Dance With Me (1975)

Performer: Orleans                                            Writer: John & Johanna Hall
Highest US Chart Position: #6                           Label: Asylum Records
Musicians: John Hall, Larry Hoppen, Lance Hoppen and Wells Kelly

Thinking back this long after, I don’t remember exactly why I received my parents’ old tape deck but it seems that I’d probably been using it for a while before 1975 and so that summer they finally just gave it to me. One of the first things I did was to make a tape of my favorite songs on the radio. At the time I had no idea you could just walk down to the department store and buy the records, so that tape remains a treasured memory and I can still remember every song on it. One of my favorites was “Dance With Me” by the band Orleans. But it wasn’t until decades later that I learned there were two other versions of the song. The first was from their second album on ABC Records, Orleans II, from 1973. This version is very open sounding, with more clarity between the instruments, namely the mandolin and the vocals on the opening, but it also has an electric piano solo by John Hall. Hall’s vocals are also more up front and distinct from the harmonies backing him. The second version is off of their third album, from 1975, titled Let There Be Music, released on David Geffen’s Asylum Records after ABC had dropped the band. The album cut has the distinctive melodica solo that’s on the single, but on the album it begins behind the mandolin for a full verse before the solo. The single version cuts out that first half of the solo and is only about twenty seconds shorter than the album cut.

The song begins on the downbeat with acoustic guitars of John Hall and Larry Hoppen and Hall’s overdubbed mandolin, followed by two upbeats and an ascending and descending line on the upbeats that continues playing the entire, medium tempo melody of the verse. This is followed by a nice, galloping vamp before the vocals come in, dense with harmonies, singing the verse over the same into by the stringed instruments that now includes Lance Hoppen’s bass. The bass walks quarter notes down to the second verse while Hall plays some electric piano fills and Wells Kelly plays heavily baffled drums. The verse ends with the words from the title and the bass walks down into the bridge, which has some interesting muted drum work from Kelly and acoustic strumming on the guitars throughout. The vocals are the real focus of the song, especially at the end of the bridge when the instruments drop out. There’s not really a chorus, as such, as the title line is sung at the beginning and ends of the verses. After the third verse is a terrific melodica solo by Larry Hoppen, supported by the mandolin work of John Hall and the audible snare drum by Kelly. The bridge is an interesting piece of writing, lengthy and ending with the trademark vocal harmonies the group was known for. The last verse has the full band playing, with the melodica in the background. The song plays out with the intro rhythm, the mandolin forward in the mix, three times through and then the band stops on an intricate run by all the stringed instruments together and fading out on the last held note.

The song was written by Hall with his wife and writing partner, Johanna. He had come up with the melody and when she suggested the title he thought it was too simplistic. But when more words came later it was clear she had been right all along. It’s one of the couple’s many love songs that, while elementary in terms of sentiment, are nevertheless musically intricate and melodically satisfying. It entered the Hot 100 at number eighty-nine on July 19, 1975, the summer my dad was in the hospital in Seattle, and gradually climbed the charts for thirteen weeks through the summer and early fall, finally peaking at number six three months later in mid October. It managed to stay on the charts for another month on the way down for an impressive eighteen week run. The B-side of the record is called “Ending of a Song,” also from the album, a piano based ballad written by Larry Hoppen and Marilyn Mason, and sung by Hall. The single was covered a year later in a jazz fusion version by saxophonist David “Fathead” Newman, who had played for decades with Ray Charles, on his album Mr. Fathead. But for me, “Dance With Me” will always remind me of the summer of 1975, between seventh and eighth grade, hanging out in the living room of one of my dad’s friends, listening to his stereo, while dad was in the hospital. And, of course, recording it on my tape deck as soon as I got home.

It Don't Matter to Me (1970)

Performer: Bread                                                Writer: David Gates
Highest US Chart Position: #10                          Label: Elektra Records
Musicians: David Gates, Jimmy Griffin, Robb Royer and Mike Botts

While the early seventies are a nebulous time for me in terms of music associations, David Gates and Bread feel as if they were as much a part of that time in my life as eating and breathing. What’s interesting to me looking back is that I never bought The Best of Bread during my high school days. The reason is probably because the band ceased to be a recording unit by 1972--though they did make a comeback in 1976 with the song “Lost Without Your Love”--and so I never went back to consciously revisit their music. I do remember that one of my best friends, Loren, had a copy and even though I borrowed every other album he owned to tape on cassette for myself, I can’t remember recording that one. “It Don’t Matter to Me” has a fascinating back story because the song was originally on the group’s 1969 self-titled debut album. But that version sounds almost like a demo compared to the more polished single, recorded and released year later when I was in the third grade. The album cut features a much more distinctive and up front high harmony, and the electric rhythm guitar is pushed up farther forward in the mix. There’s even a fuzz guitar solo in the middle. All of that is very different from the much smoother string-laden version that would become the hallmark sound of the group from that point on. The B-side, "Call Me," is a mid-tempo minor blues by Jimmy Griffin that was pulled from the group’s second album.

