Elvis Presley, Tom Jones, (never forgetting Lonnie Donegan!) : It Looks Like I’ll Never Fall in Love Again

In late 1962 the sun was setting on the commercial career of Lonnie Donnegan.

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The man who had run up an astonishing 24 successive top 30 singles (31 in total) including 3 Number Ones in the UK as well as 2 top 10 hits in America, now, it seemed, couldn’t get a hit to save his life.

Perry Como wasn’t calling up to invite him back on his show (where he had appeared alongside Ronald Reagan!).

The man who had strummed the first immortal chords of Rock ‘n’ Roll in Britain with Rock Island Line in 1956 and who had inspired thousands of teenagers to form a Skiffle group found that the caravan of popularity had moved on.

Moved on to the Beat Groups whose members had almost all been electrified, transformed, by listening to Lonnie from the mid 1950s.

Moved on above all to The Beatles.

But the Beat Group Boys never forgot their debt to Lonnie.

Listen to Roger Daltrey of the Who :

‘I wanted to be Elvis  .. I knew that. But the man who really made me feel I could actually go out and do it was Lonnie Donegan’.

Listen to Paul McCartney :

‘He was the first person we had heard of from Britain to get to the coveted No 1 in the charts. We studied his records avidly. We all bought guitars to be in a skiffle group. He was the man.’

Lonnie had adopted his first name in homage to the legendary Jazz/Blues guitarist Lonnie Johnson after the Chris Barber Band shared a Royal Festival Hall Concert with the great man in 1952.

Maybe it was thinking back to Lonnie Johnson’s smooth vocal delivery and elegiac tone on songs from the 1930s and his own melancholic situation that set Lonnie’s creative juices flowing when he came to write, ‘(It Looks Like) I’m Never Going To Fall in Love Again’.

Lonnie Donegan had developed since boyhood a deep love and understanding of the heritage of American roots music – Folk, Blues, Jazz and Country.

Songs from that treasury swirled about in his memory.

One of those songs was a wistful ballad, ‘Wanderin” or ”I’m Never Going To Cease My Wandering’ which recurred from the 1920s on in versions by Vernon Dalhart, Eddie Arnold and Milt Okun among many others.

Using that template and collaborating with Jimmy Currie he took ‘Wanderin” to the  piano and crafted a timeless classic.

Lonnie didn’t have the vocal prowess to sell the song in the bravura manner that it would later receive.

No, his own version is distinguished for me by its hesitant charm.

This is a man, a man wounded by love, singing the song softly, tenderly, to himself in regret after the storm of emotion has largely subsided.

There can be great beauty and sometimes unexpected peace in the stillness after the storm.

The song wasn’t much played on the radio and it wasn’t a hit.

Lonnie carried on playing clubs and cabaret always singing his heart out.

Singing his heart out.

But, like I’ve said here before and will surely say again – a true message always gets through.

Sometimes, it just takes a while.

So, scroll forward four of five years and Lonnie runs into an old friend, Tom Jones, and he thinks – now here was a man who can sell a ballad!

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In Lonnie’s home the two troubadours sat down, no doubt fortified by strong liquor, and talked about songs they had loved growing up.

Lonnie took out, ‘It Looks Like …’ and said.:

‘ Tom, I have this song – you’d sing the pants off it. I recorded it but I can’t really sing it (like you could)’

Tom remembered that, ‘Wanderin” had gone down a storm as a singalong in the pubs of his native Wales.

Listening to Lonnie’s song he knew that the chorus was just made for his own Alpha male full throated style.

And, so it proved.

Tom’s version hit Number 2 in the UK Charts in 1967 and appeared twice on the US Charts – top 50 in ’67 and Number 6 when re released in 1969.

When Tom Jones takes on a ballad you know there will be no half measures.

Tom has vocal power and range aplenty and is capable of bringing shade and nuance to a lyric.

Here, he takes us on a passionate journey through a man’s bewilderment at his current situation.

Though he thought he knew the score and cast aside his pride now, now, he can’t take anymore.

There is time for tears in the wake of lost love.

And, then, it will feel like you’ll never fall in love again.

Yet, Tom’s version has such force, such strength, even in defeat, that you are sure this is a champion who will, though he has to take a count, get up off the canvas and get back in the game again.

The eternal Game of Love.

A true message always gets through.

For there are always those for whom the message seems personal, heaven sent.

