Brenda Lee: Johnny One Time

BRENDA LEE: JOHNNY ONE TIME (1969)

1) Johnny One Time; 2) Traces; 3) If You Go Away; 4) Bring Me Sunshine; 5) Help Yourself; 6) Let It Be Me; 7) For Once In My Life; 8) This Girl's In Love With You; 9) Matelot; 10) The Letter; 11) Walk Away.

No Pete Fountain — no extra ray of light to illuminate the dullness. Brenda's last album of the de­cade is at least not nearly as lethargic as Reflections In Blue, and surprisingly diverse in com­parison to most of her mid-Sixties stuff; but the diversity is not propped up by any interesting musicianship — everything is simply drenched in the usual strings, brass, and big orchestral pomp of her Vegas style arrangements. And (big surprise) she is not maturing much as a singer, either. Her take on Brel's ʽIf You Go Awayʼ is just plain terrible.

The title track was actually a small hit, her commercially strongest showing in about two years — as far as lush country ballads go, this one is far from the worst and features a strong vocal build­up: not highly likely an advanced musical listener will be ready to shed tears for the poor girl swin­dled by the protagonist, but he might want to tip that hat to the dynamic punch as we slowly ride the indignation wave all the way to the top. It is fairly well crafted, at least, and deserved a much more tasteful arrangement.

There are some upbeat pop covers here that are perfectly listenable (ʽHelp Yourselfʼ), some honest and respectable, but unnecessary R&B covers (ʽFor Once In My Lifeʼ is a very good early Stevie Wonder song, but if you substitute Stevie Wonder for Brenda Lee, you are not going to get a mind-opening perspective on the limitless potential of the melody), an obligatory take on ʽThe Letterʼ (everybody who ever did covers at the time just had to cover ʽThe Letterʼ — too bad the song was not actually written by Alex Chilton, or his financial troubles would be non-existent), and... well, all that other stuff. Diverse? Yes. Memorable? Well, if the title of the album is John­ny One Time, what would you expect?

And on this note, we are going to finally cut the umbilical cord. The following year, Brenda Lee would release Memphis Portrait, an album that would announce a full turn towards country — and stay there for most of the 1970s, 1980s, and beyond. These records are relatively hard to get (even as vinyl rips), even less rewarding to listen to, and besides, I have little interest in review­ing country music, particularly of that order. All I can say is that it was probably a wise decision — as a generic Nashville singer, Brenda could cut it quite convincingly, and it was probably simpler and humbler for her to go that way than go on hanging on the lower fringes of the charts with one faceless, embarrassing pop record after another.

She pretty much dropped out of the recording business after 1991, but last we heard, she did put out a record of gospel duets in 2007, with Dolly Parton, Alison Krauss, and Emmylou Harris among the participants — and she still looked quite attractive on the cover (yes, even the hair stays pretty much in the same configuration as always). We can only hope that her life has been happy and healthy, that it will continue in the same way for years to come, and that, God help us, she won't ever get any ideas about staging a «rock'n'roll comeback» («Last Woman Standing» or something of that kind).

Brenda Lee: For The First Time

BRENDA LEE: FOR THE FIRST TIME (1968)

1) Cabaret; 2) There's A Kind Of Hush; 3) Basin Street Blues; 4) Windy; 5) Night And Day; 6) One Of Those Songs; 7) Mood Indigo; 8) Can't Take My Eyes Off You; 9) 59th Street Bridge Song; 10) Anything Goes; 11) I Gotta Right To Sing The Blues.

But wait, here is another late-Sixties Brenda Lee album that somehow stands out, and this time, in a more refined or, at least, more fun manner than Reflections In Blue. The twist here is a col­laboration with famed Dixieland clarinetist Pete Fountain — which is what the title refers to, of course, and what did you think it might refer to?.. — and since the overall quality of Brenda's albums had always depended on what sort of musicians were given the green light on them, and given Fountain's hitherto impeccable jazz credentials, one could finally expect something more-than-just-pitiful even before putting on the record.

These expectations are fulfilled only partially, because, in general, the arrangements are still based on glitz and glamour, the vibe is one of fluffy cabaret entertainment (it suffices only to look at what particular number has been chosen as the introduction to the LP), and the year may only be guessed as 1968 if you look long enough at the song titles — pre-war standards like ʽAnything Goesʼ are in the minority next to contemporary hits from 1966 and 1967, but whoever produced the album must not have thought much of Sgt. Pepper, let alone the Monterey Pop Festival.

On the other hand, though, the songs are generally lively and Dixieland-ish a-plenty, which at the very least means there is little danger of falling asleep; and the addition of Fountain as a working partner works fine, just as expected — the man has a swell tone (or, rather, variety of tones) and a seductive old-timey playfulness that perfectly matches the same in Brenda's voice. So yes, they take Simon & Garfunkel's ʽ59th Street Bridge Songʼ and spoil its cozy little vibe with orchestra­tion, but if you filter the superfluous strings past your ears, what remains is a cutesy-friendly dia­log between the voice and the clarinet — one that understands that vibe and cherishes it. Then they also take Jimmy Durante's joke number ʽOne Of Those Songsʼ, crack its vibe, speed it up, and come out with something that, musically at least, beats the original (well, music-wise, any­body could beat Jimmy Durante — the man was about comedy, not about hitting notes — but they do retain the humor punch as well).

This dialog works within any setting — modern, ancient, folksy, jazzy, bluesy, with or without a huge brass backing, with or without gushing / pouring strings, it's as if this «vicinity of the tal­king clarinet» were giving a new sense of existence to Brenda's singing, and even if it does not help her override her usual limitations (on the whole, the clarinet shows a much higher degree of sub­tlety than the voice), it is still that one missing ingredient that makes For The First Time her best album by far since the very early 1960s, which isn't saying all that much, but at least it does deserve a thumbs up — too bad it was all just a one-night stand.

Brenda Lee: Reflections In Blue

BRENDA LEE: REFLECTIONS IN BLUE (1967)

1) Here's That Rainy Day; 2) You'll Never Know; 3) Baby Won't You Please Come Home; 4) Can't Help Falling In Love; 5) I'll Only Miss Him When I Think Of Him; 6) Am I Blue; 7) If I Had You; 8) Close To You; 9) Little Girl Blue; 10) I Will Wait For You.

This one's sort of a cult favorite — all of a sudden, Brenda's producers decided to add an unex­pected twist to her balladeering image, and recast her in the image of a moody vocal jazz perfor­mer, sort of like a Rosemary Cloonie or a Blossom Dearie. Normally, that's a smart move: you can allow yourself to remain sweet, sappy, and sentimental, but at the same time pretend to true emotional depth and gain points with the critics. But does it really work with Brenda Lee?

