The leading California-based vocal group of the '60s, the Mamas & the Papas epitomized the ethos of the mid- to late-'60s pop culture: live free, play free, and love free. Their music, built around radiant harmonies and a solid electric folk foundation, was gorgeous on its own terms, but a major part of its appeal lay in the easygoing southern... [+] Read More

The leading California-based vocal group of the '60s, the Mamas & the Papas epitomized the ethos of the mid- to late-'60s pop culture: live free, play free, and love free. Their music, built around radiant harmonies and a solid electric folk foundation, was gorgeous on its own terms, but a major part of its appeal lay in the easygoing southern California lifestyle it endorsed. The group's success was as extraordinary as it was brief, and onlookers may well wonder what went wrong with a performing group that seemed to have the world at its feet for all of two years. The irony behind the Mamas & the Papas' story is that the same forces that made it possible for them to create extraordinary music together also made it impossible for them to stay together for more than a short time.

The group's founder and de facto leader, John Phillips, born in 1935, was actually quite a bit older than most of the figures who emerged as rock stars during the middle and late 1960s. He was more of Elvis Presley's generation, the product of a chaotic home life with a difficult childhood and adolescence, and seemed to be headed for life as a low-level delinquent until he was scared straight, and then had been headed for the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis, MD. In the background, however, was music, the guitar, and the sounds of Elvis Presley, the Platters, Teresa Brewer, and everyone else charting records in the mid-'50s. He eventually entered music professionally, while his first marriage produced two children (one of them future actress MacKenzie Phillips). Phillips' first music forays moved from pop to soft jazz and finally into folk music, through groups such as the Smoothies and the Journeymen. The latter group, a trio with Dick Weissman and Scott McKenzie, was one of the most promising small ensembles of the early-'60s folk music boom, but it never connected with the public despite being signed to Capitol Records -- in fairness, the label already had the Kingston Trio, and Phillips' group was perhaps just a little behind the curve of where public taste and radio programming were heading.

Ultimately, Phillips' first marriage ended, as did the Journeymen, but his attempts at musical success continued. Phillips formed the New Journeymen with future screenwriter Marshall Brickman and a young model and singer named Michelle Gilliam; they didn't succeed any better, but Phillips and Gilliam married and they also started to write songs. One that they composed jointly during this period was a catchy tune with some potential that expressed an idealized vision.

Meanwhile, working in a different realm of the musical spectrum was a Baltimore-born singer named Cassandra Elliot, who had become a big fish in a small pond -- though Cass Elliot would have been the first to say that she was a pretty big fish in any pond -- as part of New York's off-Broadway theater scene, and had made some noise in touring productions of The Music Man. She's moved into folk music in partnership with Tim Rose -- himself an ex-associate of the Smoothies. They worked as two-thirds of a trio called the Triumverate, whose third spot was subsequently filled by Nebraska-born folksinger James Hendricks. This group eventually became the Big 3 and hit it big at New York's Bitter End, and from there went on to a brief flurry of recording activity that yielded two LPs, a handful of singles, and a brace of television commercials.

Eventually, the Big 3 evolved into the Mugwumps, whose ranks included Elliot, Hendricks, Zal Yanovsky, John Sebastian, and Denny Doherty, a veteran of the Colonials in the early '60s, who later rechristened themselves the Halifax Three -- Doherty and Elliot, who were pretty impressive on their own, made a dazzling pair of voices together. The Mugwumps seemed to be on the edge of a new sound, mixing electric instruments played with ever more emphasis on folk-based material -- this was concurrent with the West Coast activities of Roger McGuinn, Gene Clark, and David Crosby in the Byrds -- but could never quite put together a sound that sold, even to the record labels, much less the public. They were foundering when Phillips decided to reactivate his trio as the New Journeymen and, with Brickman gone, recruited Doherty to sing some shows down in Washington, D.C. All of the pieces were almost all together in the closing days of 1964.

Meanwhile, Cass Elliot was paying her bills by singing jazz, in Washington, D.C., no less. The New Journeymen might have gone it alone, except that Doherty brought his fellow members to see her perform. The quartet fell into place despite some resistance from John Phillips over Elliot's sheer size as well as her strong personality and (supposedly) her voice. Following a few ups and downs in personalities, a trip to the Caribbean (as immortalized later by the song "Creeque Alley"), an accident that suddenly had Elliot hitting what Phillips said were the right notes, and some acid use and drug experimentation along the way, they all headed west in search of success.

The group headed to California late in 1965 and was turned down by ex-Kingston Trio manager Frank Werber, whose group the We Five -- with a vaguely similar sound to Phillips and company -- was scoring big with its version of Sylvia Fricker's "You Were on My Mind." At the suggestion of Barry McGuire, late of the New Christy Minstrels and an old friend of Elliot's, who was just coming off of his biggest hit, "Eve of Destruction" on Dunhill Records, the quartet auditioned for Lou Adler, the head of the label -- their audition consisted of "California Dreamin'," "Monday, Monday," and many of the other songs that ended up comprising their debut album. Adler signed them on the spot and their debut single, "California Dreamin'," was out by the start of 1966 and shooting up the charts, with their album If You Can Believe Your Eyes and Ears coming up behind it.

