Song of the month: "By My Side"/ The Elois (April 1967)

Sitting somewhere alongside ‘I Want, Need, Love You’ by The Black Diamonds and The Missing Links’ ‘You’re Driving Me Insane’* on the wigged-out wild-o-meter of Aussie garage punk, ‘By My Side’ by The Elois is the subject of today’s Melbourne song of the month segment. Over and out in under two-and-a-quarter minutes, this radioactive scorcher of a track leaves a trail of aural destruction in its wake that even repeated listens can’t diminish. The fact that it’s the work of a bunch of clean-cut country teenagers simply defies all logic. 

Blasting off with a stinging, sustained guitar note that’s soon joined by bass and drums in one of the most raucous intros ever to be committed to tape, the song gets even more intense when the snarling vocals of Alan Rowe kick in. Belting out the repetitive lyrics like some kind of desperate mantra, he sounds like a man possessed: howling, growling, a slave to his hormones as he informs the object of his affections in no uncertain terms how badly he wants her. There’s a similar sense of, ahem, urgency about the backing vocals.


(This is not the original music video, but it's super-cool nonetheless!)

About 30 seconds in, a series of drum rolls signal a change of pace, and the band flips from full-throttle into thumping, grinding mode (punctuated by some cool sliding bass), gradually building up into a cacophony of voices that’s almost unbearable – then bam! That fuzzed-out guitar is back, even more blistering than before. And just when you think things can’t get any more insane…they do. 

The song ends with an extended rave-up that makes The Yardbirds seem refined, all unhinged drums, guitar as deadly feedback weapon, relentless bass and an almost chanted refrain, ‘I can’t get enough from you, girl’. (Ah, so the truth is out: she’s not putting out as much as he’d like.) And suddenly it’s all over. 
Holy wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am, Batman!  

No country bumpkins

So who the hell were The Elois, to release this one dynamite 45 (‘By My Side’ is on the B-side; a hum-dingin’ take of ‘I’m a Man’ is the A-side) and then slip into obscurity?

Formed in 1964 by school friends Michael Dzuriek (bass) Dennis Fiorini (lead guitar, vocals), Doug Blair (rhythm guitar, vocals) and drummer Ian Chettle (who was replaced a few months later by Bill Van Berkel), The Elois were from the small historic gold-rush town of Maryborough. Wondering how to say the name? I always thought it was pronounced ‘Eloyze’ but while researching this post, I discovered that it’s ‘Eel-eye’ (with a silent ‘s’, no less). 

The Elois: no idea which members these are!
Photo taken from The Livin' End, issue 3 (which wasn't captioned)

As most readers would know, Elois were the dainty little peace-loving peeps preyed upon by the creepy subterranean Morlochs in HG Wells’s sci-fi classic, The Time Machine. Intriguingly, the rock’n’roll Elois were called The Morlochs for a short while – which, to me, seems a more fitting name, given the savagery of ‘By My Side’. But then, maybe they were going for some kind of cognitive dissonance effect?

Like so many bands of the era, The Elois started out playing mainly instrumentals such as The Thunderbirds’ version of ‘Wild Weekend’, before adding some early Beatles-style numbers to the mix. In their matching grey suits and pink shirts, they built up a following (their fan club numbered in the thousands, apparently) by playing at big dances in the region, prompting the decision to recruit a dedicated singer.  

Downtown Maryborough, Photo: copyright Peter Maltezos (2013)

Enter Alan Rowe, another buddy from school. “He had a good voice, a bit like Eric Burdon,” Fiorini remarked decades later in that bible of 60s Antipodean garage and beat music Wild About You! by Ian D. Marks and Iain McIntyre. (Indeed, the interview with Fiorini in that book covers The Elois’ career in more detail than I could hope to here, and is well worth reading.)

Relieved of his vocal duties, Fiorini was free to concentrate on lead guitar, and gradually, the group developed a tougher sound, influenced by wilder proponents of the British invasion such as The Who, The Yardbirds and The Stones, which earned them the title of the ‘feedback kings of north-east Victoria’.

