One Hit No More, No. 12: Len Barry, Nowhere Near as Linear as "1-2-3"

What the hell? His life, man.

Raise your hand if you know the song, “1-2-3,” the 1965 break-out hit for Len Barry, aka, Leonard Borisoff. Unlike a lot of the one-hit artists I've reviewed, the West Philadelphia raised Barry didn’t grow up with stars in his eyes; his voice impressed his Coast Guard buddies enough for them to talk him into trying. The fame-bug took and, for good or ill, it hasn’t let go.

Len Barry makes for a complicated case. For one, I can’t (easily) find interviews, a fan page, or any worthwhile biography, never mind a useful one. The richest source I found was a classicbands.com interview with his bandmate from The Dovells, Mark Stevens. Unfortunately, Stevens is a better talker than storyteller, so, when it comes to The Dovells and Barry, he passes on list of names he/they have performed with (I have more on the Dovells below) and has an understandable, but still odd fixation on name-dropping certain venues. On the plus side, Stevens gets you through the reasons Barry and The Dovells went their separate ways in less than two tweets’ worth of characters (way less, actually):

“Len Barry left in 1963. When he left, it was really because he wanted to be a Rhythm and Blues singer. I had even left for a couple of years because I wasn't happy anymore. I came back in the mid-60s, forever. Jerry and I decided if we're going to be in this business for the rest of our lives, we gotta go to Reno and Tahoe. We have to be the comedic rock 'n roll act that we knew we were years ago, when we were kids.”

That interview doesn’t unlock any big secrets – the salacious stuff tops out with Stevens slagging off on Barry’s management team (“small time stuff”) – but The Dovells did keep living a version of the life, performing 180 days of the year in their prime, and doing what they (except Barry) liked doing. Stevens does, however, deliver one vivid line on Barry:

“He was a real character and the character I'm talking about, I'm saying from a personal standpoint. He was a real Damon Runyan character. Truly, one of the true Damon Runyan characters of the world. But, as a business person? Forget about it!”

(Raise your hand if you know who Damon Runyan is.)

One Hit No More, No. 11: Terry Stafford, Suspicion, and How You Can't Keep a Good Man Down

How I'll remember him...

Dick Clark: “You’ve had right good luck so far. Does the future scare you at all? You know once you get one hit you have to get the second. Now you’ve had two in a row. Do you worry about the third one yet?”

Terry Stafford: “Sure ... I think it’s always something that always scares you.”

Terry Stafford, Oklahoma-born, Texas-raised, and hungry AF, will forever own the honor of, as one extensive biography phrased it, “breaking The Beatles stranglehold on the Top 5” in 1964. The song was “Suspicion,” a song that sounds like Elvis because Elvis had already recorded it in 1962, on the album Pot Luck with Elvis. If you listen to Elvis’ version against Stafford’s, you’ll hear why Stafford’s went further (or you’ll just like Elvis’ version better; free country) – and, along with Dick Clark, everyone wanted to know how Stafford (et. al.) produced those melodic accents. (They used an organ with paper bags over the organ’s speaker.) “Suspicion” topped out in the spring of ’64 at No. 3, between “Twist and Shout” and “She Loves You,” and Stafford was a young man on his way. (And, since I have it, here's Stafford's appearance on American Bandstand.)

He appeared on American Bandstand one more time – this time supporting “I’ll Touch a Star” – and that’s when the surprisingly prescient conversation quoted above took place. Stafford stayed in music until (at least) the 1980s (I tapped out on the extended bio around page 12), doing a lot of song-writing, but also enjoying a genuinely remarkable second act. It never went smoothly, but Stafford never gave up, and this quote from sometime in the early 1980s reveals a man whose spirit would not break:

“I never booked myself on any ‘oldies and goodies’ shows, because I feel my career has been progressing.”

