
Did music 50 years ago really “change everything”? How a new generation of singer-songwriters rebooted the charts.
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Chris Melanfi
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Hey there Hit Parade listeners. What you're about to hear is Part one of this episode. Part two will arrive in your podcast feed by the end of the month. Would you like to hear this episode all at once the day it drops? Sign up for Slate Plus. You can try it for a month for just $1 and it supports not only this show, but all of Slate's acclaimed journalism and podcasts. Just to slate.com hitparadeplus you'll get to hear every Hit Parade episode in full the day it arrives. Plus Hit Parade the Bridge, our bonus episodes with guest interviews, deeper dives on our episode topics, and pop chart trivia. Once again to join, that's slate.com hitparadeplus thanks and now please enjoy part one of this hit Parade episode. Welcome to Hit Parade, a podcast of pop chart history from Slate Magazine about the hits from coast to coast. I'm Chris Melanfi, chart analyst, pop critic and writer of Slate's why is this song number one? Series on today's show 50 years ago today, literally this was the number one song in America. A puppy like cover of an old 60s song, Go Away Little Girl by the country's then reigning teen idol Donny Osmond. It's largely been forgotten in the half century since it topped Billboard's Hot 100 in mid September 1971. Heck, it was probably forgotten by 1975. So why are we playing this schlocky Donny Osmond song? Well for one thing, it set a Billboard chart record, which I'll reveal later, along with at least one other significant milestone. But I'm also playing Go Away Little Girl because it's exceptional. Quite literally in this way, Go Away Little Girl by Donny Osmond is one of the few chart topping hits of 1971 that wasn't great.
You led me away from home cause you didn't wanna be alone.
On radio, in the record stores and on the charts, 1971 was an embarrassment of riches. Several artists released their most acclaimed lps that year, Chart topping albums with introspective songwriting.
I Didn't want to hurt you.
I'm.
Just a Jealous Guy.
And some smash LPs that served as a last will and testament.
Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose, Nothing Hun if it ain't free.
And on the singles charts, even the hits by the shorter lived groups were pretty stellar. In fact, if we focus just on what topped the Billboard charts, 1971 stands as one of the most varied widest ranging and even experimental years for hits ever. From restless former Beatles. To pop divas reinventing themselves.
I was born in the wagon of a traveling show My mama used to dance for the money they throw two.
Soul searching soul men Blood sticker than.
The mud It's a family of fat family of.
With the 60s in the rear view mirror, these artists who had all come of age in that storied prior decade, were taking some of the hippie generation's wildest sonic experiments and honing them into sharp, expansive, but still mass appeal.
Pop who is a man that would risk his next best brother? Man, can you dig it?
But nobody had a better 1971 or wove together its threads more adeptly than the woman who co wrote that forgettable Donny Osmond song.
And it's too late, baby, now it's too late. Though we really did try to make.
It today on Hit Parade, we're going to focus on the chart toppers of 1919 71, a year when the 1960s, the most over lionized decade in modern American culture, arguably finally came to artistic fruition in the early 70s. And it was galvanized by the era's quintessential singer songwriter, who dropped an album that rewrote the record books.
I feel the earth move under my feet I feel the sky tumbling down.
And that's where your hit parade marches today, the week ending September 11, 1971, when Carole King held down the number one spot on two charts in two ways. As an artist, King commanded the top LP's chart with her blockbuster Tapestry, then entering its fourth month at number one. And as a songwriter, one of her old 60s compositions topped the Hot 100. Donny Osmond's cover of Go Away Little Girl. Carole King represented everything 1971 had to offer, both the masterpieces and the schlock. But she was not alone. Marvin Gaye, Janis Joplin, Sly Stone, Rod Stewart, Isaac Hayes, the Rolling Stones and Flowers, three former Beatles, all made the Hit Parade great. In this classic year now celebrating its semi centennial, which prompts the question what Was it about 1971? Music critics have long debated what year of popular music is the greatest in the 60s. There are obviously several candidates, like 1964, the year of the Beatles breakthrough and the official launch of the British Invasion.
Oh yeah, I tell you something I think you'll understand.
For nineteen nineteen sixty seven, whose peak coincided with the Summer of Love. The Fab Four were a key part of that year too. Other critics focus on 1977, the breakthrough year of both punk. And disco. Then my friend and colleague Michelangelo Matos, in his recent book Can't Slow down, makes the case for 1984 as pop's greatest year, the peak of Michael Jackson, Prince and Madonna. I second that pick myself itself, although I also, for reasons I'll detail later, have great affection for 1971. And I'm in good company. Over the last decade, Even before this 50th anniversary year arrived, 1971 has emerged as a favorite focus of music fans, critics, even filmmakers. 1971 was a year of revolutionary consciousness. We were fueled by this amazing music that everyone was making. It was articulating everything you're seeing and feeling. That's an excerpt from 1971, the Year that Music Changed Everything, an eight part documentary miniseries that premiered on Apple TV plus earlier this year. The series is itself adapted from British music journalist David Hepworth's 2016 book, Never a Dull Moment. 1971, the year that rock exploded. In the five years since Hepworth's book, consensus has further coalesced around 71 as a pivotal year. Even public radio has gotten in on the act, and that is obviously Marvin Gaye singing what's Going On? And this summer on the Brian Lehrer show, we're looking at some iconic songs and albums that turn 50 this year. The music historians say 1971 was a particularly important year. Much of the reputation of 1971 rests on albums more than singles, and some of these albums were not chart toppers, whether it was the Never Charted at All classic by moody British folkie Nick Drake, Brighter Later, I Could have Been.
