Spotify Monkees Playlists
I finished the draft of the Monkees book yesterday, and sent it out to my proof-readers, so I’ve not posted much here for a few days because I’ve been working on that. To celebrate completing it, and to show I know better than all those important record producers, I thought I’d do what every Monkees fan seems to do, and put together tracklists for how I would have sequenced the albums.
I’ve limited myself to the material that’s on Spotify, which is not quite everything (some of the deluxe versions are missing, and More Of The Monkees isn’t on there at all), and added a few other rules. Each album has to be twelve tracks long, and consist of material that was available to be released at the time. And there can only be six albums total – the number released before Tork quit – though the last album in my timeline would have been released a few months later than in reality, to get the last few scraps of good material.
If you’ve not listened much to the Monkees, I think these come out as more listenable albums than the original ones:
The Monkees
Tracklist:
Side 1:
Theme From The Monkees
Saturday’s Child
Papa Gene’s Blues
Take A Giant Step
Let’s Dance On
Sweet Young Thing
Side 2:
Last Train To Clarksville
I Don’t Think You Know Me
Propinquity
I Won’t Be The Same Without Her
(I Prithee) Do Not Ask For Love
All The King’s Horses
We might as well call this one The Mi(c)ke(y)s actually, given that Davy only gets one lead vocal on this version. My review of the original is here.
More Of The Monkees
Side 1:
She
Mary, Mary
Your Auntie Grizelda
The Kind Of Girl I Could Love
Sometime In The Morning
Valleri
Side 2:
I’m Not Your Steppin’ Stone
Of You
Look Out, Here Comes Tomorrow
Tear Drop City
Looking For The Good Times
I’m A Believer
It was really hard to get anything at all listenable for this one, but I think I managed – and not only that, I got a better balance of leads – six for Micky, three for Davy, two for Mike and one for Peter. My review of the original album is here.
Headquarters
Side 1:
You Told Me
Forget That Girl
The Girl I Knew Somewhere
Zilch
Sunny Girlfriend
Randy Scouse Git
Side 2:
A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You
You Just May Be The One
Early Morning Blues And Greens
No Time
Nine Times Blue
For Pete’s Sake
With this one I’ve changed very little – I’ve just cut out the filler Band 6 and a couple of the weakest tracks, and added in the contemporary hit single and Nine Times Blue (one of the greatest songs ever written). Review of the original here.
Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & Jones Ltd
Side 1:
Salesman
She Hangs Out
The Door Into Summer
Love Is Only Sleeping
What Am I Doing Hanging Round
Cuddly Toy
Side 2
Words
Goin’ Down
Daily Nightly
Don’t Call On Me
Riu Chiu
Pleasant Valley Sunday
(hidden track – Peter Percival Patterson’s Pet Pig Porky)
This was *hard* to cut down to twelve tracks – the original 13-track album is near perfect, and I desperately wanted to get both Goin’ Down and Riu Chiu, two of my very favourite tracks, on there too. My review of the original is here.
The Birds, The Bees And The Monkees
Side one:
Daydream Believer
Auntie’s Municipal Court
Can You Dig It?
Tapioca Tundra
PO Box 9847
Writing Wrongs
Side two:
DW Washburn
Magnolia Simms
My Share Of The Sidewalk
Lady’s Baby
Zor And Zam
Long Title: Do I Have To Do This All Over Again?
And this one bears essentially no resemblance to the album as released. I’d actually have made even more changes, but the box set version of this album isn’t on Spotify. Review of the original here.
Head
Side One:
Porpoise Song (single version)
Ditty Diego War Chant
Daddy’s Song (Nesmith vocal)
As We Go Along
If I Ever Get To Saginaw Again
Shorty Blackwell
Side Two:
Listen To The Band
Circle Sky (live version)
Rosemarie
Pillow Time
Some Of Shelly’s Blues
Someday Man
Unfortunately, in salvaging The Birds, The Bees… I somewhat gutted this album, and while I’ve done my best to add as many good tracks from the period and straight after as I can, this still feels a little like a collection of good tracks rather than a coherent whole. My review of the original here.
Two quick notes re: Comments
Just a couple of things.
Firstly, you may have noticed that I’ve not been replying much to comments recently. This is because I’ve not been very well (I’m currently signed off work ill with various things including high blood pressure, chest problems, insomnia and severe headaches) and have enough energy to either write blog posts or to respond to comments, but not both. The comments I’ve been getting are appreciated, though, and those of you who commented on the first part of Bigger On The Outside can expect to see your comments addressed soon. I hope to be back up to normal health soon, and then I’ll be my normal conversational self.
Secondly, for some reason Gmail has decided that all the notifications I normally get when a comment is held for moderation are spam. Until its filter updates, that means that comments might be held for longer than normal, as they’ll have to wait until I actually check this site’s dashboard (which I do maybe once a day). Apologies for that, if you’ve got something fascinating but time-sensitive to say about one of my posts.
Bigger On The Outside: An Introduction
THIS IS AN IMAGINARY STORY (WHICH MAY NEVER HAPPEN, BUT THEN AGAIN MAY) ABOUT A MAN WHO CAME FROM THE SKY IN A BIG BLUE BOX AND DID ONLY GOOD.
IT TELLS OF HIS TWILIGHT, WHEN THE GREAT BATTLES WERE OVER AND THE GREAT MIRACLES LONG SINCE PERFORMED, OF HIS HIS ENEMIES CONSPIRED AGAINST HIM AND OF THAT FINAL WAR IN THE BLIND WASTES BENEATH THE MEDUSA CASCADE; OF THE WOMEN HE LOVED AND OF THE CHOICES HE MADE FOR THEM; OF HOW HE BROKE HIS MOST SACRED OATH, AND HOW FINALLY ALL THE THINGS HE HAD WERE TAKEN FROM HIM SAVE FOR ONE.
