The 200 Best Songs of the 1960s, part 3 of 10
Deep Dives
Explore related topics with these Wikipedia articles, rewritten for enjoyable reading:
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Hoyt Curtin
17 min read
Linked in the article (16 min read)
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Burt Bacharach
11 min read
The article references 'the most Bacharachy of Bacharach compositions' when discussing Lou Johnson's 'Always Something There to Remind Me.' Bacharach was one of the most influential composers of 1960s pop music, and understanding his distinctive compositional style provides crucial context for appreciating this era's sound.
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Doo-wop
13 min read
The article extensively discusses doo-wop music, particularly with 'Duke of Earl' being described as having 'the durpiest of doo-wop backgrounds' and The Camelots performing 'literal a cappella NYC doo-wop.' Understanding doo-wop's origins, vocal techniques, and cultural significance illuminates why this style was so pivotal to early 1960s music.
One song per band! All 1960–1969 (North American?) releases eligible! Let’s go!
160 Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood by Nina Simone (1964)
Sure, The Animals do a good cover, but not even Eric Burdon can sound as haunted as Nina Simone. And then there’s the background orchestration, led by those creepy Phantom-of-the-Opera music-box chimes including a string section more muted and tasteful than is usual for 1964. I love how the stressed syllable changes as Simone slips into: “I try so hard, so please don’t let me be misunderstood.”
159 Duke of Earl by Gene Chandler (1961)
In the early ’60s music really seemed to be experimenting with how stupid it could sound. I know that comes off as insulting, but I mean this in a good way, in the way The Ramones would try something similar a decade or so later. We think of rock ’n’ roll of the 1950s as a stripped down version of previous pop music, but you could also call it (and people did!) a dumbed down version of previous pop music. You dumb it down enough and only the good parts show.
We’ll have dumber songs later on in this list, and we’ve had arguably dumber songs previously, but right now we have “Duke of Earl,” a nonsense lyric over the durpiest of doo-wop backgrounds. Duke-duke-duke of Earl sounds like someone making fun of doo-wop singers, but it’s also, and this is important, irresistibly catchy. Makes you want to go duke-duke-duke yourself, doesn’t it? It’s like the Twist—almost not a dance, but don’t you want to try it out?
The lyrics don’t make more sense from that point on. It’s also a love song because songs have to be love songs. “We’ll walk through my dukedom. / It’s a paradise we will share.”
One thing I love about pop music from the 1920s is that the singers so often sound like they’re joking, and, similarly here, Gene Chandler sounds like he’s in on the joke. The way he dresses on the album cover seems to indicate that this is half a novelty song.
I think I sound like I don’t like this song, which means I have failed, because I love this song. I think you don’t like this song! I think you don’t like this song enough! Chandler is derping all the way to the bank.
158 I Sat Back and Let
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