A Sailor, could have Been a Cook.
Or Black Sabbath, who cracked the top 20 in early 1971 with their late 70 LP Paranoid. Their bestseller Paranoid set them up for a top 10 breakthrough later in 71 with Master of Reality. Or, of course, there's Joni Mitchell's masterpiece Blue, her first album to crack the top 20, peaking at number 15.
I want to talk to you, I want Shampoo, you, want to renew you Again and Again.
Though it generated no top 40 hits, Blue was hailed upon release and has only grown in stature since. In 2020, Rolling Stones updated Top 500 Albums of All Time poll ranked blue third, and NPR's 2017 Turning the Tables ranking of the Greatest Albums Ever by women ranked it first. Several of 2021's musical commemorations have focused entirely upon the 50th anniversary of Blue, for good reason. Ann Powers commemorated Joni Mitchell's illustrious LP for NPR Music.
You know Joanie knows best.
That, I think, is what happens with Blue? People go inside this work and better know themselves.
There is your song from me.
In the world of classic rock, 1971 saw the release of several celebrated LPs. The who hadn't issued a studio album since 1969's Tommy, but in the intervening two years, the British band became one of a major America's top rock acts after playing Woodstock, a gig they hated by the way, cracking the LP charts top five belatedly with Tommy and issuing the hit concert LP Live at Leeds. So the release of their 1971 album who's Next? Which would go on to be their bestseller, was greeted as an event. Who who's next hit 4 on the top LPs chart and produced two top 40 hits behind Blue Eyes and Won't Get Fooled Again. Though Led Zeppelin recorded a half dozen studio albums that topped the Billboard LP chart in the 70s, their all time best selling and most acclaimed album, 1971's Untitled LP, commonly known as Led Zeppelin 4, peaked at number two on the album chart and spawned some of their most iconic hits, including of course, Stairway to Heaven, Black Dog and Rock and Roll. And in the world of RB, no 1971 album release was more important than Marvin Gaye's what's Going on, which in the aforementioned 2020 edition of the Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Albums list came in at number one, knocking out the Beatles, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Don't Punish.
Me with Brutality, Talk to me so you can see.
Though Gay's declaration of independence from the Motown machine only reached number six on the Billboard album chart, what's Going on spent two full months on top of the R B album chart best selling soul LPs and it generated three top 10 pop hits, a remarkable chart feat for 1971, when few albums period spawned that many hits. That was the remarkable thing about many of 1971's great albums. Not only were they sonically and thematically coherent from who's Next to what's Going on to Blue, they were also packed with both hit singles and enduring deep cuts.
So I wish I had a river I could skate away.
Over on the Hot 100. The singles reaching the top in 1971 were not always as totemic as these classic albums. To be sure, there were some schlocky number ones besides that. Donny Osmond hit, including the cheesy Knock three Times by Tony Orlando's troupe, then known simply as Dawn.
Oh my darling, Knock three times on the ceiling if you want me.
And dawn were replaced on Top by the Osmonds. Yes, Donny Osmond and his brothers, they had a big year. The osmonds Chart topper 1 Bad Apple was literally a Jackson 5 reject, a song that Motown's Berry Gordy turned down for his superstar black family band that was remade by the white Mormon family band on MGM Records into an Uncanny Jackson 5 facsimile.
One bad apple don't spoil a whole bunch, girl oh, give it one more try before you give up on love.
Other curios topping the charts in 71 were the revived 60s act Paul Revere and the Raiders. With Indian Reservation, a lament for the plight of the Cherokee Nation, Raiders singer Mark Lindsay was himself part Cherokee. The Raiders kitschy cover of the John loudermilk song combined 60s garage rock with 70s production sounds that even foreshadowed disco.
Cherokee people, Cherokee tribe so proud to live, so proud to die.
And speaking of foreshadowing, disco RB girl group trio the Honeycomb took the delectable funk pop jam Want Ads to number one. Its pivotal verse line wanted young man single and free makes the one off smash a minor early 70s soul classic. The track even employed guitar licks by a teenage guitarist, Ray Parker Jr. Want Ads would be the last girl group number one on the Hot 1100 until the emergence of disco a half decade later. On the other hand, several 71 chart topping singles were stone classics, most especially the Temptations wafting soul ballad Just My Imagination Running Away With Me. Penned by Motown Dream team Norman Whitfield and Barret Strong and arranged by Whitfield with Nick members of the Detroit Symphony Orchestra, Just My Imagination was arguably an elegy to the 60s Motown sound. Or how about the Bee Gees years before their conversion to disco, who scored their first ever American number one with the delicate ballad how can you mend a broken heart? The Gibb Brothers hard to pigeonhole soul plus country plus Burt Bacharach style pop song was sturdy enough to be re recorded by everyone from Johnny Mathis to Teddy Pendergrass to most legendarily, Al Green.