IN THE BIG CITY, PEOPLE STILL SOMETIMES GLANCE UP HOPEFULLY FROM THE SIDEWALKS, HEARING A DISTANT WHEEZING, GROANING SOUND…BUT NO: IT’S ONLY A SAW, ONLY A MACHINE. THE DOCTOR DIED TEN YEARS AGO.
THIS IS AN IMAGINARY STORY…AREN’T THEY ALL?
[FOOTNOTE: That piece of writing, a parody of Alan Moore's introduction to Whatever Happened To The Man Of Tomorrow? , is something I found at the now-defunct URL http://blog.cartoonmoney.eu/post/149660318/this-is-an-imaginary-story-which-may-never . I've also quoted this in my book Sci-Ence! Justice Leak!, and wish I could properly credit its anonymous author.]
The memory cheats. We know this, because John Nathan-Turner said so, and he produced the most exciting, enthralling piece of television ever made, Attack Of The Cybermen.
As a six-year-old I was utterly enthralled by the return of the Cybermen, the fixing of the chameleon circuit, the return to Totter’s Lane, and all the other continuity references that were thrown in [FOOTNOTE: I really was. I was quite a strange child.]. So all those people, including thirty-three-year-old me, who say it was an appalling mess, and the story that single-handedly killed Doctor Who, must be misremembering. Obviously.
There’s a real point here. Doctor Who may well be the greatest TV show ever made, but that status has less than you might think to do with the actual TV show that was broadcast. Sometimes it does – I’d put, say, An Unearthly Child, The Aztecs, City Of Death, Logopolis, Ghostlight or Vengeance On Varos up against any other piece of television from their respective eras – but I couldn’t defend, on any grounds whatsoever, The Chase, The Dominators, Planet Of The Daleks, Warriors Of The Deep or Time And The Rani. Well, in every case there’s a lead actor who’s trying his best to make something of utterly awful material, but the general point remains.
But a lot of Doctor Who exists in a weird edge-space. When I watch The Five Doctors, for example, I’m watching two programmes simultaneously. On one level, I’m watching a lot of tired old hammy character actors wandering around Wales, stealing each other’s lines, screaming as they fall down a mild incline, and giving line readings that show they’ve not actually bothered to read the script. But on the other, I’m seeing a hero fractured through time, different aspects of his personality embodied and brought together to conquer the greatest, most fearsome enemies in existence, and to do this to stop his old mentor from giving himself the very power of the Gods themselves.
And both those aspects are definitely there in the programme – though only one of them may be easily visible to those who weren’t brought up on the series from before their critical faculties were able to form (I still have vivid sense-memories of watching The Five Doctors on its first broadcast, when I’d just turned five years old). The version of Doctor Who that many of us have in our heads is the real Doctor Who, the actual programme broadcast on BBC1 has only ever been an imperfect echo.
So is there any way of figuring out what that Doctor Who that’s in our heads is? Well, yes. Because between 1989 and 2005, the BBC didn’t make any new Doctor Who for TV [FOOTNOTE: Apart from Dimensions In Time , the TV Movie, Curse Of Fatal Death...] and that left a gap. And suddenly, rather than the BBC having a monopoly on Doctor Who, anyone could re-create the programme in their own image. Because Doctor Who fans wanted more, and were willing to pay.
So there were series of original Doctor Who novels and audio dramas. But there was more than that. Because if you couldn’t get the license for Doctor Who itself, why not get the license for one of its old monsters and bang out a direct-to- video film about Sontarans? And if you can’t get the license for the Cybermen, just knock the handles off and call them Cyberons. And while you’re at it, why not hire some of the actors who’d played the part of the Doctor, and get them to play characters called The Stranger or The Professor (nudge- nudge, wink-wink)?
Or if you lose your license to publish Doctor Who novels, why not just continue using all the supporting characters you’ve introduced? Or if you’ve created a particularly good villain for a novel you wrote, why not write more novels about them? The true Doctor Who devotee, who wanted everything, would end up following in either audio, video, books or all three, The Stranger, PROBE, Dalek Empire, Cyberman, Faction Paradox, Jago and Litefoot, Iris Wildthyme, Kaldor City, Gallifrey, The Minister Of Chance, and many more mutually-contradictory series of wildly varying levels of legitimacy and competence, and that’s without considering the actual Doctor Who material still being produced.
The return of the TV series in 2005 slowed this down, though it’s not stopped altogether; we now have an official idea of what Doctor Who is again. But the interesting thing about this material, good and bad, is that it’s not so much based on the programme as broadcast as on various people’s ideas of what the programme should have been. It’s a fan-memory of the programme made physical.
n fact there were roughly two schools of thought about how this material should be. One school was intensely conservative, and wanted something that made as many references to the TV show as possible, and generally to stick to a very specific version of the programme as it had been – a conflict-heavy, near-future military space opera, featuring famous monsters. A typical story of this type would be that the Doctor and his companion get stuck on a space freighter whose captain doesn’t trust them and so refuses to believe that the Ice Warriors are about to attack. Some good work was done in this vein, but it’s not, fundamentally, what I’m interested in.
The other school of thought is perhaps best summed up by Lawrence Miles [FOOTNOTE: Miles is a hugely controversial figure within Doctor Who fan circles, for reasons I won't go into here, partly because I'm not entirely sure of the history behind the controversies. Suffice to say, some of the people whose work I'm going to compare to his would not take kindly to the comparison, and he might well dislike it too.] :
Doctor Who‘s my native mythology, that’s all. If you read, say, the work of Salman Rushdie . . . forget about the blasphemy for a moment, it’s not important right now . . . there’s a lot of material in there that comes from traditional Indian culture, there are lots of links to Indian mythology. Which doesn’t mean he has to believe in gods with the heads of elephants, obviously. It’s just part of his background, those are the symbols he grew up with. That’s more or less the way I feel about Doctor Who. I’ve got a pretty low opinion of a lot of the original episodes, but it’s still my home territory. [FOOTNOTE: An interview available in multiple places online. I found it at http://www.authortrek.comlawrence-miles.html, but am unsure what the original location was. ]
The books, audio dramas and films I’m going to deal with in this book have little else in common – some are light comedies, some are hard science fiction, some are attempts at Proper Literature – and the creators of those works likewise have little in common. But one thing they are doing is taking Doctor Who the TV series as a starting point for further exploration, rather than an end point to be emulated as closely as possible. And so by looking at them, we might get a better idea of what it actually is that makes Doctor Who the idea so fascinating.