List of Victorian Battle of the Sounds heats, 1965,
taken from this informative downloadable booklet

Word gets around

Around this time The Elois caught the attention of one Graham Lever, a flashy, smooth-talking 3AK radio DJ who’d moved to the area. He became their manager, not only encouraging their penchant for distortion and raw r’n’b sounds, but trying to persuade them to relocate to the Big Smoke. 

Not yet ready for the Melbourne move, they entered a Maryborough heat of Hoadley’s famous Battle of the Sounds (coming second to Bendigo combo, The Emeralds), before trying again in the Ballarat round – and winning. This qualified them to compete in Melbourne against other heat-winners, but as far as I can tell, they didn’t get anywhere. 

Still, they must have enjoyed the change of scene, because it was after this that they decided to move to Melbourne with Lever. Unfortunately, Dzuriek couldn’t join them, having been conscripted for the Vietnam War (he was replaced by Greg Heenan), although they’d managed to lay down some demos with him before parting ways. In an article about the band published in Dean Mittelhauser's legendary fanzine The Livin’ End back in 1984, mention is made of some eight hours’ worth of recording, spanning ‘original material and covers, all absolutely dripping with their fuzz-laden style.’ Sadly, the master tapes have long since vanished. 

It seems that Blair had dropped out at some point before the Melbourne move too, being unwilling to buy his own amp, but I don’t think he was replaced. To be honest, information about The Elois is scarce (and photos even more so), making it hard to ascertain the chronology of their career and line-up changes. 

Article about The Elois in The Livin' End, issue 3

Melbourne-bound

So anyway, off they went to Batmania, where they ended up at the newly opened Armstrong Studios in South Melbourne. Under the expert guidance of sound engineer Roger Savage (who else?) they recorded their one-and-only single, 'I’m A Man/By My Side'. With 80 minutes at their disposal (at the princely rate of a dollar per minute), they knocked the two tracks out with just a couple of takes each. 

Bill Armstrong outside his Albert Rd studio soon after opening.

The results, as we know, were magic: rough, ready, undiluted, and positively crackling with energy. No wonder local label W & G were quick to sign The Elois to their subsidiary In Records, best known for being The Loved Ones’ label. In fact, the one time The Elois appeared on popular teen TV show, Kommotion (performing/miming ‘I’m a Man’), their illustrious label mates also featured.

While the single wasn’t a hit, it did make the lower echelons of the Melbourne charts, helped along no doubt by the band’s growing reputation as a killer live act. Playing venues such as Pinocchio’s, 5-4-3-2-1 and the Thumpin’ Tum, they blew audiences’ minds (and ear drums) with their fast, loud and feedback-heavy shows. So much so that they ended up blacklisted by the Tum! 

‘I remember I used to have my amp full-chat and my distortion pedal full-packet and just go right off,’ Fiorini recounts in Wild About You. ‘We must’ve blown the whole place apart! I suppose it was loud in those days. I upset somebody, but it went over pretty well’. 

Exterior of the Thumpin' Tum, photo courtesy Miles Ago.

Although they were signed for a three-year contract, The Elois only lasted a year in Melbourne. ‘We’d just about had enough by then,’ Fiorini continues. ‘We were battling. And the biggest problem was, our sound was too radical. You had Johnny Young [singing] “Step back a little, you’re falling in love” – tutty-tutty-tut stuff – and then we’d come along and just blow things away.’ 

They may have been square-lookin' short-hairs from rural Victoria, but it sure sounds like they showed the city slickers a thing or two about rock’n’roll.

Another pic taken from The Livin' End article (without which, this post would've been a bit screwed!):
L-R Greg Heenan, Alan Rowe (crouching), Bill Van Berkel, Dennis Fiorini

* Footnote: funnily enough, when I wrote that first line, I had forgotten that ‘By My Side’ follows ‘You’re Driving Me Insane’ and ‘I Want, Need, Love You’ on Side A of seminal Aussie 60s punk comp, Ugly Things.

