‘It’s Never Seen The Sun . . .’

January 23rd, 2013

Two-and-a-half years ago, as I offered six of the records in my Ultimate Jukebox, I wrote:

“Looking for a version of ‘Spanish Harlem’ to celebrate, I imagine that lots of folks would choose Aretha Franklin’s imaginative 1971 cover, which went to No. 2. But there’s something I prefer about Ben E. King’s original, which went to No. 10 in early 1961. Maybe it’s the tropical lilt brought out by the marimba during the introduction and throughout the record, maybe it’s the baion bass provided by producers Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller (Leiber co-wrote the song with Phil Spector), maybe it’s King’s hushed, almost serene vocal, or maybe it’s the saxophone solo. Maybe it’s all of those or something else entirely. Whatever it is, it makes Spanish Harlem into a place I wish I’d seen through the eyes of all of those involved.”

Well, all that still holds true, but after King’s version popped up on the mp3 player in the kitchen the other day, I thought about cover versions as I rinsed the silverware. It might be that Franklin provided the definitive cover of the Leiber/Spector tune. But what else was out there?

The index at BMI lists twenty-seven covers of the tune, and Second Hand Songs lists thirty-six, with a lot of (expected) overlap between the lists. Combined, the two lists hold some interesting names. Among those listed whose performances I either didn’t look for or listen to entirely in the past week or so are Jay & The Americans, Chet Atkins, Manuel and His Music of the Mountains, Cliff Richard, Tom Jones, Freddie Scott, Arthur Alexander, Frankie Valli, Bowling For Soup, Vicki Carr, Ray Anthony, Kenny Rankin, Janet Seidel, Keld Heick and Tony Mottola.

The BMI list doesn’t show recording or release dates, but at Second Hand Songs, the earliest listed cover is a 1961 effort by Britain’s John Barry, whose version – included on his Stringbeat album – falls into what I would call easy listening territory. Other easy listening versions came over the years from Percy Faith, Andre Kostelanetz, the previously mentioned Manuel and His Music of the Mountains and guitarist Bert Weedon, whose 1971 take on the tune pleased me more than the others in that genre.

The most recent version of the tune listed at SHS was the 2010 cover by Latin vocalist Jon Secada, which I have not heard in full although what I did hear sounded promising. I had hopes for 1960s versions by Santo & Johnny and by Herb Alpert & The Tijuana brass, but both of those were draggy and limp.

So what did I like? Unsurprisingly, I like the version King Curtis released on his 1966 album, That Lovin’ Feeling. (The video misdates the track and shows the cover of the 1969 album Instant Groove.) I like the cover I featured the other day by The Mamas & The Papas. One version that did surprise me pleasantly came from Laura Nyro, who recorded the song with Labelle for her 1971 album, Gonna Take A Miracle. I’ve always admired the late Nyro’s songwriting, but I’ve found her own recordings to sometimes be shrill. This one wasn’t. And as I poked around YouTube this morning, I found a sweet live version of the tune from an October 19, 1974, performance at Union College in Schenectady, New York; according to the YouTube poster, it’s one of only three times that Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band have performed “Spanish Harlem.” (The audio is a bit muffled, but it’s still a treat, I think.)

I keep coming back, though, to Aretha’s version. It was released as a single in 1971 (with its first LP release on Aretha’s Greatest Hits) and was No.1 for three weeks on the R&B chart and No. 2 for two weeks on the pop chart. The video below attempts to identify the players on that session, but in the Franklin listing in Top Pop Singles, Joel Whitburn notes that Dr. John plays keyboards on the single, and the good doctor is not shown in the video. I’ll go with Whitburn and assume that Dr. John was there. In any case, it’s not the keyboard work that grabs me. And it’s not Aretha’s assured vocal that moves me most. So what does? It’s the drum work, which – if one can trust the video – came from the sticks of Bernard Purdie.

‘Dreamin’ Those Dreams Again . . .’

January 22nd, 2013

One can tell, just by looking at the cloud of artists’ names here and at Echoes In The Wind Archives, that one of the main pillars on which this blog has rested is Johnny Rivers. There are a few artists whose names are larger in those two clouds, but not many.* I think I know his catalog pretty well, but I was reminded again this morning how vast that catalog is.