Monkee Music: Instant Replay
A revised and improved version of this essay appears in my book Monkee Music, available as paperback, hardback, PDF, Kindle (US), Kindle (UK) and ePub (all DRM-free).
And here’s where I start being harsher about these albums. Head was the last truly great album the Monkees released, and after that album and film flopped so badly, the rest of the Monkees’ career was a panic, with the record label alternating between desperate attempts to regain the band’s commercial success and utter apathy about a ‘past it’ band. Meanwhile, the Monkees themselves were getting sick of being in the band, and looking to get out.
The first to leave had been Tork, who had left after the recording of the 33 1/3 Revolutions Per Monkee TV special, and as a result plans for the band’s next album to be a double, with one side for each band member, were discarded. Instead, this hodge-podge was released, a mixture of More Of The Monkees era outtakes (and remakes of those), a couple of experiments by Dolenz and Jones, and two decent-but-not-great tracks by Nesmith, who was clearly saving his best work for the solo career that would start within a year.
It’s surprisingly listenable, but could have been reduced to an EP without anyone even noticing. It’s a fundamentally lazy album, and it’s clear that everyone here is doing this, not because they ‘have something to say’, or even to entertain, but because they’ve got a contract that says they must release two albums of pop-music-like product a year.
Through the Looking Glass
Writers: Tommy Boyce, Bobby Hart and Red Baldwin
Lead Vocalist: Micky Dolenz
Producer: Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart
Other Monkees present: None
This plinky, McCartneyesque song about a girl who remains emotionally distant was first recorded during the More Of The Monkees sessions, but passed over (that version is on the More Of The Monkees deluxe edition, and is driven by acoustic guitar rather than piano, and has less orchestration). It was then rerecorded for The Birds, The Bees And The Monkees, and left off that album, but that recording was chosen to open this one.
It’s not a bad song, as such, just thoroughly nondescript. Boyce and Hart at their best were capable of producing garage-rock classics like She or Stepping Stone, and were also capable of pop like Last Train To Clarksville. Those songs pop and spark with life, but this just sits there and says “Are we done yet?”.
Don’t Listen to Linda
Writers: Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart
Lead Vocalist: Davy Jones
Producer: Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart
Other Monkees present: None
Oh dear. Another song with the same history as above – recorded for More Of The Monkees, left off, re-recorded for The Birds, The Bees And The Monkees and left off again – this actually feels like a conscious piece of sabotage.
The original recording (available as a bonus track on the More Of The Monkees deluxe edition) is a pleasant piece of chirpy pop, pitched somewhere between the country-pop of the Beatles’ Help! album and the music-hall revivalism of Herman’s Hermits, though somewhat closer to the latter.
Here, though, it’s slowed down and over-orchestrated, and Jones actually attempts to emote (always a mistake). Slowed down, and sung like they actually mean something, lines like “You’ll end up contender for the loser of the year” just sound abysmal.
I Won’t Be the Same Without Her
Writers: Gerry Goffin and Carole King
Lead Vocalist: Michael Nesmith
Producer: Michael Nesmith
Other Monkees present: Peter Tork (guitar)
A truly unusual song for the Monkees, this was actually a left-over from the The Monkees sessions (and a mono version of the track is available on the The Monkees deluxe edition), recorded at the same session as Sweet Young Thing. This track seems to have been modelled on (and possibly intended for) Phil Spector, specifically the Righteous Brothers (whose lead vocalist, Bill Medley, sounded a little like Nesmith), though the stomping chorus is more Ronettes.
Either way, though, this track is very Spectoresque, from its Wrecking Crew backing track (with the Dano bass here used not as Nesmith usually did, to double a bass part, but rather to double a guitar line in a very Brian Wilson touch) to the female backing vocals buried in the mix. (Not that it was all Spector’s influence – the drum pattern here is one that recurred in You Just May Be The One).
But then adding Nesmith’s distinctive vocals on top turns this into a country-soul song of a type that would not become normal for several years. By the time it was released, this song didn’t sound hugely out of the ordinary (though it was better than almost anything else on the album by a long way), but at the time it was recorded it would have been hugely avant-garde. Of all the leftover tracks on here, this is the only one that cried out for a release.
Just a Game
Writers: Micky Dolenz
Lead Vocalist: Micky Dolenz
Producer: Micky Dolenz
Other Monkees present: None
And so, with the fourth song on the album we finally get to something that isn’t a reject from a previous album. This song had been demoed instrumentally during the Headquarters sessions (and that demo was released on the Headquarters Sessions box set), but at that time Dolenz hadn’t yet written the lyrics.
Only the second song Dolenz wrote for the band, this is stylistically different from anything else the band did, even Dolenz’s other songs. It seems, in fact, to be styled after French chanson, with flurries of conversationally-sung words gesturing at a melody, rather than singing every note precisely on the beat, and with Dolenz’s feather-light vocal belying the lyric, which is painfully paranoid and insecure. The arrangement’s lovely, as well, being mostly harpsichord and a few strings, but with some jazz clarinet noodling on the instrumental fade.
