THE EVERLASTING FIRST: Gene Pitney

Continuing a look back at my first exposure to a number of rock 'n' roll acts and superheroes (or other denizens of print or periodical publication), some of which were passing fancies, and some of which I went on to kinda like. They say you never forget your first time; that may be true, but it's the subsequent visits--the second time, the fourth time, the twentieth time, the hundredth time--that define our relationships with the things we cherish. Ultimately, the first meeting is less important than what comes after that. But every love story still needs to begin with that first kiss.



This was originally posted as part of a longer piece. It's separated here for convenience.

It might not take much for you to convince me that Gene Pitney records have existed throughout modern times, that Eliot Ness listened to "Town Without Pity" while planning his crusade against Al Capone, that doughboys sang "Last Chance To Turn Around" en route to the trenches in The War To End All Wars, that Doc Holliday whistled "(The Man Who Shot) Liberty Valance" as he neared the O.K. Corral, or that William Shakespeare's final thoughts within this mortal coil were of Pitney declaring "I'm Gonna Be Strong." I'd know you were lying, sure; but a part of me might believe it, only because I can't remember a time when I couldn't listen to Gene Pitney. Before The Beatles. Before I can recall hearing Elvis Presley, long before I heard Chuck Berry or Buddy Holly or nearly anyone else. As far back as I can remember, there was always, always Gene Pitney.

My earliest conscious memories date back to 1963, when I was three years old. I can remember watching as my crib was dismantled and put into storage. I remember being at the home of one of my Mom's friends in North Syracuse, and being given a choice of diapers or underwear; Speedos were not yet in popular use. I remember JFK, but only vicariously, through impressionist Vaughn Meader and his hit comedy album The First Family. I remember family and friends, playing outdoors and watching TV indoors. I remember music: LPs of original Broadway casts and 45s of rock 'n' roll, Chubby Checker on my Aunt Anna's hi-fi, The Four Seasons on the radio.

And, of course, I remember Gene Pitney.

My older siblings deserve the credit for my damned near in vitro introduction to Pitney. My brothers Art and Rob are respectively about 15 and 13 years older than me, my sister Denise eight years my senior. Much of the essential and prevailing pop culture I absorbed in the '60s came from them, and I can never thank them enough for that. I couldn't tell you which of them owned a copy of the Gene Pitney Sings World-Wide Winners album, but I can tell you that LP was in the family record collection in the same time frame as my crib demolition and The First Family's directive to vote for the Kennedy of your choice, but vote! 



And I can tell you that record got played. Before I could read, I could sing along with Gene Pitney's world-wide winners "Town Without Pity," "(The Man Who Shot) Liberty Valance," "I Wanna Love My Life Away," "Half Heaven Half Heartache," and "Hello Mary Lou." That last one, "Hello Mary Lou," was a song Pitney had written for Ricky Nelson, but I knew it as a Gene Pitney record. I don't remember hearing Gene Pitney on the radio, and I don't remember hearing him on the jukebox at The Moose Club, nor on other people's record players. At home? Yeah, I heard plenty of Gene Pitney at home.

For all that, I didn't follow Gene Pitney through the rest of the '60s. My sister Denise went to see Pitney in concert at The New York State Fair around '66 or so, but I wasn't even aware that she did. Nor was I aware of any Pitney songs after the familiar classics on that World-Wide Winners LP. I was aware of The Beatles, The Dave Clark Five, The Rolling Stones, Lesley Gore, The Monkees, The Archies. The closest I got to Pitney was second-hand, via The Royal Guardsmen's cover of "Liberty Valance" on the Snoopy Vs. The Red Baron album in 1967. I was in first grade by then. No need for a worldly first-grader to concern himself with the practically prehistoric sounds that walked the earth in the years before kindergarten.

My rediscovery and expanded appreciation of '60s music occurred when I was an adolescent and teenager in the '70s. Pitney wasn't necessarily high on my list of acts I needed to embrace and exalt immediately, but I got there in due time. Nonetheless, I always had a sense that Pitney was inherently...I dunno, worthy, special among pre-Beatles pop idols, neither a Frankie nor a Fabian, not an interchangeable poster boy, but real, essential, substantial. I couldn't have articulated any of that, but it was nonetheless something I knew.

