Evie Sands, "Picture Me Gone" c/w "It Makes Me Laugh," Cameo C-413 (rel.6/1966)
Today's post is, in part, a brag of a major find. In the case of these records I collect, such stories are the aftermath of a good deal of effort and/or dumb luck. This is a big-deal record that goes for 100 to 300 dollars, depending on condition, due to its adoration by soul DJs and the Northern Soul community. It isn't Evie Sands' spendiest 45: that honor goes to her Blue Cat release "I Can't Go On"--a flop when released in 1965. UK hitmakers The Hollies hoovered it up and got their second US hit, alongside a UK #2, in the fall of 1965. (Linda Ronstadt would have a Top 40 success with the song in 1980.)
Ms. Sands, an early stylist in the blue-eyed soul category, made a series of superb singles that, at best, bubbled under the Hot 100. When she moved to A&M Records in the later 1960s, and shifted to a more MOR-friendly sound, she still couldn't crack the pop Top 40. It was no reflection on her gifts as a performer. She was an American equivalent to a Dusty Springfield: a white vocalist who could tap into blues and soul without resorting to caricature.
After her two singles for Blue Cat failed, despite their obvious commercial potential, Sands shifted to Philadelphia-based Cameo Records, which by 1966 was more or less a Northern Soul factory, and a birthplace of the Philly soul movement. Sands worked with songwriter-producers Chip Taylor and Al Gorgoni, who fed her custom-written bangers and ballads, including the debut version of the power anthem "Angel of the Morning," which, like all of Sands' A-side, became a major hit for someone else.
Evie Sands grew up surrounded by all genres of music and absorbed it all with fascination. She made her first single in 1963 with producer-songwriter Teddy Vann; within a year, she worked with industry vet Luther Dixon. Her two singles for Blue Cat followed in 1965. Today we'll enjoy her fifth release. The A-side was a hit for UK vocalist Madeline Bell in 1968. When new, "Picture Me Gone" was ignored by the world.
Before we get to the record, I must tell its story. The other day, I dropped into my neighborhood Goodwill, expecting nothing at all. I walk out of that store 99 times out of 100 empty-handed; there's just nothing there. But on this Thursday, three boxes of un-sleeved, unpriced 45s greeted me. They'd just been put out, so none of the usual suspects had gotten to them.
They were three boxes of ruined records: mostly soul and funk from after my period of interest. I recognized a few potentially valuable singles but they'd all been played to death, mistreated, scratched and their grooves imbued with dust and grime. I always take the time to go though all records in this scenario, on the off-chance that there's one goodie to be found.
Ms. Sands, an early stylist in the blue-eyed soul category, made a series of superb singles that, at best, bubbled under the Hot 100. When she moved to A&M Records in the later 1960s, and shifted to a more MOR-friendly sound, she still couldn't crack the pop Top 40. It was no reflection on her gifts as a performer. She was an American equivalent to a Dusty Springfield: a white vocalist who could tap into blues and soul without resorting to caricature.
After her two singles for Blue Cat failed, despite their obvious commercial potential, Sands shifted to Philadelphia-based Cameo Records, which by 1966 was more or less a Northern Soul factory, and a birthplace of the Philly soul movement. Sands worked with songwriter-producers Chip Taylor and Al Gorgoni, who fed her custom-written bangers and ballads, including the debut version of the power anthem "Angel of the Morning," which, like all of Sands' A-side, became a major hit for someone else.
Evie Sands grew up surrounded by all genres of music and absorbed it all with fascination. She made her first single in 1963 with producer-songwriter Teddy Vann; within a year, she worked with industry vet Luther Dixon. Her two singles for Blue Cat followed in 1965. Today we'll enjoy her fifth release. The A-side was a hit for UK vocalist Madeline Bell in 1968. When new, "Picture Me Gone" was ignored by the world.
Before we get to the record, I must tell its story. The other day, I dropped into my neighborhood Goodwill, expecting nothing at all. I walk out of that store 99 times out of 100 empty-handed; there's just nothing there. But on this Thursday, three boxes of un-sleeved, unpriced 45s greeted me. They'd just been put out, so none of the usual suspects had gotten to them.
They were three boxes of ruined records: mostly soul and funk from after my period of interest. I recognized a few potentially valuable singles but they'd all been played to death, mistreated, scratched and their grooves imbued with dust and grime. I always take the time to go though all records in this scenario, on the off-chance that there's one goodie to be found.
