Bobby Fuller: I Fought The Law

BOBBY FULLER: I FOUGHT THE LAW (1966)

1) Let Her Dance; 2) Julie; 3) A New Shade Of Blue; 4) Only When I Dream; 5) You Kiss Me; 6) Little Annie Lou; 7) I Fought The Law; 8) Another Sad And Lonely Night; 9) Saturday Night; 10) Take My Word; 11) Fool Of Love; 12) Never To Be Forgotten.

ʽI Fought The Lawʼ is quite a cool song, although it is a bit odd that the original version by the Crickets, with Sonny Curtis on lead vocals, never managed to have even one dozenth of the im­pact of the Bobby Fuller Four version, despite Bobby being quite reverential to the original: talk about the power of accidence! Or maybe there simply was something in the song that made it sound so much before its time in 1960, and so well in line with the garage spirit of 1966. Not that it formally sounds «garage-like»: the guitar sound is clean and jangly, reflecting the influence of the Crickets filtered through Merseybeat standards. The message — this is, after all, the unrepen­tant confession of a young derelict we're talking about — that's what mattered.

Honestly, I am not even sure if Bobby selected it for the message: this is pretty much the only song in his catalog that could be properly called «rebellious». Most likely, he just liked the vibe of the original and chose to cover it as one of those quirky, catchy, but little-known non-hits from the past that needed additional popularization. Who knew, back in 1966, that eventually The Clash would roll along a decade later to make it an integral, well-fitting part of their usual pedi­gree? Who could, in fact, have predicted that it would rise into the US Top Ten...? One of those amazing little mysteries of life that makes exploring musical history so worthwhile.

The record label decided to quickly capitalize on the success of the single by placing it on the band's second LP — the irony, of course, being that the band had almost no new material, and thus, about half of the record simply repeated the songs from the KRLA LP (I assume that the executives logically reasoned that, since nobody bought that LP in the first place, there'd be no harm in trying to introduce the population to those songs for a second time). Only four new songs have been recorded, of which ʽJulieʼ is another upbeat, friendly Buddy Holly imitation, while the others are rhythmic ballads more in the style of Roy Orbison — not awful or anything, but nothing to write home about.

Funny enough, the songs from KRLA that do get repeated are restricted to love-themed pop rockers and ballads — not a single car song is included, which, on the whole, makes I Fought The Law the ultimate Bobby Fuller LP: ʽAnother Sad And Lonely Nightʼ, ʽLet Her Danceʼ, and ʽI Fought The Lawʼ are all here, and those ridiculous variations on the theme of ʽLittle Deuce Coupeʼ are not. On the other hand, the selection does make ʽI Fought The Lawʼ stick out like a sore thumb — nothing even begins to come close to this song in terms of attitude, energy, «spi­ritual fire», if you will.

Since it would only take six months after the success of ʽI Fought The Lawʼ for Bobby Fuller to have been found asphyxiated in his mother's car (permanently cementing the legend, so to speak), we have no idea of what direction he would have chosen; something tells me that, most likely, he'd probably just fade away like so many others, but who needs guesswork? Other songs recorded around that time have been since then made available on various compilations, and none of the ones I have heard seem to yield any more clues.

Additionally, Bobby's legend has so uncomfortably outgrown his real importance that, among the faithful collectors, almost every shred of his recording legacy from the early days has been lovingly assembled and packaged on various archival releases (Bobby Fuller Tapes, El Paso Rock, etc.), with fans often claiming that his earliest work is rawer, grittier, and more «sincere» than his Mustang days. Perhaps so, but, judging by what little I have heard, there is no need to hope for a miracle: it's not as if Bobby Fuller was a genius songwriter or virtuoso guitar player in 1960. On the whole, his claim to fame can be measured out in two or three real good singles, a dozen or so reasonably clever facsimiles, and the most mysterious death of 1966. But then, it was all such a good time that even a minor footnote like this has its own bit of value. You just need to disentangle legend, hearsay, and false impression from facts — sometimes not easy at all, given the existence of scenes like this, where the Bobby Fuller Four were forced to lip-synch to a non-Bobby Fuller song next to Nancy Sinatra in a performance worthy of Austin Powers. Oh yes, no need to deny that the 1960s had their fair share of embarrassingly weird ways of earning a buck. 

Bobby Fuller: KRLA King Of The Wheels

BOBBY FULLER: KRLA KING OF THE WHEELS (1965)

1) Never To Be Forgotten; 2) Another Sad And Lonely Night; 3) She's My Girl; 4) Take My Word; 5) Fool Of Love; 6) Let Her Dance; 7) King Of The Wheels; 8) The Lonely Dragster; 9) Little Annie Lou; 10) The Phantom Dragster; 11) Saturday Night; 12) KRLA Top Eliminator.

Unless you were there and paid attention, chances are that the only association that the words «Bobby Fuller» could kick up from the depths of your conscience should be "...I fought the law, and the LAW WON!", delivered in a very British rather than American accent by Joe Strummer circa 1979. The song was a hit for Bobby Fuller, but it wasn't even written by Bobby (credits go to Sonny Curtis of the Crickets), and it may convey a very, very wrong idea of Bobby Fuller — namely, that the man was some sort of long-forgotten proto-punk, anti-establishment hero, some kind of a Marlon-Brando-meets-James-Dean-tags-Gene-Vincent phenomenon to which it was only natural that Britain's greatest working-class-hero-band of the punk movement pay tribute, or something like that. At least, it did convey that idea to me, originally.