It’s not hard at all to imagine someone like Scott Walker performing this on one of his early albums, and while it’s only one minute and forty-nine seconds long, it has more invention in it than half the rest of the album put together. Tork has often said that in his mind the great tragedy of the Monkees is that Dolenz never fulfilled his creative potential, and on the evidence of the handful of songs he submitted to the band, it’s definitely true. A lovely little track.
Me Without You
Writers: Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart
Lead Vocalist: Davy Jones
Producer: Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart
Other Monkees present: None
Oh look, this Boyce and Hart song was only rejected from one previous album (The Birds, The Bees And The Monkees, the box set version of which contains some very slightly different mixes of this). And it’s not actually terrible, as such, it just sounds like the theme tune to a bad sitcom. There’s also a mix, included as a bonus track, with some hideously inappropriate fuzz guitar and lazy ‘bop shoo-wop’ backing vocals.
Don’t Wait for Me
Writers: Michael Nesmith
Lead Vocalist: Michael Nesmith
Producer: Michael Nesmith
Other Monkees present: None
This is a generic Nesmith country song in the same way the previous track was a generic Boyce and Hart song for Jones. Admittedly that makes it one of the better songs of the album so far, but still the ultimate feeling one gets from this track, as with much of the album, is a sense of “Will this do?”
It’s pleasant enough – I’d go so far as to call it good, in fact – and a definite highlight of side one. But it’s hard to imagine that this mattered to Nesmith, in a way even a potboiler like You Told Me feels like it matters.
You and I
Writers: David Jones and Bill Chadwick
Lead Vocalist: Davy Jones
Producer: Davy Jones
Other Monkees present: None
Now this is more like it!
Not to be confused with the song of the same name on Justus, this is far and away the best Monkees track for which Jones ever took responsibility, and one of the highlights of the album.
This is utterly, absolutely unlike anything else Jones ever did. The structure of the song is actually closer to his ‘Broadway rock’ than it might appear, with its drops into 3/4 time to emphasise the end of verses, but it’s utterly transformed in the production.
Neil Young takes lead guitar here, and the track actually sounds far more like Young’s own work with Crazy Horse than anything else – but while Young’s guitar style is, of course, one of the most distinctive in rock music, this is actually a much harder rock track than anything Young had attempted himself at this point. In fact, given that Young’s Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere wouldn’t start recording til six months after this track, and given the incredible similarity in sound, it’s not unreasonable to say that this track is where the loud, grungy Neil Young style starts.
But what really makes this track is the lyric. Originally by Chadwick, but rewritten by Jones, it’s an attempt to look back calmly and understandingly at the way the Monkees’ career had rapidly gone downhill. It starts resignedly (“You and I have seen what time does, haven’t we?”, probably the best opening line of any of Jones’ songs) but soon becomes very bitter (“In a year or maybe two, we’ll be gone and someone new will take our place/There’ll be another song, another voice, another pretty face…”)
For once Jones is singing about something that matters to him, personally. He’s clearly utterly furious about what he perceives as his mistreatment by the record label and TV producers, and the result is Davy Jones inventing grunge in mid 1968. Utterly astonishing.
While I Cry
Writers: Michael Nesmith
Lead Vocalist: Michael Nesmith
Producer: Michael Nesmith
Other Monkees present: None
A leftover from The Birds, The Bees And The Monkees, this is one of Nesmith’s better ballads from this period, and has some nice backing vocals from Nilsson.
The problem is that at this point Nesmith’s dragged his own baseline up so high that a merely very good song like this leaves little to discuss. We expect miracles from him, so when all we get is a nice country song, there’s a vague feeling of disappointment. It’s still one of the best things on the album, but it’s just average for Nesmith.
Tear Drop City
Writers: Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart
Lead Vocalist: Micky Dolenz
Producer: Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart
Other Monkees present: None
Dug out of the vaults and sped up, this recording dated back to October 1966 (the recording can be heard at its original speed on the More Of The Monkees deluxe edition, but was hugely improved by being sped up), and was essentially a reworking of Last Train To Clarksville , being based like that track on a train rhythm and three seventh chords.
This would have been rather racy had it been released at the time, with its mild drug reference (a sound of inhalation right before the line “I was high on top but I didn’t know it”), but while it’s pleasant and catchy enough, it’s a filler track that should have been used for a romp scene in the TV show. As it is, though, it was released as the album’s single, and only reached number 56 in the US chart.
The Girl I Left Behind Me
Writers: Carole Bayer and Neil Sedaka
Lead Vocalist: Davy Jones
Producer: Davy Jones
Other Monkees present: None
This Sager/Sedaka schlock had been tried three times in total, first during the More Of The Monkees sessions, then for The Birds, The Bees And The Monkees (that version can be heard on the The Birds… deluxe version and on the Music Box box set) and finally here.
Frankly it didn’t deserve even one go. It’s not that it’s bad, as such, although it is. It’s just that like much of the rest of this album, this song is just there.
A Man Without a Dream
Writers: Gerry Goffin and Carole King
Lead Vocalist: Davy Jones
Producer: Bones Howe
Other Monkees present: None
This track was produced by the legendary Bones Howe, who amongst other accomplishments was just about to produce the music for Elvis’ comeback special. As a result, it feels more alive that most of the album, and Howe’s pop-soul arrangements suit Jones very well.
There are hints in various parts of this album and the outtakes around it that the Monkees were considering going in a direction similar to, say, Dusty In Memphis, with slick, horn-driven soul-lite arrangements of pop songs. If you put together this with, say, Rose Marie, I Won’t Be The Same Without Her,Changes, Little Red Rider and a couple of others you could have had a truly interesting album in that style. But as it is, Instant Replay seems the work of people who aren’t sure what they want to be doing. This track, at least, is the work of people working towards a clear goal, and it shows.
Shorty Blackwell
Writers: Micky Dolenz
Lead Vocalist: Micky Dolenz, Coco Dolenz
Producer: Micky Dolenz
Other Monkees present: None
But the album ends on Dolenz’s masterpiece, an attempt to write something in the style of A Day In The Life, about Dolenz’s cat.
