January 12th – Frankie Lymon, who along with ‘The Teenagers’,
was the performer on the very first single I ever bought, was inducted into the
Hall of Fame on this day in 1993…pity was he missed the celebrations as he’d
died of a heroin overdose back in 1968 when he was just 25. A seemingly
troubled individual, his music still reaches us now; The Mountain Goats
referenced him in their 2012 album track, ‘Harlem Roulette’
and Mr. Lymon’s single, ’Why do Fools Fall in Love?’ is one song from that era
that I guess we can all sing along to.
It’s interesting to reflect (well it
is for me, for you it’s probably as interesting as wool) it’s interesting to
reflect how we – you and I – first became interested in music. So, first musical
exercise of the day; think of the name of the first single you ever bought, say
it out loud then, when you've done that, hunt it down and replay it…make the
connection.
For me it was the aforementioned Frankie
Lymon and The Teenagers singing ‘No, No, No, I’m not a Juvenile Delinquent’.
Now there’s something you don’t hear today; a pop song that contains the words
‘Juvenile’ and ‘Delinquent’ in its stanzas. I bought it from a record shop in Wolverhampton in 1957 on a 78rpm disc and the opening
went something like,
Now, I guess that’s pretty much the
same tale with most of you; there’s one song, heard or bought early on when
you’re young and impressionable, that triggers a connection with your life of
angst and heartache and from then on you’re ‘into music’. With me, however, it
was more an embalming into music as I took up playing drums (parents were
thrilled… tried piano, couldn't hack it… may have been the sight and sound of the
nicotine-stained, long nails belonging to my male, ancient, straggly-haired
teacher tapping the nicotine-stained ivory keys as he tried to improve my
dismal scale attempts that put me off; at this time I was still of an age where
I firmly believed that creatures lived under my bed but told my dad they were actually
in the wardrobe lest he look under the bed and find them, so an over-active
imagination may well have also been partly responsible for my piano failure at
even this rudimentary level).
So, after my switch from bashing
endangered animal tusks mounted onto a harp to bashing their hides mounted onto
a metal and wood frame, I started out with the purest of ambitions; to become a
really great drummer…then I saw Gene Vincent, Billy Fury and Marty Wilde on a rock
package tour at the Gaumont Cinema, Wolverhampton …
Was it 1960? Can’t remember. What I do remember really, really well was that my
cousin, who was older than me and had beautiful copper-bronze hair, managed to
talk my folks into allowing her to take me along.
So there I was, probably about 11 and
surrounded, and I mean ‘surrounded’, by the sound, scent and swoon of HUNDREDS
of beautiful, pubescent, screaming girls as Mr. Vincent rubbed his crotch up
and down the mike stand demanding ‘the blues stayed away from him’ because he
needed to ‘dance to the bop’ before cajoling the imaginary lady he was with to
‘hold him, hug him, rock him’…and we ALL know what the word ‘rock’ is a
substitute for in a pop song, don’t we?
That was my baptism into the world of
rock… Drummer? – shrummer… LOOK AT ALL THOSE FREAKIN’ GIRLS…!
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