Sammi Lynn [pseud. Gracia Nitzsche], "I Could Have Loved You" c/w "Down On My Knees," Sue 762 (rel. 5/1962)


One of the most talented and adventurous arrangers in 1960s Los Angeles, Jack Nitzsche was forever in the shadow of the notorious Phil Spector. He was as much an architect of Spector "Wall of Sound" as Spector or anyone else, and on his infrequent forays into record producing, he showed his mastery of this dramatic, larger-than-life approach. We celebrate his musical genius here every now and then; today and tomorrow we'll tip our collective chapeau to the man and his music.
    The Wall of Sound technique only existed within the smoke-discolored walls of recording studios. To replicate it in real life was a fool's errand. Producers like Spector, Joe Meek and George Martin created recordings that could not be replicated in-person. It was one of the prime elements to affect pop music from the 1960s on. The '50s performers recorded everything at once; some relied on session musicians and large orchestras, but many delivered the same sound on record as in-persion. By 1965, such groups were in a distinct minority. 
    Nitzsche's productions of the mid-1960s resemble Spector's, but have a clarity of sound the better-known producer didn't care to create. Jack blended big with crisp, and his arrangements guaranteed an apt setting for whatever he recorded.
    His wife, Gracia, was a beloved figure in the LA music scene. She mostly did background vocals without credit; you've heard her voice anytime you've played oldies radio for more than a few minutes. She seldom got the chance to lead a group or sing solo--a common fate for the city's legion of on-call studio vocalists. They might spend a workday doing jingles for shoes, breakfast cereals or car parts, then walk into a mainstream pop session and croon in the background; the day might be capped with a series of brief radio-station ID jingles delivered in a layer of complex harmony.
    Gracia and Jack met at Capitol Records. He sought work and she was a receptionist. Gracia hadn't moved from her native Indiana to become a star; she first worked at a ranch tending animals. She saw in her soon-to-be-husband the potential for a great career in recorded music. She encouraged him to be bold, drop his boring day job and plunge into the music scene. She offered to support him financially until he got on his feet. This was the start of a long and loving relationship. 
    Before long, Gracia joined the talent pool of session singers, while Jack found work with various LA producers as an arranger. His collaboration with Phil Spector led to some of the greatest recordings of the early 1960s--the classic hits and misses of The Crystals, Ronettes, Righteous Brothers, Darlene Love and others. Both Nitzsches became seasoned figures in the recording scene. Gracia was adored by producers for her skill as a vocalist, her ability to to "head" arrangements on the fly and her flexibility. She soon became an honorary member of The Blossoms, LA's most prominent studio backup group. There, she sang alongside the legendary Darlene Love and her sisters. 
    When The Blossoms became a prominent group on the weekly pop music show Shindig!, its producers balked at having an ethnic-diverse group on TV sets coast-to-cast. Gracia was asked to abstain from any Shindig appearances. The Blossoms were popular with the show's viewers, and though they continued to record with Gracia off-camera, it was the beginning of the end.
    Jack Nitzsche had his personal demons: drugs, booze and the desire to be in abusive relationships. He couldn't find the latter with the kind, loving Gracia, so he sought his masochism elsewhere. It damaged their marriage and family life, but both persevered in their professional world.
    Jack was determined to make his wife a hit singer, and did a series of one-off singles to feature her. Among those were two singles as Sammi Lynn--both released by Sue Records. For her second Sue release, 'Sammi' received two originals by Jack Nitzsche gift-wrapped in ambitious-to-insane arrangements that again summon the Spector sound minus its psycho-emotional specters.
    Had Sue Records bothered to promote this single, it might have gone places. In one of those quirks of fate, Cash Box mixed up release numbers and used her record's for a hit by Black soloist Baby Washington, "A Handful of Memories." Sue didn't send review copies to any magazine and there's zero mention of it anywhere in print--just its catalog number attached to a much better-known single.
    "I Could Have Loved You" is the more modest side, with atmospheric classical guitar, Nitzsche's trademark string section and the other members of The Blossoms in vocal support on an easy-going song of romantic remorse: if only A had happened and not X, we might have been happy. 'Sammi' has a welcome huskiness to her voice that strikes the right note; she reminds of Peggy Lee in moments and signs without spite--just romantic musing of what might have been. It has the right sound and feeling for the 1962 pop charts: all it needed was a little thing called promotion. Which Sue did not provide.


Psychotic is the adjective for "Down on Your Knees," a perhaps-confessional song by its composer, corseted in an insane arrangement that almost chokes on its own complexity. This waltz-time r&b-pop item stresses the offbeat in a manner that flirts with disaster, like a juggler who adds item after item to their orbit.
    'Sammi' navigates the hairpin turns with finesse, and The Blossoms' reassuring background vox reassure her at each lurch and wrest. The results are suspenseful: will it all fall apart? Spoiler alert: it does not. It stops on a dime. Not a record anyone could dance to, save those with one too many martinis in their gullet.


A detailed piece on Gracia Nitzsche's work and life can be read here:

Tomorrow; Black vocalist Billy Ford shines on his lone single, with the topside co-cleffed by Nitzsche and Jackie De Shannon. The flip is one of those old-fashioned patriotic songs, from back when there was some reason to feel good about being an American. A Reprise Records rarity from 1964.

Comments

  1. Thanks for this and for yesterday's post, Frank! Always good to explore tracks I never heard before. None of the four really appeal to me very much but I have this involuntary little meter in my ear/brain that tends to judge recordings instantly and ruthlessly. Sometimes tracks I initially didn't care for end up growing on me over time, though. It's all so subjective. I know someone who was acquainted with Nitzsche not very long before he died and the word was some stuff about a heroin problem by that point. And I was told by a friend who worked with Etta James in later years that being a heroin user was a prerequisite for being in her touring band at that time. But who knows what the reality was?...like they say, it's a tough business.

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    1. I invite you to relax that meter. It's preventing great music from getting through and bringing you joy. No one reacts to a piece of music the same way--I get that. Sorry these didn't make the grade for you; I wish you could hear in them what I hear. But that can't (yet) be transmitted. I'm sure some coder is at work to make this possible; not sure I'd want to use it, were it to come to pass.
      I hope these tracks will grow on you over time...otherwise, we'll try again tomorrow! :)

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  2. Love the latin-flavored sound and singing on "I Could Have Loved You." Seems a perfect pop song for the radio of 1962. "Down On Your Knees" is indeed psychotic, as you say. It's one of those songs that the music absolutely is at odds with the words. The words to this song are well-written but the music fights against her voice and it grates on these ears. Feels like Gracia and the Blossoms are hearing another song.

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