Fifty-one years ago this summer—in late June 1964—the No. 1 song
on Billboard’s Hot 100 pop chart was a Lennon-McCartney composition. Only it
wasn’t by the Beatles, and John Lennon had nothing to do with it. It was a Paul
McCartney–penned song recorded, and taken to the chart summit, by a British duo
named Peter and Gordon, one of whom was McCartney’s would-be brother-in-law.
Seventeen years after that, in late June 1981, the Hot 100’s No. 1
song also sported Lennon-McCartney writing credits. Only neither man had
anything to do with this song, a disco medley of covers—mostly Beatles tunes,
though not entirely—by a Dutch studio collective calling itself Stars on 45.
Lennon and McCartney weren’t even singing on the record; their vocals were
covered by a bunch of sound-alike Dutchmen.
The fact that these two singles rank among the only non-Beatles,
Lennon-McCartney compositions to top the chart—ever—says something about the
quirky place the Fab Four’s catalog holds in the American imagination. To be
exact, there have been three such No. 1 hits. You may have heard of the guy who
recorded the third one, back in the mid-’70s, at a time when he had a penchant
for large glasses and feather boas.
Before I probe these three strange records—even the one by Elton
John is peculiar—let’s take a moment to marvel that none of these chart-topping
covers is “Yesterday.” Guinness World Records claims, perhaps apocryphally,
that that McCartney-penned tune is the most covered song of all time.
“Yesterday” was issued in 1965 as a Beatles single even though Paul McCartney
performed it alone, backed only by a string section. Despite the absence of
John Lennon and the other two Beatles, it was—like all songs written by either
man in the 1960s—published under the songwriting entity Lennon-McCartney.
According to Guinness, “Yesterday” has been recorded more than
2,200 times at last count. Yet the song’s history on the Hot 100 chart is
remarkably scant. Two years after the Beatles single topped the Hot 100, Ray
Charles’ 1967 version of “Yesterday” reached a modest No. 25 on the same chart
and peaked at No. 9 on the R&B chart. Amazingly, Charles’ 1967 cover remains
the only version of “Yesterday” besides the Beatles’ own to successfully breach
the U.S. Top 40. One other cover, by ’90s R&B girl group En Vogue, briefly
appeared on Billboard’s radio charts in 1992; it reached No. 73 at pop radio,
No. 29 at R&B.
Of course, recording artists have taken on many other
Lennon-McCartney songs. A half-dozen Beatles songs have been turned into Top 10
hits by other acts. These include “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away” by the
Silkie (No. 10, 1965); “The Fool on the Hill” by Sergio Mendes and Brasil ’66
(No. 6, 1968); “You Won’t See Me” by Anne Murray (No. 8, 1974); “Got to Get You
Into My Life” by Earth, Wind, & Fire (No. 9, 1978); and “I Saw [Him] Standing There” by Tiffany (No.
7, 1988). Two more covers by soul legends made the R&B Top 5 and the pop
Top 20: Stevie Wonder’s “We Can Work It Out” (No. 13 pop, No. 3 R&B, 1971)
and Aretha Franklin’s “Eleanor Rigby” (No. 17 pop, No. 5 R&B, 1969). As
good as many of these covers are, this is a pretty random assortment of songs;
many are album cuts, albeit well-regarded ones. Other renowned Beatles covers
did even worse on the U.S. charts. For example, neither of Joe Cocker’s classic
singles, “With a Little Help From My Friends” and “She Came in Through the
Bathroom Window,” broke into the Top 30; and two well-known covers of “Come
Together,” by Ike and Tina Turner and Aerosmith, missed the Top 20.
We’ve heard Brill Building songwriters and the studio musicians of
the Wrecking Crew talk about how the self-contained Beatles made it tougher for
the industry’s supporting players to earn a living. But it could be argued that
they made it tough for song interpreters, too—once the Fab Four had laid down
their George Martin–produced, meticulously recorded versions, other artists
approached the songs at their peril. When it comes to the charts, the public
has shown, time and again, that it’s wary of Beatles covers.