How can you mend the broken heart? How can you stop the rain from falling down?
Even some of the kitschy number ones were in their way classics. The Woman Born Cherilyn Sarkeesian, AKA Cher, had been struggling to establish herself as a solo act apart from Sonny Bono after the duo of Sonny and Cher stopped scoring hits in the late 60s. But her 1971 sessions with hit making producer Snuff Garrett generated an immediate number one with the story song Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves. And by the way, the year's top single, a seven week number one in in April and May of 71 is, depending on your point of view, either schlock or a classic. Probably both.
Jeremiah Was a bullfrog was a good friend of mine.
Three Dog Night recorded songwriter Hoyt Axton's composition Joy to the World as kind of a goof and buried it on the end of their late 1970 album. Naturally, Hoyt Axton hadn't even finished writing the lyrics to Joy to the World, which explains the song's opening line, which he'd planned to fix. Some nonsense about Jeremiah the bullfrog. And they might never have made it a single if DJs hadn't started playing it as an album cup. Is Joy to the World a King Kids song? Some band members say it is. Is it a novelty record? Sorta, though not exactly. Is it second rate white soul? Oh, clearly yes. But Chuck Negron, one of Three Dog Nights three Singers certainly commits to it, and by the chorus the whole band chimes.
Son of a God.
Joy to the World say what you want. Three Dog Nights Joy to the World has endured from the 1983 boomer nostalgia movie The Big Chill to Mariah Carey's 1994 Christmas album.
Joy to the People.
Everywhere you see, Joy to the World will probably never go away. So yeah, there was some schlock topping the charts in 1971. It wasn't a perfect year, but there were seven acts who managed both a number one single and number one album in 71, and they're all pretty great. Most of these albums routinely make all time lists of the best LPs in history.
Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore? It would be so fine to see your face at my door.
I'm going to devote the rest of this hit parade episode to these seven artists and their respective pairs of chart topping songs and albums. It makes a strong case for the depth and breadth of 71's music, and this great chart year kicked off with a former Beatle on top.
All Things Must Pass All Things Must Pass away.
This is a demo of the song All Things Must Pass recorded by its songwriter George Harrison alone in Abbey Road Studios in February 1969 while he was still a Beatle. Harrison had offered the song to the Beatles the month before during the Star Crossed sessions for the band's Get Back Let It Be project, and the group did try playing it, but bandmates and primary songwriters John Lennon and Paul McCartney ultimately rejected it, so Harrison chose to demo it for himself All Things Must Pass Away. Nearly two years later, All Things Must Pass would become the title track to a George Harrison solo album. But George couldn't have known that in 1969 by then, Harrison was used to songs of his getting rejected by the Beatles. He was typically limited to just two Harra songs per lp. But those Harrah songs kept getting better.
Cause I'm the tax man yeah, I'm the tax man.
Taxman, which led off 1966's Revolver LP, was an early signal that Harrison's tracks were becoming frontline Beatle material. The song, an amalgam of mod rock and early punk, was widely praised, even imitated. But the Fab Four didn't consider issuing Taxman as a single. Two years later, no singles were issued from the Beatles self titled White album, though Harrison's now classic While My Guitar Gently Weeps would have been a prime candidate.
My guitar Jenkin Weeks.
Eric Clapton, who played guitar on that track, also appeared later in 1968 on Wonderwall Music, George Harrison's oddball, mostly instrumental soundtrack to the British psychedelic film Wonderwall. Yes, Harrison was the first Beatle to do any kind of solo album, albeit a resolutely uncommercial one. By late 1969, when the Beatles finally issued a Harrison composition as the A side of a single and that song Something went all the way to number.
One, Something in the Way She Moves.
It became clear Harrison's material was finally virtually as good as current Lennon McCartney material, and that George was outgrowing the group. Of course, by 1970 all four members were chafing at being Beatles. Lennon had been issuing solo singles since 1969, including Give Peace a Chance, Cold Turkey and his smash three hit in early 1970, Instant Karma. Then in April 1970, when Paul McCartney dropped his first solo album along with a press release, he made it official. The Beatles were no more.
Baby I'm amazed the way you love me all the time maybe I'm afraid of the way I love you.