But nothing could be further from the truth. In reality, Bobby Fuller was a nice, clean, well-meaning all-American lad from El Paso, Texas, who, like so many others, caught the rock'n'roll bug from Elvis in his early teens and then developed a passion for electric guitar-based pop-rock. Without any «working class hero» ambitions whatsoever, he merely wished to be the next Buddy Holly — and then, when The Beach Boys and then The Beatles appeared on the scene, he also wished to be a Beach Boy and then a Beatle, too. Is that too much for a simple Texan guy to ask God for — just to be a Beach Boy and a Beatle at the same time?

Bobby's first recordings were made independently as early as 1961, when he was only 19 years old. He recorded with a revolving-door cast of personages, commonly dubbed as «The Bobby Fuller Four» (even though there may have been periods with larger or smaller numbers), the only other constant presence among which was his brother Randy Fuller on bass, and eventually gained a little notoriety after teaming up with Bob Keane's Del-Fi (later Mustang) Records. His first LP was, however, only released in late 1965, after some of the singles began getting serious airplay and slowly ascending up the charts.

Although some of these songs actually date from earlier sessions (circa 1964), and some of the originals had been written even earlier, it is quite clear already from the title that KRLA King Of The Wheels was, for the standards of late 1965, a «nostalgic-conservative» record. Bobby hardly ever shies away from promoting his influences on his sleeve, and the themes of the album are strictly limited to the classic surf-era recipé — Girls and Cars, not necessarily in that order of preference. And not the Girls of ʽGirlʼ fame or the Cars of ʽDrive My Carʼ fame, either (to be accurate, Rubber Soul had not yet been released, but it would probably have made no difference if it were): the emotional / verbal content of the songs is all about those stereotypical «teen sensa­tions». The Beach Boys were no longer writing songs about their little 409 or Little Deuce Coupe by the end of 1965, but Bobby Fuller was, and he was not ashamed.

Whatever. If you are a fan of innocent early-to-mid Sixties pop, there is no way that you will not appreciate at least the first two songs on here — ʽNever To Be Forgottenʼ is an Orbison-worthy little gem (although Bobby's vocals are nowhere near as special), showing how well acquainted the man was with Phil Spector's wall-of-sound technique, and ʽAnother Sad And Lonely Nightʼ seems far more influenced by the Merseybeat scene: more Billy J. Kramer than the Beatles, in that the sound is not very sharp and the hooks are not as piercing, but still friendly and catchy enough for the "another sad and lonely night, another sad and lonely day" hookline to get stuck in your head for no apparent reason.

The band's biggest success from this era was with ʽLet Her Danceʼ, a reworked version of Bob­by's earlier ʽKeep On Dancingʼ (a 1961 Buddy Holly-style composition) that Keane obviously suggested redoing in the style of the Beach Boys' «grand dance» numbers, most notably their recently released upgrade of ʽDo You Want To Danceʼ. Echo on the guitars, echo on the vocals, a bottle-tapping gimmick, heavy use of back vocals — reportedly, Bobby hated the final version, yet it is ultimately more gripping than the original, if only for the non-trivial vocal arrangements (the repetitive "let her dance, let her dance, let her dance, dance, dance..." echoey response that seems to bounce off the instruments in all directions). Almost shamelessly «second-hand», but melodically distinct enough to act as a loving little brother to ʽDo You Want To Danceʼ rather than just a useless rip-off.

Other cute imitations include ʽShe's My Girlʼ (with a ʽHelp Me Rhondaʼ-like key change from verse to chorus), ʽTake My Wordʼ (with handclaps coming straight from the Beatles' ʽI'll Get Youʼ), and ʽFool Of Loveʼ (also sounds as if the Beatles wrote this circa 1959 and donated it to any­one hungry enough to eat it up). The second side of the LP, however, is almost completely dedicated to the «Cars» side of the business, and since «Cars» are generally inferior to «Girls» as a major source of melodic creativity, this is where Bobby falls way too often on direct borrowing (stealing) — ʽKing Of The Wheelsʼ is really little more than a slightly sped up version of ʽLittle Deuce Coupeʼ, and ʽThe Phantom Dragsterʼ is merely an attempt to apply the Bo Diddley beat to the same thematical subject, but can this really work? I mean, «car songs» are supposed to bring on musical associations with car racing, and if I ever had to car-race to a Bo Diddley beat, I'd probably be throwing up most of the way.

A few of the songs on that side are instrumentals in the classic vein of The Ventures (ʽThe Lonely Dragsterʼ, ʽKRLA Top Eliminatorʼ), which gives you the chance to assess Bobby's skills as a guitar player — not bad at all compared with his surf-rock competitors, fluent and expressive, but not enough to push him over into the «greatness» range: the same bluesy chops had already been brought over to a new level by the likes of Clapton, anyway.

Still, on the strength of the simple-and-innocent pop hooks on Side A, the album as a whole qualifies for a mild thumbs up, I think — though not high enough to recommend anybody to search for the entire contents of this LP rather than head straight for a best-of compilation: the fact is that Bobby Fuller simply did not live long enough to show us whether he had a real album brewing inside his head or not.