This trapped-in-amber cultural perception about the Beatles’
catalog might help explain why the only three Lennon-McCartney covers to reach
No. 1 are such curios. Each hit’s success was more about the moment than about
the song itself. The strange alchemy that makes a song a No. 1 record is always
somewhat fluky. But when it comes to Lennon-McCartney songs, it’s really fluky.
Peter and Gordon, “A World Without Love” – No. 1, June 27, 1964
(one week) Enjoy the song here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tdx6lLvvRyg
Seven Lennon-McCartney songs topped the Hot 100 during 1964, the
year the British Invasion kicked off in America. Six of these songs were by the
Beatles—from “I Want to Hold Your Hand” to “I Feel Fine.” The seventh, smack in
the middle of the year, was by a British duo who’d never had a hit before,
Peter and Gordon.
How did these two pasty-faced lads wind up in possession of an
unrecorded, unreleased Lennon-McCartney song in 1964? As with all things show
business–related, a little networking never hurt.
The bespectacled half of Peter and Gordon was one Peter Asher,
brother of actress Jane Asher. Like his sister, Peter Asher had been a child
actor in the 1950s, but around 1963, as Beatlemania gripped England, he formed
an earnest, bookish pop duo with his Scottish schoolmate Gordon Waller. In a
bit of fortuitous timing, 1963 was also the year his sister began a half-decade
courtship and eventual engagement with one James Paul McCartney. While
McCartney infamously never married Jane Asher—she finally broke it off in 1968,
just before he married Linda Eastman—McCartney spent the mid-’60s as de facto
extended family to the Ashers, and his relationship with Peter Asher was
brotherly, as chronicled in Bob Spitz’s Beatles biography. McCartney wound up
giving his would-be brother-in-law four songs that became Top 40 hits, the
biggest of which was the first.
“A World Without Love” was a song McCartney wrote by himself as a
teenager. It was deemed unworthy of the Beatles and was even rejected by fellow
Merseyside musician Billy J. Kramer, who had hits with several Lennon-McCartney
compositions. But Peter and Gordon took it and ran to producer Norman Newell,
who openly emulated the then-hot “Mersey sound.” Even if you’ve never heard the
song, the chiming guitars and dewy vocal harmonies instantly read as an
early-Beatles pastiche. One slightly innovative touch was a Hammond organ
bridge—at this point, the Beatles were still months away from prominently
employing organ on “Mr. Moonlight.”
Despite this small sonic novelty, on the whole “A World Without
Love” is British Invasion without the invasion, as if the lads have been
cordially invited to America for a cup of tea. Critic Tom Ewing, in his post on
the song for his blog on every U.K. No. 1 hit (“World” topped both the U.S. and
U.K. charts in ’64), calls it “a glimpse at a world where the Beatles didn’t
make the step up from national to global phenomenon. … Instead they … pursue a
profitable sideline and afterlife as a superior pop songwriting team.”
Peter and Gordon had not only the songwriting of McCartney on
their side but also great timing. That’s because “World” caught Beatlemania
during a brief interlude where the band itself had no product. When the Beatles
broke in America in early 1964, they dominated the Hot 100 like no artist
before or since. One week in April, famously, they held down the entire Top 5;
at various points that spring they held up to 14 spots on the chart. The week
in May that “A World Without Love” debuted on the chart, the Beatles still
occupied multiple births—two slots in the Top 5 that week, and four out of the
Top 12.
However, what also kept the Beatles busy in the spring of ’64 was
shooting a movie, A Hard Day’s Night. This kept them out of the studio and
recording for a crucial couple of months, and their many singles finally began
slipping off the Hot 100. Indeed, the week in late June that Peter and Gordon
took over the No. 1 spot, there were no Beatles singles in the Top 10—former
No. 1 “Love Me Do” had slipped to No. 11, and Billy J. Kramer’s cover of the
Lennon song “Bad to Me” had just reached its No. 9 peak—and there were only
three Beatles singles on the entire Hot 100.
To borrow an economic term, Peter and Gordon were filling a market
gap. “World” spent eight weeks in the Top 10. The very week it fell out of the
Top 10, from No. 8 to No. 22, debuting right next to it at No. 21 was the
Beatles’ own single “A Hard Day’s Night” (the film had premiered a couple of
weeks earlier). Two weeks later, “Hard Day’s Night” had shot to No. 1, and “A
World Without Love” had fallen off the chart entirely.