In the first part of his career, Stafford relied on other writers – notably, Doc Pomus and Mort Shuman, who wrote some of Elvis’ famous hits (including personal favorites like “A Mess of Blues,” “Little Sister” (cool video, btw), and “Viva Las Vegas” – and, on the back of the success of “Suspicion,” they fleshed out and released an entire album with the same title. In spite of having ample connections, Stafford’s days of recording as a knock-off Elvis lasted barely two years. Going the other way, those same connections opened doors for Stafford to start recording songs for movie soundtracks, and even appearing in some of them. His credits include, Le Spie Vengono dal Semifreddo (translation: "Dr. Goldfoot and the Girl Bombs"), and a 1966 sequel, Dr. Goldfoot and the Bikini Machine. He wouldn’t actually act until 1969’s Wild Wheels, where he played “’Huey,’ a dune buggy-riding surfer whose club tangles with a motorcycle pack,” and played “Wine, Women, and Song” over the fire at a clam-bake (good (dated) track, fwiw).

His second career started shortly after that, along with the rest of a life of writing signature songs for other artists. While on tour, Buck Owens heard Stafford’s song, “Big in Dallas,” on the radio in 1969 and thought he could make it into something bigger. He contacted Stafford and got his blessing to rearrange the song and change the setting, and that’s how “Big in Vegas” (here’s Stafford’s version) became such a big part of Owens’ repertoire that it was the last song he ever played according to that extended bio. Owens was, frankly, kind of a dick toward the man who did him a solid. As Owens put it:

“It was his idea and something that I enlarged upon. It worked out well for him because I’m sure it paid the rent one month.”

Perhaps (or probably) inspired by the success of “Big in Vegas,” Stafford started writing more in a country vein. He eventually landed on Atlantic Records fairly-recently launched country music division, where one of his key contacts, John Fisher, had started working. They assembled an “A-team” of session musicians and recorded Say, Has Anybody Seen My Sweet Gypsy Rose in 1973. The album was well-received critically, but the marketing side botched the roll out by failing to list “Amarillo by Morning” among the singles to promote. The song would very decidedly take on a life of its own, seizing air-play on its merits, and it was later re-recorded in 1982 by George Strait for his second album and, for the second time in Stafford’s career, he wrote a song that would bring fame to another man, but only the thinnest sliver of credit for him. Here’s the coda for that one:

“At the Country Music Association awards on November 6, 2013, with Strait sitting in the front row, hosts Brad Paisley and Carrie Underwood sang an ‘Amarillo by Morning’ parody, ‘Obamacare by Morning,’ much to the amusement of the audience with Paisley acknowledging Strait’s presence. ‘By the way, thank you, George Strait, I always loved [‘Amarillo by Morning”].’”

I want to close with the most fitting note possible for Terry Stafford. He recorded a second country album (I think) in 1973, which he titled We’ve Grown Close. Almost immediately after the first single came out – “Stop If You Love Me” – Atlantic Records folded its country music division and, without anyone to direct promotion, the album languished briefly, then faded away.

As I’ve discovered with a lot of alleged one-hit wonders, Terry Stafford put several hits into the world – hell, CMT named Strait’s version of “Amarillo by Morning” #12 in its top 100 country songs of all-time. I’ve been listening to both Strait’s and Stafford’s version of that tune since at least Tuesday, and it’s Stafford’s that’s growing on me (which is how it wound up on my May 2019, Week 3 MAME Playlist). That’s a song about keeping after one’s dreams, obstacles be damned. The same theme holds together, “Big in Dallas” and “California Dancer” (can't find this one), a song written by a woman who moves to California to turn professional dancer, only to have her dreams thwarted.

Stafford only tapped out when he died of liver failure in 1996. Here’s to hoping he died as proud as he deserved to be.

MAME Playlist, May 2019, Week 3: Naming Conventions and Unlikely(?) Careers

Today's theme: unlikely rock.

I had one of those weeks when I up and decided I hadn’t heard no frills, half-conscious “rock” for too long. Then I recalled a band who claimed they were about nothing else. So I went back to reconnect with the band that brought me “Day Stealer.”

