Animation + Rock = Fun: The Danny Hutton Interview

Animation + Rock = Fun: The Danny Hutton Interview

by Chris Davidson

Pal to big Brian Wilson, L.A. scenester of long-standing (and, oh yeah, one-third of Three Dog Night!), Danny Hutton will live forever in the collective bubblegum consciousness for one additional and amazing reason: he worked for the grandpappy of cartoon rock labels—Hanna Barbera Records. For a year beginning in 1965, Hutton acted as the label’s resident hip youngster and recorded three of the company’s best forays into the pure pop 45 market. He also lent vocals and studio know-how to the maddest cartoon rock album of all—Monster Shindig, a bizarre horror-rock conglomeration credited to “Super-Snooper and Blabber Mouse, the Gruesomes of the Flintstones, Dracula, Frankenstein, the Mummy, and the Wolf Man.” (What, no Morocco Mole?)

HBR hit with the Five Americans’ “I See the Light” during Hutton’s tenure with the label and went on to release a hefty amount of garage, light psych and pop over the next couple of years, including “Blue Theme” by the Hogs (AKA the Chocolate Watchband). While the majority of singles appear to have been one-off national distribution deals with bands experiencing regional chart noise, HBR long-players took the animated TV characters as a starting point and crafted dozens of mind-splitting vinyl adventures and hot session-man rock-and-roll.

Danny Hutton arrived at the start of HBR’s pop barnstorming.

Chris Davidson: How’d you get started with Hanna Barbera Records? Was that your first experience with a record label?

Danny Hutton: I was working in the warehouse for Disney/Buena Vista Records. I was basically a grunt during the day at work, but at night I hung around in the L.A. musician spots, like IHOP across from Hollywood High and Liberty Records, where I used to see Sonny & Cher, Jan & Dean, and those people. I had put out a couple of records already. My first was as the Chartermen on Invicta Records. It was called “Winken, Blinken and Nod.” This was done through Kim Fowley, who I was introduced to by Pat and Lolly Vegas. Kim actually lived up in my attic for awhile. I also had a single out on ALMO Records called “Home in Pasadena.” That was released as Daring Dan Hutton. Then I cut “Farmer’s Daughter” on Mercury as Basil Swift and the Seagrams. One day, a guy named Larry Goldberg contacted me. He was trying to get something happening at HBR. He was sort of an A&R guy, a hustler, not a musician. But he brought me into the deal as proof of his street credentials. I was a young musician, so HBR gave me a half-hour tryout. In that time, I wrote two songs, so they gave me a job!

CD: Did you cut the songs you wrote for the audition?

DH: Yes. The first song was called “Nothing at All.” I did all the vocal and instrumental parts on the record, and it was released as the Bats [HBR 445]. It was all me! The other song was “Big Bright Eyes,” which we recorded as the B-side. We did the whole session at Western Studios in six hours. I wrote “Big Bright Eyes” in the studio in ten minutes.

CD: That was one of the best singles on HBR. “Big Bright Eyes” was later a local hit for you in L.A.

DH: The version that later came out [HBR 453] under my name was the same version as the Bats, but with a different backing track. We took the original, which was more acoustic and made it more pop.

CD: What about “Roses and Rainbows,” your other L.A. hit before “Big Bright Eyes?” Wasn’t that the song they used for your appearance on The Flintstones?

DH: “Roses and Rainbows” was a big hit in town. I think it was helped along when Billboard featured it on a flexi disk in one of their issues. I really had no intention of performing live at the time. I considered myself a studio guy. But the label put the single out under my name [HBR447], set me up with a manager and started promoting me as a solo act. One day they asked if I wanted to be in The Flintstones, and right after that they showed me the finished product. I didn’t do anything. They just used the released version of “Roses and Rainbows” in the show. Funny story about The Flintstones. When I met my wife, Laurie, she told me she’d seen the episode I was in and fell in love with me on TV. She fell in love with me from the cartoon!

CD: Now, that’s a woman! Can you tell me about the flip to “Roses and Rainbows?”

DH: “Monster Shindig” was on the back.

CD: It’s a wild song and also the title track of a great HBR album [HLP2020]. Did you do the other songs on that record—“Super Snooper” and “The Monster Jerk?”

DH: That was me. I don’t remember the session too much, but I know I worked on that record. I contributed a lot to the albums being made at the time.

CD: What else do you recall about your time with the label? Did you run into any of the other acts?

DH: I was there from the very beginning, when they were just moving in the furniture. It was about a year all together. I always felt like it was more of an experiment than anything else, a cartoon company trying out the record business. The Guilloteens were being worked in L.A. [three singles on the label], but I never met the Five Americans. They never had a presence in L.A. It was a great time while it lasted, though, and definitely helped me get a leg up in the business.

Selected Discography of Hanna Barbera Records

SINGLE GROUP TITLE

HBR 445 The Bats Nothing At All / Big Bright Eyes

HBR 446 The Guilloteens I Don’t Believe (Call On Me) / Hey You

HBR 447 Danny Hutton Roses and Rainbows / Monster Shindig

HBR 451 The Guilloteens For My Own / Don’t Let The Rain Get You Down

HBR 453 Danny Hutton Big Bright Eyes/ Monster Shindig Part 2

HBR 454 Five Americans I See the Light / The Outcast

HBR 462 Art Grayson Be Ever Mine / When I Get Home

HBR 468 Five Americans EVOL Not Love / Don’t Blame Me

HBR 472 Dale & Grace I’d Rather Be Free / Let Them Talk

HBR 473 Charles Christy In The Arms Of A Girl

HBR 476 Scat Man Crothers Golly Zonk! (It’s Scat Man) / What’s A Nice Girl Like You Doing In A Place Like This?"

HBR 477 The Dimensions (Five) She’s Boss / Penny

HBR 482 The Tidal Waves Farmer John / She Left Me Alone

HBR 483 Five Americans Good Times / The Losing Game

HBR 485 Riot Squad I Take It We’re Through

HBR 486 The Guilloteens I Sit And Cry / Crying All Over My Time

HBR 488 Ron Gray Hold Back The Sunrise

HBR 489 Ronnie & Robyn Cradle Of Love / Dreamin’

HBR 492 13th Floor Elevators You’re Gonna Miss Me / Tried To Hide

HBR 494 Dynatones The Fife Piper / I Always Will

HBR 495 Scotty McKay Waikiki Beach / I’m Gonna Love You

HBR 500 Positively Thirteen O’Clock

Psychotic Reaction / 13 O’ Clock Theme

HBR 501 The Tidal Waves Big Boy Pete / I Don’t Need Love

HBR 506 Dewayne & the Beldettas Hurtin’

HBR 507 W.C. Fields Memorial Electric String Band

Hippy Elevator Operator /Don’t Lose The Girl

HBR 508 The New Breed Want Ad Reader / One More For The Good Guys

HBR 509 The Four Gents Soul Sister / I’ve Been Trying

HBR 511 The Hogs Blue Theme / Loose Lip Sync Ship

HBR 513 Sunny Lane Tell It Like It Was / Trollin’

