Among the remaining major and independent label artists to cover Metric-period Newman was Dusty Springfield, whose classic 1969 album Dusty In Memphis (Atlantic 8214) featured two of his most popular Metric songs, "Just One Smile" and "I Don't Want To Hear It Anymore." One intriguing aspect of Newman's early writing was how he often tailored a song with a specific singer (or type of singer) in mind, so that the narrative "voice" would subtly suggest a male or female sensibility through its lyrics and/or arrangement. Case in point: while both of these songs are probably better known through covers made by male vocalists (Gene Pitney's top-40 cover of "Just One Smile," Musicor 1219; Jerry Butler's single of "I Don't Want To Hear It Anymore" on Vee-Jay), it can be argued that both songs have a more profound impact when sung by particular female cover artists. Whatever degree of reluctant sexism in this judgement, these songs remain among Newman's most successful and least self-conscious efforts at articulating a gender-specific mood or feeling.
Perhaps his most recognized Metric song, 1966's "Just One Smile" has been covered by over a dozen artists, from Pitney's faithful, heart-on-the-sleeve version to Blood Sweat & Tears' epic reworking on their LP debut (Columbia 9619). Aided by Arif Mardin's understated arrange-ment, Dusty's vocal yearns where others have milked the lyric's deliberate self-pity ("Can I cry/A little bit/There's nobody to notice it/Can't I cry if I want to/No one cares"), soaring infectiously on the redemptive chorus ("Just one smile/The pain's forgiven/Just one kiss/The hurt's all gone/Just one smile/To make my life worth livin'/A little dream to build my world upon"). As to what makes for the cover definitive, it inevitably comes down to the human details: a pause here, a tremble in the vibrato there, the unexpected turn of phrase that breathes some life into a song. For those male vocal loyalists, Jerry Butler's typically superb reading on Vee Jay rates as the top male cover. Other performers include Lenny Welch (Kapp), Karla DeVito (Epic), the Tokens (B.T.Puppy), and Sheena Easton (Capitol).
"I Don't Want To Hear It Anymore," one of Newman's more ambitious Metric comp-ositions, boasts an effectively casual structure -- semi-spoken intro leading into affectingly melodic verse, gradually building to the chorus release -- that could concievably work as a dramatic ballad or a Broadway showstopper. Set in a ghetto apartment, the storyline follows a (female) narrator's thoughts after hearing the neighbors gossip about seeing her fella with another woman ("Standing there together/Lord, they looked so good"), with the narrator finally turning away on the title chorus: "..'Cause the talk just never ends/And the heartache soon begins/The talk is so loud/And the walls are much too thin." Newman's intriguing twist: leaving it for the listener to figure if the title finally implies rejection, denial or forgiveness. Other covers of merit: an unexpectedly fine Melissa Manchester on her Arista LP Melissa, the Walker Brothers on Phillips, and again, Jerry Butler's definitive male vocal on Vee Jay.
To give Butler proper credit, his cover of "Nobody Needs Your Love (More Than I Do)" (Vee-Jay 696) does surpass Tammy Grimes' comparitively syrupy version on Reprise (and Gene Pitney's take on Musicor); while nowhere near as robust or cool as his later Philly soul classics, Butler's Vee-Jay recordings did capture the exuberance of a young talent in development. Where Dusty worked wonders with timing and quiet volume, Butler's strength lay in emotion controlled and released: holding a note just a beat longer or opening up a quiet phrase with an unanticipated soprano. It is less any specific wordplay here than Butler's drawing out "Girl....you don't love me anymore" or his biting down on the beginning of "Just can't.../Get through to you" that lifts this cover and song beyond the ordinary. Petty gripe: how the anonymous female backing chorus blunts one of Newman's more memorable melodies.
One of the more underrated one-shot Newman covers was by Aretha Franklin's sister, Erma, who made a terrific single of his ballad "Love Is Blind" (Epic 9610) in 1965. Though not as celebrated as her sister, Erma was blessed with a similarly gorgeous set of pipes, making Newman's sour lyric ("They say for lovers the sun will always shine/But in spite of what they say/I think of love this way:/Love is bitter/Love is hopeless/Love is blind") seem sweetly attractive. Inspired touch: the great bluesy piano throughout. Beyond an unidentified male vocal demo, no further covers have been traced.