Welcome to the third playlist of May 2019.

Music Band

This Nashville trio was one of the first bands Spotify’s Discover Weekly fed me in the 2nd half of 2016. Note the date…

The experience of trying to research this band underlines the importance choosing a good, searchable name. Over half an hour of trying combinations of “music,” “band,” and “Nashville” pulled up scores of Nashville-based bands (and means of booking them), but none of them this Music Band. When I wrote about them for the predecessor site to this one (don’t bother looking; it’s deleted), I could find reviews – both of albums and live performances – and a couple interviews. Their 2016 album, Wake Up Laughing, was probably a year old by then and Music Band had probably done some touring to support it. Anyway, between their name and the passing of three years, I can’t even dig up the names of the dudes in the band…

…they do have a (modest) twitter account and it appears they’re still active, even talking about another album.

If that doesn’t come out, Music Band will have put out just two albums: Wake Up Laughing and 2014’s (EP?), Can I Live. They won’t blow your mind or anything - one review for Wake Up Laughing offers qualified praise (“vocals that aren’t particularly distinctive and compressed production that doesn’t do these songs justice”), while another one just shits all over it/them (“Music Band? Really? It’s like they’re putting so much effort into putting in absolutely no effort.”) – but the song “Green Lights” left a fond enough memory of them that I circled back. And, no, they aren’t original, they aren’t brave, lyrically or musically. They also make no claims to be. As for what they sound like, eh, this gets close enough:

MAME Playlist, May 2019, Week 2: Dreaming Big, Dreaming Weird

The fields I till....

Another week, another grab-bag of musical artists, another playlist: welcome to the second MAME May 2019 newsletter/playlist. Virtually nothing connects this week’s bands/artists beyond the fact they’re most of what I listened to over the past week (or so). I hope to start with themes one of these days – e.g., finding my favorite song by Journey – but I’ll work on finding a rhythm on posting.

Now, moving on to this week’s featured artists, and going by loose chronological order.

One Hit No More: Doris Troy, A Helluva Lot More than “Just One Look”
“When I recorded that song in a little basement studio in New York, I asked God to keep that song alive forever. And you know, he answers prayers.”

Doris Elaine Higginsen, later Doris Troy, wasn’t the first young woman raised in gospel to stealthily slip into the “wicked world” of R&B. Somehow she convinced her parents to let her work as an “usherette” at the Apollo Theater, where James Brown (! yes, the funkiest, most-sampled man alive) discovered her. She started writing songs for other artists as Doris Payne (Dee Clark’s “How About That” was her first - $100!), but she co-wrote “Just One Look,” the song that made her famous, with Gregory Carroll. But she made her career one step removed from the spotlight.

Her one hit was her last turn in the spotlight. As noted in the obituary ran by The Guardian after her death in 2004 (which makes sense; you’ll see), Troy figured out early on that she could earn steadier pay as a back-up singer/arranger for “more established artists” – a term that, in reality, translates to enormously fucking famous. The woman who would transform into “Mama Soul” left her fingerprints on some of the most famous music of the late 60s/early 70s: The Rolling Stones (“You Can’t Always Get What You Want”), Pink Floyd (all of Dark Side of the Moon, apparently), Dusty Springfield, Carly Simon (“You’re So Vain”). Her connection to The Beatles’ George Harrison would give her a final shot at fame.

MAME Playlist, May 2019, Week 1: A Multi-Genre Mellow Collection

Thanks for the detour, y'all!

After a bit of a (creative/organizational) hangover from the last post/playlist, I struggled for a few (too many) days of getting this next playlist going. While spinning my wheels, a tweet from NME fed me to an article about “10 great-but-forgotten-indie-tracks” out of England in the 1990s, which, full disclosure, I pillaged for ideas, but didn’t read (and I still don’t know who Steve Lamacq is, but I hope to one day). The idea of building the playlist around that lasted only until a few of the artists celebrated in the article didn’t come up on Spotify (which, sadly, is too much like not finding them at all), and there went one concept.