Poking through the Billboard Hot 100 from January 22, 1966 – forty-seven years ago today – I saw Rivers’ name listed at No. 35 with “Under Your Spell Again.” I didn’t recognize the title, and I wandered off to YouTube to dig.

I’d never heard Rivers’ version, but at that point, I recognized the song (though I do not know when or where I’ve ever heard it) and learned rapidly that Buck Owens wrote it and took it to No. 4 on the country chart in 1959.

Just to wrap things up before I go deal with the minor tasks of real life, Rivers’ version went no higher in 1966, peaking at No. 35. The website Second Hand Songs lists twenty-seven versions of the song (although there are likely more out there).  Lloyd Price’s version bubbled under at No. 123 in 1962, while on the country chart, Ray Price’s version went to No. 5 in 1959 and a duet by Waylon Jennings and Jessi Colter went to No. 39 in 1971. Here’s that duet (which I like a lot):

And we’ll leave it there this morning (although I think I’d like to dig up the version of the tune that the band Southern Fried released in 1971). Unless the bottom drops out, I’ll be here tomorrow, most likely looking at versions of “Spanish Harlem.”

*After writing this post, I did a quick bit of research. Between this site and the earlier locations of Echoes In The Wind (with about nine months’ worth of posts yet to be revived at the archives site), Rivers’ music has been featured twenty-six times. Only three other artists and one group have been featured more. Here’s the top five:

Bob Dylan (57)
Bruce Springsteen (40)
Richie Havens (29)
The Band (28)
Johnny Rivers (26)

Saturday Single No. 325

January 19th, 2013

Well, it’s baseball in January.

Last October, my pals and I found ourselves unable to clear a Saturday for us to get together here on the East Side and play the second half of our two-part 2012 Strat-O-Matic baseball tournament. November didn’t work, either, and then came the holidays, so we decided we’d regroup in January. And today is that day.

Waiting in the wings for most of today’s action will be the 1920 Cleveland Indians, who won last spring’s first half by defeating the 1988 Mets 11-2. Rob owns of both those clubs, and he chose to guide the Indians during the finals. The winner of today’s eight-team tourney will take on the 1920 Indians in a best-of-three finals at the end of what could be a long day today.

Today’s first round pairings have another Cleveland Indians team – Rob said he’d play either the 1995 or 1996 Indians; he wasn’t sure which one he could find in his stash—facing Dan’s 1998 Atlanta Braves; my 1991 Minnesota Twins against Rick’s 1946 Boston Red Sox; my 2001 Arizona Diamondbacks against Rick’s 1990 Oakland Athletics; and Rob’s 1922 St. Louis Browns facing Dan’s 1970 Baltimore Orioles.

As always, I’m very much looking forward to having the guys here. And as frequently is the case, the Texas Gal will be taking her laptop and her books to study at the public library for much of the day, leaving us to our loud day of baseball and brotherhood.

Here’s “Blood Brothers,” one of the tracks recorded new for Bruce Springsteen’s 1995 Greatest Hits album. And it’s today’s Saturday Single.

Corrected since first posting.

Coming Attractions

January 18th, 2013

There are a couple of posts I’ve been poking away at, and they should – I hope – show up here in the next week or so:

Ever since Ben E. King’s version of “Spanish Harlem” popped up on the mp3 player in the kitchen the other day, I’ve been combing through my files, through YouTube and through places like Amazon for covers of the song. Quite a few have showed up, and I’ll take a look at the song and a good number of those covers in the week to come, I think.

I’ve also been pulling together memories from early 1966 for a tale that combines St. Cloud State basketball, a couple of movies, Mountain Dew and the Ace Bar & Cafe down on East St. Germain, the predecessor to today’s Ace Bar & Grill. Look for that in the next week, too.

But for various reasons, my schedule is off, I have a good number of chores on my list (in preparation for a Strat-O-Matic baseball tournament and playoff here tomorrow), and in the past few days, I’ve been feeling feel a little bit like an 89-degree angle in a 90-degree world. So I’m going to redraw my angles and get to my chores.

First, though, here’s a sweet version of “Spanish Harlem” by the Mamas & the Papas. It’s from their 1966 album, If You Can Believe Your Eyes And Ears.