Well, ostensibly about his cat, anyway. How many cats are involved in the record-making process (“Everybody’s talking faster, “Hurry up, get me a master,””), are unhappy, spend a lot of money on cars, “speak very crude”, own a house on top of a hill, and could be said to have “finally gotten everything you wanted/and you’re taunted by the power/that you really don’t want anymore,” ? It just might be possible that this is about someone else.
Whoever the mystery subject of the song might be, this is a psychedelic masterpiece. We start with a huge bombastic fanfare, before cutting to Dolenz singing, off tempo and a capella in a silly voice, before the first verse proper starts, with McCartney-esque tack piano and Coco Dolenz singing lead (the first time on a Monkees record that someone other than the four band members has sung a lead vocal).
We then get the addition of horns, bass and Micky Dolenz doubling his sister for a second verse. So far, this sounds like a typical sunshine pop record of the kind that the Association or the Cowsills might make.
But then we get two verses with doomy orchestration, all trombones and tympani, both ending with the line “he’s going mad”. The song has started to get very strange. And it continues to as we have a long section with the Dolenzes singing “he’s going mad” over and over more frantically as a trumpet squeals the opening vocal phrases, slowly turning into a full horn section fanfare.
We have one more verse with the same musical material as before, before going into a completely different section (“Black and shiny…”) based on a tick-tock musical phrase, which then goes into a performance of Sobre las Olas, with the Dolenzes eventually joining in and singing in sarcastic, high-pitched voices. We then get another verse with an orchestra overwhelming everything else, before going into a jazz version of the Sobre las Olas musical material in 5/4 time to fade.
It’s quite, quite bizarre, one of the most ambitious pieces the Monkees ever did, and comparable with great pop-psych tracks like My World Fell Down or Heroes And Villains. This just shows what this band were capable of when they bothered.
A demo of this can be heard on the The Birds, The Bees And The Monkees box set.
Oh, and on a totally different subject…
“The house, originally owned by Doris Day, sat high on top of a hill in Beverly Hills and cost Michael $200,000. Then he proceeded to spend an additional $50,000 in remodelling the house that he named “Arnold”.”
Total Control: The Monkees Michael Nesmith Story By Randi L. Massingill
Bonus Tracks
Someday Man
Writers: Roger Nichols and Paul Williams
Lead Vocalist: Davy Jones
Producer: Bones Howe
Other Monkees present: None
Another Bones Howe production, this song shows how desperate for a hit the record label were – or how little concern they had for the Monkees at this point – as it’s the first time they were ever allowed to record and release a song from a publisher other than Colgems.
And it’s an absolute masterpiece. Easily the best Monkees single to feature a Jones lead, this song should have been as big a hit as Daydream Believer, which it resembles slightly in the chorus. It’s a dizzying kaleidoscope of different musical styles, but Howe’s arrangement (which writer Paul Williams duplicated almost exactly when he used this as the title track to his 1970 solo album) guides us through the shifts in tempo and style so smoothly they’re almost unnoticeable. And Jones steps up to the challenge, delivering one of his best vocals.
In a just world, this should have rekindled the Monkees’ career. Certainly it’s the first thing since Daydream Believer to have felt like ‘the next Monkees single’ (D.W. Washburn and Porpoise Song are great but don’t feel like singles, and Tear Drop City feels like ‘the Monkees single from two years ago’). Unfortunately, this isn’t a just world, and this track only hit number 81 in the US charts.
Smile
Writer: David Jones
Lead Vocalist: Davy Jones
Producer: Davy Jones
Other Monkees present: None
One of Jones’ best ballads, this sounds like nothing so much as early McCartney, with its brief descending chromatic guitar passages and two-part harmonies. It could very easily have been an album track on Beatles For Sale or something McCartney gave to Peter & Gordon. It also ends rather cleverly, building to a big climax that never actually happens. The only problem is some very poor multi-tracking on Jones’ lead vocal.
St. Matthew
Writer: Michael Nesmith
Lead Vocalist: Michael Nesmith
Producer: Michael Nesmith
Other Monkees present: None
And finally, in an unreleased bonus track, we get Nesmith on top form. This great sludgy, violin-led production sounds very like his early Sweet Young Thing. Nesmith’s yearning melody (with his vocal put through a Leslie speaker in the mix heard here, though not in the early mix available on Missing Links Vol 2) contrasts wonderfully with the driving rock riffs underneath. This track sounds like nothing more than a country Phil Spector, with no individual element audible on its own; there are guitars, organs, violins, drums, but they all just merge into one great noise.
As for the lyric, it’s one of Nesmith’s most inscrutable. Fortunately, he’s tried to explain it (that explanation can be found in the Sandoval book and in the liner notes for Music Box). Unfortunately, that explanation seems to bear no resemblance to the lyric itself. Apparently, this song was intended as a commentary on what Nesmith saw as Dylan’s subconscious incorporation of the Biblical figure of the Holy Ghost into his lyrics.
But it doesn’t really matter what it’s about, this is one of the great Monkees-era Nesmith tracks, and it’s a real shame this got left on the shelf while merely decent tracks made the album.
Linkblogging For 07/10/11
I’d hoped to get an Ada Lovelace Day post up today, but I’m not very well. I’ll probably post the next Monkees post tonight, as that’s already written, and then try to get a belated ALD post up sometime this weekend. I did suggest the subject for Holly’s very good post about Lynn Conway, though.
I’ll also, probably tomorrow, be posting the first part of the book *after* the Monkees one. It’s called Bigger On The Outside…
Links.
I’ve only just started reading Tardis Eruditorium, for some reason, and it’s *absolutely brilliant*. Intelligent, informed, iconoclastic, politically aware analysis of every Doctor Who TV show, being done as a blog. I often disagree with him, but the POD books he’s talking about doing of this material will deserve to be ranked with the About Time books. THAT good.