I mean, we all have to ask ourselves that question at least twice — if only to beat the common prejudice against «turf-shifting»: naturally, Brenda Lee is not a well-trained or deeply experien­ced jazz singer, and one either has to be completely ignorant of that field, or allow a certain de­gree of tolerance for the «amateur intruder», in order to judge the whole thing impartially. It also makes matters twice as bad when, like your humble servant, one has fairly little tolerance for «vocal jazz», particularly orchestrated sentimental vocal jazz, in the first place, and requires a performer of outstandingly unique quality (such as Ms. Billie) to override the intolerance.

That said, it's not as if the problems of Reflections In Blue were all that different from all of Brenda's problems in the post-1962 era. There are no technical flaws to her voice, but the delivery on all these songs — regardless of whether they deal with loss of love or discovery — is always the same: loud, powerful, professional, monotonous, predictable, and perfunctory. Okay, so she respects the melody and the lyrics sheet, but that works fine for an evening's entertainment in a local jazz club, not for a record with supposed replay value. Okay, so some of the songs are ack­nowledged clas­sics of the genre, but the overriding lush strings reduce them all to the lowest common denominator. And whoever came up with the sequencing that places the old aching classic Bessie Smith tune ʽBaby Won't You Please Come Homeʼ right next to ʽCan't Help Falling In Loveʼ should be hung, drawn, and quartered.

In any case, all credibility goes out the window when an album like this finishes on such a patho-bombastic note as ʽI Will Wait For Youʼ: nothing against Umbrellas of Cherbourg in general, but they fit in with Bessie Smith about as well as milk with pickles. I am not saying that Brenda was completely «out of it» — I mean, let's face it, 1967 was as much the year of Barbra Streisand as it was the year of Jimi Hendrix — I do mean, however, that Reflections In Blue crudely and cruel­ly nipped the «para-Motown transformation», attempted with ʽComing On Strongʼ, in the bud, and that, in the end, it won her nothing. Yes, in terms of song selection and overall image, it is a step forward from the totally empty balladeering of yesterday, but one that still would not allow the girl to properly compete with the big names. A historical curio, worth getting to know for reasons of perspective, but for little else. Oh well, at least it somehow stands out from all those other faceless albums, so indistinguishable from one another.

Brenda Lee: Coming On Strong

BRENDA LEE: COMING ON STRONG (1966)

1) Coming On Strong; 2) You Don't Have To Say You Love Me; 3) Summer Wind; 4) Kiss Away; 5) Call Me; 6) What Now My Love; 7) Uptight; 8) Crying Time; 9) Strangers In The Night; 10) Sweet Dreams; 11) You Got Your Troubles; 12) Somewhere.

I count a grand total of three impressively produced, Motown-aping tracks on this album, re­leased just in time for the opening of the Christmas market of 1966. The best known of the lot is, of course, the title track — which, despite its brash, brass-'n'-harmony-stuffed production, was actually written by «Little David Wilkins» of Nashville, launching his own career in the process. In an age where people hungered for more and more red-hot Supremes and Marvelettes material, ʽComing On Strongʼ nailed that vibe, and miraculously skyrocketed Brenda all the way to No. 11 on the charts — it is only the utmost stupidity of the music industry people that they did not ma­nage to capitalize on this success, and reinvent Ms. Lee as a fun, groovy, but strong-willed dance-pop personality. A little grooming, a little coaching, a little extra makeup, and she could have been fashioned as a white Diana Ross; they were even born in the same year.

Or maybe a white Stevie Wonder, because another bona fide Motown simulation captured here is ʽUptightʼ, where she gets caught up in the fun so much, there is even a brief remembrance of her old school «pirate» voice — nothing to make you forget the original hit, but, again, the flame is successfully carried over. Then it gets a little less invigorating on the third «upbeat» number of the album, a cover of ʽYou Got Your Troublesʼ, which was a hit for The Fortunes the year before, but they try out the same combination with the brass fanfares, and even if it is a little slower and feels a little less suited for Brenda's singing style than ʽComing On Strongʼ, it's still a winner.

Unfortunately, what we have lodged in between is the same old shit — ʽYou Don't Have To Say You Love Meʼ (she was covering Dusty Springfield, but the bitter irony is that once again, Bren­da's version would be soon competing with Elvis, and guess who'd win), ʽStrangers In The Nightʼ (yeah right), ʽSomewhereʼ... well, you get the drift. Still, having even three songs here that con­stitute an attempt to remold the image was a grand achievement for Brenda, in the context of pretty much everything she did before — and this tiny Motownish step was, at the very least, more convincing and much less forced than the «sings teen hits» embarrassment.

Brenda Lee: Bye Bye Blues

BRENDA LEE: BYE BYE BLUES (1966)

1) A Taste Of Honey; 2) Good Life; 3) Flowers On The Wall; 4) Shadow Of Your Smile; 5) Remember Me When; 6) Softly As I Leave You; 7) Bye Bye Blues; 8) Make The World Go Away; 9) September In The Rain; 10) Rusty Bells; 11) What A Difference A Day Made; 12) Yesterday.

The funniest part about observing this stage of Brenda's career is the emergence of this «alternate music universe», reflected in her (or, rather, her producers') selection of contemporary material. In this alternate universe, the Beatles were masters of torch balladeering, competing with San­remo Festival pros over the amount of tears they could wring out of the eyes of the audience (so who's the winner, ladies and gentlemen of the jury: ʽYesterdayʼ or ʽSoftly As I Leave Youʼ?); the «teen pop» singles market was most effectively represented by The Statler Brothers (ʽFlowers On The Wallʼ — who needs Bob Dylan when you can just as effectively cover all the serious prob­lems of the world by "smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo"?); and the latest, trendiest, most cutting-edge achievement in the world of Western music was recognized as the Love Theme from The Sandpiper (ʽThe Shadow Of Your Smileʼ).

As much as we'd like to snicker on the issue, though, the era is not so remote yet as to become completely shrouded in myth — and yes, it is important to remember that there were many people in early 1966 who did live in that alternate universe; in fact, most people over 30, and plenty of those under, probably did. The problem with Brenda Lee was that most of those people, if they really needed the love theme from The Sandpiper, could just stick with the original, and usually did; there was little that Ms. Lee or her faceless, string-dependent backing band could add.

Amusingly, the only single from the album (which, formally, preceded it in late '65) was ʽRusty Bellsʼ, a lush ballad with a «message»: "Rusty bells, rusty bells, pity those who've gone astray, ring again and help them find the way" — nothing less than a socially conscious statement, so the people behind the lady must have felt some sort of tinkle, that, perhaps, in the era of ʽLike A Rolling Stoneʼ and ʽA Change Is Gonna Comeʼ, something is required from time to time even from the high priests of the schmaltz variety. It didn't work; the single stalled at No. 33 and mar­ked the next-to-last time any of Brenda's singles would get in the Top 40.

