Jacqueline - Some Fine Day/ Do I Love You

 

Tremeloes produced mystery one-off 45 

Label: CBS
Year of Release: 1972

I've said this many, many times before on this blog, but mystery solo female artists litter the label discographies of the sixties like flytipped furniture on an East London side street (although most are more pleasant to come across than that). In their quest to find the next Lulu, Sandie Shaw or Cilla Black, labels signed numerous women to quickie deals which sometimes only offered them a single or two to prove they had what it took. Most inevitably didn't, or if they did, the deals weren't generous enough to allow them to prove it.

By the seventies things had improved somewhat, so it was surprising to find a 45 by this one-single wonder who has become nigh-on untraceable. Going only by the name Jacqueline, with no surname to aid our search, I don't expect to find out who the artist was and what else she did anytime soon. Nonetheless, this production was overseen by Alan Blakley and Len Hawkes of The Tremeloes, meaning that clearly she was given a lot of studio attention by two decent stars of the time.

Somewhat surprisingly, while it's possible to hear traces of "Yellow River" about "Some Fine Day", overall the track feels like a sixties throwback, a basic, chirpy, top-heavy pop stomper at a point where tastes were beginning to get more sophisticated. It has a celebratory air to it and, perhaps more unusually towards the end, some slightly Match Of The Day styled brass fanfares. Solid, likeable and lovely, but not the stuff chart revolutions or new beginnings are made of. 

Buckley - Let's Have A Little Bit More/ Right Sky

Label: Epic

Year of Release: 1973

So far as I can tell, Buckley were not a proper group as such, but a project managed and produced by Tremeloes veterans Alan Blakley and Len Hawkes. Issuing four singles across three labels (Bell, CBS and Epic) between 1971 and 1973, success was clearly expected, but the Trems magic touch - fading rapidly by the early seventies anyway - failed to pay dividends.

Their fourth and final single "Let's Have A Little Bit More" is regrettably not an early draft of the closing Reeves and Mortimer song from the "Smell Of" series, though it's closer to that than you might suppose, being riddled with innuendo and cheeky music hall banter. It could easily have been a summer novelty smash, but the record buying public were not receptive to its seaside postcard charms.

The flip "Right Sky" is a different kettle of fish, having a similar mood and atmosphere to The Kinks "Big Sky" off "Village Green Preservation Society" (though melodically distant enough that it's probably a huge coincidence). Simple, raw and pleasing, it sounds like the work of a completely different group, and deserves a few more pairs of ears to hear it. 

Mystery Artist - Negotiations In Soho Square

Label: [none]
Year of Release: Unknown

We all love a mystery acetate, don't we, readers? Certainly, few things brighten my day up as much as a previously unheard recording pressed on to metal lacquer, but as you'll all have worked out by now, I don't get out of the house much.

This one has really thrown me, though. So far as I know, the only release the song "Negotiations In Soho Square" has ever had has been The Tremeloes version, which is a bright, bouncy and sparkly piece of guitar pop. While they wrote the song, I'm quite confident this acetate has nothing to do with them - it takes the tune and turns it into a a piece of brass-ridden, swinging, sweaty basement soul, sounding more like the work of someone like Cliff Bennett or Georgie Fame than anyone else (note - I'm not actually trying to definitively claim that it is).

Someone out there must know who was responsible for this. In the meantime, we can all enjoy its driving, smoky basement sound.

Babbity Blue - Don't Make Me/ I Remembered How To Cry

Label: Decca
Year of Release: 1965 

Even if you're only aware of the obvious candidates in the hit parade data of the era, one trend was immediately apparent in the sixties - girl singers, girl groups and female band members were far more prevalent than they were in the fifties.  And yes, it's true to say that the break wasn't entirely clean and that some of the more famous examples were frequently patronised by the media (almost every single interview with Honey Lantree out of The Honeycombs seemed to treat her as a delicate lady who had been held in a group against her will, for example) but it was a start.

As with all music industry trends, however, the charts only told half the story.  Hiding in the archives of many record labels are female groups and soloists who never really caught on in quite the same way - if we're focussing on the output of the Decca label alone, the "Girls Scene" compilation CD is usually available at budget prices and does a stirling job of rounding up the other contenders, among them Adrienne Poster, Truly Smith and The Vernons Girls.  Missing from that compilation for no good reason I can discern is this track by one Babbity Blue.  Managing to emerge at Number 48 in February 1965, "Don't Make Me" is a frail, innocent and delicate ballad about trying to avoid the perils of teenage love which is actually genuinely touching and subtle rather than coated in syrup or riddled with catchy pop hooks.  Babbity's voice is hushed and doubting, and the backing (delivered by The Tremeloes) fits the bill brilliantly - it's pretty difficult to fault this one, and perhaps its subtlety was all that stood in the way of greater success at the time.  It's safe to say that this probably didn't slap casual radio listeners around the face much.

Babbity Blue was actually born as Barbara Chalk but renamed by her managers after she attended an audition for their company at the age of seventeen.  Unlike many of her contemporaries she never established herself as a touring act, but instead relied on television and radio exposure to bring her records to the public's attention.  Obviously the gambit failed, and after her follow-up single "Don't Hurt Me" completely failed to register she disappeared from sight.