A full transcript of the famous footage of journalist (and later Liberal peer) Christopher Mayhew taking mescaline.
Mike Taylor’s review of The Wedding Of River Song is very close to my own first thoughts on that episode.
Andrew Rilstone on political rhetoric
And I already linked this in my last Who review, but it deserves its own link, Adam Curtis on hugging.
Me On The Mindless Ones
Where I have a belated look at Doctor Who: Closing Time. Warning: I think I used up an entire year’s supply of both vitriol and spleen on this…
Monkee Music: Head
A revised and improved version of this essay appears in my book Monkee Music, available as paperback, hardback, PDF, Kindle (US), Kindle (UK) and ePub (all DRM-free).
And so we come to the last album the four Monkees would all appear on until the mid-1990s.
Head is a wonderful trivia-quiz question supplier – “What album, compiled by Jack Nicholson, features Neil Young, Frank Zappa and Bela Lugosi?” as an example – and by far the strangest album the Monkees ever released.
In late 1968 the Monkees released their film Head. Written by Jack Nicholson and Bob Rafelson from ideas that the group had supplied, the film is a collage of loosely-interrelated sketches and what would now be called music videos, a psychedelic montage which tries to link the Monkees’ status as plastic pop idols with the Vietnam War, with both being regarded as traps of the mind, to be escaped from by attaining mental or spiritual freedom. It features, among many other scenes, Peter Tork punching a female impersonator, the Monkees as dandruff in Victor Mature’s hair, and Davy Jones beating Sonny Liston in a boxing match.
The film is bizarre, and utterly unlike anything you might imagine from the phrase ‘a Monkees film’, but is in its own way a masterpiece. Probably the closest comparisons are Frank Zappa’s 200 Motels and Monty Python’s The Meaning Of Life, both of which came out much later, and neither of which were aimed at an audience remotely comparable to the Monkees’. On top of this, the film had an…interesting…advertising campaign, based around the ideas of Marshall McLuhan, which didn’t bother with giving information like the fact that Head was a film, or that the Monkees were in it, choosing instead just to show the head of advertising executive John Brockman with the cryptic slogan “What is Head? Only John Brockman’s shrink knows for sure.”
The film was, understandably, a gigantic flop, and inspires mixed emotions in the band members these days. Nesmith, when he will speak about the Monkees at all, regards the film as a masterpiece. Tork is proud of it as a technical achievement, but dislikes what he sees as its overly cynical attitude. Jones, on the other hand, loathes it, blaming the film for the destruction of the band’s career.
That may or may not be the case, though from singles sales the band were probably doomed as soon as the TV show went off-air, but what Head did do, very successfully, was show future generations of fans that there was more to the band than the TV show and hits, when shown on late-night TV. Tork, Jones and Dolenz acknowledged this in their most recent (as of this writing) reunion tour, by opening the second half of their show with all the songs from Head.
It’s not the place of this book to go into the film in any more detail, but anyone with any interest in the band should read the slowly-updating but exhaustive analysis of the film and its making by comedy site Some Of The Corpses Are Amusing [FOOTNOTE: http://head.sotcaa.net/ ].
The soundtrack album is, in its own way, as interesting as the film. Edited together by Nicholson, the album was inspired by The Mothers Of Invention’s We’re Only In It For The Money, and mixes the seven songs from the film with collages of dialogue (both from the film and from bits of other films excerpted in the film) and orchestral soundtrack music. All of this was taken out of context, so for example the line “Boys, don’t never, but never, make fun of no cripples” from one scene in the film is followed by “Somebody come up and giggle at ya, that’s a violation of your civil rights” from a vox-pop section, while the question “Are you telling me you don’t see the connection between government and laughing at people?” is followed by Tork’s “Well, let me tell you one thing, son, nobody ever lends money to a man with a sense of humour.”
The result preserves many of the best lines from the film while recontextualising them, and the repetition of different snippets of songs and dialogue gives the album a through-line that’s missing from many of the Monkees’ other records. While this is the Monkees’ most ‘experimental’ album, it’s also, without a doubt, the one that has the greatest feeling of unity to it, thanks largely to Nicholson’s editing.
It’s also, after the largely solo The Birds, The Bees and The Monkees, slightly more of a group effort. While only Ditty Diego (and the live version of Circle Sky used in the film but not the album) features all four Monkees, the majority of the tracks feature two of them. And after Tork’s near-absence from the previous album, and Dolenz’s general lower profile, the two dominate this album at the expense of Nesmith and Jones, who only get one song each. The level of group control over the creative process in this album can be seen by the fact that it’s the only 60s Monkees album to feature no Boyce & Hart tracks.
After this, the Monkees only did one more project as a quartet, the deeply strange and uncommercial TV special 33 1/3 Revolutions Per Monkee, the music from which has never been released on CD, before Tork left, frustrated that the four were no longer working together in the studio as a unit.
While the two albums that followed have their moments, this is really where the Monkees meet their end.
All the actual songs on the album are credited as produced by The Monkees, with the exception of Porpoise Song which is produced by Gerry Goffin.
While a 3-CD deluxe edition of this album does exist, it has relatively little in the way of new music, featuring mostly alternate mixes, some live tracks from the concert that was filmed for the Circle Sky scene, and lots of promotional material (radio adverts, interviews with Jones and so on) that doesn’t really come under this book’s remit.
Opening Ceremony
This track starts as a collage of lines from various parts of the film, over sections of music from Porpoise Song , As We Go Along, Daddy’s Song and Circle Sky, while two people say, as dialogue, “Head” ,“Soon”, over and over.
It then cuts to a speech from the opening scene from the film (the dedication ceremony for a bridge), overlaid by additional sound effects.
