Particular People - Boys Cry/ What's The Matter With Juliet

 

Haunting take on the Eden Kane hit

Label: Big T

Year of Release: 1967

One thing I find fascinating about the late sixties is how often bands were tempted to take earlier beat or pop hits and twist them like plasticine into unexpected new shapes. The most obvious example of this would of course be The Score's version of "Please Please Me" which took an already raucous rave-up and turned it into some kind of mental collapse conmbined with a freakbeat freak-out. Jason and The Centremen's bash at "Singin' The Blues" in 1966 also shows how dementedly far-out Joe Meek could be as the decade passed the halfway mark.

Stangely uncompiled and seemingly unloved is also this beauty, a cover of the 1964 Eden Kane hit "Boys Cry" from Particular People, a duo consisting of Ken Lewis (of Carter, Lewis and The Southerners fame) and Rod Clark of the Moody Blues (for about five minutes in 1966). "Boys Cry" drenches the track in Spectorish echo, mellotron and Everly Brothers styled vocals, making it sound both faintly retro and of-the-moment, on-the-button 1967. Like a sweet cough syrup dream, the track is a gentle, faintly dizzy trip into the comforts of a childish past. 

The B-side is intriguing too. "What's The Matter With Juliet" was a Carter and Lewis composition which would find itself on the flipside of the Canuck band The Sceptres debut UK 45 five months later, and also the B-side of a single by The Wheels in the US in 1969. Clearly nobody ever considered it strong enough to put on an A-side, and yet it's a persuasive bit of tunesmithery which with a forceful enough arrangement might have hit home. The Sceptres version is up for sale on my Discogs store (coughs) for anyone who is interested. 

The Peepers - Ayeo/ A Heavy Drinking Ego Shrinking Doctor

Glam glee from act who were known as Express Delivery a mere year before

Label: Bumble

Year of Release: 1972

Sometimes while rooting around record stores and eBay, I stumble upon singles which clearly had serious backing and familiar names attached. And that's exactly what we've got here - a Carter, Lewis and Alquist songwriting credit and a Barry Blue production (aka Barry Green) all of which should add up to a sizeable hit.

That wasn't to be, though, and while in fairness "Ayeo" doesn't sound like 1972's definite monster single, it's groovy, neat and nagging enough that you can only suspect that it might have crept through under other circumstances. The fact it was issued as the tiny independent Bumble label's second single probably won't have helped, leaving its fate to a new, inexperienced outfit who had yet to firmly establish themselves (and as it turned out, never really did).

The flip side, the oddly titled "A Heavy Drinking Ego Shrinking Doctor" is a Rolling Stones-esque groove which isn't quite as freaky as its title would suggest.

Herbie's People - One Little Smile/ You Never Know

 

Bilston beat boys back on the blog again 

Label: CBS

Year of Release: 1966

Herbie's People are no strangers to this blog - back in 2015 we covered their debut single and near-hit "You Thrill Me To Pieces". "One Little Smile" was their follow-up effort.

To summarise, they were unlucky coves, being the first group to record "Semi-Detached Suburban Mr James" before watching in horror as Manfred Mann nabbed the song shortly afterwards and sent it sailing chartwards. They were therefore denied one near-certain hit and didn't manage to stumble into an equally strong opportunity again. 

To aficionados of popsike, they're probably best loved for their excellent final single under the name Just William, "I Don't Care/ Cherrywood Green", issued on Spark in 1968. Their earlier material is much beatier and chirpier and lacks those moody, quirky harmonies. The Carter/Lewis penned "One Little Smile" is evidence of this - it's commercial pop music from the days when songs with few mixed messages or negative undertows could rule the roost. You meet someone, you fall in love with their smile, you write a two minute chirpy pop song about it. The pure innocence of it would probably have already seemed slightly quaint by April 1966 and it undoubtedly does now, but it passes the old grey whistle test with flying colours.

Sadly, despite this it sold incredibly poorly and did not build on the momentum created by their first disc. They would issue another single for CBS, "Humming Bird", in February 1967 before being dropped by the label and finding themselves on Spark the following year. 

Reupload - Roaring 60s - We Love The Pirates/ I'm Leaving Town

John Carter led protest pop about the planned closure of the sixties pirates

Label: Marmalade

Year of Release: 1966

Without offshore pirate radio in Britain in the sixties, it's hard to see how the music scene would have progressed as quickly. The BBC Light Programme did dedicate some airtime to beat pop, but the needle-time it gave to American soul, noisy mod bands, early psychedelia or indeed anything else that might upset your visiting Auntie wasn't really that impressive. For those kinds of sounds, Radio London or Radio Caroline would most likely be your friend, or - if you wanted to look to more legal channels - Radio Luxembourg might just do it, provided you could get a clear signal.

However, while the offshore pirates were given a relatively easy ride from the powers that be initially, the Government began to get increasingly huffy about their easy, licence-free ride over the airwaves. The final straw was possibly the shooting and death of Radio City owner Reginald Calvert, after a scuffle with Major Oliver Smedley about an unpaid bill for a new transmitter. (Which hardly makes the venture sound very underground or hip and happening, more like a scuffle between a couple of posh men about some dodgy under-the-counter business).

