The Pop Story

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Elvis Presley - Elvis Presley (1956)

I can’t be alone, as someone born in Britain in the late ’70s, in being first exposed to the sound of rock’n’roll and rockabilly via those twin, distinctly English, cyphers of ersatz ’50s nostalgia: Shakin’ Stevens and the Hi-De-Hi theme tune. For some time, the influence of both (and make no mistake, I was a massive Shakin’ Stevens fan aged 6) coloured my response to this music. It was for kids, right?

This can’t be the only reason I’ve been generally unfascinated by Elvis all my life, but the fact remains that this is the first time I’ve actually listened to Elvis Presley’s debut all the way through. As a pop bore, I know the back story, I’m aware of the cultural relevance, I appreciate the sheer seismic importance of this record. But listening with fresh ears, it sounds like a total car crash.

A generally thrilling car crash, obviously, but wow - who on earth is this Elvis guy trying to be? He shifts from the visceral to the lachrymose to the (no other way of putting it) mental, quite often in the same song. This is obviously the point: his vocal stylings are so distinctive, the echo piled on so thick, he literally sounds like an hysterical alien. God only knows how he sounded to the Don Drapers of 1956, sitting safe in their Sinatra world.

His vocals on I’ll Never Let You Go (Little Darlin’) and Blue Moon (have you actually listened to the latter lately? Insane) are bizarre by any standards, even in 2009. From thinking this was music for kids, I’ve become convinced this is the oddest sound I’ve ever heard. (For now).

Listen to Elvis Presley on Spotify

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Frank Sinatra - In the Wee Small Hours (1955)

One of the most acclaimed Capitol Albums of th...Image via Wikipedia

It always seemed odd to me that the Method as an acting technique took until the late ’50s to take hold in Hollywood, when pop consumers had been embracing the communication of realistic emotions for years through what we now call the Great American Songbook. Hollywood has always been many steps behind the general mood of the times; the best pop music, on the other hand, is always right there on the pulse. In the prewar years, and then again in the ’50s, it was catering to a grown-up audience in a way it arguably never would again once the teen became the pre-eminent cultural arbiter. And that audience was savvy - way savvier than MGM or Disney were willing (or able, thanks to the Hays Code) to admit.

Sinatra’s ‘In The Wee Small Hours’ represents probably the last - and greatest - product of the age of the Great American Songbook, before rock’n’roll swept it to the margins of popular culture. While Brando was bringing ‘reality’ to the silver screen, Frank Sinatra was with this album drawing on years of experience singing the great sophisticated standards of Arlen, Berlin, Mercer et al, (as well as drawing on his own heartbreak after splitting from Ava Gardner) to bring his adult audience performances of unmatched maturity and insight.

Listen to the controlled intensity of Sinatra’s performance of ‘I Get Along Without You Very Well’ and consider how far ahead of every other artform pop music was back then. Whether they knew it or not, the next generation of pop stars, from Elvis to the Beatles, was able to innovate freely because they had this foundation beneath their feet.

In the Wee Small Hours on Spotify

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Frank Sinatra - Songs for Young Lovers (1954)

Frank SinatraFrank Sinatra via last.fm

This is by no means my favourite Sinatra album, but good God, it’s like manna from heaven after all that jazz. Actually, I do Dizzy et al a massive disservice since, if listening to all the previous albums has revealed one very obvious thing to me, it’s how much Frankie boy modeled his singing on the great jazz soloists. His crooning swoops, slides and sustains like a sax throughout Songs For Young Lovers, and it’s dazzling when he’s got the right song - ‘Violets For Your Furs’, or ‘My Funny Valentine’ for example.

Anyway, enough Sinatra - I’ll be writing more about him undoubtedly, as I can’t imagine the intense genius of In The Wee Small Hours isn’t included on this list. Let’s talk about Nelson Riddle! This was the first album on which Sinatra worked with Riddle, an arranger who came to define what we think of as the ‘Sinatra sound’. He gave Sinatra a backing that, much like his singing, was complex and effortless at the same time, adding subtle shading to the story Frank’s telling (listen to the strings on ‘Like Someone In Love’, shifting beautifully from hesitant tremolos to ecstatic crescendos to match the mood) without ever getting too syrupy or showy.

It’s arguable that Sinatra would still be regarded as an iconic singer had he not hooked up with Riddle, but I doubt this music would still resonate - still be taken seriously - all these years later with modern audiences if it wasn’t for Nelson’s sweet, sharp soundtracks.

Songs for Young Lovers on Spotify

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