That album was one of the finest examples of what later became known as "sunshine pop," and it's still one of the best harmony vocal showcases in 1960s music. In addition to the two hit singles, "California Dreamin'" and "Monday, Monday," listeners could luxuriate in the radiant splendors of "Go Where You Wanna Go," "Got a Feeling," and eight more unabashed gems, and they reciprocated by lofting it to the number one spot on the charts and keeping it among the top-selling albums in the country for months. Sadly, this would also mark the Mamas & the Papas' high watermark as an album act; they would never again release any long-player quite as consistent in terms of quality and inventiveness.

Even before it was recorded, the unity of the group and its sound, and the foursome's reasons for working as group (which had been cultivated for a year) were jeopardized by the overlapping romantic attractions between the members -- John and Michelle Phillips were married, but that didn't stop Doherty, who'd already been the object of Elliot's affections, from pairing off with Michelle Phillips and, in the process, engendering stress and distrust all around. Stresses also arose as Michelle Phillips became involved for a time with Gene Clark, the principal composer, co-founder, and lead singer with the Byrds -- worse yet, she ended up being accused of disloyalty to the group for her public displays of attraction to Clark and was finally, at one point, fired. There was an attempt to replace her with Jill Gibson during the recording of their self-titled second album during the summer of 1966, and to this day the actual personnel on various songs from that album remains a matter of conjecture.

Ironically, even as their internal lineup was disrupted for a time -- Michelle Phillips was back in the ranks by the time of the album's release -- the group's studio sound was honed to a fine point. The first album had used a brace of top session people, including Glen Campbell and P.F. Sloan on guitars and Bud Shank on flute, but by the spring of 1966 it had solidified around guitarist Eric Hord and the established Los Angeles session players Larry Knechtel on keyboards, Joe Osborne on bass, and Hal Blaine on drums (usually referred to as "the Wrecking Crew"), all being coordinated by John Phillips, engineer Bones Howe, and label chief Lou Adler. Both the band's tracks and the quartet's vocals were meticulously worked out separately and merged in the final mix, which could go as deep as 16 tracks, unheard of in pop recording in 1966. The mix of hands didn't conflict at all -- rather, on the Mamas & the Papas' recordings, they resulted in the illusion of a self-contained group that was playing as well as singing. Their records held up unbelievably well, on the radio or heard at home, and they seemed to move from triumph to triumph, the first two singles giving way to "I Saw Her Again" and "Words of Love," then "Dedicated to the One I Love," "Creeque Alley," and "Look Through My Window," all of which turned up on their third album, Deliver, which was sort of an "in" joke in its title, coinciding with the birth of Cass Elliot's daughter.

Good as their second and third albums were, however, things were never quite the same for the group after that bout of disunity in the first half of 1966. They'd arrived in Los Angeles in relative innocence, essentially four happy people who were happy just to be singing together, but the intermingling of affections tainted that; although resolving the initial problems had allowed them to keep working together, the motivation soon became a matter of protecting the success they were enjoying -- in essence, they were in it for the money, the prestige, and the stardom, as much as and perhaps more than the sheer joy of the singing and of seeing what they could accomplish. This was understandable as, for the first time, they were all making huge amounts of money from their music and were at the center of the musicians' colony in L.A., as well as nearly as well-known nationally as the Beatles.

Indeed, their appeal was remarkably similar to that of the Liverpool quartet, in that both groups involved four distinct and well-known personalities. John Phillips was the pop guru, the main if not exclusive songwriter and producer and architect of their sound, and had the kind of persona that younger female listeners looked to almost as a fatherly figure (with, admittedly, some incestuous overtones in that context) or, in the context of the times, a romantic professorial figure, a guru who evoked libidinal urges. Denny Doherty was the alluring male voice that made women's hearts flutter and looked the part of hippie/romantic, playing the same role in the Mamas & the Papas that Gene Clark played vocally and Michael Clark played visually in the original Byrds. Michelle Phillips was the raving beauty, capable of stopping air traffic with just the hint of a smile or a glimmer of libidinal interest in her eyes, who most girls over 13 wanted to be like and most guys over 16, in John Phillips' own words, "wanted to do." And Cass Elliot was the hippie Earth Mother with a heart of gold and a glorious voice. Psychically and in terms of image, they were the ready-made core of a hippie commune on any turntable.

The irony was that Phillips was a member of Elvis Presley's generation and had been in music longer than many of the group's younger listeners had been alive -- ten years earlier, he could've been an aspiring member of the Four Freshmen. He'd reinvented himself with a few changes in visual style and his songwriting, and enjoyed his moment in the sun a decade later than his contemporaries such as Presley, Dion, Bobby Darin, et al. And for all of the idealism of their songs, there was a lot of hedonism present -- Phillips and Doherty (whose voice and looks drew women like moths to a flame) enjoyed access to every fleshly pleasure there was to be had in late-'60s California; Michelle Phillips was no slouch in that pursuit herself, as well as being one of those fleshly pleasures herself, while Cass Elliot loved the role of Earth Mother and hippie Queen of Hearts, surrounded by admirers. She may have played as powerful an indirect role on American music as John Phillips, helping facilitate the birth of Crosby, Stills & Nash by bringing that trio together under one roof -- it was a long way from The Music Man or The Boy Friend, stock and touring performances, or her father's delicatessen.

