A Century of Song – The 1950s, Hour #5 (Finale)
There’s always a danger when extending a musical journey beyond its originally anticipated destination. Eventually, the temptation arises to fill the remaining space with perfectly respectable recordings that simply aren’t quite good enough. Fortunately, the 1950s have presented us with the opposite problem: an abundance of wonderful music that refuses to be left behind.
Across these five hours, we’ve witnessed an extraordinary musical transformation. The decade began with the established traditions of jazz, blues, country, and sophisticated popular song, only to see rock and roll burst onto the scene, doo-wop flourish, and rhythm and blues develop an increasingly irresistible personality. Yet the older musical forms weren’t simply swept aside. They continued evolving, producing remarkable recordings of their own while the younger generation enthusiastically rearranged the furniture.
This final hour celebrates that coexistence rather than attempting to manufacture another musical revolution. From Bill Haley’s exuberant “Birth of the Boogie” to the vocal elegance of Ella Fitzgerald, the earthy observations of Big Bill Broonzy, and the emerging energy of early soul, these selections demonstrate that the decade still had plenty of outstanding music to offer. Nothing here has been included merely to stretch the proceedings another sixty minutes.
And perhaps our closing selection provides the perfect punchline. After five hours of romantic devotion, broken hearts, youthful rebellion, and declarations of everlasting love, Barrett Strong arrives with “Money (That’s What I Want)” to remind everybody that somebody eventually has to pay the bills.
It’s a wonderfully unsentimental conclusion to a decade that gave us so much to love.
| # | Song | Artist | Year |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | Birth of the Boogie | Bill Haley & His Comets | 1955 |
| 2 | Bim Bam Boom | The El Dorados | 1956 |
| 3 | Hey Hey | Big Bill Broonzy | 1951 |
| 4 | Day by Day | The Four Freshmen | 1955 |
| 5 | Satin Doll | Duke Ellington | 1953 |
| 6 | See Saw | The Moonglows | 1956 |
| 7 | But Not for Me | Ella Fitzgerald | 1950 |
| 8 | Western Movies | The Olympics | 1958 |
| 9 | Two Long Years | Janis Martin | 1957 |
| 10 | Everyday I Have the Blues | Count Basie | 1955 |
| 11 | Poor Little Fool | Ricky Nelson | 1958 |
| 12 | Move | Red Norvo | 1956 |
| 13 | Over and Over | Bobby Day | 1958 |
| 14 | A Hundred Years from Today | Lee Wiley | 1958 |
| 15 | You Made Me Love You | Screamin’ Jay Hawkins | 1957 |
| 16 | Black, Brown and White | Big Bill Broonzy | 1956 |
| 17 | (‘Til) I Kissed You | The Everly Brothers | 1959 |
| 18 | Love Me or Leave Me | Nina Simone | 1958 |
| 19 | Tequila | The Champs | 1958 |
| 20 | Pennies from Heaven | The Skyliners | 1959 |
| 21 | A Teenager in Love | Dion & the Belmonts | 1959 |
| 22 | Money (That’s What I Want) | Barrett Strong | 1959 |
Birth of the Boogie – Bill Haley & His Comets (1955)
If rock and roll needed a formal birth announcement, Bill Haley and His Comets were more than happy to provide one. “Birth of the Boogie” is a gloriously exuberant celebration of the musical revolution already gathering momentum, combining driving rhythms, spirited saxophone work, and Haley’s unmistakable enthusiasm into a performance that practically demands physical participation. There’s a wonderful sense of controlled chaos here, with the musicians sounding as though they’re having almost as much fun as the teenagers discovering this exciting new music. Haley may eventually have been overshadowed by younger, flashier performers, but recordings like this remind us that he was instrumental in bringing rock and roll into the mainstream. And what better way to begin our final hour of the 1950s than with a band enthusiastically announcing that the party is just getting started?
Bim Bam Boom – The El Dorados (1956)
The El Dorados keep the celebration rolling with “Bim Bam Boom,” a wonderfully energetic slice of doo-wop that demonstrates just how much musical excitement can be generated from a few nonsense syllables and a terrific rhythm. The group’s exuberant harmonies, punchy delivery, and playful vocal interplay create an atmosphere of infectious spontaneity, as though a street-corner singing session has suddenly erupted into a full-blown party. There’s a delightful roughness around the edges that distinguishes the performance from the smoother vocal groups of the era, giving it an appealing rhythm-and-blues attitude. No profound lyrical message is required here; the voices themselves become instruments of pure entertainment. Coming immediately after Bill Haley’s “Birth of the Boogie,” it’s further evidence that the musical revolution was gathering momentum from several directions at once.
