The Best Underground 60's Sounds 2
Yeah, Serge is batting above his average.
The Best 60’s Undergound Songs Part 2
A few years back, in the dark days of masks, lockdowns and weird social rules in supermarkets, I wrote a pretty well received article on the best unknown 60’s songs (strangely now my most popular article battling it out with Mick Taylor and - bizarrely - a circular walk around Burgess Hill).
The obscure 60’s article strayed not too far from the path of collective knowledge - B Sides from familiar bands (Stones, Beatles, Who), overlooked singles - Lady Friend by The Byrds. A couple of randos like Rudi’s in Love.
A toe in the water. I promised then - and I always keep my promises - to write a follow up with more obscure fayre from the 60’s. Well, here it is and here they are.
But before I start, I’m aware that this list will also be derided as mainstream, yawn, “13th Story Elevators - so overdone man.” I’ll take that abuse - there’s none so disdainful as an obscurantist. They are not my audience. Who is then Tim? Well, since you ask, my readers tend to stray on this site after perusing my Mick Taylor articles or having ploughed their way through my worthy histories of Rome through various battles. And given these facts, let’s tread lightly into obscure music trivia.
So - I can’t get no satisfaction crowd, be damned - here we go.
You’re Gonna Miss Me - The 13th Story Elevators (1966)
Pretty well known in underground circles. There used to be several club nights in Brighton in the early 90’s that would delight in playing obscure 60’s tracks. In my mind and unreliable memory, this particularly track used to be played a lot. For how else would I know it? It sounds like it was recorded in a garage which is a prerequisite for this list. Sounds like it was done in one take. Written by Roki Eriksson and storming to 55 on the Billboard charts in May 1966, this was the highpoint of The 13th Floor Elevators. If you like a track with prominent guitar, wailing singer, Kinks type solo and a weird jug instrument in the background then You’re Gonna Miss Me is one for your party playlist. Look smug.
I’m Gonna Jump - The Toggery Five
Familiar story. Boy finds his girl is unfaithful. Confronts her and then threatens to jump into a river to kill himself. Perhaps an over-reaction, no? Probably why she dumped you mate. But it’s delivered with panache, the singer has a pair of lungs on him and - subject matter aside - it’s a dramatic tune. Didn’t trouble the charts though. And how do I know this particular ditty? Well, back in Rochdale, so many years ago, the vicar’s daughter handed me a set of 45 singles. Can’t remember why. And this one was in the pile. It’s a crap anecdote I know but led to this entry on the listette.
Tried So Hard - Gene Clark (1967)
Gene left the Byrds in 1966 - afraid of flying and chased by the jealousy of the others. He then embarked on an unsuccessful solo career before drinking himself to death in 1991. Those twenty five years produced many great tracks and plenty from the 60’s all of which, unless you’re a Gene fan, are worthy of a mention here. I’ll go with Tried So Hard which - in various incarnations, I’ve tried so hard to play and record over the years. Clark is one of those few artists who started the country rock genre and no there’s no better example than this track. Superficially a ‘country’ song, it is replete with unusual minor chords and a great melody that are a hallmark of this under appreciated artist. So, listen to this, The Echos the album it comes from, and then go forth and listen more deeply my children. (Bonus points if you find Fairport Convention’s BBC Radio session version).
Think About It - The Yardbirds (1968)
B Side of their last single - Good Night Sweet Josephine. Whilst the A side is a some sub-Mickey Most musical hall type crap, Think About It is a audible signpost to guitarist Jimmy Page’s next group Led Zeppelin. Plug him in and away Jimmy goes, riffing like a bastard, soloing madly, double/triple tracking himself and foreshadowing Dazed and Confused. You know, there was a time, back when the planet was young and Margaret Thatcher was in power, when The Yardbirds were everything to me. More so than Zep even. Page, Clapton, Beck. What a lineage! But in their last couple of years, it was basically Page who used the Yardbirds vehicle - criss crossing the States and Europe - to hone his craft and develop the sound of what would become the world beating Zeppelin that dominated the 70’s (Hat tip to Renaissance though). From Happenings Ten Years Time Ago to Puzzles to Think About It, this was an experimental heavy metal journey. Think About It.