The McCartney album, anchored by maybe I'm Amazed, an acclaimed song Paul declined to issue as a single, shot to number one on the Billboard album chart in just three weeks, making Paul McCartney the first former Beatle with a chart topping solo LP. Indeed, between Lennon's early hit singles and McCartney's instant hit album, it was easy to assume in 1970 that the two Beatle band leaders would transition into the biggest post Beatles solo careers. But that's when George Harrison said, in essence, hold my be. George Harrison's All Things Must Pass was massive, literally and figuratively co produced by the now infamous Phil Spector, the same producer who had completed the Beatles Let It Be album earlier that year. Harrison's post Beatles solo debut took up no less than three LPs six sides of vinyl. Years later, in Craig Rosen's The Billboard Book of Number One Albums, Harrison made the following cheeky and rather queasy analogy I've always looked at All Things Must Pass like somebody who's had constipation for years and then finally they get diarrhea. I had a backlog of songs when I did All Things Must Pass. It was good to just get them all out of the way, unquote. The album was sonically wide ranging and packed with guests. The classic rocker what Is Life, an eventual number 10 Hot 100 hit, featured everybody from Eric Clapton on guitar to Bobby Keys on saxophone to all four members of Badfinger on guitars and tambourine. Other album cuts like the leadoff track I'd have youe Anytime, found Harrison writing with Bob Dylan. And on the gospel flavored Awaiting on you All. Harrison and Spector recreated the Wall of Sound fervor of Spector's prior Ike and Tina Turner production River Mountain High. But it was another spiritual song that really made Harrison's post Beatles solo debut a smash. A song he'd been tinkering with for months and originally gave away to his friend Billy Preston. My Sweet Lord dated to late 1960, nine, months before the Beatles breakup, when Harrison was traveling and performing with Preston and Eric Clapton. Preston recorded it for his gospel infused 1970 album encourage and Words, produced by Harrison, but then George decided to record it himself. For All Things Must Pass, produced with the Phil Spector wall of Sound and his array of superstar guests, and it became even grand. My Sweet Lord was now as ambitious as its lyrics. Harrison wrote the song about not only the mystery of faith, but the universality of religious belief. He and his vocalists invoke not only Hallelujah, the Hebrew word of praise from the Judeo Christian tradition, but also also the mantra of the Hare Ka faith Harrison implies all means of better knowing God are of equal value. It proved more popular than any Harrison song ever released as a single single in November 1970, a few days ahead of All Things Must Pass, My Sweet Lord scaled the hot 100 rapidly. In only its fifth week, the song reached the top of the chart along with its B side, the seven minute anthemic ballad Isn't It a Pity, which was generating its own radio airplay. For four weeks through the middle of January 1971. Billboard ranked both my Sweet Lord and Isn't It A Pity? As a double sided number one hit, the album followed suit. By the first week of 71, All Things Must Pass was the number one album in America, and it stayed there for seven weeks, more than twice as long as the McCartney album had the previous spring. In fact, Harrison had achieved a chart feat that would continue to elude his former bandmates throughout 1971. Later that year in the summer, Paul and his wife Linda McCartney would release their LP RAM. But while its single, the bizarre Monty Python esque Uncle Albert, Admiral Halsey did hit number one on the Hot 100.
Admiral Halsey notified me he had to have a birth or he couldn't get to see.
The Ram album topped out at number two on the LP's chart. As for John Lennon, his 1971 track record was just the opposite. In the fall he scored a number one album, his acclaimed LP Imagine.
Imagine all the People.
But imagine the song, the LP's world renowned title track only reached number three. By the way, it took Ringo Starr until 1973 to score his first number one song. Photograph so for the first few years after the Fab Four's breakup, only George Harrison scored a simultaneous number one single and album. Harrison was now the world's favorite ex Beatle and his divine smash song topped charts around the world from Canada to New Zealand. You might call it a triumph if only George had written an original song. He's so Fine was a number one hit for girl group the Chiffons in 1963 and the basis for what became the most infamous song plagiarism case in 20th century century pop. The fact is, as this YouTube mashup demonstrates, my Sweet Lord is a note for note rewrite of he's so Fine.
I don't know how.
This unmistakable similarity led Bright Tunes, the production company behind the original Chiffon's record, to sue George Harrison in a case that dragged on for years. At one point, to reinforce the crux of their lawsuit and throw some shade at Harrison, the reunited Chiffons recorded My Sweet Lord in their own girl group R B idiom My Sweet Lord. He's so Fine versus My Sweet Lord remains to this day the archetypal music plagiarism case. Two songs in utterly different production styles but with toast totally identical melodies. In court, Harrison pleaded that his replication of the Chiffons melody was done completely by accident. But the judge, while convinced of Harrison's good intentions, could not excuse his transgression. Harrison was charged with, quote, subconscious plagiarism and ordered to pay Bright tunes. Sick of the whole business by 1976 and as always possessed of his mordant sense of humor, Harrison satirized his songwriting mishap in this song, a number 25 hit. Still, this rather large plagiaristic footnote could not tarnish George's 1971. As we discussed in our charity Mega Singles edition of Hit Parade, Harrison spent the latter half of 71 organizing the concert for Bangladesh, a seminal event in the history of cause supporting music. It would spawn another triple lp, one that won the Grammy for Album of the Year. And at the concert and on the album, George Harrison proudly performed his still beloved, still faithful number one hit. If Harrison's 1971 number ones came tinged with controversy, the next artist to top both the single and album charts would be freighted with tragedy. She didn't live to see her chart success. This performance at 1967's storied Monterey Pop Festival made a star out of its singer. The band was Big Brother and the Holding Company and the singer was a hard drinking, hard living Always turned up to 11 white blues vocalist named Janice Lynn Joplin.