Hey Hey – Big Bill Broonzy (1951)
After two exuberant celebrations of early rock and roll, Big Bill Broonzy reminds us that some of the most compelling musical performances require little more than a man and his guitar. “Hey Hey” is a wonderfully nimble acoustic blues instrumental, showcasing Broonzy’s extraordinary fingerpicking technique and seemingly effortless command of rhythm. His guitar manages to carry the melody, maintain the pulse, and introduce playful little flourishes without ever sounding cluttered or overly complicated. There’s an infectious bounce to the performance that makes the absence of vocals almost irrelevant. More importantly, it’s a fascinating reminder of how deeply the emerging rock-and-roll revolution was indebted to musicians like Broonzy. The sound may be stripped down, but the musical personality is enormous. Sometimes one guitar can make more noise than an entire orchestra…and considerably better conversation.
Day by Day – The Four Freshmen (1955)
The Four Freshmen bring a refreshing change of atmosphere with “Day by Day,” a beautifully polished vocal performance that demonstrates how sophisticated harmony could flourish alongside the emerging rock-and-roll revolution. Their intricate arrangements and remarkably precise vocal interplay give the familiar standard a distinctive personality, balancing jazz-inspired complexity with an inviting pop sensibility. What makes the recording particularly appealing is its effortless charm: the harmonies are elaborate, yet the performance never feels burdened by its own sophistication. The group’s influence would eventually extend far beyond traditional vocal pop, most notably inspiring the intricate harmonies of the Beach Boys. It’s a fascinating reminder that musical progress doesn’t always announce itself with pounding drums and electric guitars. Sometimes it arrives quietly, four voices at a time.
Satin Doll – Duke Ellington (1953)
By 1953, Duke Ellington had already spent decades shaping the language of jazz, yet “Satin Doll” demonstrates that his melodic imagination was showing no signs of exhaustion. Built around an irresistibly sophisticated melody and an effortlessly swinging arrangement, the composition exudes the kind of urbane elegance that became synonymous with Ellington’s musical world. The orchestra moves with remarkable precision and ease, allowing individual instrumental voices to emerge without disturbing the performance’s wonderfully relaxed atmosphere. There’s something almost mischievous about the music’s sophistication, as though Ellington is casually demonstrating how much musical intelligence can be concealed beneath an exceptionally enjoyable tune. While younger performers were busy inventing new ways to make audiences dance, Duke reminds us that the old masters still knew a thing or two about keeping the party interesting. And they certainly knew how to dress for it.
See Saw – The Moonglows (1956)
The Moonglows bring a playful rhythmic bounce to “See Saw,” demonstrating that doo-wop could be just as entertaining when it loosened its collar and abandoned the romantic melodrama. Led by the wonderfully expressive Harvey Fuqua, the group delivers an infectious performance built around lively vocal exchanges, tight harmonies, and a rhythm that seems determined to keep everyone moving. There’s an appealing blend of polish and spontaneity here, with the singers effortlessly balancing their sophisticated vocal arrangements against the earthy energy of rhythm and blues. What makes the recording particularly enjoyable is its sheer personality. The Moonglows aren’t simply singing a catchy tune; they’re having a musical conversation, complete with teasing, enthusiasm, and an irresistible sense of fun. Another reminder that the finest doo-wop groups could do considerably more than stand beneath a streetlight nursing a broken heart.
But Not for Me – Ella Fitzgerald (1950)
Ella Fitzgerald turns George and Ira Gershwin’s bittersweet standard into a masterclass in musical elegance, demonstrating her extraordinary ability to make even romantic disappointment sound effortlessly graceful. Her impeccable phrasing, crystalline tone, and subtle rhythmic instincts allow the melody to unfold with a natural ease that few singers could hope to match. There’s a delightful contrast between the song’s resigned lyrics and the warmth of Ella’s delivery, as though she’s perfectly capable of accepting life’s romantic injustices without allowing them to spoil her afternoon. What makes the performance so captivating is its complete absence of strain or theatrical excess. Ella doesn’t need to dramatize heartbreak; she simply sings beautifully and allows the music to do the rest. In an era increasingly populated by larger-than-life musical personalities, she reminds us that quiet confidence can be every bit as commanding.