So scroll forward to the mid 1970s when Tom Jones appears regularly in Las Vegas.

And, of course, no Tom Jones show is complete without his scintillating take on, ‘It Looks Like ..’.

Frequently in the audience for Tom’s shows is another Vegas Star – in fact the greatest Vegas Star, Elvis Presley.

And, Elvis knows a storming ballad when he hears one.

When Elvis comes to record the song it’s sadly near the end of his storied career.

Now, though he’s still a Lion he’s a Lion in Winter.

So, Elvis brings a depth of melancholy to the song that’s beyond either Tom or Lonnie.

Though his royal robes may have seemed threadbare in those days he was and always would be The King.

And, when a King sings we should all pay full attention for there are many pretenders but only one King.

Only One King.

So, Lonnie’s little regarded song from 1962 had proved a true wonder and before his death in 2002 Lonnie must have reaped some handsome royalty cheques to add to the pride he had in his song writing.

And, that is where I had planned to end this Post.

But, what do I know of the strange forces of synchronicity and serendipity?

For, as I began to write it happened that Lonnie Donegan’s son, Peter, a fine singer and musician in his own right, appeared on the UK talent show, ‘The Voice’ and that also on the show as Judge/Mentor was none other than Tom Jones!

The format of the show involves the Judges listening to the contestants with their chairs turned away from the stage so that they assess purely on the basis of the voice rather than looks and age.

Listening to Peter Tom’s interest was immediately piqued and he was the judge whose chair turned around.

Then, in story book fashion, Tom learned that Peter was the son of his old friend and writer of one of his signature songs – Lonnie Donegan.

And then to make the movie complete Tom and Peter put on a tear inducing impromptu performance of, ‘It Looks Like ..’ that brought the house down.

Somewhere, the shade of Lonnie must have smiled and thought, ‘I told you so …’

 

Notes ;

It is impossible to overestimate the influence of Lonnie Donegan on Rock ‘n’ Roll In Britian.

Billy Bragg’s book, ‘Roots, Radicals and Rockers’ is a fine primer on Lonnie’s role in the Skiffle movement.

Chas McDevitt’s book, ‘Skiffle – The Definitive Inside Story’ is filed with wonderful anecdotes from those who were there.

There are many fine single CD collections of Lonnie’s hits.

I listen with great pleasure to the 5CD, ‘Lonnie Donegan Collection’ on the Spectrum label which amply demonstrates the breadth of his talents.

 

Bobby Bare, Arthur Alexander, Tom Jones, Pam Tillis : Detroit City

People leave Home for all kinds of reasons.

As many reasons as there are people.

Running from.

Running To.

In search of safety.

In search of Danger.

Wherever they go, for whatever reason, no one ever forgets the Home they left.

Even, especially, if they can never go back there again.

Except in dreams.

Everyone has those dreams.

Jimmy :

When Daddy got home from the War he was sporting a chest full of medals.

Trouble was now he had only one arm and poison headaches near enough every day.

Makes running a small farm damn near impossible.

Some people say that’s what turned him mean.

Those folks mustn’t have known him before the War.

He’d always been mean as a mean rattlesnake on his meanest day.

Don’t know how Momma put up with him.

Except she’s one of them people who when she makes a promise she means to keep it.

For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.

Drunk or sober.

Arms around or fists Flying.

Me, I had to take mean when I was a Kid and I put up with it, for Momma’s sake, when I  could have fought back.

Then, one blue hour of the morning I decided it was time to take a freight train north.

Leave them fields of Cotton far, far, behind.

It’s a long way from Lubbock to Detroit.

Cotton field to Car Factory.

Ford or Packard or Chrysler.

Momma never would leave Daddy or Texas for that matter.

Detroit’s got jobs.

Jobs that pay.

A man can make his way.

Another thing Detriot’s got – Baseball.

The Tigers.

See if Al Kaline is as good as they say.

Don’t doubt they got Jukeboxes I can pump some quarters into.

Surely they got some Hank Williams and some Buddy Holly.

I wrote a letter to Mary Margaret saying I’d send for her when I’d made my fortune.

Shouldn’t be more than a couple of years.

A couple of years.

We will still be young.

Left a note promising Momma I’d write home every week.

That’s a promise I mean to keep.

 

Henry :

They say working a shift at Ford is hard work.