Some came along and it felt like a ball ain't shake.
As an aside, Janis Joplin was not the only newly minted star at Monterey Pop. Otis Redding, the great Stax vocalist played to his largest ever cross racial crowd at the festival. Regrettably, Redding did not survive 1967. He died just six months later in a plane crash. As we discussed in our posthumous hits edition of Hit Parade, when Reading's classic single Sitting on the Dock of the Bay was released in early 68 and flew to the top of the pop and R and B charts, Otis became the first artist to score a number one hit from the great beyond. In a morbid piece of chart trivia, Redding's fellow Monterey performer Janis Joplin would score the second such hit. But Joplin didn't leave us right away. She packed a lot into Just three years. Before Monterey Pop Big Brother and the Holding Company's audience were was largely confined to the Bay Area. Their first self titled LP reached a modest number 60 in 1967. But after Monterey Pop, Big Brother developed a national following for their combustible live show powered by Janis Joplin's fierce performances. This live reputation built anticipation for Big Brother and the Holding Company's second album and major label debut, Cheap Thrills, which arrived with a now legendary cover drawn by underground comics artist R. Crumb. Recorded mostly in the studio but presented as if it were a live album Cheap Thrills topped the album chart for eight weeks in the fall of 1968. It spawned Janis Joplin's only top 40 hit with Big Brother. Their blues rock cover of Irma Franklin's R B hit Piece of My heart reached number 12 on the Hot 100 in November of 68. Restless and eager to start her solo career, Joplin announced she was splitting from Big Brother even before Cheap Thrills reached number one. She formed a group of session musicians, the Cosmic Blues Band, who would back Joplin on her 1969 debut, I Got Them Old Cosmic Blues Again, Mama. Cosmic Blues generated no major hits. Its title track topped out on the high 100 at number 41. Though the LP did reach the top five on Joplin's name recognition alone, critics said the album sounded stiff and polished, unlike Joplin's work with the shambling psychedelic big brother. By 1970, Joplin was eager to reboot her career, even though her demons were catching up with her. For years, Joplin's life had been a rollercoaster of drug addiction, alcoholism and volatile personal relationships. 60s music historian Richie Unterberger wrote for all music. Musically, however, things were on the upswing shortly before her death as she assembled a better, more versatile backing outfit. Joplin debuted that new backing band in her last televised appearance in August 1970 on the Dick Cavett Show.
Janis Joplin
Say you've got a group now and naturally, as you can see, Janice, I'm not on stage alone and I never mentioned their name. Yeah, it's important. It's sort of silly of me to slough them off.
Chris Melanfi
Full Tilt Boogie.
Janis Joplin
Full Tilt Boogie is the actual name of the group. Janis Joplin and.
Chris Melanfi
No, just Janis Joplin.
Full Tilt Boogie.
Janis Joplin
One long word.
Chris Melanfi
Yeah.
Janis Joplin
What does the title mean? Anything?
Chris Melanfi
Entitlement.
It means boogie.
The Full Tilt Boogie Band proved the missing ingredient for Joplin. From the summer into the early fall of 1970, Janis the Band and Doors producer Paul Rothschild worked on the album that would cement her legend, Pearl, a diverse collection spanning not just Janice's electric blues, but also folk, rock and soul. The album's centerpiece, however, written by her ex lover Kris, Kristofferson, was at its core a country record. And it had been around the block quite a few times in two short years. Me and Bobby McGee was a story song Kristofferson wrote about a pair of drifters bumming their way across America with a romantic ideal of personal independence. It was recorded by several men before it got to Janice. In 1969, Roger Miller took it to number 12 on the country chart.
Freedom's just another word for nothing.
That same year a young Kenny Rogers had recorded it with his band the First Edition.
Feeling Good was Easy Lord, When Bobby Sang the Blues.
Gordon Lightfoot made it a hit in his Canadian homeland in 1970 on both the pop and country charts.
Good Enough for me and Bobby McGee.
By which time even Kristofferson himself had had a go at it. His version appeared on his self titled 1970 debut album and eventually in the 1971 road movie. Two Lane Blacktop.
Bobby Sherman, the Secrets of My Soul.
And yet Janis Joplin's rendition of Me and Bobby McGee, recorded in early October 1970, made the song hers for all time. Joplin leans into the song's most indelible line.
Freedom is just another word for nothing.
And while the story of Bobby McGee is gender neutral, it turns out having a woman sing it, particularly this free spirited and by the way bisexual woman, imbued the song with passion, pathos and universal yearning.
LA.