Western Movies – The Olympics (1958)
The Olympics turn America’s fascination with television Westerns into a wonderfully rambunctious rock-and-roll comedy. “Western Movies” finds its narrator competing for his girlfriend’s attention with an endless parade of cowboys, gunfighters, and televised adventures, a romantic predicament that could only have become commonplace in the age of television. The group’s lively call-and-response vocals, infectious rhythm, and exaggerated enthusiasm transform this domestic frustration into an irresistible piece of musical mischief. Beneath the humor lies a clever little snapshot of changing American culture, when television was becoming powerful enough to interfere with everyday relationships. It’s another reminder that early rock and roll didn’t need profound social commentary to capture the spirit of its times. Sometimes all it took was a neglected boyfriend, a television set, and one cowboy too many.
Two Long Years – Janis Martin (1957)
Janis Martin brings a wonderfully feisty personality to “Two Long Years,” demonstrating why she earned the nickname “The Female Elvis.” Her spirited delivery combines the rebellious attitude of rockabilly with a bluesy confidence that was still relatively uncommon among young female performers of the era. The driving rhythm, lively guitar work, and Martin’s expressive vocals create a performance that feels both spontaneous and remarkably assured. There’s an appealing toughness beneath the song’s romantic frustrations, as though Martin has little intention of spending another two years feeling sorry for herself. While her male contemporaries received most of the attention, recordings like this reveal that the women of early rock and roll were perfectly capable of matching their energy and attitude. Janis Martin didn’t need permission to join the party…and she certainly wasn’t going to stand quietly in the corner.
Everyday I Have the Blues – Count Basie (1955)
Count Basie demonstrates just how irresistible the blues can become when entrusted to a first-rate big band and a singer with personality to spare. With Joe Williams delivering the vocals in his wonderfully commanding yet conversational style, “Everyday I Have the Blues” transforms a familiar lament into a swinging celebration of musical confidence. Basie’s orchestra provides a magnificent backdrop, punctuating Williams’ lines with crisp brass accents, infectious rhythms, and the kind of effortless precision that makes a large ensemble sound remarkably nimble. The contrast between the song’s weary complaints and the band’s exuberant accompaniment is part of the charm. Apparently, having the blues isn’t quite so miserable when you’ve got Count Basie and his orchestra helping you through it. It’s sophisticated, soulful, and thoroughly entertaining…a reminder that the big-band tradition still had plenty of life left in it.
Poor Little Fool – Ricky Nelson (1958)
Ricky Nelson delivers one of his most appealing performances with “Poor Little Fool,” a beautifully crafted slice of teenage heartbreak that balances youthful vulnerability with an unexpectedly mature sense of restraint. Written by Sharon Sheeley, the song combines an instantly memorable melody with a gentle, infectious rhythm, while Nelson’s smooth, understated vocals make his romantic misfortune sound both sincere and strangely effortless. Unlike some of his more theatrical contemporaries, Nelson never seems particularly interested in exaggerating his emotions. He simply tells his story and allows the melody to carry the disappointment. There’s a quiet confidence beneath that wounded innocence, making the recording far more enduring than its teen-idol origins might suggest. Sometimes the coolest guy in the room is the one who doesn’t feel compelled to prove it…even when he’s admitting that love has made a fool of him.
Move – Red Norvo (1956)
Red Norvo brings a wonderfully nimble touch to “Move,” a spirited jazz performance that demonstrates how much excitement can emerge from musicians who make extraordinary technical demands sound almost effortless. His sparkling vibraphone playing dances across the melody with remarkable precision, creating a bright, percussive sound that’s both sophisticated and irresistibly playful. The brisk tempo and lively instrumental exchanges give the recording a constant sense of forward motion, yet there’s never a feeling that the musicians are simply showing off. Norvo, whose career stretched back to the swing era, proves himself entirely comfortable navigating the more adventurous language of modern jazz. It’s another delightful reminder that musical innovation wasn’t exclusively the province of ambitious youngsters. Sometimes the veterans were perfectly capable of showing the new generation a few tricks…and doing it with considerably less fuss.
