Tunes Du Jour Presents Carole King

If you were to press play on a random selection of American pop hits from the 1960s and 70s, you’d have a surprisingly high chance of landing on a song written by Carole King. What’s more remarkable is that you might not even realize it. For many, her name is synonymous with the landmark 1971 album Tapestry, a defining work of the singer-songwriter era. But listening to a broader collection of her work reveals a fascinating story—not of one career, but of two distinct, equally influential chapters in music history.

The first chapter begins in the fast-paced world of New York’s Brill Building, where King, alongside her then-husband and lyricist Gerry Goffin, became a hit-making powerhouse for other artists. This wasn’t about personal expression; it was about craftsmanship. A quick look at the playlist shows the sheer range of their output. They penned the earnest plea of The Shirelles’ “Will You Love Me Tomorrow,” the youthful optimism of Bobby Vee’s “Take Good Care Of My Baby,” and the sophisticated yearning of The Drifters’ “Up on the Roof.” They could deliver dance crazes like Little Eva’s “The Loco-Motion” and even provide grittier material for bands like The Animals with “Don’t Bring Me Down,” proving their ability to adapt to nearly any voice or style.

But then, something shifted. As the 60s gave way to the 70s, the focus in popular music turned inward, favoring a more personal and authentic voice. This cultural change set the stage for King’s second career: stepping out from behind the curtain and into the spotlight. The playlist captures this transformation perfectly. Suddenly, we hear King’s own warm, unadorned voice on tracks like “It’s Too Late” and “So Far Away.” The songs, now with her own lyrics, feel more intimate and reflective. The production is stripped back, centering on her expressive piano playing, creating a direct connection with the listener that felt entirely new.

Perhaps nothing demonstrates the unique strength of her songwriting better than the way her compositions became signature anthems for other legends. Aretha Franklin’s definitive 1967 performance of “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman” had already cemented the song as a timeless classic years before King would record her own version for Tapestry. Then, in the very same year her solo album became a phenomenon, James Taylor’s comforting rendition of “You’ve Got A Friend” became an equally iconic, chart-topping hit. It’s a rare artist who can not only define an era with their own voice but also provide the material for other great artists to do the same.

Exploring this collection of songs is like walking through a gallery where the same artist is responsible for both the grand, public murals and the quiet, personal portraits. From the effervescent pop of The Chiffons’ “One Fine Day” to the introspective mood of her own title track, “Tapestry,” the common thread is an undeniable gift for melody and a deep understanding of human feeling. Carole King wasn’t just a singer who wrote her own material; she was a foundational architect of pop music who, when the time was right, simply decided to build a home for herself.

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Tunes Du Jour Presents 1965

Have you ever looked at a playlist from a single year and felt a sense of disbelief? It’s one thing for a year to produce a few memorable hits, but it’s another for it to feel like a highlight reel of music history. Looking at the charts from 1965 is exactly that kind of experience. It wasn’t just a year of good songs; it was a pivotal moment when popular music seemed to mature in several different directions at once, producing an astonishing collection of classics that still resonate today.

On one hand, 1965 saw the art of the immaculately produced pop song reach a new peak. The Motown machine was in full, glorious swing, giving us the suave romance of The Temptations’ “My Girl” and the intricate heartbreak of Smokey Robinson’s “The Tracks of My Tears.” The Supremes demanded attention with the dramatic plea of “Stop! In the Name of Love,” a perfect example of studio craftsmanship meeting raw emotion. Across the Atlantic, Petula Clark’s “Downtown” offered a sweeping, cinematic vision of city life. These weren’t just catchy tunes; they were impeccably arranged, powerfully sung, and emotionally direct pieces of art that defined a certain kind of pop perfection.

At the very same time, a grittier, more defiant sound was taking hold. The Rolling Stones’ “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” wasn’t just a hit song; it was a statement of intent, built around a fuzzy, unforgettable guitar riff that sounded like pure frustration. This raw energy was a common thread. From the garage-rock howl of Them’s “Gloria” to the stuttering, youthful angst of The Who’s “I Can’t Explain,” rock music was shedding its cleaner-cut image. This wasn’t the polished sound of the studio; it was the restless sound of the rehearsal room, and it was connecting with an entire generation.

Beyond the evolving sounds, the lyrical substance of popular music was deepening profoundly. Bob Dylan completely rewrote the rules with “Like a Rolling Stone,” a six-minute epic of poetic scorn that proved a hit single could be complex, challenging, and literary. That same year, The Byrds took Dylan’s words and electrified them, creating a new genre overnight with their shimmering version of “Mr. Tambourine Man.” This new lyrical consciousness also carried immense social weight. Sam Cooke’s posthumously released “A Change Is Gonna Come” and The Impressions’ hopeful “People Get Ready” became enduring anthems of the Civil Rights Movement, demonstrating that music could be both a comfort and a powerful call for progress.

What makes 1965 so striking is that none of these developments happened in isolation. It was a year of convergence, where you could hear the sweet soul of Marvin Gaye’s “How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)” on the radio right next to the birth of funk in James Brown’s “Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag.” The carefree optimism of The Beach Boys’ “California Girls” shared the airwaves with the deep, aching soul of Otis Redding’s “I’ve Been Loving You Too Long.” The sheer volume of landmark recordings from this single 12-month period is a testament to a unique moment in time—a year when the boundaries of pop music were expanding in every direction, leaving us with a collection of songs that feel less like relics and more like foundation stones.

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Your (Almost) Daily Playlist: 10-21-24

I have to give Manfred Mann credit. If while walking my dogs I encountered someone snapping their fingers, shuffling their feet, and singing “Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do,” I wouldn’t see wedding bells in our future.

Manfred Mann was born Manfred Lubowitz on this date in 1940. A few of his tracks are included on today’s playlist.

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Your (Almost) Daily Playlist: 4-19-24

Elenore
Gee, I think you’re swell
And you really do me well 
You’re my pride and joy, et cetera…

After the huge success of their “Happy Together,” The Turtles’ record label asked them for another love song in a similar vein. Jokingly, they turned in “Elenore.” It became their eighth US top 40 hit, reaching number 6 on the Billboard Hot 100.

The Turtles’ Mark Volman was born on this date in 1947. A few songs from his band are included on today’s playlist.

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Your (Almost) Daily Playlist: 6-4-23

In seventh grade Spanish class I did an oral presentation about Freddy Fender. During it I played his number one hit “Before the Next Teardrop Falls.” I wanted to play his follow-up hit, “Wasted Days and Wasted Nights,” but Señora Gluck stopped me. “Don’t play that song. I hate that song.” What’s her problema? It’s a perfectly fine single.

If you were at my presentation you’d know that the late Freddy Fender was born Baldemar G. Huerta on this date in 1937. That won’t be on the test. His two biggest hits are included on today’s playlist. That will be.

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