‘Run Just Like The Wind Will . . .’

January 16th, 2013

Doing some of my usual wandering through Billboard Hot 100 charts and videos at YouTube this morning, I found myself sifting through several reggae versions of the same Neil Diamond song. I started here:

The 1970 cover by Jr. Walker & The All Stars of Neil Diamond’s “Holly Holy” – a No. 6 hit from 1969 – got only as high as No. 75 in the Hot 100. In fact, that’s where the record was sitting forty-two years ago today: No. 75. (It went to No. 33 on the R&B chart.) Even though I was a dedicated Top 40 listener back in those days, I don’t recall hearing the Walker cover, which is not at all surprising. At Oldiesloon, a quick scan of surveys from the Twin Cities’ stations KDWB and WDGY around the time 1970 turned into 1971 showed no sign of the Walker version. (The highest Walker’s cover of “Holly Holy” got in any survey listed at the Airheads Radio Survey Archive is No. 14, at KASR in Astoria, Oregon, which is surreal even for 1971.)

I wondered, as I often do, about other covers, so I took a quick look at Second Hand Songs. Now, I imagine that I’ve dug into titles at that website more than a hundred times over the past few years, and on occasion, I’ll find a listing for a reggae cover of a specific tune. But four reggae covers of the same song? Never.

I don’t know much about reggae, being at best a casual listener. There are some LPs in the stacks, mostly Bob Marley, Peter Tosh, Bunny Wailer and Ziggy Marley. I recognize Marley’s stuff when it comes on the radio on WXYG. But beyond that, the data banks are pretty clean. So I did not recognize the three solo performers listed at Second Hand Songs as having recorded covers of “Holly Holy.”

The 1970 cover by John Holt, which sounds to me a little like reggae light for some reason, was released as a single on the Bamboo label. Also in 1970, Jackie Mittoo recorded “Holly Holy,” releasing it on his album, Now. Four years later, Willie Lindo included the song on his album Far & Distant. Of the three, I think I prefer the Lindo version, but Mittoo’s is okay. (There are entries on both Holt and Mittoo at Wikipedia. Information on Lindo is a little sketchier, but there are a few pages out there with some stuff.)

The fourth reggae version listed at Second Hand Songs was by a more familiar group: UB40. The group from Birmingham, England, included the tune on their 1998 album, Labor of Love III, and it’s pretty good:

Saturday Single No. 324

January 12th, 2013

In the absence this morning of anything more interesting – and I’ve spent about forty minutes alternately staring at a blank page and wandering through various websites in search of inspiration or an idea – we’re going random this morning.

(I was tempted to write about Popular Crime, a book by Bill James – better known for his work on baseball analysis and history – that examined how some crimes become American obsessions. But I just finished the book yesterday and want to let it settle in some, so I’ll put that off until maybe next week.)

So here’s a hop and skip trip through six tracks from the years 1950 to 2000 or so, with the usual caveat of skipping over something that’s been discussed here recently or something that excessively reflects my eccentricities – like a track from the two-CD set The Best of the Red Army Choir.

First up is “Nothing Left To Move Me” by Anne Linnet from 1979. Linnet is a Danish performer who has been making and recording music since the early 1970s. The track comes from You’re Crazy, one of the few albums Linnet has recorded of songs in English. That, of course made the work more accessible for a wider audience but, to my mind, made Linnet’s work too much like some middle-of-the-chart Adult Contemporary fare.

From there, we jump to 1962 and “There Is No Greater Love” by the Wanderers, an R&B group about whom I know nearly nothing. In Top Pop Singles, Joel Whitburn lists the names of the group members but gives no indication of where the group originated. The record, which was the third that the group got in or near the charts, sounds a lot like something the Platters would have done. “There Is No Greater Love,” which was released on MGM after being first released on Cub (which released the two earlier mentioned records), went to No. 88, the highest any of the three records got. It’s nicely done, but as I said, sounds very much like the Platters (or maybe a hundred other groups).

