Reupload - Trademark - The Days of Pearly Spencer/ Baby, You Make It Real

A super-feelgood disco version of "Days of Pearly Spencer"? Well, why not.

Label: RSO

Year of Release: 1978

"Days of Pearly Spencer" is possibly the most iconic sixties single never to have been a hit in the UK. Largely but not entirely thanks to Marc Almond's hit nineties cover version, it's since been rediscovered afresh and given the respect it deserves. Propelled by the same intense melodrama as Scott Walker's bleakest best and focusing its lyrical attention on some kind of doomed, poverty stricken post-apocalyptic scenario ("Iron trees smother the air/ but withering they stand and stare/ through eyes that neither know nor care/ where the grass has gone") it's the kind of record that probably could only have been written around that time. 

Like a lot of doom-laden pop, however, what it does do is tread a very fine line between genius and adolescent preposterousness, which is probably why I nearly hit the floor laughing the first time this version leaked out of my stereo speakers. For this, for reasons known only to its creators, is a pumped-up, adrenalised seventies disco version of "Pearly Spencer". My first thought was that this was such a mismatch of ideas that it was tongue-in-cheek in its intentions, but it seems doubtful. Someone clearly heard the original and noticed, somewhere buried in its grooves, the soundtrack to a pumping Saturday night. 

Many liberties are taken with the original arrangement here. The chorus is altered so that the phrase "Pearly Spencer! Pearly Spencer!" is repeated by enthusiastic backing singers, akin to denizens of a doomed city sounding the melodic signal for a Batman or Mighty Mouse styled super-hero. The gothic melodrama is thus reduced to sketchy cartoonish action, film noir translated into an explosion of Zaps and Kapows. 

Trade Mark - The Days of Pearly Spencer/ Baby, You Make It Real

Label: RSO

Year of Release: 1978

"Days of Pearly Spencer" is possibly the most iconic sixties single never to have been a hit in the UK. Largely but not entirely thanks to Marc Almond's hit nineties cover version, it's since been rediscovered afresh and given the respect it deserves. Propelled by the same intense melodrama as Scott Walker's bleakest best and focusing its lyrical attention on some kind of doomed, poverty stricken post-apocalyptic scenario ("Iron trees smother the air/ but withering they stand and stare/ through eyes that neither know nor care/ where the grass has gone") it's the kind of record that probably could only have been written around that time. 

Like a lot of doom-laden pop, however, what it does do is tread a very fine line between genius and adolescent preposterousness, which is probably why I nearly hit the floor laughing the first time this version leaked out of my stereo speakers. For this, for reasons known only to its creators, is a pumped-up, adrenalised seventies disco version of "Pearly Spencer". My first thought was that this was such a mismatch of ideas that it was tongue-in-cheek in its intentions, but it seems doubtful. Someone clearly heard the original and noticed, somewhere buried in its grooves, the soundtrack to a pumping Saturday night. 

Many liberties are taken with the original arrangement here. The chorus is altered so that the phrase "Pearly Spencer! Pearly Spencer!" is repeated by enthusiastic backing singers, akin to denizens of a doomed city sounding the melodic signal for a Batman or Mighty Mouse styled super-hero. The gothic melodrama is thus reduced to sketchy cartoonish action, film noir translated into an explosion of Zaps and Kapows. 

While I can't make up my mind whether this translation is inspired or ridiculous beyond measure, what's interesting is how well it actually works on the second or third listen once the presumably unintentional joke wears thin. Trade Mark have a point - the circling orchestra hook in the chorus of the original does, when sped up, lend itself well to dancefloor urgency. McWilliams's explosive melodrama can actually be adapted to camp finger-pointing. Because disco was such a maligned form by 1978, the logical conclusion to draw is that some disrespect was intended in this cover version, but Trade Mark were apparently French (consisting of the brothers Gorges and Michel Costa) and it's much more likely that they wanted to adapt a popular hit song (in their country) for the local nightclub. For pulling off the seemingly impossible and noticing those possible underlying qualities to "Pearly Spencer", they deserve some kind of medal. And of course, as we're all way past all that "Disco Sucks!" nonsense in the present day and age, we can enjoy the end results with no baggage attached.