HBR 514 The Unrelated Segments

Story Of My Life / It’s Unfair

HBR 515 The Tidal Waves Action (Speaks Louder Than Words) / Hot Stuff

HBR 516 The Timestoppers I Need Love / Fickle Frog

HBR ? The Countdowns Hold Back The Sunrise / The Shake

ALBUM GROUP TITLE

HLP 2020 Super-Snooper & Blabber Mouse Monster Shindig

HLP 2021 Flintstones Goldilocks

HLP 2023 Yogi Bear & Boo Boo Red Riding Hood & Jack and the Beanstalk

HLP 2024 Magilla Gorilla Alice in Wonderland

HLP 2025 Pixie & Dixie Cinderella

HLP 2026 Snagglepuss Tells The Story Of The Wizard Of Oz

HLP 2027 Wilma Flintstone Tells The Story Of Bambi

HLP 2028 Doggie Daddy Pinocchio

HLP 2029 Touche Turtle & Dum Dum The Reluctant Dragon

HLP 2030 Johnny Quest 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea

HLP 2031 Top Cat Robin Hood

HLP 2037 Jetsons First Family on the Moon

HLP 2041 Atom Ant Muscle Magic

HLP 2043 Squiddly Diddly Surfin’ Surfari

HLP 8503 Five Americans I See The Light

HLP 8504 Renaissance Society Baroque ‘N Stones

HLP? Gene Kelly Jack and the Beanstalk TV Soundtrack

HLP ? Hillbilly Bears Hillbilly Shindig

HLP ? Winsome Witch It’s Magic

HLP ? Flintstones & Jose Jiminez The Time Machine

HLP ? Yogi Bear Mad Mad Dr No No

HLP ? The Flintstones S.A.S.F.A.T.P.O.G.O.B.S.O.A.L.T.

HLP ? Precious Pupp Hot Rod Granny

HLP ? Secret Squirrel & Morocco Mole Super Spy

HLP ? Fred & Barney Mary Poppins

HLP ? Super-Snooper & Blabber Mouse James Bomb

HLP ? Jetsons First Family on the Moon

HLP ? Sinbad Jr. Treasure Island

HLP ? Pebbles & Bamm Bamm Good Ship Lollipop

Hanna-Barbera by Becky Ebenkamp

Hanna-Barbera
by Becky Ebenkamp

While the studio may not garner the type of respect reserved for animation behemoths Disney and Warner Brothers, indisputably, Hanna-Barbera rules the cartoon kingdom in one contest: the battle of the bands. Sure, The Alvin Show may have technically invented the animated music video, and Filmation proved a worthy competitor in the ‘70s with The Brady Kids and The Archies. But per cartoon capita, HB gave us the most rock ‘n’ roll bang for our buck, serving up more beat-crazed bands—both of the real and imaginary variety—than you could shake a tambourine at. The result: instant bubblegum.

The Impossibles (1966) were HB’s first experiment with a full rock ‘n’ roll concept cartoon, although rarely was more than a line or two of lyric heard before these superheroes-masquerading-as-pop-stars were summoned to go fight crime via a TV monitor in Coil Man’s guitar. The shaggy-haired trio married a jangly Rickenbacker-type sound with generic teenybopper lyrics, an effect that rendered them a less contemplative Beau Brummels. Songs are hooky, but these snippets are unsatisfying, and one gets the sense that full songs were never penned. Case in point, the lyrics to “Caesar’s Place”:

Let’s go to Caesar’s Place
Let’s go to Caesar’s Place
Let’s go to Caesar’s Place
Let’s go to Caesar’s Place
(Refrain)

Get the picture?

*****

A year after Gram Parsons introduced the Byrds to the pedal steel guitar, the Cattanooga Cats were busy adding some country flavor to Saturday morning TV. Scoots, Country, Groove and go-go girl Kitty Jo didn’t solve any crimes, but as a band on constant tour they were presented with many a wacky adventure to sing their way out of. But while the Cats’ look and accents clearly originated below the Mason-Dixon line, their music was pure pop, with song duties handled by singer/ songwriter Michael Lloyd, who headed psychedelic cult faves The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band, Smoke and October Country. Peggy Clinger of recording group the Clinger Sisters handled Kitty Jo’s vocals and wrote material as well. Producer of the project: Mike Curb. Lloyd and Clinger didn’t need any help rattling off perfect three-minute pop songs in even less time, so HB’s relatively hands-off strategy paid off. Furthermore, songs penned and performed by the youthful musicians—Lloyd was 17 at the time—instead of hacks trying to knock off Billboard hits lent the project a credible vibe and allowed for the dissemination of cryptic counter-culture messages like free love and non-conformity, as witnessed in the winning theme song:

The Cattanooga Cats don’t go meow
Wouldn’t try if they knew how
They’re doin’ their thing

The idea that this was going to be something special is relayed fully in the show opener, where the song is paired with animation master Iwao Takamoto‘s stroblelike series of op art images and shots of the kitty cat group playing their instruments to a psychedelic light show. In the children’s-game-as-metaphor-for-love songwriting subgenre, the Cats’ “Mother May I” and “Alle Alle Oxen Free” stand up to “Simon Says,” “1-2-3 Red Light” or any other 1910 Fruitgum Company song for that matter. In the latter, Lloyd’s breathy vocals imbue the lyrics and bouncy organ with a deliciously dangerous, dirty feel:

Hey little girl starin’ down at me
From your window can’t you see
It’s gonna be a groovy day
Why don’t you come out and play

Alle Alle Oxen Free
C’mon run on home with me
Just by nimble and be quick
We’re gonna jump the candlestick

Eleven tunes were released on a Forward Records LP, and many more were featured during the show’s psychedelic “videos,” where lyrics were visually interpreted with animation reminiscent of Yellow Submarine and Peter Max.

While the studio probably didn’t realize it at the time, the launch of Scooby-Doo, Where Are You! (1969) signaled a new direction in cartooning and ignited a trend that would stampede the airwaves over the next decade. With Scooby, HB laid out the plot and character archetypes that would be trotted out again and again and again as the ‘70s dawned and animation became increasingly recyclable: the rockin’ sleuths.

Of course, the Scooby Gang never strapped on Stratocasters, but bubblegum music composed and sung by Danny Janssen accompanied the meddling teens as they took chase from ghouls, mummies and various villains in the show’s second season. Not to mention a theme song (Written by David Mook/Ben Raleigh) so inherently swell that even a Third Eye Blind couldn’t wreck it.

Highlights include “Tell Me, Tell Me,” with a great fakeout opening that steals its gospely strains from Joe Cocker’s version of “A Little Help From My Friends” (something scarier than any Scooby episode). Thankfully, the tune quickly shifts to a winning combo of longing-for-love lyrics, off-kilter time changes and Partridge Family structure, all reeled in with a catchy “Na-na-na-na-na-na-na” hook. “Recipe for My Love” has the singer struggling with the issue of a how to concoct his girlfriend, although the reason why he needs to isn’t clear (Did they break up? Is she out of town on a business trip?). Ingredients include the bubblegum-friendly “cup full of sunshine,” “touch of a rainbow” and “a little bit from a song I know.” But, he adds wistfully, “All that couldn’t make up my baby and what my baby means to me.” Janssen’s songs are available on Scooby-Doo’s Snack Tracks, released by Rhino in 1998.