And then we get a nice and very familiar slice of the late summer and early autumn of 1969: Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline.” The record went to No. 4, and as soon as I heard the introduction, I had a brief flash of memory: Rick and I are pulling into the parking lot of the Country Kitchen restaurant here on the East Side and the song’s intro comes out of the radio speaker. We haven’t heard it for a while – I’m driving, so this took place sometime after I got my license in the autumn of 1970 – and we debated sitting in the car to listen instead of going straight inside. I don’t recall what we decided, but as soon as that bit of memory flashes past, another one pops up: St. Cloud State students and hockey fans adding their antiphonal chant of “So good! So good! So good!” to the chorus as the record plays during a Husky hockey game.

Fourth up this morning is “Stay On” by Wisconsin’s BoDeans, from 1993. Found on the group’s Go Slow Down album, the track has a slight jangly sound above the group’s Midwestern foundation that very much echoes the 1990s (as it likely should). It’s a good album track from a CD that I think is very likely the group’s best release (although their first, Love & Hope & Sex & Dreams from 1986, is pretty darned good, too).

We move on, and find ourselves in an arena somewhere with Paul McCartney and his band on stage. After a little noodling on the electric piano, McCartney launches into “Carry That Weight.” The track is from Back In The U.S., the 2002 live release recorded during the ex-Beatle’s tour that year. The Texas Gal and I were lucky enough to see McCartney in St. Paul during that tour, and the two-CD package is a nice after-the-fact souvenir, but on the night we saw him, McCartney was in better voice than he was during whatever performances were used for the live CD, so Back In The U.S. is a little bit of a bring-down.

And our final destination is a 1962 collaboration between Frank Sinatra and Count Basie, “I’m Gonna Sit Right Down (And Write Myself A Letter),” part of the sessions that ended up on the album Sinatra-Basie: An Historic Musical First. From what I understand, various members of Basie’s orchestra had long been involved in Sinatra’s sessions, but the 1962 sessions were the first with the full Count Basie Orchestra, with Basie at the piano. Here’s a video that gives a little bit of an idea how the recording of “I’m Gonna Sit Right Down (And Write Myself A Letter)” went down, and it’s today’s Saturday Single:

‘Six’

January 11th, 2013

And so we come to “Six” as the March of the Integers goes on. The RealPlayer sifts through more than 66,000 mp3s and brings back 176 of them, leaving us the task of sorting out the chaff from those results.

All the songs with “sixteen” in their titles have to go, including Joe Clay’s 1956 rockabilly romp, “Sixteen Chicks,” country singer Lacy J. Dalton’s 1982 tribute to perseverance, “Sixteenth Avenue” and several versions of “Sweet Little Sixteen.” The same holds true for songs with “sixty” in their titles, including two versions of Elton John’s “Sixty Years On” – one from the studio and one from his live 11-17-70 set – as well as Billy Ward & The Dominoes’ “Sixty Minute Man” from 1951.

A cluster of tracks by some groups have to be set aside as well: That includes single tracks by the Deep Six, the Electric Six, the Six Mile Chase, the Soul Brothers Six, the Sound of Six as well as the gloriously titled “Rub A Little Boogie” by Duke Bayou & His Mystic Six. We also have to set aside a couple of albums each by Sixpence None the Richer and the New Colony Six. And then, everything but the title tune from B.B. King’s 1985 album Six Silver Strings goes by the wayside, as does all of Steeleye Span’s 1974 album Now We Are Six and the 1973 opus by Rick Wakeman, The Six Wives of Henry VIII. But we’re still left with enough titles to put together a nice six-record set.

The most successful, and maybe the best of the bunch, is one I’ve written about before: “Six Days on the Road” by Dave Dudley. Recorded in Minneapolis’ Kay Bank Studios in March 1963, “Six Days” spent two weeks at No. 2 on the country chart and went to No. 32 on the pop chart. The record, wrote Dave Marsh in 1989, had “about as much impact as any hit of the early sixties – it spawned a whole genre of truck driving songs that are not only the closest contemporary equivalent of the cowboy ballads of yore but have produced some of the best country records of the past thirty years.”