The song begins with David Gates’ acoustic guitar and Robb Royer’s bass on the downbeat, with Gates’ vocals entering singing the title on the second beat. The guitar continues strumming quarter notes during the verse, the bass only playing on the chord changes, while Jimmy Griffin’s electric guitar and Mike Botts’ floor toms join in on a separate rhythm pattern after four bars. They drop out briefly two bars later but then come in with the full band on the second verse. Harmony vocals and strings fill out the space that was left open on the album track, but the harmony is decidedly back in the mix, letting Gates’ lead vocal carry the song. The bridge has a lovely serpentine quality with a continuous stream of sixteenth-note syllables, and each phrase is followed by a distinctive doubled electric guitar line that, on the album, is a thin, single guitar in the middle of the mix. The third verse goes back to acoustic guitar and bass, but this time with the electric guitar playing fills. Also, the whole band comes in after the first four bars with the strings playing a counter-melody instead of just sustained chord backing. At the end of the verse there’s an extra measure before the words of the title are repeated throughout a short guitar solo with some nice syncopated double string work that is repeated a few bars later with a full chord. The strings soar behind the vocals at the end, while Mike Botts’ muted drums fills urge the song to a close, Gate’s harmonized vocal of the title alone with the strings and then quickly fading out.

The song was written before Gates had joined the group, and there’s a sense that the single was re-recorded because the first album was put together in a rather hurried way with the musicians having to hire session drummer Jim Gordon, who didn’t even last until the second album. The song debuted on the Hot 100 in late September of 1970 at a respectable 78. Seven weeks later in mid November it peaked at number 10, and after falling to number 25 three weeks later it dropped off the charts. One of the things that has always bothered me about the song are lyrics in the bridge. In the verse the narrator tells about a woman he loves, in the era of free love, who wants to explore relationships with other men. Fair enough. He’s willing to wait, and those other men don’t matter to him. From there the bridge begins with him saying “some people have an ego hang-up because they want to be the only one.” Clearly he can’t be talking about her because she’s going to be with someone else for a while. Then the line concludes with, “how many came before it really doesn’t matter just as long as you’re the last.” That doesn’t make sense, saying “you’re,” because if he wants her to be his last lover all he has to do is remain celibate. He should have said “as long as I’m the last,” because what he ultimately wants is to be her last lover. But that’s a minor quibble in a song that is wonderfully haunting. “It Don’t Matter to Me,” is the first charting single by Bread, and still one of their best.

Brand New Key (1971)

Performer: Melanie Safka                                    Writer: Melanie Safka
Highest US Chart Position: #1                             Label: Neighborhood Records
Musicians: Melanie, Roger Kellaway, Don Payne, Buddy Saltzman and Johnny Pacheco

I have very little memory of pop music before 1973, but the songs from then that are still lodged in my memory remain very distinct. One of those is “Brand New Key” by Melanie Safka, which was a huge number one hit in the fall of 1971. And while this particular memory has nothing specific attached to it, I clearly remember being conscious of the song at the time. Looking back, it’s easy to see why. Though the obvious double entendre of the title is no doubt responsible for the early popularity of the song, there’s a lot more going on that accounts for its chart longevity than just a childish song about sex. The most obvious thing is the deceptive nature of Melanie’s voice. While she seems to chant the lyrics in a childlike sing-song, the quality of her voice is anything but childish. There’s a plaintive cry to her vocals, accompanied by a distinctive vibrato that augurs much more than a playground rhyme set to music. As the song progresses her voice seems to get stronger and more assured, and when she makes the declaration that she’s “done all right for a girl” it seems to be a naked reference to the women’s movement that was already in full swing by this time. And yet she is still able to convey an inescapable truth when she sings at the end of the last verse that, “I’m okay alone, but you’ve got something I need.”

The tune begins quite simply, with Melanie’s guitar playing a very light, almost syncopated beat. After one bar Roger Kellaway’s piano enters in the upper register and then plays a heavy ascending bass run for three beats, along with Don Payne’s bass, hitting the downbeat of the third bar on one where, a beat later, Melanie begins her vocals. The rather simple sounding accompaniment is actually fairly dense with percussion, particularly the brushed snare drum of Buddy Saltzman, along with a cabasa, a guiro. and Johnny Pacheco’s congas. But all of the instruments are playing in a percussive manner, Kellaway’s piano most of all. He provides a sort of upper register dissonant counter melody on the chorus that gives the effect of a child’s toy piano without being so obvious as to use one, and it’s an impressive effect. The lyrics that Melanie wrote and sings on the chorus, of her brand new pair of roller skates and her anonymous second person boy with his brand new key has to be one of the best hooks of the decade. The second verse is supported by a chorus of backup singers, primarily male, which is another interesting wrinkle, and instead of a second chorus they set up a rhythmic chant while the band comps and Melanie sings a wordless vocal over the top, which leads into the third verse. The third verse and chorus are filled out with the backup singers alternating long held notes with the rhythmic pattern from the pseudo bridge, and after the final chorus is it just the percussion that is left to fade the song to the end.

The song debuted in the Hot 100 at number 87 on the day before Halloween in 1971, and began a steady climb up the charts hitting number two six weeks later in the middle of December. On Christmas day it reached the top spot and stayed there for two more weeks. But what is most impressive about the song is not the three weeks it stayed at number one, but that it held the number two spot for three more weeks with only Don McLean’s “American Pie” keeping it out of a longer run at the summit. And it still only dropped to number three the following week before its inevitable fall. Even with that, however, Melanie’s song stayed on the charts for thee more weeks until the end of February 1972. The B-Side of the single is “Some Say (I Got Devil),” a minor key ballad featuring strings and the guitar work of Sal DeTroia, who played on the entire album. I had no idea of the adult nature of the song when I heard it in grade school, but hearing it again as an adult makes it clear that it was that aspect that accounted for its incredible popularity. Though “Brand New Key” can obviously be interpreted as sexual innuendo--and some stations banned the record because of it--as is often the case that was not Melanie’s intention when she wrote it. Nevertheless, it is one of the most distinctive songs of the era, as well as my own childhood.