1970 was a year that unleashed a pair of female-led musical trios that straddled the fine line between exploitation and feminism. In Russ Meyer’s Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, the hedonistic Carry Nations slept and rocked their way to the top. But considering its broader audience comprised of young, impressionable viewers, HB’s girl group had much more impact on our collective psyche. Like the Carry Nations, Josie & the Pussycats played their own instruments. Dressed in feline outfits that appeared to be lifted off the marquee of L.A.’s Pussycat Theater porn chain, these good girls chased the bad guys around the globe as their touring schedule allowed, and later they were blasted into outer space. The show featured performances by the band, and songs also accompanied chase scenes.

For the recording of songs for the show and a companion LP, attractive female singers took on the roles of cartoon band members: Cathy Dougher as Josie, Patrice Holloway as Valerie and future Charlie’s chick Cheryl Ladd as ditzy drummer Melody. This was no rush job: The tunes are laden with clever hooks, sophisticated harmonies and unique instrumentation that belie the throwaway nature of bubblegum. Versions of current hits like Bread’s “It Don’t Matter to Me” and the J5’s “I’ll Be There” pale in comparison to Pussycat originals such as “Inside Outside Upside Down and “Hand Clapping Song,” but vocal parts and other nuances on the cover songs imply that the project was approached with time and care.

Butch Cassidy strove for rock n roll credibility in a teenybopper world, as did David Cassidy, his progenitor, doppelganger—and, one can assume— inspiration. Vehemently resentful of his teen idol image, the Partridge Family star’s bio is so full of “I was into Hendrix, man!”-type outbursts, it seems as if the has been suffers from some rare rock substrain of Tourette’s syndrome. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kids (1973) professed their rock roots through a sound heavier than a lead zeppelin (and other poppy HB fare) and lyrical signposts that marked their Saturday morning slot as a wimp-free zone. During performances, the band customarily got beeped to go fight crime via Butch’s mod ring, so we don’t often hear more than bits and pieces—a wailing guitar here, an overly dramatized lyric there. But this axe-to-grind is evident in songs like “Just a Rock n’ Roll Song,” where the hip-huggered heartthrob sings, “You can call it dumb, or bubblegum, but you can’t help singin’ along,” adding the taunt, “Have some!” before launching into a masturbatory ‘70s guitar solo. Okay, okay, we believe you!

Characters—including drummer Harvey, voiced by Micky Dolenz—spit out rock references at the drop of a hat. When the group rescued a vaguely exotic prince who was a fan, rock ‘n’ roll trivia weeded out an imposter: The fake didn’t flinch when Butch said he’d be playing the “Rolling Tones’” song “Yesterday” at a concert. When the prince correctly identified who wrote “Woodstock” and “Alice’s Restaurant,” the true royal was revealed. The moniker of the gang’s obligatory pooch: Elvis. Off screen, musicians were hired to tour the country as the Butch Cassidy band, but no album was ever released.

Confucius say, “The family who sleuths together, grooves together.” At least that’s the M.O. of the Amazing Chan and the Chan Clan. Blatantly mocking China’s one-child policy, the show revolves around legendary private eye Charlie Chan, here a cartoon widower raising ten Chan children (which may explain why Mrs. Chan is no longer with us). The junior Chans are also crime solvers, a job that, naturally, requires them to rock!

By 1972, HB’s animation had become pretty rote, and costs were cut by recycling not only backgrounds, but plots, characters and movements as well. A single animated band sequence serves as the “video” for every song the Chans performed, noticeable from its familiar procession of group shot cutting away to sister Suzie playing the tambourine, cut to guitar fingerboard, cut to hulkazoid brother Henry, who hunches over his drum kit like a giant Chinese crab. As the younger, non-musical Chans watch their siblings perform, it appears as if someone is yanking a common chain to activate their synchronized movements. In one episode the singer/ guitarist Stanley’s head actually disappears for a few frames.

What HB didn’t skimp on, thankfully, was the Chan band’s music, which flourished under the direction of Monkees’ creator Don Kirshner and Ron Dante, fresh out of his previous gig for Mr. K as lead singer of the Archies. While Jeff Barry wrote most Archies’ tunes, Dante handled music-writing duties for the Clan and sang Howard Greenfield’s (“Love Will Keep Us Together,” “Calendar Girl”) lyrics. Songs incorporated the most pleasing elements of Dante’s previous chart-topping project: soaring vocal melodies, hand claps and the participation of Hugh McCracken, David Spinoza and other Archies’ session players. Creeping bass lines suited the show’s mystery theme.

“I tried to use a little different sound for my vocal and not make it a copy of the Archies’ sound,” Dante recalls. “The Archies’ sound was a little more hushed, and this was more full-out strong singing; more pop than bubblegum.” Greenfield’s lyrics generally centered on an espionage theme, often as a metaphor for love. “I’ve Got the Goods on You” details a cheating partner, while “Whodunnit” seeks to find the culprit of the protagonist’s lovesickness. “I Got My Eye on You” requires no further explanation. Additionally, the Clan’s songs introduce the Ugly American to the Chinese cultural condition, and lyrics showed a cliche-free sophistication and sensitivity relatively unheard of in the stereotype-friendly cartoon world. “I’m the Number One Son” relays the culture’s respect for elders and tradition, a new concept for a viewership comprised of the tail end of the egocentric Baby Boom:

When I was just a boy
My daddy said to me
You know the apple shouldn’t fall
Too far from the family tree
Countless generations hang their hopes on you
Ages of tradition depend on what you do

Okay, that’s a pretty heavy trip to lay on a kid, but it’s a responsibility countered with pride:

The first born of my father
It makes me feel so glad
Whenever people tell me
You’re just like your dad
Out of all the fathers
I’m glad that I got mine
Out of all my brothers
I’m the first in line

I’m the number one son of the number one man
The number one hope of my family clan
Gonna be like my dad any way that I can
I am his number one son

Dante described HB’s approach as fairly hands off, which explain the range of quality from cartoon to cartoon. “Howie and I believed this was a quality project and took the time to write the best songs we could,” he said. “ We had very little contact with the producers of the show. All our direction came from what we wanted to project with the music…” Failing to realize their potential, HB never released the Chan Clan songs on vinyl.

Jabberjaw (1976) featured a rock—and I use that term loosely—band called the Neptunes, whose Jaws-era albatross was an oversized shark channeling the spirit of Curly from the Three Stooges. Painful to watch and listen to, the proto-disco songs, thankfully, went away as soon as a caper diverted the group’s attention.

HB’s influence on bubblegum cartoons lives on today as hip animators who grew up with these shows unleash their satires and tributes. In an episode of Ralph Bakshi’s ‘80s series The New Adventures of Mighty Mouse , characters found themselves trapped in an HB world, escaping each toon only to wind up in another. As they fled a Scooby set, a bubblegum song dropped references to mood rings and other ‘70s kitsch. Arguably, Saturday Night Live’s sole funny recurring segment is Robert Smigel’s animated offering The Four Ex-Presidents, where a retired Ford, Reagan, Carter and Bush rescue Bill Clinton from space aliens, communists and other unsavories. Each skit culminates with the former commanders-in-chief rocking out in an Archies-style band.