Other than that, the only salvageable tracks are: (a) an interesting jazzy take on ʽA Taste Of Honeyʼ, with powerful brass backing overriding the strings for once, and (b) a few decent takes on oldies — the title track and ʽWhat A Difference A Day Madeʼ show a bit of pensive depth that the saccharine-riddled «contemporary material» covers replace with shallow romantic glitz. In other words, this is where the superiority of the pre-war Songbook over the post-war Songbook is established quite transparently. Well, there must be some meaning to the process of relistening to these records more than fifty years on.

Brenda Lee: Too Many Rivers

BRENDA LEE: TOO MANY RIVERS (1965)

1) It's Not Unusual; 2) Call Me Irresponsible; 3) Too Many Rivers; 4) Who Can I Turn To (When Nobody Needs Me); 5) Whispering; 6) Stormy Weather; 7) Hello Dolly; 8) Unforgettable; 9) Everybody Loves Somebody; 10) No One; 11) Truer Than True; 12) Think.

Country songwriter Harlan Howard provided Brenda with the hit for this album — the title track rose to No. 13 on the charts, her highest achievement since ʽAs Usualʼ two years before. As far as generic country balladry goes, ʽToo Many Riversʼ is hardly the worst kind: if only they'd thought of a better set of clothes for the song than the usual lush strings and cloudy aah-oohs... but the days of curiosities in guitar, sax, and keyboard arrangements were long gone by then. Still, a rockin'-horse country song for a hit is always better than a glob of syrup.

Other than that, let's see: Tom Jones... Judy Garland... Shirley Bassey... Nat King Cole... Dean Martin... Hello Dolly... a couple pre-war standards... well, you get the gist. And you do know that you are in general trouble listening to Brenda's mid-1960s albums, and in double trouble when ʽHello Dollyʼ turns out to be one of the highlights — but somehow, done in a fast tempo, rock-and-roll style, oddly enough, it is (at least, I'd certainly take it over Streisand, but then again, I'd take almost anything over Streisand, so forget it).

But altogether, if the previous two albums might seem like the last twists and twitches of agony, curious to watch from a sadistic perspective, this one is rigor mortis setting in — Vegas stuff, regurgitation of the «Songbook», schmaltz and glitz all the way. No doubt, somewhere in the world there may hide a genuinely devoted fan or two, or three, that could secretly wish for a complete set of Songbooks from Brenda Lee the way we got them from Ella — then again, there might also be some people out there who'd like their refrigerators to play their CDs, and their CD players to press their pants. What Brenda does on this, and many other, records, is not fundamen­tally different, and deserves nothing other than yet another thumbs down — although stealing the title track and ʽHello Dollyʼ for your playlist would be a merciful gesture.

Brenda Lee: The Versatile Brenda Lee

BRENDA LEE: THE VERSATILE BRENDA LEE (1965)

1) Yesterday's Gone; 2) Dear Heart; 3) I Still Miss Someone; 4) How Glad I Am; 5) Almost There; 6) Don't Blame Me; 7) Willow Weep For Me; 8) Truly Truly True; 9) Love Letters; 10) The Birds And The Bees; 11) La Vie En Rose; 12) Maybe.

And by «versatile», I presume, they mean «one that can perform everything, from lightweight pre-war popu­lar songs to profound contemporary material by our illustrious songwriters, like ʽThe Birds And The Beesʼ, for example». Well, truth be told, they may be right, if they are going not with the third meaning of the word in Webster's dictionary («turning with ease from one thing to another»), but with the first one — «capable of being turned round». It must have took quite a bit of turning round, I'd say, to end up with a cover of ʽLa Vie En Roseʼ on one's hands in the middle of 1965.

The album doth add insult to injury by opening in a dishonestly deceitful manner — ʽYesterday's Goneʼ, a fluke hit for the wimpy UK folk-rock duo Chad & Jeremy, is unexpectedly arranged in a rock'n'roll manner, with gruff electric guitars and a King Curtis-style saxophone solo. Not exactly «hard», but probably the toughest sound on a Brenda Lee album in about two years, making the listener salivate for more. But already track number two is ʽDear Heartʼ, a thick syrup concocted by Henry Mancini for Andy Williams, with backing vocals that you thought you'd heard the last of in Disney classics from the previous decade. And off we go...

In all honesty, the interpretation of ʽWillow Weep For Meʼ is extremely «versatile», not to men­tion powerful, and ʽHow Glad I Amʼ is quite competitive when it comes to comparison with the Nancy Wilson original — where Nancy has the upper hand in subtle modulation, Brenda fights back with sheer volume and determination. It is also interesting that her version of ʽLove Lettersʼ managed to predate Elvis' hit rendition by about a year — not that either of them matters all that much in the grand scheme of things.

But a thumbs down all the same, since everything else is (by now) traditionally rotten, including ʽThe Birds And The Beesʼ, which must be one of the worst love songs ever written in an upbeat pop manner (no wonder Jewel Akens never had another hit in his whole life). Bad songs, worse arrangements, formally impeccable, but fully predictable vocals, and, worst of all, the realization that this was all made in the summer of '65... well, couldn't they at least let her cover ʽAll I Really Want To Doʼ? Maybe we'd have no need for Cher then.

Brenda Lee: Sings Top Teen Hits

BRENDA LEE: SINGS TOP TEEN HITS (1965)

1) Dancing In The Streets; 2) The Crying Game; 3) Thanks A Lot; 4) Let It Be Me; 5) He Loves You; 6) Snap Your Fingers; 7) Wishin' & Hopin'; 8) Funny How Time Slips Away; 9) Is It True; 10) Can't Buy Me Love; 11) Always Something There To Remind Me; 12) When You Loved Me.

The most insulting thing about this album is its title. Granted, in February 1965 the world was still a few months away from ʽLike A Rolling Stoneʼ and ʽSatisfactionʼ, so Decca Records could still be somewhat justified in «wishin' & hopin'» that this new wave of rock'n'roll craziness would be over them as soon as this next bunch of teenagers starts getting serious about life. But the title is still condescending — as in, well, you know, our little lady usually sings mature, responsible material that treats human relationships from a healthy, adult perspective ("Tammy, Tammy, Tammy's in love!"), but sure, we understand the need to cater to this newfangled teen market as well, and we don't really want to let those silly kids feel too left out, so here, as an experiment, is Ms. Brenda Lee doing a couple of those weird «Beetles» songs for our dear, if a little misguided, offspring. Now run along, little boys and girls, and make way for some serious musicians that your parents endorse — like Tony Bennett.

Actually, both of the Beatles covers are among the highlights here — Brenda had not yet com­pletely forgotten what the rock'n'roll spirit was all about, and she nails the vocals on both with the good old abandon. Funny tidbit: even though the song is officially listed as ʽHe Loves Youʼ, Brenda sings the original lyrics without changing the pronoun — and understandably so, because the idiots at Decca failed to realize that the song involves three rather than two characters, and that turning it into ʽhe loves youʼ could have easily made the song into a gay rights anthem. Oh well, at least they bothered to preserve the electric guitar solo on ʽCan't Buy Me Loveʼ.