Blues Run the Game - Jackson Frank (1965)
“Catch a boat to England mama // Maybe to Spain”
There was a folk scene in the UK in the early to mid 60’s. It included John Renbourne, Bert Jansch, Sandy Denny, Paul Simon and his fellow American, Jackson Frank. Some went on to great fame and fortune and others - Frank - didn’t. He recorded one album, produced by Paul Simon, and left us with a hatful of great songs unknown and lost. Blues Run the Game, with it’s trademark folk finger picking style, haunting tune and ominous lyrics, is probably his greatest legacy. Got nowhere but it so nearly did. When Simon and Garfunkle were recording their first album - after the success of the electrified Sounds of Silence single - they recorded Blues Run the Game (probably a more polished but less heartfelt version). But it never made the cut for the album and lay unreleased until the 90’s. Frank died of mental illness and poverty never to know success. Blues ran his game and won.
Bonnie & Clyde - Serge Gainsbourg & Brigitte Bardot (1967)
Do we all feel the Serge? Dunno. But periodically, I do. Elisa, Initials BB, Qui est in, qui est out. Cool AF, is our Monsieur Gainsbourg. And Brigitte Bardot? This duo is hypnotic, with a an understated driving beat, falsetto cuckoos throughout, it draws you in and makes you think, why is this not more famous in the Anglo world. Clearly, I’m preaching to the choir in France but elsewhere, it’s a cult classic at best and a worthy and mighty entrant to this list. And yes, neither of them can sing that well. Cela n’a pas d’importance.
Maybe I Know - Lesley Gore (1964)
This song just comes at you right out of the blocks. With Quincy Jones production, this Jeff Barry/ Ellie Greenwich composition is a snapshot of early 60’s Brill Building styling. Inexplicably not a big hit, it’s one of my favs from this era - polished, great tune, confident double tracked vocals, whip cracking handclaps. Better known for ‘It’s My Party’ this is my preferred Lesley Gore song. And now yours. I’m sure her boyfriend didn’t really cheat on her in real life (no sniggering).
Part three? Who knows? Read Part One or read on for more music with the magic button below!
NEIL DIAMOND – SOLITARY MAN (1966)
The Solitary Man, Neil Diamond
Belinda was mine, until the time that I found her - holding Jim. Loving him.
And Sue came along, loved me strong, that’s what I thought.
Me and Sue. But that died too.
Neil Diamond’s Beard
In the 1990’s I wrote a novel called ‘Neil Diamond’s Beard’. I employed this slightly off kilter title to try and grab the attention of the Henry and Henrietta’s who work as the gatekeepers of publishing companies. Of course, if I had been serious about success I should have called it – ‘My Dad was Head of Publishing at Random House’ – but to me the Neil Diamond reference was more than quirky. It was personal. This ruse didn’t work, of course. The book remains a great, lost piece of literary history.
Back in the early 1990’s, you can’t imagine how unpopular Neil Diamond was. He struck fewer chords with the rock establishment than a benefit gig for child molesters. Being a Neil fan in those days was the definition of walking the hard yards. Cool kids would ignore you, girls would laugh at you; friends just shake their heads and wonder where it all went wrong.
But Neil was worth the withering condescension, the social ostracism. I suppose in a way my book title - referencing Neil - was a statement of defiance. Sometimes in life – as Huey Lewis sort of said – it’s more hip to be square. He was so out, I liked him, so fuck you and feel my inner strength. A bit like Abba. Now in the Smiths-Bunnymen-Jesus and Mary Chain world of the late 80’s university, this made my fellow students view me with suspicion; “See that guy? He just asked for Cracklin’ Rosie!” But, unlike St Peter, I never hid or denied my like of Neil or Abba. In these post Mama Mia and 12 Songs times, where a more balanced viewpoint is taken of both artists, I do feel somewhat vindicated.
The Jazz Singer Context
But why did I call my first proper novel, Neil Diamond’s Beard? There are two reasons. Firstly, The Jazz Singer. Yes, it’s an update of a 20’s classic. Yes, it was Neil’s first and last film. Yes, Larry Olivier hams his way through it like a leg of pork in the window of a tapas bar off Las Ramblas. But, but, it does have some good songs in it (Love on the Rocks, obviously, but America’s pretty good too). Not only this, but there’s a scene where Neil’s rock star character goes off the rails, abandons his girlfriend and baby and lives like a bum in rural America, scratching a living as a singer/guitarist in small town bars. He wears the Stetson. He wears the boots. He wears the cool 70’s shades. And he grows a beard. So, what? Well, it could be argued that the beard was Neil’s character’s physical manifestation of inner turmoil, of being a man on the loose, a man being, well, a man.