Mind you, this wasn’t the end of Peter and Gordon’s hit-making
career; they were back in the Top 20 twice before the end of ’64—with two more
songs written by McCartney—and they scored two additional Top 10 hits in 1965
and 1966 before disbanding in 1968. Peter Asher ultimately wound up a renowned
producer—he recruited a young James Taylor to the Beatles’ label Apple Records
in 1968, and he manned the boards for a raft of platinum soft-rock stars in the
’70s and ’80s. But Peter’s ’60s breakthrough with Gordon was all about
parlaying his connections at the best possible moment; Asher was to Paul
McCartney in 1964 what one-hit-wonder Motown artist Rockwell was to Michael
Jackson in 1984.
Elton John, “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds” – No. 1, Jan. 4 to
Jan. 11, 1975 (two weeks) Enjoy the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTAUHKkDXyE
While Peter and Gordon’s hit had been a Paul McCartney composition
and a leftover, Elton John’s “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds” was a
chart-topping cover of a song largely written by John Lennon. And “Lucy” was
far from a leftover—it was a track from Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band,
the album that famously had no singles issued from it in 1967 and, hence, no
chart hits. But what Elton’s cover of “Lucy” had in common with Peter and
Gordon’s fluke chart-topper was that it didn’t matter what they knew so much as
whom they knew.
Elton John met John Lennon at a great time for Elton’s career, and
a strange moment for Lennon. It was Lennon’s so-called “Lost Weekend,” a
debauched 18 months from late 1973 to early 1975 in which he was estranged from
wife Yoko Ono and drinking and drugging his way through Los Angeles. Elton was
no slouch in the debauchery department, but when he and Lennon met up in the
summer of 1974, Elton’s career was at an apex—he was in the middle of an
unprecedented American run of No. 1 albums and hit singles. Lennon, by
contrast, had to that date built (oddly) the least commercially successful
career of the four solo Beatles—even Ringo had scored No. 1 singles while
Lennon had none. (His canonical hits “Instant Karma!” and “Imagine” had both
peaked at No. 3 in America, in 1970 and 1971, respectively.)
Lennon’s and Elton’s sessions in the summer and early fall of ’74
changed all that. Elton did Lennon a major solid, singing backup on “Whatever
Gets You Thru the Night” and betting Lennon that the song would be his first
solo-career chart-topper; if proved right, Elton said Lennon had to join him in
concert. In November, “Whatever” indeed became Lennon’s first solo No. 1
single, and the Beatle made good on the bet by appearing at an Elton John show
at Madison Square Garden at Thanksgiving 1974. (It turned out to be Lennon’s
last live appearance.)
Listen to the live presentation here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yuG9_sJU_V8
Even before that show, Lennon had already repaid Elton by helping
him record a cover of Lennon’s composition “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds.” Not
that the public needed it from Elton at that moment, but the bromance between
him and Lennon was a kind of Good Housekeeping seal of approval on Elton’s
cover of “Lucy.” Lennon even provided backing vocals and guitar on “Lucy” under
the pseudonym Dr. Winston O’Boogie. Like Lennon’s “Whatever,” Elton’s “Lucy”
also wound up atop the Hot 100, at the start of ’75. Elton was especially
prolific during this period—“Lucy” was a non-album single, and it was followed
immediately by another one-off No. 1 hit, the smash “Philadelphia Freedom.”
This 1974–75 period marked the apex of what we might call Elton’s
Imperial phase, and it explains why the “Lucy” cover even exists: It was a total
Because I Can move. In its original Beatles incarnation, “Lucy” already had a
reputation as a drug anthem. But in Elton’s hands, “Lucy” turns whimsical—it is
largely meant to play off of and boost Elton’s brand, his glittery, cuddly
Captain Fantastic persona.
In a review several years later of the Greatest Hits Volume II
album on which “Lucy” appeared, dean of American rock critics Robert Christgau
called Elton’s cover “dippy,” and I’d agree—everything about it is too cute by
half. Listen to the way Elton overplays the courtliness of Lennon’s whimsical
lyrics. (I’m thinking especially of the way he says “maaashmallow” around
1:40.) Then there’s the head-scratching reggae version of the chorus, during
which Elton—and an audible Lennon—do some plinky white-boy toasting for half a
minute. A novel concept, to be sure (listen for it around 3:30), but it only
further establishes the track as a novelty.