In the late spring of 1967, John Phillips' influence on popular culture reached its zenith when he and Lou Adler, with Michelle Phillips, Al Kooper, and a lot of others assisting, organized the Monterey International Pop Festival. The first and most renowned (musically) of all the rock festivals of the 1960s, the event launched the careers of dozens of mostly San Francisco-based acts nationally and beyond, including those of Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, the Electric Flag, and Phillips' old friend and Journeymen bandmate Scott McKenzie. In honor of the festival, Phillips had written a song called "San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair)," which he gave to McKenzie to record as his solo debut on Adler's new Ode Records label; precisely why he didn't give it to his own group, except perhaps for the fact that they weren't recording or even working at the time, has never been clear, but McKenzie enjoyed a Top Five hit and was suddenly in almost as much demand as the Mamas & the Papas.

By that time, the group even had a rival of sorts, at least in the public perception, in the guise of Spanky & Our Gang, a Chicago-based outfit with folk roots and impeccable vocals built around a powerful female singer, though they were a little wider-ranging in their repertory and placed more emphasis on comedy and a certain theatricality in their presentation. Monterey marked the last great hurrah for Phillips and the Mamas & the Papas as musical influences. The group had closed the festival, Doherty barely arriving in time for the performance, which was later released as the sole official example of their live performances; even the group's appearances on The Ed Sullivan Show had involved extensive lip-syncing to existing tracks, and in all honesty their studio sound, because of the way it was built up in two separate, perfect layers that were merged, was very difficult to re-create on stage. At the same time, they'd run through the best part of their repertory on those three LPs and 36 songs, and most of their enthusiasm was spent as well.

John and Michelle Phillips built a studio of their own where their fourth album, The Papas & the Mamas, was recorded, and although there were some new sounds embodied in the work and some hits included (most notably the radiant, sadness-tinged "Twelve-Thirty"), the group's days were numbered; precisely how numbered they were was revealed by the release of the single "Dream a Little Dream of Me" as a Cass Elliot solo single. The world had also changed in the two and a half years since the group emerged. By 1968, assassinations, the dragging on of the Vietnam War, and the festering political wounds that the war engendered (and the underfunding of Lyndon Johnson's concurrent "War on Poverty" due to the United States' ongoing Vietnam involvement) were eating into the fabric of society at every level; things were getting ugly, or at least serious, and John Phillips' Pied Piper-like presence, beckoning people to California and an idealized quasi-hippie lifestyle, seemed increasingly out of touch with older teenagers and college students' sympathies. They were magnificent songs, to be sure -- "Twelve-Thirty" was a stunning, bittersweet ode to California's beauty, both natural and in the guise of "young girls coming to the canyon," though as gorgeous as the group's version was, Scott McKenzie's solo rendition offered a poignancy that gives the song some unexpectedly serious overtones, at least in mood, while "Creeque Alley" is one of the funniest and catchiest autobiographical songs of the 1960s. By 1969, the Mamas & the Papas were history, victims of changing times, emotional exhaustion, and an excess of sexual, chemical, and alcoholic pleasures.

Cass Elliot was the first to emerge in her own right, her larger-than-life image lending itself to pop stardom and her musical ability being the most solid on a solo basis -- she had a big voice and she'd also acted professionally, which made her a natural, whether recording solo or in tandem with Dave Mason. Her first venture into performing solo, in Las Vegas, was disastrous, but by the early '70s she was on an even keel, hosting and performing on music-oriented television shows such as The Ray Stevens Show and Get It Together as well as her own specials, and also appearing in the movie H.R. Pufnstuf. John Phillips did a solo album, The Wolf King of L.A., that was well received critically but a commercial disaster, and Denny Doherty's solo albums disappeared quickly as well. Michelle Phillips concentrated on raising her and John's daughter, Chynna Phillips, and saw some brief activity as a recording artist, but it was as an actress that she kept the most busy, distinguishing herself dramatically in John Milius' excellent period film Dillinger (1973).

The group did reunite in the studio early in the decade to record one album, People Like Us, to help fulfill its contract; conversely, there were also lawsuits by John Phillips against his former label over unpaid royalties, which dragged on for years. The most notable event surrounding the group, however, was the tragic death of Cass Elliot on July 29, 1974. From that day forward, the notion of any reunion or revival of the group was little more than the organizing of a "ghost band," even when John Phillips organized such groups (most notably in 1982 with Doherty, while his actress/singer daughter MacKenzie and Elaine "Spanky" McFarlane, formerly of Spanky & Our Gang, filled the women's spots) to play the oldies circuit and recycle the vintage repertory. Much more interesting was an appearance that Phillips made at New York's Bitter End in 1983, playing solo -- he had spent most of the 1970s coping with various drug problems, and even in his prime had never performed solo, and there he was at a leading performing venue, armed with nothing but an acoustic guitar (and a surprise special guest, Scott McKenzie). This apparent effort at reactivating Phillips' career was overlooked by most of the press, however, and quickly forgotten.

