CAROLE KING, "SCHOOL BELLS ARE RINGING" C/W "I Didn’t Have Any Summer Romance," DIMENSION 1004 (REL. 10/1962)

In 1962, Carole King and her husband Gerry Goffin were among America’s most successful songwriters. Hit after hit came from the married couple’s suburban living room, where King’s piano and plaintive voice first uttered words and music that would soon reach millions. Songs like “Up on the Roof” by The Drifters, “The Loco-motion” by Little Eva and “Chains” by The Cookies were three 1962 smashes from their collaboration. Artists vied for their new material; it was a strong harbinger of success.

Even the greats get turned down. The couple penned a song for pop artist Bobby Vee—tailored to his singing style and general approach. Vee rejected “It Might as Well Rain Until September” as a new single after he’d done well with several Goffin-King pieces. (He did record it, but it was held back for an LP track in 1963.) Al Nevins and Don Kirschner, who ran Aldon Music (G&K’s publisher), decided that King’s voice could carry this sophisticated teen pop ballad to the charts. They christened a new label, Companion Records, for their star chirper-cleffer. They changed their minds and reissued the song on another new imprint, Dimension, which was in essence their Goffin-King imprint.

King, a recording artist since 1958 with four singles to her credit, demoed her new songs to her piano accompaniment and simple percussion. Goffin overdubbed a stronger rhythm section and strings (arranged by King) and the resultant version, wistful, witty and elegant, got to #22 on the national pop charts. Featured in George Lucas' 1973 film American Graffiti, it struck the perfect emotional note for the movie's finale. It would be King’s only major hit as an artist until “It’s Too Late” topped global charts in 1971.

Her voice was better suited for the 1970s; blunt, forceful and expressive, it contained none of the lady-like style ‘60s audiences preferred. The couple were too busy writing, arranging and producing new songs to take stock of their situation. Dimension wanted a follow-up record, and they had one in the fall of ’62. The intended A-side was conceived as a follow-up to the recent hit but may have been though too downbeat to succeed. (There is a depressive quality to Gerry Goffin’s lyrics which deepens at the ‘60s move forward.)

For a potential pop hit, Dimension’s girl group (and busy background vocalists) The Cookies do an uncredited joint performance on “School Bells are Ringing,” a song and recording which turned out in a peculiar way. King may have been inspired by “Party Lights,” a spring ’62 hit written and sung by Claudine Clark. The general vibe of “School Bells” is similar, and King affects Clark’s vocal style. She sounds more like a female Ray Davies, who used a similar vocal style on some of The Kinks’ early sides.

With its eerie chord progression and ominous sound, the song is hard to parse upon first listening. It’s a happy song delivered with an odd urgency that suggests emotional distress. The curious instrumental break—bluesy guitar paired with a reverbed saxophone—adds to the eerie vibe.

Catchy but creepy, “School Bells are Ringing” failed to repeat the success of “September;” it floundered at #123—death by drowning—and was soon deleted from the Dimension catalog.

Cash Box waxes positive; a crass ad for Dimension Records from the period.

I spoke of the depressive mien of Gerry Goffin’s lyrics. Seldom did they achieve the pensive gloom of “I Didn’t Have Any Summer Romance.” He was also a superb wordsmith whose phrases read and sing well. This stately heartbreaker is a confession of a lovelorn teenager who didn’t get handed a line—nor had her feelings shredded—by a casual summertime fling. “I was the one who made company a crowd,” she sings.

King’s melody is gorgeous. Elegant and expressive, with a heart-clutching minor-seventh chord (first heard at around 00:47) and the singer’s brooding piano surrounded by strummed guitars and light percussion, this tune captures in music the state of dejection. King gets a piano solo for the instrumental break and handles it with care.

This was much heavier emotional stuff than 1962 could handle. To this day, people shy away from this song and dismiss it out of hand. Confront its emotional truth and you experience a 1970s-level confession couched in the gleaming pop style of a decade earlier. This is one of my favorite Carole King recordings; it leaves its mark on the listener and, when new, brought a note of gravity to a song market drenched in confection.

King’s follow-up, played here five-ish years ago, was the folk-flavored “He’s a Bad Boy,” which got onto the Hot 100 (at #94) but spelled the end of Ms. King’s Dimension outings. Her next solo effort was the couple’s most depressing and bleak song, “A Road to Nowhere,” written as a harsh commentary on their failing marriage. It’s an intense experience. On its flip was the yearning, soulful “Some of Your Lovin’,” which UK pop diva Dusty Springfield would make an international hit. This 1966 single released on Tomorrow Records—another imprint created for the couple—is quite rare and nigh impossible to find. It’s a record I’m not sure I could own; its gloom is too much to face. (Apple Records artists Trash covered it in 1970, when its heavy sentiment perhaps seemed more in tune with the times.)

Carole King is a national treasure, and her songs and performances have touched millions of lives. I hope she is in good health and spirits; her anti-MAGA messaging is an inspiration.

Tomorrow: Irma Thomas is back with a killer Van McCoy song and another deep-soul item by her producer, Jerry Ragovoy; an Imperial Records release from 1965.