In 1995, The Cartoon Network—a division of Warner Brothers, as is Hanna-Barbera today—aired Saturday Morning Cartoons, with alternative bands performing show themes and songs from musical episodes. In the station’s Cartoon Cartoon original programming, the Powerpuff Girls break out into “Love Makes the World Go ‘Round” a dose of pop ecstasy so cheery it has the capacity to restore color to a city drained of it by an evil mime. A Dexter’s Lab segment sees the protagonist being chased by a scary, Keane-eyed waif to the tune of a bubbly pop song. The station even made the insufferable Jabberjaw digestible via an interstitial video where the show’s characters come to life off a lunchbox and jam with punk band Pain.

ESSENTIAL EPISODES

Music played a central role in the aforementioned TV shows, but many a Hanna-Barbera classic featured a rock-n-roll episode, a failproof plot device enlisted about as often as the perfunctory “trip to Hawaii” or “robot goes haywire.” Usually, these episodes centered around an accidental dance craze or an unlikely subject becoming a pop star and living out the hellish machinations and experiences detailed in the Byrds’ “So You Want to be a Rock ‘n’ Roll Star?” Must see ‘toon TV includes:

The Flintstones: Since the show was essentially a parody of modern American life, creators of the Flintstones never missed a chance to poke fun at pop culture’s disposable nature, and in particular, the star-making machine: Over its 1960-66 course, the series had six pop music-themed episodes. In an early one, a Col. Tom caricature makes Fred over as Elvis impersonator Hi-Fi, a plan thwarted when fed-up Wilma convinces fickle teens that he’s actually a square. During the post-payola/ pre-Beatle musical vacuum of 1960-63, the Flintstones managed to chronicle the most interesting genres in music: when singer Rock Roll (voiced by Hal Smith of Otis the Drunk fame) suffers an allergic reaction to pickled dodo eggs, Fred fills in to sing “The Bedrock Twitch,” a Twist-craze spoof. Surfing is exploited in Surfin’ Fred, an episode where The Fantastic Baggys’ “Surfin’ Craze” plays on a radio and Jimmy Darrock croons “Wax Up Your Board.”

Once the Beatles were unleashed, their influence soon crept in to cartoonland. When Pebbles and Bamm Bamm become famous with their song “ Let the Sunshine In”—no relation to Hair’s hippie anthem—the duo is discovered by Brit “Eppy Brianstone.” Extraterrestrial flavors-of-the-week the Way-Outs knock a group called the Beasties off the charts in another episode. The Beau Brummels were an amazing electro-folk group in their own right, but a genius marketing ploy—their name—positioned them parasitically close to the Fab Four in record bins. The band’s brief tenure under the pop spotlight was immortalized in an episode where the Beau Brummelstones performed their hit “Laugh, Laugh” on TV show Shinrock (Based on ABC’s Shindig!). Episodes featuring a singing Ann Margrock and HBR recording artist Danny Hutton, who would later become one-third of Three Dog Night, are also worth mentioning.

Magilla Gorilla: In one of his customary attempts to flee Peebles Pet Shop, Magilla spies a group of surfers en route to the beach and laments, “I wish I was a hotdog and could hang ten.” An attempt to return a runaway board sets in motion a series of events that culminates in the primate shooting the pier. Impressed by the hodad’s bravado, the clique performs the Martha & the Vandellas-sounding dance song “Makin With the Magilla” for their new king of surf.

The Hillbilly Bears: Incessant mutterer Pa Rugg, head of the bear clan and the spiritual father of King of the Hill’s indecipherable Boomhauer, gets discovered by a pair of slick record execs scouring “The Hill Country: Where the sound of today’s big tunes are born” for the Next Big Thing. Pa appears on The Big Rockin’ Show, where he adds the occasional mumbled overlay and guitar twang to “Do the Bear” a Yeah- Yeah-Yeah tune performed by a trio of gals with long, back-combed hair and hip huggers.

The Jetsons: Borrowing from Bye Bye Birdie, the Jet Screamer episode has Judy Jetson winning a date with the intergalactic pop star. He performs “Eep Opp Ork Ah-Ah,” basically a rockabilly tune infused with “futuristic” keyboards and other electronic weirdo noises.

Scooby-Doo: The gimmick for The New Scooby-Doo Movies (1972) franchise was its celebrity guests stars. Musical walk-ons include Davy Jones, Mama Cass and Sonny & Cher. Some sang, others didn’t.

Many thanks to Ronn Webb (http://w3.nai.net/~wingnut/Hanna_Barbera.html), Ron Dante, Michael Lloyd, Monica Bouldin (Warner Brothers), Laurie Goldberg (Cartoon Network), Johnny Bartlett, Kelly Kuvo and Anita Serwacki for their assistance.

Sunshine Pop by Chris Davidson

Sunshine Pop
by Chris Davidson

What can sunshine pop hope to prove in this evil, angry world? Sunshine pop—the effervescent song of rampant happiness. A thousand hummingbirds grooving to newly discovered nectar. The virginal essence of pop, wispy and white and skimmed off a cool vanilla milkshake to be infused with gleeful melody. The together timbre of the Association, the pleasing gum-snap of the Yellow Balloon, or—most perfectly—the dazzling choral layercake of the Cowsills. What chance do these sun-drenched sounds have with us moderns?

Those with the faintest longing for purity know well the uplifting—nay the inspiring—power of this music. At its most blinding it matches bubblegum’s oomph note for note. But not for sunshine pop the sexual subtext or nasal bleating: where bubblegum says, “I got love in my tummy,” s-pop exclaims: “I love the flower girl.” A fine line, to be sure. Over here one type of joyful noise, over there another. But darn it if sunshine pop isn’t its own cheerful potpourri of twirling, exuberant arrangements and over-the-bra lovey-doveyness. Baroque pop, you ask? Not really, although the harpsichord features prominently at times, and an Old World flavor definitely pervades. Folk rock, then? Not quite, despite an acoustic drop cloth on which everything eventually lands. The balance is precarious. The peel of a harmonica or improper throaty vocal will snatch an otherwise frisky sunshine tune from your grasp and deposit it back into the standard 1960s pop camp.

Sunshine pop had a fling with the best-seller crowd in the mid-’60s—or, more correctly, light harmony pop did, for its lush harmonies and wistful themes approached but did not capture the oblique and melancholy X Factor of sunshine pop. Radio staples like “Younger Girl” and “Love (Can Make You Happy)” came close. Reams of sublime examples ducked beneath the charts. Bubbling under, the likes of the Sunshine Company’s “I Just Want To Be Your Friend” the well documented “The Grooviest Girl In The World” and “California My Way” by the Committee turned us gay with AM delight.