Porpoise Song (Theme from Head)
Writers: Gerry Goffin and Carole King
Lead Vocalist: Micky Dolenz and Davy Jones
Producer: Gerry Goffin
Other Monkees present: None
This is Goffin and King being all cod-psychedelic, but it works here. While the lyrics are gibberish (where they’re not in-jokes like “riding the backs of giraffes for laughs”, a reference to Dolenz’s child stardom on Circus Boy), the music is perfectly put together.
The verses are, roughly, inspired by A Day In The Life, in their stately rhythm, especially with the piano chords early on, while the bridge and chorus are both tips of the hat to A Whiter Shade Of Pale , being as they are progressions based on a single chord each but with a scalar descending bassline. This is most notable in the organ part, which sounds near-identical to the Procol Harum song.
Both Dolenz (on the verses and bridges) and Jones (on the choruses) turn in stellar performances, but what really makes this track is the extraordinary arrangement by Jack Nitzsche, one of the great unsung heroes of American music in the 60s. He manages to combine a string arrangement perfectly in the style of George Martin (using only double basses and ‘cellos) with the Procol Harum organ, but then adds reverbed, clanking bells to remind the listener of the sea.
This is especially effective on the extended mix used for the single, which features an extended instrumental coda for strings, bells, organ and cymbals that is one of Nitzsche’s most beautiful pieces of work.
The whole thing seems to be a response to the Beatles’ psychedelic work, saying in effect “Okay, we can top that” – an effect which is added to on the album by the police sirens at the beginning, giving a reminder of I Am The Walrus. Unfortunately, the Monkees weren’t able to take the teen audience with them the way the Beatles had, and this single only reached number 62 in the US charts.
Ditty Diego-War Chant
Writers: Bob Rafelson and Jack Nicholson
Lead Vocalist: All four Monkees
The last pre-reunion track to be released featuring all four Monkees, this is a parody by Nicholson and Rafelson of the Monkees Theme, with verses alternating between skewering the band themselves (“Hey hey we are the Monkees, you know we love to please/A manufactured image, with no philosophies” “Hey hey we are the Monkees, we’ve said it all before/The money’s in, we’re made of tin, we’re here to give you more”) and describing the film’s plot and structure (“We know it doesn’t matter, ’cause what you came to see/Is what we’d love to give you, and give it one, two, three/But it may come three, two, one, two, or jump from nine to five/And when you see the end in sight the beginning may arrive”).
This chant, spoken at times by the full band and at times by individual members, is spoken over a barrel-house piano part reminiscent of silent-film comedy accompaniments, and the whole thing is then sped up and slowed down to sound like the tape is stretched and distorted, before there’s a sharp cut to the band exhorting a concert audience to “Give me a W! Give me an A! Give me an R! What’s that spell?!”
This track is so breathtakingly cynical about the Monkees themselves, it may be the bravest thing ever recorded by a major band. It’s not, however, worth listening to the twenty-two minute session excerpt on the deluxe box set more than once.
One of the oddest moments in Tork, Dolenz and Jones’ reunion tour of the late 80s was that they performed an abbreviated version of this in a hip-hop style.
Circle Sky
Writer: Michael Nesmith
Lead Vocalist: Michael Nesmith
Other Monkees present: None (studio version)/Micky Dolenz (drums), Peter Tork (bass), Davy Jones (maracas and organ) (live version)
The closest thing to a hard rock track the band ever recorded, this is for the most part just hammering away at a single chord in a manner inspired by Bo Diddley (apart from the instrumental breaks, which are just descending bar chords from B to D, and the middle eight, which is the minor-chord equivalent of the breaks). Lyrically, it’s a stream-of-consciousness description of Nesmith’s impressions of a Monkees tour (“Colours, sounds/all around”), although the themes of circularity and repetition (“it looks like we’ve made it once again”) work well with the themes of the rest of the album and of the film.
This song was very specifically written to work well for the band in a live setting, and the performance in the film is taken from a real live show – possibly the first time a rock band had used actual live footage rather than mimed performances in a film like this. However, strangely, the version on the album is a nearly-identical studio take, performed by Nesmith with studio musicians.
This upset the rest of the band, especially Tork, who blamed Nesmith, but Nesmith himself now says that he prefers the live version and had nothing to do with its replacement on the album. Either way, the live version is now included on all CD reissues along with the studio performance.
The band later rerecorded this for the Justus album, making the only song to have been released by the band as part of two proper albums. That version will be dealt with in that chapter.
Supplicio
Some Moog wind effects, a snatch of orchestral music, a cymbal with backwards reverb, and a voice saying “Quiet, isn’t it, George Michael Dolenz? I said…” (the latter taken from a scene in the film where Dolenz becomes delirious in a desert).
Can You Dig It?
Writer: Peter Tork
Lead Vocalist: Micky Dolenz
Other Monkees present: Peter Tork (guitar and vocals)
This is possibly the most 1968 piece of music ever, with pseudo-Indian sitarish acoustic guitar, bongos, and a chorus that goes “Can you dig it?/Do you know?/Would you care to let it show?”, as well as a long instrumental freak-out at the end.
However, it’s also the Monkees track that changed most from its original conception. Before becoming the minor pop-psych masterpiece it started out as a ragtime-ish acoustic guitar piece that sounded equal parts Blind Blake and Bert Jansch (this version can be heard on the Headquarters Sessions box set), with a bridge that didn’t make it to the final version.
To my ears, that version is even better than the finished record, but the track as heard on the album, with its lyrics about the Tao and ‘exotic’ textures, is still one of the best things Tork ever brought to the group.
The song was originally intended to have Tork singing lead, but Dolenz recorded a new (and extremely good) lead vocal at the request of Rafelson, without any objection from Tork. However, the version with Tork singing lead is available as a bonus track on all CD releases, and Tork now sings this song live.
