One Hit No More, No. 41, Eric Burdon & War: The Burden of Burdon

Necessary springboard?

The Hit
I assume, without investigation, that the context in which you first heard 1970’s “Spill the Wine” went almost all the way in terms of shaping how seriously you take it. Even that assumes that anyone takes that song seriously…

Of which, I’ve now confirmed, via Lonnie Jordan, but to multiple sources, the actual lyrics to the chorus of “Spill the Wine.” In his own words (from a decent 2018 interview with Entertainment Today):

“You know, in recording “Spill the Wine” he improvised the song. The chorus [‘spill the wine, take that pearl’], people think it is ‘girl.’ But it is ‘pearl,’ that’s the lady’s nether regions.”

For the record, learning this information did not impress my wife. Still, the part about Eric Burdon, formally and made famous via The Animals, improvising the daffy story at the heart of the song makes the whole thing a little more impressive. It’s hardly high art - it’s more a “holy shit” brag about the things Burdon gets to do (and a bit Playboy cliché), and a “story” only in that sense - but that’s one hell of a jam playing under it. The instruments War played were old as rock ‘n’ roll, but they got something new out of them - at least in actually popular music, aka, the stuff that charts. “Spill the Wine” rose high enough to put Eric Burdon & War on the map and to set them touring across Europe over 1970 and 1971…

…not bad for a band that came together half by design and half by accident. Oh, and to finish the thought, I think I first heard this song in my early 20s and it was presented ironically. No offense to all concerned, but that really stuck. Once you're the butt of a joke, and for whatever reason...

The Rest of the Story
“It is hard to put a label on us, it is hard to put a library card on us. Tower Records had us in a lot of departments, jazz, reggae, RnB. Universal Street Music, that is what I call us.”

First, that's the framing of War as a band out of the way. Second, I was more interested in War than Eric Burdon & War after hearing four albums all of once. I’ve still never made it through The Black-Man’s Burdon, their 1970 follow-up to Eric Burdon Declares War, and I know I never will, not unless someone pays me to do it (note: it wouldn’t take a lot). Critiques of the album aside, Burdon checked out after they recorded it - and in the middle of a European tour. I’ve read a couple reasons for the split and, as much as I like the artistic romance of “he got bored and left,” Jordan told a gentler version to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette in 2019:

One Hit No More, No. 40: Beware the Ides of March...

Also a little conflicted...

The Hit
The more I listen to The Ides of March’s “Vehicle,” the more convinced I am that I’ve heard it. On the other hand, it didn’t ring a bell of any kind the first time I heard it.

Assuming you haven’t heard it, it packs a big sound - lots of horns, a Chicago-funk bass line, the rhythm churns, some really solid call-response - the whole thing just screams “ANTHEM.” This is the sound of kicking ass, chewing bubblegum and naming names…which only makes the song’s origin more notable. The songwriter, Jim Peterik, had an ex-girlfriend who called him for rides after the break-up and he obliged often for it to inspire a song; as he phrased the concept in an (always) undated interview with Best Classic Bands, “all I am to you is your vehicle.” In an ending that’s both fitting and that gets at how relationships really work, they reconciled some time after and eventually got married. I’ve found that people who aren’t sure they want to be together have a way of finding excuses to bump into one another…

The Rest of the Story
Before digging in, I need to get something out of the way: I did not like The Ides of March. I made it through their catalog just four times before tapping out and walking away. There’s nothing wrong with having a bias; the real crime is hiding them for ulterior motives. The importance of that idea will come up later, but also in daily life. Moving on…

The Ides of March came up - and I mean that literally - in (or near) Chicago, Illinois (Berwyn, Illinois). The best way I can think to explain that is to note that, 1) when they dropped the name “The Shon-Dels,” they found inspiration from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, which they were reading at the time for high school, and 2) the band’s first hit, “You Wouldn’t Listen to Me” (No. 42 on The Billboard and No. 7 regionally, so not bad) was written during an all-nighter at Peterik’s 15th birthday party. Also, one of their moms, Ann Millas, was the one who arranged their break-trhough meeting with Mercury Records. (For reference, I found most of the finer anecdotes in this post in MusicTAP’s 2020 interview with Peterik.)

One Hit No More, No. 39, Shocking Blue: "Venus" Wore a Wig...

O.G.

The Hit
While it’s not unheard of in this project (see, Syndicate of Sound post), Shocking Blue’s “Venus” provides the rare case where it’s fair to ask people whether they heard their version first or Banarama’s. I know my answer - Banarama’s (also, The Divinyls on the one above) - and I refuse to feel shame about it…especially now that former, and now deceased drummer Cor van der Beek confessed that they “borrowed” (he straight-up says “stole”) the guitar riffs from The Beatles.

That said, I agree with van der Beek that Shocking Blue’s version beats all the others.

The song dropped in 1970 and shot to No. 1 on the Billboard in the States and blew up just about everywhere else besides. Anchored by an electric piano(/organ?) riff, a light funk shuffle rhythm plays under while curly-cue guitars hooks play over it: it’s music made for go-go dancing. And the vocals - imperious, almost demanding worship - roll it all together into a celebration of feminine power and/or mystique. “Goddess on the mountain-top/burning like a silver flame…”

The Rest of the Story
Because this was a case where I wanted so much more, I’m a little disappointed that there isn’t much available on Shocking Blue. Three of the four original members are dead - a couple of them for some time - and the only living member is, by now, quite old and “very media-shy.” That just leaves talking about what’s available.

A guitarist/sitarist named Robbie van Leeuwen started Shocking Blue in The Hague, The Netherlands (note: I often feel like I’m doing it wrong when I type “The” before “Netherlands”), with van der Beek (again, drums) in 1967 with Klassje van der Waal on bass, and a guy named Fred de Wilde on lead vocals. The band’s original line-up recorded a couple singles that no one remembers (but that one can look up at this point), and that was enough to move de Wilde to chuck the band for the Dutch Army. van Leeuwen found Mariska Veres singing in a club and the rest is history.

The more I read about musicians, the more I see that, for a lot of them, the story doesn’t get more complicated than, “we (or he or she) wrote a bunch of songs, and we toured a lot, probably more than we wanted to, but that's the job.” A vast under-belly teems and writhes under that bare narrative - e.g., as revealed in a 1988 (subtitled) interview with Veres and van der Beek, it’s a blur of hiring body-guards to keep half-crazed fans from grabbing you and or cutting your hair (or wig; fun fact, Veres wore wigs) in Japan - and a band doesn't draw half-crazed fans without a hit, and Shocking Blue did manage that. Some parts of the band lasted until 1971 - when van der Beek and van der Wal checked out - while van Leeuwen made it 1974; Veres was the last hold-out, and small wonder. If “Venus” is all you know, those vocals really catch your ear...