"Picture Me Gone" presented itself early on; it was a promo copy pressed on vinyl. By 1966, Cameo did most of their promos on styrene, which shows a lack of faith in their product. I recognized this as a big one, kept my cool and soldiered on. I found two other singles of interest that were in decent shape. Three records out of 200-plus is, alas, a typical ratio, but this one was a plum. I knew.
Fifty cents each; I tendered my dollar and two quarters, collected my receipt and was out the door. I always have a few empty paper record sleeves in my satchel, just in case this scenario occurs. They were soon safe and sound and I returned home, delighted to have gotten one over on this greedy fake-charity outfit. Goodwill not apportions collectibles to their website; they ignored and/or overlooked this one, for which I thank them.
"Picture Me Gone" is a classic kiss-off fare-thee-well, delivered in a big, brassy arrangement with backup vocalists, strings and mucho reverb. This ambitious, multi-section song has a touch of class, which makes Sands' improvisational wailing stand out in a good way. Taylor, Gorgoni and Sands stuck to a style, as if determined to, at last, make the public respond. A fake-out fade-out is a delightful touch, late in the song. Its coda, with Sands' defiant voice answered by an ominous guitar chord, is perfect.
1966 saw pop music embrace more complex, baroque styles, and "Picture Me Gone" was in line with that trend. Its failure, as with all of Sands' early singles, is puzzling. It became beloved by the UK soul community, where its obscurity turned into idolatry as many spins in discotheques and clubs turned it into an anthem for the Northern Soul community.
Fifty cents each; I tendered my dollar and two quarters, collected my receipt and was out the door. I always have a few empty paper record sleeves in my satchel, just in case this scenario occurs. They were soon safe and sound and I returned home, delighted to have gotten one over on this greedy fake-charity outfit. Goodwill not apportions collectibles to their website; they ignored and/or overlooked this one, for which I thank them.
"Picture Me Gone" is a classic kiss-off fare-thee-well, delivered in a big, brassy arrangement with backup vocalists, strings and mucho reverb. This ambitious, multi-section song has a touch of class, which makes Sands' improvisational wailing stand out in a good way. Taylor, Gorgoni and Sands stuck to a style, as if determined to, at last, make the public respond. A fake-out fade-out is a delightful touch, late in the song. Its coda, with Sands' defiant voice answered by an ominous guitar chord, is perfect.
1966 saw pop music embrace more complex, baroque styles, and "Picture Me Gone" was in line with that trend. Its failure, as with all of Sands' early singles, is puzzling. It became beloved by the UK soul community, where its obscurity turned into idolatry as many spins in discotheques and clubs turned it into an anthem for the Northern Soul community.
Cash Box, it's good to hear from you again! They deemed this an obvious home-run for the charts. As I have learned, glowing reviews do not equal public success.
https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/z82801cbs5r2s24dzmrpx/2131a.mp3?rlkey=9otwulytn2durhzhvfp1feyuj&st=ef6gcuhd&dl=0
https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/z82801cbs5r2s24dzmrpx/2131a.mp3?rlkey=9otwulytn2durhzhvfp1feyuj&st=ef6gcuhd&dl=0
On the flip, "It Makes Me Laugh" goes for a slower, moodier stance on an excellent soul-adjacent pop ballad. A less massive arrangement suits Evie's vulnerable performance well. This time, a male chorus joins her voice, slinky guitar, low-register piano and poignant electric organ to fine effect. This slow-dance has a touch of Bacharach, mixed with a Muscle Shoals-Lite backing. It sounds much less 1966 than the A-side, and also feels like a hit. No one else seems to have recorded this brooding showpiece.
Records like this don't turn up often, and I'm grateful when they do appear. That they slip past whatever passes for quality control into the cheap boxes is a factor that motivates me to keep digging and focusing and searching...
Tomorrow: David Lynch-worthy femme teen balladry from Louisiana; Linda Brannon and an eerie pair of items from a 1958 Ram Records release.
Thanks for the entertaining post, Frank! I hadn't heard either of these tracks. Nice! I had a brief back and forth with Sands several years ago--I told her it was my theory that the intro of her "I Can't Let Go" inspired the intro to Springsteen's "Born in the USA" and she thought that was funny. I told her I loved the Shindig footage of her singing "Take Me for a Little While" back in the day and she replied ""but oh that hair!"
ReplyDeleteTwo great songs! Sands reminds these ears of Marilyn McCoo from the Fifth Dimension group. What a great powerful soulful voice she had. I think she should have just been double tracked on "It Makes Me Laugh" and not had those male voices as her chorus.
ReplyDelete