JOHN LEYTON, "JOHNNY REMEMBER ME" C/W "THERE MUST BE," TOP RANK INTERNATIONAL [UK] JAR-577 (rel. 8/1961)

 

The productions of Robert George Meek (everyone called him Joe) are a high point in 20th century pop music. Meek captured an eccentric, intense, proto-psychedelic sound that was a reflection of his own bipolar mind. The sheer otherness of his work, akin to Ed Wood's body of movies, reflects utter confidence in execution despite the massive indifference to (and defiance of) the polite norms of the day.

Meek's use of compression, distortion, electronic effects, musique concrete and every trick in the book, all pushed far beyond accepted limits, created dazzling results, though the songs they surrounded were often inane. Meek composed a great deal of the songs he produced. In his rough lyrics and singsong melodies is displayed the tormented soul of an unwell man whose demons led to a shocking murder and suicide on February 2nd, 1967. His life story is the stuff of musical legend and his body of work--some material just seeing the light of day in this decade--continues to befuddle, awe and amuse. 

No one made recordings like Joe Meek. Some tried, but most of their efforts, as of those who sought to emulate Phil Spector's style, fell far afield of their goal. Meek kept his techniques secret and was paranoid that other producers and sound engineers wanted to steal his knowledge. 

Never a stable personality, Meek rubbed many the wrong way, and his personality did not improve over time. Meek made his recordings in a cramped, chaotic flat in a suburb of London. Wires cluttered the floors and equipment sat in great heaps amidst the detritus of daily life. His landlady (whom he murdered on that fateful day in 1967) complained about the noise, but it was to no avail. She disliked the constant coming and going of musicians, arrangers and hopefuls eager for an audition. And then there were all those young men Meek had over.

Gay when it was a crime in the UK, Meek bore the frustrations and secrets of his life. He crushed out over handsome young singers who resisted his obvious advances and told traumatic stories of those events in the 1990s and 2000s, as admiration for Meek's recorded work grew. 

We call on 305 Holloway Rd. during one of Meek's peaks as a hitmaker. In 1961, his closest associate was Geoff Goddard, a talented pianist and songwriter with a pinched, comical voice that suggested a prim schoolmaster from a rural village. They complemented each others' eccentricities. Both were devotees of the occult, and held seances where they claimed to be in contact with the late Buddy Holly, whose music Meek worshipped. Holly gave Meek advice on recordings that he was sure would be earthly hits. Goddard, who outlived Meek by decades, swore these events were real and said that Holly was spot-on in his assessments of his friend's work.

In '61, death discs were big. That year, The Everly Brothers had a major global pop hit with the airline tragedy "Ebony Eyes," a song by John D. Loudermilk; "Tell Laura I Love Her," "Teen Angel," "Last Kiss" and "Patches" are four examples of major pop hits with a morbid bent. Goddard wanted in on the action, and penned a magnificent specimen in "Johnny Remember Me," a Gothic tale of a lost love who speaks to the narrator from the beyond. Set in the windswept moors, the galloping minor-key melody has the sorrowful sound of Eastern European folk music.

The song seemed a winner, but who could sing it? The answer came with an up-and-coming actor. John Leyton, who you might have seen in the 1963 classic The Great Escape, was on the verge of fame when Meek first recorded him in 1959. Today's single was their third collaboration and their most successful.

Unlike many of the pretty boys Meek recorded, Leyton had some personality to his voice, and his stiff, shell-shocked tone, with a hint of rustic gruff, was ideal for this farmland fantasia. A galloping arrangement by Charles Blackwell (among Meek's greatest allies at this time) brought Meek and Goddard's musical notions to life. Lessa Grey, a soprano Meek often used, does the part of the ghostly woman who intones the song's title.

Leyton performed the song on a BBC dramedy Harpers West One (the clip can be found on YouTube) and British teens went gaga over it. But BBC radio wouldn't play it. The song's lyrics mentioned that the woman had died; they wouldn't have that. The line was re-recorded and the word lost replaced died. That was peachy with the Beeb.

The record soared up the charts and was one of Joe Meek's great successes. Only 1962's "Telstar" would outdo it. Any recording that topped British charts was issued in America, on the off-chance of some global good luck. ABC-Paramount put it out in October 1961. It got a good review from our friends at Cash Box:

...but failed to stir up any interest. The US release of this single is quite scarce; the UK original is easy to find (if you're in Europe). I chanced on a clean copy in a seller's dollar bin at a recent record show. This uncanny mass of sound, angst and despair, unknown to most Americans, still packs a punch and if I've introduced this to you, I'm glad todo so.

"There Must Be" is Meek's song (credited to 'Robert Duke,' a dodge to avoid some of his songwriting royalties getting shared by an avaricious associate). It's redolent of his composer's many biases. A sing-song melody with some flavor of the general Buddy Holly vibe; a neurotic account of a lonely guy who pines for another's love but is uncertain he'll ever get it; the closest he gets is the pathetic 'there must be...' 

This lovelorn sigh of a song has an incongruent arrangement with disturbing la-la-las and, of all things, a clarinet as its lead instrument! As did many a Meek vocalist, Leyton sings this psychodrama as though it were just another pop song. As the B-side of a million-seller, the song made Meek some decent money, which he put into furthering his home studio and his bad diet.

Apologies to any UK readers I may have; this is a well-known record to you. In this day of global connectivity, it's remarkable to realize that, not too long ago, big doings on one continent could be near-unknown on others. I'm glad we're better connected, even tho' the world seems skewed out of balance in many vital ways.

Tomorrow: powerful Texas soul with The Other Brothers, via a 1966 Modern Records single. A powerful A-side coupled with a vocal adaptation of an instrumental hit in a verified Soulful Sunday smash...