Even if you are a big Elton John fan, it’s hard to regard “Lucy”
as much more than a footnote. For a No. 1 hit, it had a remarkably quick burn
on the charts (just 14 weeks, versus 21 weeks for “Philadelphia”), and on the
radio of today, it has a modest legacy. Nielsen reports that last year, Elton’s
“Lucy” was played on oldies radio less than one-sixth as much as “Philadelphia,”
its twin 1975 chart-topper. In sum, Elton’s “Lucy” is to Elton what “Who’s That
Girl” is to Madonna or the cover of “I’ll Be There” is to Mariah Carey—a No. 1
hit whose very existence is a reflection of a megastar’s own megastardom.
Stars on 45, “Medley …” – No. 1, June 20, 1981 (one week) Listen
to the hit single here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7skQvj-aBV8
Where should we begin with everything that’s strange about the
Stars on 45’s chart-topping 1981 hit—the true outlier among this collection of
Lennon-McCartney outliers? Let’s start with its twisted backstory.
The story starts with the Shocking Blue’s “Venus,” a worldwide
smash in 1970, including here in America where it was No. 1 (you may also know
its second chart-topping version, a 1986 cover by Bananarama). The Shocking
Blue is a Dutch group, and the copyright for that song was owned by Dutch
publishing company Red Bullet Productions, run by one Willem van Kooten. In the
summer of 1979, van Kooten was in a record store and heard a 12-inch disco
medley, which mashed together original recordings of songs by the Beatles and
the Archies with then-current hits by Heatwave, Lipps Inc., and the Buggles.
Disco medleys like this weren’t unprecedented. The Ritchie Family’s 1976 Top 20
hit “The Best Disco in Town” strung together snippets of a half-dozen current
hits; and countless white-label disco 12-inches would mash together current
hits on the gray market, like modern-day hip-hop mixtapes.
But the 1979 bootleg 12-inch single van Kooten heard was more
brazen in its use of so many original recordings, many of them hard to clear.
What piqued van Kooten’s curiosity was a small snippet of the Shocking Blue’s
“Venus” in the mix; he knew he hadn’t authorized it. The bootleg sported the
not-quite-grammatical English title “Let’s Do It in the 80’s Great Hits”; it
was credited to a faux band, Passion, on a faux record label, Alto—but the
bootleg’s real origins were in Montreal. It was the handiwork of French-Canadian
DJs Michel Gendreau and Paul Richer, who specialized in splicing together bits
of music from different genres, a kind of analog Girl Talk.
Despite invoking
the ’80s in their record’s title, the single largely trafficked in ’60s
nostalgia. One version of Gendreau and Richer’s medley included three Beatles
songs: “No Reply,” “I’ll Be Back,” and “Drive My Car.” A longer version added
another five Fabs titles: “Do You Want to Know a Secret,” “We Can Work It Out,”
“I Should Have Known Better,” “Nowhere Man,” and “You’re Going to Lose That
Girl.”
Charmed and inspired by the unlicensed 12-inch, van Kooten decided
that rather than stamp it out, he would better it, creating a licensed version
of the medley using sound-alike artists to replicate the original hits (covers
require only the payment of publishing fees, not licensing of the original
recordings). He contacted producer Jaap Eggermont—formerly of the veteran Dutch
rock group Golden Earring—who in turn worked with musical arranger Martin Duiser.
In addition to all eight Beatles songs from the Montreal 12-inch, Eggermont
threw in a small snippet of “Venus,” as well as one other oldie from the
bootleg, the Archies’ 1969 hit “Sugar Sugar.” The Beatles sound-alikes were by
established Dutch singers, all of them in current Dutch bands.
The recordings were spliced together, analog-style, against an
unremittingly chipper clap track. That clap track is what you’ll remember most
from the final Stars on 45 single. It is to this record what the relentless snare
beat is to 1989’s “Swing the Mood” by Jive Bunny and the Mastermixers (that
ghastly mashup of ’50s songs that wedding DJs love). The clap also specifically
dates the track to the turn of the ’80s—when the disco backlash was at full
force, and dance music was transitioning into forms like electro where it could
hide in plain sight.