Over and Over – Bobby Day (1958)
Bobby Day returns with another irresistibly lively recording, proving that his musical personality extended well beyond the novelty charm of “Rockin’ Robin.” Built around a bouncing rhythm, exuberant backing vocals, and a melody that seems almost impossible to resist, “Over and Over” captures the carefree spirit of early rock and roll at its most infectious. Day’s relaxed but enthusiastic delivery gives the performance a wonderful sense of spontaneity, while the playful vocal exchanges keep the energy bubbling from beginning to end. There’s a pleasing simplicity to the arrangement, but nothing about it feels disposable or underdeveloped. It’s a reminder that some of the decade’s finest recordings weren’t attempting to change the world…they were simply determined to make it a more enjoyable place for a couple of minutes. And in Bobby Day’s hands, that’s more than enough.
A Hundred Years from Today – Lee Wiley (1958)
Lee Wiley brings a wonderfully intimate sophistication to “A Hundred Years from Today,” a charming reminder that the best advice about love and living often comes wrapped in an irresistible melody. Her warm, conversational delivery gives the song’s gentle philosophy a particularly appealing quality: enjoy life’s pleasures while you can, because a century from now, who’s going to care? There’s a sly sense of humor beneath Wiley’s elegant phrasing, as though she’s sharing a delicious little secret with the listener rather than delivering a moral lesson. The understated accompaniment allows her distinctive personality to shine, capturing the relaxed sophistication of an earlier generation of jazz-influenced popular singers. It’s a delightful combination of musical refinement and cheerful irreverence. And considering that we’re listening nearly seventy years later, Wiley’s invitation to enjoy the moment seems to have aged rather beautifully.
You Made Me Love You – Screamin’ Jay Hawkins (1957)
Leave it to Screamin’ Jay Hawkins to take a perfectly respectable romantic standard and drag it into a dimly lit laboratory for some highly questionable experimentation. “You Made Me Love You” becomes something altogether stranger in his hands, with exaggerated vocal theatrics, unpredictable phrasing, and an almost unsettling intensity that turns conventional romantic devotion into something bordering on obsession. Yet beneath the madness lies a genuinely talented singer with an impressive command of melody and dramatic expression. That’s what makes Hawkins so fascinating: the outrageous personality never entirely conceals the serious musician underneath. In a decade when popular singers were generally expected to sound charming, sincere, and emotionally reassuring, Hawkins seemed determined to make listeners question everybody’s sanity, including his own. Romance was never quite so entertainingly disturbed.
Black, Brown and White – Big Bill Broonzy (1956)
Big Bill Broonzy sets aside the playful guitar virtuosity heard earlier in this hour to deliver something considerably more sobering. “Black, Brown and White” is a quietly devastating examination of racial inequality, using a simple blues melody and plainspoken lyrics to expose the absurdity and cruelty of discrimination in American society. Broonzy’s restrained delivery makes the message all the more powerful. There’s no need for theatrical outrage when the everyday injustices he describes speak so clearly for themselves. What makes the recording particularly compelling is its combination of musical accessibility and uncompromising social observation, demonstrating that the blues could entertain, console, and confront uncomfortable truths with equal effectiveness. Amid the romance, humor, and youthful exuberance of the 1950s, Broonzy reminds us that not everybody was enjoying the same American dream. Sometimes the most important music is the kind that refuses to let us look away.
(‘Til) I Kissed You – The Everly Brothers (1959)
Few performers could make romantic innocence sound quite as irresistible as the Everly Brothers, and “(‘Til) I Kissed You” captures their extraordinary vocal chemistry at its most appealing. Written by Don Everly, the song combines a wonderfully buoyant melody, crisp guitar accompaniment, and those unmistakable sibling harmonies into a recording that seems to float effortlessly between country music and rock and roll. There’s a delightful sense of discovery in the performance, as though the simple act of falling in love has suddenly made the entire world a more interesting place. What makes the Everlys so remarkable is their ability to sound both beautifully polished and completely natural, creating harmonies that would profoundly influence the next generation of pop and rock musicians. Sometimes musical sophistication arrives disguised as youthful innocence…and rarely has it sounded quite so sweet.