Melbourne song of the month: "Shame, Shame, Shame"/The Spinning Wheels (September 1965)

A band’s name can tell you a lot about them, even before you hear their music. Take The Spinning Wheels. Even my old Aunty Lil, with her Vera Lynn records and True Detective magazines, would’ve been able to make the Rolling Stones connection. But unlike so many Melbourne groups of the time with aspirations to be our own Mick, Keef and co, The Spinning Wheels got there first. 

Early line-up of The Spinning Wheels. L-R: Glen Sievers, Don Hirst, Graham Lord, Rod Turnbull, Mike Perrin.

When The Spinning Wheels formed in early 1964, the Stones hadn’t quite taken off in Australia and Melbourne’s live music scene still had a strong rocker element. But the screaming tidal wave of Beatlemania had already landed; and the floodgates opened pretty fast after that. 

But where the Fab Four were loveably pop, many of the other British groups that emerged in their mop-topped wake were tougher, heavily influenced by black American blues and r’n’b. The Stones, The Pretty Things, The Animals and The Yardbirds (to name a few) — these were the bands that inspired guitarists Don Hirst and Michael Perrin, and drummer Graeme Lord, to blow the folk/skiffle scene they’d been hanging round in and embrace the beat explosion.

The band playing at daytime CBD venue The Bowl in 1964

Add singer Rod Turnbull and bassplayer Glen Sievers (lead guitarist Tom Cowburn came a bit later) to the equation, and The Spinning Wheels were born. Not everyone welcomed them with open arms: in their early days, they were occasionally beaten up by rockers who didn't dig their rootsy sound or mod aesthetic. They also copped a tongue-lashing from the judges of the talent show, "New Faces", who thought they were filthy reprobates! 

Fortunately, music promoter Brian de Courcy had better taste, and invited the Wheels to play at a popular weekly dance he ran in Mentone. Then Stones hysteria kicked off like a herd of stampeding wildebeest and suddenly every booker in town (and Lorne, but that’s a story for a different post) wanted a sound-alike. 

No prizes for guessing who they called. While most other local wannabe Stones combos were still getting their act together, The Spinning Wheels were already firing on all cylinders.

Anyone know what that cool guitar with the Florentine cut-outs is in the background?

The song

Not surprisingly, the band was snapped up by HMV, with whom they released four singles. Their high-spirited version of Jimmy Reed’s classic, “Shame, Shame, Shame” was the B-side of their third single, “You Can’t Catch Me” (the Chuck Berry number), and was recorded at St Kilda’s Telefil Studios with sound engineer Roger Savage (whose name has popped up in this blog more than once).

Where the original is cool and soulful and swingin’, The Spinning Wheels rendition is gritty and over-driven and struttin’. Rod Turnbull’s vocals are a world away from Reed’s southern tones, being closer to the snotty style of someone like Jim Sohn (Shadows of Knight).

In place of the bluesy harmonica solo that distinguishes the original, the Wheels let rip instead with a wild guitar rave-up, leaving the harmonica in the background. As close to fuzz as guitar got in those days, Tom Cowburn’s blistering sound was achieved when Savage split the cone in Cowburn’s little practice amp, cranked up the volume, and miked it up from behind — a trick he’d learnt back in London, where he'd worked with the Stones themselves.

A scorchin’ slice of r’n’b in the best blue-eyed British style, “Shame, Shame, Shame” doesn’t possess that indefinable ‘Aussie sound’ evident in some of the other songs featured on this blog, but it’s still a Melbourne classic… 

Melbourne song of the month: "Shakin' All Over"/Normie Rowe & the Playboys (September 1965)

They say you can’t improve on perfection, but I’d argue that Normie Rowe’s version of the Johnny Kidd & the Pirates classic “Shakin’ All Over” comes pretty close. Released in September 1965 as a double A-side with “Que Sera Sera”, this monster hit needs little introduction. Apparently it was one of the top-selling Aussie 45s of the 1960s; certainly, it remained in the charts for more than half a year and hit the number-one spot in Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane and Adelaide. 