What’s charming about the Stars on 45 single, however, is its
unhip, unabashed attachment to pure, late-’70s disco—made explicit by
Eggermont’s incongruous introduction to the record. It’s an original melody he
wrote, sung by a female vocalist and chorus, with Bee Gees–style harmonies and
multiple references to disco in a kind of pidgin English (curiously, the intro
mentions two Beatles song titles, “Twist and Shout” and “Tell Me Why,” that
never appear in the Stars on 45 medley):
You can boogie, like disco—love that disco sound.
Move up your body, spinnin’ round and round.
But don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t forget, oh no.
Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t forget, no, no, no.
The Stars on 45
Keep on turning in your mind.
Like “We Can Work It Out.”
Remember “Twist and Shout”?
You still don’t “Tell Me Why” and “No Reply.”
This incongruity is what is most surreal about the Stars on 45
track—the idea that Beatles-era production would ever fit so comfortably next
to late-disco-era production styles, let alone lead to a hit single. (A
previous, very recent attempt to do the same with a bigger budget had proved
disastrous.) Eggermont and Duiser’s production labors mightily to pull this
off, taking more than a minute to segue from its original disco lead-in into
“Venus” and “Sugar Sugar” before all the Beatles hits show up roughly a minute
and a half into the record. There are some ingenious moments: The juxtaposition
of “No Reply” with the ensuing, minor-key “I’ll Be Back” is the single’s most
inspired segue.
While the original, nearly 10-minute Dutch single made its first
appearance in early 1980, it only really took off about a year later, after
Dutch DJs focused on the four-minute Beatles segment. In response, Eggermont
and Duiser came up with a tighter, sub-five-minute mix that focused on the
Beatles segment and fit on a 45-RPM single. That version topped the Dutch
charts in February 1981 before beginning its improbable world conquest, hitting
either No. 2 or No. 1 in England, Australia, Germany, Spain, and other
countries before finally hitting the top in America.
And in our country, it had a unique title. In most parts of the
world, the song was released simply as “Stars on 45 (Medley),” and the artist
credit was sometimes also Stars on 45 or the generic Starsound. But the
single’s U.S. label, Radio Records (a subsidiary of major label Atlantic),
covered its bases with litigious publishers by listing every song in the title.
The result—“Medley: Intro Venus / Sugar Sugar / No Reply / I’ll Be Back / Drive
My Car / Do You Want to Know a Secret / We Can Work It Out / I Should Have
Known Better / Nowhere Man / You’re Going to Lose That Girl / Stars on
45”—remains the longest title of a No. 1 hit in Hot 100 history, more than four
times the length of a 10-word chart-topper from 1975, B.J. Thomas’ “(Hey, Won’t
You Play) Another Somebody Done Somebody Wrong Song.”
In the U.S., the Stars on 45 single was so popular in the summer
of ’81 that it interrupted the nine-week run at No. 1 of the year’s biggest
single, Kim Carnes’ “Bette Davis Eyes.” Which prompts the question: What the
fuck, America? Or more politely, why? European pop kitsch only occasionally
crosses over in the U.S.—otherwise Boney M. would have had bigger hits here.
Not to mention the fact that Stars on 45 also had to get past the mirror
ball–exploding fever pitch of the disco backlash, which was at its apex by
1981. How did Stars on 45 overcome these hurdles?
I would credit two cultural phenomena—one global, one specific to
America. First was the murder of John Lennon in December 1980. The fact that
the song only took off globally in early 1981, more than a year after its
release, can clearly be attributed to the outpouring of grief prompted by
Lennon’s death, which prompted a fusillade of Beatles nostalgia and a kitschy
reinvigoration of Lennon’s, and the Beatles’, legacy. The Stars on 45 single is
Beatles kitsch on steroids. As with Peter and Gordon in 1964, the song was
helping to satisfy a hungry market.
