The Whales - Come Down Little Bird/ Beachcomber

Label: CBS

Year of Release: 1968

Televised talent shows are unforgiving affairs - they enable club acts or even aspiring bedroom singers to give a mass audience their best shot, but if they lose (and especially if they lose ignobly) they are likely to forever be considered damaged goods. A performer who didn't impress either a panel of judges or a television audience of several million people may even never work professionally again. 

And the winners? Well, the preferred narrative is that they will become new superstars, but even in today's market that's usually only the case for a brief period of time. The victors in talent contests usually sell well in the media aisle to supermarket shoppers for the first six months after receiving their gong, and are regarded as a safe booking by live venues and cruise ship events organisers, but only in rare cases do they really shake Britain or the world with their abilities. 

Barnsley's The Whales, for example, were Opportunity Knocks winners in 1968 and were given a fantastic opportunity to break through afterwards; a contract with CBS was duly inked, and the group were paired with the brilliant Mark Wirtz to produce a debut single. "Come Down Little Bird" was the outcome, and while it has since been compiled on "Piccadilly Sunshine", making it well known amongst the popsike cognoscenti, it was perhaps a bit too lacking in pizazz for the mass market. Wirtz clearly offered them a solid enough tune, but not one which sounded like a hit - the chorus is gently lilting rather than forceful, while the verses are too childlike and gentle to compensate. It's not bad, it's just clearly no "Teenage Opera".

The Wrigleys - A Little Bit/ Come Down Little Bird

 

Mark Wirtz produced slice of whirligig bubblegum

Label: Page One
Year of Release: 1969

It's unusual for a song to feature more than once on "Left and to the Back", and even stranger to find two versions of a flop record - but this one was significant and strange enough for me to be bothered to make the effort.

Back in 1969, an artist known only as Richard recorded the Miki Anthony penned track "A Little Bit", with Wirtz producing. We covered it in some detail here. At that point, I don't think I was aware of this version which was also recorded and produced by Wirtz and released an entire month later, one of the quickest attempts at giving a flop song a second chance that I'm aware of. 

The Wrigleys version here amps the bubblegum factor up slightly more, creating a slightly chewier, fruitier tune, but in all honesty... in terms of the backing track it sounds more like a subtle remix than a full-blown reimagining. The lead singer here has a much less rounded, polite delivery than Richard's though, and it adds a certain grit and dynamism to the track it didn't have before. 

Meanwhile, the flip side "Come Down Little Bird" is a neat, pretty little track which won't disappoint readers feeling short-changed by the duplicated tune, with a sound sitting halfway between a Jeff Lynne ballad and The Tremeloes. 

Judd - Snarlin' Mumma Lion/ Stronger Than A Man (Can Only Be A Woman)

Label: Penny Farthing

Year of Release: 1970

I used to know someone called Judd, a denim-clad gentleman who had spent some time in the USA and still had a certain Transatlantic growl to his voice. "Hey geez-errrr!" he'd yell to people he knew as they entered the pub. Then he'd wander over to the jukebox, and complain "You wanna know the problem with this thing? Not enough ROCK on it".

For years I wondered if this record might just be something to do with him, but it was never likely. The Judd I knew was the kind of chap who would never have shut up about the fact that he had once made a record. And of course it's not. Judd was actually the group name given to ex-Quiet Five member Kris Ife and a group of "itinerant" session musicians, who were all produced by studio genius Mark Wirtz.

Kris has already featured on this blog, but "Snarlin' Mumma Lion" is rather unlike a lot of his other work. It has a backwater American rock vibe to it - an odd direction for him to take, but odder still for his co-songwriter and producer Mark Wirtz. This is a far cry from his "Teenage Opera" years and really showed how diverse he could be with his writing and production styles. It's a nagging, persuasive beast of a record, though, and while it can't count among Wirtz's best - or Ife's best, for that matter - it's got a punch to it that just can't be ignored.

I've covered both Ife and Wirtz before on this blog, which leaves me at a bit of a loss to say much more about their careers. Suffice to say, though, "Snarlin' Mumma Lion" wasn't a hit, though it did enjoy issues across numerous European territories, meaning there are picture sleeve versions for interested collectors to burn their cash on, if they should desire.

Mark Wirtz - Caroline/ Goody Goody Goody

Label: CBS

Year of Release: 1969

Although he's most famed for the Teenage Opera project, which we've discussed at enormous length here, Mark Wirtz really did put it about a lot as both a producer and performer in the sixties. He wasn't quite up there with Joe Meek in terms of prolificness, but his output did also veer all over the road, ranging from throwaway novelty silliness to intricate, ambitious soundscapes.

