The Four Pennies [UK], "The Way Of Love" c/w "A Place Where No-One Goes," Philips [UK] BF 1398 (rel. 2/19650

We've heard from The Four Pennies, one of the UK hitmaking groups that didn't register with American audiences, in the past. Theirs is a curious sound, with elements of classic pop, rock, folk, blues and whatnot, often performed with a raw instrumental backing and always with the lead voice of Lionel Morton, future UK TV personality. Morton's voice, which resembles that of some village vicar out for an evening's fun, is among the most distinctive of its era, but one that Americans couldn't embrace, as they did the satirical Southern drawl of Mick Jagger or the gruff working-class vibe of Eric Burdon.
     They weren't given much chance to impress here: three releases, with the first as 'The Four Shillings," since there were a few US groups with the Pennies name. They were seen as excess baggage in an already-overstuffed marketplace. 

   Back home, they'd done well for themselves, with four hit singles in a row, including a chart-topper for their Jack Scott-esque ballad "Juliet" in 1964. Late in that year, they issued their first LP, a so-so affair with excellent group originals and uninspired cover versions, and their most rugged single, a revival of Black folk legend Leadbelly's "In the Pines," retitled "Black Girl," coupled with a strange, Bacharach-adjacent beat-ballad, "You Went Away." They'd had two EPs released that year. 

     They had a great lead guitarist in "Fritz" Fryer, who also sings harmonies on many Pennies tracks, and drummer Alan Buck, who'd worked with jazz musicians and Cockney hit-maker Joe Brown, was one of the top percussionists of the UK beat-group scene. 
   Their intense vocal eccentricities may have been what kept them from clicking with the American audience. That said, we Yanks took to the quirks of other beat-group performers. The Pennies' failure isn't explained. Perhaps backroom elements kept them at bay.

     1965 began with the group's most ambitious single to date: two originals performed with force and excitement. Gone was the quiet balladry of "Juliet;" the rough-hewn "Black Girl"'s success may have inspired the group to try out this approach with their own work. The result got a Top Fifty Tip in Record Mirror, one of several UK music weeklies, as seen here:

"Strangly hymnal" aside, this is a positive write-up, and it appeared the group were ripe for a fifth hit. It didn't happen. This single tanked. Its failure rattled the Pennies and lead to a temporary break-up as they sorted things out. When they returned, they were asked, as were The Zombies, to confine group originals to their B-sides and rely on covers of commercial songs for their As. In both cases it was an insult to talented young composers, but it happened more often than the history books might lead us to believe.
        As a small reward, "The Way of Love" was a major hit in Turkey, and created a Mediterranean fanbase for the group. Its sound might be described as hysterical bluegrass-beat. Imagine a fantasy-football merger of The Everly Brothers and U2, with that inebriated country vicar at the microphone, and you've got its sound.
        A sweaty, insecure, straining meditation on love gone wrong, "The Way of Love" benefits from the band's tough instrumental stance. Alan Buck's percussion and Fryer's gritty guitar--especially fine on its spiraling solo--are breath-taking. The presence of Buck's drums is mighty here, and though the song's emotions are a bit overblown, so are young emotions, which are captured here to perfection.

       Perhaps it was too real; too close to home for its youthful audience. The deadly silence it was accorded was almost enough to break up a talented group. This was the first of the Pennies' records I heard, back in 1985, and both sides riveted me and made a good first impression. I have all their releases and like many of them but this single remains, to me, their magnum opus, flop or not. I don't expect you to share my sentiments, but I do ask you to respect them. Thank you. The B-side's even better.

https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/ccc8j8reaq51ph5kyak5z/2105a.mp3?rlkey=u1uglg4rgpcrkyxueoyzwqyot&st=fmvjpue0&dl=0

"A Place Where No-one Goes" is The Four Pennies' masterpiece. A dark, jazzy beat-ballad, it reveals the group's fondness for French chanteuse Edith Piaf, whose songs they covered (check out their takes on "My Prayer" and "If You Love Me" on YouTube).

     Rumbling, low-register piano adds impact to this atmospheric, weird-but-mesmerizing ballad led by Morton's double-tracked 'Father Flannigan' vocals and buttressed by the dream-team of Buck, Fryer and bassist Mike Wilsh, who co-wrote both sides of this single. 

      Buck's drumming is superb on this side; he and Fryer lead this over three-minute side to a powerful conclusion. It's damned peculiar, but that gives it a charm and fascination. There's no other British beat-group recording like "Place," and its death-by-indifference is high on the Musical Crimes list in my head.

https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/pudrz472b7hhpf2oaqykt/2105b.mp3?rlkey=3lnfbya0hjoxd9mtlhgzchbwx&st=sdzgewq1&dl=0

        In the wake of this single's failure, Fritz Fryer left the group for several months and pursued a short-lived folk-billy trio with Pennies friend and occasional songwriter Mike Deighan and femme vocalist Maureen Edwards called Fritz, Mike and Mo. We'll hear both sides of their first single tomorrow; it's another odd bird, but you won't hear anything like it this year!
      The Four Pennies v2 debuted in fall 1965 with a cover version of Native American folkster Buffy St. Marie's classic ballad "Until it's Time for You to Go," coupled with another superb group original, "'Til Another Day," my other top fave from the group. Their final four singles kept to this formula. The group wrapped up 1966 with their second LP, Mixed Bag, and a string-laden sentimental single, "No Sad Songs for Me."

        The group intended to soldier on as a live act, but squabbles over musical direction caused an unhappy break-up. Lionel Morton and Fritz Fryer, who'd become an antiques dealer and successful record producer, reuinited in the mid-1970s for a pair of singles as 'The Pennies.' On the B-side of one of those discs is a Fryer original that expresses his antiques passion, "Ode to an Occasional Table." You can't make such things up!

Tomorrow: as stated above.