BETTY JEAN MORRIS, "SHACK DADDY" C/W "I AIN'T GONNA MAMBO," CAPITOL F3296 (REL. 12/1955)

Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller began their career in Los Angeles. In 1954, they wanted more control over how their songs were recorded. They launched Spark Records, which enjoyed a couple of hits with vocal group The Robins, including the classic “Riot in Cell Block No. 9” but proved too much hassle for the duo to deal with and keep up their volume of songwriting.

They had a side gig with Capitol Records where they made their first forays into mainstream pop; they wrote and sometimes produced records for white vocal group The Cheers, eccentric nightclub performer Frances Fay and saw the first white cover versions of their rhythm and blues material. When Spark folded, L&S leased one master to Capitol—the lone recording of Betty Jean Morris. This single was so obscure I didn’t know about it for years into collecting Leiber and Stoller’s work. It was assumed to be just another brassy pop record—Capitol’s stock in trade in the early 1950s—until someone took a moment and realized it contained two L&S songs otherwise unknown and that it was an obvious Leiber-Stoller production.

Had this single been issued on Spark, it would be a 200-dollar item. It’s made some ripples through the vernacular music community, with one side favored by rockabilly enthusiasts. It was high on my L&S want list; then a beautiful copy showed up on eBay for peanuts. I hit that BUY IT NOW button without hesitation.

The single, issued during the Christmas season of 1955, was destined for extinction. I imagine Capitol’s executives wanting to get it out in time for the single’s failure to be a valid item on their income tax report for 1956. Each flop was a tax deduction, and any corporation’s accountants know how to game the system to maximize these credits. A disc jockey who wrote an anonymous column for Cash Box summarized the screwed-up situation on December 3^rd, 1955. I felt like I read my own words in his thoughts on the music industry’s systemic flaws:

Betty Jean Morris was discovered by L&S in an LA night-spot. They recognized her unusual vocal approach and saw in her another Ruth Brown—a female r&b stylist who had the potential to go places chart-wise. Her singing style isn’t for everyone, but it’s unusual, and she was given two inspired songs for her lone release, which was unknown the minute it hit the streets and became forgotten for over half a century.

“Shack Daddy” is the kind of early r&b song that seems like fodder for some musical revue. To a bright, bouncy track that features Mike Stoller on piano, members of The Robins as a vocal chorus, Gil Bernal on saxophone and other LA notables in the band, Morris tells the story of her guy—a man who hasn’t got any dough but pretends he’s hot stuff. “The chicks line up like soldiers on a field/just beggin’ for a ride in his auto-mo-bile; he threw a party for the neighborhood queen/and all he served was dry red beans,” she sings in two of Leiber’s memorable lines.

Despite his poser lifestyle, Betty Jean loves that man, and we can only hope they lived happily (if sketchily) ever after-ly.

Billboard was alone in its review of this rare affair.

“I Ain’t Gonna Mambo” is one of many comical songs L&S wrote about current dance crazes. “Bossa Nova Baby,” covered by Elvis Presley, is their best-known example. Here, Ms. M declines to partake in the mambo, despite her date’s request to hit the dance floor.

This 12-bar blues has a monotonal melody; it’s all about the words here, and Betty delivers them with humor and character. A nagging guitar riff, Stoller’s fluid piano and Bernal’s hot sax distinguish this musical manifesto. If you don’t like the boogie, goodbye!

Nothing is known of Betty Jean Morris’ whereabouts after the brief release of this recording. “Many good records go down the drain of anonymity,” our columnist complains, “because of undeserved neglect.” It didn’t matter to the big labels whether their products succeeded or failed. The trauma that affected the vocalists, songwriters, producers and arrangers were a trifle. With such indifference at the top, the only hope for music was far below, where the people who made the records worked. I’m glad they persevered despite the incredible odds that anyone would hear most of their hard work and effort.

Tomorrow: Detroit proto-soul with Shawn Elliott; one side is a song that might seem familiar to regular readers here. A 1963 platter from the Double L label.