The group's appeal, however, has lingered, as reflected in its induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 1997. There have been multiple reissues of their original four LPs, in widely varying quality (especially in America), culminating in 2001 with the release of All the Leaves Are Brown, a compilation of their complete 1960s studio recordings. The death of John Phillips on March 18 of that year would seem to have ended any but the most exploitative reincarnations of the group -- in 2003, however, Denny Doherty, who had toured with a version of "the Mamas & the Papas," premiered the autobiographical stage musical Dream a Little Dream of Me, in which he also starred, in New York. Astonishingly, given their two-and-a-half-year principal history, there have also been four books dealing with the group's history. Taken together, Papa John by John Phillips (with Jim Jerome) and California Dreamin': The True Story of the Mamas and the Papas -- The Music, the Madness, the Magic by Michelle Phillips (both 1986) form a he-said/she-said account of events, with John Phillips taking the prize for depth between the two of them. More recently, Doug Hall's The Mamas and the Papas: California Dreamin' was published, and in 2002 Matthew Greenwald's Go Where You Wanna Go: The Oral History of the Mamas and the Papas appeared. Reading any of them is a fascinating, eye-opening, and potentially disillusioning look behind the supposed idealism of the 1960s. ~ Bruce Eder, All Music Guide [-] Hide

Formed primarily for the purpose of starring in a television series, the Monkees were on one hand a cynically manufactured group, devised to cash in on the early Beatles' success by applying the most superficial aspects of the British Invasion formula to capture a preteen audience. On the other hand, they weren't devoid of musical talent, and at... [+] Read More

Formed primarily for the purpose of starring in a television series, the Monkees were on one hand a cynically manufactured group, devised to cash in on the early Beatles' success by applying the most superficial aspects of the British Invasion formula to capture a preteen audience. On the other hand, they weren't devoid of musical talent, and at their best managed to craft some enduring pop/rock hits. "I'm a Believer," "Last Train to Clarksville," "A Little Bit Me, a Little Bit You," "Pleasant Valley Sunday," "Stepping Stone," "Take a Giant Step," "Valleri," "Words" -- all were pleasantly jangling, harmony rock numbers with hooks big enough for a meat locker, and all were huge hits in 1966-1968. Scorned at their peak by hipsters for not playing on many of their own records, the group gained some belated critical respect for their catchy, good-time brand of pop. It would be foolish to pretend, however, that they were a band of serious significance, despite the occasional genuinely serious artistic aspirations of the members.

The Monkees were the brainchild of television producers Bert Schneider and Bob Rafelson, who decided to emulate the zany, madcap humor of the Beatles' A Hard Day's Night for the small screen. In September 1965, they placed in ad in Variety for four "folk & rock musicians" to appear in a TV series. Over 400 applied for the job, including Stephen Stills and Harry Nilsson, but as it turned out only one of the four winners, guitarist and songwriter Michael Nesmith, actually saw the ad. Micky Dolenz (who would play drums), Davy Jones (who would sing), and Peter Tork (bass) found out about the opportunity from other sources. Nesmith and Tork had experience in the folk scene; Dolenz and Jones were primarily actors (although Nesmith and Jones had already made some obscure solo recordings).

From the outset, it was made clear that the Monkees were hired to be television actors first and musicians a distant second. There would be original material generated for them to sing in the series, mostly by professional songwriters like Tommy Boyce, Bobby Hart, Carole King, Gerry Goffin, and Neil Diamond. There would be records, as well -- had to be, with that kind of weekly exposure, to promote the tunes -- but the group wouldn't do much more than sing, although the series would give the impression that they played their own instruments.

The TV show was a big hit with young audiences between 1966 and 1968, with slapstick comedy, super-fast editing, and thin plots that could be banded together by almost surreal humor. It wasn't A Hard Day's Night, but it was, in its way, innovative relative to the conventions of television at the time. The irony was that, by the time the series debuted in September 1966, the Beatles themselves had just released Revolver, and had evolved way beyond their mop-top phase into psychedelia.

Also in September 1966, the Monkees' debut single "Last Train to Clarksville" became their first big hit, reaching number one, as did the follow-up, "I'm a Believer." They were quickly one of the most popular acts in the business, yet they were not allowed to play anything on most of their first records, only to sing; the instruments would be handled by session players. This was particularly hard for Mike Nesmith, a serious musician and songwriter, to swallow, although he did manage to place a few of his own tunes on their records from the start.

Eventually the Monkees revealed that they didn't play on most of their own records, and Nesmith in particular incited the group to wrest control of their recordings into their own hands. Partly to deflect criticism of the group as nothing more than puppets, and partly to effect control over their musical destiny (some of their early recordings had been packaged and released without their consent), the Monkees did indeed play and write much of the music on their third album, Headquarters (1967), with a lot of help from producer Chip Douglas. It didn't prove the band to be hidden geniuses, in fact sounding not much different from their previous releases, but as a hard-won victory to establish their own identity, it was a major point of pride. They would continue, however, to rely upon industry songwriters for the rest of their hit singles, and frequently employ session musicians throughout the rest of their career.

