Review: Tom Jones - Along Came Jones (1965)

Tracks: 1) I’ve Got A Heart; 2) It Takes A Worried Man; 3) Skye Boat Song; 4) Once Upon A Time; 5) Memphis, Tennessee; 6) Whatcha’ Gonna Do; 7) I Need Your Loving; 8) It’s Not Unusual; 9) Autumn Leaves; 10) The Rose; 11) If You Need Me; 12) Some Other Guy; 13) Endlessly; 14) It’s Just A Matter Of Time; 15) Spanish Harlem; 16) When The World Was Beautiful.

REVIEW

I wish I could begin this – or any other – review by writing something like this: «Hard as it may be to believe, there was once a time, the briefest time in the universe, when Tom Jones was not Tom Jones...». Alas, I have a nagging suspicion that even when Tom Jones was still Thomas John Woodward, living humbly in the vicinity of the coal mines of Pontypridd, Wales, he was already aspiring to be Tom Jones. He was well on the way to be Tom Jones even on the earliest recordings featuring his voice, such as a bunch of unreleased demos by «Tommy Scott And The Senators», dating back to 1964 and marked by the well-recognizable production style of Joe Meek. And he is pretty much the Tom Jonesiest of all the Tom Joneses in the universe on his first album for Decca, Along Came Jones, recorded and released on the heels of the smash success of his second single and signature song, ‘It’s Not Unusual’. There is just no getting away from the fact that with Tom Jones, what you always see is what you always get. The man keeps no esoteric skeletons in his closet.

That said, being Tom Jones in late ’64 / early ’65 was not yet such a major crime against public decency as it would soon become in the upcoming age of the glitzy pop superstar. There was an entire generation of UK blue-eyed soul singers with larger-than-life voices coming up, and at first Tom Jones could be mistaken for just another soldier in the army that also included Paul Jones of Manfred Mann, Long John Baldry, Cliff Bennett, and others to whom the soulful extravertedness of American R&B was more of an inspiration than the clenched-teeth aggression of rock’n’roll. In that context, Tom Jones’ first single for Decca, ‘Chills And Fever’, is very much aligned with that spirit: a moody soulful groove, driven more by bluesy electric guitar and organ than Vegasy brass and specifically distinguished by a voodooistic harmonica solo (allegedly played by none other than Jimmy Page himself!), it’s a pretty wild outburst, and who knows — perhaps if the song had charted, we would all be living in a different world. But it did not, and even if it did not entirely cure Tom from his good feelings towards bluesy R&B, nothing on his first album would approach this level of «jungle tension».

For the second single, a much poppier song was chosen: ‘It’s Not Unusual’, co-written by Tom’s manager Gordon Mills (the one who actually came up with the idea of turning  «Thomas John Woodward» into «Tom Jones») and professional pop songwriter Les Reed. Although the musical foundation of the song still features a pretty nice and uncommon duet between proto-slappin’ bass and proto-funky guitar, the mix prioritizes pompous horns, bringing on visions of bright lights and floating confetti — and although the song’s subject matter is unrequited love, the arrangement makes Tom’s "oh, I wanna die" feel more like "oh, I’m in heaven, guys, let’s PARTY!" I’m not even sure myself what I feel about the song — well, I guess it’s more or less on the level of contemporary Motown material, and Tom Jones has nothing to be embarrassed about when competing against Berry Gordy’s teams of professional belters. (Fun fact: the song was originally intended for Sandie Shaw, but she gave it back to Tom after hearing his singing on the demo version. Perhaps had she chosen to do it, she might have preserved the melancholic intention of the lyrics).

In any case, the song made Tom Jones into what he would be for the entirety of his career — a pop star who would channel his boundless energy into permanently celebrating the joys of life rather than tapping into its mysteries or exposing its evils. The fact that he came from a rhythm-and-blues background helped immensely: both in his vocals and in his stage presence he would display a wild level of freedom that regular, «polite» pop performers would never dare embrace. The public loved his persona because he was one of the first people in the UK to give them the primal power of rock’n’roll without the «anti-social» element that usually goes along with it. Mick Jagger and Eric Burdon were scary; Tom Jones was the «I love you one and all!» guy who only wanted to be loved in return. Preferably by hot young babes, of course, but middle-aged housewives worked, too, because they bought his records and made him enough money to attract even more hot young babes. In a way, it would be Tom Jones to point the way for Elvis (meaning, of course, the last part of Elvis’ career) rather than the other way around... but we’ll get to that eventually.