Love Me or Leave Me – Nina Simone (1958)
Nina Simone takes a familiar jazz standard and transforms it into something unmistakably her own, combining extraordinary musical sophistication with a wonderfully defiant personality. Her rich, expressive vocals establish the song’s uncompromising emotional terms, but it’s her dazzling piano work that truly steals the show. Midway through the performance, Simone launches into an exhilarating instrumental passage that blends classical precision with the rhythmic freedom of jazz, revealing just how effortlessly she could move between musical worlds. There’s an almost mischievous confidence to the entire recording, as though she’s daring anyone to question either her romantic independence or her musical authority. It’s a magnificent introduction to an artist who would spend much of her career refusing to be confined by expectations. Love her or leave her, indeed…but after hearing this performance, leaving seems like a particularly foolish option.
Tequila – The Champs (1958)
Sometimes the most memorable musical statements require remarkably few words, and the Champs proved that three enthusiastic shouts of “Tequila!” were more than enough to create a rock-and-roll classic. Built around an irresistible Latin-flavored rhythm, a wonderfully punchy saxophone riff, and a groove that practically demands participation, “Tequila” is a masterclass in uncomplicated musical entertainment. There’s something gloriously absurd about a recording that achieves such infectious energy while barely bothering with lyrics, yet its playful arrangement and impeccable timing make every second count. The saxophone does most of the talking, and frankly, it has considerably more interesting things to say than many singers of the era. It’s another reminder that musical sophistication and sheer enjoyment aren’t always the same thing…and sometimes the smartest decision a musician can make is knowing when to shut up and let the rhythm take over.
Pennies from Heaven – The Skyliners (1959)
The Skyliners take a familiar old standard and give it a sparkling doo-wop makeover, demonstrating how effortlessly the musical traditions of earlier generations could be reinvented for a younger audience. Led by Jimmy Beaumont’s soaring tenor, the group’s rich harmonies and buoyant arrangement transform “Pennies from Heaven” into a wonderfully spirited celebration of optimism. There’s an appealing theatrical quality to the performance, with its dramatic vocal flourishes and infectious rhythmic energy, yet the underlying melody remains as charming as ever. What makes the recording especially enjoyable is its ability to bridge two musical worlds without sounding uncomfortable in either. The Skyliners aren’t simply borrowing from the past; they’re giving it a fresh coat of paint and inviting everybody back onto the dance floor. Apparently, even the Great American Songbook wasn’t immune to the doo-wop revolution.
A Teenager in Love – Dion & The Belmonts (1959)
Dion and the Belmonts capture the glorious emotional instability of adolescence with “A Teenager in Love,” a beautifully crafted doo-wop classic that turns youthful romantic uncertainty into something irresistibly entertaining. Dion’s expressive lead vocal balances vulnerability with just enough swagger to suggest that heartbreak hasn’t entirely undermined his confidence, while the Belmonts provide a rich harmonic backdrop that gives the performance its unmistakable charm. The melody is wonderfully direct, the rhythm gently infectious, and the emotional predicament universally recognizable to anyone who has survived being sixteen. What’s especially appealing is how naturally the group combines teenage melodrama with genuine musical sophistication. Love may be confusing, unpredictable, and occasionally humiliating, but at least Dion and his companions have the decency to make the whole experience sound terrific. Apparently, growing up was never going to be easy…but it certainly came with a wonderful soundtrack.
Money (That’s What I Want) – Barrett Strong (1959)
After five hours of romantic devotion, broken hearts, teenage rebellion, and promises of everlasting love, Barrett Strong arrives to deliver a wonderfully blunt reality check. “Money (That’s What I Want)” strips away the sentimentality with a pounding piano riff, an irresistible rhythm, and a vocal performance that makes absolutely no apologies for its priorities. One of the earliest hits associated with the fledgling Motown label, the recording possesses a raw, infectious energy that hints at the extraordinary musical empire soon to emerge from Detroit. Strong’s commanding delivery and the song’s gloriously uncomplicated message make it both a terrific rhythm-and-blues performance and a sly commentary on the practical realities of life. It’s funny, funky, and refreshingly unsentimental. And what better way to conclude our five-hour exploration of the 1950s? After celebrating a decade overflowing with musical riches, somebody finally has the nerve to ask for a little financial compensation. The music may be priceless, but apparently love doesn’t pay the bills.
Leave a Reply