Despite the questions surrounding their musical competence, the Monkees did tour before live audiences. They made their own contribution to rock history by enlisting Jimi Hendrix, then barely known in the U.S., as an opening act for a 1967 tour; Hendrix lasted only a few shows before everyone agreed that the combination was a mismatch (to put it mildly). But the Monkees were always a lot hipper personally than many assumed from their bubblegum packaging. Their albums are strewn with rather ambitious, even mildly psychedelic, cuts, some rather successful ("Porpoise Song," Nesmith's "Circle Sky"), some absolutely awful. In 1968, they gained their freak credentials with the movie Head, a messy, indulgent, occasionally inspired piece of drug-addled weirdness that was co-written and co-produced by Jack Nicholson (before he had broken through to stardom with Easy Rider).

By 1968, the Monkee phenomenon was drawing to a close. The show's final episode aired in March 1968, and Head, released in November, was not a commercial success, confusing the teenyboppers and confounding the critics (not many people saw it to begin with in any case). Surprisingly, it was not Nesmith, but Tork who was the first to leave the group, at the end of 1968. They carried on as a trio, releasing a couple of fairly dismal albums in 1969, as well as producing a little-seen TV special. By the end of the '60s, Nesmith -- who had established his credentials as a songwriter with "Different Drum," which was taken into the Top 20 by Linda Ronstadt and the Stone Poneys -- was also gone, to start a lengthy solo career that finally allowed him to stretch out as a serious artist. That left only Dolenz and Jones, who fulfilled the Monkees contract with the pointless Changes in 1970.

When enough years separated the music from the hype, the Monkees underwent a critical rehab of sorts, as listeners fondly remembered their singles as classy, well-executed, fun pop/rock. That led to a predictable clamor for a reunion, especially after their albums were reissued to surprisingly swift sales in the mid-'80s, and their series was rerun on MTV. Nesmith was having none of it; by this time he was a respected and hugely successful music video mogul with his Pacific Arts company. The other three did reunite to tour and record a predictably horrendous album, Pool It! (Nesmith did join them once on-stage in 1989). Rhino has treated the Monkee catalog with a respect usually accorded for Charlie Parker outtakes, reissuing all of their original albums on CD with added unreleased/rare bonus tracks, and even assembling a box set. ~ Richie Unterberger, All Music Guide [-] Hide

This New York group pioneered "Baroque'n'Roll" in the '60s with their mix of pop/rock and grand, quasi-classical arrangements and melodies. Featuring teenage prodigy Michael Brown as keyboardist and chief songwriter, the group scored two quick hits with "Walk Away Renee" (number five) and "Pretty Ballerina (number 15). Chamber-like string... [+] Read More

This New York group pioneered "Baroque'n'Roll" in the '60s with their mix of pop/rock and grand, quasi-classical arrangements and melodies. Featuring teenage prodigy Michael Brown as keyboardist and chief songwriter, the group scored two quick hits with "Walk Away Renee" (number five) and "Pretty Ballerina (number 15). Chamber-like string arrangements, Steve Martin's soaring, near-falsetto lead vocals, and tight harmonies that borrowed from British Invasion bands like the Beatles and the Zombies were also key elements of the Left Banke sound. Though their two hits are their only well-remembered efforts, their debut album (Walk Away Renee/Pretty Ballerina) was a strong, near-classic work that matched the quality of their hit singles in songwriting and production.

The group's internal dynamic wasn't nearly as harmonious as their sound, and their history goes some way towards explaining their short career. Initially, the group made some recordings that were produced by Brown's father, Harry Lookofsky. When these recordings failed to interest companies in signing the band, the Left Banke broke up, Brown moving to California with the group's original drummer. A backing track for "Walk Away Renee" had already been completed, and the other members overdubbed vocals in Brown's absence. The song was released on Smash and became a hit, and the musicians reunited to tour and continue recording.

Unfortunately, the group, which showed such tremendous promise, was quickly torn asunder by dissension. Due to the nature of their music (which often employed session musicians), the Left Banke's sound was difficult to reproduce on the road, and one could sympathize with Brown's wishes to become a Brian Wilson-like figure, concentrating on writing and recording while the rest of the musicians took to the road. A variety of guitarists, as both session musicians and ostensible group members, flitted in and out of the lineup; Rick Brand, credited as the guitarist on the first LP, actually plays on only one of the album's songs. Adding fuel to the fire, Brown's bandmates wanted to oust Brown's father as the act's manager. In early 1967, Brown went as far as to record a Left Banke single without them, using vocalist Bert Sommer.

That single ("And Suddenly") flopped, and for a brief time in September 1967 the original members were recording together again. After just one single ("Desiree"), though, Brown left for good. Most of the group's second and final album, The Left Banke Too, was recorded without him. While it still sported baroque arrangements and contained some fine moments, Brown's presence was sorely missed, and the record pales in comparison to their debut. Brown went on to form a Left Banke-styled group, Montage, which released a fine and underappreciated album in the late '60s. He later teamed up to form Stories with vocalist Ian Lloyd.