The investigation wasn’t a total loss. I liked what I heard by Salad (and kept a pair of songs,“Cut and Cover” and “Poor Peach” – and I like both, but the second song better) and another mellower act called Drugstore; with them, I even took to the song Lamacq suggested (“Solitary Party Groover”) and lifted it onto the playlist. The actual story I’m telling started when I started looking for Daisy Chainsaw. First, and ironically, their song, “Love Your Money,” was the only one of the 10 that rang a bell. Second, I spotted the name “Daisy the Great” on my way in and, because there was something about that name, I listened to “Dips” and “Record Player Song.”

I went back to Daisy Chainsaw after that, listened to a couple more songs I forgot after listening to them…and then I went straight back to Daisy the Great, and that’s how they became the first featured artist of this May 2019, Week 1’s playlist.

Daisy the Great, Mamas, Papas, and Indie Pop
“We love harmony and storytelling, so we play with different layering and vibes until it fits the story of the song best.”

If you did the reverse-recipe trick with Daisy the Great’s music, the odds feel pretty good that you’d arrive somewhere around that production process. If you listen to their brand-spanking new release, I’m Not Getting Any Taller, it becomes clear in just a song or two that Mina Walker and Kelley Nicole Dugan, the creative centers of the band, build their sound around, for lack of a better word, dead-pan harmonies (are those harmonies in a minor key? is that how it works?). That doesn’t, however, do justice to the music that rises from that foundation. It’s not stuff to rock the socks off, but, as they used to say over and over again on American Bandstand (apparently), “it’s got a good beat and I can dance to it.”

April 2019 MAME Playlist: Mellow ATL, DIY England and Troubled Toronto

So simple, so good.

Welcome to the April 2019 MAME Playlist post, which, in a better world, will be the last whale I produce. (Here’s to hoping future plans come together). I posted a 50-song playlist for the month (there’s more where that came from; username snackyd), and all the songs on that playlist are linked to somewhere down below. I highlight three artists (chosen more or less at random) down below - Faye Webster, Martha (the band, not a person), and Shad – by sharing some stuff about who they are, where they come from and what they do. The rest of the playlist is mostly random. Mostly.

I posted some other write-ups on some other artists earlier this month, and some of the songs by those bands stuck to this month’s playlist. You can read about them in those posts, which I’ve linked to under the names of each band, and I’ll list/link to the songs by each that I held onto for this playlist. Those include: Weyes Blood (mellow, airy indie with gorgeous vocals, “A Lot’s Gonna Change,” “Andromeda,” and “Mirror Forever”); Orange Goblin (metal from the hard rock school mostly, “The Astral Project,” “Magic Carpet,” and “Aquatic Fanatic”); and The Who (you know them, but the story behind Lifehouse is a doozy, “Whiskey Man,” “Pictures of Lily,” “A Quick One (While He’s Away),” “Relay,” “5:15,” and “Slip Kid”).

All right, time to look at this month’s playlist’s featured artists…in which I accidentally go from oldest to youngest.

Faye Webster, [Eponymous]
I think it was last month when Discover Weekly pitched Faye Webster’s “Room Temperature” my way. It’s probably part of the promotional push for Webster’s upcoming album, Atlanta Millionaires Club, and, between that and the still-better, “Kingston,” I have high hopes for that new release. But it’s not out yet (think it said late May, like, May 26), so I’m stuck with her 2017 eponymous album. The one with the understatedly freaking awesome album cover (see above).

Webster comes from Atlanta, Georgia, and a creative family (something I see a lot when researching musicians). Musically, she grew up on old country, but branched out into Atlanta-area local hip hop – specifically, material put out by Awful Records. That branching out eventually lead her to membership in a “rap collective” called PSA, and you hear both influences in her sound. Her choice of instruments that makes her earliest influences stand out more: “No matter what music I end up making I will always use pedal steel... It's in my roots. I love pedal steel.”