"Caroline" is very certainly the former. It is seriously strange, though, being a ballad about a woman so obsessed with her weight that she won't eat anything apart from fruit and salad when she's out with the Wirtzman. Wirtz ends the song by going into a long diatribe, pleading with her not to worry about "getting fat", as her present behaviour is ruining many a dinner date. You're forced to conclude that the poor lady probably had some sort of eating disorder (seriously - it doesn't sound right).

With a strolling, trotting rhythm to it, "Caroline" also somewhat startlingly resembles the music from the 1980s Toffee Crisp "seance" adverts, which is probably a coincidence unless the songwriters Leander and Mills were hawking off-cuts to advertising agencies at that point.

Inevitably, this single isn't high on anyone's list of Wirtz wants, but it's such a ridiculous record that it's worth logging here. Obviously all involved must have hoped that it might strike a chord with men everywhere frustrated with their calorie-counting better halves, but I'd be willing to wager that total bemusement was the only response forthcoming.

Symon & Pi - Love Is Happening To Me/ Got To See The Sunrise

Label: Parlophone

Year of Release: 1968

Yet another Mark Wirtz single on "Left and to the Back" to the add to the growing pile, though far from being a piece of popsike or intricate Beach Boys inspired balladry, this is instead sprightly sixties beat pop.

The A-side "Love Is Happening To Me" treads a fine line between being hook-ridden and faintly irritating, adopting a peculiar cod-calypso sound and chirpy brass. Had it been a turntable hit or chart hit at the time, it might have tried the patience of some after a couple of weeks. As a flop, however - and a bloody obscure one hardly anyone owns at that - it's actually quite enjoyable, its irrepressible jollity seeming like a welcome ray of light rather than a source of annoyance.

Wirtz tended to throw so much fairy dust over his studio productions that it's odd to hear something of his which sounds absolutely clean and direct. It's proof that his mind wasn't always on breaking new ground, and perhaps he hoped the relative simplicity of this one would result in a hit.

As for who Symon And Pi were... they appear to have been a performing male/ female duo from the period who had one other single out (a Spector inspired pop cover of "Sha La La La Lee") and nothing else. Do you know them? Have you seen them? Do call.

Richard - A Little Bit/ Take Me

Label: Parlophone

Year of Release: 1969

We've already covered the production and songwriting work of Mark Wirtz elsewhere on this blog, which leaves me with very little to add. Besides Wirtz's ambitious Teenage Opera work, he was also constantly on the look-out for conventional pop hits. 

"A Little Bit", penned by his protege Miki Anthony - also covered elsewhere on this blog, though I admittedly had trouble identifying him at the time - is as straight-ahead at it gets, sounding like a strange, late sixties approximation of a beat boom number. The lyrics are about persuading a likely lady to move closer to her suitor, and again, it conveys this message with an early sixties innocence rather than shooting the whole track through with suggestiveness (though as with many tracks of this ilk, somehow that makes it feel slightly more manipulative and creepy). Perhaps that's the reason it failed to break through into the charts. It's not that such records didn't make it at all in 1969, but they usually had richer, more complicated arrangements than the raw bounce of this one - it's ironic that Wirtz, a man renowned for pushing the envelope, fell behind the curve here. Still, it's a perfectly good single with some neat electric organ noises, and might have fared better if it had been issued a few years earlier.

As for Richard, I have not a clue who he might have been. There was an artist in the Quebec region of Canada operating under the same name at the same time, but that need not mean anything. Whatever the facts, "A Little Bit" was, so far as I can tell, the only single credited simply to Richard in the UK, unless we count another issue on RAK in 1975 - and once again, I doubt that's the same person, but probably another performer who decided to dispense with his surname.

All answers on a postcard, please. Or a comment in the comment box will do.

Bob Monkhouse - In My Dream World/ Natalie

Label: CBS
Year of Release: 1968

In the sixties and seventies it seemed almost compulsory for comedians and light entertainers to put out 45s (and this was by no means a uniquely British phenomenon, either, as any American with a Bill Cosby record will tell you). Most of their efforts weren't hits, but it would seem that a record contract and a vinyl record with their name on it gave them a certain kudos, either acting as a signal that they had truly arrived within the broader world of showbiz, or perhaps proving to potential variety show bookers that they could croon a bit besides keeping ladies and gentlemen amused.