This defiance (misogyny, stupidity, whatever) does have its attractive side, an appeal that makes cutting your nose off to spite your face seem heroic. So, I called my book, which dealt with male issues and was a nascent cri de coeur, Neil Diamond’s Beard. Yeah. Let’s hope the second reason is better, Tim.
The Greatness of Solitary Man
Reason two, and the ostensible purpose of this article, is the song Solitary Man. This was Neil Diamond’s first hit in the US. For years he’d been a Tin Pan Alley songwriter, hustling songs around the Brill Building and not really getting anywhere. Finally though, in 1966, dressed in black, he was signed as an artist by Bang records. (Pedants note – he also wrote Daydream Believer for the Monkees at the same time. That can’t have hurt.)
Being born in… - I know, I know I’m timeless - I didn’t hear Solitary Man until much, much later. Late 80’s in fact. By that time I already loved Sweet Caroline, Cracklin’ Rosie, Song Sung Blue – the obvious ones. But hearing a live version of Solitary Man for the first time on a compilation tape of his other hits was a revelation. I suppose it was the combination of minor chords in the verse breaking out into a major chord chorus that was appealing. Light and shade. Night and day. Contrast. Trombones. Whatever.
Nascent Libertarianism
The song structure is quite a complex one and, certainly for a guy who was nicknamed Eadae by his band (loads of Neil songs at one point – like Cherry Cherry - use the E-A-D-A-E chord structure), it was a surprising but welcome find. But more particularly, there’s the title itself and the worldview it represents: Solitary Man. Now that sounds interesting, I thought. The lyrics are relentlessly downbeat; all about a guy’s struggle to find and hold a relationship but beset on all sides by hordes of fickle women who are waiting just to dump him and get off with his mates. Along with perhaps I Am…I Said the verses in Solitary Man contain some of Neil’s most personal and introspective lyrics.
But then we get to the chorus… Here Neil says it’s all right; until he meets the right girl he’s still got himself. He can be who he is – a ‘solitary man’. Powerful stuff! We can all rally around the flag on that one. It could even be argued that Neil is singing about self-empowerment (You go, girl!), but I like to think that he’s groping towards the fully formed libertarianism of his later song The Boat That I Row:-
“There ain’t men alive who can tell me what to say. I choose my own side and I like it that way.”
Best Version. It’s Live
Now the best version of Solitary Man – I think – is the live take from Neil Diamond Gold (Not Stages or the overrated Live at the Greek but the live album of early songs Uni put out as a spoiler when Bang released a Best of compilation just after Neil changed labels). This live version is even more moody than the recorded take; Neil and a female backing singer harmonise perfectly and replicate with vocals the studio record’s trombone part. The effect is – well – slightly Jewish to be honest, a good decade before he explored this more fully in The Jazz Singer film. Whatever Neil summoned up on stage that night in Hollywood is audio gold. Worth a listen.
Cover Versions
Although it’s not the best-known Neil Diamond song, other artists have covered Solitary Man occasionally. B.J. Thomas (of Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head fame) did an organ heavy cover in 1969 that is well worth a listen. Chris Isaacs’ version was MOR crap and best avoided. Norwegian Goth Metal band HIM did a spikey version with heavy guitars, which is interesting. It is said, perhaps maliciously, that my group Shambolic murdered the song back in the 90’s playing dive bars in Brighton. Not true; Solitary Man is robust enough to withstand this sort of attack. So; Solitary Man – Neil Diamond’s first hit, lots of trombones and those moody chords and lyrics. What’s not to like? Neil - you’re a legend!
Comment below if you agree.
BTW - good luck Neil fighting Parkinsons. It’s a fucker of a disease which destroys lives to a relentless and grim drumbeat. You fight Frogking.
Further Reading
Song Review: What about Annie Lennox being Savage with the Eurythmics?
Tim was a solitary man on a rainy night experiencing The Darkness of Bruges.
All Music reviews and thoughts can be found in the Music section of my Features Page