Most of the other songs, though... well, they were certainly hits, but it is somewhat questionable whether all of them were truly «teen» hits. ʽLet It Be Meʼ was covered by the Everleys, it is true, and there is plenty of Brill Building and Motown material on here, but the accent is very rarely on rock'n'roll even in its lightest form — most of the covers are lush ballads, soft-pop, or country with «crossover» appeal, and there is a nasty tendency to butcher some of the songs (for instance, ʽThe Crying Gameʼ was a very interesting song when recorded by Dave Berry, mainly due to Big Jim Sullivan's pioneering use of the wah-wah — here it is all replaced by the usual mushy strings). The Beatles covers are fun to hear, as is ʽDancing In The Streetsʼ — a song ideally sui­ted for all the raunch and fire that Brenda's voice can generate — and, at the very least, the con­cept allows her to devote some space to fluffy, but upbeat material like ʽSnap Your Fingersʼ and ʽThanks A Lotʼ: these aren't great songs, but in between all of them, they make Brenda Lee Sings Some Decca Executives Favorites They're Too Ashamed To Admit, So They Pose As Teens vastly preferable to Brenda Lee, By Request Of Some Other Decca Executives Who Do Not Pose As Teens But It's Not As If We Have To Respect Them For That.

The corniest moment on the record is saved for last: a teen idol-type candy piece called ʽWhen You Loved Meʼ, whose first verse goes "When you loved me / You took the stars / Down from the skies / Then you put them in my eyes" — I don't know about you, but my first reaction was "Oh man, that must have really hurt!" But this is actually a good sign, a crystal clear message from the industry that nothing has changed in a profound manner: the Beatles will come and go just the same way as Martha & The Vandellas or Dave Berry or Dusty Springfield, but Serious Good Taste by Responsible Adults will always prevail in the end. And it's always useful to be in the know, regardless of whether the news is pleasant or disappointing.

Brenda Lee: By Request

BRENDA LEE: BY REQUEST (1964)

1) More; 2) Days Of Wine And Roses; 3) Danke Schoen; 4) Tammy; 5) Why Don't You Believe Me; 6) I Love You Because; 7) As Usual; 8) Blue Velvet; 9) My Whole World Is Falling Down; 10) I Wonder; 11) I'm Confessin'; 12) The Grass Is Greener.

By May 5, 1964, when this album was officially released on Decca, the States had already been wrig­gling in the clutch of Beatlemania for several months — but, naturally, you wouldn't even begin to whiff it on By Request. By whose request? Certainly not by request of those rebellious teens who could have embraced stuff like ʽDynamiteʼ eight years ago — more likely, by request of their parents who were secretly hoping that this new trans-Atlantic craze might pass them by even faster than the older, homebrewn rockabilly madness.

In retrospect, this album is even more awful than its predecessor. The only song that barely es­capes the sacchariney quicksand of lush ballads is ʽMy Whole World Is Falling Downʼ, a jovial mix of pop and R&B that would have felt right at home on a Manfred Mann album — the jovi­ality being particular­ly neat in the light of the song's tragic lyrics. On a record like All The Way, the track would have been a nice, energetic, forgettable bit of filler — here, it is a giant among songs that... well, in retrospect, some people have developed a nostalgic kick for this sort of mush, but I wonder just how many of them can honestly stand a song like ʽTammyʼ, which arguably embodies all of the very worst aspects of «mainstream pop» in the early 1960s. "Does my darling feel what I feel when he comes here?.." Oh, please!

«Highlights» include an unnecessary attempt at appropriating ʽBlue Velvetʼ (the song is hardly any good on its own, but at least The Clovers gave it some color); Wayne Newton's ʽDanke Schoenʼ, sung with the same Yiddish accent ("danke shaayne!..") and preserving all the neo-cabaret corniness of the original; and a lushly orchestrated ʽDays Of Wine & Rosesʼ — I must say that I am a sucker for ʽMoon Riverʼ when it comes to Henry Mancini (probably due to the obligatory childhood crush on Audrey Hepburn), but not this one. Why not ʽMoon Riverʼ? Who­ever chooses ʽDays Of Wine & Rosesʼ over ʽMoon Riverʼ deserves a wicked thumbs down for that reason alone. Better still, why can't she just cover the Pink Panther Theme? At her best, she certainly used to be more of a «pink panther» than a «Tammy's in love (woo woo woo woo)».

Brenda Lee: Let Me Sing

BRENDA LEE: LET ME SING (1963)

1) Night And Day; 2) The End Of The World; 3) Our Day Will Come; 4) You're The Reason I'm Living; 5) Break It To Me Gently; 6) Where Are You; 7) When Your Lover Has Gone; 8) Losing You; 9) I Wanna Be Around; 10) Out In The Cold Again; 11) At Last; 12) There Goes My Heart.

No conceptual foundation this time, but no significant difference, either, except for a minor tac­tical twist: other than the opening ʽNight And Dayʼ and maybe just one or two other oldies, the majority of the songs come from recent success stories — Bobby Darin, Skeeter Davis, those kinds of people. If anything, though, it only means that polite, Disney-ish ballads occupy the space that could have been dedicated to fun retro jazz romps: if Brenda Lee is prohibited to sing rock'n'roll, she could have at least been warming our hearts with some of that old swing. But Let Me Sing is targeted exclusively at «respectable parents» circa 1963, and no one else.

Already sickening strings are now joined, on at least a third of the songs, by the greatest evil of all — croony backup vocals that successfully recreate the atmosphere of Bambi: nineteen fourty-two all over again (ʽYou're The Reason I'm Livingʼ, ʽThere Goes My Heartʼ, etc.). Brenda herself sounds strong and confident in the midst of all this sugarland, but strength and confidence are wasted on this kind of material with these kinds of arrangements. Besides, many of these songs are not even intended to be sung with strength and confidence — if there is a substantial point to a song like ʽBreak It To Me Gentlyʼ, it is pretty much lost on the singer. If somebody asked me in that particular way to «break it to me gently», I'd rather run and hide.

Anyway, the two oldies that open the two sides of the LP (ʽNight And Dayʼ, ʽWhen Your Lover Has Goneʼ) preserve some of the playful fun, and are altogether acceptable, if dispensable. The rest is mainly just awful songs in awful arrangements, sung by a singer who was not born to sing this kind of material, period. Another thumbs down, of course — don't let anyone fool you into suggesting that «time has been kind to this stuff...».