[Wikipedia notes: According to country music historian Bill Malone, “Six Days on the Road” was not the first truck driving song; Malone credits “Truck Driver's Blues” by Cliff Bruner, released in 1940, with that distinction. “Nor is it necessarily the best,” said Malone, citing songs such as “Truck Drivin’ Man” by Terry Fell and “White Line Fever” by Merle Haggard and the Strangers as songs that “would certainly rival it.” However, “Six Days,” Malone continued, “set off a vogue for such songs” that continued for many years. “The trucking songs coincided with country music’s growing identification as working man’s music in the 1960s,” he said. Dudley “strikingly captures the sense of boredom, danger and swaggering masculinity that often accompanies long-distance truck driving. His macho interpretation, with its rock-and-roll overtones, is perfect for the song.”]

When Ringo Starr and producer Richard Perry put together the ex-Beatles’ 1973 release Ringo, the other three ex-Beatles stopped by at various times to offer songs and some help in the studio. Paul and Linda McCartney offered the song “Six O’Clock” and hung around to record background vocals, while Paul wrote the arrangement for the strings and flutes and then sat down at both the piano and the synthesizer, adding a solo on the latter that hangs around in one’s ears long after the very catchy track is over.

The Association was a pretty mellow group (occasionally moving, as Bruce Eder of All-Music Guide notes, “into psychedelia and, much more rarely, into a harder, almost garage-punk vein”), so when “Six Man Band” starts coming out of the speakers, those few bars of growling guitars that follow the light percussion opening make one take note. Soon enough, the record mellows, but those guitars keep popping up, alternating with the stacked vocal harmonies. The record label credits the group as producers, but that only shows how much the Association learned from Curt Boettcher. The record, detailing in vague allusions the joys and hassles of being on the road, hit the Billboard Hot 100 in late August 1968 but only got as high as No. 47.

Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart are perhaps better known as songwriters – their credits include “Pretty Little Angel Eyes,” “Come A Little Bit Closer” and much of the Monkees’ catalog – than as performers. But between 1962 and 1969, they put ten singles in or near the Hot 100 (and Hart had a solo single bubble under at No. 110 in 1980). The best-known of the duo’s records is no doubt “I Wonder What She’s Doing Tonite,” which went to No. 8 in February 1968. They’re of interest today because the romantic lament “Six + Six” showed up as the B-side to “We’re All Going To The Same Place,” which bubbled under the chart for one week at No. 123 in November 1968.

All I know about the Apostles, I learned at the blog Funky Sixteen Corners, which is where my pal Larry spins his records. Back in 2006, Larry noted that all he knew about the superb instrumental “Six Pack” was that it was from 1969 (and he could have added that it was released on Kapp, a fact made obvious by the label scan). He said, “Despite any religious connotations of the name Apostles, I’m betting that they weren’t following anyone spiritually besides the Meters. It starts out with a funky – but not overly exciting – bass line, so as the record begins you’re sitting there thinking to yourself, ‘I expect this 45 to provide an acceptable level of funk, but little else.’ Then, a few short seconds later, the guitar player drops in with some of the wildest, bell-bottomed, crazy-legged fatback guitar and knocks the whole thing for a loop.” Not quite a year later, a reader by the name of John Rogger left Larry a note: “[I]’m glad to see that someone other than myself likes the records my father produced! ‘Six Pack’ was a great hit for him, but the bigger hit was ‘Soulful’ on the first album he released with the band. . . . If you’re able to find it, listen to it. It’s a great song. It actually sold more than “Six Pack” did. . . .Thanks for finding stuff on my dad. It makes me happy since he wasn’t able to continue his dream and legacy due to the war. I still play his songs on the radio station I work at. It’s fun times for me. . . . The Apostles was a rock and roll band formed from the Renegades that my dad was in charge of in the ’60s in St. Louis. He did a lot back then for music. Now he does real estate. Go figure!”

Candi Staton has showed up here a few times, most recently in September, when her “Never In Public” caught my ear. This morning, it was her “Six Nights and a Day” that got my attention. The track showed up in 1974 on the album Candi, Staton’s first release on Warner Brothers after leaving the Muscle Shoals-based Fame label. Warner Brothers released “Six Days and a Night” as a single (Warner Bros. 8112 b/w “We Can Work It Out”) in 1975, but it didn’t show up in either the Hot 100 or the R&B Top 40. I seem to say this every time I run across one of Staton’s R&B sides, but it’s true: The record deserved better.