Some b-gum stars straddled both camps—the Archies’ “Sugar and Spice” is sun-baked like Dennis Wilson’s split ends. But sunshine pop is best discovered in the margins of bubblegum where the acknowledged luminaries took a backseat to a simplified (and remarkably moving) emotional milieu, an endless series of first dates and the blinding optimism of youth. Hit and flop alike, speak softly, and behold sunshine pop’s gentle-hearted best and brightest:

The Beach Boys
Traced directly to these rapturous lads, the roots of sunshine pop reside not so much with the overplayed hits as with certain pre-Pet Sounds album cuts. The trick is the rich B. Wilson production, which piles high the harmonies—a central facet and key differentiator between straight surf vocal disks and the true sunny stuff. Sunshine pop is, after all, less about summer rock-and-roll and more about the evocation of summer shadiness, a delicate point. A thousand harmony-laden masterpieces owe patent infringement damages to “In the Parking Lot” and especially “Let Him Run Wild.”

The Association
Too freshman-year earnest after their first hits to qualify as mainstays of the movement, the Association delivered a superb first album—And Then Along Comes The Association—overseen by producer Curt Boettcher and featuring tight bursts of harmony pop shrapnel. Forgive the facial hair for their still-thrilling “Along Comes Mary.”

The Cowsills
Optimism rock—family division. The vociferous Cowsill brood galvanized Rhode Island with the most gleaming pipes of all, a team of precision instruments tightly wound like a teenage Magnificent Seven. After a few flop singles, the tribe exploded with towering, sun-basted material: “The Rain, The Park And Other Things” “Gray, Sunny Day” “We Can Fly” and, most euphoric of all, “All My Days” part of a Cowsills EP sponsored by the American Dairy Association (fully one-sixth of tiny R.I.’s milk supply is suspected to have been consumed by a Cowsill).

The Bee Gees
Happy in spurts amidst ever-present (but very welcome) pensiveness, the Bee Gees mastered the pop form while still teens. The early Australian recordings point skyward while simultaneously staring down and come extremely close to sunshine pop without fully capitulating. Still, brothers in lock-step harmony singing about butterflies says include them with an asterisk. Said “Butterfly” is a good place to begin. “Cherry Red” and “Spicks and Specks” receive extra points for overcoming the Euro-sunshine curse, as relatively few overseas pals convincingly linked up with this sound (is it even possible to be truly happy outside of the U.S.?). Yes, the Hollies came a breadth away with “Everything Is Sunshine.”

Yellow Balloon
Gary Zekley, SoCal insider and one of many budding maestros orbiting the Wilson camp mid-decade, found chart fame producing the Clique’s “Sugar On Sunday” and writing hits for the Grass Roots. Of his earlier work, this delicious ‘67 album typifies the airy and upbeat mini-Spector density found on the most atmospheric s-pop. The Yellow B.’s self-titled theme song was also cut by a Jan-less Jan and Dean on the lost, but since rediscovered, Save For A Rainy Day LP. No better full-length specimens of sunshine pop exist.

The Ballroom / Sagittarius / Millennium
Surfacing soon after his association with the “Along Comes Mary” crew, Curt Boettcher launched a harmony steamship with a trio of worthy vessels. In quick succession, the Ballroom gave way to the Gary Usher-led Sagittarius which sired the stud-filled Millennium. The constant? Boettcher’s ability to wrest symphonic miracles on cut after cut of California vapor-pop.

The Vision
“Small Town Commotion” b/w “Keepin’ Your Eyes On The Sun” (UNI). Top side, a complex weaving tale of a fiery municipal disaster. The flip provides a luscious Gary Zekley artifact (produced under the nom du rock Yodar Critch), a perfectly realized distillation of July using girl backup, harps and a driving beat. Zeke’s command: walk with me awhile and smile.

Wind
“Make Believe” b/w “Groovin’ With Mr. Bloe” (Life). Uplifting melodious bubblegum masquerading as a 4 Seasons-like beat ballad. Joey Levine involvement. Slice off the harmful instrumental flip side, and a sun is born.

The Pleasure Fair
“Morning Glory Days” b/w “Fade In Fade Out” (UNI). Add one more entry to David Gates’ long cool-guy resume. Gee-whiz harmony with light orchestral fanfare, like a very white Fifth Dimension (perhaps the Fourth Dimension in disguise).

Hyle King Movement
“Flower Smile” b/w “Forever ‘N Ever” (Liberty). Atmospheric swirl akin to Sergio Mendes harmonizing in a hot-house garden—plus decidedly hippie sentiments told in a deliciously un-hippie manner.

Candy Flavored Lipgloss: Glam & Gum

by David Smay

Pity the American child of the seventies, denied the spectacle of Marc Bolan on Top of the Pops, the Sweet lip-syncing on The Old Grey Whistle Test, and completely ignorant of Supersonic. The flashiest, trashiest, popcultiest of all rock genres, glam rock sparked more epiphanies on the telly than it ever did on Radio London. But television

The Wombles

by Bill Pitzonka

In 1974, the British charts were awash in glam rockers and toothy teen idols. Rising somewhat surprisingly above this glittery sea to claim Music Week’s Top Singles Act of the Year was a group of furry, burrow-dwelling litter-gatherers

Strawberry Studios

by Dave Thompson

Late in 1969, Kasenetz-Katz approached English songsmith Graham Gouldman with the offer of working for them. Gouldman was, after all, one of Britain’s most accomplished hitmakers, the name behind a string of hits by the Yardbirds, Jeff Beck, Herman’s Hermits, the Hollies… even Cher had recorded a Graham Gouldman number.

Over the last couple of years, though, Gouldman’s pen had fallen on hard times. His own attempts to break into the bubblegum market, first through the Graham Gouldman Orchestra’s lightweight versions of his own greatest hits, then via one-time chart heroes the Mindbenders, had signally failed to take off; and with the bulk of Gouldman’s income being plowed into the studios he was opening with fellow ‘bender Eric Stewart, Kasenetz-Katz’s offer came just at the right time.

In return for a generous advance, the deal didn

Jonathan King

by Dave Thompson

It’s been said before

Chewing the Bubblegum with Joey Levine

interview by Keith Bearden from WFMU’s LCD issue #22

If you’ve listened to the radio or watched TV semi-regularly over the past 30 years, you’ve surely heard the work of Joey Levine. He was one of the main songwriters behind the Bubblegum Rock movement of the late 60’s, and his nasally, teen-sounding voice was perfect for rockin’ hits by The Ohio Express (“Chewy, Chewy,” “Yummy, Yummy”) and The Katsentz-Katz Super Circus (“Quick Joey Small”). Fans of the Nuggets LP will know him as the leader of The Third Rail (“Run, Run, Run”), a more “adult” version of the studio musician “bands” that Joey staffed under Buddha Records producers Jerry Kasenetz and Jeff Katz. And who over the age of 30 doesn’t remember being delighted/horrified by Reunion’s “Life Is A Rock (But The Radio Rolled Me)?” Or getting the munchies listening to the immortal “Trust The Gorton’s Fisher-man” jingle for Gorton’s Breaded Fish Sticks? Once again, the work of the busy Levine.

While the Bubblegum Rock movement has been critically lambasted for 30 years, its importance is undeniable. At a time in the 60’s when Merseybeat and garage bands had broken up or turned hippie, pre-fab studio groups like The Monkees, The Archies, The 1910 Fruitgum Company (“Simon Says”) and The Ohio Express created many beautifully crafted songs, carrying the torch of pure, simple pop/rock into the 70’s, where it was picked up by bands like The Raspberries, The Shoes and The Rubinoos, or in the UK got dressed up by The Sweet and other glam rockers. Later, punk bands like Funhouse, Slaughter & The Dogs and Joan Jett all paid a debt to their three-chord Bubblegum forebearers by covering some of Levine’s handiwork.