At least Along Came Jones, probably titled more after the Coasters song (remember "along came long, lean, lanky Jones?") than the Gary Cooper movie, has the advantage of featuring a young, excited, and hungry Tom Jones, hunting for fortune and fame rather than resting on it. There is not a single tune out of these sixteen numbers (Decca really went out of their way to accommodate their newest acquisition, even giving him two more grooves than was customary on a UK LP) where the man would not be pulling his entire weight, be it suave ballad, sleazy pop-rocker, or sexy R&B groove — nor could you accuse the backing band of slacking, as the rhythm section, guitars, organs, and horns all integrate in the most organic and professional manner. (Another fun fact: the drummer on this and the next several Tom Jones album was Chris Slade, a guy who went through a long and diverse musical journey only to achieve his greatest fame decades later as a replacement for Phil Rudd in AC/DC. It sure is a long way from ‘It’s Not Unusual’ to ‘Thunderstruck’, but the astonishing thing is that it is a way that actually exists.)

On the down side, this is still a Tom Jones album, and this means every single song on here, regardless of its genre, style, tonality, origins, or intentions, is going to be a Tom Jones song — loud, braggard, in your face, and with all the subtlety of a Donald Trump on the WWE ring. When the opening piano chords to ‘Memphis, Tennessee’ ring out with all the raving force of a ‘Can I Get A Witness’, you know this is going to get hysterical, and, indeed, Tom’s opening wail of "LONG DISTANCE INFORMATION! GIVE ME MEMPHIS TENNESSEE!" already reminds me of the old Soviet joke having to do with the overall quality of phone service in the country ("HELLO MOSCOW, THIS IS VLADIVOSTOK CALLING!" — Japanese tourist from an adjacent room: "Why can’t he just use the telephone instead?"). The good news is that Tom Jones covers way too few rock’n’roll songs to ruin all of them at once; frankly, I’m not even sure why he would think that ‘Memphis, Tennessee’ would be a suitable choice — either he never understood what genuine rock’n’roll is supposed to be about, or he thought that it wouldn’t hurt anyway to turn it into a quasi-operatic extravaganza. But it does hurt. If Chuck Berry were already in his grave, he would be duck-walking all over it.

Much better are Tom’s covers of actual soul (or «soul-pop») material from his African-American colleagues across the sea. Here, Solomon Burke’s ‘If You Need Me’ is an obvious highlight — I still remain partial to the Stones’ cover (just because Jagger gives it such an amusingly «jagged» edge), but Tom’s booming, bigger-than-life take is really what the song was destined for. There’s quite a gorgeous arrangement, too, with a beautifully busy «delicate» lead guitar line weaving around Tom’s imposing vocal torso and a gradual crescendo of organ, horns, and strings (which only emerge for the semi-spoken bridge section). This kind of cover, my gut feeling tells me, is genuine art that needs no apology. Nor does Tom’s version of Chuck Willis’ 1956 single ‘Whatcha’ Gonna Do’ — a blues-de-luxe tune with a highly derivative melody but a somewhat original dramatization, it was a good show from Chuck and it works just fine when Tom unleashes his full-on God-of-War power; his phrasing on the "whatcha’ gonna do when your baby le-e-e-eaves you" bit makes things much more expressive, as if Tom were really addressing you, the listener, in person, taunting you for being so much less of an alpha male than the curly-haired guy who just took over your speakers.