Brenda Lee: All Alone Am I

BRENDA LEE: ALL ALONE AM I (1963)

1) All Alone Am I; 2) By Myself; 3) (I Left My Heart) In San Francisco; 4) It's All Right With Me; 5) My Colouring Book; 6) My Prayer; 7) Lover; 8) All By Myself; 9) What Kind Of Fool Am I; 10) Come Rain Or Come Shine; 11) I Hadn't Anyone Till You; 12) Fly Me To The Moon.

Recorded in late 1962, released in February 1963, forgotten, I suppose, as soon as its lead single fell off the charts. And this time even the lead single, although it did rise to No. 3 on the charts, does not help out the situation — a sentimental adult pop waltz, sung with plenty of power but no subtlety whatsoever. The harpsichord adds a nice touch of anti-mediocrity, but there is only so long a distance I am willing to go as far as my admiration for Brenda Lee is concerned: a corny mainstream standart is a corny mainstream standart, period.

The subject of loneliness seems to have been raised to conceptual heights here — apart from the title track, one finds both ʽBy Myselfʼ and ʽAll By Myselfʼ (yes, they are two different songs: the latter from Irving Berlin's songbook, the former a recent composition), and then there is the sleeve photo on which the girl does seem sort of lonely. In fact, that purple-dress-on-black style would suggest some musical «doom and gloom» to go along, but the arrangements make no ef­fort to genuinely convey any dark emotions. Everything's glossed up again, with strings, pianos, and, occasionally, harps and harmonicas (as on the impossibly, almost Sesame Street-like «ange­li­fied» rendition of ʽMy Coloring Bookʼ) providing all the perks.

Most of the toughness that can be elicited from the performer here comes on fast-paced jazz-pop numbers, both new (ʽBy Myselfʼ) and old (a funny cover of the old Rodgers & Hart chestnut ʽLoverʼ, with Brenda's trademark «stern» approach), but even these are limited to two or three tracks. As for the rest — well, ʽMy Prayerʼ is probably as solemn and anthemic as she ever got to that point, but that does not mean this «regal» approach really suits her. Altogether, the whole thing is another disaster on par with Sincerely, and a good example of Decca's utmost stupidity in the early Sixties when it came to making the best use of their artists. But we all know that — «guitar bands are on their way out» and all the rest. Thumbs down.

Brenda Lee: Brenda, That's All

BRENDA LEE: BRENDA, THAT'S ALL (1962)

1) I'm Sitting On Top Of The World; 2) Fool #1; 3) White Silver Sands; 4) Just Out Of Reach; 5) Sweethearts On Parade; 6) It's A Lonesome Old Town; 7) Organ Grinder's Swing; 8) Gonna Find Me A Bluebird; 9) Why Me?; 10) Valley Of Tears; 11) Someday You'll Want Me To Want You; 12) You Can Depend On Me.

Fortunately for all of us who like a good friendly beat for our pop ditties, this album rectifies the mistake of Sincerely and returns to the tried and true: a balanced mix of «adult» and «teen» pop, without any one side trumping any of the others (although, as is always the case, my internal teen keeps gaining the upper hand over my external adult). Technically, perhaps, this is not altogether true, as the ballads numerically dominate over the bop stuff — 8 to 4, to be precise — but only the last three songs present a genuinely noticeable uninterrupted romantic stretch. Elsewhere, the sound is moderately and acceptably diverse, even if the songs themselves still tend to come from the pre-war era: notably, not a single recent teen pop standard is getting covered.

Predictably, both of the singles were ballads: ʽYou Can Depend On Meʼ is a bluesy one, previously tackled by Armstrong and Nat King Cole, and ʽFool #1ʼ is a freshly written country waltz, first tried on by Loretta Lynn before hitting the charts in Brenda's version. Nothing of particular inte­rest can be said about either one — the melodies are thoroughly generic, the arrangements fairly trite, and the singer certainly does not seem too interested in adding any subtle nuances, because, really, there is only so much one can do with this sort of material.

Things get much more interesting, in relative comparison, on the upbeat stuff, particularly on two songs. The organ-led speedy blues-pop of ʽWhite Silver Sandsʼ puts more of a rock'n'roll spirit in the song than the Don Rondo original from 1957 — leave it to the pirate girl to teach the suave baritone how to get that blood boiling. And ʽOrgan Grinder's Swingʼ is even more «piratish» in nature, putting a hooligan twist on a song that had been in need of rejuvenating ever since Ella Fitzgerald cut it with the Savoy Eight back in 1936, and, true to the song title, featuring cool organ swing a-plenty.

Other than that, there is not much to say, unless one is ready to take a crash course in writing about minor emotional inflections in stereotypically patterned country ballads. The worst thing about all of them is that they prevent Brenda's backing band from showing their chops — guitars, organs, saxes, the works, all of it only really comes out when the strings lose their monopoly, and this only happens during the anti-romantic breaks. But this was late 1962, after all, back when some people were beginning to think they'd finally done away with the rock'n'roll craze...

Brenda Lee: Sincerely, Brenda Lee

BRENDA LEE: SINCERELY, BRENDA LEE (1962)

1) You Always Hurt The One You Love; 2) Lazy River; 3) You've Got Me Crying Again; 4) It's The Talk Of The Town; 5) Send Me Some Lovin'; 6) How Deep Is The Ocean; 7) I'll Always Be In Love With You; 8) I Miss You So; 9) Fools Rush In; 10) Only You (And You Alone); 11) Hold Me; 12) I'll Be Seeing You.

The first big misstep in Brenda's career — and it's not even as if the times themselves were pres­sing her into taking it. The musical climate, in early 1962, was much the same as in late 1961, and Brenda's team of musicians, arrangers, and corporate songwriters had not changed much, either, but all the same, someone came up with this ridiculous idea of recording an album consisting of nothing but old Tin Pan Alley stuff, increasing the old quota of about 20-30% to a baffling 100%. Most likely, in an age where people still regarded rockabilly and dance-pop as passable kiddie stuff (not entirely without reason), this move was to signalize «maturation» — and if it was im­possible to market Brenda as the next Peggy Lee, well, then she'd at least have to be the next Doris Day. Not Doris Day? Okay, how about the next Connie Francis?

If you like Brenda Lee in general (like I do), and if you honestly cherish pre-rock'n'roll era pop standards in general (like I don't), Sincerely will be right up your alley. From a general point of view on how these songs should be sung and played for maximum effect, Brenda and her band do a competent job — nothing but sheer professionalism from everybody. But the girl did not make the original grade with ʽFools Rush Inʼ: she made it by taking a rowdy Hank Williams song and rowdying it up even further, and this is why she stood out in the first place. When, on the other hand, she tries to convince us that ʽYou Always Hurt The One You Loveʼ, she is doing no better (and no worse) a job than a whole army of her good-looking colleagues in the same business.