There were some confusing son-of-Left Banke recordings over the next few years, although the band really came to a halt in 1969, after the second album. Brown, Martin, and unknown musicians made a few recordings in late 1969; then, oddly, the original group reformed for a fine early 1971 single on Buddah ("Love Songs in the Night"/"Two by Two"), although the record itself was credited to Steve Martin. And the original group, minus its key visionary Michael Brown, made an album's worth of ill-advised reunion recordings in 1978. ~ Richie Unterberger, All Music Guide [-] Hide

Spanky & Our Gang is one of those odd groups that, despite having had a string of Top 40 chart hits in a two-year period from 1967 through 1969, somehow falls between the cracks of 1960s pop music history. Their hits, particularly "Sunday Will Never Be the Same," "Lazy Day," "Like to Get to Know You," and "Give a Damn," were as much a part of... [+] Read More

Spanky & Our Gang is one of those odd groups that, despite having had a string of Top 40 chart hits in a two-year period from 1967 through 1969, somehow falls between the cracks of 1960s pop music history. Their hits, particularly "Sunday Will Never Be the Same," "Lazy Day," "Like to Get to Know You," and "Give a Damn," were as much a part of the ambience of the middle to late '60s as any of the best known songs of the Mamas & the Papas with whom they're frequently compared. Yet they fell short of the latter group as cultural icons; they lacked the L.A.-based group's distinctively accessible collective personality, or anything like its individual members' visual appeal, and they also had none of the Mamas & the Papas' in-house songwriting talent. They did have good voices and musical instincts, however, and a lot more to their sound than the cheerful anthems that made them famous.

Their sound most obviously displayed a folk-rock influence, but Spanky & Our Gang actually came just as much out of a pop-jazz background. Elaine McFarlane was into blues and jazz, and her first professional gig was in a jazz-based singing group called the Jamie Lyn Trio in 1962. By the start of 1963, lured by the booming folk music scene, she joined the New Wine Singers who mixed folk and protest songs with Dixieland jazz. It was during her tenure with this group that she acquired the friendship of trombonist/singer Malcolm Hale, and also the nickname "Spanky," owing to her resemblance -- in the eyes of fellow group member Arnie Lanza -- to George "Spanky" McFarland of the Little Rascals/Our Gang comedies.

By 1965, the New Wine Singers were history and McFarlane headed for Florida that winter where she met Oz Bach and Nigel Pickering at a hurricane party. Their three days of jamming while the storm left them stranded resulted in an invitation for them to join her up in Chicago, of which Bach and Pickering availed themselves later that year. McFarlane was working as a singing waitress at a club called Mother Blues when she was told by the owner, Curly Tait, to assemble a group to open for the outside acts that were booked. She recruited Bach and Pickering who began arranging their repertory for three voices; they also recognized that with an act thrown together at the last minute, they might be a little short on time, and so (following a tradition going back at least to the Kingston Trio), they wrote some comedy sketches.

The trio, which resembled nothing so much as a broken down jugband with a sense of humor -- similar, in fact, to the early Nitty Gritty Dirt Band -- with Bach on bass, Pickering playing guitar, and McFarlane playing washboard and kazoo. They called themselves Spanky & Our Gang as a joke, playing on their singer's nickname, but when local newspapers began reviewing their performances in favorable terms, the name ended up sticking. Malcolm Hale joined on guitar and percussion as the group moved out of Mother Blues and into bigger clubs, with Tait serving as their manager.

As folk-rock became the booming sound of 1965-1966, Mercury Records, which was based in the group's hometown of Chicago, began taking notice of Spanky & Our Gang, and by late 1966 they were signed. The group spent its first year with the label assigned to producer Jerry Ross, of Heritage Records fame, who gave them a very polished sound in the studio, not too different from that of the Mamas & the Papas. At their first recording session in New York, they were given a song called "Sunday Will Never Be the Same," which had already been offered to the Mamas & the Papas and the Left Banke. Malcolm Hale came up with the song's vamped vocal opening, which became the group's signature. The resulting single, released in May of 1967, peaked at number nine on the charts in June of 1967, one of the fresher pop-folk sounds amid the Summer of Love.

Drummer John Seiter joined in the summer of 1967 just as the group was breaking. A second hit, "Making Every Minute Count," although not as distinctive as their debut, rose to number 22 nationally, and then a third, "Lazy Day," reached number 14 late in 1967. The group's harmonies were impeccable, and their records and arrangement displayed a slick, smooth texture that overlapped with the sounds of pop-jazz and also with the singing that one often heard on commercials of the period; they availed themselves of that full range in preparing their debut album.

By the end of 1967, with the group now making appearances on national television as well as the national charts, Mercury Records couldn't wait for the album to be finished. The Spanky & Our Gang album was rushed out, its song lineup padded out with the three singles alongside a handful of new tracks and even several works-in-progress. There were some surprising songs there, including "Five Definitions of Love," a jazzy piece of pop music that was literally the dictionary definition of "love" set to music. The group was less than happy, however, that their unfinished rendition of "Brother Can You Spare a Dime" was on the album.