Well, not if you spent years picking Cotton.

That is work.

Back breaking work in the Sun.

Cotton Fields at dawn and dusk can seem beautiful.

But, when you’re working in them until you drop it’s a cruel beauty.

Oh, sure, we ain’t slaves no more.

Might as well be.

Might as well be.

Stay in line.

Stay in step.

Lower your eyes.

Move aside Boy!

Mississippi Goddam.

Strange fruit hanging from Southern trees.

School children sitting in Jail.

Some say a change is bound to come.

But when?

How many people got to die first?

Not sure if I even hear the murmur of a prayer.

Gonna ride that freight train North.

To Detroit City.

Where a man can get a Man’s job.

Now, I know Detroit ain’t no paradise.

Still have to have be alert, wary.

But, plenty of us up there now.

They call it the great migration.

Add me to the number.

They got Baseball there.

The Tigers.

One of our own Jake Wood on the team.

Like to sit in the bleachers and cheer him Home.

Maybe after the game find a bar with a good Jukebox.

Hit the buttons for Ray Charles and John Lee Hooker.

One scotch, One bourbon, One beer.

Got to leave a lot of family behind.

Promised Momma I’d write and that’s a promise I’ll keep.

Soon as I can I’ll send for Wilma.

If I make enough money and things change down here maybe I’ll come back one day.

Everybody dreams of Home even if living there was a nightmare.

Gareth :

Mining villages are very close knit communities.

Everyone knows you.

And your Mam and your Da and all your brothers and Sisters.

At least they think they know you.

My Granda was a miner.

My Da is a miner.

My Brothers went down the pit too.

But not me.

Passed the scholarship exam to go to Grammar School.

Some people are just naturally good at Sport.

I’m just naturally good at writing essays and passing exams.

i was never going down the pit.

College.

Cardiff.

A new world.

Finding out who you really are.

Getting to know yourself.

Or, admitting something you always knew about who you were – what you were.

He was a sailor from Detroit.

Couldn’t help myself.

Love is Love is Love.

So, I moved to Detroit.

I write Home to Mam and Da and tell them how well I’m doing.

Let slip that I’ve met a very nice girl and maybe …

I can trust them not to read between the lines.

I go to Tiger Stadium to see Baseball.

It’s not the Arms Park but you do get that sense of a crowd becoming a community.

There’s a bar nearby with a good Jukebox.

Don’t think anyone back Home will have heard of Smokey Robinson – but I bet one day they will.

Amazing how often I dream of Home.

Maybe I’ll go back for a visit.

Next year.

Or the year after.

Linda :

When I was 16 I was just filled to bursting with dreams.

And, none of those dreams were about living a quiet life at Home.

No dreams about Cotton fields and calling on kinfolks to see how they’re doing.

No dreams about settling down with the quiet boy who lit up every time he saw me.

No dreams about catching the train South with my heart pounding louder and louder and louder with every turn of the wheels.

No, No, when I was 16 my dreams were about a life filled with colour and fanfares in far away Detroit City.

Detroit, where I would make my own money, in my own way.

Detroit, where people would see me as my own person, not – oh that’s the third Henderson  Sister.

Detroit, where I would find a man who would make every day feel like a holiday.

Nearest I get to a holiday now is when I put Patsy Cline on The Jukebox.

I write home every week.

In my letters life must seem glamorous up here.

I don’t talk about the man, the men, anymore.

I wonder if they can read between the lines?

 

I want to go home
I want to go home
Oh, how I want to go home

I want to go home
I want to go home
Oh, how I want to go home

I want to go home
I want to go home
Oh, how I want to go home

I want to go home
I want to go home
Oh, how I want to go home.

Notes :

Danny Dill and Mel Tillis wrote the Song.

Bobby Bare’s typically laconic Version from 1963 gave him his first top 10 Country Hit launching a career filled with expertly chosen songs examining the joys and pains of living an everyday life.

Detroit City was Arthur Alexander’s last recording for the Dot Label In 1965.

No one has ever sung with such quiet, affecting passion.

Tom Jones has always had the capacity to give dramatic burnish to a Song and it is cheering that in his autumnal years he is turning more and more to songs that allow him to express that side of his talents.

Pam Tillis has carved out an impressive career of her own. Her reading of her Father’s Song honours them both.

By happenstance I see I have published this post on Pam’s Birthday.

Many happy returns!