The only song on the entire album that is still sung with faint echoes of her «pirate voice» is Hoagy Carmichael's ʽLazy Riverʼ — unquestionably the album's highest point, especially since Brenda's delivery stays happily ignorant of the sentimentalism that one should naturally expect to be packed together with these lyrics: she mouths those "rub away your troubles, dream a dream with me" in such a commanding tone, you'd be all the wiser to quickly take that advice, or else you'll get your ass whupped with that trombone solo — it means real business.

The lack of sugary sentimentalism is the only saving grace that lets one live through the other eleven ballads — but even so, it gets so monotonous so early on that it might be hard discerning where one song stops and the next one begins: that refreshing diversity that made All The Way so easily digestible no longer exists in the confines of this particular formula. Fortunately for us all today, the general public back in 1962 was not particularly impressed, either, and the album seriously dipped in the charts as compared to its predecessor — or, perhaps, this was simply the result of the decision not to put out any accompanying singles. I mean, even in the «saggy» little period between Chuck Berry and the Beatles, a cover of Doris Fisher or Hoagy Carmichael was probably not anybody's best bet for a jukebox attraction. Not a «bad» record altogether (at this time in history, Brenda and her band were physically incapable of putting down a proverbially «bad» record), but a relative thumbs down all the same.

Brenda Lee: All The Way

BRENDA LEE: ALL THE WAY (1961)

1) Lover Come Back To Me; 2) All The Way; 3) Dum Dum; 4) On The Sunny Side Of The Street; 5) Talkin' 'Bout You; 6) Someone To Love Me; 7) Do I Worry; 8) Tragedy; 9) Kansas City; 10) Eventually; 11) Speak To Me Pretty; 12) The Big Chance.

Definitely a step back up from Emotions — in fact, this one LP should probably rank as one of Brenda's most well-balanced, stylish, and intelligent records, as far as her pop formula could carry all these things. The ballad-to-rocker ratio is normalized to about fifty-fifty; the actual bal­lads and rockers are diverse, once again with a clever mix of ancient oldies, recent oldies, and newly penned material — and somehow, most of this stuff happens to be designed or re-designed with flashy vocal and / or instrumental twists, well suited to Brenda's vocal abilities and the mu­sical skills of her Nashville backers — and every once in a while, the music rises well above the usual easy-listening pablum levels and becomes almost endearing.

Thus, ʽLover Come Back To Meʼ is updated here to match the demands of early 1960s dance-pop («rock'n'roll» would be too tough a term), but it's almost odd to hear Brenda sing the chorus line in such an obviously commanding tone ("LOVER! come back TO ME!") where most of the jazz greats who sang it before her used a more pleading or generally neutral approach — and she sang it at a far earlier age, too, but then again, maybe «teenage rebellion» is where it's at. Then, right off the bat, she goes for another song that is at least partly associated with Billie Holiday (the title track), and does it equally full justice — the «grand finale» puts a pretty heavy tax on her vocal skills, but it all pays off.

Some of the newly written ballads are genuinely interesting — ʽTragedyʼ, stuck somewhere in between country-western and doo-wop, is brilliantly modulated, nicely hooked, and should be every bit as respectable as the best known Elvis ballads from the same period; ʽEventuallyʼ, writ­ten by Ronnie Self of ʽI'm Sorryʼ's fame, is a juicy moody bit with a subtle threat and an unusual and unpredictable dissection of the word "eventually" that may sound forced and uncouth at first, but will get intriguing later as you try to deduce its phonetic symbolism. (Nice and tasty echoing of the vocals by the violins, too).

ʽEventuallyʼ eventually emerged as the B-side to the album's single, Jackie DeShannon's ʽDum Dumʼ, which rose to No. 4 on the charts and is considerably (though not unimaginably) tougher and sexier than its title would have one believe — especially with Brenda adopting her «pirate» tone for most of the song's duration, except for the chorus resolution, where, for a brief titillating flash, the pirate is revealed as a vixen before putting the mask back on again. The expectable Ray Charles impersonation (ʽTalkin' 'Bout Youʼ) is too restrained to be of much interest, but her ʽKansas Cityʼ is fun and defiant enough ("they got some crazy little men there, I'm gonna get me one") to rank up there with all the other ʽKansas Citiesʼ in the world, including the Beatles.

The rest of the tracks may not deserve special mention or discussion, but the bottomline is that it's all consistently entertaining and rarely, if ever, «tacky»: it was not in Brenda's style to take on material that she was unable to handle, and, additionally, this time around, it just so happened that her outside contributors were on a roll, providing her with catchy stuff. It's all fluffy, but when you're barely pushing 18, there is nothing wrong in singing fluff if you do it adequately, and All The Way is perfectly adequate — let's face it, forcing Brenda Lee to sing ʽStrange Fruitʼ at this juncture would not have been a particularly wise move. Thumbs up.

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Brenda Lee: Emotions

BRENDA LEE: EMOTIONS (1961)

1) Emotions; 2) Just Another Lie; 3) If You Love Me (Really Love Me); 4) Crazy Talk; 5) When I Fall In Love; 6) Around The World; 7) Swanee River Rock; 8) Will You Love Me Tomorrow; 9) I'm Learning About Love; 10) Georgia On My Mind; 11) Cry; 12) I'm In The Mood For Love.

Same stylistics, same production team, same relentless perfectionism (seven different recording sessions now, after the six of This Is... Brenda), same balanced mix of bearded oldies, recent oldies, and freshly written corporate material. The only difference: out of 12 songs, two-thirds are ballads, fair and square, bringing that train still farther and farther away from the girl's rockabilly past — and, considering that the title track predictably made it into the Top 10, this line of deve­lopment only seemed more and more viable as the months and years went by and the «little Miss Dynamite» was all set to grow into a «mature» Nashville queen.

Fortunately, the Nashville production team still keeps a firm grip on the limits of good taste, so that the strings are rarely overbearing, and sometimes actually border on delicious — ʽJust Ano­ther Lieʼ, a new number loosely based on some of Chuck Willis' tunes, instead of formulaic or­chestration, has a haunting solo violin part that comes in through an imaginary archway midway through, and gives the tune a little bit of a Stephane Grappelli feel.

The title track does have such a powerhouse delivery that its choice for a single was understan­dable: the musical backing is non-descript, but this is the first time in Brenda's career when she seems to perfectly understand the power of dynamic modulation, and, true to the song's title, tries to convey not one, but several different types of emotions over those three minutes — listen to the big kick of "EMOTIONS, please set me free!..." after the first few quiet bars of the chorus, and you'll see what I mean.

Elsewhere, she takes on Edith Piaf (ʽIf You Love Meʼ), understandably, with little success, but then again, one shouldn't necessarily be aware that the song is originally a French tune; the Shi­relles and Carole King (ʽWill You Love Me Tomorrowʼ), with far more success, even though I do believe nobody ever invested as much personal feeling into that song as its original author; and Ray Charles (we won't be saying «Hoagy Carmichael», really), with ʽGeorgia On My Mindʼ — a competent version, but only weathered old men can really do justice to that song (or, at least, those who successfully pretend to be weathered old men, like Richard Manuel from The Band).

