Staff Playlist #3 - The 1960s

 

You can find our playlist on last.fm here and on Spotify here.

 

The Summer of Love will always be documented as a time of communal affection and free love. Regrettably, Love never really caught on with the general public after a leisurely rolled hay of high praise. Everyone has a favorite on Forever Changes – mine is The Daily Planet, a vigorous switcheroo of inventive acoustic textures and quivering nudges of overdubbed psychedelic effects. Its amusing look into the mundanity of everyday life will always supplement my buried desire to break free. More than anything, it'll always be the daily bread to help me get through a dreary day. Juan Edgardo Rodriguez

 

The sublime does exist in pop song, and here’s a prime example of it.  Best known for playing the backing track to the Brady Bunch theme, the band released this song in the summer of ‘68 to an underwhelming response.  I heard it in a record store this year and fell in love in about 20 seconds. Alan Shulman

 

At the tail end of the sixties, an underrated and short-lived Welsh rhythm and blues group had been honed by their record label into pop perfection, and were rewarded with this number one hit. Like many bands of the mid-to-late sixties, Amen Corner seemed unable to step out of the shadow of The Beatles, but this song seemed to have it all - a group singalong chorus that opens out into a wilfully sad, brass-punctuated chord progression, uniquely voiced by Andy Fairweather Low's broken wail. Not many serious artists could so convincingly move anyone with the line, "Who needs paradise?/I'd rather have you", without provoking sickliness. Neil Insh

 

If you put me on the spot and demanded to know what my favourite song ever was, this would be my answer in a heartbeat. I’d always been aware of this song, but the first time I realised just how good it is was when I was 18. It just hit me, and I played God Only Knows ten times in a row; I’ve never done the same with any song since. It’s just about perfect in every conceivable way, from the gentle chords that ease you in to the wall of voices that send you off. It has an extremely complex lyric too; a heartfelt ode that begins with the line, “I may not always love you”. The words to God Only Knows describe a feeling we all know; an intense adoration coupled with the insignificance of being just one person in the world. And don’t even get me started on the vocal harmonies. The Beach Boys combine towards the finish and provide one of the most heart-stoppingly beautiful sounds ever committed to record. Joe Rivers

 

Pink Floyd's second album, A Saucerful of Secrets, is frequently overlooked, particularly in the wake of the ambitious and bombastic The Dark Side of the Moon four years later. Not only is the former a dark, experimental and claustrophobic masterpiece, it is also the sound of Syd Barrett drifting out of the band, and ultimately into decreasing mental health. This seems to be epitomised in this little-known, simplistic pop song: eccentric and unpredictable (a chaotic brass band chorus), ending in the lonely, fading voice of Barrett singing "What exactly is a dream?/And what exactly is a joke?". We wonder if Barrett was aware of his impending exclusion: "I'm most obliged to you for making it clear that I'm not here...". Neil Insh

 

The idea for this feature has been knocking around for a month or so now, and it wasn’t long before I had my choices finalised. However, a few days ago, I heard this on the radio and was blown away. Sure, I’d heard it before, but there was something about hearing it again that just captivated me, and I immediately ran to iTunes to download it (which isn’t particularly in keeping with the 1960s theme). What makes it all the more peculiar that it struck a chord is that it’s a tune about summer nights in New York, not exactly something to relate to living in the Home Counties in January. But it has the power to transport you; you’ll feel you’re the “cool cat, looking for a kitty” like the song’s protagonist. It’s filled with sexual tension, which bubbles away and sweatily ratchets up until you feel you can’t take any more and then - gloriously - the whole thing starts over again. Joe Rivers

 

The delights of Odessey and Oracle have been well documented in recent years. What was once an overlooked gem is now widely regarded as a psych-pop classic, and rightfully so. I'm an enormous fan of this record and choosing one track for this playlist proved quite a challenge. In the end I opted for Care of Cell 44 because of its curious subject matter - the song is essentially a love letter to an incarcerated lover - and its infectious pop spirit. It’s almost comical how upbeat Care of Cell 44 is, given that the subject of the singer’s affections is behind bars. There is no mention of her crime, no declaration of her innocence - instead we simply hear how nice it’s going to be to have her back. Throw in some ridiculously lush harmonies, a skillful bassline, and a stunning lead vocal and you’ve got a classic on your hands. The only mystery: why wasn’t this a massive hit? David Coleman

 

The Who, much like The Rolling Stones, are one of the great 60s bands that talent later forgot. The track I've selected here, Sunrise, shows The Who at the top of their form. The piece is near-perfect, a lush chamber-pop orchestra of multi-tracked acoustic guitars that carry along a sweet, plaintive ode to, what else, a beautiful woman. Sadly, the 70s saw Mr. Townshend pushing the bloated, pretentious wank-fests that are Tommy and Quadrophenia onto his adoring, unsuspecting public. His band’s two first albums, both recorded in the 60s, almost makes up for his later operatic bowel movements. Almost. Preston Bernstein

 

From rousing jump blues to snappy jam sessions, Sam Cooke's Night Beat is bursting with soul from beginning to end. But amongst such a lively set snuck a heartbreaking plea that only took a low-key bass line and vigilant cymbal hits to convey its message. A masterwork of simple design, Cooke’s stirring voice continues to be the perfect remedy to mend a bad case of emotional uncertainty. Juan Edgardo Rodriguez

 

Over the last 12 months I’ve devoted a lot of my listening time to the vibrant British folk-rock scene of the late 60s and early 70s. Bert Jansch and early Pentangle are particular favourites, but for me the standout song of the era is this well-known Fairport Convention offering. Meet On The Ledge was Fairport’s second single and the first to feature Sandy Denny, who duets here with Iain Matthews. The lyrics conjure up thoughts of broken dreams and lost friends, while the rousing chorus offers hope of an eventual reunion. It’s ambiguous stuff, but powerful nonetheless. The performance, particularly Denny’s vocal, is wonderful too. Meet on the Ledge is a song fit for any playlist, which works just as well around a campfire as it does on a festival stage. David Coleman