As we're on the topic of David McWilliams, though, I'll use this entry as an excuse to praise his sixties output, which is seldom discussed these days. The likes of "Three O'Clock Flamingo Street", "Question of Identity", and "Mister Satisfied" show a folk songwriter who deserves to be remembered for far more than "Pearly Spencer". The compilation "Days of David McWilliams" deserves to be tracked down and savoured by many more people.

>> YouTube Update <<

Just a quick flick through the YouTube videos for some of the artists I've mentioned over the last month...

First up, here's the rather basic promotional video for David McWilliams' "Days of Pearly Spencer", undoubtedly one of the best flop singles of the sixties. It was re-issued three times, but only Marc Almond could actually take it into the top ten...



I was also thrilled to learn yesterday that some kind soul has put more Earl Brutus videos up on the service, and here's "The SAS And The Glam That Goes With It":



Other videos for "Navyhead" (shot in Portsmouth of all places, although blink and you'll probably miss it) and "Life's Too Long" can be found here and here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Fb96TzPpso & http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K7YA-frg2tw Thanks to Simon from Sweeping the Nation for pointing all those out.

And finally, Microdisney with "Birthday Girl" on the Tube, being introduced by Ivor Cutler ("Heh, look at that, 'We Hate You South African Bastards', isn't that perfect!"):

Second Hand Record Dip Part 12 - David McWilliams - This Side of Heaven

Who: David McWilliams
What: This Side of Heaven
Where: Reckless Records, Soho (RIP)
Label: Major Minor
Year of Release: 1968
Cost: One pound

The "reduced" box in the dusty corner of the musty old second hand record store is seldom an embarrassment of riches, it must be said. If the Second Hand Dips on this blog have focussed most frequently on novelty records, TV spin off singles and the flop follow ups of one hit wonders, it's purely because that's what you tend to find when you stick your mitts in the bargain tray. Once every so often, though, I can sing "Hallelujah" and dig up a real gem... and that's what happened a few years back with this David McWilliams single.

An absolute steal at one pound (it can and should retail for at least seven times that), it goes to prove that sometimes collectors don't know what's good for them. McWilliams will always be best known for his magnificent "Days of Pearly Spencer" single, a Brel-esque piece of pop about homelessness. It was played endlessly on the radio at its time of release, but actually (contrary to popular belief) wasn't a hit - it would have to wait until Marc Almond covered it in the nineties before it could be taken into the top ten, and by that time McWilliams received no royalties due to complex legalities surrounding his work - legalities which always seem to favour record companies rather than artists, for some strange reason.

If "Pearly Spencer" was without question his key song, he definitely has plenty of other material worth dipping into, and this is but one example. Both sides of this single are worth your time, the A side "This Side of Heaven" being an orchestrated piece of sixties pop which was probably a bit too subtle to register with the public. The B side "Mr Satisfied" is a rumbling piano driven piece of mean moodiness which always pleases my ears.

Perhaps too well-known to be a friend of the lovers of obscure curios, and too unknown to really be a famous name amongst the general public, David McWilliams' career has been ignored too much in the mainland UK for my liking, even if he is something of a hero in Northern Ireland. Whilst other rejected singer-songwriters of the era like Bill Fay and Vashti Bunyan have since been dug up for critical reappraisal, he hasn't had retrospectives on quite the same scale, even in the wake of his death in 2002. Unlike Fay or Bunyan, though, his work isn't particularly gentle and pastoral. Both sides of this disc show that it could fair zing along in a rush of ideas, his speedy baritone delivery of the lyrics at times recalling the somewhat cool energy of many beat poets. It's zestier and poppier than the work of most serious singer-songwriters, which means that - despite the frequently downbeat lyrical content - he was probably never going to be a poster boy for that particular set. For what it's worth, though, I rate "Pearly Spencer" as being up there with any 45 Scott Walker put out in the same period (despite Walker's superior vocal talents) and happen to think he wipes the floor with Fay.

As an aside, I would also like to say that Major Minor had the best label and sleeve design of the era too. Their records scream out at you from the racks (or dusty boxes, in this particular instance). Somebody should revive the imprint for a bit, just because I find it genuinely thrilling to look at, sad old soul that I am.

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