Of the four upbeat tunes, ʽCrazy Talkʼ is a fun little wannabe-classic, where guitar, sax, and vo­cals do indeed come together in a bit of «crazy talk»; and the B-side ʽI'm Learning About Loveʼ, despite the suspicious title, is in fact a jumpy pop-rocker, with the most vivacious tone on the album and a welcome return of the old «pirate growl» from Little Miss Dynamite.

So, on the whole, one might subtract one or two of the more faceless ballads (like ʽWhen I Fall In Loveʼ), or smirk a bit about such childish cover material as the theme tune from Around The World In 80 Days, but Emotions still delivers... well, emotions. feeling glossy, but lively and cheery, and for that, gets its duly thumbs up.

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Brenda Lee: This Is... Brenda

BRENDA LEE: THIS IS... BRENDA (1960)

1) When My Dreamboat Comes Home; 2) I Want To Be Wanted; 3) Just A Little; 4) Pretend; 5) Love And Learn; 6) Teach Me Tonight; 7) Hallelujah I Love Him So; 8) Walkin' To New Orleans; 9) Blueberry Hill; 10) We Three (My Echo, My Shadow, And Me); 11) Build A Big Fence; 12) If I Didn't Care.

Brenda's second LP from 1960 was already a much tighter affair: recorded in about six months' time (as opposed to two years), although still in six separate sessions, showcasing the obsessive perfectionism of her Nashville team. In keeping up with the times — and the times were signifi­cantly influenced by whatever Elvis was doing ever since his return from the army — the record moves farther away from the rockabilly spirit: this time, nearly half of the songs are ballads, and the rest drift between soft, careful, politely danceable Brill Building pop and Southern rhythm and blues. There is still a thin rebellious streak running through the record, but it gets harder to discern it behind the layers of conventionalism, particularly in the songwriting.

The album's big hit, in fact, one of Brenda's biggest, was ʽI Want To Be Wantedʼ, an English translation of an Italian pop song — but, fair enough, Brenda did manage to almost completely strip the tune of its theatrical Italian flavor and imbue it with some Nashville tough-girl stuffing instead: where its Italian versions (Tony Dallara, etc.) were troubadourish (wimpy, that is), the new English words ("I wanna be wanted right now, not tomorrow, but right now!") are sung by Brenda with such power that it's pretty easy to see how the song was destined for red-hot number-oneness in an era of sexual build-up — you could almost see the Beatles as a response to this desperate plea for release. The song itself is a trifle, but the interpretation is pure gold.

There is more to that story: the choice of cover tunes also includes ʽTeach Me Tonightʼ (again, sung with such determination that one wonders who'd be teaching whom), and Betty Chotas' ʽJust A Littleʼ with a decidedly hooliganish drawl in the chorus. I am not implying that the whole album goes like that, or even that these particular songs have a notably stronger erotic effect than so much competition at the time — but I am implying that some of this stuff must have sounded fairly risqué for a 16-year old (even if the exact age still remains undetectable on the record), and that thinking of This Is... Brenda in these terms adds some much-needed thrill.

Particularly since she is still too young to bring in any sophisticated nuance: the purely romantic ballads, such as ʽPretendʼ and ʽIf I Didn't Careʼ, suffer from too much formula, and when it comes to covers of well-known songs, there is not much she is able to add to the legacy of ʽBlue­berry Hillʼ (the speeding up and the playful hiccup are not much help), or to Ray Charles' ʽHalle­lujah I Love Her Soʼ (except to change the «her» to «him»). They're fun (good songs that are very hard to spoil in the first place), but never essential.

Musically, we are offered the same expert Nashville backing here as usual, with more strings and less guitar work than I'd like to hear and only one truly inventive, «muffled» sax solo from Boots Randolph on the ʽLove & Learnʼ shuffle. Still, this is all generally within the pop-rock formula of the time, with tight limits set on sentimentality quotas — it is only the lack of one or two outstan­ding displays of fast-paced joyful aggressiveness, like ʽDynamiteʼ, that are indicative of the curve having narrowly passed its peak; and even without a ʽDynamiteʼ to its name, This Is... Brenda is one of the girl's best and naturally deserves a thumbs up.

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Brenda Lee: Brenda Lee

BRENDA LEE: BRENDA LEE (1960)

1) Dynamite; 2) Weep No More My Baby; 3) Jambalaya (On The Bayou); 4) (If I'm Dreaming) Just Let Me Dream; 5) Be My Love Again; 6) My Baby Likes Western Guys; 7) Sweet Nothin's; 8) I'm Sorry; 9) That's All You Gotta Do; 10) Heading Home; 11) Wee Wee Willies; 12) Let's Jump The Broomstick.

Unlike later albums, this self-titled release was actually recorded over several different sessions that took place between 1958 and 1960 — which is a good thing, since rock'n'roll was still a hot thing on the charts and in people's minds when the sessions began, and, consequently, Brenda Lee is the rockiest, liveliest set of songs in the lady's career. Hard as it is to believe for those who have some idea of a faint outline of Brenda's career, only one of these twelve songs is a sentimen­tal ballad — and it happens to be her signature tune at that. The rest is either rockabilly or dance-oriented country-western, with a little bit of twisting and New Orleans for extra diversity.

Several of the tracks had been earlier released as singles, and are presented here in remade ver­sions: ʽJambalayaʼ, for instance, which was Brenda's first nationwide success at the age of 11, is slightly sped up and nourished with some King Curtis-style sax, while ʽDynamiteʼ, the single that got her the famous nickname, is embellished with extra strings and backing vocals. Needless to say, the originals are a bit rougher and tougher, but these versions are still quite wholesome, and hold up well on their own: Brenda's pirate snarl on the "jambalaya, crawfish pie and filet gumbo" line used to literally send shivers down my spine, and still does — it probably does take a 13-year old to produce that kind of effect.

But it is really ʽDynamiteʼ that exemplifies early Brenda Lee — way down in history, way before there ever was a ʽBaby Hit Me One More Timeʼ, there was this little girl, much younger than Britney, who bellowed "If I might do all the things / I'd love to do tonight / Then I would love you dear / With all my might... I just explode like dynamite!" and you were almost ready to com­mit a capital crime by actually believing what she sang. Of course, the arrangement is very inno­cent, done in gentle Nashville style, and the kid-rock melody is vaudeville-turned-rockabilly, but the song is still a significant milestone — no other white girl, not even Wanda Jackson, who was Brenda's chief (and only?) competitor at the time, could afford to let herself that loose back in the late Fifties. And there is nothing in the song that would diminish its freshness and excitement today — this is not simply some sort of «American Idol» thing, it is a daring, bravura per­for­mance that could not have been the result of merely memorizing a set formula.