Bob Monkhouse - who, for the benefit of overseas readers, was a smooth, long-serving comedian and host of quiz shows in the UK from 1956 right up until his death in 2003 - delivers few surprises here with the A-side. "I Remember Natalie" is a saccharine ballad, and whilst he doesn't have a terrible voice, it's unlikely CBS would have touched him if he'd been an unknown turning up at their offices demanding attention.  What's more interesting is the fact that this record was produced by "Teenage Opera" man Mark Wirtz, and the flip "In My Dream World" was just about enough on the right side of popsike to turn up on the "Circus Days" compilation series as a mystery track. While numerous nineties comedy critics probably used the phrase "Bob Monkhouse on acid" to describe some kerr-azy young kid on the circuit, it has to be said that he doesn't seem remotely under the influence here, being fully in command of the material (if sounding a little like Vic Reeves in places).  It's essentially a well-produced piece of Willy Wonka-esque fantasy, and nothing that would have given Pink Floyd a run for their money. This has more in common with the style Mike Flowers and Richard Cheese parodied in the nineties than anything else.

As for the top side, apparently Bob Monkhouse would regularly reference an ugly girl called Natalie in his routines, and loved the idea of singing a song about a girl with that name.  Why she has suddenly morphed into an attractive woman for the purposes of this record is a mystery, but to be fair a ballad about a hideous person would have been a harder sell (and made this smoochy little number a less appropriate upload on Valentine's Day).  No matter - this completely failed to chart, and so did his follow-up "Another Time, Another Place, Another World".  After that, it would seem that Bob gave up on the idea of being a pop star, which is more than can be said for Jimmy Tarbuck, Ken Dodd, Bruce Forsyth, Bernard Manning, et al.  Here's to a man who knew his limits.

Miki - Knight In White Armour/ Easy To Say

Label (when finally released): RCA
Year of Release: 1969

We took a quick look at Mark Wirtz's recording career back in June, focussing primarily on his "Teenage Opera" project which - it's fair to say - has overshadowed just about everything else he's done.  Wirtz did also attempt other commercial projects such as children's songs and straightforward attempts at pop (such as the single by Peanut we've already discussed) although none were ever really quite so ambitious as his tales of runaway trains and weak-hearted grocery store owners.

His flair for quality production work never subsided, however, and he saw out the rest of the sixties and the early seventies trying to score radio-friendly hits.  Whilst I'm drawing an utter blank on the identity of the performer Miki in this case (although the person who sold this to me suspected it may be the songwriter Miki Dallon, which I somewhat doubt) the work itself has the usual bright and theatrical detail you'd expect from something with Wirtz's name attached.  The first thirty seconds of this sound eerily like an eighties Marc Almond record, in fact, to the extent that I did briefly wonder if I'd been ripped off - the bleak lyrics, melodrama and West End stage enunciation of the lyrics is pure post-Soft Cell camp.  Whilst it never quite sparks into life as much as the verses seem to threaten, this is a brassy and likeable single with a little dash of popsike in its grooves.

Obviously the record didn't do big business when it was issued on RCA, although as I've never heard the official release I would be interested to know if this acetate contains any differences to the final version, as what I have here could be an incomplete edit or early master.  If anyone can help, please do leave a comment.  'Scuse the pops and clicks on the record.

Eagle-eyed readers will spot that the 363 Oxford Street address on the acetate label tallies with the HMV store's old location, meaning that either Wirtz or another studio representative will have nipped into their pressing facilities at the shop to get an acetate cut for promotional purposes.  This was the very same service Brian Epstein used to cut copies of The Beatles Decca demos, which George Martin later found out about from a HMV engineer who worked there - but that, my friends, is an entirely different story from a different time, and has little to do with the matter in hand.

Mark Wirtz - He's Our Dear Old Weatherman/ Possum's Dance

Label: Parlophone
Year of Release: 1968

We've already partly covered Mark Wirtz's career on the blog entry about Peanut, but there's no harm in reprising it here.  Wirtz issued numerous lovingly produced pieces of exotica throughout the sixties (here's a Youtube clip of "Watermelon Man") but will probably always be best remembered for the "Teenage Opera" project.  This piece of unfinished long playing and musical theatre work, whose main attraction was its number two hit "Theme From Teenage Opera" (aka "Grocer Jack") by Keith West, was abandoned before its completion as sales for the singles diminished.  The follow-up single "Sam" about a redundant steam train driver only just scraped into the UK Top 40, and "Weatherman" was the third single, performed by Wirtz himself, which utterly flopped.

