Music on the Zeros. What the First Year of Each Decade Says About Pop

Part I – 1960 and 1970

In the Guy Zapoleon cycles theory of pop music, the turn of the decade is typically a moment of pop music in confusion and descent — somewhere on the inevitable downward trajectory from mass-appeal to extreme to doldrums. Earlier this year, I wrote about the summer of 1969 and its competing forces — Woodstock and bubblegum. Then I decided to look at the first week of January (or thereabouts) at the beginning of every rock-era decade, from 1960 through today. We’ll cover a few decades each week for the next month or so.

It’s easy to make any case for a time in music as good or bad through cherry-picking. Recently, a chat group member told me why I was all wrong about the squishy-soft summer of 1981. We both had a dozen records that legitimately made our point, although I still think my cynical view of the era was upheld because Air Supply and “Arthur’s Theme” did more to set the tone at radio at the time than “The Breakup Song” did to salve it. The songs that endure from 1981— “Jessie’s Girl,” “Bette Davis Eyes” — are just fine. But Classic Hits gives a distorted view of the era: pounding “Don’t Stop Believin'” and ignoring “Physical.” (And to be clear, I like “Physical.”)

Let’s thus agree from the outset that each era, from 1960 through 2010, benefits from some historical perspective. Also that any given year could be covered in much greater detail. Many individual observations could be their own Ross On Radio column and some already have been. There could be an entire book about the intersection of music and the social climate in any year, not just this one. It only increases the irony that “We Didn’t Start the Fire” was a hit as 1989 became 1990. The goal is to look at patterns, not any one year exhaustively. But the intersection of politics and pop culture is hard to deny as we start out:

January 4, 1960

The culture war over rock ‘n’ roll has, after three years, culminated in a payola investigation casting a pall over pop music and radio in 1959-60, but the minor comedy hit that brings it to the charts is still a month away. Stan Freberg’s “The Old Payola Roll Blues” contends that rock and roll couldn’t have existed without buying its way on to the airwaves. It will then predict that Americans would again embrace big band/MOR, and suggests the summary execution of teen idols. Instead, Freberg’s song spent a week on the charts, and eight months later America would be doing “The Twist,” not enjoying George Shearing.

The ‘50s to ‘60s transition is the one that I wasn’t around to hear as a listener. Some friends recall it fondly, but on paper, it certainly looks like a doldrum, and fits the “what the Beatles saved us from” characterization of the early ‘60s. (By contrast, 1963 has a lot to be proud of.) There are MOR hits that could have come from the decade before rock ‘n’ roll from Della Reese, Andy Williams, Steve Lawrence, Johnny Mathis, plus “The Big Hurt.” There are former teen idols, now bidding for adult respectability — Connie Francis, Paul Anka, and Bobby Darin, whose “Mack the Knife” was the No. 2 song of 1959 and still working its way down the charts.

Some of the teen idols are still rockin’ as 1960 begins — Jimmy Clanton, Bobby Rydell, Annette. The most provocative record is Fabian’s “Hound Dog Man,” but not because it’s subversive. After three years, Freberg doesn’t have to contend that rock is corrupting American youth, just that it’s dopey. We’re also ten months past rock ‘n’ roll’s first major tragedy — the death of Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper, and Richie Valens. That seems to set the tone for the story-song morbidity atop the charts — “El Paso” is about to be followed at No. 1 by “Teen Angel” and the Big Bopper-penned “Running Bear.”

“El Paso” represents one of the most interesting things happening in this transition period, a boom period for Country crossover that goes beyond rockabilly. The No. 1 song of 1959 is Johnny Horton’s “Battle of New Orleans.” Suddenly, by delving into action/adventure movie territory, Country has a foothold among young men, something hard to imagine for many years hence.

There’s not much from 1959-60 that’s easily found on broadcast radio now, but there are two chart hits this week that endure today, because “The Chipmunk Song (Christmas Don’t Be Late)” by the Chipmunks and “The Little Drummer Boy” by the Harry Simeone Chorale are both still held over from the holiday.

As for the song that sounds most ripped from today’s headlines, turn your attention to this week’s No. 50, “What About Us,” in which songwriters Lieber & Stoller turn their efforts for the Coasters from songs about annoying parents and teachers to taking on wealth inequity, long before it had a name. “What About Us” was about to peak at No. 47, and be passed on the charts by its B-side, “Run Red Run.”

January 3, 1970

For the holidays in 1969, my dad asked a record store clerk to put together a bag of hit singles for me that ended up containing both “Holly Holy” by Neil Diamond and “Whole Lotta Love” by Led Zeppelin. Such was 1969-70. As heard in Once Upon a Time In Hollywood, and chronicled in our look at the music of that era, Top 40 radio had largely backed off trying to keep up with the nascent progressive format and doubled down on bubblegum instead, even if a few rock songs were too phenomenal to deny.

There’s a lot on this week’s full chart that represents the end of the ‘60s, hip and unhip: Burt Bacharach (at home in both camps) with “Raindrops”; the last Diana Ross & the Supremes single; the Shocking Blue’s could-be-1967 “Venus”; the last Beatles rocker; the last Peter, Paul & Mary hit (but the first hit for writer John Denver, thus passing the torch from ‘60s folk to ‘70s singer/songwriter).

There’s also a surprising amount that endures on the radio today. Classic Hits is largely out of the ‘60s business, but “Come Together,” “Whole Lotta Love,” and both sides of the CCR single are still heard on Classic Rock, which doesn’t have that hang-up. (“Fortunate Son,” like “What About Us,” now feels ripped from the headlines. For the last few years, it’s been a rare case of an oldie that had a bigger footprint in streaming and pop culture than at radio, although radio is starting to catch up.)

As for bubblegum, it’s still represented (Tommy Roe, “Jam Up & Jelly Tight”; Archies, “Jingle Jangle”; even the Jackson 5’s “I Want You Back,” despite its hipper credentials, will spur the Osmonds). Mostly, though, bubblegum is giving way to pop music with a similar frivolity, but more of an MOR motor (“Na Na Hey Hey,” “My Baby Loves Lovin’,” Bobby Sherman’s “La La La [If I Had You]”).

It would take about a year for Top 40 to decide to engage with rock radio again, as the progressive format became Album Oriented Rock. A new generation of PDs tried to acknowledge “the new music” with varied results, from John Garabedian’s WMEX Boston to the “album cut experiment” that briefly took over nights at numerous heritage CHRs. In 1971, Buzz Bennett’s KCBQ San Diego and its subsequent “Q format” clones would cherry-pick from the rock charts, an early ‘70s golden age of R&B, and the most undeniable teen pop and novelties, then scream over the intros to all of them. As our look at the decades continues, we’ll see that sort of “reaction record” aesthetic return.

Next Week: January 1980 or “C’mon & Ride It (The Yacht).”