Post-Southern Comfort Ian Matthews turned in a perfectly tuned, country-flavored reading of "What Are You Waiting For" on his 1973 Valley Hi album (Elektra 75061). Newman's lyric offers a sly glimpse at jealousy's effect on a couple's communication: "Tonight you've been so quiet/I guess we both know why/You saw me with her I know you did/There ain't no need to lie," with the narrator torn between reassurance ("She means nothing to me, you know it") and provoking a response ("If you still want me, show me"). And Matthews multilayered vocal overdubs lift the title chorus hook. A one-off cover single by We Talkies (Epic 10121) founders in a frantic arrangement, sounding more like a pep rally by song's end ("What are you waiting for -- HEY!"). Haste makes waste.
If the opening ten seconds can indeed make or break a single, then (Little) Peggy March's cover of "Leave Me Alone" (RCA 8357) lies hopelessly broken somewhere: shrill vocals, drama- tic strings and...oh, those castanets. Despite lyrics that show some playful spirit ("I know he told all his friends he had fun with me/Now he won't come around since he's done with me"), 2:01 seems like an eternity, even with the castanets. No subsequent covers.
Brief teen dream Eddie Hodges made the only known cover of "She Doesn't Love Me," a B-side to his cover of Gene Pitney's "Across the Street" (Aurora 150). Yet another unrequited love song, its most interesting feature is a vague Twilight Zone-like horn hook and Spector-on-a- shoestring budget production. Somewhere, Phil sleeps soundly tonight.
"Twenty Acres" (Surrey), an ultra-rare one-shot covered by Johnny Shepard, ambles along to a pleasant acoustic guitar riff over which Johnny sings of returning to a sharecropper's shack in the Mississippi Valley to reclaim a sugar cane crop abandoned twenty years before. Hardly the stuff of top 40 singles, this unique cover promptly sank without a trace. Curiously, a 1963 blurb in a Tinseltown gossip column by Sidney Skolsky proclaimed that Alfred Newman's 19-year old nephew, "still a student at UCLA," was about to sing this song for Pat Boone's Cooga-Mooga Enterprises. The unissued results may still be decomposing in the Dot archives.
Set to quiet and simple music, Newman's own demo for "Marianne" features one of his most felt vocals, sung to a woman described as "the only good thing in my life." A 75-second edit of this plaintive love ballad appears on the Interworld sampler; the full demo version includes the song's bridge. While the lyrics seem unabashedly personal ("I hear her coming in the black of night/When I'm lost and much too weak to fight/She picks me up when I've been beaten down/ She keeps me company when there's no one else around.."), they work well in the love song context. The only cover traced to date exists on a late-60's album by semi-swinging, multi-racial group The Glass Bottle, 'I Ain't Got Time Anymore' (Avco Embassy AV-33024; co-produced by cut-in/novelty song king Dickie Goodman) . Regrettably, some tastefully handled verses are done in by choral overkill: "Mari-AAAAAHHHNNNE!!..."
Another obscure song from the aforementioned Nilsson Sings Newman is "Caroline"; its simple, affecting lyrics ("Caroline/Please be mine/You're my kind of girl") set to a exquisitely slow piano melody that draws out suspended sevenths while Nilsson decorates with dozens of over- dubbed harmonies and countermelodies: "And when Springtime daylight's around you/Then no one around you but me" -- pure ear candy. While its 1970 copyright date makes it a Reprise-era song (it was likely penned as Randy sat in on the sessions), the song remains unique to this album alone.
A little-seen rarity, "La Campanilla" (A&M 847) is a strangely beautiful single-only release from 1968 that features Ricardo Montalban narrating a story told over a richly detailed orchestral arrangement by Newman. Set in the Andes Mountains of Chile, the fable-like tale centers on a young boy, Benito, who becomes lost in the mountains and Maria, a shepardess whose little bell leads him home after the louder village bells echo for him without direction. Montalban, often knocked for his "rich corinthian leather" delivery, actually works perfectly in the Latin context of the tale (Newman recalls that Gregory Peck was initially lined up as the narrator but had to back out). And in perhaps his first truly "independent" arrangement, Randy achieves a near-cinematic sense of grandeur, particularly on the single's B-side instrumental, an impressive hommage to the great Alfred Newman.