Even by the standards of most conceptual sixties pieces, the fragments we have of "Teenage Opera" make it seem like a bizarre and maudlin proposition.  Most of the tracks seem to be focussed on smalltown or Village life, and the waning respect shown to key individuals within the community.  Grocer Jack was put-upon and died of a stress-related heart attack, and Sam's steam train service was cut off due to its uneconomical route.  For once, the children singing on both records did not seem in any way twee or ineffective, but seemed to be used to make a point about the death of community and perhaps even innocence as modernity took its hold.  Is there even a case to be made for the death of Jack and disappearance of Sam as being representative of those shocking childhood moments when you suddenly realise that not everything is as set in stone or as dependable as it seems, that the world will ruthlessly plough on irrespective of your wishes?  It probably sounds ridiculous to put such a heavy critical reading on these records and suggest that they were about the death of innocence as mass consumption and capitalist logic took a ruthless hold, but then again, why not?  For me personally, if a central theme (intentionally or otherwise) winds it way through these two pop records, that would be it. The ghostly, whistling wind noises straight after Sam's departure on single two immediately bring to mind a mirthless, tumbleweed ridden desert standing where a community used to be.

So far as "Weatherman" is concerned, I freely admit that I'm not a huge fan.  "Sam" and "Theme" are both superb 45s which sum up the changes in the late sixties period in both an entertaining and slightly disconcerting way, but "Weatherman" lacks much of a narrative and overdoes the chirpiness more than a tad. Still, several of my friends appreciate this record and it's certainly lovingly produced, with so many details in the mix that it's no wonder Wirtz was occasionally compared to Brian Wilson.  I've only included a brief clip of the track below as it's commercially available on iTunes and other places as well, but hopefully it's enough to give you an idea.

The B-side "Possum's Dance" is, on the other hand, a really intricate and blissful instrumental typical of the kind Wirtz did so well.  For all my doubts about "Weatherman", I've always found it a shame that "Teenage Opera" was never successfully completed.  Had EMI allowed it to progress, I've no doubt at all that we'd be looking back on it as being very representative of the era, a key album even.

Mark Wirtz remains active in America as a multi-media artist, and I certainly hope his projects are gaining a favourable audience over there.

Peanut - I Didn't Love Him Anyway/ Come Tomorrow

Label: Columbia

Year of Release: 1967

The German born Mark Wirtz is best known in the UK for writing and producing the number two hit single "Excerpt From 'A Teenage Opera'" (aka "Grocer Jack") for Tomorrow frontman Keith West.  Supposedly forming part of a stage musical which in actual fact hadn't been written yet, the project stalled when the follow-up excerpts "Sam" and "He's Our Dear Old Weatherman" (the latter performed by Wirtz himself) fared less well.  Each single was an densely orchestrated pean to eccentric or otherwise unloved elderly gentlemen within a small community, and was - with the exception of "Weatherman" which I own a copy of and find hugely irritating - actually rather wonderful.

We're in danger of being sidetracked here, however, because there was so much more to Wirtz than this one famous project.  Amongst other things, he was also the producer for Katie Kissoon, aka Peanut, a singer from Spain who had previously had two flop singles on Pye before being brought under his wing to record a cover of "I'm Waiting for the Day" for Columbia.  That particular track is a fairly faithful reading of the "Pet Sounds" classic which probably should have been a hit single, but when it failed, the pair turned their attention to the Wirtz penned "I Never Loved Him Anyway".

This single is a sweet, mournful and terribly under-exposed part of Wirtz's catalogue, being filled with the same delicate toytown arrangements as the "Teenage Opera" tracks.  Gone, however, are the references to aged eccentrics and in their place is an understated ballad with some beautifully delivered vocals from Kissoon.  It contains all the sense of loss and finality which peppered the Opera project, but feels rather more personal, especially during the gentlest, quietest parts of this record where Peanut simply harmonises to an understated backing.  It lacks any kind of killer chorus, and it's perhaps for that reason that it failed, but it does prove that the use of toytown arrangements could be utilised beyond sixties psychedelic fantasia - ballads  like this made fine use of the technique to recreate an atmosphere of child-like yearning.

Kissoon later went on to rather more success duetting with her brother Mac Kissoon on hits such as "Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep" (how many versions of this were there?!) and "Sugar Candy Kisses".  Once the hits dried up for them, she then put her fantastic vocals to use on sessions for (among others) Elton John, Roger Waters, Van Morrison, George Harrison, The Pet Shop Boys, Robbie Williams, and countless others.  Whether you think you've heard her before or not, you almost certainly have.