In early 1968, Oz Bach exited the lineup and was replaced by Kenny Hodges on bass who joined along with his friend Lefty Baker (real name Eustace Britchforth), a guitarist and singer. Despite their record of success working with Jerry Ross, the group felt that the sound they got with him was too polished and elegant and not truly representative of the group. Instead, they turned to Stuart Scharf and Bob Dorough, a pair of songwriter/producers who'd worked with the Chad Mitchell Trio on Mercury. It was the second lineup of Spanky & Our Gang, working with Scharf and Dorough, who created the Top 30 hit "Sunday Morning" built on a new six-part harmony sound. During the recording of their second album, another hit, "Like to Get to Know You," which ultimately gave its name to the LP, was created. In contrast to their debut album, the Like to Get to Know You LP also contained blues; '40s-style vocal jazz-pop; a radiant harmony number, "Stardust," which provided the inspiration for the Manhattan Transfer; and even one defiantly topical number, "Give a Damn," that managed to reach number 43 as a single despite a widespread ban because of its title.

Their third album, Anything You Choose/Without Rhyme or Reason, was devised as a continuous stream of music, with blues, jazz, folk, and pop influences in abundance. There was actually very little playing by the band members who were supplemented by studio musicians on much of the album, but that was less of a problem than the fact that there was no obvious, upbeat hit on the record in the manner of their two prior LPs. The material was too sophisticated and too serious, and nothing off of the album (apart from the earlier released "Give a Damn") got even as high as number 90 on the charts. They were in excellent voice and Scharf and Dorough were writing material and arrangements that were stretching the members' abilities to new levels of sophistication. In October 1968, however, the group received a devastating blow when Malcolm Hale died suddenly of pneumonia. The 27-year-old multi-instrumentalist also sang and arranged and pretty well kept the band together.

In the wake of Hale's death, the group played out its concert commitments and then reassessed its future. McFarlane was pregnant and not planning on performing with them too much longer, and Seiter had been offered a gig playing drums with the Turtles. Rather than reorganize around such key membership changes, the group decided to call it quits; McFarlane and her husband Charly Galvin (who had been the group's road manager) prepared Spanky's Greatest Hits, a somewhat controversial release for its inclusion of remixed versions of several of the key songs.

It wasn't the last word for the group from Mercury Records, however, which released Spanky & Our Gang Live in 1970. Prepared from an amateur (albeit good quality) recording of one of the group's earliest shows after being signed in 1966, it showed off their early sound before they'd ever recorded. The group members were less than pleased by this release, although real fans loved the glimpse it gave of their formative years.

In 1975, Nigel Pickering and Elaine "Spanky" McFarlane reformed Spanky & Our Gang around a country-western sound and cut an album (Change) for Epic Records. Although their sound had altered considerably, they attracted many old fans to their concerts they played in 1975 and 1976, which also included original member Oz Bach who rejoined after the new album was released. McFarlane later resurfaced most visibly as the replacement for the late Cass Elliot in the reformed Mamas & the Papas in the 1980s, but she also remained true to her folk and blues roots, participating in events such as a benefit concert for the terminally ill singer-songwriter Bob Gibson in 1996. Oz Bach died of cancer in September of 1998. ~ Bruce Eder, All Music Guide [-] Hide

Initially aiming his output at teens, Brian Hyland grew up fast and cut a serious cover of "Gypsy Woman," a hit by the Impressions that went gold in 1970. The Queens, NY, native enjoyed his biggest hit at the tender age of 16 -- the tongue-twisting "Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polkadot Bikini," a cute ditty snapped up by Kapp Records after... [+] Read More

Initially aiming his output at teens, Brian Hyland grew up fast and cut a serious cover of "Gypsy Woman," a hit by the Impressions that went gold in 1970. The Queens, NY, native enjoyed his biggest hit at the tender age of 16 -- the tongue-twisting "Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polkadot Bikini," a cute ditty snapped up by Kapp Records after it was issued on the little Leader logo. Hyland moved to ABC-Paramount and already sounded more adult by the time "Sealed With a Kiss" hit in 1962. A string of solid sellers, including "The Joker Went Wild" in 1966, preceded his remake of "Gypsy Woman," produced by Del Shannon and released on Uni. ~ Bill Dahl, All Music Guide [-] Hide

Beyond representing the best in '60s California pop, the Association blazed trails in album production and the folk-psychedelia genre. With the guidance of L.A. producers Bones Howe, Curt Boetticher, and Jerry Yester, the band deftly mixed airy harmonies, unobtrusive rhythm tracks, and subtle "Age of Aquarius" accents from harpsichords, Farfisa... [+] Read More

Beyond representing the best in '60s California pop, the Association blazed trails in album production and the folk-psychedelia genre. With the guidance of L.A. producers Bones Howe, Curt Boetticher, and Jerry Yester, the band deftly mixed airy harmonies, unobtrusive rhythm tracks, and subtle "Age of Aquarius" accents from harpsichords, Farfisa organs, fuzz-box guitars, trumpets, and bongos -- at times, the sophisticated blend was held together by L.A. session players. And while the group successfully expanded their harmonic horizons on "Requiem for the Masses," they also went a bit beyond their strengths with Jefferson Airplane-esque rockers like "Six Man Band." Luckily, the majority of this hits collection focuses on the band's dreamy combination of polished folk, limber vocal arrangements, and wide-screen instrumental backdrops. The summery program also includes chart-toppers like "Windy," "Cherish," "Along Comes Mary," and "Never My Love," along with progressive pop-and-harmony tracks like "No Fair at All," "Everything That Touches You," and "Time for Livin'." A great introduction to the band's prime work from the latter half of the '60s. ~ Stephen Cook, All Music Guide [-] Hide