A plank on my road back to Gene Pitney appeared when I was flipping channels on cable one day in the mid '70s, and I stumbled across Town Without Pity, a gritty 1961 film that opens with Gene Pitney's familiar title tune. Connection. Pitney's swing and swagger both contrasted and complemented the movie's grim tone; my ears were open. I don't think I found much to read about Pitney among the rock 'n' roll histories I was absorbing at the time; I eventually pieced together that he wrote "He's A Rebel" for The Crystals (in addition to penning Ricky Nelson's "Hello Mary Lou"), and I sought out the sound of Gene Pitney with my new best friend: oldies radio.

Oldies radio gave me "It Hurts To Be In Love." That became my favorite. As I finally grew old enough to visit bars and guzzle beer and badger DJs for songs to play while I didn't dance with any of the pretty girls there, an oldies bar called The Tip-A-Few became a favored hangout, and "It Hurts To Be In Love" became a favored request. I was well on my way to becoming a Gene Pitney fan.

I still had a long way to go yet. I remember a late '70s trip to Shoppingtown Mall, my Dad waiting in the car while I ran in to accomplish some errand. I stopped to flirt with a girl I knew from school, and I stopped in the record store to flip through 99-cent cutouts. I picked up a couple of these under-a-buck treasures--the eponymous debut by The Real Kids, and the obnoxious noise classic The Residents Present The Third Reich 'n' Roll--but I passed up on a 2-LP set of the best of Gene Pitney. That was a decision I regretted immediately!



(I also recall visiting my girlfriend Brenda on Staten Island in the early '80s, and watching a band called Blue Angel on TV as they performed a terrific cover of Pitney's "I'm Gonna Be Strong." Blue Angel's lead singer was named Cyndi Lauper; we'd hear more from her before long.)

I don't remember my actual first Gene Pitney acquisition. That family copy of World-Wide Winners was long gone, so I think my own Pitney collection began with either a used single-album best-of LP or a truly beat-up copy of Only Love Can Break A Heart; don't know where or when I snagged the former, but I definitely grabbed the latter out of the Get These GONE! bin at Gary Sperrazza!'s store Apollo Records in Buffalo in the early/mid '80s.



By the time Brenda and I moved back to Syracuse in the late '80s, my appreciation of Gene Pitney had matured and blossomed. We had a chance to see Pitney live at the State Fair in '88 or so, and I knew we couldn't miss that. My sister accompanied us to that great show--full circle!



There was never a time when I didn't know at least some of Gene Pitney's music, no such thing as a period in my life where Pitney's music wasn't at least some small cherished part of the jumbled jukebox that plays within my easily-turned head. The old favorites remained favorites: "Town Without Pity;" "(The Man Who Shot) Liberty Valance;" "Half Heaven Half Heartache;" "I'm Gonna Love My Life Away." I discovered new favorites: "It Hurts To Be In Love;" "Last Chance To Turn Around;" "She's A Heartbreaker;" "I'm Gonna Be Strong." But ultimately it was a track on that World-Wide Winners album, a track I never paid attention to as a child, which became my go-to Pitney track: "Twenty Four Hours From Tulsa."

Let me reprise something I wrote long ago about this unbelievable record: On paper, it's tough to sympathize with a ne'er-do-well who ups and ditches his long-time love because he runs into some hinge-heeled floozy when he's a mere day's travel away from home and hearth.  Good thing we don't enjoy records on paper.  This record is perfect in every respect, from Pitney's authoritative vocals through every small musical nuance of this incredible Bacharach-David number. The only thing I'll add now is that Gene Pitney's "Twenty Four Hours From Tulsa" is The Greatest Record Ever Made.

Gene Pitney was inducted into The Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame in 2002, an overdue recognition, though I was at least pleased to see Pitney inducted alongside my heroes The Ramones. He passed away in 2006. His music is with me forever. It always has been.



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