Three days after she recorded Me and Bobby McGee, Janis Joplin was found dead in her hotel room. It was ruled an accidental heroin overdose exacerbated by alcohol. Joplin was 27 years old. Joplin's death abruptly ended the sessions for Pearl, but Rothschild and the band elected to finish compiling the album with the material they had. Among the tracks Janice left behind was the comical yet heartfelt Mercedes Benz, an acapella track she recorded the same night as Bobby McGee and captured in just one take.
Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz? My friends all drive Porsches I must make amends.
Conversely, there was an instrumental backing track over which Joplin was meant to record vocals. Rothschild and the Full Tilt Boogie Band issued it as is on Pearl, with no vocals under the title Buried Alive in the Blues. Released in January 1971, just three months after her death, Pearl was received as a fitting epitaph for Janis Joplin. Both the album and its lead single, Me and Bobby McGee, debuted on the LP chart and the Hot 100 respectively, and rose quickly. Pearl was number one on the album chart by late February, in its fifth week. Three weeks later, with Pearl still on top, Bobby McGee was on top of the Hot 100, the second posthumous number one hit after Otis Redding's The Dock of the Bay. Casey Kasem counted it down.
Casey Kasem
Now the number one song in America this week, it's by an artist who lived a lifetime in 27 years. She was born and raised in Port Arthur, Texas, and left home when she was 17. Then, after she got to San Francisco. The rest of her life was spent in the spotlight. This week, one of her songs became the most popular song in the country at number one, me and Bobby McGee.
Chris Melanfi
Janis Joplin busted flat in Baton Rouge waiting for trench.
In the decades since Joplin's death, much has been made of her membership in the so called 27 Club, the coincidental cohort of music legends who all died at that age, from blues man Robert Johnson to Gen X icon Kurt Cobain to UK soul singer Amy Winehouse. Joplin in particular forms part of a tragic triumvirate of 27 year olds who all died within a year of each other. And the Billboard charts in 1971 reflected all of this loss. Guitarist Jimi Hendrix, who, like Janis, broke big in the national consciousness after an incendiary Monterey pop performance in 67, died in September 1970, just 16 days before Joplin. His posthumous album, the Cry of Love peaked at number three in March of 71, just two spots below Joplin's Pearl at number one.
If you wanna get out of here like freedom, that's what I wanna know.
Freedom, that's what I need And Jim Morrison. His band the Doors, took LA Woman, their final album with Morrison, to number nine in the summer of 71, after Morrison was found dead in Paris in July. Also at age 27, LA woman rose back into the top 20.
Riders on the storm There's a killer on the road.
But Janis Joplin's posthumous album among this sad trio was a phenomenon. Pearl spent nine weeks at number one and was the fourth biggest selling album of 1971. As Joplin sang on her album's final track, you get it while you can.
K.
By the way, one more member of the Mythical 27 club was Rolling Stones founder Brian Jones. By 1971, Jones had been gone nearly two years. The band he left behind had evolved well past Jones's original vision. And by 71, Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Bill Wyman and the late great Charlie Watts. Rest in peace, Charlie. Were still emerging from the murk of the 60s, and yet they were also reaching the peak of their powers. Here's a hot take you can debate at your next gathering of music nerds. Or maybe your next Beatles versus Stones argument stipulated. Through most of the 60s, from the start of the British invasion through mid-1969, the Rolling Stones were more a singles band than an album band. No? Ah, I can hear the Stones Die Hards howling now. What about out of Our Heads? You're protesting. What about Aftermath? Between the Buttons, Beggar's Banquet. Heck, even the 1967 compilation Flowers Plays as a pretty great album. Where do you get off Melanpheus? I know it sounds insulting, but I'm basing my observation purely on chart data. From 1964 through mid-69, the Rolling Stones racked up a remarkable dozen top 10American hits, including five number ones. It's the best run of hit singles of the Stones career. And the chart toppers were all great. From I Can't get no Satisfaction to Get Off My Cloud, From the sinister Painted Black. To the elegiac Ruby II Tuesday Goodbye.
Ruby Tuesday, who Could Hang the Name on you?
And winding up with the cowbell tastic Honky Tonk Women, which by the way reached number one on the Hot 100. In July of 69, just weeks after Brian Jones was found dead in his swimming pool at 2027, Jones's replacement, guitarist Mick Taylor, made his Stones debut on this track. But in all that time, the stones scored exactly one number one album, 1965's out of Our Heads, the LP containing their breakthrough Satisfaction for nearly six years. From the number four ranked December's Children through the number three peaking Let It Bleed, no Rolling Stones album topped The Billboard Top LPs chart, which is no comment on the quality of these albums. Because especially by the time of 1968's Beggars Banquet and 1969's Let It Bleed, their first LPs produced by the great Jimmy Miller, the Stones albums were becoming as era defining as those by the Beatles, With classics like the brooding Gimme Shelter and the Stranger Strung Out Monkey Man. Let It Bleed debuted on the charts in December 1969, the same week the Stones headlined the ill fated violent Altamont Speedway concert.
Everyone keep that sit down. I mean just keep cool. Let's just relax, let's just get into a groove. Come on, we can get it together. Come on, sit down.