The Yellow Balloon was Don Grady's (Robbie on TV's My Three Sons) rock & roll group, but even more important, the brainchild of California producer Gary Zekley. Not unlike a Gary Usher, Zekley could grab a bunch of musicians and -- filling in the needed holes with his own talent -- produce sessions that rivaled Phil Spector or Brian Wilson for... [+] Read More

The Yellow Balloon was Don Grady's (Robbie on TV's My Three Sons) rock & roll group, but even more important, the brainchild of California producer Gary Zekley. Not unlike a Gary Usher, Zekley could grab a bunch of musicians and -- filling in the needed holes with his own talent -- produce sessions that rivaled Phil Spector or Brian Wilson for big sound and teen spirit. Grady had already been recording for the same label with his own group, the Windupwatch Band, when Zekley started climbing the charts with "Yellow Balloon," creating a need for a new group to go with the hit. Grady became the drummer and other members were recruited from various bands around the country, but in the studio, it was still Zekley's show all the way. This 20-track compilation brings together the 11 tracks from the Yellow Balloon's 1967 album, along with the Don Grady and the Windupwatch Band singles (also released on the same Canterbury label), a couple of unreleased demos and an interview with the late Gary Zekley putting it all in perspective. ~ Cub Koda, All Music Guide [-] Hide

The group's debut LP demonstrates what can go wrong, even with a group enjoying a trio of hit singles. Though those hits are here, the album is the least representative of what the group was about and a mixed bag for fans, presenting a trio of widely available hits, six or seven fine tracks currently unavailable elsewhere, and two musical lapses... [+] Read More

The group's debut LP demonstrates what can go wrong, even with a group enjoying a trio of hit singles. Though those hits are here, the album is the least representative of what the group was about and a mixed bag for fans, presenting a trio of widely available hits, six or seven fine tracks currently unavailable elsewhere, and two musical lapses that between them account for nearly one-third of the running time. Spanky & Our Gang started out in Chicago with a sound somewhere midway between the original Jefferson Airplane and the original Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, a folk-rock ensemble with a few jazzy twists and some funny between-song sketches. For their first year at Mercury Records, however, and especially on this LP, producer Jerry Ross used the group as an instrument of his own, turning them into a virtual clone of the Mamas & the Papas on a big portion of this album. Vocally most of the album is outstanding, the harmony singing absolutely radiant on the familiar hits "Sunday Will Never Seem the Same" (which featured an opening vocal vamp devised by Malcolm Hale), "Lazy Day," and "Making' Every Minute Count," and the popular B-sides "Commercial" and "It Ain't Necessarily Bird Avenue"; "5 Definitions of Love" captured some of the group's penchant for off-beat humor and some glorious harmony singing that has a strangely archaic feel, like a piece of medieval music (somehow anticipating elements of the sound that Gentle Giant, of all groups, would later create). The latter track, written by Bob Dorough, also pointed the way toward their future: Dorough and his songwriting/producer partner Stuart Scharf would be their producers the next time out. "Brother Can You Spare a Dime" is the most controversial song here, an unfinished track that was stuck onto the album by Jerry Ross in the process of rush-releasing the record and getting it above 30 minutes running time, with nothing but an awkward guide vocal, never intended to be heard by the public, from Elaine "Spanky" McFarlane; along with the four-minute rendition of "Ya Got Trouble" from Meredith Willson's The Music Man, which might've worked well on stage (and was a more immediate satire in 1967, closer to the movie's release and the run of the original show), it's the nadir of the record. The successful album tracks include a pair of gems with soaring harmonies, "If You Could Only Be Me," where they're singing and playing with a lot of heart despite the presence of a string section; "Leaving on a Jet Plane," the latter beautifully embellished with a punchy folk-rock sound, closer to the Byrds or the Beau Brummels than to Peter, Paul & Mary's hit; and the closer, a rocking, bluesy rendition of Jo Mapes's "Come and Open Your Eyes." Mapes, a big-voiced folk singer who started out in the early '50s, is all but forgotten today, but she made network television appearances during the '50s and cut records for Kapp, and was a major influence on Mary Travers, among others. ~ Bruce Eder, All Music Guide [-] Hide

Twenty-song collection including all of their big chart hits, as well as key album tracks like "(Theme From) The Monkees" and "Mary, Mary," and the ace B-side "Goin' Down." The slightly more extensive Arista anthology still has the edge, due to the inclusion of two good cuts ("Take a Giant Step" and "She") that are somehow omitted from this... [+] Read More

Twenty-song collection including all of their big chart hits, as well as key album tracks like "(Theme From) The Monkees" and "Mary, Mary," and the ace B-side "Goin' Down." The slightly more extensive Arista anthology still has the edge, due to the inclusion of two good cuts ("Take a Giant Step" and "She") that are somehow omitted from this Rhino compilation. On the other hand, if you're still in the market for just one Monkees album, this will do just fine. Good, extensive liner notes, though the last two songs (from 1987 singles that only featured Micky Dolenz and Peter Tork) are a waste. ~ Richie Unterberger, All Music Guide [-] Hide

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