Normie was already a teen idol by the time “Shakin’ All Over” (his fourth single) was released, but this catapulted him into almost intergalactic heights of pop superstardom. And no wonder! He sings it like he means it, if you catch my drift. Can’t you just imagine the effect this must’ve had on his teenybopper fans?! (Actually, no imagination needed. The video at the bottom of this post provides a clear picture, showing Northcote’s most famous son miming the song on The Go! Show to a hysterical studio audience)

Normie-mania in all its hormonal hysteria! Unfortunately, I don't know the names of either photographer

I should mention that I love Johnny Kidd & the Pirates’ 1960 original of “Shakin’ All Over” – particularly the guitar sound and the vocals -- and I think it’s a tragedy that Kidd died so young because anyone who could pen such a gem at the age of 24 surely had a brilliant future ahead of him. I’m also partial to The Who’s rather macho rendition of the song. But Normie and his Playboys take it to another level: quickening the pace, embellishing the middle-eight and adding a hypnotic keyboard line that gives it an extra dimension of grooviness.


And that stinging guitar — goddamn!! It’s brutal and beautiful at the same time, like a tiger about to pounce on its prey and tear its throat out. Or something. Actually, I saw Normie and the original Playboys at the Flying Saucer Club about a year ago, and if memory serves me correctly, lead guitarist Bill Billings performed “Shakin’ All Over” with the same guitar he used on the recording. (I just wish I could remember what it was. Some kind of Maton?). Age hadn’t dimmed its bite, that’s for sure – it sounded killer.

Normie Rowe has a four-octave vocal range, and judging by his show last year, his golden tonsils are still going strong. But in “Shakin’ All Over” he sticks to a seductive, swoon-inducing rock’n’roll croon. Purrfect.

Which is more than can be said for his bizarre reworking of the song with celebrity chef Curtis Stone for a Coles ad about hormone-free meat back in 2012… Ahem. Best to not go there. 

Say no more...

Far better to end on a high. And so, I give you Normie on The Go!! Show: a surreal little snapshot of teen hysteria at its peak…

Song of the month: "Claudette Jones"/Peter & the Silhouettes (December 1966)

Some of you might be familiar with The Louie Report, a blog dedicated to Richard Berry’s party classic “Louie, Louie” (it even profiles the version by Melbourne’s own Pink Finks, who featured in this blog very recently). Apparently more than 1000 artists have covered “Louie Louie” over the years – making it the second-most covered pop song ever (after “Yesterday” by the Beatles). Too bad poor old Richard Berry never got any royalties for it.

Kinda like “Louie Louie,” Peter & the Silhouettes’ 1966 garage stomper “Claudette Jones" has inspired more than a few cover versions in its time. Unlike "Louie Louie", however, the original version of “Claudette Jones” is still the best*. Mind you, the covers aren’t so bad either (but more on those shortly).

Peter & the Silhouettes, 1966. L-R: Kieran Keogh, Manuel Pappos, Peter Rechter, Tony Truscott, Kevin Clancy

First things first: Peter & the Silhouettes hailed from Bendigo (where they were hugely popular) not Melbourne, but I think we can overlook a minor geographical detail like that. The fact is, “Claudette Jones” is such a fun, fuzzed-out slab of garage grooviness that where it comes from is immaterial.



This song ticks all the boxes for a bloody good time: thumping drums, dinky Farfisa organ, silly lyrics and an instantly catchy chorus, topped off with some sizzling fuzz guitar. Personally, I think music critic Richie Unterberger’s description of “Claudette Jones” as “pretty fair garage pop” misses the mark completely: it’s a bonafide ripper, and while it may not have set the charts on fire, that’s only because it never came out as a single. 