Getting involved in commercial jingles in the 70’s, native New Yorker Levine still works in the field, and currently heads up three music companies, Crushing Music, Crushing Underground and Levine & Company.

LCD: What’s your background as a musician?

LEVINE: My dad Elli Levine was a band leader in the Army and a jazz pianist under the name Elden Lewis, and my mother Marion Kingsley was a singer who had her own radio show in NYC when she was 16 years old. My uncle Alan Stanton was a record producer at Columbia and A&M. I took piano and guitar, and did the whole teenage band kind of things. My first band was Joey Vine & The Grapes, I was in The Pastels, playing country clubs and synagogues and sweet 16 parties…

LCD: How did you get involved with the whole NYC Bubblegum rock scene?

LEVINE: I had been working in music publishing for a couple years over at TM Music, writing songs after school, where I met a songwriter named Artie Resnick, who had written ‘Under The Boardwalk.’ We really collaborated well, and were getting success off of some demos we were cutting. Jerry Kasenetz and Jeff Katz had heard a song I wrote called ‘Try It’ that The Standells had a kinda mini-hit underground thing that people were digging on, and then they recorded it with The Ohio Express after ‘Beg Borrow & Steal.’ They called me and said, ‘We’ve been hearing your demos and this and that and we think you can write some of this teenybopper music,’ and then Artie & I wrote ‘Yummy Yummy.’

LCD: How old were you when this was all happening

LEVINE: Just about 17.

LCD: Wow. How was it working for Katsentz/Katz? Was it a hit factory or did you have a lot of creative freedom?

LEVINE: Well, it was a factory in that there were a couple of different bands that we used-a lot of times it would be the same band-and we had a day to record and a day to do overdubs and mix. Also, when Jeff and Jerry thought a song was a hit and it didn’t fly, they’d have other bands record it again, slightly different. They’d have The Ohio Express do it, then The Shadows of Knight, then The Fruitgum Company, on and on. So you’d work all week, and in-between you’d write more songs.

LCD: Were the Ohio Express and 1910 Fruitgum Company real bands? Did they tour?

LEVINE: They were all real bands, but I sang on a lot of their records. Neil Bogart [Buddha Records President and the man who later gave the world KISS & Donna Summer] heard my demo of ‘Yummy Yummy’ and said ‘Have this guy sing on the records.’

LCD: That’s why on the Ohio Express albums you have the hits with you singing and then the other tracks sound like bad Procol Harum rip-offs.

LEVINE: Yeah. When the bands would tour I’d stay in New York and these guys would schlep out around the country singing my songs, though they didn’t sound like me.

LCD: What are your memories of those days?

LEVINE: It was great. I had Top 10 records, my voice was all over the radio, but nobody knew who I was unless I wanted them to. The best kind of fame. It got me into a lot more parties at school, for sure.

LCD: Studio songwriters produced some of the best pop songs of the 60’s. Name some songs you and Artie Resnick wrote from back then.

LEVINE: Oh, God, so many. Besides all The Ohio Express stuff, we wrote some stuff for The 1910 Fruitgum Company, me and Bobbie Blum and Bo Gentry and Richie Cordell. ‘Gimme Gimme Good Lovin’,’ Tommy James stuff like ‘Mony Mony,’ ‘Montego Bay,’ lots of stuff. You lost track you worked so much, and a lot of times we co-wrote and never gave each other credit. I also wrote stuff for Gene Pitney with Doc Pomus.

LCD: A lot of people interpret songs like “Yummy Yummy” and “Chewy Chewy” as being slyly sexual. Was that your intent?

LEVINE: Absolutely. We were told to write these innocent songs, keep it young and poppy, but we were all in our late teens so we wanted to slide some double entendres past ’em if we could. Eating was our big thing.

LCD: The Ramones have mentioned numerous times that they started out wanting to sound like The Ohio Express. How does it feel to be a godfather of Punk?

LEVINE: [Buddha Records publicist/New York Dolls manager] Marty Thau was producing some punk bands back in the 70’s, and he said ‘You should produce this stuff-all these guys mention your records.’ To tell you the truth, even though in the 60s we were all in our own funky state, meeting these bands-I just couldn’t deal. It was too weird for me.

LCD: Why do you think critics trash the whole bubblegum scene?

LEVINE: Well, the music’s a little contrite. It was just played for fun, and it was a period of time that was very serious. People were looking for big, heavy themes-drugs, war, revolution – and it looked very thin under those criteria. Bubblegum to me was making fun of all that. Basically it was like, ‘We get the serious issues – so why not smile and dance and goof around?’

LCD: Tell me about Third Rail.

LEVINE: The Third Rail I did before I was in The Ohio Express. I was 16 or 17. It was me, Artie and Kris Resnick, some of the earliest songs we wrote that we recorded together just as songwriters. Very political, more all over the map musically. Teddy Cooper over at Epic heard the stuff we were recording and said, ‘Let’s do an album.’ It just got re-released on CD in Britain.

LCD: The internet says you co-wrote stuff with Jim Carroll. Huh?

LEVINE: That’s my friend Jim Carroll. Not the Basketball Diaries junkie poet guy.

LCD: OK. (sigh) Tell me about “Life is a Rock but the Radio Rolled Me”?

LEVINE: That song is imitated a lot I think, by people like REM, with ‘The End of The World’ and Billy Joel with ‘We Didn’t Start The Fire.’ Not directly, but a lot of songs are based on people’s memory of our song. Some guy called me and said [affects dunderhead accent]’I think that’s the first rap record!’ And I said, ‘I don’t know about that.’ And he said, ‘Well, before that you had country rap, and story raps, but just rhythmic rhyming of words flowing together, that was the first!’ So I said, ‘Look, I’m the father of bubblegum-don’t make me the father of rap. Somebody will put me on a hit list.’

LCD: You work exclusively in commercials now. Do you miss writing songs about love as opposed to tampons or fish sticks?

LEVINE: I have never written a song about tampons.

LCD: OK.

LEVINE: The jingle thing is just cleaner, more honest. You write the song, you record it, people hear it, less politics, less rip-offs, the pay is good. No muss, no fuss. I still wrote songs. I write songs for my wife or my kids, but now it’s all fun. No headaches and ulcers wondering about having a hit or not.

LCD: What are some of your commercial songwriting credits?

LEVINE: ‘Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut’ for Peter Paul/Mounds, (singing) ‘Oh, What A Feeling to Drive-TOY-OTA!,’ ‘Can’t Beat The Feeling’ for Coca-Cola, ‘The Softer Side of Sears,’ Diet Coke, ‘Just For The Taste of It’…

LCD: God. People will carry those jingles with them to their graves. With your pop songs and TV, how does it feel to be so deep in the public consciousness?

LEVINE: Ah, I feel good about it. I feel lucky to be able to do what I do for so long.

LCD: Tell me something people might not guess about Joey Levine?

LEVINE: I always thought of myself as a soul singer.