After Lennon’s murder, sales for his music exploded: Double
Fantasy, his just-issued album with Yoko Ono, shot to No. 1 in America and
generated three Top 10 hit singles, the most ever from a Lennon album. The
third and final of these three hits, “Watching the Wheels,” reached its No. 10
peak in the spring of 1981, the same week the Stars on 45 medley broke into the
Top 10. In effect, the public was passing the baton from Lennon himself to
other acts that could help them grieve. Indeed, just over a month later, George
Harrison began climbing the Hot 100 with “All Those Years Ago,” his breezy,
unabashed homage to Lennon. The week Harrison’s song peaked at No. 2 on the Hot
100, Stars on 45 was still in the Top 10. Both singles were embraced in the
summer of ’81 as tributes to Lennon—but only Harrison’s was intentional.
The other, more U.S.-specific reason Stars on 45 caught on was
another fluke of timing: the aerobics-and-fitness craze, fueled by the release
of Jane Fonda’s 1981 book Workout. “Stars on 45,” with its clap beat and novel
repackaging of a familiar Boomer hit parade, was the ultimate hit by which a
35-year-old record-buyer could feel the burn. (I myself have junior high
memories of our gym teacher soundtracking our seventh-grade workouts to her
vinyl copy of “Stars on 45.”) The song was ahead of the curve on a uniquely
American phenomenon—later in 1981, Olivia Newton-John’s “Physical” would be a
bigger hit here (10 weeks at No. 1) than in any other country around the world.
This one-two punch—grief-stricken Beatles nostalgia and resonance with the
year’s biggest U.S. fad—proved potent.
Indeed, Stars on 45 proved so popular that it actually spawned a
fad of its own: a roughly 18-month-long medley craze. Before the end of 1982, the
estates of Elvis Presley, the Beach Boys, and the Beatles themselves would all
score Hot 100 hits with official medleys of their original recordings. (The
Beatles’ medley, a mashup of their movie themes that lacked a click-track beat,
was awkwardly mixed and actually made the Stars on 45’s clap-beat approach look
more deft.) Meco, the guy behind the chart-topping 1977 disco version of the
Star Wars theme, came back to the Top 40 in ’82 with a medley of other random
movie themes, from The Magnificent Seven to Goldfinger. The Royal Philharmonic
Orchestra—an actual classical ensemble from London—amazingly reached the Top 10
with the symphonic disco medley “Hooked on Classics” (selections included
“Flight of the Bumblebee,” “Rhapsody in Blue,” and “The Marriage of Figaro”).
And as for the Stars on 45 themselves, they were no one-hit wonder—“Stars on 45
III,” a medley of Stevie Wonder covers, reached No. 28 in the spring of 1982,
almost a full year after their world-beating Beatles medley.
All three of the Lennon-McCartney-attributed No. 1 hits I’ve
discussed here feel like fads or flukes. As recordings, they defy
categorization, but they do offer a small window into the strange alchemy by
which songs become hits. If the first three rules of real estate are “location,
location, location,” the first three rules of hit-making are “timing, timing,
timing.” Peter and Gordon’s pleasant McCartney recording found a small window
when the public was starved for a novel simulacrum of the Beatles’ sound. Elton
John’s Lennon cover went all the way to the top, where other ’70s Beatles
covers fell short, by riding Elton’s own tsunami just as it crested. And the
Stars on 45 producers hit the ultimate timing jackpot, in the saddest way
possible.
Other than a brief Top 10 run by Tiffany’s 1988 cover of “I Saw
Her Standing There,” there have been very few Lennon-McCartney hits since the
Stars on 45. Actually, the last one was by a 1995 band that had the temerity to
call themselves the Beatles.
That would be the trio of Paul McCartney, George Harrison, and
Ringo Starr, reunited for the 1995 ABC-TV Beatles Anthology documentary series
and recording over leftover solo recordings by John Lennon. While the Anthology
project generated a trio of chart-topping, multiplatinum albums, the two
singles released from those LPs charted much more modestly: a No. 6 peak for
the breathlessly awaited “Free as a Bird,” and a No. 11 peak for the follow-up,
“Real Love.” They peaked quickly on the Hot 100, fueled largely by sales to the
most rabid Beatle fans, but radio airplay was minuscule. A quarter-century
after they broke up, the Beatles’ inimitable recorded legacy—having frustrated
generations of song interpreters—finally foiled the Beatles themselves.
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