Recorded in Johnny Chester’s Melbourne studio at W&G in 1965, “Claudette Jones” was eventually released in 1966 as part of The Scene from Northern Victoria, a compilation showcasing the regional talent of the day (apparently the rest of the album was rather underwhelming). Since then, it’s appeared on Kavern 7’s cracking compendium of unsung 60s Aussie garage, It’s a Kave-In, which is where I first heard it, and possibly on other compilations too.

If you don't have it already, you need this album!

By 1967, Peter & the Silhouettes had morphed into The Tol-Puddle Martyrs. Under this name, they released a couple of singles and played regularly in Melbourne. They even came fourth in the 1968 national grand final of the Hoadley Battle of the Bands competition. But the big time eluded them, and finally the group fizzled out.

Vocalist/keyboard player Peter Rechter moved to Melbourne to study music, and ended up playing in a series of other bands. In about 2006, The Tol-Puddle Martyrs reformed, and I was lucky enough to see them play a short set at Bar Open. Forty years after its original release, “Claudette Jones” had lost none of its energy or garage goodness.

The Claudette Jones legacy

Anyway, for the music nerds among you, here are a few of the “Claudette Jones” covers I mentioned.

99th Floor (Italy, 1993):
Any band calling itself The 99th Floor is gonna get it right, and this version proves my theory correct! Super-faithful to the original, its charm factor is magnified by the singer’s Italian accent. Unfortunately, this Youtube upload cuts off before the end, but trust me – it’s worth a listen. 



Lords of Gravity (Melbourne, 2005):
This dearly-missed Melbourne band wowed local punters with their intense live shows and 60s sounds. Here they are doing “Claudette Jones,” only heavier, faster, wilder! Dig that waspy fuzz and Lord Evan’s blood-curdling scream.




Firebirds (Netherlands, 1995):
A tad too fast for my liking, but Claudette bears up pretty well under the super-sonic treatment. The Firebirds clearly have their hearts in the right place and energy to burn! 

 

Kamikaze Trio (Melbourne, 2004)
“Claudette Jones” meets straight-ahead Oz rock: complete with a very modern drum sound and a blatant absence of fuzz or Farfisa. But the fact it remains listenable is testament to the song’s timeless appeal. Listen here
 
And finally, The Tol-Puddle Martyrs!
It’d be remiss of me not to include this 2006 video, featuring the reformed Tol-Puddle Martyrs and certain faces from around the current Melbourne music scene that some of you might recognise….




* No question about it: the best version of “Louie Louie” ever recorded was by The Sonics.

Melbourne song of the month: “You’re Good for Me”/The Pink Finks (May 1966)

Before there was Daddy Cool (and well before the 80s blandness of Mondo Rock), there was The Pink Finks, Ross Wilson’s first band. Formed in 1965 when Ross was a 16-year-old school boy and Ross Hannaford was about 14 (how cute is that? Two teenage Rosses!), The Pink Finks were inspired not only by American r’n’b and blues, but also by British bands such as The Yardbirds, Stones and Pretty Things who covered that kind of music.

Five Finks: L-R Ross Hannaford, Ross Wilson, Geoff Ratz, David Cameron, Richard Franklin

The Pink Finks didn’t have a long lifespan, lasting from late 1964 to late 1966, but they managed to release four singles during this time (on three different labels) and were a popular R’n’B act around the suburban Melbourne dance hall scene. However, due to their young age, their gigs tended to be limited to weekends only. Legend has it that Ross Hannaford’s parents turned up at one show and dragged their naughty (and very underage!) son home. That’d cramp your style a bit. 

Rocking out at Festival Hall in the 1965 Hoadley Battle of the Sounds final (they didn't win: The Crickets did). Photo: Everybody's

“You’re Good for Me” was The Pink Finks’ fourth and final single, released on W&G. This scorchin’ little number, clocking in at 1 minute, 35 seconds, was written and produced by 50s rocker Johnny Chester (who’d supported The Beatles on their Aussie tour just two years earlier) and is a bonafide gem.