Richard Gotterher and the Art of the Instant Record

Richard Gotterher and the Art of the Instant Record
by Keith Bearden

Almost everyone can name a watershed musical moment in their life. I’ve heard stories from friends of first becoming sexually aroused listening to Aerosmith’s "Walk This Way," or deciding to drop out of school after hearing the first Stooges record. The moment that redefined my life and musical tastes was catching the first set of "New Wave" records to come out of New York City in 1977. They had the exuberance, beat, and sing-along melodies of stuff I had loved on the oldies station, but with an anger, world-weariness and sick humor totally appropriate in the styleless, decadent and lazy years following the ’60s "revolution." It made me fully acknowledge what I had always suspected: I was not "normal," I was not "mellow" and I was not "cool." I did not fit in and now I had music for and by other people who didn’t fit in either. It was at this point that music became a therapist, a friend, and a community by proxy in the remaining decade until I was able to bust out of my stunted suburban existence.

As I studied and memorized the jackets of my favorite vinyl companions over the next few years, I noticed a familiar name popping up in the production credits: Richard Gotterher. Soon, anything with his name on the back became an automatic purchase, grooves unheard. Like Phil Spector, anything with Gotterher’s touch mandated at least one listen.

Like many involved with the new wave movement, Gotterher’s roots lie in studio pop bands of the ’60s. He, along with producing/writing partners Bob Feldman and Jerry Goldstein, created the ruse that was the Strangeloves, posing as three independently wealthy Australian sheep farmers who moonlighted as musicians. They hoodwinked enough American teens with their phony story, "Aboriginal" drums and cheap Beatle wigs in 1965 to send "I Want Candy" to number 11 on the national charts. If only for that one song, the Strangeloves are worthy of discussion. "I Want Candy" is a revelation; a Bo Diddley jungle beat, jazzy guitar line, and massed, aharmonious male vocals sounding like a fraternity bash at its drunken pinnacle—all bathed in enough reverb to make it sound like the first live simulcast from the moon.

Bow Wow Wow’s 1983 version may be more familiar, but the Strangeloves’ original is the one that gets under your skin. Two more Top 40 hits followed —"Cara-Lin," later covered by the Fleshtones, and "Night Time," redone by Iggy Pop, the Nomads and even Joe Jackson (as the theme to a Miller beer commercial!). Like the Shadows of Knight, the Strangeloves pre-dated the term “Bubblegum Rock,” and their heavier sound and seemingly more authentic garage band persona have saved them from being lumped in (and berated) with other studio pop bands of the era. Of course, the history of rock ‘n’ roll is a history of "fake" studio bands, and many hit songs of numerous "real" groups (Byrds, Beach Boys,) were played partially by for-hire session men (but that is for a whole ‘nother book).

Many persons involved in the 1960s NYC studio pop hit factory later worked with the explosion of ’70s pop/rock talent that fell under the tag of "New Wave." Buddah Records publicist Marty Thau managed or produced the New York Dolls, the Real Kids, Suicide and the Fleshtones, to name a few. Tommy James/ Crazy Elephant/ 1910 Fruitgum Company songwriter and musician Ritchie Cordell channeled Joan Jett’s talents into the stuff of ’80s Top 40 success. But it was Gotterher’s "Instant Records"—his ’70s production company: he recorded LPs in an average of four weeks as opposed to the months or even years common during the era—that clarified the link between new wave and its ’50s/’60s influences like no other. He helped Blondie sound less like a Soho loft garage band and more like the mutant Girl Group they wanted to be. His work with Robert Gordon and Link Wray proved to post-Woodstock hipsters that “oldies” could be as valid as the Ramones. Marshall Crenshaw’s classic debut LP, Pearl Harbor’s woefully underrated solo work, The Go-Go’s’ Beauty and the Beat—all superb pop music that will forever define an era, a genre and the artists that made them. All the product of Gotterher’s pop sensibilities.

Still producing records occasionally, Richard Gotterher is currently the CEO of The Orchard (www.theorchard.com) a web-based independent music distributor. We met over tea at a noisy cafe near his offices in New York City’s Chinatown.

Keith Bearden: Tell me about your start in the music biz.

Richard Gotterher: I started when I was in high school in the early days of rock ‘n’ roll. I was a classically trained piano player, and then I discovered the blues. Listening to Alan Freed, I learned about rhythm and blues and black music. So I started writing songs, at first copying Jerry Lee Lewis. At the time it was Elvis and Jerry Lee, and being a piano player, I naturally gravitated to Jerry Lee. So I wrote a song, when I was 16-years-old, called ‘I’m On Fire,’ which he eventually recorded in the ’60s just before his transition to country music. One of his last real rock recordings.

I was playing with my own band, and I got some songs published. One day I ran into two guys outside the office of one of the music publishing houses, Bob Feldman and Jerry Goldstein. We hit it off and started writing songs together. Then we started making demos, which were primitive one-track recordings. And then we said to ourselves, “If we can write and produce demos, we can write and produce records.”

We had basically a string of hits from 1963 to 1966. First, “My Boyfriend’s Back” by the Angels, which went number one. We worked on the girl groups for years, and wrote for Freddy Cannon, Dion, Bobby Vee. Lots of people. I have a drawer full of almost one hundred 45s that we either wrote or produced, or both.

After ’66, we split up, and then I formed Sire Records with Seymour Stein. We licensed a lot of European music, had some hits. We had Climax Blues Band, Renaissance, “Hocus Pocus” by Focus. I left Sire in the mid-’70s, when the punk thing started happening, when I discovered Blondie, Richard Hell, Robert Gordon, and made a lot of records with those people.

How did the Strangeloves happen?

We had been producing the Angels, and there was a point where they went on strike. And we had this track for them, this remake of an old Patti Page or Jo Stafford song called “A Little Love (That’s All I Want From You).” It was done in what was ska for the time; they called it bluebeat. We changed it and called it “Love Love.” The girl group thing was sort of fading, and the Beatles were coming in a big way, and the whole British Invasion, so we decided to sing on the track and call ourselves the Strangeloves. In the middle, Bob recited the lyrics, pretending to be British. We sold the record to Swan, put on these Beatle wigs and posed with these African drums in a photo, and put out this goofy press release that we were Australian. With all the British groups around, we figured Australia would be novel.

We get a call from a DJ in Virginia Beach, VA, and he says, “This record is getting a great response down here, if you come down and perform, we can drive it up to number one.” We said, “Okay.” We get there, and we went to the airport, got in a small plane that drove down the runway, faking that we had just flew in from Australia. There was a huge sign saying, “Virginia Beach welcomes Australia’s Strangeloves.” There were all these screaming kids, holding teddy bears, and throwing jelly beans, cause that’s what they did back then. When we went to perform, we only had this one song, and we knew we couldn’t just do that. So we did “Bo Diddley” by Bo Diddley. And the response was unbelievable!!

So we come back to New York and record it at Atlantic Studios. Ahmet says he really likes it, but that we should take it to his new label Bang. We took it to Bert Berns [co-writer of “Twist and Shout,” among many other hits], and he says, “This is great, but Bo Diddley was Bo Diddley, why don’t we re-work it using the same beat?” And the four of us wrote, “I Want Candy.”