From that point on, the time for all the boats was almost up, and "We Love The Pirates" represents an early cry of protest about their possible demise. "You can hear your favourite rock and roll/ rhythm and blues with a lot of soul!" The Roaring 60s sing, quite accurately. There's not a great deal of soul or rhythm in blues in their performance, though - this is more like an airy Beach Boys pastiche meeting a protest song. Nonetheless, it was reasonably popular at the time (possibly due to Pirate Radio airplay, I'd say) without actually charting, and got the new Marmalade record label off to a good enough start.

The Airchords - Piccolo Man/ Walking On New Grass

Irish Showband legends with a Carter-Lewis-Alquist penned bit of 'popsike'

Label: Pye

Year of Release: 1968

The Irish Showband circuit was an unusual, occasionally makeshift phenomenon where rock, pop, soul and sentimental balladry co-existed in a prefab cabaret world. The excellent BBC documentary "How Ireland Learned to Party" gave context to the chaos, telling tales of bands hauling themselves up and down Ireland's A roads to makeshift rural venues and concert halls alike.

The showband circuit seldom harboured rebellious acts, but The Airchords probably still seemed like the least rock and roll of the lot, initially consisting entirely of members of the Irish Air Corps, and undertaking their initial rehearsals in a military dining block room. Forget about Elvis Presley bring forced into military service - The Airchords were the military, finely drilled, clean-cut and obedient, and barely a trace of long hair in sight.

Despite this - or perhaps partly because of it - they were briefly top pop stars in Eire, having large hits  with "The Leaving Of Liverpool" and "The Irish Soldier", and a 1967 number one with "Treat Me Daughter Kindly". "Piccolo Man", on the other hand, peaked at a slightly more tentative number 16 on the Irish Charts, seeming not to grab the public's imagination as much as their previous bursts of sentimental bravado. 

At the bare minimum, though, the song managed better in Ireland than elsewhere. The track, partly penned by in-demand songwriters John Carter and Ken Lewis, never really took off in the UK or mainland Europe despite its populist "Puppet On A String" styled oompah bounce. The Airchords clearly tackle it with straight-ahead efficiency and vigour - even if the intro does at one point sound like the old TV ident to Scottish Television - but it possibly didn't give the Irish public enough to chew on. 

The B-side is arguably better here, being a downright swingin' take on "Walking On New Grass". You can just picture audiences being driven wild by the uptempo devil-may-care tale of musicians on the road.

Bullring - Birmingham Brass Band/ Lady of the Morning Sun

Label: CBS

Year of Release: 1970

This is something of a get-together for old friends of "Left and to the Back" we've written about already. Penned by Ken Lewis and John Carter, and performed by Herbie's People under an assumed name, it promises to be a top-notch popsike supergroup. Who could walk past?

In reality, "Birmingham Brass Band" actually features all the involved parties in full-on novelty mode, adopting exaggerated Brummie accents and taking a jaunty skip towards the brass band volunteers office. It's not at all unlikeable and has been touted by some fanzines and websites as being one of the best pieces of popsike around. Certainly, the chirpy toytown elements are all present and correct, but this is arguably closer to Brian and Michael than a Happy Days Toytown Newspaper Smile.

Given a favourable release date and a willing champion on Radio One, it's even possible to imagine this becoming a hit... but it never happened, and presumably everyone involved left The Bullring project at that. Most bizarrely, this even managed to pick up a US release on Jamie Records, though obviously it wasn't a hit there either (and what North Americans made of the Brummie accents on the record is unfortunately undocumented).

Herbie's People were hugely popular on the Midlands gig circuit and split up and reformed numerous times before finally - apparently! - throwing in the towel in 2011. 

Iron Cross - Little Bit O' Soul/ Sunshine

Label: Spark

Year of Release: 1972

While the debate still rages about whether the USA hit version of "Little Bit O' Soul" by The Music Explosion is bubblegum or garage - and "who gives a toss, it's marvellous anyway?" would be my answer to that - this heavy, stomping glam cover of it in 1972 puts a different spin on the idea. 

In fact, so forceful is this version that it's surprising it wasn't a hit. With a thump and a thwack and some vocals from a man so gruff he sounds as if he's been gargling with iron filings, it ups the aggression more than a little. "Little Bit O' Soul" never did do any serious business in the UK when The Music Explosion issued it here, so it was a cunning tune to plunder, taking a number two Stateside hit which was just plain unlucky over here and equipping it for evolving seventies tastes in Britain (where authors John Carter and Ken Lewis hailed from anyway).

You know the rest, though. It wasn't a hit. We don't do hits here on this blog. And nobody seems to be quite sure who Iron Cross were, although they had one follow-up release on Spark, the equally masculine sounding "Everybody Rock On". If anyone can identify them, please do let me know.