 
Puzzlingly, it didn’t chart and didn’t even rate a review in Go-Set magazine. Weirder yet is the fact that it hasn’t cropped up on any Aussie 60s comps that I’m aware of. Fortunately, it lives on as part of the 1980 Raven EP, “Louie Louie” and — of course— on the fathomless rock’n’roll wormhole that is Youtube. (Somehow, I suspect the original 7” is about as elusive as Tony Abbott’s humanity, but that’s another story…)

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m a big fan of a short song, and “You’re Good for Me” fits that bill to a small-but-perfectly-formed T. Rollicking along at a cracking pace (but not so fast it loses its groove), it’s distinguished by Hannaford’s fluid, rockin’ guitar licks (with more than a passing nod to Chuck Berry) and Wilson’s bratty, snarling vocals. Funny to think that he’d been a wedding singer before the Finks, because he’s a damn sight more Mick Jagger than Frank Sinatra, if you know what I mean…



For those of you who’d like to know more about this shortlived but important band, check out their chapter in the ace book Wild About You. Otherwise, turn up the volume and play it again…

Think Pink. Pic: imdb.com

Related posts
Melbourne song of the month: The Loved One
Melbourne song of the month: 5:10 Man

Melbourne song of the month: 'The Real Thing'/Russell Morris (March 1969)

It’s been honoured on a postage stamp, and covered by artists as diverse as Kylie Minogue (!), Midnight Oil and Ollie Olsen. It was in the soundtrack of the movie The Dish, and has featured in countless TV commercials: most recently, for the Subaru Forester (ugh). It’s “The Real Thing” by Russell Morris, and it was unleashed onto unsuspecting Australian listeners 45 years ago this month.

The stamp! Wish I had one of these...

The history behind this iconic track is fascinating. Written by Johnny Young, it was originally earmarked for pop singer Ronnie Burns, but legend has it that Molly Meldrum decided it was perfect for his then-protégé Morris, and cajoled Young into recording a rough demo of it for him.

Russell Morris. Photo: National Film and Sound Archive

In an interview on ABC Radio’s Into the Music program in December last year, Russell Morris explained how he first came to hear the song.

Planning to leave his band Somebody’s Image and launch a solo career, he went to see Johnny Young for advice on how to strike out on his own. Young was more patronising than helpful, but shortly afterwards the two men crossed paths again on a TV show where Russell was miming to one of his band’s hits. Seeing how wild the live studio audience went for the spunky teenage singer, Young was waiting for him when he returned to his dressing room, insisting that Morris listen to some of his songs.

Of the three songs he heard, Russell quite liked one, but asked if Young had anything else, as he didn't want to be lumped in with other pop stars of the day such as Johnny Farnham, Ronnie Burns and Normie Rowe. All Young could offer was a song he’d written ‘as a joke’…

“Ian had come in at that stage, Ian Meldrum, and Michael Barnett, who was managing me as well. And we heard it and all of us looked at each other and went, That’s the song and he [Young] went, What? You’re crazy! A solo artist couldn’t do this song. And we said, That’s the one we want. The way he played it is vastly different to what Ian Meldrum envisaged and achieved.”

Molly and Russell in more recent times. Photo: news.com.au

In the same interview, Morris reveals that Young’s rendition was actually a bit too close for comfort to Status Quo’s “Pictures of Matchstick Men,” so Molly’s reimagining of the track probably prevented some nasty legal wrangling.

“Ian changed it and said, Right, we’re going to do it like ‘Hurdy Gurdy Man’ meets ‘I Am the Walrus.’ John was banned from the studio for that reason.”

In the studio

Produced in Armstrong’s studio in South Melbourne over several months, the song involved a cast of thousands. Members of The Groop formed the main backing band; John Farrar (lead guitarist of The Strangers) did the arrangement; and a session singer called Maureen Elkner sang backing vox. Then there was that haunting acoustic guitar part, apparently one of the last pieces of the puzzle to be added…

Says Molly (in the same interview):

“I wanted acoustic because I was a Cat Stevens fan. The opening with the acoustic guitar is a guy who used to be in The Zoot … Roger Hicks, who was a great guitarist. So it’s his intro and the rest, with Hitler and the bombs, is my part.”

