Tammy St. John, "Dark Shadows And Empty Hallways" c/w "I Mustn't Cry," Congress CG-258 (rel. 1/1966)

From Hornchurch, Essex came 14-year-old Tammy St. John, nee Judith Coster. Britain's pop scene experienced a glut of under-aged, talented chanteuses in the wake of husky-voiced Helen Shapiro, who had several pop hits in the pre-Beatle early 1960s. (The Beatles, while on a touring group that included Shapiro, offered her their girl-groupy original "Misery," but her recording director Norrie Paramor would have nothing of it.)

St. John was perhaps the biggest talent in this sub-genre of pop music. While a Dusty Springfield conquered America with ease, none of those mod girls had an iota of that success here. Yankee audiences preferred their British invaders in masculine form. Their loss; British girl-pop explored different worlds than the beat groups, with elaborate orchestration and oodles of studio atmosphere. Session musicians dominated these pop recordings. For her third UK and US release, Tammy got an exclusive on an American pop-soul ballad written by white cleffer Fangette Enzel.

"Dark Shadows and Empty Hallways" might've been recorded by any number of female r&b/soul performers; how it reached a British artist first is anyone's guess. (In truth, it wasn't; New York-based duo Dianne and Annita had the first go at it in 1965, but their version wasn't issued in America. It appeared on a French EP alongside the first known version of "A Groovy Kind of Love," a 1966 global hit by Eric Stewart's group The Mindbenders.)

Ms. Enzel wrote the song as musical therapy for a failed marriage. She envisioned it with a lighter, simpler arrangement than this record achieves. Johnny Harris fashioned a backdrop worthy of a Phil Spector production with a skosh of Burt Bacharach. It's an epic account of longing, loss and broken feelings. IMHO, it merits this theatrical treatment. Tammy's voice is sometimes lost in the wall of sound, but it all sounds so grand the listener can opt out of heartbreak and just soak in the glorious excess.

The US issue only exists as a promotional pressing. Unreviewed and un-nnoticed, the single didn't ever reach the stores and is a lost piece of musical majesty few have heard outside the UK. Existing copies in nice shape fetch 100 dollars. I'm pleased that my copy, bought from Calvin Johnson in Olympia, was a mere buck. Here it is...

"I Mustn't Cry," with its very British restraint, and was penned by arranger Harris and Ray Merrell. It goes for more of a Petula Clark vibe, though still shot through with urban melancholy. Another eerie, meandering melody gets a lighter wall o' sound, for it was a mere B-side. It fades out too soon at 2:06, its potential unfulfilled. If ever a song deserved a full ending, it's this chic angstfest. Ah, well...

This was it for Tammy St. John in America. Her work became more familiar to US audiences via British imports of CD compilations that focuses on female performers. It's a rich and substantial genre of UK music that differs from its US counterpart in significant ways.

Tomorrow: the Carnabetian army marches on with Christine Quaife, teen wailer who belts two girl-group style songs on an American release of a late '63 platter. Boisterous!