Around The Neighborhood

January 10th, 2013

Here are a few things worth noting at some of the blogs I frequent:

At The Hits Just Keep On Comin’, jb notes the passing of Sammy Johns and parses the 1970s sensibilities of Johns’ No. 5 hit from 1975, “Chevy Van.”

The Dude at Any Major Dude With Half A Heart took a look earlier this week at the music industry notables who passed on in 2012. It seems like a longer list than is generally the case.

The topic last Saturday at Barely Awake In Frog Pajamas was solving the mystery of album release dates and learning what a January release meant for a performer or a band.

Over at Bloggerhythms, our pal Charlie takes a look at the best albums of 2012. Some of them I know, some I know well, and – respecting Charlie’s taste as I do – the rest I need to learn about very soon.

At AM, then FM, Jeff looks back: “They were older guys who liked hassling younger kids for no apparent reason. Bullies, I guess.” And then he brings us up to date.

And here? Well, last night was one of those nights: The cats woke me up at least five times, and my sleep stayed in the shallow end of the pool all night long, so cogent thought takes too much work this morning. I’ll be back tomorrow, most likely resuming the March of the Integers with “6.”

In the meantime, here’s the No. 100 record in the Billboard Hot 100 from this week in 1973, forty years ago. Millie Jackson’s “I Miss You Baby” would peak two weeks later at No. 95 (it likely deserved better). It would get to No. 22 on the R&B chart.

From Dishwashing To Danish

January 8th, 2013

Some time back, as a way to ease into a discussion of Hall & Oates, I wrote about my kitchen dancing:

“With the mp3 player plugged into the CD player atop a small cabinet, I shuffle and weave, play air piano and guitar, and I cue unseen drummers, violin players and horn sections. And I do all this while removing and shelving clean dishes from the dishwasher and then replacing them with the dishes yet to be washed.”

That hasn’t changed. But in the past few months, I’ve begun keeping a list of the songs the mp3 player shuffles out each afternoon and then using that list as a basis for a nearly daily post on Facebook. I list those five, six or seven tracks – the actual number is dependent on how much work there was to do in the kitchen – and then embed a video of one of them. Most of the time, I find a video of the last track in the sequence, but I sometimes highlight a more interesting or rare track.

I toss the post out to those in my Facebook community, and I generally get a few likes and sometimes a comment or two. One of the records that popped up as I did the dishes yesterday was “Rør Ved Mig” by the duo of Lecia & Lucienne. It’s a Danish version of Mocedades’ “Eres Tu,” and it was a hit in Denmark during the autumn of 1973, when “Eres Tu” was Spain’s entry in the annual Eurovision Song Contest. (Mocedades’ version went to No. 9 in the U.S. in March 1974.)

After I posted the note at Facebook, Dan from California chuckled and wrote, “I’m imagining those Danes belting out Eres Tu: Røøøøøøøøøør Ved Miiiiiiig! Tøø funny!” I replied, saying that was pretty much how the chorus went.

(I should note that “Rør Ved Mig” was the topic of a brief post early in this blog’s timeline and is a favorite of mine, as it’s one of the most potent records of my life, pulling me back, as I told Dan, “to city walls, red brick houses, cold Carlsberg and, well, a lot of fond memories.”)

Then, wanting Dan to hear the song, I wandered off to YouTube. Lecia & Lucienne were not there. That didn’t surprise me; I once uploaded a video of their record there and learned that licensing problems kept it from being available in the U.S. and some other places. But as I looked for “Rør Ved Mig,” I came across an acoustic version of the song by a performer named Nikolaj Nørlund.

It turns out that Norlund is a highly regarded Danish performer and producer with several solo albums and other recordings to his credit. One of those other recordings is the 2011 EP Kom Med Et Bud, which offered his acoustic covers of six songs that had been very popular in Denmark, including “Rør Ved Mig.” I recognized one other title, “Smilende Susie,” although I don’t think I heard the original record while I was in Denmark. And then I saw the title “Åh, Babe, Kom Med Et Bud.”