So at the dawn of the 70s, the stones were in essence rebooting, reeling from Altamont, reformulating their sound with a new guitarist and reaching the end of their original recording contract. The next Stones studio album would be the first not to be issued by the UK's Decca Records and its US subsidiary London Records, and the first under the band's own label, Rolling Stones Records. With the famed Lips and Tongue logo, the band was long overdue for another number one lp. But in any case, however, it turned out they were going to profit from this next album more fully than ever. Perhaps all of this helps explain why why 1971's sticky fingers wound up as one of the Stone's most accomplished works. Packaged in a legendarily lascivious LP jacket designed by pop art God Andy Warhol, depicting a tumescent man in tight jeans, complete neck, a working zipper. Sticky Fingers also came packed with killer songs. From the insistent can't you hear me knocking to the woozy sway from the chugging rocker to the enduringly melancholy ballad Wild Horses, The album reached number one on Billboard's top LPs in just two weeks, the fastest any Stones album would ever top the chart. It kicked off a decade long run of chart topping albums for the Stones. From Exile on Main street to tattoo you, what explains Sticky Fingers instant success? Was it the packaging? The bad boy allure, the rockers, the ballads? It was all that, sure. But did I mention Sticky Fingers generated a number one single with 50 years hindsight? We have to talk about that song. Brown Sugar, a song whose chorus how come you taste so good? Is not about kitchen ingredients, was first heard on the radio in 71, but it dated to December 69. That's when the Stones first recorded it in Muscle Shoals studio in Alabama. Two days later they debuted debuted it live on stage at, no kidding, the Altamont Festival.
And we're gonna do one for you now, which we did for you, which we haven't played ever before. We're gonna play for you for the very first time. It's got Brown Sugar.
They then held on to the recording for more than a year. Reportedly, Mick Jagger was inspired to write this vivid song by his then girlfriend Claudia Lanier, who was backing up Ms. Tina Turner as an Ikette, singing and dancing with the Ike and Tina Turner Review. Just for the record. Flashing ahead a couple of decades at a live MC Jagger show in Tokyo, Tina Turner herself performed Brown Sugar with Jagger proving well that Tina Turner is fearless and that she has a good sense of humor. Still, a song informed by Mick Jagger's real life interracial relationship with Claudia Lanier and featuring lyrics about sexual violence aboard slave ships, Brown Sugar has been called one of the most racist songs of all time. My Slate colleague Jack Hamilton, in his book Just Around Midnight, named by the way for a lyric in Brown Sugar, calls the song startlingly explicit and a catalog of racial and sexual violence so gratuitous it seems to simultaneously critique and congratulate itself. Indeed, the media in 1971 seemed to mostly portray Brown Sugar as fitting in with the Rolling Stones well tended to bad boy image, which perhaps explains how the song topped the Hot 100.
Casey Kasem
Time now for the new number one song. It's by the group that a fellow Englishman said this about. Quote, they're perverted, outrageous, violent, repulsive, ugly, tasteless, incoherent, a travesty. That's what's good about them. He could have added that they sell an awful lot of records. Here they are with the number one song in the nation, the Rolling Stones and Brown Sugar.
Chris Melanfi
How should we think about Brown Sugar a half century later? About a quarter century ago, in the mid-90s, Mick Jagger told Rolling Stone editor Jan Wen, I never would write that song now. I would probably censor myself. I'd think, oh God, I can't. I've got to stop. I can't just write raw like that. But in a 2015 Vulture article titled Brown Sugar is a dirty song about slavery and Sex and I love it, cultural critic Loretta Charlton says that rawness is what makes the song great. I can't sing those lines without feeling gross and objectified, charlton, a black woman, writes. But it's okay to love a song and to hate it at the same time. Its disturbing lyrics bother me, but lyrics aren't the only thing it has to offer. It's a great rock and roll song. It opens with a simple guitar riff before sliding into a mesmerizing groove. The impulse to dance is immediate. Bands have tried to reach create it, but no one does it like the Rolling Stones. By June of 71, at the top of the Billboard charts, the Rolling Stones provocations had given way to much gentler ministrations from an artist whose 60s track record went back even further than the Stones. And she, contrary to Party boy Mick Jagger, found her greatest success as a homebody.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever gonna make it home again.
When we come back, Carole King brings everybody together, the rockers and the popsters, black and white, old and young with the assurance that they had a friend. Non Slate plus listeners will hear the rest of this episode in two weeks. For now, I hope you've been enjoying this episode of Hit Parade. Our show was written, edited and narrated by Chris Milan. That's me. My producer is Asha Saludja, and we also had help from Rosemary Belson. June Thomas is the senior managing producer and Gabriel Roth, the editorial director of Slate Podcasts. Check out their roster of shows@slate.com podcasts. You can subscribe to Hit Parade wherever you get your podcasts, in addition to finding it in the Slate Culture feed. If you're subscribing on Apple Podcasts, please rate and review us while you're there. It helps other listeners find the show. Thanks for listening, and I look forward to leading the hit parade back your way. We'll see you for part two in a couple of weeks. Until then, keep on marching on the one. I'm Chris Melanvy.
