The Fogcutters, "Cry, Cry, Cry!" c/w "You Say," Liberty 55793 (rel. 5/1965)

 

As The Beatles and other UK groups changed music in America, young men and women took up instruments, wrote new songs and gave a united response all across the country. Often in college towns, these bands began as a local affair. They played teen dances, fraternity keggers, and opening support for established groups who toured the nation. Most of them never expanded past their home turf; many tried and failed. A few made it to the level of The Fogcutters: a mainstream record release that got attention without getting into the hit parade.

Another seminal influence to these groups was American. The Beau Brummels from San Francisco had two big pop hits with “Laugh Laugh” and “Just a Little.” The December 1964 release of the first song had a few unsuccessful precedents in American pop, but “Laugh” is credited as the first official homegrown response to Beatlemania.

Its stark, moody sound had a major effect on these young provincial bands. The rugged approach of the Brummels’ rhythm section and the earthy lead vocal of Sal Valentino were a more approachable template, and enough Beatle influence seeped in to fill the cracks. This would soon be called folk-rock. (Some of these musicians had been part of the folk music revival of the earlier 1960s, so the connection is valid.)

Out of The University of Denver came The Fogcutters, who formed in 1964 and caused an immediate sensation on-campus. Lead guitarist Don Ferguson was a member of the school’s hockey team. They played enough area shows to get attention from someone who got them to make a 45-rpm record. Who that person is I couldn’t learn, but Person X got two group originals released on the hole-in-wall LA label Cathay Records. When this single began to make noise, Liberty Records picked it up for wider distribution. In early 1965, it got no publicity from the music magazines. Billboard listed it within a few dozen singles it deemed of four-star quality; no review. Cash Box ignored it—peculiar, as they (a) loved Liberty and Imperial releases and (b) were supporters of American groups doing this new sound.

Its two songs have an appealing sound—a rough-hewn mix of The Beau Brummels and Liverpool band The Searchers. And here they are…

“Cry, Cry, Cry!” is not the Johnny Cash song; penned by Don Cameron, it blends familiar elements with the haunting sound of a smaller recording studio. (It was produced in LA by Fred Winn and John Hooven, who helmed a slew of pop, rock, soul and jazz sides in their day.) The bass and electric rhythm guitar have a tremendous bottom; the percussion lacks much presence. Lead vocalist Eric Karl has some of the Sal Valentino approach, but is more high-strung.

The chonky band sound, with the silvery brush of an acoustic guitar for contrast, is impressive, and the song—a patchwork-quilt of contemporary influences—likable on its own. The concept of country rock didn’t exist in early 1965, but this recording might qualify. It wouldn’t need much change to become a honky-tonk mood-piece; its chord patterns are heard in several country songs from the early 1960s.

“You Say” is Eric Karl’s song, and it’s more typical of the garage-band sound. A tense guitar figure runs through the verses, with tambourine (the most-used instrument in 1960s music) rattled and whacked as required.

The much moodier song is delivered with expression by Karl, who gets a sense of regret and experience in his performance. I like this song more than the A side. This is a solid specimen of American garage-cum-folk-rock and might have made inroads to the Hot 100 had it been considered.

The group made two follow-ups for the Mainstream label in 1966 and then disbanded. A new group, The Fantastic Zoo, emerged in its place. Songwriters Karl and Cameron are all over these later singles. Though pop-chart fame eluded them, they left behind some solid music and got far further up the golden ladder than 1,000 groups like them.

Tomorrow: Left Coast folk-rock continues with The Guilloteens, via a 1966 single on the HBR (Hanna-Barbera Records) imprint. Two good ‘uns!