Unfortunately, ʽDynamiteʼ did not do as well on the charts as ʽI'm Sorryʼ, which first gained po­pularity as a B-side, then rose to #1 as an A-side, and eventually became the song to be forever associated with Brenda. It is a decent ballad that she honestly pushes towards greatness — where her earliest songs, for understandable reasons of age, valued adrenaline over depth and subtlety, this lost love confession prompted her to add dynamics and flexibility, and I guess it does mark the transition from child phenomenon to mature artist. But the fact that ʽI'm Sorryʼ became the first song to make her a household name also resulted in the inevitable — a tendency to drift far­ther and farther into syrupy ballad territory, and away from the rockabilly turf that gave her birth and nurtured her to this maturity.

But we are running ahead here, because, like I said, most of Brenda Lee is still deep in kick-ass territory, or, adjusting to the circumstances, in «pat-ass» territory. Most of the songs are contribu­ted by outside songwriters and are derivative to the core, but that does not matter as long as the source inspiration was fun in the first place, and it was: ʽLet's Jump The Broomstickʼ clearly owes a lot to Little Richard's ʽSlippin' And Slidin'ʼ, and it is nice to hear Brenda pay this kind of tribute, even if the cumulative effect is (predictably) a little less overwhelming. (The song was covered a decade later by Sandy Denny, who managed to make it bluesy and ominous instead of whirlygig-funny — a curious feat).

Other highlights include ʽMy Baby Likes Western Guysʼ, where the protagonist complains about her lover's Western TV show obsession impeding the lovemaking process (it is a funny song, be­lieve me, though not quite on the Coasters level); ʽSweet Nothin'sʼ, credited to Ronnie Self, the author of ʽI'm Sorryʼ, and giving Brenda the opportunity to sound a little foxy; and ʽThat's All You Gotta Doʼ, the former A-side of ʽI'm Sorryʼ, which is just a sweet fast pop-rocker — sort of Motown-lite that the early Beatles would have loved. As for lowlights... well, some of the tunes are less memorable than others — that is to be expected — but there is hardly a single song on here that wouldn't be fun at all, or would have Ms. Lee try and perform something way beyond her reach or understanding.

I would go as far as suggest that, for 1960, Brenda Lee constitutes an essential listen. Even if we want to believe that the teen phenomenon was completely «manufactured», there is nothing on the record itself to suggest that. The music is nowhere near groundbreaking, but it is consistently fun, and to have an underage female rocker shake your world in an age when most of the male «veteran» rockers were giving up their positions must have been awesome: yes, the arrangements are wimpy, but they are not completely smooth and sterile — and that voice is anything but wimpy. Thumbs up without further questions: for those who prefer to deal in original LPs rather than compilations, Brenda Lee is the real deal about this girl.

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Brenda Lee: Grandma, What Great Songs You Sang!

BRENDA LEE: GRANDMA WHAT GREAT SONGS YOU SANG! (1959)

1) Some Of These Days; 2) Pennies From Heaven; 3) Baby Face; 4) A Good Man Is Hard To Find; 5) Just Because; 6) Toot Toot Tootsie Goodbye; 7) Ballin' The Jack; 8) Rock-A-Bye Your Baby With A Dixie Melody; 9) Pretty Baby; 10) Side By Side; 11) Back In Your Own Back Yard; 12) St. Louis Blues.

When Brenda Lee set out to record her first LP in early 1959, she had already been a big star for three years, ever since stunning the nation with her red-hot ʽJambalayaʼ back in 1956 at the tender age of 11 (of course, Decca Records couldn't resist the temptation to label her as «Little Brenda Lee (9 Years Old)» — the old adagio of «where there's publicity, there's cheating» strikes again). More than that, she was already known as «Little Miss Dynamite», having recorded her deadliest rock'n'roll explosion in 1957 — and thus, choosing a selection of pre-war (pre-Depression, in fact, which is accurately reflected in the album title) ditties for her first LP must have been somewhat anti-climactic for the fans.

Of course, by 1959 the initial wave of rock'n'roll enthusiasm was already breaking, with well-combed «teen idols» gradually replacing the rebels for a while, and it may have been judged a prudent career move for the girl to switch from the «aggressiveness» of ʽDynamiteʼ and ʽRockin' Around The Christmas Treeʼ to something more tame and traditional. Ironically — perhaps by some sort of subconscious inertia — it is Grandma... that turned out to be one of the rockiest and brawniest albums in Brenda's huge catalog.

Recorded in two sessions at a Nashville studio, the album has no «ballads» as such — it is com­prised of old popular dance, vaudeville, and white blues songs, not surprisingly, some of which had previously already entered the rock'n'roll repertoire (for instance, Little Richard did ʽBaby Faceʼ, and Elvis, of course, covered ʽJust Becauseʼ, with both of Brenda's interpretations rather doing homage to their versions than the originals). The arrangements, despite a plethora of studio musicians, are generally sparse and homely, with at least as much emphasis on rockabilly guitar as there is on brass — and then, of course, there are the vocals.

There is not much subtlety, thoughtfulness, depth, or flexibility in these vocals — and neither could one rigorously demand all of that from a 14-year old who had the nerve to take on Sophie Tucker and Bessie Smith at the same time (kicking off the album with the former and closing with the latter). But there is power, intensity, and plenty of swagger — rustic, unrefined swagger of the rock'n'roll era, that is, not the subtle emancipated swagger of the days of old. Other than one (not particularly tragic) misstep — she does a rather wooden take on ʽPennies From Heavenʼ, especially compared with the Billie Holiday version — it all works.

Brenda's trademark «roar» that she already flashed with gusto on her earliest records is only briefly heard here on ʽJust Becauseʼ (which might, vocally, be even more impressive than the Elvis version) — but even without roaring, she is pretty good at overpowering the listener on all those songs where the listener (a hopeless male) has to be overpowered (by a strong female). It does help to remember that the girl was 14: for a fully grown-up performer, these takes on the «classics» can seem a little strained, or a little shaky, or, on the contrary, a little over-the-top, as if the performer really felt herself in need of «proving» something — which she, of course, was, as would be every 14-year old taking on the burden of recording ʽSt. Louis Bluesʼ for commercial release.

Me certainly not being a big fan of the pre-war popular song, I do recognize that it is not the sheetnotes that matter in most such cases — it is the attitude; and there is a tiny bit of punkish arrogance in the attitude that Brenda adopts for these performances, meaning that, crazy as it might seem to some, I'd rather listen to this than to, say, Bing Crosby singing the same songs. Yet even Bing Crosby fans will probably find the album to their liking. Also, just for the record, early guitar hero Hank Garland (whom most people will probably recognize from Presley's ʽLittle Sisterʼ) is responsible for most of the lead playing on the album — one more reason for a merry little thumbs up.