‘Strange how potent cheap music is.’ (Noel Coward)
‘I like pure pop moments with a lot of vitality; songs that are supposedly disposable but which you end up loving for ever.’ (Bryan Ferry)
A Winter morning here in the South Downs can be a glorious experience.
Hedges stiff with frost and the sky gleaming blue as if proudly polished by a benign deity.
Trusty running shoes laced up I begin my four circumnavigations of the lake.
As my pace increases with each lap I find snatches of poems and songs skimming across my mind :
‘ … And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.’
‘… The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep somewhere else another stops.’
‘ … under the ocean at the bottom of the sea
You can’t hear the storm, it’s as peaceful as can be
It’s just the motion, it’s just the motion.’
And, as I was about to collapse at the end of my final sprint clear as a midwinter bell the song I would be singing for the rest of the day –
‘ .. So put your sweet lips next to my lips And tell me that’s where they’ll stay ..
Don’t leave me halfway to paradise …So near yet so far, so near yet so far, so near yet so far away.’
‘Halfway to Paradise’ by Carole King and Gerry Goffin who may well be the ne plus ultra makers of moments of pop perfection.
Moments, Immortal Moments, which generations upon generations end up loving forever.
The song was originally recorded by Tony Orlando in March 1961 but the version I was remembering was that by the one and only Billy Fury.
Billy’s vocal and stylistic amalgam of the bravura and the vulnerable always cuts deep to the heart.
The arrangement by the brilliant Ivor Raymonde, best known for his work with Dusty Springfield and The Walker Brothers, provides a wonderfully dramatic setting – those sweeping strings! the heart stopping percussion! – which Billy takes full advantage of.
There is always something wistful in Billy’s delivery, as if he can never be sure that the emotions he feels so deeply aren’t just about to overwhelm him leaving him, for a reason he can never fathom, finally, abandoned and bereft.
Billy Fury will always find empathetic fond hearts.
Now, whenever the phrase Pure Pop appears I inevitably turn to the veritable professor of the genre – Nick Lowe.
Nick’s version was issued in October 1977 as Buy 21 on The Stiff Label.
This was a compulsory purchase for me as I had already bought the first 20 singles put out by Stiff and I had made it a point of principle to be the first in the queue when any record by Nick Lowe appeared.
The sharp eared among you might recognise Dave Edmunds backing vocals and the pianistic playfulness of Steve Naïve (from Elvis Costello’s Attractions).
This is a much denser sound than Billy’s with nods to Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound.
This is much more of a defiant complaint than yearning lament.
Another decade passed before I found another version I could stand to listen to alongside Billy’s.
This came from the great Ben E King whose take on Halfway to Paradise surprised me by its three o clock in the morning tenderness.
Sometimes when thinking about music you can get lost in abstraction and dissection of form.
Whenever I fear I might be falling into that trap I turn to Pure Pop where what the heart responds to is performances which though based on simple material can be truly sublime and wholly unforgettable.
Billy Fury died at 42 having been afflicted all his life with a serious heart condition.
The performance below from 1976 was his first for many years after seemingly successful surgery gave him a new lease of life.
Billy walked in shadows throughout his life yet few singers give such comfort to the broken hearted.
It hurts me some, to know your heart’s a treasure … that my heart is within reach to touch.
Oh, Oh, Oh, bonny Billy!
So near yet so far away.
The Immortal Jukebox 