There was this wonderful guitar player at the time named Everett Barksdale, who came up with the riff and he was playing off the melody to “Anna,” the hit by Silvano Merano. We had become pretty knowledgeable about producing at this point. We kept ping-ponging in the studio —we recorded the drums twice, along with me banging on African drums, and Jerry, Bob and myself were overdubbed singing together four times. That’s why this record has this overwhelming sound to it. After we mixed it and mastered it, we added more EQ and reverb, so it has a very processed feel, but at the same time has a real raw vibe to it. This process occurred over a period of weeks.

We used a lot of tricks, but I was always careful to keep things spontaneous. The wonderful thing about recording with them was there were moments that you captured, and you tried to go back and get it again and you couldn’t. When we did “Hang On Sloopy” [Gotterher produced the McCoy’s massive hit], we tried it again —we did the same beat and sound again and it never came together. It could’ve been something as obtuse as the temperature of the studio or the weight on the drums. With the digital technology of today there is none of that variable.

Why did the Strangeloves only have one album?

Albums were not the thing back then. Until the Beatles came along, nobody really bought albums, they bought singles. Our one LP had three hits on it, but it didn’t make a difference. Moving on to the ’70s, if you had a hit song you had to have an album because people bought albums. The market had changed. That’s one of the reasons radio was more open back in the ’60s to play new and indie records. People didn’t play album tracks. They wanted hit 45s. They were hungry for ’em, and the damn things only lasted two minutes! That’s a lot of demand for product!

When you toured, did people catch on that you were three guys from Brooklyn and the Bronx?

No, never. We had our fake Australian accents, and that was enough.

Do you have a philosophy as a producer?

I learned from listening to records by Leiber-Stoller and Phil Spector. The song has to always be your center, your focal point. If you create an environment that enhances the song, that’s the job of the producer. You have to listen to the song first. I came from being a songwriter. What I like to think I bring to a recording is a clarity of thought.

A lot of bands make really stinky records when they stop working with you. Holly & the Italians made an amazing debut with you, and their second LP is unlistenable. Nobody likes the Go-Go’s’ third record. Marshall Crenshaw’s career never recovered from Steve Lillywhite doing Field Day. How much involvement do you have with young, untried bands? What changes did you make when you worked with Blondie for example?

They didn’t need a lot of changes, really, just structural channeling. What I like to try to do with a band is work with their deficits, as well as their assets. To me, it didn’t matter if you didn’t play that well —I found a way of getting it out of you. A lot of producers would say, “You have to do this perfectly —if you can’t do it, I’ll find someone else who can.” I always figured, “Hey, Clem Burke isn’t the greatest drummer in the world, but something he’s doing is unique, and fits in with the uniqueness of the band. And it’s my job to bring that to listeners.” There were things about Blondie that were amazing from the beginning —their sense of humor, their attitude. I wasn’t as concerned with their ability to execute everything. What I wanted to do was capture the feeling and enthusiasm of what they were about, and just focus it in a way that was palatable to mass audiences. Because they were considered weird back then. There was nothing remotely like it on radio. I wanted to bring out the qualities they had. Professionalism is not as important to me as it was to radio programmers of the time, perhaps.

Those first two records were not very popular in the US, but they were incredibly popular overseas. Then of course Mike Chapman worked with them and focused more on the discipline part of producing them, and they exploded with “Heart of Glass.”

Blondie sounded like Blondie when they were with you. Chapman’s hand was a lot heavier than yours was. That’s the difference between you and producers like Phil Spector and Giorgio Moroder —you don’t mold bands in your image. The records you produce don’t all sound alike. They have a pop aesthetic, but–

There is a thread that goes through it. I’m more interested in the emotion of the song. The sound should be appropriate for emotion of the song.

What were your challenges working with the Go-Go’s? They were part of the L.A. punk scene and sounded pretty ragged. How much teaching did you have to do?

A lot. The Go-Go’s at their first rehearsal just said, “Just tell us what you want us to do. We want to be successful.” The funny part about that record was when it came out, [IRS Records president] Miles Copeland called me up, and he was just livid! “You ruined my group! I gave you this great punk band and listen to this bubblegum shit!” He was talking about “Our Lips Are Sealed,” which I thought was just amazing. The band themselves weren’t there for the mix, and when they heard it, they didn’t talk to me for a good six months. They cried. They thought it didn’t sound like them. It wasn’t grungy and disorganized. To me, it captured their identity perfectly. Then they came to love it and we did a second album.

Your sixties work was mostly session musicians. Did you have any studio groups during the new wave era?

No. We brought in a different drummer for Holly & the Italians, and we occasionally had someone do sax, or Paul Schaffer doing keyboards.

Joey Levine from the Ohio Express was asked to produce some new wave records, but found the whole scene “too freaky.” Did you have any hesitations about it?

No. I went down to CBGBs early on. Marty Thau was really into the change that was going on, and he took me. I signed Robert Gordon, Richard Hell, Blondie, all to production contracts and got them with record labels. No one else would have them at the time.

One of the great things about new wave was that it was a real New York scene.

Yes! New York was the only thing going. New York started it and England and the rest of the U.S. followed. Unless you count rap, it was the last big New York thing. We started that, too.

Did you see a lot of parallels between your sixties music and the new wave bands you were producing?

Most definitely. The people who were really doing it in the early days of punk, completely bypassed the early ’70s. They were really into ’50s rockabilly, girl groups and of course the British invasion. To them, rock ‘n’ roll stopped in 1969 and began again in 1976.

There is an argument that bands who aren’t really bands—that are studio musicians, or created by producers, managers or records companies—are inherently invalid because they are “manufactured.” How do you feel about that?

Well, that’s certainly invalid if you’re talking about pop music. That idea eliminates a huge portion of what’s happening, yesterday and today. The purpose of making a record is so people will enjoy it, it gives them pleasure and a unique experience. I mean that’s it. It doesn’t matter for me. I don’t listen to today’s studio groups like the Backstreet Boys and the like. It just seems contrived. It has a factory-produced feel. I consider the stuff we did in the sixties to be much freeer and more organic.

Jeff Barry’s Bubblegum Blues

Jeff Barry’s Bubblegum Blues
interview by Don Charles

“Some songs, like ‘Where Have All The Flowers Gone?’ people hear and they get sad. I think I’d rather have them get happy! That’s really where I was coming from.” That’s how songwriter/producer extraordinaire Jeff Barry sums up his musical philosophy, a philosophy that moved millions of dollars’ worth of vinyl around the world during the 1960s. Jeff Barry was the crown king of bubble gum rock producers (only Jerry Kasenetz and Jeff Katz’ A & R staff came close to challenging his dominance of the genre).

Jeff Barry: I was born in Brooklyn. When I was about seven, my parents got divorced, and I moved in with my mom and sister in Plainfield, New Jersey. I lived there until I was eleven, and then we moved back to Brooklyn. For some reason, I was hearing a lot of country music. As long as I can remember, I’ve always loved horses, and probably without realizing it, I liked listening to country and western music because that went along with horses!

Don Charles: My research indicates that your family name was Adelberg . . .

Jeff Barry: Yes, that