Chicago Cubs - The Chicago Cubs Sing

(Chess, 1969)

A handful of Chicago Cubs step up to the mic for a soulful little rocker about the team’s chances in ’69, and, gosh bless ’em, the thing ain’t half bad. In fact, I’ll give “Pennant Fever” a hearty recommendation for being by far the least embarrassing combination of sports and music that I’ve ever heard. And though that compliment sounds backhanded (the sports/music bar being pretty fruggin’ low), this single really IS a fun piece of music that transcends its natural haw-haw novelty status on every front. Yeah, it’s just a baseball-centric rewrite of “Fever,” but the singing is respectable, the backing is some exciting piano-driven jump biz, and the canned crowd noise that gets dropped in from time to time sounds more like explosions of Who-style feedback. Do I love this song? I THINK I JUST MIGHT! Sheesh, even the instrumental B-side, “Slide,” shocks with its funky organ tootling. Don’t forget the sleeve, either: Seven square-looking Cubs in street clothes are gathered in the studio, armed with lyric sheets and beer to sing the praises of their can’t-miss club (lookin’ good, Gene Oliver!). Too bad they ended up pulling a choke-job late in the season and finishing a distant second to the Mets. Oh well; at least we can sleep easy knowing we got this single out of it all.

Chuck Berry - My Ding-A-Ling

(Chess, 1972)

Look, I’ll say it: This is an idiotic song. Really. A lousy live recording that features a lot of unfunny onstage asides from Chuck Berry, snatches of ugly guitarwork, and a tuneless audience sing-along during the choruses. All of which would be fine if the double-entendre around which the song revolves – “I want to play with my ding-a-ling”…you figure it out – was actually clever or entertaining. But it isn’t. This is exhausting and cringe-worthy, a failure as a novelty record and an especially creepy bit of sleaze coming from a guy known for sexual weirdness. Still, I betcha I would’ve loved this when I was, oh... ten?

The B-side is a live version of “Johnny B. Goode” that cooks quite nicely, even if it does have a faint odor of just-going-through-the-motions about it. Berry’s vocals are ragged, but his raw screech propels the song and lends it an air of excitement that is certainly missing from the flip. The real highlight comes at the end, as we hear the emcee plead with the revved-up crowd to vacate the auditorium after Berry leaves the stage, as they’re preventing the next act from starting. That act? Pink Floyd! Ha! The old wave stickin’ it to the new!