THE CHAMBERLAIN BROTHERS, "MY BABY WALKED OUT ON ME" C/W "DEBBIE JEAN," COLUMBIA 4-41227 (REL. 9/1958)

Today’s record and I have had a long courtship. I’ve looked at it for at least six years in the stall of a seller who’s infamous for his random prices. From his wares I’ve scored a couple of the most valuable 45s in my collection for pocket change; in most cases, said seller slaps an absurd price on records and seems content to let ‘em sit for months, years, decades.

No idea why I took so long on this one; it’s a decent piece of teen rockabilly, from the end of the first wave of rock ‘n’ roll’s popularity. Nothing is known about its performers; they may have come from the Midwest. Today’s single is a re-recording of one side of their small-label regional debut disc coupled with a new item. Columbia Records issued it, without a word of promotion, and it died at birth. Who’s on it is anyone’s educated guess. It sounds like a Nashville recording, and given Columbia Records’ presence there (they had one of the most successful country rosters in the 1950s), it has to be.

Aside from that—zip! Thus, let’s hear this thing.

“My Baby Walked Out on Me” has an old-fashioned sound; it’s easy to imagine a Depression-era duet like The Delmore Brothers doing the song, minus the affectations of the rock ‘n’ roll vocal style. It’s an obvious attempt to get at the Everly Brothers’ sound, and these siblings have a pleasing rural style and clear voices.

I’d wager that Floyd Cramer (piano), Hank Garland (guitar) and Buddy Harman (drums) are on this session. No one solos; they all keep time on what was a fast session. No vocal chorus is always a plus. This is a pleasing side—not a raver but not a limp noodle.

“Debbie Jean” is a mite faster and more upbeat. This titular ode to a teenage queen has some swagger and Harman’s impeccable sense as a drummer is always a gift to any recording. Garland takes a brief, hot guitar solo in tandem with a six-string bass (a then-current fad in Nashville session life).

Thuh-hey tuh-hend to-a hiccup they-er vocals a la-hiddle, as was the hepcat fashion in 1958. There’s nothing wrong with that, as these kids handle it well. This stuttering rhythm was something squarer singers couldn’t master; they always sound awful in their attempts.

The brothers might have been a tad too rural-sounding for the pop charts, but this could’ve gotten some country DJ spins—had Columbia bothered to let the world know it existed. Stock copies on the label’s crappy styrene do exist; it got that far. I always go with the promo versions when possible. You’ve heard this rap before.

The brothers made a final recording for an obscure Ohio label in the early 1970s; probably little of interest there. And that’s all for this Monday!

Tomorrow: prehistoric, hard-hitting girl group The Four Chickadees lay it down on a 1956 Checker single. Surprisingly good!