The letter Å/å is, obviously, one we don’t have in English. It’s pronounced “Oh,” with that long “O” sound that folks around here sometimes use when they say “Minne-soh-ta.” It was once written as Aa/aa, and that survives a fair amount in this part of the country in the last names of folks whose ancestors emigrated from the Nordic lands: One of the guys I went to college with had the last name of Sondergaard. He figured out in Denmark that the name likely started out as Søndergaard, which I think is an old form that translates into English as “southern farm.” (Corrections are always welcome.)

Anyway, when I saw and sounded out the title “Åh, Babe, Kom Med Et Bud,” the first two words came out “Oh Babe” and the next four words came out in a familiar cadence. I thought, “It can’t be.”

But it was. And just because I like this sort of thing when it pops up, here’s Nikolaj Nørlund’s Danish language version of Hurricane Smith’s “Oh Babe, What Would You Say.” (Nørlund, for whatever reason, pronounces “Åh” more like “Ah” than “Oh.” That may have something to do with the “h” being appended to the “Å.” I don’t know.)

Saturday Single No. 323

January 5th, 2013

I’m not a Luddite. I’m really not.

Luddites, according to Wikipedia, “were 19th-century English textile artisans who violently protested against the machinery introduced during the Industrial Revolution that made it possible to replace them with less-skilled, low-wage labourers, leaving them without work.” The website concludes its entry: “In modern usage, ‘Luddite’ is a term describing those opposed to industrialisation, automation, computerisation or new technologies in general.”*

So no, I’m not a Luddite. I’m not opposed to any of those things in general. More to the point, I may not be as immersed in the cyberworld as others, but my presence is not insignificant, what with blogging and my memberships at various boards and forums, along with the large amount of commerce I undertake online. Still, there are portions of our modern march that displease me as they come down Digital Avenue.

One of those is underway: Newsweek magazine published its final print edition last week and will become an all-digital publication titled Newsweek Global this week. At least it’s supposed to. I haven’t seen it online yet. Despite requesting access to the publication as an abandoned print subscriber, I have not yet received an email granting me that access; the customer service representative on the other end of the telephone line the other day told me that the computers tasked with sending those emails have been balky. There’s a punch line there somewhere.

Not quite two years ago, I predicted the end of the print edition in a post here about Newsweek’s travails and its pending merger with the Daily Beast website. (I wrote that I did not expect the magazine to last another year; it lasted almost two years more.) The merger, wrote editor Tina Brown in the magazine’s final print edition last week, left the magazine having to almost reinvent itself, as many staffers took buyouts or otherwise left. That reinvention, I thought as I paged through the magazine in past months, was sometimes successful: Newsweek’s reporting on the so-called Arab Spring was at times brilliant, and on that and many other topics over the past eighteen or so months, I’d often nod in appreciation as I finished a piece.

There were other times, though: Every now and then, the reconstituted magazine would offer a piece about someone or some trend that was hot stuff in Manhattan’s fashion, art or culinary cliques. I generally enjoy learning about people and portions of our culture unknown to me, but the writing of those pieces frequently seemed more intent on reinforcing those cliques in their Manhattan-ness than on explaining why the new young designer, artist or chef mattered to American culture at large.

So I grumbled on occasion as I paged through Newsweek during the past twenty months or so, and I grumbled when the announcement came that the print edition would end. I imagine I’ll grumble some as I wander through Newsweek Global, too. If it doesn’t interest me enough, I suppose I’ll let my subscription lapse when it expires in April, ending forty-some years as a generally regular reader of Newsweek. And I’ll wonder which newspaper or magazine will be the next to end its print run.

I went looking for songs about things gone, and there are plenty of those. But many are morose, and I’m not looking for that this morning. So I found a clip of the Everly Brothers jubilantly performing “Gone, Gone, Gone” on the November 18, 1964, episode of Shindig. And it’s today’s Saturday Single.

*The English spellings for “industrialisation” and so on in the entry amuse me a bit. I imagine that elsewhere in the vast jumble of information available on the Wikipedia site, one can find just as many instances of the American spellings of those words – “industrialization” and so on – with the inconsistency being the result of being an audience-written and  -edited site. I wonder if the folks in the upper echelon at Wikipedia have ever considered the Sisyphean undertaking of copy-editing each page to a consistent style.