And let's face it, without Hitler and the bombs, "The Real Thing" wouldn't be "The Real Thing"! After a deceptively beautiful start showcasing Hicks’s sweet guitar and Morris’s even sweeter voice, the song gains ever-more layers and trippy effects to reach a manic, mind-bending finale featuring Molly imitating Winston Churchill, Brian Cadd of The Groop reading instructions from the side of a tape box, the Hitler Youth choir, Hitler himself, atomic bombs exploding, and enough phasing to bring on spontaneous hallucinations. According to Molly:

“Because of the Small Faces with ‘Itchycoo Park’, I loved phasing, and so … we [worked] out a way we could do the phasing … connecting two studios and putting lines across. I wanted it to be world-class [with] some … of the different effects that had influenced me. So you’ve got the Donovan thing, and the Cat Stevens, you’ve got part of the psychedelia of the Beatles with the Magical Mystery Tour…”

But before any record label executives could hear the final product, Molly started freaking out about how they’d respond (after all, it was 6 minutes 20 seconds long, almost unthinkable for a single), grabbed the tapes from the studio and fled into the night. Russell Morris and recording engineer John Sayers eventually tracked him down in Albert Park.

Turns out Molly’s fears weren’t groundless: when the EMI/Columbia honchos heard the song, they were somewhat less than impressed. Without the label’s support promoting it, Morris and Meldrum saw no alternative than to hand-deliver their psychedelic epic to radio stations themselves. Their efforts paid off.

Top of the pops! The Go-Set Top 40, 31 May 1969

Not only was “The Real Thing” a number one hit in Australia, but it made the top of the charts in Chicago and New York. In 2001, it was voted fourteenth in APRA’s Top 30 Australian songs.

All together now: There’s a meaning there but the meaning there doesn’t really mean a thing….

Related post:
What would you give Molly for his birthday?

Melbourne song of the month: 'The Loved One'/The Loved Ones (May 1966)

The first in a monthly series celebrating Melbourne’s coolest tunes...

Those handclaps. That relentless, rhythmic guitar. That crazy intro — all 38 wild seconds of it, building in intensity until finally… finally… we hear those unforgettable lyrics ‘Yonder she’s walking’ and we have lift-off! 

Ah yes, 'The Loved One'. 
What a masterpiece. Totally unlike any other song of its time (or any since, for that matter), The Loved Ones’ amazing second single made #15 in the Melbourne charts and #2 in Sydney, effectively catapulting the band to the screaming heights of the local music scene. 

Released in the same year as two other eternal Australian classics, The Easybeats’ 'Friday on My Mind' and 'Sorry', 'The Loved One' holds its own in this illustrious company. All five members of The Loved Ones previously played in respected Melbourne jazz outfits (The Red Onions and The Wild Cherries), and it shows. The level of musicianship; the deviation from the 4/4 time so popular with beat, rock and pop groups of the day; the unusual structure — make no mistake, this ain’t some predictable three-chord stomper. 

Actually, it’s bloody hard to dance to! But who cares, when you’ve got Gerry Humphreys' beautiful bluesy vocals to enjoy, and that famous, soaring chorus to sing along with?

Brown-eyed handsome man: Gerry Humphreys (photographer unknown)

Voted number 6 in APRA’s list of 10 Best Australian Songs in 2001, 'The Loved One' remains a treasured part of Melbourne’s musical heritage to this day. 

** PS The clip for this song is actually part of a larger film, Approximately Panther, an absolute time-capsule of a doco following Go-Set journo Douglas Panther as he delves into Melbourne's 60s youth culture and chats with some of the key personalities of the day. I won't say too much more at this point, as Approximately Panther deserves its own dedicated post -- sooner rather than later... (And now it has one...check it out here)