These, however, are songs that were written with full frontal... assault in mind; where things get much, much worse is on numbers that require a bit of calm and subtlety, like ‘Spanish Harlem’ or ‘Autumn Leaves’. The arrangements on the ballads are fairly dull, and the singing just goes to remind you how loudness and exuberance can easily smooth away and demolish all the tiny emotional nuances preserved in softer, more «pensive» performances. Pushing on like a tank, Mr. Jones scores an easy win each time his approach matches the original design, and gets stuck in a ditch each time he overscreams on a song that was never supposed to be submitted to such brutal treatment.

At least Gordon Mills seemed to understand what sort of material should be written for his brawny protegé, and out of the six songs that he writes, co-writes, or arranges for Jones, only ‘The Rose’, a folk-themed ballad combining sentimental clichés with unbridled pomp, is a barely bearable dud. "My love said to me / A hero you’ll be / If you bring me the rose of love" — by the end of the song, I’m fully convinced that the main reason why Tom Jones is finding his errand to be a problem is that he’s decided that such a rose must be at least the size of an elephant. But the faster-moving, danceable numbers like ‘I’ve Got A Heart’ can be fun: taking a rhythmic cue from Martha & The Vandellas’ ‘Heatwave’ (if anything, Martha & The Vandellas would be the perfect Motown band for Tom to emulate as far as exuberance is concerned), Jones is perfectly believable when he sings "I’ve got a heart that really needs somebody / Someone comes along / Take this heart of mine, I’ll give it free" (except your arms probably won’t open wide enough to hold such a huge heart). It’s pompous, but playful, and the jumpy arrangement is infectious — clearly, the song was written to repeat the impact of ‘It’s Not Unusual’, and it may even reflect Tom’s personality more accurately and directly than the big hit.

Finally, a big cheer to whoever was smart enough to invent such a rousing arrangement for ‘The Skye Boat Song’ — now that one totally hits the bull’s eye! Forget all those slow, somber, foggy-mystical Celtic-Woman style neo-pagan versions by moody green-eyed girls from the Highlands — and just come shake your booty with Mr. Jones to the most rousing, jog-friendly version of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s tale ever recorded! Now that is a true "speed bonnie boat" if there ever was one! With a merry organ solo to boot, the entire band is just hoppin’ along, and if somebody tries to protest and say that they have completely demolished the true spirit of the song, well... well, yes, they have, but admit it, that is the proper spirit of delivering the message that "Charlie will come again". None of that whining and sighing, just hold your head up proudly and let the suckers know that it’s only a matter of time!

It is hardly a coincidence that the scratchy guitar riff on ‘It’s Not Unusual’ (as well as, probably, some of the other songs on the album, though I’m not sure about the exact credits) was played by Vic Flick — the guitarist on the original recording of the James Bond theme — and doubly not a coincidence when you remember that Tom got to sing the title theme for Thunderball later that year. For all of Britain’s musical explosion of 1963-64, that musical world was a «boys’ world», and now the rejuvenated and reinvented musical scene desperately needed a «Man», its own Sean Connery, to appeal to all those people who wanted a sound that would feel both «contemporary» and «mature» at the same time. And then along came Jones — who may have been only a few months older than John Lennon, but looked, acted, and sounded almost «fatherly» in comparison. No actual wide-open hairy chest yet, but you can easily visualize it when listening to about half of the songs on here. There’s so much rampant masculinity here, it makes even the likes of Eric Burdon (let alone Mick Jagger) seem like a snotty short-pants teenager.

The good thing about this vibe is that it hardly feels like «toxic» masculinity — most of the songs are either laments or respectable serenades, rather than rude innuendos; Tom’s treatment of his lady prey is certainly more courteous than Sean Connery’s. The bad thing is that it is simply quite shallow and one-sided: each song delivers 100% of its message upon the very first play and never really has anything more to say to you. Every once in a while, this approach works like a charm, with about a third of the album delivering the goods; but whenever it is being applied to songs that require a more nuanced approach, Along Came Jones becomes the equivalent of a low-bitrate MP3 file next to a lossless format, if I might be allowed to conclude this on a metaphor from an age that, surprisingly enough, still has not managed to make Tom Jones irrelevant (his latest album from 2021 still managed to hit #1 on the UK charts).

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