paradise" has worn grooves and a below-average sound on the A-side, but the B-side still sounds crisp, fresh and ready to create a party in my living room - whoever owned it before clearly didn't think to pay closer attention to its other half.  More fool them.

Taking their cues from the Dave Clark Five in the "somebody put something in their drinks" stakes are Dave Dee Dozy Beaky Mick and Tich of all people, with "The Sun Goes Down" resting on the B-side of "Zabadak". This is such an uncommercial piece of droning psychedelia that it's a wonder anybody at all captured it on disc, never mind DDDBMT.  I suspect their tongues were firmly in their cheeks at the time of recording it, but that doesn't stop it from being a hugely eccentric outing, a noise-fest which seems one part Beatles, one part Rolf Harris circa "Sun Arise", another part BBC Sound Effects LP.  Despite suffering from the reputation as being something of a mass-marketed "pop" act by the tail end of the decade, DDDBMT did actually issue a number of class singles - the lyrically interesting "Last Night In Soho" being a particular favourite of mine - but this is as psychedelic as they got.

Away from the stench of incense and back towards the sweaty, beery basements of London's swinging clubs, the flip side of Chris Andrews' rather oompah ridden piece of pop "Yesterday Man" is the distinctly more abrasive, howling rocker "Too Bad You Don't Want Me", which rips up a storm and makes the A-side seem like a limp entrant for "A Song For Europe".  Andrews squawks and screeches his way through a tune about a girl who doesn't want his company, whilst guitars twang merrily along and the groove concocted is entirely infectious.  Andrews wasn't averse to making loud, abrasive noises, and one of his later singles "Hold On" is well worth tracking down for this very reason - but the company "Too Bad" keeps itself in makes it seem like a decidedly pleasant surprise.  That 50p need not have been spent on a chocolate bar after all.

If you're lucky enough to own a copy of The Easybeats' "Friday On My Mind" (which still only seems to retail for around the £5 mark at the cheapest, despite its hit single status) you've already got one of the best pieces of sixties freakbeat there is - on its flip, however, is "Made My Bed Gonna Lie In It", a tune which admittedly fails to top the A-side (few things would) but is a damn good showcase for the band in itself, with Shel Talmy's production sounding spectacularly akin to his work with The Who in this instance.

We could talk forever around this topic, even excluding obvious artists like The Beatles who seldom wasted the space afforded on B-sides.  I could bring up The Kinks "Big Black Smoke", Herman's Hermits' surprisingly garagey "It's Alright" (not on YouTube yet, surprisingly), or any number of obscure artists whose B-sides represented their sound better than their Tin Pan Alley off-the-peg purchased A-sides - but perhaps I'll throw it over to you good readers for more suggestions, if you want to contribute in the comments.  The best thing about these flips is that even if you're rummaging around the record bins in a charity shop or find yourself in a second-hand record store with no bank notes, just loose change, they still give you a ray of hope that you  may walk out with something unexpectedly good.