Snow is cold rain is wet Chills my soul right to the marrow.
I.
Won'T be happy Till I see you alone again Till I'm home again.
Host: Chris Molanphy
Podcast: Hit Parade by Slate
Theme: Exploring why 1971 is so often considered one of the greatest years in popular music history—chart milestones, iconic albums, legendary artists, and the enduring cultural impact of that year’s pop hits and LPs.
Chris Molanphy delves into the music charts of 1971, a year that continues to stand out as a high-water mark in pop and rock history. He examines what made '71 exceptional—its chart-topping acts, genre diversity, landmark albums, and why this semi-centennial year has spurred so many retrospectives. The episode identifies seven acts that achieved both a No. 1 single and album, highlighting how artist legacies from the 1960s came to full fruition, while also grappling with the year’s schlockier moments and darker tales of loss.
1971’s Chart Riches: The year was “an embarrassment of riches” (03:19), with hitmakers from the 60s maturing into even more adventurous, yet mass-appeal artists.
Schlock and Exception: Donny Osmond’s “Go Away Little Girl”—held up as a rare, non-great No. 1—serves as a contrast to the overall brilliance of 1971’s charts.
“Go Away Little Girl by Donny Osmond is one of the few chart topping hits of 1971 that wasn’t great.” (01:59)
Key Albums: Carole King’s “Tapestry,” Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On,” Janis Joplin’s “Pearl,” and the Rolling Stones’ “Sticky Fingers.”
Critical Consensus: Acknowledges past arguments over other “greatest years” (e.g., '64, '67, '77, '84), but stresses how both critics and popular culture have coalesced around 1971 as central.
"Much of the reputation of 1971 rests on albums more than singles..." (09:06)
Cultural Reflection: Highlights documentaries and books like “1971: The Year That Music Changed Everything” and David Hepworth's “Never a Dull Moment,” indicating the growing agreement on the year’s importance.
"Though it generated no top 40 hits, Blue was hailed upon release and has only grown in stature since." (11:41)
Schlocky No. 1s:
Groundbreaking R&B and Soul:
Enduring Pop Classics:
The ‘Kitschy’ vs. The Essential:
“Is Joy to the World a kids' song? Some band members say it is. Is it a novelty record? Sorta, though not exactly. Is it second rate white soul? Oh, clearly yes.” (21:14)
“Three Dog Night’s ‘Joy to the World’ has endured...” (22:51)
Chris sets out to recount the seven acts who achieved both a No. 1 single and album in 1971.
“Harrison was now the world’s favorite ex-Beatle, and his divine smash song topped charts around the world…” (35:08)
“My Sweet Lord is a note for note rewrite of 'He's So Fine.'” (36:42)
"I've always looked at All Things Must Pass like somebody who's had constipation for years and then finally they get diarrhea." (29:35)
“Joplin leans into the song's most indelible line: ‘Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose...’” (48:04)
“Now the number one song in America this week, it’s by an artist who lived a lifetime in 27 years... this week, one of her songs became the most popular song in the country at number one, me and Bobby McGee.” (50:42)
“But it’s okay to love a song and to hate it at the same time. Its disturbing lyrics bother me, but lyrics aren’t the only thing it has to offer. It’s a great rock and roll song.” —Loretta Charlton (63:49)
“They're perverted, outrageous, violent, repulsive, ugly, tasteless, incoherent, a travesty. That's what's good about them.” (63:24)
“Carole King brings everybody together, the rockers and the popsters, black and white, old and young with the assurance that they had a friend.” (65:55)
On 1971’s diversity:
“1971 stands as one of the most varied, widest-ranging, and even experimental years for hits ever.” (04:10)
On “Blue,” Joni Mitchell:
“People go inside this work and better know themselves.” (12:26)
George Harrison’s candidness:
“I had a backlog of songs when I did All Things Must Pass. It was good to just get them all out of the way.” (29:35)
Casey Kasem’s reflections:
“Now the number one song in America this week, it's by an artist who lived a lifetime in 27 years… me and Bobby McGee.” (50:42)
On “Brown Sugar”:
"I never would write that song now. I would probably censor myself." —Mick Jagger (63:49)
"It's okay to love a song and to hate it at the same time.” — Loretta Charlton (63:49)
Chris Molanphy’s style is passionate, wry, and deeply informed. He balances reverence for music history with frankness about pop’s less enduring moments and awkward legacies. Listeners come away with a sense not just of what happened in 1971, but why it matters—and why its echoes persist.
"Spirit of ’71, Part 1" unpacks how 1971’s Billboard charts came to be a definitive cultural snapshot—a year bridging the turbulent 60s with new musical honesty, experimentation, and, at times, crossover schlock. From George Harrison’s spiritual and legal battles to Janis Joplin’s tragic posthumous triumph and the controversial bravado of the Rolling Stones, the seeds of modern pop’s complexity and appetite for reinvention are unmistakable. Part 2 promises to dive deeper, with legends like Carole King waiting in the wings.