Gravy
Side one finishes with Jones saying “And I’d like a glass of cold gravy with a hair in it please”.
Superstitious
A snippet from the 1934 Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi film The Black Cat, briefly seen on a TV in the film. This just consists of David Manners saying “Sounds like a lot of supernatural baloney to me”, with Lugosi replying “Supernatural, perhaps. Baloney, perhaps not.”
As We Go Along
Writers: Gerry Goffin and Carole King
Lead Vocalist: Micky Dolenz
Other Monkees present: None
This gorgeous little ballad is notable for having possibly the most unnecessarily-stellar group of session guitarists ever. The wall of acoustic guitars in Jack Nitzsche’s arrangement, mostly just strumming chords, includes Neil Young, Danny Kortchmar, Ry Cooder and Carole King.
The only song in the film to feature only one Monkee, this is a delicate, yearning ballad, which Dolenz sings perfectly, despite its difficulty. The song is one of the most metrically difficult things the Monkees ever did – starting out with an extended intro in 5/4, once Dolenz’s vocal comes in we have a verse of three bars of 5/4 (in one of which the bass accentuates the wrong beat, adding to the metrical confusion – the bass seems to be implying that these fifteen beats should be broken up 6,4, 5 rather than the 5,5,5 everything else implies) one of 6/4, three of 3/4 and one of 6/4. The chorus, though, is in pretty straight sixes.
This is the kind of song with which King would later have a huge amount of solo success, but as the B-side of Porpoise Song this failed even to make the top 100 in the US. A shame, as while the song is very different from the rest of the Head material, it’s a beautiful, gentle track that deserves a wider audience.
Dandruff?
A quick reprise of Lugosi’s line, before brief snippets of three sections of the film – a factory tour in which the band are told “the tragedy of your times, my friends, is that you may get exactly what you want”, a policeman calling them weirdos, and the band being directed to act like dandruff in a commercial.
Daddy’s Song
Writer: Harry Nilsson
Lead Vocalist: Davy Jones
Other Monkees present: Michael Nesmith (guitar)
This Nilsson song was originally recorded during a Nesmith session, with Nesmith singing lead (this version is available as a bonus track on the CDs, and is much better than the released version, with Nesmith’s heavily-processed vocals working wonderfully with the muted trumpet).
The song is one of Nilsson’s more heartfelt, talking about his relationship with his father as a small child, and his sadness and confusion at his father abandoning his family when Nilsson was aged three. Unfortunately, Jones seems to have ignored the lyrical content and treated this as Cuddly Toy part two – understandably, since the songs share a bouncy tempo and 1920s musical style.
There is a longer version of the track, which features both some Nilssonesque additional scat vocals by Nesmith and a much slower rendition of the verse starting “the years have passed and so have I”, where Jones does seem to sing that part sadly – but there, he’s hamming it up to the point of schmaltz.
It’s a great song, but only an adequate performance. If you want a good version of the song, either listen to Nesmith’s subtler vocal or get hold of Nilsson’s own version (on Aerial Ballet).
Poll
A collage of spoken snippets from the film, starting with Frank Zappa’s response to Jones’ performance – “That song was pretty white”, and followed with Nesmith saying “And I’ll tell you something else too, the same goes for Christmas”, from a different section of the film, before various other lines of dialogue, sound effects, bits of the vox-pop sections and snippets of Circle Sky.
Long Title: Do I Have to Do This All Over Again?
Writers: Peter Tork
Lead Vocalist: Peter Tork
Other Monkees present: Davy Jones (backing vocals)
This song was actually intended to have an even longer title, as Tork introduced it in a rare solo gig in the 1970s as “Long Title, colon, Do I Have To Do This All Over Again, question mark, Or , comma, The Karma Blues”
An enjoyable rocker with some extraordinarily mobile bass playing by Tork, this song’s lyrics (“Do I have to do this all over again?/Didn’t I do it right the first time?”) do seem to sum up some ideas about karma (as does the music’s brief drop into waltz time, like a turning wheel always getting back to the same place) but were written about Tork’s frustration with being in the Monkees.
Another hard-rock song in the same style as Circle Sky, this is obviously from the heart, and Tork is almost screaming with frustration by the end. It also, though, makes a perfect end point for the film, which ends at the same point at which it starts.
Swami–Plus Strings, Etc.
Abraham Sofaer, the actor who played the head Genie in I Dream Of Jeannie recites some warmed-over Timothy Leary (with a bit of Thomas Kuhn thrown in, and a touch of Buddhism) as a Maharishi-esque character, while various other bits of the film are heard under him, before we get a chunk of the Porpoise Song and a sprightly Mozart-esque string instrumental by Ken Thorne from the film soundtrack.
The key part of this – and one of the messages of the film – is “Where there is clarity, there is no choice, and where there is choice there is misery.”
Bonus Tracks:
Happy Birthday
Writers: Mildred and Patty Hill
Lead Vocalist: Micky Dolenz, Peter Tork and Davy Jones
Other Monkees present: None
Some sepulchral (and very effective) block harmonies over a spooky church organ lead into an off-key rendition of Happy Birthday To You sung to Nesmith in the film.
California, Here It Comes
Writers: Buddy DeSylva, Al Jolson and Joseph Meyer
Lead Vocalist: Peter Tork
Other Monkees present: None
A snippet from the end of the 33 1/3 Revolutions per Monkee special, this track consists of a heartbeat, TV producer Jack Good repeating “the end”, and a busked banjo-and-trombone run-through of the old musical number for a few seconds. The lyric change to ‘it comes’ from ‘I come’ was apparently meant to imply an earthquake that will supposedly destroy California.
This is the only track from 33 1/3 Revolutions per Monkee to have been released on CD in any form, as most of the master tapes for that special are missing (and also it wasn’t very good, musically), but it’s fitting, as this really was ‘the end’ of the Monkees, at least as a four-piece band.


2 comments